by Chris Ward
‘My Lady, she is alive I am sure.’
‘But where did she go?’
‘West to Svalbard, My Lady.’ And at the mention of this new name the four companions felt a shiver pass through their bodies.
‘Svalbard?’ Sylvion repeated quietly. ‘I have never heard of this place.’
‘Nor I My Lady,’ Lars replied. ‘I know little enough of it but the guards talk of it always, and the other ones who shared this place with us told me something of it.’ He paused as if to allow a question but none spoke, indeed they waited enthralled, till Sylvion prompted him gently.
‘Go on Lars, tell me about this place Svalbard, for we must go there.’
Lars laughed then, as if suddenly something deep within him had broken. ‘My Lady no one leaves here except by death or proclamation of the High Priest. I have known all who shared this prison with me to have died. Only Rayven you daughter has been allowed... no, ordered to go there.’
‘Why, Lars?’ Sylvion asked. ‘Why did all die and why was Rayven alone sent to Svalbard?’
Lars then started to shake and sob and it was clear his mind had been greatly affected by his ordeal. All that could be done was for Sylvion to hold his hand and reassure him of their protection. After a time he calmed and tried to find the words to explain further.
‘You will not like what I must impart My Lady.’ He spoke in the quietest of whispers, as if afraid of his own words. ‘This place is a temple of sacrifice. Human sacrifice. Ever since the ancient Ravelin abandoned the city, this temple has been occupied, and every full moon a person is sacrificed by the Lord High Priest to the evil Lord Ungarit. There is a temple here within the rock I believe. This temple is dedicated to the worship of Ungarit.’ He paused then and let his words sink in. He continued slowly and in the most quiet of whispers, as if each word was a step into danger.
‘Those chosen or captured to be sacrificed are called the sacred ones. When Rayven and I were taken there were a score held here, and since then all have been slain. I am the last.’ The awfulness of Lar’s words shook them all to the core, but he continued...
‘I am the last, and I was to have been sacrificed on the nearest full moon to the summer solstice. I think less than a score of days hence. If there are more in captivity then the high Priest will sacrifice more often, I think every seven days, but the full moon is preferred for the best of the sacred ones.’ All now felt a coldness take their hearts, for Lars spoke of the most evil things.
‘I am doomed My Lady.’ The sound of his voice was pitiful indeed.
‘No Lars, it will not happen,’ Sylvion replied, but in her mind she was no longer able to see a way to make her words come true, but she desperately wanted to reassure the young man. ‘We will not let it come to pass.’
‘My Lady now that you are here, you too have become the sacred ones, can’t you see, this means I will die tomorrow, for the High Priest has more now to choose from. He will see your value and select one of you to suffer on the solstice. I am now released from that date, but he will no doubt plan to use me sooner. I would think tomorrow, for it is now seven days since the last of us was slain.’ He paused before continuing softly. ‘I am blemished as you see. I am not a high value sacrifice, but I was the last of the sacred ones. Now you have replaced me. I had some days left...but no longer.’
Once more Lars’ words shook them all to the core. Reigin cursed and vowed quietly that he would not allow any to lay a hand on them without a mighty fight. Rema too nodded in agreement at his words whilst Gravyn seemed carved from stone. Sylvion found her mind racing and full of questions.
‘Why was Rayven sent to Svalbard Lars?’ was all she could finally bring herself to utter.
‘The High Priest knew she was special, high bred he said, and whilst he never knew she was heir to the throne of Revelyn he guessed truly. She was sent to Svalbard for there lives the one whose evil is at the heart of all our troubles, and he will sacrifice Rayven on the full moon of the summer solstice. So here... and there, it will be the same. It seems that their god, Lord Ungarit is one whose lust for human blood is never satisfied, but these people believe that without the sacrifice the land will sink again, and so they do such things...’
‘...but with such eagerness,’ Rema interjected angrily. ‘That foul man was just oozing it. He could not wait to tell us that we were his sacred ones, and that he looked forward to visiting his own violence upon us...’
‘I really do not want to die My Lady,’ Lars said suddenly. ‘Not like I have seen it. I cannot bear the thought. I am sorry but I am not so brave as I had hoped.’ He paused and then added in a hoarse whisper. ‘Forgive me please. All of you.’ He sobbed again and cried out. ‘Forgive me for my weakness.’ Once more Sylvion tried to calm Lars, but in vain, for this time he seemed lost to himself and his dark thoughts. No amount of comfort would bring him to his senses, and so he was reduced to a pitiful muttering and looking wildly about, oblivious to any else.
‘The poor man has near lost his mind,’ Reigin said quietly, ‘I think he will not be further able to explain what he has seen, but it is clear these sacrifices have been such that it has taken a fearful toll upon him.’
‘We must plan to make some stand,’ Rema said. ‘If on the morrow one of us is to be slain we cannot allow this without a fight. What shall we do?’ But his words were greeted with an ominous silence for none could then think of what might be done.
‘It is getting late,’ Reigin said at last, looking up the light shaft. ‘We will be in darkness soon. Perhaps we should make preparation for the night. If we sit close we can talk of what we might do, but I fear without our weapons we are greatly weakened.’
‘There is Orcxyl,’ Sylvion said suddenly. ‘We forget him. Perhaps he will find a way...’
‘He has run off,’ Gravyn muttered, ‘he has abandoned us. I would not wait for him to show his face...’
‘You do not know that Gravyn,’ Sylvion interrupted harshly. ‘You forget how he has served has thus far. Your words do not bear any charity for this.’
‘My Lady,’ Gravyn bowed in acknowledgement of her admonishment, but he gave no further apology.
A short time later food was delivered and they were surprised that it was so fine. Hot venison and freshly baked bread, accompanied by a large jug of excellent ale was brought in by three of the half-men whilst four more stood guard by the door. Then a small window in the steel door was opened, allowing light from the outside torches to enter and push back some of the deep shadows which had threatened to see them all in complete darkness as the daylight above faded to night.
‘This Lord Shevryn meant what he said,’ Reigin observed drily as they ate, ‘he wants his sacred ones unblemished and in good shape for sacrifice.’
‘Well we need all the strength we can get so we might as well eat our fill,’ Sylvion replied sombrely. ‘That much we can do.’ And so they ate, but in silence, and then, try as they might none could get Lars to eat a single morsel; instead he lay upon his bed and shook, and they all felt his misery most keenly. They sat well into the night talking of how they might overpower the guards, and resolved to try at the first opportunity, but they devised no greater plan than that, save it was agreed that Reigin would lead and all would take their cue from him. In the end they slept little for Lars was unable to settle and tossed and turned and moaned in fear throughout the night. Rema tried to talk with Sylvion about what new knowledge they now had regarding Rayven and the place called Svalbard, but she was not willing to share of herself with others close by, and so they all lay quietly upon the floor or the few rough beds which were available. It was a hard night, and in the morning, despite another good meal to welcome the day, they all felt greatly despondent and could but wait to see what might come to pass.
Shortly after they had eaten, Lars was taken off by the one called Treacher. He was treated well and spoken to with great respect, but it was clear that the poor man’s fears were about to come true. He shook and cried and wa
s hardly able to stand.
‘Please My Lady, do something,’ he pleaded, ‘You said I would be safe, please...’ And Reigin thought to make a move but Rema cautioned him for it was futile; and so they did nothing and could only stand helpless as Lars was led away, surrounded by a small group of well armed half-men.
‘Be brave,’ was all Sylvion could say as he disappeared from their presence, and then she wept. Rema went to comfort her but she shrugged him off and went and sat by herself and allowed her grief to have its course.
To their great surprise the Lord High Priest came to them some time later and stood before them all with a broad and almost friendly smile; he was resplendent in a gown of purple velvet and was heavily bejewelled. Each finger seemed to have more than one ring and his face was whitened with some powder. To the four he seemed quite ugly but it was most apparent that he had no such thoughts, but saw himself as the most wonderful creature.
‘I trust you passed the night well. I am sorry for my previous abruptness, but as you can see I am before you now in the manner most correct. I find it hard to be civil when not as I am now, but I have thought about your situation and have decided that you should join us for the most solemn service in honour of the great Lord Ungarit.’ He looked at those before him and seemed somewhat irritated that there was not some acknowledgement of his magnificence.
‘Come, sacred ones you will soon see what beauty there is in sacrifice. The power of it. The awesomeness...you will be transformed by what you see.’ Sylvion was about to speak and give voice to her revulsion when without warning and with a wave of his hand, once more the air around them seemed to ripple and become enchanted and they were transfixed as before; unable to move or speak but only breathe, and that too seemed hard enough. And so in a short time and with hands again securely bound behind their back they were escorted out into the chamber and back down the tunnel, each surrounded by three well armed half-men as guards. They now walked deeper into the headland but by climbing many sets of steps they knew they must be getting higher. Passages and tunnels led off in all direction but the tunnel in which they walked seemed the largest and most well used. It was abundantly clear that no possibility of any resistance would be allowed, and so they walked in a silent and desperate frustration until they burst forth into daylight and a sight which was indeed quiet awesome to behold.
‘It is the end of the headland,’ Rema exclaimed. ‘Another few steps and we fall into the sea.’
They looked around and saw they stood at the top of an amphitheatre, a half circle of descending steps hewn from the rock, and below a platform around which the layered steps were placed, with the sea below a backdrop of exceeding beauty.
‘You see,’ the High Priest called to them from where he stood in the centre of the platform, his voice echoing loudly from the solid rock all around, which made up the walls and even above them, a roof. ‘You see what beauty there is here. Come down and find your place, and humble yourselves before the mighty Ungarit for he is with us here and will be pleased with what we offer this day.’
‘He is quite mad...’ Gravyn growled, ‘give me my bow and a single arrow...’
‘...And evil, through and through,’ Sylvion added with a hiss. ‘He has lost all sense of what is right.’ They had no further opportunity to stand and look but were escorted roughly some distance down and given seats to one side. It now became clear that in the centre of the platform reaching out above the sea was a stone slab no wider than a single large pace, and perhaps ten times that in length. As they stood in their designated places they all knew that it was from there that the sacrifice would be made, and each found a cold shiver pass through them at such a coinciding of beauty and evil. Suddenly a trumpet sounded and a small crowd of people entered from where they had done so a moment before. Turning they saw it was made up of half-men in a strange attire of long and hooded robes which partly obscured their persons. They made their way quietly down and took up seats in front of the four prisoners who realised that they were to be at the back and unable to interfere in any manner with what was to come to pass. When all were seated and silent the Lord high Priest stood before them and spoke.
‘Once more we make offering to our Lord Ungarit.’ The crowd then murmured affirmatively, and it was clear it was a common ritual. ‘We have offered continual sacrifice in this place in obedience to Lord Ungarit. We have done so every full moon since the great sinking of the land. We will continue to do so knowing that it has been revealed to us that by our regular sacrifice the land is restored to us, and it is our due that we should do so.’ Once more the crowd murmured on cue.
This is madness thought Rema. Surely this cannot have been going on so long. How many lives have been stolen here... and he was not alone for the others also were in great shock at the proceedings.
‘We give thanks that once more we have the provision of more sacred ones.’ At this the crowd in the robes gave a simple chant of thanks which once more deeply shocked Sylvion and her companions. Then the High Priest continued. ‘By the mercy of Ungarit our sacrifice will continue and on the great anniversary of the summer solstice, with the provision of the new sacred ones, we now have ready the appropriate sacrifice for that time. Furthermore we know our brethren in Svalbard will also sacrifice on that same day and so from east to west of the mighty forest, from this sacred city to Svalbard and for the ancient people of Ravalin, the sacred remnant of those who first settled here, we are able to honour Ungarit our lord as he would wish.’ At this a mighty roar went up from the small assembly. When it quieted the High Priest turned to an aid whom Sylvion guessed was Treacher.
‘Bring the sacrifice for this day. We are blessed that we are able to keep faith with the seven day cycle. Blessed be the name of Ungarit.’
‘Blessed be his name!’ the assembly chanted several times not quite in unison.
And then they saw poor Lars appear. He was dressed in a thin purple robe which was no more than a nightshirt. He stumbled between two assistants who had to half carry him, such was his distress. He was brought to the centre of the platform where the high Priest embraced him most ostentatiously.
‘Welcome sacred one,’ he cried in voice suddenly somewhat more excited and higher in tone. ‘I now offer you to Ungarit. Your blood, shed this day will honour him and protect the land. Please know that you do not die in vain, indeed you earn our honour and our respect, for through your death we shall live, and the lands remain safe.’
‘You are animals,’ Reigin cried bravely, but he found his breath was stolen from him, such was his emotion, and none heard his cry.
‘I call upon Ungarit,’ the High Priest continued. He stood now before the beauty of the sea, both hands held high and extended. ‘I call upon you Lord to witness out faithfulness this day. Let us know of your presence here with us. I call upon you Lord.’
And the assembly took up the chant and suddenly a great horror swept the four prisoners for the world began to change, the colour of the day became a yellow, and the sea suddenly receded and altered in appearance. Where once it had been invitingly blue, now it became a foul green and black, and by some sorcery it now appeared to be far below. Suddenly a rushing wind whistled fiercely through the amphitheatre, such that it became hard to hear, but the high Priest continued his chanting and invoking of the great Lord Ungarit. In horror they watched as Lars was led out onto the platform now seemingly far above the water. The High Priest turned him towards the awful horizon and with a sudden movement a blade appeared from beneath his robe and they gasped as the poor man’s throat was cut in as single act; then as he collapsed, the High Priest threw him bodily into the abyss where far below the water swirled and churned and all was now an evil yellow hue. Even from where they stood they seemed able to see his body fall, turning over and over becoming ever smaller until it vanished from sight.
The High Priest turned back to the assembly and raised his hands once more.
‘It is done,’ he cried triumphantly.
�
�It is done,’ the assembly repeated ecstatically.
‘We honour Ungarit,’ the high Priest chanted.
‘We honour Ungarit,’ the assembly responded.
‘Praise him!’
‘We praise him!’
Sylvion, Reigin, Rema and Gravyn were repulsed by what they saw, and such was their reaction to it that none found themselves able to break from the awful spell it seemed to have cast upon them, but deep within they burned with anger.
And then as the evil worship of Ungarit began to calm, and the strange world around them began to return to some normality Sylvion felt a hand behind her. She turned in surprise and saw a half-man, in full hooded robe slice through her bonds with a long dagger. In an instant she was released and the half-man looked up at her from beneath his hood.
‘My Lady,’ the man said softly. ‘Your Blade!’ And then he handed it to her, and she understood.
Orcxyl.
In a single moment of infinitesimal time, before he was able to do anything further, the Great Hunter looked deep into Sylvion’s eyes and saw the moment of her change. He saw her anger and the depth of it. He saw it firm upon her visage with the sudden realisation that now she was free to fight... He even caught the moment when the dagger became the Shadow Blade, full length and deadly and from it poured the purest light... and then he felt time slow and could not completely follow what came to pass. And so Sylvion, the White Queen of Revelyn took her awful revenge.
She felt her anger channel into the Shadow Blade. She swung it high and instantly the light it gave forth thundered like a lightning strike and twice as loud. The rock about them all shook and in places cracked and in places debris fell from high up. All froze who looked upon Sylvion and the Shadow Blade and that meant all before her, friend and foe, but Sylvion knew her foe and was confirmed in an instant that they would die.
All of them would die.
The great High Priest turned slowly to face this new and unknown force which dared to intrude upon his sacred service, but his mind was sluggish and was unable to command his body...