Destiny of the Light: Shadow Through Time 1

by Louise Cusack

  I’m terrified, Khatrene’s eyes said.

  I will help you, Lae’s replied.

  Mihale slowly withdrew his sword and pointed it at Djahr’s chest. Khatrene’s breath caught in her throat. ‘You will not take her from me,’ he said coldly, and for the first time Khatrene saw Mihale as a king. Not simply her brother dressed in fancy clothes, but the man who ruled Ennae. A king who would protect his sister. She was so grateful to have him back she would have cried, if she hadn’t been so terrified of losing him.

  Laroque moved to his King’s side while Bhoo stood a distance away, observing.

  Standing beside Djahr, Mooraz was silently watchful and Khatrene was relieved that his sword was still in its sheath. She’d seen Mooraz in action, a deadly blur of steel, and didn’t want to imagine her brother’s chances against him. Although surely none would dare harm Mihale in his own encampment.

  ‘My sister remains at my side,’ Mihale said. ‘Take your force and withdraw, Be’uccdha, before you anger us.’

  ‘I do not leave without my child,’ Djahr replied, his dutiful veneer fading. ‘If you would keep her I shall cut it from her belly. Your Guardian can see to her survival.’

  If Khatrene hadn’t been sitting, she would have fallen. Dizziness buzzed in her ears before it was taken from her by the child, but the numbness of emotional overload remained. Djahr could do it. He could cut her open and take out her child, dismissing the blood and her screams of pain. Delighting in it probably.

  She looked at him then and noticed the Shadow Woman lurking behind him. Hatred grew hot inside her. He would not have her child to raise amid perversion and evil.

  She pushed herself awkwardly to her feet. ‘Do you think I’d give my child to the man who murdered my mother? The man who gave her a slow poison so she’d die by agonising degrees?’

  Mihale’s sword wavered and dropped as he turned to face his sister. He couldn’t seem to speak, but simply looked at her with dazed horror large in his eyes.

  Laroque asked for both of them, ‘Do you truly mean this, My Lady? Djahr of Be’uccdha poisoned the Queen?’

  ‘And bragged about it.’ Khatrene was trembling, whether from anger or delayed shock, she wasn’t sure. ‘My mother had the sense to reject his advances. She wouldn’t join with him and so he killed her. Slowly.’

  Djahr’s expression did not change. ‘Lies will not sully my claim. The child is mine.’

  Mihale turned his sword hack to Djahr and said, ‘My sister does not lie.’

  ‘And I do?’ Djahr stood calmly with his hands at his sides and Khatrene wondered why he seemed so unafraid.

  Tense silence settled inside the tent. The Shadow Woman drifted towards the relative safety of where Bhoo stood. At a gesture from Djahr, Lae moved away from him also, managing to position herself closer to Khatrene who didn’t have a clue what Djahr hoped to achieve. He couldn’t take her without Mihale’s permission and he certainly couldn’t hurt her brother and have any hope of escaping.

  Yet in the middle of the tent, Djahr and Mooraz stood poised, for what? Opposite them, her brother trembled with anger, his sword only inches away from Djahr’s chest, an aging Battle Captain his only shield. A surreal atmosphere of threat pervaded, yet Khatrene felt no premonition of danger. Her brother was the King.

  ‘If I discover you have done ill to my mother,’ Mihale said slowly, his sword tip drifting closer to Djahr’s chest, ‘you will forfeit your life for the misdeed.’

  ‘These were also your father’s last words.’ Djahr’s hand moved slowly towards his waist.

  ‘I knew it,’ Khatrene cried, her hands bunching into impotent fists. ‘You started the war. You blamed it on Roeg.’

  Djahr smiled, said to Mihale, ‘If you would take my life for such a trifling misdeed, then I have little to lose and all to gain by taking that which is mine,’ and on the final word he withdrew a short blade from his robe and feigned striking her brother, then stepped back out of Mihale’s reach, his gaze fixing on Khatrene, judging the distance between them.

  Mihale followed Djahr with his sword, yet before it could strike, Mooraz had his own unsheathed and was smashing away Mihale’s thrust, so quickly Khatrene’s eye could barely register the movement. Laroque, slower to arm than his opponents, had barely withdrawn his sword and turned it on Mooraz when it was knocked away, and the fine Be’uccdha steel of Mooraz’s blade drove into the old Guardian’s chest.

  ‘No!’ Khatrene screamed as Lae reached her, but it was too late. Laroque was falling at his King’s feet, the heavy form losing all dignity as it thudded to the ground, precious Guardian blood spilling carelessly onto the royal carpets. Then she screamed again as Mihale turned his sword on Mooraz.

  ‘Mooraz,’ Lae whispered, clutching Khatrene’s hand, watching in horror as her father’s Guard Captain raised troubled eyes and his bloodied sword to counter Mihale’s attack. Yet before there was a clash of steel, before Khatrene could cry out a warning, well before her brother could react, Djahr had buried his short blade in Mihale’s ribs and twisted his wrist.

  Her brother jerked, made a sound so horrible she knew it would live in her nightmares for the rest of her life, and then his sword fell from his hand. Lae screamed over and over and Mooraz dropped his own sword to stand staring at his King. Djahr withdrew the dripping blade, touching it briefly to his hand to admire the bright crimson blood, so different to their own, then flicked it carelessly aside. ‘The Balance is restored,’ he said and smiled.

  Khatrene could say nothing, could do nothing but watch her beautiful, beautiful brother crumple to the ground beside the body of Laroque.

  Uncaring of her own safety now, she moved to his side, her steps jerky. Someone helped her. Lae? Then she was sitting beside him, her hands touching his face, turning it towards her. His eyes were open and the pain and surprise she could see in them was so wrenching she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

  From within her the child made a sound, a hollow mournful cry that came from her opened mouth but was not her own, despite the fact that it echoed her own loss completely. Khatrene barely heard it, yet it silenced those who watched her grief.

  All Khatrene could see, all she could feel was the life ebbing out of her brother. Finally she found her own voice. ‘You can’t die,’ she said to him, tucking his hair carefully behind his ear. ‘You’re the King.’ Yet his glazed eyes continued to stare through her, his lips trembling.

  His body jerked and blood foamed on his lips. Khatrene wiped it away with the hem of her skirt, found his limp hand and held it. She couldn’t stop shaking her head in disbelief, staring at her brother whose vulnerable eyes were still widely open. His lips had stopped trembling and the twitching of his limbs had stilled, yet she knew he wasn’t dead. He was the King. The King couldn’t die.

  ‘He’s not dead,’ she said aloud and looked up at Djahr, to defy his right to claim another victim in her family.

  ‘Yes he is,’ Djahr said deliberately, ‘and now you will die at his side.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Kai of the Northmen stood again with the leaders of the ten clans at the monolith his people had constructed, this time dressed for battle. Their ceremonial robes had been exchanged for breast-plates and their staffs for spears. Many weeks had passed since their war council had decided to wait for a sign from Kraal, and this day the sign had come. From the mouth of the carapace smoke had emerged, and soon after, the sound of rumbling. Kraal, the Serpent God was awakening and sooner than Kai had hoped, he would lead his clan to war against the Southmen.

  ‘Men of t
he ten clans,’ the Stone Clan leader shouted, ‘Kraal urges us to war.’

  ‘War!’ Kai shouted and raised a fist. The others followed his example.

  KRAAAALLLLLL came an echoing roar from within the stone well they had constructed.

  The Northmen fell silent and dropped to their knees.

  ONE WHITE DIES, BUT ONE REMAINS, came the echoing roar from beneath the ground. KILL THE ONE.

  ‘Kill the one,’ Kai said softly, and soon his voice was joined by many others.

  ‘Kill the one. Kill the one.’ The murmur rose to a battle cry as more smoke emerged from the carapace.

  WHEN ALL ARE GONE I WILL APPEAR, the voice told them.

  Kai surged to his feet. ‘Kill the one!’ he shouted and raised his banner. Behind him the Side Clan swelled forward, all with one side shaved to show their allegiance. ‘Kill the one,’ they bellowed and when Kai broke and ran down the hill they ran with him waving their swords and shields, screaming, ‘Kraal. Kraal. Kraal.’

  At the front of the first clan out, Kai ate the wind as he led his men to battle. Many would die, but so long as The White was killed, Kraal would come.

  Any sacrifice was worthy of that outcome.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Djahr turned to Mooraz and held out his hand. ‘Your dagger, Mooraz.’

  Lae crouched beside Khatrene and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Do not think you can harm her, Father,’ she said, fear mixed with defiance in her voice. ‘I will protect her with my own life.’

  ‘Do not tempt my anger,’ Djahr said to his daughter. ‘I will soon have a son —’

  ‘Which is as well,’ Lae replied, ‘for I am no longer your daughter.’

  ‘Indeed, this is true.’ Djahr took the dagger out of Mooraz’s hand, ‘For today I give you to Sh’hale.’

  Lae shook her head, her eyes on the glittering blade. ‘I am not yours to give,’ she said.

  Her father’s jaw tightened. ‘Stand aside,’ he commanded and Khatrene felt the chill of cold dread run down her spine. That voice had death in it. Hers and Lae’s.

  It was time to do something. But what? How?

  ‘He’s been lying to you both,’ she blurted. Lae and Mooraz turned to look at her. ‘He uses The Balance as an excuse to kill people.’

  ‘Enough!’ Djahr snatched Lae’s arm and wrenched her away from Khatrene, shoving her towards Mooraz who broke her fall. ‘I will cut the child —’

  ‘No!’ Lae shouted and struggled against Mooraz who held her fast.

  Khatrene tried to scramble backwards but lost her footing and fell heavily on her backside. Breath puffed out of her mouth and inside herself she felt a sharp wrenching sensation, like something being torn loose and cast adrift.

  Djahr stepped over the body of her brother and leant forward with the dagger in the same moment as her puff of breath coagulated into a fluorescent-white ball. Khatrene knew that glow. It was the child’s.

  ‘My baby will protect me,’ she said, and wriggled further back while Djahr’s attention was distracted. The interior of the tent was well lit now by the glow and Khatrene assessed the distance to the door before glancing back at Djahr.

  He eyed the ball curiously, his tattoo illuminated sharply by its fierce light. ‘My son?’ he said, and raised his dagger to prod at the ball. Beyond him Lae had become still at the appearance of the light, but Mooraz, who held her tightly against him, was reaching down to retrieve his sword.

  Which remained where it was.

  The moment Djahr’s dagger point contacted the ball, a soundless sea of multicoloured light pulsed outwards from it like watery horizontal fireworks and both men dropped to the ground simultaneously, Mooraz dragging Lae with him. In the seconds that followed, complete silence settled over the camp, broken only by the sound of Lae grunting as she pushed out of Mooraz’s limp grasp. ‘We are saved,’ she said to Khatrene, yet before she came to her side Lae hesitantly lowered her ear to Mooraz’s wide chest, resting it on the dark plaited-fibre vest he wore in battle. A moment later she straightened. ‘He is asleep,’ she said, noticeable relief in her voice. Then, without even a glance at her father she scrambled to Khatrene’s side. ‘We must leave before they wake,’ she said.

  From the gloomy corner of the tent, Bhoo and the Shadow Woman emerged and Khatrene stiffened in surprise, wondering what new threat they posed.

  Lae’s hand tightened on her shoulder. ‘You are the wraith attached to my father’s aura,’ she said to the Shadow Woman. ‘You darken his soul.’

  The Shadow Woman stopped before the body of their dead King, Bhoo at her side. She raised her placid glance to Lae. ‘I have taken his powers of discernment and in return he has taken my counsel,’ she said. ‘Among other things,’ and here her body rippled in a slow undulating wave no mortal could perform.

  Khatrene looked away.

  ‘Are you a minion of Kraal, sent from Haddash to corrupt my father?’ Lae asked.

  ‘I serve a God,’ the Shadow Woman replied, then she glanced at Bhoo. ‘The most powerful God.’

  Khatrene was looking at Bhoo now. ‘And for The Balance to be maintained,’ she said, drawing on the world picture her child had shown her when she’d first joined with Talis, ‘the Great Guardian would have to send a minion as well. To guide my brother?’

  ‘But not to interfere.’ Bhoo smiled his ugly smile then he gestured at Mihale’s body. ‘What has been taken may be returned,’ he said. Both minions looked sadly at Mihale’s body.

  Khatrene frowned. ‘His life?’ she asked warily. ‘Do you mean his life can be returned?’

  ‘And you may save your own.’’ The Shadow Woman’s voice sounded faint and Khatrene realised they’d both begun to fade.

  ‘Tell me what to do to save Mihale?’

  ‘The Ceremony of Atheyre,’ Bhoo said. ‘You must take your brother’

  Khatrene shook her head. ‘How will I get him there? I’ll need help.’

  Bhoo and the Shadow Woman drifted together and became one entity, a shifting, ghostly form, paling almost to invisibility. ‘Trust in the destiny which has brought you this far,’ they said, two voices twining into one. ‘Trust the child.’

  ‘But…’ Too late. They were gone.

  ‘Were they minions of the Gods?’ Lae asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Khatrene said, and glanced back at her brother. ‘But I do know that I was dead on one world and came back to life on another. Maybe Mihale can too. ‘We’re taking him with us.’ She grabbed Lae’s offered arm and pulled herself up. ‘To the Ceremony of Atheyre.’ The baby purred within her as though to confirm her decision.

  ‘Khatter, that is madness.’ Still, Lae followed her to Mihale’s side.

  ‘How much time do we have until the ceremony begins?’

  Lae shook her head. ‘Dawn tomorrow, but there will be no ceremony. If my father finds us again he will rather steal your child than perform the rites of his office.’

  ‘We don’t need him,’ Khatrene said. ‘We’ll do it ourselves.’ She tapped Lae’s arm. ‘Help me pick Mihale up.’

  ‘He is too heavy and you are big with child,’ Lae protested. ‘My arms cannot carry him.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to drag him.’ Khatrene wiped her sweaty palms on her dress and leant down. ‘Take his other arm.’

  ‘Khatter, I —’
>
  ‘Do it.’ Khatrene grabbed her brother’s limp hand and glared at Lae.

  The girl picked up his other hand and together they dragged him around the body of Laroque and out the door flap. Once outside, Khatrene’s aura spread into the misty glade. Her mind was clearer now. She had a goal. Get her brother to the Royal Shrine by morning.

  ‘Do you need any company?’ said a voice from behind them.

  Both women turned and Lae gasped in shock.

  Noorinya stood with a dripping knife in hand. Her eyes shone with the unnatural light of battle-madness Khatrene had seen all too often.

  ‘The Daughter of the Dark is your ally now?’ She nodded at Lae.

  ‘She is also my friend,’ Khatrene said, to be sure Noorinya wouldn’t take matters into her own hands. ‘Are there guardsmen awake out there?’ she asked, glancing at the blood on Noorinya’s torn clothing before scanning the silent camp.

  The Plainswoman shrugged. ‘I killed them as they slept,’ she admitted. ‘They did not deserve an honourable death.’ She pointed her blade at Mihale. ‘Is your brother dead?’

  Khatrene swallowed her grief. ‘Not for long,’ she replied. ‘We’re taking him to the Royal Shrine.’

  ‘Is your Guardian also dead?’ Noorinya asked.

  Khatrene hadn’t let herself think about Talis or Pagan, except to pray that they were still alive. ‘All I know is that I have to get Mihale to the Royal Shrine,’ she said, and again this statement was accompanied by purring from her child.

  ‘Breehan and the children are not here.’ Noorinya’s flat statement carried no emotion but Khatrene could imagine the desperation that had forced the Plainswoman to enter her brother’s camp searching.