About Daughter of the Dark: Shadow Through Time 2
The child of The Light, Glimmer, is taken from her mother’s arms and forced into exile on Magoria, the Waterworld. Her only connection with her native land is Pagan, her Champion and Guardian, who must use his wits and powers to protect Glimmer from detection and hide the evidence of her true destiny.
Meanwhile on Atheyre (the Airworld), Princess Khatrene and her lover Talis watch on helplessly, unable to protect Glimmer from the dangerous and bloody power play that is taking place. Kraal, the evil God of Haddash, and Djahr, the Lord of the Dark, are plotting the violent death of baby Glimmer so that they can gain total control of the four elemental worlds.
But the universe is rebelling. Ever so slowly the Maelstrom is building momentum, threatening to obliterate the four worlds and all who inhabit them. Glimmer must return to the land of her birth and fight the fiercest battle of her young life to right the terrible wrongs of the past, defeat the enemies who threaten to destroy her and restore peace.
Once again, Louise Cusack weaves an intricate web of intrigue, magic, erotica and horror to create a tale of pure fantasy.
Contents
About Daughter of the Dark: Shadow Through Time 2
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Glimmer in the Maelstrom
Destiny of the Light
About Louise Cusack
Copyright
For Ally
my beautiul muse
THERE WILL COME AMONG YOU ONE WHO IS OUTSIDE OF TIME, AND YET ALSO OF TIME. ONE WHO IS MANY. ONE WHO ENCOMPASSES ALL. THIS ONE IS THE CATALYST, THE ONLY SAVIOUR OF THE FOUR WORLDS, A SHADOW THROUGH TIME.
Prophecy of The Catalyst from the oral histories of The Four Worlds
PROLOGUE
Breehan, Storyteller of the Plainsmen, settled himself with his back to the hearth in the largest of the hollow chambers, all of which were adorned with the lurid images of men locked with plants in love’s embrace. It was their second night in this strange sanctum which his ragged tribe of children and babies had found while fleeing the persecution of The Dark. On the morrow they would continue their journey back to the Plains where they would discover whether the adults of their race had survived, and though Breehan knew he should be concerned for all of his tribe, his beloved Noorinya was foremost in his mind.
For now they must rest but Breehan’s mind would not quieten for slumber. The eldest boy in his care, Hanjeel, had disappeared the previous night and though Breehan had searched the surrounding woods all day, he had found no sign of a struggle. Hanjeel had been suffering the soul-emptiness of grief and Breehan feared he had simply walked off, abandoning his own baby brother in his desire for oblivion.
‘What story tonight?’ one of the children asked from the rough stone floor where he and his companions lay on bundles of leaves and cut grasses. Two young sentries were posted at the outer arched doorways. An eerie howling wind battered the trees outside.
‘Storyteller’s choice,’ Breehan’s young nephew Raggat called out, and was approved of by yelps from the remainder. He puffed out his five-year-old chest, ribs showing through the thick layer of Plainsman skin. His hair in its Plainsman tail was a matted ball. Raggat’s mother, if she lived, would beat the boy for his boldness, but it was a trait their leader Noorinya had approved of.
Noorinya … Breehan closed his eyes on an instinctive pang of grief he knew was premature. She might yet live, and his child who grew within her. How he longed to return her leader’s talisman, the memory stone which now hung at his throat, gifted to him when he had fled with the children. He touched it and drew comfort from its presence, not only for its warding and portent abilities, but for the fact that Noorinya had entrusted it to him. She knew he would live to protect the children, the future of their tribe, and thus the stone would be safe.
Breehan wished he could be as confident of her survival, but he knew his love. She would be to the fore of every fight, risking her life to protect her tribe, to wreak vengeance on the one they hated above all others.
Djahr of Be’uccdha who was called The Dark.
‘Storyteller!’ Raggat demanded and Breehan frowned.
‘Be still,’ he said and the child lay back and closed his eyes, knowing he had gone too far. ‘Let me think.’ Breehan turned to the hearth and threw on more funguswood, struggling to block pain from his heart. He laid a hand on the pale firestone set into the wall above the hearth and pulled back, snatching a spark which he flicked onto the smouldering wood. It burst into flame.
How long had that firestone been set in the hearth frame?
Before the time of the Plainsmen, pale-skinned, white-haired Ancients had built castles at each of the four compass points, and these temples and shrines in between. For thousands of years their structures had withstood the winds of time, and their firestones, which would have been quarried from the Echo Mountains where Plainsmen still quarried firestones, continued to produce sparks. Remarkable foresight. Little wonder their descendants were the rulers of Ennae.
Yet Breehan’s race, the Plainsmen, were no lesser a people for being nomadic. Their strength was not in stone but in their minds and their souls. They were proud and fearless, and would remain so until the last. The Dark may kill them, but he would not defeat them.
With this thought in mind, Breehan turned back to his small charges and looked at their grimed faces, their dark hair and slanted eyes, so different from Khatrene, the royal descendant of the Ancients who had hidden among them so recently. He knew then whose tale he would tell.
‘I will speak to you of the near-past, of The Light of
Ennae who was known to us as Khatrene,’ he said, and settled himself beside the hearth, waiting until the children had laid back down and closed their eyes, snuggling the babies between them. Their ready compliance did not deceive Breehan, however, as he knew there would be many who would struggle to stay awake to hear all of his tale, Raggat among them.
‘Not long ago in the near-past, in the year of the two storms,’ Breehan began, ‘there were twins born to royalty, both descendants of the Ancients, with white hair and pale skin, eyes the colour of magic.’
‘At the east castle,’ Raggat said, his eyes closed.
Breehan waited to be sure the children would remain still before he continued. ‘Yes, at the royal Volcastle. The one built over the smoking mountain top.’ No one commented on this so Breehan went on. ‘These twins, boy and girl, grew to see ten seasons of the sun before war came from the north and tore apart our lands.’
A murmur rose from the floor. It had been six years since that war, but some of the older ones remembered retreating to the Echo Mountain’s caves to wait while those races loyal to the throne of Ennae battled the invading Northmen. Breehan had caught sight of the invaders only once — copper-skinned and with small bead-eyes, trailing their tortured captives behind them on long rope lines. None of the captives bore the dark skin of Be’uccdha, and so close to the south castle, that was inexplicable. Even then Breehan had suspected that The Dark had made a pact with the invading Northmen.
‘Go on,’ a voice whispered.
‘Very well. The White Twin’s Champion at that time —’
‘Talis!’ Raggat called out.
Breehan was silent for many heartbeats to show his displeasure. Raggat’s eyes remained closed but his little mouth curved downwards, trembling between a pout and sadness.
‘Talis, who hid among us recently,’ Breehan went on, ‘was at that time the very age of our missing kin Hanjeel. Seventeen passes. And though Talis lost his father and his king in the war, he forced sorrow from his mind, the better to wield his Guardian magic, the power which lives in his blood. The Dark commanded Talis — and remember that at this time The Dark, who we hate above all others, was the trusted spiritual leader of those allied to the throne — he commanded Talis to use his magic to open the Sacred Pool which joins our Earthworld of Ennae to the Waterworld of Magoria.’
Breehan expected a sound of awe but the children were unnaturally silent. Had his mention of Talis’s grief set them thinking of their own parents, wondering whether they would soon be forced to grieve themselves?
Quickly he went on to distract them, ‘The little princess Khatrene and her white twin brother Mihale stepped through the Sacred Pool with their mother, the Queen, and all went through to Magoria where they remained for many moons.’
‘Tell us about Magoria,’ a respectful voice begged. Not Raggat.
He glanced across the small bodies but all eyes were closed. There would clearly be no shortening of the tale while these sharp ears listened. ‘The lore of the Ancients tells it as a brightly hued land,’ Breehan said. ‘Not like our world of earth tones. Magoria’s colours are a riot in the mind, with grass the colour of royal eyes and sky the colour of the Sacred Pool itself, with many other strange hues besides. The colours you saw in the aura that surrounded Khatrene, the reason she is called The Light, can be seen in the sky of Magoria after rain.’
‘Rain …’ several voices whispered and Breehan felt their awe. He had only felt rain twice himself and had been frightened by it. Those who remained on the Plains would never feel it, and even in the forests it was a rarity, for Ennae’s moisture lived in its thick air. Yet in Magoria the air was thin, as was their water. How strange it must have been for the little princess and her brother.
Whispers began on the floor and Breehan struggled to regain his place in the story. ‘Yet in the religion of the Ancients, Magoria is said to be illusion —’
‘Not true!’ the children chorused, Raggat’s voice loudest among them.
It seemed that apart from the babies they were all still awake. Breehan had to smile at their enthusiasm. Tomorrow night, after a day’s marching, they would not last so long before sleep claimed them. ‘Indeed,’ Breehan said, ‘Khatrene told me herself that it was no illusion, that the quick food she ate there —’
‘Fast food,’ Raggat corrected, eyes still closed.
The fast food she ate there tasted as real as our own and by comparison our world was the shadow.’
‘I am not a shadow,’ Raggat declared, sitting up with a frown, which he did every time Breehan told the story.
They stared at each other for a moment before Raggat lay back down, smoothing the hair from his baby brother’s forehead before closing his eyes. ‘The royals of Ennae,’ Breehan continued, ‘lived in Magoria with its strange otherworld hues for five years while only one year passed for us. In that time the Northmen were routed and peace returned to our lands. Our people returned to the Plains, the outcast Raiders returned to their caves in the forestland and those loyal to the throne returned to their castles; Verdan to the north, Sh’hale to the west, Be’uccdha,’ he spat the hated word, ‘to the south, and in the east at the Volcastle they awaited the return of their young king Mihale, who did come back through the Sacred Pool, but alone. And he was two years older again before his sister could be returned. Thus she was —’
‘Near five-and-twenty years and he but sixteen. Yet twins,’ Raggat recited in awe, his eyes still closed.
Breehan looked upon him afresh. Would Raggat be the next Storyteller of their tribe? Despite his lack of discipline, the boy showed promise. ‘Just so,’ Breehan admitted, ‘and before the White Princess Khatrene could be delivered to her brother, she and her Champion Talis were captured on the Plains.’
‘By Plainsmen!’ four voices chorused triumphantly.
Breehan smiled. He had invited that. ‘Though they were soon rescued by the king’s men. Still, Talis would remember Noorinya’s offer to join us, and later, after Khatrene had been recognised as The Light, the one their prophecy foretold would bear a child to join the Four Worlds, and she had been tricked into marrying The Dark —’ A low hissing issued from the children which Breehan approved of completely — ‘then did the new bride discover the nature of her husband’s evil, and then did her Champion liberate her from Castle Be’uccdha and bring her to our tribe, knowing that the Plainsmen were their only hope in protecting the child.’
Satisfied smiles lit the faces of those still awake.
‘We hid her from The Dark while her child grew within her, because the old women’s Telling had said that we must, and even a leader obeys the Telling.’ This was important lore for the children to absorb. Though they lusted after adventure and battle now, they must learn that action waits on wisdom, and that the old women’s ways were to be respected.
‘Thus did The Light travel in our company, heavily cloaked to hide her aura, bickering with Noorinya who she eventually befriended …’ Breehan smiled to remember how Khatrene had won the respect of his hot-tempered beloved, ‘across the Plains and into the mountains with the Be’uccdha Guard never far from our trail. Khatrene grew heavy with The Dark’s child, The Catalyst who would join the Four Worlds, and though Khatrene longed to be reunited with her young brother the king, to warn him of The Dark’s duplicity, she doubted that Mihale would believe ill of The Dark who had always shown a pious face to hide his treachery. Even the White Twins’ own parents had died at his stealthy hand, so great was his desire to steal the throne.’
More hissing came at this, and Breehan waited until they had stilled before he began the next section of his tale. ‘Yet through all this grief, the patient and steadfast love of her Champion Talis shone like a warm sun on Khatrene’s frightened heart.’
Raggat, despite his mischievous nature, smiled wistfully at this.
‘And so those whom station had kept apart were soon joined in love, and while they lived with us and The Catalyst grew to term, Talis and Khatrene were bedma
tes and soulmates, never to be parted by the desires of another.’
A soft sigh came from the floor and Breehan felt heartened. The bloodthirsty play of his little charges could not entirely disguise their gentle souls.
‘Then came the final battle,’ Breehan said softly, growing tired himself now as the shadows on the pale stone walls grew deep and the fire dimmed. ‘The Be’uccdha Guard encircled our camp and The Light and her Champion, together with his cousin Pagan fled with our small tribe of children, while our adults remained to secure our escape.’ There was a moment of silence before Breehan added. ‘After leaving The Light and her party near the forest called the Elder Stand we have ventured far to flee our enemies. We have lost Hanjeel but we will lose no more, and soon we will be reunited with our kin on the Plains and our grief will be as dust on the wind, blown from our hearts.’
No sounds of agreement rose from the floor and Breehan knew then that his charges all slumbered. It was time he found his own rest, yet even as he lay down beside the cooling hearth, his grief for Noorinya returned like a dull ache in his chest. ‘I will return the talisman,’ he whispered. But no relief came, and as he lay on the unfamiliar stone floor listening to the wind moan through hollow chambers, Breehan felt as though the sound was an echo of his destiny, howling a future he would never have the courage to face.
CHAPTER ONE
Pagan of the House of Guardians struggled upwards through layers of pain. His shoulder was throbbing and his mind was befuddled. He couldn’t think. What was wrong with him? He had taken worse wounds in battle and not lapsed into this numbing half-slumber.
Sluggish eyelids flickered as he fought the odd lethargy, then he heard a sound. The thin wailing of a babe. A babe! The child of The Light, the one prophecy had foretold would be born with the power to join the Four Worlds. As the child’s newly appointed Champion, Pagan had left his own world and all that he’d known to bring the babe through the Sacred Pool into the illusion world of Magoria where they would be safe from their enemies. And they had arrived. Before he had passed out. Pagan had seen the strange Earthworld hue of the sky, like the swirling of the Sacred Pool, trees as vibrant as the royal colour of The Light’s own eyes. For a warrior who had lived all his life on the brown earth world of Ennae, the wondrous colours of this world were remarkable indeed.
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