The rain fell harder and the river raged higher as if trying to wash the evil from its grasp, plowing and splashing against their refuge with terrific force. Conner’s clawing hands snagged one side of the book, sending them into a strange tug-of-war at the edge of the falls. Lightening flashed around them when suddenly the cover ripped, unbalancing Conner from his foothold on the rock, and for an instant sent him teetering backward. Reaching out his hand, Nathan hesitated for a moment before clutching the he-witch and pulling him to safety. Isha’s voice came to him on the wind, so he quickly looked around to find her. She stood on the far bank near the castle standing on shaking, but stable, legs. In the heat of battle, Nathan failed to notice that the crimson rain ceased when the book ripped apart. She repeatedly pointed to something upstream, but he couldn’t hear her voice over the rushing water. He almost didn’t notice, but Zan emerged from the river behind him with a dagger in his hand raised to strike. The alarm on Isha’s face was all the warning he needed, but it almost wasn’t enough as the seer’s clumsy dodge sent the knife racking across his shoulder and back, dropping him to the ground.
“Prophesy for me. What do you see now?” said Conner, kicking the seer in the ribs.
The force of the impact toppled Nathan off the rock, leaving him hanging over the falls by a horn of rock that jutted out from the falls itself. Nathan struggled to keep his grip on the slick rock as Zan and Conner gloated above him. Then, Zan’s foot came for his face to push him into oblivion.
“I’ll see you rotting in Hakkor,” came from a voice behind them.
Zan turned first, but only in time to catch a tree limb across his forehead, sending him backward into Conner. The slick rock gave them little help as they tangled together and slid into the water. Still clutching the book, he snagged the corner of the rock with his free hand, momentarily halting his descent. Then, he felt something pulling at his trailing robes from the falls. He turned to see Nathan gripping his cloak with his feet planted against the side of the rock and pulling with his remaining strength.
“You can’t save him,” Isha called over the roar.
“I know,” he returned. “I’ll see you later.”
With that, Nathan set his teeth, closed his eyes and heaved Conner free from the rock, sending them both into a free fall toward the blackness below. As he fell, Nathan felt something grab him and the sensation of arms wrapping around his body. He opened his eyes to see Isha’s face gazing back at him as if in a dream. She had launched herself from the rock above with agile skill to gain enough speed to reach him, to be with him. Wayward rays of light glittered off the falling droplets around them, painting a magical scene of whirling wonder. They wrapped their arms around each other as she pressed her head against his chest. He put his face close to her ear and whispered.
“You’re crazy.”
“I know,” she replied, gripping him tighter, “but I hate waiting.”
There was no fear or regret. And finally, no pain inside as the two closed their eyes and waited for the end.
Epilogue
“The End-Pages…”
Almost a year passed since the attack, and there were many burials, but only honorary ones for Damon, Blyke, Nathan and Conner who seemed to have vanished without a trace. There wasn’t much he could do since the villages were attacked as well and many people were missing. Search parties continued for weeks, but as the weeks turned into months, it seemed a useless exercise to continue the search. His official report to the bishop read that they were taken, or killed, by a barbarian raiding party. But for official reasons, he realized the truth might never be known. That is, until it happen. On that day, Abbot Ian took his customary walk by the River Pyr, which had surged higher on its banks than customary for this time of year. This in itself wasn’t unusual, but given that there were no signs of a cause, it made Abbot Ian uneasy. He wasn’t an overly superstitious man, but, being born and raised in the area, knew those green rocky hills held many mysteries that are best left unquestioned. However, as a man of the church, he didn’t completely hold to all the myths, but was wise enough to know that every myth has some truth. As he strolled near the banks of the Pyr, a white fluttering object floating in the water caught his eye. He applied extra caution since the waters of the Pyr flowed much faster than usual and as he approached the banks, his eye caught the outline of a piece of paper that caught itself on a fallen tree limb near the surface. As he drew near, he discovered not one but many pages captured in the same fashion underwater. Freeing the pages from their twig filled prison, he carefully examined them for any clues of their origin. His eyes met nothing but disappointment since their writing was completely washed away, but also noticed each page held an odd red hue. Tucking the empty documents in the folds of his cloak, Ian plodded back to the shore, trying not to let his spirits become as damp as his cloths, then, something caught on his foot almost tripping him in the process. Some part of the half-submerged limb snagged on his cloak beneath the surface. Ian tried pulling himself free, but whatever held him would not release without extra effort, and up till now he’d avoided dunking himself in the chilly water. He called for help for several minutes, but no reply came. Twisting his face with agitation, Ian took a deep breath and plunged below the surface. The shade above him kept the natural sunlight from aiding him in his quest, so he used his hands to feel around for the source of the problem. After a minute or so, he fingers came across several more pages that had stuck on the limb. These hindered his progress, so he pulled them free and tossed them on the shore with angry disgust. Finally, after two more plunges, his fingers found the branch that held him in place, so he pulled at it. The water-soaked tree branches proved harder to break than dry ones, so Ian had to put his back into the effort. Finally, he felt a jolt as his cloak broke free, but something else pulled loose and floated to the surface as well. Ian watched as a waking nightmare unfolded before his eyes, taking the shape of a body breaking the surface. Ian bellowed with shock, struggled to riverbank, and made his way back to the monastery with all speed. Upon his return, Ian examined the body to discover Abbott Conner. Oddly, he wore strange clothing the likes of which Ian had never seen. It’d been many years since he disappeared and it was assumed he died in the barbarian raid that destroyed the monastery more than a decade ago. And yet, he looked as though he’d just left yesterday. Where had he been all this time? All of this would be difficult to explain to the bishop.
Suddenly, there was a knock on his chamber door.
“Come in,” said Ian in an irritated tone.
He didn’t like mysteries and liked this one even less. The door opened and a monk entered, presenting a strange piece of parchment to Abbot Ian.
“Sorry for the interruption, Father, but I thought you should see this as soon as possible,” said the monk.
Ian eyed the paper with interest until something caught his eye that gave him a start.
“Where did you get this?” Ian asked.
“It was on Abbot Conner’s body. They found it while cleaning him for burial,” said the monk.
“What did the scribes make of it?” asked Ian.
“It’s a map, of course, but all the locations are written in an form of ancient Hebrew that is difficult to translate. Most of what they translated makes no sense,” said the monk.
“Makes no sense?” questioned Ian.
“The names aren’t on any map we have ever heard of,” said the monk. “But there is one name we recognize – Father Brendan’s.”
“What are you saying?” said Ian.
“I believe this map shows where Father Brendan went,” said the monk. “But there’s more, and I’d prefer for you to see it for yourself.”
They went directly to the monastery larder where Abbot Conner lay stretched upon a long wooden chopping table. In spite of the disrespectful location, which couldn’t be helped, his body was treated and cleaned with the utmost care, but something bothered him. The moment he carefully examined at the body, he understood w
hat concerned him. For some reason, they body showed no signs of decay whatsoever. The Conner’s color was red and fresh as though he simply slept. In addition, odd tattoos covered his body under his clothing written with symbols and in languages that no one could make sense of.
“It’s unnatural,” whispered the attending monks with fear on their breath. “What does this mean?”
“What would you have us do,” asked Ian’s assistant.
In all his years of service to the Church, he’d observed many strange and unusual things, but none of his prior experience prepared him for this. He thought hard for a long moment before answering their question.
“Burn the body,” said Ian with reluctance.
A look of shock came across the faces of everyone on the room.
“Burn him like a pagan? He should be buried in hallowed ground with full rites,” asked a monk. “Are you certain?”
“Burn the body I said, I’ll take responsibility,” said Ian as he exited the room.
Something in his gut told him it was the right thing to do even though only heathens, heretics and witches were burned. He’d heard that the pagans preferred this type of burial. But in the Church, only proper church burial guaranteed any chance at an afterlife in heaven. That night, Ian watched the funeral fire of fallen abbot from his window. It was true that he never liked the man. But why dwell on it? A cold wind blew off the North Sea, making it difficult to get the fire going, even with oil. The deceased abbot looked regal in his robes as though he could stand up and rule the world at any moment.
After the prayers, they took torches and set the flame. The blaze started very slowly as the flames lapped at the oil, then taking life and covering the wood. The priests murmured and fidgeted as they watched the fire spread because it appeared that neither of the body nor his clothing would burn. Ian noticed this himself as the swirling flames licked about the entire surface of his body, none of his flesh or vestments caught fire. Quickly, the monks retreated to the monastery to watch from a distance, forming the sign of the cross as they ran and calling on God for protection. But even as they left, Ian thought he saw someone on the far side of the blaze. Straining his eyes to see, Ian saw the figure of a man with flashes of curly red hair, and beside him stood a smaller female figure, but their features were hidden from view.
“Hey! You there!” he yelled.
The strange figure never looked up, but instead, threw something into the fire on top of the body. As soon as it touched, the corpse burst into flame so intense that Ian felt it from his window. He dashed out of his room and out onto the sward where the funeral fire burned with a powerful brilliance. Ian looked intently about the area until the other monks became concerned and brought him back into the dormitory. The only thing he found was a piece of paper similar to the ones found in the river near Conner’s body. But once again, there was no writing to be seen. That night, Ian had the piece of paper on his desk for study as the moonlight made its way to the page, revealing one simple phrase written in Latin, “Ecce Vates,” which means “Behold the Seer.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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The Last Refuge (The Tomewright Compendium Book 1) Page 33