Leiyatel's Embrace (Dica Series Book 1)

by Clive S. Johnson

  As it squeezed between arching defensive wall far below and buried buttressing mountain above, the ways ahead grew far fewer. Eventually, as the mountain overhung everything, the castle rose sheer and solid with but one road left to tread north across the Scarra Face - the Aerie Way.

  It clung to the barren and exposed rock face with a large viewing gallery opening out at its highest point. There could be enjoyed one of Dica’s most dramatic views, out from its lofty perch onto the Eyeswin Vale, a thousand feet below. The vale held the meandering Eyeswin and Suswin rivers, diverging from the south to the north and west, giving out from the marshlands of Wetwold. Further south, moorlands gently rose towards the distant purple summits of the Southern Hills that hemmed it all in. Of all its aspects, it was the one to the east that had once drawn the crowds and so sealed the gallery’s fame.

  There hung the promise of a desert mirage, beyond the Plain of the New Sun’s haze, where tricks of the light could mimic mountain or lake, sometimes city or forest, but all at the whim of the time of day and the season of the year. When Dica had thronged and been gay, when its people had had luxury of leisure and time, it had been a favourite spot, an anticipated jaunt, a day out to be remembered. Now, as Pettar strode into its empty, cavernous space, it evoked nothing more than sadness and desolation as it howled with the ghosts of revellers past.

  He’d arranged to meet Drax here, and the small body of priests he’d stayed behind to recruit, for it was from here that the Eastern Gate and its lands about could be seen. The gallery laid bare Uttagate and Cambray, both filling what little flat land lay between the castle’s mountain and its wall. Beyond the wall, running out from between the two districts, Eastern Walk marched on between the vales of Plenty and Eyeswin, and to that of the New Sun in the far distance.

  So, as soon as he’d arrived, Pettar’s first thought had been that very view. He’d raced to the gallery’s northern side and there stared down. He found the castle’s shadow darkened most of Cambray and some of Uttagate, but left the Eastern Gate and much of its wall stark against the bright, verdant spread beyond.

  His eyes were drawn to Eastern Walk, where it ran from the gate to the Eyeswin Bridge and on to its junction with the Lost Northern Way. There was nothing there that even remotely suggested an army, nothing at all. Even when his eyes roamed to the north and then westward, along the old road beyond the Great Wall, there was still nothing. As far as the Forest of Belforas, away to the north, there was nothing untoward, no new and threatening presence.

  He wondered how an army of some seven hundred would appear at such a great distance, but couldn’t even guess. Taking his time, he began methodically mapping out the land below. He stared for quite some time, looking for lesser tell-tales, until eventually spotting something fluttering on a distant, lone knoll.

  The movement had revealed something he’d never before noticed, a small, flat-topped mound standing midway between the Lost Northern Way and the forest. However much he strained his eyes, he couldn’t make out what it was that flickered there. Perhaps a banner or a flag, or maybe a tent flap or the like, but he really couldn’t say.

  When Pettar eventually turned back to the open gallery, with the cold wind cutting through, it made him wonder if he’d chosen well for their tryst. When he moved away from the window, however, and into a sheltered corner, he was relieved to find the air there both still and warm.

  He threw his bag down, and from it removed a hunk of unwrapped and therefore fluff covered cheese. Next out came some moderately fresh bread, then a bottle of clean stream water, and finally an adequate blanket. So, it wasn’t long before he started to feel quite at home, almost content as he watched the daylight slowly fail.

  Before long it was dark enough to warrant yet another look. When he peered at the knoll this time, he was certain he’d found the army. There, atop the fast vanishing knoll, two or three campfires had sprung up, a rare sight now, indeed, within the realm of Dica.

  ~o~

  Pettar’s sleep was invariably deep and untroubled, regardless of where he lay his head, but in that ghostly howling perch where it now rested, it remained shallow and fragile. Much of the time he dozed, fitfully, hearing all manner of contrived sounds in the cries of the wind. Sometimes he’d be jolted awake by the skitter of dislodged stone flakes, or the rustle of the old bracken that thronged the Aerie Way. At some point, though, in the depths of the night, he became aware of a regular noise being carried in on the wind.

  He opened his eyes, peered across the gallery and then realised the window openings were somewhat more distinct. They now stood out against the blackness of the walls, a watery grey light revealing thin skating clouds. He was just thinking how full the moon was when yet again that same sound came to his ears.

  He rose, letting his blanket fall from him, and felt his way through the blackness to the north facing windows. The castle now swept down in a tumble of silvery edges, gliding away to a pewter flatness as they reached out to its walls. There, the gate’s two arms pointed accusing fingers at twinkling lights on the distant knoll.

  The vale reclined in its grey slumber, billowing mist tracing the line of its river as the moon slanted down its rays from the south, only to be consumed by the distant inky black forest. Rising high above it all, the long range of the Gray Mountains lay iced in stark silver, the snow of its heads grinning back like shark’s teeth mocking Dica’s indifference.

  They drew Pettar’s eyes, those peaks, pulled there by childhood memories, by the innocent image of white haired giants, all squatting cross-legged and beckoning. As he remembered he slowly became aware of an absence, a missing head amongst their solemn ranks, a toothless disfigurement in the shark’s wide grin.

  The scraping noise came again, although this time not carried in on the whipping wind but direct and near. He cocked an ear and froze. The wind continued to whine and crow, but above it all, he distinctly heard muffled scuffs and scrapes. They seemed to be coming from the south, and seemingly from the Aerie Way.

  He rushed to the southern window, stubbing his toe on the way and stifling an oath, and peered out as he leant against its sill. The full moon hung above the Eyeswin Vale, its light slanting sharply off the road’s stones, broaching no shadow along its way. There, drawing near, a huddle of black silhouettes staggered towards him; close wrapped in cloaks, their wind-bowed heads leading feet that betrayed a tired end to an unaccustomed long march.

  Pettar grinned and waited, waited until they were near enough, and then called out softly, “Well met, Drax, well met and with pleasant surprise.”

  The figures stopped, abruptly, their heads casting about in alarm, but the foremost stared firmly towards him and hissed, “Pettar? Is that you?” Pettar’s laugh roared out against the wind, as he rose and beckoned them in.

  They were quickly in to the gallery, bringing bustle and noise, dropping heavy packs and satchels and staffs. Stumbling in the dark, they finally slumped down against the walls and sighed their relief. Even Drax seemed dogged and fraught, less stout and pompous, his voice revealing a tired discomfort.

  Pettar tarried awhile until they’d settled themselves in, and then quietly asked, “Why the late hour, Drax? Has something happened, something I should know about?”

  Drax laughed, wryly. “No, there’s nothing of note, no more cause for concern.” His voice, however, hinted at something unsaid.

  “Then why travel at this hour, Drax? It’s not at all safe!”

  There was then an uneasy silence finally broken by Drax. “Oh well. I suppose I can’t avoid the confession.” Pettar dearly wished he could have seen Drax’s face but his voice blushed well enough. “We’d made such good progress preparing our leave, and I remembered how bright the moon had been and how little cloud there was, and… Well. I thought we’d save time and arrive the sooner by its light.”

  Pettar couldn’t help but scoff. “Oh dear, little did I think of your inexperience abroad. It’s my own fault really. I should’ve thought, but I
value your good intent. At least you’re all safe now, and you’re certainly most welcome.”

  He turned to the unseen body of priests morosely disported about. “And to you all, whoever you turn out to be in the revealing light of day, I also give thanks for your safe arrival.” As he’d expected, the consideration fell on deaf ears with not a single reply forthcoming. In fact, one or two snores had already begun to fill the darkest corners.

  26 Leiyatel’s Embrace

  Falmeard found the prospect of their journey to Baradcar particularly disturbing. It brought back distressing memories of Nephril’s appalling state after their last visit, and when they’d only got as far as its rim. What would happen when they were to come to it again, to the rim of the eye, where, more worryingly, Nephril was to enter in?

  He, on the other hand, seemed ebullient, far more confident and almost relishing the prospect. Falmeard, though, suspected it was perhaps only subterfuge, a valiant attempt to allay their fears, and in particular Penolith’s. She’d been on edge from the very minute he’d decided his course, more ready to snap and chide, more ruthless in her dealings with her priests as she’d made arrangements. She’d only been considerate and calm in her handling of Nephril, as though he were a condemned man going to execution.

  All Falmeard could really do was to keep out of the way and avoid complicating matters. It hadn’t been difficult to keep his concerns to himself. Penolith had been very busy preparing the way, mollifying and commanding, convincing her priests it was all legitimate and above board. She’d tried her hardest to make sure the risks were kept to an absolute minimum, but didn’t appear overly confident.

  Nephril, on the other hand, had hidden himself away in her library, pulling volumes and papers from the mounds of boxes piled high in its secluded corners. Falmeard had really wanted to help, if with nothing more than lugging boxes about, but knew the library was very much out of bounds.

  So, he’d spent a bit of time getting some exercise, out and about in the quiet nearby parts. It had in fact only been the worsening weather, showers turning to more persistent rain, that had finally driven him back indoors. He found Nephril in the main chamber, sitting at the dining table with umpteen books and volumes spread out before him. Most rested open, but those that weren’t sprouted rat’s nests of bookmark tails.

  Falmeard had sat quietly beside him, looking over his shoulder at the texts. There were few he could easily read, many seeming written in a foreign hand, but those he could decipher made little sense at all. Really, he was just happy to be at his side once more.

  Nephril had only briefly acknowledged him, but it had pleased Falmeard to see how more vigorous he’d become; fingers nimble and adroit, eyes darting intelligently about. They’d not spoken, but nor had Falmeard wished it so.

  That had all been earlier in the morning, but now it was approaching noon and they were once more nearing those ominous black digits. They reared so imponderably high into the grey noonday light, marking the boundary of Baradcar. It was only when they’d come between them again, and the rain had finally abated, that Penolith started to throw Nephril uncertain glances.

  They halted at last, when they reached the very end of the black road, where it dropped perilously down the rim of the crater and straight to the Crimson Lake, dully gleaming at its centre. There, Penolith set a serious face before Nephril, her hands nervously clenched and her breathing quite low. She stared deep into Nephril’s eyes but was not rebuffed.

  Her lips puckered once or twice before she finally spoke. “Nephril, my friend? I need ask you once more, although I already know your answer.” He smiled, seeming to sooth her worries, but she still had to ask. “Are you sure this is wise, your going down into Baradcar?”

  “Pray, fear not at all, mine Lady, fear not at all. Mine memories are more full this morning than e’er they have been of late. I fear naught in myself. I do value thine tender thought, that I do, but rest thee assured, I have read full this morning to mine own safety and am sure of it now.”

  “I do hope you’re right, I do indeed. I couldn’t forgive myself if it turned out you were wrong.”

  She lowered her gaze, studied her feet and then added, “You know I cannot accompany you, that I’m forbidden entry to Baradcar, as all my kind are?”

  He reached out and lightly held her arm. “I know that full well and would have counselled as such mine self, but worry thee not, mine dear, I know mine way.”

  “Likewise, Falmeard as I, he cannot enter here.” For a brief moment she wondered where their strange friend really sat in it all. “This is as far as our kind can transgress, but fortunately, there’s better accommodation than this.”

  She looked at the further showers now drifting in from the castle’s southern slopes, chasing away once promising shafts of sunlight. “It happens to be on our common way, for a short while at least.” She turned to Nephril. “If you’d lead the way, Keeper?”

  He lifted an eyebrow at the epithet, but then only nodded before leading them from the road. He took them onto a small path that ran along the edge of the crater’s rim, which they then followed for a good thirty minutes. It ran beside a high wall that hid the great hollow, the wall running all the way to where Nephril then turned them into a small cloister of a low and unimposing building. It sat mid-way between two of the rising fingers, and was in fact, as Nephril alone knew, at the very exact point of their bisection, to within a mere fraction of a degree.

  Coming between the cloisters, they arrived at a short flight of steps that took them up to a door. Nephril stopped before it, turned and looked back towards the crater, towards the eye of Baradcar. He closed his own eyes for a short while, making Penolith and Falmeard look at each other uncertainly. When they heard him sniff the air a few times, they found only puzzlement on his face.

  Penolith asked, “Everything alright, Nephril?” To which he opened one eye and regarded her, sideways.

  “Hmm. I think so … but then … no. No, all is well enough, fret thee not, ‘tis time.” He turned back to the door and pushed firmly, causing it to swing smoothly open to reveal a surprisingly bright interior.

  They were led into a dazzlingly lit but quite empty room; small yet seemingly large by its brightness, the air dry, clean and sharp to the nose. Nephril stopped at its centre and turned to them both. “Do not close that door, mine friends, but leave it open, so that thou may leave this place if need be.” With that, he reached down to the floor where he traced his finger in a complicated pattern upon a pale blue circle engraved there.

  A fine black line instantly appeared along the outer edge of it. Falmeard saw it formed a lip, as the circle slowly sank into the floor. Nephril smartly stepped onto it and descended quite briskly as he called, “There are fine apartments adjoining. Avail thine selves of them whilst I am gone, and fear not for I will be safe. I assure thee.” Those last words floated to them from the hole, his head having quickly vanished from sight.

  A short distance below, he and the platform gently came to a rest on the floor of a dimly lit room, its walls, floor and ceiling all blankly tiled, the last faintly glowing with a dark blue light. He stepped from the platform and towards a spiral staircase, set at one end of the room, and onto which he leapt.

  This time his feet clattered noisily on metal steps whilst his robes flapped about him, brushing the handrail on the closely confined descent down an ever darkening shaft. At the very bottom, he came out at the start of a short corridor suffused with heavy red light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

  From where he stood, it appeared to lead nowhere. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, though, he soon saw that the ceiling at its far end dropped sharply away. The air down here was much thicker and quite a bit warmer, its oppressive weight seeming to vibrate and hum, as though some distant herd were stampeding.

  He knew time was short so pressed on towards the thrum, to the corridor’s end where he then found the head of a long, narrow and downward curving
stairwell. It began with a steep and heart stopping fall and so he grabbed its handrails as he launched himself down. He descended quickly, two and sometimes three steps at a time, his hands beginning to burn on the rails. The slope steadily lessened, however, until he could at length let go and rely solely on his legs.

  His deepening journey, beneath the face of the crater, brought a thickening of the air and a stifling warmth that drew beads of sweat from his brow. They ran down into his eyes and blurred his view of the steadily brightening red glow ahead. Perhaps for a league or more he ran on, the risers becoming ever sparser until they ceased altogether. There, he found himself at last upon level ground.

  He stopped for a brief respite, dropping his hands to his knees and breathing deeply. The air was so thick it seemed robbed of any value and he found his lungs hurting as he strained to draw it in. In his momentary stillness, he could hear the expected thrum, but louder, heard it insistently beating at his ears, tingling on his skin and stroking his hair. It seemed wrong somehow, in some way he couldn’t quite pin down, certainly not as he distantly remembered.

  Jerking upright, he wiped the sweat from his eyes and pushed on along the still narrow corridor to its end, and his arrival at an opening. It gave access into an almighty void through which his way now passed but on a thin walkway, a gossamer bridge that shot straight out across the fathomless blackness. His newly reborn memories hadn’t quite prepared him for the impact, couldn’t have forewarned of its dizzying and heady effect.

  Although deeply black, it was shot through here and there with the blood-red light of the lake above, its shafts penetrating deep into the inky depths. They picked out strange and wonderful shapes that summoned forth all manner of things but the simple truth, that prised ancient demons from hidden corners of the mind. The thrum of latent activity coursed through Nephril’s legs, ran up from the slender form of the vibrating walkway upon which he now crossed.