The Raven (The Secret Chronicles of Lost Magic Book 1)

by Aderyn Wood

  Anton’s eyes drank her in. “I think you’re wonderful.”

  Iluna shook her head. “Let’s go.”

  ∞

  Pink clouds dotted the dawn sky. The raven flew low and perched on a low branch of a pine tree. He sat so still he looked like a carving made from ironwood. Iluna squatted next to him and gestured for Anton to do the same. She gave a signal that this was the spot where he was to stay. He nodded. Then she looked through the needles of the pine and he followed her line of sight.

  Anton saw them – the enemy. Their encampment was huge. Their tents were large, but plain in colour. Every one looked the same, as though they had been sewn from the one skin of leather, made by the same hand. They were pitched in perfect formation, in lines.

  When he saw the people, Anton almost uttered the Mother’s name. He’d never seen such people. They were tall, with pale skin and golden hair that they tied back in elaborate weaves. Their clothes were made of a material not leather, not grass, something altogether foreign. They spoke a strange language.

  But what caught Anton’s eye more than anything was their hunting tools – spears, axes, knives, short and long, and some he had no name for. All had a sharp, dark metalic sheen, different from the bronze and stone of his people. Some of them were practising the hunt; their knives flashed in the first sunrays. Why were they performing the hunt on each other?

  He looked again. There were no women. Every one of them was a man; all tall and strong. How was Iluna going to face them? His heart raced. She needed protection.

  Her eyes were closed now; her lips moving, silently. He remembered her doing exactly this when they were children and he had caught her in the forest. She’d cast her spell and the mountain lion had come out of nowhere to hunt him. He’d never run so fast in all his life. She had power, but would it be enough to overcome them? He swallowed. They looked so strong, and they had their own magics. They were powerful, Iluna had said. Suddenly Anton didn’t want to be here. He should have told her what he wanted say at the cave. They could be far away by now; away from this chaos.

  Iluna touched his arm, and he looked into her eyes. Anton wasn’t sure if he could see fear there, but he knew it was time for her to go. He covered her hand with his own and gave it a squeeze. He tried a smile, but Iluna stood and then she was gone. He looked through the pine trees.

  She walked into the camp. No one had seen her yet. She stopped, very near the first tent, and drew a circle in the dust.

  The raven quorked; he watched her, too.

  Iluna stood in the circle she had drawn and extended her arms outwards, towards the tents.

  Suddenly one of the enemy clan saw her. He clutched a long knife close and yelled in that strange tongue, and hundreds came from everywhere.

  “Who among you knows my language?“ Iluna shouted but her voice seemed so small compared with the strong calls of the man.

  Anton’s eyes scanned them, his heart pounding.

  It seemed the entire camp bustled, edging closer to Iluna. There were hundreds and hundreds more. Anton had never seen so many people. Not even at Agria.

  “I speak your tongue.” A man in a long black robe stepped forward. His hair, gold and silver, fell loosely over his shoulders, contrasting sharply with the black robe. “Who are you, little girl, and where are your people?” The man’s eyes looked over Iluna’s shoulder toward the pine. Anton held his breath. Could he see him?

  “My name is Iluna of the Wolf; we are Ona’s people. I have come to beg of you to turn back. We are a peaceful people; please let us be. We have bled and hurt from your past attack. Please show us mercy, leave us be.”

  The man squinted. “I am Gudmund of Nordesa.” He spoke their language, but he said the words differently, and Anton had to concentrate to understand him. “Where is Yuli or Xaroth? Are they with you?” Gudmund held up a hand as if searching. Anton silently cursed his brother.

  “I am alone, aside from my raven.”

  The raven quorked and took flight, circling above Iluna, and coming down to land on her shoulder. This seemed to cause a ruckus and the men spoke excitedly to each other. Another man wearing the dark robes similar to Gudmund pushed through the mob. He spoke to Gudmund, their voices elevated until they were shouting at each other. Finally Gudmund put his hand up and a large clap like thunder pierced the air. Silence followed.

  Anton swallowed. Magic lingered; he could smell it.

  “We have heard of you, Iluna. You are the evil witch of your people.” Gudmund smiled. “You may have a great gift, but you know nothing of our power.” Other men, all dressed in the black robes came to stand beside Gudmund. There were ten of them – their Soragans perhaps.

  “We will not turn back, girl. The gods have shown us the way. We march this very morning. By midnight we will have conquered your people, and your lands.”

  Anger bubbled in Anton’s blood, but he remained silent and still, as promised.

  “And what of the bloodshed you will cause. Have you no remorse?’ Iluna’s voice carried softly.

  Gudmund shook his head. “This is the path set out for us by our gods. Many of your people will die tonight. It has been foreseen.” Gudmund shouted a guttural word and the hundreds moved as though they were one, lifting their hunting tools in preparation. They were readying to fight her.

  “You will be our first sacrifice to the Holy Ones,” Gudmund shouted and a man lunged at Iluna. He threw his arm up with the knife to strike.

  “No,” Anton whispered, forgetting to be silent.

  But the raven was quick, he’d flown and dived and plucked the man’s eye before his knife found its target. The blade dropped and he screamed with pain.

  Iluna’s arms went high and a breeze swirled through the throng lifting her hair and her robe. “You will return!” Her voice grew loud, it boomed, no longer the innocent voice of a young woman.

  “Guzaarrrrr!” Gudmund’s voice boomed, too, and the throng of men rushed forward, hunting tools held high. But darkness filled the sky. The daysun was suddenly, silently, blackened. Anton jumped at a touch on his shoulder – a black feather. He looked up. A dark cloud grew closer. Only it was no cloud, but hundreds and hundreds, and hundreds more ravens – scores of hundreds. They swirled and swooped as one, and plunged into the throng. The men screamed, and dropped their knives and spears. Then they ran. She had broken them. Anton smiled. Yes, she could win this after all.

  “I do not wish your death.” Her voice boomed louder, over the squarks and screams. “I just want you gone!” And the cloud of ravens rose up like a wave of the ocean and struck again, bringing more screams from men with eyes plucked or gaping wounds in their faces. Much blood had already been spilled.

  The ten men moved as one, throwing their arms to the sky. There was a crack in the air and each raven stopped where it was and fell. Ravens rained down, dead.

  Gudmund shouted a command and men, injured or no picked up their tools. The fight wasn’t over yet.

  The armed men came at her again, and they struck with their knives and spears, but each strike bounced off her. Iluna’s back was to him, but Anton could see her hands, up in the air. She was protecting herself with some kind of magical shield. The men couldn’t touch her, but they kept trying, striking time and time again.

  Gudmund and the other robed men stood in a circle now. Hunched over, their chant grew louder. One of them suddenly turned, grabbed a fighter, and sliced his neck with his own knife. Blood gushed everywhere. A white light formed, becoming brighter the longer they chanted.

  Gudmund turned and held fire in his hand. He shouted another command and the men stopped striking Iluna and ran back toward the tents. He whispered to the fire he held, and then threw it with great strength toward Iluna. It flared when it hit her, and caused a bright flash that made Anton close his eyes. When he opened them Iluna was laying on the ground. His heart stopped, but then she moved, and stood, stumbling. She was tiring; the magic draining her.

  “I have tried to war
n you,” she said. Her voice back to normal, she sounded weary. “The deaths of your men will be on your head, Gudmund.”

  Gudmund smiled then, and threw back his head, laughing.

  Anton heard a growl; it came from behind. He swallowed. A bee flew past, followed by another. Then he heard the growl again. Slowly he turned, and came face to face with a mountain lion. Its blue eyes looking him over, it padded closer and its nose sniffed at his skin. Anton’s heart thumped in his ears. The lion was twice the height of a man, its saber teeth as long as his own head.

  Another growl came then and the lion looked behind him and Anton risked a glance. Wolves stood in the shade of the trees. A buzzing in his ears made him twitch; mosquitoes were everywhere. He swallowed, and slowly turned to look at Iluna.

  Her arms were up as though appealing to the very sky.

  “I’ve destroyed your shield, little girl. It’s time for you to face your gods.” Gudmund gave the order and the men ran forward once more.

  Iluna brought down her arms and the lions and wolves sprang from the forest. Hundreds of animals now attacked and the horde of men ran back in fear. One lion clawed a man throwing him backwards. Another tore a man in two with powerful jaws. Then came more – wolves, jackals, cats, bears, foxes, stags and oxen. They thundered out of the forest and plunged into the throng of men. Gudmund had formed a circle again with the others, and their chanting began once more, but bees, mosquitos and wasps stung them, breaking their concentration. Bats, hawks and buzzards filled the sky. Snakes and water dragons slithered and stung, and the men started to run.

  Gudmund broke with the other robed men, who had started to flee as well, but he seemed to resist the throng of stings, his mouth still murmuring the words. He cut his own wrist and a spear came to life before him. It lurched through the air and plunged into Iluna. She fell to the ground. Blood gushed from her leg. Anton didn’t think – he acted, and ran to her. The spear stuck out of her thigh. She was in pain, but still murmuring her spells, her chants.

  “Iluna, let me do this. I’m sorry.” He grabbed the spear and pulled. It came out and Iluna screamed. Anton took three large strides and threw the spear at Gudmund. It landed with a thud, deep into his heart. The man gazed at Anton, a questioning look on his face. “Yuli?” he said, before falling and dying.

  The animals continued their attack, killing, chasing. The enemy now retreated, panicked. Anton ran back to Iluna. She was cold, she’d lost much blood, but her eyes fluttered open. “Hold my hands,” she croaked.

  “Of course, Iluna. You’ve won! You’ve done it.”

  “Not yet.” She grabbed his hands and moved her lips. Anton could feel his energy draining. She was using his life force to feed her spells. With every heart beat he grew weaker.

  The ground moved. Clouds in the sky swirled as the ravens had done before. The ground shook with earthquakes; lightning and thunder filled the sky. All around him the dead ravens were coming back to life, flying fast to join the chase. Was it the end?

  The enemy was fleeing, a funnel of wind chasing them down. And then a white light flashed; his energy left him and Anton closed his eyes.

  Yuli

  Yuli’s blood raced as he told the Grand Soragan the news. They met in their usual place. A small chasm in the mountain, some distance from the encampment. The Grand Soragan’s enchantment ensured that no one would ever stumble upon them.

  “You’re sure? There’s no one left?” Xaroth’s voice hissed.

  Yuli swallowed. “No one. I reached their camp at midday; I ran all the way. There was no one left. Only the dead and the remnants of their camp remained. It looked like they left in a hurry – those who survived. When I sent out my essence to look for them I sensed they headed south. Back the way they had come.”

  The Grand Soragan snarled. “All that work.” The lines in his aged face seemed deeper, and dark bags circled his eyes. He was spending too much energy controlling the others. Yuli glanced around for Sethra. She was usually on hand to give up her blood, or more, but not now. It was just the two of them.

  Yuli blinked. “How did this happen? I don’t understand. We had an agreement. They were to launch their attack this very night!”

  The Grand Soragan nodded, vaguely, his mind elsewhere.

  Yuli had become part of the Grand Soragan’s scheme the day he agreed to be Xaroth’s unofficial prentice. He had kept up his training with Izhur for appearance’s sake, but it was the Grand Soragan who had taught him everything he knew, who gave him the skills he now enjoyed – power thrice as strong as Izhur’s.

  Since their first meeting two winters past, Yuli had learnt to use the blood of an animal to drink and cast powerful spells; how to send out his mind and travel with his essence through the Otherworld – a skill only practised by the most powerful of Soragans, after much training and meditation. But now he could do it easily. During his hermitage, Xaroth had taught him in person, and he’d introduced Yuli to the Nordesans.

  At first Yuli had been wary. Their tall fearsome appearance had frightened him. And he knew what they were capable of; the Otter had all perished. But he soon saw their way was better; their magic stronger.

  Their way of life made more sense. They didn’t roam from place to place, but stayed in one area and built villages and towns and each man would own land. Their women were more beautiful. He had also learnt their language – a sophisticated tongue with a broad cadence of words and rules. Xaroth had planned a life amongst them in their new world that was to be built in Ona’s Valley. And now it had all gone wrong. The Nordesans had disappeared.

  The old Soragan studied the floor of the chasm, muttering to himself.

  “I just don’t understand.” Yuli thumped the ground with his staff. “What made them leave?”

  The old Soragan snapped out of his musing and looked at Yuli with those unsettling small eyes. “It was the witch.”

  Yuli scowled. Of course. It had to be her. She must have found out about them and used her evil magic to scare them away. Then another realization dawned. Yuli swallowed. “She has that kind of power?”

  The Grand Soragan turned and his robe twirled as he limped to the back of the chasm. He snapped his fingers and the oil pots came to light. A rabbit remained tied there – its nose twitching and its eyes revealing its terror. The Soragan grabbed the frightened animal by the back of its neck and took out his ceremonial knife from his robe. In one swift action he slit the rabbit’s throat and held it twitching and convulsing above his head as he drank in the blood. He wiped his mouth and handed the corpse to Yuli.

  When he first had to drink blood, so fresh and warm, Yuli was disgusted and vomited the sticky substance up, but now he almost yearned for it. He took the rabbit willingly and drank his fill.

  “I’m going to find them in the Otherworld.”

  Yuli nodded.

  “You deal with the witch,” the Soragan said, his voice like death.

  Yuli didn’t need to hear the words twice. He turned and marched out of the cave sending his essence out as he walked. He concentrated on the clearing up in the mountain forest, but no sign of her lurked there. He sent his essence further through the forest, under trees, around boulders, but still no clue arose.

  Yuli snapped his essence back like a whip. Where was she? He walked along the river. The camp’s drumbeats were clearer now that evening had set in. Maybe she was at camp, hiding among the people. Yuli stood still, and sent his essence through the large encampment. It took him longer to search through the thick black web of bands that connected most members to Xaroth, allowing the Grand Soragan to have so much control. But, Iluna wasn’t there either.

  Yuli frowned, not sure what to do next. Then his lips twitched. His brother had been causing their mother grief of late. Since he’d bonded with Hennita, Anton had hardly been home. The new couple had set up their own tent, as was the custom, but Anton had barely shared it for more than a conversation. He’d not even consummated their bond yet. And why wouldn’t a young h
unter such as Anton eagerly take his new wife?

  Yuli squinted as he recalled the clearing that night. His brother had been looking for Iluna too.

  Anton must be with her.

  Yuli closed his eyes and sent out his essence once more.

  Iluna

  “Iluna.”

  Everything was black. That was her first awareness. Then pain shot through her leg – a deep stab. Her muscles twitched, and she screamed.

  “Iluna. Shhhh. Ona, help me.”

  Her eyes fluttered and Anton swam before her, his face panicked. She tried lifting her head but another bolt of pain struck, and she screamed again.

  “Don’t move your leg. I’ve stopped the bleeding; we can’t risk it starting again. Here, I want you to try and drink this. I found some paleheart flowers along the river bank. It will help with your pain.”

  Anton lifed her head and brought the warm bone pot to her mouth. Iluna took a sip. Bitterness filled her mouth but she drank the whole thing down.

  “I’m thirsty,” she croaked.

  Relief lit Anton’s eyes and he smiled. “It’s good to hear you talk. I’ve been so worried. I wasn’t sure whether I should have left you here and raced back to get Amak. Here, drink.”

  He filled the pot with more water from the skin and lifted her head again. The water was cool, instantly quenching the dryness in her throat. She finished that cup, too. “More.” Then a bolt of pain pulsed and she scrunched her eyes shut until it passed.

  “The paleheart should take effect soon and stop the pain, but it will make you sleepy, too.” He refilled the pot. “Should I get Amak when you sleep? You’ll be safe here.”

  Anton’s small fire lit up the cave walls. Yes, they were safe. Aside from the pain, Iluna was exhausted. She could barely think to answer Anton’s question. Her gift had taken all her energy.

  “The enemy clan, are they gone?” she whispered.