“Wait, if he torched the trees – how are they still standing?”
“Trees usually survive forest fires and the following season, blossom with new growth,” said Ravage. “I guess it’s the same principle.”
“True. But that’s a forest fire, not dragon fire.”
“You have to remember, these aren’t ordinary trees. The Kasmanese embody the very essence of the swamp, they absorb life, and give life to its waters. Not to mention they fathered the Trillian jungle.”
“So, what happened to Galra’kor then?”
“For thousands of years, he lived in the swamp, expanding his nest, amassing treasures and decorating the borders of his kingdom with the skulls of mighty beasts he had slain. While he was airborne, circling the western regions of his swamp, Galra’kor saw men constructing a building. The audacity of these men intrigued him. He swooped low, descending upon them. The men cowered before the Vooresh dragon as he demanded to know the reason for which they thought they could build within his swamp. Galra’kor towered over them. They were insignificant compared to the size of his mighty presence. One man stepped forward, facing death and risking all. Conjuring his guile, he hoped to outwit the dragon. Boldly, he said to Galra’kor – ‘We have every right to build here. For we have given offering to the most-deadly creature of the swamp. It is with her leave we are here. To smite us is to brave her wrath. Do you dare defy such a creature?’
“Galra’kor thought this absurd. He was the most powerful creature within the swamp. Anger festered within him. The notion that there was a creature within Fornen who possessed the insolence to boast such a claim; he would unleash agony and utter devastation upon them. The great dragon demanded to know the location of this beast. ‘You will find her on a rock, over-looking her children as they spawn and grow in the Lilliad Ponds. Nesay, Broodmother of the Redokk.’ And with that, Galra’kor set off to kill the Broodmother. It was all a lie, of course. The men, being given a few hours of chance, forsook their construction and fled back to their homes.”
“Nesay was exactly where the man had told him. Sitting atop a rock over-looking the Lilliad Ponds. The Broodmother was greying, plump and scarred. Redokks were thriving in the shallow waters of the ponds under her vigilant gaze. She paid no heed to Galra’kor, not even as his shadow bathed the Lilliad in darkness. ‘I was told that you are the most-deadly creature of the swamp.’ Galra’kor said, leaning close to the ancient frog.”
“Turning a cold gaze upon the dragon, Nesay said, ‘I am death. My blood is the scourge. My children are a plague. Leave us these ponds and be on your way, dragon. Save yourself from the eternal void!’
“That’s pretty heavy,” said Patsy. “It’s sounds like something a demon would say.”
“It does, doesn’t it? But it makes sense. Redokk frogs are the most poisonous creature in Sapphiron. It sounded like Nesay bore that poison as a curse.”
“What happened next?”
“Galra’kor laughed at her. The dragon scorched Nesay alive and with his dragon breath, transformed the Lilliad Ponds into a boiling, festering pit of death. To this day, the Lilliad Ponds are still rancid and can melt the flesh off any creature foolish enough to enter the water. After destroying the Lilliad, he went in search of the men and found them in Mirewood village. Boasting of his victory over the Broodmother, Galra’kor demanded Mirewood pay him tribute. ‘I will return on the morrow,’ he said. ‘If your tribute displeases me, I will burn your village to ash and bones.’
“So, in trying to cheat death, those men were responsible for the destruction of the Lilliad. What arseholes!” Patsy was infuriated by such a cowardly act.
“They really fucked that up, didn’t they?” said Ravage. “It’s said that Josten, the man who deceived the dragon, felt tremendous guilt about bringing the wrath of the dragon upon Nesay and journeyed to the Lilliad to find out what happened to her. When he came upon the ruined ponds and beheld the extent of havoc and death, guilt utterly consumed him. Josten took his own life in the water. Damned, his ghost lingers there, bound to an eternity of torment.”
“I like that he didn’t get off scot-free. Though, an eternity of suffering is a pretty severe punishment.”
“I agree. But that’s what happens when you take your own life.” Ravage wondered if Josten had become an accursed craven, a phantasm possessing horrific powers. One more reason to avoid the Lilliad. As a child, the stories had roused her curiosity and she had thought of visiting the Lilliad, just to see it for herself. Now, as an adult, she knew better. “Anyway, the villagers were completely terrified of the dragon’s wrath. They gathered their livestock. Amassing all the gold and coins within the village, they laid down everything of value, hoping, desperately that it would satisfy Galra’kor. The following day, they waited with bated breath for Galra’kor’s return. Gnawing fear grew within them with each passing hour. It was confusion which greeted them as dusk descended and night fell, for Galra’kor did not come. Nor did he arrive the next day, or the next. Galra’kor never returned.”
“He never returned?”
Ravage shook her head. “No-one knows Galra’kor’s fate. It’s believed during the night, the redokk who survived his attack on the Lilliad, entered his lair and while Galra’kor slept, climbed into his mouth, their noxious poison ending his life. After that, the redokk, who previously were only found in the Lilliad Ponds, spread across the entire Fornen Swamp.”
“They really did become a plague, after-all.”
“No-one’s ever found Galra’kor’s corpse, or his treasure horde. The people of Mirewood built a shrine to Nesay in the swamp. They also built a great monastery and in time became the Shimpu Monks.”
“Do you think that’s how the Shimpu really started?”
“I’d like to think so.” Climbing a stone, Ravage stood on the peak of the hill, surrounded by the twisted branches of gnarled trees. Shielding her eyes from the sun, Ravage surveyed the hills, hoping to spot a cave entrance. “Down there,” she pointed.
Partially hidden amongst jagged rocks of a hillside dyke was a dark cave entrance. “Looks good to me,” said Patsy.
“Let’s take a break. We’ll have something to eat and then head down there.” Ravage sat on a thick tree root, removing her pack with a sigh. She could feel the burn from climbing up the stony hill in her thighs. A short respite would do her legs a world of good.
After resting her glaive against the trunk of the tree, Patsy sat beside her friend. “We have dried meat,” she grinned.
“We sure do,” Ravage returned her grin. Food was glorious.
Chapter 5
Haunting. Bathed in dense fog from the coming of dusk, the forest stretched towards Akella, its fingers ending at the road’s edge. Trees grew sparsely. High limbs choked with invasive vines. Shrubs lingered at their misshapen trunks, scratching at them with leafless branches. Akella, staring into the mist, felt as though the horrors of the woodland were glaring back at her, lidless eyes consumed in malice. Dreary and foreboding, there was no vibrancy to be found. In the distance, castle ramparts towered above the tree canopy. The ruinous home of the Circle of Bastards. The road forked, disappearing into the fog. It wound towards the castle which had, in ages past, been a marvel to behold.
Griz’mar paused, sniffing at the air. Animalistic instincts allowing him to perceive dangers beyond the perception of sight.
“A trap is set. They lay in wait for you.” His mouth did not move as he spoke. His voice came from within, words spoken by the soul.
“You can speak?” Since arising from the ashes of Valomere, the stone bear had only communicated with gestures and silent glances. Akella, while being shocked to discover Griz’mar’s voice, was glad also. Now, they could converse.
“There are many who dwell within. Our mind was congested with thoughts. It took us long, to establish harmony.” The amalgamation of souls, now complete, spawned a mind of great insight.
“Zoe did say there were a lot of souls in you.” Akella pl
aced her hand on Griz’mar’s solid chest. “I’m glad you’ve found your voice. It will be helpful when you return to Lorewell and help Zoe rebuild the Larrosan Empire.”
“Are we to help the Larrosan, next?”
“This isn’t easy for me to say, Griz’mar,” she began. The words felt like a knot in her throat. Now a channel was open, she could tell Griz’mar her true thoughts. “I want you to return Lorewell, without me. I appreciate your company, truly I do, but I must go on alone.”
“No,” he said. “We want to remain by your side.”
“I understand -”
“Do you?” He was resolute, not to be cast aside. “You ended our suffering, were the instrument of our vengeance. Our souls found peace and could finally rest. We arose for you, and will fight beside you, always.”
“Do you remember your pain? Your helplessness? If you return to Lorewell, you can be the champion of the wilds. No animal shall ever suffer as you did, for you will be their guardian.”
Raising his head in the direction of the valley, Griz’mar scowled. No, he had not forgotten.
“After I kill the Knave, I’m going back to my homeland, to Pyrelle Island. I need to be with my sister. You have arisen to accomplish greater deeds than to merely be my shadow, Griz’mar. Answer your true calling. Return to Lorewell.” Akella took a step back from the bear. “The fallen men, those last twisted remnants will descend upon the Tower of Analetta, reprisal for the death of King Pradosse. They will not concede defeat without revenge. When they come, let them find you waiting.”
A guardian. The concept was new to him. Now that the idea was planted, it grew quickly within him. Roots of an untold destiny taking shape. Yes. This was a path he could follow, gladly. The creatures of the valley would know safety, Griz’mar will transform the region into a sanctuary. Lorewell’s tenacious defender, poachers and the wicked will fear his name.
“Those who seek to bring cruelty to the valley shall find death.” It saddened him, to part from Akella, though the true purpose of his resurrection had now been revealed.
“I will see you again,” she said. “When I return to Sapphiron, I will visit you in Lorewell.”
“We are both immortals. Many eons shall pass before we say a final farewell.”
“Let’s hope so,” Akella caressed his face. “I look forward to seeing your valley. I know you will perform great deeds there.”
“The valour of our deeds shall be matched by our devotion to you. We will make you proud.”
“Good-bye, my friend,” smiled Akella.
“Till next we meet.”
With such fierce determination, Griz’mar was a force to be reckoned with. As Akella watched him bound along the road, headed for Lorewell, she could feel immense strength resonating from within him. Truly, he was frightfully powerful and, a great ally.
The scorching of Granston with heads on spikes was a summons; a challenge. Of course it was a trap. Akella knew The Knave was going to be waiting with some devilish scheme for her demise. Vigilant brigands will be watching the road, no doubt. Ready to alert their master with news of her approach. This forewarning, she would deny. Akella held no fear of forest beasts. The dead, haunting as they were, did not give her pause to tremble. Her passage through the woodland would go unseen. She would ambush The Knave in his own lair.
Ghostly apparitions took shape around her as she journeyed through the trees. Men and women, darked eyed and menacing, appearing briefly before fading to mist. Sensing the demonic aura resonating from Sunderfall, the phantoms keep their distance of Akella, their hunger for violence quenched by trepidation. Drawn to this oddity in their forest, the damned followed her. They raged at the trespass, while fear kept them at bay.
A thick, translucent thread of silk crossing her path gave Akella pause. Above her, knitted in the branches, was the horrifying web of a giant spider. Corpses, cocooned in silk, hung about the web. The bodies inside, both men and animals, having been drained of their life essence made a hideous sight of desiccated skin shrunken around hollowed bones. The giant spider rested, its body hidden in a funnel of web with the claws of its legs monitoring silken strands for movement.
“You’re a handsome one, aren’t you,” said Akella, stepping over the thread. She walked below the web, being mindful not to be ensnared by the sticky silk.
Slowly, the spider edged forwards. Emerging from the funnel, its cruel fangs glistening with deadly poison. It watched its prey navigate safely through its domain. Into the forest the meat-bag continued. Old and cautious, the spider descended only upon trapped and weary prey. Having beheld the morsel slip through its web, the spider climbed down and began knitting new strands and traps. The next creature to wander into its house would not be so fortunate as to escape.
The castle walls, stained and moss-covered, were in a terrible state of disrepair. Oil lanterns cast dim light within guard stations along the decaying ramparts. Stone blocks, once mighty fortifications of defence, stood cracked and crumbling. Vines stretched across the outer walls like a tapestry; the roots of their branches penetrating deep into the mortar. Akella found scaling the heights an undemanding task. Perched between the high parapets, she surveyed what little of the castle grounds she could in the darkness of the night.
The iron cage was an eye-sore. Constructed haphazardly and enclosed in crude scaffolding. A ramp of mediocre wood planks led to the roof of the rusting structure. Unilluminated, the contents of the cage a mystery.
Despite the many lanterns and flaming brands burning throughout the castle, there was no movement, no visible sentinels keeping watch. Obviously, the Circle of Bastards considered vigilance to be of little importance. Possessing such an infamous reputation, their stronghold hadn’t been the target of siege. Notorious gold-hungry thieves also steered clear of the ruinous castle, the risk far outweighed the reward. There was a time when Baron Nade sought to dominate the Circle, sending his Scarlet Blades to skirmish with the Bastards in an attempt to rule the region unopposed. Standing on equal footing, neither side could win a battle without suffering grievous losses. Acknowledging the Circle’s ruthless savagery, Nade saw great potential in a combined force and so, in calling a truce, forged a lasting alliance.
Stealthily, Akella entered an octagonal tower guardhouse. Asleep at his post was a brigand. Empty bottles of mead were stacked on the table beside him. A peaceful whistle of breath escaped his lips as he slept, relaxed, without a care in the world. With a cruel grin, Akella stood over him. Unsheathing her dagger, the brigand’s dream was one from which there would be no waking. The remaining two guardhouses on the ramparts were empty. Cloaked, Akella travelled through the halls as a shadow. Voices echoed from a chamber. The sounds of cards, coins and drinking.
“Three sevens again! What sort of fuckery is that!” Edgar slammed his cards on the table. The deck was being cruel to him.
Omarr inhaled deeply on his cigar, blowing out plumes of smoke as he reached forward and dragged the hands winnings towards himself. “That’s the fuckery of Lady Luck that is. At this rate, I’ll have all your coins and you’ll be broke as a leper!”
“Stow that! The night is young, my friend,” Edgar had a mouthful of mead, a trickle of the amber liquid dribbled down his bearded chin. “Don’t go getting cocky! My streak is coming up. Just you wait!”
Sunderfall in hand, Akella assailed the unsuspecting pair. The black greatsword an unstoppable force of destruction, their game ending in blood and death. Omarr’s collapsing body knocked over the table, coins and empty bottles rolled across the floor. A tray of roasted meat and bread rested on a bench, beside it sat a shallow wooden box piled high with bottles of mead. An empty gnawing bit at Akella and she realised she hadn’t eaten in two days. Pinkish, the beef was medium rare, just how she preferred it. The bread smelt fresh, hard to the touch and soft inside. After one bite, she slumped against the bench, cracked open a bottle of mead and gorged herself.
It was satisfying, having a full belly. Akella polished of
f a final meat-stuffed roll as she descended a winding flight of stairs which led into the courtyard housing the iron cage. Patches of grass were fighting a losing battle. Trampled constantly by heavy footfalls, they had little hope of dominating the hard soil. As she crossed the blackness of the courtyard, Akella noticed a hulking grey mass shifting within the cage. Slowly, she approached, taking hold of the rusting iron bars as she peered inside. Human and animal bones, picked clean, lay strewn throughout the cage. Shielded beneath a chitinous exoskeleton, the subterranean monstrosity rested, paying no heed to Akella’s presence, its long body supported by many legs. Four powerful arms for digging, pulled close to its chest, were armed with strong claws which could shatter stone. Akella wondered how the Bastards were able to capture such a monstrous beast. As if sensing her question, it raised its head. Three albino eyes stared at her while a gaping mouth of spiralling teeth began to pulsate. Its foul breath caused Akella to turn away. Despite being fed, the creature was wilting away. Its desire for life ebbing. To a wild beast, entrapment was not a life worth living.
Crickets chirped. The hour was late. Pensive, Akella’s sight fixated on the ground below her. The Bastards had reaped fire and death unto Granston. She was not here for justice. Not truly. The voice whispering to her now was not speaking of vengeance, but of revenge. Brutality. The circle of Bastards considered themselves nefarious. What did they know of real horror? Narnarja – centuries later, the name still sent a shiver down her spine. From the darkness, it whispered. Repeating the name, over and over again. Narnarja. Elements of chaos all about her, she only need grasp them. The forest was swarming with undead. It was time to invite them inside. Akella would eclipse the Bastards nightmares, let fear take them.
Misanthropy (Born of the Phoenix Book 2) Page 5