Return
of the
Starchild
The Divine Inheritance Series
Book One
Catriona Murphy
For my mother and Dave, whose open heart, easy laughter and humanity touched us all. You will always be missed.
Part One
‘Magic's just science that we don't understand yet.’
― Arthur C. Clarke
Prologue
T
he horses raced across the grasslands at full gallop, their nostrils flared with exhaustion, snorting at the foam on their mouths.
Two riders tore through the night, a baby securely fastened in the crook of one of their arms; it stirred in a dreamless sleep.
Alone atop a hill ahead, stood an archway of stones that stood like a full-length mirror. Through it was not the distant hills a viewer would expect to see, but a vision of vast swirling galaxies drifting lazily by, as if being seen through a telescope. Symbols were etched into each of the stones.
The riders presented their special papers to an armoured green faerie with inquisitive violet eyes. Eventually, they were allowed to pass to the portal.
The hooded figures leapt down from their horses and dashed to the archway, lumbering up the hill as quickly as they could.
One of the individuals took it upon themselves to work on the symbols, and they glowed under his expert fingers.
‘They’re coming! We must hurry!’ urged the woman, who held the baby softly to her chest.
Sure enough, five riders were bearing down from less than a mile off in a ‘V’ formation, their fleeting shadows danced across the moonlit ground.
‘Hurry!’ the woman urged again.
The baby began to cry.
‘I’m trying,’ the man responded through gritted teeth. His hands moved faster, but he knew it was no use, they wouldn’t have the correct crossing aligned in time before the riders reached them.
‘Get ready for battle,’ he growled, and pulled out his sword whilst still working on the stones.
The hooded riders hopped down from their steeds and fought with the faerie guards at the bottom of the hill. A clash of steel lasted for little more than two minutes, swords flashing in the dim light of the moon.
The woman had her weapon in hand, handsome features set in determination. From the melee which was nearly coming to an end, was a man dressed in robes of shining gold. As he crested the hill, he held his arms out warmly.
‘Cecile of the Temple of Stars.’
The man looked to Terrence who had to uncomfortably keep his back turned so his work on aligning the gate wasn’t lost.
‘Terrence, Number One,’ the man gently placed a palm on his chest and bowed, ‘an honour.’
His dark hungry eyes turned to the baby, a carnal beast looking at his feast. ‘The child belongs with us; she was born of our own.’
Cecile pulled back. ‘Not yours to inject your fanatical ideals into.’
Terrence grabbed Cecile roughly by the shoulders as the remaining riders strode up from the dead guards.
He yanked her to the archway. ‘You have your orders Cecile! The Starchild mission cannot fail. Now go!’
The tall man twisted around, his cape swishing gallantly with him. ‘I will send you others soon.’
He launched a fireball from his fingertip at the Prophet who put up a hand and merely redirected it away. It sparked off into the night.
‘Don’t let the child cross!’ the Prophet shouted.
Cloaked figures sprinted at Cecile but Terrence gave her a sharp shove and she fell into the ether.
The baby screamed.
Chapter One
‘Y
'know Iliana, I'm your best friend, but she looks tough,’ Zelda remarked, regarding the giant across from them that loomed like an unbreakable mountain.
Hulk smash, Iliana thought comically and ignored her friend. She closed her eyes, calmly taking in air through her nose. Her silver blonde ponytail was spilled over the back of her white suit, a waterfall of light against dark.
Iliana stared at her opponent, who was glowering at her from the other side of the ring. It was one of many that had been set up for the sparring competition in the bustling community hall. The air was vaporised with stale sweat as fighters engaged in sparring all around. Their grunts and shouts echoed competitively around the hall.
She liked competitions. Tai Kwon Do was her favourite sport and there was something intense and energetic about sparring that she liked, it was almost addictive. She never once entered a competition without the fear, and could never pass off the sickness that would uncoil in her stomach like a lead wire before fighting.
Iliana glanced nervously at the onlookers.
‘Don’t mind them. They can’t enter the ring and if any of them do, I’ll sort them out,’
Zelda jested with a reassuring wink. She was all brilliant smiles and flashy blue eyes.
They had been friends for so long Zelda almost intuitively knew how to make her feel better; the thought instantaneously brought back a dramatic memory: the time
when she pushed her out of the way of a speeding car. She held traits that were uncommon in most people her age; an intelligent wit that sometimes left Iliana and her friends blinking at her in confusion. Zelda belonged in the 40s, sitting elegantly at a bar with a long cigarette between her painted fingers being entertained by a circle of admirers.
Centered in the middle of the box was the referee in a formal black shirt. To her right,
sat a panel of three judges looking indifferent and bored.
‘This is it,’ piped Zelda.
Iliana was struggling to focus over the roar in the hall. Her opponent had a black ponytail and a mean expression on her pudgy flat face, like someone had stolen the last piece of her pie. Her tiny piggish eyes bore down at Iliana in a strong intimidation bid.
‘I’m ready,’ She said.
Zelda helped her into her fighting gear.
The referee motioned for Iliana to enter the centre of the box and they stood face to face and bowed, while the side supporters started to scream.
After the referee gave the signal to fight, Iliana dropped lithely into a fighting stance, while the opponent screamed, ‘Ahhhhhhhhhhh!’, and bulled forward.
Iliana got out of the way just in time and retaliated with a side thrust kick into her side, and the opponent teetered sideways.
People roared. Pressing her advantage, she delivered a jumping front kick and then spun into a back-side kick. A plan spun in her mind to lay in kick after kick. The opponent eventually caught Iliana’s leg and threw it to the side. The referee immediately stopped the fight to exchange some harsh words with her.
What the hell is up with this girl? Iliana thought, she had no technique. It was clear to her she was relying solely on her power and strength to win, not speed or strategy.
Iliana licked her lips and kept her eyes on her.
The referee motioned to continue the fight. She pulled her fist back to bring it to
Iliana’s face, but got the wind knocked out of her when Iliana plunged her right foot into her midsection. She staggered back.
The referee came back into the box and ended the first round; he gave four points to Iliana. She turned to look for Zelda in the crowd and found her beaming at her, screaming hysterically, her voice lost over the roar.
Iliana returned her smile and then turned her attention back to the big bull girl. Her red face glared at Iliana infuriatingly; Iliana thought she would see ste
am coming out of her ears. Sweat glistened on her face and her head felt claustrophobic inside her cushioned helmet.
The referee made the motion to start the second round and the bull girl crashed into Iliana. The referee was already over trying to pull her off. Iliana flipped herself back onto her feet, and he gave another warning.
The referee signalled the girls to proceed. Iliana spun away from a low kick and came back around with a turning kick. The referee signalled a point to her.
Her opponent switched tactics and gave her a hard shove. Iliana stumbled back and received a hard kick in her side. Her anger turned to fury and she jump kicked the girl behind the head. She fell flat on her face as Iliana landed on her feet. The girl groaned and the seconds ran out. The referee grabbed Iliana’s wrist and raised her as the winner.
When the tournament finished, everyone from Walkers Fall Tai Kwon Do club bundled into Zelda’s car for the ride home. Inside, the seats were suede on skin and cleanly hoovered; a reflection of Zelda’s OCD tendencies. An air freshener dangled from the rear view mirror, giving off the ‘new car’ smell.
As they exited the community hall car park, Iliana chatted excitedly with her club mates on the gossip and drama of all the fights and rival clubs and who had outperformed them.
Iliana hummed with warmth and elation. The club gave her a sense of solidarity and belonging that she struggled to have in nearly every other part of her life.
After a few drop offs, Zelda asked, ‘Ready to go home?’
‘Oh yeah, home sweet home,’ Iliana replied bitterly.
Zelda said nothing.
‘Of all the places the orphanage could have dumped me it had to be there,’ Iliana said, with more venom than she had meant to let out.
After a long drive in silence, Zelda pulled up and deadened the engine. ‘Look Iliana_’
‘I know what you’re going to say Zelda and I don’t want to hear it. I know you mean well, but I’m probably going to spend the rest of my life with people I hate. People who hurt me and don’t stop hurting me, people who can’t even stop hurting themselves!’
‘I just wanted to say that even when it looks bleak, there is still always hope,’ replied
Zelda quietly, staring at the wheel.
Iliana shut her eyes, resting her hands on the dashboard. ‘I’m sorry Zelda, it’s not your fault. I know you’re only trying to help, and I’m grateful for that. You just…you just don’t know what it’s like living with them…my parents. I’m so fed up.’
‘You know you can talk to me,’ Zelda soothed.
Iliana nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. Thanks for being such a good mate, even when I’m being bitchy and moany.’ She leaned over and hugged her.
‘I was thinking about slapping you but a cat fight seems inappropriate, considering we’re in a car and outside your house and everything. Besides, it’s good to vent every now and again. Keeps you sane.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Iliana released her and opened the car door.
‘Tomorrow.’ Zelda pondered. ‘Oh yes, and on Monday we have sister Susan’s ‘special class’ on our graduation ceremony. How we should all act like ladies when we walk up the church aisle to accept our stupid token. Blah blah blah...’
Iliana laughed.
Zelda rolled her eyes. ‘See you tomorrow!’
Iliana turned to look at her house as Zelda’s car receded down the road. It was a crummy two storey home with an overgrown garden that served as a jungle for rats, rabbits and who knew what else. A peeling white fence kept the jungle within its limits, with grass strands and dandelions poking through, their drooping heads trying to escape the chaos.
Iliana sighed and pushed the creaky gate open. She walked to her door and stopped. Even from outside, she could hear the familiar shouts coming from inside the humble home.
She had run away enough times to know it didn’t work. Giving up on that comfortable thought for what seemed to be the hundredth time, she took out her keys and reluctantly let herself in.
The young faerie soldier stomped his miniature feet in the crusty snow. He rubbed his tiny hands briskly, his breath forming plumes of white in the icy air. Standing guard at one of the nine crescent gates into Earth and beyond, he was four feet high and his smooth skin was tinted a pale lime green. His violet eyes were bigger than any normal humans, and could see into the distance five times more than any person. He wore a flannel shirt and leather breeches. Set over it was a mail dress that stretched from his neck down to his stubby knees, and was finished off by a long cream tunic. It bore the green symbol of the faerie guard; two crescent moons back to back, with a set of dragonfly wings on either side. Strapped to his side was a short sword.
He guarded the gate at Sleepers Hill, one of only a few that dotted around the Otherworld.
The Plinth river ran around it and stretched off into the west, gushing away to cover further distant lands.
The gate itself was a lonesome arch of granite stone, about two persons high, and ten feet wide. Held by iron basket holders were two burning torches on either side of the portal, their dying flames licking at the cold air. Within the archway itself was no door but the universe; a cluster of galaxies hung there in the distance like tilted saucers. They were slow rotating rings of shrouded colours, dusted with millions of stars. Anyone who stared at it long enough could become mesmerized by its odd alluring characteristic, and fall into it and be lost forever. The gates were dangerous to use, even for the few who were allowed to use them without supervision.
Inscribed on each stone was a rune from a time long gone, there weren’t many who still knew how to work them, and the knowledge was guarded cautiously.
Night had fallen, and the dozing faerie stood a few feet in front of the archway, keeping a respectful distance so as not to be sucked into its bottomless depths.
Everyone had heard the stories.
He was singing for dull amusement; night shifts were the most boring.
Positioned a little further down the hill was a small circular lookout hut. A thin stream of smoke trailed out of it. He started whistling when snow began to fall, flakes swirling soundlessly in freefall.
‘Great!’ spat the faerie, it was the fifth time it had snowed that day and the ground was already covered in four inches of the bloody stuff.
‘Kelris! Come out here and bring me some food and a warm blanket!’ He shouted,
and then added quietly, ‘if there’s any to spare’.
‘Flaren, you come and get it, it’s freezing out there and I want my sleep. I’m taking the
shift after you in the morning,’ grumbled a muffled voice.
‘If you don’t come out, I’m going to go in there and make you guard in the freezing cold, remember what General Sires said? I’m in charge, now get me my food and blanket, or I’ll kick your behind till its sore!’ Flaren threatened.
His keen hearing picked up on groaning and shifting from where he stood.
A few minutes later, a very small man stumbled out of the hut and lumbered up to where Flaren was standing. Trailing behind on the ground was a plain brown blanket, and a cup in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other.
‘Here!’ He thrusted forward the blanket and food to Flaren. His white hair was in disarray and messy, and his black eyes shone with irritation in the moonlight.
‘Thank you Kelris,’ Flaren said sweetly, and took the items from him. Kelris didn’t respond, and trundled back down to the small hut, muttering angrily to himself. Flaren put the blanket around his shoulders and took a bite out of the bread before downing the wine.
He was sucking his fingers when he heard a shriek cut through the silence of the night. He snapped his head up, his keen eyes scanned the dark countryside. He hand went cautiously to his sword, the cold night forgotten.
Nothing move.
The surrounding lowlands were still, apart from the occasional passing of grazing buck or sheep. An eerie silence settled abo
ut him like a frosty shadow, then his eyes came to the hut. He went cold.
Flaren didn’t hesitate; he pulled his small sword from its scabbard, sending out a resounding
‘shing’, and darted to the hut. He could hear the clash of steel and several objects smashing.
He saw the wooden door to the hut had been pulled off its twisted hinges and thrown twenty feet away.
He gasped and rushed inside.
The first thing he noticed was that the fire had gone out. Second, as he looked around the hut, he could see that all his comrades were dead. Their broken corpses lay strung out on the floor, their limbs twisted unnaturally and their faces bubbling with red welts.
‘Oh goddess, Danu...’ he breathed, and made the sign of mercy in the air.
Flaren realised he could hear a choking, gurgling sound coming from somewhere deeper in the dark hut. He tentatively followed the noise, his small heart hammering like a blacksmith beating in his chest. He sidestepped carefully around his fallen brethren and found Kelris choking on his own blood and violently convulsing.
Flaren ran to his side and asked desperately, ‘Kelris! What happened?’
Kelris raised his arm to Flaren, it hung weakly in the air and he looked wildly into his eyes. His breathing raspy, he could do nothing more than gag as his blood-stained lips worked uselessly to form hollow words.
His body tensed and arched upwards, then went limp.
Flaren could do nothing but stare, the only sound was his quickening breath.
He stood and looked around with frightened haste.
He ran outside again to see a large black figure standing in front of the gate. It stood tall, a full foot taller than the gate itself. Its wispy black tentacles floated hauntingly around it. The creature’s upper body had the shape of a skinny alien; an oval head with no hair or apparent face. Its body was the colour of squid ink. It’s slim piano fingers worked over the runes of the arch.
Return of the Starchild (The Divine Inheritance Series Book 1) Page 1