by A. Evermore
‘You should not try to use magic without tuition, it is dangerous,’ Freydel sighed, though there was no malice in his voice.
Cirosa ignored him, took a lantern from a nook in the wall and led the way down. Freydel followed and tapped his staff on the floor; it burst into light. Issa hoped that one day she would be able to use magic with such ease as Freydel did.
Cirosa paused, ‘Please be silent until I speak. We go to the Mother’s Chamber, a sacred place. And touch nothing!’ She added over her shoulder.
Nodding silently they followed her until the only light came from the staff and lantern. Issa was comforted by the darkness of the sacred place as she counted the forty-eight steps down. It felt as if they had descended a long way before the spiralling stairs stopped and levelled out into a straight corridor. The air was cold but fresh and not stale, the walls were slick and black and solid.
They walked for a long time until they finally emerged from the tunnel into a large warm chamber. A place very different when compared to the cold empty temple above for it was dark and natural, the walls jagged and rough, unhewn.
Narrow doorways were covered with richly coloured drapes hinting at other corridors or rooms. Plush red tapestries adorned the walls, depicting ceremonies conducted by Priests and Priestesses dressed in white. Thick rugs in various colours covered the floors upon which heavy sitting cushions were arranged in a circle. Incense burned in the corner, giving a subtle headiness to the air. Issa breathed deeply, feeling somewhat detached but contented, as if she had finally arrived home after a long journey.
They stood silently, patiently waiting for Cirosa to direct them further. She glanced at Freydel, but he stared at a candle, lost in his own thoughts; he had been silent since they left the main temple.
A curtain stirred and a small pale girl entered the room, smiling shyly at the visitors. To Issa she looked very strange, skin so white it was almost translucent, her pale eyes were huge and her uncombed hair was so fair it was almost white. She was skinny and had muddy knees and a grass stained white robe.
For a moment Issa thought she knew the girl, recognised the feel of her presence, and then the feeling was gone, as if the girl had hidden herself somehow. Issa sensed magic about her, albeit a wild type of magic. She fancied the girl was a little feral, and would turn and flee at any moment. She found herself smiling at her. The girl’s smile faded when she looked at Cirosa and she curtsied deeply before turning back to stare unabashedly at Issa. Cirosa did not introduce her.
‘Arla, bring Freydel some spiced wine and then come with us,’ Cirosa commanded. The girl nodded and disappeared back through the door she had entered, returning moments later with a copper tray carrying wine and salted hazelnuts.
‘Freydel, you cannot accompany us any further so please make yourself comfortable here,’ Cirosa said and then motioned to Issa, ‘Come.’ She led the way through a door into another dark corridor. Issa had to bend over slightly to avoid the low ceiling. Arla followed them silently; Issa could feel the girl’s eyes on her back all the way.
After a long time a faint light came from ahead and the air grew warmer. They reached the tunnel’s end and stepped out into a moss and ivy strewn garden. As Issa came into the light, calm detachment settled upon her. This place felt very sacred, like the sacred mound though not as intense. They stood on a small secluded plateau surrounded by tall cliffs, a hidden garden that could fit at most twenty people, Issa fathomed. A slim opening to the right revealed the sea and a white sandy beach far below. Tendrils of mist clung to everything and the air was cool and still.
Ivy covered the cliffs and a willow tree stood opposite the tunnel opening. Its dangling branches were filled with healthy green leaves and from the thickness of its trunk Issa knew it was old. There was a willow tree beside the pond in my dream, she thought.
‘How strange,’ Issa murmured, ‘a willow tree up here, surely they prefer riverbanks.’
‘The willow symbolises strength to overcome sorrow and it is linked to water and the moon, all symbols of the Night Goddess,’ Arla’s childish voice was filled with wisdom. ‘We don’t know who planted it here, perhaps it was the wind, but there is an underground stream beneath it and it is protected by the cliffs.’
‘Do be quiet, Arla!’ Cirosa scolded, but Issa smiled in surprise at the girl’s knowledge.
To the left of the willow tree, cut out of a natural jutting of the cliff, was a perfectly round stone bowl carved with leaves and ivy. Real ivy clung to it as if in mimicry. How can it be? It is the same stone bowl as in my vision, Issa thought and went to it. The ivy, both real and carved, and the smooth stone bowl were exactly the same. Water, dark and still, already filled it though this time her reflection stared back at her.
‘What is it?’ Cirosa asked sharply, unable to contain her curiosity.
‘I have seen this before,’ Issa breathed.
‘Impossible, no one but the girl and I and initiates may come here, and never without me. Let us begin,’ Cirosa said dismissively and stood the other side of the stone bowl.
Something caught Issa’s attention and she looked up the cliff face. Her eyes came to rest on the raven perched upon a rocky outcrop, stark black against the grey stone. No one else appeared to notice him. She sighed in relief.
At the High Priestess’s beckoning, Arla came to stand before the bowl, standing on tiptoes to see into it. Cirosa watched the girl, anxiously chewing on her lip. Arla’s eyes became distant and then she spoke, beholding some image in the water that no other could see.
‘She is close to us now.’
Issa jumped for Arla’s voice was no longer a child’s but a woman’s, rich and echoing around them. Issa’s eyes flickered back to the raven and she felt herself floating towards him, hastily she pulled herself back. She could not join him, not now at least. The air was still, loaded with latent power, and the raven watched and waited. Arla took a small wooden cup from her pocket and filled it. With unblinking eyes and an unsteady child’s hand she passed the cup to Issa.
‘You must enter the Spirit World and accept what visions She brings to you or does not bring. You will see the path you have already chosen,’ the child said in that same rich voice.
Slowly Issa brought the cup to her lips and paused. What if Cirosa has poisoned it? A hundred doubts and fears flashed through her mind and it seemed the silver leaf bracelet tightened on her wrist, as if in reassurance or warning. But the girl was right, she had already chosen the path, there was no turning back. She closed her eyes and drank the liquid. Cool water, as pure and refreshing as that which she had drunk in her vision, slipped down her throat and she was overcome with thirst, just as she had been in her dream. She refilled the cup.
A voice spoke softly, ‘Only Her waters can slake your thirst, only Her gifts can satisfy your needs,’ but she didn’t know if the voice was in her head or not.
Issa could feel the others around her more strongly than before; the soft white light of Arla, the erratic amber light of Cirosa, the dark light of the watcher raven above. To her the raven’s presence was most apparent and she had a strong desire to join with him, to fly with him.
Feathers brushed her face but when she opened her eyes nothing was there, the raven was still perched on the crag watching her. The mist was thickening and it grew darker, as if evening was coming though it was only midday. Cirosa had her back to her but Arla was still staring at her with those unnerving large eyes.
Issa swayed, feeling disembodied; the ground lurched beneath her. Have I drunk too much? She blinked to stop the spinning and saw that the ivy had parted to reveal a dark entrance to somewhere within the rock.
‘Look there is a doorway…’ she began but trailed off for the others had gone and she was alone except for the watchful eyes of the raven above. She stepped into the pitch-blackness onto nothing. She did not fall but floated on emptiness. Her long white robes billowed around her; she was a wraith floating in the darkness.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Karshur's Dagger
Issy?’ A voice she knew well called to her in the darkness. The voice was full of love, a light in the dark that drew her towards it.
‘Ma?’ she strained to see in the growing light and caught a glimpse of long fair hair and her mother’s smile. Tears filled her eyes even as warmth and happiness filled her heart.
The world materialised and she stood upon a sandy beach before an ocean. Her mother stood some distance away at the water’s edge with her back to her.
‘Ma?’ she called again uncertainly but her mother did not move or speak.
Issa started towards the water’s edge then stopped. Her pulse began to race as a moon larger than the sun rose upon the horizon with unnatural speed. It was blue and cast everything in a blue light, just like the moon she had seen rise on Edarna’s island, only this one was covered in dark blotches that marred its surface and its light held no power.
Issa ran towards her mother but as she neared her mother began to wade into the water. With each step the still water became choppy until large waves were crashing around her mother but she did not stop.
‘Ma wait, please!’ Issa pleaded as she came to a stop at the waters edge, feeling a terrible sense of foreboding and danger within the ocean.
Wings brushed her cheek and a raven landed, blocking her path. Her mother now stood waist-high in the waves and she turned to wave at Issa, smiling and beckoning, not noticing the swell.
Issa ran past the raven, ignoring him and all her senses that screamed at her not to follow. She gasped as icy cold water engulfed her. Only her mother’s head was visible now and again as she bobbed amongst the waves. A huge wave covered her head and then she was gone.
‘Ma!’ Issa screamed.
Then she saw the white mass of Keteth moving towards her just beneath the water’s surface. She was dimly aware of the raven’s cawing but was frozen in fear. Intense longing battled against loathing within her and a wave crashed over her head dragging her into darkness.
Issa stood on the banks of a river, its water lapped at her feet but was stained red with the blood of the dead and dying strewn along its banks. She stepped back in horror. They were all soldiers; young and old, male and female, and of many races. All wore silver armour and the same bloodied and torn tabard: a golden shield on a red background. Dead bodies and hacked limbs bumped against each other as they floated down the river whilst those still alive clung to or crawled up the banks.
Beyond the opposite bank stretched a long blood-stained battlefield. The screams of horses and soldiers fighting scoured the air and the madness of battle fury clawed at her. Black armoured hulking shapes, half again the size of a man, lumbered towards her. Their skin was parched and grey as if they were long dead, their faces were almost human but contorted and deformed, their eyes all white or black, their teeth blackened and broken.
The dull light of a cold sun glinted off their heavy beetle-like armour as they moved. Wickedly sharp blades slashed at soldiers still strong enough to fight, slicing through silver armour as if it were paper and she sensed the taint of enchantments upon their weapons.
Something moved at Issa’s feet. A man reached up and grasped her arm, smearing her with clotting blood as she stared down into a desperate face. His beard was streaked with blood and mud and he mouthed words she could not determine. She reached down and cupped his face tenderly; his blue eyes stared into hers.
‘Maphraxies everywhere! It is lost!’ he gasped. His face contorted with pain and his hand went slack. Issa was unable to hold his heavy armoured body and he flopped down lifeless, face down into the mud. She shook with fear but could not run for her feet were glued to the ground and would not obey.
The Maphraxies started to cross the river, tossing the dead and dying aside as they lunged towards her. They snarled at her, mindless and mad, the smell of sickly sweet Sirin Derenax, the Black Drink she had never smelt before, heavy around them.
Her feet suddenly moved and she turned to run, stumbling over bodies, straight into a female soldier coming up behind her. She staggered to keep her balance and gasped.
The woman was dressed in black Dragon skin armour and wore no tabard. She had a short sword and knife at the ready, her stance deceptively languid. Her face was partially concealed by a leather helmet overlaid with black feathers, but that face Issa knew well for the eyes that beheld her coldly were blue green like the sea, like her own. In a gauntleted hand the woman pointed her sword towards Issa and it gleamed in the light.
‘You cannot run,’ Issa’s dark-clad double said, ‘they will come for you wherever you may be. You must face your destiny or we shall all perish.’ Then her double ran towards her. At the last moment Issa fell back from the sword, whirling to see it lift and crash down upon the face of a Maphraxie who had come up behind her. It slumped to the floor, blackish red blood oozing from its broken head.
Issa watched, sickened and stunned, as a vicious fight unfolded. Her other self slashed savagely left and right, dancing with a cat-like grace Issa could only marvel at. At every opportunity magic burst from the warriors’ fingers searing grey flesh with blue-black fire. She keenly felt its dark destructive force as it sizzled the air around her.
‘What is it you would have me do!’ Issa cried uselessly, but her voice was lost in the din of the battle and the world faded once more.
Issa wandered through a cold barren landscape. No tree or bush or animal in sight, just wisps of brown grass straining up through the cold hard ground, the sky an unbroken blanket of grey. The place was empty, devoid of life, and with every step that emptiness deepened and she became more lost and confused.
On and on she walked with no sense of how long she had been walking, or where she was headed, but it felt like forever. For one terrible moment she wondered if she were back in the Shadowlands, or worse, if she had never really left and all else was but a dream. She looked at her hands. Her ring was dull and scratched with age and Ely’s bracelet was gone.
Issa looked around her, wondering if she’d dropped it, and then a flutter of tiny wings caught her attention. A butterfly, in this place? But as it neared she saw the wings were attached to a tiny human. The Fairy had large slanted eyes, a long and narrow equine face and violet hair.
‘Are you lost, Child of the Raven?’ she said in a soft high-pitched voice.
Issa sighed, ‘Yes, I’ve been assigned a task, a test, for something important but I don’t know what it is I have to do and I don’t know where I am for the world keeps shifting as if it is a dream, yet I know it is not.’ As she spoke she was chagrined to feel the tears of fear and frustration sliding down her face.
The Fairy smiled and patted her hand with its tiny one. ‘Don’t be upset, I can help you. Sometimes we all loose our way. Look,’ the Fairy said, and threw sparkling dust into the air. It shimmered and formed a silvery blue oblong within which an image appeared. Issa could make out an ocean; calm and glittering in the sunlight, but then turning grey and dark as storm clouds covered the sky. She stepped back in alarm as Keteth appeared.
‘He cannot harm us, not here,’ the Fairy said, swift to reassure, ‘though you would do well to remember that he is a master of trickery. That was not your mother you saw back there but an illusion created to trap you. This place we are in is like the world Keteth wants to create.’
There then came the growing sound of many voices, men and women, old and young, talking, laughing, singing, shouting all at once.
‘Those are the voices of the imprisoned,’ the Fairy said. The cacophony grew louder and louder, the din filling Issa’s head until she could bear it no more.
‘Please stop!’ she begged and at once the noise was gone.
‘The more souls Keteth takes the stronger he becomes and the weaker we are,’ the Fairy explained, ‘Baelthrom knows this, which is why he lets him live. Keteth must be destroyed to free the souls of the Ancients and others, and thus return the power back to us. This is no easy task. All who have trie
d have only destroyed themselves. His is a power that stretches beyond this life.
‘If you choose to do this and fail he will take your soul for his own pleasures and use your powers against us. If you succeed you will be forever changed for the souls he keeps will be released to you and you must be strong enough to hold them. Then will the Night Goddess of the dead take them from you, then will she know you are strong enough.’
‘Is this the test that has been chosen for me?’ Issa asked.
The Fairy nodded. ‘I am here only to help you. Your feelings are true, Cirosa is twisted; she believes she has chosen this impossible test for you. She believes you will fail. And you would fail. But she forgets about the secret of Karshur, and I know all the secrets. This task, this test, was chosen long ago but not by her, by Zanufey. It was I who planted the idea in Cirosa’s head, not the Goddess.’
‘However, that illusion of your mother and Keteth, that was hers and nothing to do with the true test. That was only small and yet she nearly succeeded in bringing you to Keteth. See how dangerous she can be?’ Issa nodded and swallowed hard.
‘It is lucky you have a raven to guard you,’ the Fairy smiled encouragingly. ‘I know how hard this awakening has been for you, so much death have you borne witness too. But it will make you strong and hard, just do not let it take your heart. It was I that visited you when you were in the storehouse of Kammam, so you do have friends watching though you cannot always see them.’
‘…True friends can be found in the most unlikely places…’ Issa breathed, thinking of Edarna’s words as she remembered the being of light that had visited her.
The Fairy smiled, ‘Edarna is an intriguing being; I feel she still has a part to play in your future. Keteth ceaselessly searches for you now. He knows that you know true life should be eternal and if he cannot claim the dead then he has no power. The Night Goddess calls for the lost souls he has enslaved, the time has come for them to be freed and for that to happen so too must Keteth be freed. The task has been set before you and it is up to you to accept it, to accept the mantle of the Night Goddess.’