Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  No one spoke; they stared at each other blankly. Stephen put his eyes down, waiting for another to break the silence.

  “You ask much of us,” Counsel Anastasia spoke out, trepidation in her voice. “Gabriel’s Gift went out of knowledge three hundred years past, if it even existed then. The people, they believed that Justine the Indomitable used it to cleave down the enemies of the Faith, turning her sword unto the Light itself. Any man or woman who considers the truth of that story must dismiss it as fantasy. It is no more than the ardent wish of a bedraggled commons looking for hope. This realm is that of war; and the people must have hope to make it through another day. So it remains, never changing, never fleeing.”

  “It must exist,” Ashleigh pressed. “Much that I have seen that I cannot explain. When men in black reveal wonders, why not those in white?”

  “Child, you must—”

  “No, it exists,” the Voice insisted, cutting her mentor. “Secrets will no longer avail us. I would not lie to them for a moment more.”

  What secrets do you hold Lutessa?

  “High Priestess,” Counsel Anastasia insisted strongly. “It is not—”

  “It must be said,” the Voice said as she pushed her chair back and looked out to the rolling grasslands. “What I am to say cannot leave this chamber. Gabriel’s Gift is a treasure that cannot fall in the wrong hands. I will pay the price for secrecy and deception. But if the wrong person should find it…”

  Stephen bowed his head, salivating. I am not as lost as I once feared.

  “The stories the people tell are true,” the Voice began. “In the time of Gabriel, the prophet had many enemies, and fewer friends. The dreams called out, yet it took long to reach them all. The True Seed of Mother God knew his end was near, and knew that those chasing him would not give up their pursuit. In the Last Days, the savior called for his followers to find the Paragon of the Faith. This person must be a strong believer and a merciless warrior, wise in counsel, and just in action. Men and women were brought to him, high birth and low, rich and poor, soldiers and tradesmen, mercenaries and knights. One remained to the prophet whom he entrusted everything to: his life, his knowledge, and his treasure. This paragon was named Justine the Indomitable—the woman who would become the first Voice. Day and night they were sequestered, sharing his experiences, imparting his knowledge. With his last breath, he gave to her a scintillating crystal, clear and pure, and blindingly white. It was said to be the Light itself, and she ensconced it in her legendary sword Light of Dawn, and cleaved the enemies of the Faith with it. Her life was short; some said the gift did it to her. I can believe that. It was entombed with her, not far below where we stand now.”

  The crypts! Stephen thought. The messenger stood beside it and did not know it. I had been there how many times? Of course it would be entombed with her! In a place that few would visit; in chambers beneath the earth.

  “Damian suspected as much,” Lord Daniel said softly. “It accounts for why he would not simply steal it, as he has done before. They manipulated him, wanted this war: for it is the only path to Gabriel’s Gift, lest he bewitched you, High Priestess.”

  “I am in full command of my faculties, my lord,” the Voice said, recoiling.

  “If it is here, why do we not take it? He will be back,” Ashleigh put in.

  “It is no longer there,” the Voice admitted.

  You took it.

  “I placed it in the hands of a man I once trusted,” Lutessa continued solemnly. “It, it tore him apart. It made him do unspeakable things. I could, I could not sentence him to die. It has long lingered on my conscience. I simply wanted another Justine the Indomitable. All I desired was peace and strength for a country that knew only sadness and grief. In the end, all I created was a monster.”

  “It is an Animus Stone then,” Lord Daniel said flatly.

  “What destroyed Isilia,” Counsel Anastasia whispered hoarsely.

  “Did it,” Ashleigh muttered slowly. “Did it, did it destroy, did it take away, my…”

  “No,” Lutessa said strongly, now the Voice again. “Ser Elin gave it back when he gave himself up for judgment. He was never the same afterwards. I made a decision then, against wiser counsel.” For the first time she looked west, and then with reddened eyes, turned to Counsel Anastasia. “I sent it to a land of death, where few live, and no outsider may walk. There an old hermit keeps it beneath the sands. It is beyond our reach—and Damian’s.”

  Stephen felt like a blind beggar. The overlord was convinced that Gabriel’s Gift dwelled within the White Walls, but if the Voice could be believed, it no longer was. Tell him that, and he will call us a liar and burn this country to the ground.

  “We cannot sit here and wait for our doom,” Stephen declared.

  “We will not do that,” the Voice replied. “Lord Daniel, what can you tell us about Damian? Is there hope against such a foe that you can see?”

  “Against the overlord hopes are vain. Yet he has not been himself; not for the last year.”

  “What do you mean?” Counsel Anastasia asked.

  “It was sometime during the last war. A man came to the islands. He was aboard some trader vessel that left soon as it docked. I thought it suspicious, and looked into it myself. The man would not reveal his face, not to me, not to anyone. He stood in the face of the overlord: defiant, cloaked and cowled, all in black. Men and women who stood before Damian thus found themselves a head shorter. Not this man. I fear we were not the only ones…” As his speech trailed off, he looked towards Ashleigh Coburn.

  “I was not there,” she said, “so I cannot tell you much. The lord commander often spoke of Lord Kaldred the same way. Cowled, all in black, turning defiance to subservience. All but him… and he is no longer with us.”

  Lord Kaldred. A black name that Stephen never wanted to utter. Memories of his time in Isilia were faint, but the name of Lord Kaldred would not flee from his mind. So much darkness and terror, if the dark god… no I shall not countenance that.

  “He called himself the Shadow,” Lord Daniel said. “The man counseled patience, of letting events pass, and striking when favour was strongest. That, that creature was the one who sought Gabriel’s Gift. Somehow he knew it was here, and Damian believed it. I have never seen him so subdued, so obedient. Unless the wretch makes a play for his life, the overlord will obey.”

  “You fear Isilia’s fate to your islands?” Counsel Anastasia asked.

  “Counsel, no,” Lord Daniel replied sternly. “I do not fear it. I feel it in my bones. What else can we surmise? Lord Kaldred came to Isilia bearing a gift. Through conquest, the imperium brought relics to him, and now it is lifeless. I know the history of our lands. I know of the mistrust and resentment. I know of the fell deeds that we have wrought. Yet these men are powerful; more powerful than I could ever imagine. If we do not unearth Gabriel’s Gift, High Priestess, you would stand alone against Trecht. You need us to survive. This is the hour of our doom. We stand as one or we fall as none.”

  The Voice was stone-faced and solemn. “If I were to tell you of a way, my lord, what would you do with it when you found it? The gift has put a man and woman in the grave, and pushed another,” she sighed, “into futility. I will not contend that we must pool our strengths and end the threat of these cowled men. Yet I also know that these objects hold immense power, far beyond our understanding. If it is unearthed, are they not that much closer to those who would do us great harm?”

  “Did Justine the Indomitable not use it to end the Lord of Death?” the islander lord asked.

  “If you believe that,” Stephen said dismissively, “then you are no different than children who hide scared beneath their blankets. Sariel, Lord of Death, He has not yet come. I believe, like the Voice, that Justine used the power of the gift to cleave the foes of the Faith, but to say that a dark god descended and was banished by it—nonsense. For my part, Lord Kaldred and these cowled men are servants of the Lord of Death, and a time will come when a wa
rrior will raise a sword of Light and cleave Darkness forever. Yet that warrior is not you.”

  “What would the counsel of faith suggest we do?” Lord Daniel asked angrily.

  “Beseech the Order. That is who guards the Desert of Death, is it not?”

  He heard soft laughter, almost a giggle, and the clangor of plate. The sentinel seemed wroth. “It is Isilians who gave the desert its moniker. I have been near the Belt of Life, seen the grains, and felt the scorching heat. It is not guarded by any other than itself. To think of crossing it is folly. Better men than present company have died in the attempt.”

  “There is much you do not understand,” Counsel Anastasia lectured sharply. “The desert can be crossed. It has been done before. It can be done again by those who carry the blessing of the Faith. Should the Voice bestow it.”

  “If I should bestow it.” The Voice seemed unsure. The look on her face was plain enough. “The crossing is wrought with danger, even those blessed by the Light. Yet if it meant a future where we live free of subjugation, I would grant it, and pray. Still, I do not know if we would be better for it. Unless, unless—”

  All eyes turned to the Voice, waiting for the words to spill forth.

  “High Servitor Jophiel must be consulted,” she said at last.

  “Who is High Servitor Jophiel?” Stephen asked wildly.

  The door to the solar swung open and a towering, broad, strong faced man walked through. His hair was long, and his beard fell to his chest. The man seemed to limp, and needed to lean on the Corsair to stand. There was a long white tabard across his chest, and light and worn brown leather peaked beneath it. Stephen thought the man had just come from war.

  Then he saw the man’s face. A long scar cut beneath his eyes, and the flesh upon his brow was raw and still healing.

  “You were freed from the gaols!” Stephen exclaimed. “High Priestess, why did—”

  “You will be repaid for it later, you blind fool,” Ser Johnathan replied. “All it takes is an accursed pirate lord to put aside your petty squabbles, and a deadly play for power. I should pity and spit on the lot of you. Mother God I want to. Pah, we have no time for that now.”

  “The high servitor,” the Voice said abruptly before Stephen could say a word.

  “Yes, High Servitor Jophiel. The Order is no wild tale. I had seen him before. He came to this city to warn me. The fool I was for not heeding him. I will heed him now. Jophiel will know what to do.” The broken man looked around the room, as if weighing the character of every man and woman. “He will see those who speak the password entrusted to me.”

  “What pray will that do?” Stephen asked scornfully, wondering why the Voice was taken to such madness.

  “It will grant an audience with a son of Mother God—the one and only salvation from the sea of storms.”

  “High Priestess,” the soft voice of Counsel Anastasia said. “Is Jophiel the hermit?”

  “Yes. That was the name I was given, by a man in thin brown robes who took the gift from us.” The Voice paused before continuing. “I believe that there is much that we do not understand. Ne’er before did I think it possible for an entire country to be eradicated in a blinding light. That happened, Ashleigh’s eyes do not lie. Ne’er before did I think it possible that a man from the islands would stand in heartfelt alliance. That happened, Lord Daniel’s eyes do not lie. I am determined to make a leap of faith for Ser Johnathan Falenir: for his eyes do not lie. There is much that is changed, and much that is the same. If he would trust to High Servitor Jophiel, I will trust to him.”

  “There is a difficulty,” Lord Daniel declared. “How do we reach the Belt of Life and pass through to the desert undetected? Damian will have the seas watched—now more than ever.”

  “I was hoping that you would find a way,” the Voice intoned. “The Faith can gift you a small, fast ship. You can fly smuggler’s colours. I pray you find your allies.

  “I could dodge them for a time, if luck holds, and the risk is worthy. What of Isilia? I can sail us up and down her coastlines well enough, but of the inland, I am ignorant.”

  “If it is a fool’s hope, why not a fool’s errand?” Ashleigh put up joyfully. “I can guide you through Isilia. I cannot trust to the words of a man who would have seen me dead a year ago. Yet I will… I must… have faith.”

  “What do you have to gain?” Counsel Anastasia asked skeptically. “What did Dalia ever mean to an Isilian?”

  “Little and less,” the sentinel admitted, “but I have sought answers since that day. There were none on the islands, and forgive me, but I doubt

  they are here. Perhaps the high servitor will know. I must make the attempt.”

  “Might be he knows,” the counsel said.

  “Then it is decided.” The Voice pronounced, as if she handed out decisions in the Chamber of Judgment. “You will be blessed at the rising of the sun. The rest will remain here, defending Dalia. I pray you will be fast, and High Servitor Jophiel, wise.”

  Stephen was still furious in the dead of night.

  All I ever did, I did for the Faith! The Faithsworn is our shield, whether Lutessa could see it or not. If not for me, our city would be looted, our alters defiled! “And she trusts the traitor!” he screamed, throwing a vase against the wall. “What a ruse! He trusts a daemon! A man tainted by the dark god! The man is no different from those cloaked figures. He plots and plots, counting on her friendship and loyalty, and it worked. It worked! High Servitor Jophiel? Jophiel? That man died along with his prophet hundreds of years ago. Delusions and lies! I should be the one to cross the desert, take the treasure from some old, done man, and hand over the gift to those who would preserve our realm. Now we are cursed by daemons and savants who have no regard for gods or mortals. There is one Mother God. One! One True Seed. One! Their faith wavered and mine has not. It has. It has. It is all—GRAGH!” He wanted more to throw, to smash, but he always kept his solar clean and uncluttered. “Mother God! Why do you treat your servant so?!” Sinking to the ground, he held his head in his hands.

  None had stirred, despite the ruckus. Though the air was suddenly heavy and warm.

  If Ser Johnathan says aught, it will be the end of me, it will be…

  “How often must I remedy your failures?”

  The voice was cold and chilling.

  Stephen turned around and saw a man in black, his deep hood thrown back. The face was youthful but worn, creased and battered. It looked like his cheek bones were smashed, and his skull pulled apart, held together by some weak thread.

  He stinks of death.

  The man offered a gloved hand, black as midnight. Stephen would not take it.

  “Then stand on your own. I care not.”

  “Who are you?” Stephen asked stubbornly, rising.

  “A friend. My brother seems to think you will not listen to him. I have been watching and listening. I do not think he is far wrong. Did you forget what was done for you?”

  “I had… no, I had not.”

  “You were ne’er meant to be this weak.”

  The cloaked man stared daggers into him. Stephen could not bear the silence any longer. “Does he bring news?”

  “He does,” the man replied as he pulled up his hood. “You still have the stone do you not? Yes, your eyes betray you. You do have it, good. That will not help you against the Voice. No, she is shielded. Although you already know that. She is but one woman, without sword, and can be slain like anyone else.

  “As you say.”

  “Good. Let us go to the old garrisons in the west of the city. That is where your Faithsworn are put up, no? Let us see if their captains can survive the Dream. There is much they must do when the gift is retrieved.”

  Mother God, forgive me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Home

  Aerona was home.

  The cavern was dank and dark, but she thought it peaceful. Sheets of water ran down the mouth of Ashen Falls, filling her with hope and calm. She came to
think, train, and reflect.

  She saw the rotted archery butts along the northern wall, the fences for melees and close combat, and the broken-down trestle tables along the western walls. Closing her eyes, she could see the countless women walking through the cavern, swords or bows in hand, pushing each other to exhaustion, and sharing meat and mead at the end of long days.

  The women had come to her as orphans, disgraced knights, former slaves, and exiles. They were lost in the realm, and Aerona had given them purpose. It was not a life of luxury that she offered, but of hard, leal service. None had spurned the offer, and few enough were deemed unworthy.

  Some among them that rose high. The twin orphans, Claire and Jessica were strong and fierce, unrelenting, but possessed a motherly mercy about them. Dark skinned Dominique had come to her from Dalia, cast out by Ser Johnathan Falenir when the Ser Elin Durand was held to account for his crimes. Aerona thought there was a stronger warrior who walked through her door. She was tall too, with a longer wingspan than any woman had the right to have. Then there was Lara: fair skinned, short, but fast. Lara had spurned the long swords, spears, and long handled axes that the rest of the Brood took to, preferring short swords, sword breakers, and dirks. Her sparring partners would smile at her condescendingly, onlookers gaped and jeered, until she disarmed them and held a blade to their throats before the match was seconds old. No one laughed then.

  Now they are all gone. I could not even bury them.

  Aerona had given them all a choice. No woman would be forced to commit treason for a cause that they did not believe in. None would ever die for her own ambitions; that was what made her different from Damian’s hordes, she knew. The Brood, though her own to command, always served the islands and the will of the overlord.

  None of them balked.

  Aerona departed at dawn, leading them along the southern coasts, heading east. Secrecy was ever an ally, and few ships ever risked the south-eastern tip of the islands: Lakarn lay there, dead and menacing.