She heard the whirl and swoosh of arrows firing or throwing knives cartwheeling towards where she ran. Few landed.
The forest deepened, and she thought the thrill of battle was lost as fatigue and soreness overwhelmed her. Ser Rupert shouted, and Lutessa pushed on, even though it felt like her knees would buckle, unable to stand again. She cursed the heavily weighted plate, even if she would be dead if not for it.
Rich smells of sap and pine gave way again to a thicker scent of rot, grime, and decay. The shadowy masses had colour, if but dull silver and a dark green. No longer could she see them for felled trees or piles of fallen leaves in deep foliage. They were men and women, though some were boys barely old enough to hold a sword. All dead at the hands of the Trechtians.
Then there was so much more.
The thicket ended, and the open plain suddenly stood before them. The archers were there, but before she charged, she stopped, realizing what was behind them.
Trecht’s own column.
Lady Sophia and Ser Rupert saw it as well. The Faithsworn who had picked up the bows, discarded them, and grasped their swords firmly.
This is it.
“Where is our bloody column?!” Ser Rupert shouted out. The archers grinned and snickered.
“We are the column,” Lutessa said plaintively.
“Heh,” Lady Sophia sniggered. “This is no story from the Book of Faith, High Priestess. The Light will not save us now.”
“No,” Lutessa replied. “We are the Light. Let us finish what we came here to do.”
“Bloody priestess,” Ser Rupert said mockingly before charging the archers.
Lutessa followed. No longer did the archers laugh. Most stayed their ground, shot and re-nocked, hoping to catch between the gaps in their crystalline plate. Some did, but not all.
She lost herself in bloodlust, piercing and slashing, spilling blood whilst her foes tried to nock, or when they reached for sword breakers and short swords.
The foes all but slain, she looked out towards Trecht’s column. The Trechtians were no more than a hundred yards away. Spearmen at the fore, trotting cavalry at the at the sides, and what appeared to be legions of swordsmen behind.
She suddenly realized that her words minutes before were meaningless.
Mother God. I have been your servant since my own mother abandoned me at your doorstep. All I am, all I ever was, all I ever wished to be, was your servant. I have been a defender of your Light, your children. A beacon of hope, if paled by your Light and your cathedrals. I cannot defend them any longer.
I did not see the Darkness surround me. It took Rachel, my dear Rachel. Stephen Francis came, guised as a defender of Light, only to be a servant of Darkness. You blessed me with the Mother’s Pilgrim, yet even his guidance was not enough. We, all your children, are still here, lost, and alone.
I have failed you Mother God. I am beyond forgiveness. Beyond redemption.
But the children are not.
Mother God, the children are the Faith, not artefacts of yore. Ward them against the Dusk. Lead them out of the night that I inflicted upon them.
Let this not be the end.
Let Rachel have a congregation of faithful.
The column stood fifty yards away. They halted, while a horseman rode out, bearing the tabard of House Marcanas. She did not think the man Prince Adonis, nor did he bear any resemblance to King Tristifer.
A nameless knight come to gloat.
“This, is this all that remains of your flank?” the knight called out. “We broke your cowards in arms—they fled to your middle. There is no one coming for you. Yet I can see that you spilled much Trechtian blood. I know that it is you Ser Rupert Duvan and Lady Sophia Locklet. What foolishness brought you here?”
Neither Faithsworn said a word. Lutessa simply stared at the mounted knight.
“No words for me? That is well. But hmm,” the knight seemed to lodge his gaze at her. “That is the why for this foolishness. Did you not learn, girl, that a sovereign must sit upon the throne meant for her? You have sent these men and women to the grave. Not that it would have been avoidable, yes? We must have blood.”
She offered no reply.
“I have wasted my breath. You all shall fall.”
The knight turned and began to gallop back, but the land quaked. The knight was thrown from his mount; his legs crushed beneath the weight of the horse. Lutessa fell to the ground, and the Faithsworn screamed out; the Trechtian column came apart at the seams: some fleeing, others shouting to hold their ground. It was a piercing cacophony; an immutable chaos that cared naught for the wars of nations.
Lutessa looked to the east, towards the ocean, towards Isilia. There the sky was no longer grey and brooding. She thought it was being pushed back; within it, just a speck to her eyes, was the faintest of light. Not light, Light.
Mother God had answered her prayers.
Then why are they screaming in pain?
Lady Sophia, Ser Rupert, and the Faithsworn writhed on the ground, ululating in horror. The nameless Faithsworn managed to throw his helm off, and his face was veined with deep, black tendrils. The tendrils smoked and pooled, and when Lutessa looked closely, it seemed to gather into the air. All but her.
She looked east and south, and though it was hard to make out from the grey dark, the tendrils rose into the air, twisting into great streams—towards Isilia, and that faint Light.
In that moment, she knew the war was over. Dalia, Trecht, whatever grievance, real or imagined, no longer mattered. Prince Adreyu’s fate and Counsel Stephen Francis’ deeds from the grave no longer mattered.
Lutessa intoned a prayer. Blessed be the sword arm of the Bringer of Dawn, chosen by Mother God, Herald of Light. Blessed be the Children of the Dawn whom you defend. Whatever comes, I, Lutessa, High Priestess of the Dalian Faith, Voice of Mother God, do so serve your will loyally. May you feel Her warm embrace and deliver us from the Bringer of Dusk, and the dark master that he so serves. Burn away the Darkness as only Light can.
Chapter Twenty-One
Time of Ascendance
Johnathan stared at the towering black mountain.
He felt doubt and fear; and he knew that descending the mountain once more was rank madness, but all hopes were pinned upon it.
“We must go, Ser Johnathan,” Ashleigh said softly. “Aerona cannot stand alone against that monster.”
He turned to face Ashleigh Coburn; her voice had trembled, and her face was wrought in pain and sorrow. The land toils her so, and she knows now that Rafael perished here. She has a strong heart, but it can only bear so much.
He then looked to Lord Daniel Baccan, and his eyes were dead; his countenance was a stone throw from what he had shown on board the narthecal. He was like me once, flailing against what he does not understand. This war has subjugated him. That feeling of powerlessness is not what he ever thought to endure.
“We must not have her wait,” Johnathan remarked solemnly.
He stepped around the runic symbol on the ground; it was the familiar G, circled and slashed, glowering in crimson—like blood. He felt a shadow creep through his mind, screeching and wailing, before it was silenced, as if it never came to pass. Turning, the sentinel and the islander seemed gathered and composed. They have seen the fear, but not truly endured the terror in the mountain’s depths.
“This warmth,” Johnathan remarked, vainly putting aside the memories of the past. “Is it the ward?”
“Yes,” Daniel answered gruffly with slight trepidation. “It is like a pikeman’s shield. The wood will preserve, but the impact of—”
The sound of rock grating cut off speech. Johnathan did not turn as the last light of fading day was extinguished by the mountain’s will. It seemed a realm where Mother God could not hope to touch. The crimson glower of the runic symbol was all that remained among an impenetrable dark.
“We walk where Light is swallowed,” Johnathan intoned. “Never relinquish the walls, or step too quickly—or too fa
r.”
He felt a tinge of faith that felt so foreign, but not unsettling. Decades of servitude to the Dalian Faith—the symbolism, preachers, and god-fearing people did naught to stir piety within him. Not even his rebirth upon these very slopes drove him towards it. Something far more paternal: of loss and deceit. He knew that was the impetus, though he ran from it for so long.
“You—you walked this before?” Ashleigh asked in a tremulous voice.
“Yes, once.”
He would say no more; he refused to let the others see his fear. Placing his own hands against either wall, he shuffled his feet forward. His mind turned wholly to the descent, steeling himself for whatever the dark god had wrought in the years since.
The heat inside the passage was searing, and he breathed in the thick, stifling air. Though his body had healed from the shipwreck, he laboured with every breath. Some wounds are engraved upon the soul.
The mountain itself was silent. His own thoughts—no matter how distant—were the only sound in the bleak, deadened passage.
Yet the past was far too vivid to ignore.
The struggle against the Darkness Rising—the chaos, the endless torture, the unending searing of mind and soul—his being, though it was a shade before the Dream that followed. There were daemonic monsters with leathern wings, mocking and laughing as Dale burned. A premonition that he had seen once before, but unlike then, he did not stare in horror; he drew his sword and slashed and tore at the daemons—some he had slain, others deflected his blows as if he was no more than a squire. Though strong and agile, their flesh tore apart as the vile men he warred against. Every broken body emboldened him, until it all faded.
I was strong enough. They were not.
The men and women he swore to protect were unchanged when the Dream faded. None spoke of what they saw. It was as if they preserved, but it was all a lie. The words were writ on their faces as his once allies stood before the broken Mountain, swords drawn, sworn to the daemons that would bring death and ruin.
And then the monster came. The cloaked daemon
The daemon was armoured from shoulder to heel, and his face was shadowed by a deep cowl. The daemon skirted about with alarming alacrity—skewering foes with his twisted black blade, impaling others with long spikes; blood, broken bone, and torn flesh were littered across the barren floor.
Then the daemon saw Johnathan.
He knew the battle was hopeless. The daemon was too fast, too strong; it ended with Johnathan skewered against the wall, his life’s blood puddling on the ground. In an ever-darkening realm, the daemon revealed himself as Ser Elin. Johnathan was prepared to die.
Then the blinding light came. Tens of thousands dead. I lived, somehow.
His memories slowly faded away. Johnathan thought that Mother God, Sariel, or some other twisted deity had spared him; and the why lay at the end of this path. He was alive again for this purpose. This descent. I will not fail as I did before. Ser Geoffrey. I brought the Darkness to you. You will be the last. I swear it.
“Halt,” Johnathan called as a hot wind beat against his face. A darker bleakness lay beyond.
“What is that wind?” Daniel asked.
“It is where I lost too many good men and women to the dark god,” Johnathan sighed as the pain welled inside. “This is where It once waited for us, for him.” The word hung in the air, sorrow lacing every thought. “The walls end. There is only a stair.”
“If there is a foe we should—”
“No, Ashleigh,” Johnathan interjected. “Pray that Aerona still stands. Steel will be of little use to us if she has fallen.”
Johnathan took the first step into a greater darkness.
He shook with each tremulous step. Fear coursed through his bones. He knew that as long as Aerona fought above, the Darkness Rising would not await them in the depths of the twisted mountain. It proved little comfort. He had too much doubt of what would come, and fewer answers for how to avert it.
My will must be iron, whatever it may cost. He held his determination close and pushed his feet a little faster, eyes ahead. His fingers flexed around the hilt of his sword, never intending to unsheathe it, but resolved to wield it if a foe appeared, meaningless as that may be.
On and on it went.
The black faded to grey, and his feet touched the great oval platform that he once confronted the Darkness Rising upon. He did not look above, but his companions gazed upwards, drawn to the sea of Darkness.
“That is where It descended from high above,” Johnathan remarked. “It was a torrent of darkness and shadow, pushing the grey, renting it all asunder,” he paused and wondered why he shared it at all. “It is not here. Aerona must still live.”
“Disappointing, heh. It has much to account,” Ashleigh said slyly, and the faintest of smiles spread across her lips. “Which stair?”
He gazed about, carefully tracing the eight stairs that ascended into the upper reaches of the mountain. They all seemed to be slanted heavily without turn. His eye always returned to the eastern most stair. He did not ascend it before, but the path seemed familiar.
“You are sure?” Daniel asked.
“It is there. The presence. It is there,” Johnathan declared gruffly.
He pushed through the dark, prepared to face whatever would come.
The dark did not fade at the head of the stairs. The close passage twisted upwards slightly, and ended with broken rock, almost like the maw of some great beast, with long, dripping fangs. Crossing through to smooth steps below, he saw the dark obsidian floor, smelled the damp, grey air, and felt the dead tomb that was once the throne room of the Isilian imperator.
“It has not changed,” Daniel muttered, walking down. “There is something here, near. Some phantom, but real.”
“It is there, and the Dark Brotherhood, like as not,” Johnathan said flatly. “The elders were not wrong.” He drew his sword. “Steel yourselves.”
“Where are they?” Ashleigh asked, brandishing Retribution.
“Where I was a coward, once.”
Johnathan pushed through the towering oak doors of the throne room, walking south and then west through empty, pillared halls. The emptiness seemed like a gaping void of lifelessness, akin to a tomb long forgotten. The obliterating light from the Calamity had rent it all bare, left it to nothingness.
He dodged fallen debris, trudged past open doors, and halted near the end of the hall. On his left stood a wooden door, barely on its hinges, and a warm wind blew it open. He felt the presence more strongly now, as it picked at his mind.
“The Animus Chambers,” he declared and shouldered his way in.
Ashleigh, and then Daniel shouted from behind, demanding answers. Johnathan quickly descended, ignoring their pleas, uncaring if the wood gave way or he tumbled down—the call was all that mattered. He reached the earthen floor, and Daniel pushed him against the wall.
“What is the matter with you? Do you have a death wish, old man? More than your pride is risked here. The bloody bastards took Jaremy, Brayan, and thousands more. We owe it to them. All of them.”
Johnathan did not give an answer. They will not understand.
“You are not the only one here with dead!” Daniel screamed. “I will not have the blood of all who remains on our hands!”
Johnathan stood silently.
Daniel sighed. “Animus Chambers?”
Johnathan spoke. “It is where the stones are. Where Rafael, where Rafael sacrificed himself to free me, to seek Elin. There is something amiss, Daniel.”
Johnathan tried to push off, but the younger man did not flinch.
“We know what awaits us in there,” Daniel near screamed. “We will stop the ritual, retrieve the stones from the pedestals, and Jophiel will do the rest.”
“Something else—”
“We are here now, Daniel,” Ashleigh said from behind, softly. “Naught else matters.”
Daniel gave Johnathan one last shove. “Behind me.”
J
ohnathan acquiesced; the fear, the call, coursed through him like a cacophony.
He entered the Animus Chambers.
The chamber seemed to be carved from the earth: small, cramped and round, but twelve ornately wrought pedestals circled the room each with a stone upon it, shining brightly. The light from the stones seemed to funnel above towards a deep blackness, rimmed by white, and symbols fluttering one after the other in its apex. He did not know a word of the language but knew what it meant: Sovereignty, Sky, Pyre, Faith, Entropy, Dominion, Subversion, Plague, Lucidity, Salvation, and Twilight. The words repeated over in the same order, pressed on top of the word: Adtier. Children of the Earth.
“You have come, as he said you would.”
Johnathan knew the voice. He would never forget it.
“Show yourselves!” Daniel screamed. “You cannot flee from us.”
“It will be you that wishes to flee ere the end,” another voice scoffed as Lord Luc appeared near the Portal. “The Bringer of Dawn will not come to your aid, not this time. Death is the only embrace you shall find.”
“The little girls who think they rule are in over their heads,” a third voice said as Lord Gareth appeared across from Lord Luc. “Lutessa and Aerona shall fall.”
“As you will,” the first voice said again as Lord Aleksander appeared.
Johnathan shoved Daniel aside and looked to the Dark Brotherhood, trembling as he spoke. “I fled once, never again. I thought that I could save him, save that child. I was wrong. That was not something that I could ever do. But Aerona can. She will.”
The Dark Brotherhood descended to the floor. Lord Aleksander stood at the fore. His voice chilled. “Oh what love a father has for his son. Not until that he was so far gone that you showed any care. Did you ever want to tell him that?”
“Do not speak—”
“Do I tell lies, Ser Johnathan? Did you not abandon him when he was a mere boy? Poor judgment of a lusty youth, yet you never considered what you had done.”
“I—” Johnathan shook his head wildly; memories he did not wish to remember were rising. “I could not tell him. I could not. I protected him, guided him and—”
Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1) Page 72