by Donovan, Rob
“Leave before I force you to gut yourself with your own blade,” she said.
“Don’t be foolish, hag, we both know your sorceress powers are useless here,” he said.
Doubt seeped into her mind. Was he telling the truth? She suddenly realised that she had not been able to use any of her abilities since she had entered the Marshes of Night. Her sixth sense, usually infallible, had failed her earlier above ground, as had her simple elevation trick when she had fallen into the drowning mud.
The man must have read the expression on her face as it was his turn to laugh.
“You didn’t know. Well, well, looks like my master was wrong about you, Marybeth.”
She flinched at the mention of her name. The man stepped forward out of the shadows for the first time. She recoiled at the sight of him. He had a small mouth shaped into a sneer. His crooked nose had been broken many times and his eyes protruded too far out of their sockets. All of this was overshadowed, however, by his greasy hair. One side fell in long knotted tousles down to his neck, whilst the other side was shaved close to the scalp, giving an uneven appearance.
“Now kindly hand over the scroll and let’s avoid any unpleasantness,” the man said.
“Make me,” Marybeth replied. “I don’t need any powers to handle a serf like you.”
With a quickness that surprised her, the man closed the gap between them and with a flick of his blade opened up a small cut on her arm. Marybeth jumped back and crouched in a defensive stance, her hand instinctively holding her cut arm. The man glared at her defiance.
“I’m already getting tired of this, crone. Let’s not delay the inevitable. I have a sword and you are unarmed.”
He flicked his blade again with frightening speed. Before she saw the movement and maybe have a chance to react, Marybeth felt a sting in her other arm.
“We can play this game for as long as it takes. The end result will be the same—I will have that scroll. The only difference will be if you are recognisable or not.”
Marybeth’s shoulders sagged, she realised she had no choice and reluctantly held out the scroll to the man.
“That’s more like—”
He never got to finish the sentence as Marybeth rammed her palm into his nose, hearing the satisfying crack as she broke it. She followed this up quickly by sweeping his legs from underneath him and then kicking him in the gut. The man grunted as his breath was taken away.
“Your nose didn’t look right healed,” she said as she ran towards the hole.
She had submerged her body most of the way in when she screamed in agony. The man stabbed his sword into her calf. Her eyes filled with tears and her stomach lurched. She screamed again as he began to drag her back into the Chamber by pulling her injured leg. She frantically tried to purchase a grip inside the hole, but she could find only smooth stone. He twisted the blade in her leg causing her to black out from the pain.
When she came to, she caught a glimpse of his foot disappearing into the hole. She tried to pursue him but her leg gave out as soon as she tried to put weight on it. I have to get that scroll back, she thought to herself. She realised as she pulled herself towards the hole that she hadn’t even had time to look at the scroll and had no idea what was written on it.
Although she was hindered by her leg, she reasoned that her attacker was bigger than her and would find it harder to manoeuvre through the tight confines of the corridor. His vision would also have been impaired because his nose was broken. Ignoring the pain, she chased after the scroll. She was encouraged by the sounds of his exertions ahead of her.
She pulled herself to one leg and hopped after him. She rounded the final bend in time to hear his footsteps bounding up the stairwell. She increased her efforts knowing once he got out into the open, she would have practically lost any chance of catching him. The moonlight from the green moon revealed drops of blood on the stairs where her attacker still bled. Good, she thought, but each step she climbed sent a shooting pain through her.
She got to the top of the stairs and was shocked to see that he was standing in front of her. It took a moment for her to register all colour had drained from his face. He was looking up at the trees. She followed his gaze and gasped at what she saw.
Tall, human-like figures covered from head to foot in short white fur, sat perched on the trees. They possessed no facial features but for two square slit eyes that shone a brilliant blue. Their most striking features, however, were the enormous wings that emerged from their shoulders and towered over their heads. These were scaly and ended in sharp points.
The more she looked, the more of the creatures she noticed. They were scattered about on all the branches that overhung the Scroll Room entrance. The white figures were glowing slightly in the darkness like snow. Their silence was eerie and only added to their imposing presence.
She was so transfixed by them that she did not noticed her attacker start to move. He drew his half sword and cautiously edged closer to the Marshes. It was clear he was poised to make a dash for it. Marybeth did not know whether to stay where she was or pursue him.
All of a sudden, the white spectres swooped down from the trees. They landed deftly, all with one leg bent, almost touching the ground, their head bowed forward and their wings engulfing the rest of their body. As one they slowly rose to their feet, their heads straightening only when they were fully standing. All of this was done without a sound. The synchronised motion sent chills down Marybeth’s spine as did the unbroken circle they formed around her and the attacker.
“What do you want from me?” the man shouted.
He circled cautiously, showing his half blade to each of them in turn. For the first time, he noticed Marybeth. Surprise registered on his face, but he decided that the threat of the ominous white figures was more pressing.
“I am taking this scroll. If I have to slay each and every one of you, I will,” he said.
Silence was their only reply, the glowing cobalt eyes staring at him.
Marybeth took a step back down the spiral stairs. She wanted to warn her attacker that these must be the Custodians the message on the table spoke of. Finally, two of the pale figures broke the circle by stepping forward and then sidestepping in front of their neighbour, another two pairs stepped forward and did the same so that there were two rows of three bodies forming a gap the man could get through.
The man saw this and edged towards the gap, his half sword still held aloft. As he passed the first pair of Custodians, they shifted abruptly to face him. He tensed into a fighting stance. When they made no move, he relaxed and a satisfied smirk appearing on his face. He proceeded through the gap.
He was halfway through the gap when the Custodians spread their wings and let out a high-pitched shrieking sound from mouths that Marybeth did not think they had. They towered over the man, who, like Marybeth, covered his ears at the noise. Hundreds of black spikes burst through their furry bodies, each the size of a grown man’s finger. The two Custodians closest to the man charged at him, flattening him between them.
They withdrew to leave the man standing there, puncture holes covering his body. Marybeth managed to see the first signs of blood seeping from his wounds before two more charged at him completely shielding her view. When they withdrew, another two took their place.
This continued relentlessly. Each time a pair of the Custodians withdrew, Marybeth saw the sickening effect their impact had on the man. The shrieking only intensified. He was now a mass of red, ribs pierced his body and one of his eyes hung from its socket. He still held the sword, a blue viscous substance dripping from the blade. She assumed this was from wounding the creatures, but she saw no sign of damage on them.
Marybeth was sure that the man would collapse, but the two new Custodians that attacked each time seemed to hold him up before he could fall. On several occasions, a Custodian rushed past her, lightly knocking her as it closed in on the man to inflict more pain.
Finally, the attacks ceased. What was
left of the man slumped to the floor, a mass of crushed bones, skin and blood, unrecognisable as the man that had been standing there moments before. The scroll perfectly intact floated to the stone floor as the Custodians resumed their position surrounding her.
She stared at their impassive faces for a long time, trying to gauge how they would react. She knew she had no choice but to pick up the parchment and take her chance with their gauntlet. The thought of suffering the same fate as the man made her nauseous. The Custodians stood as still as statues. Quiet sentinels of the Chamber of scrolls.
She tried to reach out with her mind, trying to establish a connection with the creatures. It was no use, the man had been right, her abilities did not work in the Marshes of Night. The table in the Chamber room stated that the Custodians would allow the person whose intentions were worthy to borrow the scroll. Was that her? It must be. After all, inside the Chamber, she had been permitted to retrieve the scroll without having her arm mangled. This surely indicated she was worthy?
She was not convinced. Grabbing the scroll and viewing it within the Chamber walls was one thing, taking it away from the Marshes was something quite different. Maybe she could just view the scroll, memorize its inscription and then return it. She instantly dismissed this idea. If the scroll did contain some secrets about the Ritual, then she would need it as proof to show the others in the Order. She knew that they would not just take her word against Iskandar’s.
She was going to have to take her chances. Besides, even if she left the scroll, there was no guarantee that the Custodians would let her leave the Marshes anyway. It was better to attempt to leave with the scroll than die without trying.
She retrieved her backpack and hobbled over to the scroll and picked it up. There were a few minutes when no one moved before the Custodians once again organised themselves so that a gap was available to walk through. So far they were behaving in exactly the same way. That was not a good thing, she thought to herself.
She approached the gap, focussing on the nearest Custodian. Her feet left the solid ground of the cobblestones and felt the soft, wet mud. It made a squelching noise, the only sound that could be heard. As she neared the Custodians, she noticed two little gills on their necks. They moved smoothly, as all of them breathed simultaneously.
Her stomach was churning in fear. She briefly contemplated picking up her attacker’s sword but then thought better of it. She did not want to show any aggressive behaviour and did not think a weapon would have been much use anyway.
As with the man before, the Custodians snapped around to face her when she walked between them. She flinched at the motion. Her heart felt like it would explode in her chest. She closed her eyes and took another step. It was at this point the attacks had started previously. Squeezing her lips together and only daring to look out of one eye, she took another step. The middle pair of Custodians snapped around to face her, but that was all they did. Her heart beat even faster. Every impulse told her to run. Now was her chance.
Instead, she took another two tentative steps, her injured leg giving out slightly. The third pair, the last pair, snapped around to face her as she nearly fell. Again they made no further move. Fixating on a tree in the distance, she took five more steps until she was clear of the circle.
Suddenly, the Custodians let out a mighty shriek. Appalled, she whirled around. All of them extended their wings and faced her. Their eyes blazed in contrast to their pale bodies, the spikes protruding from their bodies. Marybeth feebly tried to take a step back but lost her balance and fell in the water. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the attack.
The attack did not come. She opened her eyes to see a Custodian launch itself vertically in the air and disappear amongst the trees. One by one the others followed. With their shrieks still piercing her ears, Marybeth clutched the scroll in her hand and fled the Marshes of Night.
Chapter 6
Jacquard adjusted his crown. It was a simple design, but it was getting heavy these days. He was not an old man yet, but was far from young, and he was weary. The lines and scars on his face indicated the years of battle and worry he had endured. Despite the heat, he wore a long blue robe, the edges tinged with fur. His white shoulder-length hair blew in the morning breeze.
He stood on top of the palace tower and watched a flock of swallows dip and glide the currents with ease, enjoying the beauty that was nature and a rare moment of solitude. Behind him, the fury of the waterfall could be heard plummeting from the lake his palace was built upon.
Jacquard closed his eyes as a strong gust of wind swirled around the turret. He enjoyed the force upon his face coupled with spray from the waterfall. He sensed a presence behind him and knew immediately who it was. Out of the corner of his eye he registered him dropping down on one knee and bowing his head.
“Jefferson, you have been my senior advisor for the past twenty-five years; when we are alone, you don’t have to observe the pomp and ceremony of dealing with a king.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Jefferson said.
Jacquard sighed. He had known Jefferson all his life and never in all that time had the man failed to observe the correct etiquette around his king. He had been his father’s advisor when he was a king and Jacquard was only a boy. Even then, he had seemed old to Jacquard. Nowadays, he needed a stick to walk. His clothes, still immaculately groomed, hung over his fragile frame. The top of his head was bald, but wisps of grey hair still grew defiantly on the back and sides.
He watched with pity as his old friend struggled to get back to a standing position. He briefly considered the possibility that he should insist Jefferson retire from his role. The old man should be living out the rest of his days peacefully in the gardens. He dismissed the notion. Feeling like he was not needed anymore would kill Jefferson. Besides, there was no other man that knew as much about the goings on in Frindoth.
Jacquard looked at his friend and realised he was deeply distressed. Jefferson was not looking him in the eye. He opened his mouth to talk but each time could not seem to find the words. Uncomfortable at seeing his friend in this state, Jacquard took a step towards him. Jefferson reacted by taking a step backwards and raising a hand to act as a barrier.
“Jefferson, look at me. Tell me what is wrong.”
He watched as Jefferson raised his eyes to look him in the eye. His eyes welled up. A solitary tear trickled down his cheek.
“I found this in the royal quarters, my lord.”
Jefferson held out his hand to reveal a white stone. Jacquard recognised it immediately. His stomach lurched at the sight of it. Such a simple object, yet it posed so many evil ramifications. With a feeling of dread, he took the stone and examined it. It was no bigger than a coin and did not have a single blemish.
As a king, the hardest part of his rule was to preside over the Ritual of the Stones. This was the third time he would have to do it. He had to watch as twelve people along with their families were subjected to a living nightmare, not knowing whether they were going to live or die, before ultimately one was selected for sacrifice. He took on their grief as if he had a choice and was somehow responsible for the Ritual. Each time he tried to convince himself that it was for the greater good of Frindoth, but that did little to make him feel better. As a king he should be able to protect his people. After all, that is what they looked to him for.
The first time he encountered the Ritual, he offered himself as a sacrifice. When this proved futile, he spent months ordering scholars to consult the archives, trying to find a way to defeat the Gloom. He gathered the warlords from all the regions in the land, endlessly discussing their history with them. He even risked breaching the hundred-year peace treaty by setting foot on Helvastas soil to consult with the Lakisdori King Raoul Seth, trying to find something, anything, that might hint at a weakness in the Gloom.
The results of the debate were always the same. No one in the land had any idea how to fight the Gloom. Reluctantly, Jacquard, like all of the previous kings,
accepted the Ritual of the Stones was a necessity. Now it had come directly to his doorstep.
“Where?” Jacquard said.
Jefferson looked away from Jacquard again and stared out over Lilyon, biting his bottom lip. Below him life went on as normal. People far below scurried about their business like ants.
“WHERE?”
Jefferson flinched at Jacquard’s raised voice.
“Where?” Jacquard repeated more softly this time.
“In Prince Althalos’s room, my lord,” Jefferson said.
Jacquard fell to his knees. He felt as if he had taken a blow to his stomach. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, no, not my boy, not my son, he thought, this can’t be happening. Not only did he have to ensure this terrible Ritual took place, this time out of the whole of Frindoth, the stones had selected his only child.
Two voices argued inside his head, the voice of Jacquard the father and that of Jacquard the king. “I can’t let this happen, I won’t let this happen!” the father voice screamed. “I am the king, I must rule by example. How can I ask any of my subjects to sacrifice their own lives if I am not prepared to do the same for me or my own family,” the king in him reasoned. It was the latter voice that Jacquard knew he would listen to.
“My lord?” Jefferson said. Jacquard looked up at his old friend and suddenly felt a pang of sadness for him. He looked frailer than ever. It couldn’t have been easy for him to deliver this news and Jacquard suddenly had the overwhelming urge to console him.
“Thank you for telling me this yourself, Jefferson,” he said. “I don’t think I could have heard it from anyone else.”
“My lord,” Jefferson said and then hesitated. He looked his king directly in the eyes before continuing, “No one else knows … yet.”