‘I become this?’ Ayeth breathed.
Freydel nodded, unable to speak. The difference between Baelthrom and Ayeth was vast but there was one thing that remained the same. The stone amulets that hung around their necks, whilst different in colour, were the same in size and design.
Lona chuckled, somehow finding it funny as she stared at Baelthrom. ‘He’s as powerful as you are, though far more ugly and massive. I don’t know, I find him impressive. The Rorsken would be terrified of him. The Anukon would try to fight him.’
‘He is a Lord of War,’ Freydel said. ‘Where he passes comes death, destruction, sickness, and sorrow. We either fight and die, or assimilate into his world. The latter is most terrible for our souls are plunged into inescapable oblivion. It is as if we never were and never will be again. There is no hope for those who have been touched by him.’ Unable to take anymore and fearing the looks in Lona and Ayeth’s eyes, Freydel changed the image by saying, ‘Show us Maphrax.’
The image of Baelthrom melted away. Instead, the orb showed the mountains of Maphrax, projected large into the room, with its two giant peaks curved towards a central one.
‘He destroyed a once beautiful land and torched the sky,’ said Freydel, pointing with his staff to the barren plains ravaged by heartless winds and a sky that boiled darkly with blood red clouds.
‘He’s feeding off the world and all it contains, just like the Anukon and Rorsken do,’ said Lona.
Ayeth nodded. ‘Great swathes of Yurgharon look like this, only their storm sky is grey and the land bleeds red ore. I can see the energy of your planet feeding him. Those mountains are great conduits, like the pyramids. Where is the life energy going?’
Freydel frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The mountains,’ Ayeth pointed at the image. ‘Hmm. They are taking the magic. Can you not see it? The energy beaming above them?’
Freydel peered at the Maphrax Mountains and the image focused closer upon them. ‘I see nothing but the torched sky.’ Was there something he was missing?
‘Look,’ Ayeth said. He murmured a word and drew a symbol in the air with his finger.
The image changed colour, or more accurately the colour leached out of it leaving it grey and white. The contrast intensified until there was only black and white. The starkness hurt his eyes.
Freydel gasped. Out of the top of the central mountain, blinding white light beamed.
‘Where does the energy go?’ Ayeth asked again.
‘I don’t know, I’ve never seen that before,’ Freydel blinked shaking his head. Then he nodded. ‘Yes, I guess I do know. It surely goes into the Dark Rift.’
The realisation made him feel faint. He tore his eyes away and leant heavily on his staff. Ayeth wafted his hand and the image returned to its normal raging red skies and black mountains.
‘Your planet is being eaten alive and bled dry,’ said Lona walking towards Freydel. He looked into her black eyes seeing truth there and a hint of something predatory. ‘Unless you stop your planet bleeding, you will all die, and soon. We have seen this before. This is what is happening to Yurgharon.’
‘Those mountains are crude, but they function as pyramids nonetheless—with incredible power,’ Ayeth said.
‘Legends say the mountains are not from Maioria, they are from the Dark Rift,’ Freydel closed his eyes, wishing he hadn’t learned anything today. Ignorance was better.
‘How long have they been leaching your planet’s life?’ asked Ayeth.
‘I don’t know, no one does for sure. At least a thousand years,’ said Freydel.
‘Depending on the strength of its sun, a planet might last no more than a thousand years bleeding like that—a very short time indeed for the normal lifespan of a planet,’ Lona said, bending closer to the image to stare at the mountains that betrayed no sign of what they were doing. ‘Whatever it’s feeding, it lives in that Dark Rift.’
Freydel swallowed. ‘What lives in such a place as a Dark Rift?’
Ayeth glanced at him then at Lona, then looked into the middle distance, his face turning pale. ‘What lives in the blackness of the empty holes is the same wherever they are found. Twisted worlds of dominion and submission. Suffering and powerlessness. Blame and hatred. It is not life, but slavery and servitude.’
‘Slavery to whom?’ asked Freydel, feeling a chill run down his spine.
‘Slavery to an evil and twisted ideology, to all-encompassing thought forms and beliefs. Slavery so complete it binds you, body, mind and soul.’ Ayeth’s beautiful voice was low and sorrowful.
‘The idea is that the One Light has abandoned you and hates you. The emptiness that idea breeds leads to hate; hatred of what you are, of what you have become. The belief that the One who made you has discarded you and you are not worthy. Hatred becomes blame, blame becomes powerlessness—each destitute feeling rolling one to another. Beings within it don’t know what they are, they only know that they are and that they must feed. They think they are entitled to feed on anything and everything.’
‘The Anukon,’ Lona whispered.
Freydel imagined grey worlds filled with pain and suffering and emptiness. A place where the One Light did not reach and all beings were consumed by hatred and emptiness. Where any evil could exist and flourish unchecked. That was what the Abyss was, and all the worlds on the way down to it were various levels of degradation. The Shadowlands were but a glimpse of the anguish these worlds contained.
‘Beings there are twisted beyond recognition,’ Ayeth continued, a hopeless expression on his face. ‘They can no longer feel the light—and so it does not exist for them. There is no hope of getting out, they have fallen so far. Energetically they are eaten alive by the strongest. Like this thing you humans do with food. The One Light can no longer reach them to feed them with the eternal life flows.’
‘That is what we are becoming. We are falling into the Dark Rift to…’ Freydel couldn’t complete the sentence for the lump of fear that appeared in his throat.
‘To be food for what exists there,’ Ayeth completed it for him. ‘Beings who cut themselves off from the One through the poor choices they make, no longer have the ability to care for the suffering of others. They have no empathy, which allows them to do terrible things without a care. So you see, I can never become one of them. I will not!’
‘No,’ Freydel agreed. ‘Oblivion is better.’ He hadn’t meant to speak aloud.
‘Oblivion is the final stage, the merciful end, when a being becomes so fragmented they no longer are. That is when the pain stops,’ Ayeth said. ‘As hard as the lessons were, I have learned these things in order to help heal them. That is my soul purpose.’
Freydel looked at Ayeth and saw his eyes wide and sparkling with need. ‘If we heal the Dark Rift, none of this will happen,’ said Freydel, asserting the fact to himself. He swallowed and nodded, his decision made. He had to do this, the world and many others depended on it. Right now he trusted Ayeth more than he trusted any other.
‘There is something I can do to help you harness the power of the orb. With your greater wisdom, perhaps you can unlock its secrets.
‘Ayeth of the Aralans, by all that is right and good in your world and in mine, and by the blessing of the Great Goddess and the One Light, the One Source of All, I name you Second Keeper.’
15
Orphinius
FROM a hillock, Issa watched the elves as they assembled in a wide ring around Asaph and Orphinius.
The two men held wooden swords and were rolling up their sleeves preparing to fight. Everyone had gathered in a flat, grassy field, just north of the village. Mainly elf-men, Issa noted, but there were a few women dotted amongst them. All shared the same fierce and determined expressions on their beautiful, aquiline faces. Some sat on blankets whilst others stood, arms folded expectantly over their chests.
Many had cuts and bruises on their faces but most were fit and strong and of fighting age, or at least able to swing a sword. The other elf wo
men would be looking after the children, the elderly and the more seriously wounded who could not practise fighting today, she supposed.
A chill autumn wind blew, tumbling fallen leaves over the grass around those assembled. The sun was out and the sky blue but it was cold. Issa wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. Asaph was dressed in just a shirt and breeches and he stamped his feet to keep warm, clearly keen to get going.
Orphinius wore dark brown leggings of an elven design and a half-length seer’s robe. His long, platinum hair was tied back and his green eyes sparkled with excitement as he addressed the crowd. As soon as Orphinius was out of his sick bed, he’d started his training school with a feverous passion. Those fit and well enough had flocked to it. Issa stepped closer to hear him.
‘A long time ago, we elves had an army. An army that humans and dwarves fled from! We lost that army when we left this world of war. But war has found us again and we are weak. Now, if we want to survive, we must again learn how to fight and protect ourselves.’
The crowd nodded and murmured. Issa hid a smile, how different these people were now to when she’d first met them in the Land of Mists; shy and hidden in the trees, abhorred and disgusted by the very mention of war. Now, after seeing their beautiful haven destroyed and their loved ones eaten alive or burned to death, they wanted vengeance. Baelthrom’s threat could no longer be ignored.
Orphinius slowly turned in her direction, his eyes gliding over everyone, taking them all in, challenging them to be a warrior. ‘I used to be one such fighter in our armies and I would ask those of you who also were to reach back into those memories and rekindle the fighting spirit. You may not have wanted to fight before, but now I see the fire in your eyes, your raw need to avenge. Take hold of that fire! Nurture it, let it burn bright and dream of our ancient homeland; Intolana.’
Murmurs flowed through the crowd. Orphinius continued.
‘Yes, I have been given a vision, a wondrous, incredible vision of a time when we take back the land that belongs to us and has always been ours. I see it rising from the ashes to become glorious once more! I see our ancient forests coming alive again and elves filling its borders from sea to mountain.’
The looks of wonder on the elves’ faces brought tears to Issa’s eyes. Orphinius’ words ignited a fire in her heart too. She clenched her jaw. All the lands would be theirs again, one day. For the first time, she dared to believe her homeland would be restored too. Not her home on Little Kammy; her ancestral lands of beautiful, serene Tusarza—the first place to be subjected to the terror of the Immortal Lord and laid waste.
She closed her eyes, imaging the red clouds of Maphrax racing away, the ravaged earth filling with forests and flowers, the poisoned streams running clear and pure, and the Mountains of Maphrax exploding into nothing but dust, blown away by the wind.
“Dare to dream and dream big.” So Fraya used to say to her.
‘Oh, Fraya. Mother,’ Issa muttered under her breath. ‘I’ll dream big! I’ll dream the biggest dream.’
Orphinius finished speaking. He turned to Asaph and they began circling each other, their swords raised, and big grins on their faces. Asaph lunged first but the elf was naturally quick and stepped aside. Asaph attacked again and dodged the elf’s strike with effortless speed. With a flick of his wrist, Asaph landed the first blow on the elf’s side making him sigh.
They resumed their starting positions. Orphinius went in for a quick attack driving Asaph back. The elf dragged his right leg a little betraying his injury. Dar had tried to stop him doing the training camp but it was impossible—the elf was on a mission and was too enthused to listen to anyone. Issa hoped Asaph would notice and be gentle with him.
The elf began to move a little easier as he warmed up. The slap and crack of their swords rang out over the crowd. Neither man made a sound—not even a grunt. They were far too civilised for the brutality they were enacting, or perhaps they were conserving their energy. For someone who had not fought for hundreds of years, Orphinius was remembering quickly. The two men began to move with such speed that many of their moves were a blur. Too fast for normal men, Issa thought, stepping closer to get a better view. Too fast even for a Karalanth.
Asaph and the elf almost seemed to dance. Orphinius had all the grace she had seen in Marakon, only more, and Asaph moved with dominating speed and accuracy that only the dragon blood in his veins could give him. There was a smile on Asaph’s face, and she wondered if he were holding back. When he landed a gentle swipe on Orphinius’ good leg, she decided he must be.
A cheer escaped her mouth and those elves closest turned to look at her, grinning. The crowd clapped as the two men stepped apart, breathing hard. Asaph unbuttoned his shirt and threw it to one side. Orphinius took off his seer’s robe and stood in a sleeveless tunic. They eagerly resumed their positions again.
Issa admired the way Asaph’s muscles rippled over his shoulders and back and found her cheeks growing hot. His tanned skin glistened with sweat, and she realised she loved to watch him fight. The way he moved with an easy power and grace that could never have been taught to him.
‘Er, Lady Issa, I wanted to say thank you.’ A young man’s melodious voice startled her out of gawking at Asaph.
Smoothing her hair and composing herself, she turned and looked up into the clear mauve eyes of a young elf man. He could be no more than seventeen years old in human years, impossible to tell in elven years. His hair was past shoulder length and a beautiful pale purple colour. His long, oval face was just losing the softness of youth and his chin and cheekbones had a slight angular cast to them. Like most elves, he was tall and slender.
‘I’m Velonorian,’ he introduced himself with a boyish grin and an outstretched hand which Issa hesitantly shook.
‘Forgive me, but thank you for what?’ she said. She didn’t remember helping this man and he didn’t seem injured in any way. She cast her mind back over the past few days but nothing came to mind.
‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while, but it always seemed the wrong moment,’ he said, almost stuttering with nerves. He dipped his head closer, the grin fading from his lips. ‘You saw it coming and you tried to warn us. I knew you were right, but I was forbidden to speak about it to anyone, even by my mother. People shunned me if I tried. I’m sorry for how they treated you. I would have listened, but we have to do what King Daranarta tells us.’
‘Had to,’ Issa corrected him gently. ‘You are free to follow your own guidance now, though I did not wish for this to happen. However, you are wrong and you have nothing to thank me for. I didn’t do anything that helped.’
She looked back at the men fighting, a heavy feeling in her heart. How many elves had died? She couldn’t bring herself to think about it.
‘I failed, Velonorian. Had I convinced Daranarta to return to Maioria, all the elves would still be with us, and the Land of Mists would remain for you to return to. Now look what has happened.’
‘It is not your fault, it’s Daranarta’s,’ Velonorian said, coming closer so he was only a foot from her. There was a strange look in his eyes, one of awe she supposed—awe she didn’t feel she deserved. ‘I see the goddess in you.’
‘The goddess is in everyone, Velonorian. Everyone is blessed and sacred.’
‘Yes, but I see her moving within you, walking with you. That is why I know you can do it. I know you can drive Baelthrom and his horde from our lands, from all of Maioria. And that is why I will follow you.’ The earnestness in his eyes moved her.
‘I wish I had your conviction,’ she smiled. ‘Sometimes I do. Although sometimes, when this happens,’ she motioned to the elven refugees before her, ‘I doubt we can do anything.’
‘It will make you stronger,’ the young elf man nodded. ‘Your resolve will become harder and harder until you know only your single purpose and you believe in nothing else.’
‘You have wise words for someone so young,’ Issa said, wondering if all young elves were this clever.
He blushed, either with pride or embarrassment. She hoped it was the former.
‘I heard that you are forming an army of knights,’ he said.
Issa’s eyes went wide. ‘Wow, rumours spread fast. Yes, I am. Well, Marakon Si Hara of the Feylint Halanoi has already formed the Knights of the Raven—’
‘I want to join! With your grace of course,’ he blurted before she could finish.
Issa blinked then was horrified when he took her hand gently in his own and got down on one knee before her.
‘My Lady Issa, my Queen of Ravens, I pledge myself to your service. I will be your knight, your most loyal chaplain.’
So caught up in the moment, Issa was only vaguely aware of a squawk as Ehka landed on her shoulder. She stared at the elf. She didn’t even know him and his devotion to her came as a complete shock. She would have felt embarrassed had the conviction, the faith in his eyes not moved her deeply. Did she deserve this young man’s devotion? She would only get him killed.
‘Should I die in service to you, it would only be an honour,’ he said, making everything she was feeling ten times worse.
‘Velonorian, you shall do no such thing. Now get up. I can’t make you a knight, only Marakon can. I don’t even know how.’ She felt her cheeks redden as elves began to turn in her direction, looks of surprise spreading over their faces.
Velonorian stayed on his knee. ‘Then I shall wait until there comes a time when you alone will knight me. My Lady Issa, all my family have been murdered and the best of my friends. I have no direction, no trade, no life purpose—except the deepest, goddess-given desire to serve you, my Queen.’
Issa wanted to say no and tell the man that he was being silly, but only because she was embarrassed and this had never happened to her before. To deny this man would be a crime and the ultimate insult to his pride.
‘Please, be my liege. I will never fail you.’ He bowed his head.
Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back. She gripped his hand and pulled him to his feet.
Dragons of the Dawn Bringer: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 5 Page 18