Red Season Rising (Red Season Series Book 1)

by D. M. Murray

  “Back to the question of why me?” Kalfinar asked, anxiety taking life in his words.

  Harruld rubbed the back of his neck. “Some of what we know is fact, but most we must project from our current understanding and draw assumption. We thought such power and reach was beyond Bhalur. We thought we had caged him, but if Bhalur was under control, it would’ve been impossible for him to send the spirit to take you.”

  “Was I possessed?” It’s not as if my mind has been my own for some time.

  “No,” Harruld answered, “but it would’ve taken you, if Sarbien hadn’t been able to exorcise it when he did. You’ve had many a dark dreaming of late, have you not?”

  “I have. Many times over the last month, or longer. They became more frequent.” Kalfinar’s voice trembled as he spoke. “They were more intense, threatening. When they started, it was more of a sense of unease. After a while, they grew in substance. There was more noise, voices, beings—”

  “Beings?” Sarbien interrupted. “Tell me, what did they look like?” Sarbien edged forward with his elbows on the table, his eyes searching for detail.

  “There were several,” Kalfinar said. Another howl screamed out from outside the cupola. “There seemed to be three kinds. I saw beasts flying overhead or feeding on the ruins of a city. Feeding upon the dead. They were hunched and clawed with long, thin limbs. Teeth protruded from their jaws and there were knots of horns along their heads.”

  Olmat spoke, “Lesser spirits of demon kind. That’s the ilk that Sarbien exorcised. They hunt through dreams.”

  Kalfinar frowned, not quite understanding. “What of the other beings?”

  “There were two. One was dead. Killed by the other.” Kalfinar locked eyes with Olmat. “It was sat as you were at Hardalen.”

  Olmat pressed, “The other?”

  “It was shaped like a man. A burning red halo sat about its head, and its eyes were like hot coals. It walked with a dislocation, as if its joints were inverted. The colours of the body shifted, like the body of a great squid.”

  “Desverukan,” Sarbien hissed.

  “Desverukan?” Kalfinar asked, his guts wrenching again.

  “Did it see you?” Sarbien pushed.

  “Yes. It screamed something. The voice was terrible. It grabbed out and I couldn’t escape until a flash of light. Then, I woke.”

  “Anulii,” Olmat whispered. “What you faced in your dream was no lesser demon. It was a Desverukan. A principle servant of Bhalur’s. The lesser demon would’ve been sent to hunt you, to track you. Once it had control, it would’ve brought you to the Desverukan. If you have one of them hunting you, then our worst fears are indeed confirmed. Bhalur wants you dead.” Olmat sighed.

  “Dead?” Kalfinar croaked on the word. “So it’s not sufficient that one God has taken my family, but now another wants me dead!”

  “Don’t speak like that,” Olmat warned him. “You only serve to distance yourself further from Dajda with such contempt. Believe me, if what we fear is true, you’ll need to embrace, not reject, Dajda’s love.”

  Kalfinar clenched his jaw and stared hard at Olmat. “And why’s that?”

  “The body you saw in your dream was Anulii.”

  “What?” Kalfinar snapped, his anxiety bubbling. “What’s Anulii?”

  “What are Anulii?” Olmat replied, unshaken by Kalfinar’s temper. “There are many horrors in this world. Murder, rape, and more. Many times, these are the intent of humans. But often, these ill acts are the outcomes of a malevolent design. The action of spirits. They hunt by dreams, corrupted by horrors witnessed. In planting this seed, the spirit has a means of tracking us like quarry, and accessing our souls. Then they feed, and they feed Bhalur. You will have borne witness to a scene carried out at the bidding of some evil. Your nightmares represent the efforts to taste your soul, and the attack outside Sarbien’s was the link to your soul being formed. The spirit was aiming to take you for the Desverukan. The Desverukan doesn’t feast on souls. It kills. Since the beginning, Bhalur has been looking for any that represents a threat to his existence.”

  “What threat do I present a God?” Kalfinar asked. “And how does that explain what Anulii are?”

  “We are the children of our Dajda. We worship Dajda every day and give our thanks for that which has been bestowed upon us. Among what we give thanks for is the love and protection we’ve been afforded. The protection from those that would see us harmed and offer nothing but hatred and pain. Each time we give thanks, we galvanise this bond of protection. And so, we are safe against the predators of Bhalur. However, if we cease to offer our prayers to Dajda, the bond between us weakens, and so does the protection. This is not a malice from Dajda, but more of a straining to hear a call in a storm, or to see one in the mist. We simply fall out of reach. You’ve stopped praying.”

  “I have. My prayers were empty and unanswered.”

  “And in doing so, you fogged the bond between Dajda and you. The protection weakened and the spirit grew closer. You must have called out for Dajda at some point.”

  “As the being reached for me.”

  “That’s all which is needed to illuminate the darkness. The Anulii are the protectors of the souls of Dajda’s followers. They are the shepherds who ward off the wolves. I suppose it’s fair to say they are the direct opposite of, and the balance to, Bhalur’s Desverukan. Your qualities, Kalfinar, allow you to call forth the Anulii from where they reside within human form. There are many others with your gift, and there will be more after you’ve passed. It is hoped that no bearer of such a gift should ever learn of it or put it to use, for to do so indicates the coming of dark times.”

  As Olmat finished speaking, the howl outside sounded once more.

  Olmat said, “Hear how the spirit wails. Though it has been cast out of you, it made the link, and as such it shall hunt you still. It will never stop. The amulet you wear should obstruct its link to you, meaning it can never again possess you, or enable the Desverukan to kill you. Never take it off.”

  Kalfinar toyed with the amulet between finger and thumb.

  Olmat continued, “The spirit may be able to use others as a tool to harm you. Anyone who has been hunted by spirits, and who has lost their bond to Dajda, is susceptible to this will. At the moment, our wards prevent it or any other from hearing our words, but you must be on your guard for an attack at any moment from when you leave this protection until we can destroy this spirit.”

  “The attacks earlier, on the way here, would that have been—”

  “Yes, there’s no doubt,” Sarbien answered. “I searched for the odour of the spirit when I left you. After exorcising it, its stink is known to me. Although it fled, there was still enough of its reek in the air.”

  “But where do I, or this gift, fit into this?”

  Sarbien answered Kalfinar, “The body in your dream was Anulii. The Desverukan was taunting us. They’ve begun hunting them, and killing them.”

  “Killing the Anulii is dreadful,” Olmat spoke, his voice trailing off with a wheeze.

  Capriath leant a hand on his brother’s arm and the older man nodded to him to continue.

  Kalfinar regarded his old companion with grave concern. He had grown weak.

  Capriath carried on where Olmat had left off, “If the image you witnessed in your dream is indeed what we fear, then it heralds the purge of the Anulii. This means somehow Bhalur is hunting the Anulii down and killing them. If this slaughter is left unchecked, it will rid our people of Dajda’s protection, leaving both our spiritual and physical worlds exposed and at the will of the beast. The scene you witnessed in your dream, where demons fed on mankind, is the fate that awaits us should the Anulii fall. You, Kalfinar, have the gift of sight, and can see the Horn of the Dajda.”

  “And what exactly is that?” Kalfinar asked.

  “The Horn of the Dajda are the beings that we must find and awaken. Together, their voices call forth the physical form of the Anulii, drawing them from their m
ortal host, within whom they rest. You must seek them out and set free their song. This will, in turn, raise and unite the Anulii so they may stand by us defeat this enemy. Alone, and hidden in human form, the Anulii will be undone, for as their spirits slumber within us, they are weak. But awaken them, and bring them together as one, and all of Dajda’s power will be unleashed upon the world.”

  Kalfinar stared into the copper dome of the cupola and sighed.

  Broden spoke, “You speak of this enemy as if you know more. I don’t see what this talk of spirits and possession has to do with the deaths of most of our High Command. I’m not as schooled in the secrets of magic, but I’m a soldier. I know a first strike when I see one. A first strike by men, not demons. Our High Command has been all but wiped out, with the exception of a fraction of senior officers. I want to know how this happened, and what is next?”

  Harruld answered, “We appear to find ourselves at the centre of a brewing storm, the strength of which we can only guess at. The Solansian’s appear to be on the rise.” Harruld shook his head and grunted a laugh rich in regret. “I told the High Command that we could never administer Solansia. We didn’t have the resources, and they didn’t want us there. It is my summarisation that the assassinations on our High Command have come on the bidding of one of Grunnxe’s former Generals, or even Grunnxe himself.”

  “No,” Kalfinar snapped. “I can’t accept that. My sword was a foot deep in his gut. The old bastard is dead.”

  “And you saw his body cold?” Harruld asked. “Of course you didn’t. They rallied, we retreated, and they recovered him. Not one of us can profess to have seen Grunnxe dead. You know well enough that there are those who command gifts enough to heal wounds such as that which you inflicted upon Grunnxe.”

  Kalfinar snapped his response, “Who amongst Dajda’s people would heal him? None would maintain or restore that butchering old fuck.”

  Capriath spoke in reply, “It may not have been one of our Tuannan. There are others who can control energies and cast, perhaps gifted by another God. History is not short of tales of such gifts being used for gain of fortune, power, or simply for nothing short of madness. We who serve Dajda are not alone in our ability to cast energy.”

  “How many other Gods exist that can offer such power in return for devotion?” Kalfinar asked, his eyes fixed on Capriath.

  “That question is beyond my means to answer.” Capriath held up his palms. “We know of several extant Gods, and more are referred to in ancient writings in our archives. Some are the work of fantasy, perhaps the wanderings of an unravelling mind. But without doubt, a great many have truth at their core. We know of several hundred such powers. Many were seraphs of Dajda or Bhalur who broke away in the early days. Most are lost to time, but some endure still. But I doubt that any remaining powers have the strength or will to have sustained Grunnxe. That, coupled with the Ravenmayne and the content of your dreams says much. We must assume that Bhalur is somehow behind this.”

  “But you said Bhalur is trapped,” Kalfinar said.

  “Captured, and maintained by Tuannan,” Capriath said.

  Capriath looked towards his brothers, a silent communication passed amongst them. They rose from their seats and walked around the table, moving into the space before Kalfinar.

  “Now you’ll witness how the energy is sustained. Bhalur is the counterbalance to Dajda. For Dajda to exist, so too must Bhalur.”

  The three brothers started to chant in an unknown tongue, each of them, in turn, blowing into their hands. A small ball of mist coalesced in their palms. The mist grew as their hands worked its shape. They blew the gathering balls of vapour into one, creating a large form of mist. An image took shape in the cloudy sphere.

  Kalfinar was rapt. Before him was a shadowy scene. Three score of tall figures stood dressed in long, hooded robes of dark colours. They stood side by side in a large circle, surrounding a plinth of coarse granite, stained black over time. The image in the mist flickered as the fog shifted in shape. As the vapour reformed, Kalfinar saw another robed figure approach the plinth within the circle. The figure mounted the plinth and stripped off his robe, revealing the wiry frame of a young man. His eyes were hard and fixed with intent. The young man spoke in an ugly language, similar to that which Kalfinar had heard in his dreams. The tumble of words quickened, rising to rapid shouts. The mist shifted again, and image before him distorted. When it settled, he saw the man’s naked form juddering upon the granite plinth. The man’s eyes bulged and his mouth streamed with bile-coloured froth. The agonised shouts ceased and his arched form fell limp onto the flat surface. The man lay motionless for several seconds before his head rolled to the side and his eyes opened. Black and angry, staring out of the vapour. Staring towards Kalfinar.

  He can’t see me. He can’t see me. “Olmat,” Kalfinar hissed, his eyes locked on those of the being in the vapour. He can’t see me.

  “Have no fear, Kalfinar,” Olmat said as he broke off from his chanting. “You’re safe.”

  Unnatural sounds spilled from the mouth of the man on the plinth. The man sat upright and pulled himself to his knees. One of the dark figures around him stepped before the man on the plinth, and drew a large knife from the sleeve of his robe. The man’s eyes bulged black with hate, and his mouth spat sounds of violence and fury. He threw back his head, his neck cords protruding, and let out a wild howl. As the howl trailed off, the robed figure holding the knife let fly a great swipe towards the neck of the man. Blade met flesh, and opened veins.

  The man slumped onto the stained plinth, his life ebbing away. The blood spread over the flatness and into fissures along its edges. As the blood seeped within, a black, spectral fog rose from the fissures, and coalesced into the shape of insubstantial arms. Snaking fingers crept upon the paling body, and, with a jerk, the hands pulled tight. The phantom arms pulled tighter still around the dead form of the man, sucking every drop from it. An unrecognisable, withered husk was left upon the plinth before the phantom arms dissipated and sunk back within the blood-stained altar. The image in the mist shifted once more and disappeared.

  “What was that?” Kalfinar asked Olmat. His steady voice did not betray the anxiety that churned within his guts.

  “You saw the harvest of dark energy, which allows Dajda to grant us our own gifts.” The matter-of-fact nature of Olmat’s delivery set Kalfinar ill at ease.

  “We killed that man?” Kalfinar voice was rich with disgust.

  “We did,” Harruld said. “It is a necessary act.”

  “But that man, what happened to him? Where did he come from?”

  “That man dedicated himself to that order, and had volunteered his life. He knew what it entailed, and his sacrifice represents one of the greatest that anyone can offer to Dajda.”

  “What order?” Kalfinar asked. “Are they Tuannan? And was that Bhalur?”

  Olmat looked at him. “Those you saw are they who maintain the balance, which is all the name of them you need. They are Tuannan, yes, but they are set apart from us. Their order dedicates itself to imprisoning that which was in the altar. That was the beast, Bhalur.”

  “So we’ve been feeding him worship and keeping him trapped in this tomb?”

  “Yes,” Sarbien answered. “We trapped him, and we thought we had caged him still. By rationing the worship, it allows him no real strength. That way, we maintain the balance, yet remain untouched by the horrors he would reap, if he were not contained.”

  “But what of the Ravenmayne people? Don’t they worship him still, giving him strength?”

  “The wards prevent any worship from outside the altar room from entering. The Ravenmayne people’s prayers go unanswered,” Sarbien replied.

  “So if Bhalur can see his will done, then there must be a betrayal within the order. We must go to them and root out the traitor.”

  “No,” Harruld replied, “we can’t. Our order hasn’t had contact with them since the caging of the beast. And in any case, where would we f
ind them?”

  “But we just saw them!” Kalfinar snapped.

  “What did you see?” Harruld asked. “All I saw was the inside of a cave. That could be anywhere across the Cullanain, or beyond.”

  Stupid. He’s right. “Can we send a message?”

  “They’re barred from us. If there is a betrayer amongst them, we must trust that they’re revealed to our brothers and sisters.”

  “I can’t just sit here and wait!”

  “And you won’t,” Olmat said. “There are many threads in this unhappy tale. Here,” he said, passing some parchment to Kalfinar, “read this.”

  It was stained with age and felt brittle in Kalfinar’s hand. He looked towards the parchment and then to Olmat.

  “Go ahead,” the old man encouraged. “Read it aloud.”

  Kalfinar unpicked the leather thong which bound the old parchment, before unrolling the document. The bile still burned in his gullet after his earlier evacuations. He cleared his throat and began to read the small, antiquated print before him.

  Here follows the written record of the dreamings of Teporan Mane, by the hand of Magnarus, primary scribe of the Great Holmon I of the Noehmiana, Chief Marshal of the Peoples of the Free Provinces.

  Kalfinar ceased his reading and looked up, brows furrowed. “This parchment must be at least four hundred years old. Holmon was the first chief marshal of the Free Provinces.”

  Olmat nodded. “Holmon did command four hundred years ago. Bear it in mind that the words of this parchment are older still. What you hold is a replicate, for the original was undone by time. Teporan Mane first scored these words some time before the age of Holmon. Carry on please.”

  I, Teporan Mane, primary son of Baltron Mane endow unto thee, my brothers and sisters, these words, humble as they are, for they be all that I have. May they entangle thy soul and fortify thee against the storm that lays ahead in the days of my bones beyond dust.

  I, Teporan Mane, have been the recipient of a wondrous blessing. Nae, a terrible curse, bestowed to me by an accident of my birth to being. The true God, Dajda, above all, has deemed me the vessel for divine dreamings, light, or dark, as they may be. Withheld from the parchment most have been, for I had not the skill of the quill. I awoke this morning with tools and means to write the divine dreamings, these gifts bestowed by a spirit of our Great Dajda, I believe.