The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth

by Jason R Jones

“Much better, thank ye’!” Zen tapped his hammer to his shield, and marched ahead.

  Without a word of disagreement, his four friends kept pace. As they walked in, the ghosts bowed their heads, but did not follow. They knew what was down there, but could do nothing to stop these five brave mortals. So they prayed, prayed in their eternal silence that their deaths would be quick and painless. They knew they would see them all too soon, in the neverending gray, and they would fight on forever. Just like they did. For the dwarven spirits here remembered Arabashiel, enough to know that she was unstoppable, immortal, and the daughter of the dark God of Gods.

  Kendari IV:II

  Vin Armon, Capital of Armondeen

  “Beware allies that are too good to be true, follow too closely, or take more interest in you than they do themselves. Falseness is the deadliest weapon your enemy has.” Spoken by Herrimus, first king of Harlaheim, bane to the northern oppression of the Empires of Altestan, and secret member of the Red Wolves of Agara. Circa 2245 B.C.

  “I have told you, elf, no one enters Arnhast this night. The queen cannot be seen, now leave.” The lady in black kept her hand on a scimitar that was sheathed at her side The twenty guards stared at this strange visitor, and his deer, with furrowed brows of confusion.

  The Nadderi elf dropped his cloak, pulled off his black chainmail shirt, and then his black tunic. He set them arcoss his deer, and the deer looked at him with an odd glance.

  “This is not necessary, elf. Please stop and leave. Vin Armon does not permit elves…” Her words trailed off upon seeing this most strange elf disrobe from the waist up.

  His flesh was pale, scars of many battles upon him, yet his spiraling patterns of black that looked painted into his skin stood out the most. From fingertips to his pointed ears, from stomach to his forehead, this odd elf was decorated or cursed in wicked fashion. His hand dragged slowly from a black burn that looked like a thorn in his abdomen, to a flaming triangle with peeled skin around it on his chest, right over the heart.

  Kendari’s green eyes stared to hers as he smiled. He bowed again, as sick as it made him to do so, and then spoke softly. “Tell her majesty that a faithful servant of Cancuru has arrived, a priest with a virgin offering if you would, who has been sent to honor her in all that she does in the names of the Eleven. I have been sent by powers greater than you with an important message from beyond, so take me in. Now.”

  She had seen that sign before, never branded so, but it was the symbol of Cancuru, second born Nochtilian child of God, she had no doubts. She looked to the deer, then to this marked elf with a wicked gleam to his eyes, and then to the Tower of the Sceptre where strange red lights and flames were shadowing out the windows. Andorra had stated no interruptions, not one for any reason, but this was different. She dared not refuse a messenger from the eleven, which this elf obviously was.

  “Come with me.” She waved him in, seeing the deer was tied with a leather strap around the neck, and his black horse was tethered back before the gates.

  “As you wish.” Kendari of Stillwood dressed quickly, nodded to the deer without notice, and smiled as he passed the guards. “Tend to the horse, if you value your souls.”

  He saw the skittish nods, even heard footsteps toward his stolen steed from Kivanis, and he tried not to grin. Past the black wrought iron spiked gates, into a lavish courtyard filled with midnight patrols of Armondi men, Kendari looked up to the three towers. One with a talon, mostly dark in its eleven stories. To the opposite, a gray stone tower with a lance was more busy with lights and motion, but only on the lower floors. In the center she led him, to a tower with a scepter, and toward the dark chanting and crimson lights that danced out the draperies above. Two scraggly guards with black solid eyes stepped forward, then stepped aside as this lady guardian of the queen raised her hand.

  Up ten floors they traversed, past more strange eyed men with blades that neither spoke nor moved. Kendari pulled the deer a bit, hearing him slow in his clacking steps, reinforcing that he was in charge here.

  “Those men, are they…what I think they are?” He left the question open, digging for quick answers, using his peripheral vision to place the layout to memory.

  “You have heard of the Nataloni Nochti?” She responded.

  “I have, yes indeed. I have heard much in fact, how is it she has so many?” Kendari lied.

  “She has twenty two, it has taken years of sacrifice, over a decade in fact. But her personal guardians are the deadliest killers, both infernal and mortal, and they see everything.” She stopped as this elf grabbed her waist and turned her softly, a touch that was as much force as it was lustful.

  “I have fifty in my temple, somenight I will show you.” He bit on her ear, playfully, then ran his hand up her thighs. He whispered in the arcane tongue, feszra faeyl, and a red glow came from his ruby pendant. He could now see things unseen, all around.

  “What was that, those words?” She questioned, but did not resist his grasping hands.

  “It means dark pleasures await thee. It is more beautifully spoken in my native tongue.” He lied some more, easily.

  “My lord, I would most enjoy that.” She trembled as he pushed her against the wall. “But, I do not know your name, faithful priest.”

  “Kendari of Stillwood, and I would prefer the title High Priest Savant, if you would be so willing.” Kendari kissed her soflty on the lips, biting just a nibble, then motioned with his eyes for her to lead on ahead. The deer nudged his leg, hard, showing his silent disapproval.

  “Shall…shall we then?” She stuttered and led up to the tenth floor.

  “Yes, but I will be seeing you after, your name was…?”

  “Lysette, I am an acolyte guardian to the priestess, queen Andorra. There are many of us, trained with the blade, and in rituals, and…” Lysette grabbed his dark hair, pulled close, and kissed him furiously with lust and dark desires.

  “Save some for later, my sweet acolyte.” Kendari pushed her back, gently after at least a dozen tongue filled repetitions between their lips.

  “Yes, High Priest Savant, forgive me. My lust is drawn, being so denied in my service, I did not mean to offend.” She bowed and continued up the stairs.

  “No offense, young one, none at all. Shall we?” Kendari took notice during the foreplay, of seven of the Nataloni guardians here below, three more near the tenth floor, and the other twelve had positions in the other towers. The scimitars on them were enchanted with dark arcane magicks, as were their daggers, and even the blades and robes of these acolytes had infernal design. Kendari saw it all, without looking, during the embrace of this young girl of perhaps twenty years.

  As he followed to the tenth floor, three sets of eyes went from black shadow to white solid gleams. Three curved blades and three wicked daggers crossed in front of him. Three shaggy heads of grizzled beard and unkempt hair smiled, fangs of black dripping with saliva, and their near naked gray skinned bodies were now between he and Lysette. Kendari went for his blades, on instinct, thinking his ruse was somehow undone.

  “Stop, he is a guest of the queen.” She listened to words that made no noise, somehow conversing with them, then she turned to Kendari. “Your blades, you may only enter unarmed, and alone.”

  He thought hard, they had the advantage, blades drawn across his chest. He knew he had a chance, despite his positioning, to take them here. Kendari unbuckled his belt, and set his sheathed blades across the deer.

  “As her highness commands.” He knelt next to the deer, staring into his brown trembling eyes. He rubbed his small horns soft for a moment, then grabbed hard. “Wait here, I will be back for you in awhile.”

  The doors were ordinary, yet the acolyte bowed before entering nonetheless. She pushed them open, the Nataloni Nochti resumed their haunts in the shadowy corners, and red lights glared into the foyer of the tenth floor.

  “Do not touch my offering, it is still a virgin. I expect it to still be so when I return.” Kendari glared a sideways glan
ce to the hidden infernal men he knew were there.

  Lysette knelt to the floor, Kendari did the same, yet his eyes could not help but take in the room. Bodies, naked women, all gutted with black burned gazes, lay in a circle with their hands nailed to the feet of the others. They were stretched, connected with black spikes to one another, and fire rose from the chest cavities where organs should have been. Blood pooled on the stone floor, the corpses were marked with infernal designs, most of which he had never seen. In the center of the circle of sacrifices, runes and blood smeared writing was fashioned with at least thirty flaming and beating hearts. He felt the rhythm of the cut out organs, beating in time to something dark that was coming from inside the circle. Green moonlight danced its way in through the windows, and the blood smoldered more when the light reached it. Kendari felt for his blades, but they were not there, so he looked up.

  Tapestries hung all over, depticting demonic winged beings fornicating with men and women that appeared human. An altar on the far side of the room, draped with blood soaked cloth from ceiling to floor, held a stone figure of a naked man with wings. The statue was covered in entrails, fire licked from its eyes, and the small horns pulsed with red light. Two red tomes radiated the same light, as a naked woman covered in blood and dark scripture swayed on her knees and chanted softly. Kendari could only see her back, a little hint of her breasts as she moved, yet he found himself already enthralled with her. He squinted his eyes tight, fighting off the rhythm of her voice and the beating hearts of these dead women.

  Lysette waited until the queen had stopped chanting, then took her black robe to her and covered her from behind. She whispered softly to her ear, bowed, and backed away out the doors. Kendari noticed the three dark figures hidden, the deer trembling, and the doors were left open just a few inches. A pair of dark eyes watched him from the crack between the doors, never blinking.

  “You may rise, High Priest Savant of Cancuru, and tell me what message you bring from beyond.” Andorra of Armondeen spoke as she turned around to face this marked elven stranger.

  Kendari leaned forward, kissed the bloody floor, then rose to his feet and met her dark eyes with blue painted designs. “I am Kendari of Stillwood, your highness. I was sent to bring offering, a virgin sacrifice of Seirena, to assist in your summoning.”

  “I need not the blood of animals to complete my rites, elf. I have never heard of such things, you lie.”

  “Do I? Perhaps I do, often in fact. But, how many times have you performed this conjuration infernal? How many times has Harron duplicated it? My guess would be none.” Kendari tried to recall the conversation he and Angeline overheard.

  “None, but I assure you it is perfect. The child of Shukuru, Kashtamias, Knight of Infernium, is arriving soon. My offerings here are correct, as will be those of Harron. I believe it is time for you to leave, Kendari.”

  He stepped around the circle, nonchalantly, looking at the preparations and words infernal as if he knew what they meant. He squinted from time to time, hummed to himself twice, and looked upon the grotesque scene with interest. Andorra circled as well, keeping to the other side of the unholy fires, opposite him at all times.

  “Here, this area looks in need of blood.” Kendari pointed to a dry spot inside the wall of fire. He could not reach in the circle without being burned with demonic flames, so he remained outside the area, without his much needed weapons. He thought of another lie quickly. “My gift was given by a dark messenger, named Nareene. This deer, was taken from birth, from a sacred temple of the Whitemoon. It was fed the blood of virgins, the waters of the cemetaries, and it has been groomed for sacrifice.”

  “I have never heard of such a thing, beautiful as it sounds.” Andorra stared at this elf, watching his every motion.

  “Queen Andorra, I am over six centuries old. I know many things, books you have or not, that you likely have never heard of.”

  “You know much, there is no doubt hence this summoning is secret, as are the movements of Amirak Harron to the south.”

  “I am blessed with the knowledge of all you do, and who he will offer as sacrifice in the curselands. I know of the elven woman, the minotaur, and those that have trespassed. I know more than you may think, Queen Andorra.”

  “I see, so sing me a hymn to Cancuru. Show me then, priest of the eleven.” Andorra smiled and fell to her knees. “Better yet, show Kashtamias, for he is here. He will know if you are false.”

  Kendari knelt fast, seeing horns, two curved black spiraling horns, raise slowly from the fiery circle. Red light poured through the floor, green moonlight beamed into the chambers, and the song of a thousand demons screaming for blood whispered in the tenth story of the tower of the Scepter.

  “Hail, Kashtamias, child of Shukuru, Knight of the Seventh Hell!” Kendari spoke with conviction as he kissed the warming floor of blood and red illumination, inches from the circle of corpses.

  The forehead rose, black skin, shining like pure dark water on a moonlit night, then the eyes of crimson with deep green pupils. The head had a human appearance, despite being twice in size, and it looked up to the ceiling where the patterns now glowed as well. Horned tips of black feathered wings graced the mortal air, then its mouth and long curled chin came into view. Kashtamias opened his fanged mouth, revealing bulging teeth of curled yellow bone, and a forked tongue that dripped with blood.

  “Greetings Andorra, faithful of the eleven.” His voice was a shuddering of growls and whispers that blended horror with song. He turned his head to Kendari.

  “Who is this?” His hand, black thick skin with three fingers and a thumb each ending in a curved yellow claw, rose from the circle.

  “He claims to serve Cancuru, and has come with sacrifice.” Andorra looked up with a smile of pleasure.

  “I am Kendari of Stillwood, bane of Seirena and the Whitemoon, hunter of her devoted, and the only of my kind to survive the Nadderi curse. I have a virgin offering, blessed by the mother of your father, the mother he despises and hates from his pit eternal. I offer it to you, great Kashtamias, and welcome you to the night.” Kendari bowed, keeping himself calm as possible, thinking only of clearing his mind and visualizing the fires in front of him in his head.

  The pause was the length of forever, longer perhaps. Then the infernal knight spoke.

  “I smell your virgin deer, I sense the mark and brand of service to my uncle over your heart, and I can see the curse of the Whitemoon on your flesh. Rise, Andorra of Armondeen, rise Kendari of Stillwood, and let us honor my coming to your world with prayers to each of the eleven.” Kashtamias whispered with the force of thousands, the fires inflamed all around, and the light of Gimmor grew strong in the chamber.

  Kendari smiled, meeting the eyes of Andorra through the flames, and she smiled back. He took off his shirt of enchanted steel, then of cloth, and stood with his hands clasped. His brand was glowing, it ached, yet he did not look. He watched her disrobe, barely able to stop his loins from stirring as her naked voluptuous form stood beyond the fires. She began to chant, Kendari watched her perfect lips, anticipating what she would say, and repeated the unholy verses softly as the son of the devil rose up from hell before him.

  “Soon, I will be consecrating a temple. So sing, both of you, sing with me of my father, Shukuru, who ruleth the hells of judgement. Sing to the eleven, so that I may go to the ancient city of temples, and bring about the dooms of Agara.” Kasthamias laughed, looking across as he rose through flame and blood, from the seventh hell.

  Lavress IV:III

  Temple of the Whitemoon, Central Chazzrynn

  “Just a little further Liogan Andellis, you can make it.” Lavress Tilaniun pulled him along on his right shoulder, the heir prince Bryant on his left. The hunter of the Hedim Anah was exhausted after two days and nights of being chased, and they had not stopped for even a moments’ rest.

  “I can’t…I cannot…go on…leave me…Lavress. Save, the…prince.” His breaths were shallow, his skin was pale, he
had lost too much blood.

  “If…I can…make it…so can…you…Knight of Southwind.” Bryant could see just enough out of one eye to make out the face of the wood elf, Lavress, who had rescued him and killed Jehrale Valhera. He could see Liogan Andellis too, the young Chazzrynn man beside him, the one that had taken the crossbow bolt into his ribs during their escape.

  “I..am a…knight of…Chazzrynn…my prince…” Liogan whispered out of force, not desire, his breaths were very short now.

  “I forgot…Sir Liogan…my apologies…The battle…my father…when can we …go…back…Lavress…?” Bryant could hardly take in air, the pain from his broken bones shot up his side.

  “Ssssshhh…no time for that, we are close, but so are they. Hurry now, be silent.” Lavress pushed on harder.

  The forests of the southern frontier kingdom had been clear ahead of them, thankfully so. Lavress pulled his two injured companions over another hill, into a steep valley, nearly tripping as their feet dragged in the brush and roots. They had run, sprinted, marched fast, and stumbled the whole way. Their only rest had been when Lavress turned to face a few of their followers. Bryant and Liogan had not seen it in the night, but their savage hunter had dispatched eleven Valhirst soldiers and four man-panthers already. He knew from his occasional climb into the higher trees, that many more were on their trail. Too many to fight alone. He had killed quickly, quietly, and then resumed their flight to the only safe spot he knew of in Chazzrynn, the sacred Temple of the Whitemoon.

  “The grove, I see it ahead. Almost there men. Keep moving.”

  He saw the false smiles on their faces. He was amazed Liogan was alive, most men would have died by now. The bolt was too deep to remove in the wilderness, so he ran with it still lodged into his side. Bryant may not have been able to see, but all three of them heard victorious cheers to Johnas Valhera shortly after their escape two nights’ past. Lavress assumed that the heir prince knew why, and he decided not to allow an answer to any such question. He had to keep them moving, or they were all as good as dead.