The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth

by Jason R Jones

  Lavress heard growling in the distance, not a quarter mile behind them, feline growling. The sun would not rise for another four hours, the panthers were midnight black, so by the light of the moon, he would fight, alone. He had seen over twelve last time he checked, he hoped some had given up the chase.

  “Lavress, hurry!” It was not Bryant, nor Liogan, but another voice from the sacred grove.

  Lavress knew the voice, the ogre outcast, the guardian of the temple. It was Grnikol, his twisted spear in hand, and his purple eyes and small yellow tusks gleamed in the moonlight.

  “Help me, please.” Lavress collapsed at the white stones that encircled the sacred grove before the stairs. Bryant fell into the arms of Grnikol, Liogan fell to his knees and drew his broadsword. Lavress thought of Shinayne, of his training, yet his face remained in the cool grasses outside the temple.

  “Get up Lavress Tilaniun, you have brought enemies.”

  Grnikol carried Prince Bryant into the temple entrance, the white stone was closing slowly, but already it was a tight sideways fit for the small ogre.

  “Who…who..are you…an..ogre…?” Bryant turned his head at a funny angle to see who was carrying him. His head bumped the stone, his body was unable to give the strength to his neck anymore.

  “Yes, though not like the ogre your kingdom fights, Prince of Chazzrynn. My name is Grnikol, and I am taking you to the princess Ramaya-nun. She is waiting for you, be still now.” His words held no power, yet the calm of the sacred temple did, and Bryant Salganat fell into dark slumber as his body began to fail.

  “My princess, I have two more outside, the heir prince is here. I go to battle, may Seirena bless you.” Grnikol bowed fast, set the prince down at her feet, and stomped back out of the temple to face whatever was coming.

  “Hurry, my guardian, the doors close soon. Be brave…” Her hair was wild with red waves in the air, her voice a song from the fey, and she flew over to the dying human prince. The granddaughter of Seirena, on of seven remaining fey matriarchs, kissed him on the lips and began to pray. Sparkles of dust circled the air, the temple whispered, and Ramaya-nun heard his heartbeat strengthen, just a little.

  Grnikol could sense predators on the wind, not far over the hill before the sacred grove. The winds told him, the grasses warned, and the trees moaned. He looked to the knight that had saved his king last time he was here, Liogan Andellis, he recalled. Grnikol walked up to him, seeing the projectile deep in his ribs, and his white tabard stained with far too much blood. He knew the boy would not live another hour. Then the ogre looked to Lavress, still face down in the grass, beyond exhaustion.

  “Liogan, I need you to come with me.” Grnikol walked him over to the temple, then grabbed him and carried him down.

  “No, no, no! Damn you! I will stay and fight, I can, my place is with Lavress..stop, damn you, stop…” Liogan had not the strength to fight him, though he struggled as best he could.

  “Niastae, priestess of the Whitemoon, help me please.” Grnikol ran sideways, his chest and back scraping the closing stone. He set Liogan down, slowly on his side, minding the bolt in his ribs.

  Liogan’s eyes closed, as a sphinx with the face of a woman breathed over him. Her braids of mane dangled in his face, her eyes teared, and she folded her wings back and sat over him as little nixies flew all around her.

  “I cannot, you know this. I have to close the temple while Ramaya-nun saves the prince of Chazzrynn. We cannot leave it undone and open.”

  “Please, something, anything. I will hold them off until it is closed.”

  “I do not know, Grnikol, I can make no promises here. He is badly injured.” Niastae, priestess of the Whitemoon for her princess, prayed out a feline song, and focused on trying to save the young knight she remembered fondly.

  “Try, please. I go out now, and I shall not return.” Grnikol made the sign of love to the sphinx, from heart, to chin, then to his lips with his hand. He did not wait for a reply, but marched up the stairs and forced his girth through to the top. He knew he could not get back inside now.

  “Blessings of the mother upon…” Niastae’s voice faded in the distance below.

  Lavress was still on the grass, face down, eyes closed. Grnikol ran to him, knelt, and then looked up. Fifteen black panthers snarled in the moonlight of the full Gimmor and crescent Carice. One of them had a patch over its eye, and it growled at the edge of the grove with its brethren.

  “Time to get up, hunter of the Hedim Anah. Time to stand with me.” He whispered as he planted his gnarled root spear into the earth.

  “I cannot move, so tired, I…I…help me up.” Lavress felt his falcata in his right hand, the kukri dagger in his left, and some sort of cool wind rushing over him. He felt the trees, the grass, the air in the grove was trying to help him. He got to one knee, and looked up at the yellow and green eyes not one hundred feet away.

  “Get up Lavress, I cannot take them alone.” Grnikol pulled him to his feet, then grabbed his spear. He looked back at the stone entry, still wide enough for a man to get through, and no one to close them further. “The temple is not closed.”

  “We are dead, we cannot take that many.” Lavress sighed, looked back to the doors, then lifted his blades. “But, we can make them bleed for their dinner.”

  The panther with the patch snarled, stopped his pacing, and began to run toward the grove. The other fourteen followed. Then twenty more crested the hill, and then the sounds of soldiers echoed behind them. Valhirst soldiers.

  “My sentiments exactly. Back to back, til the end, and none of them get through. Agreed?” Grnikol sighed, hoping Ramaya-nun or Niastae would close it in time.

  “Agreed.” Lavress spun his blades round once, took a low stance, and waited. “To our deaths.”

  “It has been an honor already, Lavress Tilaniun of the Hedim An---“

  The first panther lunged at Grnikol, and he lifted his spear as a staff just in time to send it over the temple stones through the air. The one with the patch raked the ogre’s arm as he went airborn, and landed on all fours far behind the temple.

  Lavress slashed with his forward curved blade, then followed with the curved glowing dagger, splitting the neck of a massive black cat wide open. Another raked his calf, then a different panther clawed his forearm, they were surrounded.

  Grnikol plunged his spear across and through the neck of one attacking Lavress, then spun his weapon and stabbed it back into the face of another. As it recoiled, he turned and dove the tip down its throat. His thigh tore open from a snarling cat, its teeth clamped down hard then released. Its head fell, severed by the falcata of Lavress.

  Snarling hisses grew closer, the claws ripped as they passed, and blood sprayed from the two lone warriors in the sacred grove at night. More arrived, panthers padded over their dead brethren that had reverted back to naked men in the moonlight. The sounds of soldiers, and of a brutal battle on the hill outside the grove, barely reached their ears amidst the constant fight at the temple.

  Lavress looked back, noticing the temple doors were not closing, and looked to Grnikol. “Who seals the temple?” He asked quick, in between stabs and thrusts into black fur.

  “No one, they are too busy saving the humans I carried down.” Grnikol speared ahead again, through a panther chest this time, and caught another with his hand as it leapt for his face. The teeth were inches from his throat, yet he held it, until Lavress plunged his kukri dagger into its side and twisted.

  Lavress felt another rake of claws across his back, then another, he fell to his knees. He spun from the ground, and dove both blades up into the stomach of the beast intending to devour him. Two more took its place as it howled into a dying transformation from cat to man.

  He rolled to his feet, his body wet from blood, mostly his own. A spear thrust killed another in front of him, adding to the ten or more dead already. Yet more than twenty circled and lunged at them, tiring them out, waiting for the moment to finish them. Grnikol could no longer
stand, his left leg had nothing below the ankle but twisted torn flesh and bone. Lavress grew dizzy, his arms were lowering without him realizing it.Then they heard it, a battle charge from the hill.

  “To the Prince of Chazzrynn!”

  Twenty blood covered stallions charged, banners bearing the falcon of Chazzrynn and the feathered cross of Alden fluttered in the moonlight, and Lord Alexei T’vellon swung his broadsword low and took the head of a bounding panther as he yelled. Less than twenty behind him, the Lord of Southwind raced his men into the thick of black cats in front of the temple. Behind him, there were dozens more, and many scattered soldiers of Valhirst, but no more knights.

  He looked down to Lavress, glanced at the ogre holding on to him for support, and dismounted as his men engaged the black cats. “The prince, Sir Liogan, where are they?”

  Lavress pointed down the white stone walls to an underground temple. He was not sure if Alexei would take him prisoner, or assist, their meetings had been less than cooperative in the past.“They are alive, for now.”

  “What do you need of me, Lavress Tilaniun?”

  “To hold this grove until we can close the doors, Lord of Southwind.” Lavress bowed. “But when it closes, we will be far away from here.”

  Alexei dismounted, and so did his now fifteen remaining knights that he had gathered north of Valhirst and on their journey. He had double backed, seeing a force following the heir prince and his rescuers. He had managed to gather fifty men, but many had died in the constant battles to this spot. He reached out his hand, forearm to forearm, with Lavress Tilaniun.

  “Southwind will see it done. Forgive me, friend of Chazzrynn. You are a far better man than me.” Alexei T’Vellon stood in front of the limping ogre and the savage wood elf. “Knights of Southwind, we hold them here!”

  Lavress slid through the opening, looking back only once. He saw Alexei raise his shield, then his men made a half circle around the entrance, shoulder to shoulder. Grnikol stood on one leg, spear in hand, and Lavress knew he could not fit down the stairs. He nodded, and ran to the temple sanctum as the sounds of blades, panthers, and battle most bloody reigned from above. Crossbow fire began, snarling cats met the steel of Southwind Keep, and the outnumbered men fought like lions in the night.

  He stumbled past the temple rooms, ignoring the pixies and nixies, stepping over little goblins, yet he did not hear the song of the fey that would close the doors. He turned into the throne room, the vines and jewels were lit, but no one was on the throne. He looked left, to the just over two feet of Ramaya-nun laying over Bryant Salaganat. He turned right, seeing Niastae the sphinx with her paws on Liogan Andellis. Neither of them looked up to him, they were deep in prayer, and Lavress knew there was nothing he could do for them.

  “What…what…do I do…” His breath was also faint, his wounds were so many, his body wanted to collapse and his skin burned with claw marks.

  …Close the temple, Lavress, please. If we leave them, they will die here…

  It was the voice of Ramaya-nun in his head, but she did not look at him. Lavress looked to the throne, he had no idea how to do the things they did.

  “How, tell me how.” He whispered as he sat in the throne, it was but a little chair to him.

  …You must think only of love, and breath in thoughts of that love, then exhale wishes to that love, and sing out a verse to that love…

  “But the prayers, the words to Seirena, to your mother and Siril, the Whitemoon…I am no priest…I do not---“

  …There are none, Lavress, there are none. You hear our devotion and purest love when we pray, that is all. You must find yours, soon, before it is too late. They are coming, they will be through soon…

  Lavress thought hard, tried to calm himself, and breathed in deep. He thought of Shinayne, the sacred grove of Viala Simnorr, where he and Shinayne first kissed.

  …Good, Lavress, good, breathe now…

  He breathed in the aquamarine eyes trimmed with silver of his beloved, her golden locks of hair so long, and her beautiful lips and cheeks. Then Lavress breathed out, they were dancing, it was perfect, and he knew she loved him without question. Their blades twirled in kata, hands and eyes never leaving one another, and then they kissed. He saw it all in his mind, like all their meditations and spiritual elven meetings.

  …Yes, yes, now sing to her Lavress, sing to her and your love will close the doors if it is true…

  Lavress forced out the sound of battle above, focused on his visions of Shinayne T’Sarrin, and opened his mouth. He tried to remember the songs she would sing to him in the groves, long ago in Kilikala. His words, ones he did not put there, came out in elven, describing exactly what he could feel. His body ran red with more blood, it dripped down his legs and back and over the throne, but on he sang.

  “Hialde ures de amteruas ethea de, ahmoliaro…”

  The stone began to move, Lavress felt the pull of something powerful, from his chest through the throne. His eyes opened, there were vines growing from the walls at a fast pace. Pixies flew into frenzy, nixie boys sat in prayer in front of him, as did goblins of all sorts and small sizes, and so did the beautiful naked dryads as their leaves fluttered in unseen breezes. His heart quickened, his wounds seeped, and his eyes rolled back.

  “Jurali ethmes dafora Shinayne kialu, teotearo…”

  Lavress sang of every moment they had met, in the flesh and otherwise, since she was a child. He expressed every feeling he had for Shinayne, and the fey of the temple wept as they heard how long the two lovers had been apart. He prayed for her safety, her heart to be close to his, his eyes closed again as the pull was tremendous on his body.

  “Liolie ruande arestana haiye, Shinayne lodanaro…”

  Caroom…crack…crack…

  The temple doors shut, the song ended, and Lavress Tilaniun of the Hedim Anah, fell from the throne. He was unaware, but leaves of rich green grew from the ground, sparkling with lights and love, and caught him as he fell. White flowers began to bloom around him. The vines wrapped him close as his body bled the earthen floor. Not a creature stirred, just cried and stared, as he lay still. Slowly, one by one, all of the gathered spirits of the Whitemoon sang songs of his bravery, as the temple moved far away from Chazzrynn. The sphinx continued her desperate prayers over Liogan Andellis. The fairy princess Ramaya-nun whispered healing powers from the fey to Bryant Salganat. The temple shook, moving fast through the realms of the Whitemoon, to an unknown destination, a mystical journey that Lavress Tilaniun would never see.

  Exodus IV:VII

  Sacred Forge of Vundren, Depths of Kakisteele

  The battle had begun again, more horrifying than before, yet all five of them remained calm as they walked the sacred cavern. Gray dwarves fought and died in silence, one of them resembling a splendid king covered in plates of half moon steel discs, and wielding a half warhammer half battle axe weapon as he led a retreat. His crown was fused to an open faced helm with spikes and stones adorning it, and his shield of two crossed crescent steel moons was killing as many Altestani shadows as his regal hammeraxe was. His beard of dark braids swung from side to side, yelling orders that only the other dead could hear. It was plain to see, outnumbered at least twenty to one, that these gray apparitions would not last much longer against the shadows of demons and men from ages past. It looked like this was their last stand, a circle formed of the dwarves, and it ever shrunk against the hordes of Altestan.

  The cavern widened, white light drawing their attention beyond the false battle. Zen walked through it, saw through it, and made for a curling ramp of stone that led down. His friends said little now, seeing that he was at peace with the falseness of the scenes, no matter how vivid and terrible they were. His eyes, much focused on battle and finding she who held this place cursed, opened wide as they reached the bottom of the ramp.

  “The holy forges, pinch me, slap me, somethin’ please.”

  Smack

  “Thank ye’ Saberrak, now both me shoulders ache
.” Zen stared across the flat sandstone cavern, seven rising steel furnaces, hundreds of feet in the air before him. Stairs went up in circles around them, dwarven engravings glowed faintly from their smooth outer walls, and at the base of each a golden fire still smoldered.

  They stepped closer, seeing anvils of white iron, as big as horses, glisten with long lost divinity. Hundreds there were, all with white iron hammers and tools resting alongside. Each forge had a bellows that would take ten dwarves to operate, a small set of tables and chairs for meals sat with forks and bowls, and even a prayer alcove built into each one. The symbols on each were not all of the hammer and moons of Vundren, however. The largest held the design of the dwarven God upon its steel face. The others held symbols of Alden, Annar, Haddius, Solumet, Siril, and Vasentanessa.

  “The forge, it be for those keys, the ones ye’ been speakin’ of Saberrak. By Vundren, tis a forge o’ the, o’ all the…the…”

  “Carician children of the white moon, one for each of them.” Saberrak finished his statement for him.

  “Aye, them. Look at all that white iron, the platinum, the golden blends o’ steel, by Vundren’s holy hammer tis a lot it is.”

  They walked in slowly, dwarfed by the massive structures of divine origins, and kept south toward a set of stairs. Zen furrowed his brow, seeing the black steps covered in skulls and bones, piled high, and the door was not of dwarven craft at all. It was made of bones, fused and black, shiny and marked with strange designs that looked less than friendly. He knew where he had to go.

  Suddenly, the kingly figure ran past them, through them, all alone. His gray form making no sound, yet he was injured as gray blood poured down his armor. He snuck, ducked from view, as if being followed. He turned into the forges, twisting each way, and stopped at the forge of Vundren.

  “What is he doing?” Shinayne watched as the lone gray figure knelt below the opening to the forge, and pulled out a leather bag. He was crying, yet he scooped ashes into the bag and tied it shut. Then the apparition placed a key inside of a box, then a rolled parchment, and shoved the bag inside as well.