The Fall Of Celene (The Prophecies of Zanufey Book 2)

by A. Evermore

  Keteth looked even paler now and he swallowed loudly before stepping uncertainly towards to the runic door. As he bent close the light ball revealed six sets of complex symbols around the edges of the door. They shimmered white with the deadly Ancient enchantments that made Kilkarn shiver with dread even now.

  ‘The runes are the names of the orbs,’ Baelthrom explained.

  Keteth shivered with excitement. ‘Oh my, here it is, here is my destiny,’ he hissed a laugh then slapped a hand over his mouth and straightened, staring about him fearfully. ‘No one is here, no. It is perfectly safe. Bael…’ Keteth gulped the name back, suddenly afraid to speak it, ‘…is bound forever, he cannot harm me, noooo,’ he trailed off into a hiccupping low laugh and bent to glare at each rune in turn.

  ‘Utterly mad…’ Baelthrom chuckled quietly as did Kilkarn.

  With quivering lips and shaking fingers, barely containing his excitement, Keteth traced the lines of the runes until he found the one he sought.

  ‘I showed him this one in a dream. He could not know it was a trick,’ Baelthrom laughed again. ‘This was the moment I had been waiting for for eternity. I had planned this moment and painfully worked upon its fulfilment ceaselessly,’ Baelthrom’s voice was now tinged with excitement, his eyes light green.

  ‘Keteth did not know the names of the runes and was far less able to pronounce them. He could not read or speak the Ancient’s language, so he could not command the power of the rune. Only I and the Keepers of each orb know their names. Only when Keteth had chosen his orb and traced the symbol of its name would he be connected to it. Only then could I speak its name through his lips…’

  Kilkarn held his breath as Keteth spoke the orb’s ancient name aloud. The deep rumbling voice that echoed around the dark tunnel was not Keteth’s but Baelthrom’s. The rune burst into blue light, its name had been spoken, it was unlocked. The great door of black rock shuddered, then the other runes began to glow brilliant violet that flared angrily.

  ‘The symbols have a conscience of their own,’ Baelthrom whispered, ‘they knew the one who had unlocked the orb was not its keeper. The Ancient’s terrible magic was about to be unleashed upon him but Keteth, in his wisdom, knew the symbols were cursed and he came prepared.’

  Just as Baelthrom finished speaking the flaring symbols exploded outwards, six bolts of violet fire joined together and hurtled towards Keteth at lightning speed.

  But Keteth was quicker. With a backward motion of his hands and a great exhale he fell backwards and disappeared.

  Kilkarn gasped. ‘Where did he go, Lord Baelthrom?’ the dark dwarf’s voice drifted across the surface of the image.

  ‘Keteth went where even I could not follow,’ Baelthrom’s voice was low, tinged with wonder, ‘as easy to him as stepping across a stream he passed into the Land of Shadows, where the lost and forsaken dead reside.

  ‘When the curse of death placed upon those symbols tried to destroy him, Keteth was not there, he was already dead to them. Death passed him by. His gift should be mine,’ Baelthrom growled. He seemed about to say more but instead fell silent and stared at the image.

  In the empty tunnel the flaming symbols began to dim as the curse was cast. Only the unlocked symbol stayed bright, turning from violet to blue until it spluttered and then turned dim.

  ‘Through Keteth, I broke the magic seal of the Orb of Water. The enchantments that sealed the door to my prison was forever weakened and it could never be made whole again.’

  After the last flicker of light, Keteth materialised back into the world of the living and stood patiently before the black door. Then he placed his hand over the rune and spoke.

  ‘Give to me the power of this orb, take me to its location.’

  At first the magic was small, nothing but the faintest ribbons of white light that began to circle around him. Then all at once it became wild erratic lightning that snaked and struck the black rock walls. Sparks flew where they hit creating great cracks and tumbling shards of stone.

  ‘The power of the rune is being released to him,’ Baelthrom explained.

  With greedy grasping hands Keteth reached for the power, seeking to control it, and began collecting those snaking ribbons like cords in his hand. The white light spilled into him like cold water filling an empty vessel.

  ‘Ahhh,’ Keteth breathed a long sigh, ‘so long have I sought you. I see you’re hiding place, I have the keys to your location. I know your name and now you belong to me, I am your Keeper.’

  ‘Keteth’s excitement clouded his underlying surprise. The Orb of Death, which he thought he had unlocked, was not held by human hands but deep within the great ocean kingdom of the sea nymphs. Though he would not see this trickery until later,’ Baelthrom laughed at the same time Keteth did.

  The streams of white magic flared and formed a short tunnel of light that led from the black mountains deep into an ocean kingdom. At the end of the tunnel, tall spindly white towers were just visible as they rose up from the sea bed and lights of all colours moved around and within them. Without a pause Keteth jumped into the magical vortex. It carried him swiftly to the underwater chamber where the Orb of Water was kept deep within the kingdom of the unsuspecting sea nymphs.

  Keteth stepped from the tunnel into a brilliantly lit round chamber made of aqua quartz about a hundred feet in diameter. The walls, the floors and the ceilings were all the same, cut from the same beautiful semi-opaque aqua crystal that shone and sparkled. In the centre of the room was a raised pedestal, also hewn out of aqua quartz, and atop it sat a beautiful transparent turquoise orb.

  ‘Air and shield,’ Keteth commanded. An impenetrable bubble of air formed protectively around him and around the pedestal in the centre. The orb shone brightly, from deep azure blue to the palest turquoise. Keteth marvelled as its power flowed all around him like silk and his greed for that power overcame his growing confusion.

  ‘I had thought the Orb of Death black, but it is not. And now it is mine after all these years!’ he lunged at the pedestal. His hand touched the orb’s pale blue surface and horror formed on his face.

  ‘A trick! This is not the Orb of Death,’ he shrieked, ‘and I have not the knowledge… the desire or the power to wield it!’ Keteth howled in rage which quickly turned to fear as he tried to tear his hand away but could not. Waves of turquoise light exploded from the orb as the orb tried to bind itself to this new master who had broken its rune. But the orb was still bound to its original Keeper, and chaos flared within it.

  ‘A new master who is no master of the element from which it was formed,’ Baelthrom said thoughtfully.

  For Keteth the waves of blue light became searing waves of agony, destructive magical energy that licked and lashed at him, charring his flesh until it cracked and turned white. The image within the iron ring became chaotic and difficult to see. The sea nymphs came then, water and air breathing humanoid beings, and descended upon Keteth. His protective bubble shattered and the tunnel back to Baelthrom’s prison closed. Keteth thrashed and spun in terror in the surging water.

  ‘They could not kill him,’ Baelthrom said softly, ‘the power of the orb would not let this impostor master die. So instead they cursed him.’

  Kilkarn watched mesmerised as the sea nymphs circled around Keteth chanting strange magical words. Keteth howled in pain as his legs began to lengthen, his bones filled with a terrible burning itch he could not scratch and his legs began to mould themselves together into one long limb. The bones in his feet and toes cracked as they grew long, then they splayed to form twisted flukes. Keteth wailed in pain but the curse did not stop and he bulged and grew larger, his arms grew short as his fingers grew long and thick until each was a tentacle flapping around him uselessly for he had no idea how to control this form. His head grew and sunk into his shoulders and his eyes turned back and to the side. Keteth howled then made a strange flick with his tentacles and disappeared from view.

  ‘Yet Keteth still retained his first gift and he mana
ged to slither into the veil between the living and the dead where the sea nymphs could not follow. But even there he could not escape the ocean, the curse was so strong it bound him beyond death, and he moved in a sea thick with strange dead creatures he had never seen before, and the many souls of sunken ships. Slowly, in his deformed body, he crawled along the seabed where creatures with giant teeth swam in the gloom, and hid deep within an ocean abyss,’ Baelthrom chuckled softly.

  ‘Having released a prisoner, now Keteth himself became imprisoned. His hatred grew strong as he hid away from the world, taking the orb with him, keeping it from the Ancients that now hunted for it.

  ‘But always I knew where he was, always I retained a hold on what became the White Beast. But the world of the dead was always barred to me and there he hid the orb from me too,’ Baelthrom’s voice was a loud hiss that made Kilkarn cower.

  ‘For all their efforts over the years the orb was truly lost to the sea nymphs, it belonged to a new master whose power was now far greater than theirs. The Ancients cursed them as they had cursed Keteth, bound them forever to sea forms, never again able to leave the ocean. It left me with one less race to dominate,’ Baelthrom said, his eyes shone bright blue and there was silence. The image in the ring became a dull and empty grey.

  For a long while nothing was said. Kilkarn considered all that he had seen for he had never known the details of how his master had broken free and how Keteth became the White Beast. He glanced up at his Lord. Baelthrom’s eyes were dark and smouldering.

  ‘In The Shadowlands of his creation Keteth hunted a strange spirit,’ Baelthrom spoke in such a low voice the room vibrated faintly. ‘It angers me to know that he was indeed searching for it, searching for something important that I did not feel myself yet. This thing he found he desired more than he had desired the Orb of Death!’

  A shady ghostlike world of wraiths moving amongst a mist filled grey forest slowly formed. The great ring began to swirl as more images began to form and Kilkarn turned eagerly towards it. The image focused upon the thin frail frame of a pale-faced girl, more ghost than real in the Land of Shadows. Large almost luminous blue-green eyes shone in the gloom of the ghost world.

  Those eyes drew Baelthrom into them now as they had the first time he had seen them several weeks ago. Long black hair flared out around her in the wind and Baelthrom felt that she was staring right at him. He tried to look away but the face in the ring held him fast. He clenched his fists, his human neck throbbed with his pulse and his huge heart thudded violently in his chest.

  ‘The time is coming, your end draws near,’ the face spoke to Baelthrom without moving her pale lips and in words only he could hear.

  He was aware of the dark dwarf talking beside him in urgent tones. He knocked the dwarf flying as he spread his wings wide. Sweat began to roll down his back. A strange emotion came over him then and he hated it. It was like panic only more complete, like pain only worse because it affected not the body but the mind. It was so all encompassing he could not do anything to fight it as it rolled through him and consumed him.

  For the first time in his existence Baelthrom was touched with terror for this spirit whispered to him of his own death. He did not understand, for he could not die, and yet this thing spoke to him of death, reminded him of the power that he could never possess, the one power he wanted more than the orbs could give him – power over the creation of eternal life.

  Baelthrom howled.

  ‘It must be destroyed!’ he roared, this spirit, this thing that threatened his existence, must be annihilated. This spirit evaded him as it evaded his understanding, and that angered him. He desired that which he could not understand, a burning, obsessive desire that ate away at him and such desire was a weakness he could not mend.

  ‘I followed Keteth as he hunted it!’ Baelthrom growled and the image paled into grey. Now that her face had gone his breathing calmed and the dark dwarf crawled out from behind the altar where he had been hiding.

  ‘Nothing is beyond your power, great Lord,’ Kilkarn soothed.

  ‘Now I shall hunt it myself,’ Baelthrom whispered and laughed in agreement, ‘Yes, nothing is beyond me. I will find the source of that power and take it,’ Baelthrom became calm, which made the dark dwarf tremble even more.

  ‘There is time. All it will take is time and a plan.’

  Chapter 9

  The Immortal Lord's Gifts

  SHE ruffled her feathers, they shone white in the moonlight. There came a rustle in the leaves littering the forest floor below. She swivelled her head almost fully around to stare with unblinking saucer shaped eyes for movement. All was still, whatever had moved had sensed her presence.

  A loud raucous caw cut through the silence and made her heart shiver. The caw was answered by another a little further away. Her heart beat louder in her chest as she glimpsed a black shape flittering through the trees towards her. It was trailed by another and then another.

  The white owl leapt off the branch and spread her wings wide. But the ravens were faster and already in full flight as they descended upon her. Sharp talons struck her back and together raven and owl fell heavily to the ground. The world was a tumbling mess of black beaks stabbing and white claws clawing. Too many for the owl to fight.

  The ravens’ black talons ripped deep into her wings. She wondered why her blood was a deep blackish red as it splashed over her snow-white feathers. She screeched in pain and horror as they tore her body apart.

  Cirosa’s own gasping scream bolted her awake. Arms flapping, still trying to beat the ravens away. She sat up panting and sweating, the bed sheets damp and twisted around her like snakes. Through the gap in the heavy drapes covering the tall windows of her room it was still dark and the edge of the bright moon of Doon was visible.

  She could only have been asleep an hour or two but the fear of more nightmares sent her exhausted from her bed. She slipped into her silk robe that was draped over the gold gilded chair beside her bed and stepped into her slippers. Quietly she made her way through the moonlit corridors of the priestesses’ sleeping quarters and out of the front door.

  The night was warm as she skittered across the stone-slabbed walk-way towards the Temple of Celene. It stood shining bright and white in the moonlight but she could never find any warmth or wonder for the building hewn out of one single rock by dwarven and elven hands over a thousand years ago. For her it stood hard and unyielding, almost accusing, telling her that she could never conquer it, that she would never be blessed by the Great Mother.

  She shivered under its shadow but it was defiance that made her enter through the large arched oaken door. She always entered with defiance. The thick and heavy door was decorated with metal swirls and it swung open silently without needing her usual shove, almost mocking her with the ease of which it opened. Why had she come here? She never liked it anyway. This is my temple, my domain, she pursed her lips.

  She swept down the pristine walls lit only by moonlight and came to a stop atop the marble black and white flower that decorated the floor at the end. At her command the flower would open, each petal descending down lower than the previous to form steps leading to the Mother’s Chamber.

  She didn’t give the command. The will and word needed to form the simple magic always left her exhausted. She was not a magic wielder and she was already exhausted. Besides, walking into those pitch black tunnels to a stuffy ancient place sent a shiver down her back. Instead she turned and lit the large candles beside the walls with a match. Once alight they cast their flickering light wide in the empty temple.

  There were no chairs for worshippers to rest. There had been once when Mielan, her predecessor, ran the temple - albeit only on the yearly festivals and special occasions. Fewer and fewer people came over the years and as Mielan became sicker she had less strength to do the tasks required by the temple High Priestess.

  When Cirosa took over, those festivals and celebrations dwindled and then died completely. Not that the people see
med to mind. The islanders preferred to celebrate in their own villages, and with crops failing so often these years (and everyone blamed Baelthrom for that) their hands were full trying to grow enough to eat. It was a rare wedding that ever happened at the temple these days. The fees The Temple required for such an event were too high now anyway.

  Weak unbelievers, what on earth can peasants like Issa ever know of the Great Mother? Cirosa snorted in disgust.

  Still, without the festivals it gave her more time to focus on what was required of her to be the Oracle - the High Priestess of Frayon, leader of The Temple, the Order of the Great Goddess (most frequently and simply called, The Temple). The current Oracle, Hykerri, could barely do anything anymore, indeed Cirosa was already doing most of the old bag’s work, she may as well take the Oracle’s place now and get herself off this awful hot and stifling island.

  Cirosa had respected Hykerri once, before she had met her, before she came as a novice to the Main Temple in Frayon, just outside the capital, Carvon. But respect dwindled to none over the years of her working there. The woman was old and given to dreams and trances and, though kind, she was weak. Why the priests and priestesses doted on her, hanging on her every word, Cirosa could never understand.

  The whole Order was riddled with outdated laws, outdated thinking, unnecessary overheads (such as far too many festivals throughout a single year), reckless money spending and terribly wasteful and inefficient practises. As a result there was an endless list of tasks Cirosa had to sift through every day. She had become convinced that if it wasn’t for her the entire Order of the Goddess would have collapsed years ago.

  Once she was in control she would command only useful educated people, or those with plenty of money, to assist her, rather than rely on dreams, fanciful visions and magic to run things like every Oracle had done before. Some order and discipline was what was required. The entire Temple was falling apart because of the Oracle and when she was gone there would be more than just a few changes. It was only a matter of time. Once Cirosa was in control and her laws set down and enforced, then they could focus once more on recruitment, which would no doubt be a much smoother task by then.