by A. Evermore
But until then she had this wretched Issa to be rid of. She began chewing her finger. Curse that damnable woman, if she is not plaguing me in person, she plagues my dreams, plagues my thoughts! Her feet began to pace of their own accord, her silk slippers made a soft slipping sound that echoed through the empty hall. She tasted blood and looked at her chewed finger, vivid red oozed out from the torn flesh and she wrapped a tissue around it.
Now this wench came to Celene talking about the goddess as if she had spoken to Her directly. Immediately she had won the ears and hearts of Freydel, Lady Eleny, and even Rance. The very thought of her former lover made her angry and upset. She pushed thoughts of him a away, he confused her logic with emotion.
Even her own priests and priestesses here in the Temple of Celene were talking about Issa and the rising of the dark moon; it was all too much to take. If any more happened they would be putting Issa in the Oracle’s place instead of her! The very sniff of a threat to her plans filled her with gut wrenching fear. She would not let anyone take away the position she held no matter what the cost.
A foolish woman-girl dragged up from some backwater island comes to lead them all to victory and threaten her plans to rule The Temple. Indeed the Oracle has been waiting for someone such as she to take her place, and the sodding dark moon has only made it worse.
The rumours of Issa had spread too quickly too soon amongst a weak and desperate people. I’ll bet Freydel had a hand in that, the old superstitious fool! And that traitorous bitch, Ely. Issa was nothing but a fool, a fraud! Shipwrecked and unfortunately survived by chance long enough to be washed up on Celene’s shores. A clever liar indeed, ‘survivor of the Shadowlands’, ‘communicates with animals’, ‘visited by Wykiry’, what a load of tosh! It made her sick to the stomach.
But her plan would work, it had worked already. Cirosa slowed her pacing and smoothed her gown with a half-smile. Whatever she claimed to be, no one could survive Keteth. Her smile widened. Send her out to Keteth to prove she was chosen by the goddess, let her own pride and vainglory be her downfall. And the other fools had believed it too!
But why then was she so worried? She chewed her lip. Was she not the High Priestess of the Isle of Celene? Chosen by the divine to soon rule as the head of the Order of the Great Goddess. Had she not excelled in the teachings of The Temple? Had she not proved herself worthy to the Great Goddess? Had she not proved her devotion through years upon years of dedicated exhausting service? Though she had neither the Sight nor the ability to use magic they were simply things desired and not required to be the High Priestess of Frayon. She had worked so hard to make up for her lack of these and made very sure her hard work was recognised.
Indeed, had she not given up her friends and family to get where she was today? The goddess should be proud of her most diligent student for, unlike Lady Eleny, she was dedicated to The Temple - mind, body and soul. She had no time for a husband or family. She did not need such things. Even though priestesses and priests were allowed lovers, indeed it was sometimes expected as part of the journey through life, they took second place and marriage was not accepted. Only when planned for specific reasons were children accepted, and the reasons usually involved promising them into service within The Temple.
My ambition is my pride, it keeps me strong and driven. Many might dislike her ambitious nature, but bend to her rule they certainly would. She had spent her entire existence working towards this and finally she was the next in line. With any luck the current Oracle would be fortuitous indeed to see the year out. Such a shame she couldn’t speed things along like she had helped speed along Mielan’s end. Well, she had only helped ease the old crone’s suffering, who wanted to live for endless years as a cripple anyway?
No, the wench would fail, she had to. She had hoped Issa would refuse the task, falling at the first hurdle, but was mildly amused when she did not. Instead the wench in her naivety had defiantly, foolishly, accepted. But what if she slays the beast? What then? Impossible, she is weak, a fool. She quickened her pacing, feeling a wild panic bordering madness as her thoughts flip-flopped between success and failure. Keteth will crush and devour her, her smile became a grin.
It didn’t matter how she was destroyed, only that it happened was of paramount importance. Cirosa bit her nails again. She had done the right thing, hadn’t she? She had thought long and hard about how to be rid of Issa ever since news first came of a strange young woman being washed up on the shore. Though she dismissed all prophecies of the dark moon out of hand as the mutterings of mad old idiots, Cirosa did in fact know The Prophecies of Zanufey very well. Such was the result of her endless years of study. She had enjoyed them as fanciful fairy tales but did not believe any of them and yet when the dark moon rose, fear struck her to the bone.
“When the dark hand of Immortality stretches his cold fingers across the land, await the Dark Moon for your saviour. Born upon the waves and delivered upon the Goddess Isle will she be and terrible will she become to crush the lie of immortality and free the souls of the enslaved. That is what we must strive for, or all is lost.”
Cirosa too clearly remembered the prophecies of Mother Urula written over eight hundred years ago, she had studied them very carefully indeed. She came to realise that nothing got the people spooked more than a prophecy and its slow fulfilment. And so the prophecies were a marvellous opportunity begging to be used by her to prove she was chosen by the goddess.
Had the Immortal Lord’s hand not spread far and wide? Had she, Cirosa, not been the first willing person set herself up upon the hot and remote Isle of Celene? She had been here on the Goddess’s Sacred Isle running The Temple single-handedly for many years now. Had the “Dark Moon” now arisen just before she was set to become the Oracle, the High Priestess of Frayon?
She was the one chosen by the goddess and all had been going smoothly until that cursed wench arrived. Cirosa stopped pacing the halls and let go of her gown that she had been clutching tightly. But so what, that prophecy was written by a leprous hag who didn’t even know the difference between day and night.
No, Issa was not the one, she could not be; Cirosa was the one, she would make it so. She had not spent most of her life trying to make it so for nothing. A yawn forced itself upon her and she rubbed her sore eyes, but the thought of going back to bed when the raven filled nightmare was still raw in her mind kept her from it.
Suddenly there came a great rumbling as if the earth was growling and the whole temple shuddered beneath her feet. Her heart leapt into her throat as the candles clattered to the floor, spilling their wax everywhere and leaving Cirosa in complete darkness. Tremors were common on the Isle of Celene but here, in the darkness, deprived of sleep and within the unfriendly walls of the Temple, it sent chills through Cirosa. The trembling increased and she fell towards the wall and clung to it for balance. Then everything stopped and fell incredibly silent.
Cirosa ran out of the temple, as fast as she could in slippers. Her heart pounded in her head until she was outside of its oppressive walls and gulping in the cool night air. She hated earthquakes, even just the little trembles. That had been a strong one, she thought, her own gasping and shaking beginning to subside.
Doon must have set and the sky clouded over for it was very dark. Only the barest dim light came from a lantern near a window somewhere in the priest’s quarters behind her. The temple itself was a blacker menacing shape looming before her. On shaking legs she walked towards one of the benches hidden in the shadow of a thick yew tree and slumped down. Lights flickered on in the dormitories. A priest or priestess may have heard something. But after a few minutes of no more commotion they flickered back off again. It took some time for Cirosa to catch her breath and still her shaking body.
I hate this island.
Half an hour or so must have passed by the time she felt really calm and began yawning. Bed seemed like a good idea once more so she got to her feet with a sigh and began to walk towards her quarters. The hairs on the back
of her neck suddenly stood up and a shiver slithered down her spine. There was a dark shape not five metres from her where there should be no dark shape. She was certain she could feel eyes watching her.
It’s just a bush, she thought, but then it moved. She gulped and took a step back. She foolishly didn’t have her lantern, thinking the moonlight would stay, thinking the temple candle light would be enough. It’s just a forest leopard or Dinry’s mutt.
But it really was far too large to be either of those and it was shaped very differently. Though squat it was full and dense. Like a big, big, bird. The ravens of her nightmare swept through her mind, but this creature was bigger and for all the horror of it, it seemed to have a round human-shaped head. She couldn’t feel magic even if there was any but there was something about the black shape that watched her that made her shudder and it went beyond that awful sour smell that wafted from it.
She took another step back. The eyes flashed before her, though there was no light from which they could gleam, they gleamed of their own accord, maybe from magic.
‘I have nothing that you would want. Get away from here,’ her voice was rasping as she spoke. She slipped her hand into her gown where she kept her letter opener. It was not sharp but it was pointy and to the thing before her it would look like a real blade. She chose not to draw it out yet.
The creature cackled, a sound half way between an old crone’s laugh and a crow’s chatter. It made her shudder again and she took another step back until she was against the thick trunk of the old cypress tree that stood in the temple courtyard. The creature was between her and the temple and the other buildings of safety were even further away.
The creature shuffled towards her. Dim light from one window filtered through the leaves and slid over oily feathers, a thick clawed foot like that of an eagle only three times the size, long fair hair, not unlike her own, and the curve of a full round breast. It waddled closer. Cirosa’s breath caught in her throat, it was barely five feet away. She whipped out her knife and held it before her.
‘Keep back or I’ll kill you!’
That horrid cackle came again but the thing stopped moving forwards. Cirosa’s dagger trembled in her out-stretched hand.
‘You weak human females are of no use to us, or anything else,’ the creature spoke in a cracked female voice, like that of an old woman yet full of timbre. Star light shone down through a break in the clouds and illuminated the creature’s soft round face, full red lips, smooth unblemished skin. The harpy grinned at her, black teeth sharp and pointed, eyes dark and deadly. Cirosa looked away from the harpy, thought she might be sick.
‘You tread on holy ground, vile beast,’ she snarled. She had to get away, harpies were deadly and they could wield magic. It should not be here, so far west. She was about to yell for help when the harpy spoke.
‘Hold your tongue, stupid woman.’
Cirosa’s mouth snapped shut of its own accord. She held the letter opener dagger higher but the harpy only laughed.
‘Your efforts may have gone unnoticed by the weak and impotent goddess, but there is another, greater, more powerful being who watches you. One who is not silent…’ the harpy said. ‘You are very fortunate indeed to be watched,’ the harpy threw a bundle at her feet. ‘Use this as and when you see fit, and see all fit you will,’ the hideous bird-woman chuckled. ‘I would not ignore the Immortal Lord’s gifts if I were you.’
The bird woman shuffled backwards, her black eyes gleaming, never leaving Cirosa’s own. Once she had enough space she turned, spread her wings and launched herself into the air. Only when the black shape was no longer visible did Cirosa’s jaw begin to work again. She slumped back against the tree trunk and wiped her sweaty forehead. The strange sour smell of the decrepit bird woman still seemed to linger. Her eyes came to rest on the bundle at her feet.
Slowly she reached down to grab it. It was only slightly larger than her fist but it was solid and heavy. She swallowed loudly. Though the harpy had gone something still felt wrong, corrupt, and she wondered if it came from the bundle now in her hand. A door creaked making her jump and bright yellow light spilled out through the door of the priestesses’ quarters.
‘Everything all right?’ the novice priestess asked timidly.
Cirosa slipped the bundle in her pocket along with her knife.
‘Yes, Efren, go back to bed. I couldn’t sleep through the tremors and thought I heard something. There is nothing though.’
The novice nodded and the light went out as she dutifully shut the door. In the dark once more, free from prying eyes, Cirosa pulled out the strange bundle and turned it over in her hand.
‘The Immortal Lord’s gifts?’ she breathed.
This was all very wrong, very wrong indeed, and yet it was also… exciting. She should have run from the harpy but she didn’t. Why didn’t it attack me? It meant me no harm… And what did it mean, I am “watched”? Can the Immortal Lord’s eyes see even here? She grasped the collar of her robe tightly. Could he see her now? She had to get inside. But could he see her wherever she went? Maybe he could only see into her mind. They said he could reach anyone in their dreams. Well it was lucky, then, that sleep was far from her now.
In the dark she could just make out the unimaginative square shape of her administrative building lurking behind the temple. She ran towards it as quietly as she could. It was a simple four walls and a roof affair built to her specifications. A place where she could think and work through her administrative duties uninterrupted. It served as a good solid reminder to everyone as to who actually ran the place, so she thought anyway.
She unlocked the door, slipped through and locked it again from the inside. She leant back against the door with a loud sigh. After a moment to calm her racing heart she reached for the lantern hanging from its hinge and clicked it into a small flame. She set it down upon her huge oak desk that looked like some lumbering beast in the candlelight.
With another loud sigh she slumped into the deep, high-backed, red leather chair and adjusted the velvet cushions about her aching back. She plonked her feet onto the red velvet stool and stared up at the plain white ceiling, ignoring the foot high pile of paper on her desk. She cradled the bundle on her lap, the strange feeling of corruption that had originally emanated from it now seemed intriguing, enchanting.
The Immortal Lord’s gifts…
Chapter 10
The Raven And The Dragon
ASAPH landed on the sandy beach as the first rays of sun broke across a cloudless sky, turning it brilliant red and orange. Even through his exhaustion he was still awed by its beauty. The heat that came with those rays was like magic energising his cold part-reptilian blood, filling him with strength.
He laid Issa down gently upon the sand and returned to his human form without even thinking about it. All the strength the sun had given his dragon form was suddenly gone and he felt weak and human once more. The raven came to a hopping landing beside them.
Issa was deathly pale and he feared she was dead until he saw the faint rising of her chest. He tore off his cloak and wrapped it tightly around her, smoothed back the long strands of damp hair from her face.
‘She lives, but barely,’ Asaph said hoarsely as Coronos came running over, emotion and exhaustion thick in his voice. ‘We must return at once to the karalanths where we can better help her and... Where we can hide.’
Coronos shot him a look.
‘The Maphraxies are coming for us,’ Asaph said grimly, ‘it is no secret that a Dragon Lord lives and Keteth has been slain. It is possible Baelthrom knows that Zanufey’s chosen has finally come. He will certainly feel the power of the dark moon. We must warn Frayon and the rest of free Maioria. For Maphraxies to be so far south yet not on Frayon… they must be planning an attack. The war is coming to us, father,’ he said passionately.
‘I tried to contain it but… The orb, I could not control it, it had a will of its own,’ Coronos shook his head. ‘Baelthrom and all magic wielders would
have felt the call of the orb to its sister and the power of two combined.’ Coronos looked out across the calm ocean cast in the orange light of dawn.
‘Lucky it had, otherwise neither of us would be here now,’ Asaph replied.
‘You have the Orb of Water?’ Coronos asked, wide-eyed.
Asaph nodded, ‘She has it in a grasp not even I can release.’
‘I have hidden the orb but even now it pulses warm at my side. I think it is speaking to its sister,’ Coronos said thoughtfully. ‘You are no longer a boy but a man, a Dragon Lord,’ Coronos continued softly, looking off across the ocean. Asaph wondered if he were talking to himself. ‘Now the war is coming…’ he trailed off into a whisper. ‘I always knew I would not live through it to see peace, I would not live to see my son happy with his own family. Blessed Great Mother, my heart is heavy for all those years that will not be mine.’
Coronos ended the last too quietly for Asaph to hear for he was focused solely upon Issa.
In silence they flew back towards the karalanth village. Coronos' orb and the sun’s rays once more giving Asaph in his dragon form the strength he desperately needed to make it home. He gave silent thanks to the Sun Goddess, Feygriene, for her warmth and for helping him reach Issa in time. Coronos said nothing throughout the whole journey and instead held Issa tightly, wrapped in his own cloak as well. She did not stir at all.
Asaph landed a little way off from the village, mindful of not spreading dragon fear amongst the karalanths. Dawn had not long broken but the sound of voices and the smell of cooking told him the deer-folk were already up and about their daily business. Asaph carried Issa’s limp body protectively in his arms; she was still deathly white and cold despite their cloaks.