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

by A. Evermore

  Issa turned her thoughts away, there was no comfort to be found in her own mind. She watched the karalanth in fascination as she knelt on her front forelegs to adjust the blue fabric about her waist. Lys’ynth looked up at her.

  ‘We women have seen many things in the fires of our rituals. Take heart, Queen of Ravens, you have many friends around you, from the men and women at your side to the beasts of the wood. Woetala protects you too, child, for all aspects of the goddess pay homage to the Night Mother, who leads her children through the darkness into the light.’

  Issa smiled back but because of the apprehension that had come over her the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Something moved within her and made her speak.

  ‘We all have to unite against the Maphraxies, from men and women of all races to the very beasts of the wood and birds of the air. The only question is, will they come? Will you come?’ Issa asked, sea-green eyes never leaving the karalanth’s hazel ones.

  ‘Of all the peoples on Maioria, karalanths alone await the goddess’s call,’ there was fire and determination in Lys’nth’s eyes and her face was set. ‘No matter how few we may be. We will fight and die to take our land back.’

  Issa put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. She wanted to cry. ‘Daranarta, the leader of the elves, refused, but maybe there is hope in others,’ Issa said.

  ‘I know nothing of the ways of elves,’ was all Lys’nth said back, ‘but when the war comes to them they will have no choice.’

  ‘I only hope it is not too late by then,’ Issa said quietly. Then she spoke in determination. ‘My messenger, Zanufey’s messenger, will always be the raven. Look for it and she will not be far away. I know a little of your plight. Your homeland will be restored to you one day, the Maphraxies and dark dwarves will be driven from it for good.’

  Issa heard her own voice come from far away as she remembered in her eternal state seeing the rise and fall of empires, the plight of many peoples. Somewhere in the future there was a timeline in which they were all free. All she had to do was reach for it, ask others to reach for it, and there would be the chance of freedom. Those lands laid waste by Maphraxie would flourish again one day.

  ‘We must always believe we can be free, we must always reach for freedom.’

  ‘I can add nothing to that,’ the karalanth smiled, hope bright in her eyes. ‘Done,’ she said finally and set her needle aside. ‘Here, wear this whilst I cut and sew, it won’t take long.’ She passed Issa a plain tan cloth which she tied around her waist.

  Within the hour Issa was happy, she finally had a pair of loose trousers. She prayed to Woetala that the karalanth clothes would last longer than most of the other clothes she had found and worn and lost over the past few weeks.

  Chapter 19

  Ancient Land Of Dragons

  FOR Marakon and his Feylint Halanoi soldiers, the hours passed uneventfully. The current was in their favour and with the added help of two wizards’ magic a good wind spurred them on. The next day passed in much the same way as the first although the first small southern islands had now been spotted.

  Fortunately, so the crew seemed to feel, they had not seen a single Maphraxian ship the whole journey. But for Marakon, rather than relief, it made him tense. Where was the enemy? Where were they hiding? As the hours passed, the tension built to become a strain until even the crew now felt nervous.

  To their left the southern islands of Drax now passed like shady lumbering beasts in the ocean. Mostly of black and grey rock, some islands were very small, only a few hundred metres or so, others were massive, stretching a long way so that they seemed like the mainland. All were covered in hardy tundra vegetation, thick gnarly gorse and stunted evergreens growing in the sparse salty soil.

  ‘There should be thousands of sea birds, this far away from civilisation,’ murmured Bokaard as he scanned the silent islands devoid of any life, ‘this place is becoming more wasted every time I come here. I’ll bet even the fish are dead around them,’ he grimaced.

  Marakon nodded, ‘The immortals lay to waste even the grass. The vegetation looks blotched and diseased,’ he noted how the gorse had patches of brown and grey.

  The sea was unusually calm and a low wind blew just strong enough to fill the sails. The calm silence only added to the tenseness of the crew. There was no sight of the enemy, no ship on the sea, no chimney smoke on the horizon. The Feylint Halanoi had never come so far north without coming under attack before.

  Another hour or so passed with virtually no change in the weather or scenery. Then the shrill hail of a sailor at the top of the highest mast called out the sighting of Haralan. A few minutes later the familiar peaks of Haralan’s rocky hills came into view.

  The ten Atalanphian ships stayed far out of range of Haralan as the captains aboard each surveyed the enemy-held lands; awaiting Bokaard’s direction. With spyglass to his eye Bokaard spent so long staring at Haralan it seemed to Marakon that he had become a statue. Unfortunately there was nowhere Marakon could stand to discretely pull up his patch. He was just about to consider climbing a section of rigging when Bokaard spoke.

  ‘I see nothing. No smoke, no movement, nothing,’ his voice was grim and Marakon wondered if he had been hoping for battle immediately. Then he felt that he too would prefer to see something rather than nothing.

  ‘It appears dead, empty, like everything around here,’ Bokaard said, dropping the spyglass and slotting it shut.

  ‘Get ready to anchor!’ Bokaard shouted his orders and the crew scampered to ready the ship.

  Slowly they approached Haralan. The other ships followed suit. They anchored out to sea facing a large sandy cove. Despite the blue skies and comparatively green foliage upon the island it was a cold place filled with nothing but tundra. Twisted hardy sand pines dotted the island between the rocky hills.

  ‘Once more we approach the ancient land of dragons,’ Marakon murmured.

  ‘And I am well pleased they are long gone,’ Bokaard grunted, ‘I’ve never trusted lizards, not even flying ones!’

  Marakon chuckled, ‘Come now, under Draxian rule they had become quite tame towards humans.’

  ‘And I don’t trust humans that can turn into dragons either!’ Bokaard glared as he hefted the wheel.

  At one point in history, before the fall of Drax to the Maphraxies, dragons lived upon the Draxian southern islands and all the way up to the northern pole; but not one had been seen since Drax fell a quarter of a century ago. Most believed they had all been destroyed or assimilated into the Maphraxian armies.

  Smaller raft boats were dropped into the ocean off the ship’s sides and swiftly boarded, leaving Bokaard and a skeleton crew to manage the ship. The other ships did the same so that thirty wooden boats filled with soldiers approached the sheltered shore. The wind calmed to a gentle breeze as they neared. Marakon eagerly watched the approaching land; knowing that once he set his feet upon it his churning stomach would finally settle. The beach was deserted, or at least it appeared that way.

  ‘It is better to suspect an ambush than not,’ Marakon spoke his mind aloud. The soldiers shifted uneasily in their seats, they were pent up and restless.

  Marakon, seated as always at the front of the boat, turned away from the soldiers and lifted up his left eye patch whilst they all had their eyes transfixed upon the island. Slowly he scanned the shore looking for the tiniest movement and any sign of Maphraxian presence.

  In the dark of the forest a fern leaf moved, catching his attention. He stared at it for several minutes, willing it to move again. It did not. Only the wind moved through the trees, creating a peaceful rustling belying their violent mission. He saw and heard nothing. No bird or animal moved. It was as if the island was barren of all life except trees. He let his eye patch drop and silently signalled to land ashore.

  As soon as the bow scraped along the sandy sea-floor Marakon jumped out along with the other soldiers. A single rower remained to take the raft boats back to the ship.

  ‘You four,
’ Marakon whispered to those closest to him, ‘take branches and cover our tracks.’

  As they moved swiftly up the beach and into the stunted foliage the four soldiers brought up the rear whisking branches over the sand and mud behind them. Haralan, unlike most of the other islands, used to be more abundant in its flora, even supporting a few small evergreens before the Maphraxies came. The black sand was testament to the volcanic activity that had created these islands several thousand years ago. The volcanic earth provided richer soil for a greater array of plants and its relative abundance was the reason why it was once one of the few inhabited islands of Drax.

  Marakon looked at a few withered and dead trees, spotting the same grey canker that spored upon the trunks and leaves of most of the plants. Yes, only Maraphaxies inhabited this place now, the original people slaughtered or captured years ago.

  For a day and night the Feylint Halanoi searched the island, taking only a few hours of rest laying low amongst the bushes of stunted gorse. They saw and heard no one and nothing. The only thing of interest that they found was the burnt remains of an old fort and village nestled on the south of the island.

  Closer inspections revealed that it had been destroyed years ago. Only half a blackened human skull remained to prove that people had ever been here. It didn’t take much to imagine what had happened to the rest of the population. But still there was no sign of the enemy and all was silent.

  Marakon, hand poised permanently ready above his sword, tried to reason it out as he and Lanac skirted their way around the village. The field they walked through was filled with dead crops and sickly-looking weeds that crunched under their boots. Though Lanac also looked ready to grab his sword at any moment there were dark circles under his eyes and he yawned frequently. The young man broke his brooding silence with a concerned question.

  ‘I thought there had been reports of Maphraxies still on Haralan a week or so past but now there is no sign of them. Did they discover our attack plan and flee?’

  ‘There had been reports,’ Marakon confirmed, ‘and no, they would not have fled.’

  ‘Is it a trap?’ Lanac half pulled out his sword and swung around to look behind him.

  ‘Relax,’ Marakon said. ‘I’ve been wondering these things since we arrived. If they had made a trap we would be in it by now. Besides, the Maphraxies don’t make traps; they’ve never needed to in the past so why should they now?’

  Lanac turned back the way they were heading and slotted his sword back into its scabbard. He still didn’t look relaxed though.

  ‘You mean they left this outpost of their own accord?’ Lanac didn’t sound convinced.

  ‘Possibly,’ Marakon nodded, ‘Which leaves us only two questions. Why did they go and how long have they been gone.’

  Lanac looked about him as if searching for a sign. ‘But there is nothing to find because they leave nothing behind them,’ he said.

  ‘They held this island for a long time despite our most ferocious attacks. We’ll find something,’ Marakon said in certainty, his face grim as they neared the first house. The look on his face must have silenced Lanac for he said no more. Marakon glanced back behind him and saw two more soldiers just breaking the brow of the hill. Beyond them were another two cresting the previous hill. He signalled that he was going inside the blackened and burnt house, they nodded and their hands dropped to their pommels. They entered the first house through the blackened hole that had once been a doorway.

  ‘I’ve never seen a Dread Dragon before,’ Lanac said, inspecting the burnt stone closely.

  ‘Lucky you,’ Marakon said grimly.

  ‘Look here its fire has even melted the stone!’ Lanac said excitedly as he stroked the smooth surface. ‘In fact I have never seen a dragon at all.’

  There was nothing in the house except the stone structure of the house. The wooden beams and windowsills and all the furniture had been incinerated. The smell of soot and ash was heavy in the lungs and made them cough.

  ‘Nothing here,’ Marakon coughed, ‘move on.’

  They walked the dusty path between the destroyed houses, checking each one in turn for any sign of Maphraxies but there was none.

  ‘They are too small to fit those deformed beasts,’ Marakon sighed.

  ‘Perhaps there is something in there then?’ Lanac said, pointing to a larger stone structure at the end of the road. It was so destroyed it was difficult to tell whether the building was a warehouse, a town hall or a farmer’s barn. Nevertheless Marakon nodded and they walked swiftly towards it.

  The big hole in the wall must have been a doorway once and they peered round the corners into the dusty darkness with swords drawn. Marakon didn’t expect to see the enemy at all but it never paid to be caught off guard. He glanced behind him back the way they had come. The others were catching up, the sun glinted off their metal helmets and drawn swords.

  Once his eyes had adjusted a little he stepped silently through the doorway. Lanac shuffled close behind him. Sunlight trickled through tiny cracks in the wall making it just about possible to see. Nevertheless the younger soldier still clattered into him when he stopped. Marakon shot him a look over his shoulder.

  ‘Sorry,’ Lanac whispered as the clanging noise of their armour slowly echoed away.

  Marakon turned back to peering into the gloom. He always forgot his half-elven eyesight helped him see in the dark better than humans could. He made his way slowly to a partitioning wall and peered carefully round. And then he saw what he had been looking for.

  ‘Goddess rest their souls,’ he murmured.

  ‘Great Mother,’ Lanac said, standing stock still beside him as the colour drained from his face.

  Along the far wall were ten wooden platforms raised up and tilted at ninety degrees. On each platform dressed in rags was a child hands and feet tied to each corner. A strap bound back their heads and their mouths were forced open with a piece of wood making them look like they were howling. Each child was pure white like chalk, even their open eyes and lips and hair were pure white. They glistened in the dark as if crystallised. The hideous thing about them was not one had reached their teenage years.

  Marakon was dimly aware of Lanac retching behind him as he approached the bodies. This was what he had been looking for, this was what Lanac had to see, as much as Marakon hated to show him, the young man had to see what the enemy did, how they went about making the Sirin Derenax. Marakon looked down at the crystallised face of the one before him. The semi-translucent curls of the young girl’s hair was like carved crystal. She could be eleven or younger. He went to touch those shimmering crystal curls but thought better of it.

  ‘Like an angel,’ Marakon breathed.

  Beside her was a boy with the same delicate little nose. Maybe her younger brother, Marakon thought, he could not have been past five years old. He immediately reminded Marakon of his own sons. He didn’t know why, the boy didn’t look like his children, perhaps it was just any young dead boy that made him think it could have been his son. Regardless, it should not have happened, not to any child. Anger seethed into his guts, his fury always started there first for some reason, and his head began to pound.

  ‘They are so young,’ Lanac said, wiping his mouth on his glove, his sword trembled a little in his hand as he came to stand beside Marakon.

  ‘The Maphraxies have no need for child soldiers, they need adults for the Sirin Derenax can only make an adult body grow big and strong. Children are too small and weak,’ Marakon kept his voice matter-of-fact in case he broke. He had seen this before, many times, but it always affected him the same. ‘And children before puberty make the best Sirin Derenax,’ he growled. ‘Something to do with the purity of their soul, I…’ he swallowed down the rising fury, ‘I don’t quite know why, but that is what they do,’ he stared at a crack where the light was falling through. Blessed mother, if only they were here today, then my revenge could be satiated!

  ‘No don’t,’ Marakon started too late as Lanac touched
the curls of the girl’s hair. The younger man snatched his hand back as the disturbed body swiftly disintegrated into dust finer than flour. Then the dust itself disappeared and nothing remained of the girl.

  ‘How the…’ Lanac gasped, his voice trembling.

  Marakon looked back at the crack in the wall to hide his glistening eyes. ‘They have no soul, fool,’ but his chiding held no real malice. ‘The only thing that remains of them is in the memories of other people. Their life essence has been stolen from their bodies, from every single cell. They have been frozen into crystallised dead light. At least that is how our own physicians and wizards have explained it to me. Nothing can save them, nothing can bring them back. They will never be reborn again.’

  Lanac stared at the empty platform where the girl had been and swallowed. ‘Children of the islanders?’

  Marakon shrugged, ‘Maybe. Probably more likely brought here, caged alive like livestock. I guess the Sirin Derenax is best made fresh.’

  ‘Sir, come look at this,’ a woman’s low voice called from back where they had come.

  Marakon grasped Lanac’s shoulder reassuringly as he passed. The other soldiers had now caught up and they were carefully stepping inside the building to investigate. On the opposite side of the building was another partitioning wall. Two female soldiers were bent down and examining something on the floor.

  A female dwarf soldier, Fren was her name, and an older human man named Darad, stood watching above them, faces frowning in a strange look of morbid fascination. Fren was as fierce at fighting as she was at drinking. Marakon avoided the bar whenever he saw her there, which was often. Darad was a quiet man and had probably shot more arrows than he had spoken words, so Marakon had often thought anyway. Darad was one of his most senior officers on this excursion and his best archer.