by A. Evermore
Chapter 51
The White Owl
HAMEKA stormed up the wooden stairs and thrust open the door to the main deck. He was met with battering wind and thick sheets of blustering rain. The Maphraxie captain watched him approach nervously. Already three of his crew had been thrown overboard this day for failing to increase their speed, despite the terrible wind that blew them in every direction but forwards.
Hameka stared at the captain’s ugly face. He was sure excessive consumption of the Sirin Derenax made Maphraxies stupider in the same measure that it made them stronger and more ferocious in battle.
‘How long until we reach West Frayon?’ he barked.
‘Commander, the answer is still two days,’ the captain said meekly, grovelling so low his great bulk almost toppled forwards. Hameka smashed his fist down on the railing. The crew hastily busied themselves with the rigging and no one looked in his direction.
‘We are running out of time! Whatever it takes to get there sooner then do it!’ he shouted, spittle flying from his lips. ‘Even if it means abandoning all supplies and losing half the crew!’ He turned then and stormed back inside, not waiting for the captain’s response. If he had not left then he would have thrown the captain overboard and he needed the captain to get them to their destination.
He had to get off this cursed ship, it was all he could do to keep himself entertained with his prisoners. He stood there for a moment breathing hard, soaking wet but glad to be out of the wind and rain. He had to get a grip on his emotions, they were destroying his logic. An idea came to him and he stalked towards Cirosa’s prison cell deep down in the hull of the ship.
He unlocked the steel-enforced wooden door and entered the pitch-black cell. The air was stale and sweaty. He clicked his oil lamp alight and cast the small cell in a pale yellow glow. He looked at the woman on the floor, her hands were manacled behind her back and she was chained by the throat to the wooden beams above her. There was just enough chain to let her lie on the floor. Two days had passed since she had taken the Sirin Derenax and the changes were nearly complete.
She got unsteadily to her feet and squinted at him in the light, having been kept in isolated darkness all that time. Her yellow hair was now platinum white and her skin pale and bloodless. Her blue eyes were much paler than before, blue like ice. Only her lips retained any colour, more than they had before for they were now almost blood red. Those lips formed into a tentative smile that did not reach her cold blue eyes.
So, she has gone more the way the necromancers go, all the colour sucked out of her. I would think she now has the ability to command the black magic of the Under Flow, if only a little at first.
One could never really tell which way the Elixir of Immortality would take an individual and how it would change them. Some grew huge, like the Maphraxies and, if the elixir was an older batch of lesser quality, deformed. The deformities served their needs, however, for it struck fear and horror into the hearts of the Feylint Halanoi.
Cirosa was sharply beautiful in the weak light, more so than she had been before, thought Hameka, but it was a frigid and deadly alien beauty. Maybe now she was no longer human he could muster up a small amount of respect for her. But that, of course, depended on how well she served him. She stared up at him unblinking, still as a statue, and the room grew colder under her gaze. She hated him, he could feel it tangibly, and that was good, hate was useful. He smiled equally coldly back at her.
‘It is time for you to prove your usefulness to us,’ he said matter-of-factly, eyeing her up and down as he began to circle around her slowly. Her chains rattled as she shifted her weight. Was she nervous? It was impossible to tell. She would not be cold. Immortals never felt cold. She could be hungry. Some still needed to eat food as well as sip the elixir to keep their bodies functional. Some needed only the elixir. If they needed food then liquids were best, blood from the living was best, human blood was better. If she needed food she would have to go without. It was not his job to feed anything.
‘It seems that the dark-haired bitch is aided by a Dragon Lord. It turns out that she has escaped our clutches a second time!’ he barked the last and stopped in front of her as his voiced echoed off the walls. For all the immortal changes brought about by the Elixir of Immortality, such as removing the lesser emotions of empathy and compassion, the elixir only made hatred and fury burn brighter. She continued to glare up him, seemingly completely afraid.
‘I’m sure a woman with your… attributes can find and ensnare this Dragon Lord,’ he said suggestively. She smiled again, her lips becoming a thin red line.
‘With this precious gift the Immortal Lord has given me, I am sure such things are feasible. Besides, this Dragon Lord is just a man,’ she said acidly, ‘and all men are weak.’
He smiled, unaffected by her venom, and grabbed hold of her metal collar. He jerked her to her feet, inserted a key into the lock and let the collar drop from her throat. He spun her around roughly and unlocked her manacles, they fell to the floor with a loud clang. She stood their rubbing her wrists. He grabbed her chin and pushed his face close to hers.
‘If you fail at this I will kill you,’ he said simply. Her face remained cool and expressionless. ‘Take this but hide it from them, they may have discovered its importance,’ he passed her a Shadow Stone. She looked at it briefly and then hung it around her neck and tucked it into her robes. He stalked out of the cell leaving the door open.
Cirosa watched Hameka go, glad to be alone again. So he is the Immortal Lord’s favourite… Pity, my Lord could do so much better.
‘When I am done with her, I will come for you,’ she rasped.
She breathed deeply and stretched her arms. Her body felt different, strong like iron but heavy like death, and now she could feel magic all around her like she never had before. The Immortal Lord’s black magic, the Under Flow and she felt it as a subtle hum in the ear, a shade of blackness in the corner of her eye.
She stroked her arms, her skin was ice to the touch and hard where once it had been soft. She lusted with an insatiable desire for more of the Sirin Derenax, it was a fire that burned forever within. She had been terrified of becoming one of those brain dead monsters but the dark dwarf said they had given her a stronger purer elixir. Later in her fever-state the necromancers had said she would not join the swelling ranks of the Maphraxian army. Instead she would be used for “other things.”
Now that she was free of the goddess, and away far from that gut-wrenching guilt she had felt for betraying her, Cirosa found she despised the goddess. The goddess had imprisoned her in a weak body and denied her any power.
‘Look at me now, Great Mother,’ she hissed into the darkness, ‘powerful gifts I deserved for so long are finally mine. Gifts that even you could not imagine.’
‘Cirosa,’ she tongued her name as if for the first time. Yes, that had been her name. The memories of who she had been before felt foreign, as if they belonged to someone or something else, and in a manner they did. One day I will be stronger than Hameka, and then I will remove him and bask in the favoured light of the Lord.
She stepped slowly out of her cell, feeling powerful and filled with energy. She turned right to where the stairs led up and eventually found her way out onto the deck.
The wind and rain tore at her slender body yet it could not so much as shift her. She was solid, like a rock. The dark dwarves turned and stared hungrily at her white legs. She turned and looked at them each in turn, showing them in their minds how they would die, and the colour drained from their faces under her gaze. One collapsed onto the deck and lay their shaking before lying still. Hopefully dead, she thought, feeling nothing for her Lord’s pathetic dark dwarves. Even in only her undergarments she did not feel the cold. Her dead body was immune to the physical elements.
She came to the starboard side of the ship and jumped, agile as a deer, onto the wooden railings. She stared down at the waves lashing the side but despite the ship’s pitch and roll she rem
ained perfectly balanced. Turning her gaze eastward she stared at the heavy grey rain clouds and after a moment raised her arms wide. Wind and rain gathered in great swirls around her as she pulled upon the Under Flow, marvelling at how easily it came to do her bidding.
Her whole pathetic life she had watched that idiot wizard Freydel use magic and never been able to touch it herself. Now that power was hers. She focused inwards and two faces formed in her mind; one female, pale skinned, green-eyed and dark-haired; the other male, tanned, with fair hair and blue eyes. She smiled and laughed aloud, not caring who heard her or what they thought. She was more powerful than they anyhow.
She crouched and leapt off the railings. Dark magic flared around her. Her arms sprouted white feathers, her nose curved and hardened and her feet lengthened into razor sharp talons. The wind filled her wings and she was lifted high into the air. Upwards the white owl circled until she was above the soaking rain. East Cirosa flew in her white owl form, east to hunt down her prey.
Chapter 52
The Talisman
ELY’S journey may have ended but mine has not and I must go on without her.
Issa was lost deep in thought as she walked. With each step her heart hardened along with her resolve. If I do not fight, then the Maphraxies have already won. I must become strong even though I don’t know how. Perhaps in the Raven Queen I can find that strength.
‘Zanufey, show me the way when I understand the least. The darkness is upon me now and my heart is turning to stone,’ she prayed aloud. A cold wind blew making her shiver and in it she thought she heard it whisper, Maion’artheria. She smiled, a sad smile - but a smile nevertheless.
The rain fell heavier now and ran in rivulets down her face and neck as she walked. She sneezed, feeling a cold coming on through the exhaustion. The raven circled above, comforting her with his presence. She lost herself in her thoughts and walked as if in a trance along the road she had first travelled with Freydel what felt like a decade ago. Once it had been green and lush and children played alongside it. Now it was charred and deserted.
Eventually she came to a rocky point that marked the highest part of the isle. From here she could see every coast and all the smouldering villages that lay between. The tell-tale signs of Dromoorai and Maphraxies, great claws of charred earth, just like there had been on Little Kammy a lifetime ago. From here she should have been able to see the shining white spire of the temple but instead she saw a short crumbling blackened shard sticking up between broken trees.
What about Freydel and Cirosa? Arla? She shook her head, she dared not hope. But then she remembered her dreams. Her heart beat faster in her chest. Duskar! He had to be alive else why did she have those dreams?
‘Duskar!’ she called out. ‘Duskar!’ she cried louder, her voice ringing out in the silence. ‘Duskar, come to me,’ she called out with her mind and stood there waiting fearfully, this time daring to hope. Time ticked by but still she hoped. And then, there in the trees, a black shape moved. A big black horse stepped cautiously into the clearing.
‘Duskar!’ Issa cried and ran to him. He stood there for a moment sniffing the air and then trotted towards her, ears pricked forward and tail raised high. His black fur shone with sweat and rain and he whinnied. She hugged his sleek neck and he bent his head down to nibble her thigh as he always used to. He still trembled often and looked very thin but he was alive and strong.
‘Hey, old friend, it’s all right, I am here now,’ she soothed. ‘They have not destroyed everything then,’ she smiled, ‘and I’ll bet you gave them hell! Come with me to the temple to look for Freydel. Are you strong enough to let me ride you?’
He snorted, seemed to be pleased at the thought. She eased here own sore body onto his back and nudged him into a walk towards the temple.
The Temple of Celene and its surrounding buildings were much as the villages had been, burnt and crumbling. The pristine white spire was sundered in two by a huge chasm that ran through its middle, slicing through to the sacred womb of the Mother’s Chamber deep below. The Maphraxian symbol was scrawled in blood on parts of the wall where there was still white showing through. She slid off Duskar’s back and looked at them.
‘They left all these signs for me?’ She laughed aloud, a hollow sound that echoed loudly in the emptiness of the temple. ‘Do you fear me so much already?’ she shouted and laughed again as her voice echoed in the emptiness. ‘This temple was corrupt long before you ever came,’ she mocked, thinking of Cirosa and her greed.
Issa looked around. There was no one here, not even Cirosa or Arla. The place was destroyed and everyone was dead but she had to check anyway, maybe the dead needed help here too. Maybe Arla hid in the Mother’s Chamber, or what was left of it, the girl was adept at disappearing. She refused to think the girl had been taken or killed. She had a feeling she would find something here, but what or who she did not know.
Grimly, with her sword drawn, she followed the large booted footprints of several pairs of feet as they led into the temple. She stepped silently across the trashed and broken marble floor within and came to a huge hole in the ground where the secret staircase to the Mother’s Chamber had been. She grabbed the smashed lantern lying in the rubble and clicked the knob. Amazingly it flared into life.
She peered into the hole. Some stairs were completely missing and all the others were crumbling. The spell that had once sealed the entrance was now broken for good. She followed the huge footprints down into the darkness, the heavy smell of Maphraxie burned in her nostrils like sickly sweet sulphur.
What happened to Cirosa? Would they have taken her captive? It seemed they only really wanted magic wielders and children. For a follower of the goddess they would have left her body broken and hanging, and marked like Ely’s for sure. Or maybe they did capture her. If so it would not be long before she became part of the Maphraxian army. She might have escaped, though Issa doubted it. She shivered and steeled herself for some more horrible sights.
She came to the first chamber without incident. The cushions were flung everywhere but there had been no fire here. In fact there was less fire here than there normally was for the candles no longer burned. Candles that had been kept alight since the temple had been consecrated hundreds of years ago were now cold and dead. Like Celene herself, Issa thought sourly.
With her broken lantern she lit the candles once more. It seemed like the right thing to do. Return the light back into the darkness. She stood there quietly listening to the silence and then closed her eyes. She entered the Flow to see if there was anything more to the room that she could not see with her inner vision. Beyond the walls a soft white light glimmered. Issa did not sense danger. She opened her eyes.
‘Arla?’ she called out, ‘Arla, are you here hiding somewhere. Is it you I can sense?’
But nothing moved. Issa’s heart began to pound. She closed her eyes and looked into the Flow. Beyond the walls there came that shimmer of light but it did not move. It was magical of sorts. Perhaps it had always been there, she had never looked through the Flow at the Mother’s Chamber before.
‘Cirosa? Freydel? Anyone?’ but nothing moved and there was no sound except her voice echoing briefly.
Issa let her breath go and walked towards where the shining object she had seen in the Flow was. She went through into the tunnel adjoined to which were a few more chambers. All were empty. Though she could see the object in the Flow as a shining white object about a foot-square wide, she could not in fact find where it was. It seemed to be behind the rock wall somehow and there was no way she could get to it. Did an outside tunnel lead to a secret chamber?
She headed to the sacred garden where the stone bowl was. The big stone door that usually blocked the way was broken in two. She squeezed between the two halves and went outside. The garden was as it had been when she left it; remarkably unscathed, rich and green. Mist hung in the air now the rain had stopped. The old willow tree still stood there, its long delicate leaves moving gently in the
breeze. A strange last place of serenity when all around there was blood and murder.
The raven cawed and landed abruptly on the stone bowl, making her jump. She went over to it, surprised to find it still full of water.
‘The rain has filled it,’ but the raven croaked and shook his head in disagreement.
She stared into the water and was shocked to see her strangely luminous turquoise-green eyes staring back. Triest’anth said that could happen when magic is overused. Overuse of the Flow. I wonder how close I came to losing myself completely. If she had not have drained her resources to empty she doubted she would be standing here now anyway. The whites of her eyes were red from tiredness and tears and there were dark circles under them. But her face was hard and determined, as hard as the woman with the raven-feathered crown.
As she stared she noticed a piece of paper stuffed in the ivy. It was only visible in the reflection though, having been tucked under the ivy leaves. She set her lantern down and pulled the rolled up paper free. She unrolled it and read the childish writing.
They came and I hid. Freydel went to the Wizards’ Circle but has not returned yet. They took Cirosa. She has betrayed us and agreed to help them find you. She blames you for Rance’s death and are a threat to the Order of the Goddess.
It took so much out of me to find and take the talisman that I cannot return for a while. Baelthrom knows I have returned and so I must hide.
Speak the name of the raven into the R-shaped crack and it will open. The talisman will give you strength. There is much that has not been explained for our safety. Know that I am safe and I shall find you when I return.
- Arla