Songs of the Eternal Past- Complete Trilogy

by C S Vass

  In the end it seemed like almost nothing had changed since when Fiona had arrived. The politics of the city had certainly shifted, but to Fiona that all seemed rather miniscule. Her brother was alive, more powerful than ever, and would certainly come back with hell at his side to conquer Haygarden. Fiona was glad that when she encountered him, then it would be the last time. So far she had lost twice, and when he said he wouldn’t spare her a third time, she believed him.

  She recovered eventually, but not fully. She didn’t understand what happened with the magic of the manjeko, but something horrifically profound yet barely detectible had taken place. Her body was not the same. Her mind was not the same. She felt light and weak. Even when she could do her training exercises to the same degree as she could before, it wasn’t the same. Some part of her had been damaged, probably beyond repair. The swirling red orb had gone inside. Maybe her soul had shattered like a pane of glass struck by some blow but not fully shattered. Was that what she was now? Broken glass?

  Finally the old knight Geoff Hightower came to visit her. He looked even more tired than she did. He approached her at sunset in the room she stayed in and sat at the foot of her bed while fingers of red light slipped down the wall beside him.

  “I vowed as a young man to live by the sword until I died by the sword,” he said after a time. “I have kept that vow thus far, but a young man cannot comprehend the weariness an old man feels after so many thousands of sunsets.”

  “Then stop bitching and break your vow,” Fiona said without looking at him. “Everybody else does.” She didn’t mean to be so cross with the old knight, but she didn’t seem to know how to control herself these days.

  To her surprise Hightower laughed. His deep baritone voice was comforting to her. “I should know better than to complain of the problems of the elderly to one so young. All the same, I’ve broken enough vows in my time, Fiona. I don’t need one more to atone for.”

  Fiona didn’t answer him. She was starting to get tired of people coming to visit her just to tell her of their own stupid problems. After a time he spoke again. “There is not a day that goes by that I don’t wonder if there was something I should have seen, something I should have done, to prevent the madness that has infested Rodrick’s mind. This city will not know peace until he is captured.”

  “Or killed,” Fiona added darkly.

  “Yes, or killed.” Geoff agreed. “You know, I know something of what it means to be a rebel. In my youth I was banished from my native Laquath. Perhaps you’ve heard the tale?”

  “I know as much as you’ve just said. Why were you banished?”

  “For many reasons. But I spent years searching for death in the places it was most likely to find me. It never did. After a time, I came to the conclusion that death was a coward. When you throw down your steel and expose your naked flesh to be consumed by the gods of eternal night, they cannot look you in the eye.”

  “That’s stupid,” Fiona said. “Death doesn’t care about any of that. It does what it wants.”

  Geoff smiled. “You’re much wiser than I was. Looking for death no more makes death afraid than it makes you brave. They were cowardly, self-indulgent years that I could have devoted to a higher purpose. But all of that is in the past. The gods of time do not let us revisit such things.”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know you were so religious. I guess most old people are.”

  “I was speaking in metaphor. A metaphor you see is a kind of speaking device used for the purpose of—”

  Fiona kicked him hard in the leg from her bed. He was openly laughing at her. It actually made her feel better but all the same she complained. “Don’t be an ass.”

  “Forgive me for finding humor where I can,” Geoff said with a smile. “We will need to do what we can to lift our spirits before the journey that lies ahead. Shifter is already making arrangements for us.”

  “Journey, what journey? What’s Shifter doing?”

  “We are going to Morrordraed.”

  Fiona wrinkled her nose. “I’m not interested in being a part of whatever half-baked war effort you have planned.”

  “Who said anything about a war effort?”

  “Why is Haygarden going to Morrordraed then?”

  “Who said anything about Haygarden?”

  “You—What are you talking about?”

  Geoff leaned in close to her, his emerald eyes deadly serious. “We are going to Morrordraed. You and I, Fiona. Tell nobody. It is of the highest important that this secret stay between us.”

  In that moment Fiona felt something, some small flicker of emotion. It was so bare and fragile that she didn’t know what it was. But it was the first thing she had felt in days. She had to cling to it. “Why?”

  “Because you have encountered a mortally serious and profound magic and you will need help. Help will not be found on this continent. If there is hope for you, it will be found there. I am the only one who has a prayer’s chance of guiding you through those swampy lands, though I confess it has been many tens of years since I have set foot there. We may both die.”

  “So why would I do that?”

  “Because if you stay here you will also die. It may take as long as a normal human life, but it will be a life that would be indescribably cruel to make you endure after what you have gone through. There are traces of the true sight still within your body. Our mages have told us as much. They have sensed it within you while you’ve slept. We need to know what it means.”

  “I don’t understand. Are you saying that I still have the manjeko?”

  A shadow crossed over Geoff’s face. “No, Fiona. I’m saying that something far worse is going on. Something I don’t understand, but I aim to. I will help you. But we must leave this land. Don’t lose hope. I plan on surviving and returning here. You will be the better for it.”

  “When Rodrick opened that portal, I could sense something. Something large and terrible. Does that have something to do with this?”

  The room grew very still. Geoff Hightower sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “There is nothing I can tell you until we find more knowledgeable minds in Morrordraed.”

  “There’s more,” Fiona continued. “When I was learning how to use the manjeko, there was a creature, a Beast—”

  “You will learn all you need to in Morrordraed, Fiona. That is, if you should choose to join me. So I ask you, will you come?”

  Fiona would have thought that she might need more time to consider such an offer, but as soon as she started to reflect on it she knew that there was nothing to consider. What else could she do?

  “When do we leave?”

  “I need one week. Do not act as if anything is out of place. I will let Sandra know of our plan. Perhaps Donyo too. I think he has earned some of our trust.”

  “How do we get there? The Tellosian scryers—”

  Geoff held up a hand. “I will take care of that within the next seven days. You must trust me.”

  Fiona nodded. “Alright. I’ll go with you. Just promise me you won’t bore me to death on the way there with stories about the good old days.”

  “I’ll have you know my tales are both informative and interesting.” He grinned. “If you’d rather spend the time counting each time a bird takes a shit, then you’re welcome to do that.”

  That got a laugh out of her. “We’ll see how good the stories are.”

  He left, and Fiona felt a sense of excitement slowly rise in her chest. She realized that she wanted to go then and there. She had grown so much since the days of her youth. She knew how to be patient now. Especially for the important things, and what could be more important to this? She was going on an adventure.

  She would heal.

  Song Three: Judgement

  In

  Songs of the Eternal Past

  An Epic Fantasy Series

  C.S. Vass

  Judgement is dedicated to everyone who has read this far. I look forward to improving my craft and givi
ng you even better stories for many years to come.

  Chapter One

  “We have at least half a moon turn before the storms will come.”

  Rukaro’s tone indicated that was the end of the conversation, but Geoff was not one to hold back. From meeting the dirty pirate in the wavering lamplight of the Wounded Werewolf to boarding his ship, Deliverance, Geoff had questioned and criticized until he was blue in the cheeks.

  “The season is near enough,” Geoff argued. “Shrieker Bay is not a safe choice this time of year. We would be better served by heading west and making for the fishing villages.”

  Rukaro took a swig of the sickly sweet- smelling liquor he favored and stepped towards Geoff. Their contrast could not have been more pronounced. Geoff was tall, spear-like, and muscled like a Tellosian war ox. Geoff was unblinking emerald green eyes that had stared down death itself.

  Rukaro was no weakling, but he was as far from spear-like as a man could be. The crude pirate captain was short, fat and getting fatter, and always left one wondering if he was about to erupt with rage or with a smelly belch. His small beady eyes gave one the impression of something insect-like, and more than once Fiona saw fleas creeping through his course black beard.

  They were having it out for the thousandth time. Geoff’s hand swayed dangerously by his sword, and Rukaro smiled like a madman. “Old knight,” he said. “Who is the Captain of this ship?”

  “We both know well—”

  “Who is the Captain?”

  “You are, Rukaro.”

  “Now tell me, how many times have you commanded a skipper?”

  Geoff rolled his eyes. “Never, Captain.”

  Fiona could see in the way Geoff positioned his body how much it wounded his pride to submit to such a lowly criminal, but the open sea was unchartered territory and these pirates were their only hope of reaching Morrordraed. So far they had avoided being killed though Geoff was uncertain they could successfully navigate the rocky coast that waited for them.

  “You worry a spring storm will come and dash us against the rocks, sending us to the bottom of the ocean to be eaten by the beasts below. It is impossible I tell you! The skippers are designed to ride these waves. They’re thinner than a Tellosian whore and make none of the noise. Should we get a piss of rain water, my men will navigate the rocks with ease. Tell me, knight, which would you rather navigate? A smattering of stones, or Lord Raejo’s dungeons?”

  Geoff was unconvinced. “Your confidence would be more assuring if I could forget the renown storms of Morrordraed. Men swear these downpours can lift a ship straight out of the water and fling it halfway across the sea.”

  Rukaro’s face reddened. “You are sorely tempting me to throw you halfway across the sea!” They had played out this argument many times over the previous days. For a time the pirate appeared to enjoy it as a sort of sport of banter, but clearly his patience was growing thin.

  Rukaro turned his back and huffed. “When Lord Raejo catches a pirate, he likes to flay him first. Then, he ties him to the beach with stakes. If the pirate is lucky, the tide is near and he will drown slowly in its waves. If not, he slowly burns under the white hot sun.”

  “The great Captain Rukaro is frightened of a mere provincial lord of Morrordraed?”

  “To my core,” Rukaro said without hesitancy. “If you’re not, then more the fool are you.” The pirate took another swig of his liquor and gave Geoff a nasty grin. “The only thing Lord Raejo hates more than pirates are Laquathi. They say his wife ran off with one and ever since he can’t find enough of their heads to decorate his palace.”

  “Many men have tried,” Geoff replied. “I have conquered them all, yet still I have never been so arrogant as to try to conquer nature.”

  Rukaro threw his hands in the air and walked away. “The old Laquathi has less in-between his ears than I do between my toes,” he complained to his crew.

  “When did you last clean your toes?” a crewman grinned.

  Rukaro laughed and took another swig of his liquor. “He doesn’t know how we deal with storms on board Deliverance, but you all know better. You all know I carry great favor with the gods of sea and sky. The old man doesn’t know that, but he knows that he swore to obey while on my ship and obey he will.”

  Geoff sighed.

  “It’s alright,” Fiona said. She put a hand on Geoff’s shoulder. “Rukaro is a thug, but he must have made this journey at least a hundred times.”

  “The storms of Morrordraed—”

  “I know, I know.” Fiona said. She didn’t think she could bear to hear another history lesson about the legendary hurricanes that boiled the sea and scattered sailors from their ships as viciously as an angry child scatters ants on a hill.

  Eager to change the subject she said, “Tell me again about the psychic.”

  Geoff scratched at his stubble. Both his beard and the carefully braided long dreadlocks that fell from his head were heavily salted. Soon there would be no black left. “She is your best hope, Fiona. Morrordraed is much more accustomed to magic than Tellos, and they have a tradition of mages and sorcerers that dates back thousands of years. All of that gives them a rich lexicon of spellcraft, but not even the best mages can compete with the fabled psychics of Morrordraed.”

  “I still don’t understand. What exactly is a psychic? How is their magic different?”

  “The psychics are savants. They are the best of the best. Some rare combination of exceptional skill meeting exceptional circumstances. They are extremely rare, and each is said to possess their own unique branch of magical talents. The psychic Naerumi is said to be a healer with skill above all others.”

  “You have a better chance of being healed by a pile of dog shit,” Rukaro laughed. Geoff scowled, but Rukaro went on. “Naerumi has not spoken to another human being for more than a decade. Do you know the endless sea of travelers that seek her out? Mothers carrying children born without eyes. Lovers gripping the dead bodies of their betrothed, begging Naerumi to restore life. She refuses them all. Why would she see two Tellosian fools when she chooses not even to attend to her own people?”

  Fiona did not miss that Geoff’s face flickered with worry. “You will leave that concern to us,” the old knight said. “You’ve received your payment, and all you need to do it get us where we need to go.”

  “Old fool, not the greatest god in heaven himself could get you where you need to go if you wish to speak with Naerumi. But I’ll be happy to take your coin and leave you to your idiocy.”

  A stormy look passed over Geoff’s face. He held his silence.

  The rest of the afternoon slipped by the same as much of their journey had. The crew, about a dozen men of Morrordraed who had lived their lives at sea, joked, swore, and drank while tending to their business. Fiona watched an enormous round sun sink orange-red into the horizon and bleed a thousand colors into the water. To the east dark clouds galloped in their direction, the silent heralds of a storm.

  In truth going to Morrordraed was the last thing that Fiona wanted, but Geoff seemed to think it absolutely imperative that they make their way across the sea. The mages of Haygarden could detect something within her, some remnants of the manjeko that had not been entirely stripped away. The magic festered inside of her, spreading like a silent poison.

  Sandra Redfire had been adamant that the mages in Haygarden must try to do all they could before the decision was finally made to send them off to Morrordraed, but it had been for naught. Everyone who examined her could only get so far before horrific visions of beasts and terrible pains gripped them, and Fiona would find her caretakers screaming in some corner until help came to carry them off.

  No, there would be no cure for her in Tellos. But that didn’t deter Geoff Hightower. He insisted that they make the journey and make it alone in secret. That was less than a week ago. Will I ever see Tellos again? Fiona wondered. Do I even want to?

  “Captain!” the shrill voice of the man in the crow’s nest called. “Tr
ouble comes from the east. Storm clouds approach.”

  “Trouble will pass us by,” Rukaro said. To Fiona’s surprise the man in the crow’s nest nodded. It was nearly impossible to put their trust in this group of scoundrels, but what choice did they have? They were the only ones who had proven that they could consistently move past the Tellosian scryers who unceasingly watched the border of the continent.

  Geoff had managed to track Rukaro down through one of his informants. The mole Geoff hired was able to infiltrate a smaller criminal organization in competition with the Forgotten that employed the pirates to sneak out Tellosian whiskey, Laquathi wines, and Haygarden drumba to Morrordraed and sneak back magical scrolls and artifacts on their return trip.

  Rukaro had been brought to Geoff in chains, cursing like the pirate he was, expecting his head to be struck off. When the old knight gave him an alternative Rukaro was all too eager to take the chance to spare his life. All the same, any authority that Geoff had over the man had dissipated the second they set foot on board Deliverance. Rukaro could be humble on dry land, but onboard Deliverance he did not share authority.

  * * *

  “Ho-ho!” Rukaro shouted as a blast of lightning split the sky in half. The sun had disappeared beneath the waves, and the stars that had replaced it were quickly swallowed by the encroaching clouds.

  “Fool!” Geoff yelled. “There is still time. Make all haste to the west and we still have hope to outmaneuver the storm. Don’t you see that we are dead if it comes over us?”