Sanctuary

by Nally, Fergal F

  Travin stood in front of the fire glad of the heat on his muscles and skin. He folded his wings and stood as an angel in front of the swelling crowd.

  "It is I, Satkir, returned in this form called Travin; friend of the frost giants, healer of the mammoths. I have returned to speak with the elders. I am here to call on your allegiance. I need your help to crush the Magisters. They have murdered my brethren and are destroying the Erthe."

  A collective sigh went up in the crowd. Travin recalled from somewhere within Satkir's memory that many frost giants were telepathic. Silence was banished as a roar of voices filled the air. The sound was like the sea crashing on rocks. A crescendo of cadences assaulted Travin's ears. Nearby, the crowd moved; giants stepped aside, making a corridor for him. They beckoned to him and he walked through the massed giants.

  It took him five minutes to reach the elders' tent. It was massive, standing fully twenty feet tall. Thick purple cloth hung from stakes driven into the ground. The material was stretched over a wooden framework to form an enclosed space.

  A guard met him at the entrance and led him into the tented complex. Travin's heart leapt as he entered the enclosure. Strange scents assaulted his senses. He had forgotten that the giants were sophisticated and appreciated fine things. He heard music in the distance and the distinctive smell of cooking filled the air. The guard led him onwards.

  Travin let Satkir's spirit memory guide him. He remembered more with each step he took. Satkir had grown close to these people. As kin to the Seven, two hundred years ago he had been tasked to find and remedy mother Erthe's greatest need. He had searched her in this, his dimension. He carried the search over the Storm Sea and to the interior, the Great Sands. He found nothing until he came to the sorrow of the north.

  The sorrow of the frost giants.

  The sickness that claimed the mammoths had taken its toll on the frost giants. They were a diminished and impoverished people; in threat of extinction. He could see the hunted look in their eyes and their suffering spoke to his heart. Wolves were at the door; this once impenetrable fortress was now vulnerable. The vampire nation was encroaching, becoming more daring on the borderlands. The Magisters had yet to gain significant power.

  Satkir had met and declared himself to Jotkim, the chief elder of the frost giants. Jotkim was keen on Satkir's plan to bring back new mammoth stock from an alternate Erthe dimension. Jotkim accepted Satkir's intervention as the will of the gods.

  Jotkim had difficulty persuading the other elders in the adjoining northlands. Travin remembered Satkir meeting with and bringing around the other elders.

  It had been a challenge but his persistence and Jotkim's diplomacy had won through. His foray into parallel Erthe dimensions for new mammoth stock had produced results beyond the wildest dreams of all involved.

  With his powers, Satkir was able to speed up the maturation process and mammoth gestation was reduced to three months. Soon an explosion of young revitalised the mammoth herd. Prosperity and strength returned to the frost giants.

  The vampire nation was repelled and in a few areas, new land was even gained. The frost giants did not encroach upon the lowlands as the people there had not breeched the age old land truce. They had their own problems, with the burgeoning power of the Magisters, to contend with.

  Satkir's memories swirled around Travin's mind. The guard stopped, stood to one side and waved Travin into the inner area. Incense filled the air bringing further memories to Travin; colours, sights and sounds. His fingertips tingled with the memory of Jativa's skin and the taste of her lips.

  Jativa; Jotkim's daughter. A strange and forbidden union; angel and frost giant. The intensity of Satkir's memory struck Travin to his core. He was filled with an intense desire to see Jativa once more. A futile hope.

  Travin calmed his heart. He took deep breaths and focused, introducing perspective. He felt Satkir's resolve returning; his anger and lust for vengeance palpable. Keep things simple; keep things pure, he told himself.

  He was alone, in a candle lit space. The floor was carpeted in purple dyed mammoth fur. The walls were also of mammoth fur; red and purple. It was warm and welcoming. Exotic spices scented the air. The aroma of cooking was tantalising.

  Travin allowed his senses free reign. He knew the frost giants would sense weakness in an instant. He could show no indecision for he was an angel and amongst friends. This was their world and his also.

  He stood in the centre of the room and waited. He cleared his mind and breathed slowly, lowering his heart rate. He stretched his wings and felt the healing there, felt his own power and sanctity intact. The muscles and bruises had healed. He was strong; he was answerable to no one but himself. Travin smiled.

  The waiting was good.

  Click.

  Travin heard a metallic snap and turned. He saw a white shadow move swiftly in the corner behind him and heard the clinking of chains.

  Click, click, click.

  Three more snaps and three more white shadows appeared in the remaining corners accompanied by their chains. Threatening growls filled the air. He saw one of the white shadows in more detail as it neared. A snow leopard flashed before him, held at the last minute by the heavy chain around its neck. Travin remained calm and stood his ground. He would wait and pass the test; it was to be expected after all this time.

  The four snow leopards came close. Travin kept his nerve and watched them carefully. He would stay still. He was in the presence of the elders after all. Twenty minutes of intimidation passed, the snow leopards at times a hair's breadth away from his flesh, before they were pulled back. Then silence descended on the room.

  Travin closed his eyes and waited. He steadied his breathing and noted a new incense, that signalled the proximity of the elders. After another thirty minutes the atmosphere changed; the candlelight grew and he felt the unmistakable presence of the elders. He bowed slightly, standing his ground.

  "Satkir, you have returned to us. Welcome old friend. Please forgive the formalities but protocol states that doctrine needs to be fulfilled. You have passed the truth formalities. Welcome, welcome, welcome."

  Travin turned and saw his old friend Jotkim, standing alone behind him. He was older, it was obvious. A frost giant aged one year for every eight human years, it had been at least two hundred human years since they had last met. Time had taken its toll but Jotkim was still strong and vital. Grey hairs ran through his beard and hair. His eyes sparkled blue and clear and his bearing was strong and regal. A frost giant in his prime.

  Jotkim stepped towards Travin and reached out. Travin took his friend's hand and met his gaze.

  "What do you want?"

  Travin smiled. He liked this frost giant trait, their directness. He held Jotkim's hand tightly. Without hesitation, he replied. "Jotkim, my friend. I am returned to call in my debt of you. I ask you and your people to support me in a righteous war against the Magisters of the south.

  "They have perpetrated untold suffering on their own people and the angel race. The Magisters need to be pushed back into the mists from whence they came. They have to be destroyed. We need to unite, to pool our strength, to make this happen." Travin stopped, took a deep breath and fell silent.

  Jotkim took a step forward and looked Travin in the eye. "Satkir, or should I say Travin? There was never any doubt in my heart. Brother, you have my loyalty and that of the frost giants without question. Our people, our strength is at your disposal, without condition, without question."

  Travin gripped Jotkim's hand and let the moment have its time. He felt at one with these frost giants. Brothers in arms, they would bring light to the Magisters and their thrall lore. He felt something shift deep inside and realised the tide was turning.

  Time was running out for the Magisters' fractured realm.

  CHAPTER 10

  Towers of Numen

  The drums woke Luana.

  She instinctively grabbed her blade and rolled into a crouch. Dawn was blushing the horizon; she fel
t dew on the grass between her fingers. The fire was out, just as well.

  "Didn't want to wake you. It's a slaver vessel, you can just see her north of the third tower." Elias appeared beside her and pointed at the shadow that was the slave ship. He handed her his spyglass.

  "Those drums…are they really used to entrance the oarsmen?"

  "Yes, and the whips they use on their backs are laced with poison to deaden the will. Those below decks are as good as dead."

  "Why are they putting in here? They can't have heard about Nictiam yet, can they?"

  "This business has its own eyes and ears. The slave lords further south have spies everywhere." Elias spat and looked around. Moose was asleep. "Your friend hasn't moved all night, what's his secret?"

  "I'll tell you another time. Let's watch them, see what they do. You're sure the towers are unmanned?"

  "Yes, for some time now. They're here to resupply on fresh water. Unusual to see slavers this far north though. Too close to giant territory…and pirates."

  "Look, on the horizon. Do you see it? Another ship. And… it's big," declared Luana.

  Elias scratched his stubble. "Don't like the look of this. Feels wrong. Maybe we should leave."

  "No wait, we'll watch from here." Luana continued observing the two ships with the spyglass.

  "God's breath! They're pirates. The second ship carries the mark of the skull. Here, look." She passed Elias the spyglass.

  He watched intently as the larger ship grew near to the slaver vessel. "They're together. The slave ship isn't running. The pirates have taken her. She's taken some damage to the stern."

  "I can see now. Your words hold truth Elias. The slavers don't hold the upper hand here, if the pirates do what are our options?"

  "No one knows these waters better than the pirates. Their knowledge is legendary. You may stand a better chance of reaching Echo Island on a pirate vessel than any other."

  Silence stretched out between them. Luana knew pirates were loyal only to themselves and their code. She had no leverage, nothing to barter with. It was hopeless.

  Moose's voice rose in the air behind them. "Pirates? I once ran weapons for them through a contact in Numibar. I helped a lad of theirs; the king's men were following him. They were on to him. He made it out of the city through the sewers. Fingal Rake was his name, said he worked for the Dark Heart crew. Said they ran eight ships. That was a while ago."

  Luana looked at Moose, surprise on her face. "You never told me this."

  Moose shrugged, rubbing his neck. "Never came up before, did it?"

  Elias and Luana looked at each other.

  "Moose?" Luana let her question hang in the air.

  "Yes, I was wondering the same. I could just go down there and ask them to take us. After all what're they going to do? Kill us? We're already dead. What've we got to lose?"

  Luana smiled at her friend. "I think it's our only option at the moment."

  Moose nodded. "I'd best go down first. Get the lay of the land. Pirates are not known for taking women to sea… bad luck. Superstition."

  Elias leaned forwards. "I'll go with you Moose, in case you need backup."

  "No, let me do this my way. I've worked with these people before. I'll either have my throat cut or we'll end up being best of friends. No sense involving you two until we see what mood they're in."

  The dawn light strengthened and the slaver vessel dropped anchor in the bay. The pirate ship stopped in deeper water. Luana had heard of pirate ships enchanted with stealth wards. Stories told of their vessels disappearing in broad daylight. She shuddered.

  "Right then, it's settled. I'm off, no time like the present." Moose put on his cloak. He left his blade behind. "No sense taking that. I'll be outnumbered anyway. Wish me luck."

  Luana threw herself at Moose and hugged him. "Be safe Moose. What signal will you give us if everything works out?"

  "I'll come and get you."

  Elias stepped up to the big man. "Do us a favour and light a fire first. If we see you lighting a fire on the beach we know you're not acting under duress."

  Moose nodded. "A fire it is then." He held out his hand to Elias.

  "Good luck Moose." Elias took the big man's hand and embraced him.

  Moose set off down the hill towards the towers and the glittering bay. Luana followed his progress with the spyglass. Elias used the time to bring Spirit higher up the hill where he left her in a secluded area behind a rocky outcrop. Before leaving, he made sure the mare had her fill of water from a nearby stream.

  Moose kept his body posture relaxed as he descended to the beach. He waved at the ships and called out to the slaver vessel moored in the bay. His efforts paid dividends as a small skiff appeared from the side of the galley. It carried a few figures and headed towards the beach.

  He arrived at the shore thirty minutes later. He lost line of sight with the beach in the last ten minutes as he traversed the sand dunes. He saw the empty skiff on the beach, dragged well up on the sand.

  No one was about.

  "Hello, hello…." Moose shouted. "Hello. Anyone here? I come with news." Moose walked towards the skiff. He froze as he felt a blade dig into his spine. He raised his arms as a sign of surrender.

  A woman's voice came from behind. "On your knees. Do as I say."

  Moose nodded and dropped to the sand keeping his hands raised above his head.

  "Who are you and what do you want?" The voice spoke in a flat tone.

  "I'm called Moose, I've escaped from the mines in the east. I have news; Nictiam is a plague pit and overrun with those infected. There's been a slave rebellion there; Magister troops released plague upon the city. There's also talk of a rogue angel loose in the city…" His voice faltered.

  Silence followed. Finally, the woman spoke. "The plague we knew about... Search him."

  Moose's head was thrust forward into a sack. He kept his nerve and played his strong card. "I've a friend you may know? Fingal Rake? He works for the Dark Heart."

  The hands that searched him hesitated then finished their job. His wrists were bound behind him. The blade at his back lessened its pressure.

  "How do you know Fingal?"

  Moose outlined his story, then fell silent. A few minutes passed. The blade lifted from his back.

  "Release him."

  Moose blinked as the sack was removed from his head and he was untied. He looked up and saw the silhouette of a woman in front of him.

  "Thank you." He spluttered. He rubbed his wrists where the rope had bit.

  "Get up. You'll come with us. The captain will want to speak with you."

  Moose nodded. The woman was tall, her dark hair tied back in plaits. She wore leather armour on her upper body and leather breeks. Her piercing green eyes held his gaze. She sheathed her short sword. Three others were with her. They marched him to the skiff, pushed it out into the water and set off to the slaver vessel.

  "Pass me the glass." Elias asked.

  "Well he's in. Looked close there for a moment." Luana handed Elias the spyglass.

  Luana sighed. "Well I didn't think they'd welcome him with open arms. The die is cast. We'll have a long wait. They'll need to interrogate him and reach a decision." She looked at Elias. "Tell me it was the only option we had."

  Elias saw the uncertainty etched across her face. His heart softened, he felt her vulnerability and was aware of something opening up inside him in response. He wanted to protect her and know her, but it was not the time. He looked away. "It was the only card we had to play, we'd reached a dead end."

  Luana nodded. "I'll stay here… keep watch. How about you find us some breakfast?"

  Elias shrugged and grunted. He adjusted his mask; a plain black band that covered his upper face. He picked up his weapons and headed back up the hill to where Spirit was waiting.

  "Don't be too long," Luana called after him.

  Elias mounted Spirit and together they found the road that lead through the hills away from the Towers of Numen.
He followed the road inland. His eyes searched for signs of game. He saw movement and stopped. Rabbit again, he thought.

  He slid off Spirit and took his long bow. He spent the next thirty minutes positioning himself down wind of the rabbit warren. Finally, one showed itself.

  Elias's arrow flew true hitting its mark. He stood and headed towards his prize. He had hoped for at least two but one rabbit would have to do. He glanced down the road and saw movement. Instinctively he crouched, watching, the rabbit forgotten.

  A horse drawn wagon was on the road, a single figure driving it. It was struggling up the hill. The horse looked exhausted. Elias saw other people in the wagon, women and children.

  Then he saw the infected.

  A pack of about twenty infected were catching up with the wagon. How had they come so far north? Food must be running out in the south, the plague was spreading. The Magisters had not yet reversed their folly. Elias watched in horror as the pack gained on the wagon. One of the infected reached the rear of the wagon ahead of the others.

  A woman screamed and attacked it from the wagon with a billhook. After the third try, she managed to slice half of the thing's face off. It still came at her, attempting to climb onto the wagon. She pushed the thing away but lost her weapon in the process. By that time, the others had caught up and another ran alongside the driver who hit out frantically with his whip.

  Elias watched the scene unfold below him. Within minutes, the wagon was overwhelmed by the infected. Screams rent the air as the attack intensified. Elias forced himself to look, to learn about this new threat. He almost stood to fire his bow, as he was just in range. A young boy broke away from the wagon and ran towards him. Elias could see his face; he was about eleven.

  One of the infected turned and was on the boy in seconds tearing at his throat with a rabid hunger. Another soon joined it and they feasted on the body; the boy's bloody fingers twitched in the mud. Elias watched as the occupants of the wagon were taken one by one.