They pushed on, the corridor descended gradually. He knew they were under the lake and he imagined the water pressing down. He remembered the movement he had seen in the lake's depths. A worm of fear uncoiled in his stomach.
He stopped. The corridor opened up into a room. He thrust the torch into the darkness and saw a large open space, a raised platform at its centre. He readied his weapon and signalled his men to follow. They crossed the room and found two braziers either side of the platform. He saw oil in the braziers and put his torch into them to illuminate the room. The oil flared brightly, illuminating the room in a ghostly green light.
"Hell's teeth!" One of his men spat.
Farrar turned and gasped. There, above their heads was a glass window separating them from the loch. He had never seen anything like it before. The Raven had built their capital on supposedly holy ground. Not much was known about their history and beliefs. They had certainly managed a great engineering feet under this lake. Why?
"How dare you disturb the slumber of the ancient one. Only the king is allowed here." The voice rose eerily in the room and seemed to come from everywhere. Farrar looked around nervously, holding his blade before him.
A shadow moved from an opening at the opposite end of the room and a figure shuffled into view. It was a man, thin and wiry, dressed in sackcloth and holding a set of keys.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Farrar declared.
"I might ask you the same. Only the king is permitted here to worship the beast. Why have you summoned it?"
"What do you mean?" Farrar asked. He could hear his men behind and felt reassured.
"You've lit the blood oil; you've lit the beast's domain. This light will awaken it for feeding, for sacrifice. What have you brought to sacrifice? Did the king send you? What's happened?"
Farrar spat. "Listen old man. I've no idea what you're ranting on about. We just want to get back to the other side of the lake and this tunnel seems to be the way. You'll take us there." Farrar pointed at the opening behind the old man.
"By the gods! What the hell is that thing?"
Farrar swung around and looked at his men. Their eyes were glued to the glass above their heads. He followed their gaze. The colour drained from his face. A huge eye set within a bulbous head looked down at them through the glass. A seething swarm of suckered tentacles pressed and squirmed against the glass. A wicked looking beak with serrated edges tapped the window expectantly.
Farrar took a step back and the eye immediately focused on him. Its stare drilled into the back of his head. Farrar looked down, searching for the old man; he had vanished. It was then that he noticed the dark stains on the platform and the floor; dried blood. It was a sacrificial chamber and they had awoken the beast.
"Let's get the hell out of here," one of his men said, moving towards the passage ahead.
The tapping on the glass became louder, more forceful. A small blemish appeared in the glass. The tapping grew in intensity; the blemish became a crack.
The three men ran as one. Farrar had the torch in his left hand and they crowded into the opening. They ran as if possessed. The floor of the corridor flashed beneath their feet. Side rooms projected off into darkness, the old man could be anywhere. Then Farrar saw him ahead, he was slow and looked arthritic. He was fumbling with his keys. A heavy door blocked the way.
Farrar reached him and grabbed the keys. He gave the torch to the man behind him and selected the biggest key on the chain. It did not fit the lock. He tried again without success.
"Hurry! This has never happened before. The beast is expecting a fresh sacrifice to be released to it. It saw you… it wants you. It needs to feed after being woken."
"Shut up old man." Farrar swore, almost dropping the keys.
He tried again his hand shaking and this time the key fit. He twisted it in the lock and heard a click. He pushed the door, it groaned on its hinges. Behind them, the tapping had reached a crescendo; then a loud crash filled the air as the glass finally broke. The lake fell into the chamber and rushed up the tunnel towards them.
Farrar dropped his sword, went through the doorway and found a staircase on the other side. He grabbed the stair chain and hauled himself up two steps at a time. His men followed, pushing the old man out of the way. With frightening speed, the waters reached them, knocking the old man and Farrar's soldiers down.
Farrar let go of the torch and used both hands to hold on to the stair chain. They were plunged into darkness. He managed to keep his head above the water and using the chain, hauled himself free. He pulled himself forwards, counting his steps. Five, ten, twenty.
He heard screams and something reached out from the waters behind just missing him. He was in a different world, a world of terror and survival. Farrar saw daylight above; it gave him an edge. He threw himself up the last few steps.
The water started receding in the stairwell. He burst out of the ground arms flailing. He looked back and coughed, his body trembling. He staggered away from the overgrown opening and fell to the ground under an ancient eucalyptus tree.
Farrar stared at the opening in the ground. No one else emerged. He spat and allowed his breathing to steady. Slowly, he returned to his senses. He looked down and with relief, saw he still had the pouch containing the Raven Heart. He was, by some miracle, uninjured. He needed to rejoin his remaining men and leave this accursed place.
Farrar stood up and staggered a few steps, his head spinning. He leaned against the tree and vomited. Bile spewed from him, burning his throat. He felt a little better and went in search of his men. He was back in the palace gardens and could see the lake; he gave it a wide berth. He came to the spot they had taken the boat from.
His men were gone.
He examined the ground, finding a discarded sword and signs of a struggle in the dirt. Drag marks clearly headed towards the lake. Blood dappled the shoreline. He took the sword and had one last look across the lake. The island stood peacefully in the mid afternoon sun. He shook his head, spat and turned his back on the lake. He still had a day to make it back to his lines.
Farrar dug deep. He had not come this far to fail now. He would make it. The general and the Magisters would be pleased. Success was the only language they understood.
He would be well rewarded for his efforts.
~
Luana could not remember much. She recalled arms lifting her and muffled voices.
"What happened?"
"I don’t know. I just left her for a few minutes with Fingal. Then I heard her screaming and found her on the floor."
"Did you see Fingal?"
"Yes."
"The blood coming from his eyes, and that smile…"
"Something happened between them."
"We've got to get her to her room. She'll come around."
Luana awoke in the early hours. She sat up in bed, her mind clear as day. She had to leave Stedfastgate immediately. She knew the Magisters were on to her, she knew she had unwittingly given away their position. They knew where Echo Island was; they were coming to destroy her sanctuary.
Alarm crept up through her veins. She had so little time. Their ships were already on their way. Time was slipping away; she could almost hear it, measured against her own heartbeat. She had to find Angel's Landing and Rafael, the archangel. It was their only hope.
She rose from the bed and saw a figure on a chair at the foot of her bed. It was Moose, keeping a vigil. She relaxed.
Moose shifted. She had woken him. "Luana, you're back with us? What happened to you?"
"Moose do you trust me?"
"Well, yes of course…but…"
"We need to leave this place now, you and I…we need to find Angel's Landing."
Moose nodded. "Well that's what I was hoping you'd say. Come with me. There's someone you need to meet."
Luana gathered her clothes and dressed. Moose had found stout boots and a tunic for her. He gave her a sword and dirk. She noticed he carried his own set of blades.<
br />
Moose brought her down the stairs to the front hall. He stopped and spoke in hushed tones.
"Ducet has put out to sea. Her scout ships have seen Magister vessels approaching the island. She's trying to buy time."
"I knew they'd come, I knew they'd find us. We are close to something. Something they fear. We've got to escape to high ground."
"There's someone you need to meet. Ducet has left us a guide, someone who can take us to Angel's Landing." Moose nodded his head towards the bench at the back of the hall. There, asleep on the bench was a boy. A dog lay on the floor beside him, its eyes twinkling at them in the candlelight.
Moose strode over to the sleeping form. "Willow, wake up, it's time."
The figure stirred. A skinny arm reached out from under a blanket and scratched an unruly mop of hair. "Um, aww, I was just at a good bit... lotsa food and girls too…"
The boy stood up quickly enough, despite his words. Darting eyes took in the situation and appraised Luana in a blink. "I'm Willow, your guide through the Roaches and the wetlands. I'll take you to Angel's Landing. This is Rip."
The dog rose and wagged its tail.
"Rip can smell trouble miles away. He's a good to have around. Got me out of a few scrapes, has Rip."
Willow packed his blanket and shouldered his pack whilst he spoke. He sensed the urgency. He did not wait for Luana to answer. "We'll be off then, it's a quarter moon tonight. That'll help some. Let's go."
Despite herself, Luana smiled. She liked Willow, a boy not much older than thirteen or fourteen. She decided they would get on well. She nodded and followed him through the door, out under the night sky. Stedfastgate slumbered under the stars.
Luana could feel the Magister threat approaching. They were near. A tide of fear swept through her. They walked swiftly through the streets towards the stockade and the north gate. Willow showed a pass to the guard at the gate, they were waved through.
A dusty path led from the town and headed into the undulating ground surrounding the nearby lagoon. They followed the path; Rip out ahead, followed by Willow. Luana had no time to think if she could trust the boy. She trusted Moose, which was enough for her. Anticipation welled up inside her.
Willow pushed the pace. After an hour, they left the path and headed inland. The ground became rough and the gradient steeper. The noise from insects was deafening, the mosquitoes were like a plague. Luana swiped at them distractedly. Moose had a permanent swarm around his head.
They clambered up a craggy rise and reached a high point. A welcome breeze kept the mosquitoes at bay. They stopped for a moment and looked back. Luana froze. Far out in the bay orange flashes lit up the fogbank.
"They're here." She said.
"Magisters." Moose declared. "How the hell did they find us?"
"They touched me through Fingal," Luana replied.
Willow gave Luana a look, then nodded. "Ducet has a few tricks up her sleeve. She knows these waters. She'll give them a good fight and bloody their nose. Come on, we've gotta go. We've a lot of ground to cover. Angel's Landing is a fair bit from here." With that, he turned and marched off after Rip, along the high wasteland.
Luana took a last look at the angry red flashes out at sea. She thought she could hear the rumble of distant cannon fire. She sent a silent blessing of luck across the waves to Ducet and her crew. She knew they could not last long against thrall magic.
The next few hours passed in a dream. They made good progress along the high slopes and then began a long descent. The sky started to lighten and morning showed on the horizon. Pinks and reds tinged the edges of the world. After another hour, they found themselves in a marshy area, the ground a watery morass of reeds and long grasses.
Luana felt something on her arm and looked down. Two leeches were crawling on her skin. She brushed them off in disgust. She kept her head low and forced her legs to move. In the distance, rising up out of the marsh, a huge rock feature dominated the landscape. It rose nearly a thousand feet from the valley floor.
As they grew near, Luana saw the rock was a uniform shape and made of columns. It looked man made but that was impossible, she told herself. Some great force of nature must have pushed up the Erthe's crust in this fashion. Perhaps the gods had a hand in it.
As the sky lightened, she noticed the top of the rocky monolith was white. This served to enhance its mystery.
She was intrigued and knew that she was looking at Angel's Landing.
CHAPTER 15
Ducet's Stand
Ducet had prepared well for this day. Ever since her brother was taken by the Magister fleet she knew the game had changed. She had waited for this day for the last year. She made sure she had scouts at sea continuously. They patrolled the coastline in fast sloops that could out run larger ships. They even had their own carrier pigeons.
The bird brought the message the day after Luana had collapsed. Ducet knew she dare not stay a moment longer on land. The best chance to survive and buy time was to fight and evade at sea on her terms. The sea was her element; she could hide and strike out there. She knew these waters. The sea fog, the inlets, the coastline were her allies. She knew where the sandbanks and the whirlpools lay. She would take at least one of the Magister vessels with her she hoped.
Ducet's ship, the Skald, skimmed along the fog bank five miles from Stedfastgate. She and her sister ship, the Skelter had arrived at the same spot at dawn. They engaged the enemy almost immediately. They had the element of surprise, appearing like ghosts out of the thick fog. Ducet and her companion ship managed two full broadsides of savage cannon fire against the lead Magister ship.
She saw a ragged hole appear in its side, the mainmast splintered and exploded into fragments. The enemy ship listed badly to port and started taking on water. Screams of men came from deep within the stricken vessel. Thick smoke issued from her midsection, her forward and aft sails were gripped by fire.
The Scald and Skelter had the advantage of speed and manoeuvrability. The current was strong and Ducet used it to her advantage. They had played their strongest card, surprise. It had paid off. One of the enemy's three ships was dead in the water. The other two started firing randomly with their heavy guns. Ducet gave the order; the Scald and Skelter separated, disappearing into the thick sea fog.
She managed to string the remaining Magister ships along, leading them closer to the whirlpools at the northern edge of the island. She knew where the two sea currents fought for dominance along the narrow straits. She had almost been caught there herself once, but never again.
It would be a close thing. She and her sister ship would have to run the gauntlet of the whirlpools. There was no margin for error. Too much to the side and rocks would be waiting to wreck them. Too slow through the rim of the whirlpool and they would be sucked under.
She dared not think of the risks, she would lose her nerve. If it was her time to die, well then, so be it. Her crew would follow her to the ends of the Erthe. They knew this was the battle of their lives; a fight for survival.
The Magister's two remaining ships were close on their tail. Ducet allowed them near on purpose. She paid the price; the Skald took some damage from the enemy guns.
Ducet was fighting and loving every minute of it. The thrill of the chase surged through her blood, she felt alive. The last two hours in the fog had been cut and thrust. Let the enemy think they had the upper hand. Do not fall in range of their thrall magic. Somehow, she pulled it off and now the final gamble stared her squarely in the face. She gave the order.
"Full ahead, steady."
Ducet looked back at the ghostly bulk five hundred yards behind her. The Magister ship was close, perhaps too close. The die was cast, she put down her spyglass and took the wheel from the first mate, steering the Skald herself. The Skelter was off to starboard and would come in from the flank and ride her wake.
The danger was intoxicating. She could feel the pull of the currents through the rudder. Her muscles tensed as she fought their energi
es. She imagined kelpies under her ship hard at work trying to drag her under. She nodded at the first mate as the strength of the currents became too much for her to handle alone. He came over and took the wheel with her. She recalled what had happened here before and closed her eyes; she would let her spirit fight the kelpies. Let them take the Magister ship behind her instead.
Ducet heard enemy grapeshot shatter and splinter the deck around her. A sharp pain cut through her side and the first mate's body crumpled against her and fell to the burning deck. She held on and read the water, feeling the whirlpool beneath the ship.
She felt exalted. At the last moment, she swung the wheel and caught a south westerly breeze. The boat jerked violently from the whirlpool's vice like grip.
Ducet let out a shout of rage and pain. She opened her eyes and saw rocks feet away from her port side, she banked steeply. The rudder protested; the ship shuddered. She heard a sickening scrape below and then they were through. Open water lay ahead, she made for it. She risked a glance behind and saw the lumbering Magister ship caught in the vortex of the whirlpool. She could not see the Skelter, her heart filled with mixed emotions.
The Magister ship lost control and was thrown violently to one side. The rock there bit deep into her belly. Wood splintered and men's flesh was crushed. With a savage suddenness, the big ship collapsed in on itself like a toy. The keel rose and then, with terrifying finality, the ship disappeared into the heart of the whirlpool.
Ducet snapped her head back to the task in hand. The Skald had survived with some damage. She had done as much as she could and now needed to find a place to hide. She and the Skelter’s captain had spoken; their plan was to retreat to a small cove off the northeastern side of the island.
She laid a course for the cove. For the moment the Magister pursuit had faltered. She had somehow managed to wreck two of their three ships. She knew the surviving Magister vessel would either hunt her down or return to Stedfastgate.
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