by J F Rogers
Aloft
◊◊◊
Ariboslia Book III
J. F. Rogers
Copyright
Aloft – Ariboslia Book III
© 2019 J. F. Rogers
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced except by permission from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to existing people or places is purely coincidental.
For we wrestle not against flesh and blood,
but against principalities, against powers,
against the rulers of the darkness of this world,
against spiritual wickedness in high places.
- Ephesians 6:12
Table of Contents
Pronunciation Guide
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Epilogue
Shameless Request for Reviews
About the Author
Looking for more by J. F. Rogers?
Acknowledgments
Pronunciation Guide
PEOPLE
Aodan Tuama ay-den Too-ah-ma Fallon’s uncle and leader of the fasgadair
Alastar A-lah-star
Badb Bav Morrigan’s older sister
Cahal Fidhne kah-hal Feen Accompanies Fallon on her quest
Cataleen Cat-ah-lean Fallon’s mother
Cairbre kar-bruh A legendary hero
Declan Cael deck-lan Kayl
Fallon fal-lawn The main character
Faolan fway-lawn A friend of Fallon’s mother (also known as Wolf)
Fiona fee-own-ah Fallon’s paternal grandmother
Kai keye An exile
Macha Mah-chah Morrigan’s sister
Maili may-lee Declan’s betrothed
Morrigan More-ih-gahn The original fasgadair
Pepin pep-in The pech who made Drochaid
General Seung say-ung A selkie general
Sully sull-ee A seer
CLANS
Ain-Dìleas ahn dill-ay-ahs from Bandia
Arlen are-luhn from Kylemore
Cael kayl from Notirr
Dosne Dohs-nee from Fàsach
Olwen Ohl-ven from Reòdh
Treasach treh-zack from Gnuatthara
RACES
Fasgadair faz-geh-deer Vampires (means “blood drinker”)
Gachen gah-chen Shape-shifters (anagram for “change”)
Pech peck Small, strong people with abilities with stone
Selkie sell-key Gachen who turn into seals
PLACES
Ariboslia air-eh-bows-lia The realm
Ardara ahr-dahr-ah A gachen village
Bandia ban-dee-ah Occupied by the Ain-Dìleas
Bàthadh Sea bah-thach The sea leading to the land to the east
Ceas Croi* kase kree A city in a mountain created by the pech occupied by the fasgadair
Cnatan Mountains crah-dan The mountains that make Bandia difficult to reach by land
Diabalta dee-ah-ball-tah A formerly great city now under Morrigan’s control
Gnuatthara new-tara A fortified city occupied by the Treasach
Kylemore kyle-more A village in the trees occupied by the Arlen
Notirr* no-tear A village of mounds in hills occupied by the Cael
Saltinat salt-in-at An underwater city occupied by the selkie
Tower of Galore ga-lore A large tower rumored to be occupied by giants
THINGS
Bian bee-ahn The time when gachen or selkie come of age and shape-shift for the first time
Cianese see-ahn-eese A foreign language (most speak Ariboslian)
Drochaid* dro-hach The amulet Pepin created
Neas nees Weasels
Rác rack Kai’s dog
torman-ciùil* tor-man kyohl A stringed instrument that sits on your lap
Zpět sp-yet The amulet that resurrected Morrigan
FALSE GODS
Aine awn-yah god of love and fertility
Aoibhell ee-vell her harp is a premonition of death
Camalus cam-al-is god of war
Druantia drew-ahn-tia god of protection, knowledge, creativity
*trill the r
Prologue
◊◊◊
MORRIGAN POURED THE BOILING potion onto the looking glass. It bubbled and spread, filling the frame. Gleeful anticipation burbling up her chest, she clamped her lips tight. The metallic liquid writhed as though sea serpents twisted beneath the silver surface. Then it stilled and hardened.
She gripped the carved handle, holding it up to gaze into the perfect reflection of her lair. Her ancient collection of spell books in various states of disrepair lined the stone shelves behind her. Vials, canisters, herbs, and various ingredients surrounded a cauldron. The mirror reflected everything in its path, but her.
Not that it mattered. She fluffed her hair, envisioning the black lustrousness Dagda had so admired. The lack of reflection allowed her to imagine her eyes as they once were, like a lone star on the blackest night. She’d never seen her eyes as they probably were now, with the same enlarged pupils her demonic descendants possessed. But when she imagined herself with those eyes, her anger flared.
She curved her free hand into a claw, envisioning killing those women who’d resurrected her like this. Fools. Any half-wit could have restored her as she was. Their deaths had been too quick. How she longed to resurrect them to kill them again. Perhaps she would. Once more pressing matters were complete.
But the fool’s shoddy efforts had resulted in abilities Morrigan hadn’t previously possessed—power and immortality. And, thanks to their ignorance, she had loftier goals than merely wiping humanity from this world. Filling and subduing it with more fasgadair with her as their queen was far better. Her heart burst from her chest, and she laughed. Eagerness coursed through her undead being. Her perfect dominion would soon become a reality. The years studying Aodan and Alastar hadn’t been a waste. Her diligence would be rewarded. The Enemy wouldn’t stop her this time.
Her laughter cut short. The Enemy. This was His fault. He’d stolen both Aodan and Alastar. Her blood boiled as her temper
flared, threatening to bubble over. A dim pain emanated from her palms. She released her grip and inspected crescent moon-shaped cuts. A few dripped blood and the coppery scent distracted her, awakening her thirst. She licked the crimson fluid, and the broken skin sealed, erasing all traces of injury.
Blood. That was all she’d needed from Aodan and Alastar, and she’d accomplished that task. Now she had her defense against Fallon and anyone who might attempt to use the zpět against her. Almost.
She needed one more thing.
Morrigan placed her finger on the mirror’s smooth surface and chanted the words to cast the spell. She swirled her finger, rippling the image as if she’d tossed a pebble in its center.
She stopped chanting and stepped back. The swirling image smoothed, revealing people crowded around a table littered with maps. But the image flipped too quickly back to the maps to see who stood there, conspiring against her.
“We should use these three”—a man the likes of which she’d never seen waved toward Fallon and whoever stood on either side of her—“to lead the charge from Turas into Bandia.” Everything about the man was dark. Black hair, mahogany eyes, and tan skin. Other than the sprinkling of gray in his trim beard.
“That won’t work.” The top backside of Drochaid came into view. Another trophy Morrigan wished to secure. But she couldn’t take it from Fallon. Not yet. Not if she wanted her to communicate. And, for now, she needed her to. “Drochaid needs to stay inside Turas, or we’ll end up trapped in Bandia.”
“What happens if Drochaid remains behind? Or someone else uses it?” The dark man’s slanted eyebrows squished together. Was he one of those people her army had invaded under Alastar’s charge?
Alastar. How had the selkie overtaken them? Her connection to Declan severed, then Alastar. Then hundreds in rapid succession. She needed to know what happened. If only her connection with her underlings allowed her to access their eyes, like this connection to Fallon did. She needed a better method to keep track of her minions. Perhaps, since she’d learned with Fallon, she’d find a way with them too.
The mirror’s limited view didn’t permit Morrigan to see around the table, only where Fallon focused with no periphery. Right now, Fallon looked at the dark man.
Morrigan moved closer, as if that might enhance her view. She stared with an intense desire to control the mirror’s focus, as if the power of her gaze alone might turn Fallon’s head.
The image blackened.
“No!” She pushed the mirror away. Her dead heart pulsed for three beats, then the image returned.
“Without Drochaid, I can’t understand the language.” Fallon’s voice sounded weak.
“Ah. That’s why your words are off.” The dark man stood taller and smoothed his coat, heavy with gold adornments. “Are there other amulets that can allow Fallon to communicate?”
The view drifted to Pepin as he cleared his throat. Morrigan wrinkled her nose, disgusted by that little creature. “There are, but not here. The dark pech don’t create them. I’d have to secure one from my clan across the Bàthadh Sea.”
So, they did intend to return. Good. She scoffed. Fools. Even if their numbers were as vast as the sea, they’d never overpower her fasgadair army. Still, she’d need to consider doubling-up on the shores. Or… Perhaps there was a better way.
“You created Drochaid. Could you make another?” The view shifted to Declan leaning across the table toward Pepin.
Declan wasn’t dead? His eyes. Human? What trickery was this? The black monster within her, the thing that returned her life and sustained her immortality, raged, demanding blood. Its anger mingled with her own, tripling in intensity. Morrigan screamed to release the tension. In one sweep, she sent the herbs and canister at the end of the counter flying across the room. Chest heaving. Fists clenched so her nails pierced her palms again.
So that’s why she’d lost connection with Declan. He was no longer a fasgadair. But how?
Is that what happened with the others? With Aodan?
“Ah.” Pepin blushed. Her clenched fists tightened with her desire to squeeze the life from his pudgy face. “I’m not really—I’m not sure I—”
“An angel helped him make Drochaid,” Fallon said.
Angels. Those blasted creatures kept interfering.
“Do you think you could do it again if we gave you the supplies?” Dark Man asked.
The blush fading from his already ruddy cheeks, Pepin frowned. “I don’t think so.”
“We need to get you to the pech.” The mirror showed Abracham pulling his grotesque beard. “Surely, they’re wondering why no one has met them. Someone needs to intercede before they grow restless and take up arms against the fasgadair on their own.”
Morrigan laughed. Those pitiful little cave dwellers dared drag themselves above ground and fight her? Pathetic.
“Using Turas?” Pepin asked.
Turas? She quirked an ear. What weapon was she unaware of?
“Aye,” Aleksander said.
Ah. Another king to add to her collection. She raised her hand, poised midair, ready to tear the life from everyone around that table who conspired against her. Black, talon-like nails neared the glass.
“Ow!” Fallon cried, and the image went black.
“Curses!” Morrigan lowered her hand.
“What’s wrong, lass?” Was that… Faolan? His connection severed last year, after Fallon’s escape. Right around the same time as her guards. Not long after Aodan.
Fallon. This was all her doing. What kind of witchcraft severed her connections without killing the fasgadair? Worse… restored them to their original form? A fire burned within, broiling to eliminate the threat. But she had to keep it under control. Her prior attempts to destroy Fallon had disastrous results. Time for a different tack, one with a more favorable outcome. One which ensured everything would ultimately come under her control.
The image returned. Morrigan’s attention moved from those around the table to the maps. Diabalta? What were they scheming?
“My head.” Fallon’s voice again. And the image blackened once more.
“I’ll take her to lie down. Please continue. I’ll return shortly.” Morrigan couldn’t see who spoke, but it sounded like Faolan.
She placed the mirror in a stand and stepped back. She didn’t care what pain she caused Fallon by penetrating her mind. But this was not conducive to her plans. She needed Fallon’s eyes to see. To remain in these meetings. She’d have to be less intrusive. For now.
The image cleared, revealing everyone surrounding the table from a distance. Alastar was human too. A threatening rumble vibrated from Morrigan’s throat. The beast’s growl merging with her own as she gripped the mirror once more at a safer distance.
“Sorry.” Fallon spoke again.
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Sully approached Fallon, reaching toward her.
Morrigan’s lifeless heart seizing, she lurched her body as far from the mirror as her arm allowed. How she despised that man. He touched Fallon’s forehead, and his lips began to move. Recoiling, Morrigan dropped the mirror on the counter. She cringed and turned away. “Dùin!”
Once again, the mirror displayed the room minus Morrigan.
Hand to her chest, she caught her breath, then chastised herself. “He’s just a feeble old man. He’s no match for you. Or your sisters.”
But he was praying. Every bit of her recoiled, curling into the blackness within her as if it could shield her from the Light.
The onslaught ending, she smiled.
Soon. She would reclaim the zpět and resurrect her sisters. Then nothing would stop them. She tucked the mirror under her arm. But first, she needed to visit Bandia. This time, she wouldn’t fail. This time, Fallon would bend to her will.
Chapter One
◊◊◊
THE LEADERS PORED OVER maps and strategies in the war room while I fought a massive headache. Their maps included not o
nly their own territories but also those of Bandia and the mainlands west of the Bàthadh Sea. All pillaged from gachen ships the selkie had confiscated over the years.
“Ow!” I bent forward and grabbed my temples. The stabbing pain intensified.
Wolf wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “What’s wrong, lass?”
“My head.” I squeezed my eyes shut as if that might help.
He pulled me away from the table. “I’ll take her to lie down. Please continue. I’ll return shortly.”
The pain subsided somewhat, but it would probably be better to leave. Allowing him to guide me toward the door, I glanced back to the wide eyes all staring at me. “Sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Sully caught up to us at the door and laid a hand on my forehead. Eyes closed, his face aimed toward the heavens, his lips moved in silent prayer. I could almost feel the blessing surging from his hand. He opened his grayed-over eyes and aimed them at me. “You are loved, dear one.”
“Thank you, Sully.” That man was all the medicine I needed.
As Sully returned to the gathering around the table, Wolf half-carried me out of the war room. He stopped a servant with an apron covering the front of her wide dress. “Have ye anything for head pain?”
She dipped in a small curtsey. “We do. Shall I bring the remedy to the princess’s room?”
He nodded. “I’d appreciate that. Thank ye.”
“I think I’m okay now.”
“Ye need rest.” He delivered me to the room I shared with Rowan in the castle and walked me to the bed.
I didn’t lay down. “This isn’t necessary. My headache is already gone.”
Wolf pushed me down. “Ye never recovered from all the blood loss, lass. It’s been what, two days since the battle? Rest.”
The maid appeared with what looked like the same seaweed substance the selkie in Saltinat had given me, but it stunk like expired seafood. “I don’t need this.”
“Take it anyway, Fallon. ’Tis good for you.” He swiveled to the servant. “Isn’t that right, miss?”
The maid bobbed and left the room.