One Crown & Two Thrones : A Tale of Two Queens - Summe - Chapters 1-7 (Draft) - Beware legally copyrighted material.

One Crown & Two Thrones

A Tale of Two Queens:

Summe

Iseult O’Shea

Copyright © 2018 Iseult. O’Shea.

This EBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This EBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

Authors Note

Dear reader,

I am honoured as always that you have chosen to follow Eveline/Celestine upon this journey and it is a great joy to write on the behalf of such great characters. A Tale of Two Queens has been carefully divided into two sub-books: Summe, Galgor and Dulthe. This was a long and hard decision, mainly due to sheer volume of work involved. However, I believe firmly in covering all aspects of this great journey, despite the length and breadth, and I hope that you will enjoy following all the diverse stories involved. All three of the sub-stories will take place at the same time, during the autu month of Culna, which to the human race is known as October. The year is 1234 AF (After the fall of Heiden’s guardians). I hope that all the above information makes sense. I hope that you enjoy the next instalment of One Crown & Two Thrones.

Iseult O’Shea

Breaketh,

Thrones of gold and wings of old.

Bend,

Ancient God to ancient foe.

For two kingdoms shall arise and swiftly fall.

Upon Heiden’s stone,

 Traitorous blood shall spill.

Under the stars and timeless trees,

Her eyes of gold and feet so bold.

Cometh she,

Gentle Queen of Aeon.

Bearer of Beren’s stone,

To claim the heart of Gabriel’s blood.

Beware he which walk with troubled soul,

Under wings of death and heart of woe.

For he shall wield a blade of green,

To fell the princely doe.

Summe

Prologue

Ashlouis, 1243 AF

“Geetham if you bend over anymore you will fall head long into the perilous black waters below and swiftly find yourself being gobbled up by one those fantastic beasts, their great jaws as wide as this very boat!” the elder Oruran brother commanded as he poked his youngest brother with a rod. Albi watched his youngest sibling, his thin body bent over the edge of the small fishing boat, the tips of his fir coat teasing against the cool waters as the silver light of the full moon washed over his ice-blonde locks. The night was cooler than previous nights, the light winds touched by the fingers of the on-coming wintur flakes which soon would fall over the crop-ridden lands of Summe and plunge the poor and poverty stricken people of the north into another harsh wintur, a wintur in which the wealthy filled their bellies and pockets, blind to the cries of pitifully hunger and desperation of those dependent upon their increasingly unjust masters. Surrounding their little boat, its frame old and worn, were many similar boats, all of them filled with the wondrous faces of his friends and neighbours, all of them marked with the stamp of their misfortune, its traces upon their gaunt faces, worn clothes and conflicted eyes, for the occasion for hunting splelin for food had passed, and little had been caught and so many understood that after this night of celebration a great hardship would make itself known. In his heart, Albi knew that the proud hearts of his fellow men would soon turn sour and that in the near future, civil conflict would ensue between the prosperous few and those fighting to survive.

“But brother look at them! The colours of the Día showers flow through them!” Geetham cried out with excitement as he swept the tips of his small fingers across the cold sea water, the large splelin creatures swimming beneath their small boat, the mother’s cub’s following close behind. Geetham, his body still hanging over the edge of the boat, felt his long locks of braided blonde hair fall over his shoulders and fall into the dark waters. Mesmerised by the dancing sea creatures, greatly favoured by summerian history and wound within the tales of his people, Geetham spotted the reflection of the heavenly stars above and felt his cool breath leave his mouth with awe. Only once a year did the great creatures pass by the northern coast of Summe, by-passing the northern city of Ashlouis and the small island of Frye which lay to the north, but ten miles away. Looking up, he spotted the distant lights of the torches of the fryrians who stood upon their beaches in celebration of the great event. It was, ironically, the only time in the year were one could visibly see the secretive clan, whose island was off bounds to Sumerians. Supposedly, in accordance with folk lore and history, the fryrian people were the oldest clan in the north and were deeply immersed in the old magic, which was now almost extinct among the other clans who dealt in the dealings of relatively new structure of magical law. It was said among the clans of Summe, that the fryrians were direct descendants of the first men and held a great well of knowledge. Many had tried and failed to connect with the clan, no one yet to return from their venture to the island.

His head filled with the magic of the night and of the ethereal Sumerian music which flowed into the night sky like shooting arrows of poetry, their pointed tips finding the beating hearts of those below. Wisps of sea air covered his youthful face, which was now reflected upon the black waters below. Geetham turned to his elder brothers, Albi and Durnab and found them deep in conversation, there breathes mingling into a cloud of warm heat.

“I swear brother, he heard those very words from Lord Muta himself,” Durnab said under his breathe, his heavy cloak of dier fur huddled about his strong frame. His green gaze poured into his elder brother’s eyes, a faint blue. “A storm is coming brother and we are unprepared, they say a great dragon, conjured from death itself flies this way!”

“Lord Muta talks from his ass,” Albi hissed under his breath, his hatred for the young and arrogant Lord long held and indeed deep to the core. “When he isn’t pricking the honeypot’s of Ashlouis he is spewing sensational lies, merry with the prospect of war and the opportunity to finally turn his eyes to the city of Nor, which we all know holds a certain gleam, not only in his eyes but his fathers. The man is a traitor to our people and has blinded the men of this once fine and highly regarded city,” Albi went on as he rowed onwards, his eyes turning to the figure of his youngest brother. “Muta is thirsty for the blood of his enemies, ever since his father was banished from Summe for breaking the fellowship. You mustn’t be lead astray by his false teachings, you must keep your eyes clear and your mind focused. We are to face a harsh wintur, especially as the crops have failed us yet again. Perhaps Lord Muta and his father should keep their own eyes upon their people, for if they do not they will soon be turned over to the wolves.”

“Why do you hate him so?” Durnab quizzed his elder brother as he sat away from him and looked across at the great city he loved so dearly. They all of them had inherited their father’s ice-blonde hair, sharp features, tall frames and his blue eyes, but for Durnab whose eyes were uncannily like their mothers, “What has he ever done to you?”

“Have you forgotten how his father treated our own parents?” Albi whispered with anger, his gaze gleaming with white rage. “He had them hanged for a crime they did not commit.”

“Brother, I was there that night and saw our father steal grain from the caves,” Durnab returned with a growl. “He knew the peril he put his own family in when he decided to act the martyr!”

“He was feeding the poor and needy, those who couldn’t afford to pay the heavy taxes inflicted upon them by a greedy Lord,” Albi almost cried with dismay. “He was acting as their aid when they were left to rot and die like rats. What would you have him do? Betray all that he believed in?”

“I would have had him think of us brother,” Durnab hissed as he drew his gaze to the youngest sibling. Albi followed his brothers gaze and felt his heart sink deep within. “If his thoughts had been on his children, then perhaps we would not be needlessly begging for scraps ourselves. Perhaps our mother would still be alive.”

Albi knew well how his younger brother had adored his mother, having always been glued to her side. He was in her likeness as was Geetham, but he was in his father’s likeness and was unduly blessed with his concrete principles and morals and had taken up the flame of generosity since their execution. He felt terrible guilt and shame for his brothers and had worked endlessly to keep them fed and sheltered, but he knew that this wintur would kill many of his friends and their families, but for the greed of their master and his war-mongering son. Money had been strict and taxes high, especially now that Anvin, the High Priest of the North and Lord of Summe had invested a great deal of gold into the building of new ships and defence of the island. He agreed that the island did indeed need better protection, but the cost of such an investment had hit the clans of the north hard, yet the pockets of the masters were filling with coin. It puzzled Albi that the lining of his master’s pockets was filling despite the failing of crops and blood-hurling poverty which had stricken the northern clans particularly hard. He understood from those close to him that corruption had seeped into the minds of those once noble and strong houses, how they had acquired such funding was still to be determined. If war was indeed coming, Albi knew for certainty that the city of Ashlouis would fall and death reign victorious, for the southern clans had forgotten the promises of old and laws laid down by the elders. The high priest himself had turned a blind eye to the suffering of his people. The future was bleak, but Albi refused to bow his knew before fear and death. He would hold the master’s accountable for their greed and corruption when the time was right.

“Geetham!” Durnab cried out in horror as he caught sight of the boy slipping into the freezing waters below, his body so thin that no sound of a sudden splash unfolded. Had his eyes strayed but for a moment, Geetham’s fall into the sea would have gone un-noticed.

“Hold the oars!” Albi cried out as he threw his oar into his brother’s chest and quickly discarded himself of his cloak. Without another word, he jumped in after his brother and felt the arrows of ice pierce at his body as he swam downwards, his heavy fir coat turning heavy as the salty waters seeped into it without mercy, his body suddenly becoming unbearably heavy as he searched the darkness below for his brother. Geetham sank ever deeper, his arms outstretched and his eyes wide with horror, the great sea beasts swimming perilously close to them both. Sighting his brother as he spun about in the wild waters, his body bouncing of two great splelin, Albi swam down through the icy darkness, his brother’s large eyes on him in fear. Geetham stretched out a hand, the haunting colours of the sea creatures illuminating his small frame and pale face. With force and with determination, Albi caught his brothers hand and pulled him towards him, a cloak of bubbles surrounding them both as Geetham found his brother’s strong frame and grabbed on to him for dear life. Flapping his feet and legs as hard as he could, Albi sought the waters above, their bodies swaying viciously against the currents, the underbellies of the boats bobbing up and down above them. With a great cry, Albi flung himself out of the water, throwing Geetham up into the cold air. The air above had changed dramatically, and as the brothers held onto each other, they felt the sea instantly relax and the winds die.

“Brother hand him to me!” Durnab commanded in desperation, his body slung over the side of the boat, his arms ready for the shaking Geetham, whose body stilled in Albi’s, his dark eyes turned to the sky above. A frown furrowing deep into his brow, Albi followed his brother’s gaze and saw a thousand sparks of fire light up the dark skies above. He knew instantly the arrows of fire which screeched through the cold air, their blazing fire coming ever closely to earth as they suddenly darted downwards, directly aimed for all those beneath. Around them cries of fear began to ring out as the drums of ceremony fell into silence.

“Albi what are those?” Geetham asked through chattering teeth as he was handed up into their father’s boat, a shaking index finger flung into the air above them. His frozen hands clinging onto the edge of the boat, the currents beneath becoming stronger with every passing second, Albi followed his brother’s finger and caught sight of a great storm of red fire sweeping through the sky, piercing the fine starlight with little care.

“Arrows!” Durnab cried out with unmissable anxiety as he dropped his brother into the boat and sought the oars, Albi climbing in behind Geetham.

“Geetham get down now!” Albi ordered the shaking Geetham whose eyes had grown very large with fear. With force. Albi took to his feet and turned to his fellow people.

“Row back to the city! Row as fast as you can!” he cried out, the eyes of those close by turning to him in dismay. “We are under attack!”

With his words, the ocean about him turned into an array of confusion and haste as the men leading the boats hastily turned them about and began to row desperately, in search of the shoreline which was thinly illuminated by torches. It was Albi knew, too late, for the arrows of fire found their targets and a great many boats were set ablaze and men, women and children killed instantly. Turning his eyes to the island of Frye, Albi witnessed one of the seven great flames of the north alit, its message now being felt across the ancient city of Ashlouis. To the distance upon the sea, great ships bearing the flag of Galgor came into sight, another great cloud of blazing arrows being shot up into the dark abyss above, their screeches freezing the hearts of those under their gaze. Albi felt his brothers rough slap upon his back and turned to face the great fleet of Galgorian ships, now within sight as the fiery arrows brought light to their flags of red and black which bore the face of the great northern wolf. Beneath the stormy seas, the splelin were in a state of confusion, their great bodies of miraculous light turning in all directions as though the ancient scent which lead them north had become nothing but scent of times gone by. They began to crash against one another, their peaceful moods turning to those of uncertainty, anger and a need to find safety as arrows rushed down through the waters and pierced their thick skin. The baby cubs were the first victims of the invasion, many of them lying dead upon the dark waters, their blood of sky blue creating veins of colour upon the ceiling of the sea. Albi felt a sting of pain as he looked down upon the dead carcasses of baby splelin, their distraught mothers raising their great heads into the air and letting out a dreadful howl of grief, a pitiful cry so deep that the earth beneath them shook with vengeance. About him chaos reigned victor as the innocent men, women and children rowed desperately to the shores of Ashlouis, hundreds of bodies being struck down by fire and death. Albi turned to his brother Geetham with fierce eyes.

“Lie down low!” he commanded with rage as he took one of the oars and rowed with such defiance and pain that buds of tears fell from his eyes, the horrific cries of death mixed with the drums of the invaders looming overhead. As they rowed, the beach but three hundred metres away, the cries and sounds of drumming came to a still as a great gust of warm wind swept over the innocent victims, the gust of wind such that the flames of torches fell into darkness.

“Brother what was that?” Durnab whispered with shaking hands, his eyes filled with terror as the world about them fell into darkness and disorder. Albi looked about, his gaze catching the multitudes of drowned corpses as they bobbed against the small boats, many of them children.

“I don’t know…”

Again, a great gust of warm wind swooped over them, followed by a hollow noise which touched the spines of everyone under its command. Geetham crawled into his brother’s arms as they watched a great shadow cast itself over the city before them, all the torches extinguished in one breath.

“What is this devilry?” Durnab exclaimed, his words falling into a void as a great and piercing crying rang out across the skies, followed by a great streak of white fire which poured down over the city like a waterfall.

“What in the name of the God’s!” Albi cried out in shock as he threw himself towards the front of the boat, his eyes and those eyes of everyone about him speckled with the light of the white fire.

“A dragon!” a young woman cried out from afar. “A dragon flies over the city!”

“Albi!” Geetham screamed as the city of Ashlouis burned with white fire, the distant cries of those trapped beneath its merciless wrath echoing out across the waters.  Albi saw the great shape of a dragon as it spun through the air over the city, its piercing cry, which reminded him of the scraping of metal against metal once more seeped into the hearts of those who looked on.

“What the hell is going on!” Durnab asked his brother in a hurry as Albi sat back and took up his oar once more.

“I have no idea, but that dragon looks nothing skin to those of the north!” Albi said with anger as they rowed onwards, the shoreline ever closer and dotted with fleeing figures who sought shelter in the nearby sand dunes.

“The dragon!” Geetham called out. “The dragon is headed towards us!”

“Shit!” Albi cried out as he watched in terror as the great beast took to the skies and soared down silently in their direction with such elegance that those who looked upon its terrifying form were for a moment transfixed.

“Someone flies upon its back; can you not see brother!” Durnab rushed, his brow covered in a thick sweat. Albi spotted the figure as he grabbed a hold of Geetham and flung him back into the water.

“Get into the water now!” he commanded Durnab with urgency as he threw down his oar and followed Geetham into the ice-cold waters below, grabbing a hold of his younger brother’s collar. “Get into the water” he cried out to those around him. “Take cover under your boats now!”

Seeing sense in his words, Durnab hurled himself into the waters with a scream, many of those close to them following suite. Albi knew that the city would soon fall to the enemy and knew that swimming to the eastern shores would prove deadly. Holding a scared Geetham close to him, he and his brother turned their small boat upside down.

“Get under the boat,” he ordered Geetham with haste. “We must swim to the shore and head west, the city will soon fall and the soldiers will soon be upon the waters!”

“We will never make it!” Durnab returned as he caught the edge of the boat and began to kick his legs out behind him.

“We have no choice, we either die in the water or we make it to the western shores!” Albi called out from beneath the boat as Geetham wrapped his arms about his brother’s neck. “Now kick your legs and do not stop, no matter what you hear! Do you hear me brothers?”

“Yes!” they cried out in unison as they began to kick their legs with haste, the cry of the dragon breathing down over them, followed by a deadly heat which sent flares of intense warmth through the cold waters, miraculously warming their legs and bodies. The distressing cries of those being burned alive sent such a wave of devastation into the hearts of those making for the shores of Ashlouis. Behind him he heard Geetham cry with grief as he clung to Albi for dear life.

“Were going to die!” Geetham shouted as he gulped down another mouthful of sea water.

“No, we are not!” Albi cried out in defiance. “We are not going to perish this night; do you hear me!”

The cries of his brother ringing through his ears, Albi kicked as hard as he could, knowing the beach to be but five minutes away. But as he kicked, he found his legs becoming numb under the ice-cold temperatures, the warmth which had kept them swimming now distant. He looked under the rim of the boat and saw a great many boats aflame in the distance.

“Brother look! Look beneath the waters!” Durnab declared as he stopped kicking his legs and simply stayed afloat. Turning his eyes to the water beneath, Albi caught sight of a great splelin as it swam beneath them, its great body rising to meet with their own.

“Albi, do they eat humans!” Geetham cried out as they were hurled into the air above, their boat falling out of their hands and into the sea beneath. Albi plunged his hands down into the creatures scaled body, Geetham wrapping his arms about his brother’s cold body. Albi looked down into Geetham’s pale face.

“No!”

As they were being driven through the waters, Albi spotted a dozen more creatures, all of them with men, women and children upon their backs. They were calling out to one another beneath the waters, their chant beautiful and haunting against the screams of death which echoed out above.

“They are helping us Albi! The splelin are saving us!” Durnab cried out with joy as they were taken through the cold waters to the shore. Albi looked behind him, his gaze falling across a great plain of fire and death, with countless boats aflame and many people fighting to stay afloat beneath the waters. The deadly dragon had flown away in the direction of the city once again, reigning down yet more white fire. The night of chaos was only in its early stages and Albi knew that the days to come would bring yet more fire and death. Drawing his eyes away from the scene of destruction, Albi felt the creature stop as they came to the quiet shores.

“Quick we must make for the beach!” Durnab said quickly as he threw himself down into the waters, afraid to touch the creature which had saved him from certain death. Seeing him dart through the rough waves, followed by a dozen or so citizens, Albi climbed down from the creature, his feet finding the floor of the sea. The water now up to his shoulder, he reached up for Geetham and brought him down into his arms. Before turning away from the beautiful creature, Albi stretched out a hand, his eyes pouring into the mythical creature’s great eye, which reminded him of an endless pool of light. Lightly he placed his splayed hand over the creature’s face.

“Thank you,” he said aloud with feeling, his body cold and his head somewhat electrified by the cool temperatures. Hanging onto him for dear life, Geetham stretched out a hand and touched the creature gently. Its skin felt like silk beneath his touch and with fright, he felt the creature vibrate as though in response to his words of gratitude. “We will never forget the sacrifice you have made for us.”

Before he could say anymore, the creature let out of a cry which vibrated through the waters and with a great turn of its head, dived down into the depths of the black waters below, its great tail flapping wildly against the waves as it swam away into the darkness, followed closely by its retreating family. Taking Geetham, Albi swam ashore and was met by his shaking brother, whose clothes now stuck to his thin body, his feet without shoes. Falling to the wet sand beneath, Albi felt Geetham roll of his body and fall to his side. Suddenly, he felt heavy and unable to move.

“Brother, we must move before the soldiers reach the beach!” Durnab declared as he looked out across the ocean, noticing boats now upon the horizon, filled with soldiers, their torches of fire casting a sombre glow over the dead bodies of summerian civilians. His breath coming in phases, Albi looked up into his brothers face and nodded.

“Help me up!”

Together, Geetham and Durnab helped their brother onto his feet. The family made their way to the dunes, following the stream of survivors, many of them carrying the lifeless bodies of their loved ones over their shoulders. Every step felt like a lifetime and every breath drawn felt like one of the many arrows of fire. The survivors in their silence, climbed up the mountains of sand and upon reaching the top, fell to their bottoms and slide down the other side, all of them meeting within the circle of sand at the foot of the dune, many upon the ground in silent grief and a few walking around in disorientated shock, all of them barely clothed, their eyes sharing in the same glint of horror. Albi looked around the huddled group of men, women and children and bent over, his hands grabbing a hold of his knees. The dead bodies of loved ones lay strewn across the cold sand, many with their arms outstretched and locks of wet hair stuck to their faces. In the distance, the sound of drumming filled the air, alerting Albi to the nearness of their enemies.

“We need to leave now!” Albi tried to say as he grappled with the salt water and sand now stuck to the lining of his throat. His words failing to alert the disorientated people around him, he began to wave his arms frantically. Catching sight of his brothers waving arms, Durnab came to his side.

“Brother what is it?”

“We need to flee now! The soldiers are coming! Can you not hear their drums?”

“But where are we to go?”

“We must flee to the village of Til! We must alert the north!” Albi coughed roughly as he spat up another mouthful of salt water.

“Brother these people will never make it,” Durnab whispered into his brother’s ear hotly. “Look at them!”

Albi knew that the men, women and children about him were in deep shock, but he would be damned if they were to simply be killed outright without a fight. Angered by his brother’s lack of hope, Albi caught his arm and felt his hand tighten about his brother’s wrist.

“We need to flee now!” he said with fiery eyes. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes brother, yes, I hear you,” Durnab said in fear, never before seeing his brother so vexed. Albi closed his eyes briefly in relief, his forceful words having awoken his brother. Albi felt his hand fall away from Durnab as he straightened his back and turned his eyes to those around him.

“We must flee before the soldiers make shore!” he said aloud, his throat dry and his legs faint. “We must leave the deceased behind, there is no time in which to carry them.” He could see the inflicted shock in the eyes of those who looked upon him and understood their hesitant shaking of heads. “Listen, we don’t have time in which to argue, you either wish to live or die. Either way, I intend on living through the night, we must warn our friends of the enemy!”

“Can we not bury the dead?” a young father cried out, his child’s dead body lying within his arms.

“I wish we could, but we do not have the time,” Albi said with as much kindness as was possible in such a moment. “You can choose to stay behind or you can choose to follow me. You have five minutes in which to say goodbye to your loved ones.”

His youngest sibling curled up into a ball of shock and dismay, Geetham tucked his head down into his legs, unable to allow his eyes to roam over the countless dead bodies before him. Spotting him, Albi crawled over to his brother and prised away his cold and rigid arms away from his legs. Blinking down heavily, he clasped his brother’s arms and sought his gaze.

“Geetham we must leave now, can you walk?”

“My legs are cold,” Geetham whispered with chattering teeth, his ice-blonde hair stuck to his gaunt cheeks.

“Then I will carry you,” Albi announced as he brought himself to his feet and with shaking arms reached down for Geetham. Without another word, Geetham reached up to his brother and was soon brought into his arms. Holding him with a dash of uncertainty, Albi turned to a quiet Durnab, who stood upon the top of the sand-dune, his eyes cast out across the sea. “Durnab it is time!” Durnab turned about slowly, his pale face falling slowly, his green eyes flashing with anger.

“I told you that war was coming, and you didn’t believe me!” he called down in frustration. “And now look at us! The city burns and our people die by white fire!”

“Durnab this is no time for arguing, we must away!”

Durnab skidded down the sand-dune and came to stand before his brother, those able to walk now ready to leave.

“Lord Muta wasn’t talking idle,” Durnab whispered darkly, his eyes unblinking.

“If he was so certain about war, why did he not warn his people?” Albi mouthed back with disgust. “Your love for the man has clouded your judgment.”

Silence fell between the brothers. Of course, Albi knew of the sexual relationship between the young lord and his naive brother, and knew that rumours were beginning to spread throughout the city of their illegal affair. What Albi didn’t know for sure, were the true intentions of Lord Muta. He was a dangerous and cunning man, who Albi believed whole-heartedly had no room for anyone else but himself. Lord Muta was using his brother, for reasons which to Albi were unclear. His gaze steady and without wavering lay upon a shocked Durnab who took an uncomfortable step back.

“How did you know?” he whispered with fear as he looked about him, scared that anyone had overheard his brothers unexpected declaration.

“It doesn’t matter how I know,” Albi said sharply as Geetham now clung onto his back. “There is no time in which to discuss this further, we must go.”

Albi walked about his brother slowly and came to stand before his friends, all of whom were huddled together, their warm cloaks of fir now drenched and ruined, upon the sand in a pile. Albi looked over their pale and withdrawn faces and felt his chest tighten with pain. In the near distance the sound of battle raged on. The bodies of the dead had been lovingly placed beside each other, a thin lining of sand upon their bodies and masking their disturbed faces. Durnab coming to stand at his side, swept away his frozen locks of hair and let out a pro-longed sigh of irritation. Feeling his brother’s tension, Albi kept his gaze upon those before him. Everyone looked lost, their sense of disorder bringing about a feeling of strength in Albi. They needed a leader and he was as often thought capable of leading his people to the town of Til. A need to protect those before him and his family took a hold of Albi, the nagging feelings of doubt surrendering to his defiant mood. This was not how the island of Summe would fall, at least not in his lifetime.

“The events of tonight will no doubt send vibrations of peril throughout our lands, and so it is up to all of us here to spread the word and aid our people in time of great trial and tribulation. We have lost a great many people this hour and will no doubt lose a great many more in the coming days and weeks, but we cannot simply give in to the enemy, no matter our positions in society. For those of you who must leave loved ones behind, I pledge you my help and life in the eyes of horror. Our people and our ancestors fought and died to preserve the greatness of this island, and so it is our duty to uphold their sacrifice. Tonight, we make for Til!”

A smile upon his lips, Albi turned about and began the long walk westwards in the direction of Til, leaving behind the burning city of Ashlouis.

Chapter One

Celestine

The night was dark and the great palace of Summe lay in silence and isolation but for the hungry mice and ravenous rats which feasted upon the crumbs of the evenings feast, their tiny feet scurrying across the grey stoned floors. The air swayed within the great hall, moved by the cold drafts which teased their ways through the large doors. Standing before a great hearth, the flames licking the cold air of the grey palace stood a pensive Celestine. She wore a gown of jet black wool, its hem embellished with golden thread and her waist with a copper belt, its length falling to the floor. Her fiery auburn hair hung loose about her long back, the tips teasing at her hips. About her neck, she wore a jewelled diamond bestowed upon her by Galean and the four keys of Eden, bestowed upon her by the late Merlin. The diamond was in the shape of a star and of the deepest yellow, the diamond necklace being but one of only two, the other worn by Galean. The orange, red and copper flames embraced the yellow stone with tenderness as Celestine rolled it between her fingers. She knew not the history of the jewel, only that it had belonged to Galean’s mother, the late High Queen Methal of Meer and had been blessed by the great dragon, Nuyay with fire and magic. Through the magic, she had been able to call out to Galean from across the universe and awaken him from a deep and relentless sleep which had tried and failed to kill him. Without much thought, Celestine drew her eyes down to the yellow jewel and three silver keys. A year had now passed since she had taken the first of many steps down a path laid out for her by fates stars, a path she had denied, a path she had ignored, a path which upon walking had brought great misfortune yet fortune. Everything in her life had altered and cemented itself to the great prophecy once told by her mother, the beautiful Unyae, daughter of Heiden, God of Aurelius and the universe. In the year which had passed by like the blinking of an eye, Celestine had found herself thrust from the arms of ignorance and innocence into a world, a destiny and a fate unprecedented. Many of her loved ones now danced amongst the stars, and many lay within great peril, all of them bequeathing their lives and honour at her feet for a cause she herself did not fully understand. She was the rightful heir to not one but two Kingdoms, firstly that of Aurelius, the Kingdom of starlight and lastly the Kingdom of Calnuthe which lay upon this planet of Unas. A terrible war fought between the forces of darkness and light, led by the devious Lord Lagar of Hellnuthe and the ancient God of Aurelius, Heiden had now come to its last stand and those caught between the two Kingdoms stood beneath the shadow of great peril. She and she alone was the only hope left to the races of men and guardians. Yet she did not stand alone between the great wielders of flame and light, for another stood opposite her, a half-brother of terrible power and an insatiable thirst for the blood of men and the ruination of all that shone brightly. He had been named after his grandfather and loved by her mother, but even the love of a doe could not pacify the cruel and ambitious son of Lagar, for no one would stand in the way of Heidan, heir to Hellnuthe, Aurelius and King of Calnuthe, the seat of her late father the High King Elieor. There lay no other path before Celestine, no other option or freedom of choice and decision of will, for the survival of all living things now depended upon Celestine and if she failed to find the Garden of Calhuni and defeat her brother, then a great darkness would fall upon the memory of her ancestors and all that was would wither and crumble into particles of dust laden upon the fall of mankind.

Her long fingers etching into the grey stone of the hearth and her striking golden eyes bearing down into the flames, Celestine let the memories of the last year roll over her once again; her husband’s death taking precedence. It had been but a day since her arrival upon the planet of Unas and already she felt lonely and strangely forgotten, despite the rallying call of Anvin and her new friends and in its course, it had dawned upon Celestine that she would find herself an outsider under the gaze of her people and that her journey to the Garden of Calhuni would be tainted with trials and tribulations. As she battled with the flames, she stood away from the hearth and rolled back the warm fabric of her gown and looked down at her arm, her veins black, a direct reaction to the dark magic used upon the isle of man in her battle against the knights of Hellnuthe. She knew not why her veins had turned black and was confused further by the sudden shift in her mood. Celestine felt as though she had been dealt a mortal wound, its blade rendering her weaker than before. In disgust, she rolled down her sleeve and turned from the fire. Everything had altered as she passed through time, and now she stood within the halls of summe, weakened and widowed. Everything was imperially different in this new world; the air felt sharper, the people deeper and the world older. The very land and all those who inhabited this ancient world were seeped in an ageless magic, a magic which electrified the very air about her person. Yet despite being introduced to the Sumerian world, she felt almost that she stood before a great glass wall, herself separated from everything that surrounded her. She was merely a spectator and felt herself thrust into an unending and disturbing dream from which she would never awaken. Touching the yellow diamond gently, Celestine moved through the isolated hall, weaving her way around the great round table which lay in the centre of the great palace, the golden chair belonging to the High Priest shimmering against the light of the fire. Passing by several long tables and chairs and over the grey floor, Celestine made for the great copper doors to the south, which stood tall and arched beneath an embellished full moon which lay at the top of the arched doorway, its rays of silver light running over the copper, their points touching the cool floor below. Standing a moment before the ancient doors, Celestine ran her fingers over the silver rays and closed her eyes briefly. Opening her eyes once more, she turned her gaze to the distinctive green Sumerian flag which stood erect beside the door, embellished with a copper flower that was surrounded by golden leaves and silver stars. Her chest rising and falling in sombre fragility, Celestine found the golden handles of the great doors and opened them wide, a great gust of cool air streaming over her with directed vengeance and suspicion. With determined feet, which were clad within warm, leather boots, she walked out onto the palace steps, two great Sumerian flags billowing against the harsh Autu winds. Striding to a halt upon the first step, she drew her eyes down to where several high soldiers of Summe stood in their copper armour, guarding the palace in silence.

The air was cold and crisp and upon the tips of the wind, Celestine felt an uncomfortable restlessness which had now fallen over the small island like dew upon the morning grass. Her loose locks of auburn hair dancing about her shoulders, she looked out over the sleeping city which lay within the ancient walls, which bore the lights of many torches, dutifully held by the many soldiers who were now stationed upon the walls for security. In comparison to the cities of England, Summe was vastly smaller and its population only a few thousand. Within the city, a hierarchy had been created many moons ago and was noticeably obvious due to the homes of its citizens. Those with little lived beside the walls in small, round huts and those with position, power and money lived about the great palace, temples and towers which lay upon a small hill overlooking the rest of the city which lay in the shape of a circle. The houses of those with money and position were not built from straw and mud, they were built with grey, white or brown stone and their circular roofs not of hay and straw but of fine tiles, all of which gleamed with gold, silver and copper. Even the streets differed, those closest to the palace made of cobbled stone instead of earth. The hem of her thick gown billowed about her ankles and with a frown, Celestine heard the sweet sound of singing and turned her eyes down the steps to were a priestess in a robe of burning orange stood singing in Sumerian. Per her friends, it was custom for a priestess to sing as a body lay within the temple of Iriisheene and until the burial of Theodore, the same priestess would sing to his spirit, her voice and words guiding his spirit to the afterlife. Lifting her eyes away from the elderly priestess, and turning them to the right, she found the temple of Iriisheene. It stood taller than the temple of Ininneene which stood to the left of the palace. Both were of circular dimensions and made from grey slate. The smaller of the two temples had roofs made of copper tiles, whilst the larger temples roof was of gold. The palace was instead made of fisha wood, a rare tree which only grew upon the island. Its roof whilst made of grey slate was also covered in a thick paste of tree roots and hashia leaves. Her eyes turning from the temple, Celestine drew them to the great towers which lay away in the distance beyond the temple of Ininneene. The towers reminded her of the great candles which lay within St Paul’s cathedral. There were four and apart from the astronomy tower, they were known as the towers of thought, wisdom and magic and its student were per Aabe, some of the greatest minds across the island. Women were excluded from the towers and were instead taught the ways of the mind and magic in the city of Nor, which lay upon the eastern coast of Summe.

Her heart restless and her mind without ease, Celestine quietly made her way down the steps of the palace, making sure to keep herself from tripping over her gown. With a sombre silence, she made for the temple of Iriisheene, in which her late husband lay. Her feet delicately strode over the cobbled ground and past the high houses, her eyes upon the open doors of the temple. The light of the full moon streamed down into the open space and illuminated the centre of the building and that of Theodore’s body which had been lain upon an altar of silver. Women were traditionally not allowed within the temple, however Anvin the high priest of the north had given her special permission to enter at her will. Standing upon the threshold, a great branch hanging above her, its branches painted in various colours, Celestine looked on with mixed emotions. She had refused to visit Theodore’s body, the memory of her near death at his hands still too painful, worse yet the actions of her own hands, haunting and disturbing. With a gulp and a push forward by the very forces of nature, she stepped over the threshold and entered the great temple. For a moment, she looked around in amazement. The roof above was covered in a thin layer of gold and its peak seemed to reach the heavens. Dotted across the roof were many branches which hung at different heights. She knew not what the symbolism behind the branches meant but assumed that they were held in either high regard or fear. The temple was circular in shape, however unlike the palace it was not divided into rooms, it was instead a wide and open space, divided into areas by thin veils of coloured silk which had upon them various scenes embellished with golden thread. The high alter lay at the epi-centre, the area co-ordained off by great candles which stood at, at least four feet in height. Turning her eyes to the altar, Celestine spotted the body of Theodore, which had been by religious custom, cleansed and laid bare beneath a blanket of red wool. From afar she could make out the features of his sleeping face. Slowly and ever aware that a dozen priests stood quietly about the foot of the altar in their gowns of red and black, Celestine made her way towards Theodore, coming to a halt before an elderly priest, whose eyes were upon the ground. Twelve such priests stood about the altar, all of them carrying lanterns of burning surpine oil, which was believed to protect the soul of the dead from being snatched by the claws of death. The smell was sweet yet putrid and with a sleeved arm, Celestine covered her nose. The vapour of the oil created a great cloud of gold and formed into the shape of a dome over the altar. Upon the entrance of this vaporised dome, Celestine stood, her vivid golden eyes upon the priest who stood before her.

“My lady,” the priest exclaimed softly as he bent over into a regal bow. Unsure of how to respond, Celestine waited for the man to move aside and upon doing so, she stepped forward, her feet ascending the feet steps which led to the altar. Upon entering a dome of vapour, Celestine felt her eyes widen with wonder. The golden vapour was filled with what looked like particles of diamonds, all of them creating a beautiful dome of colour and light. For a moment, Celestine stretched out a hand and weaved her fingers through the air, watching on as the sparkling particles swayed and danced about her. A small smile teased at her lips when at last she came to stand over her late husband, his pale skin dotted with the diamond particles. With dry eyes that were unable to find the strength to cry, she looked down into Theodore’s handsome face. Had she really shared her life with this man? Had he really been her best friend? Had he truly been her first love?

Celestine lay a hand upon Theodore’s heart and felt the little warmth in her veins disappear into disbelief. Was she the perpetrator in her marriage? Or had she been cruelly deceived by a man she had naively followed in life? She knew none of the answers to the most pressing of questions and knew not who to talk to about such things, for who could truly understand? Who could truly look upon her and claim that she had no part in Theodore’s terrible demise into darkness. The real question which burned deeply within her, was whether she could look within herself and feel at ease with her conscience. As she stood over Theodore, his face as handsome as she remembered, she heard the rustling of feet and turned about. Anvin the high priest stood upon the threshold of the temple, dressed in a simple gown of red. He looked withdrawn and tired as he stepped into the great space, the silent priests bowing before their master before retreating into the shadows. Celestine watched Anvin as he slowly made his way towards her, his illuminous eyes expressionless and his hands clasped before him.

“Throughout my life, my people have challenged me on many subjects, but there is a subject which lies at the forefront of their minds, do you know of which event terrifies them the most?” the ancient wizard asked, his voice soft and mellow as he came to stand beside Celestine, a head above her in height. He was lean and handsome, his jet-black hair falling with grace over his arms and back. Celestine looked up into his sparkling blue eyes, both dotted with stars.

“Death I should think,” Celestine returned dutifully. Upon first meeting Anvin, she had supposed that she should have felt terror seize at her, for he was indeed strange and a little terrifying to look upon. However, having met Merlin and his second son, Alsandair, Celestine felt only curiosity and a need to learn when in the presence of the illusive Anvin. Anvin walked about Theodore’s body, his eyes upon Celestine with intent.

“What do you see when you look upon your husband’s face?” he asked with a furrowed brow and serious tone. Celestine found her gaze dropping once more to Theodore and felt the familiar pang of guilt as her eyes roamed over his peaceful self. He was longer than she had thought and despite his cruel attempt at killing her, he looked all but innocent and childlike beneath her gaze, reminding her of the Theodore she had grown up with.

“Guilt,” she said under her breathe, noting just how long Theodore’s eyelashes were. Had she noticed them before now?

“I should have thought pity to be the most preoccupying feeling, perhaps I am wrong,” Anvin declared with confusion, his long fingers splayed upon the altar. Celestine raised her eyes to the wizard and found herself mystified by his sad gaze. He was in the image of his father and a deep nagging inside teased her into telling him so, but a need to keep herself at a distance from the great wizard kept her lips tight and her tongue under control. She knew of course that she would soon take his life and so to look upon him with innocence was in vain, for before her were two men in which she by her own hand, had and would murder. “Soo young and so heavily burdened. I am in awe that you stand before me, strong and defiant.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Celestine whispered darkly. “I am weak and I believe you mistake defiance for shock.”

“You faced much peril and face greater peril now more so than ever as you course, set upon,” Anvin said with curiosity beaconing in his eyes. “I cannot pretend to know the nature of your marriage to this man, nor why you wear one of the jewels of nuynian.”

Celestine quickly brought her fingers to the star shaped jewel which lay upon her chest, her eyes slipping to magical stone. She felt the air thin and alarm bells ringing, Anvin’s curious gaze deepening to that of suspicion. Celestine lifted her gaze, a wave of guilt running through her. Finding the wizard’s sharp blue eyes, she furrowed her brows and held the jewel tight.

“Jewel of nuynian?”

“Only two now remain of those that were bestowed upon the late Methal, High Queen of Meer and her husband Ballour, the High King of Ballour,” Anvin replied simply as he gazed upon the historic stone. “They come from the mountains of Dragna, which lie in the great Kingdom of Fiar. It is said that the first High King of Meer placed a star within the core of the great mount Slieveth. Its name means the heart of the mountain.”

“How did it come into the hands of men?”

“Many years ago when the lands of Meer were deeply immersed in a bloody war in which the blood of many innocent men turned the rivers red, a terrible King by the name of Banan enslaved the dragon Lord, Giloth and gave to him a terrible potion. The potion, its powers so dark that all those who looked upon its black liquid fell into disarray, unlocked Giloth’s tongue and opened his mind. His tongue and mind both lucid from the poison, Giloth let slip the location of the jewel. In return Banan killed the dragon Lord and slaughtered many of his kind. After many years Banan found the jewel and took it from the mountain, claiming it as his own.” Anvin saw the fear in Celestine’s eyes as he spoke of that terrible time. “He believed the stone would give to him immortality. Unfortunately, he did not take into consideration the effect of such purity when in the hands of such evil. Banan could not touch the jewel, for held within the hands of cruelty it burned at the skin and left only a pile of ash in its turn. The stone steadily sent men wild with anger and greed, many searching the length and breadth of the Kingdom for those of magic.” Anvin began to weave his fingers through the vapour, noticing the serious gaze with which Celestine held.

“What happened to the jewel?”

“For a time, the descendants and true heirs to the Kingdom of Meer had gone into hiding, many living within the Eerie Mountains,” Anvin explained, his eyes filled with stars. “The deceased dragon Lord left behind him a wife and daughter who fled from the mountains such was the terrible destruction by Banan. They fled to the Eerie Mountains and sought the help of the heir to the Meerin throne, Eioshir. The jewel of nuynian it is believed was the heart of Gabrenne’s wife. Gabrenne was a guardian who it is said was the son of Gabriel the fair. Upon finding the world of Unas, he brought with him his family and they settled among the new lands, both pure and untouched by those of Heiden’s blood. Unfortunately, the lands were ruled over by the Gruids, who walked beneath the shadows of the night. Gabrenne’s wife was cruelly murdered and it is said that the stone of nuynian is indeed her heart.”

Celestine tried to take in the deeply complicated story, her heart beating wildly under the jewel.

“Perhaps that is why only those of Gabrenne’s blood can touch the jewel without dying,” Anvin said with a slight smile. “Eioshir brought together his men and those of the dragna tribe and together they fought against Banan and took from him the throne of Meer. Upon finding the jewel which had been hidden within the hilt of Banan’s sword, Eioshir divided the stone of starlight into two separate jewels and upon his wedding to Giloth’s daughter, Ailbth, he gave her the smaller of the two.”

“So the jewels were passed down from King to heir?”

“Many wars dot the line of history from the dreadful reign of Banan and over time the jewels became lost, many believing them to have been brought back to the mountain from which they were taken,” Anvin explained kindly. “They were in fact placed beneath the great tree of Meer which lies in the Kingdom of Galgor and the forest of Dulga.” As his words washed over him, Anvin quickly turned away and bite down upon his bottom lip. Celestine watched the wizards back arch forward in pain and wondered at his sudden sadness. “The tree of Meer was planted by Gabrenne who was bestowed upon him one seed by Heiden, in honour of Gabrenne’s duty and loyalty. The seed was from the great tree of Aurelius which lies at the heart of your grandfather’s kingdom. It is the tree in which all your ancestors are buried and from which great power can be sought. Four such trees exist upon this planet and the planets inhabited by guardians.” Anvin turned his eyes to Celestine, a tear of silver falling upon his cheek. “The tree of Meer has been destroyed this last week and for that my heart is heavy and troubled.”

“But my grandfather, he can give you another seed can he not?” Celestine asked with hope. Anvin smiled down at the optimistic Celestine and merely shook his head.

“Were it so easy my child,” he said with a discarded laugh. “Were life so easy then we shouldn’t find ourselves in the throes of darkness. But life is not straight forward and unyielding like an arrow piercing through the air and neither are the rules which govern the universe nor those who sit upon the throne. The high tree of Aurelius only blooms once during the reign of the existing God or Goddess and only sheds two dozen seeds. And so, to be given such a seed is in indeed a great honour and very rare. The death of the tree of Meer is a terrible omen upon the world and its consequences have already been felt.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will see,” Anvin said with a mysterious look as he came about the altar and stood before Celestine. “As for the jewel with which you bare, it was found by Galean’s mother, Methal. She was the descendant of the dragna tribe and keeper of the dragons. During her year of testing, she roamed the Kingdoms of Meer by herself and found herself under the tree of Meer. It was here that she felt the presence of the jewels and found them. Upon her travels, home she met the young Ballour who was touring his Kingdoms with his father. They fell in love and like their ancestors bestowed upon each other the jewels, Methal having the great dragon Nuyay breath over the jewels and encasing them with magic. And so I wonder how it is that you come to wear a jewel of nuynian?”

Celestine felt her cheeks burn under the wizard’s gaze. As she looked for the words, she felt the jewel warm beneath her touch.

“It was given to me by Lord Galean, son to the High King Ballour of Meer,” she said with shaking lips, afraid of immediate judgement. His back straight and the flickering light of a thousand diamonds reflecting against his gown, Anvin looked down into Celestine’s golden eyes and fell into silence.

“You have given yourself to the son of Ballour?” Anvin whispered darkly, his words aching from disappointment.

“Nothing untoward has happened between us my Lord,” Celestine said quickly, her need to defend her betrayal to her husband burning deep within.

“So, the prophecy of your mother speaks truth?”

“I believe so my Lord,” Celestine whispered with a guilty nod. “Though I did not know of the prophecy until after meeting Galean.”

Anvin looked down into the innocent face of Theodore, his own eyes troubled and dark.

“Beware he which walk with troubled soul, under wings of death and heart of woe. For he shall wield a blade of green, to fell the princely doe.” Anvin said aloud as he pressed the tip of his index finger upon Theodores forehead, his eyes closing briefly. Celestine watched the wizard’s face alter and change as he focused on Theodore. After what felt like a lifetime, Anvin opened his eyes and looked up into the distraught face of Celestine. “These are dark time indeed my Lady. Heed my words, all is not as it should be nor shall it be.”

“What can you mean?”

“The veil of fate blows against a harsh wind Celestine,” Anvin said darkly as he lifted away his index finger from Theodore. With haste, he came to Celestine and took her by the arms gently. “You must keep your eyes open and under no circumstances close them, do you understand?”

“You are scaring me my Lord,” Celestine muttered under her breath, the tips of his fingers sending an uneasy energy through her. “You are speaking in riddles, riddles in which I do not fully understand.”

“You shall in time my Lady,” Anvin said clearly, his eyes without shine or stars. “Everything will soon come to pass.”

Celestine took a step back as the wizard’s words seeped into her with discomfort. A moment they stood still, the hems of their gowns dancing about their feet. She felt the eyes of the priests upon her as she gazed upon the powerful wizard and son to the great Merlin.

“I must ask, how was the tree of Meer was destroyed?” Celestine quizzed the high priest, his thick brows furrowed and fraught with tension.

“A terrible witch roams the lands and skies,” Anvin said darkly, his words laced with an anger so deep that it cut Celestine sharply. “Her name is Ethla and she is a black witch. She is possessed of a power not yet before seen in another of my kind. Some day’s past she took the egg of Aurora, Nuyay’s mate and sought out the ashes of the last terrible dragon, Belnun and has brought him to life. Such is her power and such is its darkness that she has slain the tree of Meer and is soon to bring upon my people a terrible war of which no one has ever before witnessed.”

“What of the other trees? Are they safe?” Celestine asked quickly, her words broken and her hands shaking with fear for this black witch. “How did you know of her treachery?”

“The roots of the trees connect to each other through the earth,” Anvin explained as he crossed his arms. “One of the surviving three lies upon the island of Frye, which lies but a few miles north of Summe. Yester evening, I was sent word that the roots were brought forth from the earth and broken.”

“Another lies upon this island?” Celestine whispered, aware that the priests were looking on at them with suspicious eyes.

“Yes,” Anvin returned with a look of sombre agony. “My gaze has fallen upon its beauty only once, for the secretive people of Frye do not allow anyone to step foot onto their land, not without good reason. Many who have tried to reach the tree have never returned. They are the first guardians of the tree and will not so willingly step aside, for the tree bares many a rare treasure, treasures of such a nature that many a good man would fall into the darkness to bestow. I believe you may have visited another such tree?”

Celestine felt the crease between her brow furrow and her gaze drop to Anvin’s felt shoes. She quickly ran through her memories and found them halting upon one particular memory, that of the garden of Calhuni. With surprise, she looked up at Anvin, a half smile upon her lips.

“The garden of Calhuni?”

“Or as it is known to my kind, the garden of Kings,” Anvin returned with a slight nod. The air within the dome of vapour changed as the wizard and Celestine’s conversation took on a new form. Celestine took a step back and placed her hands upon her stomach.

“What can this mean? What lies ahead?” she asked vaguely, her heart stirred with shadow and distress. As she looked upon Anvin, she noticed his gaze lower to the key which lay upon her golden chain about her neck. As if she had uttered the words herself, Anvin’s furrowed brows straightened and the corners of his lips curved into a knowing smile.

“So, it is true what my father predicted all those years ago,” he said weakly. “I will die at your hand.”

Celestine knew not what to say as she felt her form become infinitely smaller than the great wizard who stood before her.

“You see my lady, death does take precedence over everything,” Anvin continued as he stretched out his long hands. Afraid, Celestine took a step back, unsure of the mysterious man before her. He was much like his father and though he had entrusted his life in her hands, she still knew not if he was true and loyal. The light within the dome began to fade and the air began to tighten as Anvin stepped forward, his great blue eyes filled with a thousand skies and his thick brows casting a terrible shade over Celestine. Celestine felt her weaker side thin in what little strength she had left, a familiar jolt of warmth beginning to run through her veins. With shaking hands, she flung out her arms, the sleeves of her gown falling back against her elbows to reveal her marked hand and arm. Anvin’s gaze fell to her blackened arm and with it the tightening air suddenly vanished and the light returned.

“Do not be afraid Celestine,” Anvin said kindly, his thick brows straightening once more. “I mean you no harm.”

“How can I know that? How am I to trust anyone?” Celestine muttered as she summoned her powers, the electricity sparking at the tips of her fingers.

“Because we are bound you and I, and I made an oath to my father, to protect you until my dying breath,” Anvin returned with a fatherly nod. “You must forgive my reaction. I was a taken by surprise that is all. Now I understand his last words to me.”

“I do not wish to take your life or the life of any person,” Celestine said faintly, her eyes turning to the dead corpse of her husband. “It seems that I have no choice in the matter. It seems I have very little choice in anything I do.”

“Celestine, you do have a choice,” Anvin declared with feeling as he stretched out his hands and caught her own. Celestine felt the warmth of his skin seep into her own and felt her heartbeat slow down. “We all have a choice.”

“It is my destiny is it not?”

“Nothing is ever set in stone Celestine,” Anvin said with a perplexed look. “No matter the prophecies, our destiny can always alter, for they are not only made up of one person or one event. Should any detail change or vanish, then the very fabric of the prophecy changes course.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” Celestine whispered darkly. Ashamed and confused, Celestine withdrew her hands from Anvin and walked away, her eyes turned from Theodore. “How can I walk along a path which bears no light in which to guide me? Why hasn’t my grandfather come to me? Why do I feel that I must walk this path alone? And why do I feel that all those who follow shall end up upon this altar?”

“Not all who follow you shall die, and those who do, shall not die in vain my lady. The path in which you walk has been long hidden beneath the veils of darkness and shadows, it is a path in which many have searched for and failed, yet it is the path in which we all must take.”

“How can I defeat my brother when I have been rendered wounded by my own magic?” Celestine cried pathetically, her back arched and her hands tightened into fists. She looked down upon her blackened arm and hand and felt disgust. “I have failed before I have even started out on this journey.”

“As to your wounded arm, I may have the answer, if you are willing to listen to an elderly man who has a well of knowledge?”

Celestine wondered if the wizard was trying to be funny. Certainly, she picked up the hints of mirth in his voice, but found his words to be without humour for she liked to believe that he was a well, filled with knowledge for she would depend upon him a great deal in the future. Standing rigid, Celestine felt Anvin’s hand upon her shoulder.

“Come child, you have nothing to fear, remember you are Heiden’s grand-daughter and I merely your servant,” Anvin said with kindness as he turned Celestine about. “Come do not shed anymore tears, at least not at my expense.”

“I am not sure if I am cut out for this or indeed ready,” Celestine whispered between sobs. “I have already lost so much.”

“Unfortunately, my dear, your journey will be fraught with pain and misery,” Anvin said simply. “It is the necessary evil which you must bear. There is no point in dwindling away your strength by pining over the difficulties you face, you have by all accounts already proved yourself thus far and I am assured that you shall turn into a fine and capable young woman and Queen. Now as to your wounded arm and hand, I believe that because you are half human, your human body may be somewhat allergic to the magic you bare.”

“So, my mother’s genes are allergic to my fathers?” Celestine returned with a confused look.

“In so many words yes, but I have not heard of the word ‘genes’ before?”

“It is a medical term used to define your biological makeup,” Celestine said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“I see,” Anvin returned with a pro-longed see.

“Can my arm and hand be cured of this curse? I doubt I shall be much use without my mother’s powers?”

“Unfortunately, it cannot be altered, at least not until you are crowned Queen and blessed by Heiden himself,” Anvin said with a pitiful smile. “It is a little untimely and a little bit frustrating I know, but I am not surprised by the reaction your body has had to using dark magic. I do however know of an ointment that can somewhat remedy the issue for the immediate future. However, to claim such an ointment may prove tricky.”

Celestine looked up into Anvin’s face, searching his fine lines for any trace of hope. No such lines of hope were to be found as he looked down at her wounded arm and hand.

“What must I do?” she whispered with fright.

“You must go to the island of Frye, for there and only there will you find an elixir which can act as a defence against the human part of yourself,” Anvin said as he held up a hand. “But be aware Celestine, daughter of Unyae and Elieor, to receive this elixir, you must give in return.”

“What can you mean?” Celestine asked darkly, her eyes upon her blackened veins.

“The fryrian people are not often given to acts of kindness to those who do not belong to them,” Anvin stated bluntly. “They take their roles as protectors very seriously. Many have tried and failed to deceive them. They may ask of you something in which you may not wish to give. They will ask from you a terrible sacrifice. And if you are granted this elixir, there is no saying if they will allow you to leave, for they will fear greatly the consequences of helping you.”

“And if I do not go in search of the elixir, what then?”

“You cannot continue to use your powers, for every time in which you do, you will in turn kill the human part of yourself…” Anvin said very carefully. “You will in essence, kill yourself.” Anvin leaned in darkly. “No one must know of this, for if news of this reaches your brother then I am afraid the winds of your fate will turn. All those who oppose you will be greatly gladdened by such news, especially Ethla.”

Celestine gulped at the wizard’s words and merely nodded her head as the terrible news of her own curse sunk in.

“Then I shall have to find the elixir.”

Chapter Two

Maethilda

The Maid’s Hand was bustling with over-zealous soldiers and young maids, many sitting upon the laps of their drunken customers. With relative comfort, the local customers had gathered in from the torrential rain outside, spurred on by the unchecked moods which often dictated the Auta months. The air was tight and stringent with the rough smell of thinly brewed laman and the tables were swollen with rowdy friends, angered farmers and those of the elder generation who sat closely huddled together, their conversations focused on the current events and oncoming war. Close to the bar, old Barrin Mewley played on his fiddle whilst singing the aggrieved song of Buana the Fair, who was ruthlessly cut down by the jealous moon who envied her locks of hair which had been sewn from the sun’s rays. A few lonesome characters sat upon their round stools watching on, many with tear stained eyes. Sitting under a large round window and about a small round table that was dotted with empty wooden goblets and a small lantern sat Maethilda and her friends, all of them wearing expressions of unease and discomfort. As usual, Maethilda wore her usual attire of black boots, leather pants, a black and green tunic and a silver belt about her waist. Her crop of flaxen blonde hair was slowly beginning to grow back, having been cut off in a dramatic attempt at disguising herself throughout the Splelin Games in which she and her pickets had to abandon with haste in order to rescue Celestine. The new cut had as her dear friend Evalean commented on several occasions added a touch of mystery to her boyish look and she had to agree, she felt stronger and bolder with shorter hair, and even believed that the male soldiers with whom she was often mocked, seemed to have backed off from her and kept their teasing words firmly clipped behind their roguish tongues.

With large buds of angry rain hitting the glass window with defiance and the small tavern filled with an assemble of varying sounds, ranging from drunken brawls to the soft lamenting of Barrin on his fiddle, Maethilda looked about the sombre faces of her friends, Aabe the young wizard and son of Anvin, Evalean, the gentle and ethereal friend and sister to Morad and Celestine, their new and mysterious friend who had unwillingly killed her husband in a bloody fight upon the beaches of Eel Cove. Their conversation had been trying and etched with frustration as the order to make for Frye island to find an elixir for Celestine bore consequences for all those sitting around the table and their previous plans. In but twelve hours’ time the great funeral of Theodore would take place under the rays of the dimming sun and full moon. It would be most likely the last great cultural occasion witnessed by the people of Summe, whereby they could let loose their fears of the future and embrace their ancient heritage in a montage of music, dance and merry making. It would be a night to remember for all those in attendance, by which the ancient spirits of the island would roam free under the gaze of the moon in an ancient dance between the living and the dead. For Maethilda, the funeral procession, service and celebrations could only darken her heart and mind, for she knew that as the sun arose of the Sumerian hills that the fate of her adopted people would greatly alter and change. It burdened her so to gaze over a future in which the magical people of Summe would diminish against the shadow of darkness which crept ever southward, its eyes without mercy and its shade without warmth.

Tracing the tip of her index finger around the rim of her goblet, she spotted the familiar faces of her friends and co-pickets, Sabia, Innis and Mairina. Dressed in a similar fashion and little intoxicated, they were arguing with a group of young male soldiers, their cheeks flushed with frustration and their eyes sparkling with defiance. Catching the gaze of Sabia, Maethilda rolled her eyes and heard her friends loud peel of laughter cross the loud tavern. She was a little wary of her picket’s behaviour, as a pattern of intense brawling seemed to ensue after almost every venture to any tavern within the city, and there was the sacramental story of The Dier’s Head burning down due to such a quarrel. Not really in the mood for another tavern being burnt to the ground, Maethilda lifted a hand and motioned for the women to settle down, their tempers brewing and warming extensively. Tearing her eyes away from her friends, Maethilda allowed her gaze to fall upon the sullen Celestine, who sat with her head in her hands.

“Surely there must be another way?” Evalean asked Aabe, with optimistic eyes. She was fair, ethereal and sweet natured, everything that Maethilda detested in herself, yet adored in her best friend. “Sailing to Frye is surely a suicide mission?”

“My father would not have proposed such a mission if he had little faith in us reaching the island and returning with the elixir,” Aabe returned with a groan, his sharp eyes soothing a little under Evalean’s gentle gaze. She, unlike Maethilda and Celestine wore a fine gown of emerald green, and despite her short dark locks, wore a crown of wild flowers about her head. Maethilda found it impossible to look upon her without feeling the familiar pangs of heartache at Morad’s absence. Since their night of love making, she had fallen into a state of bitterness and contempt, his departure so brutal and without care, as though that night was nothing of significance, at least on his part. But that was the nature of Morad, he was distant, frustrated and easy to anger. He wanted to lift himself from the grounds of misery and poverty and elevate himself upon the higher ground of honour, power and position. His vision of a better life had never gone un-noticed by his sister and friends and had often cropped up within heated debates, but never had she witnessed such a change in his countenance as she had this past year. His disgust and hatred towards his past and the roots which bound him to this world, had deepened and his boiling envy at having been born without magic, position or purpose had dented his world view and only threatened to make him colder and even more rigid, despite being brought up within the court of Anvin and having been greatly loved by the High Priests family, especially Adadine, Aabe’s sister. Both Morad and Adadine had shared a secret love for one another, a deep-seated care for each other that by-passed his care towards herself. The death of Adadine had wounded Morad, and despite her instant grief, pacified her jealousy, at least for a while. Now, Morad was greatly admired by the young soldiers and being both, handsome and strong, he was sought after by many a woman and had lain with a great deal of admirers. He wasn’t the young and adventurous soul which she had grown up with, now he was greatly revered among his men and with such power, his view of Maethilda had thinned. She had thought that night would have changed her friends view of her, but his departure had brought with it a terrible realisation that perhaps she had placed Morad upon a pedestal too grand and glorious. Perhaps there was no changing a man who was seeped in a deep hatred for the life into which he had been born, a deep and envious hatred at her own position, being the only daughter and rightful heir to Taer.

Feeling Aabe’s ever inquisitive gaze upon her, Maethilda looked away from her goblet and merely smiled in awkward kindness, ever aware of the risk all of them were currently undertaking. She knew that in time she would find her purpose and path, and indeed was keenly aware that to re-claim her purpose she had to place a great deal of trust in her knew ally, who if truth be known, was tangibly cynical and fraught with disbelief.

“How long would it take for us to reach the island?” Celestine asked quietly as she played with her empty goblet, her golden eyes dark and without shine. Despite having her head covered by the hood of her dark cloak, the eyes of the soldiers wandered over to their table, their curiosity and keen suspicion of the young Queen electrifying the air. They had known one another but a few days and yet to Maethilda at least, it had felt as though Celestine had always been a part of their small group, even if the young woman felt isolated and alone.

“It is a three-day ride to the city of Ashlois,” Aabe returned in kindness, his blue eyes settling upon Celestine in brotherly affection. Each of them were in some way or another bound to one another and this sense of kinship had only tightened the bonds between them. However, the bond between the young wizard and Celestine was somehow different – it being infused with a hidden secret which lay between only them. “My father has instructed us to leave by mid-day tomorrow, believing the island will soon fall prey to Ethla and Beon’s men.”

“We cannot simply leave our people here without aid,” Maethilda groaned with desperation as she mercilessly grabbed her goblet and moved it about the surface of the wooden table in anger. “Our defences are not strong enough to withhold an army, especially an army under the command of a black witch and her immortal dragon. Summe needs us,” Maethilda argued as she leaned in. Lowering her voice, ever aware of their neighbouring tables, she considered the sombre eyes of Aabe. “We cannot leave them un-aided. That was not the oath in which myself and my pickets took. We swore to protect our people even unto death.” Silence fell over the group as Maethilda’s words touched a chord. “Anyway, how can we hope to destroy a dragon who has been raised from the dead?”

“Our mission is to protect Celestine,” Aabe said with feeling, seeing the anger in his young friend’s eyes. “I understand your argument Maettie, but you know the roles in which we must play. Our task is to bring Celestine to the Garden of Kings, only then can those of the dead be destroyed. The magic of my people is no enough anymore,” Aabe said with emotion, his words breaking under the realisation that his own powers were useless against those of Ethla and her beast. “We have highly trained soldiers who will protect our island.”

“She has come looking for Celestine Maettie,” Evalean interceded as she placed a warm hand upon her friends. “We cannot allow Ethla to take our only weapon, we must follow Anvin’s orders.”

“And what of Morad?” Maethilda whispered, her words heralding her to fix her gaze upon the slated floor beneath. She could feel Aabe’s knowing eyes upon her in judgement and those of Evalean’s, but it was Celestine’s gaze which nurtured her wounded heart.

“He is Anvin’s commander of men, his place will be here among the people,” Aabe answered plainly. “He will not be following us Maethilda.”

“So, we are to leave him behind?” Evalean asked through trembling lips. “Our friend and my brother?”

The table became quiet as Evalean’s gentle face fell into dismay and shock. Maethilda found Aabe’s gaze and sent him a dark look of determined insolence. Aabe turned to Evalean and clasped both of her hands within his own. It was to both Maethilda and Celestine a moment of tenderness and bittersweet pain, as they beheld the often quiet and unchecked love between the shy wizard and his gentle Evalean, who looked upon him with a gaze of besotted ignorance, a look which troubled Maethilda, for she had worked long and hard upon moulding Evalean’s independent nature, in the hope that she would somehow become ever more reliant upon her own mind.

“Evalean, it is his duty to stay behind and lead our soldiers into battle,” Aabe explained softly, a tear shedding from Evalean’s eye at his words. “It is a duty of which he chooses to embrace. When the war is over, he can follow us.”

“How will he know where to find us?” Evalean asked sheepishly, her dark eyes illuminated by the dying flame of the candle which lay rigid within the golden lantern. Maethilda’s ears piqued at her friend’s question, a question she had urgently wished to ask but felt compelled by pride and slight shame to keep oppressed.

“I shall send word to my father of our whereabouts,” Aabe lied, his eyes quickly darting to Evalean’s hands in haste, so that his guilty look could not be seen. As Aabe tried to calm a nervous Evalean, Maethilda caught sight of a man huddled into the far corner, his face covered by the shadow of his dark hood. Not far from him, her pickets were falling into an unholy brawl with their male friends.

“Aabe!” Maethilda whispered quickly, her heart uneasy by the man’s cool and collective pose, his dark eyes upon their table. Still in deep conversation with Evalean, Maethilda lightly tapped on the young wizard’s arm. “Aabe!” she whispered with urgency. Her words going un-noticed, Maethilda swiftly kicked her friend under the table and heard him yelp in agony, his blue eyes turning to her own.

“My God Maettie, what was that for!”

“There is a man watching us,” Maethilda whispered darkly, aware that Celestine’s darkened eyes suddenly came to life. In fact, an extraordinary thing suddenly happened. Celestine pressed both of her hands down upon the table firmly, and bent her head slightly, her eyelids flickering up and down at a rapid pace. Aabe turned to Celestine and with speed took to his feet and pounced before the young Queen, his arms outstretched. At once the light in the tavern and the merry voices came to an abrupt halt. Barrin’s fiddle fell to the ground and his singing waded into the dark air. Maethilda slowly took to her feet, her eyes on the strange Celestine who looked as though she was about to convulse violently. Across the tavern, soldiers withdrew their swords and the pickets took to their feet, unleashing their own blades. The stranger unleashed his long arms and outstretched them, the flaps of his dark cloak dancing behind his tall form elegantly as he spoke darkly in the Sumerian language, which was a derivative of Meerin.

“Sia der eught! (Speak your name!)” Aabe said aloud as Celestine’s head fell hard onto the table, her whole body shaking with terror. Maethilda ran to her friend’s side and placed a protective arm across her arm. She felt Celestine’s healing body shake roughly beneath her touch and looked to Evalean, who sat upon the opposite side of Celestine, her eyes speckled with fear. Looking over her shoulders she saw the strange man take two strides forward, a spark of red sprouting from his eyes like fire.

“Ga spiri tuu at, esaurd! (Give her to me, wizard!)” the man said aloud, his voice dark and resounding, the words from his mouth shaking the very foundation of the small building. Instead of rushing forward to aid the young wizard against the enemy, the soldiers drew back into the comforts of the wall, their lips trembling and their eyes blinking heavily, any trace of bravery vanishing. Turning her attention to Celestine, Maethilda shook her gently.

“Celestine, can you hear me?” Maethilda whispered hurriedly into Celestine’s ear, her hood falling over her head. Evalean shook her head, her eyes large and her pupils dilated. “We need to get her out of here now!”

“Yes, yes quick we can use the back door,” Evalean said quickly. Behind them, Maethilda could hear the dark enchantments being cast across the tavern as Aabe and the assassin became violently intertwined in a battle of magic. Looking up at the powerful Aabe, Maethilda nodded in Evalean’s direction and together they lifted Celestine up onto her feet, her body shaking violently. Bringing their arms under her own, they forcefully dragged her towards the bar. Spotting Halan the owner, Maethilda caught his terrified gaze.

“Open the latch Halan!” she ordered loudly as those within the tavern started to make a run for it, stools and chairs being cast aside in desperation as they darted towards the door, everyone leaving but for the loyal pickets who stayed behind, their eyes upon the departing Maethilda, Celestine and Evalean. Catching Sabia’s gaze, Maethilda watched the young picket unleash her sword and jump towards the man, who in the blink of an eye brought forth a sword of fire and struck her fiercely, the blade of fire running straight through her body. Maethilda caught a glimpse of her friend as she fell unceremoniously to the ground with a loud crash as she fell over a wooden table. Halan opened the back door quickly, the heavy rain thundering down over Summe with vengeance. As the friends dragged the unreceptive Celestine through a back street, their feet covered in a dark mud, Celestine’s body instantly stopped shaking and straightened. Maethilda looked to a stunned Evalean as they both dropped their arms from the quiet Celestine, whose eyes turned a sudden shade lighter.

“Aabe…” she whispered under her breath as Maethilda and Evalean turned to her with surprise.

“You are in danger Celestine, we must return to the palace now!” Maethilda declared with need, the heavy buds of raining casting their cold water over her shaved head, the buds running down her face and neck.

“No!” Celestine returned with ardent desperation as she flung back her hood and revealed herself in a moment of glory. Maethilda felt her power radiate from her as she turned about abruptly and ran back into the tavern.

“Maettie what are we to do?” Evalean cried out as she unleashed her sword from its sheath. Maethilda watched the hem of Celestine’s cloak disappear through the tavern and shook her head in disbelief. Feeling the pain of Sabia’s unexpected death hit her hard in the abdomen, Maethilda let out a low growl and brought forth her own sword ‘Fire’. Blinking through the heavy rain, she lifted her green gaze to Evalean.

“Go to Anvin at once and warn him!” Maethilda commanded Evalean harshly as she took a step forward and found her friend’s small hands. “Go now Evalean, the city has been infiltrated by enemies, we must act accordingly.”

“But Aabe!” Evalean cried out with a whimper.

“Aabe is a wizard Evie, you need not worry! Now go!” Maethilda commanded as she turned upon her heel and ran back into the tavern. Coming to the bar, she knelt down, the voices of Aabe, Celestine and the stranger vibrating around the tavern coldly. Lifting her eyes over the top of the wooden bar, she caught sight of Celestine, standing before Aabe. She looked formidable and her power and sheer presence weakened the presence and power of Aabe.

“Celestine flee! You cannot use your powers!” Aabe cried out as Celestine reached out her right hand, her eyes coming alive with an unchartered spirit. She stood tall, her auburn hair falling loosely over her back. Before her the tall man stood with his right hand outstretched before her, a sly smile upon his lips. Maethilda saw the dead figure of Sabia upon the ground and bite down low upon her bottom lip. It seemed that there was no other choice set before her, she knew that Celestine had been forbidden to use her magic, and realised that Aabe’s own power seemed decreasingly useful and so she had but one route, she had to kill the man before Celestine used her powers and ultimately killed herself. Slipping down onto the ground once more, she crawled her way along the floor until she reached the other end of the bar, her body directly in line with the assassin’s. A terrifying white light broke out as the invader cast a ball of white fire at Celestine, who quickly moved out of the way. In return, Aabe murmured a counter spell under his breath and suddenly at once, the lone knives upon the wooden tables arose into the air, their pointed ends turning in the direction of the man, whose own dark hood now fell away from his face. He was older than Aabe, and had a painted star upon his forehead. Maethilda’s brows fell into a crease as she looked upon the man, who bore no specific colours in which to indicate his clan, only painted stars and spots upon his face and neck. It was she knew, common for those who were traditionally apart of the darker circles of magic upon the island to bare such markings, but what she asked herself, was his mission this day? Why was he in want of Celestine?

Although such a question seemed ridiculous, considering the worth of such a person as Celestine, Maethilda could not understand why the dark keisha would try to kill her. A little perplexed by the situation, Maethilda continued to crawl until she came to the latch. Her sword unleashed, she slowly opened the wooden latch of the bar and slipped through quietly. She caught sight of the warring trio, a clash of magnificent colours unfurling from their fingertips. Crawling across the cold surface she spotted the dead Sabia, whose eyes were open and tainted with a petrified fear. Grasping a hold of her sword, she caught Aabe’s gaze and merely brought an index finger to her lips, commanding him to act in ignorance of her presence. Celestine was trying but failing to defeat her enemy, and instead fell to the ground in submission of his dark magic. As Aabe cried out once more a hymn of magic retort, Maethilda had crawled close enough to the enemy as to find her feet and quickly pierce him with her blade.

“Maethilda no!” Aabe exclaimed as the man fell to his knees in pain, a silvery blood rushing from his wound. Maethilda watched as the silvery liquid spilled upon his dark cloak, her blade falling to the floor with a resounding sound which echoed throughout the tavern. Lifting her gaze to a pain stricken Aabe, who dashed to Celestine’s side, she felt confused by her friends’ exclamation.

“He was going to kill you both?” she said meekly as the man let out one last cry and fell upon his side, his body withering into an unsightly state of agony, a pool of silver blood surrounding him.

“What have you done?” Aabe said aloud as he lifted a lifeless Celestine into his arms.

“What I should have done!” Maethilda returned in confusion as she strode over to the lifeless form of Sabia. “He killed my friend!”

“He is a keisha Maettie! To kill a member of the Keisha is to sign your own death warrant!” Aabe cried out with rage. Maethilda watched the young wizard lay Celestine down upon a nearby table. “My friend, you have put yourself into an unmovable position.”

“I don’t understand?” Maethilda said weakly as she cradled her friend in her arms, a terrible realisation washing over her. “What do you mean, I have signed my own death warrant?.” As she cradled her friend, Aabe came to her side and knelt before her, his eyes scanning her confused face.

“The Keisha can access each other’s thoughts,” Aabe explained with kindness. “They will have known that you struck this man and killed him, although I believe their motive was to have Celestine kill him instead.”

“You mean this was a suicide mission?” Maethilda said with a shake of fear. She looked over at the withering corpse, which strangely enough seemed to be decomposing right before her at such a speed, she felt a little nauseous. Her nose screwed up and her eyes squinted, she looked to Aabe. “Is that normal?”

“The keisha are not made from human blood and skin, they are river dwellers and are sown from the skin and blood of their ancestors who once lived beneath the waters,” Aabe explained as he watched the assassins body disappear before his eyes. “It is a terrible crime to kill one of the Keisha.”

“But why did they send one of their own here to kill Celestine?” Maethilda quizzed her friend as Celestine awoke from her unconscious state. Maethilda observed Celestine as she lifted herself to her feet and rubbed her eyes as though exhausted.

“I do not know,” Aabe answered seriously, his brows furrowed with thought.

“What was that?” she asked aloud, her feet slamming down upon the ground. Maethilda watched Celestine as she drew back the sleeve of her arm and looked down upon her black veins. It was it had to be noted, an unsightly scene to take in. Maethilda watched the young woman throw down the sleeve with displeasure, her cheeks pale and his lips without colour. Clearly the magic of the Keisha assassin had wounded her, for she looked weak upon her feet and her body swayed slightly.

“That was an ancient being,” Aabe explained to Celestine, he now also upon his feet. “He comes from a tribe called the Keisha, who live upon the lake of Saios. They are of the water and do not look upon those of Summe with pleasure, believing our kind to have massacred their own.”

“And did you?” Celestine asked bluntly as she looked down over the fading man, her golden eyes alert and pensive.

“The stories are marred by various accounts, no one will ever truly know,” Aabe answered with a shrug. With a groan the young wizard walked over to Celestine, his eyes hard. “I told you not to use magic and you disobeyed, father will not be pleased.”

“I couldn’t very well allow that man to kill my friends, could I?” Celestine returned with raised brows, her arms crossed beneath her. “Although the colour of his magic was unlike any I have thus felt, it nearly suffocated me.”

“The Keisha are a very powerful people,” Aabe said with a sigh as he walked about the corpse of the man, his eyes keen and curious, having never been so close to such a creature. “But this night, an ancient oath between our own kind and theirs has been broken and I am afraid the consequences will be significant, if the tales of Gulda are to be taken literally.”

“What do you mean?” Celestine returned quietly, her eyes catching sight of the sombre look upon Maethilda’s tired face.

“A life for a life,” Aabe said seriously as he turned to look down upon Maethilda. “We must flee this island before they find you Maethilda. I believe their mission was to have you kill this man,” Aabe said to a silent Celestine. “For what end I do not know, but they will be greatly displeased that your hand did not fell this man. We must be rationale and expect for them to attack again.”

The friends looked upon one another with misery and dismay, such was the impact of Aabe’s words.

“But we cannot flee!” Maethilda said with heated feeling. “I shall not run from my enemies.”

“I am afraid that you have no choice before you now, you must do as I say,” Aabe ordered with a bittersweet note to his words. “Maethilda I beg of you to listen to my council. You do not have the power to out-wit the Keisha, none of us do. They bare a terrible dark magic.”

“But you are a wizard! Surely that has to mean something?” Celestine quizzed Aabe as she made her way about him and came to stand beside a shocked Maethilda. She looked down into the petrified face of the young woman and felt pity, she was as Maethilda put it upon their first meeting, feisty and strong, yet such qualities were now fraught with impending disaster. Aabe looked at Celestine with a look so forlorn she felt guilty for asking him such an obvious question.

“It is never as easy as just being a wizard my lady,” Aabe replied with caution and grace. “I would have thought that you most of all would understand the predicament I find myself in. The priests of Summe do not undertake the ancient dark magic with which the Keisha use. They are such a secretive tribe and we have such little literature about their workings, that my magic is futile against their own.”

Before Maethilda could intervene, the doors of the tavern flew open and in swept Anvin, followed by a nervous Evalean, who, out of character rushed into Aabe’s arms for comfort. Maethilda caught Celestine’s surprised look and for the briefest of moments observed an intense pain pass over her pale face. Finding Anvin, Maethilda looked for comfort but found anger in his silvery-blue eyes. The tavern fell into an uncomfortable silence as the doors were closed by an elegant sweep of Aabe’s hand.

“Father it was by accident, Maethilda was not to know that this man is a Keisha,” Aabe said with strength and courage as he delicately withdrew from Evalean and walked over to his silent father, who bent down low upon the ground, observing the shrivelled body of the assassin.

“The oath between our people and the Keisha has never been broken, not in twenty-six moons,” Anvin said with a cool expression. Maethilda caught his disappointed look and felt as though she had been whipped. “Now, we do not only face war from the Galgorian army, but from our longest enemy, an enemy which can wield a terrible power. What have you done?”

“Had I known that he was of the Keisha tribe, then I would not have killed him,” Maethilda returned with defiance as she brought herself to her feet. “He killed Sabia and was about to kill Celestine!”

“I doubt that,” Anvin retorted under his breath, his gaze travelling to Celestine, who now stood before one of the small glass windows, her eyes seeping out into the stormy night. “This man came with intent of being killed, not of killing.”

“What is to be done father?” Aabe asked, his gaze bouncing from Maethilda to Celestine. Maethilda watched as Celestine turned about in silence. Anvin stood up straight before them and allowed his gaze to roam over each of them, Innis and Mairina quietly placing a clock over the corpse of Sabia, their cheeks stained with silent tears.

“You must travel to Saios and meet with the Keisha and find out their motives for such a blatant act of disregard,” Anvin said darkly as he placed a splayed hand over the disintegrated body below, a yellow mist of magic flowing over the scene and magically riding the floor of any evidence. “Either they need Celestine’s power or are actively working against us. Either way you cannot outrun the Keisha and therefore have no other choice. You must leave at mid-day tomorrow.”

“But father that would be a suicide mission,” Aabe hissed darkly as he came to stand before his father, who was a half a head taller than his son. “I am not versed in their magic and Celestine cannot use her own.”

“The fates have re-shaped your path Aabe,” Anvin said under his breath. “You must make for Saios and if need be, assert my authority.”

“You cannot mean what I think you mean?” Aabe whispered in return. Maethilda caught Anvin’s dark look and felt herself drain of any remaining warmth. He meant business, for only rarely did Anvin reveal his darker side.

“You must dispense of justice Aabe, that is the only way,” Anvin said clearly, his words running over all those who stood around him in agonising suspense. “The balance of power is shifting and with it the future of our people. We cannot turn a blind eye to the breaking of an oath. Our justice system was long in the making and much blood was spent in order that it may remain at the core of our legal system. A great wrong has been done this night and the Keisha must face the consequences.” Turning his eyes to Celestine, Anvin held her distant gaze. “That is the role of the ruling leader and a burden all leaders must carry, whether they agree or not. We cannot be seen to be failing in the eyes of those who look to us for justice, peace and hope. The Keisha will not stop until they have Celestine, it is up to all of you here to put an end to their plan. Remember war is coming and you must find the elixir before Ethla sets her sights upon the fryrian people.”

“Why would she? Surely her gaze lies upon Summe?” Maethilda quizzed the wizard darkly as she moved to stand beside Celestine. “What would she want from the fryrian people?”

“An elixir from the tree of Summe would in the hands of the enemy be indispensable to their cause, for it can bring forth life from those who linger within the realm of the dead.”

“But she has brought Belnun back from the dead?” Aabe argued weakly.

“But can she bring herself back from the brink of death? With such an elixir in her possession, our need to be rid of her is more complicated, won’t you agree?”

Maethilda looked up into the shocked face of Celestine and knew instantly that the battle before them would be stringent with blood, injustice and an end to civility. They needed to find the elixir before the black witch, for without it they would must certainly loose the fight. Turning her gaze to Anvin, Maethilda simply nodded in agreement.

“Then you know what is to be done.”

Chapter Three

Aabe

The full moon swamped its silvery light over the sleeping trees of Summe forest and with its teasing glow, dispersed memory forged upon a forgotten peace once held over the lands of the north, reminding Aabe of a time in which the young played beneath the starry skies and the old sat around great fires, singing the old songs of Duana and merry-making, their hearts steadfast and their minds without trouble. Long had it been since Aabe’s gaze fell among such happy and spirited times, and long would it be before the island of Summe would find such peace. The world was changing, its fearful heart stirring even the wings of the newly sprung birds, who, instead of dancing upon the northerly winds, kept to their branches in order to seek shelter from the on-coming shadow that swept over the once radiant and plentiful lakes, wistful rivers, white beaches which sparkled with the dust of the moon, gentle rolling hills which once housed the first humans, sacred forests, ancient ancestral monuments and fields of corn, wheat and rice, now all but bare from the yearly famine. In its stead, poverty, clan tension and whispers of growing unrest struck the island like a plague, its wings of corruption spreading wide over the land, holding even the secretive of people to account. Such was the changing of time that the great seerer’s of Nor and Summe were without the power to delve into the future to alert the high priest. They had become blind, the arrows of the on-coming dark power numbing their senses and corrupting their magic.

His mind heavy, Aabe guided his gentle stallion through the suspicious trees, the newly changed hooves coming to a stop before the rushing river of Summe. Keeping himself upon the saddle, his head covered by the hood of his green cloak, Aabe caught sight of the familiar figure of Evalean. She sat quietly upon a log, her body hidden from sight beneath a cloak of silver. To her right sat a lantern and to her left a large jar of moon-moths, their small bodies alight with the rays of silvery moonlight. Close to her, a dozen birds of varying size and shape stood watching over the ethereal Evalean, who had been blessed with the rare magic of the nayan people, who once dwelled among the forests of Taer and Calnuthe. The Nayan’s had a rare and beautiful ability to tap into the minds of animals and were greatly loved by all whose loyalty fell before the feet of mother nature. Evalean’s ability had been a secret between herself and Aabe, a secret which had been forbidden to leave their lips, for fear that she would be hunted and used by the enemy, for not only were her skills so rare, but she possessed the rarest of prizes among humankind, that of two hearts, each baring the mark of a different beat. She was the rarest of jewels, and her light was the greatest secret of them all. Aabe knew the risk he took in bringing Evalean along on the journey ahead, and understood the threat posed to everyone if her secret were uncovered. It struck the young wizard as odd, that her brother, close in age shared not the same gift and was but human, perhaps the magic chose its host, even if the idea was a little hard to swallow. The rare magic brought with it the element of surprise, for her deceased parents had been but poor peasants who had succumbed to the disease of poverty, leaving their children orphaned and on the often-violent streets. Had it been fate that his father, once travelling upon the Queens road to the royal city of Merelle, came across the two impoverished siblings? Or had it been simply the winds of coincidence?

His eyes upon the solemn figure of Evalean, Aabe swung his legs over his stallion and felt his booted feet fall upon the sandy beach, the hem of his cloak dancing about his ankles. How different were the two siblings, now separated by war and destiny. Here before him sat the quiet, the patient and the beautiful Evalean whose body fell ill when touched by darkness. She was unalike her brother, who grew strong, proud and greedy for revenge, position and authority. Aabe understood Morad’s plight in life and thus such understanding produced conscious ignorance of his newly deprived behaviour. He was not evil, he was not only spurred on by dark deeds, he was merely misunderstood and suffered from a case of miss-identity, which was not unusual in a man of his young years. And so, despite the whisperings of betrayal, Aabe and his father had placed loyalty and friendship at the feet of Morad, in hope that he would repay such reverent loyalty with stout allegiance and fealty to Summe. Lifting back his hood and revealing himself, Aabe slowing made his way towards the unmoving Evalean.

“You should be resting.”

Aabe came to stand before the solemn Evalean, who raised her beautiful eyes to his face, her thick brows lifting in surprise.

“Aabe what are you doing here?” Evalean announced with an anxious smile as she lifted herself up from the log and came to stand before Aabe. Looking down into her delicate and pixy like face, Aabe felt himself moved by her naive innocence. She wore a dress of silver velva beneath her cloak, simply cut and without detail, but for the silver belt about her small waist. Upon her head, she wore a small crown of silver leaves, bestowed upon her during her coming of age ceremony, two moons ago. She was the fairest in the land, an opinion not only held by Aabe but by many who laid theirs eyes upon Evalean. She was unlike Maethilda, whose taerian beauty beheld the strength and courage of her mother. Evalean’s strength, courage and stout heart remedied themselves in her constant acts of kindness, mild display of shyness and unreserved love for even the darkest of hearts. She bore a similar likeness to those of Nayan descendant and often reminded Aabe of the soft furelli flowers which grew beneath the beautiful daish trees throughout the high seasons. She was a rare jewel, a jewel with such a divine glow that her light transfixed his troubled soul and often left him yearning for more of her gentle presence. Aabe had noticed of course, the affect her beauty- both physically and spiritually had upon those who found themselves in her presence. She often left her friends and those looking on, somewhat drunk and without balance. It was said among historians of the south that the Nayan people had the power to bring together enemies, their powers of love, peace and temperance having considerable affect upon those under their gaze.

“I have always been at your side when releasing the moon-moths into the night sky, have I not?”

“Indeed,” Evalean returned with a burst of crimson upon her ivory cheeks. “Forgive me Aabe, I had completely forgotten.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Aabe answered bluntly, his gaze spotting the buds of tears which threatened to cast their sorrow upon his loves cheeks. “If cannot blame you for lost thoughts, as I find myself suffering from the same illness.”

“You do?” Evalean asked sweetly, her wide eyes drawing him in warmly. Aabe, often distant towards others and rightly presumed rigid, found himself in the familiar position of melting. No one else could claim such a power of him, for to be a wizard and to have a sight far deeper and wider than those around you, brought with it a terrible burden and pain, a pain no-one but his father understood. And yet, the young, naive yet strong woman before him had the power to soothe his aches and pains and to soften his judgement on others.

“Our dear friend perished this night, before our very eyes,” Aabe returned quietly, the tips of his long fingers finding her own, a custom often sought for in times of anxiety or need. “To burn her under the fading stars will leave a terrible mark upon those who loved her. She was fierce, strong and courageous, especially in the face of tribulation, much of which she was forced to endure, in a world where the will of women is so often set aside. To burn her so young before the buds of the coming year, is both grievous and bitter. She had such grand ideas and notions, especially directed towards the area of peace and prosperity. She was a bright star amid a gloom-ridden sky. Her loyalty and devotion shall not be easily forgotten.”

“How I envied her,” Evalean whispered, her words laced with foreboding and sorrow. With a soft sob, the young picket turned from her friend and lover and walked towards the shores of the river, her bare feet touching the icy waters which had flowed down from the Meerin Hills. Aabe stood still, his eyes unable to stray from his friend, her silver hood falling away from her head to reveal her short locks of dark hair. “She was fire and I…I am but the soft breeze upon a suma’s day. In the face of uncertainty, she stood tall, like a formidable Barrin tree, but I?” Evalean turned her tear stained eyes to Aabe. “I am governed by an instinct which tells me to flee in the face of uncertainty and war.”

“That isn’t true Evalean,” Aabe muttered against a harsh gust of wind which swept over the dithering trees, their branches all but bare. Her tresses gleaming against the moonlight, Evalean shook her head with feeling.

“It is Aabe,” she said with disgust. “I am surrounded by great women, who fear little and share much in common with one another. I have nothing in common with them, nothing but my sex and drive for justice. I…I shared more with your sister. I…I” she stopped a moment, pressing a hand to her bosom with pain. Aabe watched her moon-lit face, the few lines which dwelled upon her soft features, creasing with frustration. “I am frightened of letting them down. I am frightened of dying without honour.”

“Strength reveals itself in various forms Evalean,” Aabe said with molten fire surging through his cold body. With two strides, he came to stand before her, his boots submerged within the murky waters. Taking her cold hands within his own, he summoned her gaze to meet with his and bequeathed upon her a soft smile, ridden with unspoken feeling. “Who else can summon the birds to them or understand their morning song? You believe that to be kind, soft and without a need for violence weakness?”

“No…to speak with the birds, to play with the squirrels, gives my heart much pleasure,” Evalean exclaimed through her tears. “But I am afraid of battle, I am afraid of the pain that I know stands perilously close to me. I wish to live among the woods where I am useful, where I am understood. I do not wish to live among the plains of blood and death. I am quiet, reserved and deftly named the tame. The gentle world into which your father brought me is now distant and without breath. And my brother…his heart grows cold and distant with every clash of his sword. How can I be of use to anyone when I do not feel I have any use for myself?”

“You are overwhelmed Evalean” Aabe said with kindness marked in his eyes. He held her hands gently within his own and observed her conflicted mind with sorrow. “Do not mistake such a feeling for a belief that you are of no use to your friends, you are of greater use to those around you than you deem, and that my love is the greatest gift of all.”

“To have but two hearts yet no strength of conviction or magic with which to aid the war and Queen?”

Aabe’s brows aligned themselves as her words fell from her red lips, her eyelids closing over her distraught gaze.

“To love is not a weakness Evalean, it is the greatest of weapons so easily cast aside in war,” Aabe said with sombre realisation. “Many a man begins such a journey with devout hope in love and peace, and all too often falls into the pit of war and despair, his heart hardened by the blade and darkened by the wound. How rare is it to have not one but two hearts of pure love, how great is the weapon you bare. For when all fades with the setting sun of tomorrow, it will not be the blood of man that seeps into the fields of battle, but it shall be the ever-flowing love which casts its power over death.”

“You truly believe that love can conquer death?” Evalean asked with ardent eyes. The current about their feet strengthened as they drew close to one another, their hidden feelings revealed beneath the suspicious moon.

“It is the greatest of powers and shall be needed in the coming months,” Aabe answered plainly, drawing a hand to her cheek and skimming her cool skin lightly with the back of his palm. “You are the fairest of maids, but such purity shall feel the hand of darkness deeply, like a jagged blade cutting deep into the light. That will be your test Evalean, a test I doubt many others around you could face and conquer.”

“And if I fail?” Evalean whispered as she tipped her face upwards, the end of her nose meeting his own.

“You shall not fail,” Aabe said with feeling as he cupped her face and drowned his eyes in her beauty.

“You must save him Aabe,” Evalean exclaimed darkly as she splayed a hand over his beating heart, her eyes pleading. “You must save Morad from the fate I fear will take him.  I know he seeks power and I know that he will go to any lengths to obtain it, even if his motives are fed by a need to save and protect the kingdom. He has always been governed by his heart and tormented by his head. A war as deadly as this, only seeks to bring the worms to the surface. But worms become prey to the birds which swoop down to devour their prey.”

“I cannot bend fate Evalean, no matter its wicked intentions,” Aabe said, with a gaze tainted by reality and marred by destiny. “But I shall do my best to protect him and counsel him in times of trouble.”

“That is all that I ask,” Evalean whispered, her words fading away as their lips met. Aabe felt her power sweep over him like a warm flow of water and held her protectively within his arms. When finally, they drew away from one another, Evalean brought her head to his chest and drew in a sigh. “We should return before the sun rises and your father suspects.”

“We must release the moon-moths first,” Aabe said with a flush of his cheeks. Her eyes upon the ground below in embarrassment, Evalean turned away from Aabe and picked up the large jar of moon-moths, each of them baring a unique colour and design upon their wings. Opening the lid with a swipe of his hand, Evalean lifted the glass jar into the open air before them and watched on with a mixture of sorrow and joy as the beautiful moths fluttered out into the open night, their colourful wings spreading wide and soaring into the darkness above.

“I am afraid we shall never see them again,” Evalean whispered in pain, her eyes stained with water. “All that is pure and true now flees from our land, the hand of darkness sending them from their beloved homes.”

“A time will come again when the moon-moths will return,” Aabe returned with certainty. “And all shall return to its natural self.”

“I am afraid I shall not live to see such times,” Evalean said with a grievous expression upon her ethereal face. Aabe found her hand and took it lightly within his own. Turning his gaze down to her own, he held her stare a moment, digesting the sombre feelings and future fears with bitter pain.

“I promise you shall.”

*

Aabe stood before the ancient door of Nebla, which was located upon the top floor of the astronomy tower, within the room of stars. The sun had not yet risen and he had but just arrived back from the forest, his brief meeting with Evalean restoring his spirits and easing his aching shoulders from their ever-burning burdens. His cloak covering his tall frame, Aabe eyed the door with suspicion. It was as ancient as the world itself and had a mind of its own, only admitting those it deemed suitable, which included himself and his father and no other. It was said in the tales of old that only four such doors existed upon Unas, each of them stationed at particular points across the world. His eyelids twitching with exhaustion, Aabe ran his gaze over the engraved image of a tree which stretched itself across the wooden door, the roots reaching the bottom corners and the branches the top corners. Hidden within the leaves were stars of varying sizes and within the roots a sword lay hidden, the hilt engraved with the letter ‘C’. For many years Aabe had pondered over the engraved door and wondered if magic lay within the wood. Magic, he knew always came at a price and it seemed that with every entry, the guest returned somewhat altered in both temperament and power. This he knew intimately, for the times in which he had passed through the door, he returned somewhat changed. The power of the door caused an oppression not just on his abilities but the unspoken power cut through his emotions, leaving him less empathetic towards those he loved. His heart was turning to stone and so as he stood before Nebla, he tried to pacify his racing heart and troubled mind. He understood that to pass through the door one more time was empirically important, not just for himself but for his guest, Celestine. What, he thought would the door ask of the grand-daughter to the Heiden? Would she return altered? Would they return at all?

“She must pass through the door my son, no matter the cost,” came the understanding voice of Anvin, who entered the astronomy room quietly.

“She already weakens, to ask this of her is madness,” Aabe returned, his feet staying rooted before the teasing door. He felt his father’s powerful presence behind him and bit down upon his lower lip.

“She must meet him, before it is too late,” Anvin explained, the sweeping of his gown sending shivers up Aabe’s back. Turning about slightly, he spotted his father standing upon the altar before the magical book known as the Book of Days, an ancient article of a magic so old that no-one yet had the power in which to unlock it. Catching his sons gaze, Anvin picked up the book and held its heavy contents within his hands, his eyes dark and laced with secrecy. “Ethla comes seeking more than just Celestine, she comes looking for this book. We must take it with us and place into her hands, she will keep it safe until the time is ready.”

“She cannot be trusted father,” Aabe stressed with pointed eyes. “She has no face.”

“Exactly,” Anvin returned with a mysterious look. He strode over to Aabe and looked down into his sons troubled face. “She won’t know of its existence if my plan works. There are some pro’s to not having a face.”

“Relatively few I think you would agree? The woman scares even the most courageous of men,” Aabe returned with furrowed brows. “To even stand in her presence makes me feel vulnerable.”

“She has her use child, fear of her makes her the perfect guardian,” Anvin said with confidence as he stepped aside and looked over the door, the golden book held close to his chest. “She is Celestine’s aunt and her son is an honourable man, she will take precedence over her only child when the time comes.”

“She was exiled by Elieor for planning to overthrow his Kingdom,” Aabe argued hotly. “Without your interference who knows what would have happened to Calnuthe. She is trouble and you my dear father are too curious by half to leave her be.”

“She is a conundrum my dear fellow, one of which I am yet to understand,” Anvin returned with wisdom. Placing a kind hand upon his son’s shoulder, he smiled kindly. “I believe she plays a part in the future of Calnuthe, whether it is a part worthy of honour remains to be seen.”

“What part can she play? What part can he play?”

Anvin stood back, hearing the footsteps of Celestine outside and furrowed his brows.

“Have you not learned the ways and patterns of mankind Aabe? Have you not realised that we are not all positioned at opposite sides of the spectrum? That hope lingers with the many and not the few?” Anvin chided darkly. “Lady Moruaina lingers in the in-between.”

“She is unpredictable, and in the present circumstances the unpredictable are a risk,” Aabe pushed with feeling as the door of the room opened wide, heralding forth a sombre looking Celestine.

“Risk or no risk Aabe, we must seek her shelter for a while,” Anvin whispered with fraught frustration as he turned about to welcome Celestine. “My dear, what a day it has been! And lo you must be weary and tired.”

“It is three in the morning my Lord,” Celestine returned as she drew away her hood and revealed her pale face, her blazing eyes casting a light over the wizard. To Aabe’s weary eyes, she too looked distant and at conflict with herself, and as was rightly so, confused by Anvin’s invitation to the tower. “Is this the astronomy tower in which Maethilda speaks so highly?”

“Indeed, it is,” Anvin returned as he stepped away from the curious lady, whose gaze roamed the great room, her eyes widening with curiosity and splendour.

“It is beautiful my Lord,” Celestine whispered with wonder as she began to pace about the room, running the tips of her fingers over the dozen or so books of old. Anvin and Aabe watched her for several minutes, and drew in a breath as she came to stand before the door, her wondrous gaze falling dark. “This door, I have seen and felt its like before.”

“I believe you have my Lady,” Aabe said quickly as he darted forward, his eyes on her. She was tall and her un-earthly beauty never seemed to withhold its magnificence. She was a sight to behold and further still, her presence struck him like a beam of hot light, searing through his soul and mind. She both amazed and frightened him, such was her power. He was however pacified by her naive awareness of her own strength and power and such a feeling soothed his troublesome thoughts. When exploring the depths and hidden corners of the young Celestine, he knew just as his father did, that she was as unpredictable as the faceless Lady Moruaina. His father was right, mankind was not easy to read, nor subtle enough to mould. The young queen was yet to face the mirrored reflection of herself and worst of all, not yet enlightened as to the reality of her origins. “You have passed through the door of Ecnes have you not?”

“Indeed, my lord,” Celestine returned with a slight smile, her furrowed brows unable to hide her inner thoughts. “Without the door, I would not have first beheld your father.”

“And did you feel changed when returning through the door my Lady?” Anvin enquired with curiosity, both wizards now standing before the confused lady.

“No, my lord, why do you ask?”

“This is Nebla, the door of the East,” Anvin proclaimed grandly as he turned to the gleaming door, the golden book within his arm. “It acts as a vessel in which only those possessed of magic can access. It can transport its guest through time, to a place in which they seek. But behold, such magic must abide by several rules. Though a guest may walk through time without harm, they must return through the door before the setting of the sun or they will remain forever fixed to that other place.”

“I did not know that,” Celestine said under her breath as she took a step closer to the door, her right hand raised and splayed, a sudden light filling her golden eyes. Her long auburn hair elegantly swept behind her shoulders, she reached out and touched the door, her hand moulding itself to the centre of the tree. All at once a great beam of light radiated from the tree, its light piercing through all that stood before the door. Aabe, felt himself thrown from the door and cast upon the cold ground below as the light seeped straight through him. Shielding his eyes with a hand, he watched as the roots of the engraved tree stretched out before a powerful Celestine, her long tresses of auburn hair dancing about her tall frame. The door had never before reacted to the touch of a guest in such an over-powering gesture and for the merest of seconds, Aabe looked upon the image of Celestine, not as she was in his mind- but a fair woman of great heritage, but of a great goddess, whose powers and strength commanded the sight of every human eye, such was its greatness and terror. He was bearing witness to her future self, the woman who would one day claim power over all things, even death.

With a tremor, the light suddenly faded inwardly into the engraved tree and sword once more and the astronomy room once again swamped by the darkness of the night, the flickering of several candles but casting their thin light across the occupants. Behind him, Anvin took to his feet and swept past Aabe. A silent Celestine fell onto the ground with a grunt as Anvin came to stand before the door, which now opened with a creak.

“What was that?” Aabe whispered in fear as he brought himself to his feet and came to Celestine’s aid, his confused eyes upon her.

“I don’t know,” Anvin returned, his dark words echoing throughout the room. Aabe held out a hand to Celestine and drew her up onto her feet.

“Are you alright my Lady?”

“I saw someone,” Celestine said with uncertainty as she swayed upon her feet in disorientation. Her hands clinging to Aabe’s arms, she lifted her gaze to meet with his own. “Someone with a dark heart has taken command of a door, and means to abuse its powers.”

“How can that be father? Only those of white magic can summon the door?” Aabe said quickly as he turned to his uncommonly quiet father, whose large hands were splayed across the opened door.

“I do not know,” Anvin said with feeling as he turned his gaze to the frightened Celestine. “Someone knew that you would be visiting the door this night. Whoever they are, they knew that to gain access to the door they would need to infiltrate your own power. I am afraid that after this day, no one may use the door of Nebla ever again, for fear that once open, a terrible shadow will return through the door.”

“What if the other doors are opened?” Aabe asked quickly as he guided Celestine over to Anvin. “How do we keep this door closed? Shall we burn it?”

“I have no power of the other doors,” Anvin said with a distinct look of sombre frustration. “As to destroying the door of Nebla by fire, it cannot be done my son, the wood of the ancient tree Hir cannot be destroyed by fire.”

“Then what is to be done?” Celestine asked as she drew her hands away from Aabe and turned to Anvin with furrowed brows.

“I must take the door to a place in which it cannot be found,” Anvin said darkly. “The time has come for the guardians of the great objects to practice vigilance. That is why we must enter the door one last time.”

“But father, the intruder, whoever they are, they have touched Celestine and felt her power,” Aabe said hurriedly as Anvin opened the door wide with a wave of his hand. Behind them, Celestine stood in silent anxiety, her hands trembling and her lips quivering. “Is it possible that they have infiltrated her mind or worse, fed of her power?”

Anvin looked down into the face of the troubled Aabe before turning his gaze to the silent Celestine.

“Only time will tell Aabe,” Anvin replied solemnly, his star-filled eyes stuck to Celestine. “Your return will have summoned a great many shadows my lady, not just here upon the island of Summe, nor in the Northern and Southern Kingdoms, but to the far corners of this planet. You have much to learn and the clock is ticking. You must guard your magic and seal your mind to those who would infiltrate both.”

“I must trust no-one?” Celestine returned with a defiant gaze. Anvin walked over to Celestine and took her hands with haste.

“You must trust no-one my lady, especially those who stand close to you,” Anvin said darkly, locks of his dark hair falling across his face. “That is the price you must pay, for a life you did not willingly choose. It is the price we, who bare such power and magic must pay to protect the vulnerable.”

“And you my Lord, can I trust you?” Celestine returned, her words so low that Aabe couldn’t catch heed of them. He watched his father and the young Queen stand close to one another, the air about them tight and rigid.

“Our fates are entwined my Lady,” Anvin whispered slowly, his breath washing over her cold face. “My allegiance was always with your parents and shall forevermore be with you, until my dying breath. There is much of which we must teach each other, if the light is to overcome the darkness.”

“Then you must aid me my Lord, for though I possess much power, I am still but a meek student who is need of guidance and training,” Celestine said with a straight back.

“You have my word, my Lady,” Anvin returned with a loyal bow of his head. “I shall endeavour to teach you the ways of magic and to guard you with my life.”

“Then we must be on our way Anvin,” Celestine returned with an air of subtle kinship. Aabe watched as her blazing eyes of gold faded into confusion. “Where are we going?”

Anvin guided Celestine to the door and looked across at Aabe.

“To the last free city of the south, Ethe,” Anvin announced regally. “To meet with the faceless lady, Lady Moruaina.”

“Who is she?” Celestine asked with curious eyes.

“She is your aunt,” Aabe answered plainly. “Sister to your late father and mother to your cousin, Lord Elion.”

“I have an aunt and cousin?” Celestine whispered with wonder, her sullen eyes suddenly alit with hope.

“Indeed, my Lady,” Anvin returned kindly. “And we must meet with them for counsel.”

“Are they in danger my Lord?” Celestine quizzed with a fraught look, her hopeful gaze diminishing with Anvin’s words. The darkened room suddenly filled with a faint light, heralding the morning sun. Anvin looked to Aabe.

“Come we have little time left before the sun rises fully,” Anvin said with haste as he tucked the golden Book of Days beneath his arm. “There is much to do.”

Aabe held out his arm to Celestine, a kindly smile upon his wavering lips.

“Take my arm Celestine, and hold on tight,” he commanded kindly. The rays of the rising sun spilled into the room, casting their golden light upon the great astronomical instruments which filled the room with curiosity and wonder. Aabe turned his gaze upon the great telescope which stood upon the alter, its glass eye directed to the sky above. Feeling Celestine’s arm weave through his own, he turned to her and smiled anxiously. “Celestine, before we pass through the door, I must warn you to keep your distance from your aunt.”

“Why my Lord?”

“She is feared among the very powers of darkness, such is her own power,” Aabe said with a wisp of a sigh. Sensing her confusion, he placed a hand over her own. “In time, you shall understand.”

“And my cousin?”

“He is an honourable man, who has garnered great admiration from among the remaining Calnthian army,” Anvin interceded with flashing eyes. “He is loyal to your house and has proved himself worthy of your allegiance.”

“But my aunt is not?”

“She does not take sides my lady,” Anvin returned darkly. Aabe felt the pull of the magic and found his feet idly pushing him onwards towards the unknown.

“Stay by my side,” Aabe whispered to Celestine with grave severity. “Do not stray under any circumstances, for the door’s mind is its own and the rules must be obeyed.” With his words of warning, Aabe guided Celestine into the white light, closely followed by Anvin.

Chapter Four

Morad

The Auta sun began to fall behind the Ash Mountains, its streaks of red beams settling upon the ceiling of the forest of Ash which lay directly beneath the great northern mountains beyond. A day’s ride north and Morad and his small company of soldiers would soon be upon the city of Ashlouis. He had been secretly invited to meet with Muta, the son of Lord Valtar and the recently deceased Lady Hildis. They were the most powerful clan, north of the Lake Saios and had been claiming land and power from the weak and poverty stricken clans. Morad knew that in time, if clan Ashlouis was to prove themselves in battle, that Lord Valtar would soon point the tip of his sword south to the great city of Nor, known as the city of secrets, for the vaults which ran below the city, contained many precious articles, mainly ancient objects which, in the hands of someone powerful, would give them great power and authority. Morad was no fool, he could see through the elderly Lord and his greedy son, yet hidden away within his own heart, he knew that to draw close to them, he could when the time was right, reach out his hand and take the power for himself. He had proved himself mighty and honourable and he knew that if given the chance, his men and those who blindly followed him, would gladly stand by his side, even if against the all-powerful Anvin, High Priest of Summe and Meer. Yet the seed of destruction was but small and without the power in which to beholden Morad to its wishes. He knew in his heart that to do such a terribly thing, was to dishonour the loyalty and love shown by the High Priest and his family. It was not the doing of Anvin that his parents had been cruelly murdered, it was the doing King Ravan and his collection of treacherous puppets, all of them willing to kill for a price. What Morad did not know, and what kept Morad from watering the seed of hatred was that his life and that of his sister had been traded in under the cover of night, a pact struck between his protector and enemy. To protect the last living descendant of the extinct Nayan tribe, the High Priest agreed to give up her mother in a pact which would see her two hearts ripped from her chest and sewn into Ravan’s, giving unto him pro-longed life. For that very reason, Anvin had kept Evalean’s gift from her and all but wiped out any trace of her ancestry. Morad had but one heart like his father and was without the gifts passed down from the Nayan tribe. Were he to understand the truth of his past, Morad’s own heart would turn to black and his first port of call would be to murder his protector.

“Morad, should we make camp by the river?” Fied asked as he swung himself down from his exhausted stallion and halted before his commander, whose gaze was directed towards the snow-covered mountains which lay beyond the swollen river. Fied followed his commanders gaze and furrowed his brows. “I have never known the mountains to be covered by wintur rains so early, perhaps the wintur is to be bad?”

“Aye perhaps,” Morad muttered as his eyes ran over the snow-covered mountains. “We will make camp here for the night Fied. Make sure the horses are fed and watered.”

“As you wish my Lord,” Fied returned with a yawn and a quick bow. Turning from Morad, the young soldier walked away with great stallion and re-joined the rest of the group by the fringes of the river. Behind them the forest lay thick and dark, a blanket which kept the small opening warm and hidden from any spying eyes. Stroking the cool head of his own horse, Morad drew in a confused sigh. Though the sun was now setting and the night becoming dark, the snow upon the mountains where he believed firmly, unsettling to behold. The tops of the mountains were not as white as he remembered them to be and stranger still, as he drew his nose up into the cold air, he caught waft of an ungodly smell which lingered beneath the cool air. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted his fellow men; Fied, Haerir, Ivan, Gildar and Lera, his most loyal of men and devoted soldiers to Summe. Together they had travelled throughout the land of Summe, as part of a traditional challenge, that being the Splelin Games. Morad and his men represented the southern clan of Kios and had been hard on the foot of clan Ash, led by the arrogant and self-righteous Lord Muta, son of Lord Valtar of Ashlouis. There journey had sprung before them unwarranted challenges, never before set by the High Priest. Finding and locating the flags had been easy, but the retrieving of the flags had proved dangerous and in some cases, fatal. Rumours had spread throughout the Kingdom of multiple deaths and broken groups. But a day past, Morad and his men had received word from Summe that clan Ash and clan Kios were the last remaining groups and thus his need to make it to the city of Ashlouis had become his only priority, that and the safety of his friends who had taken an unrecommended turn and headed south, their motives unclear to him. His group had claimed the flag of Saios and with hopeful hearts, rode north past the Mayr Hills and the dark lake of Louagh, making sure to keep out of sight of the magical waters, which were said to blind the naked eye. Now but a hundred leagues from Ashlouis, Morad knew that there were but a hairs breath from winning the Splelin Games. To claim the cup of Glentaire would not only bolster his men’s spirits in time of fraught poverty and impending war, but it would cement Morad’s authority over the army of Summe and his position as Lord Commander. To lose the cup to Lord Muta, would create a division within the army and would naturally see his position under threat, by an equally power-hungry commander, who un-like Morad, claimed the loyalty of the northern clans.

“My lord, can you smell that stench?” a deep and resounding voice called out from afar. Turning to the camp, Morad began to lead his horse over the dry sands.

“Aye I can Lera,” Morad returned with a dark look. With care, he tied the reins of his horse to the others and carried down his heavy leather bag. Sitting around a blazing fire, his men looked up to their leader with worrisome eyes.

“I smell danger my Lord,” Gildar exclaimed as he got to work on gutting and dicing the several small rats which they had caught earlier in the morning. Morad drew off his heavy cloak of grey fur and swung his bag down upon the sand. With a groan, he drew off his leather belt and sword and placed them upon the sand with care, before falling to the remaining spot within the circle.

“The smell is foul and bitter,” Ivan exclaimed heavily, his rough hands concentrated on the cleaning and sharpening of his arrows. Morad looked over at the young soldier, his unkempt hair falling about his sharp face. He was out of all the men surrounding Morad, a man with very little to say, yet when words poured from his mouth, then to Morad’s knowledge, they usually rang true. He was a compass of sorts and the men relied upon his rare comments, knowing them to be of worth. His quiet moods and isolated nature was at first hard to bare, but he was the greatest of bow-men and wisest of soldiers and for that he had garnered a great sense of respect among the men of the Summerian army, men which bestowed upon him the name – Silent Arrow. Morad, now taking off his black leather gloves and sweeping back locks of his raven hair, his dark chestnut eyes upon Ivan.

“It smells like death,” Haerir interrupted with a cough. He was the youngest of the group, having been sworn into the army but a year ago, during the moon festival. He was small, sharp and clever and had the inadept ability to squeeze into tight spaces, unlike his companions who were tall and broad. Haerir would, Morad knew without a shadow of a doubt, become a great warrior and would one day rise above the others and lead the Summerian army, a predication which did not threaten Morad at all, for he knew the young soldier to be a good man. They were close in age and although Morad was the youngest soldier to ever rise so high above the other commanders, he was glad to be in the company of Haerir, especially when considering the close relationship between the young soldier and Aabe’s deceased sister, Lady Adadine.

“If death stains the cold winds of Auta, then we should on our guard,” Fied commanded as he fixed the dead corpses of the rats upon sticks and placed them above the fire, his brown gaze upon the quiet and reflective Morad.

“Is it possible that war has arrived early my Lord?” Haerir asked Morad. Morad looked across at the soldier, who was cleaning his mud-stained boots. “You said that you had heard rumours that King Beon was to send a fleet to Summe, could those rumours prove true?”

“I have received no word of war from Anvin,” Morad declared as he slowly brought himself to his feet and turned his eyes up to the fiery skies above. “Until such word is provided, we must believe that the island is still within safe hands.”

“Then the blood of Meer must run deep and far, if the stench of their dead travels over our lands,” Gildar proclaimed as he popped off the lid of his water satchel and drank greedily from its contents, the cool water spilling over his thick beard and down his throat. Morad walked about the circle of exhausted men, his hands tucked deep into his pockets for warmth.

“So, it would seem,” he murmured darkly, his clad feet leading him over the cool sands, towards the swollen waters of the river. The birds were silent upon their branches and the wildlife hidden within the dark forest which bordered both sides of the river, its pensive eyes upon the company of men. As he reached the icy waters, Morad knelt to his knees and swept the tips of his fingers through the icy liquid, the coolness sweeping up his hand and arm and touching his heart like a blade. Quickly retrieving his hand, Morad’s gaze travelled up the river and spotted several large objects bobbing up and down upon the river. Above the markedly large objects, he observed a great cloud passing over the distant mountains, its shadow capturing the rays of the setting sun. Morad felt his brows furrow with suspicion as the cloud slowly it made its way down the slopes of the mountains and over the roof of the forest, a heavy wintur shower dispersing from its darkness. Morad stood up straight and felt a wearisome bud of trouble suddenly flourish into life. The crisp air became stringent and rigid under the power of the cloud, its shape covering at least fifty leagues in breadth. Morad watched as the cloud made it way down towards the camp. Turning his eyes to the river, Morad felt his feet turn to ice as the shaps of the objects came into view, his beating heart stilling with haste. Without a word, and feeling the eyes of his fellow men upon him, Morad drew out his long knife and prepared himself. Behind him the rustling of feet could be heard and soon, his men stood by his side quietly, each of them ready for what now was soon to reveal itself.

“Corpses,” Ivan growled, his feet suddenly taking to flight. Morad watched the tall soldier run up the bay, his bow and arrow at the ready. Ivan waded his way through the rough currents of the water and grabbed a hold of his prey. His eyes large and his heart racing, Morad caught the man’s gaze. He observed his friends sudden change in countenance and felt fear take him. Never had he witnessed the great and formidable Ivan let out a bellowing scream. “Dead children!” the soldier cried out in shock, his arms filled with the corpse of a small child. Morad felt his other companions freeze behind him as Ivan lifted the corpse of a small child from the river.

“My god he’s right!” Fied cried out in horror as he turned to the river and spotted another floating corpse of a child, there face hidden beneath the currents. Morad, his tongue numb and his body freezing with disbelief, ran out into the river, the icy temperature hitting him like an electric shock. With determination, he waded his way through the frozen corpses of children, men and women, many unrecognisable due to severe burning and many naked and dismembered. As he turned the bodies about, looking for any survivors, the dark clouds found him and a heavy wintur shower began to fall.

“Morad, Morad! The wintur rains!” Lera cried out from close by, all the companions now standing amid the rushing waters, searching in vain for any survivors. Morad looked up from the river and held out his hands, the heavy flakes falling upon his moist face and sticking like death. The pungent smell of death now grew so heavy that he felt himself become nauseous.

“It isn’t snow,” Haerir cried out in horror, his eyes emblazoned with fear. “It is ash!”

Morad looked down into the palms of his hands and observed the flakes, all of them without the unique patterns of the wintur rains. It was indeed ash which fell from the dark and oppressive clouds above. The flakes were both the ashes of fire and skin. Turning to Ivan, Morad heralded the emotionally broken soldier, who rarely smiled or showed any type of emotion. The soldier, having gently placed the corpse of the child back into the rushing river, waded his way through the torrents with anger.

“My Lord, the war has come!” Ivan declared with deliberate rage, the heavy ash covering his broad shoulders and thick hair. Looking about, Morad observed the ash stricken surroundings, all trace of its former self now hidden beneath a thick layer of death and fire. As his body moved within the heavy currents, a great flock of birds liberated themselves from the branches of the trees, all of them soaring into the ash-ridden skies above, their cries pitiful and filled with terror. Flakes of death flurrying about him, Morad watched the great flock of birds, all of them synchronised in their flying, as they fled from the forest and flew southwards in search of safety. Closing his ash-stained eyes briefly, Morad could hear the faintest groan from the forest itself, the floor beneath them shaking with anger. His leather pants sticking to his aching legs, Morad opened his eyes and caught sight of his men, each of them carrying as many victims onto the shore as was possible. As he lifted the body of a small girl from the waters, Morad heard a high-pitched scream heralding from the lips of Lera. Looking across at his friend, Morad watched as the body within his arms suddenly fell back into the water with a crash.

“Lera what is it?” Morad asked aloud as he gently laid the girl upon the shore and ran through the ash, Lera in obvious demented horror. Stopping in surprise, Morad watched as his friend lifted his hands from the water, his gloves covered in blood which dripped from the tips of his fingers.

“The water! It has turned to blood!” Lera returned with a petrified shake of his cold body. Morad caught Ivan’s green gaze.

“War has come my Lord, it has come and we have been blind to its call!”

“But I have received no word of an attack!” Morad returned quickly as slowly strode over the Fied, who sat upon the shore with his head in the cups of his hands. His feet heavy, Ivan coursed through the ash and came to stand before his master, his eyes blood-shot and disorientated.

“Unless my Lord Anvin has not yet received word himself?” Ivan said with raised brows. Morad quickly wiped away the ash from his face and nodded in agreement. The men turned their eyes to the blood-soaking river, never before witnessing such a catastrophic scene. Sensing his friends distress, Ivan knelt down before Fied and took him by the shoulders. “My friend, concentrate your eyes upon me.”

“Who could do such a thing?” Fied asked with trembling lips, his innocent eyes lifting to Ivan.

“No mere mortal could wage such destruction upon our people Fied,” Ivan said with calm decisiveness. “Only dark magic could bring about such evil.”

“We must send word immediately!” Morad counselled his companions. “The people of Summe must be warned!”

“I shall send word now my Lord!” Ivan declared as he brought himself back up onto his booted feet and turned from Fied and Morad, his feet dashing across the shore and towards the camp. Finding the large cage hanging from his distressed horse, Ivan quickly opened the cage door and brought forth his raven. With haste, he whispered to the raven and with haste, flung his arm into the air, the raven quickly taking to the dark skies above. Helping his companions back to the fire, Morad watched as the great bird swept over his head and flew up into the skies above, his squawk so loud that it echoed throughout the forest. Morad fell upon the sand in a heap, his body shivering violently from the icy temperatures of the river. Beside him Fied rolled about in demented terror, the falling ash transfixing his soul with fear. Seeing the dramatic change in his companions, Morad quickly grabbed Fied and brought him to his feet.

“Make for the forest my friend!” he declared with command. “All of you, make for the edge of the forest, there you shall have shelter from the ash.”

“The bodies have flowed down south from Ashlouis my Lord,” Gildar said and he collected his belongings whilst also aiding the demented Fied. “King Beon must have sent his forces!”

“But what devilry has brought such a flame upon the people of Ashlouis as would warrant them so brutally burned?” Haerir asked as the men ran from their camp fire, there feet bolstering them towards the edge of the forest. Following his friends, Morad fell to the forested floor with a thud, his knees banging against the fallen branches, now covered in a thick moss. A hand fell upon Morad’s shoulder and with a heavy sigh, Morad found Ivan’s gaze.

“No man could bring about such death my lord, witchcraft is at work here.”

“What kind of witch could bring about such wrath Ivan?” Lera asked as he shook out the particles of ash from his hair with rough hands. Before Ivan could reply, a high-pitched cry rang out from across the mountains, its cry so high and barbaric that the men fell into a demented state, their ears ringing so deeply that blood began to pour forth. Morad closed his eyes and rolled out from the roof of the forest onto the cold sand beneath, his body curled up into the foetal position. As he held his head with the cups of his frozen hands, the cry became deeper and more resounding, and with it a great shadow fell upon the land, and shadow far darker than the clouds above. Forcing his eyes to open, Morad looked up. The dark clouds were hidden behind a great winged beast of shadow which swept down low over the mountains and forest, its cry shaking the very foundations of the forest floor, its depth and the flap of its wings, felling many an ancient tree from its roots. Morad watched the great dragon sweep over the forest and fly south, his companions close to him, their eyes also glued to the great black dragon. It was long and broad, its eyes of a sickly yellow and its scales of the darkest black. As it flew over them, the great beast opened its mouth and poured forth a terrible white fire, which rained down over the floating corpses upon the river. Morad felt the heat upon his sickly skin and groaned aloud, it was unlike any heat he had ever encountered, darker and more painful that the flames of a red fire. About him, his companions rolled about in pain, all of them mere ghosts of their former self’s.

“What was that!” Gildar cried out in horror, his body now calming as the cries of the dragon moved ever southward.

“That, my friend was a dragon!” came the rough voice of a female from close by. Morad turned his gaze from the fleeing dragon and found a tall and armed woman standing upon the shore, horse in hand. She was surrounded by a dozen or so soldiers, all of them women and all of them baring the colours of the city of Nor, which resided in the East. Morad drew himself to his feet, his hands falling away from his face.

“That was no ordinary dragon my lady!” he exclaimed quickly, his wet boots trudging through the sands and coming to halt before the armed woman who stood a head taller than himself. He knew her face, not from any previous meetings, but from the books of great tales which had been woven about her. She was as highly regarded as himself and had a loyal legion of male followers. She was Lady Sile, the greatest female warrior on the island, herself and her group of female warriors, revered and praised highly among the city of Nor. Morad caught the cool gazes of her warriors. She was as feisty as he had imagined her to be, her blonde hair cut short like a man and her armour without femine appeal. Rumours had run thick throughout Nor, that Sile looked not upon men with pleasure, but upon women instead. She was tall, broad and without fear, her presence suddenly making Morad feel small.

“My Lord Morad, how curious to find you here,” Sile said with a swift bow of her head.

“How did you come upon us my Lady?” Morad quizzed the warrior, her fierce blue eyes sending shockwaves through Morad.

“We were riding south to our city, and heard the cry of a raven,” Sile explained as she handed the reins of her horse to one of her companions. “Upon intrigue, we took a detour and came through the forest, the cries of you men echoing throughout. Now we understand why.”

Sile turned from Morad and made her way across the shore to the river. Her gloved hands upon her hips, she turned her gaze over her shoulder and caught Morad’s.

“I see you have heard the call of war my Lord?”

“What has happened in the north my Lady?” Morad asked with great desperation, his men standing solemn and somewhat dumbfounded by their female counterparts. Sile taking one last lingering look upon the dead corpses which lay in a sea of blood, turned and walked over to Morad, her eyes darkening and her brows furrowed deep.

“A great evil has been sent by King Beon! Have you heard of the black witch, Ethla my Lord?”

“Only through rumours,” Morad returned as he swept away locks of unruly hair from his distressed face. “Was that the woman upon that great dragon?”

“Indeed, and the dragon with which she rides my lord, is the great beast of long-ago tales, Belnun the dark and cunning,” Sile whispered quietly, sensing the very words to much for the traumatised men.

“He is long dead,” Morad argued as he brought his thick fur cloak about him for shelter against the cool winds.

“Yes, so he was, until the Ethla raised him from the dead,” Sile whispered darkly. Morad considered her weathered face and felt his brows calm with wariness.

“That cannot be…”

“And yet it is my Lord, for my warriors and I were but a league outside of the city of Ashlouis when Ethla attacked the city with white fire.”

“She came alone?”

“No, my Lord, she came commanding a great fleet of ships which have sailed from the western city of Gaul, where the high-seat of the King is,” Sile answered in earnest. “The fleet is of such a size my Lord, that I fear our island will soon be overwrought with our enemy. The enemy had landed upon the shores, bringing with them fire, death and the destruction of our people.”

“Where is this witch headed Sile?” Morad asked with dread, his own question having already been answered. Sile leaned forward, her long nose perilously close to his own.

“Where do you think my Lord?”

“The city of Summe…”

Sile stood back and merely nodded her head.

“She is searching for the chosen one who, the prophecy of lips claims had passed through time to be restored to her rightful throne,” Sile said with a small smile of hope.

“Who are you talking about?” Morad asked in confusion.

“Why Celestine my lord, the rightful heir to the Kingdom of Calnuthe and daughter to the deceased High King and Queen.”

“Ethla wishes to kill this Celestine?”

“Indeed, my Lord, for she has the power to fell the hand of darkness and to reclaim the light,” Sile said with pride.

“How do you know she is here?” Morad quizzed the warrior, his hands curling into balls of irritation.

“My Lord Hathom of Nor, received word of her appearance in the city of Summe some nights ago, when the great stars of the sky aligned and cast their light across our lands,” Sile answered plainly.

“This witch, she is flying to south to Summe to kill this Celestine?”

“Yes.”

Morad fell back from Sile, his gaze falling upon the ash-stained sands. Now he understood the mission in which his friends had been a part of, a mission he had been purposefully exempt from. As the information seeped through him, his mind cast itself back to that night with Maethilda. Had she been tricking him all along? Had she been purposefully keeping him away, threatened by his power?

“We must ride to Summe!” Morad declared angrily.

“No, my Lord, it is too late for Summe, we must make for Nor,” Sile said with determination. “We must rally an army strong enough to take on the enemy before they venture any further south.”

“But my friends, they are in danger,” Morad exclaimed with impatience. Sile caught Morad’s right arm and brought him close, her eyes large and exact.

“The fate of your friends does not lie at your feet my friend, the fate of the island however does. You must join me and help me to lead an army north, before the island is taken and overturned before the next full moon!”

Morad bite down upon his tongue, her words rang true, the fate of the city of Summe now lay out of his power, he had but one option, he and Sile must join forces and gather an army large enough to quell the army now marching south. Turning to his men, he saw their own opinions on the matter seeping from their exhausted eyes.

“I have travelled across the north in search of you Lord Commander,” Sile said with regal grace as she strode over to her horse, taking the reins from one of her companions and swinging herself up upon the saddle. “It is your duty to command an army north, you are the Lord Commander of Summe.”

“She is right my lord” Ivan interceded, a firm hand upon his friend shoulder. “We must protect the innocent people who now lie within arm’s length of certain death.”

Morad considered Ivan’s eyes and found the truth patent and clear. With a strained cough, he placed a firm hand upon Ivan’s arm and smiled slightly.

“Then we must ride to Nor and arouse our fellow men to take up the sword!”

Chapter Five

Albi

Albi stood but ten metres away from the rest of the traumatised company, his eyes turned south-east to the distant mountains of Ash, their tops covered in a thick layer of ash, which was now carrying itself south through a mass of formidable grey clouds, their bursts of thick showers covering all the land as far as the eye could see. The winds had changed course, heralding their crisp temperatures south-east, their supreme force whirling countless piles of ash into a great cloud of dust. They had been travelling on foot for more than three hours, many without boots and clothes, and some dying upon the sides of the country lanes and roads, unable to hold onto life any longer. There were but twenty-seven survivors in all and for the duration of their miserable journey towards the town of Til which lay north-west of the city of Ashlouis, they had not uttered one word. Their eyes were without light and their bodies were hunched over in hunger, hopelessness and fear. The harsh south-easterly wind howled down the country lane, its ice cool breath, running through the weak bodies of the men, women and children who hobbled along the muddy ground, the pools of water now turned to ice, the flakes of ash stuck between the sheets of frozen water. Albi turned from the group and looked back upon the distant city of Ashlouis, his mind troubled. Having given his heavy cloak of dier fur to a young girl, he stood in just a thin tunic of red wool and leather trousers. His heavy locks of blonde hair fell across his brow, the ends flickering against the wind. His face was raw and cold and his lips dry. They had been without warm food and drink for over nine hours and many now were desperate for just a bite of something in which to warm their bellies. His eyes scanning the horizon, Albi new that the enemy was close upon their trail and that any hesitation to stop now would most certainly lead to their death, none of them having any weapons of defence upon them. Turning away from the north, Albi scanned the western lands of Summe and spotted the small town of Til, which stood upon an isolated hill, its great hall and fort surrounded by a wall of wooden forts. Before the hill a small forest lay, its ceiling covered in the ash which continually fell from the clouds above, teasing all those within the walls of Kil of the death which soon would fall upon its doorstep. The world was unusually quiet, considering the recent attack upon Ashlouis and the invasion of an ancient dragon, its master the terrible black witch, Ethla. It was much too quiet for Albi, his heart beat beginning to race under the suspicious circumstances.

“Durnab?” Albi called out, his eyes upon the forest, which lay but half a league west from their current position. Hearing his brother’s footsteps making their way over to him, Albi turned to his brother. Durnab, his eyes running over the small group of survivors, halted a moment to brush off the layer of ash from a child’s head of hair before moving on.

“Yes brother?”

“What can you hear?” Albi asked quietly, aware that the starved and traumatised eyes of those dependant on him, were in fact glued to himself and Durnab, their gaze searching every line and movement of his face for a sign. Bringing his brother close to him, Albi considered his green eyes, his own solemn and alarmed. Durnab’s brows furrowed suddenly, his gaze once upon the ground below now lifting to meet with his own.

“Nothing,” his whispered darkly. “I hear nothing.”

“Exactly,” Albi said with a nod, his own fear now confirmed. “We must reach the forest yonder, for I fear our enemy is but a breath away. The air is too quiet and the land is holding its breath. We must hurry!”

Durnab lifted his head away, seeing the fear in his brother’s eyes and merely nodding in agreement. Albi placed a hand upon his brother’s shoulder, the force of the wind causing their bodies to move about quite violently.

“Keep the children to the front, I shall stay at the back with Mornac and Brust, they are the strongest of the men we have, if anything should happen, you must lead the group to the forest and make for Til,” Albi commanded darkly. “And whatever you do Durnab, do not for whatever reason stop.”

“I understand brother,” Durnab replied simply, his brother’s order’s clear and precise. He knew what was to be done, and understood the cost if he should fail. Standing back from his younger brother, Albi smiled down at him, proud of his courage and strength.

“Then go brother and do not look back, I and my men shall provide the defence,” Albi said kindly, releasing his hand from his brother’s arm.

“People!” a child cried out suddenly, his cry shaking Albi with fear. Turning to the child who was but five moons old, he saw his outstretched hand directed towards the east. Following his hand, Albi spotted a line upon the horizon, its head making for Til. Coming to stand beside Albi once more, Durnab strained his eyes.

“Could they be survivors?” he asked calmly, his legs shaking against the coldness.

“I do not know, but we shall meet them upon the road, for they too are headed towards Til, which means that they shall pass alongside the forest,” Albi answered clearly. Turning to the group, he took to standing upon an isolated rock. Wiping away the thick strands of his hair, he looked down into their frightened faces. “We must hurry and make for the protection of the forest yonder, I fear the air is too quiet for my liking. We cannot say for certainty that those who walk over the plains yonder are our enemy or ally and so we must wait until we have made shelter. My brother here shall guide you, whilst those strongest of you shall remain with me at the back. We have no weapons but we shall protect the weak and vulnerable to the best of our ability. It is imperative to understand that should we come under attack, your only hope of surviving is to follow Durnab and remember, should the dragon reveal itself, do not look upon it, for to do so shall only render you its victim.”

Albi heard the outcry of fear, the mothers instantaneously holding their young close to them and the men standing forward in receipt of his request. Running through the legs of the fearful mothers, came Geetham, his feet defiantly rushing through the frozen slush and coming to a halt before his brothers.

“What about me?” the young boy quizzed, his blue eyes stained with confusion. “What must I do brother?”

Feeling his pain, Albi stood down from the rock and came before Geetham, bending down low so that their eyes met.

“You my brother have the greatest task before you,” he said in all seriousness. “You have miraculous feet which can run twice the speed of a grown man, and so my brother you must use your feet and make for Til, you must use your gift and save your friends. Can you do this for me?”

“Albi no!” Durnab said with disgust, his eyes growing dark. Albi turned his eyes to Durnab.

“I feel no honour in bequeathing such a mission either Durnab, but he has unbelievable speed and right now, we must rely on all of our resources, should we wish to see the rising sun of tomorrow,” Albi stressed, his voice shaking. “Come we have no time to argue, we must be on our way!”

“You best hope he survives brother,” Durnab threatened as the young Geetham turned about and began to run with all the strength he could muster. Their eyes upon his distant figure, the brother stood side by side, their quiet thoughts striking them with fear. Without another word, Durnab left his brother and took charge of the company, leading them towards the distant forest. Standing together, Albi and the remaining men looked upon each other. Albi knew that were they to be attacked, that they would not see the light of the morning pass over their faces, he knew that the certainty of their deaths lay before them with a fearful truth.

“Come, we must stick together,” Albi commanded kindly, motioning for the me to lead on. Their journey moved onwards and in relative silence, the hearts of the survivors rigid and torn. Keeping himself at the back of the several men, Albi rubbed his hands together for warm, his ears pricked and his heartbeat resounding violently through him, its pulse so deep that his heart ached. The world he had been born into had all but changed under the cover of night, and now there was no trace of yesterday, no trace of his past nor the world in which he recognised. All lay hidden beneath a veil of death and ash. For the first time in his young adult life, he could not look into the future as he had once done, for the hands of time had stopped and the winds of fate changed. The fields should have been filled with workers and farmers, gathering what little grain had been left to them, their ancient songs of the south should fill the ears of all those who passed by and the Summerian birds should be hovering above their heads in the hope that some grain would spill upon the ground. Nothing of life lingered anymore upon the lands, not even the scurrying of frightened mice could be seen. Nothing had given way to life, and soon death would stalk its prey like the flames of fire. He knew not how to remedy a medicine for the days which would soon pass before him, knew not how the people he loved could possibly ward of a vast army, led by a killer dragon. The once secretive people of Summe, all of them soaked in an ancient culture and history, would soon be wiped from the memory of time. The singing mockbird would sing no more. His heavy boots trudging through the dark puddles, Albi felt a small tremor run through him, its force causing the puddles of water to tremor. Halting, he lifted a hand in the air, the feet of his men coming to a halt alongside him. Bending down to the ground, his placed a hand upon the ground and closed his eyes in observation.

“Horses,” he said aloud, his body suddenly straightening. Turning to his men, he saw the blazing fear in their eyes, the ground shaking again. Standing up tall, Alibi slowly turned his head, his gaze travelling from the faces of his shaking men to a torrent of ash which had formed into an unholy cloud, but five hundred metres away in the distance. His heart stopping, Albi watched as a great shadow fell across the land, its moving form followed by an aching cry. Flinging his hands to his burning ears, Albi watched as the men to his side fell upon the ash-ridden ground, their eyes closed in pain. His breath stuck, Albi saw the great beast fall through the dark clouds above, its vast form soaring through the open air, the form of the black witch upon its back. Turning about he could see the shapes of his group, now but a few metres from the forest. His moment of joy ended as a great flame of white fire was unleashed from the dragon, its heat so strong that his skin burned. “No!” he cried out in horror as the flame washed over the group of survivors. As though the moment of horror could not possibly dissolve into further terror, one of the men grabbed at his sleeve.

“Soldiers!” he screamed in horror, his grey eyes alive with the reflection of the dragon’s fire. Turning about, Albi caught sight of a great barrier of soldiers upon horses, their wall stretching from Albi’s location to that of the fleeing survivors across the plains, their screams of horror now filling the air like poison. The ground now quaked with the onslaught of the enemy, the flags of Galgor gleaming against the light of the dragon’s breath, its white fire singing down upon the innocent victims.

“Run!” Albi cried out as the eyes of his enemies bore down upon him in anger. “Run for your lives!”

Hearing his words, the men turned about and began to run like demented sheep, their weak feet gathering but a little pace against the backdrop of horses and men. The ash fell like torturous flakes of death as they ran, all of them in varying directions towards the edge of the forest, the dragon’s shadow falling over them once again as a great flame of white fire bore down upon their group, turning two of his friends to ash. Falling to the ground in shock, Albi rolled about in shock. His hands finding the ground, he instantly picked himself up and caught sight of a group of riders riding forth from the edge of the forest, the flag of Summe flying against the flames of death. Finding his feet once more, Albi realised with dread that he now stood between his enemy and friend, the sound of their war cries singing like the shots of arrows through the dense air. Looking up, he saw the arrows of death as they searched the air for their targets. Unable to move, his friends all but dead, he watched on in stunted realisation as the group of soldiers which had emerged from the forest, headed towards him, their swords raised. The ash upon the ground flew up into the air against the pressure of the hooves, and as the horses passed by him, he felt himself lift into the air, his legs and feet losing balance. Before him he watched as the enemy and foe clashed swords, the clash tinging the air with a gleam. Men fell from their steads to their death, their heads crushed and their bodies torn apart. His spirit finding renewed energy, Albi ran forward and joined the battle, his hands finding the discharged swords of his enemies. Taking up a sword, bow and several arrows, Albi readied himself before sourcing out his first target and moving with haste, desperate to aid his falling allies.

Blood spilled upon the ground and the stench of war filled his senses as he waded his way through the army of soldiers, all of whom fought with strength beyond measure. Looking around and finding the eyes of his friends, he watched as they fell like Auta leaves, their hopeful gazes freezing with terror as their dismembered bodies sought the frozen ground for relief. Across the plains, many other groups of allied soldiers upon horses, raced across the plains of Ashlouis, their swords casting a light across the battlefield, amid the flames of the dragon which bore down upon them like a raging river of hatred. Turning his attention back to his own survival, Albi felled his enemy with such anger, that the blade of his sword gracefully swung down over their bodies with such lightness, that even he did not feel the pressure of their deaths. The enemy and the ally so embattled with one another, clung to one another like the latching of a disease to its victim. The air was stained with death and his face bloodied with the blood of his victims. His arms ached and his legs trembled with pain as he brought down a soldier from his horse and plucked his final breath with the tip of his sword. Taking a hold of the traumatised stallion, Albi swung himself up upon the back of the horse and took the reins into his gloved hands. Sensing the need to find his brothers, he turned from the battle and kicked the horse into a fierce gallop, the edge of the forest but a five-minute ride. His hair glued to the side of his face and forehead, he rode with such ferocity that the horses head drew back in pain. The cries of battle rang out in his ears as he rode onwards, the forest edging ever closer. As he rode he felt the shadow of the beast fall over him and quickly began to direct his horse to the left, quickly turning the reins again, this time directing the horse to the right, in a zig-zag manner. Behind him he heard the cry of the dragon as it rained down upon him, its flames of white fire scorching the ground beside him, the heat so fierce that he felt himself faintish, his skin burning. His eyes shutting against the heat, he saw from the corner of his eyes the shape of the dragon as it swooned down over him and came to an almighty crash before him, a great cloud of ash and dust sweeping up into a flurry of disturbed mess. Stopping his horse immediately, Albi felt himself thrown to the ground before the great dragon. His body paralysed with pain, Albi rolled over, his gaze catching the body of the dragon, its face turned from him. Beside him, his saw his bow lying within a puddle, arrows splayed across the scorched land. His pain unbearable, yet his need to find his brothers greater, he took to his feet and took up the bow, his other hand plucking the arrows from the ash. He knew he couldn’t defeat the dragon, knew that his life was soon to vapourish into a pile of ash, but he would not die in vain, he would not die without trying.

The dragon brought itself up onto its great feet of black scales and slowly turned about, its gigantic head soaring into the air with vengeance, its red eyes baring down upon the small figure of Albi, his bow at the ready. Upon the dragon’s shoulders, Albi sourced the figure of the black witch, her pale face marred with a treacherous smile.

“You cannot kill that which is already dead solider!” she hollered aloud with a painful laugh, which shook Albi from within. As soon as she spoke, Albi unleashed his arrow and watched as it danced through the air, its silver tipped end turning downwards, its target, the dragons eye. As soon as the arrow nose-dived, the dragon unleashed its white fire upon Albi, its heat raining over him with such an intense tremor that he felt himself slip into the arms of death willingly. His life flashing before him slowly, he watched himself fall to the ground, the great dragon before him sweeping his head about in demented torture as though wounded. Behind him he could feel the eyes of both his enemy and ally upon him, their gazes reeking of pity. It felt strange to be dead, for he never felt more alive that he did now. For he saw clearly before him the dragon, its left eye pierced by his arrow. And behind him he heard the battle-cries dimmish into whispers. Looking down at himself he realised with disturbance that he was very much alive. Looking up from his feet, he saw the reaction of the witch, her smile all but gone and her eyes peeled with hidden terror. His hands shaking, Albi sought the bow from the ground and lifted himself up. Placing an arrow within the bow, he summoned his inner most strength and aimed the arrow at the dragon’s right eye. Seeing what he was about, the dragon soaked in another mouthful of air and unleashed another flame of white fire, its heat melting Albi, but not to a pile of ash, for still he stood, arrow pointed. With anger, he pulled back the arrow, tilted the bow upwards and released the weapon, its cry piercing through that of the dragons. The black witch let out a cry of anger as the arrow struck the other eye of the dragon, rending the beast blind. Albi stepped back in disbelief, the witch’s commands to her soldiers heralding through the air. With pained wings, the beast lifted itself into the air and soared into the dark clouds above, its screams vibrating across the battlefield. Turning, he saw his enemy make for him with renewed effort. Before he could react, a rough hand took him by the collar and threw him up upon a horse. Positioning himself before the rider, Albi looked behind him, the army riding as hard as the hooves of their horses would take them.

“Soldier, make your bow ready and pick off the closest of riders so that we may survive!” came the rough voice, a vice Albi distinctly beheld as a woman’s. Clambering about, he made ready his bow and arrows and obeyed the soldier’s commands, his arrows picking off the closest of prey. Feeling the wind in his hair and the blood trickle down his throat, Albi held on tightly with his legs as the soldier finally made the forest and whipped their way through the trees, losing sight of the enemy. Unable to use his bow any longer, Albi lowered his arm and prayed to the Gods that he would keep his seat as the rider rode weaved their way through the thicket of trees, several branches whipping at his face. Turning his gaze over the shoulder of the rider, he caught sight of the town of Til through the trees. As they dashed out of the forest and onto a small plain, the rider took from their satchel a horn and with weak breath blew upon it, the sound deafening Albi. Twice the rider blew at the horn before putting it back into their satchel. The horse sped up the mounting hill, the gates of the town opening wide at the call. His eyes upon the battlefield north, Albi knew that great blood had been spilled that hour and that the battle was far from over, the enemy out-numbering the soldiers of Til. Behind them, the gates closed and the rider commanded their horse to stop. With a firm halt, the horse came to an exhausted halt, its head dancing about in irritation. They strode in a large square area, now quickly filling with armed soldiers, all baring the mark of Summe. Before he could take in his surroundings, Albi found himself being flung down from the horse by his saviour, his body hitting the ground with terrible force, a force which only exacerbated his already pained self. Turning about, Albi felt the tip of a blade at his chest. Lifting his gaze to the soldier, he watched as his saviour drew away his hood to reveal not a male soldier, but a woman as blazingly beautiful as the mid-night moon. Shocked to be at the mercy of a woman, but a few years younger than himself, Albi lifted his brows.

“You’re a woman,” he said with discourtesy. Around him he heard the laughs of men, all of them somehow finding the whole situation humours.

“And you it seems are immortal!” the woman said with severity as she knelt, her dark eyes baring into his own gaze. “How did you manage to stay alive? What sorcery do you wield?”

“I hold no sorcery my Lady,” Albi answered honestly. “I am as much surprised by my own breath as you.”

For a moment, she lingered in silence, her gaze searching his own. Her brows relaxing, she withdrew the tip of her blade and stood back.

“Your actions have changed the course of this war soldier,” the woman said with a cool gaze as she turned away and handed over the reins of her mount to a soldier. Finding his feet, his body sore and his mind restless, Albi looked at the sea of faces, searching for those familiar to him.

“My brothers, you must help me to find my brothers,” Albi called out as he wiped his brow with the back of his gloved hand. Turning to him, her long black tresses falling about her shoulders, the woman glided over to him, her eyes sombre and pained.

“The company you sent here through the forest?”

“Aye my Lady, did they make it?” Albi asked, the image of the dragon breathing its wicked white flames over the group passing over him like a cruel joke.

“No friend,” the woman said under her breath. “Only a young boy managed to make it to the town.”

Before he could answer, the cries of a young boy filled the air.

“Albi! Albi!”

Albi turned about and watched as the crowd drew apart and made a space, the space filling with the form of Geetham who ran down the road, his arms opened wide.

“Geetham…” Albi whispered under his breath as his younger sibling ran into his arms and held him tightly.

“Albi!” Geetham cried loudly, his small arms wrapped about him so tightly that Albi let out a groan of pain.

“Come child you are causing your brother pain,” the young lady said as she drew Geetham back. Albi looked down into the pale face of his sibling and felt tears prickle at his eyes. Bending down so that their gazes met, he saw the grief in the young child’s gaze.

“Durnab, where is he? Have you seen him?” Albi asked kindly, the voices of the crowd becoming quiet and distant. Geetham merely shook his head, large buds of tears falling upon his cheeks.

“The dragon, the dragon…” Geetham began before he turned away in shame. Looking to the young woman, Albi searched her face for any sign of hope. There was none to be found, all that she had said was true. His brother was dead, alongside those he had tried to save, his actions in vain. His chest tightened and the prickling tears fell. His knees upon the ground, his face stained with the blood of his enemies and allies, Albi let out a holler of a cry, his hands finding his face and covering it lightly. The echoes of his pitiful cries rang out like the heralding call of destruction. As he sobbed uncontrollably, he felt the embrace of young Geetham, the boy falling into his brother’s arms, his own high-pitched cried mingling with his. Holding him closely, the warm of his embrace giving him some relief, Albi opened his burning eyes and caught the gaze of the young woman, who stood silently still. Those who had surrounded him had now dispersed as the horns of battle drew closer.

“Come we must prepare for an attack,” the young woman said before turning on her heel and following the soldiers as they ascended the dusty road towards the great hall, its doors of silver gleaming against the weak rays of sunlight. The sun now rose over the Ashlouis Mountains, the sky bleeding with the blood of those who lay lifeless upon the plains below. Many would lose loved ones this day and many yet would continue to lose those they held dear, for the heralding of war had now been rung and the world around those in Summe would be forced to answer.

Chapter Six

Celestine

An unspeakable force electrified Celestine, as though the heart of heavens anger had struck her whole, leaving her breathless upon the moist, marshlands unto which she had been transported. Time and its endless lines of directions, had it seemed not made her welcome, despite time itself flowing through her spirit and soul, the last true heir to life itself. Her journey from a naive young woman shunned by society into the heir apparent of the universe had not been kind, and though her feet moved onwards, her quest for self determination had halted. Celestine had been ambushed by a power she still had not come to terms with, and felt that with every minute slipping into the beyond, she was falling into a perilous black hole, from which she knew not who would arise. Grappling with the moist grass, her lower body beneath a murky water, glistening beneath the light of the slippery moon, Celestine lifted her eyes from the long reeds which blew quietly against a northerly wind. Crawling out of the large pool, its bed covered in bones, Celestine brought herself to her feet, noticing the silent figures of Anvin and Aabe, who stood a little way off, their pale faces sombre and still. Her long tresses drenched, and her leather pants firmly glued to her long legs, Celestine carefully wound her way through the perilous marshes, coming to a halt beside her protectors. She gazed into the distance, the silhouette of the Calnuthe Mountains glinting in despair. Around them, the marshlands seemed to go on forever, until they met with a dark and imposing forest.

“Where is the city?” she whispered hauntingly, her golden eyes turning to Anvin.

“I forget you are a new student, uneducated in this new and dauting world to which you have been cast,” Anvin returned quietly, his own sparkling eyes meeting with her. “If you look closely, you shall find the last free city of the south, hidden beneath shadow.”

“The stars of the night fade under its gaze,” Aabe went on, his words shrouded with mystery. Her boots heavy and uncomfortable and her head aching with exhaustion, Celestine squinted her eyes and searched the wide and foreboding area before her. Her cold hands loosely hanging in the dense air, filled with the sullen smells of the marshlands, Celestine’s eyes came to a halt. About a league north, a shadow, deeper than that of the night sky came into sight. Her eyes rising from the foot of the shadow, Celestine noticed the shapes of great towers and buildings, all of whom lay behind a great wall, some two leagues in length.

“It was once the jewel of the south,” Anvin murmured, the Book of Days clasped at his chest, his silvery hair blowing softly.

“What happened that it should lose its gleam?” Celestine enquired as they began to walk onwards.

“It fell into unforgiving hands,” Anvin returned darkly, his long legs at war with the hardy reeds which refused to give way to the guests.

“What do you mean?”

Celestine felt the star shaped jewel about her warm slightly, sending a burst of heated energy through her cold body. She observed the silent glare between father and son, and wondered at their unspoken words.

“Even the most innocent of gestures can turn sour,” Anvin explained, the moist land turning hard as they crept upon the great city of shadow. Celestine thought it wise to stop enquiring, sensing the subject to be out of bounds. Diligently she followed the great wizard and his unusually sullen son, amazed at the sheer size of Ethe, city of shadow.

“Why is it called the city of shadow?”

“Before the first age of man, when the children of Aurelius fell upon the land of Calnuthe, a great angel, his name Gathalian, built a city to protect the vulnerable,” Anvin explained as he helped Celestine cross a slippery pathway between the reeds. “He searched the land for a rare mineral called Blathan, black rock which lies upon the edge of the great lake. Mining the rock, he and his men built the city of Ethe. At night when the enemy would strike the kingly guardians, the city, under cover of shadow would protect the young, elderly and feeble. It was the stroke of genius, and has served as a pillar of defence ever since.”

“Only by day can the enemy attack the city, by night they are as blind as the yellow bat,” Aabe interrupted with a keen smile. “It is said that the great angel’s bones lie beneath the cathedral of Numansdei.”

“I have heard that name before,” Celestine mused as they quickened their pace, aware that they were unsafe out in the open, with prying eyes almost certainly upon them.

“It was the birthplace of your father, and of his father” Anvin answered sharply, his feet coming to a halt. Celestine felt her heart jump at the mention of her family, her chapped lips turning up into a small smile of pride. Standing between the two tall men, she looked upon the great city before her, the southern gate as tall as the withen tree. Moulded into the deep gates of shadow stood two great men, one baring wings and the other a man of mortal blood, wearing a crown upon his head. Stepping forwards, Celestine came before the statues, their encrusted eyes following her. The air was foul and upon the wings of the mellow wind, she could almost hear the hissing of her enemies as she stood, but a mere woman beneath what she believed to be a relic of Gathalian and an ageless King of Calnuthe, her ancestor. The looked formidable and almost frightening, their faces so sharp and knowing. That unspoken force she had felt upon her awakening once again shook her. Feeling her cloak dance about her slim frame, Celestine felt her heart beat weaken.

“What is it friend?” a soft voice enquired kindly. Turning to Aabe, his dark tresses cast across his serious gaze, Celestine looked up into his gaze.

“Such great men, with endless power and wisdom still flowing through them,” she said with a shake of her head. “I am nothing in comparison, I’m not even sure if I know my own mind. Why do I feel like they are looking upon me not with optimism, but disappointment?”

“That is merely a reflection of your own mind, before you stand mere statues in memory of the men you believe to be superior in both power and wisdom,” Aabe answered bluntly, his brown eyes baring the mark of a similar thought. “But even they had their weaknesses, perfection I’m afraid is a mere illusion. But you…” Aabe placed his cool hands upon her shoulders.  “You stand before them, the closest to perfection in the universe. Do not give up hope yet Celestine, not when you are just embarking on your journey towards enlightenment. There is still hope, and you will come to find your strength and power.”

“Where shall I find it?” Celestine whispered softly, her golden gaze over-shadowed by grieve.

“In here, were it has always burned with reverence and allegiance,” Aabe said, his words low and tinged with emotion. Celestine watched on as the young wizard, often quiet and pensive in nature, bestowed a hand upon her heart, his fingers trembling and his eyelashes fluttering under her gaze. “Come, the night is drawing to a close and we must be on our way before the sun rises.”

For a moment, they merely looked upon one another, each quietly acknowledging the intangible fate interwoven between them.

“You believe in me?” Celestine whispered, a silent tear marking her cheek.

“Since before I could speak,” Aabe answered with a serious smile, the small lines about his large eyes drawing upwards. “I am not alone.”

“Come Aabe, come Celestine we must go on,” Anvin announced from nearby. Turning, Celestine watched the wizard step forward, placing his right hand upon a golden flower which lay within the middle of the grand gates. In wonder, Celestine watched as he splayed his hand over the golden flower, his lips moving quietly, words she didn’t quite understand flowing forth. In amazement she shielded her eyes as a golden light burst forth from the flower, its power forcing the great gate open. A cloud of dust swept over the group as the gates slowly edged backwards, revealing the great city within. Standing close to Aabe, Celestine drew away her hand and noticed several dozen beacons of light before them. Squinting her eyes, she observed a group of twenty to thirty soldiers standing ready with their swords, their leader upon a white horse.

“I should have known that you would return wizard, return upon the point of mankind’s fall into destruction, as the rays of the moon collide with our mother sun, her fire eclipsed by shadow and ice,” a regal voice called out from beyond the gates. Celestine watched as the tall and strong looking man upon the white horse came forward, his men following. “But even I find myself somewhat mystified that you should return thus…”

“Stay close to me Celestine,” Aabe whispered as the man sharply motioned for his beautiful steed to stop. Her eyes to the ground, Celestine felt his gaze upon her.

“How did you come to know of our imminent arrival, my Lord?” Anvin enquired stoutly, clearly unafraid of the man before him.

“She sees all Anvin, keeper of eyes,” the man answered as he climbed down of his mount and threw back his hood, revealing his angelic face and fiery blue eyes, which glowed as brightly as Celestine’s. “Her vision has journeyed beyond the realms of our Kingdom,” the young Lord declared, his heavy feet coming to stop before Celestine. She felt his gaze burn into her skin, marking her like gold to iron. “But you already know that priest.”

“My Lord, I have come to seek your counsel, and I believe you need mine,” Anvin said, his back straight and his hands without tremor. He watched on as the young lord, revered and devoutly cherished among his men, look upon Celestine. “May I introduce you to your cousin, and heir to Calnuthe, Celestine, daughter of Unyae and Elion and granddaughter of Heiden, King of Kings and Lord of Lords.”

“So, it is true?” Elion whispered in awe as he lifted a gloved hand, and rested his index finger beneath Celestine’s chin, forcing her face to rise and meet with his. “She has returned to save us? To bring about peace and prosperity and to rid the world of our enemy?”

“It is she, the star of the north,” Anvin declared gallantly, his sparkling eyes observing the young cousins as they looked upon each other, half in suspicion and half curiosity.

“It is I cousin,” Celestine said with bated breath, astonished at the similarity between her cousin and father. She could hardly tell them apart such was their similarity in looks. She felt her eyes ease and her lips smooth under his stern yet gentle gaze. His blonde locks were swept behind his ears, and his beautifully rounded blue eyes, obviously stained by war and pain looked down into her own. He wore a clock of emerald green and beneath the uniform of a calnuthian commander, black leather pants, a black woollen tunic which lay beneath a golden suit of armour which protected his chest, back and shoulders. Nestled within the body armour, close to his neck was a small white flower. He looked grand, strong and regal, his golden armour engraved with silver and copper flowers. Upon his waist lay a golden belt in which carried his sword and dagger. He was at least a half a foot taller than she.

“My mother was right, you are strange to behold in looks, much like your own mother,” Elion stated simply as he slowly paced about her, his eyes running up and down the length of her slim body. “She was a renowned beauty, her fiery eyes and auburn hair filling many a song. I remember her very little, but any memory of Unyae is never without taint and always embedded with an innocence far beyond that of a simple woman. She was a light unto lights, and her ray of eternal love and kindness shall never be forgotten, for her grace shall always fed the lands of our forefathers with an eternal dew.”

“You speak of my mother with a kind fondness cousin,” Celestine returned in kind as Elion wound her arm through his, a radiating smile putting any unease to rest. She knew instinctively that he was to be trusted and that his loyalty was unshaken in the face of uncertainty.

“Come my dear cousin, the city has been awaiting your arrival for some hours,” Elion announced loudly as he brought Celestine under the great archway and into the city of shadow. Passing by the large group of Calnuthian soldiers, she looked over her shoulder and caught sight of Anvin and Aabe, following closely behind, the great gates closing. Taken by surprise, Celestine noticed that the paved roads which wound from West to East were flowing with sleepy men, women and children, all carrying various beacons of light, their weary eyes now prized with life and awe. Cheers began to ring out and in the distance, the bells of Numansdei rang out across the city. The procession in full flow, Celestine, her feet tired and her heart fluttering from the sheer impact of the crowds, couldn’t but take her eyes of her cousin. The city adored him and clearly, he adored them in return, using his free hand to wave. Celestine, unable to make out many of the buildings in which they passed, allowed herself to be guided through the city, the road winding its way up what felt like a hill of sorts.

“Our people have been stricken by poverty and war cousin, many have travelled for months to seek shelter here in the city,” Elion said under cover of his unfailing smile. “They have seen many a dreadful act and many are without their family.”

“Then my brother’s wrath has indeed broken the land of my father and reaped famine and death,” Celestine said in anger, her eyes now taking in the thin and frail faces, many of women and young children, some obviously scarred by the sword or worse.

“Such is his hand of power that those once silenced by my uncle’s reign have now found the freedom in which to conduct their own acts of cruelty upon the vulnerable.”

“What do you mean cousin?”

“Magic was once the jewel of our people, shrouding us in a veil of mystery,” Elion declared with glazed eyes. “Now those who possess the gift of our ancestors are being put to death by the men they call the Rurin. Men of white cloth, those loyal to the old Gods.”

“You must forgive my ignorance, I am still quite unlearned in the history of our people,” Celestine muttered in shame. “I thought the people of the south and the north prayed to Heiden?”

“Many religions now thrive under the cover of the one true God,” Elion said with a shake of his head. “That has always been the way. Many a man is willing to turn his eyes from the truth, only if it does not fulfil his purpose.”

“I see.”

“My own father was a great believer in the old Gods.”

“And you my Lord?”

Amid the crying, wailing and cheering crowds, Elion came to an abrupt halt and turned to his cousin. Cold, hungry and in need of rest, Celestine marvelled up at him, still amazed that she had been reconnected with a family member, believing herself to be alone.

“Your mother’s arrival greatly changed the landscape of religion my Lady, any seed of uncertainty was swiftly put to rest when she became Queen,” Elion said kindly. “The days of your father’s reign were the finest, even the flowers bloomed onwards, stretching into the cold wintur months. For a while it seemed that all was in perfect balance and the world once more peaceful and merry.”

“And then the sword of darkness pierced the veil of light?” Celestine said with raised brows. “My brother…even my very own existence has plunged this land into an unforgiving shadow.”

“Yet hope remains my Lady, for you have returned as it was foretold,” Elion said in confidence. “And now you have given your people hope for the future.”

“What about the city? Can it stand alone in the face of your enemy? For surely my brother will be upon you?”

Elion’s smile faded into a sombre tremble at her words. His eyes falling upon the darkened ground below, he nodded in agreement.

“It is true, he has but a week ago sent a great army north, determined to break the last remaining fortress of the south,” Elion said with a sigh of frustration. “And I know not where to send my people, starving and weak as they are.”

“Surely there must be a way to protect them?” Celestine enquired as they began to walk on once more. Celestine’s legs burned as she walked through the streets, her feet ascending the steep hill.

“There are only the caves under the mountain, but word has it that they have been over-run by wild wolves from the north.”

Before she could answer, Celestine found her eyes falling upon a great cathedral which stoop upon the threshold of the hill. It was beautiful and beguiling to look upon, its four towers reaching up into the night sky, the stars reflecting against the smooth surface of the Blathan rock. Close to the cathedral a great house stood, smaller in size but no less beautiful.

“The house of our fathers,” Elion said simply as he guided her east towards the house, heavily guarded by soldiers. “Come you must be tired.”

“Achingly,” Celestine returned in kind as she allowed Elion to bring her up the great steps, flanked by flags. Her eyes unable to part with the cathedral, Celestine felt the presence of Anvin and Aabe close at her side. All at once a dozen soldiers brought forth their silver horns and clasped them to their lips, a sweet and captivating sound resounding far and wide. At once the doors, embellished in gold opened and inside, a warmth of fine light filtered out into the dark night. Inside three large tables filled the great space, now flowing with merry men and women, men and women who it seemed to Celestine’s eyes were of the higher realms of society, gowned in beautiful gowns. Upon her arrival, the room came to a standstill and all eyes fell upon her. “I’m not dressed for such an occasion cousin,” Celestine whispered hurriedly, seeing the slight disappointed in the eyes of the women.

“I care not,” Elion said with warm and lingering smile. “Come you must sit with me and eat.”

“But it is the early hours of the morning, how is that still you feast?”

“Tonight, marks the return of mankind’s hope, is it so strange that I should wish to celebrate?”

“Perhaps not,” Celestine returned, her cheeks flushed with heat. At once those before her fell low, their heads bent as she was brought through the large hall. The tables were laden with food, drink and flowers and before them, stood a great throne, enshrined by a mosaic of colour which hang from the wall. Another chair of gold sat close to the throne and as Elion sat down in comfort upon his throne, Celestine motioned by him, sat down upon the golden chair. Quickly a young maid came before her, a tray balancing upon her trembling hand. A little taken back by the rowdy guests and merry atmosphere, Celestine took a goblet of laman from the young maid and quickly down the warm liquid, her cousin in talks with Anvin, who sat upon the other side of his throne. Asleep at the foot of her cousin’s throne lay three great dogs, all of whom resembled Irish wolfhounds. Her legs relaxing a little, Celestine ran her eyes over the curious faces of those gazing upon her. Her belly warmed by the liquid and her hands now revived, Celestine quickly tended to her somewhat unclean hair. Music began to fill the hall and was soon followed by joyous dancing, yet despite the warm welcome, Celestine could not settle and nor it seemed could Aabe, who stood close by, leaning against a pillar of stone, his face remarkably downtrodden. He refused any refreshments and even the hand of a lovely young lady, clearly taken by his mysterious self. Celestine felt reassured that her friend too felt oddly out of place, considering the reason for their arrival. Turning her eyes to Anvin, she caught his gaze and understood the message sent by the wizard. Clearly, he was devoting much needed time to speaking with the young Lord, clearly in need of counsel, the ringing of battle soon to be heard. Following his gaze across the hall, she caught Aabe’s intense stare and new at once what was to be done.

Setting down her goblet, Celestine lifted herself from the golden chair and quietly made her way down to Aabe. Her cousin, drenched in conversation was somewhat oblivious to her exit, offering her a moment of escape. Coming to Aabe, now standing straight and tall, she merely nodded, her eyes finding the object of their mission beneath the fold of his cloak.

“Come we have matters to attend to,” Aabe whispered into her ear, his gaze falling to the Book of Days which lay hidden beneath his cloak.

“Were shall we hide it?” Celestine quizzed the young wizard as she followed him through the hall, her eyes meeting with those who passed them by, all of whom immediately fell into a regal bow before her.

“In plain sight of everyone,” Aabe answered with a knowing smile. Finally making it out into the cold night air once more, the guards silent and still, Aabe took Celestine’s hand and guided her down the steps of the great house of Ethe. Soon they came to stand before Numansdei, its sheer size and formidable power overwhelming. “Come,” Aabe said as he guided Celestine up the great steps and under the magnificent threshold in which a dozen angels looked down upon them. The air immediately changed and the light it seemed, faded into silver. Celestine felt that tug of power which had clung to her upon her arrival, once more surge through her, this time with a terrible sickness. She felt its mark particularly upon her right arm in which had been greatly weakened by her powers, turning her veins a horrid shade of black.

“It isn’t how I thought it would be,” she whispered into the coldness. It was as unalike any cathedral she had seen. There were no pews, no great altar and no sign of religious symbolism. Nothing it seemed filled the great space around them, nothing that was but for dozens of carefully structured channels which ran across the surface of the floor, each vertically aligned towards what looked to be a great pond, which lay directly at the heart of the cathedral. “Aabe what is this place?”

“Once it was the heart of white magic, a place in which the white Queen, Sheloth lived,” Aabe whispered, the sound of dripping water catching his ears. Celestine looked upon him and saw that he was indeed frightened. “She was the oldest living priestess, until…”

Celestine stopped and forced her friend to look upon her.

“Aabe, this place does not feel safe, no pure magic lives within these walls, surely you can feel the same force which now holds my body hostage?”

Aabe gulped loudly, the Book of Days clasped under his left arm.

“This is the only place in which I can hide this book,” Aabe whispered, his eyelashes fluttering uncomfortably. “We must be quiet, we mustn’t disturb the water.”

“Why ever not Aabe? What hides beneath the water?” Celestine quizzed darkly, her skin cool and her golden eyes casting a small light over the black marbled floor. Looking up, she cast her eyes to the marbled walls, all of which were now dripping in water, the buds of water, controlled by a force, making their way down into the channels below.

“What happened to the white Queen Aabe?” Celestine whispered in terror, her stomach silenced by a terrible wave of nausea.

“She was murdered and found lifeless upon the floor…her eyes gone.”

Celestine turned from Aabe and watched as the water flowed towards the pond. Feeling that unmistakable force within, she made her way towards the pond, her hands lifeless by her side.

“Celestine no!” Aabe called out, his own body paralysed by the darkness within the cathedral. “You mustn’t disturb the water!”

“It is already disturbed,” Celestine whispered inwardly as her booted feet fell still before the large pond. “Who murdered the white Queen Aabe?” she cried out as a figure began to arise from the waters, tall and ominous. She already knew the answer before the haunting words were spoken.

“The faceless woman, Lady Moruaina.”

As he cried out the words, laced with regret, Celestine watched on in fear as the figure, hooded in water turned to her. It was a sight in which no words could hold justice, for as fearsome as the faceless woman looked, Celestine couldn’t help but feel a momentary ray of awe run through her. She had witnessed terrible power before, but such craft was interwoven into the woman before her and for the first time in her life, Celestine feared for her life. Her legs felt consumed by an angry force which forced them to bend upon the ground. Her hands finding the moist marble below, Celestine looked upon the glass like form of her aunt, her face hidden beneath a hood of water, her long tresses of midnight black flowing down over her form, a thousand shards of white light falling upon the fearsome woman and immortalising her in buds of crystal water.

“At last we meet.”

Chapter Seven

Anvin

The hall, warm from the heat of the great hearths which burned brightly, their flames licking at the faces of those merry and drowning in the sour laman which flowed liberally from the clay jars, bobbing above the heads of noble men and warriors. Before the throne, the gentle women of the south, their raven hair free and moving in mellow waves about their long frames, danced beneath the flickering flames of the great beacons which filled the ancient hall of Kings. His hands upon the arms of his chair, Anvin watched the men and women before him, their eyes flashing with an emotion begotten of joy. Beside him, the just and kind Lord sat in silence, his eyes unwavering and his lips set, much like his astute character. He had been blessed with his mothers looks and once kind heart. Yet unalike his mother, Elion understood deeply the nature of man and was, despite his strength of character, a pensive soul. He understood the cost born by the coolness of the blade and the weight brought down upon a man, should the blunt axe meet with his neck. He was much like his uncle in temperament and wisdom and thus it was for this reason and this reason alone that Anvin had spared his mother. That and the inherent failure of man, to deny the beauty and seductive charms of the opposite sex. She had been the most beautiful woman in the lands before the fall of Unyae, and many a man had killed in her honour, just so that he may kneel before her, the memory of her beauty forever engrained within his soul. Such had been the power of Lady Moruaina the faceless.

“I remember well when I was but a boy, you sitting as you are beside my father, both deep in discussion,” Elion spoke sharply, his eyes turning to the allusive Anvin, his back bent in pain. “I would hide behind the pillar yonder, and urge myself to stay awake amid the calling of slumber.” He turned and pointed a finger to the pillar yonder, which stood close to the throne, a smile upon his face, the memory clearly thrilling him.

“I remember your pensive eyes, Elion, son of Aforth the bold,” Anvin remarked regally, his fingers tightening about the dark wood, engraved with long and winding branches. His gown sodding and his heavy boots stained with mud, Anvin turned his own eyes towards the young Lord. “You are withdrawn my Lord; may I ask why?”

“I sent out a group of rangers to scout the lands some days ago, they have not returned, and I grow anxious with every growing hour that descends upon us,” Elion admitted, his fair brows furrowed beneath a lock of his golden hair. He was a beautiful man, and much like his mother before him, he transfixed the young women of the court. Anvin felt it strange that the young and victorious Lord seemed unaffected by such a power as that of beauty. Instead he spent much of his time in seclusion, his mind focused on the needs of his people. As a young boy upon the cusp of adulthood, Anvin had often found the shy and somewhat reserved boy among the priests, his head buried in the ancient texts of his uncles Kingdom. He was well read and well educated, and took his responsibilities very seriously, if not too seriously, for he never had time for the jovious acts of mankind, but merely looked upon such scenes in terrible consideration for their meaning. His childhood had been uneven and smeared by his parents often toxic marriage, and their inability to see beyond the tips of their own noses. A lonely child, Elion had grown up under the care of Naithian priests and sharing in their love of history, society and philosophy, Elion had escaped the fate of many a wronged child and had instead used his anger to carve out a path of his own making, in servitude of his people.

“The land is crawling with spies my Lord, and now that Heidan marches upon you, you should keep your men within these walls, for the land of our forefathers is soon to turn,” Anvin counselled Elion, his long silvery tresses falling across his arms gently. “You must prepare for battle Elion, and your people must be protected. Send the crow to scour the land for the sky takes no sides in war and the crow can shield itself behind the brooding clouds.”

“The city is safe my Lord, our people are safe,” Elion returned forcefully, his eyes now in search for his cousin.

“You have a weapon far stronger than any the enemy might wield my Lord,” Anvin said darkly, aware that the gallant and brace soldiers who lined the walls of the great hall, all now had their eyes upon the great wizard of the north. Many clearly intrigued and a few in fear of the priest who had brought to life a terrible monster. “Your mothers vision spreads far and wide, let her scour the lands on behalf of your rangers.”

Slowly, his brow glazed in a fine sweat, Elion turned to the wizard and looked upon him hard. Around his long neck he wore a circular necklace of gold, upon it glistening three fine emeralds. His shoulders broad and his Adams apple protruding in defiance, Elion leaned down towards the priest. Anvin felt the young man’s intense glare burn him, his blue eyes burning with a warning. Sparks of ember sprung from his enlarged pupils. He understood the wound he had inflicted upon Elion long ago and understood further that his greatest regret may still wield the power of defeat.

“My mother speaks only in riddles wizard,” Elion began darkly, his own hands delving deep into the unforgiving wood of his throne. “One learns never to attach words to the tongue of a snake, as well you know.”

“Then why do you keep her close?” Anvin asked in curiosity. “Why do you not banish her to the caves under the mountains, where she can bring no harm to our people.”

“You forget that she is my mother,” Elion hissed quietly, his eyes unblinking despite the darkening of the hall. “My conscience would never justify such a cruel fate, not when her fate in life has already been so unkind. Those who professed to love my mother, left her long ago and betrayed her. I am no such man my Lord Anvin. My fate is tied to her own. Where she walks, I shall follow.”

“Then I must warn you my Lord, that you walk down a path of uncertainty, a path destined to lead you to your own doom,” Anvin whispered gently, his eyes urging the young man to take him seriously. His reaction cold and aloft, Elion sat away from the wizard and let out a sarcastic laugh.

“You moulded my mother into the woman she has become wizard, and now you tell me that I must bind her to the dark caves under the mountains? That I walk along a path destined for doom?” Elion returned slowly, his words laced with rage. “If she is so dangerous, then why did you give her such power?”

“She tricked me my Lord, she made me believe that she was the White Queen,” Anvin said in anguish, his memory rushing back to that night. “Little did I know that she had been slain by Lady Moruaina, slain out of jealousy for a crime she did not commit.”

“Sheloth stood between my parents Anvin, my mothers jealousy was justified,” Elion said carefully, his darkened gaze softening under Anvin’s anxious glare. “Had she kept her distance, then perhaps my mother would have kept hers.”

“Your mother was the victim of jealousy and scorn, that is why your father burned her eyes and took away her vision. Sheloth fought to protect Moruaina, despite the festering strive between them and still she was slain, the mother protector of this land” Anvin argued hotly. “The oldest priestess among our people, a woman who would have been of significant use in these dark times. Your mothers darkening ambitions may have been initiated by the madness of your father, but long had they lain dormant. She was overly ambitious and inherently jealous of her brother, King Elieor. Had she learned to love those around her instead of her own beauty, had she embraced the tones of compassion and kindness laced within her complicated character, she would have looked upon the face of life and found peace. Instead she seeks to punish all those who are unchanged by her beauty.”

“It is true that my father suffered from bouts of madness and in his madness, did many suffer, but he was for the most part a good and noble man,” Elion declared with impatience. “He fought to keep the Kingdom of Calnuthe stable, and in doing so gave up his own life so that the people of Ethe would remain safe. He remained loyal to my House, as do I.”

“And his actions have cast their shadow over his family and people,” Anvin warned. “Sheloth did not share in his love for her, she was afraid that his obsession would prove fatal in the end and it seems she was right. Your mother knew that she was without blame, yet saw a opportunity to further her own ambitions, grand as they were, terrifying as they are. She killed an ancient soul, perfect and without taint.” Anvin caught Elion’s sleeve. “She tricked me my Lord, I did not give your mother the vision of the chosen out of choice.”

“And yet the irony is that you my Lord, you were blind. Such a power you wield and, yet your own eyes refused to see what lay so plainly before them.”

“When we place our trust in those we are loyal too, it is inevitable that our vision should fail, is that not the symptom of friendship and loyalty?” Anvin quizzed the young man, whose cheeks flushed with mixed emotions. Anvin released his hand from Elion and sat up straight, assuming authority. “How do you know for certain that your mother’s love is true?”

“The madness of my parents cannot be brushed aside, and I do not deny that my father’s bouts of madness led to many a terrible reaction. But it is by your hand that my mother now wields a power equal to your own. And it is her love for me that prevents her from crushing the remains of a once peaceful nation into the ashes of the abyss.” Elion moved about uncomfortably in his throne, clearly unsettled by the conversation. “ She wasn’t always hungry for revenge, and in truth friend, I sympathise with her anger. Women are moulded by the hands of men, and many hands that tend to a woman are not always enshrined with love or kindness. On the battlefield, my father was ambitious, loyal and strong. But behind closed doors, he was mad, cunning and without mercy. It is my duty to prove to my mother, that we are not alike and that I am not my father’s son.” Elion ran his fingers through his thick locks, his lips dry, and his brows furrowed deeply, in obvious contemplation. “Perhaps you are right, perhaps I am a pawn in her game. It may be that she would happily sacrifice my life in order to further her own ambitions. But I refuse to bow down to her assumptions and beliefs, and I refuse to lower myself to that of my father. Strength is not only sought in the blade or indeed the crown, it runs deeper. A man should not believe himself to only be shaped by the silhouette of a warrior, he should always love and respect his mother. It is not weakness to love the un-lovable, it is a sign of man’s strength to love those who despise him. My father believed that victory could only be sought with a sword in hand, little did he rely upon diplomacy and little faith did he have in the hope that his enemy may become his ally. I choose to think differently, I choose to live beyond the means of a sword and it is my mission to inspire my men to follow suite. A peaceful world is still within grasp Anvin, if hope remained not, then why do our enemies still shake?”

“I knew many years ago young Elion that you would prove yourself worthy, and despite our differences, I am most glad to have watched you grow into the man you are today. Celestine will need you in the future, and my fear is that the love you have for your mother, will lead to the separation between you and your cousin.”

Elion sat back a while and placed a frim hand upon his chin. He felt the eyes of the ageing wizard upon him, and closed his eyes.

“The test before my mother is yet to arise Anvin,” he said quietly, his merry courtiers singing loudly. “If she should fail, if she should seek to bring about harm to my dear cousin, then I swear to you that my allegiance shall always be to my House.” Opening his eyes, he turned to the wizard and simply bowed his head. “But should Celestine wish to kill my mother, then I am afraid that I shall draw my sword. I cannot turn away from her, even if she denies me. Whatever love remains between myself and my mother, it is that bond which keeps her from fulfilling any dark intentions, but should that bond break then the fear you hold so dearly may yet make itself known. And if ever such a day should come my Lord, then you and your enemies shall weep. For a woman scorned is a woman thorned.”

Anvin listened carefully to the prophetic words spoken by Elion and felt his rigid hands soften in response. The young man was a breath of fresh air, he had a rationale mind and was not guided by bloodlust, but a sincere hope in the future of the Kingdom. A small smile wiping away the lines of anguish, Anvin found his goblet of laman and raised it before Elion.

“You may place your trust in Celestine,” Anvin declared with a warm heart. “She has much to learn and will be tested in the coming days, but she is loyal and unwavering in her loyalty. She will not disappoint you. Together you will strength in each other, no matter the tribulations, no matter the tragedies in which you will both suffer, such is the cost of war.”

“She is of my blood Anvin, I shall always protect her.” Elion stated clearly, his words disappearing behind a mass of hysteria which swept in through the great doors of the hall, soldiers rushing in, their faces flushed with terror. Standing up, his tall form commanding, Elion watched as the commander of the fifth legion came before him, falling to his knees before his commander.

“My lord you must come, you must come to the wall!” he declared, his words shaking, his fear reaching his trembling hands. Upon the ground, his blade trembled against the hard floor. Elion turned to Anvin. “The rangers have returned.”

“Then why do you tremble Fin?” Elion quizzed as he stepped down from the throne and helped the middle-aged man up. He considered the commander’s dark eyes and studied his face carefully.

“My lord, I find that no words can substitute for the scene I have just witnessed,” Fin returned with a shameful gaze. Fearing the worst, Anvin felt Elion’s instant reaction and dutifully followed him out of the great hall, now silent as the men and women darted forth from the hall, making for the wall. Outside the horns of Ethe could be heard, and a great many men both on feet and stead filled the streets, the light of the harsh moon upon their armour and staining the flags of Ethe and Calnuthe. The air was thick and smelled foul, yet his feet were energised by the fearful anticipation which flowed through him like venom. Following Elion as he ran down the street, flakes of the wintur snows falling, Anvin soon found himself climbing the great wall which stood high and mighty, the Blathan rock radiant against the night sky. His knees aching, Anvin came to a halt beside Elion and followed his gaze downwards. The marshland stretched outwards until it met with the horizon, its hazy darkness amplified by an army of human fire which steadily made its way towards the city, a mighty cry of pain and suffering filling the air. Behind him he heard the screeches of many women and felt the chill of the men, stood rooted to the ground in silence.

“Do something!” Elion commanded loudly as he turned his eyes to Anvin in desperation. “Bring their suffering to an end!”

Anvin felt the eyes of those closest upon him, hesitantly, feeling the power of the fire strike him like an arrow, he moved away from Elion and commanded space with his arms. Closing his eyes, he reached out his large hands and held them upwards. Instantly he could feel the wall of dark magic rising to meet with his own, and felt its power rush through him, burning the ends of his fingers. Words were without use, for the power gifted to the wizard was infinitely rooted within his mind, so much so that the simple incantations used as a young priest were now without merit. Magic flowed through him in much the same manner as the blood within his veins. He felt his power summon itself and flow outwards towards the source, yet as he touched the tortured remains of the rangers, that powerful wall now strong and defiant, forced his magic to retract and soon Anvin felt himself wielded within a struggle, never witnessed nor faced by the great wizard himself. His hands shaking violently against the progressive force of energy, Anvin opened his eyes and let out a howl of frustration.

“Show yourself!” he cried out in agony, a silver light now radiating from his hands as he deepened his mind and revealed himself. As though under the spell of a nervous fit, Anvin felt his head turned sharply from right to left, an image forming in his mind. About him, the environment unto which he stood, faded away to reveal a great room, a room known only to well to the wizard who once walked within its walls. The palace of Caci revealed itself in all its glory, and so Anvin found himself standing beneath the great star-shaped glass ceiling above. The air was cold and sweet, yet his skin burned, and a terrible sweat formed upon his brow and he held onto his power. “I said, show yourself!”

“Open your eyes priest and you shall see me!” came the high-pitched reply. The very words revolted Anvin, and whipped his soul with a lightening force, rendering him to his knees. His hands still held before him, he looked up from the white floor, his breath heavy and hard. His pupils dilating as the burning magic tore through him, Anvin faced Heidan, who stood tall and deadly before him, his right hand outstretched before him, a smile lingering upon his pale face. Anvin had met the son of Unyae before, yet still found himself frozen by the uncanny likeness between himself and his half-sister. His eyes, one golden and one black bore down upon him, his youthful face teasing the ageing wizard who now was upon bended knee.

“Your power does not wound me, Heidan!” Anvin declared with courage as he fought his way off the ground, his body trembling so deeply he thought he might fall once more.

“You cannot defeat me wizard, I am the presider of all power,” Heidan said with a flash of malice in his large eyes. He was as dark as the shadow which engulfed them, his robes of midnight blue and his long black hair loose about his strong form. “I am the unbreakable.”

“You have yet to take power from its guardian, Heidan, son of Unyae!” Anvin said in return, his thin lips lifting and forming a smile. “For you have yet to hear its call.”

“Power flows from my mouth priest! I am its master!” Heidan sneered as he took a step forward. Behind him, Anvin saw the figures of hooded men step forward from the shadow, their faces shielded beneath there cloaks of darkness. Fear gripped Anvin as the seven men steadily drew close, all of them bringing forth blades of fire. “I can stop the pain, if you will concede…I will release you from the fire, if you will concede.”

“Never!” Anvin cried out in defiance as he thrust himself into a powerful position. In a show of formidable power, Anvin brought back his hands, closed his eyes and thrust them forward, a terrible white light prevailing from his fingertips. He felt the wall begin to shatter and though his eyes were closed to Heidan, he could feel the man before him waver in shock. A red light protruded his vision as he manipulated his fingers in such a way that his nemesis fell backwards.

“Take him!” Heidan cried out in anger as he lifted himself up, the great streaks of red and white dancing before him, flashes of magic cutting through the white marbled walls. His own eyes filled with rage, Anvin felt the powerful connection between himself and Heidan move upwards. Opening his eyes, he cried out in horror as Heidan struck the glass ceiling above, his maleficent smile returning. “I am immortal priest and you…” he stepped forward as great shards of glass began to fall, piercing the ground about the warring men like an earthquake. “You are flesh upon which the maggot feasts!”

Thrusting his hands away from Heidan, Anvin forced them upwards and watched the white magic erupt into a great globe about himself, the glass shards striking the wall and diminishing into nothing. Hearing the cry of Heidan once more, Anvin stood his ground, the shield about him unbreakable. Seeing the vulnerability in the eyes of his opponent and feeling his power deepen and his authority sore, Anvin stepped forwards, his own eyes flashing wildly.

“You are wrong demon, power flows not from your lips but from the lips of my Queen,” Anvin called out in a deadly voice. His hands outstretched at his sides, he watched the dark Lord wither in obvious shock. Standing close to the cloaked men, Heidan raised his other hand, his power so intense that Anvin felt his feet leave the floor. His shield breaking against the might of his oppressor, Anvin felt his body levitate dangerously high. Beads of sweating falling upon his cheeks, he drew in his breath and felt the atoms of magic radiate from him once more, the feeling so incredibly singular that his body felt as though it had been broken in half. Flooring Heidan, Anvin fell with a crash to the marble below. Letting out an audible cry, Anvin looked up from the ground, blood pouring forth from his nose. A painful laugh curled about the atmosphere, touching him with fire. A single tear fell from his eye, falling upon his hand. As he sought relief from the pain searing through him, Anvin felt Heidan’s presence looming over him, the folds of his dark robes dancing perilously close to his face. He looked upwards, and watched as the dark Lord knelt before him, his snake like eyes pointed like daggers. Taking his blood-stained hair by the fistful, Heidan forced Anvin’s head upwards.

“How your people will scorn you,” Heidan whispered darkly, licking his lips and chuckling, his behaviour disturbing Anvin to the core. He was like a wild beast, a wild beast which laughed upon the face of death and found pleasure in the pains of man. “The great wizard of the North stripped of his power and bent before his victor in shame.”

“It matters not dark Lord,” Anvin returned, his eyes unafraid of the man before you. “For no matter how hard you try, you will never be able to separate yourself from the blood of your mother. The shame you bare, far greater than my own will follow you from beast to beast and in the end, when the world is broken, and the throne destroyed, you will destroy yourself. And in your place, the seeds of life shall begin to grow once more and you…” Anvin readied his hands steadily, his legs finding strength amid the pain. “You will diminish into the night sky, where upon the light of your mother’s star shall destroy whatever power you once wielded.” Seeking his moment, Anvin found Heidan’s face with his hands and watched as his body lit up with white light, his cries of pain erupting through the great palace, deafening the ears of those within. His white hand falling away from Anvin’s head, Heidan fell upon the ground in withering pain, Anvin’s hands still upon his face. This was his test, this was his time. Standing over Heidan, he released his hands from the dark lord’s face and waited a moment. Crawling away in agony, Heidan turned his snake-like eyes to the wizard who stood tall and strong, his age vanishing to reveal his true self. “I am the keeper of white magic, and protector of the vale of light. I am the guardian of this earth and you shall fall snake, and you shall break before the rising of the sun, your body broken upon the stone table.” His white light filling the palace and blinding the seven men, Anvin could feel the environment around him change. “She is coming and with her the light of her ancestors, forever to burn and never to be distinguished!” With his last words, the palace fell away and Anvin found himself back among the fearful men and women of Ethe. He lay upon the wet ground, soldiers forming a circle about his aching body. Snow falling upon his face in a fierce flurry of agitation, Anvin found Elion.

“What happened Anvin?” Elion asked in concern as he helped the wizard up onto his feet. He took off his own cloak of fur and wrapped it about the wizard’s body. Anvin lay his burning hands upon Elion’s arms and found his pensive gaze.

“The men…” Anvin stammered as he breathed in and out, willing the burning sensation to leave his body.

“You defeated the fire Anvin, you defeated the darkness,” Elion said with an amazed smile. Anvin studied the young mans face, but felt not the sudden emotions of victory. He felt fear. Snowflakes embedded into the long strands of Elion’s hair and eyelashes, Anvin brought him close, his lips finding his ear.

“Heidan…” he stammered without a thought for those about him. “He is coming.”

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