The Lord of the Clans

by Chris Lange

  A few feet ahead of her, he stood in front of a niche in the wall and appeared to be groping for something. She lifted the torch higher. He didn’t seem to be in need of her help, so she advanced toward what should be the centre of the room. Her eyes widened as she discovered her vaguely lit surroundings.

  Towering many feet over her, the white walls looked made of limestone. Dozens of white columns had been built across the vast chamber and supported a ceiling too high for her to discern. Black shelves lined the walls from top to bottom, filled with thousands and thousands of books.

  Her stomach knotted with awe, she gaped at the immense, silent library. This white chamber had to contain all the knowledge of the Ancients. No wonder some legends had been lost for ages.

  Long, wooden desks filled the place and displayed more manuscripts collecting dust on each of them. She approached the nearest writing table with cautious, respectful steps.

  All the big, leather bound books were closed, except one. As she brought the torch closer to take a look at the open page of the manuscript, she heard the sound of his footsteps going back up the staircase.

  He’d probably got hold of whatever he came down here for, and did she really want to stay alone in this fantastic, white, dead chamber that gave her shivers? Without pausing to think, she grabbed the book and hurried after him.

  She couldn’t grip the railing anymore with her hands secured around the manuscript and the torch. Still, she hastened her climb, and made it to the upstairs landing without twisting an ankle.

  Her pulse accelerated when she lost sight of him, then it began beating louder against her temples when she barged into the entrance room.

  He lay on the stone floor. On his back, eyes shut, cheeks ashen, chest rising up and down with deep, slow breaths. She had passed out for only a short time at the Shrine of Fate, but she’d remained unconscious almost a whole afternoon at the Shrine of Destiny. What would happen here? Would it take even longer for him to come back to his senses?

  An apprehensive knot seized her throat. This time he definitely wasn’t able to help her or soothe her fears. She stood alone. Then her gaze fell on her strong, calloused hands still holding the ancient book, and she smiled.

  There was nothing to be worried about. She inhabited his massive, powerful body now, so she had the means to protect him and to fight off any enemy who might come their way.

  Reassured by her own determination, she knelt beside his motionless body. She placed the manuscript on the floor before prying open his fingers, clenched into a fist. There, in the middle of his palm, a small, black as night triangle rested. So similar to the disc and the square.

  They possessed at present three strange objects. Although she couldn’t fathom their use, they came from the Ancients and had to be important. Perhaps crucial to the accomplishment of her quest. Sighing, she dropped the triangle into her pocket and stood up. She had work to do, tasks that needed to be performed in order for them to see the night through.

  Outside, the sun sank quickly below the rows of trees surrounding the glade. She tied the horses within reach of patches of grass and carried the saddlebags inside the temple before walking to the woods to gather branches and twigs. Arms loaded with pieces of wood, she made several trips back and forth. The fire she meant to build wouldn’t die this night.

  Although not an expert like the Lord of the Clans, she succeeded in kindling good flames. She fetched a blanket, spread it near the fire, and lifted the unconscious body in her arms to lay him on the cover. Then she folded her cloak into a flat bundle and slid it under his head.

  She meant to keep him safe and warm through the coldest night since her departure from home.

  A chilly wind picked up outside, but the thick walls of the temple sheltered them. She ate while listening to the howls of rapid draughts. She also watched him as he slept, but the vision of her former face brought a loneliness she hadn’t expected. She missed him so much that her stomach closed down, and she had to abandon all notions of food for a while.

  When a lone blast of air penetrated the temple and disturbed the flames, she covered him with the other blanket as well as her heavy sheepskin coat. He didn’t react to the added weight, but she felt useful nonetheless.

  The long ride hadn’t worn her down to the point of sleeping just yet. Wrenching her gaze away from him, she grabbed the manuscript, lifted the hard cover, and began reading the first page.

  The temples have fallen. The enemy has taken the Shrine of Fate and the Shrine of Destiny. It is evil, more powerful than we anticipated, and it cannot be vanquished. The Four Realms stand on the brink of destruction. Our last hope lies in the hands of Balinar, but the way to the Forsaken Lands is impenetrable.

  The clear, neat handwriting magnified the power of the written words. She interrupted her reading while suppressing a shiver. The mysterious Balinar must have found a way to defeat the enemy because, ages later, people still lived and breathed in the Four Kingdoms. Against the impossible odds recounted by the scribe, her world hadn’t been destroyed.

  Stranger still, she recalled with more or less clarity her shaman teachings of the Four Kingdoms, but nothing about the Forsaken Lands. Then again, she might not have been the most dutiful of students.

  We have all fled here to the Shrine of Doom. Our last temple still stands, but for how long? The enemy is already at the door. The keys are hidden from his sight. If prophecy should come to pass, they must be used.

  It seemed she was about to spend the night in the Shrine of Doom. What a lovely name for a charming place. What keys and prophecy was this scribe talking about? His meaning remained cryptic despite his neat handwriting. As much as she felt compelled to read the rest of the account, two words at the bottom of the page suddenly caught her eye.

  The Darkening.

  She skipped the last part of the tale to focus on the beginning of the paragraph containing the two words that made her skin crawl. However, the longer she went on reading, the more frustrated she became.

  With many unfathomable references, names, or places she didn’t recognise, she wished once more that she had skipped meetings by the river with Kelton to pay more attention to her shaman’s lessons.

  The Blind One and The Knight shall rip the thread. From whence it dwells, The Darkening rises forth to enshroud the Light.

  Who were the Blind One and the Knight? Famous people from the times of the Ancients? And what kind of ever so precious thread, if cut, could birth a dark power strong enough to annihilate an entire world? Although not much made sense, she carried on studying the next passage.

  The Dead Heart must be unbound for The Seventh Son of the House. By the Lady of the Faith, the Light shall be restored.

  To the best of her knowledge, a dead heart stayed dead. She was a healer, she should know. Yet the scribe made it quite clear that resurrection might be an option when need arose.

  Dear Gods, but she really wouldn’t like to be face to face with a dead man brought back to the lands of the living. Did he still look human or had he been turned into a monster?

  The idea of ever meeting such a horrible creature raised the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. Concentrating anew on the neat scrawl covering the pages of the manuscript, she reread the last sentence.

  The scribe mentioned the Lady of the Faith, but the name didn’t ring a bell. Did this woman have faith in the Creators, the Ancients, or something else altogether?

  I have hidden the primeval scrolls. They cannot be found, they cannot be destroyed. Should the enemy read them, the Four Realms shall be doomed.

  She bit her short nail. The amount of time she spent on that book wouldn’t enlighten her regarding the Darkening. This old manuscript depicted a very sombre past, probably the fall of the Ancients, but no help was to be found there. At least, not for her.

  She glanced at him again. He looked pale, withdrawn, and unmoving. Wishing she could shake him out of this unnatural slumber, she closed the book. Bad tidings from another era wou
ld have to wait.

  Sleep called her. She went to check on the horses one last time before lying down next to him. His body heat warmed her as she wriggled underneath the blanket and closed her eyes.

  Dark shadows surround her, dimming the light to a vague glow. As though frozen over, her body can’t respond. She struggles against the block of ice encasing her, but a wicked snickering freezes her. She isn’t alone. The Darkening hovers around her, its black shape numbing her core and icing her blood.

  She cries out when it suddenly talks to her, yet no sound passes through her lips. Like mind reading, the silent voice seems to be originating from inside her. She doesn’t hear the words, she feels them.

  “You have failed. Your world is mine now.”

  The rhythmic beat of her heart slows down as terror engulfs her in its inescapable clutches. The darkness is draining the life out of her, and she can’t do anything to stop it. She’ll be dead soon. She hasn’t saved the Four Kingdoms. She hasn’t saved him.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Her own scream jerked her out of sleep.

  Sweat coating her forehead, throat parched, she darted wild glances around. The fire had dwindled, yet small flames still lit the temple as she sat up with a start. She groped for her water skin, grabbed the top with shaky fingers, and raised it to her lips to swallow long mouthfuls.

  The horrific visions were no dream, but she'd been allowed to watch a glimpse of the future. A very near future. Whether due to the workings of the Ancients or the will of the Creators, the real images were sent as a warning. The Darkening would come to pass.

  Her journey wasn’t a quest, never had been.

  She’d deluded herself from the very first day. Dismissing her deepest fears like she swatted small bugs, she’d made the deliberate choice to view this expedition as a wondrous adventure. An exhilarating escapade where fear and death couldn’t really affect her.

  She had been wrong, and there was no escaping now.

  Pure magic lived inside her. A great ancient power ran in her blood and three magical objects had been entrusted to her care. In spite of everything she’d learned on the way, understanding only came now.

  She sat wide awake in the abandoned Shrine of Doom, but she could still feel the freezing, black touch of the Darkening, still hear its otherworldly voice creeping into her mind.

  You have failed.

  Your world is mine now.

  No, this had never been a quest. It was the last hope. The Four Kingdoms were doomed, and she stood as the ultimate bulwark. The fate of the realm depended on her, and the time for fear had come.

  She drank half of the water skin before turning to him. The sight of his motionless body tightened her throat. Although her magic belonged to him now, in the dream she’d been the one trapped in ice.

  Could she infer from the nightmare that the body swap would occur again to restore the natural order of things? Was she supposed to raise her sword and fight the Darkening as the Lord of the Clans?

  In any case, he wouldn’t be far away from her because she needed him. He had become her rock and she trusted him with her life. She'd broken her pledge to Kelton for the Lord of the Clans.

  His silver gaze penetrated her heart, his words touched her soul, his strong hands showed her new territories, and his long, thick cock was the very definition of absolute pleasure.

  Whether he had a role or not in facing the Darkening, she needed him by her side. She breathed because he smiled at her, she lived because he stroked her body like a precious jewel. He didn’t have the right to make her his wife, but she didn’t care anymore.

  Not as long as her heart beat for him.

  The nightmare receded. With her love for him infusing every inch of her body, she listened to her world. The wind sang a soft melody while birds chanted the rise of a new dawn. She breathed in the musty odour wafting from the manuscript mixed with the fresh smell of early morning dew.

  This day wouldn’t see her cowering in fear. This day would see her renewed faith in the Creators, the Ancients and life.

  She slapped his cheek. He didn’t utter a sound, not even when she called his name, but his eyelids fluttered. Encouraged by the small progress, she slapped him again, a little harder. He moved his head this time, and a flash of relief flooded her as he finally opened his eyes.

  “Thank the Mighty Gods. I thought you’d never wake up.”

  He rubbed his lids before glancing up. He seemed to hesitate for a brief instant, then a slow smile curved his lip.

  “You won’t get rid of me so easily.”

  She didn’t see any sign of the odd trance in his gaze as he sat up. He stretched his neck while she grabbed the water skin and handed it to him. He drank long gulps as she had done moments ago.

  “This water is good. Thank you, I was so thirsty.”

  “Yes, I figured.”

  He brushed strands of hair off his brow before getting up to test the strength in his legs and looking around.

  “Where are we?”

  “In the Shrine of Doom.”

  “Great. All we needed was another temple. So, how did we get to this place, and have we found anything?”

  “Well, you have.”

  She retrieved the triangle from her pocket and held it out. When he took the black object between thumb and forefinger, pale sunrays penetrated the temple, seeming to make it shine.

  “Interesting. Let’s put it with the others.”

  He grabbed the cloak he’d used all night as a pillow, unfolded it, and stashed the triangle along with the disc and the square. A sudden grin stretched her mouth as she watched him perform the mundane task.

  “Anything you want to say to me?”

  Whether genuinely surprised by her question, or acting as if he had no memory of falling into a trance, he arched an eyebrow.

  “About what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, let me see. You might start with acknowledging I’m not hearing voices or church village bells. Then you can apologise for your insensitive behaviour when ear-shattering noises split my skull and made me faint. That would be a good beginning.”

  “Sure, you wish.”

  His haughty air didn’t sit well with her as a flush of irritation rose up her face, and nerves twitched in the pad of her fingers.

  “I saw you covering your ears. Don’t tell me you didn’t hear the shrill, else I might start pounding your head any time now.”

  She must have looked upset and frustrated with him because a playful smile broke his high and mighty expression.

  “Such a touchy girl. Of course I heard that noise. I just felt like teasing you a little. So, what’s for breakfast?”

  She stomped her foot on the stone floor while he winked at her before striding outside. The Lord of the Clans didn’t apologise easily, even when he was wrong. She didn’t care though, because the simple fact of having him up and about filled her with joy and relief.

  She had only blacked out a short time in the Shrine of Fate, then almost an entire afternoon in the Shrine of Destiny. This time, it had taken him half a day and a whole night to recover from the trance, and she hoped there weren’t many more magical objects or temples around.

  As worse sometimes turned to worst, what would she have done if the unnatural slumber had kept him unconscious?

  Unwilling to consider the possibility, she picked up the old manuscript and stored it in her saddlebags.

  She might not have the right to bear the book away from the shrine, yet she doubted the Ancients would mind. Dead and buried ages ago, they had higher considerations. She was still pondering the matter when he came back with an armload of branches to feed the fire.

  “It’s getting colder.”

  Beyond the freshness of the air, she sensed he also hinted at the darkness. She had an impression of impending doom. Either they were nearing the frozen, black place, or the Darkening was coming toward them. Shrugging, she smoothed her hair while he made porridge.

  “I’m so f
amished, I could eat a whole family of beavers.”

  Only then did she recall he had skipped dinner last night while she enjoyed a decent meal. Although she didn’t feel particularly hungry this morning, she ate a few spoonsful, mostly to share the moment with him. He wolfed down the porridge like a starved woman.

  “Tell me what happened, Ariana.”

  “Same old story really. Back at the lagoon, you went into a trance and led us to this temple. Then I followed you down a staircase.”

  Before he asked, she let her spoon sink into the bowl and pointed toward the back of the entrance room.

  “If you want to take a look, you’ll see that there’s a huge, creepy library full of dusty shelves and manuscripts down there. That’s where you found the triangle in a niche in the wall.”

  “I don’t remember anything.”

  “Neither did I when it happened to me. But it took you much longer to regain consciousness, and you had me worried.”

  “I didn’t mean to. These magic dealings are out of control.”

  She nodded as he studied her with a concerned look, but his uneasiness quickly disappeared.

  He emptied his bowl and began clearing up. Being the one with the biggest muscles, she loaded their saddlebags onto the horses, who welcomed her with soft neighs and nudges in the ribs.

  Dark gray clouds rolled in from where the wind gusted to overshadow the sun. The quietness reigning over the glade carried a profound feeling of solitude and hollowness that seeped in her bones.

  She hurried with the task. When they were ready to set off, he glanced at the sky as if trying to get his bearings.

  “I know you’re the last person I should be asking this, but I’ll still give it a shot. Where did we come from yesterday?”

  Good question. The trees looked the same to her, so did the underbrush. Yet she remembered seeing first the entrance to the temple, so they must have arrived from behind her. She cocked her head with a smile.