Night Goddess (The Goddess Prophecies Book 1)

by Araya Evermore

  She stuffed her hands into the sack and pulled out the jar and tiny cup. Filling the cup with sea water, she stirred in the dark green paste. One gulp and her stomach lurched violently at the foul taste. It was more bitter than a lemon, and stank worse than rotting cabbage. She forced the rest down and sat there grimacing at the assault, her stomach gurgling loudly. The raven landed on the prow, and looked at her, tilting his head left and right as if curious to see what would happen.

  ‘Grrrr,’ she said, and pulled a face. He made a funny snorting sound, and she laughed aloud only to clasp her hands over her mouth for silence.

  Her body began to feel very strange. She was growing lighter and less dense and could feel the air moving right through her skin and bones. Her heart fluttered as if made of paper, and an uncertain feeling settled within - like anxiety or dread, but with no cause. She smoothed her hair back and steeled herself against the unsettling feelings. It was just the potion, nothing more.

  Her eyes caught sight of the skin of her hands, and she gasped, it was ashen-grey like a corpse. She reached over the side and stared at her reflection in the water. Her eyes had dark circles under them, and her lips had no colour at all. She did indeed look like a wraith, only more solid and without the billowing ribbon rags for clothes.

  ‘I hope this stuff works and wears off,’ she said. The potion in her belly and the constant rocking of the boat was making her sick, so she steered the boat towards the land, needing to feel some semblance of solid ground beneath her feet.

  The fog cleared as she neared. The raven still sat at the prow but had his back to her as if checking their destination. The hull ground onto the pebbled shore, and she slid the oars into the bottom of the boat. The place seemed like any other; trees lining a rocky shoreline, except that everything was grey, like Edarna had described. The trees’ leaves were a grey-green, their trunks ashen brown, and there was no sound, no bird song or animal calls, nothing except the muffled sound of waves lapping the shore.

  She scanned the trees for a long while. Every time she caught the wispy white of a wraith between the trees, her heart lurched. Trusting in the potion, she quietly lowered herself out of the boat, and was surprised when her feet sloshed onto solid ground. She’d half expected to sink as if stepping onto clouds. She hauled the boat onto the pebbles and secured the bow rope around a tree stump.

  As soon as her feet cleared the water, the anxiety increased. She felt dirty, not in body, but in mind, her soul felt tainted and stained. Was this how the Forsaken felt? She shivered, but could not push the feeling away. The raven landed upon a rock.

  ‘I wish you would lead the way now,’ she said, but he just shuffled his wings as if feeling dirty as well. He saw a wraith in the trees, squawked and fled to a higher tree branch.

  ‘I don’t like them either. Please stay as long as you can,’ she pleaded, she couldn’t bear the thought of being alone in this place. ‘I shall find somewhere to rest and then be off, that is all.’

  But after an hour or so of searching, there was nowhere comfortable or dry to rest, everything was covered in damp and fog and hard rocks. She refused to leave the shore and venture inland. In the end, she made her own simple shelter, a few rocks and branches shoved up against the base of a tree. With a yawn she settled down, hugging her potion to her chest. The raven perched on the highest branch far above her. She got a distinct feeling that the tree did not want her there, and she angled herself so she was not touching it.

  An uneasy sleep stole over her in which she dreamed she was a wraith, filled with great sorrow, walking with the dead over an endless ocean in search of the light. Several times she bolted awake, but there was never anything there, only the same dim grey light. Each time she awoke she anxiously checked her skin for signs of the potion wearing off.

  The next time she awoke, there was the faintest patch of pink showing just above her wrist. She jumped up, making the raven above her jump too. Licking her lips, she glanced about. The mist swirled close and tall figures moved within it. It was all she needed. She ran back to the boat, her sack bouncing against her hip. She pushed the boat into the water and flung herself in, deciding to take the potion at sea.

  As soon as she left the shore the current caught her again, and the Shadowlands moved swiftly by. Now her whole left hand had turned pink, but she sighed in relief, the potion would at least wear off, it was not permanent. Hastily she gulped down the revolting liquid and clasped her hands over her mouth to control the retching.

  When it subsided, she drank from her water canister, and forced down one of Edarna’s sweetbreads. To her confused body, it tasted of nothing and was as dry as sand. It didn’t seem that anything was enjoyable in the Shadowlands.

  The next day passed much as the first, and the next. There was no change, the land was a replica of the place she had left the first day, the same sandy coves bordered by rocks and ghostly trees. She began to wonder if she was actually going anywhere, or simply going back to the same place again and again.

  Yet each time she got into the boat it flowed with the tide, and the land moved on. The only thing that changed was that the potion no longer made her retch, though it was still as foul as the first time she had taken it. It also seemed that the fog was seeping into her mind because the memories of her mother and Little Kammy were harder to recall. She could no longer remember how many days had passed since she had left Edarna, even the witch’s face was hazy. She reached for the axe and notched three thin chips into the wood of the boat.

  ‘Three days have passed,’ she said, ‘or three potions taken,’ she corrected, for there were no days. ‘Three days?’ she asked the raven perched on the prow. He glanced at her over his shoulder and turned back to stare at the bobbing horizon.

  ‘I know. The sorrow eats away at us like cancer. My spirit has never felt so low.’ She looked at the potion left in the jar and quickly added two more notches with the axe.

  The next day she scraped one of the five notches off.

  ‘It can’t have been that long,’ she said to the raven, but he didn’t even look at her this time.

  The next day she added the notch back with two more, then threw the axe into the bottom of the boat.

  ‘What’s the point,’ she dropped her face into her hands, frustration a tight knot in her belly. ‘This place is killing us, eating away at us until we too become wraiths.’

  The raven ruffled his feathers. Rarely did he leave the boat, and together they shared Edarna’s sweetbreads. She still had plenty of dried fruits, nuts and jams from her own supplies, but everything was tasteless and dry, even the apple juice seemed to stick in her throat.

  ‘I guess the dead don’t need to eat,’ she thought, but forced down a mouthful anyway.

  She found less and less desire to go ashore, and instead slept on the boat more and more. It was always a strange sleep, more like daydreaming than real dreams. She had given up counting how many days had passed because there was no telling when the day began and, really, there seemed no point to do anything anymore.

  To keep her mind active she recited the names of people she knew, hoping it would help to keep their memories alive in the increasing fog of her mind. Always she knew her mother, Fraya, but it took a few attempts for Farmer Ged and Tarry.

  ‘Eda, Era, Erad,’ she mumbled, drifting in and out of a doze, her face squashed upon her arm as she watched the grey Shadowlands drift endlessly by. She tried to recall an old woman’s face she had met once, but it wouldn’t come to her. She reached down and swirled her hands in the dark water. There was something wrong with her arm, but she couldn’t work it out.

  ‘Pen, puk,’ she mumbled. ‘Hmmm. Pink.’

  Wild panic gripped her, but she couldn’t quite understand why. She sat bolt upright in the boat. There was something she had to do, but what was it? She dumbly stared at the growing patches of pink on her arms. The raven jumped into the middle of the boat, his eyes darting all about and his feathers ruffled. The fog billowed aroun
d them until she could no longer see the sea.

  There came a long mournful sigh, and a ghost hand reached towards her out of the mist. She whimpered and sank into the boat. Her foot hit something and her eyes fell upon the potion and she remembered. She grabbed the jar.

  Several hands reached for her, their long fingers caressed her hair. She closed her eyes and forced herself into them in order to reach the sea. Deathly cold filled her body, and she struggled to pull herself back into the boat. Whispers fluttered around her, some soft and gentle, others airy shrieks and howls. Her hands were shaking so much she spilled half the liquid as she stirred.

  Far away there came a sound she hoped never to hear again, a low wail that cut right through her. The wraiths’ hands hesitated at the sound. She spluttered down the liquid and grabbed the oars. She had to get to the shore but was shaking so much she could not control the boat. The raven started squawking and pecking uselessly at the wraiths’ grasping hands. Finally, he was forced into the air, and disappeared into the thick fog.

  She pounded the oars into the ocean. The wail came again, this time much closer. The reaching hands drew away with a heart-rending gasp. Her arms were losing their pink colour but still, the potion needed more time to work. Then the wraiths fled. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she heaved the oars backwards, sweat stinging her eyes.

  Something struck the boat making it surge violently towards the shore. She screamed and clung to the side as it smashed into the rocks jutting from the beach. The impact sent her flying out, and she plunged head first into the grey water.

  ‘Flee, Issa.’ A panicked disembodied voice echoed around her as she clawed to the surface for air. ‘Run and hide.’

  Edarna. She recognised the witch’s voice. Was she somehow scrying for her? Her hands scraped on solid rock as she dragged herself onto it, the sharp edges sliced into her flesh. She half-fell, half-jumped to the next rock, slipped, and went under water again. Her feet found a sandy floor. She lunged upwards, gasped for air, and lunged again, falling onto her hands in shallow water. She struggled forwards on all fours until she’d cleared the water completely.

  She tore into the woods, going deeper and deeper until the sound of the surf could no longer be heard. Her heart pounded in her head and her legs trembled so much she was forced to slow and stop. She slumped down beside a tree sobbing and shaking and lay there until her breath came more easily.

  Her sack was torn and soaking wet, but at least she still had the potion. She glanced back along the way she had come, the trees stood motionless, not even their leaves moved. How far had she run? She could not tell, but she was certainly not going back to the shore for a while, no matter what remained of the boat and her supplies.

  She hugged her arms and shivered. Perhaps it was the potion draining away her will, or perhaps it was the constant sorrow of this place eating away at her, or maybe it was for all the things that had been taken from her, leaving her to struggle alone, for finally the last of her strength and hope trickled away. She stared up at the slate-coloured sky. The raven was nowhere to be seen. She was utterly alone, all who had ever known her were gone, and only an old witch hermit could ever speak of her existence.

  Her boat was destroyed, and there was no way to get to the mainland she had fought so hard to reach. She would die here alone, a Forsaken. Silently the tears came, and she no longer had the strength to fight the despair of the Shadowlands as it closed upon her.

  ‘There’s so little left,’ Issa whispered, turning the jar over in her hands, and when it was gone, what then? There might be five more doses if she stretched it out.

  She should go to the ocean for the seawater. But instead, she sat there and watched transfixed as the small pink patch on her right arm grew. She bit her lip and her shoulders sagged with the weight of despair. Was this what they felt? She thought of the wraiths and their grievous faces as they aimlessly wandered. Is that really what I am becoming? She shivered, it was enough to get her on her feet.

  She steadied herself against the tree, its cracked bark was sharp and it seemed to whither and draw away under her gaze. She got the distinct feeling that it wanted her gone. She moved away from it feeling something akin to disgust. Wiping her hand on her leg, she turned back the way she had come. Wraiths moved in the trees, she could hear their whispered sorrows and hopeless moans, she was careful to avoid them.

  As she walked she realised how different her body felt. It moved at her will, one foot in front of the other, but she could not really feel her limbs, it was as if they were numb. She felt quite separate from them, they were like her shadow simply following her around. She was becoming a wraith with each passing hour, she thought with a shiver.

  She reached the edge of the trees and stared across the dunes towards the shore. An unusual turbulent sea rolled under her gaze, froth-tipped waves were being licked high by a gusting wind. To her left were cliffs, vaguely reminding her of those she had run along upon Little Kammy long ago. To her right the beach curved inwards. It was odd, the place looked like a shadowy copy of her home.

  She walked across the dunes until her galoshes stood just out of the water’s reach, and scanned the ocean. Her ears strained for the dreaded wail, but there was nothing other than the wind churning the sea. There was also no sign of her boat or supplies, or even any wreckage. It was as if the boat had never been. Could she have crashed on to a different shore? The thought rattled in her vacant mind, and she made her way to the next cove. It looked the same as the first.

  Maybe she had already died. If she hadn’t, then soon she would without food or water. But now she thought about it, she didn’t feel hungry or thirsty. Perhaps she would in an hour or so. But the hours passed as she searched for her boat, and the hunger did not come. She realised that she didn’t feel the cold either. Well, she felt cold, but not from the wind, the cold came from within and spread outwards from her heart.

  She searched for wreckage, but each cove seemed the same as the one before, only slightly different - just different enough to keep her searching. Eventually, she slowed and slumped down onto a dune.

  ‘Come to me,’ a voice soothed.

  She jerked upright, and stared at her tingling, freezing cold pink hands. Sorrow like a solid thing lodged itself in her heart.

  ‘Come to me,’ the voice said and this time she realised it was real. ‘Let me in. I can free your soul.’

  Her body stood up of its own accord and stepped towards the ocean. A gusting wind picked up, lashing the waves high and making them lung towards her. Under the surface, something moved through the currents. She watched it mesmerised.

  ‘Come to me. Here you can be free,’ the voice soothed and slithered around her, coming from no particular place. The temptation to slip beneath the waves to a place far away from the loneliness and despair burned within her. A glimmer of hope bloomed, she hadn’t felt it for so long she’d forgotten what hope felt like. She wanted to trust that voice, to believe that there was a way to be free. All she had to do was to surrender to it.

  There came a low wail of desire, felt rather than heard as it trembled through her. Her legs went weak, and her feet took involuntary steps forwards until the waves sloshed around her ankles. She tore her gaze from the ocean and fought against the yearning. It was all wrong, she shouldn’t go, but resisting seemed a terrible drain on her strength.

  ‘Do not go into the water. Beware the White Beast,’ a female voice echoed around her.

  ‘Edarna?’ Issa called softly, but the voice did not come again, and her heart sank. Was she scrying for her again? Keteth could not harm her whilst she stood upon the land, could he? But what of freedom from these shores? She remembered a world beyond this shadowy land of ghosts, but it was so hazy, maybe it was only ever a dream. Perhaps Keteth could give her freedom.

  A light appeared in front of her. At first, it was nothing more than a speck of white, then it shimmered and grew into an orb bigger than her fist. She squinted and shielded her eyes against
its brightness. A voice that was not Edarna’s came from the orb, rising and falling in distortion as if it were trying to break through into the Shadowlands.

  ‘Do not give up, do not go to him,’ the voice warned. The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. ‘True hope comes…’ the light vanished, but it had somehow loosened Keteth’s grip on her.

  She grabbed the cup, plunged it into the water, and staggered away from the ocean. Fumbling for the spoon she slopped in the paste and downed it. She prayed for it to work fast. The wind howled and the sea surged as if in a rage at her actions. Rain came in sheets so hard it stung her face.

  ‘I’m not your prey to be hunted,’ she screamed, furious at being treated like a play thing. Her pink hands faded to grey and became numb once more. The wind dropped and the rain slackened.

  ‘Show yourself, coward.’ Now the potion had worked she felt emboldened. The beast would show itself, and she would defy it.

  ‘I defy you,’ she cried, but her own voice gave no comfort, and her words hung powerless in the air.

  ‘What do you want?’ the voice whispered.

  ‘What do I want?’ The question caught her off guard, but her subconscious answered it immediately. To go beyond death, to live forever so pain and loss can never reach me…

  ‘To go beyond death…’ the voice repeated her thoughts. She was stunned. Could he read everything she was thinking?

  ‘Yes, that is what I want,’ she whispered. The voice laughed, making her angry.

  ‘I can save you if you let me in.’

  ‘Do you think I’m afraid of death? I defy death,’ she shouted, her words weak against the noise of the blustering wind. She felt stupid. How could one defy death?