Coronos rubbed his chin and stood silently for a long time. Then he sat down on the other cushion beside the shaman and busied himself with his own pipe.
‘Will you tell the others why we have gone and that we intend to return?’ Coronos asked, his voice sounded sad.
‘Of course, and they will be very jealous,’ Gurapoha chuckled. ‘Asaph must find for himself a partner, there is none strong enough for him here. His is a path of Kings.’
Coronos shot a glance at the old shaman, wondering at his words though he said nothing. Gurapoha continued to look at the fire dancing in the hearth. Coronos had told him of his connection to the King and Queen of Drax, but Gurapoha had worked Asaph out all by himself.
The two men sat silently, the smoke from their pipes curling up together above them. Finally, they talked of many things late into the night, each sharing the thought that they would not speak again for a long time.
Chapter 17
The Boatman
THE next evening Asaph and Coronos stood staring east out to sea as the sun sunk into the trees behind them. Each shouldered a full sack of provisions containing mainly food and clothes, pocketknives and string, and other simple but useful tools. They had managed to get a few hours sleep in the day and, as the day came to a close, had slipped away to this shore unseen.
‘There will be no moon this night, and no stars either, from the looks of it,’ Coronos said, looking at the spreading blanket of grey clouds above. ‘And I’m glad the dark moon has not risen this night, I find it unsettling.’ He leant heavily on his staff, the damp weather was making him stiff.
Though his stave was a mark of his status as a member of the Wizards’ Circle twenty-five years ago - and perhaps he still was he mused - but here on these far distant shores, the staff was just a relic of the Old World, and very useful to keep an old man upright. He could wield magic but knew he was not a powerful wizard. He was a member of the highest order of wizards because he was the Keeper of the Orb of Air. Coronos turned to look at the young man beside him.
‘I do not doubt what happened to you that day, Asaph, I only doubt your sanity for what you choose to do now.’ Asaph looked at him and smiled when Coronos winked. Coronos softened his sombre tone.
‘If there is something more I should know…’ he fell silent when Asaph looked away. Coronos sighed inwardly, he knew Asaph had not told him everything that had happened earlier but decided not to press the boy. Not a boy, a man, he reminded himself. Of late he felt Asaph was more closed to him than ever before as if there was something he wanted to tell him, but could not. All things come in blessed right order, at the blessed right time, he reminded himself of those sacred words often quoted, but it did little to ease the worrying father within him.
‘One does not need to be a Dragon Lord to be powerful,’ Coronos chanced, knowing it was an ice-thin gamble. He immediately regretted it when the young man’s cheeks coloured and he walked away to stand at the ocean’s edge.
Was he ashamed that he was not a Dragon Lord like his mother? Coronos looked at Asaph’s hunched back and slumped shoulders. Dragon Lord or not, he does not understand his power, indeed I do not, yet I feel it even with my dwindling skills. It feels like a chain of unbreakable iron. After a respectful few minutes, Coronos went to stand next to Asaph.
‘You know she has plagued my dreams ever since I can remember,’ Asaph said. ‘Now I understand why. I don’t deny that I’m afraid of this quest before me, yet there is no way in the world I would ever turn it down or give it to another. I feel a lot for her, Father, I cannot explain it… it goes beyond this life,’ he shook his head as if searching for the words.
‘You do not have to follow me. In truth, for your own safety, I wish that you would not.’
Coronos watched the ocean. Earlier he had listened somewhat astonished as Asaph recounted his experience, which he insisted was no vision at all, but real, and the scars upon his chest too were real. He’d only half-believed Asaph because deep down he was afraid, afraid of what it meant if Feygriene herself had appointed a divine task upon him. ‘I have left and lost many most dear to me. I will not lose another,’ he said, tapping his staff resolutely.
‘I guess, as always, your decision is final,’ Asaph said with a loud sigh. ‘Well, maybe it would be good to have some company. I would be a fool to say I wasn’t afraid. But I must find her.’
One day Asaph would realise he was as stubborn as he himself was, Coronos thought with an inward smile. He only half-believed such a “boatman” would come at all, though he knew better than to mock any such divine visions and experiences.
He was fearful of such a journey, but also terribly excited. He would not leave the young man’s side, especially when Asaph had not left the safety of the Kuapoh in his whole life. He said no more, however, and they waited in silence as the evening darkened until it was so dark that neither man could see the other, though they could feel each other’s comforting presence.
Asaph waited for a long time, wondering if there would be a sign, something to tell him when to speak the name given to him by the Night Goddess. He began to doubt if any of it had really happened, but then he thought of the girl and prayed it was true. With his keen dragon sight he glanced at Coronos, but the man stood still as a statue, his face set and equally statuesque. Asaph wondered what he was thinking, but could not read his father’s features in the dark. When no sign came he decided to speak the name anyway.
‘Murlonius,’ he said. His voice was disturbingly loud in the silence and echoed briefly before fading away. He held his breath peering into the night, wondering what, if anything, would happen. In the darkness out to sea, a pale mist grew and spread towards them. Coronos let go of his own held breath.
Soon Asaph could just make out the prow of a boat, then the whole boat. He admired the boat’s design, for its dark wood was perfectly smooth and the prow was ornately carved into the head of a sea serpent. In the serpent’s clenched teeth swung a thick-glassed lantern from which an orange glow radiated. Rowing the boat was a masculine figure, cloaked and hooded.
When the boat neared the shore the figure stood. He would have been tall had he not been stooped over with age. Asaph could not see his face for it was shrouded in the heavy hood of his cloak. With an oar, he guided the boat into the shallows where he waited motionlessly. There were no waves, the sea was like a mirror, creating a perfect upside down reflection of the boat.
Coronos and Asaph glanced at each other wide-eyed, then waded out to the boat. The boatman beckoned, and without a word they got in behind him and sat down on the thick rugs at the stern. Remaining silent, the boatman pushed them from the shore, picked up the other oar and began to row rhythmically. The shore disappeared into the darkness and the mist engulfed them.
Slowly the mist grew brighter until it was as bright as daylight and the ocean sparkled. All the while Asaph’s eyes were transfixed upon the hooded figure. Finally, he could hold his tongue no more and leant forwards, daring to speak.
‘How do you know where we are going?’
The boatman did not answer immediately, his rhythmic rowing did not falter, and Asaph began to wonder if he would answer at all, or even if he could, but then he spoke.
‘I’ve waited so long for this day, I’d given up all hope that it would come,’ the voice that came from within the hood was low and deep and sorrowful, instantly reminding Asaph of Yisufalni.
The boatman stopped rowing, reached into the sack at his feet, and pulled out an hourglass. Asaph barely concealed a gasp because, although the man’s hands were gnarled and wrinkled with age, he had six fingers on each hand like Yisufalni had. The upper bulb of the hourglass was one-quarter full, and pinkish sand trickled slowly through the bottleneck. The boatman looked at it and it seemed the sand slowed. Without ceremony he placed it back in the sack, leaving the other men wondering.
As he did so Asaph noticed the boatman’s hands changing. At first, they were shrivelled and darkened with age, but sl
owly they turned pale as the age spots and dark veins disappeared, becoming smooth and flawless like a young man’s hands. His gnarled fingers bent with arthritis slowly straightened until they were long and elegant, showing none of the signs of age. His stooped back began to straighten until he sat erect and taller by an inch or so than all of them. His thin, sunken, shoulders were now broad, and there was an air of pride and strength about him.
‘The dark moon rises,’ the boatman said, his voice was low and full of melody as if he somehow sung the words, ‘and there is only one that would speak aloud my name at such a time, Dawn Bringer. Or should I say King Asaph.’ As he spoke he pulled back his hood and Asaph found himself staring into the man’s face. He felt Coronos shift and grasp his staff protectively, ready to fight if needed.
At first, the boatman’s face was so wrinkled with age beyond belief, that Asaph could not quite see his weepy eyes through the folds of thin flesh. But as the light touched him a shimmer formed around his face, and the lines and wrinkles firmed and tightened to reveal eyes that were filled with cataracts, like milky galaxies in a void. Those galaxies began to swirl and clear until eyes the colour of violets looked back at him, bright and filled with ancient wisdom. Bloodless lips, once drawn down with loose skin, were pale pink and smiling faintly.
An old man’s face, so withered with age that it could have belonged to any race, had healed to become a young man’s face, and Asaph could see his unmistakeable features clearly. Tall forehead and slightly longer skull, ears pointed through long straight hair that was soft lilac-grey. His pale features were handsome and aquiline just like Yisufalni’s.
Asaph lowered his eyes and awkwardly bowed from his seat. A wide-eyed Coronos did the same as he murmured, ‘Greetings, Murlonius the Ancient.’
Murlonius frowned at the address and a smile broke across his face. ‘Yes, that is what we were called. I had forgotten, it has been so long.’
Asaph and Coronos straightened. Seeing their confusion the boatman said. ‘It is only on your shores, my old world, where my true age is revealed. But out here, I have no age,’ he indicated to the vast expanse of glimmering ocean.
‘Tell me, did you see her?’ his violet eyes were feverish and raw with need.
‘Yisufalni, an Ancient like you, told me to speak your name and you would take us to the Shadowlands,’ Asaph said, wondering if that was what the boatman meant. Murlonius looked away into the distance, lost in his own thoughts. A strange half-smile of wonder formed on his face, but his eyes clouded over and he looked down into the boat. He picked up the oars and began rowing once more. Though he did not know the man, Asaph sensed the boatman’s sorrow just as he had sensed Yisufalni’s.
‘Did you know her?’ Asaph chanced.
The boatman’s face was a mask. After a long while, he began to speak. ‘Yes, many years ago…’ he shook his head, ‘my secrets are my own, for the safety of all.’
Asaph turned the boatman’s words around and around in his head, trying to uncover their meaning. He gave up but was respectful enough not to ask any more, though he longed to know more about this mysterious boatman who revealed so little about himself.
‘Will it take long to reach the Shadowlands?’ Asaph asked.
‘No. Not across these seas. I must only conceal our arrival from those that would do us harm.’
Asaph nodded, considering his words and thinking of the White Beast in his nightmares. He sat back and listened to the sound of the water falling from the oars as they rose and fell.
‘What ocean is this, Murlonius? It moves unlike any I have seen. It either has no tide or all the tides weaving together.’ Coronos asked.
‘This is no known ocean, as such. We travel through a place between worlds, a place between Maioria and the dimension above. It is no place and I am cursed to abide within it,’ Murlonius’s face was grim.
‘How do you know which way to go? I see nothing but shimmering waves and a sky to match,’ Coronos said, looking out at the endless expanse of shining sea barely distinguishable from the white sky above.
‘Across the Sea of Opportunity, my passengers guide the boat by their utmost desires. The King has chosen the destination, I but guide us along the path following his will,’ Murlonius replied. After a moment he stopped rowing. ‘We are here.’
Asaph and Coronos looked around, seeing nothing but the mist and sea as before. Asaph was about to speak, but then the mist cleared to reveal a marsh wetland surrounding them. The boatman stood and with an oar paddled through the tall reeds, coming to a stop at a grass-covered bank.
‘Only the King has been allowed passage through the Shadowlands,’ Murlonius said to Coronos. ‘It is my fervent warning that you remain on these shores at the edge of this cursed place.’
Coronos looked as though he was about to protest, but something seemed to change within him as he scanned the ashen green trees and shivered. He nodded and stood unsteadily in the boat.
‘What is the payment?’ Coronos asked.
‘There is nothing you could give that I need. My payment will be to see the Immortal Lord, the one who cursed me, fall. And to be with her again,’ Murlonius said, but before Coronos could ask anymore he added, ‘hurry, I cannot stay long in any one place.’
As soon as they were out of the boat Murlonius pushed off with his oar.
‘Wait,’ Coronos and Asaph called out in unison, neither one wanting to be left stranded in this place. ‘How will we leave here? Can we trust you?’ Coronos asked.
‘I will return when the King speaks my name again, at this same place. Regarding trust, I am bound to my duty through more than courtesy and, despite my curse, we are fighting on the same side in our own way,’ Murlonius replied with a half smile, his voice already distant. The glimmering mist engulfed him and then he and the mist disappeared.
The two men stood alone in a darker greyer world. Asaph pulled his cloak close, finding the silence heavy and foreboding. Murlonius was right, it was not a place for the living and they were most definitely unwelcome here. The trees were ashen and stood like lifeless shadows, the reeds hung limply and no bird or animal could be heard or seen. The air was cold, damp and smelt of mustiness and decay as if the plants were rotting from within. The sky was completely grey and Asaph got the feeling that no sun ever shone here.
‘We should not be here,’ Coronos echoed his thoughts.
Asaph looked around him, lost. ‘Which way do we go?’
‘Have faith, I guess,’ Coronos said with a shrug, but before he had finished speaking, a shadow passed overhead. A raven landed on the branch of a tree inland a little way ahead, bowing it down with its weight. The raven’s dense black form seemed like a black hole appearing in the fabric of the Shadowlands, more solid than the trees around it. The two men looked at each other and laughed.
‘We are to follow the raven, then,’ Asaph said, at the same time Coronos spoke, ‘The Night Goddess’s messenger.’
Coronos shook his head. ‘Not I. I will remain here, Murlonius is right, though I hate to admit it. You must walk this part of the journey alone, as you have done so in your dreams. Have no fear, my son, I will be with you from afar.’ His father smiled and tapped his pocket where the orb was as if to reassure, but Asaph could tell he really did not want him to go alone. He was about to protest, equally not wanting to go alone, but he did not want to ignore Murlonius’s wisdom. Besides, Coronos would be safer here, he consoled himself.
‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ he said. Without delaying further he scrambled up the grassy bank and picked his way less than elegantly across the marshes towards the raven. As he neared, it flew to another tree, and in this manner he followed it, turning once to wave at Coronos before disappearing into the grey woods.
Once alone, Coronos shivered and pulled his cloak closer. The cold here seemed to eat him from within and the damp air made his joints ache. He watched the young man leave with fear in his heart. He will be all right, he is stronger than you think, his inner vo
ice said, but still worry nagged him and sadness filled his heart.
Asaph was twenty-five years old, how quickly time had passed. He remembered his birth like it was yesterday. It was as if all the pain and sorrow of one’s life was relived again in the Shadowlands and he found himself wondering if his own daughter’s birth, over forty years ago, had been similar. Had she cried and screamed? Would she look as beautiful and fair as her mother had? He sighed, remembering too his long lost lover. He could never forget that heart-shaped face and deep blue eyes.
‘Ah Harianna,’ he whispered. ‘How I wish I could have seen our daughter grow into a woman and been the father and husband I wanted to be.’
He covered his eyes with his hand and leant on his staff as the sorrow came, tears shed for all that had happened in his life and all that had been lost. In Asaph’s absence, alone here in the Shadowlands, he let his grief consume him, willing to be rid of it.
After a time he felt the orb’s weight heavy within his cloak as if it was trying to drag him away from the past. He wiped his eyes and looked fearfully out at the Shadowlands.
‘This place is consumed with grief,’ he breathed. They would become shadows themselves if they stayed too long.’ But more than this place he feared most for the future. I cannot lose another so dear to my heart. Asaph will return, he must. He gripped his staff, reaching deep within himself to shield against the desolation of the Shadowlands.
‘If we return to the Old World safely, I shall try my hardest to find you, my daughter,’ he whispered into the grey mist.
Night Goddess (The Goddess Prophecies Book 1) Page 17
