Night Goddess (The Goddess Prophecies Book 1)

by Araya Evermore

  The image in the sacred waters showed how it looked today; ravaged, desolate, poisoned… A sky filled with magenta-tinged clouds, restless volcanoes and rivers of lava running like opened veins. Wind screamed as it tore across a land, unopposed by tree or house or valley. The life force of all things was ravaged and consumed by Baelthrom to feed his unholy essence and to ensure that nothing not of his design grew or lived.

  Tusarza, and all that it had been was gone.

  Maphrax. Yisufalni mouthed the name of the black mountains that would become the Immortal Lord’s fortress but dared not speak it aloud.

  “Maphrax” was the name joyfully whispered on the lips of the dark dwarves, the name of their holy land prophesized within their books. Eagerly they called for their Lord of Oblivion, as he, in turn, called to those who would be his followers. Long had the dark dwarves awaited their Immortal Lord. Long had they yearned for the power he would give them. Now he had come, now they had found their True God whom they could worship.

  Under this new threat that came from beyond Maioria and time itself, the Light Dwarves and the Ancients, the Elves and the Humans, and all the beings of light formed the Feylint Halanoi.

  ‘But it was not enough,’ she breathed. Not nearly enough to stop the spread of darkness. Even splitting the magic life force of Maioria had not been enough to stop his rise to power.

  Tears of joy mixed with sadness blurred her vision as she looked upon the tall, elegant frames of her ancestors holding the six orbs of power. ‘We were so graceful, so beautiful, so… arrogant. We should never have underestimated Baelthrom’s seething rage, and the retribution he would wreak if ever he broke free.’

  She looked away from the waters, her heart fluttering in her chest. She did not need to see her people slaughtered again. None could touch Baelthrom’s power, it was beyond the Flow of Maioria, it came from outside of it. The Under Flow they began to call it—a dark, unholy magic that flowed from the Dark Rift itself.

  With the power of Maioria now split, we became weak. We didn’t have a chance. It was our own undoing.

  Such was their utter destruction at the hands of Baelthrom that the Ancients created a myth to give those remaining strength and hope. In the myth, the fallen had not died but had fled to another dimension—a sacred holy land that they called Aralanastias, and it was hidden by mists and safe from harm.

  ‘Nothing more than a myth,’ she breathed, staring into the middle distance. Even the elven Land of Mists was more real than Aralanastias. But it would not keep the elves safe, nothing could. Baelthrom would find them in the end.

  She rubbed her temples. Her energy was wasted from having spent too long in the physical world. Two days had passed since her last visit, and yet still she could barely stand. An hour at most in a small, weak form was all she had ever been able to manage before she had to return to the Ethereal Planes. All she could do was witness, impotent from afar, Issa battling Keteth.

  Thinking of it now brought welcome tears of joy. Seeing the souls of her ancestors freed, after millennia bound in Keteth’s prison, felt as if her own soul had been set free. They were free to return to the light of the One Source. Ah, the goddess had not left them to their dire fate, she never had.

  The raven talisman. Yisufalni’s thoughts turned to the raven sculpted object that the dark dwarves kept chained under lock and key deep within their underground cities. So little was known about it. Even the Ancients, with all their knowledge of the history of Maioria, knew little about it. Only that its magic was pure and old, older than the dragons, and not from Maioria. It may as well be as they said, that Zanufey herself crafted it and brought it to Maioria. It seemed the dark dwarves knew more about it than anyone, fearing it and locking it away like they had.

  She had to find it. She couldn’t help but think Issa would be able to unlock its powers. If it was as the prophecies said, that the Raven Queen would stand against the darkness, then surely the dark dwarves feared the talisman’s power. Why indeed would they have locked it away? Why would she think of it now, and see it in the sacred pool? Was she meant to find it? Would the sacred pool show her where Inklemak had hidden it?

  An orange glow drew her attention to the waters. The raven talisman lay upon black rock surrounded in flames, but it did not burn or melt and seemed impervious to fire.

  ‘Where is this?’ she asked. A cavern of solid rock materialised, glowing red in the lava light. The talisman was on an island surrounded by the rivers of lava. It was unguarded, from what she could see.

  She sat back on her haunches trying to think. Inklemak and the dwarves of light lived in the great city of Tarvalastone in Venosia before Baelthrom came. Half the city lay within the mountain, and the other half sprawled across a land of hills, trees and rivers. Beneath the city ran the Red River, a river of lava carefully channelled and managed to assist the dwarves’ mining, smelting and crafting of rock and ore.

  Inklemak could have hidden it somewhere along the Red River. Could it still be there, forgotten? But how to reach it? Tarvalastone was controlled by dark dwarves and had been for a thousand years. If she went there, she risked capture and death.

  Was the talisman even important? Why would the sacred pool show her it so easily if it wasn’t? Too many questions. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t return to Maioria until she’d regained her strength. Every time she went, she was sure Baelthrom could feel her, hunted for her. Going to Venosia was simply too dangerous.

  But even as she thought it she knew she would try to find the talisman. It was either that, or live another millennium wondering what might have happened had she found it. Issa needed all the help in the world. Her own death would be nothing compared to the loss of life that would ensue if the Raven Queen failed.

  Perhaps it was vanity that made her stay alive. Vanity that she was one of the last Ancients that still existed on Maioria. Did she foolishly hope the Ancients would return one day? She may as well wish her life away.

  They all perished. All but two gone forever from the mortal plains, all but two to endure endless suffering. Unable to die, unable to ascend… Her heart ached with that old wound, it would never heal. She blinked back the tears and forced a smile. At least she could smile for those souls freed into the light by Issa.

  Beloved Murlonius, I pray for the day when our curse is broken, that I might see you again before I too leave Maioria to join our ancestors.

  At her thoughts, the dark waters brightened, and a pale blue sea was revealed. White light sparkled almost blindingly upon the waves. A dark shape came into focus, an ornately carved boat moving steadily upon the surface. Cloaked in a hooded robe, a man rowed. He had a tireless rhythm, for the sea was never ending, and he had been rowing his boat across it for thousands of years. Her breath caught in her throat.

  ‘Murlonius,’ she sighed and ached with longing. For one brief moment, the boatman paused and looked up. She strained to see his face in the folds of his cloak but could not. She never could. The man carried on rowing.

  She had tried to reach Murlonius before, many times, thousands of times, but the curse proved true. She could not reach him. She could only see him from afar as he rowed his boat through eternity, doomed as she was to never walk upon Maioria again, and yet unable to leave its outer realms. They were trapped between the mortal and ethereal plains, but unable to ever meet in either.

  Did he search for her or had he forgotten her? It was the one question that plagued her more than any other. He had heard her voice then, she was sure of it, why else would he stop rowing and look up? But did he recognise it? She lay back down again beside the pool, her eyes never leaving the boatman.

  Baelthrom cursed them for his own pleasure. Murdered a whole race and spared them for a life of torture. Perhaps it would be his undoing. She prayed it would be his undoing. I would have gone to Baelthrom millennia ago, and ended it all then, had I not seen a dark moon rising in the future.

  ‘Did you see the dark moon too, my love?’ she whispered
to the rowing man, even if he couldn’t hear her. ‘What is it that keeps you going? Helping those we can is a balm on the soul. We always do what we can. That’s why I must find the talisman.

  ‘How I remember your face, Murlonius, it is as clear in my memory as my own,’ she smiled, remembering his deep violet eyes that always seemed to be laughing. He was the carefree, happy one, while she, a princess, was serious. His eyes were forever cloaked from her now, and she doubted whether they would be so happy.

  ‘Do you remember our home? Do you remember our temples and our shining cities all made from marble and crystal? Even the elves speak of our grand dwellings and are unable to build them themselves.’

  Murlonius’s image wavered, and she reached for him, wanting to be with him, but the pool reflected her memory, and she looked down at the Ancient’s city that had once been her home so long ago. White quartz crystal temples towered into the blue sky and gleamed in the sunlight. Below them a turquoise sea swayed, empty of dark and evil creatures.

  There had never been anything so beautiful created again. Even if the people could remember how to shape crystal, there was no longer the power to do it. Ahh Murlonius, our time ended here long ago. The image faded back to the rowing boatman.

  ‘I wish I could remember before the Dark Rift came. When there was no such thing as death, and only freedom and peace existed. What a place that must have been. Perhaps that is why we should stay alive, to remind others of what Maioria used to be, of what we all used to be.

  ‘But I know the real reason why you and I remain,’ her smile dropped, and her voice became hard. ‘Not until the last breath leaves our bodies will we cease fighting the Immortal Lord. The goddess is with us, my love, and now we can all hope. One day I will see you again, and on that day Baelthrom will be destroyed.’

  She bit her lip, worrying the hem of her robes. ‘How we will defeat him, only the goddess knows. But I will help the Raven Queen, even if it costs me my life. You would understand, my love, you would do the same. With Zanufey’s chosen we have a chance. Even if it’s only a small one. There is hope in Issa,’

  The image in the water changed to a dark ocean. Purple lights moved on the surface, and amongst them the pale form of Issa. The Wykiry were carrying her home. She was so tired she barely noticed the dark shapes moving fast upon the horizon as she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 3

  IN a feverish half-sleep, Asaph witnessed the final moments of the struggle between the one he loved and the one who had imprisoned him. It was through the flame ring she wore that he could see Issa now, and in his lucid dream state, with his soul somewhere trapped in Keteth’s domain, he could actually see their bond as a silvery cord between them, stretching out across time and through space.

  He followed that cord until he found her where the indigo light of Zanufey’s dark moon fell upon the ocean. There she stood, suspended above the surface, bathed in powerful moonlight. He watched, somewhere between terror and awe, as a tall, slender figure materialised beside Issa. The Night Goddess hooded and cloaked in a robe made of stars.

  Awesome power flooded from Issa as Zanufey stepped into her form. A wave of the strongest magic, the purest love, the feeling of absolute, unshakeable faith, and the power that such faith brings, flooded through him, and he knew it flooded through Issa and all that might be near her at that moment.

  The white dagger flew of its own will from Issa’s hand and pierced Keteth’s twisted heart. Light engulfed all. There came a shattering tearing sound, and he felt his mind released. Relief washed over him with such intensity, he found himself groaning. Keteth was dead, now he was free. He felt as if he had been struggling in the twisted realities of Keteth’s prison forever. His thoughts were suddenly clear, and his soul no longer felt wretched.

  The light faded. Issa stood alone upon the blue moonlit ocean once more. Then he saw them, a vision so wonderful he thought his heart would break. The souls of the enslaved Dragon Lords, glimmering shining white lights, rose up from the depths of their prison. Their joyous songs were a melodic harmony such as only angels could sing. They were free too, and they moved as one shimmering ribbon up towards the light of Feygriene.

  ‘Brothers and sisters,’ he called to them in his mind. ‘I shall eternally miss you. Be my guide in the Recollection, if you can. You are free, now and for forever.’

  For a brief moment, he glimpsed Issa and the blue moonlight again before she faded. He tried to reach for her, but there came a pull, as of something drawing him backwards, and he could not resist.

  Asaph opened his eyes. He tried to stretch. His body was weak, and he felt as if he had slept for an eternity. Though it was dark, he found his dragon sight adjusting swiftly. He peered through a gap in the curtains and did not recognise anything. He was in a large round room or hut with a conical thatched roof, and there was a hearth with a smouldering fire in the centre, giving the place a warm, dim glow.

  Where in Maioria was he, and how did he get here? The soft snoring of two people came from nearby. One was the familiar sound of Coronos. He smiled in relief. His father was alive and close. He tried to sit up but fell back down with a gasp when his stomach muscles refused to obey. They had wasted from lack of use. How long had he been here?

  He touched his side where Keteth had mauled and poisoned him. It was tender, but no longer burned in agony. He threw back the covers only to stare in shock. The wounds were healed—only thin white scars remained where once there had been jagged gashes. Someone had gone to great lengths to heal him. He reached for the flagon of water beside his bed and drank it all, feeling some strength return with the cool water.

  He sat still for a long time, piecing together what he could remember, hoping to commit it to memory in case it faded like a dream upon waking. The last thing he remembered was staring down at karalanths aiming arrows up at him. Everything after was a hellish nightmare. A croak made him jump. His looked to the window where a big raven now perched, its dark brown eyes looked at him questioningly. Issa’s raven. He recognised it easily now. It always seemed to be the cause of all his troubles.

  ‘Where is she?’ he’d meant to whisper, but it came out a croak. Issa’s face flashed in his mind, and with it came a desperate need to see her in the flesh, to know she was all right. He felt the raven press upon his mind, and a shadow passed over his eyes.

  ‘All right,’ he sighed, and closed his eyes to accept the raven’s message.

  The vision was hazy. Asaph flew low over an ocean. It was night. At first, there was only calm sea, and then he saw purple lights and a pale figure. Issa and the Wykiry. She was safe. He would have leapt out of bed for joy, had his body been able.

  The vision moved fast. The raven flew higher, and he saw dark shapes speeding towards them. Ships, at least three of them. They were of a type he had never seen before, and they were big, even at this distance. The Recollection flickered in his mind. He had seen them before, but through another’s eyes, and long ago in Drax. The same heavy black wood, the same curved wooden masts striking up towards the sky, bristling spikes upon the ocean’s surface. His mouth went dry.

  He turned as the raven turned and looked to the horizon. More dark ships loomed, and above them, black things flying. He shuddered, and the vision moved. Magic surged, and the sea churned under flares of fire. He looked down and saw Issa clinging to wreckage. His heart raced. The Wykiry circled close around her protectively. Though she lay motionless, her aura shimmered indigo blue, and he knew she was not dead. Yet.

  Asaph broke his connection to the raven so swiftly the world spun. In a daze, he struggled out of bed only to stagger under his own weight. He had been bed bound so long, his body seemed to be made of lead.

  ‘By Feygriene’s fire, get me to her,’ he gasped.

  He grabbed the pile of clothes on a stool beside his bed, and with shaking hands yanked them on, uncaring if they were his or not. In the struggle to pull on his trousers, he lost his balance, fell through the curtains
, and stumbled over Coronos.

  The older man sat up with a gasp. Asaph was equally alarmed at the dark circles and weariness on Coronos’ face. He looked as if he had aged ten years since he’d last seen him. He regained his balance, and reached out to squeeze the Coronos’ shoulder, shocked to feel the bones beneath. He looked up at Asaph in disbelief.

  ‘My son? Is this a dream? Is it you?’ his voice was hoarse, then he pulled Asaph down into a fierce hug, tears falling down his cheeks. Asaph returned the embrace, and the worry he felt for him was replaced with joy. ‘Praise Feygriene, I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d lost you,’ Coronos whispered.

  ‘Me too, father. I have been to a dark place,’ he said, his voice rough and weak from lack of use. They held each other for a moment, and then Asaph pulled away.

  ‘Keteth is dead, father. I’ve seen it. You must have felt it in the Flow. Through Issa, the Night Goddess has freed him and all those he had imprisoned. That’s why I was able to wake—Keteth’s hold on me was broken when he was killed. Father, I have no time to explain more. Issa is in terrible danger. Keteth’s gone, but now the Maphraxies come for her. I must go to her.’

  A hundred thoughts and denials seemed to flicker across Coronos’ face as he opened his mouth to speak, then frowned. He looked at the raven perched patiently on the windowsill, seeing it for the first time.

  ‘The raven… always Zanufey’s messenger,’ Coronos breathed. His eyes glazed as if the raven too showed him a vision. ‘Yes, Keteth is gone, I’m sure of it. I had a dream and saw his death on the blade of a white dagger, but now I know it was no dream. Thank the goddess you have been released from his clutches,’ he smiled and closed his eyes for a moment.

  ‘I can feel it in the Flow. There has been a change as if darkness has been lifted from the world. The flow of magic is stronger too.’ Coronos opened his eyes and focused upon Asaph. ‘And now, in the blink of an eye, you are back only to go again. Yet I know you must go to her. My son, you have been terribly sick. You are not strong enough and may yet still die if you go to her now.’ Coronos wrapped his cloak around his shoulders despite the warmth of the room. The worry on his face caused a pang of guilt in Asaph’s stomach.