The Coming Dawn: Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 3

by R. G. Triplett

  “Enough,” she said with a sick sense of amusement. “It is much more satisfying to put rivals in their place than it is to tame mere beasts. Is it not, fire knight?”

  Pyrrhus was flushed with sweat, his hair clinging to his reddened face. His chest heaved from both adrenaline and exhaustion. He glanced in surprise to the Raven Queen when she addressed him, then turned his attention back to Yasen, laying there in a heap. A shameful smile twinkled in his eyes for the briefest of moments before he blinked and met her gaze again. “My Queen?” he said, and the weight of her words sunk into the forefront of his mind.

  She smiled at him, causing his heart to leap and his blood to run cold almost in the same instant.

  “I said I wanted Aiénor, woodcutter,” she told Yasen as she bent down to punctuate her message.

  He looked up with a bloodied and swollen face, the lines of his scars angry and red, his good eye not much more than a slit. He saw her for what she was: greedy and insatiable. The runes of her dark, hellish magic swirled and floated upon her pale skin, and the swell of her breasts heaved with excitement as her black-lined lips spoke her truest intentions.

  “Not part of Aiénor, nor most of Aiénor,” she continued in a sultry, toxic whisper. “Not just its lands, nor its cities. I want all of Aiénor; every beast of the world and every son of Ádhamh.” She rose, and the air about her began to move violently. The feathers that crowned her inked shoulders began to dance in the wake of the wind, and a smile, deep and satisfied, crept across her dangerously beautiful face. “And I will not rest, woodcutter, until every soul has been taken from Him, and until all of His once-bright world is subject to my great darkness.”

  “Madness,” Yasen said through labored breaths. “There will always be those who refuse to bow to your wickedness.”

  “Oh, dear woodcutter,” she began to laugh, the sound of her cackles more ominous than ever amidst the whooshing of the soul-chilling wind. “They will bow!” The joy and hatred in her voice chorused in unharmonious fanfare. “They will bow, indeed!”

  As if to punctuate the moment with fearsome flair, crushing reverberations from the two winged beasts sounded on either side of the timber walls. Their massive forms dwarfed the defenses of the colony as torrents of their green fire lit the night sky above them.

  “ROARH!” came the furious announcement.

  “Run! God, help us!” came the shouts of the frightened guardsmen as the hulking, winged serpents circled the stronghold of the first colony with violent delight.

  The men of Haven dropped blades and banners alike, falling to the ground and away from the flames. Panic washed over them as terror threatened every last ounce of their waning resolve. Pyrrhus shielded his face with his one remaining arm, while Seig stood alone, his face drained of any remaining pride.

  “What in the damnable darkness?” Yasen whispered to himself as he swallowed back bile, his stomach threatening to empty itself against his will.

  “The people of Aiénor will bow before their queen, or I will feed them to my children,” Nogcwren said, delighted to be reunited with Abaddon and Angrah.

  “Why?” he asked, wincing in pain with each labored word. “Why does it matter?”

  “Tell me, woodcutter,” she said, without hesitation. “What happens to a god when he has no souls left to subjugate?”

  Yasen just stared at her, trying to understand the depths of her meaning.

  “I would very much like to find out,” she told him with a wicked smile.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Where?” Deryn said as he flew to meet the gaze of his kneeling friend. “Where is the way?”

  “Cal?” Astyræ said as she eagerly came up from the bank and ran over to him.

  “It’s there, right there,” he said, pointing into the crashing waters of the falls.

  “I don’t understand,” she protested.

  “It is hidden, isn’t it, Cal?” Deryn confirmed. “Guarded by the rushing waters?”

  “I think so,” Cal said as he rubbed at his eyes to be sure. He rose to his feet, walking towards the spray of the clear, rushing waters and forgetting the mission he had, not moments before, thrown himself into.

  “I can see the markings glowing behind the water,” he told them excitedly as he pointed. “Right there, to the left.”

  “How do we enter? Do you see a path, a break in the water?” she asked him.

  “I don’t quite know yet,” he said, his clouded eyes turning up ever so boyishly at the corners. “I’ve only just now found it.”

  She reached out for his hand and took it. “You’ve done it groomsman! You’ve really done it!” She pressed his hand to her lips and kissed it as she squeezed with her own tender grasp.

  “I haven’t done anything yet, my lady,” Cal said with every bit of caution he could manage to muster, though he wasn’t quite sure he believed his own tempered words. “For all we know it could be a cave, like the one you and Goran were nearly lost to.”

  “But then, why would the Stag lead you here and mark this as part of the ancient paths?” she argued, her own joy and wonder coloring every inflection of her hopeful voice.

  “Well, that is true, isn’t it?” The groomsman looked at his two friends in disbelief. “Shaimira!” he whispered.

  The three of them stood there, staring at the falls in reverent wonder.

  “Thank our Great Father, for He has indeed made a way for us,” Deryn postulated his gratitude.

  “May it be so, my friend,” Cal agreed. “May it be so, indeed.”

  A pained whinny and desperate snort broke their reverie and, just like a wave upon a sandy shore, the sound of their wounded and suffering friend caused their momentary elation to crumble.

  “Farran,” Cal said guiltily. “Oh Farran, I have not forgotten about you,” he cooed as he walked back over to the wounded horse. “We are nearly there, boy. And maybe… maybe there are people there, with liniments and medicines! I’m sure of it, Farran … help is not far now.”

  The horse picked his head up off the ground to nuzzle his friend. A flicker of hope shone in his weary eyes, but it was drowning in a bog of pain and poison. Cal held the grey courser’s head in his calloused hands as he spoke to him.

  “Oh, mighty steed of Haven, we have one more leg of this journey. Can you find the strength enough to come with me?” he whispered.

  Farran stared into Cal’s eyes, a lifetime passing in mere moments. Farran snorted his agreement, and with great labor he began to rise to his feet.

  “There now,” Cal said, his voice swelling with pride and love for the brave horse as he settled him back down onto the grassy lawn. “Rest a bit more first. We need something to eat, and you need to be off that leg of yours so I can try to clean it proper.”

  Cal finished tending to Farran while Deryn spoke life into the fire they had set nearby. Astyræ had used her mighty bow to spear a few brightly speckled river trout, and with great skill had cleaned and skewered them on broken branches to roast over the open flame. Cal found a broken shell of a turtle, and though it did not hold much water, he was able to place it near enough to the fire to heat the water and to steep the herbs they found.

  When they had eaten their fill and the tea had grown potent enough, Cal placed the head of his friend in his lap, stroking his mane and singing to ease Farran’s mind. Astyræ took the makeshift pot and poured the hot elixir upon the gruesome wound. Farran tensed, his massive muscles recoiling at the searing pain of the liquid, but he subdued his protest at Cal’s calming touch. Astyræ tied a piece of her own tunic around the angry wound and said a prayer for the herbs to do their best against the poison of the timber wolves, and Farran closed his eyes to the sound of Cal’s voice.

  They made a camp for the night, each doing their best to get what sleep they could manage to find. Although they all felt safe here in this hidden place, their worry and anticipation could not give way to real rest.

  It was Farran who woke first, nudging the sleeping gr
oomsman with his nose.

  “Are you alright, my friend?” Cal asked him eagerly. But when he arose to examine their efforts upon the wound, his heart sank all the more. “Alright then, let’s not tarry here any longer.”

  He woke the rest of his companions, and they packed up their belongings, all the more eager to follow the path set before them.

  “Can you see a way?” Cal asked Deryn as his Sprite friend flew in and about the falling water.

  “I see an opening behind the water,” he replied. “But I think we are going to have to get wet; I don’t see any way around it.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Cal said, looking back at Astyræ and the horses. “But a little water will be a small price to pay for the life beyond this, huh? Will you be alright?”

  “Well, our Great Father did not intend for His fruited children to swim, but if you will carry me, I will go with you.”

  “Alright then,” Cal said with a chuckle to his words. “Twice now it will be that I have been baptized into such unknown adventures. I’ll keep you as safe as I can, my friend.”

  With that, he took Farran by the reins, and opened up his tunic for Deryn to shield himself against the crashing waters. Surprisingly, the pool was not at first as deep as he feared, so both he and Astyræ led the horses out deeper and closer to the falls. Finally, his foot felt the rocks beneath them give way to the deeper waters.

  “Alright then, hold your breath and dive as deep as you can,” he told them all. “We are going to have to swim until we pass under the falls. Beware that you don’t stop too soon.”

  “Will the horses be alright?” Astyræ asked worriedly.

  “They will follow, and they are strong. And at least Farran won’t have to walk for a moment or two.” He patted Farran’s neck and stroked the mane of the large chestnut.

  “Are you ready, Deryn?” he asked playfully. “Time for your first swim, my friend.”

  “Just don’t you forget that my lungs are not as large as yours, groomsman,” Deryn said nervously.

  “Alright,” Cal laughed as the music of the pounding waters filled their ears. “Deep breaths now, here we go!”

  Cal leapt from the safety of the shallows and plunged into the waters before them. They dove deep, horses in tow, and as they did they could feel the force of the falling river pushing them downward. He kicked and pulled, one hand on the reins and one hand stroking through the waters in front of them, willing them to move towards the other side.

  Cal opened his eyes, searching the riverbed for purchase, and to his surprise the clear waters were lit in a faint, violet glow. He kicked and fought, resisting every urge to let the river take them back downstream. His lungs burned, and panic threatened, but it was the chestnut that caught his eye. The large horse had fearlessly followed, and then with great strength pulled Astyræ forward past the churning danger above.

  Farran, following the bravery of his fellow horse, finally turned the tide of the moment and swam hard towards the safety beyond the falls. Cal’s head broke the surface of the water, cresting with a loud gasp for breath. “Deryn!” he shouted as he pulled back his coat to free his friend from the watery stranglehold. But Deryn did not reply.

  “Astyræ!” Cal shouted in a panic. “He is not breathing!” He kicked, searching for a foothold.

  “Give him to me!” she shouted back against the roar of the water. The chestnut had made her way up onto the stone ledge of the cavern, and Farran was pulling him closer towards them with each moment.

  Cal reached into his cloak and pulled out his Sprite friend, handing him shakily over to Astyræ. Quickly she bent Deryn’s small body over her hand and began to pound his back, willing the water to release from his lungs.

  Cal and Farran finally found their feet again enough to slip and then climb up the rocky slope and onto the landing before them. “Deryn!” Cal shouted.

  “Come now, my half-brother!” Astyræ whispered her prayer as she continued to work on the Sprite's soaked lungs.

  “Is he alright?” Cal begged. “Please, Deryn, breathe!”

  A small but violent cough, and then a wretch, came as the most welcomed sounds that either of them could have ever hoped for. Deryn expelled the water from his lungs and gasped desperately for air. His eyes fluttered open, exhaustion and relief swirling in the brightness of his eyes. He took in his surroundings as the rush of the falling water woke his sensibilities to life.

  “He’s alright!” Astyræ said as her pink lips smiled away her worry. “You are alright, my little friend,” she told him sweetly.

  “I do thank you, my lady,” he coughed with a raspy scratching to his voice. “But if you would be so kind as to put me down ... you are squeezing the life out of me.”

  “Oh!” she blurted quickly. “I am sorry, Deryn.” She placed him gently on his feet on the wet stone beneath them.

  “Pretty exciting for your first time under the water, huh?” Cal teased.

  “Thank you for your enthusiasm,” Deryn said in mock offense as he shook out the water from his azure-colored wings. “But if it is all the same to you, I would prefer to spend my days above the ground, not swimming beneath its surfaces.”

  “Well, you might have to delay your preferences for the time being,” he said, taking in the immensity of the cavern. “It appears that we will be well beneath the surface of the ground until we find our way out again.”

  “I think you know what I was trying to say,” Deryn continued. “But, yes, it would seem so.”

  Cal walked over to this new set of the Stag’s glowing marks, touching their rutted lines. “You don’t suppose it’s another hidden grove, like Islwyn, do you?”

  “I don’t rightly know what it is, or where it will lead us, though I doubt it is as beautiful as Islwyn,” Deryn said. “But I do believe it will still be worth finding.”

  “Quite right, my Sprite friend,” Cal said as he rose to his feet. “Well … should we be on our way? Astyræ, are you alright?”

  “Besides being a bit soaked through, we are just fine. My chestnut here was a brave one, huh?” She ruffled the horse behind the ears. “I couldn’t fight the current on my own, so she just dragged me along after her. When we find our way out of here, I’ll make sure you get a carrot, or an apple, or something sweet to show you my thanks.”

  “Now look who is talking to the horses, huh?” Cal said with a wink and a smile.

  “Do you see the next marker, Cal?” Deryn asked, taking in the massive cavern. “I don’t see much in here, just stone and wet.”

  Cal looked about, squinting into the blackness before them, trying to extend the reach of his violet vision. “No, I don’t. But this marking here is as plain as the silver fire on the once burning tree … so this must be the path.”

  “Ok then,” Astyræ agreed. “We should be about it, then.”

  “Through the bowels of the wilderness we will go,” Deryn said solemnly, placing his tiny, azure hand upon Cal’s broad shoulder.

  Cal smiled at these friends of his. Never, in all his days in Westriver, would he have dared to dream of such an adventure with such unforeseen friends. As he took Farran by the reins and began the journey into the cave, he wondered if Michael would ever believe the tale. He hoped that his cousin would not be too cross with him about missing out on the whole thing, then smiled at the thought.

  “What are you grinning about, groomsman?” Astyræ asked him playfully.

  “Just my horse-faced cousin is all,” he said without any further explanation.

  She tilted her head in curiosity as she continued forward, one golden eyebrow cocked as she considered this tree man, this foreigner, this … love of hers. “Well,” she said finally and with great playfulness, “I, for one, am rather relieved to note that you must only slightly resemble him, then.”

  “Ha!” Cal blurted out, his laughter so welcomed and yet so out of place in this endless cavern of stone and dankness. “You are now, are you?”

  “As relieved as one can
be.” She gave him a wink and sweet, kind smile. “You know, that is the first time I think you’ve even mentioned your family to me. And yet … I’ve told you nearly everything there is to know of mine.”

  Cal walked, considering her words for a moment before he spoke. “I suppose you are right, my lady.”

  “Would you tell me of them?” she asked.

  He smiled, remembering what he could of his family. “I wish they could have seen all of this … my parents, I mean,” he told her wistfully. “We would have had to try to keep up with them, you know, not the other way around.”

  “Oh?” she encouraged.

  “Aye. They never stopped expecting that the THREE who is SEVEN would reveal His new light for all of us, and so they never stopped searching for it. Even when it became dangerous, or treacherous, to do so.”

  She thought on his words, enchanted by his longing for his lost parents and his pride for who they once were. “It sounds as though they were very much like you.”

  He looked into her eyes with gratitude. “I hope so.”

  And so they walked, for leagues it seemed, through the cavernous path underneath dirt and mountain. They talked of their families and lives now long displaced in the wake of the ravenous evil. Deryn listened patiently to their exchange, busying himself with flying out ahead of them any time a bend in the tunnel turned them down a blind, unexpected path. A subtle sound began to grow ahead of them, but they could not discern it just yet.

  When their feet and hooves could walk no further, they sat against the dank, dark walls of stone. They passed a skin of wine between them and longed for a dryer, softer place to make their rest.

  Cal laid his head against Farran’s flank, his own heart sinking as he heard the labored breaths and the wheezing, sodden exhales of his hurting friend. He stroked the horse’s neck and prayed for relief as Deryn came close.

  “He is worsening, isn’t he?” the Sprite asked.

  “He sure sounds that way,” Cal said sadly. “I would have thought the herbs and the water would have washed that damned venom from his wound by now, but it only seems to have traveled deeper inside.”