Grace of the Light

by Fergal F. Nally

  Grace of the Light

  By

  Fergal F. Nally

  Copyright © 2016 by Fergal F. Nally

  The moral right of Fergal F. Nally to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act, 1988.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Cover design by Beetiful Book Covers.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 Aftermath

  Chapter 2 Liss

  Chapter 3 Hell’s Breath

  Chapter 4 Embers

  Chapter 5 Searching

  Chapter 6 Whistlemount

  Chapter 7 Bright Feather

  Chapter 8 The Journey

  Chapter 9 Old Nix

  Chapter 10 Lament of the Winds

  Chapter 11 Run into the Night

  Chapter 12 The In

  Chapter 13 The Deepings

  Chapter 14 Come Softly

  Chapter 15 The Stirring

  Chapter 16 Uncertainty

  Chapter 17 Bear Witness

  Chapter 18 Fragments

  Chapter 19 The Crash

  Chapter 20 The Black Middens

  Chapter 21 The Twist

  Chapter 22 Kindred

  Chapter 23 Tainted City

  Chapter 24 Damnation

  Chapter 25 Desolation

  Chapter 1

  Aftermath

  Raine remembered their first kiss.

  Severin and her, on the loch shore, a summer’s night, eleven years ago. The memory fresh and vivid, bright as stars.

  The smoke was making her eyes water, she closed them, her grief real. Severin was the love of her life, now he lay five feet away, dead, burning in his funeral pyre.

  Along with her beloved son Ash and his little sister, Marianne.

  Raine was too close to the bonfire. Her skin prickled, blistering in the heat, the pain real. No matter, she wanted to be with them. She wanted to die.

  Why? Why are they taken from me?

  Why am I still alive?

  She stood on the lake shore, shivering, hair and skin wet with rain. Her breath misted the air, her heart kept beating, keeping her alive. Emotion coursed through her; emotion was useless, it led to weakness.

  I need to breathe, I need stillness.

  I need to remember how to kill.

  A pulse pounded in Raine’s head, it would not stop. She breathed its drumbeat, it mirrored her heart. Wings of revenge wrapped themselves around her, bloodlust rose in her veins.

  She smiled, her eyes distant.

  The three funeral pyres burned savagely, the final imprint these three souls would make on this Erthe, on this land.

  Severin, Ash, Marianne.

  Farewell. I’ll miss you all, I mourn you. I will have revenge.

  I will not stop living until your deaths are avenged.

  A crushing loneliness descended into Raine’s heart. Her hand shook, her breathing became shallow. The three pyres reached a flaming crescendo then collapsed sending showers of sparks into the air. Raine’s tears evaporated, her eyes were blank, she collapsed onto the ground sobbing, her grief all consuming.

  She fell in on her dream, it bore her away on a cloud of memory and pain. Her husband, Severin, had been taken from her. Murdered.

  By Simulacrum warriors.

  They had come during the Festival of Saoin, with their promises of gold and good fortune. Forbidden promises.

  Fakers, takers, tricksters.

  Severin had been intrigued by them, caught in their web. She had seen through them though… intuition. Women were less susceptible to magic for they were in thrall to the moon, they were of magic. Men’s souls were soft, they were of bone and blood, they were weak. That was why Severin was burning and she was not. That was why her children, Ash and Marianne, were burning and their smoke was filling the sky.

  She had left the children in Severin’s care, he had failed them and her. Now they were all gone.

  She was the only one left, the only one breathing vengeance. The Simulacrum Lords would pay, they would know suffering and pain. They would die. Raine smiled, her dream changed, blackness enveloped her. She passed into the arms of the sleep giver. Emptiness blossomed in her heart.

  She woke the next day, exhausted and in pain. Hollow. She had slept on the lake shore, in the warmth of the embers, the stars her roof. The pain in her heart would not ease. Her family’s ashes lay strewn on the ground, their pyres extinguished. Her life was burnt out, she was a husk, a lie.

  Why have I been left behind? Why didn’t they take me too?

  She had missed the Simulacrum raid by hours. If she’d been there she could have defended her children. Where had she been? Up on the moor gathering dew campion, frost flowers and blue mosses, to heal the sick. Where were they now? All dead. The mark of the Simulacrum branded on their skin; the sign of the skull.

  At least there was no doubt. But why had they come? The village’s supply of food… its treasures were all untouched, nothing taken except life. The Simulacrum had not been seen in these parts for a generation. Why had they ventured east? What had roused them from their northern fastness of mountain and snow?

  You can free the world.

  Raine looked round, no one was there.

  Bad things happen when we’re together. We’ll be cold in the fire… find them, seek the answer at Si an Bhru. Find the Twist, wear it to face the enemy.

  Raine trembled, she did not want the voice in her head back again. She had thrown it off a long time ago, smothered it in the love and happiness of her family. It was back. She was alone in the world, with the voice that would not let her go; her inner madness, her inner strength.

  She stood taking one last look across the water. The loch and its shores were all she had known these last few years. She needed to find Si an Bhru, find the Twist there. Si an Bhru; a myth born of dreamers. She had nowhere else to go, her people dead. Stories placed it beyond the Jacta Arx Mountains. She would go there… or die trying. This day would be the first of her last days; her new life, to find and kill the Simulacrum Lords.

  Raine turned away from the three burnt out pyres. This would be a game of seek and hide. She would be invisible, softer than shadow, as ruthless as the blood stealers. She would find those that murdered her family and she in turn would take their lives without remorse.

  Nothing would stop her.

  She started walking, her head low, her heart strong. Her lips moved, madness danced in her eyes.

  We will seek and yes, we will find. We will kill and we will grind. Blood and bone, soul and mind will be ours, in revenge, in payment for this day of days.

  Mechanically, Raine’s legs took her away from the loch and her village, its memory even now fading. She tried to keep its name on her tongue.

  Farne, Farne…

  It was there, then gone. Her mind was numb with shock, her body took over. Raine walked blankly towards the western horizon, towards the Jacta Arx range, to the hard lands, to Si an Bhru and its secrets.

  She lost track of time, her feet tramped through mud and heather, over hills and valleys. She stopped when darkness fell, finding shelter und
er a crag. Her stomach did not need food; a different kind of hunger filled her. She sat under the crag, her mind blank. Hours passed in a sleepless blur.

  Woodenly, she rose at first light, drank from a nearby stream and continued walking west. The terrain became rockier, far off in the distance the Jacta Arx beckoned. Raine looked at her feet, an inner sense guiding her, her eyes stared at the ground as she walked. She stopped and blinked; hoof prints. She looked up, following the direction of the tracks; they led up and over the brow of a hill a few hundred yards away. Her eyes were drawn by movement in the sky.

  Crows circling overhead.

  Trouble. Death.

  She crouched, held her breath and looked round. Wind caressed her cheek, she breathed a sigh of relief realising she was downwind from the hill. Instinct told her to flank the area; avoid the scene. It may be nothing… or something. The voice, for once, was quiet. She was alone. She did the opposite to reason, she approached the brow of the hill.

  Mist lifted from her consciousness. Reason flooded back; her shock receded.

  Idiot! Stupid! I’m unarmed, what am I doing? Falinor watch over me, protect my spirit.

  Raine followed the tracks reaching the brow of the hill. She lay on her stomach crawling the last few feet then looked over the ground below. Her breathing quickened. In the shallow dip lay six horsemen.

  Six dead horsemen, eviscerated. Faces and eyes gone, torn from their skulls, white bone exposed.

  Their horses lay beside them, decapitated.

  Raine’s hands clenched, she recognised their raiment; they were Simulacrum.

  Were they the ones?

  Confusion washed over her. She stared at the bodies from her hiding place. The way they had been killed, was strange, ritualistic. Their bodies were arranged neatly in the shallow dip.

  Where were the horses’ heads?

  Raine shuddered, she would give this killing ground a wide berth. She started to pull back, then saw their weapons. She was unarmed, she needed a blade, a shield. These fallen warriors had what she wanted. She decided; whatever had done this was probably long gone. She stood up and walked down the lee of the hill.

  Her nerves on edge, Raine searched the gore soaked bodies. It was strange, their weapons and money lay untouched. This added further to her unease. She took their coin and selected a chain mail shirt, two rapiers, a dagger and a small shield. Food and water completed her haul. Her hands were slick with blood from the bodies. The smell of death filled the air, she gagged and her stomach lost the struggle, she retched violently. Something broke within her, she felt the numbness recede, its grip lessened. Emotion welled up within her and she wept.

  Raine’s tears stung, burning her eyes and cheeks, she smeared them away leaving bloody streaks on her face. Her tears were for Severin, Ash and Marianne.

  And herself.

  She blinked, her sobbing quietened, she focused on a patch of ground a few feet away. There were tracks leading from the killing ground, a single horse. She stiffened. A survivor? Or the killer? She looked round and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She donned the chainmail and adjusted her weapons. The tracks were fresh, a few hours old. She debated with herself.

  My enemy’s enemy is my ally. But I have no friends, no family, I have only enemies.

  Raine looked up. She would track this single rider. Information was power, an advantage, she needed to know what lay ahead. She took one last look at the killing ground and its bodies.

  “May your spirits be eternally cursed to wander the black night, alone and in pain,” she hissed at the Simulacrum corpses, spitting on each of them in turn.

  She followed the tracks. There were at least six hours of light left, the sky was settled. She would keep moving while the going was good. She was a proficient tracker, memories of days and nights hunting with her father came to her. A grim smile ghosted her face, then quickly vanished.

  So long as the rain kept away she could follow the trail, unless her quarry crossed wetlands. With heightened senses she pushed herself hard, covering more ground. The day wore on and evening approached, she saw smoke rising from a copse, her quarry was close. Her pulse quickened, she looked round and made for cover. The horse tracks led into the copse, she held back and hid in the long grass. She would wait and move in when it was time.

  Wind played with the tree tops sending soft whispers to her ears. Water trickled nearby, something was not right.

  Harm is in the air. Wait, abide, watch, learn.

  Raine dropped to her stomach holding her breath, a whinny came from the trees. She looked through the long grass and saw the trap. The man had left his horse in the copse, lit a fire, then back tracked, flanking her. His shadow flitted through the long tussocks on her right, he was close.

  Raine cursed silently. He was Simulacrum.

  He was young, his face hard, covered in war paints. His arms bore ritualistic scars, something did not fit. Raine watched him intently, then she saw; the way he held himself, the way his shoulders hung and finally, his eyes. He was fearful, here was a hunter no longer... here was a man being hunted.

  “Come out, fight like a man,” he shouted. He stood no more than twenty feet from Raine. He looked about frantically. “I know you’ve been following me. Why didn’t you take me? Why are you playing with me? Let’s get it over.”

  Raine tensed, preparing to stand and fight when the air shimmered an arm’s breath from the man. A creature materialised. It had the body of a woman, except from the shoulders up it resembled an animal. It was slender, with long talons extending from its fingers. It towered over the man.

  Raine froze, hand on her rapier, she held her breath. Some instinct made the man swing round, blade in hand to face the half woman, half beast. He was trembling. The creature attacked, its limbs jerked as if on strings. It tilted its head drawing a shape in the air with a talon. A flaming glyph appeared hovering four feet above the ground. The man’s horrified eyes locked onto the glyph.

  “Why can’t you fight like us? This sorcery’s the work of Ashtoreth, she’s no place here, no place under Falinor’s sky…”

  The warrior’s voice faded as the glyph started to spin, it created a flaming skewer in the air. He stared at it fixedly, resignation in his face.

  “You’ll not defeat us, we’ll fight to the last man, so will…”

  The beast flicked its talon, the flaming skewer shot through the air and pierced the warrior’s chest, twisting as it went. It shredded his heart and ribcage in a breath, the man dropped to his knees, the glyph exiting through his back. Raine could see clear through the rent it had made in him. Her blood ran cold.

  Confusion flooded through her.

  Ashtoreth? The war demon? But that’s just a story…

  This creature before her was the work of a demon? What was it seeking? Why had it killed the Simulacrum warriors? Doubt crept into her mind, was it the Simulacrum that had destroyed her village? Or had it been Ashtoreth?

  The warrior’s head fell to his chest, all life gone from his eyes. His body remained kneeling, daylight shone through the space where his heart had been. The burning glyph turned green and faded. The creature stood for a moment sniffing the air, sensing. Raine tightened her grip on her sword. A horse whinnied in the distance, the creature’s head snapped towards the sound and it ran to the copse. Seconds later an unearthly scream filled the air, followed by an explosion of birds from the trees.

  Raine backed away through the long grass. When she had put a good distance between her and the copse she ran and did not stop running until she collapsed with exhaustion.

  Chapter 2

  Liss

  Liss looked at Yellow Eyes.

  Home, mother, pack.

  As a boy the wolf had stolen Liss’s heart, taken him in. She had become his mother. They were inseparable, one knew what the other was thinking, how they would act. They could read each other, they were one. The pack found Liss as a baby, abandoned in a hedge by a mother who could not go on. Her life was
short, brutal. She brought Liss into the world, held him once, kissed him, then abandoned him to the night and all that walked there.

  The wolves found Liss first, alone, birth blood glistening on his skin. The pack leader approached sniffing at the man child, he bared his teeth at the baby, not even a mouthful, not worth the effort. Indifference stayed his fangs, he walked away his eye catching that of the grey female, something passed between them, she blinked in understanding lowering her head, taking the scent. She picked up the bare skinned baby carrying him through the night by the scruff of his neck. If he lived, he lived, if he died he would be forgotten.

  Liss decided to survive.

  He suckled on wolf milk and grew to learn wolf ways. His throat and mind adapted, he was wolf, he was part of the pack, he was Liss. Time hardened and strengthened his body. He hunted and killed, he learned to be fast, deadly.

  The pack kept moving, running free, high in the mountains tracking game and down in the valleys when the hunting high up was poor. The valleys held their own dangers, the wolves moved at night there, Liss, a ghost amongst them. They would take the occasional sick or wounded sheep or cow, they avoided people. It was best not to stir men into a frenzy, it was best to leave men alone. Men were nothing but trouble.

  It was summer and the pack were hunting, high in the Jacta Arx Mountains. The long days were filled with the joy of the chase, the taste of fresh blood, living meat. Life was built on death and feasting, the pack were healthy, thriving, it was a good year. They stayed at their usual haunts; the crags looking down on Whistlemount, the caves at the Dark Lake and the ruins at Clover Valley. Clover Valley was a curious place and made Liss unsettled. He felt attracted to and repulsed from the ruins there in equal measure… especially to the markings on their walls. Something told him be belonged to these structures but a fear and distrust dwelt within him.

  Ice Heart, the alpha, made the decisions, Liss did not have to like them, he had to abide and respect. He curled up beside his mother, Yellow Eyes, she licked his neck, he drifted off. His mind filled with the sounds and smells of the day, the hunt, the chase. His muscles twitched, his eyes flickered below their lids. Sleep came and claimed him.