The Evermen Saga 01 - Enchantress

by James Maxwell

  Rather than a sandstorm, Ella had created the illusion of a great mound of rock. The hidden warriors waited impatiently within its confines as their brothers departed to draw the enemy to their position, while Ella climbed to the top of a far-off formation where she could watch the battle unfold.

  The riders of Tarn Teharan came into view at the crest of a mighty dune, Prince Ilathor leading them, clearly recognisable in his gold trim. Their enemy followed closely, and as one the warriors of Tarn Fasala lifted their sabres into the air and spurred their horses forward.

  The Prince rode swiftly away from the charging riders, his men forming a ragged formation of fleeing warriors. Seeing their prey trying to escape, the enemy surged ahead, their leader losing control as bloodlust took over his men.

  As the Prince passed the illusion, he turned in a tight circle to face the charging riders. He raised his sabre into the air and charged directly at them, the horses quickly gathering momentum.

  They met in a mighty clash of beasts and men. Ella saw blood spurt into the air as the sabres cut into flesh. Horses fell to the ground, crushing their riders beneath them.

  Once the two groups had passed each other, they both wheeled again in preparation for another charge. Tarn Fasala had lost scores of men. Prince Ilathor had lost even more. They built their speed up again, like two fighting bucks about to meet head on.

  Jehral timed it perfectly. One moment there was nothing. The next his riders came flying out of the illusion to crash into the side of the enemy. Instantly it was chaos. Their leader was unable to regroup his men for another charge. Bodies were entangled in a fighting mess.

  Ella could see Prince Ilathor quickly gain the advantage. Some of the enemy tried to run but were cut down from behind. She waited for the Prince to offer quarter to the men of Tarn Fasala.

  The offer never came. She watched in horror as the enemy were slaughtered to a man.

  The sand was drenched with blood.

  She thought about her brother, involved in battles of this kind, fighting an unyielding foe.

  She had to get away.

  51

  The world is a truly marvellous place. But the most wondrous thing of all is the human spirit.

  — Toro Marossa, ‘Explorations’, Page 18, 423 Y.E.

  AMBER looked over the empty shelves at the food market. No apples today, not even an onion. She sighed and looked around. There must be something.

  She saw Lorna Donwright. The woman’s eyes were red, she’d obviously been weeping. Her husband had also been called away to war. It seemed there was nobody left in Altura but women, children, and the elderly. The vitality had gone from Sarostar.

  A woman suddenly came up to Lorna, a shocked expression on her face. It was Hollie Ronson. When she spoke Lorna’s face drained of all colour. Another woman joined them.

  Amber walked over.

  "What is it?" Amber said.

  "Did you hear? A soldier arrived during the night, terribly wounded. He’d been in the south — he was with the High Enchantress’s party. They’re dead, Amber. The High Enchantress has been killed."

  "No," Amber couldn’t believe it. "Lord of the Sky, save us."

  "I can’t believe it," Lorna was saying over and over, shaking her head.

  Hollie continued. "I hear the army is being pushed back all the way through Halaran. They don’t even expect to hold Mornhaven much longer. They’ll be on our doorstep soon."

  Amber suddenly spoke, "Ella. Did they say anything about Ella?"

  "Yes. I… I’m sorry Amber. She was with them when they were attacked. She didn’t make it."

  Amber didn’t move. Time stood still. Ella was dead.

  "I’m sorry, Amber," Lorna said.

  "You were her friend, weren’t you?" said Hollie.

  "Thank you, Lorna, Hollie" Amber said.

  She turned and started walking. She thought of Ella’s vitality and her smile. She cast her mind back to the day of their graduation, when she had sat in the sunshine with Ella and Miro, the joy of each other’s company warming their hearts. Ella, dead. She couldn’t believe it.

  She only realised where she was going when she arrived. The Temple of the Sky in the city’s heart. She pushed open the heavy doors and instantly felt the calm of the place. Soothing, tinkling music came from somewhere. A great circle shone in the ceiling, entirely of crystal, artfully made to scatter sunlight throughout the temple in a gentle glow.

  Rows of marble benches were tiered back from the podium. Amber could see quite a few other people scattered about the room, their heads bowed in prayer. Knowing that it was a difficult time for many people still didn’t help her much.

  She picked a place at random and sat down. She felt tired, so tired. The words of prayer didn’t cross her lips. Her thoughts weren’t on the Skylord. She just took the time to remember Ella. With the loss of her friend, Amber had lost the last hold on her youth. All she had now were her memories.

  "May the Lord of the Sky bless you, my child," a voice came from beside her. It was the priest, Father Morten. Amber hadn’t much liked his sermons about wickedness and morality when she had been a child. Now, with his kind face looking down at her, she suddenly felt the warmth of his kindness like a fire in her heart.

  "Would you like to talk?" Father Morten said.

  She nodded. He took a seat beside her.

  "I learned today that I have lost a friend," she said. Her voice cracked slightly as she said it.

  "I offer you my sympathy. Wherever she is now, she has gone to a better place."

  "My husband has gone to war."

  "I will pray for him. It is hard — to fear for one you love."

  "But I don’t love him. I should never have married him." Amber found herself opening up to the priest. Before she knew it, she had told him everything. About Miro and Ella. About Igor and her pregnancy.

  The priest said little, he simply listened and offered words of encouragement.

  "It’s the nature of war, I suppose," Amber said finally. She felt tired now. "I’m so tired, but I wish I could do more. Thank you for talking to me, Father. I am sorry I didn’t come before."

  "We all have our own way of expressing faith. It doesn’t have to be within these walls. Even the Dunfolk have their Eternal."

  Amber looked up, "Father, could you tell me something?"

  "What is it, my child?"

  "The Dunfolk — why are they so angry with us?"

  Father Morten sighed, "It is a sad story. I fear not all men of the cloth have hearts as pure as the Evermen."

  "Would you tell me?"

  "It was long ago, but the Dunfolk have long memories. There used to be a shrine, on the edge of Dunholme, what they call Loralayalana. They built it to their god, the Eternal. It was a deep well, lined with stones, a simple structure, but quite beautiful, they say. A circle of trees had been planted around the well. It symbolised what the Eternal meant to them."

  "What happened?"

  "Some priests and townsfolk decided that the Dunfolk were wrong to worship the Eternal. They tried to convert them to worship of the Evermen. A large group of them entered the forest with picks and shovels, and destroyed the shrine."

  "Did the Dunfolk ever rebuild it?"

  He shook his head, "They never did. Not one of our finest moments, I must say."

  There was silence for a moment. Amber sighed.

  "Are you eating well?"

  "Yes, Father."

  "How about sleep?"

  "I don’t know. I’m exhausted, but I can’t seem to sleep."

  He stood, and put his fingers to Amber’s forehead. She closed her eyes.

  "Rest will come. Your future will be bright. Go with my blessings, my child."

  Father Morten left her.

  ~

  AMBER walked through the doorway of her home. Home. How many times had she called it that? It was more Igor’s house than her own. His signs were everywhere.

  Her mind was too busy for sleep. She decide
d to tidy. She put away all of Igor’s tools. Clothes lay scattered about the floor. She couldn’t even tell which were clean and which were dirty.

  There was a tear in one of her dresses. She opened her desk drawer, looking for a needle. When she didn’t find it, she tried Igor’s desk. Odds and ends were piled in the drawers. She wondered how he could ever find anything.

  She saw a piece of paper underneath a set of scrills, at the very bottom of the last drawer. It had her name on it.

  She removed the paper. It was a letter, folded in half.

  Her heart hammering, she opened it. It was from Igor, to her. To be read in the event of his death.

  She read it through. Amber sank to her knees. It was a message — of such love and pain it hurt her heart to read the words. The letter fell out of her hands.

  She thought about the war, and about the words of the priest.

  She pictured Igor, his worried face set in determination as he faced a horde of imperial legionnaires.

  The father of her child.

  She stood up, catching herself in a mirror. She looked at her tired face, her dishevelled hair. Her mouth set in a line of determination.

  She left the house and started to walk.

  ~

  "THE Tartana is busy. He is in a meeting."

  "In a meeting?"

  "Yes," the hunter said. He hadn’t fitted an arrow. The hunter didn’t seem to think Amber was much of a threat — all she carried was a spade. Three other hunters watched her in interest. She was sure there were more of them hidden in the trees.

  "In a meeting with whom?"

  "With what."

  "What?"

  "In a meeting with what."

  Amber scowled. "In a meeting with what?"

  "With a leg of venison. I saw him enter his hut. He had a whole leg on a plate. I told him it looked like a good piece of meat. He said not to be disturbed, he would be in a meeting with some meat. Meeting meat," the hunter chuckled.

  "Take me to him," Amber said.

  "No. You have not been invited. Do you even bring a gift?"

  "I don’t care about your gifts! Listen, where is the shrine — the one that was destroyed?"

  He frowned. His answer was a long time coming. "We do not speak of it."

  "I will give you a gift, whatever you want, if you take me there."

  "No."

  "Listen to me," Amber said. "Your people are in as much danger as ours, yet you sit here doing nothing. We are dying so that you can sit here safe in your forest making stupid jokes. Now, take me to the shrine."

  The hunter smiled. "Your face is red. I did not know your people could change colour like that."

  One of the other hunters spoke, "It is a gift."

  "I suppose it is," the hunter said. "Come, we will show you."

  They took her to a place in the forest, on the edge of Dunholme. It seemed no different from any other place, but the air was fresh, the grass below her feet soft and green.

  Amber couldn’t see any sign of a well. She hunted around for a long time, until she kicked a stone with her toe. She went down on her knees and parted the thick grass. She could see them now, smooth stones, chosen rather than cut to fit together.

  The hunters watched her curiously.

  After several minutes searching, she finally made out the circle that had been the well. It was roughly three paces in diameter.

  Taking a deep breath, Amber put the spade against the earth, and began to dig.

  ~

  "THERE you are," a voice said.

  Amber looked up, breathing heavily as she leaned on the spade.

  It was Lorna Donwright. She stood on the edge of the wide hole, gazing down at Amber, an expression of puzzlement on her face.

  "I grew worried about you when I didn’t see you at the market. Yesterday my husband said you didn’t show up for work. Today I went to your house and you weren’t there. I told Father Morten; for some reason he thought you might be here. Amber, what in the Skylord’s name are you doing?"

  Amber sighed, "It doesn’t matter, Lorna."

  "No, I want to know."

  Amber looked over at the hunters. There were more of them now; they just stood and watched her dig.

  "I’m rebuilding this shrine."

  "But why?"

  "For the Dunfolk."

  Amber returned to her work. There was still an impossibly long way to dig. She had barely scratched the surface. The water would be very deep, and she knew nothing about laying stones. If it wasn’t done properly the water would be muddy and undrinkable.

  After some time she looked up, Lorna was gone.

  ~

  SHE slept beside the hole in the forest, having eaten some hard bread she had brought with her. One of the hunters had left a deerskin. She assumed it was for her. It stopped her from freezing at night.

  In the morning she returned to her digging. The hunters were back again; this time there were nearly ten of them. She ignored them and continued as the sun rose higher in the sky.

  Suddenly a man dropped to the ground beside her. Father Morten. He had a shovel in his hand. He said nothing, simply started to dig. Amber looked up. Lorna stood at the edge of the hole, holding a basket in her hands. She began taking the dirt away in loads.

  Amber felt a lightening of her heart. Father Morten smiled at her.

  ~

  LATER in the day two boys appeared, young lads with boundless energy. They seemed to make a game out of the digging. Amber left them to dig while she helped Lorna remove the soil and rock as it piled up beside the hole.

  "Mind if I help?" it was Hollie Ronson. She stood awkwardly with her father, Tod Ronson. "My father, he was a stonemason."

  "Of course," Amber said.

  Hollie began to collect the stones that were littered around the ground, arranging them by size. Her father, an ancient man with thinning white hair, grinned and started to examine the area with a marked rope.

  There were more of the Dunfolk watching now. Some women had joined the group. They didn’t say anything, nor did they laugh, or smile. They simply looked on as the townsfolk worked.

  More people began to arrive, mainly women from the town. Amber recognised one of the market vendors, the one who never had any fruit. The woman gave her a broad smile and started to help carting the dirt away.

  The well was a flurry of activity now. Amber could see it begin to take form. Tod Ronson gestured wildly, enjoying himself thoroughly, directing the women and boys as they lined up the stones and dug deeper, ever deeper.

  There were now hundreds of the townsfolk around the well, too many to perform the work. Many just watched, smiling and holding hands. They formed a large crowd around the workers, pitching in wherever possible.

  A short distance away the Dunfolk formed their own crowd. Their faces were very serious, almost grave. Amber glanced at them occasionally but they just stood off to the side, watching.

  Suddenly there was a cheer from the diggers. "Water! We’ve hit water!"

  The townsfolk all cheered along, hugging each other, beaming. Amber had never felt such a part of the people around her.

  Without warning Tod Ronson jumped down into the hole. He started calling for more stones. People passed them along in a chain, each stone passing through a score of hands on its way into the well.

  The sun moved through the sky and started to fall. It sent slanted light through the trees, the rays diffused by the lush greenery, casting a golden glow on the clearing. Amber could see why they had chosen it now. It was a beautiful place.

  Buckets started to come out of the hole as the muddy water was drained out. Amber and two other women worked on the well’s rim, creating a low wall around the entire circumference, the stones fitting together beautifully.

  As the sun was beginning to set, people started to jump out of the hole, leaving just Tod Ronson behind. He busied himself for a while longer, and then called out, "Let me up!"

  Two big lads leaned down, each takin
g an arm and lifting the old man out of the hole. He was drenched to the waist, but Amber had never seen a smile so broad. He beamed out at the onlookers.

  He sat on the low wall and gazed into the well, a look of pride on his face.

  "Mr Ronson!" one of the boys called. He threw a wooden pail to the old man, who caught it deftly. A long rope was tied to the handle. "Give it a go."

  He shook his head, and turned, looking directly at Amber.

  Suddenly all eyes were on Amber.

  "Here," Tod Ronson said, holding out the bucket.

  Amber walked over to the well and took the handle of the bucket. She took a deep breath.

  She threw the bucket into the well, holding the rope. Everyone heard the slap it made as it hit the water.

  She waited a moment, and then lifted the now heavy bucket, looking inside. The water was crystal clear. Amber reached into the bucket with her hand, and lifted her hand to her lips, taking a sip.

  It was the sweetest water she had ever tasted.

  "It’s good," she said. She looked up at the townspeople, smiling. The first time she had smiled in days. "It’s good!"

  Suddenly everyone wanted to taste the water. The bucket was tossed into the well again and again, passed from person to person with broad grins.

  There was a sudden commotion from the Dunfolk.

  The townsfolk stepped back from the well. Amber looked up. The Tartana was standing nearby. Behind him, through the trees, stretching for as far as the eye could see, were the Dunfolk. They were like a sea of people, men, women and children. All come to see.

  The townsfolk stepped back further, leaving Amber alone at the edge of the well.

  The Tartana stepped forward, his eyes on Amber, an inscrutable look on his face. He waved one of his arms forward.

  Ten young Dunfolk women came out of the crowd, each carrying a small sapling in her arms.

  Amber stepped back, and as she looked on, they planted the saplings around the well. The women then withdrew.

  The Tartana moved closer to Amber. He was so small that he had to look up to meet her eyes. Without knowing why, Amber sank to her knees.