“A pit of death, perhaps,” Magnus mumbled under his breath.
Overhearing, Sorrel touched his arm. “Husband please, this is neither the time nor the place for confrontation.”
He turned around sharply. “Sorrel, you know I do not trust him.”
“Well, this time you must; we are in a crisis.”
Nostrils flaring, he shouted, “And letting this fool help will make all matters worse!” Magnus walked up to Mirabel, looking him straight in the eye. “Let it be known that if you cause any harm to my family this time around, I will throw you to the carnivores and take the lead.”
“We are on the same side Magnus.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I am not on your side anymore, not since—Viliah’s death. Consider yourself warned.” He stormed off, pushing his way through the cluster of people.
“Mirabel, I am so sorry.” Sorrel caressed his arm.
“Don't be. You have no blame.”
“I pity him. He won’t let go of his senseless anger. What happened to Viliah wasn’t your fault. I just hope one day, he’ll forgive and let go. Time heals many wounds.”
“Perhaps.” He sighed, gazing into the forest.
Sorrel seemed to know all too well his inner thoughts, his feelings, the same feelings he always felt whenever her husband started a quarrel about the past, incompetence and guilt. Seeming unable to resist, she stepped closer and gave Mirabel a long, comforting hug, letting him know that no matter how low her husband sank in mockery, there were some out there who still cared.
Soon, the entire population arrived, eager to get going, for who knew how close the coming Cullach were? After a final look upon their city, biding it farewell, the journey to the new land begun.
Mirabel took a route most were unfamiliar with. The forest was thick, muggy and lacked much sunlight, but they moved through it swiftly and were making good progress. Three hours later while they were passing into a meadow many began to grumble and complain from weariness.
Mirabel understood; the majority weren’t soldiers but common folk, not adapted to heavy travel. He stopped. “We are safe for now. Let us stay and rest.”
“The night is dawning,” Seth observed. “Shouldn't we continue until then? Get as far away as possible?”
“I don't want to bring the Loreladians in darkness. We make camp here. Besides, there is—something else, something I must do before abandoning these boundaries forever.”
Seth stared at him, as if trying to read the look on his face, as though consciousness slipped back and forth, to and fro, in and out of time.
One of the elders came around and tapped Mirabel on the shoulder. “What is the word?”
Shaking his head, pulling himself out of a semi-meditative state, he answered aloud, “We stay here until dawn. Make camp.”
Exhausted from a rushed journey, the people agreed and began to set up for the night.
“Seth, come with me,” he said—commanded, more so.
The pair then ventured back into the woods, shading themselves from the others.
“What is it?” Seth asked, sensing a disturbance.
“Sit, meditate with me. Tell me if you can feel him.”
“The Nasharin, I gather.”
Mirabel nodded and they both sat down together, closing their eyes and crossing their legs. Then they reached out with their senses. Waves of energy omitted from their bodies, sifting through the forest, bouncing to and fro off the trees, passing through elk, black bear, foxes and a multitude of little critters attending to their instinctual way of life. They could sense everything, feel it as though the creation itself was part of their essence.
Mirabel's powers then stretched further, into a place where a heart cried out in fear while surrounded by evil. Abruptly, like a wave rushing in from sea, a great and terrible power crashed into his body, piercing his spirit; the energy—mind-boggling! “No!” Mirabel shouted.
Seth stationed a hand beside him, steadying his trembling features.
“Did you feel it, did you feel the presence?” Mirabel asked.
“Nay. Perhaps a little more concentration is needed.”
“There’s no time—he cries out for help! In the village Arman!”
Seth’s eyes lit up. “That’s the closest town northeast of Loreladia.”
“An hour's walk from here.”
“When did you pick up his sense?”
“Immediately after our departure from Loreladia. I've been eager to get the people far enough away so I could return. Something within my spirit commands me to.”
“And if you walk into the Cullach?”
Mirabel rose quickly, casting a stern gaze north, as though glaring down the enemy. “They are the ones holding him captive and—they will be the ones who go to the slaughter.” He glanced at Seth. “Will you accompany me?”
“You already know the answer to that, brother. I go where you go.”
Mirabel released a sigh of relief. “Let us take our bows. They may come in handy for the element of surprise.”
“Element of surprise?” Seth wondered aloud about what Mirabel might be planning.
This presence, this Nasharin sparked life back into Mirabel’s spirit. He hadn’t known such determination since Viliah and Asiel were killed a hundred years ago.
After telling the Loreladian elders they’d be gone for a while, Mirabel grabbed his backpack; a handy little bag containing arrows and other special weapons. The two set off for Arman.
Few thought it strange; it wasn’t uncommon for either Seth or Mirabel to venture off alone into the wilderness. They were, after all, Nasharins. Probably gone off to make sure the perimeter of the camp was safe. Had those civilians known they were storming back into the direction everyone was fleeing, well…surely panic would be the proper feeling among them all.
They made haste, passing through heavy brush and swampy ground. With the excessive heat and summer of endless rain, not to mention the coming darkness, insects clustered around like a plague. More than once they overheard an ‘ouch’ followed by a ‘slap’ coming from behind them, in the far away bushes, as if someone was smacking biting mosquitoes. Then a dim form of energy drifted in on the wind, a ‘personality ‘of energy Mirabel would’ve recognized anywhere.
They stopped abruptly, knowing they weren’t alone.
“You may come out now, Kaylis,” Mirabel shouted.
Kaylis pushed his way through a thicket and stood before them, while looking surprised, garmented in his dark blue cloak while scratching a swelled bug bite along his palm. “I guess my fidgeting gave away my position.”
Mirabel chuckled. “That among other things, little creeper. You forget we Nasharins share a link.”
“Darn it! You sensed me; I should’ve known.”
“Why are you following us?”
“I saw you two leave the camp. Curious where you're going.”
“To Arman.”
Kaylis was no stranger to the small town. On a few occasions, he’d tagged along with his father there on a business trade. One thing he understood, the town dwelt close to Loreladia. “For goodness’ sakes, why? What if there are—you know, Cullach?”
“A presence lingers there I cannot ignore.”
“What presence?”
“I can say nothing until we reach the town. In fact, come along—you might be of some use. If anything happens to us, we’ll need someone to warn the others.”
“Nothing is going to happen to you. You are the new dependent leader.”
Mirabel waved a hand to evade his words. While it may have been true, he didn’t want to think of himself as the ‘new leader’ of the Loreladian people. A Loreladian must rule Loreladia, not a Nasharin. Besides, the level of political power would only excite Magnus' rage to new heights. “I assume no one knows you’re here?”
“They think I’m tucked away under my covers.” Kaylis sniggered.
“All right. We’d best be on the move.”
They contin
ued and the night quickly fell upon them. A moonless night and the forest became a plague of darkness, but it had little effect on Mirabel and Seth—the two moved as if it were day, occasionally sipping water from their canteens.
Kaylis, on the other hand, struggled to keep up.
“Come on now, Kaylis,” Mirabel coaxed. “Do not fall behind. I want no further delays.”
“Sorry, sir.”
A little less than an hour passed when Mirabel stopped abruptly.
Kaylis bumped into his firm, steady body, the impact knocking him back.
“The town is just up ahead. Kaylis stay here and wait for our return. If we’re not back in one hour, return to your father and tell him to abandon camp and lead everyone southeast.”
“Oh—sure. But you are coming back, aren’t you?”
Mirabel didn’t answer and hurried away with Seth.
They approached Arman, creeping through the tall maples and pines as they witnessed firelight ahead. Slivering below the undergrowth, reaching the edge of the forest they gazed upon the town and saw the source of the light.
Six engraved images of serpents standing erect at about seven feet high and each statue had an arm coming out of its upper body while holding a torch. The images made up a circle around an altar; above the altar stood another statue, a grotesque, demonic-looking figure grasping a knife.
“That’s no Arman decoration,” Seth whispered.
“Nay, it's a sacrificial monument. Someone is going to die. And it looks like you may be right about Asgoth; Arman stinks with the western clan. I don’t even see any of the ones we fought in the battle.”
Cullach patrolled the town, walking to and fro, past the simply fashioned wooden houses.
There seemed to be no sign of Humans—until three were dragged out of a building. The hands of two elderly men and a young woman were bound; they were blindfolded and staggered while they walked. They were then summarily tossed to the ground by a couple of Cullach.
“Get up,” one hissed.
“Please, we know nothing of any crystals,” begged one of the men. “We speak the truth. We speak the truth!”
“Shut it,” commanded a Cullach.
“At least spare my daughter—?”
“Shut it I said!” he growled, whipping him across the back, forcing them all over to what must have been a freshly dug pit.
For not only was there a large mound of dirt lying off to the side, but both men who watched this horror could smell a disturbance in the earth's crust, fresh scents of loosened soil, limestone and minerals scattered about, drifting in the air accompanied by sweat, blood and death.
The Cullach removed the blindfolds from the Humans.
Glancing below, the Humans screamed, trying to make a run for it.
The enemy was quick to stab them through the back, and their pierced bodies collapsed into the pit, joining whatever had terrified them.
CHAPTER TWO
THE PRESENCE
“Heathens!” Seth seethed, clenching his fists.
The Cullach! With their ugly porcine faces, thick gray skin and silly stooped figures. Of all the races among the Dark, Seth hated them most, particularly this western clan. Many years ago, when the Great Plague struck the Ackarda Woodland, it almost wiped out his entire family.
Only his mother survived. She took him far away into another wilderness, leaving behind all the misery and death, hoping he would forget rather than remember, for he’d only been nine years old. She raised him alone, teaching him how to survive, how to fight. She helped him unlock his element, nurtured him when he became sick, stayed with him when he felt frightened.
He loved her.
Had he known Asgothian Cullach were passing through, he would’ve never left her that night, only to return and find her remains scattered! Worgs had ripped her apart, those ugly wolf-like beasts commonly owned by Cullach. Their tracks were all over. It became evident she’d been tortured also; there were markings on her members, bloody and bruised. She’d probably been whipped or flogged with cat ‘o nine tails, perhaps both. For a macabre mockery, they left their feces everywhere even upon his mother’s face.
Seth’s anger exploded. He hunted them down and killed them mercilessly. After the bloody carnage, he took their bodies and scattered them around the perimeter of what he now called his forest, as a warning to any who might pass through. Those who did were slaughtered. It’s been told a spirit of the Light guards those woods and whenever a member of the Dark crossed the perimeter, no matter what end, he was always struck down.
Seth alone knew the truth. The animals belonging to this particular forest abided under his will. The wolves and cougars, the bears and elk, even the hawks or eagles that nested in his trees. Everything. He controlled them all, and they shared in his disgust for Cullach. They’d kill them on sight and drag their bodies into the meadows. To this day, the Cullach believed those woods to be guarded and avoided them, though Seth abandoned the place long ago.
A horn blew and it drew Seth back to the present as he watched the Cullach of today.
The Cullach formed two lines. They began singing chants, not the dark, eerie chants they commonly sang before charging into battle. These melodies were simpler, more powerful, as if welcoming a great force. That’s just what they were doing.
A group of shadowy figures came marching between them, moving into the torchlight.
Mirabel and Seth realized these were the Cullach from the previous battle. Even worse, they were elite with their steel-plated crimson armor, the color only the elite wore.
Deloth, the great Cullach Commander from the North, who’d led the charge and whose sword pierced King Loreus, followed them. Deloth rode upon a chariot.
A man wearing a black robe, a necklace of small animal skulls, and two long earrings resembling dried lizard tongues sat next to him. He looked to be a dark priest, a mediator between mortals and divinities.
They came to the serpent statues and stopped. Deloth climbed out and faced his soldiers. His expression appeared arrogant, his gaze crude…clearly, he was gloating. “Brothers of Syngothra,” he called out.
Mirabel and Seth looked to one another, thinking the same thing: Syngothra Cullach!
Deloth continued, “Today, dominion is ours!”
The crowd shouted and squealed with excitement, sounding like a horde of mad boars.
“Our enemies have been crushed and tossed aside like mere insects, thanks to the great Gods of Lord Abaddon. Soon, no force on earth will stand in our way. The High Wizard Levieth claims this land possesses secrets hidden for thousands of years. We shall find these secrets and Abaddon, our lord, shall begin the transformation of this world!” He turned to the dark priest, pointing a finger at him. “Bring me the child.”
He obeyed and took a child wrapped in blood-red garments out of the chariot and handed him over.
“That’s him,” Mirabel muttered low. “The presence, the Nasharin. Do you feel it?”
Seth scarcely breathed. “Yes, I—I can.” The flow of power passing through his body felt like an incredible rush of indescribable energy. This little infant put out energy to such an extent it almost drove Seth to fear. By logic, this made no sense. An infant bearing this much inner strength sealed away? No wonder Mirabel had been frantic!
“Now we will offer a sacrifice,” Deloth stated loudly. “A special sacrifice commanded to me by Lord Abaddon himself.” He held up the child, so everyone could see.
The babe wiggled his hands and feet, looking around at all the funny faces glaring at him, seeming to be blissfully unaware of the danger.
“This child is special they say. A great power is hidden within him. An unchangeable power of the Light and it is warned that if he lives, disaster could come to us all. But no such event shall ever take place because tonight…” He drew in a deep breath to shout aloud, “…the Gods shall feast on his soul!”
While the frenzy of Cullach continued with their cheers, Deloth removed the coverings of
the babe and returned him to the priest. The priest carried him into the circle of serpents and strapped his little naked body onto the altar, placing his head under the demon’s knife. Deloth handed him a chalice of blood and a large black book bearing the title Moloch.
Mirabel and Seth recognized the book at once. It contained writings from ancient sorcerers—masters of the Blackened Arts, speaking about divinities of darkness, spells of chaos and proper ways to sacrifice…all written in Demonic, the language of the Devils.
The priest walked around the child sprinkling blood onto him and read three verses from the book of Moloch.
Suddenly, the eyes upon the serpents shone red and the torches stretched to one another, forming a pentagram of fire above the priest and child. The demon statue lit up with fire also and seemed to come alive as the stone knife it held transformed to glistening silver steel and dropped a few inches.
Looking to and fro at these strange happenings, the child began to cry while the priest went on with the ritual.
“Seth, can you locate any creatures nearby that are willing to help?” Mirabel asked, panic riding his voice.
Seth closed his eyes and concentrated. “Aye. They’re already aware of what’s happening and long to give us aid.”
“Good. Circle around to the entrance of the town and wait for my signal, then, strike the Cullach at that end with this.” He reached into his backpack and took out an arrow with a blue crystal head.
Seth recognized it at once, though he hadn’t seen one in a hundred years. A crystal, carved into an arrowhead, compacted with wizards’ magic that sparked blue fire, ten times hotter than natural fire. This weapon would kill a great many of them, reducing their numbers dramatically.
“Make it count—it is one of the last I possess. Then, after you’ve fired, attack the Cullach with your allies. I’ll meet you in the middle.”
“What’s your signal?”
“You will know.”
Seth nodded and disappeared through the forest.
The knife was now inches away from the child. Then—something strange happened—yellow eyes appeared along the tree lines surrounding the town, shining, glaring at the Cullach then vanishing suddenly. Wolves began to howl and the chilling sounds were everywhere. It sounded as if a hundred wolves were circling the town.
Prophecy Of The Guardian (Guardian Series Book 1) Page 2
