Son of Erebus gol-1

by J. S. Chansellor

"But it is. See for yourself what is offered to you. I can give you anything you desire, Ariana. Anything." Another face appeared in place of her parents, with the opposite effect. In the water she saw Sara.

  "Sara needs me," she murmured. "No, this cannot be real. None of this is real." Her voice steadied with resolve and she rose to her feet, fighting the fog that blanketed her consciousness.

  The little girl began to back away from Ariana as Koen's foreboding howl echoed in the distance.

  "Say the words before it is too late!"

  "No!" She screamed, groaning with nausea as the spinning increased tenfold. Suddenly, everything around Ariana decayed, the walls crumbling and the wood rotting. She covered her head and dropped to the ground, watching the drastic transformation.

  The drugged feeling lessened only slightly, leaving a haze over her field of vision as she looked around her. A thousand or more years had passed over this place. Stone had not only eroded from rainwater, but thick moss had grown over the walls, or what was left of them. She rose to her feet, alone now, peering out past where the temple doors had been. Ruins. Nothing was before her but the ancient ruins of some long-ended kingdom.

  "What?" she whispered. The sun, which had been resting on the very edge of the horizon, had fallen below it, replaced by a luminous pale orb.

  Hearing Koen again, she tightened the strap of her satchel and started toward the sound of his howl, through the ruins and beyond the edges of the city, where she paused to take in her surroundings. It took Ariana a few moments to fully understand that what she was seeing just beyond her in the distance was snow.

  She had never seen it. Palingard was too far south, and freezing rain was as close as it ever came. I haven't traveled that far north, I couldn't have. As far as she understood, the only place within six months' distance where it did snow was beyond the Elixen Sea. Yet, as she trekked opposite of the way she had come, snow fell from the sky and blanketed that which had to have been accumulating for many days.

  She stopped and turned, making certain of what she was seeing. The snow stopped just outside of what had been the northern wall. From a few paces away, it looked as though the city had never been there at all.

  "Koen!" she cried, feeling fear for the first time since the siege. She shook her head, again putting her hands over her face. "Where am I?" she breathed. "Koen!" her voice echoed through the trees. A large pale moon, now full, cast a bright reflection on the snow that covered the ground. The forest beyond was deep with darkness, leaving little visibility. Koen howled again in the distance ahead of her, and she ran toward him, falling twice as she slid down the embankment at the edge of the clearing.

  His eyes were cold. Staring into the well, The Dark Lord Azrian watched the ripples shiver across the surface of the water from where his fist had made contact with the stone. A foul, black curse left his lips in a language he rarely spoke as he leaned over, resting his weight on the centers of his palms, his arms outstretched on both sides. He'd been foolish, he knew. Ariana had been there all along, among the humans, right in the midst of the fray. It was nearly insulting. He wondered if Ciara had felt it too. No matter, he told himself, keeping his eyes fixed on her pale skin and fluid blue eyes.

  It has begun.

  CHAPTER THREE

  PREY

  Michael had been tracking the wolf for miles as it dodged in and out of the woods, narrowly escaping his line of sight. The moon hung full in the sky, casting a glow off the powder-fine snow and onto the very edge of the forest as he crouched and waited in silence for his prey to reappear.

  Michael was dressed in white, the leather of his tunic trimmed with pearl-colored brocade, only his reddish hair and blue eyes visible against the landscape. He was tall with a strong, lean build, and the large white wings typical of Adorian men.

  He heard rustling to his left from across the field. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and readied it against the bow. In the darkness, he saw the gleam of two eyes, the same green hue that had been evading him. He watched them look down, then behind. Having seen something, the wolf leapt over a drift and into the light. It was covered in snow, and though Michael could barely see it from such a distance, he could tell this was indeed a different wolf. It was much bigger and less aware that it was being hunted. Michael stood up and eased his way in the same direction as his prey. He remained on the opposite side of the field and when the wolf began to pick up its pace a bit, Michael mirrored its actions. The forest would thin out if they went much farther, this was his last chance. He knelt down and steadied his aim. Releasing the arrow, it flew through the air across the field, letting no more sound escape from the bow than a mere whisper as the string fell back into place. As the arrow approached its intended target, Michael saw a girl move into its stead. He stood frozen for a moment, not believing his eyes, then heard a cry and a whimper from the wolf as the girl fell to the ground.

  Dropping his bow, his large wings opened and with a fluid motion he rose into the air and glided across the field to where the girl lay.

  "Are you…" he stopped mid-sentence as he saw markings on her cloak. There was little need to inquire into the girl's lineage.

  She seemed unaware that he'd approached her and as soon as his hand touched her shoulder, she reeled from his grasp. Eyes wide, her expression was one of complete surprise. She held her hand to her side and shrank away from his touch.

  "You have wings," her words sounded frail and thin, and to his shock, the very moment she struggled to speak he caught sight of the huge sword that lay at her side. A broadsword, it was much too large for anyone of her slight stature to use effectively. She was a wispy creature, with a thin figure and delicate, defined features. Dark red hair, visible even in the shadows, tumbled past her shoulders in thick waves, a stark contrast to her snowy white complexion. It reminded him a little of his own pale coloring. He started to ask her about the sword when her eyes flickered shut and she groaned in pain.

  This did not bode well. Fears of how many Ereubinians had crossed over the divide flooded his veins like ice water, but he had no choice. He was scantily armed and alone. If it was a trap, it was too late to back out of it.

  He leaned over to pick her up, first moving the sword from her reach. He felt a prick against his neck.

  "Stay… away… from…" Another spasm of pain took care of her acerbic tongue, though it did not remove the dagger she held at his jugular.

  In all the years he'd been in battle, he had never once seen a woman fight, let alone stumble upon one in the middle of the night in a protected realm, carrying more weapons than he probably was aware of. He quite genuinely couldn't discern what to do first.

  A dark red stain was spreading from beneath the hand clamped on her side, soaking her tunic. He took a chance and lifted his hand to hers, prying the knife free, hoping the pain would override her strength of grip. "I need to see how badly you've been wounded."

  She was struggling to keep her eyes open, but shook her head. It was mere seconds before her breath grew shallow and she lost consciousness.

  After securing her sword at his back, he moved her arm away from her side. It was probably a shallow wound, but it was bleeding steadily. Placing his hand at the base of the arrow, he gripped the shaft with the other and glanced up at her. Leaving it whole would cause more harm than good, but he wasn't certain she was completely unconscious. Her cry as he snapped the arrow off, leaving the tip in place, answered his question.

  She moaned and fought him, but he outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds — probably more.

  "I have no intention to harm you, nor did I to begin with. I didn't see you," he spoke softly, feeling more sympathy than he cared to. As much as he disdained her world, her whimpering was woeful enough to bring any Adorian to his knees.

  He noticed then that the animal he had been so certain was a wolf was in fact a dog. It rose and trotted alongside them as Michael carried her through the woods to his horse. "Is this beast a friend of yours?" he asked h
er.

  "Koen," she whispered. It was the last thing she said before finally succumbing to unconsciousness.

  He placed her on the horse first, pulled himself up behind her, holding her around the waist with one arm, and took the reins with the other hand. He had brought his horse to carry the spoils of his hunt. This was far from what he'd expected to return with.

  It was not a short ride to the capital, but it went quickly as he was consumed with watching the horizon. His only thought was to gather his men as swiftly as possible and strengthen the border.

  The cuts on her face and the bruising were plainly visible as they entered the gates of Cyphrus, but what caused him to wonder more was her clothing. Though she wore an Ereubinian cloak, her pants and tunic were human, typical of the poorer villages.

  He slowed his horse to a trot just outside of the keep, stopping as a stable boy approached them.

  "My Lord," he bowed, taking the reins in his small hands.

  "Wake Jareth and tell him I need his men on the southern border." He turned to one of the two guards who approached as he dismounted. "Summon the Arch Elders. I'll convene with them after I have taken her to the healer." He didn't wait for their acquiescence.

  Starting up the stairs to the massive double doors of the keep, a scant smile passed over his lips. There, sitting patiently, as though he'd known in advance where Michael was taking his companion, was the dog.

  "Well, come on then, no sense leaving you out here alone."

  After navigating a long hallway, he came to a narrow staircase that was easy to miss if one wasn't looking for it. At its base was a small room, lit only by the dwindling light of the hearth. In a chair nestled in the corner was an elderly woman, the healer Aulora, her head resting sideways where it had fallen onto her shoulder.

  "Tu denai nordumbra led estrinigh," he whispered.

  She looked up and studied the girl for a moment before answering him in the same tongue and motioning for him to set her onto the bed nearby.

  "Is she human?" Michael asked.

  Aulora ignored his question and began to tend to the girl's wounds, chanting softly as she worked. He'd turned to leave her to her art when the healer spoke, "She is not human."

  He stared back at her, praying she'd give him a direct answer for a change. "Was she escorted, or did she enter alone?"

  The healer hummed a bit more and then smoothed an unruly red curl from the girl's forehead. "No, this one is not human." After patting the girl's cheek affectionately, she pulled the cloak from around her and studied it in the firelight. He hadn't taken the time to examine it, but the markings he'd noted as Ereubinian also indicated authority. Feeling that Aulora had said all that she was going to, Michael took the cloak and started out the door.

  None but Adorians were able to pass the divide. All others simply passed over it as if Adoria didn't exist. It had been this way for so long, thousands of years, that the time before the divide that protected them seemed merely legend.

  While Michael waited for the elders to assemble, he walked the corridors, running through options in his head. He eventually stopped outside their chambers, waiting to be summoned.

  Michael breezed through the doorway into their presence. There were twenty-four of them, both men and women. This had been the governing body over Adoria since the dawn of the first age of war, answerable to the man who once held the title of King. Michael, who currently held the seat of sovereignty, was the son of the Adorians' most honored soldier.

  Gabriel, Michael's father, had led many battles and had protected many villages from ruin. He was the last to lead the Braeden — an elite group of male Adorians whose wings were removed at birth so they appeared to be human men. Trained from infancy, they were taught the art of warfare and the customs of Middengard, the human realm. Deadly accurate in their abilities to both wield a sword and shoot a bow, they'd held off the total captivity of man for centuries.

  There had once been Adorian women in Middengard as well, but not many. The few remaining who were not killed had returned to Adoria after the elders decreed that the age of guardianship had come to an end, after Gabriel's death. Michael never agreed with this and still rode with his men, doing everything in his power to keep Palingard from Ereubinian reign. In the end, though, his effort simply wasn't enough.

  The elders rose from where they sat several rows deep in a circular pattern that was sunken into the floor of the room, as Michael took his place at the center.

  "My Lord, we have been informed that forces have been sent to the border?" Jenner's statement — more of a question — was spoken on behalf of the elders. Jenner functioned as the elders' voice much of the time, leading their discussions with Michael, and he remained standing after the others had reseated themselves.

  "What you have heard is true. With the healer now is a girl I found near the southern stone, an Ereubinian."

  "How can you be so certain she is Ereubinian, my Lord?" a voice asked from behind him.

  Michael held up the cloak, clenching his fingers into a fist through the wool. "Not that Aulora needed to comment on her adornment, but she confirmed that our visitor is not human."

  Jenner stood wordless for a moment, unable to argue with what Michael revealed. The healer was never wrong. She spoke very seldom, but what she said was never questioned. The Elder's eyes glazed over as murmurs and whispers floated through the room, filling the uncomfortable silence for several moments. "Are there any among us who are not accounted for?"

  Jenner's question would normally have irritated him, but on this night, in combination with the Adorians laid to rest at the Torradh just days earlier, it infuriated him.

  "Are you suggesting that one of them would betray me, lead an Ereubinian in, then leave her to defend herself, alone in the dark, in a realm she has never seen?" This had been a constant source of dissension for the council, leaving Michael pained as to how best to protect Adoria and yet maintain peace among the various provinces. "Do you believe Eidolon's dark grasp to have traveled so far as to corrupt one of our own? You would believe this before you would believe that they had found a way past the divide? Insanity does not begin to — "

  Jenner cut him off. "My Lord, please, I meant no slight to you. This just seems to make little sense."

  "Truly, it does not make sense for them to send in a seemingly innocent girl, one whom we would have little wish to harm. Do you not see the logic in this?" He pulled the sword from a sheath at his back and held it aloft for the council to see. "This sword was near her when she fell, she could not have come alone. Sending forces to reinforce the borders will not be enough. You know my sentiments on this." Frustrated, Michael sat down against the large stone that served as the centerpiece of the room. Sighing, he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and stretched out his wings.

  "You cannot lose your faith in the divide, my Lord." Jenner gave Michael a tight-lipped smile, but the attempt at placating him failed.

  "This is what the council wishes, for us to sit back and let them destroy all that is left of our world? Or is there another option that you are failing to tell me?"

  Jenner frowned at Michael's tone. "We have many ways of defending ourselves, the least of which is militarily. We will re-read the writings of the ancient ones, as tradition urges us to do in such dark times as these."

  Michael opened his mouth to respond when the heavy door to the sanctum opened and a young servant girl with the robes of a Bedowyn peered in at them.

  "The healer wishes to tell you that the girl is in need of rest but will recover. She is awake, if you wish to speak with her." Michael glanced at Jenner, who nodded and rose to join him.

  "We will return and gather again at first light," Jenner said to the remaining twenty-three elders as he joined Michael, who was already standing in the doorway.

  The two men walked briskly through the hallway, neither of them speaking. They descended the stairs and entered the small room where Michael had left the girl. She was sitting up in bed,
her face just as pale as before, but her cuts had been tended and she wore clean clothing. The broken-off shaft and arrowhead lay on the table beside her, blood still covering its surface. Michael winced at the sight and felt a twinge of remorse over wounding her, but as his suspicion of her lineage returned, his regret faded.

  Jenner approached the girl first. She looked to be not much older than twenty-one, twenty-two at the most. At average height, Jenner was not as tall or overpowering as Michael. He knelt down and rested a hand beside her. "I can see that you are weary," he said and turned toward the healer. "Have you given her something for the pain?" The old woman nodded. Jenner rose to sit on the edge of the bed. The girl's eyes were glassy and she was having trouble keeping them open. "Where are you from, child?" he asked.

  "Palingard." Her voice was hoarse and ragged from exhaustion, a sound Michael knew well.

  Jenner seemed to believe her despite what the healer had said, but Michael's gut told him that her appearance in Adoria meant something grave indeed. "Then you are human? What name have you been given?"

  "Ariana."

  Michael leaned into the door frame, his chest heavy as he listened to her talk. Suspicion turned to sympathy as she told Jenner about the siege. Her words were formed from a delirium far stronger than what the healer's tonic would have caused. They were lucky she was making any sense at all, considering how jumbled her phrases were. It concerned him.

  Michael lifted the cloak and stood closer to her. He took her chin in his hand and turned her toward him. "You were wearing this," he said softly. "Where did you get it?"

  "Chased me. Into the Nethers." She furrowed her brow. "I fell. My ankle. He told me to wait until dark."

  Michael glanced wearily at Jenner. The girl wasn't in her right mind. They would ascertain nothing while she was in this state. "She is tired, Jenner, far too tired to answer anything clearly. I am still concerned, and you know my intentions when we convene with the others on the morrow."