War of the Raven Queen: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 6

by Araya Evermore

  Dar smiled through the tears at Iyena. Despite the weariness in the older woman’s face, the love and compassion therein moved her. Iyena stood and the three seers embraced, hands clutching and trembling.

  Issa felt a strange dizziness as if she were shifting form, and then the feeling was gone.

  She stepped into a very large stone chamber with a high ceiling. Thick square pillars decorated with strange lettering held up the ceiling and the whole place was smoothed, polished and unaged—with not a speck of dust in sight. Indeed, every letter on the pillars looked fresh and sharp as if freshly chiselled. It was as if time had decided to leave this place.

  ‘A place between time,’ Issa breathed.

  Soft mist hung above the floor and the place was silent as the grave. She stepped further into the hall and the mist swirled up to her waist.

  ‘This place is strange,’ she said, trying to determine whether it was magic or enchantments she felt hanging thick here, though there appeared to be no obvious danger.

  She inspected a pillar. The script was angular, not like Dwarven, or even Elven. ‘I’ve not seen any writing like this.’

  ‘Look, the mist’s changing,’ said Maggot. He was hazy beneath the fog. Sure enough the mist was turning blue and her talisman began to glow in response.

  ‘You say this place is ancient, before even the Ancients?’ asked Issa.

  ‘Yes,’ said Thiashar, swirling around a pillar. ‘Iyena says the Ancients discovered it and hid it from the Dark Dwarves. But no one knows for sure. Come, look at these.’ She darted to a corner of the room. Issa cautiously followed, there was something about this place she couldn’t quite put her finger on—magical, ancient, important. Or perhaps it contained artefacts or visions or truths she wasn’t ready to see.

  The fairy hovered before a giant picture frame ornately carved out of stone. It was at least seven feet high. On either side of it, many more stretched along the wall in both directions.

  Issa stared at the empty picture and touched the smooth stone. It was cold. Suddenly the surface rippled out from where she had touched it, the stone moving like water. She gasped and stepped back. Maggot clung to her leg. An image appeared.

  ‘The raven talisman,’ whispered Issa, her eyes wide as she noted the familiar raven with wings outstretched and forming a perfect circle. Beneath the raven was a long shard. ‘Velistor. The likeness is perfect, but what does it mean?’

  Thiashar didn’t speak and instead hummed and bounced in the air before the next one. Issa went to it and touched the surface again. It rippled, and another picture formed.

  This time, people appeared carved out of stone. Men on one side and women on the other. They all held staves and wore robes—so expertly carved they appeared to ripple in the wind. Wizards and seers, she thought. Some even looked familiar, though she couldn’t, and didn’t want, to be sure. She swallowed.

  They all stood before a woman who was robed and hooded so that only her chin was visible. She held no staff, but a raven perched on her shoulder. They were all smiling, as if something wonderful was occurring.

  Issa frowned and went to the next stone frame. She touched the surface and marvelled as an incredibly detailed scene depicting a battle unfolded.

  On the left, identified by their tabards, Knights of the Raven sat proudly upon prancing mounts. Beyond them, as far as the eye could see, clustered legions of soldiers sporting Feylint Halanoi, Davonian and many other tabards. All the Free Peoples are here. There were proud elves, Karalanths and even armoured bears carrying people.

  On the right, the hordes of Baelthrom roared. Maphraxies, their huge, deformed bodies, repulsive even in picture form, hefted giant weapons. Death hounds and Foltoy, even Dromoorai flew in the skies ready to meet the dragons of the North.

  In the centre of the picture, the armies clashed. So life-like was the image, Issa fancied she could hear the screams of man, horse and beast, the ring of metal, and the thud of drums.

  Her eyes were drawn to a lone figure on a cliff looking over the battlefield. She sat atop a large horse, her face grim and unyielding. Mirroring her, on the other side of the battle atop a hill, stood Baelthrom. His wings spread wide, great sword drawn and magic flickering around him. Above them all, the Dark Rift ripped apart the sky.

  Issa’s pulsed quickened. She turned away from the two figures facing each other and forced herself to the next picture frame.

  As the ripples smoothed, a far simpler scene was revealed. A tree formed in the stone, so detailed she could tell from the leaves it was an oak, and a body swung from its bough. Another figure huddled on the ground, her back to her, head in hands. Cold swept through Issa.

  ‘Ely,’ Issa’s breath caught in her throat. She reached to touch the serene face but couldn’t bear the thought of feeling cold stone instead of warm flesh. ‘It will not be for nothing, my beautiful Ely.’ Her eyes misting over, she let her hand drop.

  ‘What is this place?’ her voice was a harsh whisper.

  Thiashar no longer buzzed so gayly but was thoughtful, almost withdrawn. ‘Sad things, these,’ she mused. ‘It’s known only as the Hall of Memories. It reflects back what is so, the things that have come to pass, and sometimes the things that might be.’

  But that battle she had not lived, was that what was going to be? But the future is not decided!

  She moved on and the surface of the next picture rippled under her touch. Asaph’s handsome face looked back at her. All the love and warmth he had in real life exuded in the image, pushing back the sorrow and making her smile. He hugged a woman with long hair, her back also to her. Issa closed her eyes, she could no longer deny it was herself in these murals.

  She glanced around the hall. Soft indigo mist glowed everywhere and there were many more stone frames to look at. ‘There must be hundreds in here, I must see them all. Who made them? Why?’ Issa knew before she spoke that no one in particular, no one here knew, not even Thiashar or the seers.

  She touched the next one and another scene from her life appeared. Freydel’s study in Castle Elune, and the man himself smiling beyond a pile of books and scrolls. She sat in an armchair, cradling a steaming mug. The serenity and innocence of the scene filled her with yearning for a time before now. Celene, my home, now gone. She turned away.

  The next was of a raven perched on a fence, a horse looking on from afar with a mane that stuck out at all angles. ‘Haybear.’ She laughed, then sighed, feeling overwhelmed. ‘There are too many to look at them all. Maybe I don’t want to see everything again.’

  Her heart heavy, she walked to the opposite side of the hall. Perhaps something different would be depicted there, something from the future? But as she touched each frame, again only scenes from her life were reflected back; Keteth, the man and the beast, Rhul’ynth and the Karalanths, Asaph the dragon, and dear Coronos. Even her beloved father was depicted, but where were the ones of the future she hoped to see?

  On she looked, her heart beating harder as each scene brought back memories relived anew. It was all here; the record of her life. Faster and faster she moved through each picture until she felt faint.

  Her head pounding, she finally paused and leant back against a frame to steady herself. It’s all too much, reliving every painful and joyful scene from my life. She focussed on breathing deeply and slowly until a sense of calm returned. Why was she here? What had Iyena expected her to see?

  She stood and stared at the picture she had been leaning on. Reflected back was herself, just as she stood now, even the flick of her hair tickling her cheek that she was about to brush away was carved into the stone.

  Maggot appeared beside her feet and the shape of a star beside him. Thiashar. Barely breathing, she walked to the next empty picture and touched the surface. For a long time it rippled, longer than all the others—but this one did not turn into a picture. Instead, the ripples began to swirl like a whirlpool around a central point.

  ‘What’s happening, Thiashar?’ Issa rested her hand o
n her sword pommel.

  ‘I don’t know, Raven Queen, it reflects only what is so.’

  The centre of the vortex began to open. Issa stared, mesmerised as a face formed. It became clearer, a female face, smooth-skinned and young. It looked like her own, only younger – more girl than woman. There was pain in that subtle frown, and deep sadness reflected in the downturn of her perfect lips. Her eyes saw things Issa didn’t want to see. Issa stepped back.

  ‘I don’t like it, Issy,’ said Maggot.

  ‘Courage, Maggot, like Carmedrak taught you.’ But her voice was a whisper, and she felt no courage at all. Sweat beaded her face.

  Issa turned back to the previous mural that had mirrored the current moment. It was changing. The picture melted away and the stone began to swirl in a vortex just like the other. With a sound that made her jump, the stone suddenly cracked and turned black and liquid-like.

  ‘The vortex has become real!’ Issa gasped, staring at the whirlpool of black paint.

  Thiashar shrieked and shot away, disappearing out of the chamber. Maggot squealed and vanished, leaving nothing but the glowing green symbol of the Murk on the floor.

  ‘Maggot, you coward!’ said Issa, even though her legs trembled.

  Ehka squawked and landed by her feet. He jumped and crowed, urging her to leave.

  ‘I know it’s the Under Flow!’ Issa replied, but something made her stay.

  She grabbed her sword and entered the Flow. Darkness was all about. The Under Flow seeped everywhere above and below the Flow, seeking to smother it. She gripped her raven talisman. The vortex grew and the face she had seen in the other picture formed, only this one was not made of stone. This was real—pale flesh and pink lips. She wanted to run, but something about that face…it seemed familiar.

  She glanced back at the last mural. It now depicted another person behind the first, a bald female scowling, but at least it remained in stone, not like the one before her.

  The pale faced-girl opened her eyes and Issa gasped. They were so pale they were almost white. The girl blinked and squinted as if she couldn’t see properly. Then she scowled and cried out in pain before becoming still and frowning in confusion. She did not act normally at all—she acted as if possessed and struggling against some awful darkness within her.

  Shoved from behind, the girl jerked forwards, almost falling out of the vortex. Issa stepped back in alarm. The girl’s dark brown hair was scraped back into a tight band, and a thick choker hung around her neck and it seemed to be controlling her. Not a choker, a leash! Issa realised.

  The collar jerked back, savagely pulling the girl upright and making her groan in pain. She was draped in a simple white dress that hung loose to her pale calves. Her arms and feet were bare, and every visible patch of flesh was bruised or welted.

  Beyond her, the face of the other woman became clearer; gleaming white skin and shining all-black eyes. The Under Flow came from her and in her hands she held an orb as dark as the black drink, an orb that mirrored another. Freydel's orb!

  Issa lost her grip on the Flow as the Under Flow smothered it completely.

  ‘Lona,’ Issa rasped, feeling weak.

  The Yurgha smiled at her, her predatory eyes gleaming, and Issa glimpsed the end of the girl’s leash in her hand.

  ‘Go on, go to your sister,’ said Lona, her accent unlike any Issa had heard before.

  Issa’s world rocked. She stepped backwards shaking her head, her sword trembling, her eyes darting from Lona to the girl and back again.

  ‘This is a lie,’ Issa growled. ‘You always lie. I’ve seen everything! You lied to Ayeth and now you lie to me. You killed my mother.’

  The rage grew in Issa so fast she had trouble seeing straight. This strange puppet on Lona’s string was not her sister but some hideous trick. Lona would pay for all that she had done. Pulling on both the talisman and Illendri, their combined magic surged into her.

  Issa’s eyes blazed with power. ‘Let the girl go, she needn’t die.’

  Lona laughed, a beautiful musical sound devoid of any warmth. ‘I’m the only one keeping her alive. All she needs is your life-force, the life-force of her sister to sustain her, and the two Raven Queens will be destroyed. All that exists within the Dark Rift will make it so.’

  Issa could barely breathe through the rage. All that halted her was the thought of sparing the innocent girl’s life.

  ‘Impossible! She’s too old to be my sister, fool. Let her go and come fight me, coward, whether by blade or magic, it matters not to me,’ Issa’s voice trembled as the magic surged within waiting for release.

  ‘How archaic, how barbaric! We Yurgha do not fight with pathetic blades. Your sister is a child, but her body is full-grown. Your backward race has so much to learn, it’s incredible how far you have to go. Now touch her!’ Lona shouted.

  The girl lunged forwards, driven by her handler’s command. A bruised pale hand with torn nails shot forward and grabbed Issa’s arm in an icy vice. Heat and something more, something vital, flooded out of Issa’s body, making her stagger. Her heart slowed, and the air became thick in her lungs.

  The girl groaned, her eyes fluttering, and the bruises on her body began to lighten. Issa tried to twist her arm away, but the girl grabbed with her other hand. Something happened in that touch, a communication, a knowing she could not deny.

  This is my sister!

  The shock sent Issa to her knees. All the rage, all the fight, left her. Beyond the pounding in her ears she heard Ehka squawking. He tried to attack the girl but blackness flared smashing him to the floor where he lay still.

  ‘Ehka,’ Issa screamed. She swung her left arm, punching her sister in the face. The girl fell, the shock enough for Issa to wrench her arm free.

  Issa staggered back, her heart labouring, her weakened soul struggling to form a hold on the Flow. Her sister recovered faster and there was colour in her cheeks where before there had been none. Issa sobbed, seeing her mother and father reflected in the features of the face before her.

  ‘What have you done to my sister?’ Issa held her sword up then lowered it. She couldn’t kill her sister.

  ‘Take her essence, it’s yours to have,’ hissed Lona, letting out a yard of chain. The Yurgha took care to not step away from the vortex and the power of the Dark Rift.

  Her sister stepped forwards, white eyes wide and hungry.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lona, ‘that is what life tastes like. That is the soul. Take it!’

  Her sister moved with frightening speed. Issa ducked her grasping hands, the merest brush searing cold as they glanced off her cheek, stealing more of her life-force.

  ‘Sister, it’s me,’ Issa sobbed, her back hitting a pillar. ‘Can’t you see? Can’t you feel? Remember Mother, remember Father.’

  Her sister came on, not listening. The hunger in her eyes reminded Issa of a Dread Dragon, the way it lusted after death, lusted after the life blood of others, and devoid of all else. All it did was feed.

  This was her sister and yet it was not. Was anything left within her? What had been done to her? Her sister suddenly weakened and fell forwards with a gasp. Uncaring of the peril, Issa caught her, felt her frigid cold hands grab her shoulders. Terrible pain exploded there, and Issa screamed. The cold both paralysed her body and convulsed it at the same time. Beyond the pain, she glimpsed the gleeful eyes of Lona. The cold spread, eating into her mind and making everything go numb.

  The Flow waited within Illendri and her talisman, making its presence known. It took all Issa’s strength to lift her dead arms and place her shaking hands on the collar around her sister’s neck. Magic flared from her palms shattering the glimmering collar. It snaked up the chain held by Lona and exploded, flinging the Yurgha backwards.

  Her sister shuddered and blinked as if coming back into herself.

  ‘Sister,’ Issa gasped, finally feeling the air in her lungs, ‘you cannot take what’s mine. Come with me, let’s go together.’

  Lona jumped to her feet
, her face a mask of unfettered rage. Briefly, Issa wondered if Ayeth had ever seen that face—if he’d ever seen who Lona really was, but there wasn’t much time to save her sister or herself.

  ‘A'farion, A'farion, A'farion!’ Issa screamed.

  The Realm of the Dead engulfed them.

  21

  Sorrow and Fury

  Her sister shuddered, and the outflow of Issa’s life force halted as the ghost world took shape.

  The place felt stronger and more real than it ever had. The pillars of the hall, the stone beneath her feet—it was all more solid. My soul is weakened, my body closer to death, closer to this place. Ehka twitched, got off his side and huddled against the ground. Not well but at least he was alive. As alive as one can be here!

  Far away, horses screamed and her sister’s hands, which were still gripping Issa’s shoulders, clenched. Issa tore them from her but as their palms connected, images flooded into her mind. She gasped and dropped to her knees. Her sister fell limply beside her, their palms still connected.

  She entered a world of darkness that lasted hours and terrible pain such as she had never felt. Her skin stung all over and the very marrow of her bones burned, as if on fire. She screamed and howled until her voice broke. When the pain subsided, a desolate loneliness descended.

  The Yurgha, with their pale faces and black eyes, surrounded her but they did not alleviate the loneliness, they did not push back the darkness. The pain came and went as they did things to her with strange devices, small and large, with liquids and gasses—medicines and technologies she didn’t understand.

  I’m a child, she realised, I’m a child and these are my sister’s memories. Fear, loneliness, pain…and then one face in the darkness. Lona.

  ‘Mother,’ said her sister in her mind.

  ‘No it isn’t. This is mother,’ Issa replied, and in her mind gathered together all the memories of her mother she possessed. A smiling woman with long dark hair and blue-green eyes dressed in pale blue seer’s robes.