by Chris Ward
‘Fools,’ was all the man said, and instantly the three realised that they were in great danger for they stopped what they were doing, untangled themselves and stood trembling before their superior. He shook his head in disdain. ‘Fools,’ he repeated. The three men could not seem to speak such was their shock at having being caught fighting when their job was simply to stand guard. Rayven saw that her guard tried hard to speak but all he could manage was a curious choking sound and it was apparent that all three expected the direst consequences.
The man who had arrived was clearly to be feared. He was tall and different in build; in fact Rayven might have suspected him part Edenwhood save for his large head and wide spaced eyes so different of those who lived in AlGiron. He wore a beautiful tunic but not one that hindered his movement and she saw he was lithe and strong in the wiry manner similar to the Edenwhood. He slowly drew a long and hideously lethal looking sword and held it before him before placing the point to the ground and resting both hands upon its hilt. The strike of the metal tip hitting the ground caused all three of the terrified guards to whimper. Rayven was astonished at their change, from violent brutes to cowed animals within a moment, and at a single word...Fools. The man did not even look up at Rayven although she knew he was aware of her presence, instead he looked at each guard in turn, nodding almost sadly as if he had been greatly disappointed, let down by such stupidity when the given task should not confuse even the simplest of fools.
‘Who dies first?’ the man hissed and Rayven shuddered then for his intent was clear and deadly. None of the guards moved or said a word, but stood and shook violently.
‘Ungarit waits,’ the man continued quietly. ‘Who first to visit our great Lord?’ At this the guards wailed, knowing that they were to die.
‘Kneel’ the man said, and in an instant all three were on their knees, and then with a sudden movement which Rayven saw only as a blur, the man took his sword and with the flat of the blade knocked all before him senseless. Then he looked up at Rayven and smiled in such a manner she was confused, for it was warm and friendly and belied his previous mood.
‘You have been here so short a time sacred one, and yet the men fight over you,’ he said and laughed. ‘What sort of a witch are you that you can so enchant a man?’ he continued. Rayven said nothing but thought hard at what was before her.
Do not trust a thing, she thought. Surely this place is as full of sorcery as the last place.
‘Come down woman,’ the man ordered in a firmer voice. ‘You have caused enough trouble for this day.’ He waited as Rayven did so, but slowly to show that she was not cowed as others were. However when she stood before the man she saw how tall and physically imposing he was, and realised that the three unconscious guards had good reason to fear him.
‘My name is Girdon,’ he said. ‘The servant of the most high Lord Zydor; himself the High Priest to Ungarit, Ruler of all this land and of realms beyond which we know not.’ He bowed a little but Rayven thought more as a taunt than out of any respect.
‘You seem not to know of which edge of the sword to use Girdon,’ she replied indicating the three guards at their feet. ‘Perhaps I could teach you something of how to slay a man.’
At this bold retort Girdon took a breath and did not seem to know what to say, so Rayven took the opportunity to continue.
‘Where I come from if one says they will slay a man they do it, not merely knock them cold.’ She sniffed disdainfully. ‘Perhaps you can remove these oafs, they do so reek of ugliness and my cell is filthy enough as it is.’ She stared at the man and knew he was not well used to any speaking to him in such a manner, or holding his gaze; far less that is was a woman. Indeed he shook his head and muttered seemingly to himself but Rayven heard quite clearly.
‘This one is a woman truly, she is a wordsmith, make no mistake.’ He paused.
‘I come to inform you that you are to meet with the most High Lord Zydor this day,’ he continued speaking now directly to her. ‘He is looking forward to meeting you. Not every sacred one is so privileged, but the summer solstice is upon us and the chosen one for this time is allowed audience. You are a blessed woman.’
‘And you Girdon are a fool, if you are anything like the fell beings I have had to deal with these past days.’ Rayven said trying hard to rile the man and saw she was succeeding.
‘You dare to speak to me,’ he retorted angrily, ‘me Girdon, servant of the High Lord Zydor, like I am nothing. I can slay you now woman, do not push me too far...’
‘And then you will be like these three surely,’ Rayven replied icily, ‘who chose other than that which they were commanded.’ The man was intelligent enough to see the reasoning and although he raised his sword and swung it part way towards Rayven’s neck she did not flinch, but continued to stare at him and knew she had won a small battle despite gaining a deadly enemy.
They are all enemies here, Rayven thought, then added, ‘you cannot slay a woman?’ she said in a final mockery.
‘Silence woman!’ Girdon screamed in exasperation. ‘You will accompany me now.’ And then allowing himself some physical response to Rayven’s taunts he grabbed her by an arm and thrust her out into the world beyond the cell. Rayven stumbled but felt somewhat enlivened to have so quickly turned the tables on the man. For his part he spoke no further but roughly directed Rayven where to go and so they climbed many stairs and passed through a confusing maze of empty echoing corridors until finally they arrived at a huge hall and walked across it to where two equally enormous timber doors beckoned them on. They were guarded either side by two giant men and Rayven was reminded of the Nephilim who frequented the White Palace in Ramos. Girdon ignored them both and knocked clearly on the thick oak. A voice from within made some reply and one of the doors swung inward. Girdon pushed Rayven through but did not follow, instead he waited outside as the door was shut behind her, and by a means she could not discern.
Rayven entered a large and dimly lit chamber most confusingly decorated, and to her mind much overdone such that one did not know first where to look. Slowly however it dawned on her that what passed for the much needed softening that a stone chamber requires, were mainly grotesque representations of animals and humans in the most awful representations. Mighty tapestries hung from all the walls and the woven scenes were of battles in which the dead were illuminated in a most ghastly manner. Hanging from the ceiling high above were cages lined with candles but which also held the remains of what looked like corpses, and in chairs all round the walls were other figures which, because of the dimness, she at first assumed were a gathering of those who had some position in Svalbard, but with a sudden shock she saw they were all dead, or frozen and unable to move, their sunken features a grim warning that their plight was indeed most desperate... or quite final. Rayven did not have the time to examine her surroundings further for as she stood in horror trying to comprehend what sort of creature would live in such a place, a voice spoke to her quite plainly. She jumped for it came from one of the strangely frozen humans sitting by the wall to her right.
‘Woman, you look somewhat disturbed by my collection.’ Rayven looked upon the one who spoke and felt a ripple of horror sweep through her. The man stood and gestured to her, and he was awful to behold. Immediately Rayven knew it was not his features, which were neither ugly nor comely, but that he exuded evil, and the air about him seemed to ripple with it and with each pulsating fluctuation she felt a hand grasp at her heart and squeeze it as though to stop it dead.
‘I see you are like all others, woman,’ the awful man continued. ‘You are undone by fear.’ He paused and laughed, like no other laugh Rayven had ever heard. ‘I am Zydor,’ the man continued and you are my sacred one. We meet for it is my custom that you should understand your importance before the solstice sacrifice. Come closer woman for we must talk.’ And Rayven found she could do nothing other than walk toward the man who stood before her and smiled with such coldness that she thought the very stone floor might crack
like ice hit with an axe.
She stood still without a word and indeed Rayven knew she could not move. Some spell unuttered but perhaps breathed silently into the air had taken her power away. Zydor walked around her as if examining some future addition to his grotesque collection. He frowned a little and seemed to think hard once he had examined her.
‘I am curious woman. First tell me your name.’ And Rayven found she could not withhold this from him.’
‘I am called Rayven,’ she whispered but fought to hold back anything further.
‘Nothing else to tell me Rayven?’ He seemed suddenly surprised, but Rayven said nothing although it took a mighty effort for she felt as if she were about to let him know the deepest secrets of her heart.
‘Amazing,’ Zydor said and truly sounded it. ‘Not another word. Never has this come to pass.’ He walked around Rayven twice. ‘You are remarkable Rayven.’ He whispered finally. ‘I sense that you are high born, not just some beautiful peasant girl. Lord Shevryn wrote truly. He did well to send you to me for you are indeed a special creature.’ He walked back and sat in his chair amongst the dead, and Rayven thought he seemed well placed among them. He looked intently at her standing there like a statue. ‘ I am intrigued Rayven and I must know more about you for Ungarit demands the best for sacrifice and if you are what I think you are, then I can ask much of the High Lord this solstice.’ He paused, then added. ‘But I must know more. Tell me Rayven, from where do you come and just who are you?’ It was clear to Rayven that he expected her to comply for his sorcery was strong and he was used to getting exactly what he wanted. But Rayven knew in her heart that this was the one for whom she had left Ramos, the one of whom El-Arathor had spoken, and with this knowledge she had the power to remain silent and so she did not open her mouth or breathe a single word.
This enraged Zydor.
‘You will tell now Rayven. Who are you, and where you come from? I have complete power over you and you cannot resist me. No one can resist me. Speak now or you will suffer for your silence.’ He came and stood before her and angrily put his face close to hers. ‘I command you Rayven to answer me now.’ His voice was raised and from without the hall Girdon heard his anger and trembled.
But Rayven did not utter a word.
‘Say something Rayven.’ Zydor ordered, and at this Rayven felt a release for it seemed she was given back the right to say what she wished.
‘You serve a Demyn, Zydor,' she said in a voice which suddenly seemed to shake the hall. ‘Your days are numbered, for you have transgressed all that is good and taken life which is not yours to take. You have been judged Zydor. Your sorcery is at an end.’
The result of these words was awful to behold. Rayven herself did not know quite where they came from but by some deep intuition she knew she spoke truly. Zydor’s face instantly contorted in the most ugly manner, and he screamed at her.
‘You dare to speak against the Lord Ungarit. You dare to speak against me the Lord of this land and the protector of my people. I alone know what must be done to keep the land safe, and I alone will do what Ungarit requires. I have sacrificed many. I will sacrifice many more, and you Rayven will be required to give your life in this holy cause despite your slanderous words and ignorant manner.’ He took a deep breath and screamed...’and you dare call me a mere sorcerer. I am so much more woman as you will surely see...’
Zydor then stormed about the chamber but found he could not calm himself.
‘I will know who you are Rayven. I will know who I sacrifice on the solstice. Soon you will go to Ungarit and placate him well, and we will be blessed. But before then I will know who you are so that I may bargain with My High Lord for this land, and my rule, which will never end.’ He slammed a fist onto a table and the shock of it was terrible indeed. Rayven felt a deep fear then for she knew that Zydor was powerful and evil indeed and she was alone and far from help and in that moment wondered just what she had done in leaving Ramos on her quest. Outside the hall Girdon stood in wonder and shook his head in confusion for he had never known his Lord to be so angry.
Who is this woman, he thought that she can upset us all so easily?
And suddenly Rayven fell to the floor and knew that Zydor had her like a puppet, and she shook and cried out in fear as he tried to make her speak, but she did not, and so it continued for a great time until even the evil Lord was exhausted and found he could not then break her will. In utter frustration he called to Girdon.
‘Come and take this one back to her cell. I will decide what next to do.’ And so it was done and within a short time Rayven was once again alone and exhausted upon her stone bench, and of the three guards who had caused such a foul disturbance there, she never saw them again.
Three days passed.
On the fourth the door to the cell opened and young girl was led in. Nothing was said, but the girl was given a new blanket and fresh straw for her bed of stone, and then just as suddenly they were alone. The girl was thin and wide-eyed, and clearly scared, although somewhat relieved to see that she shared a cell with some other woman, and not a mad and violent beast of a man. Rayven felt an immediate sorrow for her plight.
‘My name is Rayven,’ Rayven, said warmly. ‘I will not hurt you, indeed I will be your friend in this sad place, for any who is imprisoned here is likely to be my friend.’ She smiled and the girl smiled back, but weakly.
‘What is your name girl,’ Rayven asked. The girl swallowed hard and it seemed an effort for her to make any speech at all, but in the end she did so.
‘I am called Rubii,’ she whispered, her eyes wide and fearful, ‘Rubii Varanii.’ She took a breath and went on, ‘at least we are all called Varanii, but I am Rubii.’ Rayven smiled again.
‘A lovely name Rubii,’ she said. ‘Come sit with me and tell me what trouble has brought you here.’ Rubii obeyed without any hesitation, and sat close by Rayven and looked about, examining the cold stone cell. ‘How old are you Rubii?’ Rayven asked and took her hand and squeezed it, and once more Rubii did not resist but seemed to enjoy the warmth of contact.
‘I am...’ and at this point, a frown crossed her childlike face, and she held up her fingers of both hands and then closed them and added four more from her right hand. Rayven smiled.
‘You are young indeed Rubii,’ Rayven said. ‘Too young surely to have done wrong that you should be in a prison cell like this. What has come to pass that this fate should befall you?’ At these words the girl began to cry and she whispered hoarsely.
‘I am Varanii,’ she said as though this was sufficient explanation. Rayven shook her head in puzzlement.
‘What do this mean, you are Varanii? I do not understand.’ At this Rubii spoke sharply, but from hurt, not anger.
‘What are you saying?’ she said indignantly. ‘All people know the Varanii, all know what we suffer. Why do you mock me?’ Rayven knew then that Rubii thought her to be just another of the citizens of Svalbard and one who should know what it meant to say, I am Varanii.
‘Rubii I am not from these parts,’ she replied gently, ‘I have never before heard of the Varanii...’ Suddenly she paused and thought...’ although I do have some memory which comes to me now, but it escapes me...’ she squeezed Rubii’s hand. ‘Please explain Rubii what you mean. Why is it so difficult to be Varanii?’ The young girl cried and rested her head upon Rayven’s shoulder and allowed herself to sob uncontrollably for a time, and Rayven gladly let her do so, for she was greatly moved by this deep show of fear and grief.
Finally Rubii lifted her tear stained face to look at Rayven. ‘You are so beautiful,’ she said, ‘and kind. I did not expect to find kindness in this place.’ Nor I thought Rayven. Rubii shook her head in sorrow. ‘My people are the Varanii,’ she continued. ‘We are slaves in Svalbard. People say we live well, and indeed we are comfortable enough but we work hard and deserve what we receive. My kindpa is a brick maker. He works long hours and many good homes have been built from his bricks. My brother is a Thatcher and
he too has built many homes, and none leak even the littlest bit.’ Rubii spoke with the greatest pride and affection, and it was clear to Rayven that she enjoyed a good home and was well loved. ‘My kindma is a Birther... she has such skill and helps others women with their children. She has brought many into this world and never lost a baby.’ Rubii continued with her proud story, but suddenly a shadow crossed her face.
‘But sometimes I wonder why we bring new life into this place. Why bring children into this world when so many are taken from us.’ She asked the question to no one, but it sat there before them both and Rayven was greatly perplexed.
‘Rubii it sounds wonderful that your kindma is skilled in this. Why do you say this about new life?’
And then Rubii turned to her.
‘Rayven you do not understand. We are a slave people and we must breed, and often. It is our duty to the High Lord Zydor. We must supply the sacrifice. Each full moon and often more, a child is taken for the sacrifice to Lord Ungarit. We are taught he is God, and ruler of all realms but that he will only bless those who sacrifice regularly, and each must be unblemished. That is why the children are chosen before all else.’ And then the awful horror of it hit Rayven like a war hammer.
‘You are to be sacrificed Rubii?’ she whispered and the young girl just cried. Rayven did not know what to say but held her tiny body close and whispered words of love and affection which in truth she knew would make little difference. After a long time a deep silence descended upon the cell, and finally Rayven broke it gently.
‘Your people, the Varanii, do they dwell in their own town?’ she asked, thinking of the huge walled compound she had seen far off at the base of the caldera walls.
