Daughter of the Dark: Shadow Through Time 2

by Louise Cusack

  In the end she’d compromised by letting Breehan seek a vision. If he came back with a clear path towards Hanjeel, she would let him go. Breehan prayed for that now, for permission to leave the tribe and put some distance between himself and Noola. Her resolute grief ate at his heart. That, and his memory of the way she had looked at him after their joining. After he had cried out Noorinya’s name.

  Breehan closed his eyes on that thought and straightened his shoulders. ‘I am here for Hanjeel,’ he said firmly, opening the rite, struggling to clear his mind in readiness to receive a vision. ‘It is Breehan, Storyteller of the Plainsmen, bedmate of our leader, who calls for a vision,’ he said, presenting his credentials.

  The memory stone at his throat remained inert but Breehan waited, hoping it would warm, or even chill. Something to show him that he had made a connection.

  Nothing.

  Time passed and afternoon slid towards evening. Long mountain shadows filled the crevasses below him but Breehan remained still, his mind fixed on an image of Noola’s eldest son, Hanjeel, with his long dark hair tied back in a Plainsman tail and his mother’s dark expressive eyes. Breehan remembered Hanjeel as he had last seen him, holding his baby brother, the emptiness of his soul evident in his listless movements and unkempt appearance. ‘I seek Hanjeel,’ he repeated, again and again, unwilling to believe that the boy had simply given up on life out of grief for the dead. That was not the Plainsman way.

  By the time of the first moon’s rising Breehan’s crossed legs had begun to cramp. He was also dizzy with hunger and resentful of his own gnawing fear that in the darkness he would sway and fall from his precarious perch. Pale light gilded his Plainsman robes, yet it cast no reflection on the memory stone, even when Breehan held it out from his neck by its thong.

  He frowned at this and felt the first traces of despair swirl in the pit of his stomach. If he could find no vision of Hanjeel, Noola would not let him leave. He should not touch the stone itself, for to do so might inhibit its protective warding of the Echo Mountain’s madness, but Breehan was desperate.

  His fingers closed over the long oval. ‘I seek —’

  But before he could finish the invocation, a vision appeared and Breehan felt the breath catch in his throat. ‘Noorinya,’ he whispered.

  She sat cross-legged before him on empty air, her eyes gazing steadily into his. ‘Father of my child,’ she replied formally in her deep rasping voice.

  Breehan swallowed and shook his head. This was madness. It was not the vision he sought, yet he could no more take his hand from the stone and let Noorinya disappear than he could stop his own heart beating.

  ‘I have missed you in my arms,’ he said softly.

  ‘You can lie with me again,’ she said, and though Breehan would not drag his gaze from her beloved face, he saw fire on the edges of his vision. Felt heat.

  ‘Would you have me join you on the fiery plains of our ancestors?’ Breehan asked her, knowing he would give this life up without a second thought to spend the next with Noorinya. To escape Noola’s pain.

  Noola.

  Breehan glanced away, into the encircling flames that had sprung up around him. Noola relied on him to find her child. He must not succumb to madness. But …

  He gazed again into Noorinya’s serene face. What if this was not madness? Could his beloved be a vision guide from the otherworld clothed in a form he recognised? If so, her only purpose here would be to show him Hanjeel. Not to resurrect the love Breehan had struggled so hard to let die.

  ‘Will you show me Hanjeel?’ he asked.

  She reached out a hand. ‘Come with me’ she said. ‘Use the stone’s power to leave this world.’

  ‘And go where?’ Breehan looked at that hand, then at the fire which now enclosed them both in a ball. The heat was stifling and Breehan’s fingers on the memory stone loosened. To lean forward and take that hand would unbalance him on his perch. Perhaps the vision of Noorinya was a call to madness after all.

  ‘I must not die,’ he said. ‘Noola relies on me.’ Never mind that he was trying to escape her.

  ‘Those who will not risk, fail to gain.’

  Breehan nodded. It was an old tribal adage Noorinya favoured.

  Her hand was still extended and it required enormous willpower on Breehan’s part not to take it.

  ‘The memory stone belongs to me,’ she said, her face harshly lit by the fire that surrounded yet did not burn them. ‘Give it back.’

  Breehan frowned. ‘You are no longer our leader.’

  ‘You never were, yet you wear it.’ A querulous tone had entered her voice and the face he had known so well was distorted with an avarice Breehan had never seen in her. He felt distanced. This was not the Noorinya he had loved.

  ‘Noola will not take it,’ he said, his fingers tightening on the thin oval stone. ‘Yet it is hers by right. Not yours. You know the lore.’

  ‘I know only that I gave it to you in love.’ Her eyes had grown hard. ‘If you love me still you must return it.’

  ‘No. You are not my beloved,’ Breehan said sadly and he took his fingers from the stone, allowing its warding power to re-emerge. As abruptly as Noorinya had appeared before him, she now disappeared, taking the ball of fire with her. Her after-image remained in the air before him for a moment longer, a trick of the light, then even that faded into the deep darkness of night. He sucked in the cool air and swayed, suddenly disoriented of both mind and heart. Tempted to give up. But the thought of Noola lying awake in her shelter, wondering if he had been successful, goaded him to continue.

  Resolutely, he pushed Noorinya from his mind and straightened his back. Yet it was some moments before the words would come. ‘I seek a vision of Hanjeel,’ he said at last and waited.

  Nothing. The long night stretched out before Breehan like an endless plain he must trudge, never reaching an ending. Never finding home. Was that his pain? Not rekindled grief for Noorinya but a feeling that he no longer belonged in his own tribe. ‘I am lost,’ he whispered.

  ‘Would you be found?’ a masculine voice whispered in his ear.

  Breehan held himself very still. No one could climb the precipice behind him without being heard. He touched a finger to the memory stone which had gone icy cold.

  ‘You did not appreciate the wiles of my Shadow Woman,’ the voice said. ‘Yet your enemy The Dark did.’

  Breehan stiffened. ‘An ally of The Dark is also my enemy,’ he said, his hand moving stealthily towards the dagger on his chest.

  ‘Ally?’ The deep voice was now in his other ear, laughing low. ‘The one you hate is my plaything.’ he said. ‘As you are.’

  Breehan’s hand stilled on the dagger. ‘Only a God may make such a claim,’ he said.

  ‘Very good, Storyteller.’

  Breehan closed his eyes, fear of falling from the precipice now overshadowed by a far greater terror. That of losing his soul. ‘I called only for a vision of Hanjeel,’ he said faintly.

  ‘I felt the stone’s power and so I came.’

  ‘For the stone.’ Breehan touched a finger to it, hanging inert at his throat.

  ‘To the stone,’ the voice argued. ‘I will not take it from you.’

  Breehan opened his eyes. ‘Will not, or cannot?’

  ‘I can give you a vision of your tribesman.’

  ‘I have no payment for such a service.’ Breehan said quickly, knowing he must not be tricked into losing the memory stone, or his soul. ‘Yet I gratefully accept all gifts.’

  ‘Gratitude takes many forms,’ the voice replied enigmatically and Breehan felt himself go cold. He was the best wordsman of his people, yet he was no match for a God. One badly constructed phrase and all his future lives could be lost.

  ‘I wish you no harm,’ the God said, as though sensing his fears. ‘Come, let me show you the kinsman you have lost.’

  Breehan nodded, then sat in darkness for a heartbeat before he saw that he now floated over a moonlit forest. Below him, among the leaves, the
re was movement. ‘Hanjeel?’ he asked, and for answer he was lowered closer, yet not close enough to be captured by the plants straining towards him.

  ‘Hanjeel!’ he called, gazing down through the undulating vines.

  ‘He will not hear you.’

  Breehan could see that there appeared to be a body inside the seething mass of vegetation, yet could make out no detail. ‘Is it Hanjeel?’ he asked.

  The writhing plants parted and in the stark light of the second moon Breehan saw Hanjeel, naked and trembling in the throes of some terrible agitation. His eyes were open yet he appeared to see nothing. ‘Hanjeel! What is wrong with him?’

  ‘He seeks only the return of the plants.’

  ‘But why …?’ Yet even as Breehan watched, a vine slid over Hanjeel’s chest and slithered down towards his loins. Hanjeel’s fists opened and sucking plants latched onto his fingers, sliding between them, and up his arms to pulsate in his armpits. A vine came over his lips and he bit onto it, his hips bucking up, his eyelids fluttering.

  Breehan turned away. ‘This forest is near the Sanctum where we lost Hanjeel,’ he said. He remembered the depictions on the walls of people mating with plants. It had seemed funny then. Now it was obscene.

  ‘How may I rescue him?’ Breehan asked. He blinked and found himself back on his precipice.

  ‘You cannot. Yet I will release him from imprisonment.’

  ‘And in return?’

  ‘You will bring something to me.’

  ‘The stone?’ Breehan held his breath.

  ‘No. Something else.’

  ‘To the world of fire?’ Breehan remembered the heat that had accompanied his vision of Noorinya.

  ‘To Haddash, yes.’

  ‘How is this to be done?’

  ‘The stone’s power will bring you to me.’

  The better to lose it, Breehan thought.

  ‘I will call you when it is time. Many weeks from now.’

  Breehan swallowed thickly, realising that his words bound him. One did not go back on their promise to a God. ‘And then you will release Hanjeel?’

  ‘To show good faith I will release him before you come to me.’

  ‘Than I agree,’ Breehan said.

  A shadow moved out from behind Breehan and he thought to see the God, but it was only his minion in the form of Noorinya again. ‘Do not disappoint Kraal,’ she said, and drifted close enough to brush her lips against his.

  Breehan closed his eyes, unable to look upon her and not feel a stabbing pain at her loss. ‘I will return when it is time. Remain with the Plainsmen until then. You must not die, or the boy will not be rescued.’

  ‘I will do as you bid,’ Breehan said resignedly, and then there was only silence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Tulak, new Guard Captain of the House of Be’uccdha, stood in the forests below Volcastle Mountain, a six-day march from the comforts of Be’uccdha. The mists were thin this day and he could clearly see a hundred paces away the Verdan force his searching party had come upon an hour earlier. Their tents were dirty from the Plains and their bodies unwashed, as though their lord had driven them on relentlessly.

  From his vantage point behind a stand of crusty-trunked bread trees, Tulak could see the Verdan lord moving among his men, taller and more solid than most. His warriors wore padded battle jackets and carried no provisions, and from this Tulak surmised they were preparing an assault on the Northmen outside the Volcastle.

  It was time to confront this lord, and to give him The Dark’s message. Tulak had only hesitated to assess Verdan, to see if some benefit or status for himself could be forthcoming from the exchange. Any longer and the Verdan forces would begin to move.

  Tulak turned and gestured to his men, who rose and formed behind him. They strode from concealment onto the shaded trail, crunching dry leaves underfoot. Verdan Guardsmen closest to them turned in alarm and then word went up the ranks. Before they had even reached the outskirts of the camp the Verdan lord was striding towards them. Tulak’s shaven head drew comments from the Verdan warriors, for it was exceptional among the traditionally braided Be’uccdha warriors, but it had served The Dark’s purpose well in elevating Tulak’s status among his older and more experienced peers.

  ‘Be’uccdha,’ the Verdan lord called, seeing their uniforms, dark brown with the black swirling emblem of their house on the upper left chest. His eye counted their number, only a small scouting party and not the reinforcements he would undoubtedly have preferred. ‘Where is Mooraz?’ the Verdan lord asked, nodding at the black epaulet that marked Tulak a Guard Captain.

  ‘Injured, My Lord,’ Tulak replied, ‘and retired from service. I am Tulak, our Lord of Be’uccdha’s new Guard Captain.’ At this he bowed low.

  The Verdan lord waited until he had risen, his attention focusing on Tulak’s shaved head. ‘How fares The Dark?’ the barrel-chested lord asked. ‘Is his castle under siege?’

  ‘My Lord, the invaders have not ventured so far south,’ Tulak replied. ‘Our castle is safe, although the Maelstrom incites the ocean and unwieldy tides have breached the Cliffdweller and Altar caves.’

  ‘The Dark is unharmed?’

  ‘My Lord, The Dark bids you join him there and be reunited with your sister.’

  ‘Ellega!’ The Verdan lord stepped forward and grasped Tulak’s arm. ‘She is at Be’uccdha?’ His courtly manners of a moment ago were lost as his wild eyes searched Tulak’s.

  ‘The Lady Ellega is safe under the protection of The Dark, My Lord,’ Tulak replied, and said no more as he had been instructed.

  The Verdan lord put a hand to his heart. ‘Then my prayers are answered.’ He said nothing for a moment and Tulak saw that he had difficulty controlling his passions. At last he turned to his own Guard Captain. ‘Pack the camp. We travel to Be’uccdha.’

  It was no surprise to Tulak that they would abandon their attempt to defend the Volcastle. The royal castle would not be taken by siege and the Verdan lord had likely only attempted to bypass the Northmen to see if his sister was safely protected within.

  Now came the other message which Tulak knew would not be received gladly.

  ‘My Lord Verdan,’ he said, quietly. ‘There is another matter which my lord bade me prepare you for.’ He glanced around them, then nodded towards a deserted section of the camp.

  The Verdan lord’s eyes narrowed but he followed. ‘Does this matter concern my sister?’ he asked.

  ‘My Lord, yes,’ Tulak replied, holding the Verdan lord’s gaze as The Dark had instructed. ‘She is with child.’

  ‘No.’ Verdan turned his head away yet kept his eyes on Tulak. ‘She is a maid. She cannot be …’

  ‘My Lord, she was taken against her will,’ Tulak went on. ‘The Dark believes it was the traitor Sh’hale.’

  Verdan’s eyes widened. ‘Kert? Champion to the king?’

  Tulak took a breath. ‘My Lord Verdan, the king is dead.’

  ‘No,’ he said again, but his gaze drifted away, as though remembering something. ‘The spirit told me he would not marry her, but … dead. Are you sure?’

  Tulak nodded. ‘My Lord, The Dark witnessed the cowardly act yet was unable to stop Sh’hale.’

  ‘Mooraz’s injury,’ Verdan breathed.

  Tulak nodded. ‘Sh’hale was the better swordsman.’

  ‘What of the king’s sister, The Light, and her child?’

  ‘Alas, The Light has risen to Atheyre with her brother, but her child is safely exiled to Magoria.’

  ‘And not being able to destroy more, Sh’hale turns on my sweet sister.’ Verdan’s eyes misted as though to shed unmanly tears, and it was at this moment that Tulak knew he must offer the final damning evidence.

  ‘My Lord, I know your grief is profound, yet your sister lives,’ he said, ‘while the daughter of The Dark is dead.’

  Verdan lifted his head, searched Tulak’s eyes. ‘Lae of Be’uccdha? Dead?’

  ‘By Sh’hale’s own hand.’

  T
he Verdan lord turned away, as though Tulak had delivered a body blow. ‘My woes pale compared to your lord’s.’ He turned back. ‘Yet he does not seek vengeance?’

  ‘The Dark’s first duty was to protect your sister, My Lord,’ Tulak replied, and such a change came over the Verdan lord’s face that if The Dark had not predicted it would be so, Tulak would not have credited it. The tightness of anguish relaxed into sweet gratitude, and to save further questioning Tulak added, ‘We must part ways here, My Lord, for The Dark has ordered me to search out the traitor and bring news of his whereabouts to Be’uccdha.’ The lie rolled smoothly from his lips. Tulak only wished that finding the talisman his lord desired would be as easy.

  ‘I will go straight to your lord,’ Verdan replied, straightening and casting a glance over his men who stood at a respectful distance. ‘And I will be ready to seek vengeance on Sh’hale when he is found, if your lord will allow me to be his instrument.’

  Tulak nodded slowly. ‘My Lord Verdan,’ he said, ‘I am sure The Dark would like nothing better.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Khatrene held her ground. Or rather, her misty cloud. ‘I want to know what’s going on,’ she said. ‘We’ve been here what seems like weeks. There’s no night, no day, and nothing to look at but this!’ She poked at the white surface beside her and when her hand reached the bottom of the mist it rebounded gently, like a rubber-lined environment. That smacked of the mental home she’d only just avoided on Magoria, which made her nervous, but Talis was implacable.

  ‘We are safe here.’

  ‘I was safe on Magoria,’ she shot back. ‘But I wanted to be with Mihale so I went to Ennae.’

  ‘This is not the same.’

  ‘It’s exactly the same. Except now that I have Mihale, he won’t wake up!’ She knew she was starting to sound shrewish but exasperation had caught up with her. ‘We need to go exploring here and find out who’s in charge. Who can help.’

  Talis said nothing, patience evident in his glance.