by A. Evermore
‘Get it away from me,’ he screamed.
The light went and slowly he dropped his arms. It was night and he was no longer within Carmedrak Rock, instead he looked at it from afar. He glanced down from the rugged mountainside upon which he stood and took in the vast emptiness of Carmedrak Plain that surrounded the great spire of Carmedrak Rock. In the distance the rest of the mountain range that ringed Carmedrak Plain rose high, black and foreboding into the dark sky.
All of the Shadow Demons stood behind him. Tens of thousands of lesser demons shuffling restlessly, wings beating in anticipation, eyes flashing red with rage as they looked upon their lost kingdom. Then Zorock tipped the mountain peaks to the east and his green light spread across the plain. There came a great noise of rock and metal grinding violently against each other and shaking the ground. Then the huge door at the base of Carmedrak Rock began to open like a great black cavernous mouth. Gedrock’s guts squirmed as thousands of huge greater demons intermingled with their slaves, the smaller Grazen, spewed out from behind that door.
‘The Pit Gates are open,’ Wekurd’s thin voice rasped in horror beside him.
‘Karhlusus has opened them. We are doomed,’ Gedrock replied, ‘but I will not become a slave like the Grazen.’
Gedrock gripped his twin-bladed sword, lifted it high and spread his wings wide. With a howl he leapt from the rock and all those with wings followed their king’s flight. The others shifted into the shadows and melted down the mountainside, a great wave of darkness flooding into the valley to meet and wreak death against their cousins and the hated greater demons.
Gedrock dropped fast, twin-bladed sword leading his flight. In one motion he descended upon the left flank of a group of Grazen and decapitated a slower moving one. Its head slid between his two blades, barely slowing his descent. Thick black blood oozed over his sword and he swiftly melted back into the shadows as the Grazen’s body turned to molten rock and moments later exploded. A hazard of killing any Grazen; if you weren’t quick enough withdrawing your weapon, it would melt in the terrific heat and then explode, along with whoever still held the killing weapon.
Gedrock’s thick claws raked into the dirt as he rematerialised. He spun, decapitated another and fell back. He swung his blades and smashed against the trident of a third Grazen just as the second exploded, showering them with burning ash and rock. They roared at each other ignoring the molten debris, once cousins now despised enemies. Fury drove Gedrock’s sword fast, and the third Grazen fell headless to the floor. Decapitation was the only way to be sure to kill a Grazen.
A Grazen exploded to his right, the shock waves stunned him for a moment and searing ash showered him again. To his left there came a gut-wrenching high pitched wail followed by a flash of black light as one of his Shadow Demons was speared through the heart. The Grazen holding the spear was not quick enough and Gedrock smirked as the Grazen turned black and then disappeared forever into shadow. Lesser demons never died alone and always sought to take a soul or two with them.
Gedrock raised his blades to counter the axe of another Grazen. Fury gleamed in his opponent’s eyes and for a moment Gedrock wondered what lies Karhlusus had told his brethren to make them hate the Shadow Demons so. He hardened his mind and heart. The Grazen’s axe fell between his two blades and in one motion Gedrock yanked the weapon away, disarming it, and swung back to slice off its head. He disappeared back into the shadows, feeling a flutter as the Grazen exploded and glowing rocks flew through his shadow.
A flying Grazen caught Gedrock from behind as his form solidified. It was a big one, bigger than he, and thick claws ripped into his shoulders as heavy wings beat upwards lifting him quickly from the ground. His cold black blood seeped from his wounds, making him even more furious. Through the pain he beat his own wings hard, driving him up into the underside of the Grazen that lifted him.
A trident struck down, three prongs speared his chest but not deep enough to kill. Howling in pain he gripped the trident, shoved it up, and drove his own sword into a leg that carried him. Cold blood spattered over his face and agonised screeches seared his ears. He twisted the sword hard and felt blades crunch through bones before dismembering the foot.
With only one claw embedded it was not enough for the Grazen to hold him. Gedrock ripped his shoulder from its grasp and flew upwards. In a swift motion he struck the head from the Grazen’s shoulders. The Grazen plummeted downwards. It turned to molten stone in mid-air and exploding as it hit the ground, maiming two of its own.
Ahead more flying Grazen came, their brown skin gleaming with a greenish tinge in Zorock’s light. He’d been exposed, and they knew to look for and kill the leader of the Shadow Demons. But the flying Grazen never reached him.
A chain of burning spikes lassoed around his throat and dragged him through the air. Flapping his wings he spun around and glanced at his enemy, the huge pitch-black shape of a greater demon flapped its wings lazily. Its form was not solid, it was like a Shadow Demon part merged into shadow. Great horns curled away above its small pointed ears and its face was thin and long, terrifyingly long, its black eyes barely visible in the rest of its dark form.
Its wings spread wide and a long thin tail snaked around Gedrock’s waist in a crushing vice. Gedrock shuddered, fear of the greater demon sapping his strength. He could not fight. Instead he watched the battle unfold below as he was dragged through the air towards Carmedrak Rock. Dragged over a battle where the Shadow Demons were being slaughtered, towards a balcony where a hideous pale-faced demonic wizard stood grinning.
In a great iron cage behind the hated demon wizard was the spear, Velistor, shining so bright and so horrific Gedrock could not look at it. Above the cage perched the raven. Everything he feared had come to pass. The Shadow Demons were doomed. The Murk was lost.
Chapter 6
The Elders' Visions
MARAKON found Tarn. Tarn had actually been looking for him, and he thankfully carried a flagon of jungle spirits, so he called it. It turned out to be a clear peach coloured liquid that was more potent than any dwarven spirits Marakon had tasted. It scalded the throat, but after only a few sips Marakon felt his body relaxing. He felt he hadn’t relaxed for days, or slept either. But he couldn’t sleep now, never this soon after a battle.
The Gurlanka funeral pyre had been built, and now they were beginning to set light to it. People filled the area before it, around the drinking well and reaching to the steps of the Elder’s house where Tarn and Marakon sat. No one sobbed loudly. Everyone seemed to be sat or stood silently in deep reverent thought.
‘Did many die?’ Marakon asked sombrely.
‘Yes, more than we have ever lost before,’ Tarn said briefly. ‘But no children, though some children now have no parents. They will be well looked after by everyone.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Tarn looked at the ground. ‘This is an old enemy, but they keep us strong. Our warriors have gone to the One Light, there’s no shame in that,’ he said the last proudly although his lips trembled.
‘I had wondered at the quietness of your mourning,’ Marakon admitted. There had been no sobbing wails, or inconsolable people amongst the Gurlanka, only a shared solemn silence. ‘But I agree. When people said my father should leave the army and war behind, and live to a good old age, he used to say, “Better to die on the battlefield than to die an old man in bed.” I have never found a reason to disagree with him. I have lost so many friends I find it hard to mourn anymore. I think I pity myself more for not having fallen.’
Tarn smiled, his eyes glistening with tears that did not fall.
‘Is she your partner?’ Marakon asked, indicating behind him to the Elder’s house where Jarlain still slept.
‘No, she’s my older sister. Half-sister, we have the same mother. Her father was killed by Seadevils before she was born.’
‘Ah, you seemed alike,’ Marakon nodded.
‘She likes you,’ Tarn grinned. Marakon simply smiled back sheepishly. Know
ing that pleased him.
Two of the Elders, the deaf High Elder he’d nicknamed Red Beard and a woman, joined them. The High Elder spoke.
‘You fought bravely and selflessly today, half-elven. You did not have to help, but you did even after the horrors you faced in the Drowning Wastes. We thank you. You and your knights are always welcome as equals among us,’ he said spreading his arms wide to include the other knights.
Marakon stood up. ‘It is my duty,’ he said. Even though the man was deaf he could lip read and understand what was said in other ways. Something which Marakon marvelled at. ‘The Seadevils took many from me before I arrived here. It was an honour to fight back alongside the Gurlanka,’ he bowed slightly to the High Elder.
The female Elder smiled and said, ‘There are things we need to speak on, Marakon half-elven. If you have time now, the sooner the better for we know you will soon leave us.’ Marakon raised an eyebrow, how could they know he planned to leave?
‘I have time,’ he said. He’d given up trying to work out how they always seemed to know so much about him. Whoever these Hidden Ones were that they spoke to, they knew about a lot of things. She inclined her head, and led him inside the house via another door that bypassed the sick and wounded.
Marakon followed the Elders up a winding wooden staircase until they came to the top floor. A large open room stretched out in front of them. There were no windows or doors, just thick wooden posts supporting the roof and a waist high protective handrail all the way around. The climate was so warm that the Gurlanka did not need to shut out the weather, and welcomed the constant sea breeze. Huge purple flowers wound themselves around the supporting posts and balcony, scenting the breeze with their sweet fragrance.
The floor was made of orange wood polished to a high shine. The house was no different to the other Gurlanka houses in material, just bigger and of a slightly different layout. A small pot atop a metal tripod under which a flame flickered stood to one corner of the room. From it steamed a delicate scent of incense that Marakon did not recognise as it mingled with the smell of the purple flowers.
The other Elders came up the stairs, nodded respectfully to Marakon, and sat cross-legged in a circle in the centre of the room. He admired their flexibility despite their age. Red Beard motioned him to join them and together they sat in the circle. His stomach rumbled. He’d already had plenty of bread and soup but his hunger was insatiable today. He hoped they couldn’t hear it.
They sat quietly in the circle. The minutes ticked by, but still they sat, their breathing slowed, their eyes focusing in front of them but seeing nothing. He tried not to fidget and wondered if they were somehow communing silently. He never sat still and hated to be alone too long with his thoughts. At least he used to - now he understood who he was better, sitting still with his thoughts didn’t seem as bad, as long as they didn’t turn into memories. He couldn’t cope with memories. One of the Elder women spoke.
‘We have seen in our future a sky without stars, a world without hope. You could say that we have seen in our future no future at all. Nothing. Have you seen our future, Marakon?’
‘No,’ he replied.
They were silent at that. Then they all began to hold hands and when Red Beard and the woman beside him reached for his, he tentatively took them.
‘Then close your eyes and see,’ she said.
He frowned and closed his eyes. What was it they were going to do? He was quite astonished. Behind his lids blackness stretched out around him. Not the enclosed dark that was normally there when he shut his eyes. No, this darkness was expansive, a huge open space of endless nothingness.
‘I see nothing,’ he breathed, taken aback by what they were somehow able to show him.
‘And then in the darkness a light grows…’ she whispered.
Indeed, in Marakon’s vision he saw an indigo orb appear as a speck of light. Then it either grew bigger or it was coming closer, for its soft blue light was expanding. Slowly that light revealed the gentle contours of desert sands under a night sky filled with stars. Everything was bathed in soft indigo light. A huge glistening trilithon stood in the centre of the desert, so alone and out of place. Then a robed figure formed before the doorway created by the three stones. Her face was hidden in a hood, the swathes of her robe moved gently in the breeze. He had a strange longing to go and stand beside her, to be in her presence.
‘… And she appears…’ the Elder said, her voice tinged with wonder. ‘She beckons to us.’
Sure enough the robed figure lifted a slender luminous hand, and beckoned to him. He started towards her and strained to see within the folds of her hood, but all he could make out was a smooth pale chin and perfect lips.
‘… Then she is gone…’
The vision ended abruptly. He opened his eyes, blinking.
‘Do you know what this means, half-elven?’ the Elder woman asked, her clear brown eyes looked into his.
He shook his head. ‘I have never seen this. I have never even seen a place like this in the Old World.’ He wondered what it could mean for a moment and then spoke his ponderings aloud. ‘Before I came here I met a man, a man cursed to row a boat for eternity. He asked me whom I served, and I knew then when I had never known before that I had come to serve Zanufey the Night Goddess. I still don’t know why I told him that, only that I know it is true. Since then her messenger the raven has often been with us. All I can say is that I think she is Zanufey, and I think she is calling you, but for what I don’t know.’
The Elder woman smiled. ‘Yes, that is indeed what we think. And that is what the Hidden Ones say. Zanu calls us. But why? We do not know either.’
‘All I can say for certain is that Baelthrom and his Maphraxies are coming to every corner of Maioria, the Known World and the Unknown,’ Marakon said, and leaned forwards. ‘I think that is why Zanufey is calling to all those who would help.’
‘Have you seen this… Baelthrom?’ the High Elder asked.
Marakon shook his head. ‘Few have seen him. But all know what he looks like because some of his horde take a likeness to his form. They are called Dromoorai, and they ride atop Dread Dragons.’ He closed his eyes as memory of that last day with Bokaard flooded back to him. The screams of the Dread Dragons made his heart shudder now as it did then. The hands holding his clenched and sharp intakes of breath echoed around him. They can see what I see? He blinked open his eyes, everyone else had theirs shut so he closed them again.
‘Yes,’ several Elders answered his unspoken thought aloud, further shocking him. ‘When we are joined like this and the memory is vivid, we can see what each other sees,’ a strained voice said.
‘Evil, greater even than that which destroyed our ancestral home, Unafay, moves upon Maioria,’ the High Elder said. ‘I see again our utter annihilation. Maioria will be no more, just as Unafay is no more. This is why the future is dark.’
Marakon half opened his eyes, saw the sorrow and anguish upon the faces of those around him. ‘Yes. That’s why I fight. It’s all I can do. I wish I could tell you they will not come here, but that isn’t true.’ He closed his eyes again, not wanting to see their pain.
A black helmeted face flickered in his mind and his white eye burned behind its patch, making him gasp in pain. The eyes of Baelthrom were completely white as they glared at him from behind triangle slits. Fear grabbed hold of Marakon’s gut and clenched painfully. He was dimly aware of the gasps of terror around him. He clamped his hand over his white eye and gritted his teeth. Sometimes it did this, burned with pain as fierce as when he got the wound, and always he wanted to claw it out of his face.
‘I see him,’ a woman’s strangled voice said.
Slowly the pain dimmed and he forced his good eye open. The image of Baelthrom went along with the pain. He gulped air into his lungs and wiped the sweat rolling down his forehead.
The Elder woman opened her eyes, her face pale and drawn. ‘We must consult with Jarlain every day, and ask her to see with her vision.
This enemy is unlike any we’ve ever known.’
The other Elders murmured their agreement. They looked at the floor in silence, frowns of worry on all their faces. Red Beard spoke and an enigmatic smile spread across the old man’s face, replacing his frown.
‘The Hidden Ones spoke to me whilst you were in the Drowning Wastes, Marakon half-elven. The goddess moves in mysterious ways, but it seems you and your knights, and we the Gurlanka share an ancient bond.’
Marakon frowned and then realisation slowly dawned on him. ‘Unafay,’ he breathed. Speaking the name aloud with this growing understanding immediately brought a lump to his throat, he blinked through the mist covering his eyes. He remembered a land, a beautiful land of green hills and many lakes, warm summers and mild winters.
‘Yes,’ Red Beard said, and the others smiled. ‘We were very different then. But sometimes, for all our ancestors’ great advances, I think we are better now. Here we are more connected to Maioria and the Great Spirit of All than ever we have been. In our dreams we all share a memory of a bountiful land, and our hearts ache. The Hidden Ones showed me that you were a great leader, until the demons came.’
Marakon nodded, his mind drifting in ancient memories. ‘ “In the Valley of Death terrible things happened,” ’ he murmured aloud the boatman’s words. ‘That is why we have returned.’
‘Your curse can never be fully lifted until you find the one that cursed you,’ an Elder woman said, concern furrowed her brow.
‘We will find him,’ Marakon said resolutely. ‘That is why we have returned.’
