by Greg James
Chapter Thirty-Two
The night winds droned low and bitter, just as they had in the dream she’d had all those years ago. Only this time, Sarah knew she would not awaken on the school bus as she had done before. This time, she was running through real snow, clawing and dragging herself up the path ahead. Her teeth chattered as she tried to see more clearly what lay ahead—to no avail. Streaming currents of snow and high-altitude fog swam in, obscuring everything. At the sonorous notes of the hunting horns in her ears, she knew, as before, that the Fallen-born were coming.
This is my Path and I must follow it to the end.
The bitter end.
They were close. She could hear them over the repeated blasts from their horns. The beat of hooves. The scraping of welded iron. Her heart hurt in her chest as it tried to pump harder. The air she breathed was thinning, and she knew what that meant. She could see something rising out of the rocks.
The night cleared, the moon shone, and it was there before her.
The Sword of Sighs.
Sarah dropped to her knees at the sight of it and wept.
All for this. It’s all been for this.
It was driven into the snow-crusted summit before her, shining like a fallen star—just as she remembered it—and Sarah went to it. She could hear its whispers and sighs. And this time, she understood them for what they were.
The secret language of A’aron and E’blis before they fell.
Sarah smiled as she listened to it.
But the tone of the hunting horns rang victorious. She heard the sounds of the Fallen-born dismounting and unsheathing their ebony swords. Sarah no longer looked upon the strange sword before her with fear, as she once had when she dreamt of it. That was a long time ago; she had been just a child in a world without magic or wonder. She had grown since then, changed, discovered something unique about herself, something special and powerful. She had also lived through horror, nightmares and pain. This time, she was ready. This time, she would have the power.
She grasped the hilt with both hands. The howls of the Fallen-born and their hunting horns stilled into silence. The voice of the storm shook the mountain. E’blis was out there, watching and waiting; she could feel him in her bones. Shaking violently, Sarah braced herself against the ground. With every muscle cold and screaming, she hauled at the Sword of Sighs.
It slid free of the mountain into her hands. She turned to face them with a cry upon her lips. “I carry the Flame! And I burn away His Shadow!”
One of the Fallen-born let out a familiar feral howl, which was joined by another, and another and another, until the chorus they made was one ear-splitting screech. Each of the Fallen-born stood with its sword raised high. Across plains, through swamps, over mountains and wasteland they had pursued her. Now, she was before them, and she stood alone. Sarah held the sword aloft, the metal of its blade flickering white before catching alight with a crawling fire. It drew strikes of lightning to it out of the sky, each burst more brilliant and scalding than the last. Then, as she lowered it, she saw the blade was gone—burned away by the lightning. But there was still something there, a shifting in the space above the hilt.
It had become the Sword Without a Blade. It sang and sighed with the flow of the Flame as she raised it against her enemies. The Fallen-born screamed as their empty eyes were seared by the light. Then Sarah was amongst them. The sword in her hands seemed to guide her, thrusting, cutting, parrying, and fencing with the half-blinded scions of the Fallen One. The heights of the Fellhorn rang with the clash of metal upon metal, and with her cries and their shrieks. The sword cut down one and then another. The remaining two separated, coming at her from opposite angles, forcing her to face them individually. Again, the sword appeared to be aiding her, driving her parries, twisting her about on her numb, aching feet as blows rained down from the Fallen-born warriors. She gasped as their blades swept close enough for her to feel the sharp wind of their passage. One of the remaining swords shattered, and it fell back before her. Sarah swept the Sword of Sighs down in a screaming arc that ended in the Fallen-born’s throat. Its head fell, streaming smoke and fumes, into the snow. Then it was Sarah’s turn to scream. A cold that was not cold pierced through her. Her right side was burning with a frost more bitter than a winter storm and, as in her dream long ago, she heard laughter and thunder competing with one another. She turned to face the last of the Fallen-born, counting the ones that had already fallen.
Five.
Then, who was this sixth Shade?
The creature flung back its hood and Sarah cried out at what she saw.
It was Jedda, pale, wan and eyeless.
“I thought you were dead.”
“No, Sarah, I serve Him. The creator of men is my master now, and His will is my own. A’aron’s sword will be His to command. I shall wield it, not you.”
“No, Jedda. You don’t serve Him. You can’t take the sword for Him.”
They stood facing one another, darkness and light, one burning and flickering, the other smouldering and rotting. Jedda’s eyes met Sarah’s. Their limbs hardened and loosened, tensed and relaxed. Then, they clashed, coming together like thunderheads. Lightning smote the mountain as their blades struck and struck again. Pacing around, eyes locked, they parried, feinted, stabbed, and swung as they sought for a weakness in each other’s defences. Their swords ground against one another; one night-forged, the other singing with fire and light.
“I do this because I have to, Sarah. Venna. My baby sister. For my blood and kin, I will serve Him forever. I will sit upon Highmount’s throne and spill Ianna’s blood down its steps.”
“You will be His puppet for the rest of your days. Never dying, living on and on in His Shadow.”
The storm screamed around them. Sarah stared at Jedda and at the crossed swords between them.
She’s just another bad guy. Isn’t she, right?
Bang-dead!
Sarah felt sick inside at the thought.
Her hands shook around the hilt of the sword. The words of its whispers were carried to her by the night’s winds. The tears in her eyes felt like ice, and her heart pounded in time with the thunder. Sarah broke away from Jedda. She threw the Sword of Sighs down, its blade of flames hissing and spitting in the snow.
“I will not kill you. You can kill me, Jedda. Go ahead. Do it. Then take the sword away to Him if you must. I won’t end this by taking your life.”
Jedda sprang forward and snatched up the discarded sword. For a moment, she held it and held Sarah’s gaze. Then, she let its burning blade flow forward into Sarah’s chest, cutting through bone, flesh, and heart. Blood seeped from the wound and Sarah gasped, her eyes opening wide and then closing tight against the deep pain.
The night became suddenly quiet.
The skies overhead thinned as clouds retreated away to the east, revealing stars and the moon once more. They shone down upon the impaled girl atop the mountain and on the young woman robed in darkness before her.
Sarah opened her eyes, no longer in pain, and looked into Jedda’s.
Jedda’s lips formed the ghost of a smile.
She too understood.
“Thank you, Sarah …”
Jedda closed her eyes. The Flame ran up her arm, it enveloped her in a silent inferno until all of the darkness about her was burned away. She fell to the ground, and she was as she had been before. Sarah slumped to her knees. Her hands flew to the place where the sword had impaled her. The wound was gone, evaporated like so much mist.
It still hurt, though.
Jedda’s lips had turned a dark blue and her eyes were becoming glassy, unseeing. Her hand reached out for Sarah’s. She grasped it tight, holding it against the bare flesh where the wound had been made. There were tears in Jedda’s dying eyes. “So long in the dark, Sarah, and He was my only comfort there. All I had was the shadow of His darkness. So few of those who love the Mother and Light understand what it means to be that alone, that lost to the world. Venna, m
y sister, save her. For me. Please. And kill Ianna. For me. Set Highmount ... free …”
Ianna, another bad guy.
Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but Jedda stopped her with four words, “We will… meet again…”
Jedda lay dead in her arms.
Bang-dead!
Sarah set her down to sleep in the snow. Then she got to her feet and gazed back across the Western Wastes, the Mountains of Mourning, Grah’na and the Grassland Plains to Highmount and beyond. To the shadows of the Nightlands where E’blis dwelled and the Fallen One was entombed beneath the Shadowhorn.
Highmount was the last bastion against the Fallen One. Its people, and those of the Three Kingdoms. They all needed the Flame. They all needed her.
She was their one Hope.
But there was something she needed too.
More than anything.
Sarah raised the Sword of Sighs high. She slashed at the open air with it. The air opened up, a tear in the skin of it, into some other place from which fingers of a pale fog trailed out. Sarah lowered the sword, looked at it, and looked back at Jedda, who was steadily being buried by snow. Her eyes turned again to the opening in the air before her; it would not stay open for long.
She had to decide now.
“What am I going to do? Where am I going to go?”
Her only answer was in the forlorn whistling of the night’s wind.
She stepped through the hole in the air and it closed behind her.
~End of Book One~
Book Two of The Age of the Flame
~The Sceptre of Storms~
is available here.
Author’s Note
Thank you for reading The Sword of Sighs. I hope you enjoyed it. If you would like to receive updates regarding new and upcoming releases by Greg James, please sign up to my mailing list: http://eepurl.com/vfYf9
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Greg James can be contacted directly at: [email protected]
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Other titles available by Greg James:
The Sceptre of Storms
The Stone of Sorrows
Other titles available by Greg James writing as G.R. Yeates (Recommended for 18+ only):
The Eyes of the Dead
Shapes in the Mist
Hell's Teeth
The Last Post
The End of War
The Vetala Cycle - Collected Edition
This Darkness Mine
The Thing Behind the Door
Night Residue
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the following people for their help, support and contributions to this, the beginning of the Age of the Flame;
Lora Kaleva – for introducing me to one of the key inspirations, Robert Jordan’s The Wheel of Time, talking me through my first tentative steps into the Fantasy genre and for shining a light into my life.
Christine DeMaio-Rice – for creating a superb cover that encapsulates the vibe and mood I wanted for this novel. Size is what matters, right? Here’s to making the next one even bigger and better!
Karin Cox – for making the editing process an educational and informative experience as well as doing wonders for my confidence on my first Fantasy effort. Here’s hoping my craft will have thus improved the next time around!
Sarah Buchheit – author of the Galoria Hunter series who planted the idea of writing something for the Young Adult audience in my head a few years ago. Thank you for the inspiration!
J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis & Robert Jordan – without their work, this book would not be here.
My fellow self-publishers, all of whom are awesome; Shea Macleod, M. Edward McNally, Jack Wallen, Cheryl Bradshaw, Jessica Meigs, David Gaughran, Jolea M. Harrison, Alisa Tangredi, Heather Marie Adkins, Mike Cooley, Cheryl Shireman, Lin Welch, Athanasios Galanis, Danielle Blanchard, Stephanie Abbott, Michelle Muto, Red Tash, P.J. Jones, Tara West, Julia Crane, Sarah Billington, J. Carson Black, Lizzy Ford, Graeme Reynolds, James Everington, Autumn Christian, Tony Rabig, Sean McLachlan, Tony Slater, Mandy White, Sarah Woodbury, Arshad Ahsanuddin, Laura Yirak, Matt Conrad & Ben White – the Word Lovah!
My friends are my family and this book could not have been done without them, as ever; Ruth Latchford, Jez Joubinaux, Evie Joubinaux, Kris Dyer, Jason Brawn, Dolores Harrington, Mark & Tori Waddington, Sandra Norval, Adrian Chamberlin, Dean M. Drinkel, Nyki Blatchley, Chris Hall, Jean Hatton, Jim McLeod, Libby Cummings, Kiley Owens, Robin Jennifer, Kacey Stewart, Misty Jo Hughes & Ann Giardina Magee.
About the Author
Greg James is a Fantasy author based in London, England. He has been writing stories since he was a child. He enjoys taking long walks around his home city of London as well as reading, writing (of course) and thinking up new imaginary worlds to entertain readers with. He has previously taught English abroad as a foreign language and travelled extensively around China. He has also written critically-acclaimed horror novels and short stories under the pen name, G.R. Yeates.
Glossary
A’aron (AH-aron)
The Creator of Women. Known also as the Mother. Her soul now resides in the Sword of Sighs. Her body has degenerated as a result of the Fallen One’s poison and she is now known as Yagga.
Atosha (Aa-TOH-sha)
One of the Three Kingdoms.
Barra (BAH-rah)
Woran Bean’s small but fearless mongrel dog.
Bean, Sarah
An American teenage girl who discovers she is the Living Flame – a scion of A’aron and prophesied saviour of Seythe. A daughter of two worlds, torn between her responsibility to Seythe and her love of Earth, her birth-world.
Bean, Woran (BEAN, WOH-run)
Adoptive grandfather to Sarah Bean. He lives on a hill in the Norn valley with his mongrel dog, Barra.
Brindan (brin-DUNN)
One of the Three Kingdoms.
Cag’kh (KHAG-kuh)
One of the Phages.
Daughters of Yagga, The
Descendants of the Daughters of the Flame – a sacred order that once wielded the Living Flame against the Fallen One. They dwell in a temple that has been glimpsed in the swamps of Grah’na by wanderers and travellers.
Deep Forges, The
The Deep Forges are the birthplace of the Iron Gods beneath the city of E’phah in the Mountains of Mourning. This is where they were sealed by the first of the Wayfarers until Sarah Bean unwittingly awoke Kaomos.
Della (Del-UH)
A member of the Highmount Council.
Dionin (DIE-oh-NYNN)
Creations of the Fallen One. A fusion of Fellfolk ‘volunteers’ and giant carnivorous invertebrates.
D’nai (duh-NYE)
A legendary patron of love whose memory is honoured by the Eve of D’nai.
Drujja (droo-YAH)
Also known as The Storm that Walks. Creations of the Fallen One. Solitary hunter/assassins that can pass through solid objects. They are visible only as a slight vapour in the air, until they scent their prey and emerge in their true form - a raging supernatural tempest.
Earlmen, Earlwomen
Feudal lords and ladies of the Three Kingdoms. Each has their own Keep and no differentiation is made between men and women in terms of rank and respect.
E’blis (EH-bliss)
The Creator of Men. Also known as the Father of Pain. His divinity lost after he fell from grace, he has become the avatar of the Fallen One in Seythe.
E’phah (EH-farr)
A Molloi city in the Mountains of Mourning.
Fallen One, The
A malevolent being from a Space and Time outside o
f the Thirteen Worlds. It is known as the Darkness that is not Darkness and the Black Lord Under the Mountain. It is believed that it could destroy all of the Thirteen Worlds once freed from its tomb under the Shadowhorn.
Fallen-born, The
Scions of the Fallen One itself that escaped from its tomb under the Shadowhorn mountain in the Nightlands. Relentless and fearless, the only weapon on Seythe that can harm them is the Sword of Sighs.
Fellhorn
A colossal mountain in the Western Wastes where the Sword of Sighs rested before it was drawn from the stone by Sarah Bean.
Fellhounds
Undead hunting animals that serve the Fallen-born.
Ferra (feh-RA)
Father to Venna and Jedda. Suspected to have been murdered by Ianna.
Golem (GOH-lemm)
A magickal construct that can be an exact copy of a human being including some trace elements of memory, personality and speech patterns.
Gorra (GOH-rah)
Gorra is the Father of Leaves and the spirit of the Wood Beneath the Worlds. He tends to the roots of all Thirteen Worlds and cares for them at the behest of an unnamed higher power.
Grah’na (GRA-narrh)
An area of swampland that must be crossed to reach the Mountains of Mourning. Molloi tribes reside here and there are reports of worse creatures residing in this part of the world.
Grassland Plains, The
A wilderness that was formally the shared land of humanity and the Kay’lo.
H’Aoa (HUH-eh-OH-ah)
The healer for a Kay’lo enclave.
Herb-Sisters, The
An order of healers and carers in the Three Kingdoms. No man can become a healer because they were created by E’blis, the Father of Pain.
