The Raven (The Secret Chronicles of Lost Magic Book 1)

by Aderyn Wood

Izhur scanned the circle. All were present, except for one. Yuli had still not returned. Izhur squinted as he took a cushion for his seat. The longer his prentice stayed away the more Izhur grew convinced that Yuli had something to do with Iluna’s trance, and the death of her raven.

  “We are all assembled,” Xaroth spoke. “Shall we begin?”

  “Quite,” Hentyl said.

  “My novice is not yet present,” Izhur interrupted. “Has anyone seen him?” He stared at the Grand Soragan, but Xaroth’s eyes remained lifeless black beads.

  “We will start without him. Yuli will be along directly. We have urgent matters to speak of.” The Grand Soragan’s quiet voice cut through the murmurs of the others.

  Izhur raised an eyebrow. Did he know where Yuli was?

  “No doubt you want to talk about Yuli’s binding ceremony, Grand Soragan?” Jana spoke, sounding like the sycophant she’d grown into. “I for one am in agreement. If you have had the visions, as you say, that is enough proof for me that Yuli is meant to go through with it. It will be an exciting time for all of us. I have only heard of such a ceremony, like many of us here. I’ve not witnessed the skill, and it will be useful to have another person with such a gift.”

  Izhur rubbed a temple. There were many nods around the fire. He watched Belwas, but the old Bear nodded along with the others. Izhur frowned. Even Belwas had surrendered to Xaroth’s influence.

  “Yes, I agree.” Hentyl added. “Let us go through with the binding ceremony. How should we acquire all the energy that will be needed?”

  Would no one speak against this absurdity? Izhur felt more alone now than during his own hermitage.

  Xaroth wore a smug smile as he raised his hand. “Thank you, Soragans. But I want to defer our discussions about Yuli’s ceremony, for more pressing news has come to hand.”

  Izhur squinted. Surely he wasn’t about to tell of the Nordesans.

  “News has come to light about the enemy clan who attacked the Otter over two winters past.”

  “What? The enemy?” asked Tyvan.

  “I thought they were gone, no longer a threat.” Talso of the Lion looked as though he wanted to flee in the next instant.

  “Yes, you assured us of it, Grand Soragan.” Belwas looked displeased.

  Izhur swallowed. Where was Xaroth going with this?

  He flicked a tongue over his lips. “I have toiled long and hard every night to find them. I had no wish to cause you all concern. But, you see, I’ve long had a premonition that the enemy would come for us this very Agria.”

  There was uproar in the tent as the Soragans raised voices, trying to be heard. Tyvan stood, his eagle feathers sticking out of his head in their usual ostentatious manner. “We must fight. We must take our revenge.”

  Xaroth held a hand for silence. “Please. Let us resume our civility, brother. Hear me out.”

  The others quieted and Tyvan resumed his seat.

  “Yesterday I meditated until the daysun took her leave. My visions in the Otherword were fruitful and I learned of the enemy clan. They were camped not a day’s walk from Ona’s Valley.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath, and Xaroth held his hand for silence once more.

  “I left our encampment as soon as we broke our meeting last night. Yuli accompanied me. Together we faced them and ran them off.”

  Izhur frowned. It was a lie. He looked to the other Soragans; they wore expressions of relief, gratitude. They all believed the Grand Soragan’s tale. Even Belwas seemed to be swallowing it. What was Xaroth up to? Izhur was tempted to speak out now, but it would do no good. Xaroth still held them all in his power.

  “So they have gone; they are not a threat?” Hentyl asked, his elderly voice shaking.

  Xaroth squinted. “We took one of them as prisoner. I have ordered Yuli to bring him to us. His name is Gudmund and he carries proof that one of our own has betrayed us.”

  Another outburst of gasps and exclamations filled the tent as the Soragans voiced their anger. “Who has dared to betray us?” Tyvan shouted.

  Xaroth silenced them once more. “I propose a Grand Council.”

  “What?” Izhur asked, his voice tight.

  Xaroth ignored him. “Summon all your people, Soragans. We will listen to the evidence as one, and we shall judge as one – before the evenfire, this very night.”

  Izhur swallowed. There’d not been a Grand Council since he was a boy. The memory of it brought a bitter taste to his mouth. He recalled a sickness had taken hold in one of the clans and at Agria it had spread through the entire camp. It caused coughing and nausea, and within three days most people afflicted had died. They’d called a Grand Council then to decide the fate of the twelve remaining sick but not yet dead. By rights, everyone had a voice, but mostly it was the Soragans and elders who spoke – Xaroth more than any other. The twelve had burned – a sacrifice to spare the rest of them.

  Izhur’s hands balled into fists. He flung open the tent flap and marched out into the night, leaving the others to talk it out. He needed time. He needed Cypra. There was much to discuss.

  Iluna

  Iluna.

  Someone called to her. Only it was more like many hushed whispers than one single voice. She walked toward it. Her arms ethereal, made of light, she watched them fold back heavy green vines that pulsed with strong essence. She was in the Otherworld.

  Keep walking. You’re almost here.

  Dark wings fluttered up ahead and Iluna followed. Was it her raven? The voice was similar. Sadness gripped her heart when she’d remembered what Yuli had done. He’d killed her friend.

  Shhh. No tears. Just keep walking.

  She parted more of the heavy vines and branches. Ahead, in a clearing, or perhaps a cave, stood a woman, or a man. The figure’s face shimmered and changed, never remaining the same. Sometimes it appeared as a human, sometimes the raven, now its skin looked more like the bark of an oak. When she blinked and looked again, a woman’s face smiled at her.

  Ona? Iluna said.

  The woman smiled again before the oak bark covered her skin, amber leaves falling gently, and then changed to the dark feathers of the raven. Perhaps I am she. But I am also that which your people call the Malfir. The many voices whispered again.

  How can that be? Iluna frowned.

  The entity before her changed again and now stood as a man with dark hair and darker eyes, his laughter filled the world like rolling thunder. I am everything. The beginning that was; the end that is to come.

  And, my raven?

  Was never yours, it said, its skin changing to black feathers once more.

  What is—

  No more questions. Come give us your hand. Watch. Learn.

  Iluna stepped forward and reached out touching the black feathers of the god. A force stronger than any known essence assailed her and she gasped ...

  ... she saw everything.

  A vast knowledge fed her. First, the foreign clan. Their camp spread out as far as the eye could see, tents pitched in perfect lines. In amongst them a small group gathered. Mages they were called. She knew this now. They wore black cloaks, and there was Yuli, meeting with them, his beads of wood on show. They planned the attack. Iluna could understand their language now. Yuli spoke to them with his heavy accented tongue, and she learnt more of his treachery. He’d been in league with this foreign clan for some time, meeting with them often during his hermitage.

  The vision skipped back again, through the cycles of the past. Yuli in their summer grounds in a trance. In the Otherworld he was linked with the Grand Soragan who communicated to him all the lessons of dark magics from the foreign mages. That was how Yuli had grown stronger, more powerful.

  Further back still, Yuli stood at the altar in their winter lands, the snow lay in a blanket that covered the hard grey rock of the chasm. He made a promise to the spirits of Malfir and blood dripped from his hands. In that instant, the essence of his light turned black.

  The cycle turned once more, and it was
now many summers in the past. The Grand Soragan was younger, his features less worn. He traveled in earnest, and in secret and met with one of the mages, Gudmund. They spent a day and a night talking of plans for the future in which the Nordesans would take the lands of the Otter, and Xaroth would be shown the secrets to more power. He knew the sacrifice he was offering.

  Further back, time turned, and the Grand Soragan was even younger. He’d just finished his prenticeship and now set off on his journey to his hermitage. He was heading toward a set of caves to the south, a full two eightnight’s journey from his clan’s summer lands. But when he arrived, it was occupied by the foreign clan. They tried to attack and kill him, but having achieved the power to bind he transformed into his totem – the snake – and escaped. But it was short-lived for the clan threw their dark spears and one struck the snake through the tail. He changed form to his natural state, the spear still wedged firmly in his leg.

  The Nordesans took him in, and healed him. They wanted to understand this new magic. They began to learn each other’s language. The Soragan stayed there for the entirety of his hermitage, and that’s when the plans were first made. The Nordesans were in search of new lands. Their country had been taken from them by a powerful people who built large structures they called ‘fortress’ and ‘temple’.

  The Nordesans did not travel the lands to follow the seasons; rather they stayed in the one place. But their homeland was now occupied; they’d been driven out.

  Xaroth burned with a desire to learn all of their magical secrets. A scene played before Iluna – the Nordesan mages sat in a circle, one of them stood in the center with an ox, a beautiful creature with large dark eyes and a glossy coat. In a flash the mage took a weapon and slashed the beast’s throat. Blood spilled, running over the ground and the ox went to its knees. The mage took an ornate silver cup and filled it with the blood. Xaroth’s eyes were frightened, but he drank the substance down; blood trickled over his chin. He was one of them.

  He grew used to the taste of blood, and then he came to desire it, and the lust-magic, and the power it brought him. He learnt to bend light and travel through the Otherworld, and finally to control the will of others.

  Then the mists swirled and Iluna traveled further through the cycles of time, right back to the beginning when there was just the light and the dark. Then they met with a great explosion, mingling together. Little bits of light lingered in the darkness, and shadows formed on the light, but all was in balance. Things began to take shape. A round rock circled a star and a moon and a sun. On that rock water came together and fell from a sky and creatures were born. The mother, Ona, lived in the same space as the Malfir, but she always in the light, and they always in the dark.

  Awake.

  And all the knowledge of all the universes was hers.

  ∞

  “Iluna.”

  Iluna came out of the trance as one would a dream. Not knowing quite where she was or what had happened.

  “Iluna?”

  She opened her eyes and the glow of an oil pot made her blink.

  “Thank Ona, you’re awake!”

  Her eyes looked up and she saw a young hunter, his golden tips of hair illuminated in the soft light.

  “Are you well?” He put his face closer to hers and his amber eyes showed concern.

  “Anton,” she whispered, reaching out and touching his cheek with her hand. His skin was warm.

  He held her hand with his own. “Here, let me help you.”

  He grabbed her arms and she sat up. Iluna felt giddy and nauseous and bent over to the side. She vomited into the clay pot beside her.

  “Here, drink.” Anton handed her his water skin and she took it and rinsed her mouth before drinking the skin dry, her thirst suddenly overbearing.

  “Thank you.” She wiped her mouth and handed the empty skin back to Anton.

  “I’ll just get rid of this.” He stood and took the clay pot with him outside. When he returned he was carrying another skin of water. He sat by her side and reached out to steady her, holding her shoulder. “You’re not well. What happened?”

  Iluna blinked. She no longer felt nauseous and with every breath she was feeling less dizzy. She tried to recall what had happened, and then it all came back in a flash of memory.

  She scowled and ripped her shoulder away from the hunter.

  “Your brother – he killed my raven!”

  “What?” Anton frowned but his voice was smooth and gentle.

  “My raven,” she cried, “he’s dead because of Yuli. He killed it with a rock and his evil magics.” She sunk her face into her palms, the memory bringing all of the emotion with it.

  Anton put his hand back on her shoulder but she slapped it away.

  “Iluna, please.”

  “Leave me.” She lay down and rolled over; tears soaking the wolfskin beneath her.

  “Shhhh. Iluna, be calm,” Anton said. “Shhhhhh, it’s alright. It’s alright. Just breathe. That’s it, shhhhh.”

  Gradually her breathing lost its jagged edge and slowed. Bit by bit her memory of the visioning returned to her – along with parts of the knowledge. She gasped. Anton had his own part to play in this long circle of time. The tears stopped and she rolled over to look directly into his amber eyes.

  “I’m better now,” she said.

  Anton stared at her. His face bespoke a hunger of some kind and his eyes had that look of hope that she’d seen before. Suddenly he kissed her, with lips soft and warm, and a physical tingling erupted in her belly. He stopped as abruptly as he had started and brought his hands to his eyes. “I’m sorry, Iluna.”

  She reached up and touched his face with gentle fingertips. “Tell me what you wanted to say at the cave.”

  His cheeks burned. “I had an idea, no doubt a foolish one.”

  Iluna sat up and held his hands in hers. “Tell me.”

  Anton took a deep breath. “I thought we could run away – you and me. Find our own lands somewhere.”

  Iluna smiled.

  “We would be happy, just the two of us. We’d find a valley as beautiful as this one, with a river and a nice cave. Or we could make our own tree-dwell. I would hunt and gather enough for both of us. And your magic would protect us. And you’d no longer be a tamatu.” He breathed hard, excitement shining in his eyes. “We could—”

  “Kiss me again,” Iluna said and Anton blinked.

  They kissed and rolled to the wolf skin, their breathing heavy and fast.

  “Wait.” Anoton managed between kisses. “I have to tell – Izhur is worried.”

  But Iluna knew her future, just as she knew her past.

  “We won’t take long, my love,” she whispered, for she knew that Anton was her match. The raven had shown her that, too.

  Anton’s eyes burned and he embraced her with a fire in his arms, kissing her hard. “I love you,” he whispered as he kissed the soft warm flesh of her neck.

  “I know.” She smiled as she held him and watched the flickering flame of the oil pot.

  Izhur

  Izhur found Cypra at the evenfire. She stirred a pot of broth over the coals but stopped when she saw him approach.

  “You look as angry as eight bears in spring, Izhur. What’s happened?”

  Izhur took a breath as he looked over his shoulder. He needed to be calm. “Is Anton with her?” he asked Cypra, keeping his volume low.

  “Yes. I was just about to bring him something to eat. He won’t leave her side. Izhur, what is on your mind?”

  “Come. Let’s get back to them. We must talk.”

  The space around the evenfire was very crowded now as people came to share in the evening meal. Izhur and Cypra walked past Ida who sat with her bond-daughter, Hennita. Anton’s new wife had puffy eyes, red and swollen. Izhur pursed his lips and marched on, Cypra hurrying with him. They could worry about Anton and his wife later.

  Finally, they reached the tent and entered.

  “Thank the mother,” Izhur whisper
ed when his eyes fell on Iluna. She was sitting up, drinking from a steaming cup, Anton at her side. “You’re awake.” Izhur choked a little on the words, and reached out to touch her forehead. “Are you well, child?”

  “I am well, Uncle. Anton only just fetched Amak and she brought me this medicine. I feel good now. But my raven,” her voice caught, “Yuli killed him. We had a strong connection and, when he died, I was drawn into the Otherworld. There is much I learned there.” A tear ran down her cheek and Anton put an arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder.

  Both Izhur and Cypra glanced over them before giving each other a knowing look.

  “I see things have advanced between you two,” Cypra said, one eyebrow raised.

  Izhur brought a hand to his temple. “Anton.” He breathed.

  “I know, Izhur. But it is too late now, and you said yourself time is scant. What do we do now?”

  Izhur stared at him a moment longer before nodding his head and sitting down on the reed mat. “Xaroth is calling for a Grand Council.”

  “What? What is he scheming now?” Cypra sat beside him.

  Izhur relayed to them the discussions in the Soragan’s tent. “Xaroth claims that Yuli has captured one of the enemy; someone called Gudmund.”

  “Gudmund?” Anton looked up, his hunter eyes narrowed. “But that’s not possible. I slew him with my own hand.”

  Iluna put a hand over Anton’s. “No doubt the Nordesan mages have restored him. Their dark magics have such power.”

  “Izhur, this does not bode well.” Cypra’s eyes were full of fear. “I remember what happened at the last Grand Council.”

  Izhur nodded. “As do I, and something tells me this council may follow the very same path. Iluna, are you well enough to overpower Xaroth? We need to break his hold on the others.”

  Iluna looked down at her hands, her dark hair a mess around her shoulders. She appeared every bit the little girl he had protected all of these years, but she was their saviour, and a grown woman. If it wasn’t for her, many would be dead now. Izhur took a deep breath in an attempt to stop the anger from bubbling up. He had to remain calm if he was to bring about justice.