Dark Moon Rising (The Prophecies of Zanufey)

by A. Evermore

  Asaph stretched, spread the giant wings and drove them downwards, lifting his great bulk easily into the air. In the next instance he was no longer running on two legs but soaring above the jungle on massive golden wings after a tiny black bird; no longer human but Dragon and too furious to care who might see him.

  Asaph swiftly gained upon the raven now and soon it was below him. He sunk lower and reached to grab it in a giant claw but it dipped and veered to the right, disappearing into the thick canopy. He dropped lower but daren’t follow for risk of tearing his wings upon the trees. He stalled and searched only to see the raven emerge above the trees further ahead and the chase was on again.

  Home was now far behind but he refused to give in and followed the raven until it disappeared into the trees and did not emerge again. He searched above trying to catch sight of black wings in the darkness of the forest and then he saw it flicker through a small clearing. With a smoky snort he lunged down keeping his wings close as he crashed through the trees and, in the maelstrom, landed quite by surprise in his human form; leaves and branches crashing loudly down around him.

  ‘Hmmmph,’ Asaph said with a satisfied nod, brushing the twigs off his head and shirt. ‘Flawless landing.’

  He looked about him but the raven was nowhere to be seen. He was alone in the thick dark jungle and it was silent, which was odd, he thought, for though the sun had risen there were no animals or birds stirring. The quietness was unnerving.

  ‘I do not know this place,’ he breathed, even though he had tracked these forests for hundreds of miles with the Kuapoh all of his life, he had never been here before.

  ‘They must be ancient,’ he said aloud, marvelling at the massive trunks of the trees around him. He was truly dwarfed by them and even had he still been in Dragon form they would have risen above him. Asaph hated to admit it but he did not actually know what type of tree they were either. Though he could be mistaken, he reasoned, for down here on the forest floor it was quite dark and the sun could not penetrate through the dense canopy. Thick roots rose up through the mossy ground and he had a strong feeling that no human feet had ever disturbed them.

  A garbled caw came from somewhere up ahead, cutting through the silence and making him jump. He darted forward after the raven, jumping nimbly over the gnarly roots.

  ‘Come here you stupid bird,’ he shouted, his words sounding odd in the silence, all muffled and out of place and, for a moment, he felt as if the trees reproached him. He carried on, albeit a little more cautiously.

  The raven was ahead, perched calmly on a low branch; the silver ring shining in its beak, but just as Asaph neared it the bird flew off again. He swore and followed, deciding it was time to up the stakes, and stooped to pick up a fist-sized rock as he ran.

  Again it landed on a branch just ahead of him. He scowled at it but slowed to a crouching walk, the rock ready in his hand. Carefully he aimed it.

  ‘Thief!’ he cried and hurled the rock, but as he did so his foot caught a root and he stumbled and fell, the rock flying harmlessly off course. He tumbled over the roots and down the bank, landing with a thump upon the hard ground. His head spun as he gasped for the air that was knocked out of his lungs. The rock he had thrown tumbled after him and before he could move to avoid it, it knocked him on the head with a resounding thwack. The world spun faster and then went black. The last thing Asaph heard was a satisfied, beak-filled, caw.

  Asaph stood on endless dunes under a starlit sky, wind howling and circling around him, tugging frantically at his clothes and hair. Ahead of him, about ten paces away, stood three great stones plunging out of the sand, two upright and one straddling them. They were quite beautiful for they shimmered silver and gold like clusters of stars in the night sky and immaculately smooth, with rounded precisely carved edges.

  Asaph stared about him, where on earth was he and what was this strange place? He went closer to the shimmering stones to inspect them. But as he reached to touch them there appeared beside him a tall and slender figure shrouded in a dark cloak, face lost inside a hood. Asaph jumped back in surprise but feelings of love and peace emanated from the figure, spreading a wave of calm over him.

  Slowly a pale, feminine, hand raised and pointed to the sand. At her bidding the grains lifted into the air and swirled in tiny eddies that began to flash and sparkle, as if she commanded an unseen and unfelt magic.

  Asaph stared on open-mouthed and as watched he saw images form in those glimmering eddies. A small wooden boat took shape and in it was an old man cloaked in grey, sleeping. A raven sat at the prow and in its beak held a silver ring. Asaph looked back at the cloaked woman and frowned, wondering what was happening.

  ‘I do not understand.’

  She did not reply but instead wrote in the air with one long luminous finger. Fire burned where she touched the air and the word ‘MURLONIUS’ was written in flames. He whispered the name to himself.

  ‘What does it mean?’ he asked, frowning in confusion.

  Remaining silent she beckoned to him. Hesitantly Asaph walked towards her, though he could sense no threat or see a weapon, she knew how to use magic and seemed very powerful. He tentatively took her outstretched hand. He gasped from the coolness and purity of her touch; it felt as if he held the purest light in his grasp.

  Then there came a great gust of wind that threatened to tear his clothes off. The sand, dark blue in the night, swirled around them in thick ribbons. He shielded his eyes against the stinging grains with his other arm, barely able to make out the dark figure beside him. Then a protective ball of unseen energy enclosed them, keeping the sand away.

  Asaph did not feel movement but all of a sudden the wind dropped and the sand disappeared, along with the desert, and he found himself stood before a thick wooden door upon which was carved a huge, protruding, Dragonhead. He gawped at the door and then shot a hand up to shield his eyes again when it flared into a blinding white light. Either the door had opened or turned into the white light and they were passing through it. Then the light was gone.

  He yelped and grasped her arm for in a blink they were flying bodily, faster than any bird or Dragon, over snow-capped mountains he did not recognise. But the cloaked woman held his hand firmly in an iron grip and he wondered at her strength for such a small slender hand.

  Beneath their feet sped rich green pastures and forests, twinkling lakes and gushing rivers that emptied into an ocean gleaming sapphire blue under not one but two bright yellow suns. Clouds clustered and formed out of nowhere and soon became grey and heavy with rain, blotting out the suns. The storm came swiftly, stinging rain drenched them, and thunder deafened, but they did not falter, as they sped through the lightning and rain.

  Asaph knew that if he tried to understand what was happening and had happened in the last few minutes he would pass out with exhaustion, such was the speed at which things unfolded. It was as if he were in a dream, only that everything was happening three times faster than normal. He chanced a squinting glance at the dark robed figure beside him but her face was forever cloaked and her perfect luminous hand held his fast, and in some respects he found it comforting.

  A red-bricked castle loomed ahead, bigger than any building he had ever seen, even through The Recollection, and his jaw dropped when he saw around its turrets Dragons circling. He wanted to go to them but instead she plunged them towards two great doors, guarded by two more Dragons that stood still as statues, and into the fortress through the massive doorway. He gawped at them as they flashed passed but had no time to speak a greeting. They did not even flinch and he wondered if their passing either went unnoticed or was accepted and unacknowledged.

  Hallways, high and wide enough for Dragons to pass side by side, stretched out in all directions creating a maze of red brick tunnels and patterned floors that Asaph was sure he would never in a lifetime find a way out of. Dotted here and there along the hallways were ornately carved arches leading into huge rooms through which other doors led. Some arches led out onto
great platforms like the one they had entered upon, only smaller.

  All of these things Asaph only had time to glimpse as they sped through the air at a dizzying speed. And then, abruptly, they stopped and Asaph found himself swaying on his feet alone before a large oak door. He steadied himself against the wall and looked around but the cloaked woman was gone and he could not feel her presence. He turned back to the door and as he did so it swung silently open of its own accord. Feeling compelled, he stepped through, the door closing softly behind him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Trial By Fire

  It was dark at first but as his eyes adjusted, the room slowly took form. It was octagonal in shape and each wall had a tall window made of glass fashioned into a myriad of plants and flowers in all shades of blue, purple and green.

  Blue stone pillars supported the high arched ceiling; thick candles stood in each corner, the flames reflecting off the glass and casting the room in a low almost otherworldly light. The room was cool and he could faintly smell the freshness of the ocean that surrounded and pounded upon this great fortress.

  In the centre of the room stood a high round altar made of the same red stone from which the fortress was constructed. His eyes were drawn to the blue flame that burned above it, he had never seen fire that colour before and it was large, the size of his fist. He thought it was made of glass until it flickered briefly and was still again. There was no fuel it used to burn but was alight all by itself. A cleansing purity emanated from it that spread a feeling of calm. He was so entranced by the flame that he did not at first hear a woman speak his name.

  Asaph came to his senses and stared at her. She stood as motionless as the flame across from which she stood. Her pale complexion and long pastel blue clothes blended her into the surreal light of the room and, like the flame, he wondered if she too were real for he could see straight through her.

  Despite her illusory form her facial features stood out sharply, serving to add to her unearthly look. She was beautiful in an unusual way for she was not completely human; tall, slender, with long graceful limbs, her skin was pale pearlescent pink, high cheekbones set in an oval face, made more so by her head that was slightly longer than a human’s. Her large eyes were steeply slanted and gleamed luminous violet. Her ears were long and thin, pointing upwards like an Elf’s only longer and thinner. Her long straight hair was nearly white with the faintest hint of blue and held back in a silver circlet high upon her head, accentuating her aquiline features.

  Recognition stirred in his Dragon memory, for some part of him knew her ethnicity through his own ancestors. She made the beautiful Elves he had glimpsed in The Recollection look positively awkward and ugly by comparison. A warm smile formed on her small pale lips and Asaph found himself bowing awkwardly to the woman he recognised as one of the Ancients.

  ‘I am Asaph, er, from Drax, though I have lived my whole life in the Unchartered Lands, as it is called in the Old World,’ he stumbled over the words uncertainly, feeling confused about his origins. He straightened and felt foolish for waffling, surely he was not here to talk about where he lived. She inclined her head politely in greeting.

  ‘I am Yisufalni, High Priestess of the Usteralax peoples, daughter of King Fulucia,’ her voice rang out around him, rich and full, ‘I am the last of my people to still walk Maioria, those you call the Ancients, though I remain hidden to the world and deliberately so.’

  The name “Usteralax” echoed within Asaph’s Dragon memory, though no images came to mind. As if answering his thoughts she added, ‘We were one of the last peoples to leave Maioria in search of another world. Tired of the wars that plagued the land, fearful of the Immortal Lord’s growing might, and seeing our terrible destiny written in the stars, we tried to leave.

  ‘But we all shared the same fate, Asaph. Baelthrom broke free of the prison we put him in and slaughtered us in revenge. There was no other world for us. Our sacred land we called Aralanastias was nothing but a fervent hope. Death found us, but it was not the Night Goddess who saved us.

  ‘Many of my people’s souls are forever trapped in the Shadowlands, imprisoned for eternity as punishment for imprisoning the Immortal Lord.’ She fell silent, her eyes glistening with tears like liquid silver. She swallowed hard as if there was a lump in her throat. Asaph felt her pain as his own but was powerless to offer comfort. After a moment she spoke again in a low voice.

  ‘We lingered long enough to see a dark hope form in the sky, for the Night Goddess will not be denied her children forever; she will not forget them...’ she trailed off and smiled once more. ‘But we must put the past aside, for now our task is most pressing. For a long time I have awaited a sign of change and now that sign has come, young Dragon Lord.’

  Asaph started at the name, she knew who he was, somehow. He got the impression that she knew or could see many things most others could not. She did not pause.

  ‘The dark moon is rising, Asaph, the time of Zanufey is upon us to lead us through the darkness. Her disciple will soon walk among us to help free the imprisoned and face the Immortal Lord before all is lost and consumed by the Dark Rift.’

  ‘Who is her disciple?’ Asaph asked, suddenly filled with questions burning for the answers he had so far failed to find. ‘Why are all these strange things happening to me? I do not understand...’ he shook his head.

  ‘Yes, a part of you understands deeply, young Draxian,’ she said. ‘Your dreams are calling you and you have a great part to play in bringing Zanufey’s Chosen One to power. Why else do you think her Chosen One has plagued your dreams all your life?’

  Asaph shook his head in disbelief, how could she know all of this? ‘I fell I...’ he shook his head, ‘... I was chasing a raven. It stole my mother’s ring...’ but then I saw the desert and the figure that was darkness itself. He did not speak the last but somehow, again, she had seen his thoughts.

  ‘Yes, Zanufey brought you here to the Tower of the Flame within the Dragon Dream; the raven is her messenger. Her Chosen One is in terrible danger and if there came such a time it is the task of the Dawn Bringer to assist. If her disciple should fall there can be two others to take her place. Baelthrom knows this and so he is moving swiftly, far more swiftly than any of us could ever have foreseen. It is likely there will not be enough time to choose another for they must be chosen before birth.’

  ‘I saw more,’ Asaph said quietly, wondering if he should reveal any more to this strange interesting woman. ‘She showed me a man in a boat and... drew the name “Murlonius” in fire, in the sand. I don’t know what it means.’ He wondered at the pain that flickered across her face as she looked away.

  ‘Yes, that is his name,’ she whispered, staring into the blue flame. ‘Of course,’ she sighed in revelation, ‘there is no other way to get to the Shadowlands. She is showing you how to get to a realm only the dead may enter; and Murlonius is the only one who can take you there.’

  ‘Where must I go, my lady? What must I do?’ he asked softly, wanting nothing more than to comfort the sorrow that shrouded her and stop the danger to the girl in his dreams.

  ‘You must find Zanufey’s Chosen One, you must find the Raven Child,’ she looked back at him, capturing him in those violet eyes. ‘As we speak she remains trapped in the Shadowlands, Dragon Lord, yet she is not dead.’ Yisufalni continued, ‘No living being can survive for long in the realm of the dead for the despair and hopelessness consumes them.’

  ‘Only the damned descend to the Shadowlands!’ Asaph all but shouted, ‘It is a hell of the soul, a prison that none can escape. How can I even reach her in that forsaken place?’ The words tumbled from his lips in a torrent. Coronos had many times spoken of that dreaded place. Those in the Shadowlands were the damned, Forsaken and Lost; the memory of who they were faded away and instead grief and bitterness consumed them, turning them into all the things they longed not to be until they could no longer see the light, wandering forever the wastelands of the soul.

  ‘Why i
s she there? It cannot be,’ he shook his head and looked at the floor. ‘I try to reach her in my dreams but always she slips away from me,’ he whispered, clenching his fist, his neck muscles hurt with tension. ‘Why does the Night Goddess not save her? What can I do? I have no power.’

  ‘The Night Goddess is saving her…’ Yisufalni held his gaze, ‘through you.’

  Asaph laughed in disbelief.

  ‘The Immortal Lord hunts her,’ Yisufalni continued, ‘Keteth hunts her. They sense the old power that is strong in her. How else could her spirit call to you? She refuses to believe that death is the end. She has run from Keteth and eluded Baelthrom for a long time; her strength cannot be denied. To survive the Shadowlands so long before oblivion comes...’ Yisufalni shook her head, but Asaph saw a gleam of wonder in her eyes that became a frown of worry. ‘But her life force dims by the hour as she falls into shadow. Soon she will be lost forever and then so to will we.

  ‘You cannot save her in your dreams because you cannot reach her that way; and besides, Baelthrom can access the dream worlds and control them more easily than the waking world… it is far too dangerous. You see it is through the White Beast that Baelthrom controls the Pathways into the Shadowlands. But now the Night Goddess has come to you to show you a way. There is a man, an ancient man Baelthrom has forgotten. He can traverse in secret all the Pathways between all the realms of Maioria. Seek the boatman, Asaph, find Murlonius when the sun sets and the night is at its darkest.’

  ‘How do you know all of this? What does it mean to you?’ he asked, eyes narrowing in sudden suspicion. Perhaps she was a trickster, one of Baelthrom’s spies, but as soon as he thought it he felt it was not true and resolved to cautiously trust her.

  ‘I know all of this because I am cursed and blessed to reside on a higher plane to your world, but though I can see much of what is happening I have no power of my own to affect it. This place, the Tower of the Flame, is one of the few places I may reach in my true form because it resides just outside of the mortal planes. Do not worry, you will learn more about the Tower of the Flame another time. Look at the flame, Dragon Lord. You see that it is blue?’