by A. Evermore
‘I guess, as always, your decision is final,’ Asaph said with a loud sigh. ‘Well, maybe it would be good to have some company, I would be a fool to say I wasn’t afraid,’ Asaph admitted, his chin set as he watched the calm ocean, ‘but I must find her.’
One day Asaph would realise he was as stubborn as he himself was, Coronos thought with an inward smile. He only half-believed such a ‘boatman’ would come at all, though he knew better than to mock any such visions or experiences. He was fearful of such a journey but also terribly excited, and he would not leave the young man’s side, especially since Asaph had not left the safety of the Kuapoh in his whole life.
He said no more, however, and they waited in silence as the evening darkened. Soon it was night and so dark that neither man could see the other, though they could feel each other’s comforting presence. The only sound was the waves lapping on the shore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Boatman
Asaph waited for a long time, wondering if there would be a sign, something to tell him when to speak the name given to him by the Night Goddess. He dared not speak her true name, not even in his head, and he often doubted if any of it had truly happened at all. But then he thought of the girl, and prayed that it was true. He glanced at Coronos but the man stood still as a statue, his face set and equally statuesque. Asaph wondered what he was thinking but could not clearly read his father’s features in the dark. After minutes or hours, Asaph could not be sure, no sign had come and so he decided to speak the name anyway.
‘Murlonius,’ he said softly, his voice disturbingly loud in the silence, echoed briefly before fading away. They both waited with baited breath, peering into the night, both wondering what, if anything, would happen. And then, in the darkness out to sea, a pale mist grew slowly spreading towards them.
Soon Asaph could just make out the prow of a boat and then the whole boat. He admired the boat’s design for its dark wood was painstakingly smoothed and ornately carved into the head of a sea serpent. In the serpent’s clenched teeth swung a thick-glassed lantern from which a soft orange glow radiated. Rowing the boat was a masculine figure, cloaked and hooded.
When the boat neared the shore the figure stood. He would have been tall had he not been stooped over with age. His gnarled and wrinkled hands were all bone and twisted with arthritis as he held the oars. Asaph could not see his face for it was shrouded in the heavy hood of his cloak. With an oar he guided the boat into the shallows where he waited motionless. There were no waves; the sea was still like a mirror, creating a perfect upside-down reflection of the boat.
Coronos and Asaph glanced at each other wide-eyed and then waded out to the boat as one. Without a word they got in behind the boatman and sat on thick rugs at the stern. Remaining silent the boatman pushed them gently from the shore then turned and sat to face them, picked up the other oar and began to row rhythmically. The shore disappeared into the darkness and the mist engulfed them.
Slowly the mist grew brighter until it was as bright as daylight and the ocean sparkled like a thousand diamonds. All the while Asaph’s eyes were transfixed upon the hooded figure. Finally he could hold his tongue no more and leant forwards, daring to speak.
‘How do you know where we are going?’
The boatman did not answer immediately, his rhythmic rowing did not falter, and Asaph began to wonder if he would answer at all or even if he could, but then he spoke.
‘I have waited so long for this day, I had given up all hope that it would come,’ the voice that came from within the hood was low and deep and sorrowful, instantly reminding Asaph of Yisufalni. The boatman stopped rowing and reached into the sack at his feet. Asaph barely concealed a gasp as he pulled out a large heavy hourglass noticing he too had six fingers on each hand. The upper bulb of the hourglass was one quarter full and pinkish sand trickled slowly through the bottleneck. He looked at it a moment and it seemed the sand slowed and then, without ceremony, he placed it back in the sack, leaving the other men wondering.
As he did so Asaph noticed the boatman’s hands, at first shrivelled and darkened with age, slowly turned pale as the age spots and thick, dark, veins disappeared, becoming smooth and flawless like a young man’s hands. His gnarled, swollen, fingers bent with arthritis, slowly straightened until they were long and elegant, showing none of the signs of age. Asaph continued to stare as the boatman changed; his stooped back began to straighten until he sat erect and taller by an inch or so than all of them. His thin, sunken, shoulders were broad now and there was an air of pride and strength about him.
‘The dark moon rises,’ the boatman said, his voice was low and full of melody, as if he somehow sung the words, ‘and there is only one that would speak aloud my name at such a time, Dawn Bringer. Or should I say King Asaph.’ As he spoke he pulled back his hood and Asaph found himself staring into the man’s face. He felt Coronos shift and grasp his staff protectively, ready to fight if needed.
At first the boatman’s face was so wrinkled with age beyond belief that Asaph could not quite see his weepy eyes through the folds of thin flesh. But as the light touched him a shimmer formed around his face and the lines and wrinkles firmed and tightened to reveal eyes that were filled with cataracts, like milky galaxies in a watery void. Those misty galaxies began to swirl and clear until eyes the colour of violets looked back at him, bright and filled with ancient wisdom such as he had only glimpsed in The Recollection. Bloodless lips, once drawn down with loose skin and weariness, were now pale pink and smiling faintly.
An old man’s face, so withered with age that it could have belonged to any race, had healed to become a young man’s face, and Asaph could now see his unmistakeable features clearly. Tall forehead and slightly longer skull, ears that had been hidden behind grey, oily, hair now stood tall and pointed through long, straight, hair that was soft lilac-grey. His pale features were handsome and aquiline like Yisufalni’s, his violet eyes were rich and unwrinkled but held wisdom far beyond the age he now looked.
Asaph lowered his eyes and awkwardly bowed from his seat. A wide-eyed Coronos did the same as he murmured, ‘Greetings, Ancient.’
Murlonius frowned at the address and then a smile broke across his face, ‘Yes, that is what we were called, I had forgotten, it has been so long.’
Asaph and Coronos straightened. Seeing their confusion the boatman said, ‘It is only on your shores, my old world, where my true age is revealed. Out here,’ he indicated the vast expanse of glimmering ocean, ‘I have no age.’ He fell silent briefly and then of a sudden asked, ‘Tell me, did you see her?’ his violet eyes were feverish and raw with need.
‘Yisufalni, an Ancient like you, told me to speak your name and you would take us to the Shadowlands,’ Asaph said, wondering if that was what the boatman meant. Murlonius looked away into the distance, lost in his own thoughts, and a strange half smile of something akin to wonder formed on his face, but then his eyes clouded and he looked down into the boat. He picked up the oars and began rowing rhythmically once more. Though he did not know the man, Asaph sensed the boatman’s sorrow just as he had sensed Yisufalni’s, but could find no words of comfort that might help.
‘Did you know her?’ Asaph chanced.
The boatman’s face was a mask. After a long while he began to speak, ‘Yes, many years ago…’, he shook his head, ‘my secrets are my own, for the safety of all,’ he finished with a sigh.
Asaph turned the boatman’s words around and around in his head, trying to uncover their meaning. He gave up but was respectful enough not to ask any more on the subject, though he longed to know more about this mysterious boatman who revealed so little about himself.
‘Will it take long to reach the Shadowlands?’ Asaph asked lightly.
‘No. Not across these seas. I must only conceal our movements from those that would do us harm.’
Asaph nodded, considering his words and reluctantly thinking of the white beast in his nightmares. They were all silent for a while, the o
nly sound the water falling from the oars as they rose and fell.
‘What ocean is this, Murlonius, it moves unlike any I have seen before for it either has no tide or all tides weaving together.’ Coronos said, after a time.
‘This is no ocean, as such. We travel through a place between worlds, a place between Maioria and the dimension above, it is a no-place and I am cursed to abide within it,’ Murlonius’s face was grim.
‘How do you know which way to go? I see nothing but shimmering waves and a sky to match,’ Coronos said, looking out at the endless expanse of shining sea barely distinguishable from the white sky above.
‘The King has chosen the destination, I but guide us along the path following his will,’ Murlonius replied and, after a moment, added, ‘We are here.’ He stopped rowing.
Asaph and Coronos looked around, seeing nothing but the mist and sea as before. Asaph was about to speak, but then the mist cleared a little and a marshy wetland took shape around them. The boatman stood and, with one oar, paddled them through the tall marshes, coming to a stop at a grassy bank.
‘Only the King has been allowed passage through the Shadowlands,’ Murlonius said to Coronos, ‘It is my fervent recommendation that you remain on these shores at the edge of this cursed place, and watch for my return.’
Coronos looked as though he was about to protest but something changed within him as he scanned the ashen green trees in the distance and shivered. He stood unsteadily in the boat and changed the subject.
‘What is the payment?’ Coronos asked, as the boat stilled.
‘There is nothing you could give that I need. My payment will be to see the Immortal Lord, the one who cursed me, fall. And to be with her again,’ Murlonius said, but before Coronos could ask anymore, he added, ‘Hurry, I cannot linger long in any one place.’
As soon as they were out of the boat Murlonius pushed off with his oar.
‘Wait,’ Coronos and Asaph called out in unison, neither one wanting to be left stranded in this place. ‘How will we leave here? Can we be sure to trust you?’ Coronos said.
‘I will return when the King speaks my name again, at this same place. Regarding trust, I am bound to my duty through more than courtesy and, despite my curse, we are fighting on the same side, in our own way,’ Murlonius replied with a half smile, his voice already distant, and soon the mist engulfed him once more.
The glimmering white mist disappeared with the boatman and they stood alone in a darker, greyer, world. Asaph pulled his cloak closer, finding the silence heavy and foreboding. Murlonius was right, it was not a place for the living and they were most definitely unwelcome here. The trees were ashen and stood like lifeless shadows, the reeds hung limply and no bird or animal could be heard or seen. The air was cold, damp and, rather than filled with rich scents of growth, smelt of mustiness and decay as if the plants were rotting from within. The sky was completely grey as if one flat cloud permanently covered it and Asaph got the feeling that no sun ever shone here.
‘We should not be here,’ Coronos said, echoing his thoughts.
Asaph looked around him, lost. ‘Which way do we go?’
‘Have faith, I guess,’ Coronos said with a shrug, equally lost, but before he had finished speaking, a shadow passed overhead. A raven landed on the branch of a tree inland a little way ahead, bowing it down with its weight. The raven’s dense black form seemed like a black hole appearing in the fabric of the Shadowlands; it seemed more solid than the trees around it and certainly did not look as though it belonged here. The two men looked at each other and laughed.
‘We are to follow the raven then,’ Asaph said, at the same time Coronos spoke, ‘The Night Goddess’s messenger.’ Then Coronos shook his head.
‘Not I, I will remain here, Murlonius is right, though I hate to admit it. You must walk this part of the journey alone, as you have done so in your dreams. If what you say is true then the Night Goddess will protect only your passage through this nightmare of a place, the raven is proof of that. I will wait for you even as I wait for the boatman; I would not have him leave here without us. Have no fear, my son, I will be with you from afar.’ The old man smiled and tapped his pocket where the orb was, as if to reassure, but Asaph could tell he really did not want him to go alone.
Asaph was about to protest, equally not wanting to go alone, but he did not want to ignore Murlonius’s wisdom. Besides, Coronos will be safer here, he consoled himself.
‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ he said, and without delaying further, scrambled up the grassy bank, picking his way less than elegantly across the marshes towards the raven. As he neared, it flew to another tree and in this manner he followed it, turning once to wave at Coronos before disappearing into the darkness of the woods.
Once alone, Coronos shivered and pulled his cloak closer. The cold here seemed to eat him from within and the damp air made his joints ache. He watched the young man leave with fear in his heart. He will be all right; he is stronger than you think, his inner voice said, but still, worry nagged him.
Asaph was twenty-five years old, how quickly time had passed, he thought, for Coronos remembered his birth like it was yesterday. It was as if all the pain and sorrow of one’s life was relived again in the Shadowlands and he found himself wondering if his own daughter’s birth, over forty years ago, had been similar. Had she cried and screamed? Would she look as beautiful and fair as her mother had? He sighed remembering too his long lost lover. He could never forget that heart-shaped face and deep blue eyes.
‘Ah my only daughter, how I wish now I had watched you grow into a woman and been the father you so deserve,’ he whispered. Then he covered his eyes with his hand and leant heavily on his staff as the sorrow came, tears shed for all that had happened, all that had been lost. In Asaph’s absence, alone here in the Shadowlands, he let his grief consume him, willing to be rid of it.
After a time he felt the orb’s weight heavy within his cloak, as if it was trying to drag him away from the past. He wiped his eyes and looked fearfully out at the Shadowlands.
‘This place is consumed with grief,’ he breathed, ‘we will become shadows here ourselves if we stay too long.’ But more than this place he feared most for the future. I cannot lose another so dear to my heart. Asaph will return, I know it. He gripped his staff tightly, reaching deep within himself to shield against the desolation of the Land of Shadows.
‘If we return to the Old World safely, I shall try my hardest to find you, my daughter,’ he whispered into the grey mist.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Raven And The Ring
Asaph wasn’t sure how long he had been following the raven, time was different here; in fact time seemed not to exist at all for nothing changed or moved, not even a leaf in a breeze, if there had indeed been a breeze.
There was no sun or stars from which to gauge time either. All was static, frozen, lifeless and everything from the trees to the rocks upon the ground were as shadows, pale and indistinct. The warmth and light of Feygriene’s sun did not penetrate the Shadowlands; even the Night Goddess herself did not tread here.
Aside from him, the only other being was the raven that flew ahead on silent wings and he followed it on silent feet; sweat soon trickling down his face and soaking his shirt as he struggled to keep pace. Right now he fervently wished he could call his Dragon form at will, but he was far from feeling the rage that seemed to make it come and, in this the Land of Shadows, he had no power.
They came to the edge of the forest where sodden grey sand dunes took the place of trees and beyond them a sandy cove. He looked to his left where the land rose up to form high jagged cliffs of black rock. ‘I know them well,’ he breathed, remembering them in his dreams, the place where she fell from his out-stretched hands.
Asaph emerged from the trees and the silence and stillness were replaced with ravaging, gusting, winds; as if he had stepped into yet another world. The sea was a frenzy of crashing waves, vivid white surf under black clouds that r
aced across the sky. His hair lashed his face and his eyes stung with the rain. Earlier he had felt unwelcome in this place but now he felt active malice.
He looked at the ocean as he fought against the wind to wrap his cloak around him. There was something chilling about the sea, the way the foam-covered waves crashed and raked the rocks, as if it were a living thing trying to claw its way to him. He was not wanted here and his mind screamed at him to leave.
The raven landed before him, staggering a little under its own weight in the wind. He caught a flash of silver and saw the ring, his mother’s ring, gleaming in its black beak that he had not noticed before.
‘Hey, thief! That’s my ring!’ he cried and lunged at the bird but it deftly jumped away. Asaph lunged again and again, suddenly having the distinct feeling that the raven was enjoying it. With a loud sigh he stood up and brushed the sand from his shirt, ‘I refuse to play this ridiculous game again,’ he said, more than a little annoyed. The raven made a short sound like a creaking door and looked up at him, seemingly in disappointment.
Asaph looked away from the bird, deliberately ignoring it, and his eyes were drawn to a lonely figure ahead and he forgot about the ring. He squinted in disbelief and his heart fluttered lightly.
Could it be her? No, I must be dreaming.
But as he blinked the figure only became clearer, stood as she was before the crashing waves, dressed only in rags held around her by a thick belt.
‘It cannot be,’ he breathed, but his keen Dragon sight was not deceiving him. He could just make out her profile, straight delicate nose and alabaster skin; tall and slender as in his dreams, her long dark hair hung loose down her back and every now and then the wind would pick it up and toss it wildly about her shoulders. He had accepted the quest to find her but never had he prepared himself to actually meet her and now she was here he did not know what to do.
