Dark Moon Rising (The Prophecies of Zanufey)

by A. Evermore

  In her mind’s eye she followed the candlelight into the depths of the ocean. Down where that behemoth moved, bloated, corrupt and evil. She tried to pull away but it was as if she were trapped in honey and a sickly desire to go to it moved within her.

  ‘Issa!’

  Freydel’s voice cut through those dark waters and suddenly she was looking into the Wizard’s concerned face, the magic from his command glittered in the air. She blinked and looked around her. Freydel held her by the shoulders, supporting her. They were both alone beside the river, the people’s voices growing fainter in the distance.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she said, but her voice was faint and her mind cloudy, ‘... in the depths, where it is dark...’

  ‘...He lurks there, I know, and he is close too, for I can feel his twisted magic even here,’ Freydel said, finishing her sentence. His eyes grew wide with realisation, ‘He knows, of course he knows!’

  ‘Knows what?’ Issa frowned.

  Freydel turned to her excitedly, ‘Knows the prophecy, knows the power. Of course he would know more than any of us, especially when...’ Freydel trailed off, his excitement fading. ‘... Knows his fate is coming to pass,’ he shook his head. ‘Never mind, we mustn’t talk of these things now, let us join the others. Let us celebrate! I need more time to think on this before I speak,’ he said, tugging thoughtfully on his beard.

  Freydel led her along the path to catch up with the others, his staff glowing brighter at his command to light the way. She gladly took his arm. The vision had left her disturbed and drained.

  Without all the candles and only the soft light from Freydel’s staff, Issa found she could see surprisingly well in the darkness. Wondering how, she unhooked her arm from Freydel’s and slipped off the bracelet Ely had given her. Nothing changed, only that it felt like she was missing something. She could still feel the whole forest pulsing with life, regardless. She slipped the bracelet back on, feeling whole once more.

  ‘Ah,’ said Freydel in surprise, ‘Ely’s mother’s bracelet. Goodness me, I have not seen that in many years. A Healer’s bracelet,’ he explained, ‘her mother had quite a talent for healing the sick; and for enchanting trinkets such as those,’ he smiled at her.

  ‘Yes, she gave it to me, though I did not want to take so precious an item,’ Issa said, tracing the gleaming silver leaves.

  ‘Keep it. The Lady Ely does few things without a purpose. And to give something such as that, she must have had a good reason.’

  Issa smiled, ‘Yes, I think she did,’ she murmured.

  She could feel Freydel watching her from the corner of his eye as they walked; it seemed she was also keenly sensitive to anyone watching her lately. She tried to pretend she didn’t notice him watching and instead absorbed herself in the world around her. Keteth’s presence was near, enough even for Freydel to sense it too. Could Freydel also sense the changes she was feeling in herself?

  Suddenly Issa felt feral eyes upon her. She looked up into the dense foliage above them. An owl’s huge saucepan-like orbs stared back at her and she stopped, focusing her attention upon it. She could ‘feel’ its presence, she was always sensitive to animals but this time it was far stronger. Could it also feel hers?

  Issa blinked and stared dumbfounded down at herself from the owl’s perch. She blinked again but still saw herself from above: was the owl also looking up at her through her own eyes? The wind rustled her feathers and she felt a keen wild urge to hunt. Issa shook her head, her head or the bird’s? She could not be sure. She focused intently on her human form, blinked, and was back in her own body, relieved but feeling empty and tame. The owl ruffled its feathers and flew off on silent wings to resume its hunt.

  Freydel was watching her intently.

  ‘Did you see...?’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t see anything more than felt it,’ he said, ‘it’s the same feeling I get when around any Daluni, I had wondered what it was I felt before and now it’s obvious.’

  ‘Daluni?’

  ‘Animal Speakers. They have a rare gift; they can “converse” with animals. Or rather understand what an animal is thinking, as can the animal understand their thoughts.’

  Issa immediately thought of Duskar. ‘But that was always part of my ability to help heal animals, only now it seems really strong,’ she mused. ‘I didn’t speak with the owl, rather it seems I became it, or the owl became me. Either way we were one, or two joined together…’ she frowned in confusion.

  ‘Healers and Daluni are quite separate gifts but each has many dimensions no doubt,’ Freydel mused. ‘I had not thought this would happen, but of course it makes sense now. A gift fitting for any Child of the Raven.’ But he murmured the last too quietly for her to hear for they had neared the castle grounds where warm port was being served and music and drunken singing again abounded.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  High Priestess

  Issa awoke and grimaced as Cirosa’s face drifted down into the fog of her consciousness, a fog formed from nearly two days’ worth of celebrations. Her head swum and her stomach lurched and she tried to go back to sleep but that face and her churning stomach would not let her.

  With a sigh she pulled herself out of bed, drained the pitcher of water beside her, not even bothering with a cup, and began mentally preparing herself for today’s dreaded meeting. She was not afraid of the Priestess, she just couldn’t stand her.

  As if mirroring her mood the day was hot, sticky and overcast with a strong threat of rain. Even after she washed she had begun to sweat uncomfortably in the humidity. A strong cup of spring nettle tea helped settle her stomach a little and seemed to be what everyone else was drinking at breakfast. The weary looks of maids and guests told her she did not suffer alone.

  Freydel was already waiting for her in the courtyard. He was mounted atop Tak, his tall dark grey stallion. He and the horse were perfectly still, as if they were both deep in thought. He jumped when she spoke and smiled down at her, though anxiousness clouded his eyes.

  A stable girl led forward Ely’s mild-mannered mare, Izy, for Issa to ride. Tied to the mare was an unusually docile Duskar. Issa patted Izy and then went to Duskar. She stroked his nose speaking soft and soothing words and his ears flicked back and forth.

  ‘I thought it would be a good idea to get him used to being away from the stables and in your company. After an hour of trying and speaking your name he suffered the halter but not the saddle,’ Ely said coming up beside them.

  ‘Maybe next time,’ Issa smiled, pleased that Duskar allowed that much. ‘Is it far to the temple?’ she asked, as Ely helped her mount the gentle mare.

  ‘A couple of hours’ ride, not far,’ Freydel said, and Tak stamped his feet impatiently, as if keen to be off.

  Issa waved goodbye and they set of at a steady trot whilst the terrain was grassy and flat. They passed through several villages on the way and always, on seeing Freydel, the children came up and ran beside them, laughing as he performed magic tricks. Even she laughed as a shower of petals fell around them and became butterflies that the children tried to catch. Their parents smiled and waved for it was he to whom they turned when they were sick or injured, Freydel explained.

  A rumble of distant thunder urged them on at a quicker pace, though Issa would have liked to stay and talk with them; partly to learn more about the people and this sacred isle and partly to delay the inevitable meeting.

  They came to the edge of the woods before a sunny grassy meadow when panic gripped her. Her head throbbed and her sight blurred and she was sure she could hear the raven cawing from somewhere. In a blink she was cowering in the top most branches of a tree, her feet and tail tightly gripping the rough bark and her eyes transfixed upon a dark shape gliding overhead, its form flickering through the gaps in the green leaves. Her heart beat harder than ever she had known it and she was trembling all over.

  The shape above had the body like a vulture but bigger, the unkempt dark feathers were slick as if coated in oi
l. Its face, neck and chest was human and beautiful with plump red lips, smooth skin and the bare breasts of a young woman. But the eyes were black and the stench of corruption lay thick about it. The bird woman screeched, its beautiful face contorting into a snarl revealing many black fangs. Issa squeaked and tore her eyes away.

  ‘Harpy!’ Freydel rasped far below her, ‘Back into the woods, quick!’

  Issa blinked, there came a tearing sound and then the vision was gone, she was back in her body sat atop a trembling mare. She turned Izy around and spurred her deeper into the woods after Freydel, glancing up as she did so to see a tiny brown monkey in the branches screeching its warning to others. It glanced down at her and stared far too long for an animal in a panic, and then it leapt deftly through the treetops and disappeared.

  Beyond it she spotted the dark shape of the raven and relaxed a little. Duskar was not quivering but his ears were pricked and his muscles bunched taut and ready to fight.

  ‘I have not seen one of those for a long time, and certainly not in Celene. I wonder what has brought it here,’ he said quietly, watching the Harpy glide low above the treetops. ‘We’re lucky; it hasn’t spotted us, yet it knows something is here. I daren’t use magic; it would feel the spell before I could cast it. They, too, are wielders of magic. I do not fear one alone but they are rarely far from their flock unless on some mission. This one could be a scout. Demons curse it! This is very bad indeed, they are in league with Baelthrom.’

  Beyond the treetops to the west, heavy clouds were gathering and there came another rumble of thunder. It was enough to make the Harpy circle once more and then fly away back to wherever it had come from. They waited several minutes longer before heading cautiously back to the clearing. Issa relaxed a little when she saw the raven swoop ahead across the meadow. They went silently and swiftly now, though the terrain turned craggier.

  Eventually Issa spotted the sea in the distance as they neared the eastern coast. And then, as if appearing out of nowhere, a glistening white turret rose out of the trees as they rounded a bend. They rounded another bend and the whole temple was visible. Issa marvelled at its beauty for though the day was dark and stormy the temple gleamed brilliant white, even brighter in the darkness.

  It had no angular edges, all was made of smooth-flowing stone as if hewn and moulded from a single rock. There was an ancient sacredness about the place but despite her feelings of reverence it lacked something. It was a beautiful shell but the precious pearl inside was now gone; like an ancient tomb of a great hero who was long forgotten and all that remained of their legacy was cold hard crumbling stone.

  ‘The Temple of the Great Goddess,’ Freydel said softly, ‘made hundreds of years ago, by the Dwarves of course, masters in stonework, to an elven design at that. A symbol, of sorts, of the peace and harmony that once existed between them.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Issa said.

  ‘That it is,’ he agreed, and they made their way towards it.

  Priests and Priestesses were busy tending the vegetable gardens and orchards surrounding the temple. They smiled as Freydel and Issa passed, though their smiles were hollow, like the temple, and their faces gaunt as if sick or overworked or both. They were robed in white and, for a moment, they looked like the wraiths of the Shadowlands. She shivered and tried not to look at them.

  Cirosa stood unsmiling in the temple doorway as a stable boy took their horses. She was dressed in pristine white robes, her beauty as cold and hard as snow-capped mountains.

  ‘Come, you are late, we must begin right away,’ she said, motioning stiffly and swept into the temple not waiting to see if they followed. Neither of them had time to mention the Harpy and it was forgotten.

  Once inside, Issa was surprised to find the temple stark and empty, beautiful but cold and unyielding, like the High Priestess herself. Exquisite turquoise marble floors flowed through pristine white stone walls. Tall arched windows let in as much light as possible and wrought iron chandeliers with thick white candles adorned the walls and ceiling.

  ‘This is the Temple to the Great Mother,’ Cirosa said over her shoulder.

  Issa felt the cold and shivered, for the temple was a vast empty open space and their footsteps echoed around them. How can a Goddess inhabit a temple and be contained within walls? she wondered. Without the raven to watch over her she felt vulnerable here.

  ‘We only use this temple for the main ceremonies now,’ Cirosa’s voice pierced the silence. ‘We have not half the numbers we used to have. Those few that do seek to become servants to the Goddess barely pass the initiation rites, and even then the magic they wield is but a fraction of what it used to be. We believe the loss of power to be the fault of the Maphraxies leeching it out of the land, and of course the growing malaise and lack of belief in the Great Goddess amongst the weak peoples of Maioria,’ Cirosa scowled.

  Issa listened in surprise, wondering why Cirosa bothered to explain anything about the temple. For a moment she felt for the High Priestess, stuck in her lifeless temple, doing what little she could to keep it and her high standing going. But then again that was how she wanted it, if she was so greedy for power and the seat of the Oracle. She had no real reason to pity the woman; she could transform this place into something beautiful if she wanted to. Issa realised Cirosa had been talking and she phased back into the moment.

  ‘I do not believe in the prophecies,’ Cirosa’s tone was caustic. ‘Most do not, only the superstitious do,’ she shot Freydel a disapproving look, and then sighed reluctantly, ‘but given Freydel’s long research and reputation, we have agreed that nothing can be left to chance. So we began looking through the prophecies for anything worth noting. And then you turn up,’ Cirosa gave her a withering look.

  Issa listened silently, keeping her face blank as the Priestess spoke, all the time wondering who it was that made up these rules.

  ‘We cannot simply assume the Goddess’s mantle, no matter what aspect of her we may choose. The path of the Night Goddess can never be chosen, it is only given, and,’ Cirosa smiled crookedly, ‘a Child of the Raven cannot be weak, of which there can be three, I must add,’ she sighed.

  ‘First, all must pass the initiation rites into the Temple, only then may the test be undertaken before they will be accepted as chosen by the Goddess. But you cannot possibly undergo our normal initiation rites in the time given,’ Cirosa smirked. ‘So instead the test must be harder. The Goddess has, in a vision, shown me the task.’

  Freydel shifted uncomfortably beside Issa and she wondered at the frown creasing his forehead.

  Issa let go a breath she had not known she held, her fist clenched behind her back as she struggled to control her anger at the Priestess’s assumed knowledge and authority. But what was this increasingly ominous task the awful Priestess had concocted for her? She grimaced inwardly. She should never have so readily accepted it. Still it would be fun to see Cirosa’s face when she passed the test, if she passed it.

  All the mental preparation and steeling of herself for today’s events had whittled away and she dreaded what this test might involve. At the same time her burning dislike of Cirosa spurred her on and she was determined to prove the Priestess wrong, that she was not some silly weak girl.

  ‘Who decided upon this test? How was it chosen?’ Issa asked suspiciously.

  Cirosa scowled and sighed sharply, ‘as I have said, child, the Goddess gave me a vision.’

  Issa frowned, detecting a half-truth.

  ‘She has spoken to you?’ Freydel asked, clearly surprised, as if the High Priestess was not given to such visions. But Cirosa just smiled secretly.

  Issa herself only half believed what Freydel told her of Zanufey. She had always thought of the Great Goddess as up there somewhere or deep down in the earth and far away, if she thought about her at all, and that she had little bearing on the lives of ordinary men and women. But faced with this awful Priestess she felt compelled to do the test, to prove her wrong, to prove her self-worth. />
  Issa remembered the dream of her anointing by the ethereal beings, the Guardians of the Portals, so they called themselves. She was different in those dreams, as though she was another stronger and wiser person, or rather a deeper purer part of herself. With a start she realised Cirosa had asked her a question.

  ‘Are you ready to discover the manner of the testing?’ Cirosa repeated, tapping her foot impatiently.

  Issa straightened her back and drew a deep breath, masking the doubt within. But on looking at that hard condescending face her fears dissolved into determination.

  ‘Yes,’ Issa replied between gritted teeth. But her stomach sank at once. I could have said No. What’s the worst that could happen anyway? No test that they had made up could prove or disprove anything. The Goddess surely did not require tests. The chosen was chosen, simple. She was not the chosen but she would do this ‘test’ even if it killed her.

  What if it does kill me? Issa laughed inwardly at the last, she had already faced death when she jumped from the cliff to avoid being captured by the Dromoorai, she had watched her mother die, had seen the dead of Little Kammy and the Wraiths and Forsaken of the Shadowlands and almost become one of them. She had faced and escaped Keteth. No, she did not fear death and what more could they possibly make her suffer? Her mind was a tumult of thoughts as she followed the slender figure of the High Priestess.

  They stopped in the central section of the temple where the ceiling expanded high above them and a black marble flower with a white centre decorated the floor. Cirosa whispered and with a smooth motion of her hand the floor began to move. Issa could feel the subtle magic within her words and she watched as the black petals sunk down, each one lower than the next so that they formed a staircase spiralling down around the white stone centre into the darkness. Cirosa was pale and breathing heavily as if from exertion. It seemed the little magic she had used had cost her dearly.