by A. Evermore
‘Tell me more of his power,’ Issa asked, hoping to unravel Keteth’s secrets.
The Fairy looked at her with wide unblinking eyes and her voice fell to a whisper, as if afraid she would bring evil upon them by speaking. ‘Going beyond the realm of the living and bringing the dead back to life made Keteth a Necromancer yet no necromantic art did he learn or practice. His spirit, what is left of it, will for a long time suffer the consequences,’ she paused for thought and then continued.
‘He could follow the souls of the recent dead and bring them back, often without their consent and against their greater wishes. This frightened people but it did not stop them paying him, sometimes huge sums of money, to bring their loved ones back. Such was his compassion for their suffering he was unable to deny their desperate pleadings, and he did as they asked, often refusing the payment.
‘Look,’ the Fairy said, and within the shimmering oblong more images formed. Issa saw a tall and slender young man with mousy coloured hair. There was an old woman pleading at his feet, sobbing and tugging on his trousers. A pitiful sight, thought Issa. The young man covered his face with his hands and after a moment nodded, though his shoulders slumped.
‘But those he brought back were not... right,’ the Fairy continued, ‘they were themselves truly but they did not want life anymore, they did not want to return because they had decided to go and so they returned as angry souls, denied their rightful rest with the Great Mother. Their bodies, weakened by the process of death itself, did not function and their minds were fragmented. But those that knew of his gift, and the consequences, still came to him to return their loved ones, such was their grief.
Issa saw the decaying body of a little boy beside the young Keteth. Confused dull eyes looked out from the hollows of his skull; grey skin patched with the shadows of death stretched over his young face; he staggered around helplessly on legs stiff and unbending. Issa put a hand to her mouth at the horror of it. The old woman instead laughed with joy and embraced the boy in her arms, seeing only a loved one now returned to her.
‘Why did he continue to do it?’ Issa asked.
‘Because he could not bear to see the pain of those left behind,’ the Fairy said sadly. ‘When he began to refuse, in their grief the people became angry and threatened him and so he continued until he could bear it no longer, unable to make the dead whole and healed. Then they began to hate him, now cursing him for bringing back such monsters. They wanted to burn him as an evil Necromancer. So he fled but they followed. He reached the ocean and having nowhere else to go he swam away and disappeared for a long time.
Issa looked upon the stick thin form of a young man, gaunt faced like the dead he had raised, a terrible grief burning in his eyes. Aimlessly he wandered barefoot along a shingled beach, clothes in tatters that whipped around him. The sea was as grey as the sky above and for one awful moment Issa was struck at how like the Shadowlands the scene was, how like a Forsaken he seemed, outcast and bereft of hope, just as she had been when Asaph found her.
‘The Immortal Lord saw within Keteth what he desired and wanted in his followers; desire that makes one fearless and the power to transcend death. But Keteth would not heed Baelthrom’s call, believing himself the stronger, believing himself the god. Baelthrom tried to kill Keteth for refusing his dominion but Keteth evaded him in the Shadowlands and Baelthrom could not follow. In the end he let him live and instead used him to further his own devious plans.’
Issa spoke slowly, ‘what if I face Keteth and fail?’
‘If you fail so, too, have we, for Baelthrom and his immortals will win.’
‘I have seen death many times,’ Issa said, her voice as cold as iron, ‘I am not afraid to stand before it once more,’ but desperation tinged her determined words.
The Fairy’s face was pale but her eyes filled with hope as she spoke, ‘You will go where none can help. The Shadowlands made you strong, Child of the Raven.’
Issa sunk deep into thought. Some part of her had always known she would one day face the White Beast that hunted her. But she was not ready or strong enough. How on earth could one such as she ever face such a monster, let alone defeat it?
The Fairy read her thoughts. ‘You are stronger than you realise and your strength grows every day. I feel for you, Child of the Raven, you have already walked a dark path but still more will be asked of you and sometimes it will be so dark that even the path itself disappears. Keteth is the master of trickery but your faith in yourself and Zanufey will guide you, you will hear her voice in your heart like a light in the darkness.’
Issa was suddenly suspicious, ‘Why do you help me?’ she asked, eyeing the Fairy. The Fairy looked at her, though she was not angry.
‘Because I choose to. Here in the Spirit World I can help you, but back there in the incarnate world I must hide. I cannot reveal myself to you, not yet. You have to trust me, or not as you see fit. I, too, am in danger,’ she was about to say more but seemed to change her mind. ‘Come, there are things that we must do whilst the sacred waters still flow in you.’
Issa sighed and nodded, she felt no danger from the Fairy. At the Fairy’s motion a mist formed and surrounded them. It felt cool like water though it was not wet. It became so dense they could no longer see each other. When the Fairy next spoke she sounded a long way away.
‘We pass into a different realm now, an Elven Shadowland if you will, no human can go there, and certainly nothing that lives. You carry the mark of the Shadowlands, you can go there for a short while.’
Grass formed beneath Issa’s bare feet and the mist thinned but never cleared completely. They were in a forest but everything seemed immaterial, the trees were not solid but hazy, ghostlike, and she wondered if you could walk right through them. She shivered feeling the fear and desolation of the Shadowlands gnawing once again at her, unfathomable sadness and hopelessness threatening to drown her.
‘I prayed I would never return,’ Issa’s voice trembled.
‘I am sorry, I did not want to bring you here, but what we seek is too important,’ the Fairy said, also shivering.
‘Keteth can come here then?’ Issa asked suddenly alarmed.
‘Keteth searches for it but he has not found this place, yet. It is secret, a place of Forsaken Elves, Elves that still have a chance to get out. But when Keteth finds it their souls will belong to him. It the only Shadow Realm in which I may tread.’
‘How so? Why only here?’
But the Fairy did not answer and just then a tall ghostly figure passed them by, his sad empty eyes looked right through them as if they were the ghosts and not he. He was slender and fair with long pointed ears and large almond-shaped lavender eyes. He intrigued Issa, she had not seen many Elves on Little Kammy, but the utter desolation in his eyes made her shudder and look away.
‘They cannot see us,’ the Fairy said. ‘Well, some can, those who had the Sight. To them it is we who are ghosts.’
They hastened through the ghostly trees and came to an abrupt stop before a willow tree that had materialised out of nowhere. It stood out from the others for it was more solid and real, its long elegant leaves green and full of life.
‘Another willow? Just like the one in my dream and the garden,’ Issa said in surprise and went closer to inspect it. The Fairy smiled, a hint of surprise on her face as well.
‘Some things we see traverse all the realms,’ the Fairy said, ‘the willow, like the raven, is beloved of Zanufey.’
Issa gently parted the long dangling leaves as she moved towards the trunk. The leaves acted as a curtain creating a veiled space around the tree. She stroked its rough bark and gasped as the bark moved apart under her touch to create a deep hole in its trunk the size of her head.
‘What do you see in there?’ the Fairy indicated to the hole, unsurprised. Issa looked closer, peering into the darkness but could not see anything out of the ordinary, only old bark. Tentatively she reached inside but felt nothing, only rough wood.
‘I
see nothing, just the bark,’ she said confused, Is this part of the test?
‘Don’t look with your eyes, they deceive you, look with your soul,’ said the Fairy, patiently.
Issa closed her eyes and took a sharp breath, trying to control the rising frustration. Slowly she grew calm and emptied her mind of thoughts, like Freydel said he did before performing magic. Feathers brushed her cheek and she knew then that raven was with her as she heard him alight on the branches above.
Issa opened her eyes and stared in shock at the dagger now lying there. It glowed brilliant white and she could sense the magic that filled it, magic that had a deadly purpose. It was beautiful to look upon, made from ivory and from hilt to tip was all one piece. The blade was not straight but undulating into a wicked point; she did not need to touch it to know it was sharp. She recognised this dagger, it was that same dagger she had held in her dreams.
Dimly Issa was aware of raucous cawing as she reached into the hole and grasped the hilt. It was cold in her hands and she felt its vengeful power wrap around her, testing her. A sharp pain stabbed in her head. She heard the raven flapping above her and noise like thunder rumbled around them. She felt the White Beast move in the distance as her head throbbed painfully.
‘Keteth fears this more than anything,’ the Fairy whispered, ‘we must not linger lest he find us in this place.’
Issa took the dagger from the hole and looked at the exquisite carvings of people and animals entwined, each leg or head forming a part of the next animal or person making it seem that they danced together.
‘This is “Karshur’s Dagger”, or simply “Karshur”,’ the Fairy explained. ‘Karshur was one of the Elf survivors of the Dark Wars, a very powerful Elf Wizard. He crafted the dagger from the bones of those murdered by Keteth, including most of his family. Only fragments of them remained and he picked them up from the muddy ground where they had fallen. He ground and moulded them together, unified in death.
‘He worked in the darkness and asked for Zanufey’s blessing as he wove a powerful magic into it; the magic of undoing and death. Some say he crafted into it his very soul. Now it sings for vengeance, sings with the voice of the slain, but it alone cannot kill Keteth and someone must wield it. Few know of its existence, believing it lost. I alone know where it is hidden, but none other than Elves, cousins of the Ancients, may touch it and live.’
Issa looked at the dagger in her hand, she was no Elf, yet she had not died.
The Fairy smiled, ‘Other than, of course, the person he made it for. Either you are Elven kin or for you the dagger was made. Looking at you I would assume the latter.’
Issa stared at the dagger. A cold shiver ran down her spine as the gravity of her task sunk in.
‘Such yearning for destruction, whether good or ill, is dangerous. You must not be with it long lest it consume you. Now you have the tools for your task. Return now to Maioria where the living dwell and make yourself ready, for the time is short. If you fail the knife will return itself here and await another who is strong enough to wield it. If you succeed then the souls are free and the power that was Keteth’s will be yours to command. Hide it from mortal eyes for it is a thing of great desire.’
Issa wrapped leaves around the dagger and stuffed it into her pocket as best she could. The willow tree began to fade and disappeared completely now that the dagger was gone.
‘Come now, we linger too long. We grow more real here by the minute, we must leave before we become Wraiths ourselves,’ the Fairy fluttered nervously up and down.
They hurried back the way they had come. The Elves they passed seemed to notice them now for they often looked twice in their direction. The mist grew denser as they ran making it hard to see. Issa stumbled and fell but no ground broke her fall. Instead she tumbled over and over in the air, falling endlessly through the fog. The air became thicker and darker until it was water and she was falling down into its depths.
Issa cried out for the Fairy but she was gone. The dagger in her pocket was growing so warm it began to burn her thigh. She yanked it free and held it, its power wonderful but terrifying as it sensed its victim out there in the watery darkness.
The voices of the slain echoed around her once more, calling for the blood of their slayer. She felt the grief of thousands enslaved by the White Beast wash over her. She steeled her heart against the sorrow. There could be no room for sadness. The time for grieving was past and she had not come here to grieve. Now was the time for vengeance and it lay in the darkness of the ocean. I am coming for you Keteth, she thought and her spirit was hard as iron.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The Flow
Issa awoke with a start in a small hard bed within a light airy room. The window was open and the curtains billowed in the breeze. She propped herself up on one elbow, feeling tired yet calm. Arla was standing at the end of the bed, watching her with big pale eyes.
‘You were gone for a day and night,’ Arla said and giggled, ‘you brought that back with you,’ she pointed at a leaf-wrapped object atop the bedside table. ‘Cirosa wishes you to tell her what the vision revealed of your task.’
Issa nodded with a scowl, she detested the thought of talking to Cirosa about her private visions. ‘Where am I?’ she asked, rubbing her eyes sleepily.
‘We’re in the Priestess’s quarters, next to the temple.’
Issa sighed and swung her legs out of bed.
‘We washed your clothes for you, they were covered in dirt. When you came back to us an hour or so later we found you were curled up under the willow tree.’
‘Only an hour?’ she thought aloud, ‘it seemed like an eternity.’
Arla smiled, ‘It always does.’
‘Where exactly did I go?’ Issa frowned, but Arla only shrugged.
‘It depends on the person, some go to the Dreamlands or the Spirit World, some go to the past, some to the future, some go places no one ever knew existed,’ Arla smiled enigmatically.
‘Thank you for washing my clothes anyhow,’ Issa said, her mind caught up in the memories of the Elven Shadowlands and the strange Fairy. Arla curtsied and left the room, allowing her to dress in private.
She slipped into her clean clothes and looked in the mirror as she brushed her hair. Her face was pale but not as gaunt as it had been and her eyes were almost luminous green. She looked different somehow; there was a hard determination in her face and when she saw it she felt it inside. She had a purpose in life that became clearer with each passing day whereas before she had none, and it drove her onwards.
Issa picked up the cloth-covered object and felt the hard dagger beneath it. She could feel its yearning for vengeance even now. ‘A real thing,’ she breathed and left the room, her grim task felt heavy upon her shoulders.
Arla was seated outside the door, waiting patiently. She grinned at Issa, who couldn’t help but smile back.
‘You know it will be all right don’t you? Whatever happens, it will always be all right because She makes it so,’ Arla said, and jumped off the chair to lead the way. Issa followed the girl past empty rooms, pondering her words for they seemed both naïve and yet profoundly philosophical.
Cirosa sat on a dark red leather chair behind a wide old oak desk in a large room filled with books from floor to ceiling. She was sorting through a stack of what looked to be Temple administrative papers. Her blonde hair was tied back and her face was cold as usual, unsmiling and strained. She regarded Issa coolly.
‘Well?’ Cirosa demanded.
‘I saw myself and strange places of the present and the desolation of a possible future,’ Issa began just as Freydel entered the room, still dressed in his riding clothes from the other day. He looked exhausted. Reluctantly Issa continued describing her vision, careful to not mention Karshur or the Fairy and keeping as cryptic and vague as possible.
‘So, it seems I must somehow kill Keteth, when the dark moon is full, and free the souls he keeps imprisoned, uniting them with the Night Goddess. Then will
Zanufey have chosen her… servant,’ she finished awkwardly.
Cirosa snorted, though there was a strange half smile on her face. Freydel’s face was grim. He stared at the empty space in front of him and shook his head murmuring, ‘A terrible task, but if that is what it must be then… We do not know the cycles of the dark moon. We must watch and be ready for the time when it comes.’
‘Three days from now,’ Issa said and he looked sharply at her. Three days from now that dark moon would rise full and heavy and its power would fill her like nothing else before. She did not know how she knew that, only that it was true and that somehow that would be when Keteth was weakest and the Night Goddess’s power strongest. Now Issa thought of the dark moon she was certain she could feel it moving out there somewhere beyond the sun.
‘Three days is not nearly enough time to raise you from a beginner to a novice,’ Cirosa spat, her face flushed in anger, ‘you cannot even perform a simple trick with magic!’
Issa stared at her with hard eyes, but said nothing, preferring to watch the High Priestess tirade.
‘This is foolish. By all means go and slay this beast, this beast that not even our mightiest warriors, our bravest heroes, have managed to slay in millennia!’ Cirosa’s anger seemed forced. ‘If Freydel is correct about the prophecies and signs, and you survive this beast, it would mean you are the one chosen by Zanufey to lead the Feylint Halanoi against the Maphraxies. Do you understand the importance of this?’ The question was an accusation and Issa’s back stiffened.
‘I understand more than you do,’ Issa replied coldly.
Cirosa barked a laugh, ‘I doubt it, child. I doubt it very much.’
