Dark Moon Rising (The Prophecies of Zanufey)

by A. Evermore

  ‘I think there is more to you than we, or even you, know,’ Triest’anth said softly, ‘I think our paths are entwined somehow and our survival is very much linked to that Dragon Lord. Do not ask me why, I just feel it.’

  Coronos thought upon his words, ‘Perhaps. Even so we are indebted to your kindness, friend,’ he meant it sincerely for at last Coronos felt he had found someone to trust in these dangerous times. It was just past midnight when Naksu silently entered the house, startling even Triest’anth despite his excellent hearing.

  ‘I have done what I can, please, follow me,’ her face was drawn, exhaustion etched in her eyes.

  Asaph was sleeping soundly, thick bandages bound his wounds.

  ‘I will change his bandages in the morning. If his wounds are doing well I will leave you the third change of bandages, after which the wounds must be aired,’ Naksu said as she washed her hands in a bowl of steaming water.

  ‘Please, take my bed for I will sit by his side tonight,’ Coronos said, ‘I apologise for my behaviour earlier, I was beset with worry.’

  She smiled back at him with genuine warmth but said nothing.

  Coronos awoke beside a cold hearth not long after dawn and was surprised to find the others already up. He quickly washed his face in a bowl of water and longed for a hot bath so he could wash properly. If only there was a hot spring like the Kuapoh bathed in. Well, a cold one would do now it was warmer. He resolved himself to finding a bathing pool in the river later.

  Asaph was no longer covered in sweat and his fever burned lower but he was still deathly pale, as if all the blood had been drained from him, though his eyes were still beneath closed lids and his breath slow and rhythmic.

  ‘Fight a while longer, my son,’ Coronos whispered softly to him, ‘I give to you all of my strength, all of my love.’

  Naksu came over to unwrap Asaph’s bandages. They were already soaked through with bloody puss, but Coronos looked on amazed for the wounds no longer oozed and were finally closing.

  ‘It has worked better than I had hoped,’ Naksu said as she gently cleansed and redressed his wounds.

  ‘You have my heartfelt thanks, Naksu, is there anything I can do in return?’ Coronos asked, bowing deeply.

  ‘A little lintel weed would go down a treat in my pipe,’ she replied, grinning in a way that made her look like a child. Coronos smiled and willingly gave her a whole bag.

  ‘But purple is the most expensive of the smokeable lintels,’ she said, wide-eyed.

  ‘It really is the least I can do,’ he said humbly. She thanked him and squeezed his arm.

  Naksu did not linger and before long she was leading her mule back out into the forest. She said she had important business to attend to but would not reveal what that was. She waved once and smiled before disappearing into the trees.

  As soon as she had gone Coronos was back at Asaph’s side, worry creasing his forehead once more. Mayhap this was some cruel trial set before the Dragon Lord by the Night Goddess herself, he thought, but shook his head to dispel the notion. The Night Goddess was not cruel but loving. He decided he needed to be alone to think, or not; just to be still for a moment and away from everything.

  He turned to Triest’anth, who was busy tidying away his pots, ‘Friend, please watch over my son I need some time alone, to think or not, I do not know.’

  Triest’anth nodded, understanding his need for solace. ‘Here take some food with you,’ Triest’anth said passing him some herb bread and dried fruit, ‘you will no doubt get hungry.’

  ‘I shall also wash thoroughly,’ Coronos said as he left and Triest’anth nodded his head vigorously.

  Once outside he tentatively sniffed his sleeve, ‘Hmm, not too bad, not really,’ he muttered to himself and headed off through the village towards the river. Karalanth children giggled at him as he passed. They no longer pointed and laughed at “two-foot” now they were used to his company. They loved the magic tricks he performed for them, though most did not use real magic and were only illusions. His arts were simple tricks but both he and they were happy with that.

  When he reached the river he followed it upstream. It was still early morning but the sun was already hot and its light dappled down through the rich green canopy. Coronos walked with thoughts of Asaph churning through his mind. He was terribly afraid for him, afraid of losing him. Baelthrom would soon know another Dragon Lord walked Maioria, if he didn’t already. They would hunt him down, infect him with the Sirin Derenax and turn him into Dromoorai. He could not let that happen.

  He came to a sunlit clearing where a gentle waterfall cascaded into a deep pool. A fox darted away as he approached, his red coat gleaming in the sun.

  ‘Perfect,’ Coronos said, setting his staff and cloak down at the water’s edge and taking in the serene surroundings. From a pouch he took out a small lump of stone soap and a razor, set them on a rock, and took off his clothes.

  Taking a deep breath he plunged into the pool and shrieked when the cold water hit. He spluttered to the surface for air as the cool water washed away all the grim and weariness and worry. He held his breath and ducked down hoping to cleanse his mind with the water. After swimming to warm up, he floated on the surface with the warm sun on his face, and let his fears dissipate, if only for a little while.

  After half an hour or so Coronos grabbed the soap, washed and scrubbed thoroughly, before doing the same to his clothes then laying them out on a warm sunlit rock to dry. Picking up razor and comb he stared at his reflection as he trimmed his beard. He looked positively old now, there were lines in his face that had not been there a month ago, his hair was more white than grey and there were heavy bags under his eyes. He was still upright and his shoulders were broad though more slender and less muscular.

  The journey to the Shadowlands had not been without a price, he mused, he had lost years and Asaph may lose his life. He felt old in his heart, old in his mind; his life had been long and full and now he was in his sunset years. He had never thought he would feel ready to die, not in all his long years, but now, these past few weeks, he did.

  The Night Goddess was waiting for him and the light of Feygriene was growing dim around him. He admitted he was ready to return to the Great Mother but there was one more thing left for him to do and so he could not leave, not yet. I have to make Asaph strong, strong enough to face the Maphraxies and maybe strong enough even to withstand Baelthrom. Only then would it be time to return to the Fire in the Sky.

  He pulled himself onto the sunlit rock beside his clothes, uncaring if anyone should see him there naked, though there could be no one about for miles. With a quiet mind he felt for The Flow, the unending flow of energy within all things, the magic of the world. It calmed him, connected him and in its gentle waters he drifted in a half sleep.

  Coronos awoke with a start to the sound of a woman’s voice, but when he looked around there was no one there, save for the birds in the trees. He pulled on his now dry clothes and set about collecting a small pile of dried out twigs from the riverbank. He was not one for the rituals the clergy had taught him back home on Drax, he did not need rituals to be close to the divine, but some of their teachings held wisdom for him and helped still the mind. From a larger pouch he took flint, tinder and kindling and blew on the sparks until a flame appeared.

  Gazing at the small fire he let all thoughts drift from his mind as he sought the Fire Sight, the simple Draxian meditative exercise often used when one was lost or unsure of the future. His mind now still, he spoke the recital thrice over.

  Fire is the sun, the light, the life-giver;

  Fire is the Dragon, the passion, the flame within my heart;

  Fire fills my soul, fire stirs my spirit, fire lights my way;

  When the darkness comes and all seems lost,

  Feygriene lead me home to the One Flame,

  The flame that burns with truth,

  The flame that burns with love,

  The flame that burns eternal, the light that
never dies.

  With each recital Coronos’s trance deepened and the dancing flame filled his mind, drawing him further into it than he had ever been and still he went deeper until he was surrounded by fire; giant licks of vivid orange and yellow flames swirled around him. The roaring sound of flames filled his head until he became the fire and danced with it. A face formed before him, blue flames that were eyes watched him, dark red flame lips smiled upon him. The face was awesome, and he bowed his head in reverence to the Sun Goddess.

  ‘Feygriene, I am lost, I know not the way. Zanufey draws near and yet I fear for my son, the last of the Dragon Lords.’

  For a while there was only the sound of the roaring flames as the beautiful face looked at him. He hung his head in sorrow, ‘Divine Mother, the way is dark, we cannot see. I fear the end is near for all. Please light our way.’

  ‘The time of light has passed, my son, now must come the cleansing dark,’ a calm voice echoed, ‘there is one who can help lead you through the darkness. Hope... Faith... all unnecessary... you need only know this, trust this; choose love and then choose freedom. Fear not for the Dawn Bringer, all is as it must be.’

  ‘It is not long now is it, Divine Mother?’ Coronos looked up in devotion and the face smiled then faded, leaving him alone, empty and incomplete. He closed his eyes and felt a gentle caress on his cheek. He opened them again but nothing was there and instead of burning yellow and orange, the small fire before him was blue, dark blue like the colour of the dark moon. The forest surrounded him once more and he was startled to see the orange rays of the setting sun, as if confirming the time of light was over.

  ‘How long have I been here?’ he breathed as he buried the smouldering twigs in the fading light. He glanced up at the sky, the trees hid the setting sun but he knew the dark moon was out there somewhere, a dark field of magic, pure untapped energy. Its cycle was measured in eons and written in books long lost to the world. The dark moon filled him with foreboding but there was also promise, the promise of change. He lingered no longer and set off at a pace back to the village.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  A Dragon In Chains

  Asaph fled down the corridors of a huge palace he did not recognise, the pounding of his feet echoing off the cold stone walls. Seemingly endless queues of stairwells between closed doorways whizzed past, some straight, some winding, some leading up, some down, and every corner he turned led down a similar looking corridor in this maze of a place.

  Every now and then the hallways lurched sickeningly and the world changed. Instead he found himself running in a forest of twisted trees whose leaves were shrivelled and blotched with disease; then it would change again and he fled upon a wide grassy plain stretching out for miles, only the grass was greying and brittle. He stumbled through freezing blizzards and howling wind or endless dunes of desert sands but the wind smelt of decay and the sand was dirty and stained. Then all at once it shifted back into the cursed palace.

  Asaph felt ragged and unclean, as if his soul was dirty and defiled, and filled with a desperate primal fear for his life. Onwards he ran and could see nowhere to hide, every step draining his energy further. Behind him chased a horror whispering all manner of ways in which he would die. Sweat poured down his brow and down his naked torso, his legs burned with fatigue yet he could not falter. He staggered and almost fell, he could run no longer, but there came a deafening crashing sound behind that filled him with terror and on he ran, stumbling again and again on weary feet.

  Many times he reached for the Dragon within but it did not come, in fact he could not feel its existence anymore, and he found only emptiness where once it had been. He was lost and defenceless. What chased him and why? He knew the answer was there if he could just stop and think but there was no time and he knew only to run.

  The palace no longer flickered into reality and now he ran on and on over a rocky barren place. Behind him came the sound of crushing rocks and earth being torn asunder but he did not turn to look. In that thundering noise came the rumble of mocking laughter. He was sport, a hare set loose for the dogs to chase.

  His head pounded and his throat was as parched as a desert. The sun was beginning to set but it was a strange fake sun, it shone a weak and sickly yellow light that gave no heat and was almost indistinguishable from the grey sky it clung to. It was as if someone had tried to create an imitation of life and the world but failed abysmally.

  This place was like the Shadowlands only it seemed much more real, and that made it much worse. It was his prison and the only way he could fight the terror that hunted him and the hopelessness growing inside was by running. He staggered over a rocky ridge and stumbled abruptly onto the banks of a lake. The lake had no ripples and was a sheen of dark glass that did not mirror his reflection. He ran along the water’s edge. The laughter turned into a terrible wailing growing louder and louder until it was the sound of a hundred voices screaming in pain.

  A shrivelled hand burst up from the sand in front of him, its fingers grey and stricken in rigor mortis. Asaph swerved away from it only to stumble over another clawed hand and then another. He walked upon a mass grave but the dead were still alive and trying to claw through the surface. The withered hands grasped his legs and bloody rotting fingers dug into his flesh, pulling him down. He screamed as he fell. They grabbed his hair and filled his nostrils with the stench of decay.

  Under his struggles the sand began to trickle away through gaps to reveal the cold iron bars atop which he lay. The sand kept falling all around him and then beyond, revealing a massive cage so vast he could not see where it ended. He looked down and retched. Below him were scores of dead beings that still moved as if alive. Their skin was ashen, torn rags covered emaciated bodies, sunken eyes set in rotting faces stared longingly up at him.

  Elves, Humans, Karalanths, Ancients, all races of the dead of Maioria were imprisoned there. Their faces were twisted in pain and hopelessness. They clambered towards him, hands grasping, wanting to touch him for he was the life that they had lost.

  ‘He lives, he lives!’ they began to chant, a wailing cacophony driving all reason from his mind. ‘We want him,’ they wailed as one, ‘he has what was taken from us. Save us!’

  ‘No, I cannot!’ he howled, clapping his hands over his ears and forcing his eyes from theirs lest the despair within them drain his soul.

  ‘No!’ he roared. It took all his strength to push himself up. Their grasping hands painfully tore out clumps of his hair. He wrenched himself free only to stare in horror across a sea of hands grasping up through the iron bars buried in the sand. The light was fading. He had to get away from this place before the darkness came. What would happen when night fell? His hands shook with fear as he wiped the sweat from his eyes.

  Laughter rumbled around him. This was a game, Keteth’s game, Asaph was trapped in Keteth’s twisted world where he kept the souls of the slain as prisoners. He kicked away the grasping hands and struggled towards the rocks where they could not reach him. The wind grew as the light faded and quickly became vicious gusts that blew him to his knees. He reached the rocks and clung to them, exhausted, he could go no further, he welcomed death; a release from being hunted. He closed his eyes as the rumbling terror neared.

  ‘I, too, grow weary of this hunt, though it has been fun,’ a low voice growled.

  Asaph felt Keteth’s mind touch his own and retched and writhed against it. The wind whipped up into a frenzy and laughter boomed around him. Sand stung his face and hands as he clung to the rocks but he could not withstand the maelstrom and was wrenched violently upwards. The light faded and the blackness took him.

  When the darkness receded Asaph found himself naked and shivering. A cold metal collar chained him to a stone wall; iron cuffs bound back his arms. A Dragon in chains... death is better. He tried to focus on the dim cell around him but his vision was blurred. He tried to get up into a kneeling position but everything lurched and spun. He closed his eyes. Keteth’s laughter echoed ar
ound him.

  ‘How far can a mighty Dragon Lord fall? You cannot run from me, Dragon spawn, no one can,’ Keteth rasped.

  Asaph shook in anger and fear that shamed him. Fear will not save you but imprison you, Coronos’s words echoed in his mind and gave him a little strength.

  ‘Why fight? It is useless; I always win in the end, you will beg me to end it. You cannot hide even your thoughts from me. Through you I will hunt her down, it is only a matter of time,’ Keteth trailed off in a whisper. ‘I knew there was another Dragon Lord but that immortal fool denied it, ahhh but I knew.’

  ‘What is this place?’ Asaph rasped, ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘This is my world, a world I have spent eons creating. Maioria and its feeble creatures, Her creatures, trapped in life, destroyed in death; what a pathetic world. Here there is no death and not even the Immortal Lord has power. I am stronger than the Night Goddess Herself!’

  ‘You are mad!’ Asaph spat.

  ‘You all cast me out; now you will all come begging to me!’ Keteth shouted.

  ‘You are afraid of her,’ Asaph snarled but a sharp pain seared through his mind and he howled in agony.

  ‘Once your body is spent your soul will forever be trapped here. And I can wait, I have all the time in the world, but I can wait, though it won’t be long now. Your body is fading and soon you will be here fully, body and soul all mine. Then I will take your form as my own and use it to ensnare the girl.’ Keteth’s laughter screeched around him.

  ‘I will fight you to my last breath,’ Asaph struggled against the chains.

  Keteth did not lie, he could feel his form becoming more solid here by the moment and he was terrified for Issa’s safety. Laughter boomed, coming from everywhere, even inside his own mind.