by J. W. Webb
Bleyne shrugged. “Three are dead, three more fled. There are other footpads lurking at our fringes. They’ll not enter the forest again.” The archer’s eyes were faintly ironic; it was another thing that irritated Corin.
“It was unwise of you to stray so close to Vaniel’s lake,” Bleyne told them. “She is a vengeful spirit. She remembers how Kell and his sons cruelly pursued her kin with their long spears, driving them ever further from their realms, slaying them at will. Kell believed they were wicked kin of the Elementals he knew back in Gol, and he trusted them not. Faen have long memories, and Vaniel still hates the sons of men. You would have been undone had not the Goddess bid her let you pass.”
“She didn’t exactly let us pass,” countered Ariane with a frown. “We were attacked by her…things.”
“She was merely being playful, Queen,” responded the archer with a slight raise of an eyebrow. “Nixes like to play before they eat.”
“Eat,” muttered Galed looking horrified. “Eat what?”
The archer neglected to respond to so stupid a question. Corin felt a cold shiver grip his bowels. He glanced at Roman. The big man’s face looked pale in the fading light. Better not to think about it.
Bleyne surveyed them for a minute further then urged them forward with another imperial finger. “Follow me.” Bleyne turned without waiting for a reply. Within moments he’d vanished from view up the track.
“He’s a bit up his own regions,” muttered Roman and Corin nodded. Ariane silenced them with a look.
“He saved us, remember.” Reluctantly they nodded whilst Galed just looked miserable behind them. “Let’s get moving,” Ariane said. “I don’t think this Bleyne is one to wait around.”
They followed in haste; eventually spying Bleyne’s shadow flitting through the trees ahead. They hurried to join him, matching their pace to his. Galed needed to skip and jump to keep up, panting and issuing wide, gulping stares.
This Bleyne character appeared to glide effortlessly along the path without stirring so much as a leaf. Even Corin was short of breath after half an hour at this pace. The Queen was holding her own, though her cheeks glowed and she stumbled once or twice. Roman looked like a furnace. Bleyne held the pace, indifferent to their discomfort.
Finally the track broadened, and great old trees filed their flanks. Something caught Corin’s eye down among the roots and rotting leaves. A motionless shape, half hidden in the bracken on the side of the track. It was the body of a man. Embedded in his throat was a grey-feathered arrow.
“You need not be concerned about pursuit whilst in the forest.” Bleyne stooped gracefully to regain his shaft. “No man may bring evil here and live!” He resumed his pace with fluidity and animal grace. Galed groaned, and the others set their teeth and stomped on behind.
Dusk settled among the groves. Bleyne led them on for two more hours without once checking his pace. Corin wondered how much longer Galed could keep this up. He had been surprised by the squire’s resilience but could see that the little man was fading fast. He’d thrown up twice and looked half dead.
Bleyne, glancing back now and then, appeared not to notice, or if he did, he certainly didn’t care. Corin glared at the archer’s back. He didn’t like being indebted to this bastard. Bleyne had good timing and could shoot a bow—so what. It didn’t mean he was on their side.
Corin glanced up, saw a lone star shining above the trees. It was getting dark and the atmosphere eerie. Corin felt edgy and sensed they were being watched. Now and then he caught furtive movement beneath dark boughs. Movement on two legs, not four, and not human legs, of that he felt certain.
He said nothing, just tightened his lips and kept walking. Woods. Corin vowed to stay clear of them from now on. They were a breeding ground for all manner of goblins and spooks, of late most of which seemed to cherish an unhealthy interest in him. Why? Better not to know. Corin ground his teeth and muttered obscenities under his breath.
Night fell silent, and the trees closed in. High above their weary heads, the stars glinted and the full moon winked through latticed branches, casting witchy light on the forest floor.
It was deathly quiet. They had entered the region of the Oracle. The night air hung heavy with beguilement. Far away, an owl called out. Seconds later, another answered.
Silence again. Corin shivered, pulling the still partially damp cloak around his shoulders and adjusting Clouter’s scabbard on his aching back. He could feel the thud of his heartbeat.
Tight lipped, he followed the archer, who at last had slackened the pace. Corin, glancing back, was pleased to see Galed still in the land of living, though he didn’t look well. Corin grinned at him and Galed squinted back.
Ariane’s sharp features were enhanced by the moon’s silver sheen. She looked driven, inspired, and hungry for what awaited them. Corin could not help but admire her. This Queen was match for any fighting man he’d known. Again he wondered at his chances of pulling her. Slim, but then his odds had never been good with posh women. She caught his roving eye and turned away, a faint smile hinting the corner of her mouth. Beside her, Roman panted like an ancient hound.
All around, silence hung like a headsman’s axe: tangible, suspended in air, and waiting to fall. The track ran smooth and level beneath their feet. Above their heads, the branches refused to stir. Corin thought he heard whispering voices in the darkness. More wood goblins, he suspected, and refused to listen.
After a final steep climb that left them again breathless (and Galed almost on his knees), they entered a broad open glade, a grassy sward that sighed beneath their feet. The air was cooler here, fresh and clean. After the dense canopy of the trees, it felt welcoming and pure. They were revived by its clarity. Even Galed managed a faint grin. Far above, the sky painted a patchwork of stars. The moon rode free from the treetops, its face filling the glade with silvery blue light.
They stopped at Bleyne’s signal. Corin glanced ahead. At the center of the sward stood a circle of standing stones that seemed to float beneath the moonlight. Tall and ominous, they loomed. Blue light glistened upon their surface. Ariane sighed, drinking in the enchanted air. Roman coughed, and Galed tried to slow his rasping breath.
Bleyne approached the circle of stones. He turned to address them in a quiet voice.
“You are come at last to Valen-Durannin,” Bleyne told them. “Within this ring of stone resides the Oracle of Blessed Elanion, high Goddess of Ansu, Queen of the Faen, and Mistress to the Trees. Approach slowly, and speak no word. This is hallowed ground!”
Corin felt the small hairs stiffen on his neck. Again he was faced with something he didn’t understand. He didn’t like it—not one bit. Fear tugged at him as did a desire to run.
He steeled his nerves and scratched his scar, glanced at the others, who looked as worried as he did—all bar the Queen, who was rearing to go. Bleyne waved them forward, and Ariane didn’t hesitate. Corin, less keen, glanced at her back. He took a furtive step forward and then another and more still, at last joining the archer at the stone circle and glaring uneasily about.
The other men followed close behind, moonlight illuminating their pale worried countenances. Poor Galed’s face was a mask of fear, and Roman Parrantios’ expression grim, as if he drew near the hour of his doom. Corin scowled and glared at the tall stones, expecting one to reach out and grab him.
But Queen Ariane approached the stone circle with ill-disguised eagerness. Here at last she hoped they would gain knowledge of Prince Tarin, the Tekara’s whereabouts, and how to stop Caswallon. Here too, mayhap they would glean an insight into the darkness aiding the sorcerer.
At Bleyne’s word they entered the stone circle, eyes wide with amazement. The ring was huge, appearing much larger than it had from without. Bleyne led them through a maze of stone towers, sloped inward facing each other. Each stone sloped twelve feet tall, culminating with a jagged point, like so many hounds teeth, a seemingly endless circle within a circle.
A spiral of con
fusion. Within minutes they all felt disorientated and confused. Corin, glancing back, could see no way out. It was as though the stones were closing in behind them whilst they stood frozen to the spot.
Corin felt an icy sweat run down his back. He glanced down at his feet.
Bad mistake. The ground was moving and the stones rotating in a most alarming way. Corin wondered whether he was under some spell and would wake relieved in some sleazy brothel down in Raleen, with a lively wench sitting on his chest. No such luck.
Round and round the tall stones went, whirling faster and faster. Corin’s head felt giddy and sick. He heard a soft thud beside him and saw that Galed had stumbled to the ground. He lay still, his hand covering his spewy mouth. Corin reached down and dragged the squire back to his feet.
“Don’t throw up here,” he urged Galed. “You’ll anger the Goddess!”
Galed looked at him daggers but said nothing, keeping his hand over his mouth, stoically biting back the nausea that was almost consuming him.
Then miraculously the spinning stopped. They were in the very center of the circle of circles. Before them loomed a large round well, domed by a roof of silver that glistened and sparkled beneath the moon and starlight. Corin was first to approach it. He peered over the rim and grabbed the sides in panic as vertigo seized him.
Shite and buggerations…
The well appeared bottomless and empty. Corin could see his reflection encased by stars, yet there was no water to reflect it. He was about to tell the others, but they were all looking at someone standing behind him.
Then he turned and saw the woman.
Oh, it’s you again.
Corin’s jaw dropped in astonishment. Was this another illusion? Some foul, cruel trickery? But no, she was real this time, standing serene in the moonlight, the breeze lifting the hem of her long green-gold dress.
The woman from his dreams, hers was a face Corin would never forget. Tall and stately she stood before him, with hair like burnished copper and shimmering dress of emerald, with golden trimmings at cuff and hem, loose and flowing, yet clinging to her ample curves. It had been she he had seen on the island in the lake, and at the window in the ruined village. That same beautiful mysterious face had haunted his dreams since the terrible day in Finnehalle when the raiders had come. She hadn’t aged at all.
Who are you really?
She turned toward him with a smile.
“And warm greeting to you, Corin son of Fol.” Her voice was bittersweet, honey-coated lemon. “So you have taken up the challenge of your destiny. Good. You will need all your strength in the weeks ahead.” Corin gaped at her stupidly, his tongue rendered silent by her beauty. She smiled again and turned away.
“Come!” The woman addressed them all. “The Goddess awaits you!”
“Who are you?” Corin croaked, and she turned to him again. Her gold-green eyes tugged at his soul. They always had. He’d known her kindness for scarce minutes very long ago, and no other woman had ever come so close to unlocking the troubled confines of his heart.
She’d stalked his dreams pitilessly through the years, and she had returned. Whole and earthly. It was almost too much. Almost. “I saw you on the lake,” Corin floundered. Women had always been his weakness, particularly this woman. His dream woman.
“You saw what you wanted to see on the lake,” she answered quietly, her words flowing like liquid amber. “That was another’s design.
“My true name cannot be revealed in this place. Like my sisters, I have many. You, mortal, may call me Vervandi. It was a name I bore long ago, and will again in days to come. You have heard it mentioned before, and it will suffice here.”
Vervandi… Corin remembered the words of the witch at the ford. He wanted to enquire further but felt tongue tied and confused. She turned to address the others again. “Come now! Time marches. Elanion is waiting!”
She bade them gather around the stone well. Corin noticed that Bleyne was nowhere to be seen. He shrugged. The archer must have business elsewhere. No great loss.
Corin watched Vervandi lead the Queen toward the yawning chasm of the well. Ariane’s dark eyes shone with excitement and fear. Her hands shook, and she shivered. The other woman towered over her. She looked like a child beside Vervandi.
“Come Queen of Kelwyn!” The woman called Vervandi beckoned. “It is time. You must summon the spirit of the Goddess!”
Ariane nodded. She’d waited so long for this moment. She braced herself and leaned over the well wall, staring deep into the bottomless void, her heart racing and chest thudding.
Answers, I need answers.
Ariane sank to her knees with only her head showing above the rim. Her hands were taut as they gripped the cold stone of the Oracle’s edge.
“Goddess of light!” Queen Ariane called down in a clear voice while the three men watched silently behind. “I have lived to serve you all my life. You and no other. I beseech your help in this your hallowed grove! Dark days have fallen on our lands, High Lady. King Kelsalion is dead, the Four Kingdoms in disarray. Our enemy, the sorcerer Caswallon, grows stronger. He threatens your people too. The land is in peril!”
Corin and Roman exchanged worried glances while Galed’s eyes bulged in dread. Vervandi said nothing but still leaned over the Queen like a willowy sentinel.
“Come, Mistress of the Trees!” Ariane’s face was rigid with concentration. “We need your guidance, Earth Mother, I seek knowledge concerning Prince Tarin and the remnants of the shattered crown, the Tekara. Goddess, help us, I beseech thee!” Her words trailed off into the night. Nobody moved. The air was fused with potent silence.
Then sudden lightning speared the cobalt sky, striking a stone and splitting it deafeningly in two. The violence of that noise blasted their ears and set them ringing. The men gasped and stumbled, but Ariane was locked in trance. She alone held to her task.
Then Vervandi spoke: “Behold the Goddess. Elanion comes!”
***
Still. So very quiet and still in the glade. Deathly hush. Even time has stopped in this hallowed place.
At first Corin sees nothing. Then he notices a smoky substance taking form above the stone well. He watches, entranced. The smoke fills his lungs like heady wine. Corin feels tipsy, confused. He is unable to move, his breath frozen in time. The substance takes shape before his dazzled eyes.
It becomes a woman. Myriad whirling colors parade her essence. She shifts from blue to emerald, carmine to golden yellow. Changing always, drifting in and out of vision. Corin watches in dream state. Forgotten his silent companions, forgotten the Queen still kneeling at the well, and forgotten the woman Vervandi leaning over her. He watches and believes that he dreams.
She rises from the well in smoky spirals, a towering figure filling the night sky until the stars and moon crown Her shrouded head and shoulders. Corin watches, his mind weird, a cocktail of perplexity and fear, hope and excitement. She manifests before his eyes.
The Goddess Elanion. She is a paradox, solid but quicksilver, motionless yet shifting sands. One moment She appears serene and beautiful, beyond the ken of mortal beings. Then Her face melts away, becoming hideous and wrinkled like that witch at the ford.
Her body changes constantly, from young to old, plump to gaunt. Only the eyes are constant, great golden orbs with violet centers. Alien and merciless is that gaze, immediate yet distant, ice cold surmounted by fire.
She speaks. Her voice is everywhere and nowhere. It’s in the trees, beyond the skies, and down beneath the crusty earth.
The Goddess speaks…
“…The one you seek is far from here. In Crenna shall you answers find. Upon that isle in dungeons dark, he that awaits you will appear.
“Southward then must your journey lie, beneath the deserts burning sun. Beyond Ty-tander’s searing flame, in mines of crystal shall he be found: the Blinded Smith to aid your cause.
“To that Great Cavern three must go. The tortured one will crown re-forge. Then shall war
begin at will.
“And when crown again is wrought anew, then shall the true King be revealed…”
The voice fades. Corin shuffles his feet. No one else moves. Corin hears a squeaky sound and registers it as the Queen speaking at the well. He tries to listen, but his mind is wandering through foggy corridors.
“So Tarin is imprisoned in Crenna?” Ariane’s words are excited, rushed.
The voice of the goddess fills the night again.
“Where the Prince is found, there too the crown. To Crenna must you sail.”
“What of Caswallon?” Ariane’s voice is barely audible. “How can we defeat him?” she asks, and Corin strains to listen.
“He is but a servant of what comes behind. They will weave a web to trap you. In yourselves you must believe, to overcome the growing dark.”
The voice changes, softens. It reaches out, touches them all, warming and comforting. Corin smiles like a man just released from a heavy chore. He feels tired but refreshed, worn down but happy—a strange emotion for him, that.
“Go with our blessing. Rest in the arms of the forest tonight. Tomorrow make haste to Kashorn by the sea.
“Courage shall you need in the weeks ahead. The game commences. Soon shall more be revealed!”
That hypnotic gaze falls on Ariane crouched below.
“Young Queen, your father’s strength flows deep within you. The men by your side shall not let you down. Even the least of them shall prove his worth in time.”
Then the violet golden gaze turns to the others standing there, speaking words that only they can hear.
To Corin she says this, her voice filling his head like the tolling of a bell.
“Wayward wanderer, your destiny approaches! My daughters will aid you when they can, though others seek to trap you.
Hold to courage, not self-doubt. In you rests mankind’s central hope. Seek your father on the High Wall. Among the outlaws shall you find him, when snow is falling fast.
Beware of Darkvale and She who weaves her midnight webs. Undeyna is His creature. She will snare you if she can…”
