by Susan Faw
“Tell me where to find the twins, and I will leave you, never to return,” Artio hissed.
Helga picked a pen from the tea table and scribbled instructions on a piece of parchment impressed with flower petals. She rolled the parchment and handed it to Artio but did not let go. “You will find them in two different locales, but both are headed this way. You see, I have something they want very badly. They were foolish enough to become human, thinking they would be better equipped to stop the wars occurring amongst their beloved humans, but they are fools. Humanity belongs to me.” Releasing the parchment, she sat back down and poured more tea. “I have one last gift for you.” She reached under her robes and withdrew a heavy gold chain. Hanging from the chain was a slender bone carved with shapes. She drew it over her head and handed it to Artio. “A piece of your love to carry with you.”
Artio reached forward and took the chain, her eyes locked on the slender knuckle bone. She stroked it with one finger and then slipped it over her head.
“My pets will escort you out. Do not return here, Sister. If you do, you will die.”
Helga did not notice the person who watched her intently from the shadows. Tall and dark, his eyes followed her retreating figure, unseen. His brow pinched into a brooding gaze. He did not look away from her vanishing form until she had faded from view, then silently retreated back into the obsidian recesses of the underground fortress.
***
Helga watched her sister’s retreat until she disappeared from view over the rim of the bowl and then stood, clapping her hands together. Tea, cups, and table instantly vanished to be replaced by a waist-high stone basin perched on stone columns carved with faces. Liquid silver danced across the sheen of refracted sunlight reflecting off the mirror’s surface. Helga peered into the basin, and the face reflected back at her morphed into a serpent, eyes narrowed and tongue flickering, testing the air. Annoyed, Helga swiped the surface, and another image appeared: that of Avery astride a fine golden mare with creamy mane and tail, following a Primordial man through the deep jungle undergrowth. Helga smiled as she watched them push their way through the thick plant life.
It would be fun to watch everything unfold from the basin and even more fun to watch the meeting in person. She was bound to the cavern, however, and could not step out into the real world, a backlash of her and Artio’s experiment all those years ago. Artio had been imprisoned in the stars, and Helga in her underground fortress. Try as she might, she could not leave the confines of her gilded prison. She was every bit as trapped as the birds swirling about the bowl. That did not mean she could not touch the world, however.
Abruptly, Helga marched back through a cleft in the rock and down the tunnel, lit by glowing rocks along the ceiling. The tunnel sloped downward, ever downward, into the bowels of the earth. Heat began to rise in waves, and Helga sighed with satisfaction. The caves were cold and damp, but once she reached this depth, they warmed considerably and became moist and humid. She fed this air into the bowl, which accounted for the growth of the plants.
Side tunnels branched off periodically, maze-like, with nothing to distinguish them from the branches before them. After about ten minutes of walking, the floor of the tunnel flattened and widened, and a fresh humid breeze laden with the scent of the sea wafted past her nose. She waved a hand in front of her face to chase away the offensive odour and then raised the front of her tunic to cover her nose.
She paused to glance over the side of the short stone wall that opened into the cavern. A set of steep steps had been chiseled into its side, winding down and around, clinging to the wall like moss to a tree trunk. The staircase emptied onto the floor of the cavern, a thin oblong sliced in half by a ribbon of quartz from which a bluish glow emanated. The cavern stretched as far as the eye could see, and skeletal figures with elongated pickaxes chipped away at the surface, their glowing faces covered in sweat and grime.
Men, women, and children—all were bound in groups of three and four, chains shackling their feet to the person next to them. The slaves of Primordial birth lined the ribbon, pecking away at their section of rock while Charun floated above them, keen eyes watching the slaves and the lack of fervour for their work. Incentives to work harder were plentiful. Whips whistled through the air and snapped, eliciting a cry from the unfortunate Primordial on the receiving end. Here and there, Primordial children scurried, dragging large leather bags of water to the slaves. The Charun carried away the weak with no more regard than for a beast of burden whose usefulness had ended. Most of the slaves who collapsed in the heat, died.
At one end of the cavern, the surface of the quartz had cracked and a faint wailing hiss slipped from the fissure. Helga strode down the steps on the wall with an assurance of long practice and over to the crack, her black robes fluttering in her wake. The workers fell away as she approached, kneeling on the heated floor and pressing their foreheads to the stone, trembling. She knew that they would not gaze on her.
Helga knelt down at the edge and ran her hand over the crack. The wails increased, and the blue swirled faster and faster under her hand. She closed her eyes, the fingers of her right splayed over the whirling mass, ruby lips murmuring soft words. Her hand closed into a tight fist and she pulled. Up through the crack, blue mist melted around her hand and stretched like thin taffy, following her hand as she stood.
With a piercing wail, it snapped away from the crack and the swirling soul bound itself to her hand. Eyes still closed, she chanted and waved her left hand over the closed fist. The celestial blue darkened to indigo then to midnight until all colour fled. The blackness remaining expanded, and a shape twisted in the air, expanding beyond Helga’s five-foot nine-inch frame. Helga’s eyes snapped open, her eyes dancing with a remnant of blue flame that faded back to black. Her lips curled in satisfaction. “Welcome, my pet. Take your place amongst your kin. Serve me well.” The newly born Charun drifted over to join the others swarming around the edges of the cavern.
Chapter 20
Jail Break
AVERY WOKE TO THE SOUND OF…well, she wasn’t sure. At first, her dreams had interpreted the tapping as a woodpecker in a tree, high up in her beloved woods out back of the farmhouse in Sanctuary-by-the-Sea. But as she fully woke, her eyes told her the truth and the dream faded.
“Tat-tat-tat…tat-tat-tat” went the sound, and her eyes travelled up toward the ceiling of her cell. Small bits of dust and dirt puffed from the ceiling with the impact, creating a fine dusty rain of debris. She walked underneath the spot and, shading her eyes, peered up at it. A hole roughly the size of two fingers appeared immediately above her, large enough to slide an object through. With a pinging sound, the object dropped to the floor. She bent over and picked it up. It was a key.
Startled, Avery looked up in time to see a scrolled parchment drop through the same hole. It dropped to the floor, and then the hole disappeared, covered over once again.
She picked up the scroll and walked back to her bed to read by the flickering light of the candle once more, the key disappearing into an inner pocket of her tunic.
The message was short and sweet. Second hour. Be ready.
She glanced at the height of the full moon out her cell window and the angle of the patterns on the floor. She judged it to be first hour or a little after. She got up and crept over to her cell door and placed her ear against the thick wood, listening for sound on the other side, but all was silent.
If someone was going to break her out, why give her a key? What did this mean? And who had it come from? Nervous about the implications, she began to pace. Is this someone aiding me or setting me up to be killed? Either way, she had little choice in the matter. She had to get out and she wanted to be ready. She packed her few meager belongings and checked the placement of the weapons she could not be relieved of. Everything was in order. She strode back to the door and bent down to check the keyhole. She saw the dim light of a flickering lantern, and then something blocked the light. A guard paced back and fort
h just on the other side of the door. She considered putting the key in the door, just to be ready, but if the guard decided to put his in to check on her, then he would discover she had a key.
She glanced at the window once again, judging the time.
Suddenly, an explosion rocked the ground. With a roar and a brilliant flash of light, a powerful fist of wind blew bits of stone and thatch through the bars of the window. Avery was knocked to the ground by the concussive air and threw up her arm to shield herself from the heat of the flames that roared just outside of her window, licking at the wall. Avery smelled the thatch on the roof as it began to smolder. She pushed herself to her feet, rubbing her bruised shoulder. She could either wait to see if someone came for her or use the key clutched in her hand. She chose the latter and leapt for the door, jamming the key in the hole and twisting it viciously. She prayed silently that the guard had not slid the wooden bars in place. The lock scraped and then clicked, and she wrenched on the handle, dragging the door open. She nearly tripped over her guard. The guard she had seen pass the keyhole earlier lay in a pool of his own blood. His throat had been cut, and blood seeped and puddled on the stone floor.
Sickened, Avery ran across the hall to her father’s unguarded cell and pushed on the door in a panicked attempt to reach him. She was surprised when the door swung open easily, and she rushed inside. His cell was empty. Avery spun on the spot, double-checking the shadows, but her father was not there. Avery dashed outside and then quickly searched the other cells. All were equally vacant.
Alarmed and close to panic, Avery coughed and threw a sleeve up in front of her nose. The smoke was thickening and the air turning toxic. She had to get out. She heard distant screams and shouting and knew that a crowd was gathering at the entrance to the cells, attracted by the flames. She dashed toward the back, racing down the stone steps that led to the rear of the building. At the end of the hallway was an old wooden door that opened into a broom closet. As she ran up to it, the door swung open and a man stood in the opening. Avery reached for the knife tucked in her boot and then paused when she saw who it was. Elder Hania stood in the doorway, a finger pressed to his lips warning her to be silent. He motioned for Avery to follow him, then turned and lifted a trap door in the floor. He disappeared into the opening without a second thought, dropping down into the dirt cellar and pulling the trap door closed over her. Darkness descended, but the air cleared immediately. Avery sucked in a great lungful of the blessedly clean air. Without a word, Elder Hania strode off down a low passage, lantern bobbing in his wake, leading the way. Avery followed without hesitation. Smoke curled around the edges of the trap door, drifting down toward where she crouched in the passageway.
They ran, hunched over like a pair of armadillos, keeping to the shadows lest they come across another Primordial. The tunnel was short and emptied into a cellar of a building across the road from the cells. The owner was a weaver and seller of carpets, as was evidenced by the bales of yarns and large vats of dyes and shelves stocked with shuttles and weavers’ needles of varying sizes. They slowed and slunk through the bales until they found a staircase, then cautiously crept up the steps into the silent shop.
As Elder Hania stepped out from the top of the steps, a youngish voice said in an urgent whisper. “Did you get her out?” Elder Hania stepped aside to reveal Avery standing in the opening at the top of the staircase.
“Thank the gods! Come, we must go.” The hooded figure tossed a large cloak at Avery which she caught and pulled on over her own clothing, drawing the hood up around her face. It was deeply cowled and hid her from inquiring glances, but nothing could dim the glow of her eyes. The men ran off toward the rear of the shop, and she followed, slipping out the door behind them and pushing up against the wall to gain her bearings. She was in a narrow alleyway behind the store, rather well-lit for the time of night due to the glow from the flames. She glanced over her shoulder to where a bright glow lit the sky. As they ran down the alley, Avery glimpsed crazed shadows cast by running villagers backlit by the glow of the flaming thatch. Men and women ran back and forth, tossing buckets of water on the inferno, which hissed angrily and flared anew as they ran back for more water.
Avery pulled her hood tighter to her face and glided from shadow to shadow, following the tall elderly Primordial through twisting alleys until they reached a barn on the edge of Faylea. Elder Hania paused under the overhang, checking to see if they were being followed, and then pulled open the door and pulled her inside.
She found herself facing ten Primordial men and women of varying ages. They were all dressed in white tunics embroidered with images of birds and beasts climbing the hem of their garments and twisting around sleeves. Avery recognized many of the images from her journey in the temple, flaming phoenixes and rainbow-hued thunderbirds, werewolves and sabre-toothed tigers, unicorns and Pegasuses, creatures of myth and legend. Except she now knew they were real. Very real.
Elder Hania eased the hood from his hoary head. “Welcome, Ancient One.” He bowed over his hands.
Avery’s voice, still winded from their run through the dark streets of Faylea, came out harsher than she expected. “Did you kill the guard to get me out? Why would you do that? You could have just knocked him out. Why did you kill him?”
Elder Hania bowed once more over his hands. “An unfortunate accident, Mother. I intended to do exactly that, but he struggled and the knife slipped. I regret the loss of life. All life is sacred. He would likely have died in the fire in any event, as you saw, lighting a thatched roof is usually fatal for all inside the building. It burns so quickly and so hot, most do not make it out alive.”
Avery glared at him, but the elder turned her attention to the others in the barn. “I would like to introduce you all to Avery Tiernan, who comes to us from the village of Sanctuary-by-the-Sea. Avery, may I present to you the elders of Faylea, the Spirit Temple guardians.”
The elders bowed, hands pressed together. Avery returned the ritual greeting, straightening just as the door of the barn opened again, admitting the young man who had aided her escape. Elder Hania caught sight of the man and smiled. “And this is my son, Achak.”
Achak stepped forward into the light and Avery’s eyes widened. The light glinted against straight black hair that framed a rugged face with high cheekbones and hollow planes. A straight pointed nose ended at full lips, which were curved in a smile of greeting. Avery met his eyes and a thrill passed through her. Keen intelligence was reflected in his eyes. Broad of shoulder, his cloak was slightly parted and displayed a tattoo of a phoenix in full transformation, a flaming herald of rebirth. His shirt was tucked into soft deerskin pants that hugged his body as though made especially for him, and likely were, now that she came to think of it.
Avery jerked her head in greeting, not trusting her voice to speak, and his smile widened at her reaction.
“We wish to welcome you to Faylea properly,” yelled a woman from the midst of the crowd. Avery refocused on her, glad for the interruption, as she blushed slightly. “Marea believes we are traitors for supporting you in your quest, but we know that the spirits have spoken to you. It is obvious that you are the chosen one.” Heads nodded, and Avery sensed from their words that they did believe.
Avery smiled in return and lowered her hood. The collective eyes of the elders widened, as did Achak’s, taking in her fully tattooed form and glowing eyes.
“May we approach?” the woman asked. “I am called Sarea, and I am a guardian of the equestrian spirits.”
Avery nodded. As the woman approached, the other guardians quickly followed. Avery shrugged out of her coat so that her bare arms were revealed. The guardians crowded around Avery, exclaiming at the number of tattoos that covered every inch of skin.
“You are blessed beyond women, Avery Tiernan,” said Sarea. “We, who are guardians, are blessed with one or maybe two tattoos when we go through the trials. I even heard of one elder who had three. But this”—she gestured to the landscape of t
attoos marching up Avery’s arms—“is unheard of. Legend tells us that the only people so blessed were of the gods.” Murmurs arose at her words and heads nodded.
Avery shrugged back into her coat and then raised her eyes to meet the gazes of the elders.
“You are correct, Sarea. I am of the gods. I am born as Avery Tiernan, but my true name is Alfreda.”
The elders gasped at her statement, their eyes widening in shock and sudden fear. As one, they dropped to their knees, palms pressed together, heads bowed.
“Forgive us, Mother! We did not know!” They bowed, pressing their foreheads to the straw-covered wooden floor.
Avery, embarrassed, quickly reached down and pulled Sarea to her feet. She did the same with Hania, helping the elderly man back to a standing position.
“Please! Stand! I have only just learned this myself. My memory had been lost all these years since my human birth. I am still absorbing the truth. Believe me, it is as much of a shock to me as it is to you. Please stand.”
They regained their feet but refused to meet her eyes.
“I need your help,” said Avery, “if you are willing to give it. I and my brother Cayden willingly chose to be reborn as hybrids. You see, our mother was the Primordial princess Gwen, and our father, the human prince Alexander. Hunted since the beginning, we nearly died before we were born. It was only with the aid of a dear friend that we survived. Our souls transferred to these bodies just before birth.
“We have returned to stop the war that has been brewing between the nations, Primordial and human, but even more there is a blackness that is creeping across the land. I can feel it. Can’t you? It spreads like a plague, the sickness creeping into the minds of men and turning them against one another. Jealousy and greed follow in its wake. Tell me, why are the Primordial people fighting each other? Why is there this divide between the Flesh and Spirit Clans? How did this come about?”
