The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth

by Jason R Jones

  Liogan nodded, reluctantly, then looked to his broadsword. He paused, then he heard Prince Bryant moan and the echoes of war above, remembered the finger he had seen, and that his kings only son would be hung soon if they did not rescue him. He met the eyes of Lavress, and nodded. The two infiltrators snuck toward the guards by the underground latrine, quiet as death, ready to kill.

  Exodus IV:III

  Outer Ruins, Kingdom of the Crescent Moon

  Morning light had never been so dark and treacherous as it was now. The hours had passed without a sound, no army of the dead came hunting Shinayne or Azenairk, and there was no sign that such a force had existed previous. The five companions had a minimal meal, as none could get their minds off of what the elf and dwarf had recited to them of their midnight excursion. It seemed they were gone for hours, yet Gwenneth knew they were not. The wounds they should have had were not there either, not a cut in cloth nor flesh to give credence to their recounted battle in the night. No one doubted the words of their friends in the least, but trying to understand how things such as this occurred was difficult. Then came the hopeful western sunrise, then came the storm of storms with it.

  The sunlight brought with it a terrible moan, like the dying howls of a thousand tortured souls. Winds came from nowhere and everywhere, dark clouds circled from the very ground and began to rise. From their vantage on the sandstone cliffs of the Temple Way they saw the forming of a gale turned swirling hurricane miles across. It covered the ruins in black thunderous gusts that followed the trench. Within moments, it was as dusk again, with all the cacophony of the cursed storm that was but silent rain the night before. The passage to the ruins was blocked by a force of cursed nature and angry air, surrounding even beyond the peaks of the Kaki Mountains to east and west, and sending rumbling warning to any within miles.

  “So, armies of the dead and gone by night, and this storm blocks us by day! For such a holy place of myth, it certainly makes things difficult for visitors!” James yelled out his attempt at enlightening humor, having to get his voice over the winds that now whipped sand and debris to the air.

  Zen shielded his eyes with his hand, as did everyone else. “We can’t go through that! Try and find a way around it, or do we wait for nightfall again?!”

  “If we go south and east, we stay to this road and the cliffs, too dangerous!” Shinayne raised her voice over the gale. “We will be blown off the edge!”

  “West means crossing in front of it for miles, likely to get lost in the haze and pummeled by all that it is throwing out! We won’t last long walking across it!” Saberrak the gray huffed out.

  Heads held down, eyes all squinting, they stood staring at the storm for untold moments. A curved semicircle of peaks with a valley filled with ruins had lay before them, they knew it was there, and knew it was indeed what they had been searching for. Each breath brought a hopelessness that meant they would have to wait for night and the calming of the storm. In turn they each wondered about the innumerable dead they might face. If what Shinayne and Zen had been through happened again, they knew that getting inside the ruins was a lost cause.

  “We go through it!” Gwenneth yelled, staff in hand, eyes staring back at the storm in defiance.

  “How?” Saberrak flared his notrils at the black robed woman.

  “I have a few ideas, trust me!” Gwenne smiled as the wind whipped her black hair straight back from her head. She looked to the staff of Imoch, the ancient carved runes in the dark redwood and the emerald atop both glowed, and let her know it could be of assistance.

  Silent nods in the howling of winds appeared from James, the minotaur, Zen, and the highborne elf, all directed toward Gwenneth. Each waited for the approval of another, none too certain of what she could do against such power, but neither did they have any answers themselves.

  Down off the Temple Way they pushed, the storm throwing unforgiving belts of wind at them with relentless ambition. An hour passed, it seemed as much more from their exertion at each step, and they had made it but a mile closer to the old ruined outpost. The hill was not visible in the dark gray morass of swirling anger, yet Shinayne and the last Thalanaxe guided them to where they knew it had been. Now their steps were heavy, labored, and breathing was as much a task as carrying forward.

  First one on all fours was Shinayne, her light frame started to lift and she dropped to the ground as to not be taken away by the storm. She looked back, barely making out the figures of her four friends, and then realized that nothing but darkness and impenetrable winds were in view no matter which way she looked. Large branches tossed overhead, old skulls bounced off the ground only to be sucked back up, and even small rocks flew through the maddening circle they were now inside.

  James and Gwenneth crawled next to Shinayne, while Saberrak and Azenairk crouched and gathered close. The monotaur and the dwarf put their backs to the west, blocking some of the debris, and the five sat low and tried to catch their breath.

  “I..I..cannot…breath…here…too hard!” James was gasping.

  Grunts and squinting flinches from Saberrak let them know his back, despite the scale mail her wore, was taking a beating from the debris. The constant impacting of things large and small kept him quiet.

  “Allright, we be in here now! And a stupid idea it was! Now what?!”

  “It seems to strengthen as we push on, before long I will be lifted up and you all will be---“ Shinayne was cut off.

  “Be silent!” Gwenneth stood slowly, staff in hand, holding onto Zen with the other. She put her body directly behind the minotaur’s, letting his size block as much wind as possible. She concentrated, eyes closed, and reiterated some of the passages from the book Ansharr had given her, with her own verbage of the arcane mixed in.

  “Usk ava, drixolin usxivian uhrr althiex!” Gwenneth Lazlette focused her energies and words through the staff and then back into herself, and then light radieated out her other hand. She had never channeled in such a fashion, yet the book mentioned that ancient wyrms cast in such a manner at times due to their inability at small complex arcane gestures. She continued to yell her newfound words in the draconic tongue over the storm. “Juriasi vughix amerxis vash vah!”

  The staff glowed from the emerald, then the top rune, the second, and then the third of five took an orange flaming illumination. That arcane fire shot back into Gwenne’s hand, near Zen who jerked away quickly, and then they all saw her eyes glow with a flicker of fire. It was gone a moment later, yet she smiled as if something wondrous that only she could understand had just occurred.

  “Athalies uduarte hivianis uhhrr!” White strokes of light erupted from her hands, dancing through the gale and touching each of her friends, arcing from one to the next and lastly back into her fingertips.

  Gwenneth hovered off the ground slowly, Saberrak grabbed for her before the winds took her, then stopped as she shook her head that she was fine. And she was, it was as if the winds held little sway on her glowing form. Lightning flashed, not of her own making, and the storm seemed to grow in fury. Bones and branches suddenly joined the low circling debris, determined to impact into her and her friends. Gwenne flared her eyes at the massive onslaught of remains and ruin, and despite no visible barrier, they arced up at the last moment and spun back harmlessly into the storm. Perspiration appeared on her brow, the concentration was beyond anything she had ever unleashed, but she spoke nonetheless.

  “Breath slowly! Stomp your feet and head in!” Gwenneth shouted from above their heads, eyes flaring white now as an entire tree was forced away with her eyes, right before crushing them all.

  Just as Saberrak went to speak his argument, white light entered his nostrils and mouth. Some form of the arcane was pulling fresh air from the storm and into his chest. Then the same occurred with Shinayne, then James and Zen. None rose from their cowering positions as the cursed hurricane continued to strengthen, pushing them down while threatening to draft them up should they stand.

  “Get up, now!�
�� She yelled. Gwenneth raised her arms, hovering in the gale, and a barrage of thousands of bones and skulls were directed away, surely sent by this willful storm of ages.

  As they stood, hesitantly, orange flames licked and swirled at their feet, harmless fires that looked as claws and burned into the very ground. Their legs were heavy, arcane energies weighting them down, as each step produced a quick cindering mark into the cursed earth. Step by heavy step, through a storm that not even the loudest roar would pierce, the four companions trudged ahead. Gwenneth floated over them, yet Saberrak kept one hand on her robe, just in case.

  By the hill with the ruined outpost they climbed, Shinayne nodding to them that this was where they had been before. Mouths opened for air, yet the drum and howl of wicked wind smothered any attempts at sound beyond its own. Thunder roared above but was an echo by the time it reached the ground. Gwenneth stopped, nearly half an hour of focus and she still had strength left, yet she pointed to a chasm that blocked their path.

  Zen nodded and pointed too, remembering the wide watery trench filled deep with the dead from last night’s scouting. He crouched at the edge, flaming boots licking and burning his stationary spot into the ground. There were no bones, no water to be seen, only the horrid whipping of winds and imbedded bones barely revealed as the stone and earth was torn away. He looked to the others, knowing that if they were to turn to the right, the winds would likely stop them in their tracks, arcane might or no. To the left, should they search for a bridge, would see them whipped with the currents of air and likely taken far beyond where they wished to go. Their only success had been pushing forward, keeping low, and knifing right through the unnatural storm. Going directly along or against it, even dropping into the trench with it, would likely be more than Gwenneth could counteract. The dwarven priest got to his knees, put his hands around his hammer and moons, and prayed louder than he ever had before.

  “Vun vathur onri uthgav ir ven!” He pounded his fist to the earth as his friends took knee and watched. Only Gwenneth remained still above them all as she forced more arcane energy toward deflecting the worsening barrage.

  Earthen roots of golden sandstone crept and grew from the edge, overlapping like vines of rock, slowly forming a bridge wide enough for ten men to walk abreast. Five feet, then ten feet out, then it began to slow and dissolve as the winds tore it to pieces and dust. The gale in the trench shot yellow for a moment, throwing the remains of the dwarf’s attempt across his face. Azenairk looked at his friends, receiving only desperate weary nods of thanks for his efforts. He gritted his teeth, looked up at the storm, and pounded both fists into the ground. He dug his fingers into the earth, yelling his prayers to Vundren even louder. His mind focused. I did not make it this far to be stopped by a ditch and a nasty breeze!

  “I said, Vun vathur onri uthgav ir ven! Vun vathur Vundren cathduran agaste onri uthgav ir ven!” He twisted his fingers more in the ground, raised his head to the unseen sky, and repeated the chant as long as he could before taking another breath and continuing.

  The golden rock shot forth again, fifty feet across, serpentine rock layering over and over, and this time shooting down into the trench as well. Supports of sandstone dove into the base of the thirty foot windswept chasm, and the bridge went out twenty five feet now. The storm raged, whipping the edge of the growing divine stonework with skulls uncounted. Pieces of stone broke off, then were covered by more sandstone vines as Zen pounded relentlessly upon the ground. His fist now held his symbol of Vundren, the other grabbed his warhammer, and his friends watched as he unleashed blow after chanting blow onto the ground he knelt upon. He stood, eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowed as he prayed , and then began to walk. The bridge he had divinely created was beyond sight across the chasm, at least fifty feet out or more. Step by step he walked,and he still chanted, as his form started disappearing into the cursed storm of wrath.

  Gwenneth, fearless in her concentration, hovered across first and then set down to the bridge. The streaming current over the chasm the storm had created, were now too strong. Not seeing Zen ahead, not able to voice a word, the prodigal wizard watched the west for more bombarding debris.She walked, blindly following, and looked back to James and the others. They were right behind her, watching her steps. One by one, each holding onto each other, the four traversed the crafted sandstone bridge, searching for their dwarven friend.

  Before they were halfway, the earth shook and the storm howled even louder. It seemed angry that anyone would dare venture this far in. Gwenne held Shinayne’s hand, then the elf held James’, who in turn was being held by the shoulder by Saberrak.The four crouched now, small steps only, and even Gwenne’s arcane energies were being met equally by the vicious winds. Then, as sudden as a flash of lightning, a strong hand reached Gwenneth and pulled on her arm that held the staff. Barely making out the stocky dwarf through the gray and dark blue clouds that raced over them, she tugged the others, and crawled ahead with Azenairk’s assistance.

  It stopped. The wind was behind them as if some barrier held it to the trench and outward alone. Fresh air, light breezes, and bright gray light welcomed them as they set foot beyond the sandstone bridge. They could breath, they could hear again, and the five companions stood reunited and looked south to where they had fought so hard to reach.

  Shinayne’s aquamarine eyes widened, Saberrak stood tall and unstrapped his greataxes, and James wiped his face and beard twice in disbelief. Gwenneth felt tears welling in her green eyes and a smile of victory and curiosity crossed her mouth. Zen, smiling and unblinking, turned to his friends.

  He watched their eyes gaze from east to west, across the surrounding sandstone peaks just a mile ahead and towering over the valley, just as his eyes had minutes ealier. A sandstone road lined with white bricks twisted through the entire city to the peaks, landing high up the mountainside to a set of ornate golden doors as tall as two men, and each just as wide. Atop the peaks were dozens of small manorhomes of decorated stone, and even two castles with domed keeps and towers were built into their high curtain walls that lined the cliffs of the Kaki Mountains.

  Lower into the city itself, there were temples, none less than fifty feet high and some still stood twice that or more. To the eastern edge, the crenallations and building designs were intricate, detailed to age old perfection, and everything seemed built around dead trees of great size. The elven district it was for certain. In the near center of myriad homes and shops by the thousands, several streets ended around a tower of green and gray swirled marble, smooth and thin it was reaching into the gray skies. The center looked to hold open theaters, a temple district of seven towering cathedrals surrounding three others and connected by a maze or bridges, and each of the ten holy places looked different in architecture from the next. Their eyes followed to dwarven districts, stables long empty of steeds, canals that ran dry, and even giant gardens that held but dead vines and empty pots as large as wagons.To the western edge, more homes drifted into ruin, keeps crumbled into disarray, yet one structure still stood proud over the long lost city.

  A bronze set of four domes with crescent moon engravings protected an open plateau of pillared sandstone. The raised dais was nearly five hundred feet across, shaded by the domes above, and held seats of stone pews enough for tens of thousands. The seats formed a semicircle around a higher stage of stone and pillars, and pure golden chairs by the dozens, all in curved rows, could be seen from even this distance. Part castle, part auditorium, and part defensible keep, the western palace looked to be watching over its ruined city with an ages old eye, and ancient vigilance.

  No one could speak, none of them moved more than was enough of their necks and eyes to take it all in, over and again. Desolate, all was silent but for the whispering storm only feet behind them, yet it sounded as if it were miles away. The thunder faded as if it were not truly thunder, and only their slow deep breaths made much noise. Gwenneth stared at the green marble tower. Shinayne looked to the east and over the peaks, ho
ping the lost elven city of Tintasarn may also lay hidden beyond the Kaki Mountains. Saberrak watched the streets for motion, back and forth, never having seen construction nor size the likes he saw before him now. James looked to the temples, seeing the wrethed leaf of Seirena next to a feathered cross of Alden, the balconies connected by bridges from the seven to the three. His blue eyes caught statues of Gods and Goddesses that seemed to beckon, though were as still as their crumbling stone. He smiled and looked down to Zen.

  The dwarf was moving his mouth, teary eyed, but it was hard for him to speak. He whispered to them, holding back the swelling emotion in his throat, letting a few trickles of tear escape his eyes as he spoke.

  “I guess the dwarves and history books was wrong, for I see the city o’ Mooncrest, aye I do, and the doors to Kakisteele beyond. Vundren be praised it exists, it truly exists, and we are here, though I still don’t believe me eyes. Someone had better warn whoever be here, that the last Thalanaxe has returned.”

  He chuckled softly and felt four hands touch his armored shoulders, he was not alone, and Azenairk Thalanaxe looked up to the sky. He hoped his family could see him now. He thought of his mother, his brothers, and thanked Vundren he and his friends were alive. “I am here father, we made it Papi, aye we did. Just as I promised ye’.”

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  Her longsword was too heavy, her steps stumbled and she fell again, her steel helm tumbling across the soft moist ground. Katrina left it there, her attention was ahead, to the dark stain of days old blood that marked the hill. Crawling, starving, the queen of Willborne made it to the top and licked the small splattered puddle. It was Rynnth, she knew the taste, she felt the sensation on her tongue. It was fresh too, perhaps a day or less old. Katrina was close again. Her mind and will felt not the pull of the blood any longer, just a festering hate that would not sit idle.