The Fall Of Celene (The Prophecies of Zanufey Book 2)

by A. Evermore

  She opened the door and was immediately blinded by bright sunlight. The hut had been deceptively cool and dark, never letting on that it was mid-day outside. She stood there blinking, feeling the warmth of the sun fill her limbs with strength. Her eyes slowly came into focus. She was surrounded by a rich green forest of broadleaves and evergreens. Several rounds huts, much like the one she currently clung to, stretched off down a dusty road that was more of a worn path than anything constructed of stones. After a moment she stepped out of the hut still leaning heavily on the doorframe.

  Her heart lurched in her chest when she saw Asaph. He had his back to her as he spoke to Coronos. His thick fair shoulder-length hair was loose. He had a sword belted to his waist and was naked above it. His skin was tanned and smooth over broad, well-muscled, shoulders. Shirtless… she fingered the collar of the shirt she wore, feeling heat rising up her chest and throat and into her cheeks.

  All thoughts about whose shirt she wore were swept from her mind when her eyes came to rest upon the most bizarre creature she had ever seen. The man-creature was also shirtless and he had the head and torso of a man but the body and antlers of a deer. She blinked. If she hadn’t been hanging onto the doorframe she would have fallen in shock.

  The deer man rested his gaze upon her and she wondered if he had smelt her presence. I smell bad for sure, she thought. Coronos and Asaph turned to see what the deer-man was looking at. She felt her cheeks grow hot as Asaph came striding over. The sunlight caught his reddish-blond hair, his pink lips were smiling and his sapphire blue eyes filled with concern.

  Uh, he’s alive and well and here! The worry for him that had lain like a dead weight in her stomach now lifted. She was so glad to see him and she smiled foolishly up at him as he towered above her looking concerned. And then, all at once, she was really angry. Where had he been? Why had he brought her here? Where, in fact, was here? And why the hell had he not come to her on the Isle of Celene!? If he could find her in the Shadowlands, he bloody well could have found her on Celene. I could have died! I nearly did die!

  The fury reached boiling point and before she could stop herself, she slapped him.

  He did not so much as flinch but a look of complete shock covered his face as well as red marks where her hand had struck. The motion sent her over balance and she staggered forward. He caught her but her legs would not work and she sagged against him as he held her, the world lurching around her violently. He took her arms gently but firmly and held her away from him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, stunned.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded angrily.

  Despite her anger she felt quite ridiculous being unable to stand whilst she argued with the person holding her up. ‘I thought you were dead! You could at least have come to find me!’

  As always her anger burned hot and fast and was quickly spent. She now felt more exhausted and out of breath than ever. The red marks upon his face looked quite sore and her hand tingled. She looked down guiltily. She shouldn’t have slapped him, even though he had gotten her into all this mess. Violence was not the way to deal with emotions, she reminded herself, resolving to somehow control her temper better. If either of them had turned around just then they would have seen the smiles of amusement on the other men’s faces.

  Asaph grinned, making her blush again, and then embraced her, almost roughly.

  ‘Thank Feygriene you are all right! I was so worried,’ he said hugging her tightly. The smell of him filled her nostrils as she was crushed against his bare chest and made her pleasantly dizzy. She hoped he couldn’t smell her too much.

  ‘Uh huh,’ she mumbled into his chest.

  ‘I didn’t know you had such fire within you, or have you changed since we were last together?’ he asked, laughing softly and smoothing back her tangled hair. He stood back a bit and held her shoulders. ‘You look as beautiful as ever, despite your bruises and bandages and obvious inability to stand up.’

  Oh really? She thought, taken by surprise by his comments. She tried to take her own weight and look a bit more dignified.

  ‘I guess that you either don’t care or you must have forgotten that you are half naked too?’ he grinned impishly, pointing out that all she wore was his loose shirt that barely reached her knees.

  Issa looked down in dismay at her white legs, noting that they could do with some sunshine. She tried to stand straighter and look proud, ‘I clearly don’t care,’ she said straight faced, though she had actually completely forgotten. Asaph only laughed and hugged her again but more gently.

  After a moment she found it in herself to relax into his embrace and return the hug. As soon as she let her defences down the strain of the last few days, of the last few months, washed over her. Embarrassed by the hot tears that came up out of nowhere she hid her face deeper into his chest, unable to stop the tremor that shook her.

  She had defeated Keteth but in returning Karshur she had failed to gain the elves as allies. She couldn’t cope with the glory and the failure at the same time. There was so much to be done and yet she did not know how to do it or really what it was she was supposed to do at all. So much seemed to be expected of her, of the Raven Queen. She needed time alone, to be herself and not the warrior that kept calling to her. And she wanted time to be with Asaph most of all and forget all else.

  Asaph could feel the wetness on his chest and simply held her quietly as he gently stroked her back. He felt like crying too. For all the agony and terror spent in Keteth’s domain wishing that he would die to end the torment; for very nearly dying and never seeing her, Issa, and Coronos again. For all the death and destruction he had witnessed and wrought himself, for whilst as his dragon self he knew no horror or guilt or fear, but when he came back to his human form it all rushed upon him.

  And now she was here, again in his arms. After so much fighting and struggling it all seemed too much to cope with. How her long slender legs made his pulse quicken, the bandages only adding to her vulnerability. Though exhausted and weak she was not as frail and timid as he first thought she was. He sensed that something had awoken within her just as it had awoken within him.

  The war was coming. Baelthrom and his Maphraxies were certainly hunting them now. Whatever their future might be it was certainly going to be treacherous. He stroked her long dark hair, so soft under his rough hand. They had time, he told himself, time to think on their next move and she needed rest.

  Yet, despite his reasoning he could not shift that cursed nagging sense of urgency. He would have to live with it, for now at least, because at this very moment all he wanted to do was hold her. He had longed for this moment, through all his dark days it had been her leading him through that darkness, her making him strong, refusing to give up. The demands of the future could wait, just for a little while.

  She did not resist as he gathered her up into his arms and carried her back into the hut. He laid her down and pulled the covers up around her shoulders. By that time she was already asleep.

  Issa slept deeply and dreamlessly at first but in the early morning hours the nightmares came on the wings of a raven. This particular raven was huge and black as midnight, she would have been afraid of it had it not always filled her with a sense of power and companionship. The bond between them was strong. Always in these lucid dreams she knew she was witnessing a real event but whether it was past or present or a possible future she could never know.

  She stood on a hill on the rich green Isle of Celene. Everything was so vivid. The sky was filled with green tinged clouds and anxiety bordering on panic gripped her throat. Something terrible was about to happen and she should run away from this place as fast as she could but her feet would not move and there was nowhere to go.

  Then darkness covered her like a thick blanket and she found herself in a small enclosed space, hard rough wood at her back. A snort and stamp of a hoofed foot came from close by and as her eyes adjusted to the dim light she could just make out the silhouette of a horse.r />
  ‘Duskar!’ she smiled and went to him. He whinnied as she stroked his nose. ‘Soon now my friend, I’ll be back soon,’ she said reassuringly, but then he began to back away from her and the whites of his eyes showed in fear.

  ‘Duskar?’ she whispered, feeling a knot of fear form in her belly. He began to quiver, sweat streaked down his neck and he tossed his head wildly.

  ‘Duskar, what’s wrong? It’s me, Issa,’ she said, her voice shaking with fear. She backed away from him just as he reared at the door. It was not her that he was frightened of but something she could not see. She cowered in the corner of his stable as his eyes turned blood red and thick froth began to drip from his mouth.

  He bucked and kicked and bared his teeth as he fought something in the darkness she couldn’t see. Then he screamed and she smelt blood in the air. She was frozen in terror, she could not move to help, she could not reach the Flow. She covered her ears and shut her eyes and screamed until the blackness came and the dream ended.

  Chapter 15

  One Lifetime Is Not Enough

  AFTER a hot roasted lunch with his soldiers, and a hearty extra plate heaped full of Northern Frayon spiced potato, Marakon left his officers in charge of completing the final preparations for tomorrow and went for some exercise. The sun was high and warm in the clear blue skies, though a cold wind came from the north, reminding all that winter was not all that far away. Marakon hugged his coat closer against it and walked through the encampment.

  The northern most post of the Feylint Halanoi had become a large semi-permanent settlement nestled to west wall of the medium sized harbour city of Port Nordanstin. There were far too many people, soldiers and refugees alike, to house even a quarter of them within the city walls.

  Amongst the tents and carts small wooden houses had begun to be erected and, though easily moved, it was testament to how long they had been there and that people thought they were likely to be there a good deal longer. The people of Port Nordanstin welcomed the protection and trade the Feylint Halanoi brought them and, whilst most places across the free lands struggled, Port Nordanstin was booming. Construction work for permanent housing had begun in earnest and the whole area around the outside of the city walls was a building site.

  Despite his earlier heavy mood Marakon found the sun and exercise beginning to lift his spirits so he wandered further than intended until his feet brought him to the bustling West Gate entrance into the port city. Being market day it was packed full of people inside and outside the city walls.

  Marakon kept no track of the days, he had long ago learned that as a soldier on active duty there was no weekly day off, no special day to look forward to. At the gate entrance two bored guards stood chatting to each other completely ignoring everyone else as they moved through the gate. Clearly they felt they had little to do now the Feylint Halanoi surrounded the city. They didn’t even glance at Marakon’s sword as he stepped past them. He joined the bustle of people carrying baskets and pushing wheelbarrows or pulling small carts filled with wares to sell or wares just purchased. This was considered the trade gate, the city’s main Southern Gate was for horses and larger carts.

  Marakon stood for a moment in a quieter corner of the huge square courtyard that today was filled with the tents of traders. Fabric roofs crowded his view, all purples and reds and blues, some tall and rickety and others short and wide as they reached over the heads of the crowd of mainly blonde, northern Frayonesse people. Amongst them he spotted the odd short and strong looking dwarf, a few dark skinned Atalanphian soldiers and several tall broad reddish blond Draxians. Quite a mix.

  Even so, his gaze settled with some surprise upon a young elf girl in a tiny purple draped marquee. The metallic shimmer of the purple fabric was clearly of superior elven material and workmanship. Most things of elven design were superior, he conceded grudgingly.

  Marakon felt sorry for the girl, despite his unfavourable feelings towards elves as a whole, she looked out of place and small and vulnerable in this busy market. She also looked very young but Marakon knew to correctly guess the age of an elf was no easy feat. Though she looked to be in her teens she may very well be past thirty; her shy demeanour maybe why she was getting so many young men to her stall. She was quite beautiful compared to those around her, a jewel hiding amongst dark rocks. Her long plaited hair hung over one shoulder like flowing silver with a pale copper hue and her skin gleamed in the sunlight.

  He made his way over to her stall.

  The girl looked up with pale golden eyes and smiled shyly as he approached. He knew she would instantly recognise his elven heritage, elves could always tell from the colour of his eye and smooth skin hidden so well under his very human beard. And, though it was obvious that he wasn’t pure elven, her smile seemed genuine as if she was clearly pleased to see one of her own kind, if only a half elf at that. A testimony, Marakon thought a little sourly, to how few of the elves chose to join in the fight against the immortal scourge upon Maioria.

  ‘There are not many elves this far north-west and so close to the battle front,’ Marakon said questioningly as he searched through various sized bags of hessel leaf. She was mostly selling herbs and incense, half of which he recognised, and half he did not.

  ‘My father and mother are dedicated to the Feylint Halanoi, sir,’ her voice was melodic, like the low notes of a flute. Marakon noted the pride in her voice and also something more, whether a touch of reproach or defensiveness he could not tell.

  ‘My mother is half-elven too,’ she added.

  ‘Ah,’ Marakon moved to some other herbs and nodded slightly, making sense of everything in a second, ‘three-quarters elven,’ he smiled. Did she feel as confused and guilty as he did about his mixed heritage and difficult past? The girl seemed flustered and her face had reddened in embarrassment, instantly showing the part of her that was human, and suggesting that she did feel as he did.

  ‘Then I am honoured to serve alongside your parents, though I have yet to meet them,’ Marakon beamed.

  ‘Oh, they are part of the Night Watch,’ the girl added hastily, thinking Marakon did not believe her, ‘which is why I run the herb stall alone. They are sleeping…’ she trailed off awkwardly, as if she felt she had said too much to this stranger.

  ‘Elves have excellent eyes for the night, I shall sleep more soundly knowing they are watching over us,’ Marakon said sincerely and the girl smiled again, her shoulders relaxed a little.

  ‘Yes, we are not all bad are we?’ she said quietly in Elvish and Marakon saw the flicker of shame pass across her eyes. And then he spoke in elven, saying something he thought he would never say in defence of the elves that fled.

  ‘They had their reasons for hiding and I do not doubt that they were correct. Probably none would have survived Baelthrom had they not fled, and they too would have joined their distant cousins the Ancients into oblivion. I only wish I could follow them,’ Marakon laughed at his words and she laughed too, though the guilt remained.

  He didn’t need any more but wanting to purchase something from her he picked up the biggest bag of hessel leaf he could find and passed her a small silver coin, refusing to take the eight copper ones she gave as change.

  ‘We are not poor, sir,’ the elf girl said in Common Frayonesse, blushing indignantly.

  ‘And neither do you look it,’ Marakon said, ‘still, keep it for yourself, I have too many copper ones to keep in my pouch anyway.’

  She slowly took back the coins, ‘Thank you, sir.’ She said nothing more but her eyes watched him silently. Not knowing what else to say, Marakon turned to go but then she spoke.

  ‘I do not say such things to strangers…’ she trailed off in Elvish. Maybe speaking in that language so others nearby would not understand what they said. Marakon turned to look at her. She squeezed the coins anxiously in her hand.

  ‘My grandmother had the Sight; I have a little of it,’ she chewed her bottom lip as if wondering whether to speak, ‘it is well known amongst tho
se with the Sight that long ago we lived forever. That there was always enough time to do all of the things we needed to do. But now one lifetime is not enough. After death a soul often chooses to reincarnate back into a body to continue what it came here to do. Some of us are old souls and have been around for a long time, though no one fully remembers their lives before.’

  Marakon frowned but moved back into the stall, intrigued, ‘I had a friend whose mother had the Sight. He died in battle a while back. After so long speaking with him I never doubted we live again, but why do you tell me this?’

  ‘You are an old soul, sir.’

  Marakon stroked his chin thoughtfully and smiled, ‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,’ he laughed but the girl only gave a half smile.

  ‘You have returned to fulfil a great deed.’

  Marakon shifted uneasily, wondering if the girl was angling for more coins, but the sincerity and sombreness of her tone told him it was not true.

  ‘I can see it in the heaviness of your aura; you walk a double path, though you do not know it,’ the young girl looked far away, beyond the bustling market and into another time and place entirely. ‘There is darkness and sadness about you. Can you find and restore a long forgotten glory? Can you right a terrible wrong that was done unto you and your companions?’

  The girl’s questions were introspective and they struck chords deep within Marakon that made him suddenly afraid. She looked directly at him then but seemed to see deeper, as if into his soul.

  ‘Despite its look and its nature, fear not the raven, Forgotten King, it is strong and loyal, as are you. It too walks a double path, between this world and the next…’ she blinked and looked about herself as if she had just awoken.

  Marakon stood staring at her lost in thought.

  ‘I am sorry, I should not tell people the things I see, so granny said, but it seemed important,’ she said in Frayonesse, pulling her silver threaded cloak close about her.