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

by A. Evermore

  After an hour or so, when they had lost sight of land, Marakon looked about him. Bokaard was busy at the wheel, his eyes hidden behind sunshields, and the rest of the crew were busy manning the sails and ropes.

  Satisfied he was not being watched Marakon turned back to the ocean, subtly lifted up his eye patch and closed his good eye. All he could see was a blur at first. It always took a while to focus having been hidden under the patch for so long. Slowly the focus came but, despite his far vision, he could make nothing out other than endless blue water. He could see at least twice as far as the captain’s spyglass, and though Bokaard suspected something odd about his eyes because Marakon was always the first to spy land, the captain never said anything about it.

  He looked down at the white frothing waves slapping the bow. What did the elf girl and the old woman mean? They were right, somehow, and the more he thought on it the more he felt there was something he had to do, something important he had to remember. There was something missing in his life and he had to find it, but he could not for the life of him think what it was.

  Perhaps he should find a witch or priestess who could see into another’s past lives. No, priestesses scorned such things and witches were a mixed bag. He’d be better off approaching a seer, maybe one of the best, a Seer of Myrn. They were light workers, they would be safer. Seers were as adept in magic as wizards, their male counterparts, were, but they were far more secretive, incredibly rare nowadays and hard to find.

  The visions from the old woman were so strange and yet so real. She said I was a King but I am not. The raven, the memory of it pecking at his eye made him shudder. She had said they were good omens, but why was it attacking me? A sharp pain stabbed him in the eye again as it had when the raven pecked at it.

  ‘Everything all right, sir?’ one of the sailors frowned worriedly down at Marakon from the rigging above.

  Marakon realised he had clamped his hand to his left eye. The terrible stabbing pain now receded. Hastily he pulled down his patch to cover his eye.

  ‘Yes, thanks, sometimes it pains me,’ he muttered.

  ‘No doubt it does, sir,’ the soldier nodded, ‘I can still feel me little finger throbbing,’ he held up his left hand to reveal his missing finger. He grinned, revealing many missing teeth as well, and then carried on climbing high up ropes and on to the mast as nimbly as a squirrel.

  Marakon cursed himself a second time that morning. Any more odd behaviour like this and he would freak out his soldiers completely. Regardless, he would not let what the old woman showed him spook him before battle.

  He turned his thoughts to the mission ahead, mindful to keep his eyes on the horizon, the real reason he stood at the bow. The sea was choppier now and the lurching of the ship keenly felt in his stomach. He pulled out the hessel leaf pouch and breathed deeply of its pungent aroma. He reached inside and pulled out a small handful of the dried leaves, unstoppered his water flask, and sprinkled them in. After shaking the flask for a few moments he gulped it down quickly, trying not to taste the now foul liquid.

  As he tilted his head back he caught Bokaard’s eye, who was standing at the huge wheel, sunshields low upon his nose. The big man smirked and shook his head at Marakon. He mouthed ‘White Belly’, his teeth flashing white against the smooth darkness of his skin.

  Marakon sighed, shook his head and turned away grinning sheepishly.

  An hour or so later, when the hessel leaf had started working, Marakon stood beside the captain at the wheel.

  ‘It’s an aggressive move,’ Bokaard said, ‘we haven’t attacked so far to the north of the southern islands since we lost Haralan. I would have picked a smaller, less northerly island,’ he shook his head as he chewed on his Atalanphian cigar. The thick dark smoke smelled of the hot dusty desert from which it was from.

  ‘At least the enemy will be as surprised as we are,’ Marakon said, Bokaard chuckled. ‘It’s good to attack, to keep the enemy on their toes. Hopefully it won’t be well guarded because of our recent attacks further east. They won’t think we would dare venture this far north yet.

  ‘Those Maphraxie dogs have enough expendable bastards to set up camp in every corner of Maioria,’ Bokaard growled, unconvinced. He squinted in the bright light as he constantly adjusted the wheel to counteract the flow of the tide and the tilt of the ship in the swell.

  ‘It’s a bit of a gamble, I agree,’ Marakon pressed on, ‘but I think our commanders are right on this one. Less Maphraxies and caught off guard could mean victory.’

  Bokaard huffed, ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’

  ‘Once we have anchored and made it to shore we will move over the island in a wave. Once we have successfully made the halfway point, runners will head back to the ship and give the orders for the fleet to sail round to the western side, ready to send in reserves if needed,’ Marakon explained the rough plan to the sceptical captain.

  It wasn’t a bad plan, Marakon thought, it just relied upon too many unknowns, all their plans did; how many Maphraxies there might be, where they were concentrated at any given time, where they were most likely to attack next, whether the Feylint Halanoi would be facing magic wielding necromancers or dark dwarves, deadly Dread Dragons or Maphraxie grunt soldiers. They never really had much to go on. Marakon didn’t speak his thoughts aloud, he didn’t need to add to the big man’s scepticism.

  ‘It is always so difficult,’ Bokaard said, grimacing, ‘our spies cannot infiltrate Maphraxies; our wizards cannot penetrate the enemy’s minds no matter how hard they try, for who can read a dead mind? And always, always the Maphraxies seem to know what we, the Feylint Halanoi, are doing. I’ll bet they have spies amongst us or some evil wraith that we cannot see taking down our plans and reporting back to that immortal bastard. They make our plans of surprise attack useless!’

  ‘I know,’ Marakon said sourly, ‘It is as if Baelthrom himself watches and calculates our every move.’ He hated saying the name aloud.

  ‘But still we have to try,’ Bokaard’s shoulders slumped, ‘what else can we do? All we have against an enemy this large and this strong are small attacks to nip at the beast’s hooves and then flee; chip away at them slowly.’

  Marakon joined Bokaard in silence for a while, both scanning the horizon for the familiar peaks of the southern islands or the long black shapes of enemy ships. The wind was blowing cold now and Marakon pulled his scarf higher to cover his nose, his cheeks red and burning from the chill. Bokaard seemed not to notice the chill and stood with collar down and gloveless, a grim expression set on his face.

  ‘Remember in the old days when we took prisoners?’ Bokaard suddenly said, his face breaking into a grin.

  Marakon barked a laugh, ‘Yeah, let’s hope we never go back to that. Those abominations are best put out of their misery as quickly as possible!’

  Bokaard chuckled, ‘Ugh, they stank out the ships for days after,’ he grimaced, ‘but I’d prefer a stinking Maphraxie grunt to one of those cursed necromancers. Pure undead evil. I could feel them draining my soul with their eyes. They didn’t even flinch in torture. It was as if they enjoyed the pain.’

  ‘You don’t mess with black magic wielders,’ Marakon said, ‘kill them straight off as quick as you can before they take you soul away. Not taking Maphraxie prisoners is the smartest move the Feylint Halanoi ever did.’

  Chapter 18

  You Are My Goddess

  ISSA yawned, stretched and winced when her wounds and sore muscles complained. She was painful and stiff all over. I’ll need a week to feel normal! But despite her injuries she felt rested. She touched the mark upon her chest beneath the shirt she wore. It was tender, much to her surprise. Had she thought it not real? What about the Land of Mists? All real.

  She felt under her bed. Karshur was gone. Returned home, its task finally complete after a millennia of waiting. Hopefully the fairy who had led her to the dagger knew that Keteth was dead and Karshur had been returned to its people. It was not I, but Karshur and the po
wer of the dark moon that freed Keteth. She couldn’t bring herself to think she had killed him.

  She undid a few buttons of the shirt she wore. In the centre of her sternum there was a silvery-blue mark, about the size of a copper coin, and it gleamed softly like a pool of water in moonlight. The vortex of the heart… the portal between dimensions. She craned her neck to try and see it more clearly. The raven mark… There was indeed a faint outline of a raven flying, the familiar heavy beak pointed to her neck, wings stretched wide, the unmistakeable wedge-shaped tail.

  A’farion, yes, that was the word. Repeat three times, and touch the raven mark with the talisman. Then will you find yourself far from the living. Never enter more than once in any day and never stay for more than an hour. Where would the enchantment take her? Back to the Shadowlands? Issa shivered. Perhaps she wouldn’t try it just yet, it didn’t feel right in the dark.

  A strange gift, she thought, but one that might save her life. Or end it! She had not expected anything from Karshur the man, had not really thought much about him at all. He had given his life and bound it to the dagger rather than flee and live peacefully in the elven Land of Mists.

  ‘The Land of Mists,’ she sighed wearily. The elves would not come and there was no way she could convince them to either. How will we ever be able to stand as one against the Maphraxies? How can we ever be free? I don’t even know how to find the Land of Mists, not that I would be allowed back in anyway.

  The morning came quiet and still. Even the birds were lazy today for they had not yet started to announce the dawn. She breathed in the fresh forest air that came in through the window, the smell of pine was rich and invigorating. She reached over, peeked through the curtain and smiled. Asaph lay on his side with his bare back to her and beyond him lay Coronos on his back, both sound asleep. On the other side of the room was another curtained enclosure, which she assumed was where a karalanth slept. She wondered of what they all dreamed.

  She lay back down quietly, not wanting to wake anyone. She should get back to Celene as soon as possible, Ely and Freydel would be worried. She could send word before then maybe. Freydel had taught her briefly how to scry with a mirror and pool of water but she had never tried it alone. Edarna would know the White Beast was gone for sure. She should scry for her too.

  The Isle of Celene would be her home now, she decided with a smile. She felt good there and it was an island like Little Kammy, albeit much hotter and humid. But Little Kammy would always hold her heart. Would she ever return? I wouldn’t want to even if I could. My life, me, are so different now and everyone I knew back there is dead. Poor Ma, poor Tarry, poor poor Rance. She closed her eyes. The pain was raw whenever she thought about them.

  Ely had lost loved ones and Asaph had lost both his parents too, his whole country in fact. And what about all those enslaved by Keteth, the annihilation of the Ancients… So many have died at the hands of the Maphraxies, I am not alone. How little I knew of the world, Ma, I wish you’d have told me. But even if she had would she, Issa, really have cared? To the islanders the mainland was so far away it may as well have been another planet.

  Now she had a moment’s peace and stillness the thoughts came to her. Her real mother could be alive still couldn’t she? Maybe she could find her? The thought had her pulse racing. Fraya would always be her mother but there may still be her blood-mother alive out there somewhere. Maybe she could help her understand who she was, why Zanufey spoke to her and what it was she was supposed to be and do. Her real mother could tell her about her father too.

  Ma had said she was a seer, but what exactly is one of those? I know witches and fairies but I’ve never met a seer. Freydel never really spoke about them other than they were magic wielders and they lived on the Isle of Myrn, wherever that is. She closed her eyes and tried to recall that old map in the classroom but she didn’t remember where Myrn was. Somewhere east beyond Frayon, and probably completely over-run with Maphraxies!

  She sighed and her mood sunk. It would be near impossible to find her even if she was alive. But maybe Freydel could help her, or at least tell her more when she got back to Celene. Yes, that is what she must do as soon as possible. Get back to Ely and Freydel and tell them all that had happened, about the elves, the karalanths, Karshur and all those souls freed when Keteth died.

  Warm sunlight spilled through the open window then and the air was warm and heady with the smells of late summer. She swung her legs out of bed just as Asaph peeked through the curtains. She squeaked and grabbed a blanket from the bed to cover herself.

  ‘Can I have my shirt back clean, please?’ he said quietly, grinning at her.

  She half-grinned half-scowled at him feeling her cheeks redden; who did he think he was walking in like that without announcing himself? But her scowl soon softened to a blush under his humorous gaze.

  ‘It could do with a wash,’ she agreed, and so could I! She smelt of seawater and sweat.

  ‘It’s good to see you looking better,’ he said, still grinning, ‘you even have some colour in your cheeks, though you could do with fattening up.’

  ‘Hmph,’ she grunted. A double insult! Did he have any manners? And yet she found herself beginning to smile as she looked up into those deep blue eyes. She stood up straight, hoping to gain some lost dignity, though she still hugged the blanket around her.

  ‘Is there anywhere I can wash? And where in fact are we?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s a stream with a small pool close-by but it is cold. I can show you if you like,’ he said. ‘We are on Frayon, deep within the western forests in a karalanth settlement.’

  ‘Frayon,’ Issa said in wonder. ‘I tried so hard to get to the mainland for so long and now I simply wake up and find myself here.’ Now I am here I wish I wasn’t, I wish I were on Celene!

  ‘You and me both!’ Asaph said wryly.

  She got up and started to walk, refusing his proffered arm, only to stumble on unsteady legs. He caught her and she felt her cheeks redden again. Gaining her balance she walked unaided and they moved quietly past a softly snoring Coronos and out the door. She stumbled again.

  ‘If you left the blanket behind you might find it easier to walk,’ he suggested tentatively. But she only hugged the blanket tighter.

  ‘You didn’t seem to want it last time you got out of bed,’ he added.

  She stopped abruptly and looked at him, the memories flooding back. His cheek was still blush-red from her slap. She grimaced, mortified.

  ‘It’s all right though, you weren’t very well,’ he added quickly.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I did not mean to…’ she began and then frowned. ‘What indeed did happen to my clothes? And how did I get here? I don’t remember anything after the Maphraxies attacked us,’ she said looking around in confusion. Suddenly she wanted to sit down. He took her arm, supporting her gently.

  ‘When I found you, you were wearing nothing more than rags,’ he said. She felt her face just get hotter. He seemed startled by her look and added quickly, ‘I gave you my shirt; you were freezing to death.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said tightly and strode off ahead, her legs wobbling unsteadily and taking away any dignity she might have had.

  ‘You don’t have to be embarrassed,’ he called out, running to catch up.

  ‘Hmph,’ was all she could think to say.

  Asaph stood there confused at her actions as she stomped off. So much for saving someone, he thought. Why is she being so difficult? Did I do something wrong? Maybe she doesn’t like me. That last thought worried him. Maybe they just needed longer to get to know each other. Hopefully then their relationship would be easier. She had, after all, suffered a lot lately, more than he knew yet. Which is why they needed to have a good long chat about everything. Things would be fine then, he nodded to himself, and ran to catch up with her.

  They passed a karalanth with her young son, their fur a rich red and her antlers tall and majestic whilst her child’s were small and only two pronged. They both gl
anced at Issa and smiled before turning their eyes respectfully away. They looked so odd Issa had trouble trying not to stare at them. She nodded her head by way of greeting and hurried passed, feeling smelly and bedraggled, wondering how she must look all dirty, dishevelled and wrapped in a blanket.

  Had they mentioned karalanths at school? I’m sure Ma did but I never paid any real attention, as usual. She had seen drawings of them in Farmer Ged’s books but they seemed to be just fables of fantastical creatures. But then again even on Little Kammy some people refused to believe in fairies, though she knew they were real. The karalanths were different though, they were much more solid and did not disappear if discovered. Ma had taught her about all the races on Maioria but they, like the mainland upon which most inhabited, were far far away.

  The pool was small but deep and fed by water trickling over rocks from above to create a miniature waterfall. Willow trees grew along the banks, dangling their dainty leaves into the water. She turned to look at Asaph expectantly.

  ‘Oh, er, I’ll wait here by the trees and check no one is coming,’ he said hurriedly, suddenly seeming completely flustered. He turned his back to her. ‘Don’t worry I’ll, uh, respect your modesty,’ he gave a weak smile.

  Issa decided against telling him to leave for she didn’t quite feel all that strong and the deer people were extremely disconcerting, though they surely meant no harm. She dropped the blanket and sat down on the stony banks. Carefully she peeled off her bandages. Underneath her flesh had healed so well barely any scars remained. They still ached and itched though and were tender when touched. Whoever had tended her wounds was clearly adept at healing, far better than she herself was. Perhaps it was more than that, she thought, touching the silver leaf bracelet about her wrist.