Revenant

by Fergal F. Nally

  Levant looked down at the body on the floor. He had not felt the familiar surge of life essence rush up the blade into his arm. He saw the trick, he knew he stood in a trap, his next move could be his last.

  Levant did nothing.

  He wants me to make the first move, Soren thought. He watched the Revenant standing in the centre of the room, still as stone. Soren thought furiously, if he moved he would betray his position with sound, if he went round the Draugr he would be within reach of the blade; he was not immune to the Blood Eagle.

  Levant remained calm, for he was undead. He reached out into the room and calculated, the priest was invisible, likely in one of the corners in front of him. Soren would have left the room or attacked by now if he was behind, Levant reasoned.

  Therefore, Soren was in front of him. In the right or left corner. Levant closed his eyes, he knew what the Blood Eagle was capable of, he knew the arc and swiftness of the blade. He could attack both sides of the room in a heartbeat. He reached his decision.

  Soren blinked, had the Draugr closed his eyes? What was he doing? Soren readied himself, his muscles tense, he unfolded his fingers and whispered one word under his breath.

  “Arise.”

  From the room’s floor and walls emerged spectral shapes. At first one then two, then in threes and fours, then dozens. Within seconds the room was full of swirling images, people from times past. Anyone who had ever been in the room, had left a trail, a tiny residue of essence. Soren brought their fleeting images back as a diversion.

  Soren made his move. He ducked to his right and along the side wall furthest from Levant’s sword arm.

  Levant’s eyes were closed. He heard movement to his left and reacted. His arm, an extension of the Blood Eagle swept up in a low vicious arc, along the wall to his left. Sparks flew where his blade touched the stone. The Blood Eagle met resistance, he heard a groan, blood appeared on his blade.

  The room was alive with writhing shapes; spectres from the past. Levant ignored them concentrating on his blade and the pool of blood forming on the floor beside the wall. He lost no time and struck again. He thrust the Blood Eagle hard at the space directly above the circle of blood.

  Levant felt the familiar surge of life up the blade into his arm. Soren’s essence was his. His mission was complete.

  Levant collapsed to the floor unconscious.

  Chapter 25: The Great Hope

  Gunnery Sergeant Summers was long gone, a distant memory.

  He was reborn, a phoenix from the ashes of his former life; Ser Halvdan, the great hope for the king and city of New Haven. Except his secret followed him; the paralysis had left his legs but his addiction had remained, ingrained in his body and soul.

  He shivered, his skin clammy and cold, his pupils dilated. He retched again, his stomach empty long ago, his bowels released all remaining fluid. The mages said he carried a demon. He laughed aloud and spat bile onto the floor.

  It was a demon, opiate withdrawal, like a snake curled in his stomach, it writhed and bit his insides and bones. Everything ached, a world of pain and illusion. He relived the war, the firefights, the death. He cried, sweated, vomited and lost control of his bladder and guts. He leaked and oozed pain.

  Seventy two hours in the wilderness. Seventy two hours of despair, he wanted to die, he wanted this trial taken away from him. Halvdan was aware of soothing voices and a cool cloth wiping his skin and brow. He was not alone, someone was there for him. He would defeat this demon, he would fight for as long as it took.

  The fourth day came, he lay still. He had nothing left to give the demon. His body and soul were stripped of all poison, all traces of his previous life. He was whole, he was the great hope. His journey had not diminished him in the mages’ eyes, it had done the opposite, he answered their call, he came to vanquish the Sworn and their eastern allies. The necromancers would perish at the hands of the great hope.

  Halvdan stirred.

  A voice broke the silence. “Master, are you back from the otherside? Master?”

  Halvden opened his eyes, the room slowly came into focus. A window let in late evening sun, motes of dust caught in its beam, like a miniature snowstorm. His eyes turned towards the voice, he saw a blurred shape approach him.

  “You’ve been feverish for four days. The fever’s broken, thank the gods. Here take this, you must drink.”

  Halvdan sat up, he felt wooden, empty. His body did not seem to belong to him, it felt different, untested, stiff. He took the bowl from the boy, who looked about twelve or so. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and promptly felt a rush of dizziness.

  He groaned and lay back wishing he was dead.

  The boy spoke again. “It will take time my lord, but your head will clear. Drink when you can, take as long as you wish. I will stay by your side.”

  Half an hour later Halvdan rose, his head clear.

  “What’s your name boy?”

  “Rale, my lord. I’ll tell the other masters you are awake, they’ll be keen to see you.”

  Halvdan watched the boy leave the room. He searched within tentatively. His demon had gone, leaving his body an empty husk. He felt strange, otherworldly, his nerves tingled with expectation.

  It was then he noticed the purple light shimmering down his arms into his fingers. He held his hands in front of his face examining them, staring in wonder. Crackling filled the air as he flexed his fingers, he noticed the hairs on his arms moving as if caught in a breeze. He ran his fingers over his scalp, his hair came out in clumps.

  He went over to the mirror. He was shocked at what he saw. Gone was the vacant look, the twisted smile, gone were the facial burns. Instead, what looked back at him was a stranger; a younger, harder version of himself. He ran his fingers through his remaining hair to test the reflection.

  It was real. The image did not flinch, there was no trick. This was his new reality.

  Perfection.

  His fingers left traces of lingering purple luminescence on his now bald scalp. He listened, more came to him. Deep and far away. He opened his heart and mind and heard things he had never heard before; a bird’s heartbeat outside the window, sap rising in the trees, distant bees humming, feet approaching his room.

  The door opened. He turned round to face the newcomer.

  An older man stood on the threshold and looked at Halvdan. His face was expressionless, he stepped into the room and nodded.

  “It’s true.” The man finally said. “You are returned, you’ve answered our call. You’ll help us defeat the necromancers to the east and the Sworn to the north. The time has come, you are the great hope.”

  Halvdan watched the man closely for any sign of subterfuge or deceit but detected none. He said nothing and waited for him to continue.

  “My name is Shiel, Mage of Sorrows. I’m to be your mentor in the coming days. Days, for that is all we have if we are to believe our spies. We suspect the necromancers will attack from the east and north in the next week or so. They have amassed an army of undead. How they’ve managed to do this in just under a year, I don’t know. They’ve the power, they’ve delved deep into necromancy, their efforts have borne fruit.

  “I’ll teach you to connect with your inner skills over the coming days. We have no time for the usual niceties, our pace will be fast and hard. There’ll be light, darkness, blood and pain. Much pain. Your power will be born from pain. We’ll begin immediately, come with me. We’ll go to the gardens for your first lesson.”

  Halvdan looked at Shiel. “You have a young spirit in an old body. You too have been here before.” He hesitated. “Do I know you from before? In another life?”

  Shiel took a breath. “You have an old spirit in a young body. Yes, you know me and I you. We are brothers, from the past. We have the same parents, we were separated by circumstance and reunited through the circle of fate. It is the way.”

  Something familiar in Shiel’s words resonated with Halvdan.

  “It is the way,” he repeated.<
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  Chapter 26: Underworld

  Jack looked at Sabine holding Raven and rushed over to the sisters. His mind, numb after the fight with the bears, suddenly flooded with questions.

  “What do you mean, she used blue fire? And what the hell was that thing back at the stones? It was like a tree, an animal… I don’t know.”

  Sabine looked up at Jack. “That was a Spriggan. It was protecting the stones. Stones are… sacred places, enchanted, from ancient times. Places of power, darkness, connected to the...” her face changed, she stopped rocking Raven. She stared at Jack.

  “What?” Jack said uncomfortably.

  “Stones are connected to the underworld,” Sabine said in a barely audible breath.

  “The underworld?” Jack repeated.

  “Yes, the underworld… the Erthe… is a place of death… and healing.” Sabine replied.

  “So?”

  “So, if we can find the keystone, we might be able to access the underworld. We may be able to help Raven, she used her life to protect us against those bears. She used her blue fire, all of it, to repel their attack. It has left her spirit depleted, injured. She needs healing, that kind of healing only comes from the Erthe itself. The ancients knew how to access it but their knowledge is long gone. Standing stones are known as places of healing.”

  For once Jack had no questions. He bent down and lifted Raven, her body was light, her milky eyes sunken, her breathing rapid and shallow.

  “What’re we waiting for? Lead on Sabine, I’ll follow you to this keystone.”

  Sabine held his eye for a moment then nodded. She stood, checked on Raven, then turned and moved swiftly through the trees back to the standing stones. They reached the glade in ten minutes. Jack went to the centre of the clearing and laid Raven on the grass, he put his tunic under her head as a cushion.

  Sabine bent over her sister, a look of concern on her face. “We need to hurry, her skin’s flushed, her breathing isn’t right. We must find the keystone.”

  Jack looked at the stone circle and counted. “How do we know which is the right one? There’s twelve.”

  “The keystone reveals itself in moonlight but it’s not dark yet. Sometimes there are markings, on the stone…” Sabine said distractedly. She flicked irritably at a strand of hair that had fallen across her face.

  Jack moved round the circle checking each stone in turn. Sabine followed suit at a slower pace, checking each stone again.

  “Nothing obvious,” Jack declared returning to check on Raven.

  Sabine finished her round a few minutes later. She sighed in frustration and stared into space.

  “I remember an old tale, when we were children. The blood of the injured alights the stone. But that’s just an old rhyme, it can’t be true,” her voice sounded small, lost.

  Sabine was frightened. Jack knew. He had seen that look before. “What have we got to lose? I can prick Raven’s thumb with my blade, we’ll only need a small amount, right?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Sabine’s voice sounded tight, brittle.

  Jack could feel her panic rising, she was losing her sister. Raven’s skin was pallid, a bluish tinge coloured her lips, her breathing had slowed. Jack took Raven’s hand, it was cold as marble.

  Tears rolled down Sabine’s face, she started to shake. Jack stood and went to her. He took her in his arms and held her, feeling her lithe body against his, something about the close contact felt right. It had been so long. He pushed his thoughts away and forced himself to focus.

  “Just do it,” Sabine gulped.

  “Wait, there’s something…” Jack said quietly.

  “What?”

  “That stone, the one across from Raven.”

  Sabine detached herself from Jack’s arms and turned to look. “What about it?”

  “It’s the only one without moss.”

  Sabine stared at the stone and then looked at the others. “You’re right,” she said, her voice firmer. “Yes, it is.” She rushed over to the stone and examined it, walking round it slowly. She shook her head and then stopped, leaning into the stone. She looked down, crouched on her knees, then dropped to all fours.

  The base of the stone was hidden by long grass. Sabine circled the stone flattening the grass with her hand. Jack was behind her when she froze, she let out a shout.

  “Here, look, there’s a mark! At the base, low down.” She took her dirk and started clearing grass away from the area.

  Jack stooped and had a look at the mark. He could see an indentation at the base of the stone. He squinted his eyes and looked away, then looked back again.

  “Sabine?”

  “Yes?”

  “From this angle, I can see four other grooves.”

  Sabine finished clearing the grass and started digging at the earth at the base of the stone. “The mark seems to be partially covered by soil, I’ll dig it away and see…”

  After a few minutes her efforts had revealed more of the indentations. Jack looked at them in turn. Then suddenly he saw. “It’s a hand! It’s the shape of a hand.”

  Sabine looked blank for a moment, her eyes searching the surface of the stone. She made the connection and leant back. “Quick! We’ve no time to loose. Bring Raven here, we’ll put her hand on it.”

  Jack went over to Raven and lifted her gently, bringing her back to Sabine. She nodded and Jack put Raven down next to her sister. Sabine took Raven’s hand and placed it on the markings.

  Raven’s hand fit the grooves perfectly.

  Immediately Raven’s body went rigid, the earth shook and the keystone took on a ghostly glow. A few seconds later stillness returned.

  “What the hell just happened?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t know exactly,” Sabine said hesitantly. “I think we may have triggered something.”

  Jack looked around the stone circle, nothing seemed out of place.

  Then he saw it.

  At the centre of the clearing a hole had appeared, large enough to climb down. He took a step and motioned Sabine to follow. She shook her head and stayed beside Raven.

  He approached the hole and saw steps leading into darkness below.

  What next?

  He looked back at Sabine and saw the concerned look on her face. Raven was in a bad place. He knew what he had to do, Sabine said these places were regarded as places of healing in times past.

  He took one last look towards Sabine, then turned towards the hole.

  His feet took him to the steps and he descended into the darkness.

  Chapter 27: New Beginnings

  Ser Thomas, Jarl of Elverium woke to pain. His body reeled in agony.

  Through the pain a ghostly voice whispered.

  Use well this second chance at life my friend. Go… find your wife and girls in Leerma. Use your time for good, be just in this life, learn to forgive and build bridges, for men’s hearts will be broken and mistrusting after this war.

  Thomas held his head in his hands, eyes wide in disbelief. He looked around the chamber. Where was he? What had happened? Last thing he remembered was the battlefield at Kreshe. He felt the voice’s echo resonate in his skull.

  “Who are you? Show yourself,” Thomas croaked.

  A pause. Then the voice answered, fainter. “I am, was Levant. I was you, lifted from the death fields of Kreshe for this purpose, to destroy the Sworn, who have betrayed our king. My work is done, Soren and his vipers lie vanquished. The eastern threat still exists and Soren’s undead are unleashed and bent on destroying New Haven. They are now under control of the eastern necromancers. I can do no more in this life, I am returning to the otherside. To peace, to stillness.”

  Thomas looked around and saw an empty room, a pool of dried blood lay beside the wall on his left. A wicked looking blade lay on the flagstones beside him. The blade shimmered, he thought he saw movement in its dark steel. He shivered and dragged himself up staggering to the wall for support.

  “My wife, my family, tell me of
them.” His words fell on dead stone walls. There was no answer, the voice gone.

  He was alone.

  He was alive and had a second chance. That was what mattered, he needed to find Liriana, Kate and Eveline; in Leerma, on the west coast. His life lay in Leerma, he felt his resolve harden. He would find them. He would reclaim his family, nothing would stand in his way. He needed protection, he turned to the weapon on the floor.

  With a mixture of fear and curiosity he looked at the Blood Eagle. His previous life was a memory, something to cling to in the chaos. So be it, he would cling to this blade too, it would anchor him in the days to come. It would be his word in the dark.

  Dark days. He would fight darkness with darkness.

  Ser Thomas, Jarl of Elverium bent down and took the Blood Eagle in his hand. Its steel felt light and powerful in his grip. He sheathed the weapon and left the tower, heading out into the cold dawn.

  ~

  “Soren has fallen.”

  The words filled the underground crypt, swirling in the smoky air. Shapes moved, buzzing filled the chamber. Flitting shapes, shimmered like a shoal of fish, twisting and turning, changing direction, reforming.

  The shapes formed a face. “No matter, we will tear them down. We control his army. This time we will tear down New Haven’s walls. We have the power, we have the strength. We will have the head of the king.”

  The face exploded in a violent burst of wind. Turbulence filled the room and the black shapes swirled once more, flocking like starlings. A blue bolt shot through the room, another face formed.

  “We will kill them all. All will be ours.”

  The storm pulsed through the chamber, a chorus of tormented throats wrenched words from the chaos of death magic.

  “Kill them all. Kill them all.”

  ~

  Thomas staggered into the keep’s courtyard. He needed to lie low for a day or two. He was exhausted, his body weak, he was mortal again. Food, drink and rest were his priority. He went to the cliff top and looked down on the valley below. He was shocked at what he saw.