Prologue
Neliar, queen of the Neldivine Iloven, bearer of a ring of creation, looked out across the world she had helped save and wished nothing more than to see it burn. The wind blew cold from the mountains, falling over the vast valley, where mountain roots spread far into the distant horizon.
The sun, veiled by a thin layer of cloud, offered nothing for warmth. Pools of water glistened on the battlements of her fortress, remnants of last nights rains. She could feel the power within the water, within the world. It coursed through the ring on her finger, blue topaz a mirror of the sky above.
‘I know what it is you are offering’ She said, her head turning slightly to the open doorway. She turned, her blue robes swaying in that frozen breeze she loved more than anything. Another storm was brewing. Not one of wind and water but one of the Gods. A mirror storm was finally coming again. A rare occurrence on this world
She stepped into her throne room, vast in its emptiness. A lone chair of red wood, worked into the image of great waves sat upon a pedestal. Rich curtains hung over every window to cut of the breeze but they were not embroidered. No gold or silver littered walls or cabinets. The only glint of precious jewels rested on the bands of her guard. Neldivine Iloven all. Water Iloven, the men of this world called them.
So little they know of our history. So little we remember ourselves in the taking of mortal form.
Many of these Neldivine Iloven lined the walls. Sevent foot tall they stood mostly, hair colours of auburn all the way to grey. There skin was fair almost translucent in their colouring. Blue eyes sparkled with rage. Some men littered the room also. Rough men, with matted beards and hair in pony tails. They had no jewels and bore crude bronze weapons. Steel work had not reached these northern savages, removed from the rest of the world by the Ice mountains.
One man stood different to the others. He was human but Neliar did not need look at him for long to know he did not come from this planet. He was shorter than humans were. His round face was covered in a coarse and curled beard. His skin, what little showed through his clothes. Was rough and coarse, from a land where the world was tough and men needed to be tougher. It was his clothes that most set him as an outsider. He was dressed in black leather, a dark woven cloak spreading far behind him, clasped by a broach of silver. It was magnificently wrought. Delicate, in the shape of a creature that may have been one of the giant crabs that littered the northern shores. A circlet of silver sat on his brow and set within was diamond of magnificent cut.
She sat and the man stood forward. Most would be intimidated by her but not this man. Not this man who had crossed the stars to be here in her chamber. No, he intimidated them. As the man stepped forward, Neliar caught a shadow behind him. A warping of darkness that had no natural source. A dark Iloven, bound to his soul.
‘What I offer is the world.’ The man said, in an educated voice. Way to educated for the men of this planet.
‘The last storm was four years ago.’ She said to him, ‘Was that not enough time to spin your webs and schemes. What brings you to my solitary fortress?’
He placed his hand on his heart and smiled, showing rows of sharpened teeth, ‘I come to offer salvation.’
Neliar felt a sickness creep up her throat. She was chosen of Barta, immortal Iloven queen, bearer of a ring of creation, the ring of the seas and this human, a species she had helped create, spoke to her like an equal.
‘Some say you have a voice like golden honey, with words clever enough to bend nations to your will Emissary but to me it seems more like oil on water. I do not want my ears defiled by such filth.’
The man took another step forward. Green eyes locked on hers, ‘You are in so much pain lady of the sea. You talk of my voice.’ He inclined his head to the side slightly, as though he was listening to someone else speak and again that odd shadow moved behind him, ‘Selina say you once had one of the most beautiful voices that could be heard in Arasee or upon the fields of the life forge. It was said to be like water trickling down a stream and falling across gentle stones. Now it is violence. Waves crashing against a cliff face, crumbling everything in its path. True immortality has defiled you Neliar. Eternity must not have seemed daunting in Arasee or the life forge, free to travel the universe in any way you saw fit. Autonomous. Look at you now. Bound to Aurdan, trapped forever in this physical form. What would you give to see Arasee again, to be welcomed into Barta’s warm embrace once more.’
Coldness seeped through her. She had heard this man was good but she did not expect such knowledge. The words he spoke were forgotten by most in the universe and even her Iloven that lined these walls, long lived as they were, did not know a time before the long stalemate. These Iloven, if they could still be called the same, bred and died as humans did, their forebears forsaking the form of spirit and binding themselves to mortal flesh. Most would return to Arasee and work with Barta on other worlds. Not her though. That was something denied to her and the other bearers of the rings of creation. They were bound to Aurdan now to live forever until the world cracked, the seas ran dry, the fires of life extinguished and the air given back to the heavens, ‘You speak of Barta’s embrace. What warmth does your master give? I do not know what perverted thing Deagma did to bind you to the mirror storm, rider but why would I listen to someone sworn to the enemy.’
His eyes flickered to the ring on her hand and he smiled in a way all to knowing. She felt her fingers twitch. She wanted to hide the topaz, its blue now showing slightly, the slightest impure tint to its stone.
‘Deagma is an enemy only because you have been told to believe it. There are six forms of Iloven, all of one kin. Water, fire, earth, air, spirit and death. All must thrive for the universe to have life. Yes the dark Iloven are Deagma’s but has Barta not forced upon you just as dark deeds as Deagma forces upon his kin.’ He stepped towards two urns and Neliar felt her hackles rise, ‘Do you want to see them again?’ He caressed one, ‘Your husband and son. Long ago it was that they died and returned to Arasee, leaving you alone. Deagma would bring them to you. Swear to him and you could go to the storm forge at will, be with your husband at will.’
Yearning, filled her to her core. Seven hundred years had not eased the pain of that passing, ‘You are immortal.’ Neliar whispered, ‘Your soul is tied to the universal storm. You know what it is like to watch the world change around you. People falling like leaves in winter. It is our curse as immortals to bare such things.’
‘Deagma told me of what my immortality would bring. What did Barta tell you when he sent you to this world. Blocked off from entering the mirror storm, abandoned to fight a never ending war against other immortals. Deagma promises you the storm again. You could ride it, like me and my brothers. A chance to leave this cesspit.’
‘Stop.’ She said sharply and to his credit, he bit on his words, ‘Deagma promises me freedom of the storm. Give my soul to him what would he want in return?’
Again the emissary’s eyes went to her hand and then she knew, ‘Ahh the rings of creation. That is what he seeks.’
‘He does not seek them for himself.’
‘He seeks them on hands that serve him. Eight of his immortal lords still live upon Aurdan. Why does he not have one of them do this bidding. They have weapons, armies enough to smash upon my kingdom. Why do you come here?’
Humility seems to cross the emissaries face, ‘You are unique. You have loved and you have lost. You want to change. Something those lords you speak of do not want. They are too happy with their immortality, their never changing kingdoms and their trinkets. They like the stalemate just as much as your fellow ring bearers but I can feel the rage in you, the will to change.’ Again his eyes went to the ring, ‘Yes I sense it. I see you looking at your guards. The hatred you have for your fellow Iloven. Hatred because they can die. Do you even bother learning their names anymore. What do they mean to you when they can die so easily.’ He stepped towards the ring and touched it, ‘People may think that the Iloven of death are broad in their gifts. I know different. As there are five forms of the life Iloven, so are their five forms of the dark. Yet their gifts are easier to learn.’ He touched the ring and shuddered. ‘It is summer, these mountains should be teaming with life but winter still has a hold. You have already touched Deagma’s power. The power of desolation. Scorching heats and blinding frosts. Of course that is the closest one to your own powers. How many innocents did you have to kill to corrupt a ring of creation to give you such power.’
The guards twitched nervously. The wicked men of the North dropped their heads, their own hands were stained with that blood, ‘Leave.’ Neliar ordered. They did without argument.
She stood, blue robe falling across the floor. He gave her a warm smile.
‘Afraid of rebellion.’
Neliar felt a darkness through her. Her ring glowed but not the blue of the topaz. It glowed with a silky green light, unearthly beautiful, hauntingly wrong. The emissary went rigid, eye bulging as the ring held the water of his physical form, locking him place. The room darkened and the green light extenuated the fluctuating shadow. Then she locked onto it. The shadow gave a scream.
‘Look at this.’ She said in a voice husky and cold, ‘You talk of the fall of my people. Look at your own Iloven ally. Bound to your soul. A parasitic abomination.’
The emissary opened his mouth wide, ‘You have the power of necromancy.’
She stared at the emissary and his Ostivanti, his demon, ‘I can see your spirits, stitched together by strands of his essence. I can see your soul tied forever to the universal storm, trapped within its violent tempest. I want to break it.’
She saw her reflection in his broach. Her skin was now white and rotten, her eyes leaking black ink, her hair falling out in clumps. She sickened herself.
Slowly her hand fell, light returned to the room and the stone on her finger became again the blue topaz. The emissary fell to his knees gasping.
‘You have already given yourself to him. Necromancy is our most vile desecration.’
‘You talk of my connection to the water allowing me the gift of desolation but that is not what I am closest too. Grief is what I carry in this ring. Constant and eternal and for four hundred years I have carried that power.’ She walked over to the urn and stroked it, Even without her ring she could still feel the spirit of her husband. ‘The night he died I prayed to Barta and in the mirror storm it was Deagma that answered.
Category: Upcoming project- The wars of the rings of Creation.
A universe within a raindrop
A wardrobe, a compass, a letter or perhaps a raindrop. We have all heard talks of how people stumble into fantastical worlds. A chance encounter in our own garden or maybe chosen by a pattern. I fell into my own adventure in a different but no less spectacular way.
I was a young man then. My spirit was not worn down by taxes, the monotony of the nine to five or the slow decay of time. Tall, unspectacular, my limbs were likened mostly to that of a spider. A youthful dreamer, sat on my window ledge watching the world pass me by. That is where this tale begins.
Sat on the ledge in late august, I was watching a storm grow ever close. A distant flash illuminated the red brick work of my neighbour’s houses, packed so tightly in what had once been a farmer’s field. The rumble of thunder echoed through the estate, rolling on endlessly. It was followed by the first droplets of rain that pitter patted against the windowsill, splashing cold against my arm through the open window. The musky smell of summer rain drifted through the warm and stuffy night.
As the storm grew close, I could feel my heart beating. The rush of the storm. Primeval, the same since the dawn of time, where my ancestors must have watched in awe and fear. White, purple and blue flashes danced across my vision, the noise deafening my ears to all else.
The rain continued to fall and the road beneath my window became a running stream. Then there was silence. The eye of the storm approached and with it the most brilliant flash of lightning I had ever seen. A bright flash, verdant green, it leapt from cloud to cloud in a spider web across the dark sky. I stared in shock, the flash imprinted on my eyes. I must have been dazed as the raindrops picked up that bright green and fell to earth like emeralds.
Every stream and puddle began to shine with that bright light, that lingered long after the lightning had vanished.
‘HELP!’ The terrible cry dragged me from my amazement.
I looked through my window, desperate to find where that pained cry had come from but all I could see was the stream of glowing water.
‘HELP!’ The voice screamed again.
Without a second thought I jumped from the ledge and made my way into the storm without my coat. The green glow had faded from the water and the next bolt of lightning was the same typical white.
Outside, I charged through the rain.
‘HELP!’ The deep voice yelled again.
‘HELLO!’ I called, desperate to be heard over the thunder.
‘Help me!’ The voice said.
I ran, homing in on the calling voice. In an alleyway, a figure sat huddled on the floor. The lamplight stretched its vast shadow towards me. The shape did not seem entirely human, but the rain and light distorted all shapes. Indeed, as I approached, the figure seemed to shrink. It reduced so much in size that I may have thought it a child if it wasn’t for its long white hair, that stretched from a yellow cap, and lay limply across the mans face. The creature also had a beard, that was tucked into one of his bright yellow shoes.
‘Hello.’ I said just to shake away my shock. All thought of the storm or the strange green rain had vanished from my mind.
The man grabbed at his right leg, the one minus the beard tuck, which was twisted at a horrible angle.
The man, or thing, turned to regard me. His eyes were like crystals, and they shimmered with a light that was not natural, ‘Ah good fellow.’ The bearded man said, all of the earlier panic now gone from his voice, ‘Thank the lord my cries have been heard. I need help twisting my leg around.’
‘Twisting it round. You need a hospital for something like that.’ I said, sounding much calmer than my beating heart suggested.
‘An infirmary Bah!’ The man said, ‘For this. No no. just a little twist is all that is necessary. I would do it myself but that takes a lot more resolve than I have.’
To my shock I knelt upon the wet ground and took his leg in a firm grip. The green fabric of his trousers was coarse wool. He was soaked through, from his yellow hat, sky blue waistcoat, down to his shoes. He looked frozen and yet his cheeks were flushed like man who had drank too much wine. I thought I must of done too. I expected to wake up any moment clutching a chair leg, for that was how the man’s leg felt.
‘That’s it fellow, give it a twist. Clockwise if you would. The other way and the whole thing might fall off.’
I laughed, thinking he must have been joking but his tone suggested otherwise.
‘On three.’ I deadpanned, ‘One, two, three.’
I jerked his leg clockwise and the fellow gave an almighty scream of pain that overcome the distant thunder. The leg gave a crack, and then to my shock, snapped completely back into place. With a surprising hop, he stood. No more than three foot tall he suddenly jumped upon his injured leg, clearing my head by a metre. When he landed, he gave a grunt and then burst out laughing.
‘Oh it does feel better already.’ He extended a coarse hand towards me, ‘Barley is the name good sir.’
‘I took his hand meekly, ‘Daniel.’ I replied back. I took in his scent, a mix of wildflowers and motor oil, ‘Excuse me sir, if you don’t mind me asking, but what are you?’
He didn’t seem surprised, ‘Don’t have many Figwits this side of the storm huh? No that’s right no Figwits on this planet. That is what the scholars say. We have plenty of humans on our side but no Figwits this side. No centaurs this side. No trolls this side, which I must say is a relief. That is probably why you smell so fresh.’
‘This side?’ I asked inquisitively, ‘What is this side?’
Barley laughed, ‘All science here. The magics gone.’ Barley kicked out with his once wounded leg, ‘This side is the human side. Well its where some of you came after the civil war of course. A place where humans could rule instead of being ruled.’
‘And you came from the other side?’
‘Not my intention good sir.’ He shook his head, ‘You see, I am a respectable fellow. A carpenter and stone mason in old Bredan’s kingdom, Barta rest his soul. Now he’s gone the necromancer has come pillaging and raiding my village. During a mirror storm of all times. No one goes out in a mirror storm. Who knows where it might cast you out. There I was running from a nasty old skeleton when the lightning came, turning all the raindrops into a portal. Then whoosh, I fell straight through a puddle into the clouds and then I was falling with the rain into this quaint street. For anyone but a Figwit that would mean death but we are built for stronger stuff than gravity.’
I will admit at the time I was completely lost and some of this speech I have added from my later studies in the hope that it makes some sense to you. At the time I just stared at Barley and said, ‘You come from the sky?’
‘No.’ Barley looked at me like I was stupid, and in that moment, I felt it, ‘From solid ground just like this. Just from the other side of the mirror storm. It bridges the gap between our worlds. A violent thing. Water becomes a gateway. The universe in a raindrop.’
I looked at a nearby puddle and jumped into it. The water lapped up against my already sodden clothes, ‘Well its not now.’ I said.
‘It’s a puddle.’
‘I though it was a portal.’
The look Barley gave me could have pulled my skin from my bones, ‘Are all humans so dim.’ He said, ‘The mirror storm has moved on. No way of getting back now.’ He looked at my now mud stained trousers, ‘And good thing to my friend or you would have fallen to your death. Well, you would have done if the puddle was deep enough. My village would not have appreciated that.’
‘What will you do then?’
‘Find some hole to line in I suppose. A badger den or something. Build myself a little home for a few hundred years until death takes me.’
‘You seem cheerful about that.’
‘Well what else is there to do. I cannot live amongst you humans. You like to dissect things and I like my body parts where they are. I am too old now to have things removed from me.’ Barley looked around, ‘If you can point me to the nearest woodland, I will find myself a badger’s den to await my death.’
He removed his beard from his shoe, revealing a large sack of gold tied to the end and a pocket watch. To my shock, he left an empty shoe behind and stump of a leg. He checked the time before slipping five gold coins from the pouch before handing them to me. Beard, watch and pouch, returned to the shoe and became a foot.
‘Some gold for your trouble my friend. Your help has been much appreciated. If you would write me your address I shall write to you via pigeon.’
I felt sad for the little creature. To be all alone in a badger’s den, waiting to die. I wanted him to come live with me but that would be impossible. Keeping someone like this a secret would not end well. I also wished to perhaps see this world of Figwits, Centaurs and Necromancer’s.
‘What if we caught up with the storm.’ I said, my eyes going up to the clouds that were now passing over London.
‘Storm catching.’ Barley pondered, ‘The mirror storm does not last long on each world but we may have a chance. What creature do you have that could catch a storm.’ He brightened and he seemed to glow, ‘Well I would fall somewhere over the field of Harva. A few days walk from my home but at least it will be safe. Well good sir, if you do me this favour then I, Barley of the Salar Figwits, will be ever in your service.’
I looked down at the strange fellow and wondered still when I might wake up from this fantastical dream and yet as the night wore on, I found myself walking him to my home. I went inside and fetched my keys while Barley stared, watching the distant storm.
As I came back outside, he turned towards me, ‘So how shall we chase the storm. A centaur? No, you have no centaurs, but a horse would not be quick enough. What about a griffin?’
I pressed the button on my keys and the car’s lights flashed, startling Barley so much he leapt seven feet into the air.
‘I was thinking of driving.’
Barley examined the car, ‘What sort of machine is this? It reminds me of the flying vehicles of the Adar.’
‘It is a car my small friend. Now hop in.’
I opened the door and Barley nimbly jumped inside. I entered also and when my engine roared into life, Barley grinned from ear to ear, literally splitting his face in half.
Through London, in the early hours of the night, I chased the storm. A friend from another world in my passenger’s seat.
London came into view, skyscrapers reflecting the street-lights below, the London eye glittering in the rain.
‘Marvels and amazements.’ Barley barked, ‘Like the great human cites or the mechanical halls of my people. How far you have come. I bet war never touched this place.’
‘We may not have necromancers.’ I replied, ‘But it doesn’t mean that men aren’t evil. Want is in all our hearts.’
We soon reached the M25 and I sped up, the distant storm growing ever close. Barley grabbed the seat tightly as my speeds reached eighty miles per hour and the tyres began to skid in the wet road. We soon gained upon the white flashes of the storm and the heavy rain grew more ferocious.
‘We must get ahead it.’ Barley ordered, ‘And find some stream or river, where my fall will not be so great into my world. Then we can say a proper goodbye my friend.’
I continued through the heavy rain and the great storm. Soon we approached the eye and a flash of green lightning lit up the sky. The rain again carried the green hew of the bolt and the wet road glistened a verdant green. I approached a puddle and as my wheel hit it, it gripped on nothing, only a void. I nearly lost the car, but my speed took us over the portal.
Such a great chase had never been seen in the history of man as I overtook the mirror storm and the lightning returned to normal. A few more miles ahead I pulled off from the road and found a village where a stream ran through. We parked up by the edge of the stream and watched as the mirror storm approached.
‘Will you be okay. With the Necromancer I mean?’ I asked.
‘The Necromancer was cast out of the mages castle and is looking for somewhere to set up his new kingdom. He will ransack our village but will not stay. It is a human kingdom he will seek to sway people to his will.’
Soon the storm caught up with us and began to soak us both. The lightning flashed across the sky, the thunder rumbled, and time came for my farewell with Barley. It seemed he could tell it to. The usual chirpy fellow seemed sad, eyes downcast, the crystals wet with tears.
I knelt down to his height, ‘When I watched the storm this night, I didn’t think I would meet someone as strange and wonderous as you. In fact, I never thought someone like you existed.’ I held out my hand and he took it, ‘But I’m glad we met. Never again will I watch a storm without thinking of my dear friend and his world full of wonders.’
Barley beamed, ‘And you, my friend. I am glad I fell into your street and found someone willing to sacrifice their night to escort a stranger home. We are neighbours across the universe, our houses mirrored in the storm. Glad tidings I take home and maybe a sign of a future union.’
The eye of the storm approached, and I hugged Barley. We both stared into the sky as the great green bold of lightning spread across the sky and the mirror storm opened the bridge between worlds. The emerald raindrops made the stream glow a vibrant and beautiful green.
Barley looked at it and nodded, ‘Farewell my friend.’ He bowed low, ‘Next time the mirror storm comes, perhaps you will come for dinner. My wife would love to meet you.’
Warmth filled me, ‘I will, and I will bring desert.’
Barley looked at the glowing river, ‘Find a puddle by your house and you shall fly right to my door. Though perhaps bring a parachute with you.’ With that he tipped his hat and dived into the river. There was no splash, no ripples. He passed right through it. The green glow brightened, and I thought I caught a glimpse of a village, lit by many candles. A voice called goodbye from the stream and then the vision faded, and Barley’s world was lost.
Saddened, I walked back to my car and made my way back to London. Now I know you are wondering. Did I ever take Barley up on his offer? Did I ever go to this world through the mirror storm, see great kingdoms and fight the necromancer. Well, that is a tale for another day.
The sun was warm, the sky clear as the world ended. Ashara stood upon the temple steps; his dark hair blown by a wind that carried with it the smell of the burning forest that surrounded him. The roar of its inferno was only cut out by the sounds of distant screams. There, just visible on the horizon, the great city of Koram was falling. Giants swarmed over the last bastion of men, bringing with them Daegma’s ruin.
Tears fell from Ashara’s brown eyes onto his pale cheeks, flushed from the burning fire. Every breath brought the sulphurous smell that accompanied the legions of the dead.
‘Are we sure this is the place?’ He said to the air, ‘This is the sixth temple I have found, and every one has turned into failure. We are running out of time.’
He stared at the desolation and his grip on his sword almost failed. He wanted to sit upon the steps and watch the last moments of a war already lost.
‘Do not doubt.’ A voice said and Ashara looked down to his shadow, though it wasn’t his. His shadow never mirrored the sharp edges of his armour or bulk of his muscles. His shadow was slender, feminine, shapely and yet as stiff as a statue.
‘What is doubt but a biproduct of hope.’ Ashara replied, ‘What is hope but a biproduct of folly.’
‘Doubt is the power of our enemy.’ She had a name; Elen and she wasn’t truly his shadow, but she was as bound to him as any real shadow., ‘You are Ivanti.’ She continued, ‘Angel bound, hero of an ancient order.’
‘The last of the Ivanti. Our orders are broken, bastions in ruin. The Ostivanti have won. Daegma has won. Colimar lays in ruin.’
‘The book.’ Elen whispered, ‘The book holds the enchantment of Daegma’s prison. If we can just get the book, then we can rebind him. Turn his forces back to dust, flame and bog. Give humanity a chance for life.’
Ashara sighed, feeling that same weight that had pressed on him ever since he had allowed himself to be bound to an angel. It was the weight of a mountain. He bound Elen in a time of peace. Then, only rare skirmishes between the orders and the occasional kingdom war had threatened the planet. Now Daegma was almost free and Barta’s watch had failed.
Giants, dread spiders, the undead and the Ostivanti destroyed all in an attempt to bring back Daegma’s dominion.
The book. The book is the answer. We can lift the mountain once we have the book.
He turned from the desolation and the sickly, horrible, smoke-filled wind. The temple, a four spired pyramid, was covered in age old ivy and moss. Ashara couldn’t understand why you would hide such a powerful thing in such a weak relic.
Every step was laborious in Ashara’s armour, but he did feel something. A power coursed through the stone that seemed to clear away the screams, the smoke and the dread. It was like Ashara had passed into a previous age. Even Elen seemed to delight in it. She was a stone angel after all. A servant of Aurda.
Ashara reached the top step; a door of iron standing impervious above him. Carved upon on it, in reverence or warning, was the three headed ram. Daegma’s mark.
‘It looks like his church.’ He said, eyes searching for his shadow, but she was no longer at his feet. She stretched towards the wall and stood there at his height. She was not beautiful as such, more impervious, strong as a mountain and rooted in power that he could not imagine. The wall around the shadow shifted as she moved, elevating her features and bringing her to life in three dimensions. She turned to face him, stone face moving across the moss-covered wall. He could see in her shadowy face, the cracks where the moss once clung.
‘They hoard the book, knowing they can never release him.’ Her hand reached out of the wall. It was callous like aged stone and with it he caught the scent of things ancient. It was not the sulphurous fumes that followed one of the Ostivanti but more like the smell of summer rain on porous rock, bringing life to the minerals themselves.
The door opened at her command, and she became again a shadow at his feet.
He charged into the room but stopped dead. He was expected. He knew them first by the stench. Used to it as he was, his eyes still watered, and every breath was a torment. That horrible wrongness that accompanied those of the storm forge was stifling. The darkness of the chamber was overcome by the magic that bound the dead back to the earth.
Every temple had been the same. An open hall, full of enemies. Skeletons, bound by blue light, lifted swords. Ghouls hung from the ceiling, their bat like wings flapping.
Elen moved her shadow across the floor and Ashara followed. He felt the stone and the power of the Ivanti flowed from him. He jumped and the wall to his left pulled. He flew, sword decapitating skeletons as he soared. He adjusted his force, and the ceiling hoisted him upwards, passed green flames. A downward shift took him upon a great stone dais and from there he drove his sword through two more of the undead. Around him, Elen came and where her shadow lay, stone enveloped and destroyed their foes.
Ghouls swooped down from the ceiling, their wings making a cacophony of noise. Ashara felt the walls and battled with the servants of the devil. He pulled himself between the stone in a constant dance, his sword flashing until the hall fell silent and the enemy was defeated.
Ashara lowered himself to the floor.
‘Always the same,’ He said, ‘Soon we will encounter one of the Ostivanti.’
‘The Ostivanti are weak without their master released.’
‘And yet they have destroyed the world.’
‘Numbers.’ Elen whispered sadly. She was missing an arm in shadow form, and she seemed to limp. This fight had wounded her.
‘We must-‘
‘GIRL OF AURDA. MAN OF CANDOR. FOOLS OF BARTA.’ A great voice boomed. It sent shivers through Ashara’s spine. The voice was educated, normal and yet it seemed wrong and made fear grow right in his heart.
Elen seemed to shiver, ‘Do not haunt us Daegma. Your time has come.’
‘COLIMAR IS MY DOMAIN.’ The voice boomed and the temple rumbled until all became silent.
‘He presses on the world Ashara.’ Elen said in a panic, ‘I can feel him. He will crumble the temple and break his prison. We do not have much time.’
That mountain. That terrible mountain. It pressed on his lungs so that every breath was a struggle against destiny. He gripped his sword and passed through the chamber. Before him stretched a maze. He knew it would be there. It had been in the other temples.
Elen appeared on the wall of the maze. She was wounded still. She even clutched at her side as if she was trying to hold in blood.
‘Stone is ours.’ She whispered, ‘Not his.’
Ashara nodded and closed his eyes. He took a step towards the stone and then another without flinching. He felt it against his foot. Firm, unyielding and yet malleable. He continued to step and the stone relented, allowing him to step through it. It felt like swimming through reed filled water. Again, that smell of life, of sweet water on rock, filled his nose. He continued to walk, going straight forward through the stone maze. It was exhausting, every step a challenge. The stone did not yield its strength willingly and only the pressure of that mountain of responsibility, kept Ashara’s feet moving forward.
He nearly stumbled as he passed through the last wall of stone into the forgiving air. He stopped and for the first time in years smiled as he beheld the central chamber. Light from sky above came through a channel, bathing a large stone altar in pure light. There, the book he searched for stood. The book that would finally bind Daegma and his forces in their prison again.
‘What are you doing here?’ A voice asked from the darkness.
Ashara hoisted his sword as a man stepped into the light. He wore robes of pure white and around his neck the five golden circles of Barta hung.
Elen appeared on the stone and Ashara could tell from her hunched shoulders and wounded cast, that she was weary of this newcomer.
‘Priest of Barta.’ Ashara said, ‘I am one of the Ivanti. I come to bind Daegma once more.’
The priest smiled and then laughed, revealing blackened teeth. He stood now before the altar and the light shadowed his face. The priest’s eyes glowed a fervent green, but Ashara could see beneath the skin, the demon he was bound with. His bond with Elen was whole but separate. Demons consumed you from the inside. That horrible smell of sulphur nearly knocked Ashara backwards.
‘The Ivanti are dead. Barta’s guard on this world is broken. Daegma comes to claim his lands again.’
The priest lifted his hand, and the floor became nothing but molten rock. This was a demon of stone, Ashara’s opposite. Like all demons they could not make stone yield. They dominated it by force, turning it into a tool of destruction. The heat tore at Ashara’s skin, burning him and melting his armour. He pulled at the ceiling, lifting himself off the ground. The floor disappeared completely, and the demon walked upon it, the flesh of the bound human sizzling with every step. The molten rock crawled like a living thing, clawing at the altar and moving with thought towards the book.
From below, Elen screamed. Magma began to tear at her stone form. Ashara could feel her power weakening. He needed one desperate lunge.
He anchored himself on the altar and charged. The demon jumped and met him and together they plunged deep into the molten floor. Heat, so vast and terrible, consumed him. Ashara screamed as his flesh was boiled and pealed from his bones. Only his eyes, protected by Barta, could withstand that heat. As his body burned, he focused on the demon, holding onto him with melting fingers. Ashara channelled all his power and the demon’s scream joined his own. The skin of the demon became cold and callous stone between Ashara’s blistered palms. Together Ashara and the demon lamented, fire entering Ashara’s lungs. The demon became a statue, immortalised for ever and burning darkness took Ashara.
‘Wake up.’ Elen whispered, her voice faint and cold.
Ashara’s eyes opened. The light of the sun bathed him and with it he found some strength to rise. His armour was melted, moulded and joined with his blistered flesh. He was burnt all over and the breeze sent shivers of pain.
The stone corpse of the demon lay next to him. He pulled with his power to rise and used it to hover towards the book. Elen was nowhere to be seen. The floor underneath was full of waves, like an ocean locked in time.
‘Quickly.’ Elen said as a rumble echoed, and dust fell from the ceiling. Then he saw her. She was spread thin, tendrils of shadow keeping the temple from collapsing, ‘The book Ashara. We don’t have long.’
He did not answer. He had no tongue, no face. Only his eyes were protected. The mountain of responsibility was about to crush him. He reached for the book. His hands, nothing more than stubs now, opened the pages, ready to finally seal Daegma forever.
His lipless mouth screamed in horror as he read the only words inscribed.
You have failed again Ashara.
The Temple collapsed on top of him.
The sun was warm, the sky clear as the world ended. Ashara stood upon the temple steps; his dark hair blown by a wind that carried with it the smell of the burning forest that surrounded him. The roar of its inferno was only cut out by the sounds of distant screams. There, just visible on the horizon, the great city of Koram was falling. Giants swarmed over the last bastion of men, bringing with them Daegma’s ruin.
Tears fell from Ashara’s brown eyes onto his pale cheeks, flushed from the burning fire. Every breath brought the sulphurous smell that accompanied the legions of the dead.
‘Are we sure this is the place?’ He said to the air, ‘This is the seventh temple I have found, and every one has turned into failure. We are running out of time.’
It is said in the last days of the Iloven, when the Neldine are forgiven, the dark Iloven shall come in force from the east and she will rise again to lead them. On her finger the sixth ring of creation shall be revealed. This ring will break the Iloven and plague will follow it, for it shall be the ring of death. Her kin shall stand agaainst her and the handless ringbearer will sail the seas of heaven to bring salvation and in the last day all shall do war upon the earth.
The History of Iron lake.
Nellia sort, in the years before her darkening, a place away from the ocean. She yearned for places of still water, where at times it would snow and few violent waves threatened her work. Taking one of her ships, she travelled far up the river Arasee and she came swiftly to the lands of the Alpans. She beseeched Auradan and he created a vast bowl in the river and rose an Island within. From the north, Nellia called a great flood, and the bowl was filled, forming a lake around the Isle of the stars.
There Nellia built a city out of fair grey stone. It had many towers and great domed cathedrals, and she was content to spend winter within its walls. There she would marry and there would her husband die.
When Nellia darkened, she used the Island to launch her wars and so in the final battle of the first Iloven wars, the island was taken by Livinya, wielder of the ring of fire and using his power of crafting, he turned the city into a fortress and renamed it Iron lake.
The city featured greatly in the wars that followed and it was there that Livinya presented Hador of the Romana people, the ring of the fire before he went to end Nellia’s plots. There Bor protected Hador’s body as the hordes Nellia’s forces assaulted and it passed to the control of the Romana people in the years that followed and it became the Isle of guard, chief city and fortress in their wars against Harka the necromancer.
Of the Colossi of the Isle of stars.
Stood on the river, south of Iron lake, legs spread, and arms lifted to the sea of heaven was the colossus of Neldivine. A great statue carved in the likeness of Nellia before her corruption. The wind blowing up from the sea, seemed not to have touched it and her beauty was plain to see. Neldivine, wonder of the ancient world.
To the north stood Livdavine, built by Auradan after Nellia had moved to her fortress in the mountains of ice. In the likeness of Livnya it stood, as he was ever her chief foe. His tall frame stood in defence of the southern land and his sword was stretched towards Inargiel. In later years, his image faded, being ever beaten and eroded by the vicious wind from the north.
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