fiction – Knights of Earth Publications

Long ago, when ancient Gods still controlled the lives of men, a great famine came over the kingdom of Gwynedd. Crops would not grow and wells ran dry. The people prayed to Brigid, goddess of healing, asking for the famine to end but their prayers went unanswered.
It was at this time that Rol, champion of the isles, was staying in the court of King Elis of Gwynedd.
Rol was deemed a warrior of great renown, who had battled the great serpent of Poseidon and bested the fiercest warriors of Europe in single combat. Above all Rol was a good man, he did not kill for sport and shared his triumphs willingly.
King Elis was an arrogant ruler and while his people starved, he feasted around his enormous hearth. While the revellers danced, the flames of hearth danced to and as the fiddles played the fire grew until the hearth roared in a sudden furry. They lifted towards the straw roof, sending the crows scattering for the heavens. The flames moved until they formed the shape of a woman. As tall as she was beautiful, and her burning eyes watched the crowd intently.
Rol stood forward, ‘Welcome Brigid, goddess of hearth and healing, how may we serve?’
The king stood and waved his arm towards the goddess but did not bow, ‘What a blessing on my house lady, that you should join us. Clearly my rule is divine.’
‘Be silent.’ Brigid said in a voice that crackled like the fire that surrounded her, ‘The villagers starve and yet in this house you feast like winter will never come. Dagda stands against you. Is there none that would prove the worth of this land before it sinks into the abyss.’
‘We feast in front of the hearth in reverence to you lady.’ The king said.
She didn’t turn but her gaze moved through the flames to focus on the king, ‘I do not rest in the hearths of halls such as these. My blessings lay with those who crowd around my fires to survive and make memories in my warmth. Now those people starve. Is there none here who would seek to save them.’
The revellers did not move for they knew the games that Gods played and any request such as this would require a great sacrifice.
Rol though had battled Gods before and ever had his life been entwined with their games. He raised his hand, ‘lady of fire and heat. If there be a way one man can end the suffering of so many then I would gladly see it done.’
The Goddess of flame seemed to bow and then she said, ‘You seek the cauldron of Dagda. He has used it to curse this land and so it is barren. If you are pure of heart and keen of mind, the cauldron will grant any bounty you wish, for pauper or for kingdom.’ She crackled and swayed, ‘But beware, stumble from the path and take more than what is needed, and the cauldron will reject you. Want you will know ever after. Dagda will be aware of you, and he will defend his cauldron. Aid from the dead will come and from my sprits of fire. Be yourself Rol and bring prosperity back to this land.’
Brigid faded, and the fire returned to normal while everyone stared at Rol.
Undaunted he took up his armour ringed of iron. He took his bow of black yew and short sword before departing in the baking sun. In the tallest peak of Snowdonia Dagda kept his halls. For the north Rol went, through fen and barren field, through villages whose streets were lined with starving families. Soon he came to the edge of the mountains and into the enchanted wood of heaven. Here Cernunnos’s wild beasts roamed, and the dead wandered to be gathered in Arawn’s other world.
Rol drove on, succumb by hunger and weariness. He turned his mind to hunting and drawing his bow of black yew he sort food. Then he saw it, a white stag, beautiful and large. It was enough to feed a village and it wandered towards him, flank exposed. He drew the arrow to his cheek, the fletch like a gentle kiss. Then a wind roared through the woods, carrying scents of strength that cured his hunger. Cernunnos spoke through the trees, ‘Take no more than what is needed, or the cauldron will reject you.’
He stared at the stag. Such a beast would spoil quickly in this heat. He lowered the bow and with a nod the beast stalked away and Rol knew to follow. To Aber falls it led him, the water a raging torrent that cured his weariness. Under the falls the stag went and then faded. Rol followed and the waters parted, revealing a dark cave. Rol drew his sword and it glowed, lighting up the cave. Wights, soldiers of Arawn, gathered around him. Their eyes were blue flame, and their mail glowed a sickly green, but they did not attack. Seated upon a thrown of bones Arawn himself sat, cloaked in a blue mist.
‘Dagda judges your people to harshly, due to the actions of your king. Now my halls are crowded with those who should be living long lives. You must reach the cauldron and restore life to your lands.’
One of the wights bestowed to Rol a serpent helm with eyes that glowed a fervent blue, ‘Dagda has shielded his mountain in shadow. This helm will allow your eyes to see into our world and break his veil.’
Rol donned the helm and saw as the gods saw. He could see the wights spirits true form and could see the breath that gave this wood its glory. Rol left the cave and spirits of Brigid guided him to the mountain of Dagda. For seven days he climbed, until at last he reached the summit and the temple of Dagda. His helm pierced the darkness and Rol, sword readied, entered. There the cauldron stood, glowing with power and beside it, Dagda loomed. He swung his massive hammer and almost crushed Rol, whose blade of light broke in two. Then all Rol could do was duck and dive while Dagda laughed at the sport. The God tired and Rol saw the power bestowed upon the axe. He grabbed his bow and loosed and the arrow took upon it one of Brigid’s spirits. The war hammer exploded, and Dagda fell back into a deep sleep.
Exhausted and beaten, Rol grabbed the cauldron and Brigid came as a bird of flame and bore Rol and the cauldron back to Gwynedd. In the morning, amongst the burnt-out hearth, they found him.
The king snatched up the cauldron and declared the bounty for himself. At his high table he announced, ‘I wish for a full feast for all of time.’ The cauldron rumbled and red fire entered the kings mouth. Great hunger overcame him. The king went to his table but any food or drink that passed his mouth became dust and offered no sustenance. Maddened the king fell to ruin upon his table of dust. Then Rol awakened and taking the cauldron he placed it in the middle of the hearth and the fire around it roared into life. Rol brought the famine to an end and the kingdom had bounty for all of time.

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.’