The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy) (44 page)

Morana turned and looked towards the mirrored walls of her great hall, but where once she beheld the reflection of perfect beauty, she now saw only the decayed visage of her rotting destiny.

“
No
!!!” she shouted in a high-pitched fury. The whole hall began to shake underneath the outrage of the witch. In a swift and angered motion, Morana turned to face her accusers, her eyes burning with enraged pain. She held high her clawed fingers as she bared her rotten fangs and shouted in the most nightmarish tone Cal had ever heard. “I will eat your souls, you cursed progeny of Ádhamh! For my demise is but at the hand of your fickle lust!” she screamed at them.

The hall started to shake and the mirrored walls began to crack and splinter in response.

“Come on, brother, run
now
!” Yasen yelled to his friend.

“Deryn! We must leave this cursed place!” Cal begged the Sprite.

“Beidh mé a fheiceáil chun é go bhfaigheann sé an solas, ach más rud é nach chun a chinntiú do Seirbigh!”
Deryn whispered in the tongue of the Sprites as he shot towards the main entrance. Cal followed and soon all three of them were within a few paces from the doorway.

Suddenly, in an explosion of shattered glass, the mirrored walls burst into a million shards of razor-sharp splinters. The vile witch flung her raised hands in one deliberate motion towards the runaway men, sending the broken glass hurling at them. With not a moment to spare, Yasen slammed the right side door of the large entrance closed, barely shielding them from the ruinous rain of tiny edges. A torrent of deadly fragments shot out the left side of the doorway and sliced through a dozen of her shirtless servant men who waited in readiness for her yellow-eyed command just outside the walls of the mirrored hall.

“We must hurry!” Yasen said. “And what in the damnable dark is that?” he asked, pointing to Deryn.

“Follow the shelled pathway, it will lead us back to the docks!” Cal said as he pointed south. “And this … this is Deryn—but there is no time now for explanations!” Cal whispered in hurried words, for even as he began to speak, the columns of Morana’s servants came to life with mirrored edges in hand and unrelenting hatred in their eyes.

“Here they come, brother!” Cal shouted in warning to Yasen.

One at a time, the shirtless men charged the three of them, and one at a time Cal, Yasen and the blue-winged Sprite buried their blades in their soulless bodies. They cut and hewed their way through the gauntlet of shattered glass and drone-like warriors as they ran with all the haste of desperate men to their docked ship. For every servant of Morana’s that they cut down, another would take his place, and soon the pathway was littered with a bloodied mess of broken glass and broken men.

The horns of the woodcutters sounded from the deck of the
Determination
as Cal, Deryn, and Yasen made their way closer to safety. Yasen raised his horn to his lips to answer the call, signaling their distressed arrival. The moment the sound of his horn reached the rest of the men who were safely aboard the ship, the signal was given and a great whoosh of air announced that help had taken flight as the sky lit up with the sight of a score of flaming arrows. Soon the chests of the shirtless men exploded in a storm of blood and fire as one after the other was cut down before they could even wake to their yellow-eyed life.

A second volley of arrows flew through the sky, and with it came a break in the line of the servants of Morana. Yasen and Cal leapt over the fallen men and slashed their way through the glass and bone of her slain forces until they heard the sound of their own boots upon the wooden planks of the ship’s dock. The mirrored looking glasses began to crash and splinter against the hull of the great ship as the shirtless men began to hurl their mirrored weapons of Morana’s vain fury with deadly accuracy. Woodcutter and guardsmen alike began to grunt and wail, and some fell dead, crashing into the cold dark waters as the razor sharp edges of glass cut and pierced and found their purchase in the men’s exposed flesh.

Goran appeared at the side of the ship, braving the flying glass daggers in order to lower a rescue line over the side of the vessel. He called out to them, hoping to haul his brothers up to safety, but the onslaught of terror robbed the moment of any guarantee.

Seig shouted orders to the captain of the ship. “Lower the sails, and hoist the anchor! We must leave now!”

Arrows still rained their accurate fire, and Yasen and Cal were finally hauled up and helped to relative safety aboard the deck of the grey ship.

In the midst of all the carnage and chaos of the escape, not many noticed the blue-winged warrior who darted in and out of the throngs of Morana’s servants with his thirsty blade and swift, azure speed. Great were the numbers of felled enemies by the hands of Deryn, the sentinel of the house of Iolanthe, and it was by his acts of bravery and vengeance that Calarmindon, Bright Fame, and his friend Yasen escaped the evils that had made their home on the Isle
Dušana
.

Aboard the
Determination,
the crewmen cut the tether lines and the grey ship made its departure from the deadly shores. Most of the men, bloodied and out of breath, stared in grave silence as they watched the isle that could have been their place of death disappear, swallowed up in the darkness behind them. Seig ordered the ship to make a western course, and as they rounded the horn of
Dušana
’s southernmost point, what they beheld made their blood run as cold as the black waters they sailed.

There, just beyond the rocky shores, hidden out of sight from where they had docked, was a graveyard of rotting ships. Vast and ancient warships, merchant vessels, fishing boats, and clippers made for racing, all in various states of abandonment, marked the death of so many men here at the hands of Morana.

Cal took in the array of broken and submerged ships as he tended to the myriad of cuts and slices that riddled his body. He shuddered at the haunting sight that was sinking in the waters before him. “I wonder if the ship
Wilderness
is among them,” Cal said to Yasen. “Do you think Illium would have succumbed to her devilry like we almost did?”

“I cannot say, my friend,” Yasen replied in an exhausted and disappointed tone of voice. “Many a good-hearted man fell today, some of them comrades of mine. I do not believe that just because one man is King, or just because one may be pure and noble of heart, that the enticements made by the evils in this darkening world would be wholly unheard by him.”

“Perhaps you are right, Yasen,” Cal said with sorrow in his eyes. “For that was almost my end as well. I nearly abandoned all that the Oweles and the Sprites have entrusted me with, all for a momentary kiss with a red-lipped demon.”

Yasen tore his gaze away from the expansive wreckage of sea vessels and looked Cal in the eyes.

“But by the grace of the THREE who is SEVEN, those who charged you and called you out did not abandon you.” Yasen’s face lit with the light of a hope that he had not known before. “For even if the ship
Wilderness
is there, rotting off the coast of that damned place, and even if one of Morana’s shirtless servants was the lost King himself … you must know that
you
are not there,
you
did not taste her offer of betrayal, and that you, my brother, are not one of them.”

“But I nearly … I almost …” Cal could barely find the words to deflect Yasen’s reasoning and continue on in his self-incrimination.

Just then the small, blue-winged Sprite flew up to the railing of the deck, out from the vast darkness of the retreating isle behind him.

“But they did not have what you have, brother,” Yasen said with a tired smile. “For the strongest of all lusts cannot compare to the truest of real beauty, and what Illium and his men never had—you carry around hidden in the pocket of your cloak.”

Cal’s sadness broke a bit there in the presence of his brave and true Sprite friend. “I am sorry, Deryn, I am so sorry I didn’t listen when you tried to warn me. I am ashamed for the cruel things I said to you.” Tears began to fall from Cal’s weary eyes.

Deryn wiped the blood from the tiny blade of his tiny sword before returning it back into its leaf-shaped scabbard. “It is not my role to hold failure and shame over you, Calarmindon Bright Fame; but it is my duty and my honor to remind you of your coming glory and your present calling.” Deryn flew up to the face of his friend before he spoke his next words. “Neither myself, nor the holy messengers, nor our great Father is caught by surprise at the trappings of this darkening world, or those hearts of men who find themselves trapped. And yet … He chooses to call to you anyway, Cal.”

Cal’s mind flooded with the memory of the conversation he had had not a handful of days ago with the Owele, here, in almost this precise spot on this same ship, and his recollection began to change his mood from one of shame to one of deep and undeserved gratitude.

“Take heart, my friend, for we have still a light to seek, and our great Father has chosen you to find it,” Deryn said in a fatherly voice. “And may I remind you … He did not send you to do it alone.”

“I must say, Cal, that this Sprite friend of yours has wisdom in complete disproportion to his size … and bravery,” Yasen said as he shook his head in humble homage. “Bravery bigger than the whole lot of ours combined, I think. Thank you, Deryn. Though I did not even know you or your kind existed in this dark and joyless world, I will name you friend, and I will hail you as a mighty warrior.”

“There are many unknown things still living in this world of ours, North Wolf,” Deryn said in reply. “Though not all will we name friend.”

“So let us pray that we find this light of yours before we have to call them enemy then, huh?” Yasen said as placed his hands on Cal’s shoulders.

“Agreed, brother. Agreed,” said Cal.

Chapter Forty-Eight

T
he
great walled city of Haven was plunged into utter chaos at the unexpected felling of the second to last branch of the great tree. Riots had broken out all over the boroughs as citizens clamored to get their hands on whatever remaining timber there was in the city. Though not five days ago the people of Haven had prayed their pious words over their great sailing hope, cheerful in their newfound optimism, the latest dimming had robbed them of whatever hope they had managed to muster. The citizens knew that if light had failed in such a great way here, in such close proximity to the tree, the men of the first colony could hardly be expected to navigate the treacherous waters of the Dark Sea in almost complete darkness.

Nothing remains sacred when the threat of obliteration rules the hearts and minds of men, and no one felt the consequences of such a lawless state as fully as did Armas, captain of the city guard. Reports began to arrive as messengers rode with the haste of dread-filled urgency. The most startling news came from the northern borough of Piney Creek, where the marshal sent word with increasing frequency of dark fog and strange disappearances. Armas knew that Piney Creek was the least fortified of all the boroughs, and if his conversations with Hollis and the accounts from the gatekeepers were indeed to be believed, something had to be done about the protection of those people, and it had to be done with great haste.

Armas walked through the receiving chambers of the office of the Chancellor with reports in hand and a plan of action on his lips.

“Greetings, Captain,” the scribe said as he crookedly stood to welcome him. “His Brightness and the Chancellor are indeed expecting you.”

“Thank you,” Armas said with a bow of his head.

The sentries saluted their captain and then swung wide the large, carved doors to let him enter the office of Chaiphus.

“Captain, thank you for coming. We unfortunately have some dark business to attend to on this sad and joyless day.” The Priest King did not rise to greet him, but merely spoke in a formal tone while staring out the window.

“Your Brightness, Chancellor, I have received the reports from all three boroughs and I have much to discuss with you both,” Armas said, not wasting any time. “At the moment, the least of my worries is the southern borough of Abondale. There is still a relative feeling of safety there, seeing as they are guarded by both the Talfryn pass and the inhospitable shores of the rocky bay.”

“Well, it is of some relief to hear that at least one of our boroughs can compose themselves with enough civility to keep from plunging into a fear-induced panic,” Chaiphus said.

“It is indeed, Chancellor. However, whereas the riots of Westriver have consumed most of my men’s attention, the people of Piney Creek have had the worst time of it. Apparently the shadows there are haunted by the strangest and most frightening reports, and yet the area is largely unpatrolled by any real presence of our city’s guardsmen, save the small contingent of those stationed to keep the gate.”

“Oh?” Chaiphus said with sarcastic annoyance. “What are the latest apparitions that our half-witted northern citizens have dreamt up this time? Have they been talking to that fool of a woodcutter Hollis again about phantoms and green-eyed ghosts?”

“It is not the citizens who send me the reports, Chancellor,” Armas said with the faintest hint of displeasure towards the unbecoming way in which Chaiphus spoke of his people. “It is our guardsmen. And our guardsmen have given account of similar incidents to those that Chief Hollis has previously reported to this office. With all due respect, sir, it is my advice that we take these reports seriously.”

Chaiphus was about to speak in aggravated response to the tone of his captain’s voice, when Jhames intervened and asked his own question. “What do you propose be done about the worrisome reports, Captain? For I cannot have my people abandoning duty or turning to any more acts of recklessness here in these tense and darkening times.”

“Agreed, your Brightness,” Armas said. “I have already sent word to the woodcutters in the northern territories, requesting them to report, along with their chief, to the Northern Gate of Piney Creek. The timber in the retreating forest is all but gone, and there will soon be no need for axes in the North. I hope to station those men there, inside the walls of the borough, to act as keepers of the peace.”

Jhames made a face that suggested he did not wholly disapprove of this recommendation, then he turned to the Chancellor to get his thoughts on the matter.

“If truth be told, this might be one of your first worthy suggestions, Captain,” Chaiphus backhandedly complemented him. “For our conscribing of their axes to patrol the northern borough would bring some semblance of peace and protection to our citizens; perhaps it would also keep the unruly blades of the woodcutters from joining the timber riots here in Westriver.”

“Agreed,” Jhames said to the both of them. “I will want you, Armas, and a small company of your riders, to make your way north once again and convey the wishes of the Citadel to our fellow laborers in this holy cause.”

“Yes, your Brightness,” Armas said.

“Please see to it that these wasteful and worrisome reports are no longer dispatched to your office, Captain. For you have graver and more pressing matters to devote your attention to than the nightmares of our distraught citizens,” Jhames ordered him. “From here on, the woodcutters of the North can handle this supposed threat directly.”

“As you will it,” Armas consented, deciding it was unwise to express further displeasure at the indifference of the Citadel to the plight of Piney Creek. Armas then crossed his arm over his chest and saluted both Priest King and Chancellor alike. He turned to leave the chambers and carry out his orders when the voice of Chaiphus rang out once again.

“Captain,” the Chancellor spoke, “before you ride north, please see to it that Arborist Engelmann and his pupil—I believe you are familiar with them?” He raised an eyebrow before continuing in pointed, sharp speech. “See to it that they cease their
blasphemous
propaganda. Their juvenile words of brooding evil and imminent danger are sure to be nothing more than fuel to the already hot flames of our citizens’ unrest. And neither this Citadel nor I will stand for such ignorance to be preached! It has been known for generations that evil is nothing more than a reflection of
laziness
from a passive heart that has not learned the way of the flint.”

Armas weighed his response carefully before he spoke. “What is it that you suggest I do about it? He is an Arborist after all, and beyond the scope of my authority.”

“These are dark and desperate times, Captain, and the burning tree that he has so faithfully served is dying; with its death will also go the whole of his unobstructed privilege here in our city,” Chaiphus told the captain. “So if he wishes to remain in the good standings of our bright Priest King, he might want to be more …
careful
about what he preaches from the platforms and the town squares.”

“I will give him your message, Chancellor,” Armas said with admirable restraint.

As Armas took his leave from Chaiphus’ chambers, he set out to warn his friends before the ill that befell them turned to something worse than mere darkness.

On the other side of the grand, white walls of the Capital, across the cold waters of the river Abonris, Engelmann stood atop the bed of a merchant’s cart in the great square of Westriver, speaking loudly to all who would take notice and listen.

“People of Haven, hear my voice, hear my words!” The green-haired old Arborist wore not anger or piety on his face, but concern and humility. “Long have we lived in the light of the great tree, and long has this gift of the THREE who is SEVEN illuminated our city and protected us from untold evils. But now I fear for the future of our city, for we have become concerned only with light, and have not given a moment’s thought to the dark magics that thrive in the shadows.”

Some threw their hands up at this un-Priestly sort of talk and loudly dismissed the words of the Arborist.

“Who gives this old Arborist platform for these foolish Poet notions?” one man rudely proclaimed loud enough for all who were gathered to hear. “We are a people of the flint, and these fanciful tales will only fill our heads with nonsense!”

“Even now reports are coming from the North of a dark horde veiled by a shadowy void, and of green-eyed monsters, and raven-fletched arrows fired from unknown bows. If you do not believe me, ask the woodcutters and they will tell you the truth of it!” Engelmann begged them.

“Well, what would you have us do, Arborist?” a young woman asked sincerely.

“My girl, I would say to you and to all of Haven: do not put your trust in timber or even in these great walls, but fix your heart to the protection of the THREE who is SEVEN alone. And hope, my dear, for I do believe that hope is our only true defense against the ravenous shadows.”

“If this is true, then why hasn’t his Brightness come down from the Citadel and warned us? Huh?” another man said sarcastically. “If we were in true danger, the city would be humming with guardsmen! Leave us be, Arborist, for we have enough worries to occupy our fears this day.”

“Aye, don’t waste your time listening to this old fool! His great tree has abandoned him and he is just looking for company in his lonely misery!” said another.

“No, I beg of you, people of Haven! Please, hear my words … see my heart! For if we do not hope, then how shall we expect to endure the storm that is coming?” Engelmann implored the small, gathered crowd with a little too much desperation in his voice.

“Come on, let’s go wait for the woodcutters’ carts. The only hope I have is neatly piled in cords of timber!” said the first man.

Engelmann and his pupil, Michael, watched as the small crowd dispersed and went back about their business. “It is of no use, Engelmann,” Michael told him, the fullness of his worrisome and frustrated emotions bubbling over into his words. “Why will they not listen? Why do they not want to know the truth?”

“Ah, young groomsman, long has man chosen to cling to the dying comforts of what he already knows, only to be buried in the grave of his foolish certainties,” Engelmann told him as he sat down to light his long pipe. “That,” he said with a mouthful of sweet-smelling pipe smoke, “and we must acknowledge that it could be a bit frightening to admit that all they have ever believed could be inaccurate—or worse—it could be a complete and total load of horse dung!”

Engelmann’s dramatics gave Michael’s worried mind a small respite for the moment, and he smiled a brief smile. “But what if we are too late? What if no one believes us? How will we hope to endure like the Owele told you?”

“That is not our task, young groomsman, to worry over things that we cannot possibly have any control over. No, ours is but to warn, and to hope; by those deeds—we might just endure,” Engelmann said.

“Uh, excuse me, Arborist?” asked the young woman who had earlier been a part of the small but not-so-hospitable crowd. “I would like to speak to you about your...um, that is …” she paused, her eyes falling to the cobbled streets below her, “if you are willing to speak with me?”

Michael’s eyes lit up at the young woman. She was dressed plainly enough, as most of Haven’s citizens were these grey days. Her hair was straight and common, but in her auburn simplicity there peeked an honest beauty that caught the attention of Engelmann’s young pupil. “Hello there, yes!” Michael said a bit too eagerly, and with a large grin on his face. “We would love to talk with you—I mean—
he
would love to talk with you.”

Engelmann puffed for a minute on his long pipe and studied the reaction of his young apprentice. His mossy beard parted way, revealing an equally large grin upon his lined face. “My girl, it is our pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I must observe the pleasure is in fact much greater for one of us! Although perhaps you can see that for yourself.”

The young woman blushed at the eagerness of Michael and the kind compliment of the old Arborist.

“My name is Engelmann. Engelmann the Hopeful I have been called by some, from behind some not-so-closed doors.” With an overly dramatic display he pointed to his apprentice. “And this, my girl … this fine, strapping, young groomsman here is my pupil, Michael! I wouldn’t go about bestowing him with any other
closed-door titles
such as my own just yet, though, for he is only slightly less cynical than the rest of this miserable lot at the moment.” Engelmann let out a satisfied laugh, clearly as pleased with his clever introduction as he was about the conversation that was sure to begin.

“Thank you both,” she said with a returned smile. “My name is Margarid, if it pleases you.”

“It does indeed, my lady, it is a beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” Michael said, a bit on the forward side. In the days since Cal’s departure for the Wreath and Michael’s encounter with the Sprite, something had begun to grow less timid in his heart. If he were to think long enough to admit it, he would have to acknowledge that a process of unlearning had taken hold of him in such a way as to leave him forever changed. When magic itself stood there before him, with his tiny, offended blade at Michael’s throat, he could not help but further disbelieve much of the Priestly order that had regimented even the slimmest possibility of magic right out of his world.