

Joanne R. Mitchell was born in Murwillumbah, New South Wales and spent a number of years overseas. She completed a degree in Business Management/Marketing in 2002. She worked in management and owned her own marketing business before settling down on the Sunshine Coast where she lives with her husband, Grant, and Shihtzu, Roxanne.

Although this is Jo's first fantasy novel it is not her first introduction to the genre she loves so much. As a mother she read her own fairy stories to her children at bedtime. That early passion has now transferred into the magical world of the Immortals, and her first book, Pathway of the Gods.

She is an avid follower of the genre she loves, and finds a close affinity with the writers of fantasy fiction. Jo is currently writing her second novel in The Immortals trilogy, Awakening of the Gods.

Visit Jo at her website: www.jrmitchell.com.au

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## An Epic Trilogy

## THE IMMORTALS

## Book One

# Pathway of the Gods

### J.R. Mitchell

Aquagem Publishing

Published in Australia by  
Aquagem Publishing  
P.O. Box 889  
Buddina Qld 4575

Copyright © Joanne Mitchell 2007  
Maps copyright © Aquagem Publishing

Third edition 2009

This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be stored or reproduced by any process without prior written permission.  
Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

National Library of Australia  
Cataloguing-in-Publication data

Mitchell, J. R., 1959- .  
Pathway of the Gods.

ISBN 978 0 9804 0180 6 (pbk.).

I. Title. (Series : Mitchell, J. R., 1959- Immortals ; pt. 1).

A823.4

Cover design by George Ihring  
Cover design enhanced by Jesse Cutler  
Text design and typesetting by Simon Paterson, Bookhouse, Sydney  
Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press, Adelaide

# Acknowledgments

To my dedicated loved ones, friends and acquaintances who travelled this path with me, thank you.

To the one person who made this possible: my husband, Grant. Thank you for your belief in me and for sacrificing our time together to make my dream a reality. I could not have done this without you.

To our children, whose faith in me never wavered and who are as excited about this project as I am.

To George Ihring, Juuce Interactive Pty Ltd, for bringing my characters to life and maintaining an optimistic excitement.

Special thanks to Renee McCahon for her additional meticulous editing work for this third edition.

And last, but not least, a thank you to all those friends who have waited patiently for the publication of this book.

To all of you: may you enjoy this epic as much as I have enjoyed creating it.

Ommran

Azrah

Theron

# Prologue

# Nibulus

# 'World of The Immortals'

A piercing cry invaded the silence of the night. A sound of pain!

Istania lay in the birthing chamber, perspiration dripping from her brow as she wrenched violently at the bedding, the sheets beneath her tearing with the force. Another barb of pain, sharp and intense, shot through her body like a fine bladed knife. With effort, she refocused her thoughts, battling to remain calm. Why had she been so willing to make this sacrifice?

A second contraction, more cutting racked at her body, she grimaced with the suffering. Was this child worth the torment? Suddenly her travail and the shout of the midwife brought her back to reality as she bore down yet again.

'The child, I see the crown of the head,' relayed the midwife. 'It's time, Istania, push now.'

Istania forced herself to concentrate, wanting nothing more than to rid herself of both the child and the pain of its associated birth. She felt the baby's head pass through her birth canal. With one final exhausting push, the mucus covered infant slid from her body and into the waiting hands of the midwife. Istania let out a grateful sigh of relief.

It was a boy!

Exhausted but content, she relaxed, lying back against the crumpled linen, perspiration soaking the bedding beneath her. She recollected with clarity the events leading up to the conception of her son. They were now fixed forever in her mind. That particular night had been laced with power. Istania recalled the moment the seed had planted itself firmly within her – in that one brief moment her body and soul had divided. There had never been a night when she had felt the substance of the Craft so strong, it had been overpowering, its dynamism and ascendancy potent; she had never known its force so virile.

The Oracle had fathered her son, yet the goddess knew the child had not been conceived in love. The boy's father's only interest lay in the Immortals' ultimate goal – to gain a pathway to the Greater Gods.

The Oracle drove the Immortals; he was their divine leader, their patriarch and her lover. Yet Istania knew he was incapable of loving anyone.

As Istania lay quietly, her thoughts concentrating on the past, an unexpected stabbing pain gripped her yet again. Instantly she was brought back to reality, back to a horror of her own choosing. Pain tore her apart once again, shooting like arrows of steel through her lower abdomen; holding her like a lover in its embrace. The pain was felt with far more severity than the pain she had suffered only moments earlier.

She cried with terrifying alarm, 'No, not more.' Panic coursed through her body. What was happening?

For a sinking moment Istania was unsure, until she felt herself bearing down once again. The midwife stood frantic, as disbelief unfolded across the room. Moments later, amid the mayhem a second child forced itself from Istania's pain-shattered body: the child struggling to escape the confines of its prison. Shock registered with the midwife as she quickly summoned a nursemaid who ran forward and gathered up the second infant. With dexterity she wrapped it securely in soft blankets. Both women now stared accusingly at Istania; this was not part of the plan.

Gently, the nurse wiped the mucus from the infant. Both boys screamed in protest, their piecing cries heard by all. The midwife glanced nervously at Istania, her accusation clearly written in the expression, which now marred her porcelain features.

The first child continued with his stream of protest, while the other lay silent by his brother's side. The second infant; his eyes open wide, searching, seemed to be taking in his surroundings, a sense of knowing etching his features. An understanding smile spread for an instant across his lips as his mother watched the boy in disbelief.

The midwife sensed the power of the younger infant and backed away, the tiny babe giving her a casual, yet dismissive glance. The woman needed no second appraisal, something about this child instilled alarm.

'Hand them to me.'

It was the Oracle. His towering form stood in the doorway, his proud stance conveying his authority. The patriarch's silvery white hair, long and flowing, caught like slivers of gossamer in the dim light of the room, its length spreading down across his chest. His powerful body was silhouetted beneath his sheer garments.

Istania grew hesitant, afraid as she lay amidst the afterbirth. Her eyes followed the Oracle as he moved with silent footsteps toward her. Fear, born of knowing, licked at the confines of her immortal soul; something had gone wrong. Only one child was meant to be conceived, a boy, so how did she birth twins? She raised herself gingerly onto her elbows; her strength weakened but her resolve high.

'I do not understand! How did this travesty come about? Why are there two?

The Oracle fought back his immediate response; he would not accuse her in front of servants, there was no way he had fathered both children.

When she did not receive an answer, Istania realised that he thought she had deceived him in some way. She realised then that her sons were in mortal danger. For the Oracle would think she was to blame, she could tell by the look of contempt he now bore. The fear of her predicament seized hold of her heart; somehow she would have to devise a way of protecting her sons. She had to think quickly!

'May I name them?' she asked. 'Surely after all I have sacrificed, you owe me that much?' Istania watched, wondering if her plea had reached fertile ground. Would he even acknowledge her?

The Oracle took the infants from the fearful nursemaid, cradling them in his arms. Istania watched with trepidation; her sorrow building as the Oracle methodically scrutinised each boy. A deep frown furrowed his brow. She could tell he was enraged, could sense his feelings, she realised he thought he had been betrayed.

'Name them if you must, but it will not save them, or you from your fate.' With that he looked down at the boys. 'You have condemned both yourself and them, and for your actions you all will suffer.' His words were spoken calmly, maliciousness hidden in his tone as he gazed once more toward the boys' mother.

'Istania, this was meant to be for the good of all, and you deceived me.'

The accusation was meant for all to hear, and with those words her guilt established.

Istania pulled herself upright. She would not allow his accusation to go unheeded. The choice to give birth had been hers, and she had participated willingly, yet the great Oracle and the other Immortals had given her no leeway. At the time it seemed the only possible way, but now as she looked toward the two infants curled in the Oracle's embrace, she knew something had gone horribly wrong. Never were there meant to be two.

'Name them before I change my mind.' It was said with venom.

She hesitated momentarily, giving thought to her choice.

'I will call one Theron, 'Bearer of Wisdom', and the other, Ommran, 'Bearer of Truth'. As she spoke their names aloud, she filled her breath with the vapours of the Craft, hoping it might protect her sons; it was all she could do for now. The air in the room became thick and claustrophobic, as the names settled individually on the boys.

With a look of utter contempt, the Oracle handed the two boys over to the nurse's care. If the truth were told, he should have been alert to the presence of two life forms himself. He knew he had only planted one seed, so who fathered the second child? Obviously Istania had taken another lover, but who?

'You will rue the day you mislead me,' he said, with bitterness in his voice. He turned and left the birthing chamber. His resolve; never to forgive her.

Istania fell back against the pillows; confusion marred her senses, why would the Oracle accuse her of betrayal?

•

Several days later, Istania sat alone in her private rooms nursing her sons. None of the other Immortals had come to aid or attend to her in her confinement, not even to congratulate her. Even the Oracle kept his distance. She acknowledged that they all probably believed her guilty of deception. But she knew she had misled no one.

For hundreds of years, the Immortals had planned for a child. Great care had been taken to weave the fabric of forces present within the Craft; the moons, stars and mists had been aligned; nothing had been overlooked. All this was done with the hope of creating the perfect being, an Immortal worthy of a place amongst the Greater Gods; one worthy individual that could orchestrate their plans – a perfect being that would lead them to the pathway created by the Gods.

Yet now as she sat alone, spurned by her peers, Istania sensed that she was somehow, someone else's pawn in a much more complicated game than anyone realised. A burning sense of abandonment consumed her as she reread the hand written message the Oracle had sent her earlier that day. He demanded she offer up one of her sons as a sacrifice. The wording left her with no choice.

She glanced at Ommran; his dark curls swirling defiantly about his tiny face, as his fingers held on lovingly about her thumb, she met the stare of his piercing sapphire blue eyes as they watched her intently. Istania sensed his recognition as his lips parted, giving a mere hint of a smile. She understood the enormous power, which emanated from this child; he was gifted. A strange alien sensation passed over her as Ommran turned to seek sustenance at her breast. Turning him aside Istania called for the nursemaid to come and remove the boy.

Something dark stirred beneath the surface something mysterious, the boy too small to manipulate the force within him.

She bent to kiss him goodbye, but hesitated – she could not allow herself to feel affection for him. She handed the boy quickly to the waiting maid.

'Take him to the Oracle; tell him I have made my decision. Now go.'

A single tear rolled down Istania's cheek.

She gathered Theron to her breast and the comfort of his suckle kept her heart from overflowing with regret. She knew the Oracle would soon come and take Theron too. The boy would be suspended in time with the power of the Craft's Ilisinic Magic, she knew he would never know she was his mother; the Oracle would make sure of that. The patriarch would wait for another time to bring him forth yet again, a time when the Immortals had created a mate worthy of him.

Istania wondered if she could live with what she had done. Could any of them live with this travesty?

•

The great Oracle stood alone in his tower; his son perched high on his hip. Three thousand years had passed since Theron's original birth, yet the Oracle still could not forget Istania's betrayal. Time would never erase her deceit.

He held Theron close, this was his son; it had to be. Ilisinic magic had held the boy frozen in time until now. With his rebirth he would be united with Azrah, Goddess Immortal, and together these two would discover the greatest mystery of the universe, the whereabouts of the ancients and the path by which they traversed. It had taken all this time to perfect a second child, the infant female known as Azrah. This child conceived through a mortal, one he knew would not betray him.

He frowned as he thought about how close he had come to losing it all.

His thoughts turned to Istania; he had trusted his instincts yet she had deceived him. Her bastard son however had paid the price. The Oracles face turned sour, a bittersweet smile edging his mouth, he had no regrets about disposing of Ommran; that had been a necessity. No one but his own offspring would inherit the powers of the universe.

Theron let out a cry as the Patriarch's fingernails dug into the boys flesh, the pain the product of a moment's lapse of concentration on the Oracles behalf. Standing on her balcony, Istania heard Theron's cries. Tears suddenly blurred her vision. How could she have betrayed his brother? Her heart would carry the guilt forever, the guilt of abandoning Ommran. Why had she not fought to keep him?

Istania stood rigid, her mind consumed, as she realised that the Oracle still firmly believed she had taken another lover, but she knew that could not have been further from the truth. Something mysterious had transpired that fateful night when the both boys were conceived. At the time Istania thought it had merely been a surge in the Oracle's powers. Now thousands of years later she knew it had been far more than that. The force of the power wielded that night had been enough to compel her soul to momentarily leave her body. Something or someone with skills far greater than the Immortals, had conceived Ommran, she knew that now with certainty. But how could she prove it?

Istania looked longingly at the tower where the Oracle resided. Thousands of years ago she had stood in this very same spot and watched as her tiny son Ommran was cast into the dark void of the unknown universe. The Immortals believing he would perish. She recalled with clarity the emotional strain she felt at the time as Ommran's silent pleas of hopelessness and rejection had called out to her for help. She had done nothing; simply watched as his tiny form was set adrift, alone, afraid and helpless. Her silent prayers had followed him, yet she had not lifted a finger in his defence and she had lived her life ever since begging him for forgiveness.

Now Ommran's twin, Theron, would walk the hallowed halls of Nibulus. Istania knew the Oracle would never allow her close enough to convey the truth of their births. She would have to find another way of gaining both their trust and absolution.

Eons of time have passed. And far away in a distant universe, beyond the reach of the Immortals, sails of an enchanted ship unfold.

The fierce southerly winds blew with ferocity, filling the majestic sails of the mystical black ship. With each gust, the ship's timbers vibrated as it tossed and ploughed through the tempestuous seas like a cork on the surface of a boiling pot. With each wave the mighty ship rode high, propelled further toward its destination.

'Dragon Wing' was emblazoned into the timberwork of the ship's bower. On either side of the hull, was an image of a golden dragon, its fearsome features crafted by the hands of a master painter to be a warning to those who passed by. The sails of the ship were also painted to resemble a dragon's wings, so the ship seemed like a veritable beast searing through the water. Barnacles could be seen encrusted on the ship's underbelly as it rose above the waves. They became lost to sight as the ship's hull sank once more below the surface.

Dragon Wing was a vessel built to ride the violence of sea and space; it was a ship swathed in ancient magic, a ship created by the power and cunning of the dark lord with magic long forgotten in time. This living vessel had carried Ommran for thousands of years – helping him seek his revenge. Those who stood in Ommran's way either died or became one of his hordes. Dragon Wing and its master had a single obsession: to destroy those who had given Ommran life.

An inky raven perched on the mast stood on spindly legs swaying to the rhythm of the waves. With avid curiosity, it watched the dark lord who stood firmly on his two feet at the helm.

Ommran watched from the bow. He stood tall and imposing, with his head held proud. His long dark hair, gathered back with a strip of leather, billowed out behind him in the wind. He was clothed in black moleskin trousers tucked into knee-high black leather boots; his sweater taut across his chest, the salt and sea mist clinging to the fibres like fleas on a dog. He wore a long black leather coat unbuttoned down the front, blown open by the blustery winds. His eyes were the colour of azure skies, his chiselled chin concealed by the dark growth of a beard.

Both man and ship knew each other well – as a man knows a woman he has been married to for many years. They had long been united in their cause, and now they concealed themselves beneath turbulent clouds that protected them from the prying eyes of those who would hinder their plans. Ommran, discarded and forgotten by his creators, sought retribution for the rejection he had suffered by the Immortals.

Ommran looked to the south. His attention focused on a distant world: the world of Asserian. His thoughts turned to Azrah, its creator. He could sense her power and her strength somewhere out there – yet Ommran felt her presence was somehow incomplete.

Warmth, a faint semblance of emotion, touched his soul when he thought of her, but he quickly turned it aside. There was no place in his world for feelings, for emotion, most of all not love. Ommran had never been shown love by the Immortals and he had never given any in return. He thought of a time long ago when he came close to knowing such feelings, only to lose them to another, his brother Theron. Ommran believed it was his destiny to be with Azrah and take what should have been his by birthright: her seed belonged to him. With anger in his heart he hastened into the wind, picking up speed toward Asserian.

•

Azrah stretched out across the settee; she mourned that time long ago, when she believed her world was unmarred and she untarnished. It was a time when she and Theron first knew one another, when life seemed carefree and unblemished, a time when they had both co-existed with the Immortals on Nibulus.

Azrah reminded herself that she was meant to be a perfect being. The Oracle had often said so. Did the great Oracle actually lie? Theron was given the same impression. So why did their lives – hers and Theron's – now appear so tainted? Something was wrong; she felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, as if a part of the puzzle was missing.

Azrah ran her hands over her long sensuous limbs. Everything about her appeared flawless: her skin was smooth as velvet and not one imperfection marred her body. Her stomach lay flat and taut, her breasts firm, round and perfectly formed. Azrah glanced over at herself in the mirror as she stood. Her long golden hair cascaded down her length, shadowing the perfect body beneath. If the Immortals had made her perfect, why did she now feel totally flawed?

She walked to the platform that looked out across the great expanse of her worlds. Worlds she helped create. Before her lay the culmination of hundreds of years of devotion, their worlds: the worlds she and Theron had made.

Azrah could see Asserian off in the distance, floating like a giant bubble in the depths of space. It was her favourite world, a place where she had instilled peace, and happiness – a world dominated by women, where the males paid homage to their priestess and queen. A perfect world!

With a sigh, Azrah glanced toward the world of Sansinus. It lingered in a dark and ominous corner of the universe. Sansinus was the world of the mages, a world where the Craft dominated. She wondered whether she would live to regret her benevolence towards that race.

A smile spread across her face as she thought of Nepthany, a world that held her greatest secret. She smiled; it was out there, even though she could not see it from where she stood. On Nepthany she believed she had found real love. Azrah's faint smile masked the pain hidden in her heart. Out there in the expanse of space lay many worlds, all created by herself or Theron, but all she could do now was stand and admire the beauty of them all.

Azrah sensed, rather than saw, Theron as he appeared opposite her. She did not turn to look at him; she didn't need to, since she knew him well. His nakedness revealed that he was her complete opposite – tall, broad shouldered and sinewy. His facial features complimenting his fine bone structure. He had a strong chin and mesmerising eyes, eyes the colour of azure skies. Azrah smiled; she found him beautiful – not beautiful like a woman, but rather like a magnificent work of art.

Azrah remained motionless. She secretly shifted her weight from one bare foot to another, making sure the movement showed off the lines of her body beneath her sheer gown. Even with him so far away, she could sense his need and desire. He couldn't help but be aroused.

Theron emerged from behind the pillar of Trayon. The darkness of the pillar's shadow blended with his honey-coloured complexion. Azrah turned and gazed into his eyes. She missed him.

Theron didn't speak; he merely smiled and moved toward her, his movements graceful and deliberate like a cat stalking prey. Before Azrah could catch her breath he had drawn her gently into his arms. His bare body wrapped itself about hers as a snake would about its prey. He ran his tongue up the nape of her neck. Azrah's gown dissolved into nothing, leaving the two of them naked, entwined in desire. He gently lifted her high in his arms.

Theron carried her to the settee. He arched her body over the length of the chair, running his hand over the roundness of her buttocks, teasing and taunting. His tongue gently licked the trough between her breasts. Slowly he worked his way to her nipples, taking them one by one into his mouth and rolling his tongue around their edges slowly, deliberately. Azrah let out a joyous moan. Theron watched her eyes as they rolled back into her head: the obvious pleasure was there. His manhood pulsed, wanting nothing more than to enter her and take his pleasure. He forced himself to hold off. He continued to tease her, waiting to hear the pleasure of her cry. As her body shuddered and convulsed with passion, he penetrated with force, thrusting with quick and deliberate motions. Fulfilment was their final destiny.

Theron released his hold; he was spent by the passion of the moment. He rolled to one side and loosened his grip on her. Did he love her? He was no longer sure, yet he had an obligation. How he longed to be freed of his responsibilities on Venra. He knew now he had been gone far too long from this place. Yet coming back to this world, the world he shared with Azrah, was somehow painful no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he cared about her. Coming here held no meaning anymore and he felt guilty. He now lived a life separate and distinct from this life as a god. It was a mortal life, a life he loved: a life as Sirus, Prince of Eshtah on the world of Romanie.

The Immortals had given him a life but it held restrictions and fundamental responsiblilities. He wanted more freedom and on Romanie he found it. With those thoughts he departed in the magic vapours of the Craft, without an affectionate word or glance toward Azrah.

Tears welled instantly in Azrah's eyes. Would she ever know happiness? Would she ever know normality? She'd had those feelings only once, yet now it seemed like another lifetime. Long ago she knew she had shared something special with Theron on Nepthany. She thought Theron had shared it too, but now it seemed as if it had never happened. He never spoke of it and she never referred to it.

For the first time Azrah wanted so much more, and she knew that could only come about by finding out the truth. Azrah knew something was wrong. She needed to return to Nibulus, to confront the Immortals to seek the truth – that was her only hope. Theron had weakened her powers by setting up a powerful veil to stop anyone from finding them. She needed help to find her way back. Maybe on Sansinus she could enlist the help of the mages. By now those beings should have mastered the powers of the Craft and she hoped they would be her allies. It was her only chance.

Azrah summoned the powers of the Craft. Within the magic of the Craft's vapours she too could manoeuvre through time and space within her worlds. She would pay a visit to the Sansinites; she hoped their powers combined with hers would be strong enough to break the spell Theron had cast long ago.

# 1

# Romanie

# 'Sirus, Prince of Eshtah'

'Stay calm sweet prince for tomorrow you will find solace for your troubled soul.'

Theron materialised on Romanie. He stood dressed in his Romanie garb, waistcoat over white shirt, dark leather trousers worn tight with knee high boots. As he adjusted to his surrounding, the majestic Emid's Wall protected him from the morning's cool breeze, as the first rays of dawn crested the horizon. He was angry, but mainly with himself. He struck out at the wall with his fist, part of it shattered before collapsing in a pile of dust. He kicked the fragments at his feet; particles of dirt scattered, covering his boots with a thick film of earth.

'Damn!'

Anger was an emotion he thought only mortals could feel with such passion, but here he was, angry with himself and Azrah. Should he blame her, or the Immortals? No, he realised he was the creator of his own misery.

Right now he couldn't face going back to her, and lately it had become increasingly difficult to return to her side. Azrah simply reminded him of what he hated most about his Immortal life – the lack of freedom to live life how he wished.

He looked around at the world on which he stood; he had created its splendour using the powers within the Craft. The Gods in their infinite wisdom had given those powers to him at birth and he had absolute mastery over the worlds he established. The Craft was a potent endowment, which gave the bearer the means to create life or to destroy it. It also meant responsibility, which Theron knew he would be better off without.

Humans inhabited Romanie. These people were a race of conquerors. This world was built through strength and courage, hard work and forbearance and it was the one place where Theron felt he belonged. Over a period of time, he had lived here under the guise of a mortal, Sirus, Prince of Eshtah.

As Sirus, he had earned his place amongst these people. He had fought wearisome, hard-won battles for Eshtah's monarch, King Emid. Together they had conquered and claimed this land and now King Emid was his friend and treated Sirus as a son. They ate at the same table, bathed in the same dirty streams and rivers, laughed at the same raucous jokes and even loved the same women. Romanie was where Theron felt he belonged.

Theron glanced at the wall that he had wilfully damaged moments earlier. This wall had been a labour of love, and had taken months of hard and laborious work by the men and women from this region, known as Eshtah. It was a strategic fortification, which held back the waters of the Iber River. He now felt ashamed at the deliberate damage he had done.

The sun edged above the horizon, beckoning another glorious spring day. Theron spread out his hands before him and in an instant the wall reformed. Every mud brick that had crumbled with the impact of his blow now stood firmly back in its place, a testament to the powers Theron held. He touched them, the bricks felt a part of him, just like the land, and he recognised that this world and its people were imbedded in his soul.

He stood tall and inhaled the freshness of the new day. He wondered why he embraced this mortal life with such ardour. The wars, the plunder and the daily hardships excited him and renewed his strength. He thought of his Immortal life on Venra, where he wanted for nothing where he could give and take life at will. Why then did he feel so drawn to Romanie? Even to Theron it was absurd.

Theron's guise as Sirus meant he could come and go as he pleased, but now he accepted that it was becoming increasingly more difficult to leave this land he loved, because in his mind this was home.

As he studied the countryside about him and saw the perfection that creation had wrought, it reminded him how flawless his immortal companion Azrah was. There had never been a Goddess as powerful as her; it frightened him sometimes to acknowledge just how much power she possessed. Azrah! If only he could negate her from his thoughts, he didn't need to feel this guilt. He wondered why he did not find her appealing. Making love to her gave him little but sexual gratification.

He had taken other women to his bed, but none held any real appeal. Except for I'Eda. She was a lady in waiting at King Emid's court. Was I'Eda the real reason he felt drawn to Romanie? He wondered! Theron thought it strange to feel such strong emotion for two women, one he had; the other he wanted.

A smile creased the corners of his mouth as he pictured I'Eda. He remembered with clarity the first time he had seen her. She had been a mere child at the time, but she beguiled him even then with her intellect and beauty. His loins began to tingle as he envisaged how she looked now as a fully mature woman; her beauty and intelligence now developed to such a degree that she simply took his breath away. Her auburn hair complimented her eyes, which sat like limpid pools of jade green within the delicate confines of her face. But I'Eda's ethereal features masked her fiery temperament. I'Eda had a way of lighting a fire in Sirus's heart whenever she was near, but more so when they lay together. But I'Eda would never be immortal, or a perfect being like Azrah.

Sirus lengthened his stride as he moved through the early daylight towards his chateau, Delgrade. The shadows of dawn now edged their way over the Iber River like fingers stretching to be free. He drank in the clear morning air again, knowing he still had a considerable distance to travel before he reached home. King Emid had given him substantial land holdings – seven thousand acres of prime farming land and forests were his. There, wild game roamed and birds of all varieties flocked to the pristine lakes. It was his haven. His estates also housed serfs and peasants who occupied settlements and villages within its borders. Theron knew each of them by name.

Theron was enjoying the distraction of everyday life and the carefree attitude that went with it. It was easy for him to just be himself – but it would never do to be seen arriving at his estate on foot. He raised two fingers to his lips, gave a sharp shrill whistle and waited. Shortly, a dark shadow appeared like a cloud bursting through the clear morning sky. Neon, his horse, descended in a flurry with his wings spread wide; this magnificent steed had been his companion since they met thousands of years before. Sirus broadened his smile in greeting.

Neon landed gracefully. Instantly, his wings inverted and disappeared. Neon whinnied, stomping his foot in the soft dewy grass at his feet, awaiting his master's touch.

Theron had found Neon as a foal, the animal alone and afraid. Theron took it upon himself to rear and nurture the defenceless colt. To Theron's dismay he discovered that the tiny foal had the ability to fly; his tiny wings an intriguing abnormality. This was not the only distinct feature of the animal. Sirus discovered later that Neon also had the power of speech. These two exceptional traits were far too extraordinary to leave unprotected in a world where man would exploit them, so Theron kept the foal and named him Neon, meaning 'new'. They had been together ever since.

Sirus ran his hand affectionately down Neon's neck; the hair on the animal's mane was as fine as silk thread. Neon responded with a shudder of delight.

'It's good to have you back, Master.'

'It's good to be back,' replied Theron as he leapt on the horse's back. There was neither bridle nor saddle in sight as he nudged him into a gallop. Neon spread his majestic wings and took flight, the might of his strength like the sound of wind as he cast himself upward into the morning's blue sky.

Sirus loved to fly. The wind whistled through his hair and the scenery swept beneath them. In fact they both enjoyed the freedom of flying. Rider and horse felt an absolute affinity with each other. No one on Romanie saw the spectacle; Theron made sure of that. They glided easily over the meadows and brooks, taking in the sights and sounds of men and women rising for the day as animals grazed lazily in and around the farms. Cows stood impatiently waiting for the farmers to make their way to the milking sheds. It seemed a perfect day as Neon neared the edge of Xanthos Forest, on the boundary of Delgrade. He landed; his gait became lighter as he steadied to a gentle canter.

Neon edged his way slowly along the forest floor. The ground was covered with new spring growth, soft lush grasses and wildflowers abounded. As he trotted along the path, both he and Sirus sensed they were not alone. Neon slowed and sniffed the air. Something smelled wrong. Sirus tugged gently at his mane and Neon silently pulled to a stop just before a dense growth of shrubs.

Sirus dismounted with caution. There was something nearby, a life form. He could feel the power. But if the entity sensed their proximity or knew their purpose it did not appear afraid. Sirus could sense no alarm or stirring from beyond the brush as he stepped through the grass. He trod lightly, not wishing to frighten or disturb his quarry.

The path the pair tracked was well worn. Many of Sirus's servants used it as a passage between their homes and Delgrade. Neon stood motionless, the cool ground beneath his feet seeping through the arc of his hooves, as he slowed his breathing to shallow intakes of air. Theron crept closer, his heartbeat rapid. The concern he was experiencing was a strange sensation, for both he and Neon knew something was amiss; whatever was hidden beyond the brush was a life force more potent than Theron himself. A sense of panic arose; bile stirred in the pit of the Immortal's stomach.

Theron manipulated the skills of the Craft and distorted the view to see beyond the thicket. There, curled up in a ball as if asleep, lay a child, deathly pale and still, its skin as white as chalk. The child's complexion appeared smoother than the leaves of the lilliam flower. Soft downy hair, the colour of summer heads of corn, covered its head falling across its features to conceal most of its face. Sirus moved closer and bent down cautiously; he did not wish to disturb the youngster. Carefully he touched the child; the youngster's skin was cold and clammy. Still there was no response. He hesitated before slowly picking it up. He hugged it close against his body. Perspiration began to trickle down Sirus's back, but it wasn't from the heat of the day. This was no normal child. Something was amiss! He wondered momentarily if he should leave it here? Xanthos Forest was frequented by all manner of creatures; most seeking food to appease their hunger and Theron knew the child would make a tasty morsel for the wolves or foxes. He shook with apprehension and proceeded to carry the child back toward Neon.

As he approached the horse, he paused briefly to feel for a life force, a heartbeat or warm breath. He was relieved to feel a tiny pulse. As Theron neared Neon, he could see the horse had made good use of the delay and was busy munching on a winterberry bush. Neon lifted his head from the succulent shrub. Sweet juice from the berries edged his mouth, as he glanced suspiciously at the bundle in his master's arms.

'That thing has a peculiar smell! No good will come from this. I sense that child is not quite what it seems. Put it back; it can fend for itself.' Neon's tone was noticeably brusque.

'Under normal circumstances I would heed your advice,' Theron said with a warm smile, 'but something about this child has captivated my curiosity. Besides you more than anyone else would be mortified if I left it here and it suffered harm.'

Theron paused as Neon approached. He couldn't explain his morbid interest in the child other than that it had a presence about it.

'Neon, I have a strong feeling that this child is important.' Theron examined the child again as Neon took another sniff.

'This youngster isn't from Romanie, nor is it from any world I have known,' Theron remarked. He held the child up to the sunlight that filtered down through the canopy.

'This is certainly no creation of mine, nor do I believe is it one of Azrah's,' he added as Neon sniffed and inhaled deeply, before snorting in disgust.

'Well! It smells very peculiar,' Neon stated, feeling confident about his first appraisal. 'Just take a good look at those ears! They're not normal!'

Theron realised the child did have unusual features. Its ears were pointed in a sharp peak at the top and lay flat against its head. Certainly not a feature of any of the humans who populate my worlds, Theron thought. He wondered how it managed to get here on Romanie.

The golden curls had concealed the top of its ears, but had shaken free when Theron picked it up. Theron's first impression of the child's skin was correct; it was delicate and fragile and he could clearly see the veins beneath the surface.

'You may not agree with me Neon, but I'm taking the child to Delgrade. I think we should keep it close until we can find out where it came from and how it managed to get here. I need answers.'

'Very well,' Neon snorted with indignation. 'Only don't say I didn't warn you! I personally think this child is nothing but trouble. Either that or it will end up bringing trouble our way. What doesn't smell right isn't right.' Neon hoped Theron would share his suspicions.

Theron carefully mounted Neon's back, holding fast to the small bundle in his powerful arms. He deliberately ignored the frown on Neon's brow. Together the three continued their journey through the forest toward Delgrade.

•

Several days later, Theron, now in his guise as Sirus, slipped quietly into the young boy's room. Mildred, his housekeeper, had insisted on bathing the child before wrapping it in her newly laundered linen. They now knew the child was a boy. But Sirus still had no way of knowing who the boy was, or where he had originated. As he entered the room, Sirus noticed Mildred sitting patiently in the corner while the child slept soundly.

Mildred was not just Sirus's housekeeper; she was an integral part of his home. She had been part of the spoils given to him by King Emid after the overthrow of Sabon – a neighbouring province. Her wily temper and obvious commanding presence were rare gifts, talents Sirus was grateful for.

The Sabon were a militant group of rebels who had thought to overthrow King Emid and his Eshtahian militia. But the hostilities and subsequent war had been short and the Sabon now lived at peace amongst the people of Eshtah.

Mildred was a kind, competent woman, who was as short in stature as she was round at the waist. Sirus had complete confidence in her ability to run his home. He knew whenever he was forced to leave to either honour his duties to King Emid or the Immortals, he could always be guaranteed of Mildred's loyalty. She was well organised and, like all good commanders, quick to take affirmative action if anything or anyone got out of order.

As he entered the room, Mildred glanced up from her needlecraft and nodded to him. Then without further ado, she resumed her rhythmic threading in and out of her embroidery. The handiwork made by the Sabon women was renowned for its intricate patterns, textures and colours. Since coming to his household, Mildred had taught the young women amongst Sirus's staff, as well as others from the surrounding district, how to work the intricate patterns to perfection. The women now had a profitable business selling to all the fashionable ladies of Eshtah. Sirus recalled taking a shawl back to Azrah, to boast of its beauty and the delicate workmanship in the stitching. He recalled how pleased the Goddess had been with her gift and he felt a brief pang of guilt now.

Sirus approached the bed; the boy's angelic face lay cushioned against the pillows. Visually the child appeared young; yet Sirus sensed a great wisdom beneath the youthful exterior, which could only be accumulated over time.

'Should I try and wake him,' Sirus asked, deliberately softening his tone to match the deathly quiet of the room.

'No. That would not be wise, just leave him be, your highness,' Mildred's motherly voice responded. 'He is young and needs rest.' She paused momentarily, as she speculated about her concerns. 'This child is quiet exceptional, peculiar in fact! Do you not agree?' Mildred had obviously noticed the uncharacteristic features of the boy. Sirus ignored her enquiry as he continued to stand guard at the child's bedside. When the housekeeper received no answer she continued with her droll prattle, relaying the morning's events within the chateau. Nothing occurred without Mildred's knowledge. When Sirus continued to study the boy and ignored her gossip, she simply shrugged her shoulders and continued with her needlework.

'He will wake when he is good and ready,' she finally stated.

As Theron, Sirus could have penetrated the child's thoughts; the memories concealed there would reveal hidden truths. But as Sirus it would require a depth of concentration and power that others around him, especially Mildred, would not understand. The suspicion it would arouse was not worth the risk. There would be time later.

Sirus bent over the child, the boy remained still. The child's hands lay neatly by his sides, the bedding tucked about him for support. He looked so small in the large bed. Sirus leant closer; his face now almost touching the boy – something about this child was drawing him in.

The boy had been placed in the bedroom next to Sirus's own personal rooms, so if the boy woke then he wanted to be the first to know. But it had been several days and still there had been no movement, but the boy's condition had remained stable.

Mildred had discovered a medallion hanging around the small boy's neck when she changed and bathed him. The object was crafted from a metal that Sirus had never seen, the material was extremely solid – an oxide with unusual colouring like burnished bronze. The medallion had been crafted in a circular fashion with inscriptions marked about its intricate border. At its centre was a hole the size of a small plum, but egg shaped. It was as if something belonged there. The strange lettering was in an unknown dialect, one that not even Sirus knew. As Theron, he thought he knew every language of the universe, but this language was foreign even to Theron.

Both Sirus and Mildred had tried to remove the medallion when they reclothed the boy. Sirus wished to examine the object at close range, but there was no clasp: the chain too small to remove over the boy's head. He had decided he would wait until the boy gained consciousness. Then there would be time for questions and hopefully some answers about the boy and where he came from.

'I'll drop by later, Mildred.' Sirus murmured, as he tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. He turned to walk from the room, his movements slow. His back was now turned toward the boy. He barely felt the soft touch of the child's hand, as he reached up and grabbed hold of his wrist. Momentary surprise registered on Sirus's face, seconds before the light in the room faded and Sirus was pulled into unconsciousness. He fell into a deep and mysterious sleep. Sirus thought he dreamt.

•

Sirus found himself in what appeared to be a dimly lit room. Looking about him, he realised he was still dressed in Romanie clothing. The room was empty; nothing but bare walls surrounded him. Sirus tried to move his limbs, but his feet were anchored to the floor. Helplessness was an alien sensation and for the first time in his existence he felt vulnerable, as well as completely and utterly alone. His mind seemed to be the one faculty still capable of functioning; yet when he tried to use his mental ability to move his muscles he found he was powerless.

Suddenly the room lit up and a child appeared. It was the child, the same young boy he found. Sirus realised too late that Neon might have been right.

The young boy moved forward, hovering at eye level directly in front of Sirus, who could do nothing to ward him off. The child did not appear to be malicious but Sirus still felt afraid.

Sirus tried to speak, he wanted answers from the boy, but speech eluded him. All his conscious thoughts were now focused on the figure before him. He tried to use the powers of the Craft, but to no avail. The child reached out a hand and placed it on Sirus's head. Sirus felt a chill consume his mind. He stared into the boy's eyes; the colour of sapphires met his gaze. Sirus's body shook with the vibrations, but the child kept his hand in place. The Immortal focused his mind to infiltrate the thoughts of the boy. For one brief moment he saw familiar faces – the faces of his creators. Then in an instant there was nothing but blackness.

•

When Sirus and Neon arrived at Delgrade with the child, Neon had wandered off to graze on the lush pastures surrounding Sirus's home. There he could pretend he was an ordinary horse. Once the farm boys had disappeared for the day and the sun became a faint glow on the horizon with the last rays of pink turning to grey, Neon left the fields. He galloped unfettered across the plains until nightfall darkened the skies then spread his wings and flew north to a place high in the Tibrion Mountains, away from the preying eyes of man. Neon usually remained there until Sirus summoned him home.

It had now been over a week since his departure from Sirus's side and Neon knew instinctively something was wrong. His master had made no attempt to contact him and that was unusual. Neon stood on the top of the plateau looking toward Delgrade. He had sensed that some dramatic event had taken place. He had been a part of Theron's life far too long not to recognise when something was untoward. Neon shook off his feeling of despondency as he spread his wings. Quickly he picked up speed. It would be hours before he arrived back at Delgrade, for Neon instinctively knew he would receive no help this day from his master.

•

Days later, Sirus emerged from his entranced state. He woke in his bed at Delgrade, yet rest had not replenished him. Slowly he sat up. Mildred lounged in her chair in close proximity. She was working away with her thread and did not seem to notice him stirring. Nothing seemed out of place as he glanced about the room. Sirus relaxed; maybe it had been nothing more than a dream. No! It seemed far too real for that! He knew Mildred would not be here acting like a mother hen had it been anything less than serious.

Sirus thought back to the moment when his world turned augural, when the world he knew went blank. He could still feel the cool hand as someone grabbed his wrist. The boy! It hadn't been a dream. What had become of the child? Sirus propelled himself up once again; he had a splitting headache and he rubbed his brow to ease the tension. This time Mildred glanced up. She smiled, appearing to be pleased to see him awake.

'You gave us quite a scare,' Mildred frowned with concern.

'What happened? Why am I confined to this bed?' Sirus rubbed his head again, as the pain manifested itself with more intensity. 'My head aches! Mildred, how long have I been here,' Sirus asked.

As Mildred ceased her methodical stitching she replied, 'Well you fainted and gave us quite a scare! I applied herbs but nothing seemed to work.' One of Mildred's many claims to fame was her proficiency with medicinal herbs. Her mother had taught her and her mother before her. Most people in the surrounding estate called on Mildred to ease their ills long before they called a physician.

'You have been like this for over a week. I even went to the trouble of getting the physician to come out and take a look at you, but even he couldn't explain why you had such an unusual turn. Fancy! He tried to tell me it was something you ate,' she said. 'Threw him out I did. There's nothing wrong with my cooking! Besides I trust my herbs before I would trust his alchemy.'

Mildred continued her rambling. She sounded unperturbed, except for the fact that her culinary skills had come under question. Sirus lay back against the pillow.

'By the way, how is the boy?'

Mildred frowned as she stopped what she was doing and stared at Sirus. 'What boy?' Her tone suggested she had no idea what he was talking about. With an almost exasperated sense of foreboding, Sirus lifted himself up off the bed, his legs feeling foreign beneath him. His head and body both seemed extremely reluctant to move.

'The boy I brought to Delgrade when I returned home. The young child – with the peculiar features...you bathed and dressed him remember?' Sirus was becoming insistent.

Mildred stood up and placed her needlework on the chair before coming around to his side of the bed. She looked concerned. She forced Sirus back down and placed her hand on his forehead, her commander persona taking over.

'No fever.'

She shook her head, casting her eyes upward as if she couldn't figure out his prattling. 'My Lord, you must have been dreaming. There is no child. When you joined us you were alone, except for that horse of yours.' She gave him a curious glance as she pulled the blankets around him. 'Now don't move. I'll go fix some herbs to ease your aches and pains.' She glanced back at him with a worried look before leaving the room. Obviously her master was still delirious.

Sirus knew he hadn't dreamed any of it. Yet he also knew that Mildred would not lie to him or hide the truth. A strange sense of hollowness seemed to hang in the air. Something dramatic had occurred. It was more than just a feeling; Sirus discerned that things had altered; yet everything around him seemed familiar and right. He wouldn't rest until he found out what had happened.

He adjusted his position and something heavy slid from his chest. Cold, yet familiar, sensations reached up from memories lost. He reached beneath his nightshirt and felt the circular object. The medallion – the one the child had worn. So none of this had been a dream!

Sirus wrenched at the chain, trying desperately to break its hold. Panic, driven by fear, began to build. He leapt to his feet once again, with no housekeeper this time to restrain him. He tried in vain to pull the chain from around his neck. Self-inflicted strangulation tore at his skin. Nothing worked; the chain and the object it held remained secured about his neck. Was this coincidence? Instinct dictated not!

'Mildred!' Sirus screamed her name, as he stood barefoot on the wooden floor, the medallion firmly in his grasp. Mildred came running in from outside. 'How did this thing, this medallion get around my neck?' The expression of pure distress on her master's face frightened the woman.

'Why my Lord,' replied Mildred, 'that has always been around your neck.' She walked over and again forcibly guided her master to his bed. 'Now stay put, you're delirious! I will be back shortly with my herbs. They will fix your troubled mind.' Mildred shrugged her shoulders and shook her head before turning back to her duties.

Sirus watched as the portly woman disappeared into the hallway. There had to be a reasonable explanation why Mildred would deliberately lie, or was there some other answer? Sirus knew the medallion had belonged to the child. Somehow the child had managed to transfer the object to him, but why? He shut off his mind to the possibilities as Mildred reappeared in the doorway, poultice in hand.

Later, once Mildred and the other staff had retired for the night, Sirus crept from his bed. It was some time just before midnight. The moon was at its highest point and its glow shone brightly through his bedroom windows, casting eerie shadows about the room. Outside the night sky was clear. A constellation of stars swam across the sky, reminding Sirus of how wondrous the universe truly was.

Sirus crept along the hallway to the bedroom where the boy had been. It seemed silly prowling around his own home, but he had to locate the child. There were so many questions, so many unspoken truths now invading his thoughts and he needed answers.

Sirus searched the room next to his; he knew the boy had been there. An odour, reticent of things strange and unusual hung in the air, like an exotic perfume. Yet Sirus found no clues. After convincing himself it was well and truly empty except for the furnishings, he ventured into the other vacant bedrooms. He kept his movements quiet; he did not wish to wake the staff. He searched relentlessly, hoping to find some trace – but any trace of the boy had long vanished. He finally wound his way down the staircase and ended up in the darkened kitchen, the only light stemming from hot coals still smouldering in the hearth.

The thought of food reawakened his senses. On the sideboard lay fresh bread, goat's cheese and thinly sliced ham. He quickly cut into the bread, topping it off with the cheese. The ham he threw to the cat that was sitting expectantly under the kitchen bench. The cat meowed in gratitude. With a sandwich in one hand and an oil lamp in the other, he let himself out of the servant's entry.

Sirus searched the stables and outhouses; any clue to the whereabouts of the child would be good. All he wanted was some proof the child existed. He found nothing. He left the stables and crossed the fields that ran behind his home; he stepped onto a stile that cut its way behind the stables, lengthening his strides as he walked toward a large grove of trees.

'It's about time you showed your face.' It was a strange yet familiar voice.

'What! Where are you?' Sirus moved cautiously towards the sound of the voice. 'Show yourself man, or I will slit your throat and ask questions later.' Sirus's anger was reflected in his tone. He drew his dagger, knowing he was as skilled with this weapon as he was with a sword.

'It's only me,' replied Neon indignantly. The stallion was momentarily shocked by the display of a knife and the obvious aggression in his master's voice. 'I'm over here, near the emery tree!'

Sirus edged closer to the tree. He knew that name; it was the name of his horse. But he knew no human who went by the same name. He paused as he drew beneath the branches of the tree. There stood his horse, the animal's coat glistening in the moonlight, like midnight opals.

'Master,' exclaimed Neon, 'I have been worried. I had almost given up hope.' Neon hesitated as he saw a look of dismay register on Sirus's face.

'I would have sought you out in the morning, but I'm glad you found me first. Master, danger is afoot, something unrestrained has occurred. I felt it.'

Sirus's face had turned pallid. It seemed unbelievable, but it appeared his horse spoke. That wasn't possible.

'What trick is this? Who are you? Come out you coward and show yourself!' Sirus's tone sounded harsh, yet instinctively touched with alarm. He stepped forward, dagger in hand, prepared to confront the cowardly person behind his horse.

'Master! It's me. Don't you recognise me?' Neon felt sudden despair born of fear, for he realised that the man he had known as master now no longer recognised him as his personal companion.

Sirus contemplated the fact that he was losing his mind. There was no one in proximity; it was the animal that spoke! He was going mad!

'I don't understand!' Sirus's legs gave way beneath him and he sank to the ground. 'I don't believe this is happening to me!' His voice betrayed the helplessness he was feeling.

Neon suddenly became aware that it was his power of speech that his master did not comprehend. He knew then that much had changed. This man was no longer Theron, God Immortal, but merely a mortal man. Physically the same, yet somehow intrinsically changed. Those strange premonitions Neon had felt a week earlier returned to his mind. Neon knew both their lives would now be forever altered.

Neon stood observing Sirus for several moments. The person before him looked a beaten man. If his instincts were correct then Sirus no longer knew his true identity. Somehow he had to help him recall the past, but how? He hesitated before speaking.

'Master, you and I have travelled together throughout the universe. Together we have ventured to many worlds. We have fought many battles and you have always ridden my back. Do you remember anything, anything at all of which I speak?'

Sirus looked up, his thoughts full of confusion and disbelief.

'I remember waking up with a headache. That's all!'

'It's that confounded child! I told you it would bring nothing but trouble. I fear it has affected your brain.'

With the mention of the child, Sirus suddenly came out of his reverie. For a moment he pretended he was not speaking to a horse.

'You speak of a child. What child?'

'Why the one we found in the forest.' Neon once again felt a rising panic take control of his voice. Had Sirus forgotten everything?

'What did the child look like?' Sirus asked, his voice racing to keep pace with the pounding of his heart.

'What is this? Trick question time?' Neon asked.

'Just answer the question, before I find a way of using this dagger,' Sirus tried to bring himself under control. He steadied his heart with long deep breaths. He would not allow the situation to control him.

'Very well! Don't get your pantaloons in a knot. The child was strange, definitely not human.' Neon spoke cautiously. 'The thing had pale skin, pointed ears and remember I told you I thought it smelled bad? I did try to warn you, remember?'

Sirus sat with his head between his knees, knowing he had not imagined the boy.

'Do you remember any of this, Master?' Neon's suspicions were becoming a reality. 'I told you the thing would bring trouble.'

'I remember the boy. But nothing else is making any sense.' Sirus tried to stand, but his knees again buckled under his weight. His head pounded loudly in his ears each time he tried to force himself to think about his past. He placed a hand on Neon's side to steady himself.

'I remember finding the boy and taking him to Delgrade. If you were there when I found him then I certainly do not recall us having a conversation regarding your thoughts on the subject.'

'Well, believe me; I did try to warn you. But you never listen to me, not when it really counts.'

Sirus allowed the wave of pain invading his head to pass. 'The only other thing I remember is standing near the boy's bed. I think he grabbed hold of my wrist.' Sirus hesitated, remembering with clouded thoughts those last moments before he passed into the abyss of unconsciousness. 'For a child so small, he had incredible strength. I recall nothing after that. Mildred said I fainted. I awoke this morning in my bed. I remember nothing else.'

Sirus leant against Neon's side; the touch of warm horseflesh was somehow reassuring.

Neon was afraid. Just how much had his master forgotten? He had to find out.

'Do you remember who you are?'

'Of course, I have not completely forgotten everything.'

'That is not quite what I meant! Do you know your true identity? Do you know that you are not Sirus, Prince of Eshtah? But the Immortal Theron, creator of this world?'

Sirus burst out laughing. He straightened himself up to his full height and for the first time that night found he was actually smiling.

'Well if I am to believe a horse can talk then I guess I could be persuaded to believe that I am an Immortal.' At this point Sirus doubted his very sanity.

Neon felt empty as he realised Theron's memory of who, and what he actually was had vanished. Neon knew he had to unravel this dilemma and soon.

'Is the child still here?' Neon's question startled Sirus.

'No,' replied Sirus. 'I have searched everywhere and found no trace. Mildred swears there never was a child. But I know she wouldn't lie to me.' Sirus realised that the feelings he had earlier regarding the altered state of things was correct, now he would have to face the truth of it all.

'Neon, I have no choice but to believe what you say. The part about me being an Immortal is too incredible to accept. I do however believe that the child is somehow responsible for what has befallen me and somehow we must find him!' Sirus pulled out the medallion that hung around his neck. Neon came closer, leaned in and took a sniff.

'That thing belonged to the child, didn't it? It has the same smell about it.'

'Why yes! It was around his neck. When I awoke it was around mine.'

Neon examined the medallion closely; the writing on its surface was unfamiliar. He nibbled at the surface of the oxide, which felt cold against his mouth; the metal too was peculiar.

'You and I, Master, have fought many wars over hundreds of years on this world as well as others and I have seen the metals used to make weapons of war. Yet none are as strong as the metal used to forge this.' Neon sounded astounded. 'Wars! Worlds! Hundreds of years! Neon I can't argue with what you say; yet it's hard for me to envisage any of those things. What I want to know is: what do we do now?'

# 2

# Sansinus

# 'The Temple of Light'

'Goddess, I am your devoted servant. I dedicate my life and soul to thee.'

Azrah appeared on the world of Sansinus just as the moon rose. Her mind preoccupied with her earlier rendezvous with Theron. Why did he always appear so unhappy? She tried in vain to convince herself that he cared, that his lack of interest in her lay in his inability to forgive himself for his own stupidity. It had been his idea alone to shun the Gods.

The night sky was clear and stars beamed brightly overhead. The wind stirred the trees, helping ease the oppressive heat. Azrah forced her mind to concentrate on the task she had set herself. She had to locate the mages. She composed herself as she moved cautiously toward the village of Woodless End. She knew this village well, from a time long ago. Often she had sought refuge here from the misery of her own world on Venra. Her world lacked nothing in the way of pleasures and comfort that much was true, but there she had no one except Theron, and he rarely kept her company.

Woodless End had given her other comforts – comforts of the flesh and an escape from her own desolation. Azrah found the villagers generally friendly and accommodating to strangers, yet she knew she should take nothing for granted. For Sansinus was a world filled with hidden powers, and each time she came here she felt their dark and oppressive nature.

Woodless End lay on the barren coastline of the north-western province of Gaulone, the most northerly region of Sansinus. The area was steeped in ancient magic, and this was where Azrah's mystic beings had first been created. If this race had learnt to manipulate the dynamics of the ancient powers then Azrah knew she would find masters of the Craft here. Those magicians would be her only hope of returning to her former life on Nibulus with the Immortals, where she hoped she would uncover the truth.

Using the powers of the Craft, Azrah changed her appearance and disguised herself as a fisherwoman – a guise that would allow her to move about without suspicion as she sought out those she hoped would assist her.

As Azrah neared the village, she created a small barrow laid out with fresh fish to sell at the night markets, her prowess with the Craft's powers coming in handy once again. She deliberately stooped her back to look like an old hag. With her look now complete, she stroked back her grey streaked limp hair, which now hung in tendrils about her shoulders and face, her features now generously hidden by the bulk of her clothes and the fall of her hair. She moved toward the main gate: it was crowded with night revellers, bustling to gain entry to the many tempting spoils that were part of the night scene in Woodless End. No one seemed to pay her any attention beyond a simple nod of the head. She moved slowly at first, observing her surroundings.

Men and women moved before her, laughing and chatting, full of merriment and bravado. Children ran along the cobblestones demanding more of their parents than most were prepared to give. Azrah followed the crowd; it felt good to be here.

The streets ahead lay before her like spokes of a wheel spreading out in several directions. Some ran off toward the residential quarter of town, but the more familiar paths led to taverns and brothels within the boisterous wharf area, skirting the narrow harbour. Azrah was familiar with this district; it had offered her relief many times when she sought the company of others.

Azrah noticed one lane, which seemed to be quiet peculiar; its cobblestones old and worn, cold and grey in the dim light of the overhead street lamps. The path led up a small knoll to a strange and rather pretentious building – a tower. She did not recognise it, but judging by its antiquated appearance, she should have. She felt a shudder of apprehension quiver down her spine. The temple seemed to have an aura and it was enigmatic.

Azrah had not visited Sansinus for some time, especially this region of Gaulone, but a building of this magnitude and age looked as though it had been here forever and a day, its façade betraying its age. The exterior walls of the building were created from white limestone, awash with lichen; the structure appeared to have no windows or doors, but the building was aglow. The building intrigued her, but she could not afford to dally – she had to get to the market to set up her cart. If she veered off now it may rouse suspicion, so Azrah edged her barrow along the street towards the night market. There would be time later to explore the strange building and discover its purpose.

As a fishmonger, she was relatively free to observe those around her. Azrah made the occasional sale, much to her dismay. She didn't want interruptions to obstruct either her thoughts or her observations, but the purchasers made her presence seem genuine. Darkness had now fully descended, and the markets were in full swing. Traders could be heard bargaining, selling wares for more than their worth and only the foolhardy took up their offer.

Azrah emptied her barrow of fish earlier than expected, so she packed up as quickly as she dared and ducked into a side alley. There she cast off her guise and replaced her smelly garb with a more seductive local tavern wench's attire. She swept her hair upward revealing the features of her now heavily made up face then made her way back along market square. So far Azrah had seen nothing too out of the ordinary, except for the tower. There was nothing to indicate any prowess of the Craft, beyond what she expected. Her only hope lay in a passing comment one customer had made. As she had handed over a few sweet morsels of fish, which she wrapped carefully before being paid handsomely, she had casually asked the gentleman what the strange white building on Knoll Hill represented.

The man had looked at Azrah curiously.

'You are not from around these parts are you? If you were then you would know that is the Temple of Light.' The stranger walked off without elaborating further. But Azrah could not help but notice the long and suspicious look he gave her as he hurried away from the market place.

She now moved away from the markets. Dressed in her new disguise, she received a lot more attention. She played along with the bawdy remarks, occasional whistle and disgusted look from the village women as she flouted her assets. Just as she turned the corner of the street leading toward the centre of the wharf area she heard the noise of running feet. She paused then ducked into an overhang of a shadowy doorway. Moments later several hooded men dashed past; they would have knocked her off her feet had she not sensed their urgency and hidden. Azrah recognised one of them. It was the man whom she had enquired regarding the temple. His hood had blown back, exposing his face. In the light of the street lamp, his features were easily distinguishable.

Azrah followed, keeping a safe distance and watched as they moved through the market to where her fish barrow sat. She overheard the men question the other stallholders about the old fisherwomen. Obviously her question had aroused more than mild interest.

Azrah darted into the darkness of an alley and out of sight. She headed for one of the local taverns by the wharf. She continued to flaunt herself, as those who plied her trade would do. Her violet dress hugged her figure, displaying her rich, ripe flesh to its fullest. The white of her bosom spilling over, enticing those she passed. She knew it mattered little that no one knew her. In Gaulone province the tavern wenches moved from tavern to tavern in search of gainful employment and none stayed too long in one place.

Her back alley adventure took her through the more seedy part of town; she knew the area well. Nothing much had changed, or had it? Azrah felt an eerie presence manipulating the air about her, smothering her with its heavy hypnotic enticement. She shook with the premonition.

After several minutes she found herself outside a building of ill repute, she hesitated; she could hear the rollicking laughter of a man. Moments later, his urgency could be detected as he groaned at the height of passion: his abandonment unmistakeable. Azrah moved closer to the sound, even someone else's seduction seemed erotic. There in the doorway stood ladies of the night plying their trade, they looked at her contemptuously. Their acrimonious comments catching in the stillness of the night, like an insect in a spider's web.

'What do ya think ya looken at? Get the hell out of here: go take yourself elsewhere. Get back to the taverns and earn a drakka the hard way.' One of them picked up a partly eaten apple and hurled it toward Azrah. Tavern wenches were not welcome around the prostitution parlours. She ducked, scurrying quickly back into the darkness.

Azrah envied them; their trade was as ancient as the gods, and probably far more satisfying. As a God, Azrah had tasted the fruits of real love only once – now however it was mostly the unfulfilling shame of loving another who gave nothing in return. She thought of all the times she had given herself to Theron, it satisfied an animalistic desire, yet yielded no prize.

Nepthany! Her mind reeled with yearning at the thought of what she had once shared there, yet the ardour she had known then with Theron had never again surfaced. Why? The Immortals, she hoped, would furnish her with answers.

Azrah shook off her sadness and headed for the Flying Stern – a tavern she had frequented long ago. As usual it was packed with night revellers. The tavern was old, but the years did not detract from its appeal; it had had a coat or two of paint, but that was all. Azrah could make out the familiar fine timber panelling of the interior walls, the bar decorated with murals of the sea, with large oversized birds as a backdrop; the place held fond memories.

When she had first come to this world to gauge how the people were coping, she had decided to pay a visit to Woodless End. For it was here she created her first mage. Masquerading as one of the locals was the easiest way to move about. Azrah had disguised herself then, as now, as a simple tavern wench. It was then that she had gained a love for dance and music; laughter had no shame as she mingled with the local town folk; it had been a simple time in her life. A time when she had thought life was perfect. She knew now that perfection was unattainable.

Her first visit to the Flying Stern had been to check on Aramean, her first master mage. Aramean mastered the powers of the Craft at an early age and had proven himself an adept pupil. Aramean was a man of considerable power and influence. She had sought him out at this very same spot. But that was over two thousand years ago. She wondered what legacy, if any, he had left behind.

As Azrah entered the tavern, she noticed hooded figures similar to those who had enquired after the old fisherwoman. They were seated in a dark corner of the tavern. They looked up as she moved further into the room.

'Hey pretty lassie come over here and join us.' One of the hooded men called out, looking straight at Azrah. It would be an insult to ignore such a request, and she knew that no tavern wench would walk away from easy pickings. She also recognised an opportunity to acquaint herself with these strange and curious men without having to ask too many questions. She smiled prettily and raised her skirt just a little, which attracted the interest of the men around the room as she moved toward the group.

'What's your name?' The voice resonated from the man on the opposite side of the table, his tone deep and powerful, his face concealed beneath the heavy folds of his deep grey hood.

Azrah used a fictitious name. 'My name is Lona.'

The man reached up and pulled back his hood. Azrah's heart now beat rapidly in her chest and her breath caught in her throat. She recognised him instantly – it was Aramean. It couldn't be! That would make Aramean thousands of years old, in Sansinus years. That was impossible. Or was it?

'Hello Lona, my name is Aramean. I think you had better come with us.'

Azrah could, in that instant, have escaped. All she had to do was apply the powers of the Craft and vanish. But her instinct to flee was surpassed by curiosity. So she left the Flying Stern under the guard of the very restrained brethren and Aramean. Their departure caused little disturbance. It was as if no one saw them leave.

The group moved with speed towards the east along the cobbled back streets. The darkness of night mingled with the eeriness of the unknown beckoned Azrah into its folds. She tried in vain to see where they headed, but the streets and surrounding buildings were obscured by the figures towering about her. Recognition greeted her like an old friend, as old worn cobblestones passed beneath her feet. At last Azrah realised where they were escorting her. The Temple of Light suddenly glowed like a menacing spectacle above her.

Large, heavy wooden doors loomed in front; they swung open. There were others to greet them – severe faces in a world now unfamiliar to her. Bowing low, they beckoned Aramean inside with Azrah in tow. Aramean used no force as he led her forward past the others. By this time Azrah's curiosity had escalated. Who were these people and what could they possible want with her? Irrational thoughts rose up in her mind. Did they mean to harm her or use her as some form of hostage? Had this world descended into the realms of the macabre? No! None of those answers made any sense. She decided to remain calm, in the hope of finding out more.

Aramean didn't speak and neither did the others, but they kept a close watch on her as they moved down the lengthy corridor. Time seemed suspended, adding to Azrah's curiosity. They came to a halt at the base of an imposing spiral staircase. The stairs wound upward and disappeared into the ceiling above.

Even though she knew she had never set foot within the temple there was something familiar about it. She could also tell by the reverence with which those around her conducted themselves that this was a place given to the Gods. Maybe the power of the Craft was stronger here; she would soon find out.

As she moved up the staircase, Azrah noticed the intricate carvings on the banisters. The stairs themselves were carved from stone, each step slightly different from the other. On the handrails, creatures of all different species were etched delicately into the surface, along with symbols that were both familiar and unfamiliar to her. This building was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Azrah wondered if the power of the Craft had manifested itself into the fabric and framework of the temple, and if it had, then who had enough mastery to manipulate it? This race had progressed, but how much?

Azrah turned to look at the faces of those who escorted her, but she could see little. Her escorts' faces remained covered, nothing but closed lips and sombre expressions. No words were spoken, and the pace didn't falter as they moved further upward.

The stairwell finished at a set of doors, large, black and seemingly without handles. Aramean stood at the centre of the doors and motioned with his hands as he spoke an incantation.

'Neodarmas.'

Azrah's heart skipped a beat. It had been thousands of years since she heard that word. Not since Nibulus. When The Great Oracle of Knowledge himself had cast them out, his last word had been 'Neodarmas'; forgiveness will not come easily.

The great doors opened. Azrah realised too late that what lay beyond the doors was something she had no control over. She was compelled forward; the pull of the force wrenching away her willpower. Her fate was now in the hands of others.

She smiled. Maybe she would learn the truth. For she knew the Gods had somehow found her.

# 3

# Romanie

# 'In Search of Truth'

'Learn of your past, and go in search of your destiny.'

Sirus stared out across the fields of his estate. His memories of this life, his mortal life on Romanie very clear in his mind. He could recall every war he had fought, every feud he had challenged and every friend he had seen slain on the battlefield along side his companion and friend, King Emid. His memories of their achievements and the lands they had won in battle were etched clearly in his mind, as if they happened only yesterday.

As Sirus, Prince of Eshtah, he commanded the largest force of seasoned soldiers within the region and, more importantly, he knew his men were loyal and he could trust them with his life. So, if what Neon said was true, why did this life seem so real, so lived, so much a part of who he really was?

He knew Neon was no figment of his imagination; he was as real as Sirus himself. So why was it so difficult to come to terms with Neon's revelation about his Immortal past and the fact that his horse held exceptional talents? As a God had he in fact created Romanie and other worlds? Why were such explicit details absent from his memory?

Sirus shook his head in despair; over the last week he had fought hard to come to terms with the fact he was an Immortal. It all seemed unbelievable, totally incredible. Yet his heart told him there was nothing but truth in what Neon had said. The facts bore that out.

He knew being an Immortal would have certain ramifications and responsibilities, that much he could work out for himself, yet none of this seemed important right now. The important issues for Sirus were why had his memory of his immortal past mysteriously vanished; and who, if anyone, was responsible. These questions pervaded and dominated his thoughts.

He was certain now that the child held the answers, but how did one go about finding a child that no one other than himself and Neon seemed to remember? He had no doubt he had enemies on Romanie, but he doubted that anyone on this world knew who he actually was. Yet he had to acknowledge that he probably had his fair share of those who would love to see him go insane because of his situation or worse see him dead.

He had made enemies! People he had used, nations and armies he had helped overthrow. But from his memory of life here, Sirus knew these people had neither the knowledge nor skills to sweep his mind clean of his immortal past or the powers that went with it. He thought of the child. How could a mere child hold that much power? And if it did, how powerful was such a being? If there were others, someone he didn't know about, someone who had infiltrated this land, then that could be another problem. Sirus knew he wouldn't find out by sitting around Delgrade feeling sorry for himself. He would have to go in search of 'them' or the child and the only way to do that would be to go first to the court of King Emid. If there were enemies here then his friend would know. Sirus owed his friend a visit anyway; all he needed now was the means to get there. Neon!

•

Neon had left Sirus after telling him of his past. He thought it would be easier for Sirus to come to terms with the ramifications of what he had once been if he were left alone to think. Neon had ventured back to his own private place in the Tibrion Mountains and had gone to seek guidance from the Great One.

When Theron first brought Neon to Romanie, the horse had sought out his own secluded and private oasis, but Neon had not realised the significance of what he had found. Nor why he was led to this exact location. At the time he had felt luck had led him to such a place, but he later came to realise luck had nothing to do with it. The labyrinth he found beneath the worlds was hidden; it was a place unknown to man, a place of mystery; a pathway that lead to the Gods!

It was over a week now since Neon had wandered back to his mysterious place. He hoped by now Sirus would be prepared to move forward and accept his fate. There was still much that Sirus needed to know, things he needed to accept about his past and about himself. Time has a way of smoothing away uncertainty, and Neon hoped Sirus would now be prepared to accept the truth about all things.

Neon had always known when his master summoned him, it was like a sixth sense and now, even though Theron was no longer conscious of who he truly was, Neon was still aware of that need. Normally Theron would speed his return with the powers of the Craft, but not today. Neon would have to make this journey unaided.

•

Sirus was unsure how, but he knew instinctively that Neon would return this day. He hoped it were true that he still had some of Theron's powers. Indeed, he was now prepared to accept what Neon told him, he wanted to know more about his past life. He needed to know! Neon was his only link to a life that felt completely alien, but as Theron he knew his life would have held certain responsibilities, he needed to know what those burdens were.

Sirus recalled that night only a week ago. He had been so consumed with his own uncertainties that he had not noticed Neon slip away. Where would a horse like Neon go in a world such as this? Sirus gave a soft chuckle; he knew he had been preoccupied with his own predicament, far too immersed in his own thoughts to notice. The fact that Neon was a talking horse was now the least of his concerns.

•

As usual Neon kept a low profile as he glided gracefully to the ground just beyond the hills known as the Shelters, to the west of Delgrade. From here he would gallop so that no one could observe him. Hopefully it would take less than an hour to return to Delgrade. That would get him there just before the sunset and in time for supper. He was looking forward to a nice bag of barley and oats soaked in sugared wine.

Sirus saw Neon; he was nothing more than a shadow, silhouetted against the last rays of the setting sun. His outline was magnificent to behold! Neon stood at least a head above Sirus's shoulders, his height complimentary to his master. The black of the horse's coat shone in the glow of the afternoon sun, as if polished. His mane glistened like ebony from his neck to his shoulders. Sirus made his way down to the courtyard and headed to the main gate.

'Welcome home, old friend. How are you? Where have you been?' Sirus asked as he whispered the greeting and hugged Neon's neck. He thought he had earned the right to call Neon 'friend', for even though his memories only told of this life on Romanie he knew instinctively Neon had been his friend far longer than anyone. Neon hesitated, deliberately not answering his master's question.

'I think it's more important to ask: how are you, Master?' Neon spoke softly, knowing the stable staff was still cleaning up. Sirus led Neon away to where the fields carried the sound of their voices into the evening breeze.

'I guess, under the circumstances I'm doing alright,' replied Sirus thoughtfully. 'But I have many questions, which I feel only you have the answers to. I guess I need you to remind me of what my life was like as a God.'

'Then this could be a long night,' answered Neon. 'Firstly though let's eat I am famished. Then we can talk.' They walked back across the paddocks as two friends.

Sirus sat down to a hearty meal of roast beef and vegetables with piping hot gravy, and Neon received his request for oats and barley mixed with sugared wine. Sirus informed his house staff he was going for a ride in the moonlight to clear his head and prepare for his impending visit to court. Together Sirus and Neon headed out over the hills, galloping under the clear night sky. The moon illuminated the path ahead, and the stars seemed to join in their light-hearted jaunt. When they were a safe distance from the chateau, farms and villages, Neon spread his wings. Sirus pulled backward in horror, as he held on tight.

'God's soul! What is this?' Sirus shouted. With his memory of Neon's ability to fly completely wiped, he now held on for dear life.

'Hold on, Master. Tonight we fly. You always were fond of an evening ride under the stars. It's the only way to travel,' Neon chuckled to himself.

Sirus could not believe what was happening. One moment they were enjoying a gallop across fields, the next they was sailing high, free as a bird. He felt something akin to exhilaration. Somehow it felt right. Before long, Sirus was enjoying the thrill of his life. They flew until they reached the Tibrion Mountains, Neon's secreted place beyond the borders of Eshtah. Then Neon turned sharply right, almost unseating Sirus. Again he chuckled – this was fun, it gave a new meaning to his role, one he enjoyed immensely.

The countryside below was breathtaking under the clear night sky. This was a part of the country that Sirus had never seen before; he was completely absorbed. Both rider and horse could make out deep ravines where a river flowed; lush vegetation reflected moonbeams from its foliage. It was enthralling to see wildlife on the open plains, preyed on by stalking predators; it reminded Sirus that life holds many perils, even when one assumes all is harmonious. For the first time in days Sirus felt a meagre semblance of peace.

Neon descended slowly settling down on a wide shelf, it was far enough above the valley to escape detection but was sheltered from the cold highland mountain winds. Here the view stretched out across to the plains of Woaman, a name meaning, 'where no man may wander'. The Woaman Plains were known around these parts as the end of the world. This strange and obscure place was a habitat where neither man nor beast survived long. Neon had once flown its lengths to escape the prying eyes of a hunter. He found it barren of life and at its centre lay boiling mud and poisonous gases that would rip away the linings of the lungs of any living creature. It was no place for man or beast.

Sirus dismounted, settling himself on a nearby rock. Neon stood watching the realisation spread across his master's features. He sensed Sirus was trying to recall what his life must have been like as a God. He could see he was impatient to talk but hesitant about asking questions. Neon wondered if he might be afraid of the answers. Maybe he had a right to be. In the unsettling stillness of the night, Neon told Theron's story.

Neon began at the beginning. He knew better than anyone – except perhaps Azrah – how their lives together had begun on Nibulus. Neon had heard the tales so many times over the years; it was almost as if he had lived them himself.

The ancestral home of the Gods was a place of learning, and Theron had gained knowledge from the Oracle, and the Immortals, but never received love and understanding from those who gave him guidance. The Oracle drove Theron, demanding perfection in all things. Theron absorbed the basic tasks given him, his daily learning giving strength to his already potent powers.

Unbeknown to his benefactors he had discovered ancient texts that his guardians knew nothing of. He had read about the needs of mankind, and the more he learned about the history of the human race, the more fascinating he found their daily lives. He also came to understand that fate had played a larger part in the Immortals' game, than anyone realised. Nothing had occurred without interference from the Gods, but which Gods Theron was not sure. With his newfound knowledge he rebelled, knowing full well that the Immortals, especially the Oracle, would never grant him the freedom he so desired. He had been trained to be a supreme being, forced to forget his own personal wants and needs. Theron decided he was no one's puppet.

It was only when he met Azrah that he found a friend. But he soon sensed that the Goddess would never want those things he so desired: freedom and a life in which he could pursue his own self-indulgence. It was selfish, Theron knew. He had been taught that his role was a glorious one; he and Azrah were to bind the universes into one and locate the ancient Gods. But Theron decided his life was his own; he was not going to let the Gods manipulate him. As Neon relayed Theron's life with the Goddess he saw the pain register on the man's face.

Neon explained their journey through the veils, which Theron himself had created. Theron and Azrah then concealed themselves from the Immortals behind these veils, which were made up of intricate patterns of magical power that distorted the configurations within the universe. They had escaped behind the veils and had remained concealed – until now.

Neon left out intimate details about Azrah, whom he had never met, but he thought he knew her well. Like Theron, Neon believed Azrah to be perfect, an Immortal far more potent than any before her.

It took most of the night to explain intimate details about Theron's whole life. Sirus asked many questions, especially about his parents. But Neon could give him no answer about them, because there were many things still unknown.

Sirus listened intently to the details of his Immortal exploits, of how, over time, he had planned and built the worlds he and Azrah had helped inhabit. It was all very surreal and a difficult concept to come to terms with, but Sirus knew the truth when he heard it.

On a far distant plain a giant eagle descended quickly, hooking a small bird in its talons before soaring away beyond the horizon.

As the sun began its ascent, peaking ever so faintly on the skyline, and the vista became fringed with pink with the awakening of a new day, Neon spoke at length of Azrah. Once again Neon spoke of a life he had not been privy to, but he relayed what he knew. Theron had told the stallion her story many times.

Azrah was conceived by the Immortals and, like Theron, did not know who either of her parents were. And Azrah never asked and the facts were never spoken of. Her life had been secluded and shrouded in mystery while the Immortals tutored her. She came to Theron at the request of the Oracle, and their union was sanctified by all. Their first coupling had been a thing of beauty, watched over by the Immortals: neither of them embarrassed or shy by the act. Both she and Theron were trained to please, but somehow Azrah knew that Theron had gained no pleasure, save release from his frustration.

Azrah had wanted to create life in a perfect world; Theron knew that was not possible. Their life at the beginning had been filled with beauty, companionship and loyalty but it somehow turned to betrayal. For Theron wanted a life, in a world of his own making, far from her and their home on Venra. Neon could only surmise the reason behind Theron's desire for freedom. Neon had only heard Theron's version of the story, and he knew his master no longer found his Immortal life appealing. Neon sensed, though, that Azrah had thought the perceived love that existed between her and Theron was unsurpassed.

Neon then touched on Theron's guilt over his own inadequacies, and lack of commitment toward her, which kept him secreted away here on Romanie. As he spoke, Neon pondered whether Theron was now being punished for this.

Sirus never spoke during this discourse. He simply listened, feeling the pain Azrah must have felt for a love not returned and ultimately shunned. How much pain would it have caused her knowing she was bound to a God who neither loved her nor shared her dreams? Sirus thought it ironic that the Great Immortals had made such a mistake, and subsequently ignored the consequences of such a travesty. What an endowment, to hand the power of the Craft in its ultimate form to two Gods who felt both betrayal and misery. The legacy could have been catastrophic. Maybe it was, Sirus thought.

Eventually his mind wandered away from Azrah, he could do nothing to help her situation in his present state. His focus turned to the child. Was the young boy responsible for the withdrawal of his powers? Or had the Immortals found him and taken revenge for the thousands of years of the misuse of the Craft, which he held?

Later that same morning Neon carried a soulful and reflective Sirus back to Delgrade. Not a word was spoken on their return journey. The grey clouds of Sirus's troubled soul seemed to have permeated his mind and the atmosphere.

Mildred met him at the main doors, with concern etched in the lines of her homely face. But Sirus simply nodded curtly to her, walked straight to his library and closed the door. He remained closeted away for the remainder of the day, deep in thought. He browsed shelf after shelf of books and manuscripts, hoping that Theron had kept some kind of journal of his undisclosed thoughts. But Sirus found nothing except notes about the many battles Theron had fought and won. Close on suppertime, Sirus re-emerged. He picked up his cloak, sword and shield and strode towards the kitchen filled with contempt for his alter ego, Theron.

Mildred was standing in the homey, well-appointed galley stirring a large pot of aromatic broth, as sparks from the hearth spat their fiery embers onto the kitchen floor. The pot sent steamy vapours wafting into the room, the gamey smell of duck making everyone's taste buds intensify. Sirus's mouth watered; even the kitchen cat was hanging around in anticipation of a morsel or two. Mildred glanced up, but her master neither smiled nor acknowledged her. Usually he made some remark regarding what she had cooking, but not today.

'My Lord!' remarked Mildred. 'Supper will not be long.'

Sirus had not given food a thought until he smelled the intoxicating aroma of the stew. He realised how hungry he was; maybe it would be wise to grab a quick bite.

'Mildred, I'm leaving tonight. I need to make King Emid's court as quickly as possible,' His voice sounded sombre and tired.

'You'll go nowhere until you eat. Can't have you riding out of here on an empty stomach.' Mildred's voice was commanding. 'And I won't take no for an answer. Besides, I thought you might like to hear the latest talk from up north. There might be a fight brewing!' Mildred said, as she continued stirring the pot.

Sirus was too tired to argue. A bite to eat and drink would give him some much-needed energy and it would shut Mildred up. The intrigue of a fight sent impulses of excitement through him, it had been too long since he wielded his sword in battle. Besides time was on his side seeing he had the advantage of an animal that could fly. Getting to the city of Eshtah would be the easy part.

He settled into his meal of freshly broiled duck stew in orange and red wine juice, topped with fresh vegetables and some warm crispy baked bread. As he savoured the taste he was glad he had decided to remain. A full stomach made a difference to his mood. As soon as he had wiped his plate clean with bread and sneaked the bones onto the floor for the cat, Mildred handed him a glass of his favourite wine.

'Seeing you enticed me to stay with the promise of news then I think you had better fill me in.' His remark was spoken with a hint of witticism. He knew she loved to talk.

'Well, you won't believe what I heard,' Mildred began as the cat stroked her leg and darted for the morsels placed on the floor beneath her feet.

'It seems there have been strange happenings afoot. One of the midwives, my cousin from up north near Orlleon came to visit. She said strange things have been happening. Apparently it's not just hearsay either,' explained Mildred.

Sirus furrowed his brow, as his impatience showed and his curiosity began to peak. He knew Mildred had a tendency to exaggerate. But it was worth it to indulge her occasionally.

'Well, people are disappearing; they go out about their daily business and don't come back. No one knows what happens to them. She said that mercenaries appeared from the north. Folks say that something evil is spreading across the land. Mavis, that's my cousin, said that elfin type folk have been seen as well. You know the type with pointed ears and funny white skin and golden hair?' She crossed her chest, with the mark of the deity. 'My folks used to say that them there types are messengers of the Gods. Now, I don't know if there is any truth to that, mind you.' She didn't draw a breath between her sentences; Sirus felt exhausted as he listened to her prattle.

'Apparently the mercenaries were captured and taken to Eshtah. The villagers are saying the mercenaries were mad, clear out of their minds and died before they could talk. But you know how the truth can get stretched some times.'

Mildred stopped chattering as she looked toward her master. Sirus's face had paled to ghost white. His mind now focused on just a few simple words of what Mildred had said: 'Elfin folk with pointed ears, white skin, and golden hair.' Mildred moved to stand beside him. Sirus looked up.

'The description of the elfin folk fits the child I found – the one I brought back to Delgrade.' He was speaking more to himself, than to Mildred.

She remained silent for a moment, her fear mounting.

'The elfin folk, well, yes!' She hesitated, trying to think of a way out of the conversation. 'It does sound a little like what you described, except I told you there never was a child, not here anyway.' She crossed herself once more, hoping to ward off the fear rising in her belly.

'Tell me Mildred, how did I know exactly what these 'elfin' folk look like, seeing as how you only just described them to me a moment ago? They happen to be pretty similar, wouldn't you agree?' The high pitch in Sirus's voice was a warning. Yet her words had given him some comfort, he wasn't imagining things.

'I... I guess, well, I don't know. Master, if there was a child and now there appear to be others, what do you think is going on,' asked Mildred, trying not to show her fear. 'Do you think they are responsible for the disappearance of all those people?'

Sirus rose, his mind now completely absorbed in discovering who the child was. He had to know if there was truth in the words Mildred spoke. Sirus felt an even more urgent need to leave and go with all possible speed to King Emid's court. Maybe the loss of his powers had more than a little to do with the news Mildred shared with him.

He stood and strode from the kitchen, grabbing his belongings from the peg near the back door. He headed out to find Neon. A moment later, Mildred rushed up behind him and handed him his saddlebag.

'Can't have you going off without just a few home comforts.' She stated, a waning smile edging the corners of her mouth.

# 4

# Sansinus

# 'Aramean'

'Oh beloved of the Goddess, learn from whence your powers have come, for in the learning lies the truth.'

Aramean spoke the word 'Neodarmas'. Only in the presence of the Goddess could this incantation be spoken. He had never had occasion to use it before. The doors suddenly swung open. Inside was the inner sanctum of the Goddess's chamber. Aramean had entered through these doors many times but never in the presence of Azrah herself.

As temple guardian, Aramean's life had been prolonged, but he was not sure why. He lived for one reason and that was to dedicate himself to Azrah, Goddess Immortal. This was the day he had waited his whole lifetime for.

He had known from the time he was a child that he had the power of the Craft. He knew others had 'the gift' too, but in him it had been particularly strong. As a boy, Aramean enjoyed fishing and gaming like other boys. The difference was he could land a fish with a single cast, or hit a deer with a lone arrow no matter how distant the prey. He quickly realised he was not like other boys his age. Throughout his life there was one constant – his visitations from the Goddess.

Because Aramean was 'noticeably different', his parents encouraged him to leave home. So at the tender age of twelve Aramean began his solitary journey. There was no doubt that he was able to fend for himself and it did not take him long to gain fame and fortune. Soon he was known throughout Sansinus as a master mage. This attracted others to seek him out, and Aramean became a teacher of the Craft and trained many in the skills he had mastered.

Aramean remembered with clarity his first encounter with the Goddess; it was on his sixteenth birthday when boys were deemed to become men. On Sansinus, boys of that age are initiated into manhood through the ritual of circumcision. The Goddess appeared to him on the eve of his induction. That night she took his innocence and the Goddess became Aramean's only lover – he had loved her ever since. Each time the Goddess appeared over the subsequent years she bestowed on him more intricacies of the powers within the Craft. Over time Aramean became extremely powerful.

Beauty, they say, is in the eye of the beholder, but true beauty comes from within. This was how Aramean saw the Goddess. But as the years passed, visits from the Goddess became less frequent. She no longer shared intimate moments with him and Aramean missed their sexual encounters. Those moments had not merely been a sexual release for him; they had carved an indelible path to his very soul, like a pattern chiselled in fine wood.

He recalled the last occasion when she had come to him. She had sought him out with one intention, which was for him to build a temple in the Goddess's honour, to be known as the 'Temple of Light'. Aramean remembered how precise she had been with her instructions about the construction of the dwelling. He had followed her direction to the letter, even down to the fine carvings on the stairs and railings. The Goddess had left little doubt in his mind that the temple would be the only place where she would be able to contact him. Not until today had he seen her again in the flesh.

He glanced sideways at the woman who called herself 'Lona' and knew it was indeed the Goddess Azrah. Why had she seemed so surprised to see him? He now gazed in bewilderment at the young tavern wench standing by his side. Her appearance was alluring – even more beautiful now than at any other time he had known her. He looked down at the gaudy tavern clothes, her face painted in cheap colours and her hair piled high in disarray. Yet nothing could conceal her loveliness.

They entered the Goddess's chamber and as they did the room filled with a warm mist. A kaleidoscope of colour flowed across the room and the aromatic spice of incense coursed its way through the chamber. Aramean closed his eyes and breathed in the fragrance. The perfume: the scent of roses. When he opened his eyes, only he and Azrah remained in the room. The others were gone.

Garments fit for the Immortals had replaced Azrah's gaudy clothes. Her gown was made of the thinnest, most fragile fabric Aramean had ever seen. He was drawn toward the sight of her body clearly visible underneath. The nipples of her breasts peaked, her fine pubis hair shone like golden silk. Her hair fell in tendrils down her back in the same beaten gold. He glanced at her face and saw the startled glaze in her eyes; yet she seemed unaware of her surroundings.

Suddenly Azrah glided away. His instinct made him reach out to stop her, but he could no longer move. Aramean felt vulnerable. He had no doubt that he had shifted into the realm of the Gods.

Azrah's form glided toward the centre of the chamber. Aramean could not recognise anything familiar about this room; it certainly was not the Goddess's chamber. He realised it was a place far removed from the world of Sansinus. The room was bare, without entry points – nothing but white illuminated walls surrounded them both. A cold updraft of haze rose from the floor beneath them and partly enveloped the room, just as Azrah's body lifted off the floor. A moment later, a ball of vapour appeared in front of her. The shape distorted without gaining depth or form then suddenly engulfed the Goddess, consuming her until it suddenly dissipated. Aramean was afraid, not for himself but for Azrah. She however appeared unafraid, her features showed no sign of alarm. Aramean noticed a red, orb-shaped stone about her neck. It shone like a scorching sun in a desert. Azrah's body slowly moved, her face now turned from him. All Aramean could see was her back. A moment later Azrah was gone – she had vanished before his eyes.

•

When Aramean woke, his head ached. He glanced about and saw no sign of the Goddess and for the first time he felt despair. Once again he was within the confines of the Goddess's chamber, alone. Slowly he began to move then cried out in agony. He reached for his shoulder; it hurt more than he cared to admit. He lifted his shirt, grimacing with the pain. There, etched into his bicep in the shape of an egg, was the image of a red orb. It was a replica of the one he had seen hanging around Azrah's neck. Around the edge of the image was an intricate pattern similar to those he had crafted in the staircase of the temple.

He remembered his last sighting of Azrah as she disappeared. He wondered how the tattoo had emerged. Who placed it there? Fear now rose in his stomach. What was happening and where was Azrah?

He stood up, the pain now manifesting itself with knife sharp intensity. He sensed he was not alone. He glanced about, wondering what had become of the other brethren who had originally entered the Goddess's chamber with him. Or had he imagined this whole thing?

He looked about him. A statue of the Goddess, an edifice in her honour carved in stone, stood at the back of the room. It was a replica of Azrah 'Goddess Immortal'. Built in her honour.

Other than the statue and stone altar, the room was relatively bare. Aramean refocused his attention on the figure and realised something about its features had altered; it was a subtle difference, yet it was enough for him to see that it was now distinctly lifelike. He walked slowly forward, reaching out a hand to touch the façade; it was made of stone yet every detail was perfect, even down to the fingertips. No carver, no matter how proficient, could have sculpted anything as flawless as this. Aramean found himself gazing up at the face of the Goddess and he thought for one brief moment he saw her familiar smile. Was it merely his imagination?

As Aramean turned to take a step backwards, a voice spoke clear and familiar.

'Aramean, my loyal and trusted follower, you have served me well. I am truly grateful that you have remained steadfast in your devotion. For that you shall be rewarded.'

Aramean turned very slowly. His face washed pale as the blood drained from his features. He was right; he was not alone.

Aramean returned to stand directly beneath the edifice of the Goddess. He thought he must have been dreaming. He looked closer. There was no one else in the chamber, apart from him. Before Aramean could think more on his dilemma, the voice sounded out once more.

'Thank you for building this temple, you have kept your promise. Your reward for this is to never taste death. If you continue to show loyalty above what is expected then I promise you that you will sit with the Greater Gods and pay homage to your Goddess. I speak on her behalf, for I am only her likeness.' Aramean stood rigid, as he stared with more acuteness at the statue as the edifice continued its dialogue.

'The Goddess will rise again, and she will need your loyalty and devotion to help her fulfil her destiny. Are you prepared to commit this life you now lead in helping her prepare for what she must do?' The voice emanating from the statue was regal; it held him in its trance, commanding his attention.

Aramean stood motionless, taking in the words as they cascaded down upon his ears. He had many questions. Thoughts ran desperately through his mind, yet he had difficulty finding his tongue. Finally he managed a timid response.

'What do you wish of me? How can I possibly prepare the Goddess for her role? I am but a man gifted with meagre powers. Surely the Gods have far more to offer you than someone as humble as I?' His voice was shaking from his ordeal.

'You have the gift and power of the Craft; therefore you are more than capable. I say you are well prepared for what I ask. Did you not swear allegiance to your Goddess? Will you betray that allegiance now?'

'I gave my allegiance to Azrah, not to you. You are merely a stone edifice. You said you are nothing but a statue carved in her likeness. Why should I believe anything you say?' His voice took on bravado, which hid his fear well.

With those words, Aramean felt himself lifted from the floor and flung across the room. He landed in a rather ungainly fashion, but was not hurt. He grimaced with the pain from the wound on his shoulder and gazed once again toward the statue. He noticed a faint smile cross her porcelain face.

'You are made of stone, how can this be happening? Are you alive, or am I just imagining this?'

'You are simply being convinced of your place in the scheme of things. You either accept your role or you don't. The choice is really up to you. But I ask you to consider one thing: would you betray Azrah's legacy?' The statue sounded quite belligerent.

Aramean brushed himself down and moved back to take his place before the stone figure. 'Tell me just one thing,' he asked. 'If you are not Azrah then who are you?'

The statue seemed to mellow at his words and replied in a kindly fashion, her tone completely unfazed. 'I have always been what I am Aramean. It is strange that you do not recognise me. I have come to you throughout your life to bestow on you the power of the Craft. It is true that Azrah gave you your powers as a gift. But it was I who substituted myself for her, to strengthen your loyalty and to show you unconditional love. Someday you will know who I truly am. But until then, are you willing to devote your life to the Goddess? I ask only for her, not for myself.'

Aramean felt his self-control dissolve. Before him stood this statue – Goddess or apparition, he was not sure. He knew the truth when it was spoken, and he could not deny her words. For the first time since Aramean brought Azrah to the temple earlier that day, he felt relief. Was he capable of what was being asked? Was he willing to sacrifice his life if asked? Aramean knew he was willing to do whatever was needed.

'I will do what you ask, so long as it is for the benefit of the Goddess.'

The statue's arms, which had been rigid by her side, now came to life and she held them out and pulled Aramean into her embrace. She placed her cool alabaster lips gently on his cheek and he felt that old familiar feeling return. He knew then that it was this woman who had come to him over those formative years, not Azrah. He owed her so much. He consented to his task.

# 5

# Asserian

# 'Thea-Queen of the Mist'

'Oh lady of the mist, hide me from those who seek to destroy me.'

Thea woke. She pushed herself up gingerly on one elbow wiping the sleep from her eyes. Her surroundings were familiar, yet she sensed something was different. She stood and moved away from her bed. Her body was shaking and her legs felt somehow violated as if they were not used to taking steps. Her arms hung weary by her sides as though sleep had not replenished their energy. She stood before the mirror in her apartment, its gold ornate edges reflecting the glow of the morning sunlight as its shadows cast spirals overhead. She stared into the mirror. The image staring back was her – yet somehow she felt something had changed. She could not place what was troubling her. The eyes staring back at her were blue, the colour of the deep ocean, which contrasted with her pale complexion; her pale blonde hair fell in untidy tendrils down her back. She glanced down the line of the mirror; her body was lean and healthy, nothing had altered. Still she sensed a change, subtle, hidden, but nonetheless a change.

Thea had spent her life confined to the Fortress, which was her home. Her mother, Patrice, Queen of Asserian had died soon after her birth. Thea was now their Queen. She had never known anything other than the responsibility of caring for her people. It was simply a way of life for her. Her role kept her confined to Ammon, Asserian's thriving main city, but she wasn't sad about that fact. Duty came first and as she knew nothing else, she was happy.

She stood contemplating her reflection. Her nightgown of buttercup yellow fell almost to her ankles and was trimmed in a superb lace pattern at both hem and neckline. Thea shrugged; maybe her mind was playing some kind of trick on her. She hoped that was all it was.

Then Thea noticed the bright red stone nestled between her breasts. It hung around her neck on a chain of curious workmanship. How strange, maybe that was what was wrong. Both the orb and chain were unfamiliar. Why didn't she recognise such a beautiful piece of craftsmanship? Had it been there the night before? Her mind must be playing tricks. She lifted her hand to touch it; it felt especially warm, as if it were a living thing. She examined it for a clasp, but there was none. She tried removing the stone by pulling the chain over her head, but it was too short. She gave up with a sigh of frustration and glanced about her apartment before moving toward the large bay window.

This apartment belonged to her – Thea, Queen and High Priestess of Asserian. It was lavishly furnished, with a large, comfortable bed at the centre, covered in pale blue blankets of the softest lambs' wool. The walls were covered in tapestries depicting beautiful women in various poses – at work, at play, laughing, dancing and eating. A large rug, woven in intricate images of flora and fauna, covered most of the floor. A lamp gilded with gold, with a candle at its heart, hung on each wall. The candle wax clung to the lamp like icicles frozen in time. This was her haven, her special place.

Thea approached the window and opened out the shutters. She closed her eyes as she breathed in the freshness of the morning air. The scent of roses welcomed her. She opened her eyes and smiled. The sight before her was both breathtaking and very familiar. Everywhere she looked there were the customary women and children at play or at work. She smiled, happy to be where she was; she loved the place of her birth. This was her home; it was her world. A world where women held the power and men played merely a procreative role.

Looking into the valley below, Thea could see the city of Ammon spread out below. Her home sat on top of the Hill of Ammon and was known simply as the 'Fortress'. Every home below was neat and tidy; gardens of both flowers and vegetation were woven together like a patchwork quilt, creating a unique tapestry of patterns and colours. Women of all ages were bustling about in the early morning dawn, doing the things women love to do, while children scurried in their own peculiar way, to either learning or play. Thea loved it all; it felt good to see the peace that enveloped her world.

There was a sharp knock at her door. Thea turned to see a young girl enter; the girl bowed politely as she laid a tray on the small table near Thea's bed. Before Thea could utter a word, the young maid scurried away. Thea glanced at the tray. It was spread with food to break her fast. Another knock came moments later. A woman entered; she was slight with long auburn hair tied back in a plaited braid, which fell like a sheath of wheat down her front. It was a testament to her womanhood.

Hura had been her nursemaid since birth, her chaperone when she was young and her guardian, as well as her personal friend. It was common knowledge that wherever Thea went, so did Hura. Thea could not remember a time when Hura had not been part of her life. The woman smiled and greeted Thea with a kiss on the forehead and a brief affectionate hug.

'The day is getting away, and you have much to do. Now hurry and eat your breakfast.' Hura scurried about the room. The woman was middle aged, but her skin was still smooth and free of wrinkles. Her eyes were the colour of burnt amber and showed the depth and wisdom of her years. Hura would always be beautiful to Thea.

'Good morning Hura,' she replied, feeling slightly less bewildered at seeing her friend. 'Tell me. Has anything unusual happened?'

Hura turned to her with a questioning look. 'I awoke this morning feeling as though my world had changed. Well, not the world so much, as me! Maybe I am just being silly, but one thing that really struck me as strange, is this stone hanging about my neck. I do not recognise it! Do you?'

Hura glanced casually at the stone.

'Thea, you have always worn that! It was gifted to you at birth. Now stop wasting time. Nothing changes on Asserian; everything is the same today as it was yesterday. Hurry along and eat, my dear, while I run your bath. It's getting late. The initiation feast for the Virgin Ritual is but a few short weeks away, and the virgins gather in the temple for your blessing. Now hurry.' Her tone was firm yet loving.

Thea sat quietly and ate her meal of fruit and goat's cheese, only vaguely aware of the fuss Hura was making around her. Like each of her predecessors on Asserian, as High Priestess, Thea had the responsibility of the 'Keep'. This was a law so old even Thea did not know its origins. All these things were familiar to her, yet she still felt something was wrong and she could not shrug off her despondency. She had a premonition that something tragic was about to unfold. She instinctively reached for the stone about her neck; once again it triggered a feeling of apprehension. Why didn't she recognise something that had been with her since birth? A lapse of memory perhaps? She didn't think so.

Thea shrugged; right now she had more important issues to concentrate on. Her thoughts turned to her responsibilities in regard to the 'Keep'. This law was the ancient order of women, and set up the guidelines and rituals for keeping men. On Asserian, women ruled; they raised the children, kept the homes, farms and land. The women practiced the ancient rights of fertility from which men were excluded. Men were used simply for their genetic inheritance – those identified as worthy were kept for breeding, while the others were used for various ceremonies. Elderly males and those not suitable for childbearing were sent to labour in the mines and farms after they had been castrated. At birth, all male infants were placed in nurturing centres, which were located on various islands off the coast. The only women allowed to visit these centres, were those over the age of child bearing and who were deemed worthy to be carers.

Once a boy reached puberty he was selected either for breeding or for the workstations. The Keep was how order was maintained. No women other than those selected by the priestesses were allowed to mate.

Thea looked up as Hura finished dressing and preening her for the day's activities. This day would culminate in The Blessing of the Virgins, which was a ritual instigated by Antamea, Thea's ancestor. When a girl reached the age of fifteen she sought the blessing of the Queen and High Priestess. Thea loved this time of year. Girls from all over Asserian were chosen to participate in the ceremony and were brought before her for a special blessing. It was the one time Thea felt the importance of her role. No one other than Thea could summon the blessing from the Goddess, and only Thea and her lineage had the power of the Craft.

Thea glanced at herself in the mirror and thought she looked beautiful, a tribute to Hura's handiwork. The gown she wore was created in the purest of white fabric; the fabric glistened like spun silk in the morning sunlight. It fell from Thea's shoulders and fitted down around her breasts, leaving them exposed, as was the custom for the Virgin Priestess. The gown fell directly from beneath the breasts in folds, the fabric cut in layers as they neared her bare feet. At the back, the fabric touched the ground and cascaded out to trail behind her as she walked. Upon her head rested a garland of fresh spring flowers and around her neck hung the ruby. She smiled; it all felt so right.

Today Thea was to perform countless duties as both Queen and High Priestess. Thea followed Hura from her apartment as they made their way to the sanctuary, beyond the temple. It would be a long day. Here Thea would hear the pleas of the grieved and give counsel to the weary.

Later that day, just before sunset and with her duties as Queen completed, she wound her way to the temple to take on the mantle of High Priestess. Thea, as usual, followed Hura along with several consecrated priestesses as they passed into the outer chambers of the temple. It took several minutes to walk the long passage, looked over by the statues of the seven Gods. It had been a long and tiring day; the night would be no different.

The Temple of Ammon stood between the city and the Fortress. Thea always thought the Fortress looked dull beside the architectural beauty of its sister. Suddenly she received a strange premonition; this place reminded her of somewhere. She shook off the feeling, How could it remind her of anywhere, when she had never been outside Ammon in her life?

Thea continued her journey toward the base of the ancient stairway, which stood in the centre of the inner temple complex. Here she stopped. At the top of the stairs stood the main alter. She moved between the priestesses and made her way up the flight of steps. Inch by inch she moved, at a slow and deliberate pace until she reached its pinnacle. There Thea lifted both her hands in the prayer position and stared up at the inverted roof and into the heavens above. Small stars were now visible in the darkening night sky.

She had performed this ritual many times in previous years and so without even giving it thought she mouthed the words, 'Asinium Aspartim Artinium'. May the Gods grant us wisdom to choose wisely.'

She turned to face the postulants spread out below her like the petals of a rose – so many faces, all young, all fresh and all very eager. They gazed at Thea in awe. Rarely did anyone behold the Queen and High Priestess; it was even more rare to see her dressed in her robes. The girls were similarly dressed, albeit far less luxuriously. Like Thea, the girls' breasts and feet were bare – and like the High Priestess, they wore nothing else.

Thea knew her speech intimately, it was one she had given many times, but this time she felt uneasy. She drew in a deep breath as she began.

'You are young and very precious to our world. Without you we are nothing, without you we cannot continue. You have been selected for your beauty both externally and within. But most importantly you are ripe and ready to conceive.'

The girls giggled. Thea looked disapproving. She raised her hand and brought the congregation back under control. She wanted their undivided attention.

She continued. 'This is an honour and much is expected of you. You will shortly conceive if the Goddess wills and that means you will carry our future in your wombs. For those of you graced to give birth to daughters, you will be required to raise them to womanhood as your mothers have done with you. For those of you who give birth to sons, let it be known that to do so is no disgrace. Your calling is to surrender these sons for the good of the whole. Never think it is a disgrace to give birth to a male child. Without men, women cannot be whole. Remember there will always be another chance to grace yourself with a daughter.'

Thea paused and looked around the room. Some of the girls were indeed very beautiful, whilst some were plain. Others were plump and comely, but they all knew their path in life and were keen to experience the coupling, pregnancy and birthing process. They had all been schooled that pain was part of the process, but the sexual gratification and subsequent love of a child was well worth the sacrifice.

Before she spoke again, Thea closed her eyes. A vision arose of young girls giving birth. She shuddered, a premonition of what would come. Most would not live; she wondered why. Was that the fear she had felt earlier in the day?

Thea opened her eyes and tried to smile warmly at the girls. She chose not to look too closely in case she recognised those who would not come through the birthing process.

'In a few short weeks you will be brought back here to the ritual site beyond the temple. There you will take part in the dance of the virgins and then you will be provided with a coupling partner with whom you will spend a limited time. Partake of the sexual act as much as you wish. There is no shame in this. My warning though is: do not become attached to your male partner – to do so will mean your destruction.' She paused only long enough to make sure the girls heeded her warning. 'In the time you have left before the ritual, learn from the priestesses and carers the many duties you will have as mothers and bearers of new life.' Thea paused as the premonition once again assailed her, and she drew in a deep breath desperately trying to regain her composure.

Thea continued to converse with the girls well into the night. She remained warm and affectionate wanting to make sure she conveyed how important the task was that they were undertaking – she concealed none of her thoughts about the process these girls would soon take part in. She hoped the despair she had felt throughout the day had not been apparent to those watching and listening.

By the time Thea completed her eulogy, she felt both physically and mentally exhausted. She hadn't stopped to eat or rest since she had risen that morning and it was now almost midnight. It was the time of night when the 'mists of renewal' crossed the land and cleansed the world for the resurrection of a new day. She wanted the girls back inside their lodgings before the mists penetrated. Thea released the girls from her spell and bade them a warm goodnight, before their priestesses escorted them back to their strongholds. What memories they took with them would undoubtedly invade their dreams like a blizzard's winter chill.

Hura rose from where she had been seated throughout the blessing. She met Thea as she descended the staircase.

'Come, it is time you ate. You need rest. It has been a long day.' She paused in reflection. 'I can see something is troubling you.' She took Thea by the arm.

Thea did not feel hungry, but she recognised the weariness, which now seeped into the marrow of her bones, so she did not resist as Hura led her through the temple and beyond toward the familiar corridors of the Fortress.

The nightly mists were now slowly creeping into the city below and up the hill from the sea, like a serpent winding its coils around its prey choking out the last breath. Ghostly lamplight in the village streets added to the atmosphere. Most houses were now in darkness and the only signs of life were from the strongholds, which housed the young girls. The mists of renewal were a gift from the Gods, Thea knew little of how they originated, but she knew the Gods watched over her world. Each night, just before midnight, the vapour of cloud moved through this world, eradicating any evil from its surface, casting a new beginning for the next day.

Thea shrugged off her weariness and struggled toward her home. She stopped as she reached the gate to turn and look out toward the sea. The moon waxed bright and glistened above the nightly mists. Why she decided to look at that precise moment she did not know, but there silhouetted against the skyline, breaking free of the mist like a giant butterfly uncurling from its cocoon, was the outline of a large galleon. Thea felt alarm strike her like a serpent's bite.

'Who would dare enter our waters in the dead of night, skulking like a lioness on the prowl?'

At Thea's words, Hura turned toward the swirling ocean. She also spotted the mighty ship. It was demonic in its appearance. Thea raised her hand and summoned the mist of visions, with the powers of the Craft. Her prowess allowed Thea to see beyond her normal vision. Before her appeared the ship, its potent shadow looming before her, its sails billowing free like giant wings. The galleon flew a strange flag with a fire-breathing beast of gold. The ship was dark and oppressive. The galleon was unfamiliar to Thea. On the bow of the ship stood a man; he appeared dark and ominous against the moonlight. The mighty sails of the ship cast a shadow over the sea that was gloomy and venomous. Thea could see wings painted on the sails, and across the hull the fearsome face of a creature she had never seen before. The figure aboard lent forward, to rest his outstretched arms upon a timber railing. He was large and heavily muscled, his torso outlined by his garments. His swarthy colouring was disconcerting. Thea trembled. Who was he? What did he want? A sense of deja vu came over Thea. Something about this man was familiar. Yet that was impossible.

Thea had never known any man intimately. As Queen and High Priestess she was a virgin and would remain so until the Council of Priestesses decided it was her time to conceive. She had never even spoken to a man, not even those few who frequented the city itself.

Thea felt herself lose concentration and the vision disappeared. Hura had become transfixed by the galleon too and failed to notice that her companion had collapsed. Hura raced to her side, quickly ringing the bell. Three priestesses arrived. They brought a stretcher and carried Thea to her apartment where they laid her upon her bed. Hura applied herbs to give comfort and moments later Thea regained consciousness.

'I...I don't know what happened? One minute!'

'Never mind,' said Hura hurriedly as she ushered the others from the room. She issued orders to bring food and drink. She turned, giving Thea a curious look. 'Thea, we both saw the ship. Where did it come from? I did not recognise it, did you?' Alarm rang in Hura's voice.

Thea's face became vacant; she could not deny what she had seen. She looked at Hura knowing the concern her companion felt, it was plainly etched into her brow.

Thea's misgivings of the previous morning returned in full. Now the premonitions she had experienced inside the temple made her heart pound in her chest. She knew her world was on the brink of some great change. She saw it written in the dark man's face and now she felt it in her soul. Quickly gathering her courage and her strength of will she turned to face Hura.

'Yes, I saw him and somehow I know him, but you and I both know that can't be possible. I do know however that somehow my destiny lies with him. I cannot explain my reasoning Hura.' She tried to keep the desperation from her voice. 'Hura, I feel as if my life is no longer under my control. Some evil is upon us. My intuition tells me we have an enemy, an enemy that we have little chance of defending ourselves against.' She hesitated, sadness and fear ebbing into her voice. 'Neither you nor I will speak of what we have seen this night. You must give me your word – you must not mention this to anyone?'

Hura merely nodded her agreement.

'Good.'

The next moment, the door to Thea's chamber opened and food and wine were brought in. Food was the last thing on Thea's mind, but she ate a little of the vegetable broth. She gulped down the wine to steady her nerves. Hura then helped her change from her priestess robes as she ushered the others from the room. Thea pulled the nightgown over her head and slide into bed, pulling the quilt over her head in the hope it would hide the shadow that she could feel descending. Nothing more was spoken as Hura blew out the candles and the room fell into darkness.

Hura settled herself in the corner on some large cushions. She watched Thea's form curled up under the covers and hoped sleep would soon plunge her Queen into a peaceful night's rest. She knew it would be a long night. She hoped that Thea's dreams would not be filled with visions of the dark man and the mysterious ship.

# 6

# Romanie

# 'King Imid's Court'

'A woman can manifest herself in many disguises, be wary my prince.'

It took Sirus and Neon most of the night to reach the foothills outside Eshtah. Just before dawn Neon landed in a valley to the east of the city. The horse kept reminding himself over and over again of the responsibility he now bore. Theron could no longer assist him and Neon guessed Sirus would need him now more than ever.

Sirus had slept little in the last two days. He was tired, hungry and feeling the despair of his situation. How would he ever be able to track down the child? And even if he did, what chance did he have of regaining the powers he once had? Why had anyone gone to that extent? And what other dangers lay lurking beyond Eshtah's borders?

Little conversation had passed between the two during the night – Sirus felt any conversation pointless.

At last Sirus dismounted. He took his saddlebag with him. Neon glanced toward his master.

'You really have to have rocks in your head if you think you're in any fit state to walk the rest of the way to the King's court!' Neon pounded the ground in protest with his hoof.

'Silence! I don't really have a choice. I can't take the chance that someone might see us or overhear us. I'm unaccustomed yet to the fact you speak. I doubt if anyone else would understand if I were to suddenly ask you a question. They would probably think me entirely insane. I can't risk jeopardising either of us, by having you stay with me.' Sirus didn't mean to sound so abrupt; he placed a reassuring hand on Neon's flank. 'Just promise me one thing, Neon. Don't go too far away, I may need you in a hurry.'

Neon understood.

'I won't be too far away. If you need me, just concentrate on my name. I will know where you are. Remember one thing: it is for you that I do what I do,' he replied, knowing full well Sirus did not understand at all.

Deliberately ignoring the unspoken warning in his friend's words, Sirus gave the animal an affectionate pat goodbye and headed toward the pass at the end of the valley. Sirus's saddlebag now slung over his back, the weight did little to alleviate his heavy thoughts. As he reached the mouth of the narrow pass he glanced back. Neon stood grazing away on the fresh pastures provided by the coming of spring to the valley. This was the most alluring season on Romanie, a time when crops were planted, when songs were sung and when this land came to life and cast off the bleakness of winter's chill. As Sirus disappeared far beyond the pass, he was unaware as his horse took flight, heading toward the high ridges of the Tibrion Mountains beyond the borders of Eshtah. Back to the place Neon called his own!

After many hours, Sirus passed through the foothills that brought him within sight of the towers of the city. The gold inlay of Eshtah's many spirals set the skyline aglow in the midday sun, which now beat down with growing warmth. Sirus decided it was time to take a well-earned break. He dropped his saddlebag and found some bread and cheese, which Mildred had packed for him. He had not eaten since the previous evening, and his stomach spoke volumes in protest. Sirus tucked into fresh bread and cheese, washing it down with a bottle of mead, which he noticed when he unpacked the food. He smiled. Mildred, what would he do without her?

By the time he reloaded his pack, he heard the distant hoof beats of approaching horses. Many thugs and mercenaries rode these parts, and not being one to take any chances, Sirus quickly threw his belongings behind a boulder taking the precaution to also hide his whereabouts until he knew the quarry. As the horses approached they slowed. Had they seen him? He didn't think so. He stayed hidden. He listened, his senses alert. A woman's voice rang out loud and clear.

'I know he would have taken this route if he were heading this way. Sirus always comes via the eastern field, and I'm not heading back until I meet up with him.'

Sirus's face sprang into a broad smile – there was no mistaking that voice. It could be no one but I'Eda.

I'Eda was an enigma, she had been raised by King Emid and everyone assumed she was his illegitimate daughter. Emid's story was that she literally dropped from the talons of a huge eagle as it passed over the castle tower; and no one – no one who valued their life – dared argue with his tale. As soon as the babe had looked into the King's eyes and smiled he had lost all resolve and committed to raising the child. The whole of Eshtah had never had a moment's peace since; she was both spirited and beautiful, the kind of woman who left her mark wherever she went.

With a belly laugh, Sirus sprang from behind the bolder. He took both I'Eda and her entourage by surprise. She was the first to recognise him. She jumped from her horse, held up her arms and ran, throwing her weight fully at him as she flung her arms round his neck. Sirus lost his balance and fell backwards taking I'Eda with him. They both lay upon the ground, laughing. Neither Sirus nor I'Eda tried to reclaim any sort of dignity as the group of soldiers gathered about them.

'My Lord Sirus,' spoke the bewildered Royal Lieutenant. 'The Lady I'Eda asked us to accompany her in the quest to loo...to look for you sire.' The lieutenant stumbled over his words trying to hide his embarrassment over the entwined couple on the ground in front of him.

'It's all right Lieutenant. I had forgotten that the good Lady I'Eda seems to know whenever I'm due in this fair city.'

Sirus looked up as I'Eda pushed herself from his chest. Her smile was as beguiling as ever, and Sirus knew exactly why King Emid had become infatuated with her. 'You seem to take a man's common sense and reason and wrap it around your little finger.' He pulled her close as he whispered in her ear.

With that I'Eda took her index finger, placed it in her mouth and sucked on it seductively. Then she glanced between Sirus and the lieutenant and burst out laughing.

'You men are so easily beguiled, but we both enjoy the foray so why complain?'

'Who's complaining? I'm just stating a fact, so the Lieutenant here does not feel he has been led on a pointless venture. I would not wish him to think he is the only foolish one,' Sirus replied as they both stood, wiping the dust from their garments.

With those words I'Eda turned and sprang up into the saddle of her horse. She was wearing comfortable riding breeches, which had become all the fashion for women of noble birth. They suited her slim figure: snugly fitting her small behind. She was an accomplished rider and needed no assistance from either man. Sirus threw his saddlebag at the lieutenant, and jumped up behind her, securing his sword behind him moments before I'Eda galloped away. Their rapid departure left the royal entourage pondering what to do next.

It was several minutes before I'Eda brought the horse to a quieter pace. Sirus managed to hold on for his life by placing his feet around the horse's middle and tightly securing his arms around I'Eda's waist. 'Why are you not like other gentle ladies of the court? Surely you would be happier learning the arts or embroidery and keeping yourself respectable,' Sirus jokingly stated.

'If I did that, you would lose interest, I think. Besides I'm more suited to pleasurable things.' I'Eda laid her head back against Sirus's neck, cradling her body against his chest and thighs. 'I think you would agree with that!' She was nothing if not confident.

Sirus could not help but agree. He could remember the first time he laid eyes on her when she was barely five years old. At the time he noticed her because even then she exuded a charm, which turned men to jelly. Her childish charm made grown men melt. Trinkets and toys, all manner of gifts to delight the young were given to her by those who visited the court and I'Eda revelled in the attention.

Over the following years only a blind man would not have noticed her – in fact, even blind men would have smelled her perfume wafting along the halls and corridors. And no matter how hard Sirus had tried to stay disinterested, I'Eda just kept tantalising him at every opportunity.

In Eshtah it was common practise for all women of noble birth to be kept pure until their eighteenth birthday. If any women within the royal households were violated before that, it was death to the perpetrator. It was the law and so it was upheld, even by those who more often than not took their passions elsewhere. And Sirus was no exception; he made sure he kept her at arm's length. On her eighteenth birthday the King threw a party for I'Eda in honour of her attaining the age of consent. It had been a night when no pleasures were spared: the finest wines, food and entertainment had been brought in from various parts of the kingdom and the whole city had enjoyed the revelry. Even Lords and Dukes from other regions joined to wish her well. As the wine flowed so did the antics of the royal court. I'Eda had been asked to perform the dance of the temptress, which involved her gradually undressing then offering herself to one man in the room; it was to be a man befitting her and one whom I'Eda felt desire for. As the dance progressed, a heightening sense of passion captivated those in the room and incited the onlookers to begin their own version of the dance to attract partners of their own. When I'Eda had taken off all but her sheer slip, she gracefully moved in front of Sirus. There I'Eda removed her remaining article of clothing and beckoned Sirus to come forward. Even now Sirus could feel his desire rising, his phallus stirred at his groin, it had been no different that night.

Sirus had known many women, some more beautiful than others, but he could not recall a woman who had taken his breath away more than the woman who stood before him that night. I'Eda's auburn hair had cascaded down her back in a mass of curls; it barely managed to hide the dimple above the cheeks of her buttocks. Her skin was as white as a moonflower and looked like new spun silk. Sirus had looked into her eyes...eyes the colour of green liquid pools, a sight in which a man might lose himself and he saw pure passion and lust. Before Sirus realised it, he had moved forward and taken her hand. She had led him toward the ceremonial bedchamber. Sirus remembered how the crowd had erupted into emotional throws of laughter and cheers as I'Eda led him away. It was a night of unforgettable pleasures, a night when I'Eda revealed a knowledge of matters no virgin should know.

The commanding voice of the lieutenant brought Sirus back to reality with a thump. He turned to see the small entourage from the royal cavalry gallop in behind them to escort them to Eshtah.

As they rounded the city gates, a large band of soldiers rallied in to meet them. These were seasoned warriors from a regiment known for their tactical manoeuvres and hard fighting ways – these were Sirus's men. The soldiers greeted him with loud cheers and rather boisterous behaviour. Sirus shouted out a command for silence, and the noise died away immediately.

These men had been trained to fight and fight hard – day after day was spent sparring, boxing, jousting, bow and arrow target practise, as well as swordsmanship. Hand-to-hand combat was a daily event. These skills were their tools of trade and the very things that set them apart from the other cavalry brigades. Sirus loved them and he wasn't afraid to admit that to anyone. He knew their names, their families and their weaknesses. He also knew that each of them would willingly give their life in whatever venture he undertook. Sirus acknowledged each of his men with a nod, but did not speak to them or single anyone out; they didn't need words to know who was leader here.

The large contingent, with Sirus and I'Eda at the head, made its way to the palace of the king. The streets were packed with the busy day-to-day antics of a city. Stalls lined the marketplace and citizens were scurrying to and fro with wares or produce to sell or with items they had purchased. It was a welcome sight for Sirus; he had forgotten how captivating this city could be with its brightly coloured tapestries and flags hanging from every corner and windowsill. The common folk recognised him and bowed politely, some waved as he passed. The cavalcade of men followed the main cobbled path and soon left the market square as the palace loomed into view before them.

Eshtah was a large city, the largest in the realm. To its south ran the Iber River, which fed the Lahore Plains that spread out to the west. The Rebion Plainsman farmed these plains. These farmers were noted for the variety and quality of the crops they cultivated – grains, fruits and vegetables were their speciality and they fed the city and surrounding populace. Further west were the lush valleys and farmland, called the Madred. Here the people called themselves the Rebye, meaning 'to herd'. The Rebye herdsman maintained and farmed great herds of sheep, cattle and deer that supplied meat to the city and surrounding areas. The Bellair Mountain range ran between the Lahore Plains and the Madred, ensuring continuous runoff of water from the mountain passes and streams. To the far north lay arid lands known as the Beastal Bores; it was a place few men went and from where even fewer returned.

Eshtah lay in an ideal location surrounded by water and fertile soil, and King Emid had kept peace and prosperity for most of the fifty years of his reign. Those who sought to challenge the realm and Emid's leadership knew his wrath and had succumbed to their fate. The bounty of wealth, lands and the privilege that peace affords is only ever short lived; always there are those who would challenge King Emid's right to govern. The Romanise however were a people blessed with long life, yet Sirus knew that the ravages of war had claimed many. He hoped that the evil he felt approaching would not claim more.

The palace gates were thrown open to welcome Sirus. The palace was ostentatious, its interior held grand courtyards, palatial verandas and opulent apartments, which were a testament to the success of its king. King Emid had built this structure to remind his people of how much had been achieved under his rule, yet he always made sure the wealth he accumulated was generously shared with all. Yet all of this hung precariously in the swing of the next battle sword.

Sirus's men remained behind. He issued orders for them to return to barracks and continue their training. He had the feeling their skills would be needed before too long. Sirus dismounted with little effort, but before he could even raise his hand to help I'Eda down she had landed on the ground in front of him. She leaned in close.

'Don't be late in joining me this evening or you may find someone else has taken your place.' She gave him a beguiling smile.

'I'll be there.' She quickly withdrew and dashed inside the palace.

'About time you arrived! You always did leave it till the last hour to show your face.' The voice was stern. Sirus turned to face his King.

The King was a large man with heavyset shoulders. His pitch-black hair was cut short in the Romanise style. He had a pleasant face, with deep dark eyes. He wore a tunic of bright purple, over a white shirt; his breeches were tan. His dark brown boots hugged his thick calves, making him look stocky for his build.

'Your Majesty,' He bowed low before his King in a contrite manner. Sirus now played the game they had acted out many times before. A bear hug engulfed Sirus, as well as a manly kiss on each cheek.

'Really good to see you boy! I thought I would have to have all the fun without you. I was about to send out a search party to see what had become of you!' He hesitated looking beyond the large ornate veranda and smiled. 'But I see I'Eda did it for me.' King Emid laughed out loud as he placed his arm through Sirus's and pulled him up the stairs to the marble portico, which led to the stately terrace of the palace.

Servants milled about, dusting, filling vases with new spring flowers and generally keeping busy as the two men strolled arm in arm. They passed through a carved archway depicting two fighters entwined in battle, the symbol of Eshtah's strength. Finally they reached the far end of a lengthy veranda where there was a large shady tree and two comfortable chairs. Servants arrived with goblets of fine Romanise wine and honey oatcakes topped with cream and nuts. Sirus felt hungry. He didn't need to be too observant though to know that King Emid had something important on his mind; it was carved in the lines of his face. Sirus decided to eat whilst he still had an appetite.

King Emid watched Sirus devour the cakes.

'They are to your liking I hope?' Sirus nodded.

'I see that my message got through! Or did you come for other reasons?' The king was hinting at his arrival with I'Eda in tow.

Before Sirus gave thought to his answer, his King continued.

'We have disturbing news! It appears that evil spreads its wings across this land of ours. Strange accounts of villages left desolate of inhabitants. I'm not sure if all we have heard is necessarily true, yet my instincts to date have never failed me, and I feel uneasiness in these old bones of mine. From as far away as our northern borders I have heard tales that I would wish no countryman of mine to hear.'

Sirus sat listening, his worst fears becoming reality.

Emid leaned against the back of his chair. He wiped perspiration from his brow, as Sirus gathered his thoughts.

'Firstly. You said you sent for me? When?'

'I sent a message by carrier pigeon three weeks ago. I assumed you would have received it weeks back. Did you take possession of my note?' Sirus merely shook his head.

'It held minor details of what we know. I indicated for you to make a speedy return to Eshtah.' King Emid's voice sounded tired.

'I actually came because I also heard tales. I was hoping they were merely tales, nothing more. What details did you send?' Sirus knew his own fate somehow lay entwined with these latest happenings.

'My message quoted the words "Istarm, Abarm, Traium, Nepius, Rythus, Myasis: dearmas nos ini Godems." A survivor wrote these words as he lay dying, he arrived from the north a month ago. The man couldn't speak; his tongue had literally been torn from his head. He died moments after he scribbled those words down. I thought you might recognise their meaning.' Sirus solemnly shook his head. Theron may have, but Sirus did not.

'Others have been found, but they also died before we could gain any further knowledge. The wretched souls were barely recognisable, the only thing they had in common were those same words, burnt into their chests.' Perspiration continued to trickle down the King's brow, even though the day was only slightly warm.

As Sirus stood, his hand reached instinctively to the amulet around his neck; it was warm to the touch, too warm! He turned his back to his King and glanced down at the object – it was glowing. None of this made sense! He knew this had some connection to his life as Theron. Sirus realised his former life was catching up with him, affecting these people – his people. Sirus shoved the amulet back into his tunic and turned to face his King.

'Well Emid,' Sirus alone called his King by his first name, then only, when they were alone. 'We won't find out who is behind this by sitting here and acting like whipped dogs. With your permission I would like all available troops from both my regiment and the King's Royal Guards ready to leave in the morning. If something destructive is heading our way then we should meet it before it gains a foothold within our region. Do I have your leave, my liege?'

'Of course you have my leave, but if what we have heard is true then I think we may be facing an enemy of an indefinable nature. It's not that I don't want you to go Sirus! I...it's just that you're like a son and it would grieve me if anything should happen to you. I had always planned to bequeath this kingdom to you someday. As you know I don't have a son of my own,' King Emid sounded desperate. Sirus was taken back by the sincerity in his friend's words.

Sirus had found a father figure in this man, and for the first time he realised the depth of his feelings for his King. He knew Theron never knew who parented him, Neon had stated that fact, and Sirus didn't care. Fathering a child didn't make someone a parent, friendship, love and devotion did and Sirus experienced all this and more from his King. He loved him. He walked forward and hugged Emid.

After several moments, Sirus spoke, his voice calm.

'I will leave first thing tomorrow. Emid, it may be prudent for you to stay here to protect the city. We stand a better chance if all our fronts are covered. We must meet this enemy on our terms, not theirs. I will find them before they reach our borders. I promise I will never allow whatever this atrocity might be to disturb the tranquillity of this realm. I give you my oath as a loyal subject and more importantly as your friend.'

After discussing possible tactics that could be deployed against an unknown foe, Sirus excused himself, his final farewell brief. He made his way to the royal barracks behind the palace. The barracks were constructed in the shape of a semicircle and at the centre of the arch lay the training fields. By the time Sirus reached the fields hand-to-hand combat was well underway with several bouts on display.

'Renward,' Sirus called out to his Commanding Officer. 'Rally the men and then signal Jervoid to join us in the antechamber. We have an enemy to engage.'

Renward had been Sirus's Master-of-Arms and Chief Commanding Officer for many years; they had fought many battles together and over the years Renward had proved himself a trusted friend and brilliant tactician. He was a small stocky man, with hair the colour of ripened corn, his eyes of indigo blue stood like glittering jewels in a face parched by the rigors of long hours spent in the saddle under harsh Romanie skies. Yet what he lacked in height he made up for in bravery. Sirus loved him like a brother.

Fifteen minutes later, Renward arrived with Jervoid, who was Captain-in-Chief of the Royal Cavalry; also known as the Royal Cavalry Master. The Royal Cavalry were King Emid's own personal guards. Unlike Renward, Jervoid was tall, almost as tall as Sirus, yet agonisingly lean and wiry, which gave him an added advantage on the battlefield. Jervoid could outrun most men and he had proven himself to be a brilliant strategist. His auburn hair was cut short in the old style, and like many Romanie men he kept a manicured beard, which curled like ribbons below his chin. He too had become Sirus's friend.

It took several minutes to gather those who would assist Sirus with his plan to journey to the northern borders and on into the Beastal Bores. Once they reached the Bores they would be in unfamiliar territory. No one ever ventured to that part of the kingdom unless they had a death wish. Sirus spread the map out in front of him. In the room with him were Renward, Jervoid, several lieutenants from both companies and some minor officers and men from Sirus's forces. The rest of the men waited in the outer chamber, hoping to hear the news they had been waiting for – they wanted to fight.

Sirus was brought up to speed on the latest events. Apart from the mercenaries who had made it from the northern borders, there had been only one other. A man now held under guard in the King's prison.

What had actually transpired in the far north was merely speculation. The rumours consisted of tales of strange occurrences and villages laid bare, which no one had actually seen for themselves.

Jervoid spoke. 'My Lord, there have been three mercenaries, they arrived several weeks ago, two died without saying anything, one lost his tongue, and the other died before he regained consciousness. Both of those who died had the same strange words on their chests. Seared like charcoal they were to the bone.' Sirus could see that some in the room had witnessed the gruesome sight, as heads nodded and faces winced.

'What happened to the third?'

'He is currently spending time as a guest of His Majesty in the dungeon, Sire,' Jervoid quickly replied.

'Then fetch this son of a wasted whore, and bring him here. Make sure he is secured properly; we wouldn't like this one get away, either dead or alive. Now hurry.'

Whilst Jervoid accompanied half a dozen men to the castle dungeon, Sirus and the other officers set about planning their departure for the following morning. It was getting late, the sun already low to the horizon. The garrison supply store would shortly close for the night, so Sirus instructed two of the Royal Cavalry Lieutenants to requisition supplies immediately. This would include wagons, blankets, tents, armour, weapons and first aid supplies. They could pick up fresh meat and vegetables along the way, but the rest they would have to cart from Eshtah. The officers departed, taking several of those men waiting outside. Excitement was building, a fight was imminent.

With the mundane tasks taken care of, it was important for the men to reconcile themselves to the fact that the journey they were about to embark on was going to be tough. Like all conflict, casualties would be inevitable and many would not return to their families. Sirus spoke at length to them all, and then instructed his men to head off to spend time with their loved ones once their tasks were complete. Sirus and his men knew death was merely a part of war.

Within the hour Jervoid returned with the prisoner in tow. The man who was restrained in chains was tall and strikingly handsome, his long unkempt fair hair hung loose over his eyes like a cloak, shadowing his face. The mercenary was dressed in moleskin trousers with a roughly made over shirt secured by a length of string. His feet were bare. Even in his dishevelled state, he was regal. The prisoner had neither been washed nor given a change of clothes since being confined to the royal dungeon; therefore the smell permeating from his body was nauseating. As soon as the prisoner confronted Sirus his attitude turned from mild irritation to aggression. He spat at Sirus. Jervoid reacted with a quick backhander across the prisoner's face, sending the man to the floor. The prisoner rallied with a look of disgust.

'Not a nice way to treat a guest,' Sirus rebuked Jervoid in jest as he pulled up a seat at a safe distance from the culprit.

'I'm not your guest,' the prisoner had a strong commanding voice; it spoke volumes about the character of the man. 'I did not ask to be brought here, and I find it difficult to understand why you would hold me in confinement. This place is not to my liking, nor for that matter, are you. I wish to take my leave and go about my business.' Sirus realised the man was serious.

'Now, just what might your business be?' Sirus remained calm.

'That's really none of your concern. I'm not from these parts and all I wish is to be on my way,' the prisoner replied.

'Well how about you tell us where you come from and how you got here in one piece, and maybe I'll consider letting you go. If you're forthcoming with an answer, I may even suggest we have you bathed and cleaned up,' replied Sirus.

The prisoner pulled himself up on his haunches. The man's hands moved with fluid agility toward Sirus, but Sirus's reflexes were quicker. He tossed a knife he had hidden in the sleeve of his shirt. The knife caught the man in the centre of his left hand, pinning it securely to the floor. Renward's boot quickly secured the other. The look on the prisoner's face held anger as he allowed a brief cry of pain to escape his lips. The room went deathly quiet.

Sirus leaned in closer.

'Now I'll remove both the knife and Major Renward's boot when you change your attitude.'

It was several minutes before the prisoner gained control of his emotions. But once his composure was regained, he looked at Sirus. The pain in both his hands was obvious.

What happened next was not easily explained, but to Sirus the room seemed to change shape. He no longer appeared to be within the antechamber. The room had become a void, with no roof, just walls. His men were gone and he completely alone. Before him, where the prisoner had been kneeling, lay a perfect red ruby, egg shaped attached to a chain, glowing with both light and warmth. He thought he heard the soft laughter of a woman. It seemed time stood still, and hours passed in those seconds as Sirus bent forward, his hand placed precariously above the stone. In that instance the room reverted to normal and Sirus now stood with his hand on the prisoner's head and a look of utter disbelief upon his face. His commanders and soldiers were silent, transfixed and confused as Sirus pulled his knife from the prisoner's hand.

'Take him away, clean him up and ready him for our journey north. If this prisoner wishes to be on his way then we will take him with us.' Sirus realised that this man held some integral part to this puzzle. 'We leave two hours after sunrise. Be ready,' Sirus spoke without taking his eyes from the man at his feet.

'You may call me Aramean,' whispered the prisoner as he smiled up at Sirus. Jervoid leaned down and dragged the man to his feet.

Sirus regained some composure but no sense of wellbeing. What had just happened? Sirus knew very well it had been for his eyes alone. 'Aramean' was clearly no mercenary, nor had he accidentally appeared in Eshtah. He had a purpose here. If Sirus still had Theron's power and memories then he may have been able to fathom the answers, but without them he could only make guesses. Aramean held answers that much he was sure of.

•

It was late, well after dark and Sirus was exhausted; it had been a long and difficult day and now he needed a diversion, something to distract him from the rigors he had just been through, some form of amusement from the thoughts of his past and Aramean. He left the barracks after saying goodnight to his men and headed toward the Iber River on foot. The night was pleasant, a warm breeze filtered past. As he wound along the alleyways, he could make out the colourful boats with lanterns ablaze floating up and down the Iber River. Part way along he stopped in at the Boar and Bull, a tavern not for the faint hearted. Millicent, a young bar maid, jostled her way forward as she saw him enter.

'Ey, it is good to have you back, my Lord.' She curtsied, bending low, showing off the cleavage for which she was famous. Sirus could appreciate her attributes, but he was not tempted by the offer.

He moved quickly to the bar, and young Millicent moved away shrugging her shoulders. There were others who would not pass the opportunity by.

Sirus ordered ale. He downed it in one gulp, threw a gold coin on the bar, and then turned; he had a promise to keep.

With long gainful strides he headed for the villa 'Ettalong', his home whenever he was in Eshtah. The villa overlooked the river and was always kept ready for his visits. It was built in the Romanise style, with mud and clay bricks with a woven tussock-grass roof. The walls were whitewashed and the windows and doors decorated with bright colours and patterns to symbolise the many tribes, which made up the population of this region. Large tapestries in brilliant colours waved in the night breeze from the windows above. Candles were burning brightly from the four levels and the sound of a woman singing sweetly cascaded down the façade, gladdening his heart. Sirus burst through the front door and took the steps three at a time, pushing open the door on the upper level where his personal apartments were situated. There she sat dressed in next to nothing, playing a lyre and singing sweetly.

'Well, well, so the lion returns to his den. Has he come to feed? If he has then I hope it is me he is hungry for!' I'Eda was at her seductive best. Sirus did not reply. He simply unfastened his shirt, trousers and shoes, discarding his clothes where he took them off.

'I hope you have run a bath for me? I'll wager you that without a bath, you won't allow me to feed on what you have to offer!'

'That is quite true. One's appetite should never get in the way of cleanliness,' she tantalisingly remarked.

She lay down the lyre and moved provocatively towards the large tub of steaming water, which she had ordered for his impending arrival. As usual I'Eda knew Sirus well, knew he would come, he was hers and this night would be no exception. I'Eda unloosened the tie on her flimsy gown and allowed it to drop to the floor as she neared the tub in which Sirus was now comfortably immersed. She dropped to her knees, her womanhood wet with anticipation. She began stroking his back, the movements slow and gentle, making sure she traced every inch with her fingers; it was soothing, tempting and deliberate. He lay back, nestling his head between her breasts. She lent forward and worked the front of his chest – tantalising him and withholding the one thing he wanted. His moans came gentle and easy as she moved her hands over his manhood, making sure she aroused him just enough. She eased herself up; taking care to keep his interest peaked. Grabbing a towel, she dragged Sirus from the tub and began wiping him down.

I'Eda's knowledge of these things was old, her training steeped in ancient eroticism; it was her gift and her destiny.

She knelt down in front of him, taking his phallus into her mouth, sucking, licking and taking her pleasure whilst he received his. He came. She beckoned him onto the bed, its lush velvet coverlet soft and luxurious beneath her body. He went to her, his desire rekindled. Their lovemaking lasted hours and it was just the medicine Sirus needed to relax his troubled mind.

When at last both their appetites were spent, I'Eda lay on top of Sirus toying with the medallion around his neck. He tried to distract her, but she pulled on the chain until it bit into his flesh. At last Sirus capitulated and lay still beneath her, rubbing her buttocks with gentle strokes.

'Do you know what is marked on this object?' I'Eda had been deliberately concentrating on the medallion for several moments.

'No I don't. I saw markings, but they are not in a language I recognise.'

'It says "Istarm, Abarm, Traium, Nepius, Rythus, Myasis.'

Sirus pushed I'Eda off to one side and sat up straight.

'Are you sure?' He was utterly shocked. They were the same words seared into the chests of the dead mercenaries.

'Of course! I read them exactly as they are written. They are linked together; it is difficult to read, but nonetheless that is what is inscribed upon the surface.' I'Eda backed away, with feigned annoyance crossing her features.

Sirus gathered her back to him; he was not angry. I'Eda nestled in.

'I'm sorry, I'Eda. I've had some remarkable incidents happen to me in the past few weeks. This medallion is merely one of them.' Sirus's tone sounded apologetic.

I'Eda lent forward on her left elbow and traced the lines on his brow with her other hand.

'The words are not familiar', she lied, 'but the medallion is one you have always worn, surely you remember it?'

'Are you saying I have always worn this? You recognise this medallion?' His attention was now fully engaged.

'I said so didn't I?' I'Eda snapped, concealing a hidden smile.

Sirus lay back against the bed covers with exasperation etched across his face; he knew the medallion had appeared with the child. He also knew Neon spoke the truth. The object was definitely unfamiliar to him. Mildred recognised it, now I'Eda. Was this some pretence of the Gods to mask the minds of those around him? He wondered where the truth lay.

The rest of the night Sirus tossed impatiently, wanting to be away and needing to find out just how all this was intertwined with his life as Theron. Before sunrise, Sirus left his villa, grabbing a quick meal as he slipped past the kitchen. I'Eda lay curled up fast asleep. He hated to leave her this way, and he knew she would not understand why he didn't say a last goodbye – but it was easier this way. I'Eda had a way of tempting him and he didn't need more distractions at this point. By the time he reached the stables, the area was alive with the bustle of men, animals and equipment making ready for their journey. Renward approached.

'My Lord, all is ready and the men are eager to move. Both armies are ready when you give the command. The prisoner has been secured in the front wagon.'

Sirus looked along the ranks of men and made a quick decision.

'I don't see a reason to delay. Have you got a horse ready for me? I allowed Neon freedom until I need him, so a good solid mount will suffice until he meets up with us beyond the northern border.'

Renward nodded as he moved away to secure a horse for his commander. He and the others within Sirus's forces never completely understood the relationship Sirus had with his horse, but one thing they all knew was: Neon was no normal animal.

Within half an hour of Sirus's arrival the cavalcade of men, horses and wagons moved out.

From the top of the tower King Emid stood waving; silent prayers following the man he wished was his son. He sensed he might not see Sirus again. A premonition or fateful thinking, he was unsure, yet he knew this would end in tragedy. A single tear escaped, shed for a young man he dearly loved.

All in all there were five thousand men, including cooks and servants, travelling north with Sirus. And not one of them gave any notice to the young lad dressed in soft breeches, cap pulled down over his ears who had sneaked undetected into the cook's wagon.

# 7

# Asserian

# 'The Riddle of Old Getty'

'The hidden message within leads to the awakening of your soul.'

Hura had slept in. Now she scurried toward the kitchen, hoping that she was not too late to catch cook before the old woman went to market for the day's produce. Never had she overslept; obviously the drama of the previous night had taken its toll. She scurried down the hallway towards the kitchen, which lay ahead.

When she woke it had been to the song of the larks, and the heat of the midmorning sun. Hura didn't care that her mistress and Queen slept on. She knew Thea needed rest after her ordeal, but Hura could not forgive herself for being so negligent: her sleep had been a peaceful slumber – too peaceful? She couldn't recall dreaming or even stirring throughout the night. Her last thought was of Thea, then her eyes shut, next the morning sun was beating in with its warm rays, like pricks of a pin on cold flesh, upon her face.

As Hura turned the corner in full view of the kitchen she saw cook disappear down the lane and out the back gate. Cook's wide girth was barely able to squeeze through the opening.

'Dash! If I'd been just one minute earlier, never mind I'm sure I can scrounge up something,' Hura said out loud to herself. Without too much fuss, she gathered fresh goat's milk, cheese and fresh fruit, placed it on a tray and headed back toward the Queen's apartment. It was going to be one of those days, she could just tell.

Arriving back in Thea's apartment, she found her Queen still sleeping. Hura placed the tray to one side and bent down and briefly touched the young woman's cheek. Thea woke with a start.

'Oh, Hura!' Her voice sounded sleepy and hypnotic. 'He is so handsome; he seemed so real.' Thea sighed, weary after her night of endless fantasy.

'I saw nothing more than a ship on the horizon,' Hura said, trying to mask the panic rising in her voice. She did not wish to affirm Thea's dreams.

'Eat your breakfast. Unfortunately it's only cold fair, but it will give you sustenance until lunch. Cook was just bone lazy and couldn't be bothered.' Hura lowered her eyes as she lied.

Thea nibbled on the cheese like a frightened mouse. She sucked on the orange and sipped the goat's milk. Hura was right – this food was not the typical fair of the morning, she was used to pastries, and warm sweet breads, but Thea felt nauseous even with the meagre morsels she ate.

While Hura ran a bath, Thea stretched then rolled out of bed. It was a beautiful day as the warmth greeted her, but then she realised the sun was almost midway in the sky.

'Hura, what time is it? It looks late. I can't believe you didn't wake me earlier! You know how much I have to do, and now that I've seen his ship I must go down to the harbour and see if it docked.' She seemed on the verge of hysteria.

Hura had moved to the bath and stood watching her with dismay, as Thea turned.

The bathroom in the Queen's apartments was elaborately laid out, and displayed at its centre was a sunken bath that had steps leading down into warm emerald waters. Plush matting was laid on the floor that cushioned Thea's steps as she made her way toward Hura. The older woman helped Thea remove her nightgown and Thea slipped into the warm bath.

'I'm sorry, Thea, I slept in. I've never done that before, but it was an unusual night,' Hura explained as she washed the soap from Thea's back. Thea quickly rose leaving the bathing chamber, disregarding the apology.

As Hura helped her dress, Thea's mind raced back to the previous night. The man on the ship was real. He had come to her in her dreams. What was his purpose on Asserian? Why did he seem so mesmerised with this city, and especially with her? Thea knew there were no male captains on any ships that sailed these seas. Yet this man seemed to be in charge. Although, Thea noted, there did not seem to be anyone else on board.

Thea recalled her dream and it had seemed real. She remembered her eyelids closing like clamps on a vice and immediately she felt herself transported to his side. He was waiting, expecting her. He never spoke; just a slight smile beckoned her to his side. He held his arms open, inviting. The man with the dark smouldering features was overshadowed by the darkness of the night. His face partly obscured by the shadows of the beams onboard his ship. He took her face in his hands, his touch soft and caressing. Thea had never before realised just how easily a man's aura could melt a woman's resolve.

She had never known love, at least not like this. Certainly not the carnal touch of a man. She felt she knew, or had experienced these things, somewhere, somehow. But surely it was nothing more than just a dream? If these were the feelings which love entertained then she understood why the expectations of the girls at the Blessing of the Virgins were so piqued.

The strange, dark man had remained with her throughout the night. He held her, kissed her, teased her but never took the one gift she held higher than any other. Her virginity. It had all seemed real at the time. She had felt desire and love, feelings she wanted more of and would search for – if she had to.

'Are you alright Thea?' Hura asked, as Thea became aware of her own image in the mirror. Hura had finished dressing her in flowing velvet, a shade of pale lilac. The gown stopped short above her ankles and highlighted her face to perfection; it was cut low exposing the roundness of her breasts beneath. It fitted the mood she found herself in for, even though the night before had been long and full of surprises, she felt relatively refreshed and invigorated. She tried to suppress the terror growing inside her. It was a fear that struck at her core when she beheld him within the magic mist. She tried to reassure herself it was just the shock of seeing him and his strange ship that had provoked her sense of fear and her sudden collapse.

With the morning all but over, Thea headed to the dock with Hura fast on her heels.

'You cannot do this. What about your duty to the young women? It is not long until the ritual and you still have to visit The Isle of Crid,' Hura screeched as she hurried to catch up to Thea.

The Isle of Crid was the main fortress where the prospective young men were kept for breeding. It was a beautiful island off the coast of Ammon, sheltered by coral outcrops. The island was large and allowed relative freedom to the men and their carers. It was Thea's role as High Priestess to choose from amongst these men who would participate in the initiation of the virgins.

'I have to know if his ship docked. The Isle of Crid will be there long after his ship sails, so which is more urgent? The choice of a mate for many, or the choice of one for me?'

Hura stopped in her tracks; the mention of a mate for Thea took her completely by surprise. Could this possibly be? Surely not! Could Thea really be serious about this man? It didn't make sense – he was nothing more than an apparition, an evil one at that. By the time Hura recovered from her shock, Thea had disappeared from sight.

The Queen passed several docks on the wharf, each one empty. The trade winds had already begun two months before, and most ships had already set sail for other ports. The produce they brought back to the capital of Ammon would sustain the city for the cooler months ahead.

Asserian did not experience a winter in any real sense, but cool winds lowered the temperatures and it was a time of reflection for the women of this world. The ships brought back rare fabrics, spices, oils, coal and wood, as well as cattle, sheep and rare exotic animals that were traded as pets. The ships transported grain, vegetables and precious metals to the other side of the kingdom. The conveying of people to various ports along the coastline was also a daily occurrence, but as it was after high noon so the coastal ships had already left with the early morning tide. The docks were now relatively deserted.

No one dared speak to Thea as she walked along the foreshore. Her people simply bowed and lowered their eyes in respect.

Thea recognised 'Old Getty' a lonely old fisher woman, who tended to the sick and feeble around the port.

'Getty! It's good to see you,' Thea called out, as she approached the old hunched back woman. Getty looked up, her pale grey green eyes reflecting the desperation in Thea's face.

'Tell me, have you seen a black ship in port today, captained by a tall dark-haired man?' she asked, as she looked beseechingly at the old crone. The old woman smiled, her teeth yellowed and rotting in her mouth. She bowed politely, before she addressed Thea.

'Because you are asking, I'll tell you no lie,

By the darkness of night he swiftly passed by.

If ye think he be evil then my lady beware

For he seeks to know you, so take good care.

If ye think he be good, then my lady I plea

Seek ye the pathway and set him free.'

With those words, Old Getty shuffled away. Her ragged dress brushing the ground behind her. Thea watched her retreating back. What a perplexing response. What did the old woman mean? A riddle perhaps! If I think he is evil then I should beware. But if I think he is good then I should seek the pathway and set him free?' It was a riddle.

'What would Old Getty know anyway?' Thea tried to reassure herself against the gloom that seemed to be permeating the air around her. She came to her senses as Hura caught up with her. Thea explained to Hura what Getty had said and they hurried after her for an explanation. As they rounded the corner on Wharf Square, they literally ran into Maniera, Chief Priestess from the Isle of Crid.

'My Queen!' The matriarch bowed. 'Forgive me, I do apologise. I saw you running down the hill to the dock area and came to escort you to the waiting barge to Crid,' she remarked casually.

'What?— Oh, yes, I'm coming. Maniera, by the way have you seen Old Getty?' You must have passed her; she trotted off in this direction. I was wishing to speak with her about a...matter of importance. Hurry Hura, she can't have gone far.' There was panic rising in her voice.

Maniera was looking decidedly confused.

'My Queen, I'm sorry, but that would be impossible. Old Getty died over a month ago. She finally succumbed to old age. She was a dear sweet soul!' Maniera spoke regretfully.

'But...no, I just spoke with her! Hura, you saw her, it was Old Getty in the flesh.' Thea's tone reflected her growing anxiety.

Hura placed an arm around the shoulders of her Queen.

'Thea I saw no one, I assumed you had seen her...now come; you have had a difficult night. The strain has obviously been too much.' Hura glanced toward Maniera, giving her a confused look. 'Maniera, the Queen is unwell. I am taking her back to the fortress to rest.' Hura was gentle, yet assertive.

Thea pushed Hura away. 'I am not unwell, nor am I imagining what just happened.' Thea started to walk toward the barge muttering as she went. 'There will be time later to fathom Old Getty, and the meaning of her riddle. For now, don't let me take you from your duty, Maniera. You came for me and here I am. You are right, I need to visit the Isle and make my selection.' More to herself than to the two standing watching her, Thea finished with, 'My only wish is that he is amongst them, for I might choose him for myself.'

# 8

# Romanie

# 'Neon's Allies'

'In life, if we are fortuitous we cross paths with those who can teach us the virtues of wisdom.'

The eagle, Talon, spread his immense wings to catch the warmth of the morning sun. His wingspan stretched to over five metres as he caught the sparse breeze in his plumage. The warmth helped dry the damp of the night dew from his feathers. He leaned forward, sharpening his long claws on the rock face and kept his eyes peeled to the west for a sign of his friend's approach.

Talon lived a solitary life, mainly because he was one of a kind. There were eagles and other bird life, but there were none like him. Still Talon thought himself fortunate, because he had made some extraordinary friends. He was unsure of his parentage; he couldn't remember a childhood as such. His earliest memories were of a land time had since forgotten – a land devoid of life, a place barren and inhospitable. He hadn't hung around; he had simply flown far away. But he had to be grateful, for not only was he exceptionally large, he was also blessed with amazing vision and the ability to converse in the language of man. Eagles by nature have extraordinary sight, but Talon could see for hundreds of kilometres, in all directions at once. He knew this ability had saved his life more than once.

Talon looked toward the west; he spotted his friend off in the distance. From where he stood Talon could see the mighty wingspan of the horse. He was flying fast, high above the landscape, far from the prying eyes of enemies and observers. As his friend alighted to the ground on a rocky outcrop several miles away, Talon spread his wings to join him.

The ground on which his friend now stood was high on a plateau in the Tibrion Mountains; a place where both Talon and his two friends felt like they belonged; it was where they had first met and was a safe haven.

Talon remembered his first encounter with Neon. He chuckled now over his own stupidity.

It had been a warm spring afternoon, similar to today. He had been lonely, hungry and generally feeling sorry for himself. Talon had seen a horse far off in the distance grazing. Seeing he was famished, the bird thought the horse would make good eating, so he glided toward his prey. As he neared the horse he realised it was no ordinary animal. The stallion's heavyset stance and powerfully built shoulders should have been a warning, but his belly rumbled so Talon gave way to hunger and dived in for the kill.

He was less than a league from his four-hoofed meal, when the horse took flight. Talon had encountered many strange beasts in his life, but never a flying horse. At first he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but the horse suddenly swung around and headed straight for him. As the two came toward each other, the eagle placed his claws out ready to grab his intended victim, but before he could manage to get positioned the horse reared up whilst in full flight and hoofed him straight in the chest. The blow, though tame for a bird as big as Talon, caught him off balance and sent him reeling backwards; he lost concentration and plummeted to the ground.

Talon was only winded – no real damage done. But when he looked up the horse was standing over him with a menacing look in his eyes that read, 'Don't try that again.' Talon realised that he had met his match – and in a horse of all things.

'Pick on someone your own size and leave me alone. You're nothing but an oversized buzzard and if you know what's good for you you'll go back to where you came from.' The horse sounded decidedly unfriendly.

Talon recalled how surprised he had been. Not only did the horse fly, but he spoke the language of humans as well. He tried to apologise, thinking to himself that a horse that could both talk and fly could not be all bad. Besides, Talon thought, if the animal didn't prove a worthy opponent then he'd eat him later.

Neon snorted in disgust then galloped off, leaving both the body and ego of Talon lying undignified upon the ground. Upon gaining his senses, Talon picked himself up and trudged off after Neon. Walking was arduous for Talon, but he needed to find out more about this horse. It didn't take him long to catch up with Neon, who had slowed down deliberately.

'I said I was sorry! I thought you were merely a horse, and I was extremely hungry, and horses make good eating. Forgive me. Please!'

Neon stopped, turned around, a pleasant look upon his face.

'I assume you're Talon.'

Talon simply nodded his head, bewildered.

'I've been sent to find you, and the thanks I get is that you fancy me for your supper.'

Talon remembered the indignity of Neon's words. It still made him smile.

Neon had been sent by the Great One to find him. Up until then Talon knew he had not belonged anywhere. He had no real friends and his life really seemed pointless. From that moment on his life took a turn for the better.

•

Talon's thoughts came back to the present as he drifted in a wind current and landed gracefully a short distance from his friend. Neon glanced up motioning for Talon to join him by the edge of the cliff, which overlooked the Woaman Plains.

'It's been quiet a while my friend. I have much to tell. And I think the Great One will be interested in what has transpired. Maybe his plan will be hindered, and our real work is about to begin in earnest.' Neon's voice betrayed the anxiety he was feeling.

'I have missed these times together.' Talon remarked as he tried to overshadow the feeling of dread he felt from his friend.

'Sorry Talon! Many troublesome events have arisen, things the Great One should know about. I think there is trouble brewing in the worlds.'

Talon did not look surprised by Neon's comments; he too was aware of extraordinary forces at play.

After a pause, and in a more amiable tone, Neon continued.

'I have missed our talks! We are three of a kind you, Craven and me. We will wait here for Craven; hopefully he will reach us before sunset. Then if all is well we will make our journey to the Great One. In the meantime I will fill you in on what has occurred.'

From their vantage point they could see beyond the bad lands. With Talon's visionary skills the two would be aware of anything approaching, friend or foe. It was late afternoon and the conversation between Talon and Neon had now eased to a casual mix of memories and the occasional jibe, which they both enjoyed. Neon had filled Talon in on the developments with Theron during the last few weeks.

Talon's feathers ruffled in the breeze that swept up from the plains below, the warmth of the sun giving way to lethargy. Just as they were both beginning to nod off, Neon's senses became aroused. He quickly nudged Talon. Talon scanned the horizon toward the north. In the distance far too minute for Neon to see, came a raven, his ebony black coat sparkled like diamonds as the sun reflected off the bird's plumage.

An hour later, a raven landed with a flap of wings between Neon's shoulder blades.

'Craw, good to see ya both, thought ya may have forgotten me by now?'

Craven was the prankster of the threesome, quick-witted and highly intelligent. He had been around far longer than his two much larger companions. In fact, Craven couldn't remember a time when he wasn't around. He had seen, done, and met everyone who mattered, well, everyone who mattered to him that was. He was no ordinary raven and he made sure his two friends knew it.

Over time Craven had watched Neon and Talon from a distance. He needed to be sure of two things: their loyalty and trust. This he did before he made his presence known to them. The Great One knew of their existence, and needed the support of all three. The Great One's plan would never come to fruition otherwise. Without the three of them, in fact, the plan would fail.

'Well me hearties, have either of you hung your jibbers on a salty vessel and sailed the mighty seas?' Before Neon or Talon had time to think of a suitable reply, Craven was spinning his next sentence

'Well I have, and by gad it's a mean way to live. Can't tell you how hard it is to keep food down when you're riding those wild seas. Had to plant my toes in the bosons chair to keep from rockin' off me perch,' he chuckled.

He quickly snatched up a small insect that darted past, and then proceeded to wipe his beak clean on Neon's hide.

'Mind your manners, Craven. I'm not your laundry service. Nor am I your meal ticket so get off my back and come down here where we can take a look at you.'

Craven swung down to perch on the ledge.

'Sorry my friend, didn't mean to offend. Just been livin' a seaman's life of late and they are kinda rough around the edges those lot,' he sort of sounded apologetic.

'Why have you been at sea?' Talon asked inquisitively.

'Ah! Ye might ask that! It's a long story and one that you really don't need to know.'

'Very well, if you're not talking then I guess we should make our way toward the Pathway. It's a long journey and maybe the peace and quiet will help you remember both your manners and your tongue,' Neon's tone was dismissive. Both he and Talon trotted off without even a backward glance at the cheeky bird, leaving Craven to contemplate his next action.

After a moment or two Craven shrugged his bony shoulders and quickly joined the others, as they headed over the ridge toward a large rocky outcrop.

A large boulder lay in their path; it was reddish brown, the colour of burnt amber, and shaped like a giant egg dissected in half. As the three comrades rounded its narrowest end and slipped in behind its shadows, an entry way appeared. The entrance was well concealed; only those who were meant to know of its existence would ever find it.

At a glance it looked as though it had been hewn by hand out of the bare rock face, but no man-made tool could have produced such an artefact. Both Craven and Neon had no problem gaining entry through its narrow opening, but for Talon it was difficult, and one he thought could have been solved. Surely the Great One knew his size and could have at least widened it a bit to accommodate him? Still with a bit of a shuffle and squeeze he always managed to make it through. Once inside it was a different matter, the cave opened up and natural lighting filtered down to reveal a set of tunnels. This was the Pathway, a labyrinth of tunnels connecting the worlds of the Gods. The three now stood motionless, the entranceway stood divided into several tunnels. They each knew the paths led to different places; places better left unexplored for the moment.

The tunnel they sought was not the largest or the straightest, but the one that was alight with the faintest of glows. The other tunnel entrances were bathed in blackness and the three friends knew better than to venture forth into those voids.

The Great One had always been specific. 'Stay within the light and you will always find your way. Travel not on the roads of darkness for on those you have no say.'

So the three friends began their journey.

The tunnel they stumbled along was high and wide, certainly large enough for all three to fit comfortably. Light filtered through from above, casting an eerie iridescent glow and obscuring the roof. All three could see for a comfortable distance in front. The walls curved upward and were smooth, as if a mighty river had polished their surfaces. All three had travelled this road many times and knew instinctively where to go and how long their journey should take.

This particular path swung gradually down into the bowels of Romanie – never narrowing. At points along the path other tunnels led away, but they were in darkness and were only apparent because of the draft of a breeze, which brushed past the travellers as they wandered by.

At a point about midway into the descent, the three came to a void billowing out before them; it dropped away into blackness, which seemed to cavern out deep below. Craven, who had travelled most of the distance perched either on Neon's back or Talon's head, flew forward. A light emanated from his tail as he travelled across the chasm: the light forming a bridge. When Craven reached the other side, the bridge became complete. None of this was a surprise, because Craven was gifted with the ancient powers of the Craft. Neon and Talon knew Craven was far more than what he appeared. Once the others made their way across the structure, it fell away into the void below, like shards of glass from a broken bottle. They were now in a mysterious world, the world of the Great One.

The journey thus far had been a reflective time for all three – communication not needed. The Pathway was a place where time literally stood still, and these friends took the opportunity to reflect on the nature of their existence. No words were necessary while they journeyed within the labyrinth, yet each was aware of the emotions and thoughts of the others. On this path they became as one.

Nothing in the world of the Gods was ever as it seemed and to each individual the view was distinctive. Craven found a wild and untamed forest full of flowing streams with soft winds and vibrant smells. He often beheld a woman's face, jet-black hair, porcelain skin, and eyes the colour of sapphires, a face he knew he had once loved.

For Talon it portrayed high, mountain plains, sweeping away into oblivion, a place where he could spread his wings and glide; a retreat where the currents allowed him to soar unafraid. It was a place where he was loved amongst his own kind.

For Neon, lush pastures, unfettered streams and a life with his beloved master was reality.

They each wandered in a world of their own until their journey brought them before the Great One. Here they shared one mind, one thought and one future, here they took tutelage and counsel, here they learnt of what they must do next to prepare the way for the 'renewal'. For all things had to be renewed, it was the only way to ward off the threat now hanging over the worlds.

# 9

# Asserian

# 'The Scroll'

'Evil casts a spell; beware of the web it weaves.'

The journey to the Isle of Crid turned out to be a mundane task. 'The dark man', as Thea now called him, was nowhere to be seen. Not that she really thought he would be amongst these men. His presence was far more commanding than these weak, pampered souls before her.

Maniera stood proud, her long grey hair tied back in a bun at the nape of her neck, her priestess gown of sombre green flowing loosely about her body, tied at the waist by a plaited cord. Maniera's face showed lines of age and wisdom, her dark smoky grey eyes clouded under heavy lids. She watched her Queen. She was troubled by Thea's behaviour and subsequent outburst regarding Old Getty. She and Hura now kept a watchful eye on the High Priestess throughout the afternoon's events.

The function of choosing the males to participate in the ritual of the virgins was quite taxing, and Maniera could see that Thea was not just bored; the woman's mind was concentrated on other things. And the old woman knew those thoughts would change their lives forever.

Maniera loved her role, she had been Matriarchal Priestess long before Thea was born and had been present at her birth and a witness to the child's legal right to be heir. Her duties had forged across three generations. She had known Thea's grandmother and mother, both royal women bound by duty and conscience. Thea was different. Maniera had known that at the time of her birth. On that night, a lone star had raced across the heavens, a fierce streak of red gas streaming from its bowels. An omen, Maniera believed. Only days after her birth as Thea lay sleeping, her mother had succumbed to the rigours of infection and the aftermath of a traumatic birth. Never before in all Asserian's history had a queen died from complications due to childbirth, and Maniera believed to this very day that Thea's mother's death was somehow linked to Thea's and Asserian's fate. But as Matriarchal Priestess her duty was to uphold the teachings and remain true to her Queen, even if she felt it would be at the cost of those around her. Her feelings of depression were gaining strength; time was running out, she could feel its tide rising to consume her.

She watched now as the men were paraded before their Queen. The process was really a matter of little consequence as to who was chosen, for the priestesses had already singled out those with the greatest degree of prowess, thus relieving Thea of much of the responsibility. The men stood like statues, each attired in little more than a loincloth, their phalluses protruding from beneath their garments. It was the way of things, as each man held his loincloth high to show off his manhood. This ceremony was not seen as anything other than what it was, a show of prowess. Embarrassment not measured by mere looks, but by sheer size. Maniera found it all rather perfunctory; she was too old for any of this to matter.

With the task of selection complete, Thea headed for the dock and the barge home. Her body language and demeanour spoke louder than words, so Hura and Maniera avoided her as much as possible on the homebound journey, leaving her to her own dark and obviously oppressive thoughts.

By the time they reached the shores of Ammon, the sky was tinged pink by the setting sun. Thea raced from the barge's deck without goodbyes or pleasantries to those on board and headed in the direction of the fortress. Maniera's last sighting of her Queen was as she twisted her head to watch Hura hurrying to catch up with the younger woman. Repressive thoughts now haunted Maniera.

'Thea, what is wrong with you?' Hura asked as she caught her breath. She could tell Thea's mind was concentrating on the proceedings of the previous night and somehow she had to stop her Queen from dwelling on the man aboard the ship.

'I know you're thinking about him!' Hura could see she had Thea's attention now as the woman turned to face her. 'Even if he is real, and I doubt that he is, you have other things to concentrate on. What about the Virgin Ritual; its only days away?' Hura's tone was stern but matter of fact.

'You are correct, I have many things to occupy my mind Hura and to be quite honest the ritual is the least of my worries; even you could handle that without me,' Thea bit back spitefully.

'I'm going to the temple and please do not follow me. Keep your tongue quiet and do not say a word. Do you understand?' Thea turned sharply and was away.

Hura was taken aback by the abrupt comment; she had been nursemaid, confidant and companion to this woman. She had cared and nurtured her, attended to her ailments as a child, mended the tears in her gowns, especially when Thea would run off chasing wildlife in the gardens. She covered up for her when she was rebellious, yet now she wondered if she really knew the woman at all. This was not the Thea who confided in her, the girl she had raised. Hura turned and headed to the fortress without her Queen.

Thea walked brusquely, sad that she'd had to use strong words with Hura. She felt terrible. Hura certainly didn't deserve her angry rebuttal, but she could not afford to have the woman distract her from her task – a task that was now consuming her mind, like a demon possessed. She continued up the hill then turned off toward the temple, the path unwelcoming beneath her feet.

The temple was relatively deserted at this time of day, and only the caretaker/custodian remained. The priestesses now secured in their strongholds giving praise to the gods. The old woman watched her pass, her wrinkled and dull complexion highlighted by the last rays of daylight. She continued polishing the gold ornate statues beside the entry door. Thea hurried past through the door toward the library and the vault where the ancient scrolls lay stored. Somewhere in the back of Thea's mind lay the memories of a manuscript, which spoke of a Pathway. It was a vague account; she could almost see in her mind the parchment upon which the reference had been written. It was written in bold writing, with intricate patterns.

As High Priestess and Queen, Thea held the right to enter the vault of the temple at will where the ancient 'Keep' lay stored. She fondled the scrolls, running her fingers gently over the leather. Carefully she laid each parchment upon the table. She scrutinised each sheet methodically, but found no mention of a pathway in the fine calligraphy. Each had been hand written. Hours of hard work had produced the pages she now pored over, a legacy of her past. She had all but given up her quest in frustration when she accidentally dropped one of the pieces on the floor; she bent down to retrieve it.

Beneath her feet were large stone slabs, uneven in texture and placed hard up against one another. As Thea picked up the paper she felt movement near her fingertips. She flicked aside the leather page she had dropped and fingered the corners of the loose stone. The temple flooring had been laid on top of solid rock, so there should have been no movement at all. The stone was heavy, wedged together and hard to lift. Quickly she looked around, picking up one of the large rods, which were used for securing the scrolls to the racks. With some effort she pushed the rod beneath the stone and prized it up. It took her full strength to dislodge it. She moved the slab carefully to one side to find a leather-bound object beneath it. It had been placed inside a hole dug out of the sheer rock beneath.

Carefully Thea unfolded the binding, its leather corners aged with time. Inside lay a gold embossed tube, the edges of which were intricately patterned. Thea's hands shook with anticipation. This forged tube held secrets; she could sense the magic of the Craft seeping from the symbols embedded in its surface. She also knew that once she opened and read its contents she would be bound to follow, no matter what it revealed.

She had no idea how long she remained within the vault. Time seemed inconsequential, but she realised it would create suspicion sooner or later if she did not show up at the fortress, even if Hura had heeded her words. She quickly bundled the tube into the bodice of her gown, placed the scrolls back into the racks and secured the stone back snugly into its square and left. The temple was now steeped in ghostly gloom, lamplight shadowing her steps.

Thea walked quickly from the temple into the darkness of the night, she knew with clarity how long she had spent within the vault. The stars above shone brilliantly, winking cheekily at her as if they knew her secret. From the city below, the street lamps seemed to smile up at her their familiar warmth. Thea shivered slightly with the cool night air. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything substantial since the previous day. Food was a necessity, but right now the scroll was all she could think of. Somehow she knew it linked her to a deep and hidden mystery, something from a time long ago and she could not help but feel it all revolved around the dark man.

Thea headed toward the fortress, her pace steady. Unable to take her hand away from her bodice; she could feel the tube warm against her flesh, nestled close to her heart. As she neared the gate, she could not resist the urge to look once again toward the sea. The mists of renewal had already started their nightly purge across the land bringing with it the miracle of the night, when all was renewed before a new day began.

There was the ship silhouetted against the skyline, just as it had been on the previous night! This was no coincidence. He had come seeking her once more – but this time she would not succumb. She would not be tempted to summon a vision to gain a closer look, for then she knew she would be vulnerable. Thea blocked her mind; she wanted to be ready to take him on at his own game. This was not going to be a one-sided battle of wills any longer; she would make him wait. She felt the force of his willpower trying to invade her mind and her heart. It took several moments to regain control, but when she had the mind block in place she glanced back toward the ship and saw it disappear amid the rising mist.

When finally she arrived at the front door of the fortress, Hura was waiting silently in the entry chamber. She could see mistrust and hurt on the older woman's face.

'Hura, I am sorry. I should not have spoken to you the way I did. Please know that these are not ordinary times and there may be things I say and do that you will not understand.' Thea's voice was pleading. Hura simply stood her ground, giving little hint at what played upon her mind.

Thea moved past the older woman, who gave her a berated look. Thea ascended the stairs to her apartment then suddenly realised how weary she was.

Hura had not kept her word. Once night had fallen, Hura had crept unseen to the temple and observed Thea's search for the scrolls from a darkened corner. What had her Queen been seeking? What unknown truth lay buried in those old, warn manuscripts, Hura wasn't sure, but she would find out.

Once inside her rooms, Thea locked the door and secured it tightly. Impatiently she removed the metal tube from the warmth of its hiding place and laid it on her bed. In the light of the room she could make out the etching around the edge, it was beautiful and intricate. Her hand moved without thought to the chain around her neck; the etchings were identical. Now she felt a sudden panic take hold, none of this had happened by chance. She held the orb in her hand; it started to pulse. Mere fortuity once again, Thea didn't think so.

She was lost in her own thoughts as a loud knock sounded on her door.

'Thea, it's Hura. May I come in? I have food and drink – you must eat something!' It was said with impatience.

Tears began to well in Thea's eyes; hunger and exhaustion from the last two days were now beginning to take their toll. All she really wanted was to be left alone. She knew Hura, therefore she knew the woman would continue pounding at the door until she was allowed to enter. Quickly, and without much thought, she gathered the tube from the bed and slipped it beneath the thick blankets at the foot of her bed. Seclusion and time was required for her to read and digest its contents. She gathered her composure then opened the door.

Hura stayed until Thea ate the last morsel of a freshly made vegetable pie, lavishly topped with thick onion gravy. Even though Thea would not admit it, the pie was just what she needed; her mouth had been watering long before the tasty dish made it to her lips. She washed the remaining bite down with a large glass of mead. It washed over her like fine rain on a cool day, the fiery aftertaste burning her lungs.

Hura cleared away the dishes then helped Thea into a steaming hot bath. By the time Hura finished helping her bathe and dress, the mead had taken effect. Thea's thoughts were now clouded. As she lay down on the bed Thea's memories of the tube and its contents had all but been forgotten. She dozed off into a restless sleep. She did not notice Hura pull the blanket over her to reveal the tube beneath.

Morning dawned with the freshness of spring: the pleading cries of a guinea fowl heralded the morning's glory as it perched outside her windowsill. It woke Thea from a fitful sleep. Her first thoughts were of the tube and the mysteries she believed it held. She ran her hands under the thick covers to retrieve it. The beautifully edged tube lay where she had left it. She was grateful it had been a balmy night; otherwise Hura may have discovered it. She laid the object back on her bed and ran to secure the door to her apartment. No one was gaining entry this morning, no matter how much they pleaded.

She checked the chain looped around her neck once again, just to confirm that the ornate workmanship was indeed the same. It was. The mystery intrigued her. She carefully unscrewed the receptacle and found a plain-looking manuscript inside. Carefully unrolling the paper, she observed that the writing was in the ancient language of the Gods: a language spoken only by those priestesses who held the highest rank. Each word was written meticulously in bold dark ink, and as Thea read the words she froze.

A story unfolded; it told of the Prince of Darkness, a man bred by the Immortals. A man disowned and abandoned, who sought vengeance and retribution from the Gods for condemning him to a life of obscurity and exile. Thea knew the story was about the man on board the ship, the man in the mist. The manuscript described him in detail and there could be no mistake.

It described the Prince's obsession with a beautiful woman and their shared love. The story foretold of war, destruction and famine and of a land of beauty devastated by one man's dark obsession. The final words gave account of a legacy left behind by the Prince – it was a chance for the land to renew itself, a chance for deliverance from oppression. 'The Daughter of Darkness shall return to give back what has been lost'. The next line was inscribed in red ink, like blood scratched into the page. Words resembling Old Getty's riddle, 'Thea, seek ye the Pathway and set him free.'

Thea read her name aloud. This drama involved her; it was no accident. How could she free him? And free him from what? What did it mean? What was the 'Pathway' anyway? These questions erupted through Thea's mind and she wanted answers. She thought of the woman mentioned in the tale and she wondered what it must feel like to be loved so deeply by another. Suddenly she felt empathy for the dark man, and understood why he looked so heartbroken. She would help him if she could.

She glanced down at the manuscript once again. There was one final line written in small letters at the bottom: 'the path is bright, and full of light. Follow the cry of the eagle at night'. There was no more.

A knock at the door startled Thea. She pushed both parchment and hollow tube under her bed and went to open the door. Hura was standing there, her hands holding a tray of mouth watering hot food. She said nothing, not even good morning as she entered the room.

'Hura! Hura. Please speak to me,' Thea sighed as she looked at Hura. The older woman appeared hostile, afraid. There was a long pause as both women hesitated. Hura finally spoke in a subdued yet knowing voice.

'Thea, I have been your handmaiden and friend for a long time, yet these past weeks you seem a stranger to me. You hide things from me, tell me lies and keep secrets; those are not the actions of a Queen. I no longer know the woman who stands before me and I doubt right now that you know yourself.' Hura set the tray down.

'Hura you have to trust me, things have changed. I'm not sure why or how, but they have. If I have lied or hidden things then it is because I fear the truth.' Thea's reply indicated some of the turmoil she felt.

'I know naught of what you hint at, but one thing matters and that is the Virgin Ritual. You have performed this ceremony so many times before and you know how important it is.' Hura moved about the room, trying to evade Thea's gaze.

'Today you must dedicate yourself to this ritual, and from sunset this evening until sunset tomorrow you cannot partake of either food or wine. It is your duty and you are honour bound, you must prepare to enter the temple before sunset.' Hura's voice became business like and her demeanour gained strength from her own words.

'I will leave you now to eat and will return once you have dressed yourself in the garments of the Goddess.'

She closed the door abruptly behind her, leaving Thea alone to contemplate her role, her future and the perplexing message hidden within the scroll.

# 10

# Romanie

# 'The Rebion Plainsmen'

'Friendship carries many burdens; choose wisely whom you share it with.'

The caravan of soldiers, servants, beasts and wagons had been on the road for many days. The army of officers and men manoeuvred without complaint along the dust-ridden roads from early morning till sunset. Their minds firmly focused on their fate beyond the northern hills and the lands known as the Beastal Bores.

Sirus marched at the front of his troops, his mind solely focused on two issues: the unknown enemy and the man he held prisoner under guard, Aramean. He knew this man was not to be taken lightly. Sirus had made a conscious decision to distance himself from the man. The stranger was powerful and even without his own powers Sirus knew that much was fact. He knew better than to try and outwit the strange foreigner, until he found out some detail regarding the man's origins, it was pointless approaching him.

Unlike the other mercenaries, Renward had found no words imprinted on Aramean's flesh, only a faint tattoo shaped like an orb on his upper bicep, nothing more. Still, Sirus felt that Aramean concealed much beneath his cool facade and he wondered if the man was responsible for the illusion in the antechamber or if it were something far more sinister. So many questions needed answers.

Sirus's army veered towards the west, heading toward the Lahore Plains and the people known as the Rebion. Their journey would take them through the marshlands, where hidden dangers lay. Sirus knew that, but it was the shortest possible route and he was prepared to take the risk. Sirus sent one of the scouts ahead as the troops approached the marshes. Some of his men were superstitious and believed the marshes were inhabited by giant serpents, which lay in wait below the murky surface. The scout returned some time later, his face awash with perspiration and his breathing laboured.

'My Lord, I'm not so sure this is a good idea! There are bones scattered everywhere, piles of them near the edges of the marshland. They appear old and bleached, but their existence proves what we have heard.'

The man seemed genuinely afraid. Sirus had to make a serious decision: he could go around but that would add weeks, or forge on ahead. If he erred at all now, his men would undoubtedly sense it. There was only one option.

'We move ahead. Bleached bones have obviously been there for many months or even years, besides what could possibly be large enough to overpower an army? Renward, what do you say,' Sirus asked, catching sight of the ripples of fear in the faces of the men.

'My Lord, I've never been one to run from a battle, so I'm not likely to run because of some outlandish tale. I'm thinking that whatever lies before us had better avoid us, or it could end up like them bones.'

Sirus slapped hands with his Commanding Officer then rallied his men forward. No reptilian tale was going to stop their progress now.

The men pushed forward. Within minutes, Sirus came across the first of the bones. They were animal bones, dried out by the harsh sun, brittle and broken. More skeletal remains appeared as they manoeuvred closer to the watery edge of the marsh. Tall reeds and grasses swayed gracefully. The scene appeared decidedly peaceful, tranquil and safe. Sirus led the way. His horse whinnied and reared up, almost dislodging him from his saddle as he kicked it forward. Perhaps the horse felt uneasy too, or was it animal instinct?

The marshland stretched some fifty kilometres to the north; its origins lay to the south. Man normally avoided this terrain, yet it was the most direct access to the Lahore Plains and cut weeks from the normal trek. Sirus plunged his horse into the murky waters, mud splashing the sides of his boots.

Fortunately, the point of entry Sirus had chosen was the driest point, and the most direct route through the marsh to the plain beyond. Even then, Sirus estimated it would take several hours of hard slogging to make it the other side before sunset. He rallied his men and pushed them hard. The wagons were difficult to manoeuvre and Sirus's men had to dismount to push the heavy burdens. Tonk, Sirus's body guard – a man built like a grizzly bear, broad-shouldered and with biceps the size of cantaloupes – was ordered to the rear to dislodge the cook's wagon when it became bogged. The Royal Cavalry brought up the rear, eyes peeled for anything untoward.

When Sirus and his troops were two thirds into their journey it happened!

When Sirus confronted Aramean in the antechamber, his surroundings had altered and become distorted. Now it happened again. The air became thick, the dryness caught in Sirus's throat as he struggled for breath. Before him rose a giant serpent. Its head swayed on its elongated body, as it stood suspended above him, like a tall palm tree lilting in a summer's breeze. Only there was no wind to propel its movements, just the power of its massive body towering above Sirus's head.

'Who dares to walk through my dominion?' The voice thundered about Sirus's eardrums, and the very ground beneath his feet trembled with the intensity of the sound.

Sirus looked behind him; his men were no longer there. He was alone. His horse unnaturally still beneath him.

He eyed the serpent. There was no escape, no defence. He realised this spectacle was meant for his eyes alone, the Gods once more at work. He thought quickly, calculating his answer.

'I am Theron, God Immortal. This is my world, for I alone created it. So who are you to reside in my dominion?' He spoke with far more bravado than he felt, but he had nothing to lose. This was a battle of supremacy and right now he felt the war was decidedly one sided. He had to play his trump card.

The serpent's body reeled above Sirus, its tongue flicking and darting. Bending low, the snake slid its outstretched tongue through the air, quivering and testing its prey. Sirus did not move.

'You speak the truth Immortal One; I smell the stench of immortality upon your bones. But do not be fooled into believing that you created this world, for I have lived long beneath these waters and I am the beginning of all things.' The serpent's voice was subdued, full of wisdom borne by the legacy of time. Sirus sensed he had stumbled upon a mystery – one that even the Immortals did not comprehend.

'Why do you cross over my land?' The serpent's voice was once again menacing, and it reared its scaly head. Its eyes, the colour of rich dark chocolate, bored into Sirus soul.

'I cross to gain time; this land faces an enemy and time is all I have.' Sirus had no need to lie.

'An enemy! What enemy?' The serpent seemed unaware.

'If I could answer that then I would most likely be somewhere other than here! To be honest I don't know.' Sirus felt the burden of his plight; it weighted heavily upon his shoulders. The serpent swayed back and forth, balancing. Sirus watched the calculating stare of the reptile; he could tell it was weighing up the truth of such a possibility.

'You are right in your assumption; an enemy with many followers walks this land. Beware Theron, for much rests upon your decision. Now go before I change my mind and have the lot of you for my supper.'

'What decision, ' Sirus was curious.

'You will know, for it is your choice and yours alone.' The snake hissed and swayed above Sirus's head. A moment later it was gone.

Sirus stood his ground, pondering the snake's conundrum. Renward's pleas suddenly brought him back to reality.

'Lord Sirus are you alright?' Sirus turned to see his men surrounding him now with worried looks upon their faces. Sirus gathered he had been seated upon his horse in a stupefied state for some time, the others unaware of the spectacle playing out before him.

Sirus could not explain what just happened, for he too was mystified. All he knew was that yet another unexplained mystery had been revealed to him. He reflected on the serpent's final remark. What decision could be so important? He kept his thoughts, as well as the mystery, to himself.

He quickened his pace; the serpent had given him leave and he was not about to argue.

By nightfall they had made it safely to the other side with all hands accounted for. The existence of the deadly serpent was now nothing more than a Romanie superstition as far as Sirus's men were concerned. They set up camp. Bright and early next morning they headed for the Rebion.

The Rebion people would provide much-needed supplies to fill the wagons, fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as preserves to cater for the long journey ahead. Sirus had an ulterior motive for trekking to this particular village. He wished to engage the help of these people. He hoped to secure an ongoing supply of provisions for his troops as they ventured north. The Rebion, he suspected, would not however venture beyond the northern hills and into the Beastal Boors. These people knew its dangers. But if he could enlist their help to take fresh supplies as far as Gideon's Sheol, which was at the foothills of the northern borders, then he would have sufficient supplies to sustain his troops. He could collect food as needed. It was a plan that Sirus hoped would see them through the winter, now only a few months away. Sirus hoped the trouble ahead would have been suppressed by then; but his judgment told him it was not going to be that easy.

After many days of relatively easy travel, the army approached the village of Ebonie, the main stronghold of the Rebion tribes. As they drew near, two Rebion plainsmen cantered across the plain toward them. The plainsmen rode camels, or camlets as the Rebions called them, the animals being much smaller than their larger cousins. The camlets were the height of a medium size horse with coats of coarse dark brownish hair, which grew thick and long. This rough woollen coat provided both protection from the cold for the animals and wool for clothes and blankets for the Rebion Tribes. Camlet hides were made into tents.

As the riders moved closer, Sirus recognised his long time friend Kwinend, head tribesman of the village. Kwinend was short, slim and robust; he was also one of the bravest men Sirus knew.

These plainsmen were in general a short stocky race, but extremely able-bodied; they had fought many wars along side King Emid over innumerable years. These tribesmen had neither complained nor sought restitution for the many lives lost in the pursuit of freedom for their King and country.

As Sirus dismounted, Kwinend climbed down from his docile animal and walked briskly toward Sirus. They embraced.

'Ey, it be good to see ye. It has bin too long since ye came to visit with us,' Kwinend remarked as he stood back to take a good look at Sirus. A broad smile broke over his face; Kwinend was obviously pleased to see him.

'You're right Kwinend, it has been far too long.'

A second Rebion dismounted then moved cautiously toward Sirus and bowed politely.

'This be me daughter, Polymar. She be me favourite one,' Kwinend's voice rang with pride.

Sirus could see only a portion of Polymar's face; a headpiece she wore in the shape of a turban concealed her features. Her eyes though were exposed, shining and lucid like dark blue opals. He thought she was probably quite attractive under her ample clothing. Sirus was surprised, for unlike the rest of her tribe, Polymar was tall.

He smiled at the woman; she appeared unimpressed.

'Your daughter obviously takes after you. I can see why you favour her above your other...twelve children, is it? Or have you managed another few since we last met?' Sirus laughed at his own words.

'Well now, I have to make sure there be someone to take care of me when I get too old to take care of me self.' Kwinend laughed, his reply indicating a wholesome sense of humour.

Kwinend gave permission for Sirus's troops to set up camp near the southern end of the village. Sirus would seek counsel with the elders in Ebonie later that day.

Sirus and his men took the afternoon to settle themselves; Sirus estimated it would take the better part of two days to secure all the provisions he would need. He also wished to catch up further with Kwinend and the villagers; the time here would also allow him to reacquaint himself with Aramean. He hoped by now Aramean's disposition had improved. It was time to ask questions regarding the illusion within the chamber, or at least to establish the man's real identity.

The village of Ebonie lay stretched below small rolling hills, which edged the Lahore plains. Beyond the small hills ran the great Bellair Mountain range, which protected these fertile plains. The village itself was large, almost the same size in diameter as the city of Eshtah, yet Ebonie had no obvious plan to its layout like its neighbouring city. There were no streets as such, no large buildings, or palatial homes, inns or taverns. The village consisted of small independent thatched dwellings wrapped around a central gathering place, which served as its central meeting hall. This was the location where the Council of Elders met. It was here Sirus hoped to meet with the town leaders to gain support for his plan.

The ploughed paddocks beyond stood in stark contrast to the disorganised chaos of the village. The pristine fields of crops were laid out in an orderly fashion, each crop planned around the next, and carefully grown to take advantage of soil, moisture and harvesting timetables. Sirus had heard Kwinend boast unendingly of the bounty and quality of the crops produced by his people.

The Rebion were extremely loyal, both to their King and to each other; it was the one thing they had in common. Sirus knew he only had to ask Kwinend for help and it would be given, but he didn't want to take advantage of his friendship so he would ask the council as a whole for support.

Sirus met with the Elders and Kwinend late in the afternoon. It took him only a short time to convince those present that his plan was workable; in return he promised the villagers would receive supplies of wood, meat, and other luxury items that they wanted. Kwinend gave his word that supplies would be carried by camlets to various points along the way and stored for when the troops needed them.

Because the Rebion had such a diverse knowledge of the landscape and country, and because the camlets could travel fast without being fatigued and needed little sustenance themselves, the food stores would be waiting well ahead of the troops. The plan was a good one. But the Rebions, as predicted, would not venture beyond the Beastal Bores, and this Sirus agreed to.

The troops continued to enjoy the hospitality of the village; they mucked in helping pack food into the wagons. In the evening the villagers put on displays of dancing, fine food and wine. This region not only supplied grains, fruit and vegetables for Eshtah, but they also produced the best grapes for making wine. Kwinend boasted that no one could make a brew like his. Sirus made him throw in a few dozen barrels for the troops. His men could do with the medicinal benefits Kwinend maintained had helped him with long years, a strong heart and many offspring.

As the night's activities wound down Sirus headed to his campsite, his destination set on the tent, which housed Aramean. He did not notice the shadowy figure of the young boy following him in the shadows beyond the tents. The boy darted quickly ahead avoiding detection; the boy's only interest was to find out where Sirus was heading in such a hurry.

Two officers stood guard outside the tent. Sirus paused to give his men a salute before ducking his head and passing under the front flap. Inside, another six guards stood to attention as he entered. Beyond, partly concealed in the subdued light, sat Aramean cross-legged upon the floor, his head bowed.

Sirus stood watching him for several minutes, studying the man, wondering what enigma this man carried with him. The prisoner was now clean and shaved, he wore a simple white robe secured at the waist with a twisted cord and his feet were bare. If Aramean was aware of Sirus's presence he made no move to show it. Sirus moved closer, sitting on the ground opposite. Sirus then dismissed the guards with a mere nod of his head.

Once the guards left, Aramean slowly raised his head; his face showed no expression and his eyes gave nothing away.

Sirus was forced to speak first to break the silence within the room.

'You appear as if you pray to someone Aramean. Does the God of your world require such dedication?'

Aramean smiled in response, before calmly replying.

'My God requires much from me, and I'm grateful to give what little I have.' Aramean's reply spoke volumes about the man.

There was silence, as both men visibly studied the other, each contemplating the other with as much respect as the situation allowed. It was several minutes before either one spoke.

'You are not quite what I expected Sirus. I envisaged you to be a far more sinister man than you appear.' Aramean's remark came as a surprise to Sirus.

'You sound as if you already know me,' questioned Sirus. He wondered if he was going to regret asking the question.

'I merely know of you.'

'May I enquire where, or from whom, you heard of me? Surely you did not know me prior to our unfortunate meeting in the antechamber? I think I would have remembered you had we met before.' Sirus could tell that his questions amused his guest. He allowed no time for Aramean to answer.

'Tell me, Aramean, where did you come from, and who are you?' Sirus decided he was tired of playing this game; he wanted answers.

'My story is not important, for my answers would not help you anyway. For the answer to all questions lies in what I am about to ask you. Who are you really, Sirus?' Sirus knew Aramean recognised him, not as Sirus but as Theron. He felt a chill run up his spine.

As if on cue, the medallion around Sirus's neck pulsed, heating the skin on his chest. Somehow all things were connected. He knew then that Aramean was more knowledgeable than he and that somehow these misfortunes were not mere coincidence. Aramean was not here merely through invitation.

Before Sirus could challenge the remarks, Aramean had once again bent his head in supplication. Sirus guessed the deity that Aramean prayed to was linked in some way to his past. He believed the Immortals were involved. Sirus could see it was useless to continue his interrogation; Aramean obviously had secrets that he was not yet willing to share.

Once outside the tent, Sirus reached inside his shirt and grasped the cooling medallion in his hand. What strange connection lay between this medallion and the man inside? Sirus's curiosity was now fully engaged; he would learn the truth eventually. The young lad stood in the shadows, an unseen smile cast across his face.

The following morning found heavy grey threatening clouds roll in from the southwest. Good rain was always welcome to the Rebion and they rejoiced at the sight. Sirus, however, had to make a quick decision regarding his plans. If his troops remained then they could be delayed for days, caught in the flooding rains. Or he could make a hasty departure outrunning the torrential weather. Sirus decided on the latter and ordered all hands to quickly finish packing what produce they could and to disassemble the tents and make ready for a quick getaway.

Sirus had a disturbed night's rest. He fought with his nightmares trying to make sense of it all, and now he faced a busy day, which meant complete exhaustion before his journey had even begun. He could not afford to waste days getting rained in and lose precious time on his journey north. Yet he could not help but feel that the decision was already out of his hands.

His mind was still reeling from Aramean's disclosure from the previous night when Kwinend entered his tent.

'Forgive me for this wee intrusion, Me Lord. I need to know if I could ask a wee favour. It's not often I ask ye for anything, nor would I like to think ye are obliging to me, but...would ye take Polymar with ye?' Kwinend looked beseechingly at his friend. His tone inferred this was not merely a request.

Sirus scrutinised Kwinend with surprise. There had to be some sort of reasonable explanation why he would make such an outlandish suggestion. He owed this man a lot more than friendship and he knew to turn him down would make a permanent dent in their relationship.

'Kwinend, I don't think you understand; this is not a pleasure jaunt I'm taking these men on! This journey could very well result in no one returning, do you understand?' His words sounded harsh but he was trying to instil fear into this man. It was the same fear he held for the safety of his own men.

'I fear far more for Polymar should she stay. Take her, she will not let ye down. She can fight better than any man. I taught her myself. She will defend ye to the death. I ask ye again: will ye take her? I'm asking as your trusted friend.'

Sirus did not miss the underlying inference and now he was caught between his own misgivings and the pleadings of a man he considered as a brother.

'May I ask why she would want to go, even if I should be willing to take her,' came the hesitant reply.

'She has no future here, besides she is willing to go! In fact it was she who asked me if ye might take her. Sirus, she belongs in your world not mine.' Kwinend replied with a finality that took Sirus by surprise.

Sirus thought long and hard before answering. 'Very well my friend! I will take your daughter, but I give you no guarantees for her safety. I may not have time to play nursemaid, do you understand that?' Sirus allowed himself to let out a long exhausted breath of resignation.

'She needs no man to look after her. As I said, I taught her and she be better than any man I know, including you.' He gave a sly grin as he held out his hand and clasped it around Sirus's shoulder. 'Go ye to your destiny, and take me daughter with ye,' he said as he turned and left the shelter of Sirus's tent.

'Gods!' Exclaimed Sirus. 'How do I get myself involved in so much trouble?'

Moments later his men came to level his tent for the long journey northward.

# 11

# Asserian

# 'The Virgin Ritual'

'The sweetness of a rose in bloom is like the touch of a maiden's first love.'

Thea held no hostility toward Hura; she could not blame the woman for being disappointed. Only the Gods knew why life had changed so abruptly. Thea felt now that so many issues rested on the decisions she would make in the days and weeks ahead.

She reluctantly dressed in the garments of the priestess. Normally Hura would have assisted her, just as she did every other day, but somehow she knew she would receive no help from her handmaiden today.

She reflected on the events of the previous night. The enactment was still clear in her mind. Maybe it was best to be left alone, the fewer disturbances from others the better.

Her mind milled over all the developments of the last weeks. Firstly there were the changes within herself; they were confusing enough. Then there was the appearance of the dark man and Old Getty with her riddle, which led her to the mysterious parchment and its enchanting story. All these things were related, she was sure of that now, but she was unsure how. Thea stared at her reflection in the mirror; the image reflected back bore little resemblance to how she felt inside.

A repeated knock at the door startled her out of her reverie. Hura opened the door and entered, accompanied by Maniera and several priestesses from the temple.

'Good morning, Queen! As High Priestess your day of homage has begun. Preparation for the Virgin Ritual begins,' announced Maniera, as she narrowed her gaze toward Thea.

Without replying Thea stepped forward, taking her place at the head of the procession. She led the small official party out of her apartment and away from the fortress. She steadied her pace as she headed down the hill toward the temple, her steps playing out the turmoil in her mind.

Once the group passed through the main gates of the temple they entered an area known as the 'Columns of the Gods'. Thea glanced up at the overpowering structures; each of the seven columns depicted one of the Gods. Thea looked at each face and felt she knew them intimately. Her gaze lingered, longer than she meant. 'May the Gods help me to fathom out what all this is about,' she mouthed to herself.

Thea held her gaze on one particular pillar; it depicted a female deity. The eyes of the Goddess seemed to penetrate her being, the mere suggestion of a smile upon its lips. Taken by the impossible display, Thea stumbled on a paving stone and could barely keep her footing. When she regained her composure and refocused, the smiling face had resumed its cold, stone mien. Thea completed the journey to the inner sanctum of the temple, shaken by her ordeal.

One of her duties this day was to read from 'The Keep'. These incantations would prepare the girls for the Virgin Ritual to follow. Today she would bind these young girls to a life of motherhood and set them on a path to greater glories.

In some ways she envied these young women. They would eventually have a child to hold, one they could call their own. Thea wondered if she would ever know that joy. To her, motherhood seemed a strange role, one she hadn't given much thought to and strangely enough until this moment it was a role she had not even contemplated. Oh well, she thought, it might be something she would consider, should she ever find the dark man. For only when she had found herself in his arms had she given thought to forsaking her virginity – even if it had only been in her dreams.

As the day wore on with hour upon hour of repetitive recitations to the Gods, Thea found her mind increasingly consumed with thoughts of the curious man aboard the ship. As the darkness set in about her, Thea could feel his presence pressing down on her like heavy weights of steel. The barrier over her mind still held, but Thea could feel his need and desire hanging like a shadow over her soul. Could she remain strong, or would she rescind her previous vow and allow him to come to her once more? Even now she could feel her resolve beginning to weaken.

She stood on the dais, gazing about at the devoted young virgins below. All eyes were lowered in a trance as they repeated her words, so they were unaware of her penetrating gaze. Every priestess chosen to participate in the virgin ceremony had also gathered at the temple this night and Thea could feel the power in the room gathering momentum. Were the powers pulsating about her this night strong enough to destroy him? Even if they were, would she wish for that? No! Thea knew that somehow her fate and his were linked. Even now she knew instinctively he would end up destroying what she loved most – her world and her people.

At dawn the recitations ended. It had been a long, drawn out night. The new day was celebrated with 'The Bathing', a ritual in itself. The priestesses undressed, and in accordance with the ancient ceremony, proceeded to descend into the cauldron of Nivera. This large bathing chamber was built in the round and resembled an actual cauldron. It was used for one purpose only – to cleanse the priestesses and the girls before the Virgin Ritual began. The bath was filled with the milk of the Anaheim goat, which was renowned for its protective properties; it also enriched the skin and gave renewal of life. Thea entered first and then, in order of ranking, the priestesses entered one behind the other followed by the younger women. The milk had been warmed to body temperature and essence of rose oil filled the air. The priestesses bathed in silence as no one, including Thea, was now permitted to speak until the ritual dance commenced later that evening.

Lost in her own thoughts Thea considered what it might be like to be embraced intimately by the dark man. She desperately wanted to feel the warmth of his body enveloping hers. She closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like. It may have been simply her imagination, but the most extraordinary sensations gradually consumed her body. She thought she felt the touch of his hands on the back of her neck tracing a line down her spine and his mouth tracing a path over her neck and lingering ever so tenderly at its nape. Then she felt his path across her shoulders and down to her breasts, her nipples now erect. She had wanted more on the previous night when she dreamt of him, but he had not provided her with the final joy. Now as she lay recalling emotions and sensing his touch, she brushed her hands over the contours of her own breasts and down between her thighs. She could feel the sensations once again surge through her body. She was so caught up in imagining the reality of it all that she barely heard Maniera gasp at her side.

Thea sat upright and opened her eyes. She saw the horrified look on the faces of the priestesses and young girls around her. They were obviously shocked by her conduct in such a sacred place. She paid them no mind. She was in control here and what she did was between herself and her conscience.

After the ritual bathing which lasted several hours, the priestesses led Thea to the sacred dressing room; there they adorned her for the night's festivities. Her gown was spun in the softest silver thread, shimmering iridescent fibres caught the glow as the lights hit the fabric and rainbows glimmered up through the cloth. In the fashion of the priestess, the dress was cut low under the breasts, exposing them fully and draped around to fall with a silver ribbon tying the front. The sides of her long hair were secured atop her head and fastened with white roses, the perfume of which filled the air about her. Thea glanced in the mirror; she didn't think she had ever appeared so beautiful. She wished he could see her like this. Would he be able to resist her? She smiled knowing full well he would succumb.

As the sun began to set, the party of priestesses, with Thea advancing in front, moved gracefully toward the great gathering place, beyond the main temple. Peace and quiet invaded the scene, like morning's early dawn.

The grand courtyard had been constructed specifically for the Virgin Ritual celebration. The arena was a large oval with high seating all around the perimeter. To one side stood an ancient oak tree, its branches gnarled like the hands of an arthritic old maid, it seemed to stand as an observer. From the observation seats the priestesses could overlook the arena and make sure no one interfered with the ritual and its erotic climax.

Thea lingered at the base of the stairs leading to her seat. She watched with eager anticipation as the young virgins were led into the centre. The girls were dressed in white gowns similar in style to hers, shaped to their bodies and looped around with a tie at the back – but short, tantalisingly high on their thighs. Their hair fell freely entwined with a single white rose. Thea smiled as she watched them take their places.

The night sky was beginning to fill with stars; which were dulled in obscurity due to the moon, which had waxed full. Even the mist, which normally flooded the valley, barely unsheathed itself; it was a night ordained by the Gods and blessed by the Goddess herself.

The ritual began with a prayer spoken by Maniera, the Matriarchal Priestess. Thea then raised her hands and spoke for the first time since the incantations of the previous night's ceremony.

'May your wombs be fruitful, may your bodies find joy and fulfilment and may each of you birth a soul to bring happiness and contentment to your lives. May the Immortals smile on you this night and may the Goddess deliver you safely.'

With these words, Thea joined the other priestesses. The voices of the women filled the night sky with chanting, songs and dance. When the singing died down and the voices of the young women fell into a low sweet hum the main gates opened wide. Young men and older males who had been chosen for the ritual slowly entered the arena. They were naked. The men seated themselves in a circle before the young girls and bowed their heads in humility awaiting the signal, which would allow the girls to move forward and pick a mate.

A large fire was now ablaze in the middle of the courtyard and, on cue; Thea arose and blew the Horn of Fertility to signal the commencement of the proceedings. The sound vibrated off the walls of the temple, giving a clear indication to all, both inside and out that the ceremony had begun. The girls moved forward selecting a mate from the men seated before them. The couples then made their way to the centre near the warmth of the fire and the young girls untied their garments. The girls' dresses fell to the ground, leaving their bodies exposed in their true natural beauty. Each male had been groomed to know exactly what to do and it did not take long before the couples lay entwined upon the ground. The priestesses within the stands kept a close eye on the proceedings, making sure each and every girl made the most of her time with the male of her choice. This night would prove to be longer than most.

The sight was breathtakingly erotic. First love, and the first experience of these young women in the throws of passion always took Thea's breath away. Would she ever experience that thrill that joy? She felt moisture gather between her thighs.

By midnight the girls lay exhausted in the arms of their lovers. Thea stood up. She was unsure what gave her impetus; she moved stealthfully down the stairs. No one tried to stop her, nor did they question her movements. Thea was unaware that those seated upon the stands had closed their eyes and were now in a deep and mysteriously induced sleep.

It was as if time itself had paused. Thea reached the base and gazed around at her companions. She realised then that something was wrong. She moved with caution toward the middle of the courtyard. She passed sleeping couples and stared down into the faces of the young men and women, as they lay oblivious to her passing.

Thea recognised him as she raised her head to look about her. He was standing in the light of the fire's glow, arms folded across his chest, legs spread in a defiant stance, his exquisite face and body silhouetted against the blaze. There was no mistaking who it was. The dark man had come to claim his prize and she felt no desire to stop him.

# 12

# Romanie

# 'Polymar'

'The only shame about being different is the fact it makes others uncomfortable.'

The army barely outran the worst of the storm, days of torrential downpour exasperating men and animal alike. The clouds pursued the army, like a fly following the pungent smell of decaying meat. The wagons laden down with produce moved slowly, wheels embedded in mud, disgruntled men forced to pull them free. Soldiers on horseback however maintained a good pace and managed to avoid the worst of the weather. But nothing could prevent the backlash of the driving winds or the wash from the hills.

After relentless days of manoeuvring troops over swollen creeks and muddy plains, Sirus decided to call a halt as the sun finally broke through the leaden skies. For the first time since leaving the Rebion village, he issued orders to make camp. Very little remained unaffected, including the men's spirits.

The proceeding days had required Sirus to keep both men and beasts under firm control. This allowed no time or opportunity for further discussions with Aramean, nor did Sirus have time to set down guidelines for his new personal bodyguard, Polymar. Aramean would have to be dealt with later; Polymar however was beginning to create an immediate problem. He had no reason to doubt either Kwinend's integrity or his justification for making such an unreasonable request when it came to his daughter, but Sirus decided the young woman needed to prove herself. He had no doubt the girl was probably as good with a sword as any man and probably just as tough, but the issue lay with his men: a woman in a camp was risky and for some it engendered bad luck.

From the body language and remarks of his men, which he inadvertently overheard, he knew his commanders were not pleased with his decision. He realised he would have to come up with some reasonable explanation for Polymar's presence on this journey, especially since it would mean taking her into the Beastal Bores and danger. Kwinend's insistence was not going to be enough to placate them. Polymar had better give me the full story, he thought as he headed in the direction of the supply wagons to locate her.

The boy, dirty and unkempt, kept at a distance just out of Sirus's line of vision, but close enough to make sure he didn't lose sight of the man he was pursuing. The soldiers were too busy unpacking wet supplies, bed roles and tents, cleaning off mud or tending to their armour and weapons to notice the boy as he scampered about between the chaos. The only one who had noticed was Polymar. She spotted the boy's unusual behaviour on the first day's ride, now she scrutinised his every move. He didn't seem to be causing harm and appeared to only be playing at being a soldier. She had done nothing but keep him under observation. Keeping an eye on things and reacting when required was her speciality, so she bided her time, making sure the boy never got in the way to do any real harm. Polymar had no doubt the boy was either a thief or completely fascinated by Sirus; she would find out which in time.

'Polymar, there you are!' Sirus rounded the side of the wagon. 'I wish to speak with you in private. Please follow me. Your father only gave me a brief outline of your accomplishments; I would like to hear you tell your side of things.' Sirus turned on his heels and headed toward his tent. He assumed she would obey him.

Sirus's tent was the first erected and served also as camp headquarters. The layout of the tent was simple: there was several wooden stools propped under a central table where a map and various instruments of navigation were laid out. Against the back wall was a straw bed, with large fur rugs spread across the straw's rough surface. The room was not made for comfort but it served its purpose as it could be dismantled and packed away in a hurry.

Polymar followed Sirus as he moved inside the tent. He pulled up a stool and sat down. He watched the young woman: she emitted no fear.

'Firstly, would you mind removing your scarf from your head so I can take a good look at your face?' It came as a request, not an order so Polymar reluctantly obliged, carefully unwinding the scarf.

Once she removed her headwear, Sirus could see why Polymar hid her head. It was completely bald. Her hair was shaved to the scalp. Her eyes were the colour of the sky, rich and deep, and displayed within their depths was a sense of loneliness far beyond her years. Her skin was as flawless as a newborn babe; she was not beautiful in the conventional way, but her face had an earthy charm and certainly gave no indication of a life worked in the fields of the Lahore Plains.

Sirus tried to show only mild reaction at her features and stated his thoughts as a matter of fact.

'I have known your father a long time. Kwinend and I have battled through many wars, and I know when he tells me you are a great fighter and swordswoman he is telling me the truth. My problem, however, is conveying your presence here to my men. They may not accept that I have invited you here as a favour to your father. I could however say I have invited you along as my concubine, but I doubt they would believe me. Besides I would never inflict that insult upon you anyway.'

Sirus could see mortification written across Polymar's face at the statement. He had meant it as a joke

He dismissed the look. 'My predicament is what do I do to assure my commanders that you are worthy, firstly to be here and secondly to protect me, rather than one of them? Your father asked me to keep you close as a bodyguard, he assured me you are worthy of the role, but I need to convince my men of that fact. Now, how do you propose I go about doing that?'

Sirus was now looking Polymar straight in the eye.

Polymar stood motionless, no expression on her face as she addressed Sirus.

'My Lord,' she bowed. 'My father trained me for war; I am in fact better than any man. I may look, to you and everyone else, like a woman, but I assure you I think and act like a man. I am willing, with your permission, to take on any man here who is willing to fight me, to prove to you and your men that I can not only look after myself but you also.'

Sirus withheld a smile as he questioned this woman's commonsense in declaring herself suitable to take on his greatest fighters.

'Are you willing to fight any one of my men in both armed or unarmed combat to prove your point?' He hoped she would realise the futility of her proposal and refuse.

'My Lord, I am willing to take on two of your men at a time if you wish! I do not care what type of fighting I am challenged to, or what weapon is chosen. I can handle myself in all fields.'

Polymar's confidence overwhelmed Sirus.

'That is a big call for one so young and unproven in battle. But seeing you are willing then you shall be given the opportunity to prove yourself.' Sirus acknowledged her bravery with a nod of his head.

Polymar seemed unperturbed at the prospect of facing this challenge; her facial features appeared unchanged and Sirus sensed no nervousness in her demeanour. For the first time he sensed that she was not just a mere Rebion plainswoman.

'Your father said you requested that you might accompany us into the Beastal Bores. Surely you must know how dangerous this venture could be? There has to be a good reason why he would allow you to endanger yourself, and an even more logical one as to why you would want to go.' Sirus was curious now more than ever to find out what made this young woman so different.

Polymar's eyes showed emotion for the first time. She lowered her eyes for several moments to her feet, and then raised them to look Sirus directly in the eye.

'My Lord, I told you before; I am a man inside a woman's body. I was only 12 months old when I picked up my first sword and struck down the family's pet cat. I obviously did not mean to kill it, but my mother would not allow me near my siblings from that day forward. My father was given sole charge of my upbringing.' She paused for a brief moment. 'Kwinend has been a great father. He taught me as he would have taught a son. He spent many hours helping me perfect skills that seemed to come naturally. I could defend and protect those around me by the time I was seven. Over the next ten years my father relentlessly taught me how to make and use every weapon he himself had mastered. Unlike other children of our tribe I was not asked nor forced to labour on the land. Father kept me away from the ridicule and taunting of my mother, my siblings and other villagers. For that I will always love him.'

Polymar suddenly went quiet. It was as if her soul was being sliced open for Sirus to see, but unlike most women who would have displayed some emotion at this point she proudly held back her shoulders, drew in a breath and continued her tale.

'I stress once more; I am outwardly a female but inside I feel and act like a man. Men do not attract me physically in the slightest; therefore your men will gain no pleasure from any interest in me.' Sirus thought back to his earlier remark, about her being his concubine and cringed that he had even jokingly teased her about the possibility.

Polymar continued, 'I fell in love with a young girl in the village. We became lovers and met often.' She waited for a reaction from Sirus. When there was none she continued with her tale.

'We would meet every night and we spoke often of running away so we could be together,' Polymar's voice softened and for the first time she spoke with emotion controlling her voice.

'Her brother found us together one evening. We were caught in a compromising position. He thought our action perverse as we were both female and our relationship was held up as shameful amongst my people. He called in the village elders, including my father, and even though I tried to defend her, there were too many of them for me to control. They took her away.' Polymar stood silent for a moment or two gathering the courage to go on.

'Later the same night they cut out her tongue, burned her eyes out and cut away her privates. My father hid me away to save me from the same fate.'

Sirus could not believe what he was hearing. Are people so afraid of sexual difference that they would subject another to such cruelty?

Polymar hesitated another moment. 'My father has hidden me ever since and has been awaiting a time when he could get me safely away without causing himself and my family any more shame. Please don't judge him, for he loves me and has always known I was not like other women. He blames himself for creating a monster. But I know I am not a freak. I am just...different.'

With that Polymar allowed a single tear to flow down her face, but she quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand.

'So you see, my Lord, I asked to come because here with you I believe I can be who I want to be without prejudice or shame. If I can prove myself worthy as a warrior then I will be accepted. If I fail then I will be dead. Either way it matters not. I died a long time ago.' Polymar stood proud as she finished her tale never taking her gaze from Sirus.

It was difficult for Sirus to know how to take the discussion further after such an admission, so he left the conversation of Polymar's past alone. She made it quite clear, however, that she wanted no one to know of her sexual preferences. Sirus dismissed her, allowing her to ready herself for the task of proving herself in combat.

Sirus agreed he would hold the contest the following evening. He knew Polymar neither wanted nor expected sympathy regarding her plight, all she wanted was to fight for her right to be who she was in a world dominated by men.

Sirus proposed she take on Tonk in single hand-to-hand fist combat and then if, and that would be a big 'if', she made it through she would then go on to fight Belvarde, the greatest sword fighter Sirus had ever known. He made the choice wisely, for if she made it through with both these men she would not be found wanting by anyone, not even those of the Royal Cavalry. He knew her chances were slim, because Tonk was a huge brawny man skilled in wrestling. Sirus had seen him once fight a huge black bear and kill it with his bare hands. Tonk was also one of his personal bodyguards and he respected the man.

Belvarde was an expert with the sword and could shear off the ear of a man without his opponent even raising his sword; he was quick footed and dangerous. Neither man would like the prospect of fighting a woman and would only do so if given direct orders from Sirus himself.

Sirus arranged for an arena to be built out on the open plain. The contest, if nothing else, would give the men a slight reprieve from the plight ahead of them. News spread quickly throughout the camp and bets were laid on both men. The only one game enough to take odds on Polymar was the lad who had mysteriously appeared from nowhere and seemed to have made himself at home in the cook's wagon. The boy maintained his secrecy by keeping himself separate from others and out of harm's way. No one paid him much mind or looked too closely at his appearance.

The next afternoon arrived way too fast for Sirus. By now he was starting to have second thoughts about having the young girl prove herself just to placate the fears and misgivings of his men. But when he talked to her again she had been quite adamant. If the two men were afraid she would take that into account and be gentle with them. She would not stand for them to make it easy on her because she was a woman. So Sirus sought a compromise and committed each party to surrender when it became apparent that someone was going to be critically injured or maimed. He could not afford to lose what might be his best three fighters. And so the challenge for acceptance began.

Polymar was neither afraid, nor nervous about the impending confrontation. She had one or two tactics up her sleeve, skills she knew well. Her training at the hands of her father, Kwinend had been nothing less than dedicated, he painstakingly endured hardship to see she was taught the efficiencies of her trade. Kwinend had taken her far a field to the region of Radorn; there she had studied under the Master of Kwon Dow, an ancient form of martial art. The speed with which she learned this skill astounded the Master, her aptitude for learning undeniable.

The first fight was with Tonk. He was over two metres tall with a muscly torso covered in a thick layer of coarse hair. He often commented that his father must have been a grizzly bear. His biceps were the size of watermelons and rippled like rocks beneath the surface of his taut skin and the sound of his voice came in rasps, more like a bark than words. Tonk, like Polymar, was bald – that much they had in common. The large brawny man tried hard to wrangle his way out of fighting a woman, but Sirus had made his wishes very clear. It was fight or declare Polymar his equal. Tonk was not about to let some woman gain equal status to him, so he decided he would make the most of the opportunity. If this woman wanted to play rough then he would oblige her by getting in a little sport of his own. The victory would add to his status.

Polymar arrived in the arena dressed in nothing but short deerskin pants, a bolero jacket tied securely at the front and leggings bound with hide straps. The men roared with excitement. Wolf whistles rang out loud. Tonk beat his chest and loudly proclaimed his readiness. Polymar merely shook her head at the display. The fight lasted less than fifteen minutes. Her Kwon Dow skills were more than a match for the much larger Tonk. Polymar had Tonk pinned and screaming on the ground. The men gathered cheered Polymar on: this form of fighting a rare sight indeed. The boy crouching in the shadows smiled knowingly.

Sirus could not believe his eyes. What technique was this that laid a huge man like Tonk on his stomach screaming to be freed? Polymar had barely raised a sweat. She bowed to Sirus and left the arena, looking forward to the sword fight with Belvarde.

The crowd was barely able to contain themselves, the spectacle suddenly arousing wide and varied interest, the odds of Polymar winning shortened, and the only one smiling was the young lad who had taken odds on favourite with Polymar.

Belvarde approached the centre of the arena. He had held a sword in his hands for most of the last forty years and it felt good to have it there once again. He was a wiry man, quite the opposite of his comrade Tonk. Even though he matched Tonk in height Belvarde was lean and his fiery red hair and blue eyes distinguished him as a man not to be taken lightly. He knew he would rather have been fighting a real enemy than this young warrior girl, but he had watched her defy the odds and beat Tonk, so he didn't assume this would be an easy battle. Belvarde had fought alongside Kwinend and knew what a mighty warrior the girl's father was. So to underestimate the daughter would be unwise.

Polymar had changed and was now dressed in the battledress of the Rebion warrior. Camel skin pants, tight to thigh and calf, white cotton blouse, loose fitting buttoned low at the front. Being relatively tall she looked imposing and every part her father's daughter. Belvarde bowed to her out of respect. She disregarded his gentlemanly display, mainly because no one had ever shown her that kind of regard before and Polymar was unsure how she should respond.

The showmanship and expertise with the sword was spectacular. Sirus had never seen such a well-matched parry of blows and practised movements as he did on this occasion. Both opponents went blow for blow, neither one giving an inch. The match lasted well over an hour before Sirus stood and blew the horn for the match to cease. The two fighters stopped, exhaustion clear on both their faces. Perspiration dripping from their brows, like a downpour of rain. Sirus stepped forward and raised his sword. He asked Polymar to drop to her knees and there he pronounced to those assembled that Polymar was his new and trusted protector. Belvarde put forth his hand and gripped Polymar's shoulder. Her reaction was to pull away, but the force of the hand kept her in place.

'You are a fine swordswoman, Polymar. I would be proud to fight beside you on any battlefield; you have earned your place amongst us.' Belvarde's remark was said with sincerity.

Polymar fought her emotions. She brushed a hand helplessly across her exposed scalp wiping the moisture gathered there, she had fought well and now she was being shown the hand of friendship by those who were her father's friends. She smiled for the first time since Sirus had known her. She stood, turned and made her way out of the arena to the warm cries of the spectators.

Later that night the boy held the winnings in his hand and smiled, knowing Polymar was not the only woman on the journey north.

# 13

# Asserian

# 'The Dark Man Cometh'

'Choose life, choose freedom.'

Thea woke, her head dizzy and her surroundings surreal. She could tell from the opaque sky that it was not yet dawn. The sun's rays barely created a shadow of light behind the temple. With ebbed strength, she raised herself up on her elbows and gazed along the line of her body. She lay naked, her groin throbbing as if it had only been moments earlier since his touch. She lay back against the coldness of the earth beneath her, closing her eyes, the ground greeting her with its familiarity. She recalled with clarity every detail, his smell, his kiss and his body consuming hers. Oh how could something so beautiful and passionate, suddenly fill her with remorse?

The night's folly and the consequences of her actions came rushing back, like ghosts from the past. She remembered it vividly, her movements provocative: he simply stood still watching her, smiling, knowing. His silhouette outlined by the flames. Intertwined bodies of the young girls and men lay upon the grassy enclosure around them, like statues carved in stone, mindless, forgotten; no one else present but herself and the dark stranger. The closer she drew to him the more his face radiated and the more his knowing smile spread. His deep blue eyes penetrated into the depths of her soul to the point she saw and felt no one and nothing but him.

She moved within the circle of his warmth. He reached out, slipping his arms around her waist pulling her slowly, deliberately into his embrace. There had been no point when she had considered withdrawing from his touch, as his fingers gently toyed along her vertebrate, his head slowly melting into the nape of her neck. She recalled his breath as it trickled warmth onto the lobe of her ear as he salaciously nibbled her face then across and down to touch her lips with his. His touch was soft, sensual, and erotic. She could still feel the sweetness of his lips upon her now cool flesh. There had been nothing but him.

Everything, Asserian, her people, her calling and her fears had all but eradicated themselves from her thoughts. Thea allowed the barrier she had set up in her mind to dissolve. She was his. Her gown fell from her body and his nakedness meshed with hers.

The dark man knew he had her as he worked a pleasurable path with his lips, a path of eroticism down her neck, her breasts and stomach; finally she melted as his lips found the glorious mound between her legs. The long slow tantalising pleasure, which he brought to bear on her conscious mind, gave her wings to fly. Thea recalled the moment; she could have sworn she was floating above the world with no care of where she was or how she got there.

Thea shuddered with ecstasy and pleasure for the first time, yet it was long before he finished toying with her. It seemed the dark man gained a tremendous amount of satisfaction from the gasps of pleasure she voiced as he again and again licked and plunged his tongue deep inside her. When she thought she could take no more, he lifted her gently and laid her down upon the ground, the exact spot where she now lay. His hard muscled body rippled and toned against hers, his flesh smooth and hard. He raised himself atop her, gently forcing her legs to part. He plunged inside her with a look of utter delight on his face as Thea cried with the pleasure.

Now as Thea lay upon the ground, her mind suffocated with the realisation of what she had done. She knew she would do it again. She could recall everything; his face was imprinted on her mind, never to be forgotten.

She raised herself up once again as the first rays of the soft dawn light penetrated the arena. She looked around at the young girls, as if searching for the truth. They lay peaceful on the ground around her. Thea stared up into the stadium and saw the priestesses still asleep. Gingerly she pushed herself to standing and scurried for her gown, which lay nearby. She quickly dressed with blood now trickling down her inner thigh. Oh Immortals! What had she done?

Thea began to panic as she wiped the droplets away. Only then did she notice that the men and boys who had participated in the ritual were gone. The only people still remaining within the compound were the women. Her instinctive reaction was to sound the alarm bell, but before she could gather herself sufficiently to make her way to the bell in the compound, the alarm from the Isle of Crid resounded over the temple wall. Within an instant the priestesses woke. Dazed by the sudden jolt from sleep, they stumbled over one another in a flurry to escape down the stairs. The girls woke, yawning, startled and afraid. They stood and quickly gathered up their belongings, too afraid to think about the night before, or the aftermath of what they had experienced. Everyone had noticed that the men were absent.

Maniera was the first to come and stand at Thea's side. If she noticed her Queen's dishevelled look she never mentioned it.

'What is happening? The alarm has been raised!' Maniera slurred, as she tried to place together the events of the night in her mind.

Thea motioned with her hand as both she and Maniera surveyed the compound. Thea's voice was shaken, and burning with guilt as she voiced her concerns.

'The men...where are they? Maybe the carers from the island are aware of this, maybe the men returned there!'

Maniera gave her a cursory glance, but wasted no time in gathering the arms of two priestesses who had joined them. Together the three women hurried through the temple and down to the wharf to meet the barge from the isle. Thea was lost for words. She hurried the frightened girls back into the warmth of the inner temple sanctum and left them there in charge of the temple priestesses. Gathering up the folds of her gown she ran with tears streaking her face, salty and stinging, toward the fortress. She realised her night of passion could very well have destroyed the life and livelihood of the people of Ammon and maybe the world of Asserian as a whole. She had betrayed her calling.

Maniera reached the first barge, just as another vessel was landing from the isle. She could see it carried half a dozen carers, all screaming at the top of their voices, each trying to make sense of the night's events. The noise of the wharf's activities and the screeching of the gulls made it impossible for Maniera to hear their prattle. She realised though that the look on the carer's faces said a lot more than mere words could ever convey. The matriarch guessed that the men on the isle had also vanished without a trace. Where had the men gone, and who would have given them aid to escape?

Thea raced to her apartment, sinking down in despair within the folds of the blanket on her bed. Her sobbing broke the stillness of the morning air. She reached beneath the bed searching for the scroll; it was gone. She scrambled beneath the bed, pulling at the bedding. Nothing! Who would have dared enter her apartment? Hura! Quickly she ran to find her.

She burst in through the kitchen door, knocking over the cook in her hurry to locate her handmaid.

'Where is Hura?' Thea spoke like a demon possessed. Cook nodded gingerly toward the back door, looking as if she was guilty of something but Thea didn't have time to stop and question her. Thea was still dressed in her ritual gown, blood smudged like blotches of wine marring the beauty of the fabric. She headed out the door, holding her gown above her knees as she scrambled on wobbly legs toward the temple then down the path to the wharf. Her hair was tussled and knotted; her eyes red and swollen, but she didn't care. She had to find Hura; she had to locate the scroll. Maybe by reading those words once more she would find answers to her dilemma, maybe more would be revealed that would explain her part in the mystery. Maybe she had missed some vital clue.

By the time she reached the docks, the priestesses and carers had stopped their caterwauling; fiery denials of neglect of duties were fiercely claimed. No one had ever fallen asleep as watch keeper of the night. And all barges were still in the docks, so how could the men have escaped the isle?

Maniera was trying to piece together enough information to work out how the men had left the island undetected. She hesitated as she saw her Queen approach. Thea made her way to the front of the gathering, out of breath. Disregarding those assembled, she fumbled for words.

'Hura! Have you seen Hura? I must speak with her... the scroll she has the scroll. I must find the scroll, it has to hold the answers!' Thea felt the dizziness; it held her mere moments before she spiralled into the dark cavern of unconsciousness.

•

It was now late afternoon, the horizon a soft glow of colour, spirals of pink and grey flecked with red as the setting sun ebbed low. Wispy clouds sprinkled across its path. Thea opened her eyes. Maniera and several priestesses had settled Thea back in her apartment after her collapse. They had bathed and redressed her and now they sat chanting songs from the mists in the eerie quietness.

'What happened?' Thea's voice was trembling. It took but a moment for her to recollect with clarity the events that had occurred. She sobbed uncontrollably as she thought of her folly. She remembered with explicitness the lust that had consumed her. Now it would cost her everything she held dear. Amid the looks of concern and mixed emotions of those within the room she spoke.

'May the Gods forgive me for allowing this to happen.'

Maniera leaned across, wiping Thea's cheeks, trying in vain to console her.

'You alone are not to blame! We should have taken greater care to protect you.'

'You know! How could you know?' Thea stammered out the words amid the torrid of tears brimming from the wells of her eyes.

Maniera placed a loving arm around her High Priestess and nodded her head gently, to acknowledge what they all now knew to be fact.

'We know you have been violated,' Maniera paused. Who would have done such a thing?

'There is only one possible outcome from this. You will now be with child.'

Maniera and the others wanted desperately to believe that this was all a mistake.

'Thea we must know who did this to you and why he claimed you in such a deceitful manner.' Maniera knew that whoever it was had also taken the men. None of this was mere coincidence. Maniera thought of her earlier concerns regarding the omen at Thea's birth and she knew it was finally coming to pass.

Maniera nestled Thea's head against her bosom, as Thea sobbed with the realisation of what she had done. She had never considered the fact she would conceive a child, not by him! With the powers of the Craft, she could feel life growing within her womb. Was this the daughter of darkness that the parchment spoke of? Would the dark man return to claim his own? Would her land be plunged into famine and hardship all because of her wantonness?

Maniera encouraged the other priestesses to leave. Thea needed time to settle and accept the shock of her own stupidity.

Maniera waited until Thea had ceased crying. Her hands steadied the shaken Queen. She had yet to speak of the missing men.

'Thea, the men are gone.' Maniera watched Thea's face; recognition forming like a storm cloud on a summer's day with thunder at its heart. Thea moved away to stand at the open window.

'It's not just the men from the Keep. There are no men left within our world. Someone cast a powerful spell last night, a spell that parted the magic within the mists of protection; it caused our women to fall into a deep sleep. No one knows what actually happened for no one saw. I'm afraid of what will become of us without the men?'

Maniera's voice held such resignation that Thea thought her heart would stop beating from the shear impact of the words.

'How could anyone break through the mists,' asked Maniera thoughtfully. She watched Thea's face and saw that her Queen knew the answer.

By allowing the dark man to take her virginity and her virtue, she also had allowed the protective powers of the Craft to withdraw themselves from her and therefore the land, and its people. It had been her fault; she had acted through her own volition.

How could she have been so foolish and self-indulgent? She was now paying the price; she carried his child. What type of legacy had he left behind, planted within her womb? A cancerous sore, spreading until it consumed all, she wondered? What type of horror lay in wait with the birth of his offspring? She had to rid herself of this growth, this alien being within her womb. Somehow she had to keep her people safe.

As if she read Thea's mind, Maniera came to stand beside her Queen. She looked into the woman's swollen eyes, her beautiful face now streaked with the wash of tears. She placed her hands upon Thea's shoulders. Quietly, but with determination and conviction in her voice, she offered an answer.

'Thea, remember this child is half yours. It is your strength and your willpower which will overcome the evil that has penetrated your body. You cannot abort this child. You know full well that it is the only child you will ever conceive; therefore this child is our hope and Asserian's future. You have allowed one selfish act to jeopardise this world, so make sure you do not resolve to commit another.' Maniera took on the mantle of Matriarchal Priestess; it was her role.

'The child carries your heritage, and the power of the Priestess, the child will have much good in her and that one thought will have to guide your decision.'

Thea looked beyond the window at the valley below. Ammon shone in the evening's glow, the lights of the homes a beacon to her soul. No more tears would she cry! A look of resignation crossed her face as she gathered herself together. She turned. Maniera slid her hands gently away; she could see the look of a Queen and High Priestess return to Thea's countenance. This woman would do the right thing.

# 14

# Romanie

# 'The City of Orlleon'

'Friends come in many disguises, so watch, listen and learn.'

After leaving the mud washed plains behind, Sirus's army continued trekking northward. He knew the journey would be arduous. Even if good weather continued to prevail, it would be several months before they reached the pass to the Beastal Bores. Then they would have to navigate their way between the mountains. Winter, however, lay in wait; its icy claws would soon reach out to claim them with driving winds, rain and snow.

Various cities and towns lay along their path; these villages would be expected to replenish the army's stocks of salt, flour and other basic needs. Kwinend's plainsman had kept their word. Over the past weeks several camlet trains had been seen heading past with produce that would be stored in pits underground along the route; the pits easily seen thanks to the coloured flags left by the plainsmen.

Polymar made sure she kept out of sight as her people passed by – she wanted no reminders of her past. She had now exchanged her Rebion garments for the uniform of Sirus's troops. She looked dashing in grey flannel trousers with a white shirt and red vest. She still refused to grow her hair – it was her way of mourning a love lost, one she would never forget. But she no longer wore the turban.

Polymar's friendship with Belvarde had been instantaneous since their contest, and he treated her like everyone else. He slapped her on the back when she did well and would have kicked her backside had she been unruly or undisciplined. So far he had not had to punish her at all.

Tonk, however, took a little more convincing. It had taken several weeks for him to overcome his embarrassment of being beaten by a woman. Attempts by both Sirus and Polymar to convince him that his pride was merely dented rather than permanently devastated took time. Eventually Polymar won him round by promising to teach him her method of fighting. Kwon Dow was becoming popular as an evening's sporting game. Together they would be the most formidable pair in Eshtah. Tonk had been pleased with the proposal. Within a couple of weeks Polymar had taken her place amongst the army. Sirus felt very safe having her at his back and knew the next time he ran into Kwinend he would have to thank him for insisting he take the young woman along.

The days were long and Sirus made the most of every daylight hour so that they covered as much ground as possible. If his army were to cross the mountain pass before winter set in then he had to push them hard. There was a distinct possibility of being snowed in for the winter and that prospect made Sirus keep his troops going for as long as daylight permitted. They packed up at the crack of dawn, ate a cold breakfast and took their daytime meals on the run. Each man carried his rations in a sack and no one stopped until the sun went down. Tents were erected in the dark. Sirus made all his men eat well at night so they went to bed on a full belly and a mug of Kwinend's wine.

But for Sirus the journey had become one of sheer frustration; he had to admit he knew nothing of the enemy he faced and even less about how to fight such a foe. The giant serpent's remarks still echoed in his thoughts. At least if what was said were true then he would have a choice. He hoped like hell the choice would present itself, and soon!

How can you prevail against something or someone you have never encountered? No further information had surfaced with regard to the perceived evil riding the land, just rumours passed on from village to town. If they were to confront this unknown foe and survive they needed more information. His hope lay in gaining some insight from Aramean, but other than torturing the man to get answers, he could see no way of persuading him to speak – and Sirus would not agree to such a solution.

Sirus checked on Aramean every few days, but always he found the man with his head bowed, deeply entranced in a meditative pose. By day, Aramean rode either behind Renward or Jervoid, silent and reclusive. Aramean partook of neither food nor water which was offered him during the day, he only ate as the sun was setting and then only sparingly. Sometimes Sirus would sit for hours during the night in Aramean's quarters hoping the man would acknowledge his presence. But Aramean never responded to him.

Each night Sirus thought about Neon. He wondered when the horse might return. He still had no idea how to contact him. Neon had said to concentrate, but on what? If only he had the powers of Theron. If...such a small word, a word, which filled him with more frustration each day!

After leaving the Lahore Plains, the army had trekked northeast toward the city of Orlleon. The weather held with little more than moderate downpours. The pits laid out by the plainsmen were brimming with food, so they had ample supplies for this trek and the return journey – should they make it back.

Weeks in the saddle with no distractions were taking their toll, so Sirus decided to stop off at the city of Orlleon. This would allow his men some recreation and give Sirus an opportunity to hopefully gather some intelligence on the perceived enemy. The army had encountered small villages, groups of nomads, and wandering sheepherders but little else. Most of them preferred to keep their distance. Villagers remained locked away in their dwellings or ignored the army completely. Only the nomads had ventured close, mainly to ask for rations of food, hunger their driving force. Renward enquired as to whether any danger was afoot, but the nomads had given little insight except to say that many of their numbers roaming the plains had mysteriously disappeared. Usually nomads were numbered in the thousands, but Sirus had seen only small isolated groups of no more than a hundred or so; that observation certainly added fuel to the fire.

The bustling city of Orlleon lay on the banks of Lake Innes. Sirus's troops arrived mid afternoon keen to unleash their pent up energy on the inhabitants. Orlleon was a busy hub, a place where the surrounding villages and herders came to barter and trade. The wealthy merchants with opulent homes prospered and grew fat off the people; it was the way of things. Sirus had been here before, a long time ago. Not far from here a great battle had taken place. He and King Emid had fought courageously and Sirus knew these people had suffered much at the time.

The city's leaders arrived to greet Sirus and his army outside the city walls, their demeanour gracious yet reclusive. They gave permission for the army to set up camp on the periphery and issued a warning for Sirus's men to mind their behaviour. Sirus smiled at the attempted intimidation. The people within the city dressed rather demurely, robes of black velvet with scarlet sash made the leaders look ominous. The peasants, men and women alike, looked austere in their grey clothing. Sirus believed his men would be hard pressed to find any form of release in this place. But he wished them good luck with their undertaking. Before departing, the leaders invited Sirus and an entourage of his choosing to join them for a meal. They also gave permission for Sirus and his men to commandeer whatever supplies they needed. The town was at their disposal, but Sirus wasn't about to be hoodwinked by the offer.

The peasants treated Sirus's men with a moderate amount of tolerance, but made no attempt to be friendly. Polymar and several others tried to stimulate conversation in the hope of gaining some insight into the dangers ahead, but no one was willing to converse.

Sirus, Renward and Jervoid wandered into town to take the dignitaries up on their invitation. They hoped that the hierarchy might be more cooperative and discuss the enemy that lay somewhere beyond Orlleon.

After securing supplies, Belvarde, Tonk and many of the troops headed into town determined to make the most of their short stay. Disgruntled peasants and nobleman scurried from their path as they headed into the central part of town. It would prove to be a sobering experience for the men: no ale was served in Orlleon, and the chance of scoring a wench for the night looked less and less likely.

Polymar decided she would remain in camp and chat to the cook; it was time to track down the young lad. His antics had gone on long enough. If there was malice in the boy's intentions then Polymar needed to find out what it was. Sirus insisted that he would not require her talents for the night; he needed no protection from these religious pacifists.

She headed quietly through the camp, making her way to the cook's wagons beyond the main camp. Her newfound friendships and inclusion amongst the men had created a peaceful harmony in her life. For the first time Polymar realised life was not about self-preservation; it was about companionship and respect for others.

She located the cook busying himself amongst the huge pits. The pits acted as both boiler and oven. The ovens were made of iron and were placed in a hole dug deep into the ground. The hole was filled with hot coals, which slowly cooked the food. Within the ovens, breads, meat and pastries could be roasted to perfection. Polymar sat and watched the cook prepare a dozen large fowls along with roasted parsnips, potatoes and corn. It looked good; already she could imagine the mouth-watering aromas that would be generated. Polymar's mouth started to water.

Cook glanced up as he finished stuffing a large fowl. He smiled.

'Great fight! You know your stuff, Miss. I, um, never seen a female fight like that before.' His tone was gruff, but friendly.

Polymar smiled back, nodding her acknowledgment.

'Thank you cook! By the way, have you seen the young lad about this evening?' Polymar tried to sound more curious than inquiring.

'Well, he was here a while back. He sort of stays out of my road, don't even know where he came from as a matter of fact. He seems harmless enough though. The lad hasn't caused any problem, has he Miss? He is usually quiet, not a prankster. Stays mainly round back in the wagons. Go check if you like,' cook replied, as he pushed more stuffing into yet another fowl before shoving it unceremoniously into one of the ovens.

Polymar thanked him once again and reassured him that the boy was in no trouble. She headed quietly around the back in the direction he had pointed. She kept her footsteps light, because she did not wish to alert her prey, it was times like this that her father's training in tactical warfare came in handy. She crept toward the wagons. She hoped the lad was unaware of her presence.

Most of the wagons remained covered, only one or two were exposed to the night dew, so it took Polymar only moments to locate the wagon where the boy lay. He did not notice her until Polymar's hand reached over and grabbed his collar, pulling him forcibly from where he lay curled up pretending to be asleep.

He looked so young, no more than around sixteen or so, but it was difficult to tell in the dull light that permeated through from the open fires. The lad struggled against the firm grip, which held him tight like a vice. Polymar was surprised when he did not yell or call out for help.

'Struggle all you like, young man, but until you give me some answers, I'll not let go.' Polymar held him captive as he kicked, his boot barely missing her shin.

'Are you going to stand still and behave? Or do I have to tie you up?' Polymar was determined the boy would give up his secrets, either to her or to Sirus.

The lad nodded showing he understood, but he did not utter one word. Polymar pushed him down toward the ground at the back of the wagon. They were out of sight of the guards and cooks. Apart from herself and the lad there was no one within earshot to hear their conversation.

'All right, now what is your name?'

The lad remained silent.

'Do you have a tongue in that head of yours? Maybe I'll just drag you over to my Lord Sirus's tent and see if he can get you to talk.'

Since she first noticed him Polymar knew the lad had followed Sirus everywhere. She was sure now that he did not want to be seen by Sirus. She sensed the lad would rather talk to her; so she carried on with the bluff.

'Please!' It was a soft unbroken voice, very feminine. The look on Polymar's face indicated her surprise. The young man made a sudden movement as if to dart under the wagon to escape. Polymar's reaction was quicker. She lunged forward, grabbing the boy as he tried to dart sideways out of her reach. She scarcely managed to catch hold of him. With lightning speed she grasped the hat he had pulled down low over his head; it obscured most of his face. As Polymar seized hold of the cap she also caught a handful of the boy's hair. He screamed.

Polymar once again reacted swiftly. She pulled the lad under the wagon, covering both of them with a canvas cover stored there out of the way. Polymar did not know if her response was due to battle training or instinct. But something about the boy and his untoward behaviour made her decide she wanted to hear his answers before anyone else.

The scream brought a cook and a couple of guards running toward the wagons. Polymar had her hand tightly about the lad's mouth, as she held him firmly against her belly. She could barely make out the conversation between the guards as they searched the wagons. She heard one guard as he gave up his quest and returned to his duties.

'Must have been some villager letting off a wail. Ain't anyone around out back here. Besides I'm hungry. Let's go.'

It was several minutes later when Polymar emerged from under the cover, one hand still firmly around the boy's mouth and the other holding him tight. When she decided it was safe, she dragged the dishevelled lad from beneath the wagon and slipped unseen behind the camp, hauling him back to her tent.

Because Polymar was the only female, Sirus had given her a tent of her own. She had insisted it was not necessary, but the men had insisted she be kept separate, even though they considered her one of them. It was times such as this that she was grateful for the privileges offered because of her gender.

She pushed the lad inside and tethered him securely to a chair. Then she turned up the lamp hanging near the entry door before turning to stare at the boy.

'Oh!' she let out an audible gasp.

Now she understood. She laughed aloud. She should have worked this out long ago.

The lad was no boy. In front of her sat a young woman, her hair in disarray, her face covered in dirt, yet her features plainly female. This young woman could not hide her beauty; it was clear in every angle of her face. Polymar could only stand and stare. Eventually it was the young woman who spoke first.

'Please, I beg of you, do not tell Sirus. He will send me back and for reasons I cannot explain, I must remain here.'

The young girl briefly paused, a frightened look distorting her perfect features.

'If you tell him, he will never allow me to stay, he will make me go back, back to Emid's court and I have no wish to go back... not yet.'

She looked pleadingly into Polymar's eyes and knew instinctively she had no reason to fear.

Polymar stood rigid, silent. She saw something in the young woman's face that was strangely familiar. Polymar saw a future in those eyes. She had never seen anything so beautiful and she felt her heart give way. She would never disclose what she had discovered this night.

'What is your name? That much I need to know,' Polymar asked in a quiet, constrained voice, as she fought the knowledge of what the boy truly was. Why had she not picked up on it before? It was so obvious.

'Please untie me and I will explain. I promise I will not run away. I give my word,' the young woman replied.

Polymar untied the girl's hands. As she did so, she could not help but admire the porcelain skin beneath the cuff of the girl's shirt, or her physical features under the baggy hang of her garments.

'My name is I'Eda. I was Sirus's lover at the king's court.'

For the first time Polymar envied Sirus.

'If Sirus knew I was stowed away he would send me back,' the young woman continued. 'It would take more hours than either of us have for me to explain why I can't go back to Eshtah. And honestly Sirus does not need to know I am here Polymar; it can be our secret. If you keep me concealed, I will reward you for your loyalty.'

Polymar was not interested in rewards; the truth was all she sought. I'Eda spoke the truth; Polymar was a good judge of character. But she had a dilemma.

'What about my loyalty to Sirus? Tell me I'Eda: is your love for him so great that you risk your life to stay near him? Or do I detect something more sinister in your motives? Would you risk losing him through your deception and selfishness?' Polymar was speaking from her own memories of a love she had lost.

'There is much I cannot explain, Polymar. You will have to decide if you trust me enough to believe me. I will reveal all to you in time, I promise.' I'Eda's voice was filled with genuine emotion. She paused, walked forward and took Polymar's hand in hers.

'Polymar, I need your friendship and your strength. You have been watching me, and I have also been observing you. We are two of a kind. Before this journey is over I will call upon the qualities you have displayed. If you believe in me then we will become true friends.' I'Eda spoke in whispers.

Polymar knew that the decision she made this night would have repercussions, but in ways too numerous to understand. But the promise of what lay ahead gave her a renewed purpose in life.

Polymar and I'Eda talked at length, planning how they could achieve their ends without arousing suspicion. They decided it would be best if I'Eda stayed close to Polymar. Later that night she headed off to tell the cook that she had found the lad and had taken pity on him, because he was so young and vulnerable and that it would be best if she kept the lad near her and out of harm's way. She could teach him the finer points of weaponry and how to fight, so he could protect himself. She would let Sirus know eventually. Cook shrugged his shoulders; he really didn't care and had disliked stepping over the lad when he got in the road anyway.

Polymar acquired clean clothes for I'Eda then organised a bath to be brought to her tent. The bath was yet another privilege she managed to bargain out of the men. Sometimes being a woman really did have its benefits. I'Eda couldn't wait to dispose of the rags she had been wearing since she left Eshtah. She hadn't wished to take the risk of someone spotting her as she changed clothes, so she had stayed dressed in her filthy rags. Her face was covered in sweat and dirt. What would the ladies of the court think of her now? She really didn't care.

Polymar watched I'Eda undress. Even with the dirt caked on from weeks of endless travel, the girl's body looked delicate, pale and unmarred. The dim light of lamp shadowed her figure against the backdrop of the tent. I'Eda slipped into the warm water then persuaded Polymar to wash her back.

'I'll do the same for you, I promise,' I'Eda remarked as she leaned forward, closed her eyes, and indulged in the luxury. Polymar had never seen skin so white and flawless; I'Eda's body was toned and shapely. After bathing the cares of the journey away, I'Eda lifted herself out. Polymar handed her a soft cloth.

'Your body is beautiful!'

Polymar felt embarrassed at her own revelation, yet she thought she saw a certain look come over the young woman's face as she spoke. She knew if this relationship was to work she had to be honest from the start.

'There is something about me you should know, I'Eda.'

I'Eda walked toward Polymar and gently placed her hand on Polymar's face.

'That you are a homophile! Polymar there is no shame in being what you are. Love is acceptable, no matter what form it takes. Love as you wish!'

Polymar suddenly realised she had a friend, and it was a relationship she hoped would gain strength through the passage of time.

Sirus arrived at his tent well after midnight, his spirits distraught by the news received earlier in the night. The town leaders had escorted Sirus and his men to their meetinghouse that lay at the northern end of the town. The layout of Orlleon was built beside Lake Innes, so it took some manoeuvring to skirt through the many markets and streets, which twisted throughout the city.

The meetinghouse itself was impressive, with carved ornate ceilings. Paintings of their deities hung about the internal walls. Subdued colours of washed grey covered the walls. The building was simply constructed: it was rectangular in shape and stood one storey high. Once inside though Sirus could see there was a staircase that wound down into chambers underground. In one of the chambers dinner was served.

To call it a meal was understated; for the table was set with the finest silver Sirus had ever seen. Fare fit for a king graced them as they sat down to eat. Large roasted pigs, dressed to perfection, as well as roast duck and chicken. Elaborate side dishes of vegetables and desserts were laid before them, making it difficult for Sirus and his men to keep up with the stream of delicacies. As the meal drew to a close, superb wine was served to Sirus and his guests. The city leaders abstained.

With the meal cleared, the men relieved themselves. Sirus found it pleasant to have facilities with private bathrooms. It made a pleasant difference to the day-to-day hardships of squatting or, as most men did, urinating over the side as they rode in the saddle. With formalities complete, the leaders joined Sirus and his men once more. It was then that Sirus sought news from the north. The faces of the men changed dramatically when asked. They had been impassive, their features blank and reserved. Now they appeared visibly afraid. Their body language became agitated and faces blanched white as they looked at one another.

Manatan, snowy haired, fine wrinkles crinkling his eyes and brow spoke first. The hesitation in his voice was a clear sign that the disclosure was not good. His words slipped from his tongue like ice: cold, brittle and tinged with arctic fear. Sirus heard that many villages lay barren of life, wiped clean like a teacher's slate. Much of the population now feared for their lives and were preparing to head south, for refuge in Eshtah. Madness reigned in the minds of many, fear born of the unknown. One or two inhuman creatures had been found, lifeless, their bodies twisted and misshapen. Some had bloated entrails protruding through their skin or eyes bulging from their sockets. Now everyone who lived beyond the walls of the city lived in fear of their lives. It was apparent something evil stalked this land.

As Manatan finished his dialogue his head slumped. His companions gathered about giving support. Brodie, another of the Elders, spoke with a firm and capable voice.

'We all live in fear of our lives. Whatever is causing these obscenities is moving slowly south; it affects us all.'

Sirus desperately wanted to believe that this was just coincidence, that none of it was associated with his past life, or with the strange sense of unrest now pressing down on him like a clamp.

Manatan stood up, his hands visibly shaking. He spoke in a voice clearly showing signs of terror.

'We sent a party of our most trusted legionaries out to investigate.' He hesitated, seeking support from those around him. Brodie finished the exchange.

'Only one of our men returned! His tongue had literally been wrenched from his mouth. He went mad. He killed himself. No one has been game to go beyond our borders since.'

Manatan looked at Sirus for reassurance.

'When we heard that you were coming this way, my Lord, we hoped it was to trek north to put a stop to this. Surely you and your army can prevent this travesty from reaching us?'

All Sirus could do was allay their fears, no guarantees could be given.

'As you say we are tracking north. We will find out the truth. So help me if what you say is true, then we will pursue who – or whatever is responsible,' Sirus tried to sound convincing, even though he felt despair consume his being.

Sirus arrived back at his lodgings late. The moon slid behind dark clouds, as if to hide its face from the gloom overshadowing the world of Romanie. He tried in vain to sleep. More and more this nightmare, that had become part of his life, pointed to the legacy of his previous life as an Immortal.

In a tent not far away, Polymar watched as I'Eda slept. The sleeping woman's nightmare was just as real as Sirus's.

# 15

# Asserian

# 'The Eagle's Call'

'Before the dawn breaks move fast sweet lady and accept thy destiny.'

The night passed slowly, Maniera remained close to Thea. It was obvious to everyone that Thea was now resigned to the fact she was carrying a child fathered by the evil perpetrator. Maniera sat watching, silent. The two women had discussed at length the birth of the child and the consequences, not only for Thea, but also for the entire world of Asserian. Maniera knew Thea had made the only choice when it came to this pregnancy – the child had to survive.

The Matriarchal Priestess would ensure that those under her control remained on alert until Thea's baby was born and then the child would be secreted away to a safe haven. Maniera understood the implications; it was no surprise to her to learn of the nature of the man aboard the galleon. The stars bore tribute to his coming, but she would do all within her power to keep the dark man from seeking knowledge of the child once it was born. Under no circumstance must he be allowed to interfere with its upbringing and training.

Thea woke long after the sun had risen. Maniera had made sure that no one disturbed her; she needed this time. She remained close while Thea bathed.

Thea stepped from her bath. Sleep had wrought its rewards and now this solitude allowed her to think quietly, although she was grateful for Maniera's presence. She appreciated the patience and love she was shown throughout the ordeal – something she had not anticipated. She now glanced heartbroken at the elderly woman and could see the concern etched into her face as she sat soulfully on the bed, her thoughts reflected in the contours of her gentle face.

'What do you think happened to Hura?'

Thea moved with dignity to where Maniera sat. She stood patiently, regarding the Matriarchal Priestess and waited for a reply.

'I have no idea! There seems to be no trace of her, anywhere. I have sent search parties to look for both Hura and the men, so far there is no word,' Maniera's concern was reflected in her tone of voice.

The Matriarch looked steadily at her Queen. 'Thea, I need to know exactly what happened. You know more than anyone, what took place that night. Perhaps if you confided in me I could help ease your burden. I can only imagine how guilty you must be feeling over this tragedy. Please, I am here to help.'

Thea had told no one about the events during the weeks that led up to the appearance of the dark man at the ritual. Hura knew a few details, but certainly not the whole truth. Maybe Hura had found out too much and that was why she had mysteriously disappeared.

'I know your faith in me has been shaken, Maniera. And you're right; I do need to confide in someone.' Thea sat down at the windowsill, looking longingly over the now subdued city of Ammon as she began to relay her tale.

Thea left nothing out. She conveyed her feelings and experiences to Maniera, and felt some relief at purging her soul of the guilt. She did not, however, divulge the information she gleaned from the scroll. Somehow she knew that was meant solely for her.

However she found it difficult to explain her doubts about herself. How do you explain to someone that your whole being feels altered? It wasn't the mere fact she was with child. It went far deeper than that. Maniera simply listened, accepting Thea's version of events. Thea went on to explain her despair and conviction that all these occurrences were linked; they were not simply coincidental. When Thea finished her tale, she slumped back against the windowsill, emotionally drained.

Maniera knew far more than she would divulge. The signs had been there at Thea's birth, and the journey she now embarked upon would lead her to her destiny, but what that destiny was only the Gods knew.

She studied Thea closely. She had known this woman since her birth. She had seen her grow from a child into a beautiful, level-headed woman, capable of leading her people through any adversity. Somehow she knew this would be no different. She gave the only answer she could.

'Many of us, including Hura, have suspected for some time that something was wrong! One thing that I have sensed for some weeks now is that your powers have grown far beyond those of the High Priestess,' Maniera paused, looking beyond Thea. For a brief moment she allowed her own concerns to melt into the simple beauty of the majestic mountains beyond Ammon.

Maniera's mind thought back to the night of the ritual. She recalled the strong aura of power that pervaded the temple. It had been thick and heavy in the air; more fervent than anything she had ever known or felt before. She had seen the heavens open up above the temple, and had seen the magic of the Craft intensify as Thea recited her oath to the Gods. The Gods were there in some form that night, that much Maniera was certain.

'I do not doubt what you have told me, Thea. I think much has changed; I felt your power the other night and I saw it. Thea, I fear for all of us, especially you and your child. If the Gods are directly involved, and I suspect somehow they are, then we should all fear.'

Maniera moved closer to Thea, who was shaking. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Thea didn't attempt to pull away as she spoke.

'I need a strategy. I know for a fact that there is nowhere on Asserian for me to hide. Wherever I go, he will pursue me and my child. Yet I fear if I leave, he may destroy my people,' Thea paused. The writing on the scroll was foremost in her mind now.

'Already I can feel his presence out there, waiting. I don't understand why he is doing this. I could have loved him for all eternity!'

Maniera shuddered at that revelation.

'When he held me in his arms, I know he felt the same. It was love, Maniera! Two hearts could not feel so much passion without love being present!'

Thea turned. Maniera could see tears welling up in her Queen's eyes. Thea drew in a breath. She would not break, not now.

•

A search party from Ammon had gone out the morning after the ritual. They returned many days later, weary, hungry and without any news. They found no sign of the men or of Hura. It was as if the ground had opened up and swallowed them whole. Banetta, leader of the group, was Ammon's Mistress of Arms. Upon her return, she headed for the fortress. Her athletic figure was arrayed in leather trousers, dust embedded grey shirt and grey leather boots; her jet-black hair pulled back in a severe bun at the nape of her neck. She had not slept for three days, but her first priority was to give the unwelcome news to her Queen.

Banetta reached the fortress just before sunset and found Maniera and Thea in the library. The two women had several books spread out upon the floor. As Banetta knocked heavily upon the door, the women present in the room looked up. Banetta noticed both women looked as though they had had little sleep, and the news she bore would not give them respite.

Thea and Maniera beckoned Banetta forward to a large table at the centre of the room. It was a striking mahogany table with large solid legs. It was so highly polished that Banetta could see her tired reflection all too clearly in the shiny surface. Maniera spread a map before them.

'What news do you have?' Maniera's voice tried to sound hopeful.

Banetta hung her head. She looked fatigued as she pointed at a section on the map, her fingers tapping the parchment.

'We found nothing! We searched from the borders of Ammon. We searched east to the Breaker Mountains and west past the Valley of the Gods then circled around and headed north. Every village and town we encountered told the same story. All males, including the babies, have gone. I'm sorry my Queen, I failed you.'

Banetta's voice carried the sound of her lassitude. Thea pulled up a chair and insisted the woman sit.

'You have not failed Banetta. But your news is not good. I had hoped for some sign. Surely someone saw or heard something? I guess the dark man cast his spell afar. Every male on Asserian will most likely have been abducted. I wonder where they are. Surely he could not fit that many on board his ship?' Thea whispered the last words; only Maniera understood her intent.

Thea suddenly had an idea. She motioned toward Banetta, an indication for both women to follow her. It was a ludicrous notion, but it was worth a try and it would require both women's help. The thought had crossed her mind when Cook had feigned no knowledge of Hura's disappearance, but at the time she had said nothing. Now though, with this news, it was time to take further action.

The three women moved with purpose down the long hallway toward the kitchen. Thea suddenly stopped and whispered instructions in Banetta's ear before giving Maniera a nod. Entering the kitchen, Thea issued instructions for Cook to bring food and wine to the large table before the wood-fired oven. The warmth of the oven was a welcome relief from the chill of the library.

Cook had been quiet since Hura's departure – not her usual outspoken self. In fact, she had been abnormally reserved. Usually one for fiery outbursts, Cook was known for her profanities when people did not do her bidding in her kitchen. But since Hura's strange exodus, those outbursts had lessened. As Cook placed freshly baked bread, a pot of berry jam and butter on the table, Maniera gripped the woman's arm unexpectedly. Food splattered across the floor, most on the stones at Cook's feet. Her face turned ash grey. Tendrils of fine hair clung to the droplets of perspiration on the large woman's cheeks. It was judgment time.

'Cook, you were in the kitchen on the night of the ritual preparing the Feast of the Virgins. Hura was supposed to be helping you.'

Cook's face turned even more ashen. She became agitated and tried in vain to struggle against Maniera's firm hold. The robust Cook eventually managed to pull herself free and backed away. But before she could manage more than three steps, Banetta caught her by the neck and held the portly woman in a shoulder brace; she could not move. Maniera stood firm.

Banetta tightened her grip, which sent Cook into a spasm. Thea stood motionless. She did not like to see suffering, but if Cook knew anything then they must be told. Banetta's hold tightened even more and Thea began to fear that Cook might die before they got an answer.

Banetta knew how to extract answers from uncooperative people. She had been trained to protect and serve; it was her sole purpose. Both Maniera and Thea could not inflict pain, or bring duress upon another, it was part of their priestess code, but it did not stop them instructing others to apply pressure.

Thea's face grimaced as Banetta moved her arm from around Cook's neck and applied further force, pulling back on the woman's shoulder, leveraging it just a little from its socket. The woman screamed. As the pain became unbearable, Cook agreed to cooperate.

'I'll tell you what I know, but it won't help ya,' she spat out the words. Spittle landed on the table in front of Maniera; her face showing the contempt she held for Cook at this precise moment in time.

Manacles of fear were firmly clamped around Cook's heart; she was afraid. How could she confront her Queen with an accusation, and the revelation?

Banetta pulled a little harder, as she sensed Cook's hesitation. With the added pain, Cook begrudgingly decided to speak her mind. She was now looking directly at Thea.

'Hura was afraid. She thought you had fallen under the dark magician's spell. She feared you were no longer responsible for your actions. Hura firmly believed something dreadful was about to happen to us all. She told me you had found something in the temple, something that would prove her suspicions correct. She knew you hid it under your bed, so we sneaked up to your apartment. Hura found the scroll exactly where you hid it.'

Thea's expression turned to guilt.

Maniera looked toward Thea, why had her Queen kept that fact a secret.

'Hura couldn't read the strange writing.' Cook hesitated as she caught her breath. Banetta thought she was stalling and tugged harder on the woman's shoulder. Cook resigned herself to finishing her tale.

'The parchment was written in a strange tongue. Hura wouldn't let me even see it. Said I was not worthy. Fancy that, me not worthy! Shame! But now I'm glad I didn't see! Hura left with the scroll and ran toward the temple. She said her friend Buta would be able to decipher it. Then—' Cook's face went sullen and she struggled with her breathing. Fear had overtaken her whole being.

Thea glanced quickly at Maniera. From the reaction, Cook knew what had caused Hura's disappearance.

Thea told Banetta to release her hold on Cook's shoulder. She could see Cook was resigned to providing the frightening details.

Cook took a deep breath in preparation for the news she had. 'A bird flew down, a giant bird. It took her! It scooped her up in its huge claws and carried her away. I was so afraid I called on the Gods! I couldn't do anything to help her. The last I saw of Hura was when the bird flew off towards the mountains. Hura was screaming; I'll never forget the sound.' Cook's face had grown pale, her body physically shaken by the telling of her ordeal. Tears threatened.

Thea and Maniera exchanged glances. Even Cook could not invent anything this far fetched.

'That explains a lot; or does it?' Thea replied with exasperation. She wondered how this piece of the puzzle fitted in with the jigsaw of recent events. 'What kind of bird is large enough to carry off a full-grown woman? Hura is slight, but even her small frame would be too heavy for a bird to pick up and carry away.' Thea was bewildered; nothing had prepared her for this latest revelation.

Maniera and Banetta stood next to Cook looking completely incredulous. Both women wanted to believe Cook's incredible tale. Banetta loosened her grip a little more on Cook, as she balanced up this concluding remark.

'What would a bird that size be doing on Asserian?'

What if he sent it? Thea's mind was ablaze with possibilities.

'Only something conjured up by the Gods could be that enormous,' Maniera remarked. She was sure now that the Gods were somehow responsible. Cook's mention of the bird simply added further weight to that theory.

Banetta was still holding Cook firm, as she rendered her thoughts. 'I guess an eagle could carry a human, if it were large enough!'

Suddenly the words from the scroll leaped into Thea's thoughts. 'Follow the cry of the eagle at night.' Her heart began to pound loudly in her chest, racing like a chariot fleeing from an enemy. Hura's abduction was no mere coincidence; it was the piece of the puzzle she was waiting for.

Thea nodded for Banetta to let Cook go. She pushed Cook away, the woman stormed off rubbing her shoulder threatening never to return. But Cook's temper tantrums and threats were the least of Thea's concerns. Thea decided she would let this information lie low; she would keep her thoughts to herself. If the Gods were indeed responsible then Hura could be anywhere and with her the scroll – the one key Thea had to the identity of the dark man.

Banetta returned to her lodgings to rest, while Thea and Maniera headed back to the library. Earlier they had been searching for any historical data, which might help them know of the origins of the dark man. The original scrolls regarding the origins of The Keep were kept in the temple vault and Thea had already examined them thoroughly. Now Thea hoped that her own library would hold other treasures, treasures that would shed some enlightenment about her ancestry, and why the Gods would interfere in the peace and tranquillity of life on her world. She hoped it would give a clue as to why the dark man had come, and why the men had suddenly disappeared.

'Why did you not mention the discovery of a scroll?' stated Maniera, it was a simple question.

'It didn't seem important at the time.' Thea lied.

Maniera would press her Queen no further, time later to discover the scrolls implications.

The two women spent the next few hours scouring the rows of books, but they found no mention or hint of anyone remotely like the dark man. Midnight passed and the two women were tiring; they were about to give up their search when Thea discovered an old parchment secreted away in the darkness of a high shelf. It was covered in layers of dust and its edges were tattered and aged. Thea quietly unwound the paper so as not to alert Maniera, and as she did so some elegantly written words revealed themselves to her. The script was faded with time; it reminded her of things past.

Thea read slowly to herself. She resolved that if there were any reference to the dark man in this bleached and worn parchment then she would not share what she learned with Maniera. She was increasingly aware that this was a burden she had to carry alone.

As she scanned the page, the words inexplicably glazed over and the surface of the paper became transparent; it was as if the page had opened up into another world – a world Thea knew and recognised. It was the world of Asserian at a time long since past.

She became transfixed on the manifestation before her. A beautiful woman, with eyes the colour of melted honey, was seated in the temple, her face awash with sadness. Thea was unsure whether Maniera also witnessed the scene playing out before her, but she could not drag her eyes away to see. The woman in the scene toyed with her long dark hair, which hung loose over her shoulders, thick and luxurious. Thea knew the woman; she had seen her before, but where? The woman stood up and walked toward a staircase in the inner sanctum of a temple; it was the same staircase Thea herself had descended only a week or so before. Near the base of the stairs was a man, dark and handsome. He shared similar features with the dark man, and yet he appeared subtly different. He drew the woman into his embrace and together they began ascending the stairs. When they reached the top, they instinctively joined together in a lovers' embrace. With envy, Thea observed the look of pure love written on their faces. The couple then turned in unison to look directly at Thea. They smiled and proclaimed, 'You hold the key to his fate, set him free Thea.'

At that point, Thea's vision dimmed and her eyes refocused to find the apparition gone. In its place were, once again, the faded words on the dusty parchment.

'Thea, are you all right?' Maniera was opposite her now, watching with concern and impatience. She noticed the parchment Thea held. But she waited for Thea to finish. 'Well, what does it say? Does it shed any light on our quandary?'

Thea looked down at the paper again. The words were emphatic: 'You hold the key to his fate, set him free.' She began shaking.

'It says nothing of importance. Nothing that will help us.' Thea turned and placed the parchment carefully back on the library shelf, ensuring that it was secure and well out of sight. She knew no one but herself would ever witness the things she had just seen.

Maniera knew the scroll revealed far more than Thea was prepared to reveal; she could see the effect it was having. Thea's countenance had altered – her face had paled and there were new-formed shadows beneath her eyes.

Firstly the scroll Hura had vanished with, and now the old parchment hidden, conveniently laying in wait for Thea to find. Maniera knew this was no coincidence.

'It's late Maniera; dawn is nearly upon us. We should get a little rest before the sun rises. I sense that tomorrow may bring another set of problems, but I'm hoping it may also reveal some answers!' Thea's voice sounded strained.

The two women walked silently along the corridor towards the stairwell to Thea's apartment. The corridor led them through a gallery of portraits of Thea's ancestors, past Queens of Asserian. Thea had observed them many times, but it had been years since she had taken notice of the faces inside the hand-carved frames. They had held little interest for her. But tonight as she passed beneath their watchful eyes, one particular portrait captured her attention; it was the face of Antamea, who had lived thousands of years before. It was the woman in the vision!

What could Antamea possibly have to do with all of this?

Maniera looked perplexed, as Thea stopped to scrutinise the face of her forebear. The Matriarch wished she could offer more help, but knew this was a journey only Thea could take; the stars predicted it from her birth.

Both women finally made their way up the stairs; each step demanding more than their legs had to give. Thea left Maniera at the guest room adjacent to her apartment and bid her a fond goodnight. Each woman was consumed by their own thoughts as they hugged and parted.

In her apartment Thea could not sleep, her mind now dismayed by the unexpected vision and more so by the words spoken directly to her by Antamea and the man who appeared to be her lover. Why would a descendant of hers wish to help the dark man? Why was it so important to set him free? Would the dark man haunt her forever?

The night had turned slightly chilly, but Thea decided she needed fresh air. She pulled at the shutters of her window pushing them back to expose the view. She closed her eyes momentarily to breathe in the perfume. The scent of roses carried on the night air, serene and pungent. At that precise moment she heard the cry; it was distinct. She saw a large bird silhouetted in the moonlit sky; its enormous wings spread wide, gliding, searching. It gave another pleading cry. Thea's mind raced. Her memory flashed to the reference from the scroll once again, and then to the words written on the parchment she had located earlier in the evening.

'Follow the cry of the eagle at night'.

She could hear the pleading of Antamea and her soulful companion.

'You hold the key to his fate, set him free Thea'.

She knew the two verses were connected, like links of a chain.

A large bird had carried Hura and secreted her away. A coincidence? Thea didn't think so. Quickly gathering up a heavy shawl, Thea slipped out of her apartment, past the now sleeping Maniera, down the stairway and out into the crisp night air.

# 16

# Romanie

# 'The Return of Old Friends'

'Learn to trust, for in trust lies the ability to overcome all obstacles.'

Neon was alone. Talon and Craven had already left the Tibrion Mountains after receiving their edification; their obligations clear. Now all three were working toward the same goals. Neon did not, however, know exactly what his two friends had been asked to do. At their departure they had only given him a mere inkling of the details.

Neon knew he would meet up with Talon and Craven again, and that their next meeting might not be as pleasant as this one. He realised that all three would have to sacrifice a great deal before they met again. Neon hadn't conversed with the Great One as yet, so he had no idea what would be asked of him. He had, however, committed himself to finding out what had happened to Theron's powers. He also sensed somehow that the events looming in front of them were intangibly connected, like the threads of a spider's web around its victim. The ramifications, he knew, would be just as deadly.

As he said goodbye to his friends neither of them had been excited about the prospects ahead. Neon knew Talon well; his friend was the eternal optimist and would never question his role. Neon acknowledged the giant bird would be willing to sacrifice his life for the Goddess. He had wished his large feathered friend a speedy and safe journey. He would miss Talon.

Neon smiled as he thought of Craven. The bird had baulked at the idea of returning to the ocean. Obviously sea life did not agree with him. The raven had hoped his seafaring days were over – apparently he did not like the thought of returning to the dark, mysterious ship. Craven had mentioned that the ship was as dangerous as its master. Neon himself had felt a darkness descend over him at the mention of the name Dragon Wing.

Neon had a fair idea about what his assignment would involve. Deep within, he knew it would require a lot more courage, dedication and willpower than he thought he possessed. It would also mean a dramatic change to his life. He would have to acquire and master more skills of the Craft. He asked himself whether he was prepared for that responsibility. He honestly could not answer the question. Only time would tell. Resigned, Neon headed toward the Great One's cavern; it was time to find out how he would be involved in the drama unfolding before them

•

With his meeting over, and his destiny sealed, Neon journeyed back toward the surface of the worlds. He was filled with a heavy feeling of despondency. The Great One had offered no way out. Neon's path was set and there was no turning back, his task far more difficult and treacherous than he realised.

The powerful horse stood once again on the surface of Romanie. Until now, Neon hadn't realised how long he had been locked away in the underground labyrinth. The Tibrion Mountains stood before him, covered in the first show of fine powdery snow and the winds that had previously blown a warm balmy breeze from the Woaman Plains had now turned to an icy southerly blast. Neon shivered. His first task was to locate Theron.

He hoped Sirus had not needed him during his absence! He knew the man no longer had the power to retrieve him. Neon concentrated. His abilities and power with the Craft were now greatly enhanced. The Great One had taught Neon well, so now the horse needed no assistance from anyone including Theron. He would no longer call Theron 'Master', for now they were equals.

What had become of Sirus in the time he had been absent? Neon knew he had last seen the mortal Sirus in late spring, when fresh new shoots of grass were plentiful. It had been a time when the streams were gushing over from the last of the melting snows of the previous winter. Romanie had been abundant with new life then. Neon gazed around at the stark landscape that confronted him now. The scene was swept clean by driving winds. He realised he needed to get to Sirus quickly.

Neon scried Romanie, he could feel Sirus's mind reaching out, questioning his whereabouts. Neon knew Sirus would be unaware of the link now created between them as their minds met. The power of the mind mingled with the powers held by the Craft was something Theron had taken for granted. But Neon knew Sirus would have no idea of the immense power his mind possessed or how to unleash the powers to call him back. But Neon did.

Neon lifted his head, spreading his wings and took flight toward the distant plains, which swept northward. He headed straight for the foothills of the Beastal Bores.

•

Sirus had been restless for many weeks. The first chilly winds of winter were making their presence felt and time was running out if he was to make it beyond the foothills before the onslaught of heavy snow and sleet. The journey had been painstakingly slow, almost every village and town they had encountered since leaving Orlleon had been deserted. No life existed, not even the presence of field mice. That had been well over a month ago.

Sirus and his men had gone to search the villages they came across. They explored every backyard and dust-ridden alleyway within the small hamlets, yet found nothing. There was no sign of a struggle even to indicate the nature of the enemy they now faced. No weapons lay scattered and there were no signs of struggle. Dishes were still in basins, awaiting the hands of someone to wash them clean. Cloths still hung out to dry and food remained on tables, stale and rotting. Nothing was out of place, except life itself. Sirus could think of no explanation or a cause for this disappearance of life.

Sirus feared that their enemy was one he could not fathom out. None of this was easily explainable. His men were becoming increasingly afraid as they travelled further north. An enemy you could not outmanoeuvre was an enemy you could not defeat. As Theron he might have known the answer. But tying to explain to his men that he was an Immortal, and that this whole travesty related to his past was not an option. Sirus just had to persevere.

His thoughts returned to Neon. It had been so long since Sirus had dismissed him, and he was not sure how he was to regain his unusual friend's company once more. Sirus couldn't recall how he was to inform Neon of his location, let alone the anxieties that now plagued his every moment. He thought Neon would have no idea where to find him; the animal didn't even know which direction Sirus travelled. Even a horse as clever as Neon would find the task daunting. Suddenly he remembered Neon's departing words: 'I will find you when the time comes!' Sirus knew he would have to trust in the horse and hope his friend would somehow find him in this desolate landscape.

The army set up camp north of the town of Camareo. Sirus, along with a party of men, including Polymar, headed into town. Even before they approached the main entrance leading to the centre of the township they could see that no life stirred within the confines of the settlement. Silence greeted them, an eeriness that instilled fear. Sirus issued orders to fan out. Each man was aware of the danger; it hung like the smell of rotting corpses in the air around them. Open shutters swung free, toys were left scattered in doorways where children had obviously been at play. The taverns, inns, and homes of the inhabitants were a stark reminder that life had once prospered here.

Polymar scouted the southern end of town with Tonk. Here stood the workshops of the smithies, saddle makers, and woodcrafters. The shops were now void of life. Their doorways left open, and tools lay forgotten on the ground, dropped by the hands of those whose livelihoods had depended on them. Dust swirled at Polymar's feet, a reminder that the elements still remained untouched; only life itself had been affected. A wave of nausea billowed within the pit of her stomach. This place had known some form of hideous intent; the presence of it reeked in every grain of wood and every nail impaled.

Tonk dismounted, he thought he heard noise; it came from the smithy's ramshackle dwelling. He intimated that he needed no help, so Polymar remained on her horse, watching as Tonk flung back a creaking door with hinges edged in rust. A scuffle broke out inside the shack, a deadly sound, whimpering and wailing escaped to deafen Polymar's eardrums. She dismounted quickly, running to aid Tonk. As she entered, her eyes were momentarily blinded by the darkness of the room. The windows were covered over with hide, making the smell within more acutely putrid.

'Tonk, where are you? Tonk!' A blubbering sound, faint yet distinct could be heard from the darkness within. Polymar scrambled over old metal lying about the floor. She kicked her shin on something low and solid; it was an anvil.

'Ouch! That hurt!' Rubbing her shin, she made her way toward the pitiful sound as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness. She could barely make out the figure of Tonk. He was lying in the corner quivering like a baby, his large body frozen with fear.

'Tonk are you all right? What happened?' Polymar looked about her. She could see little in the cavern of blackness. She carried a flint with her, which she struck repeatedly until it caught light; she grabbed a hand full of rags next to Tonk creating a torch. The room exploded into view. The sight before her made her gag. There secreted in the opposite corner were the mangled decaying bodies of several villagers, women and children, grotesque shapes bound together like bundles of straw. Next to Tonk lay the remains of a child. Polymar dragged Tonk to his feet and hauled him toward the light outside. She threw her makeshift torch back inside the building. She watched as the old building, with its dry and rotting timbers blossomed into an inferno. Polymar was glad of the fact that at last those inside could be put to rest. She hoped the Gods would welcome them.

Drawn by the smoke from the fire, Sirus and the others arrived several minutes later.

'What happened?' Sirus saw Tonk seated upon the ground his features clearly distraught.

'Tonk stumbled upon the bodies of women and children in there,' Polymar pointed toward the building, its timbers now well alight. 'They had obviously been mutilated before being killed. The sight was grizzly, the smell worse. Tonk thought he heard something, he went to investigate.'

Tonk looked up with a tormented look upon his face. 'They weren't all dead one was still breathing. A child, I had to kill him. He was barely alive. The boy was mad. He would never have lived; it was best to put him out of his misery. I've never killed a child before.'

Tonk wept openly. Sirus and the others felt for the man.

Sirus and Polymar manoeuvred a shaken Tonk back towards camp. Sirus left the others to retrieve food, blankets and other supplies before the town itself burned to the ground. Whatever had taken place here was best destroyed. If there were survivors, Sirus believed they would never return.

Upon their return to camp Belvarde and Polymar settled Tonk into his lodgings. He shared a tent with several others. Polymar wasted no time in giving him a draft of valerian that would help settle him and assure adequate rest, even though Polymar knew the man's dreams would be interrupted by his disturbing ordeal. She said a brief goodnight and headed to her own lodgings.

•

The Rebion, as promised, had stocked pits with food for their journey northward. The pits dug into the ground were reinforced with wooden slats before being loaded with the much-needed supplies. The openings were then closed with additional planks to guard against prowling animals. Several camlet trains had been sighted as they moved against the distant skyline; it had seemed the plainsman had purposefully avoided the army by skirting around and then moving on ahead.

Polymar had observed her comrades, grateful for the reprieve. The less contact she had with her own people the better, it was far more prudent they think she had gone away or even better that she was dead. Her life with I'Eda had now settled into a daily routine, mostly keeping I'Eda out of Sirus's way. I'Eda had cut her long auburn hair very short for the journey, and Polymar made sure it stayed that way. She did not need any preying eyes taking a closer look at the lad.

I'Eda kept mostly to herself and rode a small horse Polymar managed to find wandering in a field. Apparently this was the only animal lucky enough to escape the enemy's curse. Polymar was grateful Sirus never questioned her about the boy sharing her tent; obviously he was too occupied to even notice.

By night the two women talked of life and love. They laughed about the daily folly of being two women amongst so many men. I'Eda mainly focused her remarks on Sirus and she asked daily how he was coping. Polymar kept her abreast of each day's activities and the men's gossip.

When she returned to her tent, I'Eda was sitting cross-legged on her straw mattress. Polymar conveyed the day's events, leaving out none of the detail. She was surprised by I'Eda's lack of empathy, especially regarding Tonk's discovery. I'Eda did not seem surprised or frightened by the news. Polymar observed that there was a lot more to this young woman, many truths yet to be uncovered. Their relationship now had deepened into friendship and mutual trust, yet Polymar had to admit that it was hard not to notice I'Eda's feminine qualities, especially at night when the young girl slipped into the straw bed next to her.

Sirus was lying in his tent, restless and unable to sleep. Even though he had not witnessed the horrifying spectacle, he knew that what Tonk had discovered was inexplicably linked to him. Tomorrow they would need to rise early and make a quick start, hopefully leaving this memory behind.

The army needed to be at the foothills of the Bores within a day's ride. There were always early snowfalls through the mountain pass; the air had chilled down already. Winds billowed the flap of his tent, reminding him that winter approached. He had not slept soundly for days; his only rest had come in fitful naps. There were so many obstacles invading his subconscious. His dreams were so real at times that he swore he felt I'Eda close. It was as if he could reach out and touch her. What he would give to have her body next to his, to feel her silken skin as it brushed beneath his own. How he would love to smell her hair and sink his fingers into its depths. When he closed his eyes he could imagine her body, smooth and sensuous beneath his hands. He could feel his manhood rising with the thought of her. If this had not been such a dangerous voyage, he might have considered bringing her along. But this was no place for a woman, especially one so used to the luxuries of the court. I'Eda would have complained unceasingly.

The morning brought the first sign of snow clouds, turbulent, grey and threatening. Sirus stormed through the campsite hurrying his men along, his lack of sleep no deterrent. The men were exhausted from months of being on the road, and were disturbed by the news of the discovery in Camareo; this along with the inherent fear of an unknown enemy stirred the first sign of unrest. The men complained.

Sirus burst into Renward's tent just as he was gathering his things in readiness to travel. Sirus struck out at him with a bellow.

'There will be no breakfast. The men can eat whilst they ride. Get every man saddled and ready. We depart within the hour.'

The camp soon became a bustle of activity as tents were dismantled and troops manoeuvred into place. Sirus passed by Polymar's tent as the young lad burst forth from the front flap. Sirus caught the boy with the toe of his shoe and sent the lad head over heels into the mud. I'Eda sat up. Mud completely covered her face, neck and front.

'Next time boy, watch where you're going or I'll personally kick your ass all the way back to Eshtah,' shouted Sirus as he stormed away. I'Eda sat peering up at him from the ground with a mud-splattered face.

'Well, thank goodness it rained last night,' Polymar exclaimed as she stood at the tent door with a grin on her face.

I'Eda pulled herself up, wiping off the excess mud.

'Yeah, pity he didn't look where he was going! He'll regret that when eventually we meet face to face again.' I'Eda darted inside to clean up.

As the army departed the valley the smoky remains of the village of Camareo waved them a sombre goodbye.

The journey was hard going that day. Sirus drove his men relentlessly as the rest of the camp scurried along behind. The winds picked up. It was late afternoon when Sirus spotted the mountain pass at the base of the foothills. As the driving wind and rain pushed back into his face, Sirus could feel the ice form. He could barely feel his lips and the beard he had grown over the last months clung like straw to his neck and outer garments. Icicles formed ridges within his hair. It would be several hours before they managed to breach the lower hills and find shelter for the night.

The sun had been down over an hour or more when the army reached the pass and found themselves below the rocky outcrop. The shelf sat like an umbrella over the valley. Sirus knew this landmark well from his previous journeys to this region during the wars of Eshtah. It was known as 'Gideon's Sheol'.

The outcrop served as a shelter to any one who passed by. Hidden underneath its shadowy overhang lay extensive caves that had been hewn out by the ravages of time and weather. The cave complex was large enough to take the men and beasts, giving Sirus's army a much needed reprieve from the cold driving wind and relentless rain.

Sirus knew however that this reprieve would be short lived, for once morning came they would have to push onwards if they were to make it through the pass before the heavy snow storms descended. The winter in these parts could become vicious. Sirus recalled his last visit here during the war with the Longbow.

The Longbow were a rambunctious, marauding band of warriors who had moved into these parts, daring to think they could overthrow King Emid and take over his lands. The Longbow had raped, pillaged and slaughtered their way this far east and before King Emid could declare a victory many thousands had lost their lives. It was within Gideon's Sheol that the Longbow had set up camp and it had taken months to clear the cave system of their presence. Most of the survivors of the Longbow had preferred to take their own lives rather than become captives of Eshtah. The winter that year came early and Sirus and his army had been caught stranded within the caves, unable to move, for the better part of four months. If it had not been for the food hoarded by the Longbow, Sirus and his men might have perished.

The thoughts brought back vivid memories for Sirus. He could recall the whole episode, and knew that he would have had the powers of an Immortal then. The thought now crossed Sirus's mind and he asked himself the question. Why had Theron not helped? He would have had the power to alleviate their misery.

Gideon's Sheol now gave comfort to the Eshtahian army. It was unnecessary to clear the cave of debris. It was obvious from the amount of food stored within the caves and the fact it had been swept clean, that the Rebion Plainsmen had been and delivered their promised supplies. Sirus marvelled at the ingenuity of the Rebion, and how they had managed all this. Camel hides graced the floor, and makeshift tables and chairs were stacked, giving the men some small home comforts.

The men settled the horses and livestock down and commenced unpacking the supply wagons of the last of their food. They would restock with the fresh produce that was now stored within the caves. The rest of the camp found any place that looked remotely comfortable to settle down for the night. By night, the caves took on an eerie calm in the dung torchlight. Sirus had Aramean placed in a small cave off to one side and kept him under guard. Aramean still had not spoken a word since their last encounter and the longer the journey took the more he seemed to become entranced in his meditation. Sirus noted that Aramean barely ate, except for small portions of vegetables and water. It was barely enough to keep an average man alive, yet he looked no worse for the lack of nourishment.

It was well after dark. The men had been fed and Sirus was growing uneasy. He decided to explore an area that ran off toward the rear of the caves. Renward and Polymar offered to accompany him, but Sirus wanted to be alone. A part of him could not settle and he felt he needed space and time by himself. The cave system was immense. Time and many centuries had worn away the interior of the cave creating natural paths leading deep inside the mountain. Sirus remembered the many nights he had explored these caves. He thought he could recall every inch. He remembered the many men he buried here, both his own and those of his enemy, the Longbow.

He wandered through the shadowy caverns and the dank corridors that were filled with the pungent smell of humus. He took little notice of his route until he passed under a large rock, which jutted out above his head. Beneath was an opening that led into a large cathedral domed cave. This cave was unfamiliar. He thought he could recall the whole labyrinth, but this one was foreign. He moved forward with his dung torch, thinking he heard a strange sound. Light filtered into the cavern.

'Well you took your time getting here! I thought I might have had to come and collect you.' The voice came from inside.

Sirus recognised Neon's nasally tone instantly.

'How in the world did you get here? Mind you, I'm glad you've come. I was relying on the fact that you would find me.' Sirus walked toward Neon who was standing silhouetted in the pale light, within the quietness of the cathedral cave. It was great to see his companion again.

Sirus studied the natural glow surrounding them. The light emanated from small creatures, round and florescent in colour, which clung to the sides of the walls. The light was ghostly, yet gave a warm feeling to the normally cold interior of the cavern.

Neon stood watching Sirus approach. The man had changed. His appearance disturbed Neon as he watched him move closer. Sirus appeared dishevelled and unkempt, something Theron would never have allowed.

Neon turned his thoughts away from the obvious and concentrated once more on what must be. He could not afford to question his tenure now.

'In answer to your question, I have a gift. I can find you no matter where you are, so remember that.' Neon's voice held a jovial tone, which helped ease the tension.

'I have missed you.' Sirus's words were simple yet held a far deeper meaning. 'There have been many times over the past months when I could have done with your opinion on certain matters. It has been difficult trying to maintain any semblance of normality when things are so out of control.' Sirus felt some relief at expressing those words.

Neon did not know precisely what had happened over the past months, but he did know that many things had changed on Romanie and that there was no going back.

'Well it's nice to know one has been missed,' Neon replied.

Theron would never have suggested that he had a need for him. Neon liked the new Sirus.

'These creatures,' Sirus indicated toward the small round balls perched on the walls, 'are they real? They don't appear anywhere else in the caves.' Sirus moved toward the creatures, placing his hand above them. But he did not touch them.

Neon skirted his question. 'You have changed Sirus. You seem older, maybe even a little wiser for your ordeal.' Sirus had to agree. He not only looked older, he felt it too.

Sirus turned away from the creatures, his attention turned to the horse. 'Tell me Neon how did you get here? And don't tell me you simply walked through these walls of solid stone. Even you don't have the power to do that.'

'You forget Sirus, you may have lost your powers, but I have not lost mine,' Neon would not even hint at the might of the powers he now possessed.

Neon still found it difficult to believe that Theron's powers had simply vanished. He had enquired about Theron's loss from the Great One, but received no answers.

Neon tried to lighten the atmosphere a little; he could see the look on Sirus's face turn sour with his last comment.

'All those years with you, Theron, I mean, Sirus, must have rubbed off. Don't be too surprised at what I can do. You will just have to trust me.' Neon did not want Sirus to press him further in regard to either the creatures within the cave, or the extent of his powers. It was better that Sirus believe that his powers had come from the hand of Theron rather than through the power of another.

'Well it matters not. I am just grateful that you came.' Gloominess pervaded the atmosphere within the cave and Neon felt the heaviness that hung over Sirus as he spoke.

Sirus filled Neon in as best he could on what had taken place within Eshtah and the greater part of Romanie over the past months. However he left out his own anxieties and thoughts regarding the disappearance of the inhabitants of the towns and villagers. He did however mention Polymar, his new bodyguard.

This bit of information ruffled Neon, but he hid his disappointment. It had always been his responsibility to protect Theron. Neon was not sure that a female could do much more than be a nuisance. Neon certainly did not need a woman to take over his role.

The two friends continued talking well into the night. Sirus relayed the events of the army's trek north and he revealed his feelings about the destruction of life wrought by an enemy they had yet to encounter. He told Neon about the serpent in the depths of the marshland. That piece of information Neon put to one side, he would have to raise it at some stage with the Great One. He had never heard mention of a race of serpents. Sirus spoke of his earlier life as an Immortal and why he now felt that everything somehow related back to the Gods. Neon was the only one he could speak to about his past life; no one but this horse would understand.

Neon knew all too well that something calamitous had infiltrated Romanie. The Great One warned him that evil stalked the land, the God's either unwilling or unable to intervene or control the demonic destruction.

Sirus knew Neon was withholding information. He could see Neon had undergone a transformation; he was now far more than what he once was and he was also aware that his sudden presence here would arouse suspicion.

'How do I explain your sudden appearance to my men, tell me that?'

'I think you will find that they will not ask questions about my arrival. I have ways and means of making sure of that.' Neon could now mask the minds of men so they would never know he had been absent.

As Sirus departed, Neon and the Light Mites disappeared from the cavern without a trace.

When Sirus reached the main chambers of the cave, he could see that most of his men were sleeping soundly – only the guards on duty at the entrance were awake. He bade them goodnight and moved to the large pit where hot stew simmered for those who became hungry during the night. Sirus sat down to a meal of beef and potato stew, washing it down with some of Kwinend's fine wine. He was hoping to down several glasses before he retired; it would ensure a good night's rest. Having Neon back would also help.

Sirus did not notice Polymar sneak back and settle down next to the young lad in the far corner.

I'Eda appeared exhausted after travelling through the bitter cold of the long day, but Polymar sensed her countenance was not due to tiredness. Polymar was content now that I'Eda snored gently at her side.

How can I sleep? Polymar thought, recalling what she had just witnessed. She had not meant to eavesdrop; she simply wanted to make sure nothing happened to Sirus. She had followed discreetly behind him, keeping to the shadows of the walls. What she saw and overheard had completely shocked her. Who was that horse? Even though she knew it was impossible, the animal seemed to speak. She had listened. Sirus appeared to be conversing with the animal. Surely she had been mistaken? Something very strange was going on and now she was desperate to find out what.

Sirus had passed her as he returned to the main cave, but he had not detected her presence as she clung to the shadows in the stark darkness beneath a rock face. All the strange events of the past months came to the fore of her mind, and now this strange occurrence made Polymar wonder what part she was actually meant to be playing and what mystery was unravelling before her eyes.

# 17

# Asserian

# 'The Journey Begins'

'Tread carefully your path; for the journey is long and many dangers wait.'

Thea gathered her shawl over her head, pulling it tightly around her shoulders to protect her from the chill of the night. She scurried frantically in the direction she had last seen the giant bird as it glided over the fortress wall – a bird that size could not have flown out of sight.

She pried open the fortress gates. The city of Ammon lay before her, its lights creating a spectral scene. Thea suddenly realised the mists had not moved through the city. The still darkness below heightened her sense of uneasiness. If the mists of renewal had not yet commenced their descent upon the land, cleansing it for the beginning of a new day then something was terribly wrong. Without that protection the land was vulnerable, and so were she and her people.

The mists were gifted from the Gods, given to protect the land. The mists also served another purpose: they kept the men subdued and ensured they did not stray or seek freedom from the Keep. Yet they had and there was only one way that could have been possible – the dark man!

As Thea surveyed the clear, starry sky, she again heard the distinctive cry of the bird. The cry of the eagle! Thea turned just in time to spot the giant bird as it glided toward her. She couldn't tell if she were afraid or in awe of the majestic creature as its outstretched claws glided closer and closer. She should have felt fear or terror but somehow she knew this bird of prey would not harm her, so she stood her ground. The bird scooped her up like a spoon full of butter. The gentleness of its grip reassuring Thea it meant her no harm. She kept still and closed her eyes, trying to steady the pounding of her heart as the eagle soared skyward away from the fortress. The city below looked on as pure terror inched its tentacles closer.

The bird flew on. Thea eventually opened her eyes, her heart now steady and her breathing shallow. From this height she could see many valleys spread out beneath her, the vast fields of grain, the rivers and gullies spotlighted by the moonlight. It was a breathtaking sight. Thea knew she had every reason to be afraid, as the bird continued to cradle her gently in its massive claws. It seemed in no hurry as it gently flapped its wings then glided slowly upward toward the distant mountain range.

Thea found herself actually enjoying the flight. The bird's body kept her warm as it held her close up against its underbelly. She started to drift off to sleep with the gentle rhythm of the bird's sway, but stirred to life once again as she felt the bird turn and begin its descent into a valley far below. The giant creature of the sky wound downward on a current and for such a large bird it made little sound, save the occasional flap of its wings.

The scene below was menacing in its silence. The bird closed in on the ground and let out a loud squawk as it approached the base of the ravine. Reaching down with its beak, it gently lifted Thea so that her feet were free for landing. Gentle as a summer's breeze, they glided to a stop. Thea struggled as the bird placed her safely on the ground.

She looked at the creature, unsure of what its next move might be. The monstrous bird hopped backwards and lowered its wings.

'My name is Talon, my Lady. I am to be your guide. Please forgive me if I frightened you; I hope I was gentle. I really tried to be.'

Thea was speechless. The bird spoke! She stood on wobbly legs, yet she tried to remain courageous. She glared at the bird in consternation for some moments, trying hard to recover her composure and her own power of speech.

'Talon... you said your name was Talon? Please explain, if you can, who you are? How is it possible for you to speak?' Questions tumbled one after another. 'Why have you taken me? Did the dark man send you? What have you done with Hura?'

She felt her anger building as she continued her rambling. Then suddenly she realised she was in a vulnerable position, far from home, and with a bird whose staple diet was meat. She backed away cautiously looking behind her for a quick escape route should she need it.

Talon let her spell out all her objections. He realised that she had experienced quite a shock, but he had no way of quashing her fears. He responded to her as best he could. He was sent to help her, and if she would listen then he would attempt to explain. Well, what little he could explain.

'My Lady,' Talon began, but Thea burst back at him.

'My name is Thea and I am certainly not your Lady, so please address me by my proper name,' she retorted with indignation.

'I was trying to be polite! But, if you would prefer Thea then that is what I will call you.' Talon was trying to hold back a smile – she looked so infuriated. Surely she could see that he was not going to hurt her?

'To answer your questions, I think it is obvious what I am. Who I am is really not important. In time you will understand. As far as the dark man is concerned – do not be alarmed for he did not send me to aid you, so you may cast aside those concerns. I was sent to rescue you from a dreadful fate, and if you will bear with me then you can see what fate had in store for you.'

Talon moved in a little closer and Thea backed further away. Talon shrugged his huge shoulders. He could see this was not going to be easy.

'Thea you have the ability to scry the mist. Please take a look and you will see what fate awaited you had I not come along when I did.'

Thea looked surprised at Talon's knowledge. How did he know of her ability with the Craft? What fate had he saved her from? With curiosity mixed with fear she did as he asked.

Thea lifted both hands, stretching them before her, and closed her eyes to summon the mist. Before her rose the Mists of Visions, which gradually thickened before her eyes. She opened her eyes and beheld Ammon within the vapour's folds. Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead and her face turned porcelain white.

'May the Gods have mercy on my people's souls,' Thea's voice sounded distant.

The mists revealed the city of Ammon in chaos. She spied the dark man as he stood at the docks, his ship moored to the wharf. Thea saw with her own eyes the men of Asserian raping, pillaging and burning her beautiful and peaceful city. Everywhere was nothing but destruction in appalling proportions. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she watched the devastation of her people and her city.

She looked once again to the face of the dark man; it was the face of the man she once thought she could love forever. But now she only saw evil in its handsome contours. How could she have allowed this man to defile her and create a life? She stared at his face, contorted in anger as he pounded his fist into a wooden jetty post. The dark man had clearly realised she had escaped him. He had missed his opportunity to claim her and this child.

She caught a glimpse of something in the shadows beyond the dark invader. Her heart pounded with fury. Hanging from the fortress walls was the body of Maniera; the elderly woman's head bent forward on her chest, her arms tied behind her back and a thick-knotted rope secured tightly about her neck. Maniera's once lovely face was covered in blood, her priestess robes shredded and bloodied. Thea watched in horror as the marauding men set her alight. Thea collapsed to the ground as the mist dissipated.

At twilight, Thea woke to the twittering of birds in the trees around her. Her mind raced back to the vision in the mists. Surely it had to be a nightmare? Then she remembered the bird – surely she could only imagine something so repulsive in a dream? Then the images of Ammon's devastation hit her; her beautiful city destroyed and plundered. A nightmare! Please let it be a nightmare! She forced herself back to the present. Why was she in this valley so far from home?

There – only a few feet away – lay the eagle, its head curled up beneath a large wing, the other sheltering her beneath its arc. As she moved to stand up, Talon woke. He looked at her with one large yellow eye. He had not dared to move her after she collapsed in case he hurt her, so he had remained close by her side.

'Sorry that you had to see those abominations! But you needed to know why I came to save you. If it's any consolation your people will survive, but without you and your child they have no hope.' Talon withdrew his sheltering wing.

It was a cruel irony to have escaped a massacre and devastation, only to confront it in a vision. Talon began ruffling his feathers and drying them in the morning sunshine.

Thea knew then that this was no dream, no nightmare. She placed her hands over her face as tears spread down her cheeks.

'How can you say they will survive? I saw no hope in the mists. I don't know if I can live with this knowledge – my people suffering so much pain.' Her thoughts were reeling with the sights and sounds of what she had seen. Her sadness gave way to fury.

After some time Talon edged a little closer. Thea didn't move away this time.

'I can do nothing for them. If I go back then he has what he came for and all will be lost.' She looked toward Talon, adversity and sadness in the sapphire blue of her eyes.

'How do you know I am with child? I never mentioned it, and I don't show as yet.' Her question perplexed Talon, he knew everything – how could she not know that?

'As I said, your people will survive, but without you and especially this child you carry there is no hope. Mourn if you must, but remember your child is their future,' he repeated. He knew he could show some empathy, but that would not undo what had already been done.

Thea felt ill. Her body shook from the shock, lack of food and proper sleep. Guilt also gnawed at her conscience. Nausea crept through her body, like a canker and she could feel her stomach begin to convulse. She bent over in pain. Talon looked on, knowing he was unable to alleviate her suffering. He decided to change tack and try to take her mind off her thoughts; it was all he could think of to help.

'Do you think you could eat something?' He didn't wait for a response, but walked awkwardly over to a grove of trees some distance away. He pulled a piece of fruit into his beak then hopped back and lowered his head. Thea took the fruit reluctantly.

She wasn't hungry, but she could see the bird was trying to help her. His gesture was kind and if this were the best on offer, then she would humour him and eat. Thea bit into the ripe fruit. It tasted delicious. When she finished, she asked Talon if he would mind getting another. Talon was happy to oblige.

Thea's thoughts concentrated on the plight of her people as she tried to consume the second piece of fruit.

'What can I do to help them?' Thea pleaded. Why would anyone wish to hurt and humiliate the gentle women of her world? Her world had been a peaceful place. It made no sense.

Talon shuffled about on his two large feet for several moments before answering, 'The answer to your question lies within you.' He knew full well the child was her answer.

'Thea we must leave here at once. I will take you to a place where your child can be raised in peace and safety. The answer to how you avenge and help your people will come to you, I'm sure.' Talon knew all too well the task confronting the child, but it was not his place to speak of it to Thea. The time and place for that lay somewhere in the future. He knew Thea carried the destiny of her people as well as the destiny of all worlds.

Thea contemplated Talon's words, and without realising it she reached up and felt the medallion. It was warm and she quickly withdrew it from the confines of her bodice and held it in her hand. It was pulsing as she gripped it tight, and somehow it gave her comfort. Talon inched forward and looked with uncertainty at the object she held.

'Where did you get that?' His question was gentle. Thea did not answer; she simply looked at him. She could tell from his voice that he recognised it. She tucked it back into her bodice and felt the throbbing sensation slowly decrease.

Talon shrugged his shoulders; it did not worry him if she would not reveal its source. He had only wanted to inspect the markings on the chain. They looked familiar, but he could not recall why.

'We have no time to tarry. Our journey must begin before the evil that pervades this land discovers where you are. I must get you to the Pathway. There your journey begins in earnest.' Talon's words drifted away in the air as he walked away from Thea towards a clearly marked trail along the valley floor.

Thea hurried to catch up, her curiosity aroused.

'Talon, did you recognise this necklace? You looked as if you might have seen it before?' Her words sounded desperate. If Talon knew something she wanted to know too. She followed close behind the awkward footed bird as he headed along the track. But she received no reply.

Thea was nothing, if not persistent. If the big cumbersome bird wished to remain secretive regarding the object that was fine, maybe he would be more obliging with something far more puzzling.

'What is the Pathway,' Thea asked hoping to gain some understanding of the journey she was about to make. Talon again did not reply. She scowled with frustration.

The valley through which the two unlikely companions now walked lay between two mountain ranges. On one side ran a small stream hedged by ferns and light grasses. The sides of the ranges were steep, and almost perpendicular to each other. It was not an easy path for Thea, but it was even harder for an unsure-footed bird the size of Talon.

'Why don't you fly on ahead or, even better still, why not carry me? If you wish to go alone that's all right, I'm capable of making my way up. I'll meet you at the top,' Thea said, pulling herself up the steep path ahead of them.

'I can't do that, I'm afraid. We may have been seen, or worse, something might be laying in wait on the track ahead. Never can tell what will poke its nose out of the underbrush. Besides, I'm a big boy and can make the climb.' Talon's heavy breathing indicated he was not really used to such exertions.

The journey up the steep embankment took most of the morning, and when they reached a rocky outcrop near the top Thea paused. Her back hurt and her head ached. She had tried to focus on other things, but could not get the sight of Maniera and the other atrocities out of her mind. She turned, trying to find a distraction for her mind in the scenery below when she noticed movement further down the track.

'Talon, something or someone is following us!' Thea tried to disguise the fear creeping into her voice.

'You move on past me then, and let me handle this. Now don't go looking back. Just keep moving forward and when you get to the top you'll find a large rock. It's shaped a bit like an egg cut in half. Hide behind that and wait for me. Do you understand?' Talon's voice remained calm as he wedged his way past Thea and headed back down the track.

'I'm not a child! I can follow directions, you know!' Thea flung back, as Talon disappeared.

Thea reached the top of the range exhausted. As she managed the last step she heard a piercing scream from the valley far below. It sounded inhuman and certainly not a cry she recognised. No animal or human sounded like that. One consolation: it was certainly not the cry of a bird.

She scanned the area around her. There, jutting out a few hundred yards away from the edge was the rock just as Talon had described it. She wandered over and leaned against its rough surface, the rust coloured rock providing little shelter. She disappeared behind its façade and remained out of sight, grateful for the chance to rest.

Her concern was for Talon. She knew she could not take another tragedy today, and without the aid of the bird she didn't know what she would do. Just as she was beginning to fight back the first signs of panic, Talon glided up and over the top of the cliff face, perching on its ledge. He quickly scanned the scene before him making sure that Thea had reached the safety of the summit. When he was satisfied he took to preening himself. Wouldn't be right to be seen covered in so much blood.

Thea couldn't believe she would be so glad to see anyone, especially a bird. But if Talon was meant to lead her to a safe respite and the Pathway, which represented in her mind a safe haven for herself and her child, then she considered herself lucky. The signs had led her to Talon, and now to the Pathway. She would have to rely on her instincts from here.

Talon continued to clean his claws on the ledge some distance away. He seemed content to nibble away at the last morsels of whatever it was he killed. He beckoned Thea toward him and when she approached she could see his chest and legs were covered in blood.

'Did you have to kill whatever it was?' Thea tried hard to hold back the bile building in her throat.

'Kill or be killed. I can't keep you safe and be mister nice guy at the same time!' Talon replied. Surely this woman could understand that.

'I won't ask what it was, only please tell me it wasn't human,' Thea asked. She tried to hide her disgust as Talon pulled a large chunk of bloody red meat from his back claw. Talon hopped past her without answering. Damn bird, why did he continually ignore my questions? Thea could see asking questions and receiving no answers was becoming a habit.

The egg-shaped rock was far larger than Thea first realised. She had sat down on the smaller end, but as she followed Talon around its girth she could see that the rock was enormous. As the pair advanced toward the larger end, an opening appeared. It was wide, and large enough to accommodate Talon with ease. Thea was fascinated with the way the entrance had been camouflaged; it was invisible unless you stood directly in front of it. Talon smiled to himself. The Great One had finally created entryways large enough for him to get through.

Once inside the entrance, the Pathway opened up and was very like the one on Romanie. There were several tunnels at the entrance; each leading off in a different direction, but only one was alight.

'Which one do we take?' Thea asked. Talon simply looked at her with annoyance, and then headed into the pale glow of the luminous path, ignoring the other passageways.

'Talon, please, what is the Pathway?' She could see that he was about to ignore her enquiry yet again. 'Why do you keep ignoring me? It's rude.'

Talon glanced back at his new charge. It was a question he had been asked before; in fact Hura had asked the same thing and he had given her a simple answer.

'The Pathway provides you with an opportunity to correct your mistakes. So take note and learn as you take this journey, for at its end nothing is what it seems.' Talon hoped that would satisfy her curiosity. He turned and moved along the tunnel. Thea looked more perplexed. She shrugged her shoulders and followed the bird.

# 18

# Romanie

# 'In Friends We Find Solace'

'It is never wise to presume, for presumption requires an insight that few have.'

Sirus rose early and made his way outside into the grey morning light without disturbing anyone. The heavy snowstorms of the previous days had now abated, leaving the morning sky a dull wash. Heavy clouds still hung on the distant horizon, but they didn't seem ominous. The wind had also eased, and even though it blew cold, it held nothing more than a faint resemblance of the wrath of the past days. The rain too had ceased – maybe the Gods did watch over him. He knew the change of weather would ease the discomforts of his men.

He glanced back toward where the bulk of his men lay asleep; their gentle snoring was a pleasant sound. No one seemed in a hurry to pack up this morning and leave the warmth of the cave, and for once Sirus himself seemed reluctant to push his men further. He remembered that Neon would be waiting somewhere nearby, so he returned to his bedroll and gathered it up, tossing it in the general direction of his saddle. Then pulling on his dirt-covered overcoat he walked back outside.

Some of his men had already started to prepare their horses for the day's ride, so Sirus walked down and gave them a friendly good morning. He continued with his morning stroll along the ravine beyond Gideon's Sheol and stepped onto the gravel bed at the base of the valley known as the Valley of the Damned.

At some point the valley floor must have been an old riverbed and Sirus could see obvious changes in the landscape. The valley opened up to the north and then suddenly disappeared out of sight where the mountain ranges took a sharp turn. Even though he had been here before Sirus realised he had never given much thought to what lay beyond the lands known as the Beastal Bores. He stood still now and gazed into the distance.

Sirus straightened up, bracing himself for a journey into the unknown and began his search for Neon. He tracked along the basin, firstly in one direction then turned and headed back the way he had come. He was looking for a sign, any sign, which might indicate where Neon might be hiding or that he had at least passed this way. His frustration was mounting. Just as he was about to give up he saw Neon glide down from the gloomy sky beyond the view of his men. Neon drew in his wings, camouflaging them beneath his skin and cantered over to where Sirus stood. Sirus's face could not conceal his joy at seeing his friend again.

'I've been scouting ahead to see what lies beyond the mountains,' Neon quickly remarked. 'It may be the last time I can do this for quite a while. I guess your men need to remain ignorant of my skills?' Neon knew it was necessary for him to remain land bound when he was close to Sirus and the army. Neither of them could afford the complication of having to explain the mysteries of the universe.

'Did you see anything?' Sirus asked more abruptly than he meant to.

'Nothing! That's the part I don't like! There was no sign of life, no rabbits, no foxes, no deer, just stillness. And, what's more, I could have sworn I was being watched. But I saw no one at all. I even doubled back, but nothing, just an awkward stillness.'

'Well, we may be marching into a trap! It looks as if we may have to fight the unknown, but whatever we encounter it does not look as if it is going to come to us.' Sirus hesitated a moment. 'If only I still had my powers?'

Jervoid and Renward greeted Sirus as he came back toward the cave entrance. They gave Neon a gentle pat. Neither man remarked on Neon's sudden appearance.

By mid morning the men had organised the stores, wagons and cattle and were ready to move out. Sirus, now seated upon Neon's back, led his men into the mouth of the Valley of the Damned and beyond to the Beastal Bores.

I'Eda fell into place far behind Sirus. Polymar remained close enough to keep an eye on her Prince, and far enough away to occasionally keep an eye on her charge. By now, no one gave I'Eda much regard anyway; she was just a snotty-nosed lad. After the previous night's encounter Polymar also wished to keep a close eye on Sirus's horse, since he looked very much like the animal she had seen within the cave.

Polymar had sat awake the previous night until Sirus had gone to sleep then had crept back down into the cave where she had heard Sirus holding his conversation. She deliberately went to explore the area where the cathedral cave had been, but she could find no trace of the cavern. Nothing, no light, no horse and no sign that anyone had been there. There were certainly no horse droppings to indicate that she hadn't been seeing things. Polymar had searched for some hidden exit or clue that would prove she had witnessed the phenomenon. She knew she was in the exact spot where the cave had been. She had left a trail just so she could go back to check. The pebbles she had left were still there, but not the cave. How could that be possible? Some force was at work here, and she was not going to rest easy until she worked it out. The other issue was how could an animal get out of there? Polymar knew no one had trodden the tunnel apart from herself and Sirus. The footprints in the soil beneath her feet were clearly marked. Polymar had backtracked and checked that there were only two sets of footprints – her own and Sirus's. How then did the horse get out, and who or what was he really? These were questions that demanded answers.

The morning seemed to move with awkward slowness as the army forged a path through the ravine. The trail along the valley floor was hard going. The pebbles of the dry riverbed irritated the horse's hooves making the journey uncomfortable for both men and animals. The track was wide enough for the army to travel at least six abreast; this allowed them to maintain a semblance of order and to be prepared to defend themselves should they run into trouble.

The Valley of the Damned was aptly named, because those foolish enough to venture in, rarely came out. Those who had ventured in and returned to tell the tale were generally claimed by death soon after. The fact of the matter, though, was that Neon had observed nothing and no one could reassure Sirus that there were no traps ahead. His army, however, was a seasoned group used to harsh conditions and dangerous opponents. They soon grew accustomed to the monotony of the rough terrain and many would have welcomed some interruption.

During the afternoon, clouds darkened the sky again, threatening yet another change in the weather. They had passed the worst of the rough terrain and before them stretched a flat plain. Sirus ordered his troops to set up camp on either side of the valley, if it rained now at least the ground beneath them was dry. After the men erected tents they corralled the cattle and horses between them, using the wagons as a barrier at either end to keep them secured.

Renward set up camp on one side and Jervoid's men on the other. Aramean's quarters were set up next to Sirus's. Sirus hoped he might persuade Aramean to open up a little seeing the army had now crossed the forbidden line and entered the valley. Only a fool would risk his life for nothing, and Aramean was no fool.

Polymar and I'Eda were the first to get settled. They had found an isolated position at the back, not far from Sirus's tent. Once they finished setting up, Polymar left I'Eda alone to freshen up. There was neither time nor resources to expect a bath, so both women had become used to settling for a quick wash and a clean change of clothes. Polymar headed to the corral to take a closer look at Sirus's horse.

Polymar spotted Neon; he was well apart from the other horses, which were secured behind the wagons. Neon was munching away peacefully on sparse grasses that lined the outer rim of the floor. Polymar approached the animal with caution. What if Sirus caught her prying? He would not think too highly of her if he suspected she knew about his little rendezvous the previous night. Oh well, he shouldn't keep secrets, Polymar thought as she neared Neon. The horse raised his head. He knew she would come, curiosity had its own rewards, and Neon decided to play this one out to see if she was worthy of Sirus's trust.

'They tell me you are one smart horse, Neon! But if that's the case then you should really be more careful that others don't overhear your conversations!' Polymar hoped to goad Neon into replying. She spoke with a chastising tone so that she might sound convincing. But feigning gravity was difficult when you were talking to a horse. Polymar looked around to make sure no one could observe her or hear what she was saying. Then she continued.

'Well,' she waited, 'it's very rude not to respond when someone asks a question – or did no one teach you manners?' Once again, the horse gave no response. Polymar sat down on a large rock a small distance from Neon and looked at him thoughtfully. The horse had now raised his head and was looking directly at her. Polymar sensed with frustration that he had understood every word. She decided to change her approach.

'I'm sorry! That was ill mannered of me. I should have introduced myself. My name is Polymar; I am the daughter of Kwinend, head tribesman of the Rebion plainspeople,' Polymar hoped her sincerity would provoke a response. She realised that if she were in the animal's place, she would not be too impressed with her challenge. Polymar went on to tell Neon her story and how she felt at home with Sirus and his men.

Neon had already heard Sirus's version of the story, but Polymar spared no detail – she even spoke of her sexual preferences and lost love. As Polymar finished her tale with her eyes fixed on the stars, tears welled up. Neon knew now that this young warrior was a soul to be trusted.

At last he spoke. 'I have also known sadness at losing a loved one, and I know how hard it is to be shunned by one's own kind. You will be stronger for having lived through these things, Polymar. For life comes with challenges and only those who are worthy survive and live to pass their knowledge and experiences onto others,' Neon walked over and nuzzled Polymar's shoulder with his nose. Polymar knew she should have been absolutely taken aback by the fact that this animal did indeed speak, but somehow it seemed entirely natural in this setting.

Polymar placed her hand on Neon's warm flank; he did not shy away.

'Thank you for listening! I don't have many friends. It's nice to think I have someone wise to bring my troubles to,' Polymar smoothed her hand over and down Neon's neck. He closed his eyes – it felt good. He reflected for a minute on the implications of her words then opened his eyes as he spoke.

'You do have a friend in me, Polymar. I believe both Sirus and I can count on the same from you. There are many questions, I'm sure that you wish to ask me, but some things are best left alone. Just trust me. Time will give you answers.' Neon's tone had turned to one of fatherly wisdom. 'And by the way it was no coincidence that you overheard Sirus and me.' He then said goodnight and wandered off in the direction of Sirus's tent.

Polymar sat in stunned silence, yet she did not know a time in her life when she felt more exhilarated. She could feel the magical power radiated by the horse. She should have been scared or curious, but she was not. Something about Neon made her realise she was part of a plan, a plan that someday would exonerate her from the guilt she felt about not saving the one she loved – the one person who trusted her for protection.

Sirus stood at the doorway to Aramean's tent. The guards standing watch inside pulled open the flap and Sirus entered. On a signal from Sirus they then went outside to guard the entrance. Aramean was in his customary pose, cross-legged on the floor with his head bowed. The clothes he wore were the same he had worn for the past several months, yet they neither looked soiled nor smelled foul. Sirus was finding more and more things fascinating about this man. He remained standing, a look of consternation on his face as he peered down at his prisoner.

'We have entered the Valley of the Damned.' He hoped that simple declaration would provoke some reaction; it was worth a try. Sirus was tired and his patience growing thin. But he did not want to stoop to inhuman measures to gain answers and something told him it would not gain him much anyhow. But he required answers, and soon. Time was running out – he could feel the pressure mounting.

'He'll talk to me.' Sirus recognised Neon's whisper from somewhere toward the back of the tent.

'By the power of the Gods, how did you get the hell in here?' Sirus choked back his surprise as he looked over to see Neon standing in a darkened corner.

'Well you said, by the power of the Gods! I guess you answered your own question.' Neon replied. Sirus knew better than to second guess Neon.

'Do you really think you can get him to talk? He has not spoken a word since the Rebion Plains, that was months ago,' Sirus was clearly sceptical.

Neon gestured with a nod toward Aramean. Sirus turned and could see Aramean was now looking directly at Neon with absolute amusement in a smile that now creased the corners of his mouth.

'I think he will tell me what we need to know.' Neon spoke with confidence. He knew full well Aramean could sense his power. He and Aramean were two of a kind.

Neon had sensed another source of power beside himself in the camp. After leaving Polymar he had gone in search of Sirus. He guessed Sirus might be heading toward the tent of the stranger known as Aramean. Neon then appeared inside Aramean's tent, moments before Sirus entered.

Now they waited in uncomfortable silence. Sirus decided he should leave, and allow Neon time and space to converse with this man. He stepped awkwardly toward the horse ready to voice his concerns, but instead turned abruptly and headed outside. He dismissed the guards, suggesting they take their evening meal. He assured them he would remain on guard until their return.

Neon studied the man before him for several moments. Yes! The energy was strong; in fact it was powerful. Neon discerned that the source of power was similar if not the same as his. Did Aramean know of the Pathway and the Great One? Neon guessed that he didn't, for the Great One would have spoken of the man had he known of him.

'I can feel the power of the Craft within you, therefore I must assume that you have been sent here for a purpose?' Neon spoke calmly, as he tried to scry the thoughts of this mysterious man.

'You are better placed to know my origins than I am. For I think our creators and, therefore our beginnings, are one and the same.' Aramean rose to stand before his equal. He bowed to Neon before raising his hand and splaying his fingers before him. This was the sign and salutation of the Gods. Neon's assumption now seemed correct.

Neon tried to penetrate Aramean's mind. The memories were intense, vibrant and illusive. He briefly saw a temple surrounded by light in a world similar, but infinitely different, from Romanie. He felt the chilling fear of evil, and lost concentration from his thoughts. Aramean blocked Neon from re-entering his mind. Was this to be a battle of wills?

Neon and Aramean spoke honestly, but the polite conversation evaded hidden truths. Neither of them wished to test the abilities of the other by demonstrating their particular strengths. They spoke in mutual tones. After an hour of parrying mundane questions and receiving just as many inconsequential answers, Neon decided to simply ask for the truth.

'Do you come in peace, or do you come to harm?' It was a simple question, but one which would determine Neon's next manoeuvre.

Aramean held his head erect and maintained a proud stance as he contemplated his answer.

'I did not come here to harm. I came to this world to do what must be done for all worlds to survive.'

It was not the answer Neon wanted, but it told him one thing – this man had a reason for being here.

It was some time later when Neon finally poked his head through the flap and motioned to Sirus. Neon and Aramean had made a pact; both were now bound by their word of honour. When the guards finally returned to relieve Sirus, Neon had already left and Aramean was once again cross-legged upon the floor with his head bowed.

When Sirus returned to his lodgings, Neon was waiting for him. Sirus's interest was peaked to breaking point.

'There you are, did you find out anything?' Neon could hear the urgency in Sirus's voice. 'Did he tell you anything at all about what we face? Is there danger ahead?' Sirus had grown impatient.

'I know this: he is a Master Magician, and a very powerful mage. His power is guided in some way by the Immortals. He's been sent here, but he did not divulge his purpose. But I believe he has no evil intent.' Neon's tone suggested to Sirus that he knew far more than he was saying.

'Neon, did he indicate in anyway what might be out there, beyond those hills? Does he know the enemy we face?' Sirus spoke louder than he meant to, his frustrations were surfacing in his gruff voice. Neon could see Sirus was becoming increasingly angry.

'I assure you I did ask if he knew of our enemy, but he seemed surprised by my question. I believe the man has no reason for lying, he tells the truth.'

Meanwhile I'Eda was squatting outside her tent. Even though the night was cold and a thick covering of dew descended across the valley floor she was warm. She huddled under a camel fur coat Polymar had secured from the Rebion supplies. She sat with her back to the tent opening, swaying back and forth, and wishing she could snuggle up against the warmth of Sirus's body. He was so close, yet so far away. She missed those moments she needed him. Suddenly she heard raised voices coming from the direction of Sirus's tent. She scurried on all fours to the edge of the tent. The corner had not been fully secured, so she lifted the flap slightly and peeked underneath. She watched for a moment then pulled back, startled by what she saw and heard.

She had spotted Sirus; he was not alone. A horse stood within the confines of his tent. She knew the animal; it was Neon, Sirus's horse. She had suspected as much. It dawned on I'Eda that this creature could possibly impede her plan. Now she had two sorcerers to contend with – one a mage, the other a horse! She had overheard Neon's description of Aramean. 'He is a Master Magician and a very powerful mage. His power is guided by the Immortals. He has been sent here, but for what purpose he did not say.' This confirmed to I'Eda that both Aramean and Neon were far more than what they seemed. She decided that she needed to be extremely vigilant until she could fulfil both the shift and the plan of the Furie.

No matter what, her undertaking must be completed.

# 19

# Asserian

# 'The Path to Sansinus'

'Travel the road that leads to your past; along the way gather your allies.'

Thea marvelled at the light filtering through the tunnel that created a lenient glow before them. Above flourescent lighting in wafts of splendid colour cascaded down, reflecting on the path at her feet. They sent shimmering shards of lucent hues back and forth across the expanse of the path. Talon plodded ahead of her, unaffected by the beauty of the scene. Occasionally he turned back to make sure she was following; he didn't want her to drop too far behind. For a big bird he moves with incredible grace, Thea thought as she meandered slowly behind.

'Where are we going?' Thea enquired politely, wishing their destination would hurry and present itself.

'You will know once we get there.' Talon replied in a non-committal tone.

'Well! How long before we get there? Surely you can tell me that much?'

Thea couldn't believe how rude and unhelpful the monstrous bird was, all she wanted was a simple answer to her questions.

'No!' came a swift reply. 'And stop asking so many questions. I have a lot on my mind and your constant interruptions are not helping my concentration.'

Talon's voice sounded harsh. Thea felt like kicking him, but decided against it. After all he was a lot larger than she. Thea sensed it was just as difficult for Talon as it was for her. She knew if she were in his place she would feel the same. Fancy having to have the added burden of governance over a woman you did not even know!

Shaking her head, she followed in silence. This was not what she thought her journey would be like. She suddenly realised that Talon was taking her far away from the valley, away from her beloved city of Ammon, and away from those who needed her most. She wondered if she would live to regret her decision, or did the unspoken promise given by Antamea shed light on an uncertain future, she wondered. Wherever the bird was going, Thea knew it would eventually lead to a safe haven, a place to raise her child, a place to regain her strength and prepare herself to take back what was hers and her childs by birthright. Thea acknowledged that she owed Talon a lot, and by sharing her fate with this oversized bird she had committed herself to make this journey no matter where it might lead. The key thing she kept trying to keep at the forefront of her thoughts was that this was her only means of freedom. She also accepted that it had come at a very high price.

The Pathway meandered along, firstly left, then right, then uphill then down; and time seemed to pass slowly. Thea's only divergence was the appearance of other cavernous passageways leading off their path. These tunnels appeared dark and oppressive against the soft light before her. As she passed by one obscure opening, she caught a waft of a breeze. A stench putrid and repugnant assailed her senses. She gagged. Talon quickly pulled her forward, and then continued on his way making some remark about the annoying vile creatures. She asked what 'vile creatures' meant but was not surprised when she received no reply.

Thea hadn't eaten anything since the fruit she'd consumed earlier that day, yet she wasn't in the least hungry. Time now seemed inconsequential in this mysterious labyrinthine world. Hunger, thirst and bodily functions had no bearing here. Her legs had walked these passageways for endless hours yet she felt no fatigue. The monotony of the place was the only thing that made its presence felt.

Thea was so deep in thought that she barely heard the sound of running water ahead. Talon slowed. Thea caught up as the sound amplified and she became aware of a change in her surroundings. Damp walls covered in lichen with fine rivulets of moisture that trickled across the façade met her gaze. The roaring and bubbling of water became overwhelming. It sounded like a waterfall, just like a cascade flowing rapidly over a precipice.

'Talon, is that a river or a waterfall up ahead?' She was not expecting a response.

'It's both a river, and a waterfall! This place is known as "Lar'Aeire". Talon's voice was almost reverent.

As they neared, the noise increased. Thea had to place her hands over her ears to soften the sound. They rounded a slight bend in the path, and there before her was a splendid river. Crystal clear water ran at her feet then plummeted over a rim and down to a deep ravine far below.

The sight was enchanting, fascinating. It took Thea's breath away. A natural kaleidoscope of colour danced across the surface of Lar'Aeire, each droplet sparkling like a thousand precious gems. Thea felt young and free, memories of her childhood flashed before her filling her with delight. Memories of meadows, butterflies and daffodils, memories of moments filled with the carefree nature of youth. This place Thea knew she would never forget.

'This is truly magnificent. How could something so beautiful and enchanting be hidden away down here?' Thea wasn't expecting an answer and was surprised when Talon actually gave one.

'It's not hidden; it's meant to be seen, but only by those who pass through the Pathway. Her song is meant to guide those who are lost as she calms the troubled soul. She was created by the Goddess Azrah!'

Thea wondered what Talon meant by 'her'.

Talon suddenly pointed a wing in the direction of the top of the falls. Thea turned to gaze upon a graceful mermaid sitting on a large rock in the middle of the river. The water nymph's golden hair trailed lengthwise over a golden tail that was wrapped around the rock's edge. Thea could not help herself, she moved closer. The water maiden seemed familiar, yet Thea knew there was no plausible reason for the familiarity; she had never seen a water nymph in her life.

'Her name is Lar'Aeire, which means 'the songstress'. She waits for those who pass by and takes their sorrows upon herself,' Talon said with quiet respect. Thea had never seen a creature that so well epitomised grace and ethereal beauty. Lar'Aeire gazed toward Thea, their eyes met and for a fleeting moment their souls were joined.

Talon caught the back of Thea's garments just as she lost balance, almost falling from the edge.

'What are you doing? Be careful!' Talon whispered into Thea's ear, as he settled her against the safety of the rock face. At that precise moment Lar'Aeire burst into song. Her voice was like a new spring day – soft and warm and full of promise. Never had Thea heard anything so magical or serene. As the mermaid concluded her song, she spread her arms wide, and as she did fine fibre particles spread like pollen over Talon and Thea.

Warmth consumed Thea; it was as if she was exposed to the rays from a warm summer sun. Even Talon felt the calmness as it settled over his body. The mermaid uncurled her elegant tail then raised her arms before diving into the pristine waters. She was soon below the surface and out of sight.

'Oh Talon, did you see what she did? I feel free, as if the burdens of these past days have been lifted. It's been so difficult to forgive myself for what happened. My people are dying while I walk a sheltered path in your company. Now though, I feel relieved of that burden, the guilt has gone.' She smiled for the first time. 'I will never forget what happened to those I love, but I know it was not my fault. The Gods are far more to blame for this than anyone, Lar'Aeire showed me that.' Thea's face turned sad. For the first time Thea could sense the child within her womb, the child also knew the truth.

Talon had passed this way many times on journeys for the Great One, but he had never known Lar'Aeire to bestow on him or anyone else a blessing of this nature. The nymph rarely gave more than a brief glimpse of herself, only rarely did she serenade with her song. Talon felt fortunate, he suddenly realised he had been given a special task with chaperoning Thea.

The light rising off the water dimmed, as if someone turned down a wick. Talon and Thea could now make out the Pathway once again, its distinct lighting illuminating the steps leading downward over the edge to where the river dropped away into the dark depths below. Peering over the precipice, the path seemed to disappear beneath the waterfall. Talon feared he may be far too large to squeeze down the trail from here, but if that was where he had to go then he would follow.

'Why not fly down?' Thea asked, reading his thoughts. 'I can sit on your back. There is a ledge jutting out, see down there.' She pointed to a shelf far below. 'We can land there and that way you do not have to think about proceeding down the narrow path. It's probably slippery anyway from the damp!' She didn't think her suggestion would be taken up. The bird had previously ignored any attempt she made in the past to be helpful, but it was worth a try. Talon surprised her.

'I think you may be right! There is no way for me to fit down those narrow steps, I'd probably fall and break my neck.' He inclined his neck sideways as he looked over at Thea and smiled. A comedian he was not.

Thea climbed gingerly onto Talon's back. He boosted her up with a little help from his wing. 'Hang on tight, and don't pull at my feathers!' He smiled as he lifted off. At first Thea was too scared to look – it was a long way down. Soon however her natural curiosity outweighed her fear and she peered about her. The sight was breathtaking. Whoever created this place certainly knew what beauty was all about. Thea could not believe the enchantment which now bubbled up inside her as she took in the emerald river, the waterfall and the mists rising from the bottom of the ravine – all enhanced by a seemingly magic array of colour.

Talon circled downwards with wings spread wide as he glided slowly. The bird allowing Thea to savour the moment. Finally, he landed gracefully on the shelf near the entry to the Pathway. Thea slid down off his back with help from his wing. As water floated across his feathers, he cupped the end so she landed without harm. The path widened where the ledge commenced and Thea could see the point where it actually wound its way under the falls and into the rockface. The water billowed over their heads falling away to a place far below. Both Talon and Thea walked beneath, entering the light of a new path.

This path was illuminated differently from the previous one. The walls contained thousands of small lights, which Thea realised actually moved as she walked by. Talon moved along slowly behind her and as Thea glanced sideways at the wall once more, she heard Talon chuckle.

'Just what do you find so amusing, my large feathered friend? You may not have realised it, but these lights are moving!' She gestured with her hand. Talon leaned toward the wall and gathered something within his wing tip. Thea stopped.

'These creatures are known as light mites. They love company and they are obviously very pleased to see you.' He held out his wing in which was a small round ball that uncurled itself as it began to glow.

'Oh,' gasped Thea, 'that is so adorable.' Thea took the small creature from Talon and held it up for closer inspection.

'What did you call them? Light mites, I think you said! Why would they be glad to see me? It might be you they are glad to see,' Thea said cheerfully as she examined the ball of light shimmering in the palm of her hand.

'I have encountered the mites many times, but they normally never behave like this. In fact I have only ever heard of them displaying such warmth once before, and that was a long time ago.' Talon said, in a light-hearted manner.

'When was that?' Thea's voice held a curious tone.

'That I cannot tell you, and please, do not ask me why! You will find out in due course, I'm sure.' Talon's reply was not said in anger, but he made it clear he wished to avoid further questions. It seemed there were many things Thea would discover, given time.

The furry creature sat perched in Thea's palm; it was the size of a plum. Its tiny dark eyes darted about, firstly toward Thea, and then to Talon. Finally the mite focused solely on the features of Thea's face. Thea thought for a moment it was going to fly away, but as it studied her face the creature's light intensified and it began to hum. Before Thea could determine the function of such a sound, the other light mites joined in. The pitch they made reverberated off the tunnel walls, like an orchestra in an amphitheatre. The creatures gave off light from their bodies, which pulsed more brightly as they hummed.

Eventually the light mites settled down and ceased their noise. Thea carefully placed the creature back on the wall. But as soon as she moved, the tiny light mite floated back to land on her shoulder. She decided to accept the fact it was tagging along for the ride. As she moved away the other tiny mites followed closely.

Talon moved ahead of Thea. He was accustomed to these creatures from previous trips, but he was taken aback by the genuine display of affection now being shown toward his charge. The Great One had warned him: Thea was special. Talon knew she was to play a prominent role in the turmoil ahead, but up until now Talon had not realised just how important she really was.

The tunnel fanned out before them and the light mites made it easy going with their endless supply of bright light and their accompanying humming noise. It was some time later when Talon motioned with a sweep of his wing for Thea to stop.

'This is where we must leave your newfound friends. A world awaits us; the mites must remain here.' Without really contemplating the reaction Thea might have to this statement, Talon quickly turned and started forward toward an eerie light in the distance.

'What world? Where are we going?' Thea asked nervously. She was just beginning to like it here. Talon trudged on ahead without giving an answer. As daylight opened up ahead the light mites withdrew back into the tunnel. Thea did not notice her little friend as it flew from her shoulder and rejoined its companions. She turned to say goodbye but they were gone.

Talon and Thea emerged from behind the egg-shaped rock, an exit familiar to the eagle. They emerged into the morning's greyness on the world of Sansinus. The moment Thea moved from the tunnel she felt a sudden change. Her stomach growled impatiently with hunger and her limbs ached with tiredness. Talon too had to acknowledge he was very hungry and tired. He knew this was always the problem with travelling the Pathway – one never realised how much time had passed until one emerged into reality.

The new world Thea now confronted was far different from her own. Before her stood mountains, far more imposing and rugged than those she knew. The peaks were high, disappearing into the clouds. Icy snow stretched like clawing fingers down to the tree line. The climate of Thea's world never grew cold so she had never encountered snow. It took her completely by surprise. The trees too were unfamiliar. Their girths were large, and they supported straight and picturesque branches. The sky breaking out above them glowed the colour of ash. There seemed to be no life of any kind, no deer, no cattle, nothing, not even human life.

'Where are we?'

'This is the world of Sansinus, Thea. A world concealed in magic, where nothing is, as it seems.'

Talon wondered if Thea would come to understand why she had been summonsed here.

The statement should have triggered a confused response. Instead Thea looked knowingly at Talon. Although these surroundings were unfamiliar, they somehow felt indelibly hers.

'This world is truly different from Asserian, but somehow I feel part of it. It is as though we are linked in some way. Strange I know, for I have never been to any worlds other than my own.' She shrugged her shoulders, confused by the environs and her sense of déjà vu.

Talon did not comment. There were reasons for bringing Thea here and they would reveal themselves in time. Talon had his own interpretation. His guess was that all this had more to do with the child she carried rather than with Thea herself.

'Come on, we can't dally any longer! Climb aboard! I will show you the world of Sansinus; maybe it will help clarify some of your confusion.' He nestled down and lifted Thea gently onto his back. She clung to the large feathers of his neck as he lifted off carefully on the updraft from the gully below. He headed towards the city of Woodless End and a world dominated by the dark and mystical powers within the Craft.

# 20

# Romanie

# 'The Shift'

'A journey unfolds before you; upon this road you will learn the truth.'

As a new day dawned, the troops woke still exhausted from their previous day's ride. The weather remained clear so Jervoid, Renward and Sirus hurried the men along. Within a couple of hours the army and supplies were heading towards their perceived enemy in the north.

The amiable weather conditions did not last long, however. As the day wore on the weather became increasingly turbulent. Large storm clouds gathered overhead and the squalling winds increased, making the ride difficult. The ferocious arctic winds of the northern tundra winter now swept down the valley leaving both men and beasts held fast in its icy claws.

The journey so far had taken longer than Sirus had anticipated. Erecting tents had been impossible and so the men had huddled together during the bitter cold nights, gaining warmth where they could. Sirus ordered the wagons to be drawn around the camp in a circle so that the men, horses and cattle could be contained within it, the beasts helping maintain some semblance of warmth. It had been almost a week since leaving Gideon's Sheol and there had been no sign of life, just as Neon had reported.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, Sirus sent three of his men back with wagons to repack supplies. Sirus knew the Rebion would continue to ferry supplies to Gideon's Sheol so ample food could be brought from the caves. Normally Sirus would have allowed several weeks before sending anyone back, but with the treacherous weather conditions existing supplies had been partially ruined and the men needed good nourishing food to help alleviate the ever-increasing drop in morale.

On the morning of the sixth day the winds slowed and the icy rain abated. For the first time in many days Sirus and his men set up camp and erected proper shelter. They all settled into a deep sleep that night, brought on by more than fatigue and hunger.

The following morning, Sirus woke and poked his head outside his tent. To his utter astonishment, he found that the weather had cleared and a fine sunny day beckoned him. This strange turn of events should have concerned him, but because his men were basking in the unexpected warmth, he gave the weather no thought. He was simply grateful for the reprieve from the weather they had recently endured.

Jervoid had woken just before dawn, now as the sun brightened overhead he entered Sirus's tent; he seemed agitated.

'Is there a problem?' Sirus asked, as he glanced up from his ablutions.

'I think you should come and see what lies in our path! I'm not sure words alone can describe it or explain the abnormality.' Jervoid's voice made it a matter of urgency; it needed no further explanation for Sirus to follow.

The camp, which they constructed in a rush, was spread out in a long rectangle along the narrow valley floor. The supply wagons, cattle and horses had been corralled in the middle and the main camp set up around the perimeter. It took Sirus and Jervoid some time to make their way through, but as Sirus struggled past the last of the tents he saw what Jervoid was so distressed about. It took him by complete surprise.

In their path was a ravine so steep that it appeared impossible to scale. The chasm appeared covered with thick impenetrable rainforest.

'How could this be?' Sirus was incredulous. 'I'm sure this wasn't here last night. The scouts never reported anything like this, did they? Could we have taken a wrong turn?' Sirus was bewildered; this was quite extraordinary.

'There were no other paths!' Jervoid was very definite. 'I rode with the scouts and we never encountered anything. This wasn't here yesterday.' His tone was sombre.

'How can this be? Neon didn't report anything like this!' Sirus forgot for an instant that he was speaking with Jervoid. The man gave him a quizzical look, before Sirus marched off toward his tent to find Neon.

Sirus strode through the city of tents completely disregarding the dishevelled array of men, equipment and weary outbursts. His mind was now completely focused on the strange appearance of the abyss. He wiped perspiration from his brow, becoming conscious now of the weather; it was very warm. Overnight it had suddenly gone from subzero temperatures to tropical conditions. Things had mysteriously transformed.

As he reached his tent Sirus signalled for Neon; a sharp shrill whistle. Where the hell was that damned horse? These days Neon generally stayed within earshot of either Sirus's or Aramean's tent.

'Neon!' Sirus shouted aloud, his voice reaching screeching point. Sirus was near absolute exasperation when Neon tucked his head out from the confines of Aramean's tent.

'You called? Or should I say, you yelled!' Neon's voice emphasised his irritated mood as he glanced around to make sure no one saw or heard him.

'What the hell are you doing in there? Are you playing games, or playing cat and mouse with that godforsaken son of a frog-faced marlin?' Sirus didn't stop for pleasantries as he pushed past the open flap of Aramean's tent. Neon could see that Sirus was not only angry, but also completely irrational – obviously the man was no longer able to hide his frustration.

'I assume by your remark you mean Aramean? As a matter of fact we were playing a game, called guess and tell!' Neon was slightly haughty.

'Well stop playing games and come take a look at what has shown up in our path this morning. And by the Gods, I hope one of you can explain.' Sirus motioned for Neon to follow him, as he gave Aramean a contemptuous look before he strode forth from the tent, heading for the ravine. Neon cantered quickly to catch him up.

'I already know what lies in our path!'

Sirus stopped dead in his tracks.

'That's what I was discussing with Aramean when you so rudely interrupted,' Neon replied calmly, as he turned back toward the tent.

'You already knew! I guess I should have bargained on that. Why didn't you let me know? Why discuss this with that son of a pig?' Sirus's temper had bared its teeth as he pointed in the direction of Aramean's tent.

'If you stop yelling and settle down I might be able to tell you,' Neon tried to remain calm, though there was some slight in his low-pitched voice.

Sirus again followed Neon back inside Aramean's tent and as he did he glanced back over his shoulder making sure they had not attracted uninvited attention. His men however were too busy basking in the beautiful day and coping with the morning chores, airing out wet tents and equipment, to be bothered with Sirus's childlike behaviour.

Once inside, Sirus settled down. He had come all this way, but still had no answers to his questions. The further he moved north, the more his control seemed to be dwindling away. Destiny was being ripped from his grasp. He pulled up a chair and sat down looking firstly at Neon, then at Aramean.

'I want answers, and I want them now! I have a feeling both of you know a lot more than you're telling me.'

Neon looked at Aramean who remained cross-legged on the floor. The man's intense blue eyes now focused on Sirus, but Aramean's face was expressionless.

Neon shook himself. He had not been able to forewarn Sirus; the shift had occurred quickly and now it was too late. Aramean had summoned him moments after the shift's impact. In the last few days Neon and Aramean had come to respect each other; one for the skills they shared and two for the commitment they both had undertaken. They both knew the outcome of the future was inevitable and would have a lasting effect on all.

'Aramean and I felt a shift in the night! It came without warning. Time itself has changed and our position in time has altered as well. There was nothing either of us could do!' Neon knew Sirus would find his explanation inadequate.

'What are you talking about? What shift? What are you trying to say Neon?' Sirus was bemused by the expressions on Neon's and Aramean's faces.

'A displacement of time and matter! Simply put: we are now somewhere else. We might still be on Romanie, but we may be elsewhere. I cannot tell,' Neon stated as a matter of fact. Aramean remained calm and he appeared unperturbed by the events that had befallen them.

'So you mean the whole camp is no longer in the Valley of the Damned or the Beastal Bores? Are you saying we are no longer on Romanie? How can that be?' Sirus was unable to keep his exasperation hidden.

Neon hesitated, this situation had to be handled with propriety. The situation itself was quite extraordinary. Suddenly Aramean spoke.

'I sense that someone, or something; other than the Immortals is responsible for this. The shift was carefully orchestrated and came without warning. We both fear the manipulation was designed to stop Neon and myself from divining its source.'

'Source! I don't care about any source! I just want to know where the hell we are! Is there a way back to the Valley of the Damned or are we stranded here?' Sirus needed answers to his questions urgently.

Neon interceded; he knew Sirus would listen to him. 'Someone within the camp is aligned with whatever caused the shift. It is the only way for it to have taken place without Aramean or me detecting it. Without help from some powerful author, this shift could not have occurred, and without assistance from that source we cannot regain entry to our original location. Someone extremely powerful – more powerful than any of us – is behind this.'

Sirus was about to intercept with another remark, but Neon spoke first.

'We were brought here for a purpose. Both Aramean and I believe it has more than a little to do with you.' He watched a look of resignation settle upon Sirus's features. 'An entity with immense power instigated this shift; somehow they knew about Aramean and me. They knew of our abilities and probably knew that if we had sensed the change taking place then we would have been able to prevent it. Obviously someone within our camp is a traitor!' Neon did not wish to add further to Sirus's troubles, but there was truth in what he spoke.

'This is absurd!' Sirus paused to run his fingers through his now lank and dusty hair. The reality of what Neon was saying hit him. 'If what you say is true and we have a traitor in our midst then who could it be? I have known every single one of these men for years and I would swear each is trustworthy. Polymar is my most recent recruit, but I would rather cut my tongue out than think that Kwinend would place a traitor in my camp.' He paused again before turning to Aramean with anger in his voice. 'How do I know it's not you? You have not been forthcoming with information. I have no idea where you have come from or who sent you, or even why you are here. How do I know I can trust you?'

Sirus was beside himself now with a fear of the unknown and the dilemma they faced.

Aramean got to his feet, unwinding his tall sinewy frame to its full height. It was the first time Sirus had seen the man fully upright since their first encounter. He had forgotten how majestic Aramean was. By day Aramean was restrained on horseback and was ushered hastily to his tent each night. The man had not been permitted to roam the camp, so he was always isolated and no one saw him like this. Sirus was beginning to believe it was because Aramean could alter his physical state at will.

Aramean bowed respectfully toward Sirus, before looking him directly in the eye. His gaze seemed to seize Sirus's soul. He knew the man possessed wisdom and truth; it was written in the depths of his penetrating cobalt blue eyes.

'I was sent here to protect you – to protect you both,'

Sirus thought he was referring to himself and Neon, but he was wrong!

'I cannot change what must be, and I cannot betray you, Theron.' Aramean's revelation of his true identity sent shafts of uncertainty down Sirus's spine. 'I have sworn allegiance to Azrah and so she is the one that I obey. My bond cannot be broken.' Aramean's confident voice never rose beyond a whisper.

'Azrah!' The word sprayed from Sirus's mouth, his mind now in conflict. 'Azrah sent you here?' Sirus was beside himself; he could not recall a single thing about his former life, yet here stood a man sent by his Immortal mate. Did she know of his plight? Why did she not come herself? So many questions!

Aramean remained motionless, his eyes never leaving Sirus's intense scrutiny. He could not allow himself to feel empathy for the man; nothing could interfere or distract him from what must be done.

'You will have to trust me, Sirus. I do not know why this shift has taken place, I certainly am not responsible, nor could I ever betray you: remember that! Neon knows I speak the truth.' Aramean's demeanour was unchanged.

Nearby the horse stomped his foot to demonstrate his allegiance, as he answered his master's glare.

'Sirus, there is far more at stake here than you, Aramean or I. Someone wants us here, for what purpose I can only guess, but whatever that might be, both of us believe it will be revealed given time. I have come to know and trust Aramean. I ask that you do the same, at least until this ordeal is over.' Neon gave Sirus a look of self-assurance.

Sirus had many questions – and too few answers. He had no choice than to trust them both. He knew he could place his undying faith in Neon; he would have to trust Neon's judgment of Aramean.

Back in Polymar's tent, I'Eda relaxed. Her head gently rested on the rim of the tub. It was the first bath she had had on this godforsaken journey since Polymar first rescued her from the wagon. She grinned to herself, now she had all the time in the world. The plan of the Furie was now set to play out. She hoped it was not too late. She also hoped that she was not too late to save her race or weave her spell to take back the love of a man who was rightfully hers.

# 21

# Sansinus

# 'A World of Magic and the Darker Force'

'A world of magic, a world of darkness, consumes those who pass this way.'

Thea nestled into the soft feathers of Talon's back as he soared high through grey morning skies. The coldness of the air burned the lining of her lungs as she breathed deeply trying to remain calm. Wind swept around her head and shoulders, chilling her in its frigid clutches. Thea snuggled down further, surrounding herself in the warmth of Talon's plumage.

Moments later Talon called for her to look down. She hesitated before throwing caution to the wind so that she could brave the elements and glance below. Beneath ran a wide river, its edges swollen by recent melting snows. Trees devoid of leaves stood to attention like sentinels along its banks, and forests of evergreens lay beyond, resembling beds of dewy moss as the stark sun shone on their foliage.

In the distance Thea could make out a brilliant beam of light. Its glow was a startling contrast to the greyness, which threatened to engulf her. Talon flapped his huge wings, gaining altitude. Thea could now see the light clearly as they moved closer, it radiated from a tall spiral-shaped building in the centre of a large and gloomy city.

'The Temple of Light!' The whispered words escaped her lips before she could stop them. Both the temple and the city were familiar in some way. That feeling of knowing far more than was possible struck at her once again.

'Talon, what is that building called? The one with the spiral?'

'The people in Woodless End call it the Temple of Light.'

Thea contemplated her journey and knew that it was no accident she was here; somehow she was connected to this place.

Talon circled high above the city of Woodless End. He knew his presence would create no suspicion for everything within this world was enigmatic. However time was of the essence if Thea was to become familiar with this place. Somehow he had to assist her to gain entry to the temple. His only obstacle was being recognised or worse being caught. A necromantic dark force sustained this land, and Talon knew it could pose a problem. He would wait. Night would descend soon enough and that would give them camouflage for what needed to do done.

Just exactly why this journey was important he was not sure. The Great One had simply asked him to gain entry to the temple and accompany Thea inside. At the time it seemed an easy enough assignment.

Talon had visited this city many times. Woodless End occasionally manifested itself as a small fishing village with few dwellings, at other times it appeared as a bustling township. Today it was a mighty city. Woodless End changed at whim to suit its needs and circumstances. The city itself was part of the dark force. The Temple of Light however never changed; it was the one constant in this mysterious world.

Talon remained above the city for several moments, his mind focused on the task of plotting his game plan. It was now late afternoon and his stomach churned. He needed food. He realised Thea would also be hungry. They needed a place to remain hidden until nightfall, somewhere that would also provide nourishment for them both. Talon glided toward a valley not far from the city. Night would bring the darkness he required to approach the temple; it would also bring other dangers, for the creatures of the dark force walked this land in the shadows of nightfall.

The valley lay to the east of the city and was sheltered from the chilling winds. It had ample supplies of fruit and nut trees and edible ground cover plants – plenty for Thea to eat – Talon knew there would be some small animals foraging on the valley floor; they would be more than enough to satisfy his hunger. He landed lightly, his footsteps easy and sure. He lifted Thea carefully to the ground. She had fallen asleep.

Thea rubbed her weary eyes. Her dreams had seemed so real, they were filled with vague images, images of places she knew she had never known, never visited. More and more she had to admit that her life was being defined by some purpose.

She watched her feathered friend wander off to forage for food. She didn't feel like eating, but the child inside her needed nourishment – babies could not grow on air alone. She forced herself towards some thick bushes covered in wild berries. The berries were delicious, a cross between a raspberry and a plum. She named the fruit 'dewberry', as moisture still clung to its surface like condensation on a glass of wine.

Talon returned some time later. He looked well fed and content. Thea noticed he had left no morsels behind in his claws and his face held no hint of the delicacies he had consumed.

'Well that was worth the wait!' He patted his stomach with his wing tip. He looked to Thea.

'I hope you managed to eat something? It could be a while before your next meal.' Talon nonchalantly stated as he settled down to rest.

'I did, thank you very much. Talon, I know I have never been here before, yet I feel as though I know this place! This world is strange, it's certainly not Asserian, yet I recognised the temple and the city too looked familiar. How do you explain that?'

He did not answer her.

The silence between them eventually gave way to weariness and they both settled down for a brief rest. Thea tucked herself under Talon's wing and drifted off into a fitful sleep. She woke as the chill of the night crept into her bones. Talon was gone. Shivering, she jumped up in fright. The sound of a nightmarish cry of some wild creature came from nearby. Panic rose, like an enemy returning, she realised how vulnerable she was without the large bird to protect her.

Talon stood alone some distance from his charge as one of Sansinus's three moons moved into view from behind massing thick clouds. He had been deep in thought, the sound of the beast now bringing his conscious thoughts back to concentrate on Thea. He moved with speed as he realised she was awake. She recognised his large form as it moved toward her in the light of the moon. She breathed a sigh of relief.

'Quickly we must go,' the bird was impatient.

Talon lifted her gently once more to his back. Thea was comfortable now with her mode of transport. Quickly they flew into a nightmarish sky. Below them, in the obscure underbrush, red amber eyes full of malice, watched as the large bird swept up into the skies. His wingspan outlined in the lustre of the moon. The hunter let out a deep-throated growl to alert others that forces unconnected with the dark side were roaming Sansinus.

'What was that noise,' Thea asked. She strained her neck to study the scenery below, as large shadows formed in the valley.

'This land is full of strange creatures that walk at night. They cannot harm you up here. Do not concern yourself.' Talon's voice disguised his anxiety. Some things he could not explain.

As Talon approached the city, the light from the temple seemed to pulse a warning. There was no welcome here. Talon glided with little effort, silence in motion. He landed near the base, its stone façade cold and uninviting. Earlier that day he had spotted this dark inconspicuous corner that was out of sight of the prying eyes of those who might become suspicious. He allowed Thea to slide unceremoniously from his back. She landed noiselessly.

Thea instantly recognised where they were.

'What are we doing here? Why would you bring me to the temple,' Thea whispered, as she tried in vain to conceal her fear.

Talon was becoming a little tired of Thea's endless questions.

'I brought you here because I was told to.' He glanced up and down then shook himself.

'This is as far as I can go, as an eagle anyway.' He looked at Thea, knowing she would pursue the point.

'What do you mean? What else are you going to go as?' Thea clearly found the comment ambiguous.

'By the way, who told you to bring me here?'

Talon simply ignored her plea.

'Thea, remember here on Sansinus nothing is simple, and for now you will have to trust me. What I am about to show you may surprise you, but do not be afraid.' Talon stepped away from her. Thea felt scared, Talon was acting strange.

Talon closed his eyes – suddenly he was gone. At Thea's feet sat a large rodent, a rat. Thea had to force herself not to scream. The rat didn't frighten her, but Talon's disappearance did. Where had he gone? Was she now alone? Hysteria assailed her momentarily, bringing with it memories of that nightmarish cry she heard as they left the valley floor. She would never survive here alone.

'It's me!' The voice was familiar. 'It's me, Talon'

Thea looked down at the rodent, now sitting on its hind legs looking up at her, its mouth twitching.

'I changed myself into this creature to fit through the hole over there. That hole, by the way, is the only means for us to gain entry to this mausoleum.'

Thea stumbled backwards, shock reeling at her core.

'Just something you forgot to mention! Why didn't you explain what you were doing?' Thea whispered, as she squatted down in front of Talon. She thought he looked rather ridiculous in his rat guise.

'I thought I would surprise you. And I guess it worked! Besides I was not kidding when I told you things on Sansinus are not what they seem. By the way, you will have to do the same, even you are a little large to fit through that.' He pointed once again toward a small hole at the base of the temple's outer structure.

'Just give it a try.' Talon stood on his hind legs; trying to readjust his height so that he could eyeball Thea.

'How? I have limited powers, certainly not enough to change into a rat.'

'Yes you do! Let me show you.'

Talon carefully explained the steps that Thea would need to perform to transform from her human form. It was not a complicated process. She closed her eyes and concentrated hard. She eradicated everything else from her mind. Suddenly she remembered the child she carried.

'What about my child, I won't do anything that might cause it harm,' her words emphatic.

'No harm will befall the child. Do you trust me?'

'Do I have a choice?'

'Not really! Well, you can remain here by yourself, while I go inside; I guess you won't mind being left alone! I'm sure there is only a remote possibility that those creatures you heard earlier could find you, you should be safe until I get back.'

'All right, you have convinced me! I'm concentrating.'

Again Thea closed her eyes, her mind now focused entirely on the change. The thought of turning into a rat held no appeal, so she elected the guise of a mouse instead. Instantly she felt the change take place.

As she opened her eyes, she felt the astonishing feeling of her fur-covered body, fine hair, velvety smooth and her tiny rodent features. She stood shoulder to hip next to Talon.

'Well, a mighty fine choice indeed! Very pretty! Now shall we go and visit the temple?' Talon said as he scuttled forward into the small hole concealed in the darkness at the base of the wall; Thea followed.

Although the walls inside were dry, the smell was rancid and Thea could feel her stomach heave slightly with the fumes. Talon slowed down and beckoned her to remain close. Within seconds, Talon had shifted from a horizontal run to a vertical climb. He was heading along the struts with Thea close on his tail. They both moved at an incredibly agile pace, and Thea became thoroughly exhilarated by the experience. Small pockets of light filtered through openings at various levels, and they went through one of these and out onto a landing – emerging about half way up a winding staircase. Both rat and mouse were surprised by the amount of energy they still had after such a steep climb.

The staircase was decorated with intricate patterns that Thea could not help but admire. Talon too paused to study the designs at close range. Thea knew she had encountered these symbols before, but could not recall where.

Talon too was momentarily mystified, but then it dawned on him that the designs were the same as those on the necklace around Thea's neck. He glanced over at her and the orb she still wore. Now he knew where he had seen them before. Thea too was struck by the realisation at that moment. The pair exchanged glances, but Talon reminded her with a gesture about the need to remain silent. Both quickly scurried back through the opening and towards the struts on the roof.

The last part of the journey was far more strenuous: the angle of the walls became steeper and cobwebs hung in waves of gossamer. The trapped insects appeared suspended in the thread like sheaths of wheat tied up to dry. Thea hated spiders, and so she clung to Talon's tail hoping desperately not to disturb the web makers.

Eventually they reached the pinnacle. Talon could see the roof's main struts a short distance in front. There another opening appeared which was designed to create airflow into the main chamber. The pair headed directly toward the light. This time they emerged at the top of the stairs. Talon checked for signs of life. They were so close now; he could not afford to be detected. Not far away stood a set of large, oppressive doors. Talon and Thea stood below them, dwarfed by their magnitude. Talon uttered the word 'Neodarmas', and the great doors opened. They scurried inside.

Thea remained very still as she looked about the room. A statue tall and noble caught her eye: its features delicate. The edifice was remarkably lifelike, and Thea could see it looked very similar in many ways to her. Coincidence once again? She didn't think so. Thea was becoming resigned to her fate. She walked over and stood directly at the statue's base.

'Who does this represent?' She spoke warily. Talon had now come to stand by her side.

'The statue is an image of Azrah, Goddess Immortal. She created this world.'

'Does the image remind you of anyone?

Talon knew exactly whom it looked like; the resemblance to Thea was remarkable.

'It looks like you.' His tone spoke volumes. Thea could not help but feel as though Talon were keeping many things from her. Things that would help her unlock this mystery.

She was about to ask for clarification and gain answers if she could, when the doors of the chamber sprang apart and in hurried several hooded men, their manner repressive. Talon and Thea dived beneath the base of the statue.

'Who dares enter the forbidden chamber of the Goddess?' A voice loud and filled with anger demanded. The sound vibrated off the walls and Thea felt her heart pound. The hooded figures swarmed about the room, searching. A large robust man with a protruding stomach that hung over his belted robe, spotted Talon's tail poking out from beneath the base of the marble figure. He dragged Talon squirming and wriggling. The rat unable to free himself from the iron grip.

'A rodent! One which strikes me as being the talkative kind,' remarked the large man as he held his prey firmly. Talon floundered in midair, his actions portraying his terror. Meanwhile Thea sat quivering beneath the ledge out of sight, vulnerable and afraid. She could feel Talon's fear.

'This is no ordinary rat! I feel the power of the Craft. This is a changeling. We should kill him. He has broken the code and entered the forbidden chamber, so he must die.' Once again the burly man dangled Talon high. He watched with eager joy the ramifications his threat was having on his victim. Talon continued to struggle in vain.

The brawny man had addressed his remarks to another cloaked brethren. An older man approached, his white beard falling well below the front bodice of his tunic. His confounded appraisal cast toward Talon.

'He knew the password. How could that be possible?' The old man had his full attention focused on the man holding Talon in a vice like grip.

'All the more reason to kill him, he knows far too much. He is not one of us; I can smell the inferior putrid odour of him. He does not come from this world,' stated the thickset man holding Talon.

'Maybe the darker force sent him,' suggested the old man.

'Then he should die. I'll squash him and trample his head. His death won't be pleasant,' chuckled Talon's captor.

For a brief moment, Thea thought she was going to faint. Her heart beat fast, her head pounded so strongly she thought they could hear her. Her fear gave way to panic. She was the only one who could save Talon – but how? In a flash, the answer came to her.

With trepidation she stepped from beneath the base of the statue, carefully avoiding the shafts of light that were inching in from the passageway outside. She concentrated hard. She resembled the statue of the Goddess, so maybe she could convince them that she was the Goddess herself. She had to try.

Thea appeared in her own form in an instant, just moments before the large burly man brought his heel down upon Talon's head. He saw her and let go of the rat. The brethren within the room stood speechless. They remained motionless as Thea spread forth her hands in a pagan gesture, just like a Goddess. Her past experience now came in handy.

Talon, consumed by terror, scampered from the room. He ran as fast as his small legs would carry him. He scurried into the hole, leaving Thea to face the hooded men alone.

The men dropped to their knees, prostrating themselves on the ground at Thea's feet. They believed her, so her quick thinking paid off. She hoped they would remain prostrated until the Goddess gave them leave. Thea did not wait to issue permission. She concentrated again and turned back into a mouse. She followed after Talon, out the door, through the hole and down the internal wall frame; all thoughts of the spider's lair forgotten in her haste to escape out into the night air.

As she emerged, she spotted Talon. He was siting, head folded between his two back haunches rocking back and forth. She could see his distress. She quickly changed back into herself.

Talon was no coward, so why did he leave Thea so vulnerable and unprotected? Talon pondered the moment, wondering why he had fled. He knew he would have died if Thea had not intervened. He owed her his life. For the first time in living memory he felt unworthy of his task.

He felt her hands as she picked him up. Her touch was gentle and concerned. She cradled the rat against her chest; she had already forgiven him.

'Don't blame yourself Talon. As you can see I'm quite capable of looking after myself. Besides, I owe you one – remember?'

He looked up at her. 'I am a coward. I was sent to protect and guide you. Instead I ran, like a river running downstream, not once considering what I had left behind.' His words were laden with remorse.

'Talon I forgive you! As you can see, I'm unharmed.' She laughed lightly and softly kissed the top of his head. There seemed to be little she could say or do to console him.

'Don't you want to hear what happened?'

Talon remained dejected and silent. Thea felt for him.

'I changed into myself, and they thought I was the Goddess. They fell at my feet in supplication.' Thea lifted Talon up level with her eyes to force him to acknowledge her. 'I ran like you did once I changed back into a mouse. I would have done the same as you.' She hesitated. She could see she was doing little to alleviate his guilt. Then she was reminded of the symbols on the staircase, and she hoped a change of subject might eliminate the feeling of disquiet.

'Talon, those symbols we saw on the staircase in the temple, they're the same as those on the chain around my neck. Remember yesterday when we sighted the temple and this city, I felt then that things here seemed familiar, now I believe all these things are connected somehow to me. I believe that Asserian and Sansinus are linked in some way. I was meant to see those etchings, and the fact that the Goddess and I resemble one another is not coincidental. This journey is telling a story, and I hope before its end I will have worked out the riddle. I think you know far more than you are saying, but I will not press you, for I will find out eventually.' Thea resigned herself to the fact that the journey would be long, and she had much to unravel on her travels ahead. She placed Talon carefully back on the ground.

'I think we had better leave before they sound the alarm,' Thea gestured toward the tower. Voices could be heard shouting orders, no longer did they believe she was the Goddess.

Talon closed his eyes, his thoughts now engaged on the task at hand. He appeared moments later in his true form, humbled by the woman before him.

With Thea perched majestically on his back, Talon headed quickly away from the temple and back to the mountaintop ready to re-enter the Pathway.

# 22

# Romanie

# 'Another World, Another Time'

'A world unknown, a world of the Furie lies at the beginning of time.'

Polymar felt an extraordinary sensation. During the night something bizarre and unexplainable had occurred, but she was not sure precisely what it was. It had aroused mixed emotions inside her – an intense feeling of déjà vu as well as insecurity and alarm. A strange instinct gave her the sense that the night's events were alien, not to her, but to the world of Romanie.

At midnight Polymar had grown weary; she had been fighting off her lethargy. She remembered the feeling: being as light as a feather, as if she was floating or suspended in the space around her. Time literally stood still – a state she did not wish to experience again.

She had been keeping watch over I'Eda. The young girl lay still beside her, almost lifeless; funnily enough I'Eda had not stirred at all during the strange ordeal.

In the morning, when I'Eda failed to mention the strange occurrences of the previous night, Polymar decided to cast them aside.

Her brief moments alone with I'Eda during the nights had strengthened their relationship, and Polymar had to admit that her feelings toward the young woman were growing stronger.

Polymar stepped out into the strange clear morning and immediately noticed that things had altered. She noted the cloudless sky, the soft breeze, and the sun shining brightly. She now had more than a mild suspicion that something was amiss.

Her experience in the caves at Gideon's Sheol and her conversation with Neon had made her slightly less sceptical, but a dramatic change in weather conditions such as this was cause for concern. She made her way through the camp, some of the men were up and none could believe what greeted them. They scrambled about throwing off the heavy woollen coats and blankets that they had bedded down in the night before.

Disbelief was voiced by many as Polymar headed toward the far side of the camp. She hoped to find Neon, because if anyone knew what the hell was going on, it would be him.

Many of the soldiers still slept, unaware of events.

The two stood together gazing down into the cavernous ravine below. Judging by Neon's constant head shaking, Polymar knew the scene before them was much more than just a seemingly impenetrable jungle.

'Where did this come from? We set up camp on an open plain, well below the mountain ridges. Now we wake to this!' Polymar pointed to the thick vegetated abyss below.

'This didn't just appear out of thin air did it,' sighed Polymar. She kept her voice to a whisper.

Neon did not respond; he cantered away from the spectators beginning to congregate at the edge of the canyon. The spectacle of the day and the scenery were starting to attract a crowd. Many were beginning to speculate about what had occurred, some preferring to believe that the Gods had intervened in order to spare their lives. It was better for them that they think that than know the truth.

Neon edged his way around the escarpment, away from the camp, with Polymar jogging behind him. Neon's destination was a point far away from the gathering crowd. He needed to remain undetected. He found the ideal spot about a league away. Polymar had kept up the pace behind him, close on his tail. Her objective was to ensure no one followed them.

'Why did you head so far from camp?' Polymar asked breathlessly when she caught up with him.

'Well neither the weather nor the ravine appeared out of thin air. Something happened last night. A phenomenon called a Shift. But the only way to be certain is to go down and take a look!' He indicated the valley below them with his nose. 'I must fly undetected. I wanted to be far away from camp. I don't think the men could manage another unnatural spectacle in one day! A flying horse would seriously unsettle their nerves!'

Neon was keen to bring some humour to the situation, but Polymar was barely amused. Things weren't good if Neon had cause for concern.

'I can sweep down into the ravine and take a look around. We need to know whether trouble awaits us. If I know Sirus, he will definitely want to go and explore. He seeks answers and won't stop until he finds them.' Neon appeared intense. Polymar looked quizzically at him, but shrugged her shoulders at the hidden meaning.

He had barely finished his sentence when he felt Polymar jump on his back.

'If you are going then so am I. You may need the services of a good swordswoman.'

Neon watched the young woman sling her sword over her shoulder and secure it tightly. Polymar had no intention of remaining here even if Neon had asked her to.

Neon had never carried anyone else besides Sirus and he now found himself in an improbable situation. No one had had the audacity to take such liberties before. He knew Sirus would not approve. He liked the feel however, her light frame sat well. He knew Polymar was a competent rider.

Neon's wings extended as he gracefully took off from the edge of the ravine, with his exhilarated rider. Polymar held on tight even though she was an accomplished horsewoman. Flying on a horse was an unnatural feeling and meant she had to reconsider how she positioned herself. Neon had briefly mentioned his unusual ability, but he had given no indication about how exciting it could be.

As they drifted on the current, both horse and rider studied the terrain below; it was simply breathtaking. But nothing could have prepared them for what happened next. The canopy below unexpectedly peeled back to reveal wondrous mysteries beneath. Polymar was amazed by the thick, lush growth of brightly coloured plant life. Trees, encircled by thick vines, were covered in brilliant foliage of every colour imaginable; it was a kaleidoscope of astonishing hues. Life unlike anything familiar to them both dived and flittered about amongst the trees. The brilliant shrubbery of colours and textures was accentuated by the sweet, almost sickly, perfume of exotic flowers.

'Have you ever seen anything like this? It reminds me of somewhere, but I've never been anywhere other than the Lahore Plains and Eshtah,' Polymar remarked. The sight somehow evoked unfamiliar memories long hidden in time.

'It truly is amazing.' Neon had never seen a sight such as this either. The smells and the colours greeted them like a lost friend.

'Are we in another world, Neon? This certainly isn't Romanie, so have we discovered a lost world?' Polymar breathed in the scent that rose in an updraft of breeze. She found it difficult to contain her excitement as they glided slowly to the ground. Neon landed in a small clearing surrounded by the foliage of the unique habitat.

'A lost world! No. But a world lost to humans, yes!' Neon thought. He had stumbled upon the truth, but he wasn't sure what to do about it.

Polymar slipped easily from his back. Neon sniffed the air. His extrasensory perception indicated that no danger lurked close by, yet he sensed this place was a world inhabited by others; creatures with a far greater intellect than theirs.

Neon wondered why such a place should suddenly appear from nowhere and why such a place would reveal itself now. There could only be two possibilities. Firstly, Romanie had changed, as had life itself. Or the whole camp, including the animals, had been transported to another place in time, maybe a time long ago. Neither possibility made Neon feel comfortable.

Polymar wandered away from Neon towards a grove of unusually shaped trees nearby. There, myriads of magnificent flowers bloomed. She stopped near a trumpet-shaped blossom with an exquisite perfume. Shards of light floated before her eyes like crystal gems, and the smell sent impassioned impulses to her brain. She bent down to breathe the intoxicating aroma. The petals of the flower closed as she brought her face close. Polymar felt herself lifted by the bouquet, which hung in the air like a bee above a honeycomb. Her eyes closed.

•

Polymar found herself in a room with a child sitting before her, cross-legged upon a marble floor. Large stone arches towered above them, and light cascaded down and caressed her with warmth. She scrutinised the child. He appeared very young; his head crowned with a mass of golden ringlets, like a halo. The child's skin was remarkably pale, like the softest white clouds. Polymar could not help staring. The boy reminded her of someone, from archives in her mind that were long forgotten. She studied him intently, her interest born more of curiosity than fear.

She felt she should be somehow fearful, but her heart continued to beat a slow rhythm. She stared into his eyes of the deepest blue, their limpid depths reminding her of cloudless summer skies on the Rebion Plains, where she played as a child. Knowledge was hidden in those eyes, knowledge about herself.

Polymar turned to find that Neon was gone. The ravine too had disappeared. She was no longer where she had first set foot in this strange and mysterious world. She glanced back to the child. Her heart began beating faster, like a drum, and her breathing became laboured. She was completely at a loss as to what to do next. A smile broke out on the boy's face to reveal perfect white teeth.

'Do not be afraid, young one! No harm will befall you here.' He beckoned her to move close. She squatted down; forever mindful of the fact she was in an alien world.

'Listen very carefully to what I have to say.'

The child may have appeared young, but his voice was aged and wise.

His rhythmic tones lulled her into a state of relaxation. She was sure she had heard his voice before.

'You have been brought here so that you can relay a message to your God. You are to ask Theron to accept an invitation to the Council of the Furie. If he accepts then instruct him to bring just three others with him. They must be his most trusted advisors, those he believes in the most. Convey to him that he will learn much if he comes. If he chooses not to then I cannot help him further.' The child's voice was filled with compassion and sincerity. The longer he spoke, the more his voice resonated like a lyre being plucked. Polymar became lost in its tones.

The child paused. He sat quietly, with his head inclined and smiled sweetly at his guest. Polymar was not sure whether she should reply. The instructions had been perplexing. She did not know any God, nor had she heard of Theron. And right now she was more curious about the child's own identity! She decided to be direct.

'Who are you and how did I get here?' Her voice sounded frail, as she gestured to the room they were sitting in.

'Ha! So many questions from one so young! All will be explained when you return with Theron. Now go, Polymar, and pass on my message.'

'How do you know my name?'

A smile once again lit up the child's face.

'Time will provide answers.'

The child reached inside his loose-fitting garment, his sleeves billowing wide at the wrist. He pulled out a small medallion, which shimmered in the light, its surface a tarnished bronze. He handed it to Polymar.

'Give this to Theron.'

Polymar reached for the medallion. Her hand lightly brushed the child's and the touch caused memories to assail her once more. She took the object and withdrew her hand quickly.

'Who is Theron? How am I supposed to contact him?'

With a slight chuckle, the child replied, 'Why, do not worry, he will find you. Tell him I need a reply and soon. Remember the Furie requests, not demands, an audience with him. I will remain here until you return with an answer.'

Polymar wasn't sure what she should do next. Getting here had been easy, but how was she to leave? As she pondered that predicament, exotic perfume filled her senses once again and her eyes closed tight.

•

Polymar stirred from her slumber. Neon was standing over her, nudging her nose with his.

Neon hadn't noticed Polymar at first as she lay on the ground; slumped amid the flowers. He was busy exploring the valley floor, taking in the sights and sounds. When he called her name and she did not reply he had gone in search, merely to find her asleep.

'How can you go to sleep? I allowed you to accompany me so that we could explore this place, and now I find you sleeping.' She could see that he wasn't angry, but obviously confused. 'I turn my back for one minute and you take a nap.' Neon's tone did sound a little indignant though, and Polymar bristled.

'I...I, didn't fall asleep.' She hesitated. Why did her experience feel like a dream?

Polymar's voice sounded baffled. She glanced at her hand and in her palm she clenched the medallion. She showed it to Neon.

'I knew I wasn't dreaming! I met a child; he gave me this and said to give it to Theron. Unfortunately, I don't know who Theron is; he mentioned a God. Neon, do you have any idea who Theron is?'

Neon looked with curiosity at the medallion; its patterned edges appeared very familiar, the object was a small replica of the one Sirus wore.

Polymar was not surprised when she didn't receive an answer.

'Neon I don't know any Gods, and I have never heard of Theron.' She shook her head in confusion.

Neon shook his body, his mane flying free in the cool tropical breeze. He thought long and hard about Polymar's remarks as he glanced from the medallion to Polymar's intense gaze now focused upon him.

'You spoke of a child, what child?' Neon's voice was firm.

'I don't know. Just a young boy! Mind you, he certainly was no ordinary child.'

'Why would you say that? What did he look like?' Neon's thoughts were cast back to the discovery of the child at Delgrade.

Polymar described the child in detail and Neon concluded that his suspicions were correct. The child they had discovered at Delgrade was definitely connected with this shift.

'Neon, it was no dream; this medallion is proof. I have a message to give to Theron.'

Neon leaned a little closer. 'What message?'

Polymar relayed in full the child's request and the directive she was to relay to Theron. Neon was now more intrigued then ever.

'We had better get back.' He seemed agitated. 'The message you have is far more important than exploring this ravine.' Polymar was puzzled by Neon's reaction, as he hastened her to mount.

On their return, they landed away from the camp. They didn't speak as they made their way along the top of the bluff toward the encampment. Neon's mind was utterly consumed with these latest happenings, the mysteries of the ravine, the appearance of the child and the message for Theron. He didn't doubt Polymar's sincerity, but he did not understand why the message had been given to Polymar rather than himself. He knew Sirus's true identity better than anyone.

Polymar kept repeating the directive over and over in her mind; she didn't want to forget one word the child had spoken. How did she get a message to a God, and if she did somehow manage such a preposterous proposal, how would she know if it were Theron? She recalled the words spoken by the child: 'he will find you'. She would have to rely on that.

The camp was a hive of activity as the pair entered the main body of men. Polymar had not thought to dismount; in fact she was oblivious to the fact they had even made it back to the campsite. As the horse and rider entered the row of tents, Sirus rounded the corner near the supply wagons. He was yelling orders to Renward and Jervoid. Then he spotted the pair headed his way.

'What the hell is going on?' Sirus blurted out. Never had anybody had the audacity to ride his horse! Sirus knew Neon would never allow anyone to ride on his back except, of course, himself. He stormed toward the pair in giant strides, anger building. Jervoid and Renward followed close behind.

Sirus met up with them, just as Tonk approached from the opposite side, hoping to stop her. Polymar noticed neither man. Suddenly she felt firm hands grip her ankle just above her boot and heave her none too gently from Neon's back. Tonk shrunk away as Sirus glared down at Polymar spread-eagled on the ground at his feet.

'What the flaming cauldrons of hell do you think you're doing riding my horse?' Sirus's temper was now fully engaged. The men nearby cringed, knowing full well the ramifications the woman would suffer for disobeying a directive from their Lord.

Before she could answer, Sirus grabbed Polymar by the collar and dragged her toward his tent. She stumbled forward, trying to regain some dignity; she would have kicked out but knew it would merely worsen the situation. Jervoid and Renward remained a reasonable distance behind. Neon followed in their path. This was certainly neither the time nor the place for Neon to try and explain.

Once inside his tent, Sirus pushed Polymar forward, sending her sprawling into the dirt, her face aglow with humiliation, smudges of dust now covered her clothes.

'What gave you the right to think you could ride Neon? I have told you and everyone else within this camp, in fact within the kingdom, to never risk my wrath by riding my horse. Just what did you not understand?' He hesitated momentarily as Polymar stood up, dusting the grime from her shirt and pants. Her humiliation gave way to indignation. He gave her no opportunity to reply.

'Your answer had better be good, or even my oath to your father won't save you this time.' Those outside the tent could hear Sirus's roar as he took his pent up frustration out on the only person he knew would not fight back.

Polymar had never given in to emotion, not as a child when she was denied the love of her mother, nor as a lover when her betrothed was dragged away and tortured. But the heart wrenching sight of a strong man like Sirus worn out from months of weary travel and torment, brought tears to her eyes – it brought back her own feelings of guilt and frustration. Polymar knew she would go through hell to help Sirus find the answers he sought.

'I'm sorry,' she finally blurted out; she wasn't referring to her indiscretion of riding Neon; she was sorry for not being able to do more to help him. She withdrew the medallion slowly from her trouser pocket. 'I don't know why, but I feel I should give you this.'

She handed the object to Sirus. This man was the first person apart from her father to have shown her any real warmth and compassion, and somehow it felt right to give him the token. He would know what to do with it. Sirus snatched it from her hand.

Sirus's commanders, along with Tonk and Belvarde, had been standing outside the tent. As the furore inside died down, they departed. Those who had gathered outside were there to protect the girl; chivalry wasn't dead.

Neon was munching on lush grass nearby, masquerading as a normal horse. As the men departed, he headed around the back then vanished.

Polymar had her back to the far wall of Sirus's tent and didn't notice Neon appear behind her. Sirus resented the intrusion, but envied the horse his talent; it was a gift he once had – before this drama began.

Sirus held the small medallion in his hand and eyed it with suspicion. Neon moved slowly to Polymar's side, causing her to jump with fright. She knew the horse was capable of many things, but each time she witnessed another of his remarkable feats, her insight into his persona intensified. She knew it was merely a part of the phenomenal journey she had embarked upon.

The necklace Sirus held was a smaller, less intricate copy of the medallion he wore round his neck. This discovery gave strength to the escalating fear he was now experiencing.

'Where did you get this?' The question was spoken with force, but more out of curiosity than anger.

'Neon and I went to explore the ravine. While I was there, a young boy gave it to me. He asked me to give it to the God Theron.' Polymar hesitated, realising how absurd this whole thing sounded.

'I don't know how to contact a God, but when I saw you, well, it seemed appropriate that you should have it.' Polymar's instinct convinced her she had done the right thing. She glanced between Sirus and Neon and saw a sign of recognition. She knew she had stumbled on something significant.

Sirus glanced directly at Neon.

'Don't look at me; I saw nothing. I can't deny or verify what Polymar experienced down there. I thought she had fallen asleep, when she woke she had the medallion in her hand.' Neon knew from the look on Sirus's face that this news only heightened his master's already oppressive thoughts. Sirus was confused.

'Polymar obviously knows about you, Neon. How much more is she privy to?'

Sirus realised his circle of confidants had suddenly increased.

Polymar spoke before Neon had a chance to respond.

'I overheard you and Neon in the cave back at Gideon's Sheol. I followed you that night. I thought you might need me; I was trying to be helpful. I did not mean to eavesdrop. I swear! I confronted Neon and we have become friends. I'm sorry Sirus, I don't think either of us meant to keep it from you, we simply couldn't find the right moment to explain. You have been rather preoccupied of late.'

Neon stepped forward.

'Sirus, it's time others knew your predicament. You cannot continue to face this alone.'

Sirus turned away. His thoughts were in a whirl. He could not look at either of them as his mind mulled over these latest events. He looked down at the medallion and realised Neon was right. He could not continue to face this without allies.

'Why go down into the ravine in the first place? Why?' Sirus asked more indignantly than he intended.

Neon voiced his concerns about the shift and he tried in vain to explain the wondrous sights he and Polymar had seen. Mere words could not give credence to what they had observed. When Neon finished relaying his own fears, Polymar spoke. She told Sirus, word for word, what the child had articulated.

Sirus unbuttoned the front of his shirt and pulled out the large medallion that was now a part of his life. Polymar's surprise must have registered on her face, as both Sirus and Neon appraised her reaction.

'They are almost identical.' Polymar stated the obvious.

She had many questions; yet knew her inquisition would only reveal a small twist in a very large rope. She would save the most obvious question – the one about who Sirus really was – for later. Polymar left Neon and Sirus alone.

Sirus sat on his straw bed and placed his hands behind the crook of his neck and stretched back his shoulders for a little relief; the situation was unbearable.

'I have no choice; I will have to go. Can we trust Polymar with all this?'

'I would not have involved her if we couldn't.' Neon stated sharply.

'Very well! If what she said was relayed accurately then I have little choice. If I don't go, I will get no help. Worst of all, I may never find out who, or what, is behind all this. What did Polymar say the child called those who seek me out? The Furie? Neon, have you heard of that race?'

Neon shook his large head in response.

'Well it seems the Furie have gone to great lengths to bring us here, it would be rather remiss of me not to go. What do you say?' Sirus was thinking out loud.

Neon agreed; the impending meeting could be extremely beneficial for many reasons. If this race had any malevolent intentions then they would have orchestrated some evil against Theron rather than request an audience with him. Both agreed that the child they discovered at Delgrade and the child in the ravine might be one and the same being.

'Who will you take with you? The child was emphatic that you take only three others.' Neon hoped that establishing a plan would relieve some of Sirus's tension.

'I will take you, Polymar and Aramean. I trust your judgment Neon. You say Aramean is a powerful mage and can be trusted. I feel I could learn to trust him. Polymar, we both trust; besides there are no others suitable for such a task.' Sirus looked at Neon as he spoke, hoping to gain support.

'You and Polymar will need to go back to the ravine and let the child know I accept his offer. Neon, you will have to inform Polymar of my true identity; there is no other way, besides she has probably already guessed. She's smart that one! Like it or not, she will be one of only three people in this camp who know who I really am. Ask her to find out how I am to comply with the request for a meeting with the Council.'

Sirus stood tall and firm now; for the first time in weeks Neon could hear leadership in Sirus's voice.

Polymar stood with Neon at the edge of the ravine, again away from the men and the camp. After his discussion with Sirus, the horse had left him by himself; he knew the man needed time to think through the issues, which confronted him. Neon had then gone in search of Polymar. He found her alone, sitting under a shady bush not far from camp. He didn't have to broach the subject, for Polymar asked the question first, as she turned sharply to confront Neon.

'Who is Sirus?'

Neon took his time explaining the events and circumstances that had befallen the man they all knew as Sirus. It was not difficult then to describe his life as Theron, God Immortal.

Polymar should have been shocked, but given the events and circumstances of recent times, she merely sighed and resigned herself to the fact that life was full of strange experiences. She was certainly learning much about life, including her strengths, which she had not realised she possessed.

The two friends continued to talk. Polymar wanted to understand why someone like Theron would prefer the guise of Sirus, Prince of Eshtah rather than his life as a God. She did understand. No one knew better than her what it was like to live a restless life, in which you never felt at peace and where independence seemed so out of reach. She also could relate to Theron's wish to find freedom from a life he found constrictive.

When Neon had finished his discourse, they both sat deep in thought. Neon eventually reminded Polymar of her obligations. She nodded her head and climbed upon his back. This time the journey into the ravine was filled with anticipation, as both Neon and Polymar wondered what lay ahead with their impending meeting with the Furie.

# 23

# Asserian

# 'Through the Eyes of Craven'

'To view evil is to view the unthinkable, but to experience evil is to know its true nature'.

Craven sat perched on the rampart of the fortress, his eyes cast toward the grey skies and the deep swirling green of the ocean beyond. He didn't know if the Great One had meant him to view the horrendous spectacle of the destruction of the inhabitants of Asserian, but he had. Now it played on his mind constantly. Maybe the atrocities he witnessed were meant to teach him some fundamental lesson about life in this world dominated by humans, or maybe it was meant to help him gain an insight into the evil that one human being can inflict on another. Either way, the things he witnessed were now forever woven into the fabric of his being and would haunt him always.

The fortress that Craven now sat on was now home to Ommran, Lord of Darkness. The malevolent being had ensconced himself as regent within this once beautiful and proud land. Craven's mandate was to stay close to Ommran and keep an eye on his movements. He had also been requested to find those who had not succumbed to the Dark Lord. Craven had completed the first part of his assignment, but he did not like his tenure.

Since his first encounter with Ommran, years earlier, he had realised that the man was disturbed and dangerous. Craven never asked the Great One where this Dark Lord had originated; it wasn't his place. If he had been meant to know then he would have been told. But Craven had sensed the power of Ommran from the outset; he was not just a Dark Lord, Ommran was something far more oppressive.

Craven first encountered Ommran onboard the black ship, Dragon Wing. His benefactor had sent him to watch and listen and keep him informed. It had surprised Craven then, as it did now, that a man with such intense and distinguished looks could have a heart as black as the fiery pits of hell. What could drive an Immortal to become so obsessed and treacherous?

Craven recalled with sadness the night Ommran first penetrated Asserian. That night the raven sat on the temple wall watching Ommran cast his spell over the population of Asserian. He watched the Dark Lord take the greatest treasure this world possessed: the virginity of Thea, its High Priestess and Queen. Craven witnessed other atrocities, not long after the first. The night Ommran came to claim his prize; it was the night he set the men of Asserian free, allowing them to violate this world and the woman who inhabited it.

That fateful night, Ommran's ship had laid siege to the beautiful harbour of Ammon. Craven had watched in horror as the men under Ommran's evil spell had desecrated and destroyed both the human and spiritual essences of the women who had been guilty of little more than naivety. The women had battled bravely. They certainly didn't deserve what fate dealt them.

These women were born into a world of peace and were a cultured and enterprising group, totally inexperienced in the ways of war and violence. That night as the women lay sleeping, Ommran's men – those he had stolen earlier and infused with his hatred – stealthily took the land, destroying all they came in contact with.

Craven observed Asserian's Queen escape in the clutches of his friend, Talon. In her womb she transported a very special cargo. She had escaped, but the land and her people had not.

The raven remembered clearly how the mists of protection, which normally protected the land, had vanished. The Dark Lord had consumed their power into the folds of his darkness. The winds from the south had blown in, bringing with it lightning that crashed down upon the land. Even that did not wake those who slept under Ommran's cursed spell. The men stormed ashore from the bowels of the great ship to plunder homes, rape the women and brutally maul many of them to death. Then they set about destroying the dwellings, devastating the temple and ransacking homes. Fields of crops, lovingly tended by the women, had been virtually destroyed.

Craven would never forget the sight of men fighting over the body of Maniera, the Matriarchal Priestess. Ommran had appeared just as the group of men sliced open her throat. He was too late to stop them, even if he had wanted to. Craven had shed a tear for the woman who refused to tell where her Queen had gone, a woman both beautiful of spirit and heart.

Spread out before Craven now was a city in ruin, a world devastated by disease, famine and poverty. It was hard for Craven to remember how beautiful it had once been.

All that was left now were a scattering of women, who foraged about amongst the gutters. The men, who had gone mad with the lust for revenge, used them as whores. These were the men of the 'Keep' who now sought revenge for a life of perceived oppression. Ommran consumed their minds with hate, lust and greed. Most had forgotten the beauty and graciousness of the women who had both given birth to them and raised them.

Craven glided from his perch on the rampart and landed on a tall Sanguine tree overlooking the Queen's apartment. Ommran may have taken over the fortress and Thea's apartment, yet without her and the precious gift she bore it meant nothing. Without her this was all worthless.

Craven knew the Dark Lord had been angered by Thea's escape, but what angered the Immortal most was the fact he had no idea where she had gone. With all the powers he possessed he could not detect her. Craven gave praise for that. Craven sat watching Ommran from his perch, and sensed the deep turmoil playing out within the Immortal.

Day after day Craven kept watch over Ommran, as his search parties returned with no news. He watched as Ommran tried to glean her whereabouts from within the portals of his black ship, yet Craven knew he would never find her. Talon had taken her far away, to a place no one knew.

Now Ommran sat on a cold throne, surrounded by evil: denied the one thing that could complete his triumph. The child.

•

Craven stretched his wings, black and glossy under a leaden sky. He lifted off to take in the sights and sounds below, but he could see nothing but a land desolated by revenge and bitterness. Anger struck at his heart. He realised that there was nothing he could do, except watch and hope that the Great One could also see the destruction and come to Asserian's rescue.

He flew back toward the fortress and landed in the garden that had once flourished under the husbandry of the women. The beautiful roses lay dead or dying around him. No longer did the blossoms fall to cover the ground in every imaginable delicate and brilliant hue. The lawns, previously trimmed and manicured, were now threadbare and weeds flourished amongst the neglected shrubs.

He flew onward to the temple. From the summit, Craven could see the ruination of this sanctified complex. The pillars supporting the roof had been destroyed. The walls were broken and abandoned and the ornate craftwork, once lovingly carved into the surface, was now chiselled bare. The ritual site beyond the temple lay burnt to the ground; the only thing left standing was the old tree with its knurled trunk and branches.

Craven assumed all the priestesses had been killed, since the men had been determined to destroy any presence of the Goddess from this land – that fact grieved him most of all.

He flew to the wharf, which had once been brimming with flourishing taverns and shops. Now these were all but gone. This was the city's main trading area, yet no ships docked anymore to deliver cargo. What remained were charred and burnt out remains, nothing but desolation and gloom.

Here and there Craven could see a scattering of people wandering the bare sidewalks and alleys. They were mostly drunken men, with a few dishevelled women at their sides. These women had succumbed to the pleasures of the flesh, deciding it was better to join those who hated them then fight them off. Their lives were now nothing but debauchery and filth.

It had been months since that fateful night, and still no one seemed to be able to move forward. Life was in limbo and food scarce. The countryside far to the east had not fared as poorly; homes still stood intact and crops grew in fields, but there was no one to gather the harvest. Craven knew things would never be the same.

In Ammon, people lived off what little they could find. Shelves were now empty and warehouses plundered and burnt. The women of Asserian had religiously kept the silos full and the storage sheds filled to capacity. Without the grain and stores of preserves of fruit, oils and other food supplies the people would soon starve.

Since the mists of protection had dissipated from the land it now suffered seasonal changes, like other worlds. Winter was only a few months away; Craven could see the telltale signs in the earth around him. Without adequate food and shelter the remaining population on Asserian would undoubtedly perish.

Craven flew over the coastline. In the distance, the Isle of Crid lay like a wilted blossom on a dying tree. Not long ago a community steeped in tradition and power had prospered here; now there was nothing but a single barren rock with the destroyed remains of its dwellings, devoid of life. Nothing remained, not a tree, not a blade of grass – everything was left desolate by the revenge of those who had once called it home. The water pounded at its rocky surface, the isle seemed to be begging the sea to swallow it up and spare it the shame.

Craven took one last look over the carnage then flew back toward the fortress on the hill. He landed on the balcony he now called home. He felt a new wave of depression strike him; this was going to be a long and heart wrenching journey and it was one he wished he had not been asked to take. He knew he wouldn't see his friends again until this land had become rejuvenated; until the renewal had taken place. He also knew that would not happen for a long time to come.

# 24

# The Pathway

# 'Serpent Lake'

'The beginning of life is a mystery; I come to you to give you strength.

Talon circled the gloomy mountain peaks. With the darkness of night evaporating, he could land at the entry to the Pathway safely. Once he landed, Thea slid easily from his back to the rocky ground. She had managed to catch a brief sleep huddled in the bird's feathers. Her mind was full of night scenes when she woke. The temple, the edifice, and the dark magic of this strange world were now etched in her memory. She could not help but feel that it was more than mere coincidence. She hoped time would bring answers, for time was all she had right now.

The world of Sansinus had dealt her some strange and unfathomable turns. The statue, with its uncanny resemblance to herself, sent a shudder through her being and the creatures of the night made her skin crawl. The further she travelled on this path, the more the mystery deepened.

Thea moved toward the opening of the Pathway with Talon's cowardice long forgotten. Talon however stayed where he had set Thea down, his mood consumed by his poor behaviour. Thea stopped and turned, sensing his actions were weighing heavily on his mind.

'Talon!' There was gentleness in her voice. What more could she possibly say to alleviate his guilt? She didn't want to carry the extra burden of his mistake. The bird lifted his head, but she could tell that his heart remained heavy.

'Talon, I need you to be strong! You can't brood over what happened. Our journey is difficult enough. Remember that you did not have the added advantage of your height, weight or power behind you. You had no way of fighting those men as a rat. If you had remained, we both could have been killed. Even in your eagle form, you could not have risen to your full height in that chamber. You could have jeopardised my escape. In fact, what occurred turned out for the best and the priests in the temple will never fully understand what happened.' She grinned. The whole drama had unfolded brilliantly. Thea would always remember the look of utter shock on the priests' faces as she appeared in her physical form.

'The priests or whatever they were, will probably go on talking about the night their Goddess appeared before them in the temple until the day they die.'

She could see she was doing little to allay Talon's melancholy, so she turned and walked toward the entrance. Let him wallow in self-pity, she just wanted to leave this place behind.

She turned, beckoning him to follow. The Pathway was waiting. Talon reluctantly joined her. Again there were several openings into which travellers could venture, but only one was alight. This place intrigued her. She entered the glowing path and was immediately met by the luminous brightness of the light mite as it came to land once again on her shoulder. Maybe the mite would cheer Talon up.

'Well my little subterranean friend, I think I may have to adopt you.' She glanced toward Talon, who moved slowly, his head slumped sadly forward.

Thea had an idea; she would give it a try, it might cheer him up. She looked toward the mite.

'You need a name. I can't call you 'it' forever,' Thea exclaimed as she took the creature in her hand. She beamed a smile at Talon, who simply ignored her.

'What do you say Talon, shall we give it a name? Maybe 'Midget' or 'Glow bug', or maybe Tinka.' Thea called out several ludicrous suggestions hoping Talon would play along. The light mite simply bounced along in Thea's hand enjoying the attention.

'Her name is Bea!' Talon finally remarked. 'And she has adopted you, not the other way round. The light mites don't generally take to anyone, especially humans. But obviously Bea has made an exception with you.' Talon's voice held a touch of his old playful self. Her plan seemed to be working.

'Well Bea, I'm grateful that I am worthy for adoption. Now I know this journey will be enjoyable.' Thea meant it. This journey had revealed many unexpected pleasures.

'Where are we going now that we have visited Sansinus?' She still wasn't sure why it had been so important to journey there, maybe her likeness to the Goddess had something to do with it.

'I won't know until we get there. That is the one strange aspect that you must appreciate. Each journey is different.' Talon still sounded a little solemn.

'Well is it fair to assume that the path will take us to another world?'

Thea knew her plan was working; Talon's thoughts were beginning to concentrate on what lay ahead, rather than what they had left behind. It was a pity Thea could not do the same. She momentarily contemplated what may be unfolding in her own world. Were her people safe? And did the women continue to suffer at the hands of the Dark Man? It plagued her conscious thought.

Talon plodded behind her dejectedly. Why should he fill in the blanks? She could do that herself.

After a while his resentment waned; Thea was not to blame for his cowardly act.

'You are right,' he finally said. 'This path will always end somewhere in a world created by the Gods, but until we get there even I cannot tell you which world it might be! Only the Great One knows where each path leads. We simply follow.' Talon ambled along behind Thea and Bea.

'Where are the rest of the light mites?' Thea remarked out of the blue.

Talon didn't answer, but as if on cue the path ahead started to glow as other mites appeared. Thea cheered up immediately.

'Who is the Great One, Talon?' Thea was not sure whether Talon had dropped the name deliberately, but she was determined to find out the answer as curiosity consumed her.

Talon had not meant to let the name slip; his lack of concentration was making him careless. He pretended he had not heard her and hoped she might forget it.

Silence pervaded the atmosphere. Thea shrugged her shoulders; it didn't matter, she would find out eventually. She turned to play with Bea and listen to the mite's beautiful humming serenade.

As with their previous journey, the path varied little. With Talon withdrawn, Thea found herself eventually becoming bored. True, she had Bea and the mites to keep her occupied, but a changed environment would certainly help.

She tried to keep her mind from wandering back to Asserian. Thea knew all too well what could happen under the spell of the Dark Man and she prayed silently that those she loved were being watched over by the Gods. She felt nauseous when she thought about the possible consequences of his anger. Thea knew the mists had only revealed a small part of the destruction wrought on her people.

Gradually her awareness grew. She noticed that whenever her mind dwelled on sadness Bea and her friends would change the tune they hummed – somehow they knew. Bea showed compassion and somehow felt her despair. The small playful creature buzzed about Thea's head before bouncing onto the wall of the path and back to Thea. It was a game and Thea quickly joined in. Each time Bea bounced, Thea caught her, tossing the wee creature high into the air. Thea's thoughts became caught up in this child-like game of catch and throw. Talon seemed to be enjoying the game too and Thea could hear him chuckling softly as he shuffled along behind.

The path meandered and seemed unending. Even the mites had grown tired of the little game. Talon had fallen far behind, lost in his own thoughts. Suddenly Thea and her small companions came to a cross tunnel that twisted sharply to the left in complete darkness, while the light of the main tunnel drifted right. Thea could feel a warm draft of breeze sweeping up through the darkened entrance, yet unlike the other gloomy passageways she had encountered earlier where the air was foul, this current of air gave off a pleasant, sweet aroma. Thea moved quickly past but as she did so, Bea lifted off her shoulder and along with the other mites headed into the dark corridor. Thea followed in hot pursuit.

Thea could see the obscured light of the mites as they dashed well ahead of her. She called to Bea to stop but the mites seemed to ignore her. She hesitated, knowing Talon would be fearful. When she stopped, the mites slowed and Bea returned to her side, her actions seemed to indicate that Thea should follow.

Talon was well back along the light filtered path, so by the time he came to the fork where the shadowy entrance lay, Thea and the mites were well within its eerie darkness. Thea called out as she saw his silhouette.

'Talon, we are down here.'

'Thea!' He shouted. 'You can't go that way. Remember what I told you? You must return to the light.' When she did not reply he entered the darkness, unable to understand why she would disobey his instructions. There was no choice; he had to retrieve her before she went too far.

He staggered along in the dark; his only guide being the faint light radiating from the mites. As he approached his charge, the other mites joined Bea and Thea, their agitation obvious.

'Thea, why did you enter this passageway? You know it's forbidden!' He gently took hold of her arm with the tip of his wing.

'We must turn back now, before it's too late,' Talon's voice was stern. He had not meant to stray so far behind but his mind had been distracted by the previous night's encounter with his own shortcomings. This interruption he did not need.

'The light mites came this way. I merely followed. I couldn't leave Bea and her friends behind. Talon, surely the mites would not have come this way without a purpose? They would never lead me into danger. There has to be a reason why they disobeyed the rules.' Thea's argument could not be discounted.

As Talon acknowledged her remark, the mites started their incessant humming once again. Both Talon and Thea were finding it hard to bear the vibrating pulses.

The small creatures were acting strangely and Talon had never seen them in such a frenzy. His mission was for Thea to complete her journey, so he became impatient with their peculiar antics. He tightened his grasp of Thea and pulled her back toward the light.

Suddenly the light mites flew at him, diving furiously to dislodge his grip. Their light pulsed with vivid flashes, briefly blinding the bird. He let Thea go.

'See! I told you they came this way for a reason. They want us to follow them. Talon please, we have to follow. Bea will not let me return to the lighted pathway until she has shown me something. I only wish I knew what it was. Talon please!'

Talon was beside himself. Nothing like this had ever happened before. He knew that those who strayed from the Pathway paid the consequences for their actions and he didn't want either Thea or himself to face the wrath of the Great One. The mites never disobeyed, so why were they deliberately forcing Thea to follow them? It made no sense. He decided to ask them.

'Ask Bea why this is so important and where it takes us,' Talon demanded.

'What? Bea can't speak.' Talon was losing his mind.

'Just ask the question. I'll explain later!' Talon replied.

Thea felt a little stupid but she turned to Bea, who was now perched on her shoulder. The humming sound she made was ringing in Thea's ears.

'Bea, why should we follow you? And where are you taking us?' Thea wondered what, if any, answer she would receive.

Bea and the other mites instantly stopped humming. Their demeanour rapidly changed and their bodies began quivering like jelly. Bea darted from Thea's shoulder, leaving a brilliant rainbow of colour in her wake. She flew over Talon's head and made several swift manoeuvres before shadowing the walls. Bea was creating specific patterns that made no sense at all to Thea.

Bea finished her work; the bizarre shapes clearly visible in the darkened cavity.

Talon had been watching with intense interest; the iridescent shapes were part of a language known only to a select few.

'Bea says it is imperative we follow; someone important awaits you, someone who is a friend!' Talon knew the language well; it was just another of his many talents. The mites were now in control. Talon hoped this detour and his open disobedience would go unnoticed by his God.

Thea, Talon and the mites travelled side by side along the blackened shaft. Only Bea seemed to know where it led. Their only source of light was the pulsing flashes of the tiny mites.

They hadn't gone far when Thea's curiosity got the better of her. She asked Talon in a quiet, but reflective voice, 'How did you interpret what Bea said? The patterns she drew made no sense. I'm confused. How could you read anything into those shapes?'

There was much for this lady to learn. Talon knew that the world of the Gods contained many mysteries and this was just one of them.

'The iridescent lights, which Bea converted to "shapes" as you call them, are signals. Normally the mites' signals simply convey enjoyment or harmony. But they can also be a code, and if you're very clever you can read the messages.' Cleverness actually had little to do with it; it was a gift given to few but Talon did not wish to pursue this further with her.

'Bea's signal was quite unusual, but then I am more ingenious than most!' Not normally given to boasting, Talon nevertheless felt that this would be a rare opportunity to impress Thea.

Thea pondered his explanation for several minutes, but one thing baffled her.

'Why did you not address Bea yourself then? Why did you ask me to put those questions to her?'

Talon had been outfoxed! Thea had picked up the one flaw in his explanation. The truth was: he could read the shapes, but did not wield the power to ask the mite questions. Only those with powers connected to the Gods could seek help, and only then would an answer be given.

Talon had seen the resemblance between Thea and the Goddess at the temple; he had also seen the symbols on the necklace she wore; he knew she held some hidden secret, something that connected her to the Gods; all he had to do was work out what that secret was. Not only was Thea able to ask Bea for guidance, she was also able to receive assistance.

Talon briefly explained the reasons for his limited skills. He did not divulge his thoughts about her abilities. He would wait to see what the journey revealed first. Thea seemed satisfied with his account for the moment.

The light generated by the mites only illuminated their path for a short distance ahead. Beyond that, the darkness spread like ink on a page. Thea and Talon remained close to each other, augmenting the claustrophobic effect of the darkness. Thea could feel Talon's beady yellow eyes focused on the back of her neck. She still had so many questions to ask the bird, but suspected she might be greeted by silence.

The beat of her heart mimicked the rhythm and sound of her footsteps on the path. She felt the gradient of their passage alter. She looked around at Talon, who nodded faintly to acknowledge the ascent. At least his mind no longer seemed consumed with his earlier guilt.

A faint stream of sunlight appeared ahead of them. They seemed to have reached Bea's clandestine destination. Whoever had requested this audience now had a lot of explaining to do.

As the light grew closer, the mites all moved behind Thea and Talon. Bea, who had been on Thea's shoulder for most of the journey, left to rejoin her friends. A new world beckoned Thea: a hidden and ancient world, its inhabitants steeped in mysteries far older even than time itself.

'This is where we must leave Bea and the mites.' Talon announced, motioning toward the brightness of the world that awaited them.

Thea was no longer confident. All of a sudden she no longer wished to leave the shelter of the Pathway. The world beyond was a world that neither of them knew, but she guessed that whoever had summoned them would influence the path she trod from now on. Thea felt her apprehension rise. Who, other then Talon and the one he called the Great One knew they travelled this path? The mites alone knew. They knew who sought an audience with her. She decided to ask Bea.

'What, or who, is waiting for me?'

Bea flitted from the wall and buzzed in and out in front of Talon and Thea, once more creating patterns against the wall. Thea concentrated. If Talon could read the symbols then so could she. She looked beyond the darting figure and cleared her mind of distractions. Patterns formed, but this time images appeared. They were vague at first, but the more she concentrated the more she saw that she recognised the symbols. They were words from the ancient dialect of the Gods.

The message was clear; a king awaited her. Talon too had read the message.

When they emerged from the tunnel, they stopped dead in their tracks. The sight which greeted them was breathtakingly resplendent. This was no ordinary world; it was steeped in fantasy and illusion. An imposing lake spanned the horizon, its shores extending out toward a mountain range iced with snow along the peaks. An array of tones danced about on the surface of the lake; the sight sent shards of pleasure through Thea. Large shady trees in multi-coloured autumn coats bordered the shoreline: rich gold, orange and shades of red. The trees swayed in the breeze, but there was barely a ripple on the surface of the lake. Thea and Talon made their way down through the fine grass and fragrant field flowers. Thea stopped frequently to smell their perfume; lilac, jasmine and honeysuckle greeted her. Together, she and Talon walked until they came to stand on the sandy shore at the lake's edge.

'This is such a peaceful place. I thought Lar'Aeire was alluring, but this surpasses even that. Can you feel the sense of well-being this place exudes?' Even Talon could not mistake the calm within this realm. Thea slipped her feet into the warm pristine waters.

Relief swept over her, like a cool breeze on a hot summer's day.

'Feel the water Talon; it's delightful, relaxing. I think I'll go for a swim; the waters will do me good. Why don't you join me?' Thea asked.

Before Talon could think of an excuse, Thea had stripped off and had plunged naked into the clear blue water. The naked human form was something Talon had never seen; he had observed many humans dressed or semi naked, but never the voluptuous shape of a woman. Smooth curves, soft skin like velvet, golden hair spread on the surface of the water, like a garland of yellow daisies. The only thing Thea wore was the stone around her neck.

Thea still showed no sign of her pregnancy, but this did not surprise Talon. Time within the Pathway was rarely constant and sometimes even non-existent. The longer they travelled the path, the longer it would take for the child to be born. Maybe that is just as well, he thought.

He watched Thea move gracefully through the water. Her movements were as supple and graceful as a gliding swan. She scarcely broke the surface of the lake.

Talon pondered Bea's revelation. Did this lake hold a secret? Did a king reside within this serene wilderness? Talon could only wait and see, he hoped the secret hidden here would reveal itself to Thea – and soon. Their deviation from the Pathway was giving rise to panic inside him.

It was then that the first sign of hunger made its presence felt in Talon. He knew Thea would also be feeling peckish. But there did not appear to be any food that might be palatable for a human or an eagle. Other than the lake, mountains and trees nothing else existed here, the place was surreal. Talon sensed this world was located somewhere midway between the worlds of the humans and those of the Gods. If he was right then no living being could exist here. They were there by request, that was the difference.

The bird preened himself at the water's edge waiting for Thea to swim back to shore; he decided he could do without a bath.

'Oh! That felt wonderful! It's a pity eagles can't swim! You should have been born a duck, Talon! You would so enjoy the freedom of swimming!' Thea looked more radiant than before. She emerged from the water, her body glistening under the warmth of the sun.

'The only good duck is a dead one,' replied Talon. 'Speaking of ducks, we need food and from what I have observed there is none – food that is.' Talon's voice was jovial now.

'Food! That sounds like a great idea. I'm actually hungry. The child has increased my appetite.' Thea rubbed her tummy as she spoke. Talon looked away, suddenly embarrassed by her obvious lack of propriety. She was standing before him naked and unashamed.

The moment Thea voiced her desire for food a scrumptious feast appeared on a large ornate table, the table legs elaborately carved. The table stood under the shade of a large tree nearby. As Thea approached she could smell the roast duck, (obviously someone overheard their remarks). Other delicacies graced the surface such as dumplings, fresh fruit, honeyed yams and poached pears in custard glaze. There were many other delights all lavishly spread out on a fine linen tablecloth. A carafe of wine and a brass goblet stood to one side. In the distance were two sheep, a couple of cows and several geese all bound together; food fit for an eagle.

'Oh my goodness! How? Where did this come from? Who would be so generous as to provide such a feast?' Thea beamed; her hands covering her mouth in utter disbelief.

Talon looked over at his supper; his stomach growled impatiently.

'Well I for one am not about to look a gift cow and sheep in the mouth. Just so you don't get squeamish I shall take mine and eat elsewhere. I will keep you within my sights and will return as soon as I'm finished,' Talon declared. His appetite was now well and truly piqued. He lifted off; swooping down with claws extended to scoop up his feast and flew away.

Thea slipped on her gown and sat down to enjoy her meal. She watched Talon land on a mountain ridge, far away. She did not begrudge his need to eat meat. After all he was a carnivore.

There was so much food she didn't know what to choose first. She started with the duck; she pulled a succulent leg apart, knowing Talon would appreciate that. She wiped the grease from her lips and hands and reached for the pears in custard. Pastries and fruit came last. She washed the food down with a glass of fine red wine; it was the best she had ever tasted – hints of plum and raspberry rested lazily on her pallet.

When her appetite was sated, she moved from the table to yawn and stretch.

'I could do with a sleep,' she casually remarked.

No sooner had the words escaped her lips, than a four-poster bed, with timbers whiter than ivory appeared. The soft velvety bedding in rich apricot beckoned Thea into its luxurious folds. She yawned again, as tiredness threatened to overpower her. Thea ran her hand over the bedding, before she climbed into its soft folds and rested her head on the pillow. Her eyelids closed and a deep sleep engulfed her.

•

Thea felt her body relax as the warm water surrounded her naked form. She moved lithely through the water. Her descent towards the bottom took her through thick fields of water plantain. The petals caressing her, like a lover's embrace.

The lakebed came toward her, and at its heart she could see a city, it shimmered like crystal in the twilight filtering from above. The walls were transparent and the rippling shapes of elongated creatures slithered about inside; their forms graceful and composed.

As she swam closer, Thea realised the creatures resembled snakes. No wonder the temple priestesses considered snakes to be sacred! She thought. The sensuous movements of the creatures enthralled her. Their bodies glistened, their swaying seductive. They were beautiful – and erotic. They beckoned her to enter. She swam toward the cylindrical entrance; it opened. She quickly moved through and the opening immediately closed behind her.

The change was subtle; she had not felt anything. She hadn't sensed the change in her form until she emerged into the city itself. She too was now a serpent, long and elegant, smooth with delicate patterns in varying shades of turquoise.

Around her swam others of similar shape, their colouring representing all shades of the rainbow. They shone both in pale and bold arrays. Thea loved the way her body now shimmered in this water habitat. She felt free. This state was something she had never known as a human; it seemed so natural. The creatures continued their attentive behaviour, their bodies swirling against hers, caressing her and creating a feeling of acceptance amongst them. It captivated her with its hypnotic display.

The city itself was enchanting. No city she had ever seen could conjure up such opulence. The towering structures stood amid large water plankton and the leaves swayed with the current against the glassy structures. Silence pervaded the scene, like midnight's breath.

The serpents seemed to be calling her and motioning her forward. They moved through the city; yet no sound disturbed the silence. Thea swam with ease in her new shape. She could not count the number of glass buildings she passed, there were too many. But finally they drew to a stop outside an impressive palatial structure, its surface encrusted with pearls. A tall and opaque door opened and her silent hosts ushered her inside.

Thea swam forward; it felt right. The others remained outside as the door closed behind her.

She passed through the entrance, and as she did so she changed back into her human form. When she emerged she found herself standing before a great hallway with a large set of doors at one end. Thea felt no fear as she moved towards them; she felt this place held no threat. Nothing here seemed certain and yet once she reached the door and touched its pearl handles she knew it was as real as she was.

She pushed the door open to find a large sparsely furnished room, which she entered – again without fear. It was larger than any room she had seen, larger even than the library back at her fortress at Ammon. In fact, it was almost as large as the fortress itself. There were no windows or light fixtures of any description, merely a dull light radiated within the space. At the centre stood a throne carved from coral. She realised then that she was not alone. Before her, with his head held proud, sat an impressive being. He had the head of a serpent and the body of a man. Upon his head rested a golden crown. She was clearly in the presence of the king.

The Serpent King beckoned her forward. The light in the room cast shadows, but it did not hide the man's features. His face glowed a brilliant blue which was highlighted by deep-set eyes the colour of bronze. His scaly facial skin shone as if it had been carefully polished. His features looked menacing; yet Thea sensed he meant her no harm.

He didn't speak as she came closer. He simply motioned with his arm for her to draw near. A mere hint of a smile edged his mouth. His body was very masculine; it was quivering and sleek and his skin reflected the colour of melted honey. Thea could see the definition of muscle in his legs, arms and upper torso as he stretched his limbs out before him. He was completely naked and his manhood slumped loose and relaxed between his legs. The Serpent King rose from his throne.

Thea was tempted to look away, but seeing he felt no shame she decided to show none either. The fact that she too appeared naked did not perturb her; her body looked beautiful in the soft glow of the room. The ruby orb was all she wore.

The Serpent King descended the stairs at the foot of his throne. He moved with grace, his body surprisingly nimble for such a large being. His eyes remained focused on Thea as she too stared back at him, unable to leave his alluring gaze. He stopped mere inches from her. Not knowing what else to do, Thea bowed low. He returned her gesture.

He stood and looked her over for several moments. His gaze passing from her face to her breasts and then to her stomach, which was now suddenly rounded by the growing child it held. Thea saw the serpent's eyes linger there. He appeared sad. His gaze then swept quickly to the orb about her neck. She could not help but notice the reaction in his eyes. Did he recognise the object? Instinctively she felt he had. The emotion behind his stare passed, as he returned his eyes to her gaze. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and drew his face close to hers. She could feel his soft, warm breath brushing over her face. Thea felt mixed emotions sweep through her, but none of them was fear. They stood in silence holding this intimate pose, as empathy built between them.

His lips settled upon hers, his breath sweet and binding. She felt no sense of repulsion. His tongue pried her lips apart, his touch as soft as a feather. Warm saliva passed into her mouth; its taste resembled the nectar of melon. Instinct told her this was an intimate gesture, but she knew the kiss had not been for that purpose. She was not alarmed by the unfamiliar and intimate display of affection; somehow she knew it was not sexual. The kiss lasted several moments. As his tongue withdrew, he lifted his head keeping his eyes closed. Silence joined them, like a bridge across a river.

Eventually the Serpent King placed his hand over her stomach and he opened his eyes. His glare seemed to penetrate her very soul. The child moved as the Serpent King's touch awakened its spirit.

The sudden movement startled Thea. The Serpent King smiled at the child's response; he was clearly comfortable with his assessment. Thea felt herself to be insignificant now; it was the child he wanted, not her. She was simply the vessel that nurtured it. Thea was now convinced that the child was far more than the daughter of the Dark Man; this child was exceptional.

The King firmly gripped her belly, his hand warm against her flesh, as he closed his eyes once more. He brought his other hand up to hold the orb at her neck. It began vibrating violently. Thea could feel heat radiating from his hand and into her flesh. She would have liked to pull away, but her body resisted any attempt on her part to move. She felt glued to the floor.

The Serpent King remained in his pose for quite some time. Each passing minute seemed an eternity to Thea, as she watched his gestures. Suddenly the Serpent King withdrew his hand from the orb and placed it against Thea's chest. The orb was now cool against her skin. His eyes rested on her once more, his gaze filled with compassion and perhaps remorse. Moments later he vanished. Instantly the room became cold without him.

Thea remained where she was for some time. Her mind and body had been numbed by the experience. Why had she been brought to this strange and alien world? Bea had said that a King requested her presence and that he bore a gift especially for her! Thea knew now that gift was not meant for her, but for her child. Something powerful had passed between her baby and the Serpent King.

She turned slowly and walked back along the hallway and back into the cylindrical doorway towards the crystal city and the surreal creatures that had welcomed her. Her body altered once more, back into a serpent, elegant and alluring.

The creatures welcomed her, congregating once more about her as she re-entered their world, again they stroked their bodies against hers. Yet something about the creatures had now changed. Was it their demeanour? She could not quite put her finger on it, but they seemed more subdued. They escorted Thea back through the opulent city, past the swaying tendrils of plankton. At the exit they bade her farewell. Their faces showed a reluctance to let her go, but they made no attempt to stop her.

This exotic place had instilled comfort in her; it was a feeling of belonging and she wished she could stay. Thea was heartbroken to leave.

Once outside the city walls her body resumed its original form. She glanced briefly back at the faces she left behind; sadness filled their eyes. She turned and swam, kicking her legs to propel herself quickly to the surface. This was a place she would never forget.

Thea knew the Serpent King had left her child a legacy. Maybe she would never discover precisely what took place this day. It might forever remain a secret between her daughter and the Serpent King, but whatever happened she knew either she or her daughter would return here some day.

She closed her eyes.

•

'Wake up! Thea wake up! You can't sleep forever. We have to leave. We have been here too long already.' Talon tried to gently nudge Thea from her deep sleep. She opened her eyes and he shot her a suspicious smile.

Was it all just a dream? Or did I actually visit a city below the surface of the lake? She cast her eyes to the serene waters gently lapping the shore nearby. She knew it had not been a dream; the lake held a secret deep within its waters.

'Thea, come on get up! I know this bed is comfortable and I know you were tired, but sleeping for two days is unreasonable.' Talon's words made Thea sit up and consider the present. She reached out and touched his feathers, grateful for his aid. He helped her to the ground.

She was not certain she should share her experience, but Talon had always assisted her and she felt she owed him an explanation.

'I was not asleep! If I appeared that way then it was because my soul was elsewhere. Talon, I visited a city at the bottom of this lake.'

'You mean you've been dreaming?'

'No, it wasn't a dream. Below the surface lies a city – a captivating place filled with serpents. The creatures there are graceful and divine, and the city so tranquil. I wish I could have remained there longer.'

'Did you happen to run into a king while you were there?' Talon was sceptical.

'Yes, as a matter of fact I did, but I don't think it was me who he wished to see. It was this child,' she said patting her protruding stomach. 'The child is important, I just wish I knew why.'

Thea moved to the edge of the lake and Talon followed. The look on the bird's face betrayed the thoughts on his mind. Thea had not looked pregnant two days ago.

'We have to go! The Pathway awaits, this adventure has taken us far from our original path. We have to go back now!' Talon was wary, but he thought it best to keep his doubts and fears to himself. Thea had enough to contend with.

Talon left her alone by the lake's edge, entranced by the ripples skimming across the surface of the water. A forlorn look masked her face. He plodded back to the grassy shore to wait.

He did not disbelieve Thea; he simply did not understand. Mysteries he was accustomed to – he had witnessed them hundreds of times before. But it appeared that two days on this world had become months: Thea's pregnancy had advanced considerably; the size of her swollen stomach was testament to that. How did this strange world figure in all of this? It was another secret he hoped would be unravelled over time.

Thea eventually came to stand beside Talon under the shade of a nearby tree. They both stared wordlessly out across the vast expanse of the lake. The place was an enigma; its powers a seemingly ancient form of the Craft, yet more advanced. Talon sensed this place probably existed long before the Gods themselves.

Thea cast the petals of a single rose she had found near the water. Was it possible that some being here knew the significance of roses in her life? This world was beyond the realm of magic and power; it was something very different. They turned in unison and headed away from the serenity of the lake towards the opening of the Pathway above them.

A part of Thea was intensely sad to leave this remarkable place. She knew, however, that her journey was far from over. She turned to take one last look before following Talon up the hill. She smiled to herself.

It was only when they reached the entrance at the top of the rise that Talon saw that the opening on this world was not egg-shaped like the other openings – this one was carved out of the base of a gigantic Ocrah tree. Strange that neither of them had noticed it before. They passed through the entry side by side and headed for the mites' lights in the distance.

Neither of them would ever forget the enchanted serpent lake.

# 25

# Romanie

# 'Allies and Friends'

'In truth we seek guidance, in comrades we seek allies and in love we seek solace.'

Polymar and Neon flew into the ravine. The scenery was still imbued with magic – as if a master painter had taken his brush and given life and vivid colour to the place.

Neon landed in the clearing. Polymar dismounted and moved quickly to the trumpet-shaped blooms. Within seconds the intoxicating perfume again invaded her senses. She slept. She found herself once more in the chamber with the Furie child seated before her.

The child appeared pleased to see her once again, its smile infectious. Polymar could not help but return the gesture. She did not wait upon formalities, but simply passed on Sirus's message, letting the Furie know that she had made contact with Theron. She sat patiently awaiting a response

'You have done well, young one. I told you Theron would find you.' The child's piecing blue eyes sparkled with excitement. 'Listen carefully. The meeting must take place two days from now.' The Furie hesitated. He leaned in close; his breath inches from Polymar's face, he seemed fascinated with her. 'It is good to know Theron has chosen his companions wisely.'

Polymar could not help but wonder why her inclusion in the trio pleased the child so much. She barely knew the situation, certainly held no influence as such and only recently knew the relationship that existed between Sirus and Theron, so why involve her? Something about this whole ordeal made her wary.

'Young one.'

The child seemed intent on calling Polymar by this endearing name. Why, when he seemed so much younger than her in appearance?

'Certain conditions must be adhered to when Theron descends into this valley. He must take the path that leads from the ridge. Do not travel here by any other means. And do not bring anything with you for your needs will be taken care of. But a word of warning! Make sure no one follows you.' The Furie hesitated, and an austere expression moved across the boy's handsome profile.

'I cannot guarantee the lives of anyone, other than Theron and those he has chosen to accompany him.' Once again he paused. 'This world is woven with intricate magic, the powers of the Craft; so do not underestimate the power of its enchantment. It is only a safe haven for some, for others it is a trap – it is imperative that no others come here.'

Polymar took the warning seriously. How could a place, which she and Neon found so welcoming, be fraught with danger? She knew better though than to question her host.

There were last minute instructions for Polymar, but no sooner had the child finished speaking his final words than the heady perfume once more filled Polymar's senses. When she woke she was back in the clearing of the ravine. Neon stood near watching her.

They made a hasty departure, flying directly back to the point from where they had descended. Polymar dismounted this time, not wishing to rouse Sirus's wrath yet again by riding Neon into camp.

These days she found her attitude toward Sirus changed. Before this trying day she had regarded him as a prince, a mere man. She had given him respect because of his relationship with her father. Now she gave him the respect he deserved as Theron, God and protector of this world. He was a man sorely in need of answers.

Neon had not been overly keen to establish verbal contact with Polymar as they made their final ascent. He excused himself politely and wandered off saying he had other matters to attend to. He gave no reason for his hasty departure. Polymar shrugged her shoulders. Neon appeared to be upset at the fact the Furie had chosen her to deliver the message. She headed back to camp alone. Polymar thought it strange the horse had not asked about her second meeting, but right now she had more pressing issues than trying to fathom out Neon's haughty behaviour.

As she hurried along the path she could hear the noise of the bustling camp long before she saw the men going about their daily duties – polishing and sharpening of swords, washing clothes and unpacking wagons. Most of the loud noise came from soldiers practising skills with the sword, bow and knife and now Kwon Dow. Life seemed to be almost back to normal, even though it had only been a day. Polymar smiled to herself; it was funny how quickly the men had forgotten the harsh conditions of the previous days. As Polymar passed Tonk he waved.

'Want to join me in a test of skill and bravery,' he shouted, as he landed his opponent on the ground.

'Haven't we already done that? I don't want to embarrass you again! Maybe when you've had a little more practice!' Polymar's voice carried across the camp; others nearby heard and laughter broke out. Tonk picked up a lump of dirt and threw it in her direction. She ducked and kept on going. A smile spread across her face, acceptance was the greatest gift she had received. She moved toward Sirus's tent.

Hers and I'Eda's tent lay nearby. Polymar had insisted on staying within close proximity to Sirus, after all she had a God to protect now and somehow that seemed to make her job more pressing. Polymar decided to make a quick detour and check in on I'Eda before talking with Sirus. The information she had would not be compromised by a few moments' delay.

Her tent flap was down at the opening; this was the signal to indicate that either she or I'Eda were inside. Polymar lifted the flap and ducked inside – she stood in total shock. The tent had been transformed. There were candles placed about the room and incense filled the air. Polymar could see that I'Eda had set up a bath in one corner; it was filled to the brim with steaming hot water and rose petals floated on the surface. Polymar stared in disbelief. Where in the world did that girl get all these items? She looked around the tent searching for I'Eda. Polymar noticed a large curtain suspended from the ceiling. Polymar could make out the faint outline of I'Eda's naked silhouette. She stood watching, her mind focused on the shape of the body behind the sheer cloth. I'Eda suddenly pulled the curtain to one side. She smiled with delight as she watched Polymar studying her nakedness.

'Oh! I didn't realise you'd returned.' I'Eda's voice seemed surprised, her tone overly pleasant.

'I thought I would check to see if you were all right. I see though that you have managed quite well without me. Obviously you can take good care of yourself?' Polymar's sarcastic tone could not be missed.

'My, my getting a little testy are we, I thought I was doing you a favour setting up a bath and making the place look and smell like a garden, rather than a pigsty – and this is the thanks I get!' This time it was I'Eda that bristled up.

'Sorry. I've had rather a long and tiresome day. Honestly, I really do appreciate the thought. The smell's not bad either.' Polymar hoped her answer would repair any fracture in their friendship.

'Where have you been anyway? I waited half the day. When you didn't return, I went to search and heard the men say Sirus had dragged you kicking and screaming into his tent. They said he kicked your ass for riding that horse of his – Neon's his name, isn't it?' I'Eda's tone spoke volumes. Polymar hated knowing that I'Eda knew of her embarrassment and somehow she surmised that I'Eda knew more than she was letting on, but she would not press the point with her at the moment.

She could not help but be drawn to I'Eda. The young woman's body hypnotised her with its subtle movements. This relationship had already started to distract her and those sensual curves were captivating her thoughts. Polymar tried to refocus.

'If you must know, I've been running errands. I did ride Sirus's horse, but Sirus did not kick my ass. And just so you get your facts straight: I neither kicked nor screamed, my dignity would never allow that!' Polymar remarked, her propriety showing through.

Polymar decided to change tack before she said something that would betray the strangeness of the day's events.

'By the way, where did you get all this from?' She waved a hand to take in the rose petals, incense, candles and scented oil.

I'Eda gave a small yet convincing chuckle.

'Well when you and everyone else were busy loading wagons back in Orlleon, I persuaded some very enterprising young merchants to part with these. They gave me this in return for very little.' I'Eda replied with a smug look on her face. She could not tell the truth about how she actually acquired the items without betraying her true identity.

'What little did you give,' asked Polymar reluctantly.

'A penis in the hand is worth a lot more than one in the mouth in Orlleon, apparently!'

Polymar was completely aghast, but simply shrugged, turned and left I'Eda alone in their tent. She decided I'Eda was an anomaly, so she would pass no judgment on the young girl's behaviour.

Polymar headed to see Sirus. She knocked on the outer flap before being summoned inside.

'About time! I thought you and Neon must have decided to stay down there with the Furie. Well, don't just stand there, what did the Furie say?' Polymar shifted uneasily on her feet. She could tell from his raised voice that he had grown far more restless and ill tempered since she had spoken to him earlier.

'Sirus, I did as you asked. I spoke again with the child who seemed pleased with your choice of companions. The meeting is to be held in two days' time. We are to gather at the same point where Neon and I landed in the ravine. The meeting will take place there. The Furie asked only one thing: that you walk down via the path leading from the camp. The child was very adamant that you do not try and descend any other way and by the way we will not need to take anything with us.' Polymar's remarks sounded emphatic.

'Two days! What path? Why can't we just fly down with Neon?' Sirus's voice indicated that he was slightly annoyed.

'The Furie never mentioned anything about Neon's ability, but the child was very specific in regard to the path. One other thing, he warned that no one else is to accompany us, or to follow. The Furie will not guarantee anyone else's safety. I felt it was said as a warning.' Polymar wanted to make sure Sirus knew the seriousness of the implied danger.

'Two days!' For Sirus it seemed like an eternity. His mind now caught between wanting desperately to make contact with these strange beings and the perils that meeting might reveal.

'Very well, I guess I have no choice. We had better get organised. It will take time to arrange things here before we leave. The men will want some sort of explanation for my actions. At least this way they will be able to see where we are going. I don't think they would have understood if we had all climbed upon Neon's back to ride out of camp. Maybe that is why the Furie mentioned using the path?'

Polymar was sure there were other reasons but she kept her opinions to herself.

Sirus sought a meeting with Renward and Jervoid, so he sent Polymar in search of them. As she checked on the whereabouts of the men she could not help but wonder where Neon had gone. She thought by now he might be anxious to know what had taken place between her and the Furie. Neon had asked no questions and that seemed unusually strange.

Unbeknown to both Sirus and Polymar was the fact that Neon had used the Craft's powers to listen to their entire conversation; he knew everything.

•

Once Neon parted ways with Polymar, he slipped unseen behind the perimeter of the camp to eavesdrop on Polymar's conversation with Sirus. Then he swiftly went in search of Aramean. He was now a short distance from the mage's tent, watching and waiting for an opportunity to slip inside. Soldiers were sparring on the grassy embankment directly opposite the tent. He didn't wish to draw attention to himself as time was now of the essence, so he used the magic of the Craft to distort the environment around the men. Then he slipped unobserved inside Aramean's lodgings.

Since Sirus's last meeting with the mage, Sirus had relaxed the rules pertaining to his prisoner. Aramean was no longer held under guard. He was, however, asked to remain within his tent – mainly for his own safety. The men were still wary of this curious man. They knew he was unlike them and that meant he was not to be trusted. The fact that Aramean was still confined to his tent meant that Neon had ample opportunities to visit him whenever he wished. As Neon materialised, Aramean lifted his head from his benediction.

'You would not have had the opportunity to see the weather conditions that now prevail. It's no longer cold and wet. Now we are subjected to sunshine and subtropical temperatures. I believe the shift transported us to either another world or another time. Below our camp is a ravine, I have been there; it's an astonishing place.' When he encountered no reaction he continued. 'The scenery is spectacular; Polymar has seen it too. A race known as the Furie reside there and they have extraordinary powers – far greater than yours or mine.'

Neon noticed Aramean's shocked expression at his final remarks. The look however quickly passed, but Neon knew Aramean either knew of the Furie or had heard of them before.

Aramean sat in silence, his gaze focused on Neon. When the mage did not respond Neon continued.

'The Furie requested an audience with Theron, they know who he is. Sirus has agreed to meet with them. You, Polymar and I, are to accompany him.' Neon waited for a response this time, he could see Aramean's demeanour turn serious.

Neon knew these events could not be coincidental; somehow the events of the last months were connected. Neon's own suspicions were also aroused.

'The Furie you say! Hmm, that would explain the shift, and the dramatic climate change,' Aramean knew full well Neon would have many questions for which he would insist on answers.

•

Sirus waited anxiously for Renward and Jervoid to arrive, his thoughts now fixated on how to explain an event which he knew was beyond the understanding of mere mortal men. He could never divulge his true identity to his men – nor the nature of this place, besides it would gain him no advantage. After the past months, they would think him insane, yet he had to make this mission sound plausible without revealing the truth. Both of his commanders would insist on coming with him into the ravine and both men deserved the whole story. But logic demanded a lie.

His Commanding Officers arrived about ten minutes later and from the expressions on their faces, Sirus knew his task was not going to be easy. Sirus bade them sit then handed them a goblet of wine. At least if they were in a relaxed frame of mind they might capitulate to his demands without too much of an argument.

'I am going to take an expedition down into the ravine.' Sirus saw the men's faces light up. 'Jervoid, earlier I overheard you say you came across a path leading down into the gully near the camp?'

'Why yes my Liege! I didn't mention it to you, because it looked altogether too difficult a trail. But if you are wanting to go down, then I will take a few men and go on ahead and cut a path more suitable.'

'No, that will not be necessary.' Sirus was finding it challenging to lie.

'You're right I do intend to go down and explore what lies in the gully, but Polymar and Aramean have offered to accompany me, and seeing both are experienced in dealing with backbreaking terrain, I thought it prudent to accept their offer.' He hoped neither man questioned him further about the pair's skills.

Both men looked at each other, neither able to believe they were being denied this opportunity and both perplexed in Sirus's choice of companions.

Sirus continued without waiting for a reply.

'We will leave first thing tomorrow morning. All I need from you both is to see to it that enough provisions are available for the three of us for a week.'

Polymar had indicated the Furie had said to bring nothing, but Sirius realised mentioning that would have created suspicion.

'Also make sure we have swords and shields for protection. I am leaving both of you in charge of the men. I can't have my commanders taking risks. I need you both to remain here to keep the men under control until I return. Besides if anything untoward happens then both of you need to be here.' Renward and Jervoid stood up, their eyes now fixed firmly on their commander, but their expressions clearly displayed the confusion they were feeling.

•

'You know of the Furie?' questioned Neon intently.

It was a question Aramean had been expecting; yet the answer was unlikely to satisfy Neon's curiosity.

'Yes, I have heard of them. The Furie are ancient beings. They existed long before the Immortals. The universe was still evolving then, and time, as we know it, did not exist. Things were just, let us say, different! I actually do not know the full details. Long ago, an ancient Furie gave substance to time and unfortunately with that substance came instability.' Aramean could see it made no sense to Neon.

'The creation of time gave way to change, and change brought about life in other forms.'

Aramean could not explain this further without giving too much of his own past away.

'The Furie are extremely powerful and highly intelligent, they also have no allegiance to anyone but themselves. Their one redeeming feature is their incorruptibility; that is something we will all need to focus on while we remain here.

'Where do they come from?' Neon was more than a little inquisitive.

'Once again, my knowledge is limited. As I said I do not know the whole story, so more than that I cannot explain.' Aramean's mind drifted to a time long ago, when the beautiful Goddess came to him in his youth. At that time he managed to enter both her body and her mind and caught a glimpse of an ancient and mysterious people, the Furie.

'I know only what I have told you, Neon. My memory of events is neither accurate nor complete. But I guess we will have an opportunity to ask them ourselves.' Aramean's pleasant smile radiated warmth to Neon. The mage now concentrated on the purpose of a visit by these ancients from a time long since past.

'One other thing, which I almost forgot, and I think it could be very important. The Immortals, those who created Theron, were actually fabricated by the Furie.'

Aramean could see Neon's interest suddenly perk up. This revelation intrigued the horse.

'I didn't think anything existed before the Immortals.' Neon felt uneasy.

'I think we should go and speak with Theron. This is something he should know about.'

Neon started to move toward the opening of the tent, but hesitated when he realised it might look rather odd if he exited with Aramean. The soldiers outside needed no fuel to fire their concerns. 'On second thoughts, maybe we should try a less conventional method.'

Aramean smiled. He stood up and together the two figures disappeared, only to reappear inside Sirus's tent.

•

After summoning Jervoid and Renward to Sirus's tent, Polymar headed off to a field behind the main camp to gather delicate wild flowers. She decided the flowers would be a peace offering, after her little quarrel with I'Eda. By the time she made her way back to her quarters, the late afternoon sky was turning a dusky pink, and small clouds drifted overhead shadowing the ebbing light.

She entered the tent; unsure of the reception she would be dealt. She held the flowers out to indicate her good intentions. I'Eda lay naked on the fur rugs, which were now scattered about the floor – not at all what Polymar expected.

I'Eda was a beautiful woman and to see her seductively splayed across the floor in full view was proving difficult for Polymar to resist. However she kept her emotions under control, not wanting to assume her feelings were returned; this display just another of I'Eda's idiosyncrasies. She handed the fresh flowers to I'Eda, and quickly apologised for her earlier outburst. Then she turned and started to undress in preparation for a much-needed bath.

Polymar discarded her breeches and shirt to reveal nothing but a cotton camisole. Her body was covered in moisture due to the long and unconventional day's warmth and activities. She removed the camisole and sank into the warm perfumed water. Polymar lay back against the rim and closed her eyes. Not once did she glance back at her younger companion, but she could sense I'Eda standing behind her.

'You really do have a lovely body, Polymar! You have firm breasts and your waist is slender. I honestly don't know why you don't show it off more. Men would find you totally irresistible.' I'Eda's voice was soft and sensual as she lathered the bar of soap on a loofah and proceeded to wash Polymar's neck and shoulders.

Polymar felt herself relax under the other woman's gentle strokes. She let out a sigh.

'I appreciate your concern, but the attention of men does not interest me. Not in that way at least.' Polymar's mind wandered back to her love long lost. 'You know, I fell in love once with a young woman and for me there is no other.' She had no intention of revealing her growing feelings toward I'Eda.

'Hmm. Surely you could not be content knowing you would never know love's sweet embrace again? That emotion is unique.' I'Eda's reply seemed filled with hidden meaning as she deliberately enticed Polymar to open her heart. The young girl continued her gentle cleansing with the loofah. She moved with disciplined strokes over Polymar's body, working her magic with every motion. Polymar relaxed further, feeling the bliss of each caressing stroke.

I'Eda placed the loofah on the ground then with expert precision used her hands to wash around Polymar's breasts. She watched the nipples rise to firm peaks. I'Eda smiled and unashamedly moved her hands over Polymar's stomach before sliding them between the woman's thighs.

Polymar sat up.

'I'Eda that's cruel! To tempt me in such a way is shameful; after all I have done for you. Why would you humiliate me this way?' Polymar rose quickly, grabbed a cloth and began roughly rubbing herself dry; her face now blushed red with embarrassment.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I honestly thought you deserved this pleasure. I thought my actions would please you. I only wanted to show you that you could know love again. All of us need affection and I'm no different.' I'Eda's voice was calm and gentleness was woven into her words, like a weaver's fine thread.

Polymar unwrapped the cloth from her body. She threw caution to the wind and moved deliberately toward I'Eda. If the girl was serious then now was her chance to prove it. Was I'Eda willing to go through with what she had started? Polymar hoped so.

The older woman ran her fingers slowly down the young girl's shoulder, before drifting gently over the young woman's breasts. A sharp intake of breath escaped I'Eda's lips as she closed her eyes and willingly accepted her fate. Their kiss was deliberate and erotic. Polymar whispered against the soft tender skin of I'Eda's neck before running her tongue slowly down the girl's front, stopping to take each nipple into her mouth. I'Eda made no attempt to withdraw as she moved seductively against the other woman's frame. Passion had its own rewards as I'Eda returned the pleasure. Each woman became caught in the spiral of ecstasy. They sank to the floor where they were heavily concealed with thick rugs. It was the ideal playground. The clear night sky outside brought stars that winked in unison as the women drew pleasure from each other.

Both women had known lovers before, and now they found solace in each other's embrace. I'Eda felt no shame; she and Polymar were two of a kind but both were quite unique.

•

The morning dawned sunny and clear, similar to the previous day. Sirus hadn't slept at all during the long night, his thoughts centred on his impending meeting with the Furie.

He had been concerned before Neon and Aramean had relayed the brief history lesson, but now he believed that far more was at stake then his own immortality. Sirus told them of Polymar's conversation, unaware that they were both already privy to it. His mind considered the implications of the revelation that the Furie were responsible for the existence of the Immortals. Did the Immortals know they were merely secondary in this universal plan? It did not help that he could not recall anything of his past, if anything it only deepened his melancholy. It intrigued him as to why the Furie would wish to speak to him? Did they know his situation? Did they know of Azrah? He only hoped they knew what was behind all this!

He headed out to meet up with Polymar and Aramean. Neon had agreed to meet them at the bottom of the ravine as planned. The Furie had not mentioned anything about Neon walking down the path, so Neon decided that it would save a lot of complicated explanation if he simply flew down. The men would not understand his involvement.

Sirus caught up with Renward and Jervoid and both stood to attention. Beside the two commanders were ample supplies for their journey. Sirus could see they were still bitterly disappointed at not being allowed to go. Right now he could not afford the luxury of giving the two men a satisfactory explanation; he was not sure he would know what to say even if it were possible.

•

Polymar had woke just before dawn, sensations of the previous night still fresh. The aftermath of their sexual antics still cast a shadow about the enclosure within the tent. She looked about, but I'Eda was gone. Why would she leave? Polymar rested her head back against the warmth of the fur blankets and smiled with satisfaction; the memories still vivid.

Moments later she rose and dressed lightly for her journey. She knew she should have been apprehensive about the meeting with the Furie, but right now all she could think of was the pleasant aftermath of her night of passion. She left I'Eda a note.

'A night I will treasure forever. No repercussions, no guilt. Always Polymar.'

She left the note on the rugs then gathered up her sword and left to meet up with Sirus and Aramean.

Aramean arrived on cue, just ahead of her. They could hear Sirus's voice raised in anger.

'My instructions are clear. We go alone, and no one is to follow.' Polymar and Aramean could see Sirus speaking with his officers.

The two men backed away. Renward's expression showed he was less than impressed by Sirus's outburst. Jervoid merely nodded.

'This ravine could be a very dangerous place. I have Polymar to protect me and Aramean has been here before.' He lied, but there was no other way.

Both men now nodded their heads. When Sirus made up his mind about something, nothing and no one could change it.

The three would-be adventurers picked up the packs, which had been prepared for them; each threw a pack over their shoulders before uttering a brief goodbye and moving down the overgrown path. Polymar took one last look behind her. She hoped I'Eda might have come to say goodbye, but the girl was nowhere to be seen.

# 26

# The Pathway

# 'The World of Nepthany'

'The glory of life is in the living, the beauty of life is in the giving.'

The mites guided Thea and Talon safely along the tunnel back to their original path. Thea gazed forlornly in the direction of serpent lake. She wondered if she would ever have the privilege of coming this way again. She hoped so. If she did, would this path return her to those mysterious creatures? She could still feel the Serpent King's lips, warm and filled with meaning. The friendliness exuded by the creatures within the city would remain with her always.

Once they were back to the original path Thea found herself caught up in the warmth of the tiny mites. Bea once again started to play her game and this time Talon joined in. The mysteries of serpent lake were momentarily forgotten. After several hours the path suddenly doubled in width. Thea had not noticed but Talon had, and he mentioned the fact as they rounded a corner.

'You're right, it has widened. And look Talon, over there up ahead, there are several tunnels leading off each side.' Thea pointed toward the entrances as she spoke.

The path had in fact widened into a large circular dome, and Thea and Talon now stood staring up into the apex of its roof. Bright light filtered down, but neither of them could make out its source. Around the circumference of the dome several tunnels led off and two were alight. Talon had never experienced this before.

Now what do we do? He thought.

Bea flitted in through the furthest of the openings and several of her small friends followed her. The other mites stayed behind close to Talon. The tunnel Bea took was small, only just big enough for Thea to fit through.

'Well, obviously Bea has made a mistake, because there is no way I can fit in through here,' exclaimed Talon, as he poked first his beak, then a portion of his head, through the opening. 'There is no way my large feathery posterior is ever going to make it through this.'

When Thea tried to move back toward Talon, Bea and her friends buzzed a message, which indicated that Thea was to follow this path. The message, read 'Thea you must follow us'.

Thea stood between Talon and Bea, unsure of what she should do.

'Talon I have to go this way; Bea would not ask this if it was not right! I trusted her at serpent lake and I have to trust her now.'

Talon withdrew his head with some difficulty and glanced at the other mites as they buzzed at him excitedly. It was almost as if they were beckoning him to follow them into the other lit path. Talon looked at the larger tunnel; it was certainly large enough to take him with ease. What should he do? It was his responsibility to take care of Thea and he did not want to let her down again. Maybe he was not meant to accompany her? He looked inside the tunnel where Thea stood with Bea – she looked fine, and he knew he could trust the mites.

'I believe you must travel this path alone. The other tunnel is somehow meant for me. I am reluctant to leave you, but I trust Bea completely to take care of you.' Suddenly he had to admit he would miss Thea.

Thea walked back to the entrance where Talon stood. She peered out and touched Talon's beak. 'Go with the others, Talon. I'll be all right with Bea and her friends. I believe we will meet again soon. Take care, my friend.'

Thea turned and waved goodbye then followed Bea. Talon watched until he saw her disappear from sight. He moved away and joined the other mites on his own journey.

•

Thea moved slowly along behind Bea, unsure why it was necessary for her to be separated from Talon. The two had grown fond of each other in the time they had spent together. Talon seemed clumsy, yet he was kind and always acted in her best interest. She smiled, suddenly missing him terribly. She looked ahead as Bea darted in front of her, happy and unafraid. Thea decided to adopt the same attitude.

The tunnel walls were very narrow. Where the tunnel had commenced they'd had ample room to dance a jig if they had wanted to, yet here the roof barely reached a hand or two above Thea's head. Just as well I don't suffer from claustrophobia, she thought.

Some time later Thea came to some steps, well worn and each with an old and dusty brass lamp above it. Thea could just make out the fine patterns upon their surface through the dust, as she brushed past. She noticed none of the lamps had a wick, and no candle created the light they emitted. The lamps just glowed – similar to the tunnel lighting. Thea wondered what fantasy created such light. Bea landed once more on her shoulder, occasionally buzzing at the other mites as they flew ahead of Thea. They continued their descent.

When they finally reached the bottom step, Bea lifted off, apparently to explore what lay in the darkness before them. They had come to a room with high ceilings and large columns supporting the roof. Thea could just make out a variety of large wooden boxes, stacked high on top of each other. The room was poorly lit, so Thea picked up the lantern at the base of the steps and as she did the wick flickered bright. It was then that she noticed that each box was intricately carved with caricatures of animals and the handles on the boxes appeared to be made of solid gold, their surface reflecting the glow of the lamplight. Overhead, antiquated lamps hung in darkness and quaint tapestries were suspended from the roof. As she moved closer she could see how fine the stitching was. They could well have been painted as they were sewn so finely.

Bea flew back and landed again on her shoulder. It was then that Thea noticed the figure on the tapestry before her. Thea pulled back in amazement – the face of a young woman looked down at her – a face so startlingly like her own that she was totally stunned. Bea too appeared to notice and buzzed back and forth as if she were comparing the two. Azrah! Her likeness to the statue in the temple of Sansinus came forward in her mind. It felt so strange staring at another who looked so much like you, but wasn't you.

Thea moved toward another of the tapestries. There before her was a face as familiar to her as night and day. She gasped. Her hand moved involuntarily to her mouth. She stared into eyes as blue as the azure skies of Asserian. The dark and handsome features brought back all the terrifying memories of that night, which now seemed so long ago, when fate had placed her in the arms of the dark man. Thea extended a hand towards the tapestry, as she placed the other on her protruding stomach. She thought for one brief moment the face before her appeared real, it was certainly familiar!

Hatred welled up in her heart as she looked into the face of the dark man. How could an image of someone so evil be here? A place obviously so far from Asserian! It had to be the eyes of someone else? The eyes bored into her soul, yet unlike the eyes of the dark man, these eyes held compassion and humility. Could it just be a coincidence? She felt her heart plummet.

Bea nuzzled in close. Thea's grief was apparent, and the mite was trying in vain to console her friend. Tears trickled down Thea's cheeks. Thea gave a sigh, would she ever know peace from the torment of that night?

There were other tapestries at various points, each one suspended from the ceiling. One depicted a powerful lion with a woman; it was Azrah once again. Except in this one, the stitching was all the more glorious for the gold and silver threads woven into the background that highlighted the sky and foliage in the scene. Thea found it hard to draw her gaze away.

The room seemed so steeped in history and well-tended memorabilia. Everything was spotlessly clean by comparison with the lamps on the stairwell. The lamps overhead had been polished and Thea's reflection shone from their surface. At the far end she could make out the distinct outline of a large double door. She moved toward it and tried to open it, but it was locked securely.

Bea flew from Thea's shoulder and buzzed about, writing a message that was clearly visible in the soft light of the room.

'Through the door you must go, beyond we may not venture.'

Before Thea could respond, Bea darted toward the door and entered the keyhole. She passed through to the locking mechanism, hummed a bewildered note then just as quickly withdrew. The mites darted about. Another message: 'We will wait for your return'. Then the door clicked open. The tiny mites hesitated one moment then darted back to the staircase and disappeared into the darkness beyond.

As Thea reached for the door, it creaked a little further open. She grabbed the handle and pulled it wide, daylight rushed in to meet her.

•

Talon meandered along slowly, his mind totally consumed with Thea and her separate journey. Was he supposed to meet up with her again? Why would the Great One separate them? There had to be a good reason. He decided he would have to trust Bea and his divine master and believe the light mites would bring her safely back to him. Talon could not imagine the Great One giving him such a mammoth task, with all the responsibility it entailed just so that he would fail. No, both Thea and her child were his to take care of, and take care of them he would.

The path Talon strolled along sloped downhill and he found it difficult because of his enormous size to keep his balance. He stumbled several times as he tried to keep his footing. At times he had to run to keep himself stable. The light mites buzzed excitedly before him, loving the speed. When at last Talon approached the bottom, he found the path abruptly stopped at a solid wall. There seemed to be no door or passageway – just solid rock. Talon searched for a hidden latch or hinge, but found nothing. He was so taken up with his predicament he failed to notice that his tiny friends had disappeared. When he realised he was alone he staggered backwards, preparing to trace his way back up the steep incline. Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a gleam of light! Under the path was an opening. It was concealed by the steep decline, which ran back upon itself. No one would ever see it concealed below, though the mites obviously knew of its existence.

Talon quickly spun under the path and joined his little friends who were now some distance in front. The path was now wide enough to take his large girth. However the path had dulled and the light faded to an opaque colouring. Talon hoped he would not be confined for long in its eeriness. He finally caught up with his tiny companions as they started to descend once again, though not quite as steeply as before. The path gradually wound down until once again it met yet another rock wall. Talon didn't waste time trying to find a secret exit, instead he scurried after the mites as they dived in and around under the path. The path had been built as a spiral. This time however, instead of a continuing pathway, there was a chamber with a series of doors. Each door had a number and with a verse inscribed below it. Talon looked to the mites for guidance – maybe they would show him which door he should choose. But the creatures had stopped and were now perched on the ceiling above his head, waiting for him to make a choice.

Talon examined each door. The first was old and worn, the wood cracked and gnarled like the hands of an old crone, its frame barely secured by its rusty hinges. The number on the door was marked with an 'X' and below scorched black a message which read, 'Through this door lays the road to riches.' Talon passed it by: riches were not important to him.

The second door was far less worn, and the wood of a fine quality, polished to perfection. The number on this door read 'XX' and the inscription finely carved into its surface read, 'Through this door lie the answers to the universe.' Talon thought he had gained more than enough answers from the Great One, even answers to questions he had not asked, so why would he want to know more? He passed by the door.

The third door was by far the most beautiful; it was of an even finer wood than the last and was so highly polished that Talon could see his reflection in its surface. The doorframe from which it hung was edged in gold. The hinges and the handle also appeared to be made of solid gold, which was patterned with tiny flowers. The number on this door was marked 'XXX', and the message fashioned in gold filigree read, 'Through this door lies the path to happiness'. Happiness! Talon had never really known happiness and, even though he had close friends and allies, he wasn't sure they made him happy. What is happiness anyway? Talon thought to himself. Surely it is just a state of mind – and how can I be happy knowing Thea is out there somewhere without my protection?

This was a puzzle! Talon looked back at the doors very carefully. Why would the door to riches be old and worn, its dilapidated frame barely able to stand? Talon walked back to the door with the number 'X' marked solidly into the wood. He placed his wing tip on the handle; he was sure it would break off at his touch. He looked around at the mites, who sat in inaudible silence watching him. He smiled, as each one in turn buzzed down and touched him gently on his wings. He could tell they were pleased with his choice, and he could also see they were saying goodbye. Talon opened the door; it creaked noisily as he stepped through. He shut it gently behind him.

•

The light streaming down the stairs blinded Thea for a moment until she adjusted her sight. Before her rose an exquisite staircase, its brilliance highlighted by the sunlight overhead. Thea gently closed the door behind her and moved up the stairs. Each step had been carved from white stone, which was smooth as silk under her feet. Her hands slid up the banister, its patterns chiselled with a master's precision, so delicate she felt her touch might shatter them. Each carving was so precise with animals portrayed in intricate detail. She became so enthralled by the masterpiece that she didn't realise she had reached the top. She stood now on a wide veranda, with sunlight reflecting off the mosaic tiles around her. She moved forward, soaking up the warmth of the sun and closed her eyes, unaware of the imposing lion at her back.

'Welcome, oh beloved one,' came a deep voice.

Thea jumped, startled by the proximity and power of the voice. She turned, more from instinct than calculation. Before her stood the most splendid creature she had ever seen. Intuition said she should have been afraid, petrified even, but something about this beast inspired respect, not fear. She could not help staring as the King of Beasts moved slowly toward her. As he approached, Talon's majestic form came to mind, but even his size was not as impressive as the creature now standing a short distance away.

The King of Beasts cast his gaze over Thea, as he lowered himself in a reverent bow.

'Welcome, my beloved Goddess! We were not expecting you so soon, please forgive me for not being better prepared.'

'Who are you? And where am I?' Thea's voice came in a whisper, not because she felt intimidated or afraid – though instinct should have induced terror – but because she was intrigued by the situation she found herself in.

The lion raised his head and shook his large black mane from his vision.

How extraordinary his eyes are, thought Thea. She could see beauty and compassion in his face, and his eyes reflected the goodness of his soul. This creature was more alluring than anything she had ever seen and she felt an affinity with him, an affinity born of respect.

'Please follow me, Goddess. I will explain.' He hesitated a moment, then continued. 'Please don't be afraid; there is no danger for you in my world.' The lion plodded off toward the edge of the roof, his hindquarters swaying in muscular motion. He glanced back to make sure Thea followed.

The veranda was in fact the roof of an extremely large and complex building overlooking a long narrow valley. The valley spread wide, its edges lined with shady trees before sweeping out towards a vast open plain. From where Thea stood she could see the plain swarming with animals of all descriptions – elephants, zebras, wild buffalo, gazelle, cattle, sheep and many other species she couldn't name. Above her flew birds of every species from eagles (smaller than Talon!) to tiny finches. All of this wild life was moving towards where she and the lion now stood.

Thea realised that the building on which she stood was the top of a magnificent temple, from its apex wound a massive staircase, which swept down to meet the sweep from the valley below. The building was constructed from large slabs of white marble. Thea doubted whether a hundred men could have moved each block into place, they were so large.

'What is this place?' Thea asked politely, as she turned to view her host.

'Forgive me, Goddess! I apologise.' The lion looked with confusion at Thea.

'I should have introduced myself. My name is Nimmie; I am the High Regent of Nepthany. Welcome.' His voice was gentle yet commanding as he met Thea's gaze.

'Nimmie! That is a pleasant name. It means 'kindness of heart', does it not?' She did not wait for Nimmie's reply as she turned back toward the view.

'Why yes, it does! I should have known you would know the language of our world. A Goddess knows all.' Nimmie's answer was more to himself than to Thea.

Thea glanced once again toward the herds of beasts, slowly making their way across the plains. Then she shifted her focus to the birds. She realised in that instant that this world was completely singular. This world of beasts and birds had overcome obstacles that their human counterparts had not; they had learned to accept each other for what they were.

She turned back to face Nimmie once more.

'I too must apologise for not introducing myself. My name is Thea, Queen of Asserian and High Priestess to the Gods.' Thea waited for a response, but there was none. Instead, Thea rightfully thought she recognised mystification cross over the king's features. Thea suddenly realised she was a stranger here, and until she knew who and what she faced she should not reveal more about herself.

Nimmie did not understand why the Goddess would introduce herself as another.

As if she read his mind Thea spoke. 'Nimmie, please do not ask me how I came to be here within your world. I'm not sure I can explain my presence here. Maybe if Talon were here he could clarify things!' She paused a moment, and then thought it wise to change the subject.

'Nimmie why did you refer to me as "Goddess"?' Thea was not especially comfortable with the honour.

Nimmie stood looking at the beautiful face of the woman he believed was Azrah, Goddess Immortal. He had seen portraits of her all his life, hanging in the gallery and the crypt, and there were even sculptures of her in the palace and around the city. Why then did this woman call herself Thea? Her name was Azrah.

'Forgive me Thea, I understand you are many things to many races; so I will assume you are both Thea and Azrah.'

'No!' Thea spoke calmly. She recalled the edifice of the Goddess Azrah on Sansinus and the face reflected on the tapestries in the chamber below and realised Nimmie thought she was actually Azrah. Somehow she had to explain the likeness without giving away more detail than she safely could. She would wait though until she knew more about the world in which she now stood before declaring herself an impostor.

•

Talon walked out from behind the oval rock and into the shade of an enormous Banbury tree. The trees' branches spread wide, sheltering the ground for several metres. He glanced back at the entrance, but it had vanished.

He returned to his immediate surroundings. Sweeping across the plain in front of him was a spectacular sight. Across the mighty plains swarmed millions of animals of all varieties, leaving in their wake a cloud of dust that billowed in blinding swirls around them. The animals came in all sizes and shapes, colours and species and they all seemed to be heading in the same direction. Talon peered toward the skies and saw a huge flock of birds, large and small, in groups circling about. All seemed intent on following in the wake of the beasts. The two groups created an amazing spectacle.

The movement of both animals and birds was obviously heading somewhere, so Talon decided he would join the parade. He had nowhere else to go, and he hoped that sooner or later he would discover what had become of Thea. He spread his wings and lifted to the skies, falling in behind the others and trying not to attract too much attention. But his size was something that could not be hidden.

As he fell in behind the birds he suffered the first blow. The attack came from the smaller birds as they dived low and pecked at his back and head; it was merely a distraction. For Talon it felt like insects attacking him, more of an annoyance than anything else. When he realised his perpetrators were merely small birds he realised he could retaliate, but Talon had been taught early the value of life and he would not take another life to protect his own. He knew he had killed many times, for food or to protect others, but that was out of necessity or in the line of duty, not in self-defence.

The larger birds began to join in the foray, and Talon could feel their sharp claws as they dug into his skin, pulling large chunks of feather and flesh. He twisted and turned, managing to dislodge the worst of his assailants, but he could feel the damage they inflicted as deep wounds appeared. Talon knew he would not be able to sustain their blows for long. He dived, trying to escape his adversaries, but the birds attacked from beneath, preventing his descent. He tried in vain to evade the assault as his attention was distracted for a brief moment by the sight of a glorious white building. On its roof stood Thea, her hair fanning out in the morning breeze. As if on purpose, he was brought back to the moment by the birds' continued onslaught. Talon felt his vision blur and unconsciousness assailed him.

Thea saw the furore amongst the birds and with horror realised the attack was being perpetrated on Talon. There was no mistaking her friend. 'Oh no,' she screamed 'Stop!'

Her plea echoed around her. She raised her hands involuntarily as energy rose from deep within her soul. The feeling was unlike anything she had ever known. Lightning bolts radiated from her fingertips, striking the birds surrounding Talon. The birds, large and small, plummeted from the sky to land with a thud upon the harsh plain. A vast cloud of dust swirled up to conceal the destruction of their tattered and torn bodies. Many lay dead, or dying. Talon lay in their midst, his body covered in lacerations, blood soaking his chest, back and wings. But he was alive.

Thea forgot where she was, and Nimmie watched her race from the rooftop toward the staircase. Thea ignored the roar of the lion and rushed toward the gathering group of animals and birds at the base of the temple steps.

She descended the stairs two or three at a time, pushing past the animals that had come to see her. She could hear their protests, but she felt only anguish for Talon. She pushed through the crowd at the base of the steps. A large powerful buffalo stood in her way she simply pushed him aside. When she reached Talon, she was horrified by his condition. He lay on his side with his eyes shut. His feathers caked with fresh blood and dirt, and for one horrible moment she thought he was dead. She took his head and cradled it in her lap, as those around her surveyed their comrades lying deceased upon the ground.

Talon felt her soft caress and heard her tender pleas. He opened his bloodshot eyes to see tears streaming down Thea's face.

'Oh Talon, I thought I had lost you. I couldn't imagine life without you. Please don't die!' Thea hugged him close.

'Your wish is my command.' Talon struggled to whisper the words, as his voice ebbed low.

Nimmie had followed Thea, and now stood back watching her display. This mysterious woman held the eagle close. This day had brought firstly joy then pain; it was a day in which Nimmie was confronted with a vision of the Goddess as well as the unfolding and conclusion of a legend. He had fantasised about this woman all his life and yet something about her was erroneous.

The black panther stretched at the top of the stairwell. Her face distorted with anger as she watched the catastrophe unfold. She would not let these events hinder her plans. She had been promised freedom and nothing, not even the arrival of the Goddess, would delay her plans.

# 27

# Romanie

# 'The World of The Furie'

'Time is an illusion created for the leisure of the mighty Gods.'

The path from the campsite was narrow and thick undergrowth covered the track. In places it was so impenetrable that it required both Polymar and Sirus to hack away at the brush with swords. At times it was difficult to tell which direction the path led. Polymar headed the group. She slashed at the vegetation, plying her strength and using the sword to its full advantage, but the going was slow. The vines and undergrowth across the track were vastly different to the flora she and Neon had seen in their earlier trips to the ravine. What had changed?

Aramean travelled at the rear, and as they progressed he pointed out a peculiar fact.

'Take a look behind; it looks as though we have made no impact on the vegetation at all!'

Both Sirus and Polymar glanced behind them; the path, which had been cleared minutes before was quickly being overgrown with thick vegetation. The growth was phenomenal.

'I guess the Furie were serious when they insisted that others do not follow. What if I change my mind, and decide I know longer wish to proceed?' Sirus hoped he had not made the biggest mistake of his life.

After an hour or more of hacking through thick brush, the path suddenly cleared. Their pace quickened without the delays and the trio could now see the alluring shrubbery and trees sprawling out on the lower side of the track. They were now in the magical world of the Furie.

Sirus could see that Polymar and Neon had not exaggerated the spectacle of this world; the colour of the foliage was awe-inspiring. Even Aramean stopped, his mind captivated by the sheer beauty of the moment.

'I've never seen anything like this,' he observed. The exotic bushes before them were in every hue imaginable. The verdant foliage contrasted by the colours of the berries and vines that grew randomly between the shrubs. Flowers hedged the scene in bright colours as the sunlight danced across their foliage. Insects darted about in resplendent colours, seeming to welcome them to this enchanted world.

Sirus wondered if he, Theron, had ever created such beauty! He reflected on something Neon had mentioned to him once: 'You have created worlds of mystery, worlds full of colour and beauty.' Sirus now wondered if he ever stopped to look at the beauty of his own creations or appreciated the happiness it gave others.

The three visitors became aware of a strange sensation; it was a feeling that seemed to rise from the pits of their stomachs. This world, or apparition, made them feel alive! Every sense became piqued – their smell, taste, sight and touch were heightened. Polymar even thought she might break into her favourite tune, a tune Kwinend had taught her as a child. But after a moment's deliberation, she decided she would spare both men the ordeal.

Aramean knew that only the Furie could create a world such as this. He had often wondered what it would be like to come face to face with the mysteries of their terrain. As he stood, captured by its brilliance, he pondered the fact that the universe held far greater mysteries than anything his mind could possibly conjure up.

The trio decided to take a rest. Polymar made herself comfortable on the soft grass; it beckoned her with its soft emerald green colour. She lifted the pack from her back only to find it was empty.

'The contents are gone!'

Sirus and Aramean checked their packs and found theirs empty also.

'I guess the Furie don't wish us to eat!' Sirus's voice was raised, and he threw his pack into the canopy of the trees in anger. He had barely spoken when food appeared on the grassy outcrop before them. There was bread, cheese of many varieties and a container of liquid, laid out on a cloth at their feet. Polymar was hungry. She lent over and picked up one of the cheeses and took a nibble.

'Tastes wonderful; better than the cheese from the Rebion herders.' She picked up another piece, as well as some bread. Sirus and Aramean decided to join her.

'Well I guess the Furie are good with their word! Our basic needs are being taken care of.' Polymar took a sip of the liquid. 'Tastes like raspberry juice, but sweeter. Here try some.' She passed the jug to Sirus. The three quenched their thirst and their appetites before heading off once again along the track.

The only items the three would-be travellers now carried were their swords and shields. But Aramean refused to carry such items; he had never taken to the art of war and felt he was too old to start now.

They wandered below the level of the taller trees and could finally appreciate the remarkable undergrowth and bird life. The birds darted above their heads; birds of every colour of the rainbow with magical songs to match their plumage.

By late afternoon the trio decided to call a halt. The sun now waned to the colours of peach and pink hues; the contrast creating shadows through the canopy. They came upon a small clearing as night descended and decided that it would make an ideal location to rest, a perfect spot, which beckoned the visitors to stay. Tall impressive trees protected them and from their vantage point the travellers could just make out the forest floor camouflaged below.

Food appeared as before, but this time there were no questions asked. When they finished, they settled down for the night.

When the new day dawned, the three travellers remained sound asleep. The noise of twittering birds eventually aroused them, just as the sun launched itself above the tree tops.

'Morning already! That is the best night's sleep I have ever had!' Polymar stretched and yawned. The glade they camped in overnight had dramatically changed. Sirus and Aramean jumped up, rubbing their eyes to comprehend what lay before them. The night had seen the disappearance of the great canopy of trees and in their place stood rose bushes, each one sublimely different in both colour and shape. Yet more remarkable was the perfume exuded by the flowers.

'The roses of dawn! I have heard tell of them! But I thought they were nothing but a myth.' Aramean declared, as he bent low to inhale the intoxicating perfume. He felt his head spin. Visions of Sansinus clouded his thoughts; he could see darkness spreading over his world. He saw creatures of the night prowling the forests as they found new victims, the darker force now claiming his world. He saw hatred in the hearts of those he once called his followers. Aramean stepped back from the rose; he did not wish to see more. This place had lost its appeal. Sirus and Polymar watched his reaction; they could see the distraught look on his face.

'Let's leave here before the perfume completely takes away our minds.'

Aramean was serious. His two companions thought it wise to comply, as they pulled Aramean toward the path. From the sun's placement, they could see it was now well toward midday. They had lost valuable time. Aramean remained quiet as the group travelled toward the valley floor. He had caught a vision of a world he no longer recognised. What could have taken place on Sansinus? What evil straddled the land? He hoped that what he saw was nothing more than an illusion, created to disenchant him. Aramean knew his commitment to the Goddess outweighed his responsibilities to his world. She had promised she would watch over them, so he had to rely upon that.

As they continued the journey, their surroundings remained as tranquil as the previous day. No one spoke. The sights continued to amaze them the deeper they penetrated the valley.

•

Neon had stood alone at the edge of the ravine and watched as Sirus, Polymar and Aramean started out on their journey. He continued his watch until they disappeared from sight. Neon remained close to the camp until dusk, before wandering off pretending to forage for tender grass shoots. Night had fallen and soldiers had settled down. Guards stood watch at both ends and the unsettling situation of the late afternoon had calmed.

Neon recalled how Tonk had earlier ventured to the path taken by Sirus and the others. The man had completely ignored the instructions given by Renward and Jervoid through Sirus – an indiscretion that almost cost him his life.

Tonk was the most able-bodied man amongst these men and had been Sirus's bodyguard until Polymar wrested the title from him. He wanted more than anything to prove he was still the best man for the job. After lunch he gathered up his sword and moved to the path Sirus and the others had taken, clearly on a mission to protect his Prince. Tonk was sure no one saw him, but he had not counted on Neon being an unobtrusive observer.

Tonk stripped bare the ground before him as he cleared the same path the others had taken. He was so preoccupied with his endeavours he did not notice the light steps of the horse following at a discreet distance. Tonk was soon covered in perspiration and his breath laboured by the time he came to the clear path inside the world of the Furie. The moment he stepped foot onto the path, thick vines twisted about his ankles; his cries for help were stifled by insects that filled his mouth. By the time Neon stumbled across his body, the brawny man was barely breathing and Tonks' body was entrapped securely in the thick rope-like vines.

Neon's presence by Tonk's side seemed to discourage both the vines and the insects, as they withdrew. Tonk lay unconscious.

The horse grabbed Tonk by his thick shirt and flew back to the top of the path. No one was about as the sun sank over the horizon. Neon left him within sight of the tents. He knew it would not be long before the men of the camp found Tonk's bruised and battered body. Neon did not wait, knowing Tonk would have to lie to hide his shame. The truth would not have pleased Renward or Jervoid.

Neon now headed for the end of the ravine. He knew the Furie would not have gone to these lengths to summon Theron for anything other than the welfare of the universe. Somehow the Immortals too were involved and Neon sensed that even the Great One might know more than he had told him. The more this mystery opened up, the more Neon knew the universe he had come to know and love was about to change. A battle was imminent – he could smell it in the air about him. But who was the enemy?

Neon stepped off the edge of the cliff, spread his great wings and slowly circled the rim of the gully. He descended gracefully to the bottom of the ravine. He needed to speak with the Great One, but now was neither the time nor the place. He would have to wait and see what the Furie had to say; maybe then he would know what to do next.

•

Sirus, Aramean and Polymar reached the valley floor in the late afternoon. Polymar wasn't exactly sure of the position of the clearing where she and the horse had originally located the Furie. Neon would know, but he was not here. So together the three companions headed along the floor, careful not to disturb the abundant vegetation – somehow it seemed sacrilege to tamper with this beauty. They stopped along the way to grab a bite to eat. There was an abundant growth of fruit upon the trees within the valley. The variety seemed infinite, and most they had never tasted before.

'This is great! Tastes sweet and the flesh is soft and smooth, you really should try one,' Aramean beamed as he wiped the juice of a spiky, brilliant yellow fruit from his chin. Both Sirus and Polymar dived for the same fruit, which hung down between them. Polymar beat Sirus to it and grinned as she saw Sirus's hand swipe nothing but air as she claimed the prize.

'Yes indeed, they are delicious,' she smiled, 'better than anything we Rebion can grow.' The juices splashed from her mouth and down her shirtfront.

Appetites satisfied, they continued to push through the lush undergrowth until they spotted a clearing in the distance. It looked like the one she and Neon had landed in, but Polymar could not be sure. Then they noticed Neon shading himself under a large tree, seemingly asleep where he stood. The three crept slowly up behind him, thinking to surprise him.

'Well! What kept you?' Neon turned to face them, noticing the stains down the front of his friends' clothes. He smiled.

# 28

# Nepthany

# 'The Goddess Returns'

'Even the great have lessons to learn from the meek'.

Thea watched closely as four white buffalo, muscles quivering eased Talon onto a stretcher. They lifted him with care then proceeded to carry him up the stairway to the temple entrance.

Her temper was still simmering and those standing close backed away as Thea followed the procession up the steps. Thea was shaken by the events of the day and in her mind she tried to fathom the mystery of the power she had wielded earlier. Where had the energy come from? She had destroyed life, thereby breaking her oath as High Priestess. She could defend her actions as having saved the life of a friend, but she could never justify it and continue to believe in the teachings of the Gods.

She recalled the anger she had felt and the power that welled up within her – an overwhelming power had simply taken control. Something within her had definitely changed. Maybe her coming to Nepthany and the fact that a face so similar to her own graced the tapestries and portraits here was not coincidental. Talon told her often enough that the Great One knew all. Well, I hope I soon get an opportunity to ask him—or her, she thought.

Thea reflected on that day on Asserian, now seemingly a lifetime ago, when she rose from her bed to find her life changed; it was the day something had altered within herself. She was certain she'd been right – she was no longer merely Thea, Queen and High Priestess. She recalled the statue on Sansinus, and the tapestries beneath this temple with a face so like her own. The serpent man had especially called her to him – these things could not be coincidental. They are all linked and somehow I am involved. The thought raced through her mind. She was determined to find out how. Her mind churned desperately as she tried to come to terms with the upheaval of her life, as she followed close behind the buffalos.

Azrah, she knew, was an Immortal and a Goddess. Why had Nimmie then mistaken her for that woman? He had mentioned Azrah in relation to herself, but how could she and Azrah be connected? It made no sense at all. As she thought of Azrah, Thea felt the child within her move. Her hand automatically reached to make contact. This child was yet another problem for her to fathom out, as was the orb, warm against her chest. When she had wielded the power earlier, the orb had reacted. Thea wondered where all this would lead.

The buffalo finally reached the landing at the top of the stairs and stopped. Nimmie, who had followed close behind Thea, moved forward. He gave instructions to place Talon on the ground. He said nothing to Thea as he skirted past her; he could see from her expression she was preoccupied. Nimmie motioned to several large brown wolves standing to one side of the platform: they moved toward the stretcher. Thea also moved forward, determined that no further harm would befall her friend. As the wolves moved in close to the stretcher each of them took a corner in their mouths and lifted Talon forward to a shelter near the back of the landing. There they carefully laid the stretcher down, positioning Talon gently onto soft downy bedding. Thea went to Talon's side and gently knelt beside him; he seemed to know she was there.

Nimmie felt obliged to react.

'My subjects are truly sorry, Goddess. We did not know the giant bird was your friend. My subjects were only doing their duty – they thought they were protecting you!' Nimmie was also visibly shaken by the death of his subjects.

'Do you treat all your guests with such cruelty? You could have given Talon a chance to explain himself before you sent in your winged assassins!' Thea's reply reflected the venom she felt. She was angry, angrier than she had ever felt before. Nimmie knew apologies would not heal this situation, he knew he would have to explain the actions of his subjects.

His followers honestly thought Talon was a perpetrator of evil. A legend handed down through the generations of Nepthany told of a bird, similar to Talon. Every beast and bird knew the outcome and had spent their lives guarding the skies against the possibility of the legend coming true. The legend told of a mighty and fearsome eagle, one that would bring about the destruction of the Goddess. Some thought it nothing more than a story, but Nimmie could see the proof lying before him. There it was – a giant eagle, neither story nor legend.

Talon- was her protector and friend. Thea wanted to do more than simply stroke his crown to ease his pain. Suddenly she felt the mysterious force rise once more, but this time she knew it was not the power of destruction. She began to feel warm and filled with compassion as the orb tingled with heat against her flesh. With eyes closed, Thea felt the sensation of healing move through her hands as she continued to stroke Talon's head. Her body shuddered and her chest rose and fell as the energy flowed into Talon's battered and torn body. As the others watched, Talon's wounds covered over and healed. Those who stood watching the miracles were now convinced the Goddess had returned. As the wounds closed over, the animals bowed down before her. But she did not notice their reaction; her mind was consumed by the power she projected.

Talon opened his eyes. He could see Thea sitting with her hands on his body. The power radiating from her was potent, far more powerful than even the magic of the Great One. Who was this woman? She was certainly far more than she appeared.

'Thank you! Once again you have proven to be my friend – a debt I can only repay through service! Thea I pledge my life to you.' Talon saw a look of dismay cross Thea's face as she opened her eyes and saw his body, now healed of its wounds.

Thea stood peering down at Talon. A moment ago he had seemed close to death and now he lay there in front of her without a trace of injury. She knew she was responsible, but how? These powers were far beyond anything she had possessed before, yet they seemed part of her. Where had they come from? Did she possess them all along without knowing of their existence? She didn't believe that.

She turned to Nimmie, a short distance away. She could see the look on his face. Most of the animals were now prostrated before her, as if she were a deity. She recalled Nimmie's earlier comments regarding the Goddess Azrah. Perhaps she would allow them to continue to think she was Azrah for just a little while longer.

'Once again I apologise on behalf of my subjects. There is good reason they acted the way they did.' Nimmie held his head proudly as he tried to explain. Thea smiled down at Talon before turning toward Nimmie.

'Please explain if you can!' Thea tried to sound impressive, like a Goddess. Nimmie bowed then turned to Talon.

'Forgive my subjects, mighty eagle, they thought you were here to kill the Goddess.'

Talon was puzzled. What Goddess?

Nimmie turned to face Thea once again. 'Legend tells of a giant bird, who would destroy the Goddess. We have waited thousands of years for your return; the legend warned that with your arrival would come the means of your death. It seems more than coincidental that Talon should arrive at the same time as you.'

Nimmie bowed low as he moved back to stand with the other members of his entourage.

Thea thought for a moment. She could explain she was not the Goddess, so the giant bird could not be Talon, but then the gathered carnivores might not be as accommodating. She decided on a small lie.

'Talon has travelled with me for a long time, as my protector and friend, so I believe your story, or legend, does not apply to him. You will need to be diligent though, in case another bird of prey tries to make a meal of me.' She did not mean to sound flippant, but she did not wish to give herself away until she knew the purpose of her visit to Nepthany. And whether or not her hosts were friendly.

'You mentioned you knew the Goddess—I mean, I was coming! May I ask how you knew?' Thea was intrigued by the fact Nimmie had been expecting Azrah; she hoped the real Goddess would not show up while she was here. Impersonation of a Goddess would surely involve a rather unpleasant punishment.

Nimmie stood between two leopards; their yellow eyes appraising the situation. 'The legend states that when the moon waxes full and turns to the colour of peach blossoms in spring then the Goddess would return. Last night the moon rose in the colour of the peach blossom and, as you can see, all your subjects on Nepthany have come to welcome you back.'

Thea felt a chill run up her spine – all this seemed too coincidental. Firstly, why was she here? Secondly, why had Talon fallen prey to this legend? Thirdly, where had her powers come from? Her face was so similar to Azrah's. And those tapestries she had seen depicted an image so like that of the dark man. There were too many coincidences for these events not to be connected. She decided it was too late to try to explain her presence, she would continue with her impersonation of Azrah for the time being.

'Nimmie, there are many lessons one is meant to learn in life, and one is never jump to conclusions. A legend is nothing more than someone's imagination played out in words. Maybe in future your subjects might consider asking the Goddess first, rather than taking matters upon themselves.' Thea tried to keep her voice steady; a Goddess would not be intimidated by the figures before her.

'Well put, Goddess! We will endeavour to consult with you in future.'

Nimmie had no sooner finished than a roar came from the crowd gathering below the temple.

'Goddess, now that Talon seems well once more, maybe you would show yourself to the crowd. They have waited a very long time for your coming.' Nimmie motioned with his paw toward the edge of the landing. He bowed low and moved to escort Thea to where she could view the waiting throng.

As she approached the edge, she noticed that there were animals for as far as the eye could see, all waiting for a glimpse of her. Above, the sky was overcast by birds of every description, soaring high like a grey cloud before a downpour.

Thea swept her gaze across the gathering, humbled by such a show of devotion. She wondered what Azrah had done to inspire such loyalty. Surely the Goddess had not always been benevolent? She turned to face Nimmie, his features now humbled as he stood watching her. Thea could not help but smile. He was a magnificent specimen, nobility shone in his eyes and in the sheen of his coat. Thea felt suddenly privileged to be in his company. She watched as the King of Beasts bowed low to honour her. Thea walked toward him and gently placed her hand on his mane that was blowing in the afternoon's gentle breeze. She could feel the genuine emotions of this king and she knew his intentions were honourable. He could be trusted.

'Nimmie I think we should talk. There are many questions I need answers to and many things I need you to hear. Could we go somewhere and talk? Perhaps Talon and I could impose on you for some nourishment as well? It has been a long, trying day for us all.' Thea motioned for the king to rise. Talon had also risen from his bed to stand close to Thea. The other animals, still wary, had backed away from him.

Nimmie stood and shook out his mane; his eyes held Thea in their steady gaze as he uttered quick orders to several smaller cats sitting on the edge of the platform. Thea watched the sleek bodies of the domesticated cats move closer; they looked very similar to the cats that kept the mice at bay around the fortress and temple on Asserian. Their demeanour and the glint in their eyes suggested that these cats were not mere mouse hunters. They bowed low before Nimmie then slunk away towards a huge doorway at the rear of the platform and disappeared.

'Please follow me.' Nimmie moved forward following in the path of the cats. 'You are right, there is much to tell, but first let us make you and Talon comfortable then we will provide food and drink for you. My consort will attend to your needs, Goddess. Talon can come with me.' He moved off with Thea and Talon, followed by several members of his entourage.

The rest of the king's subjects dissipated in other directions.

With Talon close behind her, Thea was led through a long hallway that joined the temple to the palace. It was lined with statues of Nepthany's dynasty of royals. The statues were carved from stone. Once through the hallway, the group entered a gallery hung with paintings from ceiling to floor. Nimmie pointed out that each portrait told a story of the history of his world. Thea noticed a painting of Nimmie standing with an elegant panther, and a pretty young lion cub. Nimmie made no attempt to identify the two beside him in the portrait, but Thea presumed they were other members of the royal household.

Nimmie eventually stopped in front of a portrait of a glorious lion with a woman standing by his side. The lion in the picture looked like Nimmie except for his pitch-black mane and sapphire blue eyes. Thea felt recognition in those eyes. The woman was statuesque, her eyes aqua blue. Her blonde hair hung down over her shoulder like a sheath of flowing silk. Her arms were entwined about the lion's neck. Thea recognised the woman instantly; she knew she was staring at the face of Azrah, a face only subtly different from her own. Maybe those around her did not notice, but Thea could. She hoped no one else would see the far more sensual and beckoning mouth of the Goddess.

'Who is he? She holds him like a lover! They look so perfect together!' Thea was so taken by the two forms portrayed she forgot the charade she was playing out.

Nimmie watched her, a strange look overtaking his features. He was bewildered by her remark. 'Goddess, do you not recognise Nemare? You stood by his side and together you created this world. Nemare was lord of beasts, the first of our kind.' Thea realised then that she could not continue to impersonate the Goddess, she would have to tell Nimmie the truth and soon. And the eyes staring down from the portrait defied her to do so.

Thea stood looking at the imposing portrait until Nimmie moved away. Talon nudged her forward.

'The woman looks like you. Are you sure you have never been here before,' he whispered softly. She glanced sideways at him and grimaced. She had to speak with Nimmie; she couldn't continue this charade.

Nimmie halted before a large set of doors, 'I thought you would like to bathe, then change and join us for dinner.' The doors swung open. There, standing in the room beside an inviting bathtub filled with steaming water, stood a black panther and a striking young lioness. Thea recognised them from the portrait in the gallery. Both bowed before her. Nimmie acknowledged them with nothing more than a nod of his head.

'I will accompany Talon to where he can freshen himself, and then he too will join us for dinner. My daughter will show you to the dining hall, when you are finished.' Nimmie bowed toward Thea before leaving the room.

Thea turned to face the two cats. The panther with its sleek muscled body, watched Thea, appraising her. The young lioness was also staring, but Thea could sense no malice from her. She seemed curious, nothing more. The panther, however, lowered her head and cast her eyes over Thea, assessing her with malicious intent. Thea could sense the dislike immediately; this panther was not to be trusted.

'You are not quite what we expected! We have waited for many generations for you to come, yet you came unannounced.'

Thea sensed the venom behind the words. 'Nonetheless we welcome you, Goddess, and beckon you to undress and bathe, as is the custom of your kind.' The black cat's sultry tone was edged with spite.

Thea was not sure she felt comfortable being left alone with these cats.

'Who are you? How do I know I can trust you not to harm me?'

The black panther smiled at Thea's question, yet it was not a friendly gesture.

'Forgive me. My name is Bethsada; I am consort to the king. This is Kreta, our daughter. She will attend to your needs,' Bethsada hesitated before slipping past Thea. The animosity emanating from the cat thickened the air about her.

'Why would you think I would do you harm? After all you are the Goddess, are you not?' The snide remark was overshadowed by the gleam of pure hatred in the panther's eyes. Thea felt a chill of fear; did this panther know the truth? The black queen nodded her head toward the young lioness and left.

Thea did not like Bethsada. If the panther did realise the truth then she might go straight to Nimmie. Although Thea suspected there was something far more sinister behind Bethsada's motives than relaying her suspicions to Nimmie. She decided she had to tell Nimmie the truth, and soon. She turned back to face Kreta.

The young lioness was a timid little thing, with neither the sleekness nor beauty of her mother, yet something about her demonstrated strength. Maybe she had more of her father in her than her mother. Thea hoped so. Kreta lowered her gaze and began pouring rose oil into the bath.

'How did you know rose oil is my favourite?' Thea asked in a pleasant and friendly voice.

'Why, it is well known that Nemare, my forefather, always ran you a bath fragranced with the scent of rose oil.' Kreta hesitated a moment as she poured a few more drops of the oil. 'The water is now warm enough for you to bathe in. Can I help you undress?' Kreta seemed friendly and Thea sensed she was caring and kind. She smiled back at the young lioness hoping she was right.

Thea shook her head. She found it strange being in a world where the population was made up of creatures of all varieties, and she did not think she was comfortable with an animal helping her disrobe. Until she met Talon, Thea had not contemplated a world where animals and humans conversed, now she faced a world where it was the norm. Thea casually discarded her clothes. She stood looking at her reflection in the mirror on the furthermost wall. Her features appeared softened by the light of the room. Her pregnancy was now clearly visible. The only thing Thea wore was the ruby stone about her neck. Kreta had looked away, her thoughts obviously elsewhere.

Until now, Thea had not taken much notice of the room in which she bathed; as she stared around the space she noticed it was large and rectangular in shape. Heavy brocade curtains dressed the windows but were drawn shut. Large lamps, similar to those she had seen in the crypt, hung from the ceiling, casting soft shadows. There were two sofas against the one wall with cushions scattered across them. The bathtub in which she now sat was in one corner of the room, sunken into the floor. The tub had gold handles on all sides and frescos carved into the stonework around the edges. The steps into the tub were also etched in gold. This was even more luxurious than her bathroom on Asserian. This room was meant for a Goddess.

The water felt warm against Thea's skin as she lay her head back and breathed in the perfume of the oil. She enjoyed the pampering; this was almost like being home, yet she knew it would never be home. Nothing would ever take the place of Ammon and the people she loved.

Thea finally rinsed herself down and stepped from the tub. She could not help but notice Kreta staring at her and the roundness of her stomach. Thea placed a protective hand across her belly, the child kicked gently against her hand. She picked up a towel from the edge of the bath and proceeded to wipe herself dry. Thea noticed fresh clothing had been laid out across one of the sofas.

'Why thank you Kreta, that is very sweet of you to provide a fresh change of clothes.' Thea picked up the fine under petticoat. She was about to slip it over her head when the doors opened and Bethsada slunk in. Thea tried to ignore the panther as she slipped the garment over her head feeling the soft fabric settle to her body.

She turned to Kreta; the young lioness had her head down. Thea realised Kreta was afraid of her mother. She smiled at her, hoping she could instil some reassurance to the lioness.

Thea somehow managed to finish dressing. The gown provided was made of silk, its patterns hand woven and delicate. She smoothed the dress over her stomach before she shifted her gaze toward Bethsada. She could see the satisfaction sweep across the features of the black witch. Bethsada gained some quirky sense of satisfaction knowing Thea was with child. She sensed the panther would hold it against her, and did not relish the thought.

'I hope you like your new gown; it is similar to those you wore when you were here with Nemare. I'm sure Nemare would have thought it beautiful. I do hope it fits!' Bethsada spoke in a sweet-sounding tone, but Thea recognised the resentment.

'When you are finished I will escort you to dinner. Nimmie awaits your presence.'

Thea knew this female cat was going to make her life uneasy, if not unbearable, whilst she remained on Nepthany.

Bethsada led the way. Thea followed closely behind and Kreta followed. Thea watched Bethsada's hips sway; it mesmerised her, reminding her of a cobra just before it strikes. Cobras had been brought back to Ammon from the east and Thea had often seen them in the market place. The snakes' entrancing movements captured the imaginations of adult and child alike.

Even though Thea realised she had somehow made an enemy of this female, she could not help but admire the beauty of the cat. Bethesda's head was held regally high and Thea could make out her well-muscled shoulders as they quivered under the darkness of her velvety black coat. Kreta had moved forward and now walked beside Thea. In contrast to her mother, Kreta lopped gracelessly on all four feet – her mother's elegance had not imparted itself to the daughter.

The three figures marched in silence until they arrived at a set of large wooden doors. Their journey had taken them along corridors and passageways; Thea hoped Bethsada had not deliberately led them astray. The area in which they now stood was in complete contrast to the palatial rooms from where they had come. The walls were made of fine timber but were devoid of decorative features. It was as if they had passed from opulence into scarcity. The next set of doors lay at the end of the room and as Thea approached she could hear the raucous noise of those on the other side.

The doors opened wide. Inside Thea beheld row upon row of food. There were whole carcasses of pig, sheep, duck and fowl all laid out on thick matting upon the floor. There were vegetables, pastries and sweet meats. Standing to the side of the room were many of those she had seen earlier in the day on the rooftop, but there were also many more. All eyes were upon her as she entered the room.

Bethsada moved forward looking behind to make sure Thea still followed.

Thea noticed Kreta slip away into the crowd. All of a sudden Thea wished she were anywhere but here. This was no place for an impostor and from the look on the consort's face she knew Bethsada knew she was just that.

Thea could see the back of the room; she could make out the impressive figures of Nimmie and Talon as they beckoned her forward. As Thea moved through the gathered crowd she heard them call out as they bowed toward her 'Azrah, Goddess of Nepthany'. She smiled; this was probably not the right time or place to tell Nimmie the truth. Maybe Bethsada had already voiced her suspicions anyway? No, she sensed those around her were genuine; they really thought she was the Goddess.

'Welcome to our humble place of worship, we have prepared this feast in your honour. Our race has waited a long time to have you once again grace our world. Your servants await your instructions and guidance.' Nimmie said as he greeted her, his voice showed no sign of distrust.

Thea sat down on the cushions provided next to Nimmie. Talon had nestled down on Nimmie's other side. Bethsada seemed to melt back into the darkness behind Nimmie as Thea took her seat.

'I am so honoured. This is truly gracious of you, so much food and so many guests.'

'All of this is in your honour, Goddess. With your permission I will instruct the feast to begin, then might you honour us with your inspiration?'

Thea hoped Nimmie did not see the look of mortification sweep across her face. What could she say to this group, she had no idea how to address a congregation of animals? What did a Goddess say anyway?

Thea realised that all the events of the past months were somehow linked to bring her to this point. The worlds of Asserian, Sansinus and now Nepthany were somehow bound and Thea sensed it had something to do with her – somehow she held the key.

As she glanced about the room, Thea caught a glare from Bethsada who was standing behind the king. She could not mistake the sneer of contempt that was passed to her from the lady in black.

# 29

# Romanie

# 'Otair The Wise'

'Life's mysteries lie before us every day, we just need open our eyes to see them'.

Neon stretched and shook out his long dark mane. He was alone in the twilight, nibbling on succulent foliage, which seemed to instantly re-grow as soon as he chewed them off. He was being spoiled in the world of the Furie.

Sirus, Polymar and Aramean lay beneath the trees and were again enjoying the brightly lit night sky overhead. All three were apprehensive about their meeting with the Furie the following day. Sirus looked up and noticed for the first time that the moon was crimson. A crimson moon in a black sky was a startling thing. He reflected on the moon in the night skies of Romanie, yellow as heads of corn as it moved across the dark skies. Here in the world of the Furie the moon stayed in full view the entire night. Sirus became reflective.

'I'm beginning to think the world of the Furie is a revolving mystery – the more you look the less you understand.'

Polymar was miles away, recalling her night of passion with I'Eda. She did not hear the two men say goodnight. By the time her mind was back in the present, her two companions were already snoring peacefully. She rose and made her way toward Neon whose muscled flanks were silhouetted against the iridescent night sky.

'Neon, do you ever wonder why some things happen?' She asked as she came up behind him.

'No!' The reply was blunt. Neon looked back over his shoulder, and decided to be a little more pleasant.

'I learned a long time ago that things happen for a reason, for our learning. Worrying about it or questioning why only makes the lesson harder to learn.' It seemed that Neon must have learned many a lesson the hard way.

'Why do you ask?'

'I thought I would never love again; in fact I had resigned myself to the fact that to love once was enough, and I was happy to accept that. But now I'm not so sure. I only know I don't want to get hurt, or hurt anyone else for that matter.' Neon heard sadness in her voice.

'Life is a path that takes many turns; sometimes to places we don't wish to go. But the path always leads us to our destiny. Live life as it comes and accept what is given. In the end you will find life brings its rewards.' Neon thought he sounded rather philosophical as he resumed his nibbling.

Polymar knew Neon understood her current dilemma and did not condemn her for loving a woman. She departed with a brief goodnight and a gentle pat on his back. She lay down once more and concentrated on the stars before drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

The morning dawned as beautiful as the last, and with it the strange and fascinating world of the Furie seemed to be renewed, as did the companions now awaiting their fate and the meeting of the Council. The world of the Furie seemed to engender both exhilaration and peace. Yet the friends realised this world also held dangers.

After a refreshing dip in the nearby stream, they ate sparingly from the fruit trees around them.

'How are we supposed to summon the Furie?' Sirus's question was straightforward.

'Maybe we should sit and wait.' Aramean had still not forgotten his strange experience with the roses of dawn. His mind held the vivid memories close and he shuddered.

'I suggest we smell the flowers; it worked for me.' Polymar started to move toward the flowers in the distance.

Aramean placed a soft hand on Polymar's shoulder and smiled. He knew little of the realm of the Furie, but he did know the Furie had a way of guiding you without your knowing it.

'I think we can be confident that Polymar's humble smell of the flower was an invitation to us all.'

So the four comrades made their way to where the trumpet-shaped blooms grew – their outer petals creamy white and the inside bright pink. The pungent sweet perfume wafted up, reminding Sirus of home, but which home he was not sure. Each of them took a deep breath. Sleep, mystifying and deep, overtook them.

•

The four companions found themselves in the centre of a large enclosure. The walls surrounding them were elaborately decorated, with life-like replicas of flowers, trees and shrubs from the Furie's world. Ten large rugs were laid out in a circle, each with a different colour and design. The ceiling was decorated with stars, shining so brightly they seemed real.

'I have never seen so many stars or planets. This ceiling maps the whole universe, not just the Pathenian galaxy that you and Azrah brought to life Theron, but all universes as one.' Aramean's voice was reverential.

Polymar recalled a time, possibly in her childhood, when she had seen a sky like this. But how could she have seen anything that matched the beauty of the ceiling above her?

Sirus felt a yearning, familiar yet strange, for another time and place. He shook himself out of his reverie, because facing him now were three beings, which he hoped were the Council of the Furie.

Sitting on the rugs, cross-legged, were three very distinct forms. On one was an old man, white stringy hair hanging down over his shoulders, his fine bone structure clearly visible through his transparent flesh. His face was wizened with age; Sirus guessed he was more ancient than time itself. The old man sat with his hands on his knees and his head bowed.

To his left sat a woman. Her beauty almost took Sirus's breath away. Her hair was the colour of melted copper, and it was drawn up into a scroll at the top of her head and fastened with a brilliant gold and diamond clasp. Small strands hang loose about her face. She was looking directly at him. Her emerald green eyes looked somehow familiar!

To the right of the old man was a youth of no more than sixteen or seventeen. His features handsome though not yet fully matured. His eyes were a similar colour as the woman's, but not as intense. His hair was dark and hung looped and loose down one side of his body. He appeared a complete contrast to the other two.

Before Sirus finished his scrutiny the old man spoke. 'Welcome, son of the Immortals. We humbly thank you for accepting our invitation to the Council of the Furie.' Only then did the old man raise his head and look directly at Sirus.

'We really had no choice, did we?' Sirus did not mean for his response to sound gruff.

'In life my son, there are always choices. The choices you make will depend on how wise you are!' There was hidden meaning in those words. And Sirus was reminded of his experience within the marshland and the serpent's comments, 'You will know, for it is your choice and yours alone.'

The old man continued to study Sirus closely. 'Obviously, Theron, you were wise enough to accept our invitation.'

Sirus knew he was both outwitted and out-ranked by the three much wiser and probably much older ancients.

'Wisdom comes with age and experience! I see you have both of these qualities.' Sirus was wise enough to know that in the world of the Furie it mattered what you said and how you said it.

The old man smiled, his wrinkled face creasing even more as the corners of his mouth turned upward to show a set of perfect white teeth.

'Please be seated.' He motioned toward the mats opposite him. Sirus, Polymar and Aramean sat, and the old man indicated for Neon to stand behind the others.

The old man took a deep breath, his dark blue eyes penetrating Sirus's soul.

'My name is Otair,' the old man said. He then gestured to the woman by his side. 'This is Jadeen.' The woman nodded in a gesture of respect.

The old man then motioned toward the young man on his right.

'This is Leteeth. We are the High Seers of the Council of the Furie. We are to assess your right of passage into our world.'

Sirus felt obliged to return the introductions.

'I am known on Romanie as Sirus, but you obviously know me as Theron. This is Aramean, and this is Polymar, my bodyguard, and behind me is Neon.' Otair smiled, he already knew them all intimately.

Sirus noticed Otair's eyes were focussed on him and he felt somehow violated under the old man's scrutinising gaze.

Jadeen too, maintained an intense focus on Sirus. She was watching his every move. She fascinated him, because there was something familiar about her, apart from those eyes, yet he could not place his finger on it. Leteeth watched them all, intent on their physical forms but his gaze was primarily taken up with Polymar, which Sirus could see made her very uncomfortable.

Polymar could not help but wonder what had become of the child, yet as she looked at Otair she realised that the eyes of the child and those of Otair were one and the same.

Otair stood up abruptly; his body unwinding tall and straight like a mighty oak.

'I have a question for each of you and your answers will determine your progression into the Council.'

The four companions looked to each other anxiously, each hoping they would not be the first.

'Polymar I seek an answer from you. In life you have been given opportunities to learn many lessons, but which lesson has taught you the most?'

Polymar thought carefully. She had been learning all her life and each day represented a new lesson to her. Without dwelling on what Otair may have meant, Polymar answered honestly.

'The greatest lesson for me is to know that with each new day I am given an opportunity to change what may have taken place yesterday. A chance to correct my mistakes and to improve on the person I am.'

Otair pondered her answer briefly, before turning to the mage. 'Aramean, wisdom is bestowed on those who have the foresight to see what lies before them. What one opportunity has increased your wisdom, above all others?'

Aramean knew he had been given many opportunities throughout his long life. There had been opportunities to build relationships, opportunities to serve others, opportunities to love – but which of these had given him insight into wisdom? They all had.

'I have lived a very long life in mortal years and throughout that life I have been blessed. I have given and received much, I have loved and been loved in return, but the one thing which has served to increase wisdom in my life has been service to others, to my goddess and to my people.' To all present, Aramean's answer was clearly heartfelt.

Otair's countenance gave nothing away as he contemplated the answers he had received. He smiled as he moved his gaze to Neon.

'Neon, you are indeed unique amongst your kind. For you I have a special request. It is a question that will define your future. Neon, if you could become anyone other than yourself, who or what would that be?' Otair glanced at Sirus as he asked the question.

The question was no surprise to Neon – in fact it was something he had often given thought to. He had wondered what it would be like to live a life freed from the burden of his birth. He did not hesitate to respond.

'Otair, Seer to the Council of the Furie, this question is one I have pondered many times. I have seen life in many forms in my travels with Theron and I have seen the hardships that arise in the lives of gods, humans and animals alike. Therefore I can honestly say that in serving my God, I live the only life I would wish for. I would not sacrifice all I have seen and done for any other role. I'm sorry if my answer does not satisfy you, but I want nothing more than to serve my God.'

Otair did not seem displeased.

The old ancient moved so that he now stood in front of Sirus. He could see the effect Neon's answer had on the Immortal. Neon's loyalty to his master was another reason for his inclusion amongst those who now sat before the Furie. That loyalty would be tested in the future.

Otair's eyes moved about the room, focusing on one then another, before his gaze finally settled once again on Sirus.

'Theron! For that is your correct name! My final question is for you, but it is the most important question of all for your answer alone will define all our paths!

Sirus took a deep breath, he didn't know if he would be able to answer, as the memory of his former life was gone and would his answer satisfy the Furie?

'What are you prepared to give, in order to save the lives of those around you, especially the people of Romanie?' Sirus looked bewildered. He stared at the three Furie who were all watching him intently. There was a long silence, before Theron finally spoke.

'I would give my life.' It was a defining moment and Sirus knew the repercussions of his answer, although it did not seem to matter. He recalled the words that the giant serpent said, 'Beware Theron, for much rests upon your decision'. He knew his decision was right. He had thought long and hard about his life, and if it ended here then he would have died as he had lived. And he was prepared to sacrifice himself if he had to. With his answer, all three Furie disappeared.

The four friends were now alone; silence their only companion. No one spoke.

Sirus felt relieved and knew he had no regrets. If the Furie took his life he would give it gladly. But first he wanted some answers and he wouldn't give them satisfaction until he had what he came for.

# 30

# Nepthany

# 'Nemare, Lord of Beasts'

'Our memories are the mirror of our soul; they reflect our lives and the things that touch our hearts.'

The feast in honour of the Goddess attracted the nobility of Nepthany. Everyone gathered in the banquet hall was a part of the hierarchy of this world.

Thea sat curled up on a cushion at the front of the banquet hall, observing the watching crowd. She looked on with interest as the animals feasted, and found it hard to believe these creatures were functioning on a level generally reserved for humans. She nibbled away on fruits and vegetables, some of which she had never seen before.

Thea forgot how much she missed the taste of fresh fruit and vegetables that had been a daily part of her life on Asserian. Not once had she given thought to the people who worked hard so she could eat. If only she could change the past and if only she had not been blind to so many things. Her thoughts were with those she had left behind, and her face betrayed her thoughts.

'Your face is sad! Has the food not been to your liking?' Nimmie's remark startled Thea.

'Oh! Forgive me Nimmie! My mind was wandering. The food is delicious; in fact I have not tasted anything this sweet since leaving my own world.'

Thea saw the confusion on Nimmie's face and realised she had once again forgotten who she was supposed to be.

She leant across whispering softly in Nimmie's ear.

'Nimmie, I am not the Goddess Azrah.'

There, the truth at last! She hoped she had not jeopardised her friendship with the king of beasts. She detected no reaction.

'Nimmie, I have much to explain. I'm hoping you will allow me to tell my story then you can make up your own mind about who I am.' Thea hoped he would not give her away to the others gathered there.

Nimmie glanced awkwardly between Thea and Talon. The king had already come to the conclusion that this woman may not be Azrah; it had dawned on him when he first encountered her on the roof of the temple. Her revelation only heightened his eagerness to find out who she really was. She bore a startling resemblance to Azrah, and certainly displayed the powers of the Goddess. But there was something that did not add up, something that eluded him. Nimmie hoped his misgivings were only obvious to him. He had received no resistance from anyone about accepting this woman as the Goddess. He hoped the situation would remain that way until he could work out a plan and discover the reason for Thea's appearance in his world. He knew he had no choice but to continue with the charade.

Nimmie noted the restlessness of the crowd as everyone finished up their meal.

'When you are ready, Goddess, your subjects would be grateful if you would address them with a few words. Their ancestors have been looking forward to your coming for a long time. We would not wish to disappoint them, would we?'

Thea could see the glint in Nimmie's eyes; he understood the truth. Both of them were now caught up in her lie and they had to follow it to whatever the conclusion might be.

'I understand perfectly, Nimmie. I 'll do my best, although I'm not sure what to say! It seems we have no option but to trust one another. I too have many questions which I hope you will be able to answer.'

Talon nodded toward her as she spoke. Their lives now rested in the hands of this king; if he didn't believe them then in all likelihood neither of them would leave here alive.

'I do not think it a coincidence that you and Talon came here when you did. Somehow your arrival involves the Goddess Azrah – what we need to establish is where that involvement lies. Now go and address the gathering before they become more restless. Just speak from your heart Thea; it is what the Goddess would do.' Nimmie seemed to smile at her as he rose to introduce her to the crowd. Loud roars sounded out as he stood to address them.

Nimmie stood at the podium, his powerful shoulders hunched forward and his dark mane glowing in the light from huge lamps about the room. He roared loudly and the room stilled.

'The Goddess has graciously agreed to address us this night.' Nimmie's words raised more noise and chatter from around the room.

'Hush! Remember the Goddess has a soft voice; if she is to be heard by all then absolute silence must be kept. I will accept no outbursts from anyone.'

Nimmie's eyes scanned the room and rested momentarily on Bethsada, who was lurking at the back of the crowd. His consort's scowl rested wearily upon his heart. He moved to take his place next to Talon, leaving room for Thea to move forward to the podium.

Thea was nervous. She had given many speeches before, and to crowds as large as this. But never before had so many menacing eyes peered at her. Every eye in the room was focused toward her and she could not tell if they meant her no harm. How would she ever hold herself together long enough to address them, let alone sound convincing? She drew in a breath.

'Good evening, everyone! Firstly I would like to thank King Nimmie and his consort Bethsada for their hospitality.' Thea could see Bethsada's face in the crowd, and gave her an austere look. Bethsada gave an astringent one in reply.

'This day has begun badly for us all. I must apologise for losing my temper and destroying lives. A priestess holds life sacred and part of my role as Goddess is to perform the duties of a High Priestess – so taking a life is a serious offence and one I must do penance for. But everyone must learn from this episode. Never judge another before knowing the facts. Lives were lost this day and quite unnecessarily.'

Many in the crowd looked away in shame, others nodded in agreement.

'I blame no one for what happened today, except myself. I should have foreseen such a catastrophe and prevented it. The truth is I owe Talon my life; he would never intentionally do me harm. So the legend, which has traversed this world about my arrival, was incorrect. You all need to know Talon is my friend and travelling companion; he would never be responsible for my death. So I say once again: never judge, for that is the right of the Gods alone.'

Thea went on to speak of pleasantries, keeping her speech simple and her demeanour unassuming. She blessed those gathered, just as she would have if they had been her subjects on Asserian. The role of a Goddess and the role of a High Priestess were, in Thea's mind, one and the same.

The night ended late, the crowd lingered long after the event had finished.

After the crowd finally dispersed, Nimmie approached Thea and Talon.

'It is time for you both to rest. Tomorrow is another day and we will talk then. I think there is much we need to discuss.' With that Nimmie led them through the banquet hall and into the large entry hall beyond, where Kreta was waiting.

'Kreta will take you to your sleeping quarters. I must attend to State matters before I rest. Talon, Kreta will see to it that you are escorted to your nesting quarters also.' Nimmie moved away with slow and uneasy movements. He did not bid his daughter goodnight as she watched her father retreat.

All three stood motionless until the King of Beasts had moved out of sight. Thea felt a sudden sadness. Something about Nimmie's life made her realise he was a very unhappy monarch. As she turned to move away with the others, she thought she heard something stirring nearby. She swung her head back toward the sound and saw Bethsada's silhouette slide across the far wall. Had she been eavesdropping? Thea once again felt uneasy. She knew Bethsada was not to be trusted. Kreta let out a small growl to coax her and Talon along. Clearly there was much more going on in the palace of the king than Thea had first observed.

Kreta showed Talon to an impressive nesting area. It was filled with downy feathers and the bird was eager to settle in. He said goodnight and winked at Thea as they parted. Kreta continued to say nothing as she and Thea moved along the passageway. They had left the unrefined feasting area, and once again journeyed back into the palace of the king. Thea recognised the portraits from earlier in the day. Eventually Kreta stopped before an impressive doorway before pushing open the doors, and ushering Thea inside. The room was lavishly furnished. The tapestries on the walls were embroidered in gold thread and each one portrayed a scene of the Goddess Azrah with Nemare, the first great King of Nepthany. The scenes were so intimate that they appeared real. Thea looked away in embarrassment.

'Whose room is this?' she asked, as Kreta made to leave.

'Why, this is your room! This is where you and Nemare slept and we have kept it in its original state, waiting for your return.' Kreta shrugged her bony shoulders then departed, glancing back as she left. Kreta may have been young, but she could see the astonished look on the Goddess's face. It surprised her. Surely the Goddess recognised this room!

Thea locked the door securely once the young lioness had disappeared from sight. She did not trust Bethsada and did not wish to wake during the night to find the black panther peering down at her. Thea had not missed Kreta's backward glance and she knew her disguise was hanging by a thin thread. She had to convince Nimmie of her good intentions.

She lay her head upon the pillow and the soft covers drew her into their depths. She rolled onto her side, not wishing to look at the scenes on the walls around her. They brought back memories of a night in the temple grounds with the dark man, which now seemed a distant memory. Thea drifted off to sleep and dreamed she was the Goddess.

•

Azrah sat with her back against his muscled belly. The warmth of his body permeated her being and she breathed in his scent. Never was a love so perfect, so utterly right. She reached across with her hand, cuddled in closer and felt his softness. She could feel the heat from his body as he placed his paw around her. This was one of the great Immortals, in the form of a lion king. He nuzzled his mouth to her neck and crooned sweet words of love. A song straight from his heart! She smiled and turned; enveloped in the embrace of her lover. He changed his form as their bodies entwined and she blissfully gave in to his demands. She whispered his name. Theron.

'Oh, beloved how I need you.' The voice was deep and spoke more than mere words. 'Never leave me or forsake me, for my heart would not survive.' As he spoke, Azrah knew why she loved him so much. He had given her world meaning and he had offered his own immortal flesh so that she could bear fruit in the world she had created. She could sense his anxiety. She placed her hands about his face drawing him into the embrace of her love. They made love once more. This time it was more frenzied, but no less tender.

'I love you and will never leave you.' Azrah said.

•

Thea woke to the sound of loud knocking. Her heart was pumping and her mind was full of erotic scenes! Was it a dream? It seemed real; she could still feel his thick black fur, as soft as silk against her skin. Tears of joy still clung to her cheeks and the rosy glow of love flushed her face. It had to have been a dream!

Talon and Kreta were at the door of Thea's room, concerned that it was locked and silent within.

'She probably locked it herself. I don't blame her really. Mother has a way of making others feel uncomfortable. I'd have done the same thing.' Kreta's voice was matter of fact.

'You don't get on with your mother, do you?' Talon's curiosity had prompted the question. He had sensed the animosity others felt around the dark queen.

'My mother has a certain charm, which does not lend itself to human strangers, especially those who look like the Goddess. Mind you, she does not appreciate anyone who stands between her and what she wants. And, hush, I have to be careful, because if mother overheard I would pay dearly.' Kreta glanced around to make sure the shadow of her mother had not followed them.

Thea hesitantly opened the door. Both Talon and Kreta could see the unease on her face. She looked as if she had been caught out in an embarrassing situation.

'We have come to escort you to the feasting hall.' Talon was looking at Thea with concern.

'My father wishes you to break your fast with him. Mother has been sent off on consort duties – father asked me to tell you that.' Kreta sounded as if she had rehearsed her lines very carefully.

Thea beckoned them inside. Kreta withdrew and excused herself, saying she was needed elsewhere. Thea and Talon watched her retreat, aware of the repressive effect of Bethsada's domination over her.

As soon as they were inside, Thea closed the door.

'Talon, I had the most surreal experience. I dreamt of Azrah. I dreamt she made love to Nemare! It was so real that my heart is still thumping from the intimacy. I felt she and I were one. I felt I knew him so well! In my dream she called him by name, she called him Theron, the Lion King!'

Talon gazed at the explicit tapestries about the walls. They clearly depicted scenes Thea had described.

'Sounds like your imagination was swept up in the euphoria of these tapestries, perhaps it was that and nothing more.'

'It was much more Talon. I was there, it was real – he was real!' Thea's voice was raised to a high pitch.

It was obvious that he could not convince Thea it had been a dream. But then the bird noticed the familiar odour of lion in the room.

It had to be his imagination!

'I think it is time to tell Nimmie the truth. Maybe if you explain what you just told me then he will be able to explain what happened.' Talon led her out of the room. Neither noticed the Lion King smiling from the tapestry.

Talon and Thea arrived just in time to see Nimmie being served breakfast, which consisted of large slabs of raw meat. Thea could see Talon was going to enjoy his breakfast. She grimaced; her stomach still not used to the blood soaked feasting of carnivorous animals and birds. Nimmie and Talon sat in one corner of the room and devoured their breakfast, while Thea ate sparingly in her corner well away from the carnage.

When all the food scraps and dishes had been cleared away, Nimmie beckoned Thea over to them. He gestured for her to sit on some comfortable cushions beside him. Nimmie asked the serving gazelle to leave and told them to lock the door before they left. He did not wish to be disturbed or overheard. Nimmie wanted to know what truth lay behind Thea's arrival in their midst.

The inhabitants of Nepthany had expected the Goddess to arrive, but her arrival should have been far more glorious than appearing on the rooftop in the middle of the day. Knowing there was only one entrance, Nimmie was still unsure how Thea had found her way into the tomb of the kings. He had glimpsed her ascending the staircase from the crypt and could not explain how she had entered there in the first place – the door was bolted and only he had the key.

However the powers Thea possessed were real. He had witnessed them, and yet Thea had admitted herself she was not Azrah. Nimmie sensed the powers she had demonstrated were as surprising to her as they had been to those around her. Yet those powers spoke volumes about her and the relationship she obviously had with the Gods.

Both Kreta and Bethsada had conveyed to him the fact that Thea was pregnant, and Kreta had also mentioned the ruby stone around Thea's neck. Both required an explanation. He also knew he needed to act cautiously. He wanted Thea to trust him and he needed her complete confidence. Talon's arrival on Nepthany also needed explanation and Nimmie wanted to know why these unlikely companions had travelled separately rather than together. Somehow Nimmie felt Azrah was connected to all of this – these incidents were too coincidental for them not to be related.

He turned. 'You indicated to me, Thea, that you seek answers? Firstly though, I will tell you about our history. You may find it goes some way toward explaining why you have come here. I believe your past and ours are connected in some way. You look too much like Azrah, even you would have to acknowledge that fact.' Thea nodded.

Nimmie looked at the beautiful woman before him. He had fantasised about Azrah all his life. The portraits and the tapestries all showed one thing: her love for Nemare. Nimmie wanted someone to love him like that; he knew he would never have that kind of relationship with Bethsada. He relayed the history of his world.

'At the beginning of time, long before this world beckoned life in its many forms, the Goddess came. She transformed Nepthany into its present state. The Goddess promised this world would be a world where humans did not reside; she created a world where beasts and birds could live in harmony without the threat of annihilation by other species.' Nimmie was silent for a moment.

'For this to happen the Goddess had to mate with another God, a God who was willing to sacrifice himself and become a beast. Azrah asked the Gods but none would give themselves up. In desperation and many millions of eons later Azrah sent her plea out into the universe to see if she could find anyone willing. Theron appeared and selflessly gave her what she asked.'

As Thea listened to Nimmie's story she remembered her dream of the night before, and realised she had seen why Theron had given so much. He had loved Azrah completely.

'Theron became Nemare, Lord of Beasts. They mated and the first of our kind was created. Azrah appeared by day in the form of the Goddess and at night she appeared as a lioness to be with Nemare. They remained on Nepthany, their love so strong it tied them to this world for hundreds of years.'

Nimmie could see the effect his words were having on Thea. Tears welled up in her eyes.

'The love of Nemare and the Goddess was so complete that neither of them wished to end what they had started. But their time on Nepthany drew to a close. They had to depart! They built the temple here in honour of the love they felt for each other. They saw how well the animals lived together in harmony, and to show how much we meant to them they built the palace and the great city beyond.'

Nimmie himself was visibly moved by the story.

'Nareen became king after Nemare, and I am Nareen's direct descendant and hold the throne to this day. I am in fact a direct descendant of the Goddess herself. Thea, I believe that somehow you are too! Nepthany is not the only world created by Azrah. We are linked like a chain, which holds the mighty pillars. The difference is you have the powers of the Gods, and I do not.' Nimmie sighed deeply, stretched his paws and watched as Thea pondered his last words.

Thea felt an ache deep within her soul. She recalled her dream. It had seemed real; it felt real. She knew the love that had once existed between Azrah and Nemare was unmatched. She knew herself that the worlds she visited were linked in some way, and Nimmie knew it too. But that still did not explain why she was brought here.

Talon had not spoken of the Great One in front of Nimmie, so Thea decided that she wouldn't either. But the Great One had wanted her here, and she wondered if it was to learn of the love between these two Gods.

She decided to tell Nimmie of her dream.

'Nimmie I had a dream last night! No, it was more than a dream.' She looked to Talon, who encouraged her to continue.

'I think it was a dream, yet it felt real. Somehow I relived those times you have just described. I lived and shared Azrah's life with Nemare. It was wonderful, glorious and special. I feel so privileged. Theirs was a love unqualified. Talon thought it may have just been the influence of the tapestries in the room, but what I felt was flesh and bone. I held Nemare and he held me. He came to me! Maybe I look so much like Azrah that he thought I was his original love? It does not matter. What does matter is that I felt close to both of them at the time. I experienced the love they shared.'

'You are indeed very lucky.' Nimmie wished he had shared their intimate moments too. He roused himself out of his reverie. Now was not the time to dwell on his own misery. He changed the subject.

'Kreta tells me you are with child. I assume you have known love?' Nimmie asked out of concern, rather than curiosity. He watched Thea's face turn ashen grey and he quickly leaned in closer.

'I 'm sorry. I have upset you! I did not mean to offend you. I apologise.' Nimmie wished he had not asked.

'It is not the question that upsets me Nimmie; it is the answer I must give, for it brings me shame and distress.' Thea forced herself to recall her night with the dark man. 'Now it is my turn to explain my world to you. But first I will tell you who fathered this child.'

'Forgive me! I did not mean to pry. Your child should be a blessing not a shame.' Nimmie placed his large paw on her lap as a gesture of his concern.

'Nimmie, you and Talon are the closest thing I have to family. Therefore telling you about what happened will help purge the guilt and shame which brought about the conception of this child.'

Thea took a deep breath. It took courage to relive her folly at the hands of dark man.

# 31

# Romanie

# 'Council of the Furie'

'One world is like any other, until you enter the world of the Furie'.

The four companions sat awaiting their fate in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Neon watched the faraway looks on his companion's faces. They were all at the absolute mercy of their hosts. Neon knew they had not been asked here randomly; each person had a purpose for being here. Neon sensed they would all find out given time.

The world of the Furie was an illusory domain, one in which the past and the present existed simultaneously. So Neon was not surprised when Otair, Jadeen and Leteeth materialised before them once more. Neon bowed towards the Furie just as the others became aware of their presence.

Otair's commanding voice resonated about the room.

'The Council has agreed to allow you passage into our realm, so you will now follow us.'

Otair levitated from his rug. Jadeen and Leteeth followed suit. The three Furie closed their eyes and in that instant all those in the room dematerialised and were gone.

They found themselves in a circular space where the walls spiralled upward to a dome far above them. Seven large gold chairs were arranged in front of them, and behind those chairs stood another seven. Each chair was unique. On three of the chairs sat Otair, Jadeen and Leteeth. The other chairs remained vacant.

Otair no longer appeared wrinkled and old. His skin, which had seemed transparent, now appeared like normal flesh. Around him, however, shone a silver aura. It reminded Sirus of the mists in the valley near Delgrade on a cold and frosty morning. The man's hair remained as before: silver white. His eyes had the deep blue of the ocean. His stark, white gown flowed to his feet, which were bare.

Jadeen reclined in her seat, her features more radiant than before. Her copper hair was coiled around her head, its length cascading down over one shoulder. Her naked body was as lithe as a young gazelle's. Her beauty spellbound Sirus. Sensations familiar and urgent surged through his body. He wanted her.

Leteeth appeared as he had previously – a muscular body with skin the colour of honey, and with the same intense jade green eyes as Jadeen. He too sat naked before them, with his manhood erect. His focus was concentrated on Polymar. She turned her gaze to the floor to prevent herself from blushing.

There suddenly appeared seven ominous figures; their forms seated on the chairs directly behind the three Furie. These beings were similar in appearance. White hair protruded from beneath the hoods that covered their heads and faces. Their hands lay folded meekly on their laps. The figures did not move or stir, and their rigid stance gave them the appearance of icicles: frozen and featureless. The seven wore simple garments of white gathered at the shoulder, loose fitting and sheer.

Otair spoke reverently as he pointed to the seven sombre beings.

'These are the Shaman; they form the body of the Council of the Furie. They do not speak, nor are they to be spoken to. They will ask questions through either myself, Jadeen or Leteeth. If you have questions then direct them to us, and we will converse with the Shaman. Do you understand?'

All three nodded.

Otair instructed his guests to be seated on cushioned seats on the opposite side of the room. It was only then that Sirus realised Neon was not with them. Without thinking he reacted.

'What have you done with Neon?' He heard how angry he sounded, but he had not come this far to have his best friend taken from him.

'Neon is not in any danger! Do not fear Theron, Neon will return to you.' Otair kept his eyes focused toward the Shaman as he spoke.

As Sirus sat on the cushion offered him, he saw Otair's body stiffen, and when Otair spoke his voice had deepened to a baritone pitch.

'Theron, you seek answers; we read your thoughts. But the answers to all you seek lie in your past.'

The voice was Otair's, but Sirus sensed he was relaying the words from the Shaman. The sensation quickened the pace of his heart.

'The worlds that you created and now inhabit, are in mortal danger. A black and fearsome plague descends. Not only are your worlds affected, but also every world will suffer. This plague was created by the Immortals, and it spreads as we speak. You cannot escape what must be, Theron, for what is sown must be reaped. Neither good nor evil can prevail until the gathering has been accomplished. What has been unravelled must be woven back together. Peace will never again reign until that is done.'

Sirus felt the perspiration of fear trickle down his back soaking his shirt.

'What plague? I don't understand what you mean! What gathering?' Sirus felt himself tremble; he knew full well that all these warnings were associated in some way with his past. What had the Immortals wrought upon the worlds that would cause such destruction? Without his memories, he could not guess at what the Furie hinted.

'I remember nothing of my former life as an Immortal.' He stared at Otair, hoping the Furie could shed light on his quest.

'Something occurred months ago, and now my memories and powers have gone. I have no recollection of my life as Theron.'

Otair slumped forward in his seat. Sirus could see Otair's breathing suddenly return to normal as he relaxed.

Jadeen rose, her naked body literally glided toward Sirus. She circled Sirus then came to stand before him. She spoke, her voice soft and sensual, her remarks meant for no one but Theron.

'Your powers have not been taken. Your powers are still with you, what is missing is your recollection of their use.'

'You speak in riddles!' Sirus snapped, overcome by the closeness of her body. She circled him again, tempting him with her slight distance. Sirus could not take his eyes from her body. Her breasts were tantalisingly close, her nipples hard and beckoning in the soft light surrounding them.

Jadeen smiled, but the smile was empty of emotion. 'We will tell you a story of a time long ago, a time when the worlds were unaffected. A time before even we, the Furie, existed. Life had its beginning long before the Immortals and the Furie.' She could see consternation in his expression.

'A race known as the Serpentines created life! Who they were, where they came from and where they are now is a mystery. But the Serpentines created the Furie and we became the first Gods. The Immortals know us simply as the "Ancients". The Furie formed the Immortals, so we are their creators.' Jadeen glanced at Otair. She had not intended to divulge so much. Both Otair and Leteeth cast her irritated looks. She turned back to Sirus.

'You must listen very carefully, for you are about to learn about your past, present and our future.'

She turned to take counsel from the Shaman. Sirus and the others could see that Otair and Leteeth were becoming agitated by her account. Jadeen simply bowed toward the Shaman then moved closer to Sirus. He recoiled instantly; this woman made him feel uncomfortable. She bent low, her breasts pressed toward his chest as her warm breathe moved across his lips like a lover's kiss.

She whispered softly. 'You and the other Immortals never understood what a privileged opportunity you were given. Your kind are fools, Theron. You could have been the greatest beings, greater even than us. Now your race is intent on destroying our kind.' Her words were uttered with silent outrage. Sirus saw her eyes mist over, as she brought her hands to his face. Next she brought her lips down to kiss him with passion; he did not attempt to pull away.

Aramean and Polymar sat watching the confrontation, though neither of them had heard Jadeen's final remarks. The air within the room was thick, breathing difficult. Was it the unrefined truth that made it intolerable to be here, or was some impending disaster about to be revealed?

Sirus caught his breath! The impact of the kiss quickly lost as he digested her accusations. The Furie were blaming him – or more so the Immortals. Did this strange and alien race honestly believe he alone was responsible for their torment? His memories of his past were gone. He could recall nothing, so how could he possibly control or prevent their plight? Sirus could see the look of despair on the Furie's faces. If only he had the memories of his past! If only he could defend himself against these allegations! What had the Immortals done that had been so unforgivable? What had they done that had offended and alienated the Furie? What had Jadeen meant when she said her kind were, 'about to be destroyed'?

Jadeen returned to her seat, her face once more emotionless.

Otair rose.

'Theron, there is still a possibility that you can undo what your creators have done! We will attempt to unfold before you what happened so long ago then maybe you will consider your choices and act to help us all.' The wise old man spoke with dignity and purpose.

'I would help you if I could, but I don't think you fully understand. You speak of the Immortals as if I know them. What you don't seem to appreciate is that I have no recollection of my past. And more importantly I now have no powers with which to help you or anyone else?' Sirus hesitated briefly he wanted answers.

'Tell me, if you can Otair, who took away my powers and the memories of my past?'

Otair smiled a knowing smile as he moved into the bright ray of light that flooded down from the spiral roof above their heads. It was a deliberate move, for he wished Theron to see his face clearly as he spoke.

Otair's face went sullen for a brief moment, before he brightened his features with a pleasant, if not jaded, smile. His features then changed to that of a child. Sirus drew in a deep breath.

'That is one question I can answer. As you can see, it was I!'

Otair continued to focus solely on Theron as he acknowledged the astonished look on the Immortal's face.

'There was no other way to bring you here. You would never have humbled yourself to come even if our request had been reasonable and justified. You simply left us no choice and neither did your brother.'

# 32

# Asserian

# 'Antamea's Legacy'

'From the past cometh a legacy, given in hope of a future more certain.'

Craven stood high on the fortress of Ammon, his inky sheen feathers fluttering in the chilling wind, which blew in gusts from the south. Winter had struck with vengeance on Asserian and no one had been prepared for its onslaught. The ground was so cold it was frozen. Food stores were now almost gone. The barren earth, which lay void of both sunshine and rain for months, had simply turned to ice. Many of those who remained lay dead of frostbite, cold or hunger. Those lucky enough to find shelter had burrowed deep down and scavenged food scraps wherever possible. Many had died from wounds inflicted by others who fought ruthlessly for the meagre morsels.

Ommran's home was now the fortress. And those who preferred to stay alive and live in relative comfort had joined him. The fortress, at least, had ample food supplies in its well-stocked larders and cellars. But those who sought Ommran's benevolence had paid a price, a price Craven found repulsive.

Craven flew briefly around the turrets and circled the fortress yard landing on the window ledge of what had once been the Queen's apartments. He fluffed his feathers and appeared disinterested in the activities within. From the corner of his eye he could see discarded bodies scattered about. On the floor lay women and men in disarray, their hair untidy, their bodies beaten and bleeding. Craven hopped through an opening in the shutters then jumped down onto a chest by the window ledge. The carved panels of the lid made it difficult for him to stand so he moved to the floor. Those in the room slept on in a drunken stupor.

The room gave off a pungent odour of excrement and decaying fish; even for Craven the smell was repugnant. Empty clay receptacles of discarded wine lay scattered about the floor, like broken shells on a windswept beach. The once beautiful rugs were caked in vomit and urine; this was not a place for the faint-hearted or for a fine-feathered raven. Craven moved toward the large door of the apartment, which stood ajar. It would be hours before the occupants awoke and became coherent, judging by the amount of wine they had consumed.

Craven had waited until Ommran had departed for the black ship, before making his foolhardy journey into this domain. Those lying about he could fool but Ommran was no one's fool.

He passed quickly by the room opposite the Queen's apartments; it too was in a similar condition as the main bedroom. Men and women were hunched in stupors, some asleep, some in a daze; not one took any notice of the black bird darting past.

Craven took to the air when he came to the stairs, flying was clearly easier than walking the stairway, which was covered in discarded broken crockery, old clothes and uneaten food scraps. Craven looked at the waste and thought of the starving population in the city below.

In the kitchen the scene was slightly less chaotic. Within the smoke filled room was some semblance of order in the piles of dishes, pans and well-stocked cupboards. In a far corner huddled up near the warmth of the stove sat the cook, her grey-flecked hair swept back in a bun. A few hairs brushed lazily down her face like fine wisps of cotton thread; her eyes appeared to be shut tight.

As Craven hopped closer, Cook opened one eye just wide enough to take in his form. She grabbed a pot close by and proceeded to swing it menacingly toward him.

'Now don't go doing that! You might wake those unfortunate creatures above and I think you would agree your day is better off whilst they sleep,' Craven retorted.

Cook opened both eyes wide and looked aghast around the room. Had her mind completely gone, or had that pesky raven actually spoken to her?

Craven realised there were some people on Asserian who had not been blackened by Ommran's spell. He now had to find where they had escaped to; if his suspicions were correct then Cook knew where they could be located.

Cook rubbed her eyes. Maybe it was a dream! She pinched herself, no dream! That pesky bird still stood just beyond her reach.

'What are you, some king of demon or somethin',' Cook stumbled over her words.

'No! What you see is what you get. Just your average raven, but with a twist,' Craven cocked his head as he replied.

'What you want with me? I ain't done nothin'. I'm just tryin' to survive in a world gone mad.' Cook wiped her apron over her face in the hope she was daydreaming.

'Where are those who have escaped, the ones who are not under Ommran's darkness?' He saw a look of confusion, mixed with alarm, sweep briefly across Cook's face.

'Cook, please don't play me for a fool. I know they exist and I need to find them.' Craven flew to the bench top to look directly at her; he was determined to find out the truth.

'I...I don't know what you mean! You have seen what has become of this world and our people. Their hearts and their minds have become as dark as his.' Cook's emotional reply caught up in her throat.

'He's the dark lord, and those who don't do his bidding are punished in horrible ways.' Cook's face wore the terror of her words. 'Besides, how do I know I can trust ya?' Her eyes watched Craven keenly as he hopped about on the bench.

'Well, you have no choice really,' Craven said as he thought about how to rally support from this woman. He came up with the only answer that might persuade Cook to cooperate.

'It was my friend, the eagle, who took your Queen and High Priestess to safety and it will be he who returns her.' Craven hoped his reply would be sufficient to convince her.

Craven's beady yellow eyes reflected Cook's shocked expression.

'In that case I might just be able to help ya,' she replied. It was the first time the woman felt any semblance of hope since the dark lord's arrival.

Cook did not want to divulge what she knew within the confines of the fortress – the walls had ears. So she arranged to meet Craven outside, once supper had been served. She knew all too well that until that time of night she dared not leave her kitchen, or the fortress.

Later that evening, once darkness had cast its bleakness across the countryside and Cook's duties had been discharged, Craven met her at a prearranged point just outside the walls of the fortress. As she arrived, Craven saw mostly fear in her cloudy grey eyes. Unfortunately the woman had been privy to the debauchery and evil from her vantage point within the fortress. Craven himself had seen much from his perch outside the heavy thickset walls and could only imagine what horror poor Cook had seen on the inside.

Ommran had taken his revenge and had allowed these wretched souls to explore and satisfy their lusts on each other. He seemed to approve of the hunger for self-indulgence in those who sought his company. If the men and woman of Asserian had thought he had any remorse or heart, they had been wrong. Ommran cast his darkness on all he touched and as he inflicted punishment on the innocent, he had taken their souls. Debauchery was his specialty and it contaminated all those who sought him out. Malevolence was a tool he wielded like a sword.

Craven noticed Cook had obviously decided she would be in no hurry to return. She had rugged herself up in thick woollen trousers and fashioned herself a coat from heavy blankets. She had also brought a knapsack, slung over her back and around her shoulders. The hefty bag was packed so full it looked to Craven as if the seams would burst.

'Is that for me, or are you planning on going somewhere,' Craven asked politely.

'It ain't over the next hill, where's me's taken ya. Besides, if what ya said is true, then there ain't no reason for me to stay no longer.' Cook looked nervously over her shoulder in the direction of the fortress.

'They told me I only had to stay until a messenger arrived, an I'm guessin' that's you.' Cook's tone was haughty and self assured.

'Well, it's nice to know I was expected. Could have sent a welcoming committee to greet me though!' Craven's voice was full of his usual cheekiness. 'Won't Ommran realise you are missing and send a hunting party to look for you? He doesn't look like the type to let his cook get away.' Craven looked back at the fortress, the noise of the drunken revellers could be heard spilling out into the night air like poisonous gas.

'By the time he realises I'm gone; we will be well out of harm's way. Now stop your ramblin' and follow me,' barked Cook, as she rearranged her pack and descended a small pathway that led to the ruined temple grounds below.

Cook hurried on ahead like a stream rushing ahead to become part of a great river. Craven darted from rock wall to branch, and to whatever he could find to keep up with her. For a large lady she could move fast, he thought as he kept an eye on her rotund figure in the murky black of night. How Cook could make out where she was going amazed Craven. She had neither torchlight nor moon light to navigate her way, yet the raven felt she knew instinctively every turn, every rock and every obstacle in her path. Above their heads, thick black wintry clouds hung over the landscape, as if trying to camouflage the evil that had permeated this world.

Cook finally emerged in the ritual yard behind the temple. This was the place where the Virgin Ceremonies had been held. She hesitated for one brief moment as old memories drifted up like ghosts from the past. She beckoned to Craven and he joined her, perching on what remained of the burnt out seating.

'Well, this leads nowhere,' he said, scanning for signs of an alternative exit.

'Keep your feathers on! Just makin' sure we didn't get followed! Can't be too careful, the dark one has his spies, ya know.' When she felt all was safe, she crossed the yard, stopping abruptly in front of an old elm tree, its branches stooped and gnarled with time. Cook swung her head back once more in the direction of the fortress then proceeded around the back of the weathered tree trunk. She bent down and pulled at a round brass handle embedded in the ground. Craven could barely make it out in the darkness. Cook stood back and the ground opened up before them. Cook stepped down into the faint light that beckoned from deep inside the bowels of Asserian. Craven darted in behind her.

Meanwhile, within the bowels of the black ship anchored in the harbour, the black carrion stirred. Something was afoot; it disturbed him. He rose from his place of rest to seek those who roamed the night.

The instant Craven and Cook were safe inside, the ground closed behind them. Cook looked to Craven.

'This entry is as old as time itself. It's the entry to the underground fortress of Antamea; she was mighty smart that one.' Cook sounded boastful.

'Who is Antamea?' Craven was more than curious.

'Antamea was Thea's ancestor. Now stop asking questions, 'cause I'm not giving you any more answers until I knows who you are.'

Cook hurried on ahead.

The pair continued along the tunnel for some time. The passageway was chilly, but the pace Cook set soon warmed them. On each side of the tunnel were lights set at regular intervals in the walls. They were made from a thick woody substance, which had obviously been soaked in pitch and oil, for the smell gave Craven a headache. They burnt brightly and gave off an oily odour, like pungent incense.

Craven darted forward in small winged hops, keeping pace just behind Cook until they came to an old well-worn set of stairs.

'This leads to the entry into Antamea's world. Once inside, bird, you had better be sure you is tellin' me the truth! Cause if you is not then bird stew is what you will be.'

Cook gathered up her skirts and began the upward climb.

'My name is Craven by the way, and I'm too scrawny for bird stew, nothing but bones and a sharp beak.'

'Smart mouth, more like it,' Cook yelled back.

The stairway was easy for Craven, but Cook found the going hard. Her legs strained from the weight of her rounded body, and her back ached with the weight of the pack. Perspiration fell in large beads down her flushed cheeks and forehead. Her hair, which was in disarray before the journey, now stuck fast to her neck and face like lichen on a rock wall. Craven thought she looked like a giant toad caught in a downpour.

Craven reached the landing at the head of the stairs and waited impatiently for her to make it up the last few steps.

'It's about time! Guess you should not eat so much of your own cooking, hey?'

Cook inhaled a large breath of air, ignoring his blatant rudeness, and moved forward to a large heavy iron door. The brass knocker stood poised ready for Cook's hand to grab it and hail their arrival. She gave three distinctive loud knocks, waited for several minutes, and then knocked three times again. The door creaked open and bright daylight dazzled Craven for a moment. Cook stepped inside; Craven passed over her head. The door slammed shut and locked itself securely behind them.

The room appeared to be no more than several metres in width, and daylight poured down through slits high above. As Craven looked up he realised the slits were actually natural holes where light passed in from the sky above. Now he was confused, for when they had entered the tunnel complex it had been a pitch black wintry night. By his reckoning, they had only been in the tunnel a few short hours but it was now daylight! This is going to be interesting, he thought.

It was then that Craven realised they were not alone. Banetta gave Cook a hug then relieved her of the heavy pack. They spoke in whispers before Banetta looked sceptically toward Craven.

'My name is Banetta. Cook tells me you know where Thea is.' One of Banetta's hands held a sword tightly in its grasp the other bandied a knife. Craven had no doubt that this woman could use both expertly.

'No, what I said was that my friend Talon took your Queen to safety. What's more, he took Hura too.' Craven hopped forward then flew to perch himself on Banetta's shoulder. He wanted her to feel comfortable in his presence.

Banetta was not averse to having the bird on her shoulder; at least she could grab him quickly if he proved to be a spy. She dropped her sword back into its scabbard but kept the knife in her other hand, as she motioned Cook to sit down at a small table on one side of the room. The table and several wooden chairs were the only furnishings in the room. Banetta followed suit as Craven hopped down onto the tabletop.

'Is this what you call a fortress? Where are the others?' Craven's yellow eyes darted between Cook and Banetta.

'For a pesky bird, you ask a lot of questions. Cook warned me you had a big mouth. Let me remind you, Craven, I think that is what Cook said your name was? You don't go any further than this room until I know we can trust you. And until I get answers from you, you will get none from me.' Banetta quickly slid her hand out and grabbed Craven by his foot.

'Now what did you go and do that for? I'm not here to do any harm.' Craven squawked and struggled in vain to be free of the vice-like grip.

'Just who are you? Cook says you have been hanging around the fortress of Ammon since the evil one appeared. If you arrived with him then I have to assume you belong to him,' Banetta's face showed the contempt she held for the dark man.

'I am not a part of Ommran's hordes, nor am I his spy. I was sent to keep an eye on him and nothing more. I was also asked to find those who managed to escape his evil, those who will someday rebuild Asserian's future.' Craven replied, his dignity just a little damaged by his confinement.

'Who sent you? And who is this Ommran?' Banetta thought Craven probably meant the dark man, but up until now she had not known his name.

'It's a long story, but the evil permeating this world, also spreads itself elsewhere. The Great One, the one who has a link to all worlds, sent me here. Ommran brought the darkness with him, but I'm not sure yet if he is responsible for the evil descending across the universe. Ommran came here seeking revenge. I am not privy to who he is, but I do believe he is a powerful mage; one cast thousands of years ago. I have been given the task of keeping an eye on him until the Goddess returns.' His voice took on an air of confidence, as he tried to make himself sound important.

'And please don't ask me when that will be, because I don't know!' Craven's frustration was showing as he tried once again to free his scrawny leg.

Banetta loosened her grip slightly, but she continued to hold him fast.

'You mention the Great One. Who is that? And what do you mean until the Goddess returns? We want to know when Thea will be returned.'

'The Great One is not anything, it just exists!' It was no use for Craven to even try to explain; the Great One was just there and no other explanation could be given.

'You asked who the Goddess is? Why it's Azrah, the Goddess Immortal. Thea is her descendant. Some day they will both return, but I do not know when. But until she comes, you and the others on Asserian who have managed to escape must build up the powers of the priestess once again and be prepared for her arrival.' Craven had stopped struggling, realising it was a waste of his energy.

Banetta released her grip completely, she could tell when someone was lying and she felt Craven was being honest with her – well, as honest as a raven could be.

'Come with us. I will show you the glory of Antamea's legacy. Maybe then you will understand what you ask is impossible.'

Banetta stood and faced the back wall. She cast her hands forward splaying her fingers wide like a fan. The walls vanished before their eyes and Craven stood on his scrawny, unsteady legs, awestruck by what was revealed before him.

# 33

# The World of The Furie

# 'Theron and Ommran'

'A darkness gathers in which no soul will be left unscathed.'

What brother? It was the first of many questions to surface in Sirus's mind. As far as he knew he didn't have a brother. Neon had certainly never mentioned the fact. Sirus watched Otair intently; this Ancient had admitted he was responsible for the loss of the powers he once had. The fact that he had also taken his memory made this God a dangerous foe. The fact that both faculties were taken in such a devious manner, without explanation, was significant.

Otair stood looking defiantly at Sirus, he could read Sirus's thoughts, and he didn't like being thought of in such a way.

'I see anger within your heart and your thoughts, and that is understandable. You have questions to which you need answers. Your mind seeks the truth. The answer is simple. I appeared in the form of a child so I could penetrate your world; it was the only way to gain your trust and the proximity I needed.'

'Why did you not just appear in your form as a Furie? I would have understood. I would have listened to reason. We could have talked.' Sirus needed and wanted to understand.

'Tell me honestly, Theron, would you have given away your powers and the memories of who you are willingly? Would you have trusted me or believed the things I told you? Even you would admit that your arrogance would never have allowed you to trust another so much.'

Sirus knew Otair was probably right. From what he had gleaned about Theron, he recognised that he would never have listened, not even to the Furie. Neon's picture of what he had been like was testament to that.

'Theron, we needed you to come to us,' Otair pointed with his bony index finger toward the other two Furie, 'but time unfortunately was against us. We had no time to play games with you, for this matter has gone beyond simple games. When I explain then I think you will agree.'

'We are Immortal just like you, but unlike your kind, we cannot exist in our natural form in the world of mortals. I changed into a child and came in search of you. When I finally adjusted to your world I touched you and that enabled me to transport your immortal soul to this realm. You were here mere seconds, but long enough for me to seal away your powers and your memories of your former life.'

Otair realised the full story had to be told if Theron was to comprehend the enormity of the situation now confronting them all. He knew if he had not acted when he did Theron's powers would have been lost to the dark force.

'Why seal my powers away? Why take away memories that could possibly help you in your time of desperation? You know that without them I am useless. I feel so helpless.' Without thinking, Sirus reached inside his shirt and pulled out the medallion. He held it up to Otair.

'Why give me this?' Sirus's attention was drawn toward Jadeen, whose eyes were fixed rigidly on him.

Otair moved toward Sirus with a sincere smile.

'That is part of a key. Find the missing piece and you have the answers we seek!'

'A key! A key to what?' Sirus recognised that if they had the answer to that question, then they probably would not be in this situation.

Otair ignored his plea. The Ancient moved away, turning his back on Sirus but stopped short when Leteeth spoke.

'Your powers, Theron, were like a beacon on a hill on a dark and stormy night. They allowed your presence to be seen from anywhere.'

Leteeth rose, his muscles rippling in the luminous glow. He came to stand next to Otair.

Polymar inched back in her chair, she was not sure why Leteeth made her react the way he did. She was not scared of him and yet she feared him. Why?

Otair glanced back toward Sirus, his stare long and thoughtful as he returned to take his seat.

Aramean sat quietly, his thoughts concentrated on the interactions between those in the room. He knew instinctively that the world of the Furie was capable of many things, and he acknowledged that what was unfolding was obviously part of some greater plan. What was uppermost in his mind, however, was whether the mission the Goddess had sent him to Romanie to perform was still necessary? Did she know of the Furie? Did the evil now threatening the worlds overshadow what he had been asked to do? Would it alter what had to be done? Now was not the time to find out.

Leteeth walked to the opposite wall of the circular chamber. He had a bearing about him that made one sit up and take notice. Slowly he raised his hands above his head and closed his eyes. The next moment, a soulful melody erupted. He sang like a nightingale and his sultry tones resonated around the vaults of the high-pitched ceiling. Next an image emerged that danced against the wall. Everyone present became entranced with the sight. The images startled Sirus, Aramean and Polymar.

'This represents life past! These are the Immortals. Long ago this race decided in their naivety to form their own kind. They thought to gain progression through this process. They were impulsive!' The contempt in Leteeth's voice was obvious.

'The Immortals did not know by who's hand they had been created. Our reason for creating them in the first place was to fill the role of Guardians of the Universe; it was to be a perfect state, and they altered that state by creating you and your brother. They affected an imbalance within the Craft.'

Everyone present in the room, except the Shaman, was focused on the figures in the vision. The figures appeared lifelike, but were mere apparitions, nothing more.

'As you see Theron, the Gods who created you reigned in their world as supreme beings, with each Immortal responsible for a particular facet of the universe. The Great Oracle,' Leteeth pointed to the imposing central figure in the vision, 'binds the elements that create all matter. Around him sit the other Immortals: Istania, Abathmena, Trayon, Nephonia, Ryanthus, and Myanthia.' Leteeth indicated each God as he named them.

'All of these Gods are responsible for your legacy, Theron. Yours and your brother's!'

Sirus sat in total silence. The word 'brother' once more jarred in his mind. Could he possibly have a brother? As he stared at the figures in the vision, they conjured up old, faded visions from a time long past. His memories may have been erased, but as he looked at the one Leteeth called 'the Great Oracle' he felt some form of recognition. The man towering before him in the vision appeared broad-shouldered and tall. Long strands of snowy hair swirled like polished silk around his face. The Oracle's eyes grew dark and burnt bright like sapphires. As the vision faded, Sirus felt somehow abandoned and betrayed; these were feelings he had never known before.

Leteeth watched Sirus and Polymar with great interest. The woman did not recognise him, but she should have.

He scanned Theron's mind and the knowledge hidden there. The truth would have to be told. He proceeded with his tale.

'Your past, Theron, began long ago when the Immortals created two infants, twins. The Great Oracle helped conceive only one of you; the other's conception was, and still is, a mystery. Your birth, yours and your brother's, caused a split in the elements. That rift set the darker force in motion.

'The Immortals abandoned the younger child, thinking nothing of it, but that simple action enabled the darker force to entrench itself across the universe. That mistake is one we all must take responsibility for.' Leteeth's own guilt surfaced in his words.

'Time is a fundamental element; it is one which allows us to forget our mistakes. But that mistake, that abandonment, cannot be erased by time. Think, Theron, how your brother felt to be cast aside. He was left alone, so that his hatred incubated and flourished.' Leteeth watched Theron's response, but no answer could ever undo the wrong.

'The powers of the Craft were corrupted at your births. Wherever your brother roams, the darker force follows, aiding him and corrupting all he touches. Your brother controls the darkness surrounding him without actually knowing he does.' Leteeth's face displayed the pent-up rage he was feeling. His features became flushed and hardened.

Finally he brought himself under control. 'The Great Oracle thought your brother was harmless, but he underestimated the power he held. They abandoned him never once thinking he could survive. What fools they were! Unknown to them, the darker force takes care of its own.

'Your brother's hatred and ambition has grown like an ulcer. And now the darkness that follows him is consuming the universe. The darker force continually grows in intellect, cunning and hatred. Armed now with the knowledge of his birth, and the power of the dark force, your brother plans to take back what he feels is his by birthright. Meanwhile, his power and darkness continues to sweep across the universe in his wake. If the darkness takes hold here, then the Furie will be no more.'

Sirus was bewildered. What could he do about it? How could he prevent such a catastrophe from overshadowing the Furie and the worlds within the galaxy?

Leteeth returned to his seat without looking at Sirus. Otair stood to take his place. He knew there were many things Leteeth hadn't mentioned, for so much now depended on Theron.

Otair spoke in a more reassuring tone. 'Your brother goes by the name of Ommran. Long ago he managed to track you down and ever since he has pursued you, watching your every move. His plan has always been to take your powers and combine them with his. That is why we had to intervene and hide them away.'

'Why didn't you just take his powers? Why take mine?'

'As we mentioned, the darker force takes care of its own; it would never have allowed us close enough to penetrate his mind. If we had not hidden your powers and your identity, than Ommran would have taken you into his dark fold and absorbed the powers you possess!' Otair saw fear and truth simultaneously enter Sirus's eyes.

'Ommran is my brother!' The words were spoken merely to test the truth. 'How long has he been seeking me?' Sirus felt fear building inside him.

'All will be revealed, for he did not seek you alone; he also seeks Azrah. You and Azrah hold the keys, and without you Ommran cannot complete what his birth set in motion. He does not realise what power he wields.' Otair detected a profound realisation in Theron's mind.

'Ommran managed to track you down and that is why I came in the guise of a child. We had no choice but to seal away your powers. He manipulates the powers of the dark side of the Craft to locate you. Only when you use your powers does he know where you are.'

Finally a picture was forming in Sirus's mind and it started to make sense.

'What about Azrah?' Sirus felt helpless on her behalf.

Jadeen rose and moved to stand beside Otair. The Seer acknowledged her presence with a nod of his head before retiring to his seat. As she faced Sirus her features seemed sad and her demeanour aloof.

This time Sirus kept his face lowered, he didn't want to hold her gaze. Jadeen glanced toward Polymar, who was staring back at her intently.

Polymar sat with her hands folded in her lap. A sense of knowing suddenly formed and she knew instinctively what she found familiar about the statuesque Furie, Jadeen. It was those eyes. With utter disbelief, she realised that Jadeen and I'Eda were one and the same. The face, the hair and the body were altered – but those eyes were the same. It had to be I'Eda. Jadeen simply smiled as she inclined her head. Polymar's knowledge made no difference; it did not matter if she knew her Romanie identity; in fact, it would prove beneficial to them both.

As she spoke, Jadeen's voice grew cold and her features void of emotion. She glanced back at Sirus.

'Azrah is safe!' The words were spat out like poison. 'That is all we can tell you.' Jadeen would not elaborate; if the truth were known, even the Furie did not know the Goddess's whereabouts. If Ommran had taken Azrah then the Furie would have sensed the withdrawal of her powers. But that had not happened. Azrah had simply vanished.

Aramean sat unobtrusively in the background, absorbing details as they were given. He recollected his last encounter with the Goddess on Sansinus. He acknowledged that he was probably the last to have seen her. And he knew she had simply vanished. Judging by their actions, and the lack of a satisfactory answer, Aramean concluded that the Furie too were unaware of Azrah's whereabouts. Now he wondered who had taken the Goddess that night. Only the edifice, the one that called herself the Goddess, was present in the room that night apart from himself! Did she know what had become of Azrah? No, for his sole purpose was to locate the Goddess somewhere on Romanie.

Jadeen moved with long graceful strides, her beautiful body silhouetted in the faint glow of the room, every contour thrown up in shadow. She circled the small group of visitors before slowly coming to stand before them. She watched Sirus for a moment before she continued her discourse.

'Forget about Azrah.' Once again there was no love lost in those words. 'There are more important issues for you to be concerned with, Theron! Romanie is in immediate danger. The hordes of Ommran pillage and devastate your world as we speak. You must return, and soon. The people of Romanie suffer, and little remains unaffected. Stop them before they find us.'

It was a plea.

Sirus was in turmoil. His people needed him! But so did Azrah. How could he help – he was now as useless as any mortal.

'How can I tackle a foe such as Ommran when you have sealed my powers? Even if I could convince you to unleash them then he would track me down! I am helpless. I can't believe this malevolent being is my brother.' Sirus paused. Would abandonment be enough to drive someone like Ommran to perform evil misdeeds? Was revenge alone his brother's only driving force?

'If, like me, he was created by the Gods then surely by now the Immortals would know he is dangerous and uncontrollable? Surely they can stop him?' Sirus realised he probably would not rejoice in the answers he received.

Jadeen sighed. Her expression indicated how hard it was for her to control her emotions.

'Only your mother knows the truth, but she is helpless to stop him for she acts alone! She has been ostracised by her peers. Even if the Immortals knew how dangerous he was and could somehow successfully combine their powers, they would be helpless against him now; he has become too powerful. Like you, Theron, he is a God and can only be destroyed of his own volition.' Her words fell like a dead weight on Theron's shoulders.

Jadeen interrupted his thoughts.

'You must return at once to defend this world. As his followers grow, so too does their strength and their evil intent! If you are to save Romanie then you must return and defeat the hordes. Only then will you be able to search for Azrah. Without her, you are only half of what you could be, and without you she is the same. Together you possess the key that will save us all.' For a moment Jadeen's emotions threatened to override her intellect.

'How can I defeat my brother's hordes? They have the added strength of his power behind them.' Sirus felt exhausted even before the task ahead had begun.

Jadeen composed herself. Her feelings for Theron should not interfere. The Furie would be destroyed if she could not complete her task.

'What you must do will not be easy! But remember: you have many champions around you. Trust those closest to you.' Jadeen glanced quickly at Aramean and Polymar; she knew both would play a major role in what lay ahead.

'Ommran's army grows each day. He gathers a force made up of souls he has stolen from the people of Romanie. Those souls have been blackened like tar and have become part of his hordes. Your brother has injected his hatred into their souls so the darker force consumes them. Nothing can save them now, except death. We have helped you in the only way we can. We have set up a shield to bind his powers, but do not be fooled into thinking he is without power, for the shield is only temporary and will only protect you for a short while. It is all we could do. He cannot do anything from where he is, except manipulate his followers' hearts.' She drew closer.

'Stop his hordes. If you defeat them then you stifle his plan. You will have to kill the hordes, Theron; it is their only reprieve. That will give you time to locate Azrah then you and she will be united in one single purpose – your destiny. Remember the one thing Ommran needs to give substance to his life is Azrah. So be grateful he did not succeed in finding her. But believe me when I say, someday he will locate her, no matter where she has been hidden. Find her before he does.'

Jadeen knew this was a task only Theron could complete, and once he discovered where she was then Jadeen knew she could react. In the meantime, Jadeen would have to give up her one chance for happiness.

Before another word was uttered the Shaman and Seers all vanished.

Sirus, Aramean and Polymar were left alone in an alien world to plan their attack on Ommran's hordes.

# 34

# Nepthany

# 'The Darkest Truth'

'Our path in life does not always lead to what we seek.'

Thea sat wringing her hands in her lap, as she attempted to describe her life on Asserian. But even now, the last scene of the destruction, at the hands of the dark man clouded her memories. She spoke of her world and the purpose of the women who had been her life. Then she briefly described the Keep and its implications. It all seemed so long ago – a distant memory of another life of which only bittersweet memories remained.

Both Nimmie and Talon listened attentively as she told of the months leading up to the dark man's appearance at the Virgin Ritual and her fall as she succumbed to lust. She could still see the dark man's face clearly, his handsome features and ardour drawing her in. But as she described Maniera's death, and the violence perpetrated on the Matriarch, her vision distorted. She let out a scream, as the dark man's face reappeared in her mind.

Nimmie and Talon leapt to her aid and tried in vain to console her as she pressed her hands to her face. It took several minutes before she could open her eyes and be free of her fear.

'I'm sorry. I saw his face so clearly; for a moment I thought he was here.' Thea's voice became a mere whisper as she tried to eradicate the scene she had beheld.

'Please, this is unnecessary, you have said enough. I will not allow you to continue.' Nimmie surveyed the room like a scavenger seeking prey, hoping the scream had not attracted attention.

'No! You need to know what I face and what devastation I brought on my people.' Thea hoped once and for all that this would convince Nimmie she was not the Goddess. She did not realise Nimmie already knew. She pressed on to tell of the destruction of her world, and the great battle fought and lost by the courageous women of Asserian. Talon knew all too well how much it had cost Thea.

'Some day I will return. Some day I will avenge their deaths and Asserian's downfall. Then this flame of hatred in my heart can be extinguished.'

Nimmie could see a look of determination fire up in her eyes. He was convinced now that this woman was not the Goddess, but he knew she was somehow connected to her.

Thea hesitated, unsure if she should divulge her true concerns about the child she carried. She decided the truth was necessary.

'I carry his child, a child who should inherit the crown and priesthood of my people as her birthright. Why does this thought cause me concern? Why? Because the child is his, which means the evil he carries is also part of her. I do not know how I am supposed to counteract that!'

Talon was silent, his thoughts spanning across time. He had been asked by the Great One to carry Thea to safety; his task also included the protection of the child. The Great One would not be a party to protecting something bred of evil that much Talon was sure of. This child had a purpose far greater than anyone realised. Thea's rendition of what transpired at serpent lake was also a testament to that fact.

Nimmie appreciated that everything in Thea's life pivoted around the birth of her child. He invited Thea and Talon to enjoy his hospitality on Nepthany for the duration of her confinement, but they declined. Both were aware that their lot was cast. The eagle understood that they had to continue their journey until the Great One had guided Thea safely to her final destination.

'We will remain here for a few more days, but then we must go. Meanwhile I would like to see more of your world before we depart. Besides Talon needs rest to regain his strength.'

Talon puffed up his feathers in protest. He was just fine! Thea knew she would regret having to leave this beautiful world and the newfound friends she had made.

'As you wish. There is one more thing I would ask you Thea. Tell me how did you enter our world? If it's a secret then I will not pry, I guess you would have told me if I was meant to know. But if I were privy to this information then I might be able to help you someday.' Nimmie beckoned his two companions to rise and follow him.

Thea decided to throw the question to Talon. 'I walked here, through a secret passage. But I think Talon should explain that one to you.' Thea nodded at Talon, hoping he agreed.

'It is not for me to tell.' Talon replied.

Nimmie accepted that.

Bethsada lurked in the stillness of the darkened kitchen parlour, where she had hidden earlier before Nimmie had dismissed the staff.

'There is a lot more to this than I suspected,' she whispered to herself as she slunk out the back exit like greasy oil on the surface of a flowing pool. Thea, Nimmie and Talon walked out into the brilliance of the morning's sunshine.

'How do you all survive so peacefully in your world?' asked Thea, her mind preferring to dwell on more pleasant issues.

'That is easy!' Nimmie said, his smile radiating warmth. 'We communicate with one another!' Nimmie could see from the frown on Thea's brow that his response only raised more questions.

'Our world is a place where everyone contributes. Here, like elsewhere I presume, we have basic needs which must be met, and most within the animal kingdom are content with that.' Nimmie hesitated. 'I never aspired to be a leader you know! But I was born to the role and as such I take leadership and its responsibilities very seriously. You may have noted those in leadership positions on Nepthany are the carnivores! There is a reason for this. If anarchy is to remain at bay here then leaders must remain in control, and control lies in the hands of those who reign supreme – in other words, those most likely to be unchallenged! None here challenge those who might devour them.'

Thea could see his point.

Nimmie led his two new friends down the hillside behind the palace.

The grounds of the palace lay before them in an immaculate display, the gardens aglow with colour in the brightness of the morning sunshine, the flowers contrasting with the greenery of the lawns and pebbled pathways. There were daffodils, marigolds and freesias set out in patterns cascading down the hillside, which contrasted with the brilliant green of the lawn. Thea breathed in the pungent fragrance of the blooms.

'Who would take over if anything should happen to you?' Thea knew Kreta was his only child. On Nepthany, males inherited the kingdom.

'That is the question on most lips! As you have noticed, I have only one child, a daughter, and although she is worthy of the crown, she can never inherit the title of King.' Nimmie went quiet. Thea knew what was coming.

'You may have gathered from my relationship with her mother that a son is most likely out of the question.' Nimmie looked around then whispered quietly so that none could hear except his two guests.

'Bethsada is not the most admirable of consorts, and I doubt whether she would consider having another child, even if I were to suggest it.' Nimmie knew he was now purging his soul of the unspoken problem.

Thea realised the depth of Nimmie's despair. It was a predicament with only one outcome. She knew that on Nepthany a mate was taken for life, so unless something untoward happened to Bethsada, Nimmie faced a future without an heir. He needed either to conceive a son by his consort, or find a new queen who would bear him more offspring. Thea hoped the Goddess would not allow this royal line to end. Something, somehow, needed to be done and soon.

The trio followed the long path down the slope that passed under the great arch. Two large gates lay concealed, pushed back against the outer wall, their intricate ironwork proof of the ingenuity of these animals.

Once outside, Thea and Talon stood in amazement at the spectacle before them. The flatlands at the rear of the temple and palace now stretched out as far as the eye could see. Built on the plain was a city, unlike any they had known. The buildings were magnificent; each built of white sandstone and lavishly decorated with carvings. Tall pillars towered high into the air supporting roof structures, which fanned the skyline. From the towers and windows of the building hung wondrous tapestries, which blew in the mild breeze now washing over the land.

'What is this place? It's breathtaking! I have seen beautiful cities.' Serpent lake, and the wondrous city hidden in its depths passed through her thoughts. 'But this is beyond splendid!' Thea exclaimed. She didn't need a response for she already knew the answer – the city was redolent of a time long ago and a legacy of love left behind by the Goddess and Nemare.

'The Goddess and Nemare were gracious in their altruism. This mighty city appeared overnight and at its centre sits the "Shrine of the Gods". I wish you to see what true love brings, it may help you to realise not all is lost.' Nimmie made his way along the paved streets inlaid with mosaics of brilliant colours.

The journey took them through the heart of the city. Around every corner was a wonderful surprise. Talon and Thea passed elephants decorated in gaily-coloured shawls with monkeys on their backs; each animal bowed politely and chatted with raucous excitement as they passed. There were tigers pulling trolleys decorated in bright colours and loaded up with rolls of fine fabric. Each creature they passed was industriously involved in work, and only stopped for a brief moment to bow in Nimmie's direction. Thea was struck by the tranquillity and lack of hostility in the place.

Time passed quickly, though it took almost an hour to walk to the Shrine of the Gods. The building, which housed the shrine, was by far the plainest of all; it was made of nothing more than roughly hewn stone. The three entered through a plain wooden door and saw the statue standing in the middle of the room. The figures of the Goddess Azrah and the God, Theron, dominated the small chamber. The figures were carved with precision, every feature accurately depicted. The figures stood face to face, their arms wrapped seductively around each other, as if they knew nothing could ever separate them. Below them, carved into the base, ran the words 'Believe in our love, trust in each other, for all this has been created through our love.' These two statues stood on top of another carving depicting Nemare and the lioness entwined in the act of love – in this setting it seemed very natural.

Nimmie looked to Thea. Tears were rolling down her face. She moved closer to the statue of Theron. Suddenly she was horrified by what she saw.

'That is not Theron! This is the face of the dark man!' Thea screamed, before collapsing to the ground unconscious.

Talon rushed to her side and quickly stooped down to pick up his charge. Nimmie roared in anger with himself. Talon carried her gently back through the streets of the city and headed toward the sanctity of the palace. All the animals stopped, mesmerised. But then the crowd followed, keeping pace with the bird and his burden.

Had the legend of the large bird been true after all? Nimmie cautioned the animals in the street. He would allow no harm to befall Talon. He could not explain that this was not of Talon's making, but was something far less unexplainable.

# 35

# Romanie

# 'Ride To Your Destiny'

'In the blackness of the night, the forces of good and evil move.'

Sirus, Polymar and Aramean faced each other. They knew they had but one choice: they had to return to the army and make their way home to Romanie and the city of Eshtah before it was too late. The threesome stood pondering their next move when they were overcome with drowsiness, and within moments they had slumped into a deep sleep.

They woke to Neon's gentle nudge, as he pushed his nose firstly into one face then another. He puffed lightly at Sirus's cheek, and then pushed against Polymar's shoulder as she tried to focus.

'What took you so long? I have been waiting for hours. Hurry get up, we need to be on our way before the next "shift".' Neon watched his three friends sit up, stretch, then look around; they were now back in the enchanted ravine.

'We don't have time to waste. I will fly you back to the top one at a time. Hurry, we need to move now!' Neon was impatient. He stomped his feet, beckoning his companions forward.

Sirus had a lot on his mind. One unanswered question remained, where had Neon been whilst he and the others had spoken with the Furie.

Daylight was ebbing. The Furie had warned Neon of the danger they all faced and the catastrophe perpetrated on the people of Romanie. There was no need to stress that time and speed were of the essence if they were to fight the enemy and survive.

Polymar was the first to mount; it took Neon mere minutes to convey her to the top of the ravine. Sirus was next. Aramean needed no assistance, as the powers of the Craft transported him. Just after dusk, they strode into camp to be greeted by the astonished faces of officers and men. They had many questions, too many to answer at once. Sirus summoned Jervoid and Renward to his tent. Polymar and Aramean joined them.

Sirus ignored the officers' questioning, except when Jervoid asked where they were heading. Sirus's answer was simple and direct: 'we're going home! We leave before the sun rises. There will be no time for formalities. No one is to carry anything but the bare necessities. Bedrolls and dry rations will suffice.'

At that point, it occurred to Sirus that when the shift came again the cold, bitter weather would return.

'Make sure the men have warm blankets and thick jackets. This weather may not last.' He noted the confused looks on his men's faces, but ignored them.

'The cooks and a handful of men can round up the cattle and wagons and travel at their own pace. Renward, select those least likely to make the trip; this will be a strenuous trek. They will come to no harm; our enemy is located back in Eshtah.' Sirus's voice relayed the concern he felt. 'If the Rebion have done their job, there will be sufficient food stores at Gideon's Sheol and beyond. Polymar, you should be able to find those pits without too much trouble.' She nodded. 'Now go and prepare the men for battle. May the Gods be with us!'

Renward and Jervoid were bemused, but they were also infected with the excitement of an impending battle. Sirus's explanation had been brief, perhaps because the full account could never be revealed. Word soon spread and the men were jubilant that at long last they were heading for a fight and knowing that it was to protect their loved ones gave them purpose.

Sirus explained that the force they would encounter was nothing like anything they had ever seen before. The army of hordes had evil itself behind it, and it would certainly be the most dangerous foe they had ever faced.

After several hours of preparation and planning, Polymar and Aramean said goodnight. Sirus knew this night would be short, and it would probably be the most sleep any of them would get until the battle was won or lost.

Polymar and Aramean parted with a brief goodnight. She watched him wander off toward his tent near the back of the camp. She wandered wearily to her own tent noting the anticipation of a battle amongst the men.

She found I'Eda inside, cross-legged on the floor, her poise indicating the fact she was in some sort of trance. The woman was serene and beautiful in her spellbound state. Now that Polymar knew the truth, the confrontation, she hoped, would prove easier. She had not known how she would react – given the nature of their last night together – but now she knew I'Eda's real identity, it seemed to matter little.

'I wasn't sure you would return, or whether you would remain with your own kind?' asked Polymar cynically, as she reclined on her bed. The young woman smiled, hearing the cynicism in Polymar's remark, but she knew Polymar would never divulge her true identity.

'I'm sorry! Truly I am. I wish things could have been different. I did not enjoy playing you or Sirus as fools. But the fact is that my presence here was necessary. This drama is still far from over, and you must believe me when I say that the most important performance has yet to be played out,' I'Eda's emotions were ebbing close to the surface. She composed herself as she stood.

'You have become a good friend, Polymar, and one I can trust. But you are going to have to accept some things on face value, and trust me. Sirus has one final act to perform before he can be free.' I'Eda ignored the questioning look on Polymar's face.

'You sound almost apologetic, but you're not convincing me and right now I have little or no time to argue with you about your motives. Right now there is only one thing on Sirus's mind and that is the hordes. We ride at first light.'

Polymar brushed her hair back from her brow. Her face remained shadowed by the dim light within the tent. She moved to a small washbasin and proceeded to splash her face with a little water – anything to distract her from I'Eda's presence.

'By the way, if you are thinking of joining us then you had better use a disguise that will hide those curves.' She had not been oblivious to the thin linen smock, which I'Eda wore. 'Sirus is in no mood to know of your presence – right now he has enough to contend with.'

Polymar suddenly felt in charge. Aramean's words came to her mind: 'The Furie, cannot be corrupted.' She would take heart from that. She felt self-controlled and assured, knowing that in this situation the Furie needed her more than she needed them.

In his tent, Aramean discarded his robes so that his toned and muscled body was silhouetted in the lamplight. He breathed deeply, rubbed his hand over the eye of the ruby, tattooed into his bicep. Within seconds the surface of his skin began to throb. A ruby, red as blood, rose up through the flesh of his arm. He screamed in silence as he felt his body tear itself in two as his soul sought guidance from the Goddess.

•

Aramean stood once again inside the Temple of Light. He was now in the chamber with the Goddess's stone edifice. He felt as though he had never left – the room looked as it always had with the statue tall and regal at the centre.

'Welcome back Aramean,' the soothing voice of the Goddess rang out across the room.

'You summoned me. Have you found what I asked for so soon?'

Aramean faced the porcelain figure. He recounted the experience he had shared in the world of the Furie. This was the only way he could think to help Theron through the turmoil and terror that lay ahead. His original instructions had been to communicate with the Goddess only once he had found what she had sent him for. But things had changed – for Aramean at least.

'You were wise to bring this news to me.' She hesitated, as if contemplating her next thought. 'Ommran lives; it is good he survived.' There was strange, reflective emotion in her voice. 'He endured. That is good. Did the Furie happen to mention where to locate him? It pleases me that he is still within reach.'

Aramean was puzzled by the Goddess's statement. Why would she care about someone like Ommran? He answered calmly.

'No, the Furie did not mention his whereabouts.' Aramean considered the fact that the edifice obviously knew of him. But Aramean had come to gain aid for Theron, not for the enemy who pursued him. He refocused the conversation.

'Theron needs help; he cannot destroy Ommran's hordes without some divine intervention. He is powerless and the Furie cannot reinstate Theron's powers without giving away his whereabouts. I came to seek your intervention. If Theron is vanquished by this foe then I may never accomplish the task you set me.' Aramean hoped the Goddess would be driven to action, by her ultimate goal.

'You have brought me great news! I will help!' She paused. 'Aramean, some things are meant to be.' With her last words she dropped a ruby ring from her finger. 'Place this upon the middle finger of your left hand. When danger strikes you will know what to do. Stay strong Aramean and do not forget your promise.'

Aramean wanted the answer to one more pressing question.

'What evil has befallen my world? I saw a darkness gathering upon this land.'

He saw the Goddes's features change. The look of anguish and despair made Aramean's heart plummet. His world was suffering.

•

Aramean was back in his lodgings, his body and soul reunited. The ruby talisman hidden once again within his flesh; masked by the faint outline of his tattoo. He studied the ruby ring on the middle finger of his left hand. It reminded him of a giant bloodshot eye watching him. He thought of Sansinus, and wondered if he had given too much in support of the Goddess.

Sirus lay awake. His body was weary and his soul distraught as he dwelled on what had to be done. The journey now would take them back through the Beastal Bores and on to Gideon's Sheol. Once past that point, Ommran's hordes would have the advantage. Sirus feared for those he had come to love, but more so for those who had been taken and perverted by the evil of his brother. He feared what his army might find once they hit that hostile environment. He remembered with clarity the description Tonk and Polymar had given of the bodies they found at Camareo; Sirus knew that was a small warning of the evil they faced.

It was well into the early hours of the morning when the second shift occurred. It came just as suddenly as it had the first time. Except for Sirus, Neon, Aramean, Polymar and I'Eda the camp slept blissfully. Neon knew it was not coincidental that the camp slumbered so well. The camp and its inhabitants moved back to where they were before the original shift took place – back in the grips of the ferocious icy winds of the northern Beastal Bores.

The camp rose before dawn to be instantly met by the cold; the change brought moans of discontent from the men. It took barely twenty minutes for the army to ready their horses and leave. Sirus steadied Neon. At his command the army moved out at a wild and menacing pace. Directly behind Sirus were Polymar, Aramean, Renward and Jervoid. The rest of the soldiers filed in behind them including I'Eda, whose armour camouflaged her body. At her side was a sword of mysterious craftsmanship and across her back swung a golden bow with one single arrow in its sheath; that single arrow far deadlier than any other. No one questioned where this rider had come from and no one cared. They let out a lusty battle cry, as the dust of the horse's hooves ground up the dirt and the large army headed for Eshtah to battle Ommran's hordes.

# 36

# Nepthany

# 'Escape'

'She stalks by night, she prowls by day; watch out for the road this she devil takes.'

Bethsada sat curled up on her favourite lounge, licking the fur along her flank. Her coat glistened in the mid morning sunlight, as sweet music filled her boudoir. Nightingales sat on her windowsill, their song soulful, full of promise. The day had been interesting, even inspiring.

Firstly, the Goddess was not what she appeared to be. But finding out Thea was not the Goddess after all was really only a minor revelation, because Bethsada had already guessed as much. Thea was nothing more than just a mere mortal after all – or was she? Was this woman altogether something quite different? Bethsada smirked at her own cunning.

Secondly, there was the discovery that an exit existed somewhere on this world. Bethsada had long thought about leaving Nepthany. She thought she knew most of Nepthany's hidden secrets, but now she realised there were some hidden from her still. The idea of a way out of this prison she called 'home' gave her a thrill. It didn't matter where it led, as long as she escaped this sedentary life.

Bethsada was now set on leaving, and soon. The world of Nepthany wasn't large enough for her and Nimmie. If she could manage to dispose of him, it would be at her own peril, so escape was her wisest choice. She had to find a way to locate the path Thea had taken then she would have her means of freedom. And if she escaped she would make sure she left no trace.

Kreta stopped short just outside her mother's apartment; she didn't want to relay the news of Thea's collapse. But if Bethsada heard it from anyone else she knew the penalty would be harsh. She tapped lightly and heard her mother summon her inside.

'Well Kreta, come over here my dear. Tell mother what news you have!' The black witch spoke without looking up as she continued her preening. Bethsada could tell that her daughter had important news to impart. Kreta came as close as she dared.

'I wanted to let you know that the Goddess collapsed at the monument to the Gods in the city. She is all right but obviously suffered some form of shock.'

Kreta hesitated when she saw the unmistaken look of pure delight cross her mother's features. 'She is resting in her apartments and won't be joining you and father for dinner.' Kreta backed away. She had suffered her mothers' punishment many times and knew the black cat could pounce in an instant.

'What a pity! Pregnancy has that effect on some people; it makes them faint, I mean!'

She purred with cold calculation.

'Kreta, do you know where your father first saw Thea when she arrived on our world?' Bethsada's words oozed like poison from her tongue.

'No mother I don't!' Kreta's reply was polite and she hoped convincing.

But Kreta did in fact know! But she also knew her mother, and if Bethsada was asking the question it meant no good would come from giving her the answer. Kreta excused herself and backed slowly away from her mother.

The black cat struck. Kreta felt the pain spread up her thigh; blood warm and sticky trickled like honey down her calf.

'If you're lying to me, your punishment will be far worse than this.'

Kreta's heart beat with fear as she crept away. She hated her mother, but feared her more.

Thea had regained consciousness but felt too emotionally drained to move from her bed. She glanced again at the tapestries on the walls that depicted Nemare and Azrah as a lioness. Nemare's eyes seemed to be looking directly at her. Those eyes could belong to no one else – they were the same eyes as the God depicted in the statue at the shrine and they were the same eyes as the tapestries in the crypt. The image outlined in thread before her may have been the lion Nemare, but those were the eyes of the dark man.

She realised her imagination was running wild. She vividly remembered the tapestries as she had entered the crypt from the pathway. That same face, those same eyes – the same man was linked to Azrah. The child suddenly kicked violently in her womb as if it felt its mother's fear. Thea knew she had to go back down into the crypt and take another look; she had to be sure that what she saw was indeed fact. Tomorrow she would go. She had to know – one way or another.

Later that night, Bethsada crept stealthily along the corridors, her sole purpose to find where Thea had entered the world of Nepthany. She could hear the music and chatter coming from the dining hall beyond the long passageway. Nimmie and his patronising do-gooders would be there, stuffing their mouths and planning how to keep the masses happy. Bethsada knew if she were Queen, things would indeed be very different; for there was no room for benevolence in her mind unless there were benefits. Bethsada smiled, the thought of finding a new world, one in which she would become supreme. A queen in her own right was far too appealing to pass up.

Bethsada continued to prowl along the corridor toward Thea's room. She would not harm her. Much! Just entice her to reveal the secret entryway to Nepthany. Then kill her. It had to be somewhere within the palace complex. She knew Nimmie had found Thea just before the furore with that big ugly bird. Bethsada also remembered Nimmie had been in the palace at the time. That narrowed her task considerably.

She stalked closer, edging her face around the corner of the corridor, only to find her way obstructed. Talon was standing guard at Thea's door.

Damn bird! Not worth the risk, Bethsada thought as she slowly turned and sauntered away. 'I'll try again in the morning when that bird goes to breakfast. I'll inform Kreta that I will see personally to the Goddess's needs. Can't have her thinking I don't care.' She grinned to herself and slunk back to her apartment.

The morning dawned bright and sunny. Thea rose very early. Even though her mind was filled with the dark man and her memories of him, she had managed to drift off into a deep slumber. She quickly dressed. She found Talon asleep outside her door. He stirred as she gave him a gentle nudge.

'Good morning Talon, sleeping on the job are we?'

'Oh! Good morning Thea. You look well rested. I hope you don't mind me keeping an eye on you, but Nimmie and I were concerned.' Talon prised himself up from his sleeping position.

'No! It's nice to know I have you to protect me.' Thea was relieved to see someone had the foresight to take that precaution. 'But, as you can see, I am well, and the night's rest has done me good. You go on ahead and have breakfast and freshen up. I think I will take a walk in the sunshine. Maybe I'll head up onto the roof; it's such a beautiful morning, I can look out over the valley – it will help me clear my mind. I'll come and join you and Nimmie soon.' Thea motioned for Talon to go on ahead.

At this time in the morning, with no one out and about, it would be the perfect opportunity to check out the crypt.

'Very well, but don't over-exert yourself,'

Thea smiled.

'Thea, are you sure you're all right?' Talon did not miss the hidden meaning in her exchange. It was apparent Thea had something troubling her. But if she needed space and to be alone then Talon would let her have it.

'I'm fine. Go along and break your fast,' She gave him a cheery smile as she closed the door to her apartment. Talon shuffled off toward the feasting hall.

Moments later Thea reappeared at the door. She watched Talon's bulky form disappear around the corner at the end of the corridor. She headed for the rooftop, not noticing Bethsada's sleek form in the darkened corridor beyond.

Although the morning sun was already bright, it let off little warmth. Thea wrapped her arms about herself to ease her shivers. The rooftop roused mixed emotions as she recalled how only a week earlier she had witnessed the savage onslaught on Talon. He had recovered sufficiently; the surface scars gone, but the emotional ones she feared would take much longer.

She looked around. There appeared to be no one else about as she descended the staircase leading down into the burial crypt. Thea eased herself carefully down each step, not wanting to slip and thereby arouse anyone's suspicion. The carvings on the banisters were as exquisite and intricate as she remembered them. Before her lay the door to the crypt. It appeared locked. What should I do? She reached hold of the handle and as she did she saw a pulsing light through the keyhole. Bea! It had to be her!

'Bea are you there?' No sooner had she asked than Bea acknowledged her call. The creature's humming could be heard from within and seconds later the door swung open.

Bea had vanished into the darkness beyond, hiding from the light above. Thea raced into the darkened chamber and found her small friends huddled in the dark toward the back of the crypt.

'Oh Bea, I am so glad to see you! I was hoping you would still be here. Talon and I have to leave this place and soon. Can you wait for us at the other entrance, the one Talon came through?' Bea did not respond. Thea was so pleased to know the light mites had waited for her.

Thea turned and stooped to pick up one of the lamps on the ground. She asked Bea to light it for her. Bea flashed a beam of light and the wick ignited. Thea quickly brought the lamp toward the tapestries. The first one she came across was Azrah's portrait. She still could not get used to the similarity it held to herself – it was quite remarkable. But Thea knew she could never emulate Azrah.

Thea jumped as she heard the door to the outside gently close, but she thought little of it. It was just her nerves getting the better of her. She was so engrossed that she did not notice Bea and her friends flee the crypt. The next tapestry was just beyond the first, its brightly coloured threads aglow in the lamplight. She held the lamp closer. Those eyes, that smile, that all-knowing look. There was no mistaking who it was; his face was as familiar to her as the fortress of Ammon. The child in her belly kicked out. Just how knowing was this child? How much could it sense? Thea stood back, shaking her head as she realised she had stumbled upon the truth; a truth that would shatter this world should they ever know the reality.

Tears sprang up in her eyes. How could this be? As she turned, a shadowy silhouette slid across the back wall, Thea jumped backwards and the lamp fell from her hand, hitting the ground with a loud thud. The wick extinguished itself. Thea fumbled about in the dark, trying to remain calm. There was someone else here, and she had a fair idea who it was.

Thea could make out the outline of the doorway silhouetted against the bright sunshine. She crawled slowly across the floor with fear mounting in her belly. She edged her way along, hiding behind the large wooden caskets. Thea could feel the oppressive atmosphere created by the dark witch; she knew Bethsada would kill her given the chance. Something ignited toward the back of the crypt; it was enough of a distraction to enable Thea to scramble the last remaining distance. She managed to get to the door and pulled it open. Quickly she raced outside pulling the door closed and shutting it securely behind her. She had not mistaken the silhouette – Bethsada's shadow was not one you could forget.

Thea raced up the steps two at a time, her heart now beating rapidly. She had to find Talon. They must leave now because she couldn't stay and face Nimmie without relaying her discovery.

Deep in the murky blackness of the crypt, Bethsada crept about. 'Pity I didn't kill her,' she whispered to herself.

'Those pesky insects,' she thought. They had surrounded her and distracted her with their loud buzzing noise. But funnily enough they had simply vanished once Thea had escaped.

She stood in the black void at the base of the worn staircase, her keen eyesight could easily make out the long darkness of the tunnel stretching out above her. 'So this is where the so-called Goddess appeared from. Nothing god-like about this, just a passageway, she thought. Bethsada contemplated her next move. If what she had overheard from Thea the previous day was correct then this entrance would also prove to be her escape route. She smiled. If Thea and some dumb bird could navigate their way through this labyrinth of tunnels then so could she. Bethsada looked back toward the door that led to the world outside. She smiled smugly to herself, she would be glad to leave this prison behind and look for another life. She lurched forward up the stairs and into the maze of the Pathway.

Thea raced from the rooftop eager to escape detection. She couldn't be sure Bethsada had not pursued her. She arrived late for breakfast and her desperation was clear on her face as she approached Nimmie and Talon in the feasting room.

'We were about to come in search of you. Talon told me you had gone up onto the roof I hope the view was worth the energy you expended?' Nimmie noticed the desperate look on her face and glanced briefly toward Talon.

'I...I'm sorry Nimmie, I hate to interrupt your breakfast, but Talon and I must leave today! Forgive me for this rather unexplainable rush, but we must go as soon as possible.' She knew her announcement would raise many questions, but she couldn't continue the charade.

Talon stood up in haste making his breakfast land unceremoniously over the floor in front of him, bloody meat spread like crushed red melon. Thea didn't react.

'What's wrong Thea? Is this wise, given the fact you collapsed yesterday? Maybe a few more days' rest, then we can go?' Talon's face showed his misgivings.

'No! Today! You and I still have a long way to travel, and this baby grows stronger and more independent each day. I will gather a few belongings from my room and meet you and Nimmie in the great hall. I want to say a last goodbye to those who have shown such kindness toward us.' Thea turned and left Nimmie and Talon staring at her retreating back.

Quickening her pace, Thea rushed along the corridor with an urgency unlike any she had known previously. She held her hand against her belly; the child's movements seemed to mimic her own. Thea sensed this child saw and understood the things she did.

'Something has frightened or upset Thea.' Nimmie glanced around the dining room as he signalled to the gazelle tending to the dishes.

'Go find Kreta and Bethsada. Summon them here immediately. If something is amiss, then Bethsada will be behind it – of that I have no doubt!'

Nimmie shooed the gazelle away to find them.

Talon nodded. He too had seen malice in Bethsada's eyes, and felt the she-devil would stop at nothing to destroy the Goddess or Thea. Talon suspected she was jealous, but of what? The Goddess and Nemare had given this world so much.

'I will watch over her, Nimmie. If Bethsada tries anything I will be there to protect Thea.'

Nimmie hoped so, but he knew Bethsada well. She would stop at nothing to destroy all he cared about.

Thea sat in her room, her eyes diverted to the floor. She could no longer look at the tapestries upon the walls. How could such a travesty have occurred? She wondered if the Goddess Azrah actually knew what had taken place here so long ago. Had Azrah realised the charade, had she known his real identity? The child kicked out as if it secretly heard her thoughts.

She quickly gathered a few small personal items and left the room – without turning back to see the look of despair in Nemare's eyes as he watched her leave.

# 37

# Asserian

# 'The World of Antamea'

'Life is a journey, one that makes us aware that all we see, is not always all that there is.'

Once Banetta unlocked the portal, the trio emerged on top of a plateau. Craven adjusted his eyes to the dazzling light of the new world before him. Once his vision focused, Craven saw that Banetta and Cook had moved away and were now edging along a narrow track down the side of the rugged mountain range.

Craven was alone, the two women disregarded him completely. He was not bothered; eventually the women would lead him to those he sought. He hopped to the edge of the precipice. There below lay a city, it glowed as the sunlight reflected off the buildings.

Craven squawked out to the two women to wait up, but if they heard him they did not respond. Well, he thought, they can struggle down the path. He didn't really care. He lifted off, swooping low before catching a warm current of air. He spotted the women and could make out the path on which they travelled; it was roughly hewn out of the sheer rock face. He could see the going was not easy for either of them and each step was precarious. The women glanced up to catch his eye but ignored him as they continued their perilous journey into the valley below.

Craven gave another squawk in their direction; there was nothing much he could do to alleviate their risky descent. Besides they didn't care what became of him, so why should he care what happened to them? He continued spiralling downwards on the warm current and found that the lower he flew, the more fascinating the scenery became. He could clearly see the buildings of the city; they seemed to be constructed from glass – or something very similar. Craven could not be sure from this distance, but it seemed a rather preposterous idea to him. Glass broke so easily. Beside the city ran a spectacular river, its surface gleaming like polished diamonds. Craven had encountered many such rivers and streams and he knew that waterways always flowed in a haphazard kind of manner, and there were always rocks, trees or other forms of obstacles in the water's path. But this river had none; it simply flowed perfectly straight and smooth. Craven found that fact rather peculiar.

Craven's vision was good, maybe not as good as Talon's, but he could see well enough from afar. He scanned the surrounding ground for signs of life, but there appeared to be none. Not one animal, bird, or insect – nothing. But there were plants, shrubs and trees. Again, these appeared flawless – certainly not like the flora he had encountered elsewhere. This place was definitely – piquing his interest.

Craven flew over the city and crossed the river beyond, landing at a point where the track wound down from the mountain. He was patient; he would wait for Banetta and Cook. From his vantage point he could see the city in plain sight. He estimated there were about twenty identical structures in all – another strange phenomenon. No one built a city with all the buildings of the exact same design! As he studied the structures more closely he noticed movement within – movement that was subtle, yet distinctive none the less. He watched with keen interest as ghostly figures glided past the glass. He could not tell if they were human or something more intriguing. Craven could sense their eyes watching him, so he flapped his wings indignantly hoping that they could see he was annoyed. He had nothing to hide, so why did they?

He bided his time, taking in the scenery and trying to ignore the sensation of being watched. From the mountain, which was the backdrop to the city, plunged a breathtaking waterfall. The cascade fell down the precipice and bounded off large rocks jutting out here and there. There was something surreal about this scene as well; something that just didn't sit right with him. There was far more to this place than was visible.

Just as well I'm a patient soul, Craven thought, as he wondered if the Great One knew about this place. It seemed steeped in some form of ancient mystic power, yet its buildings were not from an ancient culture. He had a strange feeling that the occupants of these dwellings had more than just a small affiliation with the ancient Gods.

Craven perched on top of a large smooth boulder, which appeared to have a very unusual surface. He jumped down to take a closer look. 'This is no ordinary rock, I have sat on thousands over my lifetime and none have had this texture,' he muttered to himself as he pecked at its surface. He struck it with his beak several times; the rock appeared to be hollow.

'Hah. I knew something was wrong with it, just knew I was right.' He looked further afield at some shrubs growing near by and trotted over toward them to sniff the delicate blooms. No smell! They weren't real. Nothing about this place was making sense. Craven looked once more toward the glass buildings. He thought for one moment that he saw a woman at one of the windows near the top of the nearest dwelling – but in an instant she was gone.

Craven jumped back onto the rock; at least here he could keep an eye on this astonishing place. It was almost an hour before Banetta and Cook finally completed their descent. Both looked at him with disgust.

'What took you so long? I find it hard to believe that in a place such as this, there is no other means to move down this mountain. Surely Antamea would have created some other way for you ladies to descend?' Craven's remark was met with austere looks from both women.

'This little charade is for your benefit alone, Craven. I do hope you appreciate the fact!' Banetta signalled to Cook to move away from the bird.

This world held a lot of mysteries. Craven realised he had yet to come to terms with Antamea's true legacy.

'You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble on account of me! If I'd known you were prepared to risk life and limb I would have insisted you stay up above. As you can see, I needed no assistance to get here.' He inclined his head in a cheeky gesture and both women moved away, annoyed with the pesky bird.

Cook really wanted to give the bird a right kick in his proverbial, but Banetta held her back. 'There will be time to pay back this pest if he proves not to be useful. There are worse things to do than boil him up for stew!' Banetta remarked as she raised her eyebrow at Cook and stormed off. Cook smiled and followed in hot pursuit.

Banetta didn't invite Craven to follow. She had Cook by the arm now and both women headed for the edge of the river. As they approached the embankment, a bridge suddenly formed before them and both women quickly ran across. The bridge closed up and disappeared behind them, leaving Craven stranded on the opposite bank. Craven knew that type of apparition well, in fact, he was not bad at creating such things himself – clearly the Craft was at work here.

'Now maybe you won't be so smart! Make your own way across,' yelled Cook as Banetta grabbed her arm and headed for a large doorway a short distance in front.

'Nice, how do ya do. Some people just can't take a joke.' Craven took to the air and flew across to join the women.

The women knocked at the door. It slid open just as Craven darted in above their heads.

Once inside, the interior of the structure looked just as extraordinary as the exterior. Yet there were no lavish furnishings, just unelaborated walls made of polished stone, similar in texture to marble. The walls formed a pyramid, in which there were entries to several corridors. Funny, Craven thought, from the outside one would never assume a building so immense. Banetta and Cook headed off along one of the corridors pursued by Craven.

The bird noticed Cook no longer had her backpack, nor did she appear to be having problems moving about. In fact both she and Banetta moved so rapidly Craven had difficulty keeping up.

Their journey along the corridor seemed to last only moments. The two women halted before another large set of doors – doors with neither handles nor markings of any kind. Banetta mumbled something, but Craven was not quick enough to catch her words. The door suddenly slid upward, disappearing into the framework above. They entered an elegantly decorated room. Banetta and Cook marched in, with no thought of Craven who flew in and perched on a stone bust. The room was not ostentatious, but refined and elegant. It reminded Craven of somewhere from a time long ago. He noticed several windows, each one reaching from ceiling to floor with silky soft fabric framing them. There was also fabric falling from the ceiling. It fell from one corner of the room to the other, like fine wispy clouds. Cushions lay scattered about the floor in neat clusters and soft music played. Craven liked it but wasn't sure why – again it reminded him of somewhere.

He was feeling rather lighthearted. Banetta and Cook squatted down on the nearest set of cushions and folded their arms. They seemed to be waiting patiently for something to happen.

From the far side of the room came the sound of the soft rustle of a woman's skirt. Craven turned his head to see a dark haired woman emerge from behind a screen in the far corner. He watched as she moved with precision across the floor, gliding rather than walking. He blinked. She was beautiful, and for Craven her beauty made the stars in the heavens seem insignificant. Her smile softened the corners of her sensual mouth and tiny lines creased the edges of her eyes. She looked at Craven, smiled and nodded. He almost fell from the statue. He knew this had to be Antamea; no other could carry herself so regally, yet so unselfconsciously. Craven could not help but notice the colour of the woman's hair; it was black as ebony, just like his feathered coat. Her eyes were honey brown, her lips full and red and her complexion like porcelain. Craven's heart gave a flutter; he knew he had met this woman somewhere before!

'Welcome home, Craven; my name is Antamea.' She smiled with sincerity, her face lighting up the room.

'I have awaited your coming for such a long time. Please come sit with me.' Antamea now seated herself upon a nest of cushions opposite Banetta and Cook and patted a cushion by her side. Banetta and Cook looked on in dismay.

Craven flew down next to Antamea. The more he watched her the more he was certain they had met before. Antamea shifted her gaze to Banetta and Cook.

'Thank you Banetta, once again you have served me well. Cook, I thank you for your suffering. I know you have endured much. But all will be well, I promise! Now, you may both go and rest, I wish to speak to Craven alone.'

Craven watched Banetta and Cook give a look of utter surprise before they rose awkwardly and left the room. He did not miss the backward glance from Banetta. She would probably never forgive him for this perceived indiscretion. He turned to face his host.

'How did you know my name?' He knew Banetta and Cook had not divulged it. Craven hopped about on the cushion as the smooth fabric became uncomfortable under his two scrawny feet. He stepped to the floor in front of Antamea and watched a knowing smile cross her features.

'Why Craven, I know far more than you might think. Your arrival was heralded long ago.' Antamea watched the bird; his present features were foreign to her. She had, however, known Craven long ago, but he did not look as he did now. She knew he had no recollection of his past, but that explanation could wait, for far more pressing issues needed to be dealt with.

Craven hopped about on the floor, unsure about many things – most of all about this woman seated before him.

'Craven! What news do you have of Thea? I am anxious to know if she is all right.' Antamea reached out her hand and offered it to Craven. He stepped lightly into her palm. He twisted his head from side to side, unsure how much he should divulge.

'I do not know her exact whereabouts. But I can assure you she is fine; Talon, my friend, was given responsibility for keeping her safe. If Talon is with her then she will be in no danger. He will guard her with his life. She is safe for the moment.'

Antamea seemed pleased with the answer.

'By the way, what is this place? Banetta called it the fortress of Antamea. I know of no fortress built like this!'

'In this world I ask the questions Craven, there will be time enough for you to know what this place truly represents. Meanwhile, suffice it to say, this is my legacy to my people.' Antamea's abrupt remark stung slightly. Craven wasn't used to being put in his place, especially not by someone so appealing. He thought of those above on the world of Asserian; if Antamea had a legacy why was she not protecting those who needed her most? Craven hopped down from her palm and skipped across the floor, far enough to look into her face more directly. Anger stirred his soul.

'How could you allow such cataclysm to befall your people? Have you any idea how much suffering was been perpetrated on the people of Asserian? They are your people, Antamea. How can you sit here in comfort while they suffer?'

Craven had not meant to make his words sound so blunt, but he could not forget the carnage he had witnessed.

'Cataclysm! Yes, you speak truth. But I did not allow this to take place.' Antamea rose and walked towards the window, her face sorrowful. She remembered all too clearly the night on Asserian when Ommran struck and what had taken place since. She could see and feel the pain of those who suffered, yet she was powerless to prevent it. Her world may have appeared to be a haven, but in fact it was her prison. She had no way out, nor the power to help anyone.

'There is far more to this than the downfall of Asserian, Craven. In fact what took place was orchestrated long ago. And I cannot help. Thea holds the key, and without it none of us will survive. This may sound like a riddle, but without the keys, darkness will descend.' She held out her hand, hoping Craven would return to perch on it.

Craven hesitated; he could see the genuine remorse and pain that this woman carried. Surely there had to be something she could do to alleviate the suffering of those above?

Craven's instinct had never failed him before and now was no different. He landed gently on Antamea's shoulder, which he found far more comfortable than the cushion.

'Come with me. I have something I wish to show you. You asked about this world. I will show you why I cannot do more to help the people of Asserian.'

Antamea headed outside, through the door Craven, Banetta and Cook had entered.

This time their route took them along seemingly endless passageways and through many doorways. After a while they all seemed the same to Craven. He mostly concentrated on Antamea. He could smell the perfume she wore; he even reached out once and stroked her hair with the side of his head – it was soft and smooth. She didn't seem to mind. He almost forgot they had a destination until Antamea stopped. Before them stood the largest doorway Craven had ever seen; it towered almost beyond sight. As before, the door slid upward and disappeared into the ceiling. Craven was intrigued.

This particular room was dome-shaped; Craven thought it looked a little like the cavern where the Great One resided, except for the windows. The windows completely surrounded the room and looked over the world of Antamea. Lights pulsated about the room, giving off splendid colours with every glimmer.

'This is my world, Craven!' She walked to one of the windows and placed him gently on the ledge. 'Now watch carefully and do not look away.' Craven watched the river meandering gently below, the trees, shrubs and flowers swayed as if in a hypnotic trance. From here he could see the rock on which he had sat. The city looked so peaceful. Antamea raised her arms and spoke an incantation, too soft for Craven to make out. The scene before Craven's eyes distorted, shimmered and was gone. In its place stood an empty void; nothing but darkness pervaded the space outside.

'How did you do that?' Craven cocked his head over his shoulder toward his host.

'This world is an illusion, Craven, nothing but a façade.' Within an instant, the darkness was replaced once again with the river, trees and glass city.

'This is just an apparition to give confidence to people like Banetta, Cook and others who have escaped to this world. The Craft is wonderful, but my skills are limited. Call it what you may, this is all I have to offer those above. The mastery of the Craft and its functions are beyond me. As I mentioned, I have nothing to offer those who seek refuge here.' Antamea looked out over the scene below, her face masking the bitterness she felt over the betrayal by the Immortals.

She also knew it had cost Craven much more.

Craven was saddened. How could Antamea even suggest she had nothing more to offer than this? Surely she realised there was much to gain from helping the women on Asserian regain what they had lost? His reply came moments later; it was filled with earnestness.

'You have knowledge, and knowledge is power. You have the mastery and power of the Priestess. Some day Thea will come back. You and I both believe that. The world of Asserian must be ready to support her against the evil that now prevails. Take your priestess's skills and teach others. That is what you have to offer.' Craven saw a flicker of hope cross Antamea's face. He flew up and landed with care on her shoulder. He could see his words had made an impact, but he was not sure it was enough.

'We are so few. Ommran is powerful and he has darkness with him. Besides, even if I could manage to send Banetta to find others who are willing to come here, we still need males to breed from and you know they have all fallen under the spell of Ommran. How do you build upon something when there is no foundation?' Antamea words were softened with a sigh as she thought of the mammoth task ahead.

'Let me help!' Craven had an inspiration. 'I too have not fully mastered the powers of the Craft, but I do have some talents that I believe will help me track down and locate others who may be willing to return here – those who can be trusted. Let me go back!'

Craven knew it would not be easy, but if Banetta and others had survived the penetration of darkness then there would be more who would be willing to come to this world to live and learn. His heart gained strength from the smile that softened Antamea's features.

'Craven, if you can find enough souls who remain virtuous and true to the Goddess then I will do everything with the limited skills I have to prepare those and teach them the gift of the priestess. Now you must go, Craven.'

She was silent for several moments.

'I knew you would come. May the Goddess protect you!' Antamea lowered her face and kissed Craven on his head.

Something within Craven stirred, a memory, an emotion – he could not be sure – but it made him feel torn between his obligation to the Great One and this woman. Antamea handed Craven the great key, the one that would open any portal into her world. With the aid of the Craft, he hid the key within the feathers of his coat. The key would also allow Craven to leave the world of Antamea.

Craven said his goodbyes and left the way he had come. As he circled high above the city he felt his heart tug.

Why did this woman make him feel this way?

# 38

# Romanie

# 'The Journey Home'

'Together we have formed friendships, now we are bound by love and loyalty.'

The march back through the southern perimeters of the Beastal Bores was exhausting; both men and horses suffered from the relentless wind and cold as well as Sirus's desperate need to drive them. When they finally reached Gideon's Sheol they were near exhaustion. They had ridden for five days with little rest, stopping only to eat and drink from stores in their saddlebags and then moving forward once again. They took brief naps as they rode. Yet the men never complained as they marched toward the greatest battle of their lives.

Gideon's Sheol came into view just before the sun disappeared over the horizon on the evening of the fifth day. Sirus's men needed rest to gather their strength. Gideon's Sheol was by far the safest and driest shelter they would find this far north, even though snow lay thick and treacherous. As the men reined in closer they could see a fine wisp of grey smoke coming from the entrance. Was it friend or foe? Sirus had no alternative but to venture in and find out.

Polymar, Renward and Jervoid shielded Sirus as he led the way up the incline toward the caves. The delicious aroma of freshly cooked meat greeted them, making them salivate in expectation of something a little more substantial than dried bread and cheese. As the group moved in cautiously, Sirus caught sight of two of his own soldiers – the ones he had sent back weeks earlier to gather supplies. They were standing with a group of other men – the Rebion Plainsmen had arrived as reinforcements.

Polymar saw her father and ran forward. Right now she needed his moral support. The Rebion plainsman didn't recognise the warrior woman until Kwinend used her name.

'Polymar – you are safe?' Kwinend held out his arms.

'Father it's good to see you.' They hugged. Then Kwinend held her at arm's length to take a second look. He was surprised to see how much she had matured; he could tell there was much about his daughter that had changed. Was it the way she held her head erect? Or the strong determination he saw in her eyes? Either way this girl was now a woman and Kwinend was proud of his daughter.

Sirus clasped hands with Kwinend; it was more than pleasing to know that Kwinend and his people had somehow managed to escape the evil overtaking this world. Maybe now he would get first hand information about the lay of the land and the enemy's strength and whereabouts. His mood picked up instantly. First, however, he needed to settle his men and make sure those who needed help received it. The troops had lost several horses in their effort to cover the distance and some men now rode double with a comrade. Several were suffering mild frostbite. It was time to recuperate and rest. He knew he could push his men no further.

Kwinend had posted sentries to watch for signs of Sirus's army. Kwinend's instinct had told him that Sirus would return soon. He and his men had arrived two weeks earlier to find Gideon's Sheol deserted. It was only a few days later that Sirus's men and wagons had arrived to reload. Kwinend had convinced the men to wait; knowing the secret within the Bores would persuade Sirus one way or another to return.

Kwinend had no idea of Sirus's true identity, but he appreciated the power of the man; he knew he was no ordinary mortal either. Kwinend also knew the Beastal Bores as well as its hidden secrets. If Sirus and his men returned unaffected by their ordeal then Kwinend knew the secret of the Bores had revealed its mysteries to them as well.

Kwinend remembered a time in his youth, when fortune had played a part in his life, a time when he had wandered into the Bores alone. He was barely sixteen at the time. Battle fatigued and weary he had fallen asleep on his camlet, he awoke to the sound of birds twittering in the trees. But they were no ordinary birds and the place he discovered himself in had been no ordinary domain. What transpired there had affected his life, and to this day he had never told anyone of his discovery.

Once the camp had settled down and most of the troops slept, Kwinend approached Sirus; he needed to talk. Neon stood guard nearby, hearing the conversation clearly. I'Eda appeared to be sleeping; yet she lay close enough to listen. The news Kwinend had could not wait; the graphic details alone would alarm those now gathered before him. Sirus, Polymar, Aramean, Renward and Jervoid and several officers huddled in a small group around the fire as Kwinend squatted down before them. Kwinend had already devised a detailed plan in his mind. The enemy knew no bounds; therefore a normal battle plan would be inadequate. He hoped his plan would help outmanoeuvre their foe and even up the odds.

Kwinend talked firstly of the news of Eshtah. The hordes had not yet penetrated the defences of the city. King Emid held Eshtah and had closed off the city and barricaded the walls and gates in and out, so nothing entered and nothing left. The Rebion had helped fortify the city with provisions well before the enemy had laid siege. Kwinend had left the majority of his men and people in Eshtah, while he and his best fighters came in search of Sirus and his troops. That had been over a month ago and he expressed his concern over having left the city for so long, he hoped King Emid had been able to hold. He expressed the need to get back there, and soon.

Kwinend had with him one hundred men, the best of his fighters. Sirus knew that one hundred Rebion were worth a thousand other warriors, and he was glad for their added support.

'What of our enemy, and do they outnumber us by much?' Sirus hesitated to ask the obvious. He suddenly broke out in a sweat, yet he knew it wasn't from the heat of the fire.

Kwinend was silent for a moment. He had witnessed much over the last months and had seen the destruction and carnage left behind by the hordes. It was true, the people within many of the towns and villagers in the far north had simply vanished without a trace, or so Kwinend had thought until he had laid eyes on the hordes. His last sighting of what had once been decent village people had left him almost speechless. Those who had been taken had been turned into monsters, demonic inhumane creatures. Now they were set on a course of destruction and violence, which no one seemed to be able to stop. These vermin were destroying all in their path. Anyone in their way was being overrun – murder, rape and plunder were their delight.

Kwinend watched the look of horror register on the faces around him. Many of them had relatives in those villages.

He spoke of the enemy as they moved south, and explained that many villagers had sought refuge, or had taken what they could carry and fled to Eshtah.

'My people were no different; they made their way south too, taking with them all they could carry. The King sent back wagons to gather up as much food as they could to hold out against the onslaught of the hordes. Now Eshtah is filled to capacity with men, women and children all seeking respite from the evil at their door.' Kwinend sounded a broken man.

'The population in Eshtah grew overnight by over one hundred and fifty thousand souls. King Emid would allow none to remain outside the walls to perish'.

Sirus sat and listened; wanting to believe this was nothing but a nightmare. He wished he would wake in the morning to find this whole ordeal had never happened.

'How many are there in Ommran's hordes?' Sirus's voice betrayed the hatred he now felt for his brother.

'Who is Ommran?' Kwinend had never heard the name, yet he clearly heard the venom in Sirus's tone.

'Ommran's their master. He controls them. Please do not ask me more.' Sirus wished he could tell them the truth, but it would not help.

'Ommran wants only one thing, that is to see me dead.' Sirus could not explain it better than that.

'Well, he will have to fight me to get to you.' Kwinend stood up, his determination apparent. The others in the group, including Aramean, added their own acceptance.

'To answer your question: I estimate the hordes are made up of around seven thousand men, women and children.' Kwinend found it hard to reconcile himself to the fact that many of the enemy's numbers were made up of 'defenceless' women and children.

'This enemy is not like any foe you have fought before Sirus. I have seen them at close hand. It will be difficult enough to fight them, for they are now little more than wild animals. But when it comes to killing young children and women, I for one will find it hard.' Kwinend could see the worried looks on Renward's' and Jervoid's faces. Aramean, too, had a far away look in his eyes as if he could neither envisage nor contemplate the prospect of such an encounter. The others simply nodded their acknowledgment.

Polymar had never been in a real battle. Now she sat imagining what it would be like. She had always imagined fighting seasoned soldiers or militant rebels. To come face to face with innocent women and children, slaughtering them in cold blood, did not sit well on her conscience. She remembered Tonk's encounter at Camareo and the look upon his face. She knew what it had cost him to kill an innocent child.

Aramean looked down at his ruby ring. He hoped the Goddess had been right. He hoped he would know what to do with the ring if he needed to act quickly. He did not think he could kill women, and killing children was out of the question altogether.

Renward thought about his own children waiting for his return to Eshtah; the thought of anyone harming them gave him courage to do what must be done. Jervoid also had family. He too thought about their plight. Would he have the courage to slaughter any who sought to do them harm? – He knew he would if he had to.

Sirus spoke, his voice more serious than ever before.

'What you all need to remember is that the hordes are not what they appear to be. They have bodies of flesh and blood, but if what Kwinend tells us is true then they are nothing but vacant souls. They are nothing but puppets of Ommran. Remember evil breeds evil. If you do not kill them, they will certainly kill you and yours and not give it one second's thought. If you have any misgivings, just keep in mind what they have already done.' Sirus had already made up his mind and was devising the easiest way of annihilating his enemy.

It was a long night; the small group sat gathered around the fire planning a strategy that they hoped would prove successful. They had taken note of Kwinend's suggestions and had added to them, hoping the manoeuvres would catch their enemy by surprise. It was now well into the small hours of the morning. The only question left unanswered was how to humanely slay children if they should prove to be an obstacle. Sirus knew it would be impossible to isolate them from the main body of the enemy. When the battle began, it would be kill or be killed no matter who they came in contact with.

I'Eda was wide-awake. She had overheard the entire conversation; her Furie hearing was extremely good. She knew what lay ahead. The hordes rode with evil, the darker force driving them, none here would emerge unscathed from this battle – one way or another they would be affected, that was fact.

I'Eda had managed to stay well out of Sirus's way up until this point. She kept the woollen scarf pulled over her head and wrapped snugly around her face. The men gave her no mind, though she stayed well out of their way. She had borrowed padded armour from Polymar, and that disguised her feminine attributes. Polymar had paid her little attention since arriving at Gideon's Sheol; the woman was far too occupied with catching up with her father and the night's intensive discussions to pay I'Eda any mind.

I'Eda sat up and watched Polymar sitting by the fire talking to Aramean. She studied the older woman as she rose and came over to join her. I'Eda decided it was time to start rekindling memories lost in time.

'Can't sleep, I see!' Polymar remarked as she squatted down next to her young companion.

'No. I'm just trying to find relief for a rather bruised behind. Lying down gives some comfort. I have never figured out why mortals find it necessary to ride horses, when they could, with little effort, apply the rules of the Craft to transport themselves around.' I'Eda's remark was edged with just a little caustic criticism.

'Magic! Is that what you mean by the Craft?

'Yes! I guess you have seen some of the benefits. Neon and Aramean both have the gift. Pity you do not know its uses Polymar!'

Polymar was tired; she didn't need this right now.

'Do you realise a gift such as that is not something readily available on Romanie, especially not amongst the human inhabitants? It may be second nature for the Furie, but it does not come as a matter of course to us mere mortals.' Polymar snapped. She was tired and ignored I'Eda as she turned over and slept.

Sirus had intended to ride early the next morning, but by morning the blizzard renewed its efforts with strong gusty winds and heavy snowfalls. There was no way man or beast could survive a day's ride in such conditions, so Sirus decided to lay low for another day and pray to the Gods for a reprieve.

The day was mostly spent in preparation for the long days and nights ahead; men and beasts rested and ate well, gaining strength. Later that same day Polymar found herself once more seated at I'Eda's side. The previous night she had managed only an hour or so sleep, and the day had been busy helping with re-shoeing horses, arranging supplies and sharpening implements of war alongside her father. Now as she sat down and closed her weary eyes, she felt more tired than at any other time in her life. She did not even look at I'Eda, who sat watching her.

'I want to discus the Craft!' It was the directness of the statement that caught Polymar off guard. 'Last night I implied that you might be able to acquire the skills to use the Craft. Are you interested?' I'Eda watched, studying the startled look crossing the older woman's features. Polymar sat upright she was wide-awake now.

'How? I mean why would you wish to teach me, I'Eda? I didn't think mere mortals could comprehend the deftness of such a gift?'

'Hah, yes, you are right, it is a gift. One freely given to those who, let's say, deserve to know. Mortals are generally not given the opportunity, for they would in most instances misuse it. But then you are no mere mortal Polymar, you have proven yourself to be a little more, shall we say, receptive than most.'

Polymar thought the abilities being offered could be very beneficial. She knew if she possessed such power then she would never abuse it. But she realised it brought with it certain conditions, which in turn would bring certain restrictions into her life. Did she need that? Did she really want that? She would have to know more before committing herself.

'I do not know if I am worthy to hold such a gift! Let alone master the skills required.'

'It is true, not everyone is capable of learning the Craft. Certain people or animals have the potential, but it requires discipline and courage, virtue and strength; those characteristics are rare in one individual. But I have observed all those qualities in you. I have been testing you over the past months; you are more than capable. Never sell yourself short.' I'Eda was serious.

Polymar thought deeply about the prospect of acquiring such a skill. It would help her to help others, not something to be rejected.

'I would like to be able to offer help to others, especially Sirus, I mean, Theron. Something tells me my services will be required for far more than this battle alone.' Polymar had almost read I'Eda's thoughts.

Once again I'Eda gave a sigh. The power of the Craft would be Polymar's only defence in the years ahead. The 'Apocalypse Legend' foretold of the deaths of the Immortals. I'Eda knew Polymar would play a vital role in that ultimate battle.

After a time Polymar turned to face I'Eda.

'Very well, teach me the Craft.'

'Good! Then we shall start your training immediately.' I'Eda could see the tiredness in Polymar's eyes. 'I realise you're tired. Remember sleep is but a demand the body places upon itself. In truth, the mind can overcome that need. It is the first principle of the Craft – the art of mastering the body, through mental discipline.'

I'Eda remained cross-legged in front of Polymar and held out her hand. She took Polymar's right hand in hers. The two sat like that in their darkened corner for the rest of the night – student and teacher. Before too many more nights passed Polymar would have no difficulty going without sleep. I'Eda knew her task was not going to be too difficult, for Polymar would only need to relearn those things she had forgotten.

Kwinend sat on his camel skin, looking directly at his daughter and her petite friend in the far corner, discreetly obscured from the main body of men. Kwinend had deliberately placed himself so that he could observe them. Had his daughter learnt nothing from her past experience? Maybe the other men of the camp could not tell the difference, but Kwinend certainly could. A woman's body gave off a certain odour and it always smelled the same; he recognised the familiar scent immediately. He suspected the woman with Polymar was neither warrior nor Romanise. Something about the young girl made him suspicious. He would keep an eye on his daughter and her newfound companion.

Kwinend had missed Polymar. He taught her as he would have taught a son. It still riled him that his seed never held up long enough for him to produce a male heir. Yet he was not unhappy; he loved his daughters and he would make sure they married well – well enough to keep him in his old age at least. Polymar did not even know that she was not his natural child. He had often thought to tell her. There just never seemed an appropriate moment.

Kwinend remembered the night he stumbled across her in the northern hills, not too far from where they now camped; a small child wrapped in soft blankets. It had been a lone cry for help in the middle of nowhere. He had been returning from one of the many wars he fought at the side of his King, a battle they had won at the cost of many. He rode alone, as many of his own plainsmen had gone to Valhalla in that battle. That night weary, tired and fighting infection in several minor battle wounds, he had strayed and heard the cry. He picked the bundle of noise up to find a sweet face smiling up at him. The child ceased crying the moment their eyes met. His heart gladdened; he took her home and his life had never been the same. He named her Polymar, meaning 'gift of night'. His wife of only one year was forced to care for her, but it did not last. She tired of the foundling with the birth of her own children. Kwinend remembered with much affection the many happy hours he spent teaching his adopted daughter the skills she now possessed. He knew she was special; a gift like Polymar rarely came into a life like Kwinend's.

He smiled to himself once again; Polymar may not be battle-seasoned, but she was more than ready to hold her own in a fight. He almost lost it and laughed out loud as he recalled Sirus telling him about her exploits with Tonk and Belvarde. He wished he had been there that day; he'd have been so proud.

His other daughters, along with his wife, were safe behind the walls of Eshtah. His people too were safe, only a few too stubborn to leave had stayed behind in the village. He had watched the destruction of his village and crops from the safety of the city walls. He now had no idea whether those few who had remained had perished or not, but he suspected they would have fought to the end. Kwinend knew he needed no second thoughts about destroying the hordes; it would be his goal until all of them were wiped out.

Sirus lay on his side, preoccupied with the strategies of war. A feeling of despondency hung like a cloud over his head. He felt wearier than he should; mostly he needed little sleep, but these last days had extracted his last resources of strength. He suddenly longed for I'Eda. How he would love to feel the warmth of her body once more next to his. Lately he had felt her presence near. And he wanted her, needed her. He even thought at times he could smell her perfume. He sighed to himself, realising he missed her terribly. He rolled over but sleep eluded him, so he rose, picked up his blanket and went in search of Neon. Maybe he could find solace in his friend.

Aramean sat cross-legged under an overhanging ledge in a quiet part of the caves. He too could not find rest. He had trained his mind in the art of meditational trance, allowing his body to rest whilst his mind concentrated on more complex issues. He had learned this art from the Goddess. This art also allowed him to sense the future and predict an outcome. As his mind came to bear on the battle ahead, he saw a great plain spread out before Eshtah. He saw carnage, bodies' grotesque and dismembered lying scattered upon the ground. Some he recognised as those he had come to admire from amongst Sirus's men. He barely recognised Tonk lying torn apart beside a deformed and mutilated horde. Without conscious thought Aramean moved his hand to touch the ruby ring, his mind seeking the hidden power within. He concentrated, giving all his attention to the aura forming around the trinket. He could now visualise the power it held and he knew what he had to do.

Neon stood watching the world outside; the cold wind swept past him as it swirled about the entrance. The snow had eased slightly but the skies remained black and oppressive like the world about them. Neon had fed upon honey, oats and barley, yet he felt empty. Sombre apprehension troubled him, as if impending doom was about to overshadow his life and he knew it had nothing to do with the hordes. Sirus interrupted his thoughts when he came to stand beside him. His hand slid over Neon's hide, it was the first warmth he had felt in days. Sirus pulled his blanket around his shoulders as he too eyed the world beyond.

'Just as well you and I need very little sleep,' Sirus whispered.

'Sirus,' Neon no longer called him master. 'I have an uneasy feeling, I fear something catastrophic is unfolding – and I don't mean the battle. I can't explain the reasoning behind my thoughts, but it is nonetheless real. Whenever you and I have gone into battle, we have always had the protection of the Immortals riding with us. Now I feel we are facing this adversary alone.' Neon nudged his face into Sirus's shoulder. The familiar show of affection made him feel less insecure.

'My friend, I feel the same. Maybe it's because this battle involves my brother. Maybe fighting an enemy who is an Immortal makes the battle all the more difficult and dangerous. The fact that it is my brother's army makes no difference to the outcome. What will be will be.'

The two continued to talk well into the night. Snoring from within the caves echoed off the walls like a symphony in a cathedral. Somehow it helped Sirus relax. As the day broke over the horizon the snow and wind began to ease. Sirus moved back inside and stirred his men to attention. This day they would ride as far as they could and further – if he felt it necessary. It would be no good if he reached Eshtah, though, with men too tired to fight the battle.

The men packed every available scrap of food they could fit into the pockets of their saddlebags, or bundled up in their blankets. No one knew if the food stored in the pits by the Rebion was still edible, yet alone still there. Kwinend said it was undisturbed when he checked, but that had been several weeks earlier.

Polymar was full of energy and everyone thought she must have slept extremely well, but in fact she had not slept at all. I'Eda's training had gone extremely well; Polymar now well underway with the first principle of the Craft. Now she was preparing herself to take on the mantle of the training.

There was no way back.

# 39

# The Pathway

# 'The Great One'

'The world of the wise is a cavern of deceit.'

Thea stood in front of the crowd now gathered before the temple. She could see genuine sadness on the faces of those before her. The animals truly believed her to be the Goddess, she wished for their sake it were true.

Nimmie stood by her side. He too was sad at Thea's departure. He was also angry and his eyes showed the hatred he felt for Bethsada. He had sent for Kreta and his consort earlier that day and had been told Bethsada was missing. He sent every available servant to scour the palace and temple. They also searched the gardens and the great city, but no one had seen Bethsada since the early hours of the morning.

Nimmie believed Bethsada had found some way of eluding him. His suspicions regarding Thea's sudden decision to leave were now proving correct. He knew his consort was somehow involved with Thea's hasty departure, but until he found her and questioned her, he could not prove his suspicions correct.

Thea watched him with thoughtful reflection. She could disclose what she knew, but if she told Nimmie about Bethsada's attempt upon her life, he would press her for her reasons for being in the crypt. She knew what she had discovered about Theron would need to remain locked away in her mind. Thea had also given consideration about disclosing the whereabouts of the entrance to the Pathway to Nimmie, but now she could not.

There was far too much at stake.

Thea said her goodbyes to those gathered expressing her gratitude for the love and care she had received. She spoke regarding her intentions to return some day. She meant it. Apart from Asserian, this was the only other place where she felt a sense of belonging. But until the birth of her child, and the inevitable trauma it would bring, she could not think of anything except leaving before she was compelled to reveal the truth.

Kreta stood near. Thea could see the fresh wound on the young lioness's thigh. She would not seek acknowledgment of who inflicted it, for Thea had a good idea who it was. After her speech, she pulled Kreta to one side and whispered a partial truth to her.

'Kreta, you have no need to fear, your mother has left Nepthany. Please, don't ask me how I know this, but she will never return.' The relief on Kreta's face did not surprise her. 'I believe you and your father will be better off without her.'-She watched Kreta's face suddenly light up with hope.

'You are strong, Kreta, stronger than you think. You have a wonderful father in Nimmie, be guided by him. Live knowing that you need never be afraid again.'

With that Thea bent low and kissed Kreta on her head. A single tear dropped from Thea's cheek that landed in the exact spot where she had placed the kiss. Kreta felt peace for the first time in her short life, believing the Goddess had blessed her; it made her feel strong and courageous and finally she felt as if she were her father's daughter not her mother's slave.

Talon, Thea and Nimmie walked away from the temple and headed toward the hills. Thea glanced back to see Kreta swish her tail; her head held high and her gait proud.

The path they took continued to attract groups of animals, which bowed as the trio passed. They travelled for several kilometres before Thea stopped.

'From here we must go alone. Talon will fly me to the point where we exit this world.' Thea stepped forward, placing both arms around Nimmie's neck. His magnificent, glossy mane was soft against the pale skin on her face and neck.

'I will miss you.' Nimmie meant it. 'It seems as if I have known you a lifetime, yet it has been only moments in time. Please return again some day, my kingdom is always open. Promise me, Thea, if you need our assistance you will ask; we will help in anyway we can.' Thea could see the genuine concern and love in the depths of his eyes. 'Talon I have apologised for my subjects' actions, so I will not bore you with further rhetoric, suffice to say you are always welcome here.' Talon bowed his head in thanks as Thea spoke her final goodbye.

'Thank you; I hope someday all of us will return. Maybe we will need you to fulfil your promise. Nimmie thank you once again from the bottom of my soul for all you have done.' She kissed Nimmie on his forehead then backed away.

'One last thing, Nimmie: take another consort, one worthy of you. Bethsada will not be returning.' Nimmie gave her a curious stare.

As Thea turned, Talon lifted her gently onto his back. She took one final glance at the magnificent King of Beasts with his head held proud and defiant. Then Talon took to the lightly overcast skies.

Nimmie gave a mighty roar. He watched the pair disappear over the edge of the mountain as his mind concentrated on Thea's last remark, 'Bethsada will not be returning.' He guessed that Bethsada had somehow found a way to escape this world. The thought only disturbed him because he would not get a chance to interrogate her about why Thea chose to leave so soon. He too had noticed the fresh wound on his daughters' thigh. Many times he had enquired how she came to suffer so many scars, Kreta had always told him she was simply awkward and clumsy. Nimmie could never get her to implicate her mother, but Nimmie new the truth.

Now his heart gladdened at the thought that he would get a second chance and that his daughter would be free of persecution. He would choose his next queen wisely.

Talon alighted on a rocky outcrop not far from the entrance to the Pathway. Neither had said a word since they left Nimmie. Thea placed a hand on her belly and felt the movement of the child within. As the child kicked, the amulet around her neck grew warm against her skin. It was no coincidence; somehow the child and the amulet were linked.

Thea moved toward the concealed entry and Talon followed.

Once inside Thea waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Again there stood three entries, only one was alight with the same distinctive glow. She nodded to Talon and led the way.

'I wonder where Bea and the light mites are,' she asked casually, glancing toward the long tunnel ahead.

'If they were needed they would be here. Maybe the Great One had other plans for them.' Talon gave it no more thought.

'I asked Bea yesterday to meet us here. Something is wrong!'

'Where did you see Bea yesterday to tell her that?' Talon could not hide his surprise.

'I will fill you in as we walk. I don't want to delay our journey. I feel my time is nearing to give birth. I think this child is anxious to leave the comfort of my womb.'

Talon felt an awkward melancholy; he was no longer sure the journey's end would be a welcome relief for him.

As they focused on the path ahead, Thea recounted her experience in the crypt. She spoke of her concerns about the figures in the tapestries, but did not divulge her thoughts about the resemblance of the figure to the dark man. This was something she would divulge later. She wanted desperately to believe she might be wrong.

She told Talon of Bethsada's failed attempt upon her life. Though nothing happened, Thea felt Bethsada would have killed her had it not been for the intervention of the mites. That news, along with the fact that Bethsada was missing, worried Talon. He realised she must have located the secret of the Pathway. But he smiled inwardly – if Bethsada thought for one moment she would gain freedom by entering the world of the Great One, she would be greatly mistaken. Her journey would certainly take her far from Nepthany, but it would not be to a destination of her own choosing.

Now that she was back within the confines of the Pathway, Thea felt at ease. The discomfort of her pregnancy no longer bothered her. She found her energy increased and her spirits lifted.

'Where are we going now?' Thea asked as she quickened her pace, and pondered on why the Great One had sent her to the various worlds. Why had her benefactor not taken her to where Hura waited? Why not allow her to find a peaceful place to give birth? Still, she was grateful for her experiences, and was especially glad to have met Nimmie. He was a good king and now her friend. She would not forget the Serpent King or his subjects either and the mysterious world below the lake. She thought of Bea and her friends. What more could she ask? Friendship and warmth had greeted her wherever she had gone. Sansinus was the only exception; something prickled up her spine, the despondency that pervaded that world would remain with her.

Thea's mind wandered back to Bea and the mites. What if Bethsada had hurt them? It was a silly concern; she knew Bea and her friends could take care of themselves.

Talon and Thea's journey took them deeper and deeper downward. The deeper they went, the more eerie it became and Thea remained close to Talon. He had been very quiet since they left Nepthany, and she could see his thoughts troubled him.

'Are you all right Talon?' He paused, but said nothing as he resumed his travels.

At long last they turned a sharp corner. Before them stretched a pitch-black void; here the path ended abruptly. Thea shivered at the starkness.

'Now what do we do? Maybe we missed something back along the passageway! Maybe we were meant to go another way!' Thea was becoming agitated but Talon motioned for her to be silent. Unexpectedly a beam of light emerged out of the darkness and before their eyes a crossing over the abyss formed in front of them. Quickly Talon nudged Thea forward onto the shiny surface of the causeway. Thea stepped with caution onto the silver beam of light, which was solid under foot. She gingerly made her way across and Talon followed. He beckoned her to hurry. She gave him an irritated look as she picked up the pace. Once across, the beam folded in on itself and disappeared behind them.

'What was that?'

'Just another mystery of the Great One! Please don't ask me to explain! This type of phenomenon doesn't always have an explanation!' The pair moved forward into the enchanting world of the Great One.

Thea noticed a sense of calmness and her mind drifted back, back to Asserian and her once serene life. She remembered her childhood world, one with happy faces and bright sunshine. Her adolescent years passed before her – running carefree as Hura raced after her. She recalled vague memories of a mother she barely remembered. Then there were long lessons taught under the scrutiny of the priestesses. These were happy memories of a time long past when youth and energy were combined. Thea hoped that what she had endured in the past months was nothing but a long and terrible nightmare. Suddenly she was aware of the scent of roses – fresh, pungent and intoxicating! Was she home?

Talon, too, floated in his own memories – of wide valley floors, exhilarating mountains and capacious expanses of space for him to be free, where he soared far from menacing eyes and taunting remarks. Then he realised that this was simply a sense of wellbeing provided as respite by the Great One. He knew his journey and task were far from being complete.

The two remained in a trance as they journeyed deep into this world of mystery. Time passed, and then reality and awareness filled their senses once more as they came to stand in the presence of the ancient God.

Thea gradually became aware of the space in which she now stood; it was hewn out of solid rock and large stalactites hung from the ceiling like watchmen on guard. On the ceiling crawled thousands of the small mites, very similar to Bea and her friends, but lacking the communication skills and friendliness.

As she took in the atmosphere, Thea realised she and Talon were not alone. She looked into the darkness and studied the incandescent light as it gradually moved toward them. Thea moved closer to Talon and without thinking grabbed his wing.

'Not too tight, I need those you know!' He smiled down at her. 'Don't be afraid; it is just the Great One.'

Thea focused more closely on the apparition as it moved forward. The mist of light had no form; it appeared to be nothing but a ball of gas that washed unaided over the floor. It stopped and hovered just in front of where they stood. Thea trembled. Talon may have known this thing, but she found it difficult to understand how anything could survive in such a form.

As the gaseous mass floated in mid air, Thea could feel herself being appraised and she edged even closer to Talon, who was kind enough to allow her to pull a little harder on his feathers.

'Welcome daughter, Queen and High Priestess of Asserian, I am honoured to have you as my guest. Please sit and make yourself comfortable.' The voice was deep and soothing and very masculine. Thea hoped the thing meant her no harm. Talon pointed to a cushioned chair, which seemed to materialise from nowhere. Reluctantly she sat. Talon moved away, but not too far, recognising Thea would be apprehensive if he moved out of her reach.

'Welcome back, Talon! You have done well. The young Queen looks in good health. I am pleased.' The mass of gas expanded and contracted in shape as it spoke.

Thea found it difficult to accommodate a talking object that had no stable form. Speaking animals and birds were somehow easier to adjust to than this thing. She had suffered much and felt she had endured this journey long enough. She had to find out why she had been brought to this place, and why she had been led to so many destinations. She spoke out with bravado.

'Thank you for sending Talon to rescue me; he has been very brave and loyal. But why am I here and why did you send me to all those worlds? What could you possibly want with me?' Thea tried to sound assertive as she sat upright and looked directly at her ancient host.

The Great One gave a soft chuckle. How dare he think this a joke!

It took several moments for the ancient one to settle down.

'Thea, the journey, my dear, is not for you! The worlds you have visited were created by the Immortals, worlds deeply shrouded in the mists of time.' The Great One moved in closer to Thea, until it was almost touching her.

'This journey is for your child, not for you! Every path you have taken brings this child closer to its destiny. As its birth approaches you will gain the knowledge that will help you understand the role you play. I brought you here so I can speak with the child.' Her face must have taken on a look of utter astonishment, yet she was not sure she understood completely the implications of what the Great One had said.

'Do not be afraid Thea. No harm will befall you whilst you are here.' With those words the Great One moved forward and the gassy cloud spread over Thea and enfolded her in its midst, covering her completely.

Talon lost sight of her but remained still; he knew Thea was in no mortal danger. Not here and certainly not from the Great One. This was how the ancient God held a conversation with those he had private meetings with. Talon also was aware that neither he nor Thea would ever know what was spoken between the Great One and the child within her womb.

Talon stood and watched patiently, knowing full well this journey for him and Thea was almost at an end. Their next journey would probably take them to her final destination to meet with Hura.

At last the Great One withdrew from Thea and as it did so, she slowly opened her eyes and remembered where she was. Her face broadened with a smile, she felt at peace. She seemed unaware of what had just taken place.

'You said this journey was for the child! Who is this child that I carry?'

The Great One's obscure form quivered and shook again, as it contemplated an answer.

'You have been given a very sacred task and I am aware of how much it has cost you. For that I am sorry, but there was no other way. Remember one thing, Thea: nothing is what it seems! You hold the key and you alone can set this child free and give her life. Remember that when the time comes. You will sacrifice much, but you will gain far more.'

With that the Great One was gone, leaving Talon and Thea alone in a chamber empty save for the chair on which Thea sat.

'We must leave! He will not reappear. Once the Great One has spoken he does not return.' Talon was earnest.

'Who is the Great One? What is it?' Thea wanted to know. For now she knew none of this had happened simply by chance; it reeked of interference by the Gods and she was irritated at that thought. Did they simply play with the lives of others?

'I'm sorry, Thea, it is not for me to say. I know that the Great One knows the outcome of everything that happens on the surface of the worlds.' Talon helped Thea up from the chair, and the moment she was safely on her feet the chair vanished.

'So much for getting a long rest!'

She smiled at Talon. This was not his fault; Talon had been doing what he thought was right. Thea knew she would have to complete the journey to find out the truth.

The pair headed back through the dream state and to the chasm beyond and on to their final journey.

# 40

# Romanie

# 'The Miracle at Bannum'

'You have a gift oh daughter of the night, give life unto your father.'

Sirus and his men pushed into the bleak and bitter depths of the chilling winds from the south. The snows had eased slightly, which made the going easier than the previous days, but the journey was slow and tedious. If it had not been for the camel skins Kwinend brought in from the plains, many of the men would have perished.

Their travels took them southwest toward the village of Bannum. The settlement stood at the pinnacle of an extremely remote mountain pass, and at this time of year it was well hidden by thick winter snows. Sirus hoped to outwit the cunning hordes by taking this perilous path. This track was shorter than the original trek they had taken going north, but it meandered through an inhospitable mountain range, which in winter could prove hazardous.

Orlleon, the city they had camped outside on their northern journey, had already been taken over by the hordes. Kwinend had mentioned it in passing. Sirus had already seen the effects the hordes could inflict. Camareo had been a good example of the pain and violation the enemy was capable of. He hoped an isolated village such as Bannum might have escaped the onslaught. In fact he was counting on it.

Bannum's population was small, and the village hidden in the depths of Mount Desolate in the Tibrion mountain range to the northeast of Eshtah, several days' ride from Delgrade.

After leaving Gideon's Sheol, Sirus had sent Kwinend and a few of his seasoned warriors southeast along the trail to collect supplies from the pits. Once they had accomplished their task they were to skirt back and rejoin Sirus and his men at Bannum. The camlets' feet acted as snowshoes, which meant Kwinend and his men could move twice as fast as men on horseback. When they had discussed tactics, it seemed obvious that going back the way they had come would have been a foolish manoeuvre, since although it was by far the most practical, flat and easygoing way; it was also the route the hordes would expect them to use. Sirus and the others realised the hordes would probably have discovered the pits by now. Aramean pointed out that if the food pits had not been touched by the hordes, then it was more than likely because they were using them as a trap for Sirus and his men. A decision was made to send Kwinend and his men back. Kwinend agreed that they would only need to empty two or three pits to gain enough provisions to get the army to Eshtah. Keeping themselves hidden from the hordes' scouting parties would be the tricky part, but Kwinend had a few tricks of his own.

Several days after the army separated from Kwinend and his men, an outrider from Sirus's army rode slowly back to meet the main group. He reported seeing a fire in the distance, amongst a grove of dense trees.

Sirus, Polymar and Renward along with two soldiers set off on foot to check out the unwelcome intruders. As they approached the campfire they could hear voices and Sirus gave silent orders to Renward to take one man around back, while he, Polymar and the other soldier moved in from the front. They approached their quarry; and were so close they could feel the warmth from the fire. The three souls, which huddled about the fire, looked dishevelled and malnourished. But Sirus could not afford to let down his guard. He needed to verify they were not part of his brother's hordes.

He gestured for Renward to move in closer and distract them while he, Polymar and the other soldier surrounded the small group from the other side. Renward and his man stealthily closed in. The action was quick and decisive; the three lone figures did not even have time to pull themselves up off the ground before they were pinned down.

'Oh! My Lord, my Lord Sirus. Thank the Gods you have come,' exclaimed the man whose face had taken on the whiteness of the snow around him, and against whose chest Sirus now held a sword.

'Who are you, man? The answer better be the right one or your response will be your last.' Sirus could see the man was thin from lack of food and would scarcely be a threat to him.

'My name is Turlip. I'm from the village of Orlleon. I helped load your wagons with supplies when you came through last summer. Mistress Polymar can attest to that.' He looked over at Polymar as he sat shaking with fear. 'Can't ya miss?'

Polymar stood with her knife against the throat of Turlip's wife.

Polymar slowly picked the woman up and dragged her over to sit beside the old man whom she vaguely remembered.

'Yes. I recall his face. He helped stack the wagons with supplies. Can't vouch for his true identity though. How do we know he is not one of the hordes?'

'I'm not! I'm truly not! This here be me wife Boulyn and me daughter Pimpy.' He pointed at the two women. 'We barely escaped.' Turlip's voice shook and his brow was permanently creased with worry. Deep furrows lined his forehead.

'Keep talking. ' Sirus was willing to listen.

'Boulyn, Pimpy and me often go out huntin' rabbit and such like and we generally stay out for days at a stretch. A month or more back we left Orlleon and travelled into the high mountain pass to try and trap foxes for winter coats and all. Well, when we were done we went back to Orlleon. We did well, had lots of pelts and could have made a killing!' Turlip's voice suddenly went quiet; Sirus could tell he was afraid.

'What did you find?' Sirus was losing patience.

'That's just it – we found nothin'! Everyone had vanished like they never was! Boulyn and me, we packed our few belongings and headed this way. We have been living off what we caught. We was hoping to make the mountain pass before the heavy snows hit, but didn't quite make it.' Turlip and his wife both sat twisting their hands, obviously petrified from their experience. It certainly didn't help having blades thrust at their throats. It was also evident that they had had little to eat.

'We have been snowed in for weeks, almost no food left.' Sirus felt sorry for him and helped the old man to his feet. What he didn't need was more mouths to feed!

He decided he had to push on regardless, Sirus sent a man back to bring the troops forward. Time was of the essence and even this short delay could prove perilous. But he couldn't bring himself to leave the small family alone in the bitter cold. Others who were not so friendly might find them, or worse they would starve to death and forever be on his conscience.

The army plodded on through the night, napping as they sat in their saddles. Turlip sat up behind Sirus as Neon could, with little effort, carry the most weight. Polymar had Boulyn, Turlip's wife, and Aramean took Pimpy, their daughter.

By dawn the next morning Sirus could just make out the distinct shadows of the pass leading up into the Tibrion Mountains. By tonight he knew they would have worked their way through to the pass then it would be only a steep slope to Bannum.

By mid-morning the sun came out from behind the grey leaden clouds. The warmth was a pleasant distraction until the snow started to melt beneath the horse's hooves, causing problems. Several horses lost their footing, so several men had to walk. Less than an hour later, the sunshine disappeared and the darkening clouds gathered once more overhead. By late afternoon, the pass was well within sight and Sirus could make out the rocky outcrop of its entrance. He knew this landscape well, having ridden it many times on his way to this valley and its summer abundance of deer and elk. Hunting was a skill and sport he had grown fond of.

As the daylight subsided and the nightmarish darkness spread itself over the landscape once more, Sirus's army moved through the pass. The overhanging rocks creating ghostly shadows in the filtered moonlight. Sirus pushed his men, the cold now their deadliest enemy. As the snow continued to fall lightly about them it made the going slower than Sirus would have hoped. Both the men and beasts were tired, and the cold had seeped into their bones despite their thick camel hides. Sirus quickened the pace; for the faster they moved the more likely they would survive. The hot breath from the horse's nostrils billowed against the cold icy winds, forming waves of mists in the air around them. The constant bantering, cajoling and passing of foul wind by the men helped ease the burden of their exhaustion. Stopping was out of the question, so the hungry nibbled on dry rations.

The pass wound upwards gradually. In summer it was not a treacherous climb, but in winter its path was steep and slippery. The animals seemed to know the peril the path held and their whinnying carried far in the cold night air. Sirus ordered that their mouths be muzzled to soften the noise. He didn't need to attract any unwanted attention.

The narrow path was hard going for both horse and man, and about half way up the treacherous climb one of the horses at the rear lost its footing and plummeted sideways taking both horse and rider to their deaths. Sirus could not waste precious time; there was nothing he could do in the dark depths of night. He wished both a speedy journey to Valhalla as he pushed his men toward the summit.

As they progressed, the overhang of the cliff face and the shelter of the rock walls kept the icy winds to a minimum. The weather and the thought of the hordes laying siege to Eshtah chilled not only the men's bones, but their souls as well.

By morning Sirus could make out the summit of Mount Desolate. Bannum lay just over the top of the rise. When the army passed over the top of the mountain ridge just before mid-morning, they could make out small dark clouds of smoke oozing through the chimneys of the village.

This village began as a goat herder's den, hewn out of the mountainside. The village was literally dug into the hillside, making it warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Now the settlement maintained and supported around two hundred families who survived off the goats they kept. The cheese they produced was sold for money in Eshtah or swapped for luxuries.

Sirus and his army moved cautiously toward Bannum. The villagers were known for their tenacity and ingenuity when it came to warding off strangers and enemies alike, so Sirus approached with caution. Suddenly a missile hit the ground directly in front of Neon. He reared up. He was not afraid of the spear, for he recognised the man who threw it.

Jordan, the head village elder, called out from a large rock on which he stood. 'Lordy me! If it ain't Sirus himself! My God's man, it's good to see ya.'

Sirus instantaneously recognised him and shouted back.

'Who else were you expecting? No one else rides a horse like Neon.'

There was jest in both their exchanges as Sirus stepped down off Neon and hugged the wiry goat herder. From behind the rocky outcrop several heads now emerged. The villagers were more than glad to welcome them with open arms. After cordial greetings, the horses were fed and rubbed down and Sirus and his men were taken in and fed within the warmth of the underground dugout. Sirus was explaining his reasons for descending on the settlement in the depths of winter when a familiar voice called out from the back of the large hall where they were now gathered.

'Master! Oh master! Oh my lord, it is so good to know you are alive and well.'

Sirus turned to confront Mildred, his housekeeper from Delgrade. Her hair was streaked with much more grey than he remembered and her face showed she had suffered much. She rushed up to him, throwing her arms about him and sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.

As Sirus tried to console Mildred, he recognised other members of his house staff, as well as several people from the villages on his estate. They all seemed to have aged, their faces showed the horror they had obviously been through. There was only one reason why they would be here; Delgrade and his estates were gone.

Mildred recounted her tale of misfortune and how she had tried to gather as many villagers as she could, most though would not listen to her. Those who had heeded her warning came with her to Bannum. Those who followed her barely managed to escape the onslaught of the enemy. Mildred had had friends in the north, and on their way south to Eshtah they had stopped to warn her of the hordes marching directly for Delgrade. No one else had appeared at Bannum since their arrival and it seemed clear that Delgrade and its inhabitants would not have survived the onslaught of the adversary.

The soldiers settled into any corner, hole or nook where there was space. The village was already overcrowded before the army arrived. Now there was no place for privacy of any kind. The smell of excrement and body odour, as well as cooking, mingled with the noise of too many people in a confined space made it uncomfortable for everyone. Polymar and I'Eda found respite in the meagre dwelling of a kind family who offered the women shelter. Turlip, Boulyn and Pimpy were similarly taken care of.

Aramean settled down in a dark corner of the main compound and entered a trance, shutting off the impact of the noise, smell and chaos around him. Neon was placed in with the other livestock and could do nothing but subject himself uncomplainingly to the indignity.

Another night came and went and still there was no sign of Kwinend. Polymar was fretting for her father's safety. He was a great warrior and a survivor and she knew if anyone could make it through it would be him. But still she worried. As the night wore on, Sirus kept a close eye on the trail up the mountain pass from the eastern side. He wanted to know the exact moment Kwinend arrived. Just before dawn, almost a week after their arrival, a sentry posted on the summit sent word that a group of riders were making their way up the pass.

Sirus remained with the sentry; he wanted to be sure it was Kwinend and not some other unexpected visitor. As the small band of men on camlets approached the top, Sirus could see Kwinend hanging from the saddle, his head bobbing along as if his neck could no longer support its weight. The other Rebion soldiers lay with their arms entwined around the camlets' necks; their bodies roped on to keep them in place. Sirus quickly summoned help. Renward, Polymar, Jervoid and many of the villagers and soldiers arrived in time to help the wounded travellers to the village. Kwinend was alive, but only just. The Rebion were too exhausted to talk of their ordeal. But their appearance showed that they must have travelled long and hard; it also told the horror they must have suffered.

Kwinend had suffered a critical wound to his back. Blood caked his camel skin coat. Once the villagers had him inside and removed his garments, everyone could see the seriousness of his wound. Polymar and Mildred tended to her father, washing the wound, while the local village physician applied a poultice of witch hazel and morticore to draw out the poisons. Morticore was a herb renowned for its healing properties; Mildred had used it often and had brought copious supplies with her. Sirus and Aramean spoke with the other Rebion after they received food and rest.

Apparently Kwinend and his men had managed to secure most of the food from two pits, which they had packed high and heavy on spare camlets. They were about to return when they encountered remnants of Ommran's hordes. They were only a few, but they had obviously remained behind as lookouts to watch for Sirus and his forces. As the men spoke of their encounter with the hordes, Sirus could see the revulsion they held for the enemy. If evil had a face, then the hordes wore its mask. The fighting had left two Rebion dead and Kwinend badly wounded. Kwinend had gone back to rescue his men and had fallen foul of the hordes. The enemy though had perished under the Rebions' fighting skills, but that pursuit had taken the Rebion a long way out of their original path and in doing that they had lost the camlets laden with supplies. It had taken them days of hard riding with very little food to make it back to the pass below Mount Desolate. They had taken to tying themselves down with rope to stop themselves from falling off in their desperate state of tiredness. Sirus felt grief for their loss and the hardship they had endured in aiding him.

By mid-morning of the following day it was clear the morticore poultice had not worked its miracle and Kwinend lay on his deathbed, perspiration draining from his brow. Polymar could not let her father die and she knew her skills with the craft were yet unproven, but she had been a dedicated learner with an aptitude for its intricacies. I'Eda had been more than pleased with her progress.

Polymar asked to be left alone with Kwinend in his last hours. The partitioned corner of the room in which they had placed Kwinend was very small; it barely had room for him and Polymar.

'Do you trust me father?' Kwinend, in his delirious state, gave a slight nod of his head. Polymar knew time was short as she quickly unfastened her thick woollen shirt and removed it completely. She then turned Kwinend over so that his wound lay exposed fully to her view. She quickly took out her knife and sliced her wrist at the point where her main artery lay. Her lifeblood pumped out, bright red, thick and sticky. She took her wrist, laying it across her father's wound then whispered the incantation to ward off death. Her father lay silent, unaware she hoped of what she was now doing. After several moments she released the pressure on her wrist and quickly grabbed it with her other hand. Immediately the wound on her wrist closed over, leaving no scar. She smiled to herself, I'Eda had taught her well. Her lifeblood covered her father's wound and she watched as it slowly seeped into the infection. She literally saw the infection withdraw. Before the wound had been red and angry; yellow pus oozing angrily, but now there was no sign of redness or swelling – just soft pink on the surface of the wound. Polymar slumped back against the wall, exhausted yet smiling. Her father would live to fight another battle. She bound up the wound so others could not see her handiwork – she needed to make sure her skills remained a secret. She turned Kwinend on his side to find he was looking directly at her, a smile of awareness on his face.

'Promise never to tell a soul what you have witnessed tonight. If, and when, anyone comes to talk with you, we will just say you're feeling miraculously better.'

Kwinend grabbed his daughter's hand, smiled and nodded. He realised his daughter had learned far more in her time away than he could have possibly hoped for.

Polymar stayed with her father throughout the day and the following night. Whenever anyone came to enquire about his health she would tell them he was feeling a little better. By the following morning he was sitting up, his spirits lifted. His disposition had more to do with what he witnessed two nights previous, rather than his newfound health. When Sirus inquired after his wellbeing, he was more than a little shocked to see Kwinend up and about – the man had more lives than a cat.

It was apparent that the village could no longer contain so many, the army had already drained too much from their precious food supplies. Sirus promised to restock their supplies when he could. He decided that with Kwinend well and truly on the mend they should push forward to Eshtah. He hoped he was not too late.

He ordered his troops to ready themselves to leave by midday. The road down the mountain was relatively easy and from the base it was only a two-day ride to Delgrade. There he hoped to find shelter before he moved on to Eshtah and the battle with his brother's swarm of evil.

# 41

# Asserian

# 'Craven's Quest'

'Beware of the night; within its folds lurks a heart of darkness.

Craven flew along the empty passage, his mind consumed with thoughts of Antamea. He realised he would have to put his concerns to one side and concentrate on the more important issue of finding those, if any, who still remained true to the Goddess. He stopped short of the entrance and stood looking at the steps leading to the outside world. He was no longer sure that it would be as easy as he first envisaged. He held the key Antamea had given him in his beak. And as he held it up to the wall the key found its home; it shimmered and unlocked the portal. Chilly night air blew down the stairs to greet him. Craven withdrew the key and hid it once again amid his feathers. He then flew out into the bleak charcoal night of Asserian. Time it seemed had stood still and only moments had passed since he had descended into the depths of the passageway with Cook.

He landed on a branch of the mighty oak and glanced down at the entry point – it had vanished. Nothing but the gnarled old tree remained. Craven glanced around him; nothing was amiss. He knew the power of the Craft had been at work this night. The loud pandemonium could still be heard coming from the fortress above and the inky clouds continued to rumble overhead, warning of things to come.

Craven concentrated once again on the task ahead of him; it was his quest. Were there others out there still loyal to the Goddess and her teachings? He had to believe there were. Night was not the best time to seek out those he sought, but it was the safest time for him to travel. He knew he may well need to fly some distance, so he gave his feathers a quick preen and checked around him for signs of prying eyes. Then, without another thought, he cast himself into the sky and headed north.

He had not spied the inquisitive eyes of the dark shadow looming aboard the bowels of Ommran's ship, Dragon Wing, which rocked gently at the dock. The oppressive dark force stood shadowed against the light from the ship.

Craven knew that any journey would be a difficult. He realised months ago that not only had the human inhabitants come under the evil influence of the dark man – all other creatures seemed affected also. Dawn would see predators emerge from their hiding places to scavenge for food and, because food was scarce, a fat raven would look mighty tasty.

As the sun's first faint glow came over the horizon, Craven could see the distant mountain range known as The Breakers. These rugged and treacherous mountains divided the populace of Ammon and its surrounding villages and plains from the fertile valley of Erron. The Erron Valley was remote, and Craven hoped it had been far enough away to escape the onslaught.

As he neared the foothills at the base of The Breakers, he noticed a large cat slinking its way down through the thick undergrowth. The large beast looked up, giving Craven a sly, almost gleeful look, before dashing away toward Ammon. Craven felt a chill as if another evil had just walked over this land, but shrugged and gave the cat no more thought.

Craven knew there was an entry to the Pathway somewhere in these mountains, but now all he could concentrate on was trying to gain safe passage across the rugged peaks. Using the skills of the Craft he scanned the horizon, but could detect no menacing life forms. That did not necessarily mean that there were none so he decided to remain at maximum height, though the cold driving winds ate into his flesh. From this distance he would be able to see anything rising from the ground. He realised he was probably being a little paranoid, but his senses were alert; he knew that would not be so if the passage ahead were clear. He launched himself into the strong air current and glided freely on the updraft, trying to remain guarded as he surveyed the majestic view below.

It was now well after sunrise. Craven's thoughts were filled with the spectacular scenery beneath him – he couldn't imagine not being able to fly. The exhilaration was phenomenal. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the large hawk launch itself from a cliff face behind him. He glimpsed its shadow momentarily as it crossed beneath him. He dived for cover just as the hawk extended its talons to make a grab for him. The hawk was fast but Craven's powers helped accelerate his speed and he managed, with only moments to spare, to nosedive into a thicket that clung intrepidly to the side of a cliff face. The hawk needed no encouragement; he was hungry and of evil intent. Craven could see this was now a contest of patience. He sat, barely out of harm's way, inside the thick snow-covered bush, whilst the hawk eyed him from the cliff face.

Craven knew time was of the essence; if the bird didn't get him, then the cold would. He had to make it to the Erron Valley in daylight. The heavy clouds above indicated that further heavy snowfalls were on the way and he knew he could not remain where he was for much longer. He would have to use the Craft once again.

Unlike his friend Neon who could use the power of the Craft with no ill effect, Craven found that whenever he used it the power ebbed at his strength. He had to use it sparingly and only then when necessary.

Craven could see that the hawk was not going to give up the chase and he suspected there would be more predators far worse than the hawk. Craven closed his eyes and sited the incantation of the 'sight'. As he finished the words he vanished. The spell however would last no more than an hour or so, for Craven could not sustain it any longer in his weakened state. Quickly he took to the skies, leaving the hawk watching the thicket and waiting for a black raven to appear.

As Craven's invisible form flew away, the hawk felt the raw edge of cold steel as its heart was sliced open. The black avenger stood, his sword dripping with warm blood as he watched. He picked up the form of the raven moving away in the distance. He would follow.

Craven pushed himself hard. Even though he was no longer visible, the elements around him still had an effect. There were other spells he could have used to ward off the cold, but in his present state that would have extracted more energy. He battled on. After a couple of hours his form returned to visibility, but by then he had flown over the worst of the terrain and was headed for Anware.

In the late afternoon Craven approached the outskirts of the town; it was the largest village in the Erron Valley. With his energy levels close to exhaustion, he headed for the dock area. As he flew closer he noticed the town seemed deserted. He swooped down, landing on the rooftop of one of the taverns near the wharf. He hopped along the rooftop until he found a point where he could jump down onto a window ledge. The tavern was empty. The windows had no shutters so he flew in, landing on the bench at the bar. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and old clay mugs lay scattered over the tables and dusty floors. It looked as though the inhabitants had left in a hurry and long ago.

Craven flew into the adjoining kitchen hoping to find some morsels of food. But there was nothing, Craven guessed the mice and rats had finished off any remaining scraps long before he arrived.

He scoured the village from one end to the other, but the only life he found was one old canine that hobbled off when he approached, too old and malnourished to give Craven much thought. Along the way he managed to scrounge a few morsels of dried mouldy bread, but it was food nonetheless. Without it, he would not make it further. He found an abandoned farmhouse just out of town where he perched for the night; it was dry and out of the cold. There he found some corncobs, which had been hung up to dry, too high for the rats and mice. At least it was food.

Craven was up before the sun rose and flew back over the village, he had to be sure that no one remained. Usually the harbour would be home to the local fishing fleet and at least one or two large supply ships. But there were none. Strange! Even if Ommran's evil forces had made it this far, which he doubted, why take the boats? Then he had an inspiration – maybe the villagers had used the boats to escape. If they had then they must have gone upstream toward the safety of the high country. Craven headed up the river mouth.

Craven kept close to the riverbank and within close proximity of the rim of trees growing along the banks. He hoped it would help him escape detection, from what he was not sure, but he sensed something lay out there watching, waiting. The sun when it finally surfaced was barely a light haze behind grey clouds, allowing very little illumination for navigating. Just as well my eyesight is good, Craven thought.

He continued to follow the river for most of the day, moving slower than he otherwise might have, but evading detection. The strong sense of being watched continued to gnaw at him.

Toward late afternoon Craven rounded a large bend in the river, he smelled the pungent aroma of smoke. With the aid of the Craft, he picked up life forms – many of them. He sped up. Had it not been for the Craft and the ability it gave him Craven knew he would never have detected either the smoke or the location of human life.

On the top of the distant mountain range the black carrion stood, watching, his expectations high as the raven made his way up toward the Dogmare Caves.

Craven spotted the large outcrop of rock overhanging the riverbank. Hidden beyond was a cave system; Craven recalled a map he had seen back in the fortress – a map that lay on the table in the library of the Queen. These caves were known as the Dogmare Caves, they were so well camouflaged by a large grove of trees that no one would ever stumble upon them – unless of course they knew their whereabouts. Craven flew to the entrance and perched on a rock just inside the main opening.

His heart felt relief. The cave was a bustle of activity, women were dying yarn and spinning, there was the aroma of food cooking and the chatter and laughter of excited woman and children. The sound was like music to his ears. A small child played on the ground not far from where he sat; she was the first to spot him. She screamed and Craven could not for one moment imagine why his presence would cause such pandemonium. But then he knew the dark man had brought panic and total chaos to these people. Maybe they thought he was there to harm them. The women came running at the sound of the child's scream, and formed a barricade around him.

He was unsure whether they wanted to befriend him or eat him. Either way he needed to explain himself before things got out of hand. He decided it might be prudent to fly just out of reach while he gave an explanation for his presence, but before he could extend his wings a large rug was thrown over his head. He felt the pressure of hands as they grabbed at his body. He screeched out, offering a suggestion.

'If you let me loose, I will be able to answer any questions and possibly offer you help.' He felt the hands holding down the rug suddenly let go. Craven heard the shock in their gasps.

One of the women carefully lifted the rug, but before Craven could escape, an elderly woman grabbed his legs and held him tight. Craven decided it was best not to struggle. He remembered Banetta and how at the time it had been useless to fight her grip.

He would try the direct approach.

'My name is Craven, I have come to help.' That was as direct as he could muster under the circumstance.

'You are a raven, yet you speak with the tongue of a woman. You must be the one sent to find us by the evil one?' The elderly woman holding him, looked down, her features were stern and she was clearly annoyed.

'No. I am not an emissary for the dark man. I have come from Antamea. And I only wish to help you.'

As she comprehended his words, the old woman almost let go.

'You lie! Antamea has been dead for hundreds of years,' shouted the old woman.

'Let me prove what I say is true.' Craven had an idea.

Craven held the keys to Antamea's world – surely this was enough proof to convince them. The keys would allow Craven to open the portal to her world from anywhere on the surface of Asserian. Craven would not, however, do that until he was sure Ommran had not infected these people.

'Just how do you plan on doing that?' The old lady continued to look at Craven sceptically.

Craven could tell there was no way the old woman would let him go until she was convinced. He decided he would have to trust his instincts and open the portal so they could see he spoke truth. He looked around the room at the many people there. Most were girls, some a little older, a minority were elderly, but they all looked strong and in good health, which mildly surprised Craven.

He closed his eyes and recanted the spell to dislodge the key from his feathers. It fell to the floor and he quickly picked it up in his beak. The old woman jumped back in fright, letting go of Craven's legs. He flew in haste to a rocky ledge high above the woman, the key firmly in his beak.

'Now that's better! Now how do I know you are not infected by the evil yourself?' Craven now had the advantage.

'The only evil, bird, is you!' Yelled back the old woman from below.

'The evil one has sent him here to find us. I just know it.' The woman turned to look at the others as she spat out the words like venom.

'He speaks truth.' The words came from a young girl of no more than six or seven. She moved forward and stood below Craven.

'Are you sure?' Another elderly woman, her face shadowed by the dark circles beneath her eyes came forward. She placed a hand on the young girl's shoulder, as if she sought reassurance.

'Yes. This raven is a truth bearer. He cannot lie.' The child held out her hand and beckoned Craven to join her. He felt a strong aura around this child, she was gifted. The power of the Craft was alive and well within her. When he landed on her outstretched arm she did not flinch as his claws settled gently into her flesh.

'Who are you?' Craven eyed the child up and down.

'My name is Faroone. -I have the gift and I would have gone to the temple and become a priestess had Ammon not been destroyed.' She spoke softly, her voice clear like a new spring day. Craven knew he had found much more than he had hoped for.

'The reason we show fear is that I have seen evil approach. It is dark and full of abomination. It is near. I feel it watching, waiting.'

Craven suddenly felt the same familiar feeling take hold; he recognised that he must get them away and soon.

'How many of you are there?' Craven needed to know.

'There are over one hundred here. Several women are pregnant, so our numbers will grow in time.' This came from the woman standing next to Faroone.

Craven gave a squawk of joy. Not only had he found someone with the power of the Craft, he had discovered new life flourished here as well. The beginning of a new Asserian lay within this cave.

Now all he needed to do was persuade them to follow him. It would take a giant leap of faith on the women's part, but the alternative of staying here was not really an option.

Craven took time explaining the plan. He could see it was taking shape in the minds of the women as he spoke. Once he finished, he stopped to look about him. All eyes were now on the child.

'He speaks wisdom. If we stay here we will perish. I sense that evil approaches. It may already be too late. We must go – this world needs our help. The Goddess herself will expect us to give what we have to make Asserian whole once more.' The child spoke with far more wisdom than her years. Those gathered now nodded their heads in agreement. Craven smiled to himself; this child was much more than she appeared to be.

Craven spoke directly to the child, seeing she appeared to be the one they all looked to for guidance.

'We must move fast. Ask the women to take with them only what they want. Where we are going they will have need for nothing.'

Faroone spoke to those around her, the women moved off to gather the bare essentials. While the women packed, Craven ate. What little he had eaten had not been sufficient. The women had grain and some fresh meat, which he gobbled down.

While he ate, the child told their story. The night after evil struck, the women had wakened to find all the men of the town gone. The child had been aware that danger rode the land and she had warned them. The women heeded her warning and fled in the fishing boats. They had stocked them with food, bedding, clothing and other essentials and made their way upstream fighting the currents. They eventually came to the Dogmare Caves. They scuttled the boats for firewood, in the increasingly bad weather. It was at this point that Faroone hesitated with her tale.

Craven saw there was something she was afraid to say. He waited patiently. She would tell him.

'We have men with us.'

Craven jumped about on the floor. Men, they were the piece to complete the plan. His excitement brought some of the women running.

'Why do you rejoice? We are not supposed to keep men for pleasure, it is forbidden.' The child stood up.

'Men – it is the one thing we needed to make this whole plan possible.' Craven was reluctant to explain this further in front of the child.

'Tell me, how did these men escape; I thought they were all taken that night?'

Faroone continued. 'The night the dark man struck, several young men had been working in the mines deep underground in the Breaker Mountains. They had been digging through the night to extract the minute fragments of gold embedded deep below the surface. It seems that they were unaffected by the spell. Why, we are not sure. When the men emerged a day or so later we found them and together we all escaped.'

Craven was ecstatic. Not only did he now have young fruitful girls to build up the priestess's line, but also the means of fathering the necessary offspring. Apparently these men had not been castrated, as had the majority of free men on Asserian.

Once the women were organised, Craven gathered the key and held it upright. The key found its portal in the back wall. As the portal opened, the women's voices gasped with excitement and uncertainty. The men helped the women down the steps and into the great corridor beyond. Craven flew behind and followed up the rear. Once all were safe and secure inside, the portal closed behind them, no trace visible. Craven locked away the key once more and flew above the group guiding the way. Antamea would be pleased; Craven's quest was complete.

At the cave entrance the carrion stood; his countenance black and foreboding. He struck out at the walls of the cave with his dark and ominous sword, his angry show of strength felt throughout the caves' interior chambers. The walls began to develop fractures as he struck out yet again. The chamber shook once more and the walls collapsed, leaving nothing but smouldering rubble and dust.

The carrion's dark form quivered and was gone.

# 42

# Romanie

# 'Delgrade'

'Oh Delgrade, think not that your suffering goes unheard.'

Sirus moved his forces cautiously down the southern face of Mount Desolate. He now found himself being dictated to by those surrounding him. Mildred had insisted on tagging along, as had the others from his estates. He could do nothing to persuade them to remain behind in Bannum. Only the children stayed – the families would take care of them until the trouble was over. Sirus made those who chose to follow, walk at the rear of the troops. This extra burden he did not need.

Several of the villagers joined ranks with Sirus's forces and rode as part of the Rebion. Turlip had pleaded with Sirus to join the army but Sirus insisted he remain behind and protect his family. He didn't need Turlip's death on his conscience. It took a full day's march to get down. The men, horses, supplies and those now on foot made the going slow. Sirus had little choice but to camp at the base of the mountain. Pushing his men was one thing, but subjecting women and his serfs to the same rules was another – one he could not contemplate.

The army, including the women, slept in the open despite the cold. They wrapped themselves in camlet hides and huddled together for warmth. Sirus rose before dawn and had everyone on the road again by sunrise. The weather conditions had not improved and were no better on this side of the mountain range, yet there were no complaints from anyone. Everyone's thoughts were now on the impending confrontation.

For two days they rode. They rested the animals by allowing them to walk unshackled for lengthy periods of time. Sirus needed the horses to be ready when the time came. On the afternoon of the second day, Xanthos Forest came into view; it was the forest that bordered Sirus's estate.

He looked in horror at what stood before him. Nothing remained of this once abundant woodland. The tall and magnificent red woods and pines were gone. Before him stood the charred remains of what once were magnificent trees, their tortured skeletal trunks a stark reminder of the ferocity of their enemy. Why burn out a forest? There seemed no sense to this devastation.

Sirus gathered a large section of his men but left the Rebion and the remainder behind to guard the others. He and his men set out at a gallop for the village near his chateau. He hoped he would find the villagers alive and well, but something told him he was too late. If the hordes could devastate a forest, what could they have done to defenceless villagers?

On his estate there were several small holdings, which were social gathering points for the small farms that dotted this area. As Sirus and his men rode toward the nearest hamlet they could already see that nothing remained except burned out buildings. The ground before them was covered in a thick layer of snow and as they approached, it hid none of the depredation. The charred remains of villagers still lay upon the ground, some picked dry by the carrion birds, while others lay exposed and rotting where they had died. Sirus broke down, and anger drained into his senses. He screamed damnation on the soul of his Immortal brother for his atrocities on the innocent.

Sirus knew this vileness and hatred was aimed solely at him. He knew that none of this would have happened if he had not infiltrated the world of Romanie and made it a place to conduct his everyday life as a mortal.

Sirus still had no recollection of the persona of his life as Theron, but he knew how much he loved the life he had created for himself here, living and working amongst these people. One thing was apparent: Ommran wanted him dead. Sirus was sure of that one fact, and now realised that anyone who he loved, touched or cared about seemed to be a target for his brother's hatred and revenge. His world now lay annihilated about him, and he could not imagine what would drive another, mortal or immortal, to perpetrate such vileness on another – especially those who had contributed nothing to the situation.

He turned to see the distraught faces of his men as they looked at the grizzly sight around them.

'We ride to Delgrade. Renward, scout out to the west, take several troupers with you and look for anyone who might have survived. Jervoid, keep a dozen men with you, bury these poor souls then ride like the wind back to the others and make sure they do not follow. Take them along the eastern range – they must never see this. We will meet you there.' Sirus edged Neon into a gallop.

They rode toward Delgrade in a frenzy of emotion, yet nothing prepared Sirus for what he encountered. The valley leading into Delgrade had been a show garden, filled with exotic flowers, shrubs and trees. Each garden had been landscaped to depict a region of Romanie. The gardens were renowned for their maze of colour and blooms in the spring and summer. But what confronted Sirus and the others was a landscape torn and twisted, blackened and bare. Every tree, every shrub was wrenched from the soil and stripped bare of leaves and branches. Not one single twig was now left intact.

The shock registered on Sirus's face. He quickly drew in a large breath and nudged Neon into a full gallop. Neon felt a loss, like losing a friend; he had loved his walks through this garden.

'Come on Neon, let's ride like the wind. If this is a sample of what Ommran has subjected us to then I think Delgrade will be no more.' Sirus bent forward in the saddle and gave Neon full control.

His words could not have been more accurate. At the end of the valley, where Delgrade once stood, there was nothing but rubble. Stones, mortar and debris sat piled on the ground. It was as if something gigantic had dredged up the earth and smashed Delgrade into oblivion. Sirus raised his eyes to the fields beyond. There, crosses had been erected, like a vision from the depths of hell. Slowly he and Neon made their way to the crude wooden crucifixes. Hanging from them, and fastened with wire, were several of the house staff, their skulls protruding through their skin, their eyes sewn shut and their tongues extracted. Not even the birds had come to dine on their remains.

It was more than Sirus could bear. He slid off Neon's back and slumped to the ground, paralysed by his emotions. How could anyone do this? The others now rode up slowly behind him. Polymar sat frozen at the sight of the crucified men, women and children. Aramean hid his reaction, but inside he felt hatred for the first time. Several of the troops brought up their breakfast. Polymar jumped down from her horse and quickly went to Sirus's side.

'Theron.' It was the first time she had called him by his Immortal name. ' If your brother wants revenge then let's give it to him. Let's go and show these hordes the reason why they will never win.' Polymar whispered in his ear, as she placed an arm around his shoulder.

'We will seek revenge for these poor souls and the others. Let's go rejoin the troops and head for Eshtah.'

Sirus said nothing. He did not even flutter an eyelid at his Immortal name. Somehow it made sense that he should take on the persona of Theron, for it was for this very reason these atrocities had occurred.

Before leaving, he made sure each body was taken down and buried. Polymar and the soldiers gathered stones and concealed the remains.

Sirus finally spoke, his determination clear.

'If any of you now have any doubts about killing our enemy, be it men, women or children then you may stay here. For if you ride with me, we kill them all.' He turned, mounted Neon and rode off without looking back.

Polymar, Aramean and the men rode hard with Theron at their head to join the rest of the army. Renward finally caught up with them later that day, with a similar tale of violence and death – there had been no survivors. By the time Sirus and his troops caught up with Jervoid and the Rebion he could already see that word had spread. Mildred and the others had bitter tears running down their faces; mourning their loved ones and knowing their lives would never be the same.

Sirus rode with Mildred for some time, recounting his findings, but leaving out the more horrific details. Those people had been her family and friends. She said very little as the pain registered on her face.

When night came Sirus decided he would rest his troops. Within two days they would ride within sight of Eshtah and the army of Ommran and he wanted his men battle ready and fit. That meant plenty of good food and rest. He knew this battle would not be over until he had destroyed every last one of his enemy.

Then he would pursue his brother even if it meant finding a way to cross the galaxy to hunt him down.

# 43

# Romanie

# 'Thea's Final Journey'

'United at last, sweet Queen, your journey ends here, but not your quest.'

Talon and Thea re-crossed the chasm, leaving the world of the Great One far behind. Thea's mind poured over the mysteries of the world she had just left. Her previous travels through these corridors had meant nothing more to her than a series of tunnels and exits filled with unusual, strange and sometimes inexplicable creatures and worlds. Now Thea found herself reflecting on how such a place had been created and the mystery surrounding its creator, the Great One. Did the Gods build this pathway? And if so, for what purpose? She suddenly realised how small and insignificant she and other humans were in the overall scheme of things.

Talon looked weary, as if he carried a heavy burden. He trudged along without saying much and only answered questions with a grunt whenever Thea tried to make conversation. Thea finally gave up and concentrated on her own thoughts.

After a time Thea thought she heard a familiar sound.

'Talon, did you hear that? Listen carefully!' Thea cheered up as she paused and looked about her. Talon slowed long enough to listen to the sound. Both could now hear the distinctive hum, as Bea and her friends came into view along the passage.

Bea was as excited as Thea, and the light mites buzzed about, until Bea finally came to settle herself on Thea's shoulder. Talon didn't seem as happy to be reacquainted. Thea supposed that he was still deep in thought. She had no idea what could be troubling him so much.

Talon did have a lot on his mind. For he knew where Thea was bound and realised he could not control what was about to happen. What lay ahead was in the lap of the Gods and he knew he was merely a pawn in their game.

Bea's friends buzzed distractingly about their heads.

'Bea where have you been? I have been worried!'

Bea lifted off and buzzed about the wall in front of Thea. She was trying to explain her whereabouts, but the more she buzzed the less sense she made. Thea gave up trying to decipher her prattle. The one small piece of information she gathered from Bea's antics was that she had been keeping an eye on someone. Thea thought she had a good suspicion who that might be.

'Was it a black panther by any chance?' Thea enquired.

With that Bea became agitated.

'Sorry Bea, it is none of my business.'

Thea did not ask any further questions. The main thing was that Bea and her friends were safe.

The journey picked up in pace and spirit. Bea and her friends once again started to hum their happy tune and Thea could not help but join in the merriment. Talon, on the other hand, withdrew more and more into himself.

Their journey, like previous adventures, took them past many dark passages that were mostly silent and lifeless. On the odd occasion, Thea thought she heard far off noises, or she would catch a whiff of something unusual or foul, but it didn't bother her whilst she had Talon for protection.

Thea was never sure how long they wandered up one passage and down another; in this labyrinth time literally stood still. Was it hours, days or months? She was never quite sure. She remembered Talon saying that within these paths time did not exist. Thea already knew she must have gone way beyond her child's birth date. Her stomach was now fully swollen; yet the child remained still and at peace most of the time. It felt like a year or more since she left Asserian behind. The memories had faded, but the pain of those events was still raw.

She was wallowing in self-pity when Bea forced her to stop. She too appeared sad and suddenly Thea realised why. There was a hint of light way off in the distance – this journey was coming to an end. Thea knew she wouldn't see these friends for some time, maybe never. A sense of misgiving crept over her, as it did Bea and Talon. Bea buzzed in close and fluttered her tiny wings against Thea's cheek; it was her way of saying goodbye. Tears welled up in Thea's eyes as she placed a hand out for Bea, who came and settled in her palm. Thea kissed her lightly.

'I will never forget your kindness and love. Someday when my child is old enough we will return. Until then try not to forget me – and wish me well.' Thea once again kissed Bea before the mite took flight.

Bea wrote a message

'We are privileged to have been your light. We love you and the child. Remember Thea: all is not what it seems. We will meet again.'

Thea suddenly remembered the Great One had said the same words, 'not all is what it seems'. What lay behind those words?

She did not have time to dwell on it, as Talon beckoned her forward and into the world beyond. They both turned at the entrance and waved as Bea and her friends faded back into the tunnel.

They emerged together into the starkness of the depths of winter on a world Thea did not recognise. Thea shivered as she looked beyond the egg shaped rock and past distant hills. There stood a city, whose massive walls protected it from intruders. The walls looked bright in contrast to the dappled shade of the grey stormy clouds above. The walls glowed in the midday sun as it broke fitfully through the cloud cover.

'Where are we?'

'Welcome to the world of Romanie! Here you will find answers to the questions you seek, and this is where my next odyssey begins.' Talon's sadness seemed to increase as he stood with his back to Thea watching the landscape stretch out before him.

'Are you going to leave me?' Thea suddenly became afraid. She could not accept the idea of Talon not being part of her life.

'No, I will not leave you. But you will begin another journey, one that will take you home.' Talon's heart was heavy and his mind in turmoil.

That answer warmed her heart a little. She would love to go home, but not while the dark man and his cruel followers remained on Asserian.

For the first time Thea felt a mild irritation in her lower abdomen, a hardening. This child was not going to wait much longer.

She straightened up and braced herself for what lay ahead. Talon did not miss the reaction; time was short.

'Is this where Hura is?' Excitement returned to her voice.

'Yes, you will be reunited with Hura shortly.' Talon realised time was against him. Right now he would love to return to the safety of the Pathway, but knew it was now too late for that. The entry was concealed now.

Talon lifted Thea onto his back and took flight. He headed away from the city toward the northeast. Then without warning, he turned and headed west toward the Lahore Plains.

When Talon veered east Thea could see a mighty army below. She watched with interest as it marched rapidly in the direction of the city. Thea had felt Talon's anxiety as he too noticed the legion, yet he said nothing as he turned and headed west once again.

They flew toward the Belair Mountains and landed on a plateau just north of a small village. Talon placed Thea carefully down and told her to wait while he fetched Hura.

He flew to the base below the plateau and moments later reappeared with Hura, struggling to stay seated on his back. Talon gracefully put down his passenger.

It was an emotional reunion. The two women rushed to greet one another, tears of joy and sadness gushed forth from them both.

There was a barrage of questions as each woman tried to gain the attention of the other. Talon eventually had to step in and ask them both to continue the discussion later. He lifted both women to his back and again flew down into the valley landing safely.

'I must leave you here Thea, you will be safe with Hura.'

Thea looked at him with confusion. But she did understand: a bird of Talon's size was restricted to the places he could travel.

'Hura you must take Thea to the village; this child is ready to be born. When Thea's time comes to give birth, fetch me, I must know.' He looked at Thea, whose eyes pleaded with him to remain.

'Hura, promise?'

Thea had never seen Talon look so serious. Hura gave her word.

Talon spread his wings for flight.

'Are you not even going to say goodbye to me?' Thea could not believe he would depart without at least a goodbye. She could see he was not himself and had not been since they left the Great One's company, but she could not abide rudeness, especially since they had both been through so much.

Talon did not answer her. He flew wide and high back to the plateau above. Thea could not see the pain in either his heart or his countenance. He could not bring himself to say goodbye.

She stood watching Talon disappear over the summit. Why would he leave her without a goodbye? Surely he cared! She turned slowly to Hura, whose eyes were downcast. These two were up to something! Thea realised they both knew more than they were letting on.

'Hura you had better take me to shelter, I think my time is near. Strange that I should bring life into a world where I feel so alien!'

Hura took Thea by the arm and the two women strolled back along the frozen track heading toward the village; it was the same village Thea had seen from the top of the range.

'Hura, I am so very glad you are here. My journey has been different, to say the least, but then you too probably have experienced something similar.'

Hura did not know exactly what Thea spoke of. Her traverse had been short – in one end of a passageway and out the other. It wasn't until she arrived here that Hura had realised she was no longer in the world of Asserian but in an alien world, far from those she loved and the familiarity that went with being at home.

'I'm glad also.' Hura did not wish to discuss her fate any further. She now lived in a world where she was treated with respect and tolerated for her knowledge on herbs and medicines. Nonetheless, this was not her home; she had only been waiting on Thea to arrive.

The village they approached was known as Everstarn. It was one of several settlements run by the Rebye herdsmen. Here Hura had made friends and had been welcomed and given lodging in exchange for her knowledge.

As the two women wandered along Hura explained the lives of these nomadic herders. The Rebye were herdsmen, they farmed the cattle, deer and elk that roamed freely across the Rebye Plains. The Belair Mountains divided their land from the southern and western areas of Romanie. The mountains ran to the northern borders and ended at the Sea of Ferocity.

The Rebye followed the herds. Settlements like Everstarn were built to house the elderly, the women and children. The herdsmen housed themselves here during the harsh winter months. During the months of winter cattle were kept in large thatched huts within the village and fed with food from the lush pastures that had been cut and stored by the women during the warm summers.

As Thea and Hura approached, several women and men stood waiting in front of the village gates.

'As you can see, the Rebye have been expecting you.'

'How? Did you tell them?'

'No. Your coming was foretold by their mage.'

Thea settled a look of wonder on Hura.

The village elder, whose name was Nadic, was the first to greet Thea. He bowed low and then humbled himself before her by kneeling on the ground at her feet. The withered old man with decaying yellow teeth and pitch black eyes looked up into her face as he spoke.

'Welcome to our humble village. We have been expecting you. We are grateful you have graced us with your presence.'

Thea looked at Hura, more than just a little confused by their graciousness. Maybe Hura had explained she was a Queen. Whatever the reason, she was grateful that they seemed to welcome her with open arms.

'Thank you,' were the only words Thea could manage as a reply.

Hura went on to introduce her to the others. There was Levarne, Nadic's wife, and the village Chieftain, and Potania, Mage of the village. Hura mentioned later that Potania scried the embers of the dreamtime, which was infused with the powers of the Craft. Potania was also the village midwife. Thea knew this woman would come in handy soon enough for all her skills.

Hura introduced several other village elders and as each one was introduced they all bowed low. Once the formalities were over, Levarne beckoned Hura and Thea into the compound. Thea turned to see Nadic and his wife scurrying off, obviously the rest of the village was about to learn of her arrival.

Hura and Potania escorted Thea to her lodgings. The thickly thatched cottage was crude but comfortable and Thea thought it wonderful to finally be somewhere that felt a little like home. She suddenly felt very tired. Hura had made up a soft bed near the fire and on the stove bubbled a hearty broth of beef and vegetables. Nothing had smelled so good to Thea in ages. This was not the fortress of Ammon, but it felt like home. Just having Hura with her made all the difference.

She settled down before the fire as Hura handed her a bowl of stew. Potania watched the actions of the two women, but mostly she focused on Thea.

Hura had not asked one question regarding Thea's whereabouts these past months and Thea thought that strange – but then strangeness had become part of life for her now. She finished off two bowls of stew then Hura helped her undress and settled her down for the night. Things for the moment were almost normal.

Thea slept well and rose to the brightness of the sun as it filtered down from a hole in the roof – a hole created for smoke to escape from the fireplace.

She looked for Hura, but she was nowhere to be seen. She called several times, but received no answer. She decided to venture outside. The crisp morning air welcomed her and she again realised she was in a foreign place well away from Asserian. After basking in the fresh air, she ventured back inside and gathered up a large heavy shawl and threw it around her shoulders. Then she went back outside. It was then she noticed the small gifts stacked neatly near the front door. She assumed these were for her child. There were hand-painted dolls, roughly woven quilts and blankets and some baby clothes, lovingly embroidered. Thea picked them up and fondled them, touched at the generosity from people she did not even know.

She placed the items inside the cottage.

When she re-emerged she saw Hura gathered with Nadic, Levarne and several others, all deep in conversation. Thea strolled over to say good morning and to say thank you for the gifts. As she approached she could not help but overhear their conversation.

'I told you evil had spread over this land. My sorcery tells me Sirus is moving his forces in from the north, and not too soon either. The evil gathers itself outside Eshtah. What do we do?' It was Potania speaking.

'We can wait it out here, in the security of our lands. Lord Sirus has a mighty army and the Gods will bless him, he will prevail.' Levarne offered in a nervous voice.

'We could go and help them. If Eshtah falls then the enemy will not stop there, they will move toward our lands. Our numbers are great, but our skills as warriors are few. It should be a full council decision.' Nadic's voice was perceptive, his leadership displayed in the deep baritone intonation. He seemed to stand much taller than he had the previous evening.

'Good morning.' All heads turned. 'Is this land at war? I could not help but overhear your conversation.' Thea saw the trepidation in the faces before her and wondered if the army she had seen had been the army they spoke about?

Hura moved quickly forward.

'Please do not trouble yourself Thea, there is nothing for you to worry about.' Hura tried to convey a sense of calm, but it did not work.

Thea knew the situation was not going to be all right; maybe it was the look of concern on the faces before her, but mostly it was her unmistakable feeling of uncertainty. Some tragedy was unfolding and it involved her. She felt her child squirm about, like a worm trying to escape through a hole in the ground.

'I need to know! If it concerns this land, it concerns me.' She looked to Potania, who stood watching her. Her eyes showed a vein of knowledge, something akin to the powers she knew so well. Thea's thoughts suddenly plunged backward in time to the vision she had of Ammon and its total destruction. She felt that somehow Ammon and Eshtah were kindred cities and what had befallen one was about to befall the other. Nadic and the others could see the distress sweep across her features.

'I think Thea should know. I warned you of her coming, do you think that was coincidence? Tell her the truth.' Potania defied them to ignore her.

Nadic finally agreed and relayed the news. The Rebye did not know the whole truth, but Potania had seen the plight of the people of the north in the magic mists of the cauldron as it unfolded before her eyes. She had warned her people of the evil abroad. She saw the destruction of Delgrade and the face of evil as it tore out the hearts of its people.

'I have seen it all in the embers of the dreamtime. Only one person can save this land and defeat this enemy.' Potania looked to Thea as she said the words.

'Who might that be?' Thea asked, daring Potania to answer.

Potania hid the truth; time alone would unravel the mystery. For now her answer would suffice. 'Sirus, Prince of Eshtah.' At the mention of the name Thea felt the baby move violently within her. She doubled over with the pain.

Hura reached to comfort her, but Thea gently pushed her away. The similarities of this situation and that of Ammon and Asserian were too similar to be mere chance.

'Take me to the cauldron, I wish to see the embers of the dreamtime.' Thea asked, not as a request but as an order. Potania took her arm and escorted her to her home.

Potania had never been asked by anyone to view the magic of the cauldron. The embers of the dreamtime were a manifestation that rose for a chosen few. The bubbling steaming vapours never needed replenishing and the mist that formed at its core disclosed both past and present to the initiate. If anyone beside herself was worthy of its gift then it was this woman. Hura, Nadic and several of the villagers followed close behind.

Potania lived beyond the walls of Everstarn in a cave, which stood beneath the plateau to which Talon had flown. As they entered the cave Thea could see it had been well loved. There were tapestries of ancient symbols hanging on the smooth interior walls. Large baskets, woven from flax hung about the ceiling and all manner of potions and paraphernalia stood on the shelves, which lined the walls. The cave was warm, and pungent incense wafted through the air. It reminded Thea of the temple on Asserian, but appeared far less grand or formal.

The cauldron dominated the room. Beneath its rustic body sat four bulbous sturdy legs. A red-hot fire glowed underneath it. The heat generated could be felt across the room, yet this fire required no fuel to keep it burning. This was yet another testament to the powers of the Craft. A fine mist rose above the cauldron yet it did not disperse; it simply hovered. Thea approached the cauldron with Potania close by her side. The villagers remained outside.

'The mists of the dreamtime work only when I recant the spell.' Potania remarked as she held out her hands. Thea gently held her back.

'The mists will work for me without the spell.' Thea knew the mists. She had summoned them many times, maybe in another world, but it was the same magic power she knew so well.

Thea stood at the side of the cauldron. She extended her hands and turned her palms upward above the mist and closed her eyes. She spread her hands, then reopened her eyes and looked into the depths of the vapours.

Thea could see the walls of a mighty city and she knew it was Eshtah. On one of the walls stood a man, his face clearly hinting at the urgency of his situation. Thea knew he was a kind man, it showed in his gestures to those standing around him. She also knew he was a king. She watched and saw his gaze as it drifted off to the far horizon, as if he waited on something or someone to come. Thea assumed he waited, hoping that Sirus, Prince of Eshtah, would arrive in time to save his people. The vision then changed in an instant. She now saw a mighty army moving fast, heading for the city. It was the same army she spotted from Talon's back. Thea's vision moved in to focus on the man riding at its head. The man rode a magnificent black stallion and was dressed in battle garments; she could not make out his face, but could tell he was powerfully built and proud. It showed in his stance and the way he held his head high, it reminded her of the first time she had spotted the dark man aboard his ship.

Her vision once again took her back to the city and she saw the great onslaught of the enemy, which stood below the walls battering the ground around its perimeters. Thea could make out the thousands of men, women and children. The distortion on their faces and the way their bodies were twisted and misshapen told Thea that these poor souls were in turmoil. Nothing but sheer evil could produce such results. Could the power of the Goddess undo what this evil had done? Thea doubted it. These creatures were dancing before great roaring fires; she could bear to look no more.

Once more the vision took her back to the army of men making their way toward the city. She concentrated again on the man riding the black horse. His face no longer concealed. Panic reached up and pulled her back in time – first to Asserian and the face of the dark man then to Nepthany and the face in the tapestry. This man had the same facial features. How could that be? The image before her eyes blurred as a blinding pain tore at the base of her pelvis. The final thing she heard was the sound of her own scream before darkness consumed her.

# 44

# Romanie

# 'Ommran's Hordes'

'The evil that lies in the heart of man is forged by the perception of his mind.'

Sirus and his troops had gathered on a ridge in the eastern foothills beyond the city. They watched as black smoke thickened in the skies from the direction of Eshtah. Sirus wondered if they were already too late. He ordered a scouting party ahead and waited impatiently for their return. They were back within the hour and explained that the smoke was coming from the camp of the hordes. Apparently the enemy were burning every tree and shrub within miles of the city. The scouts also informed Sirus that the horde numbers were far in excess of their original estimation.

As the sun set, Sirus set up camp on the far side of the foothills, away from prying eyes. The site also alleviated the need to drag Mildred and the other survivors from Delgrade into the heart of the battle. They erected shelters with the meagre materials they had: rough hides brought by the Rebion and a few goatskin tents supplied by the people of Bannum. No fires could be lit.

The camp would serve as a field hospital for the wounded. They only had one physician amongst them plus Mildred, and both would remain in camp to tend to the needs of the wounded, the others from Bannum would act as stretcher-bearers. Sirus hoped there would be no need for them, but he feared casualties were inevitable.

Both men and beasts were rested and prepared for what lay ahead. He called his commanders, including Polymar and Aramean to one side.

'Jervoid, Aramean and I will ride up ahead and assess what confronts us. The rest of you ready the men. Make sure they eat a hearty meal, even if it is nothing more than cold fare – and make sure they get some rest. This night could be long.' Sirus himself had not slept at all since leaving the carnage at Delgrade. His anger had not decreased, neither had his resolve.

I'Eda sat alone under a tree some distance from the others. Her heart was weary and she knew the time was almost upon her to say a final goodbye. If Sirus's forces failed then her fate and those of the Furie were set. If he succeeded then his pledge would be called in, either way I'Eda knew she had lost. Yet Theron still had no idea how much she loved him. Would she get one more chance to show him? She hoped so.

Her mind now concentrated on her earlier observation. She had seen the giant eagle as it sawed high above the army. What is the bird up to this time, she wondered. She remembered all to vividly her last encounter with the mighty bird, seemingly many years ago – indeed the last time she had seen him was when he had come to her rescue and carried her to the safety of the palace of King Emid. I'Eda did not know where the bird had come from or who had sent him to her aid. She only knew he had bore her no malice. On that occasion, she had been in peril of her life as she battled a dark and evil force, her foe at the time impervious to her ancient powers. She had used the power of the Craft to fight magic with magic, only to find her adversary far more potent and cunning than herself. It was during this battle, as Jadeen, that she realised that a dark and malevolent force was present in the universe – a force previously unknown. The darker force had overpowered her and she knew her Immortal soul was in jeopardy. At the time she wielded the only power she had left and dematerialised, hiding herself as a mortal infant so that she might confuse and elude her opponent. In those precious moments the eagle appeared and rescued her, and to this day she did not know who or what had sent him.

Neon stood waiting for Theron and the battle that would be a turning point in his life. He too had seen Talon fly overhead and knew that both their current tasks were almost complete. New journeys awaited them and he knew the next task would be far more challenging than anything they had ever undertaken before.

Sirus, Jervoid and Aramean crawled to the top of the hill overlooking the city. From their vantage point, they could make out the hordes' camp in the distance. The scouts were right, not a tree or shrub was left untouched. The hordes danced around large bonfires, which burned brightly against the darkening skies. Sirus could see the malevolent beings were totally consumed with hatred as they danced and gyrated to the point of exhaustion.

'We should strike while they're down and before they gain strength and wake from their stupor.' Jervoid's words showed the contempt he felt.

'No, my friend, we will strike well before then. You're right they must not have any time to rest. We need to catch them when they are too incapacitated to move.' Sirus sounded like a man possessed.

Sirus had conjured up in his mind an image of what the hordes would be like, but the actual sight was far more bizarre. Sirus and the others watched the deplorable display of bodies writhing before the fires; it was almost hypnotic. Many of the enemy were naked. Some stood swathed in rags, too bedraggled to be recognisable. They were caked in dirt and filth and it was difficult from this distance to even determine their gender. The children were easily distinguishable, as they gyrated helplessly amongst the larger adults, albeit with intent. Some adults were using the children as playthings. Those not milling before the fire were fornicating in full view of the others, but no one seemed offended by the abhorrent display. It was too much for Aramean and he pleaded with Sirus to leave.

'No. You need to know your enemy. You thought these souls worth saving! What do you say now? I say "No!" These people are nothing but shells of what they once were and puppets for Ommran. Destroy them and you take away his power. We can spare none. Do you hear me loud and clear?' His eyes never left the nauseating scene, as he whispered the words. Neither Jervoid nor Aramean were about to disagree.

From Sirus's vantage point he could make out the heads of soldiers and civilians who stood looking over the top of the walls of the city. Everyone within the city seemed intent as they concentrated on the spectacle and even from this distance Sirus and the others could smell their fear – who could blame them? Sirus spotted King Emid; he could identify him by his stooped shoulders and dignified stance – his King was in despair. This evil was taking its toll on everyone. From the city, the carnage must have appeared as a graphic illustration of their fate should the hordes gain entry into Eshtah. Sirus and the others silently slid back down the hill and rode at full speed back to camp.

By midnight the battle could wait no longer. The hordes were so engrossed in their horrific activities that they had not posted sentries and did not seem to notice the opposing force as Sirus and his army edged its way toward them.

Sirus knew it was still many hours until dawn, so his men had blackened their faces with dried embers of old coals and kept low to the ground as they approached. The main force on horseback held still until Sirus gave the signal to attack. Sirus's forces were seasoned soldiers and the anticipation of a fight rippled like a high fever through the ranks as they plied their way toward the enemy.

It was easy to overcome the few strays on the outer perimeter of the enemy forces. A quick slice with a knife to their throats silenced them instantly and was swift to kill. One by one the hordes were silenced, their lives extinguished and their suffering obliterated. Even for Aramean it seemed a mercy to alleviate their misery so quickly.

Aramean took to the ridge making his way above the enemy camp; slithering like a snake over the ground. He had to place himself in a position to be able to use the power in the ruby ring when necessary. Suddenly a small child bobbed his head up from behind a dirt barricade directly in front of him; its face distorted with the evil that had invaded its mind. The child looked quizzically at Aramean who hesitated too long, the child let out a piercing call, which aroused the multitude of hordes. Aramean silenced the child with one quick hand around its neck – crack – its piercing cry suppressed for good.

But it was too late. The hordes seemed to rise from the ground, their stupor forgotten in the impatience to battle with an enemy they had sworn to destroy. They somehow sensed Theron was within reach. Their bodies seemed to strengthen and gain power with that thought alone.

Inside the city, the blast of a horn sounded; the soldiers on the walls aware that the hordes were under attack. It was horde against soldier, as Sirus and his men hacked away, cutting down everything that stood in their path. Sirus could hear the great gates of the city open. Even with the Rebions, as well as the soldiers and civilians from the city, the odds of overcoming this foe were slight. They were outnumbered by at least three to one. I'Eda fired her golden arrow. Her aim was perfect as she pinned first one then another. The arrow returned to her grasp after each release. But the hordes just kept on coming.

Aramean realised that if he did not use the power at his disposal now then Ommran and his hordes would win this battle and the war. He felt the ring as it throbbed on his finger and knew its power.

He ran, knowing he had only minutes before it would be too late. He could already see many men had fallen to the axes and hammers of the enemy. He saw one of the Rebion take an axe in the side of his head, his piercing scream assaulting Aramean's eardrums: the sight spurring him on. He ran faster, gathering his robe above his knees and just managed to sideswipe a horde's spear as it bit the dirt beside him. He ran to the peak of the nearest hill. He spread forth his left hand and focused on the ring, allowing it to take over his mind, just moments before a foe's hammer came down upon his head.

The world of Romanie froze. The ring held Ilisinic Magic, the magic of time. Everything before Aramean stopped; it was deathly quiet and still. He looked behind him and stared into the face of the horde at his back. It seemed strange to look into such a vile creature's face and realise that it saw none of what he saw. Aramean took the hammer from its grasp and bludgeoned it to death – he had no choice. He walked back down the hill. The scene in front of him was one of horror and carnage frozen in time. This was his opportunity to turn the tide of battle, and there was nothing the hordes could do to stop him. Aramean came upon Jervoid. The man was about to be beheaded by three creatures – two had Jervoid pinned down and another was about to take off his head. Aramean quickly took the sword from the hands of the assailant and beheaded the vile creature. Next he stabbed the two men holding Jervoid, before disposing of the sword in the dust at his feet, the metal melting as if it had been placed in a furnace. He walked on, confiscating the instruments of war from the enemy. He rescued many from death as he walked the valley floor.

He found Polymar. A group of male savages had managed to pin her down and were about to violate her. Aramean pulled the man away who squatted on top of her and cut off his privates before slitting his throat. He tied up the rest, and rearranged Polymar's clothing before placing her sword back in her hand. She could have the pleasure of disposing of the others.

It took Aramean many hours to rearrange the battle. Now there were no hordes with weapons. Many had lost their lives thanks to Aramean. The battle was very much now in Sirus's favour.

Aramean was making his way back to the hill to resume time, when he spotted Sirus. He ran to his side, but he was too late. Sirus lay with a sword puncturing his side. A large warrior stood over him about to apply the fatal blow. Aramean snatched the assailant's large knife and opened the man's throat. He then pulled Sirus to safety away behind the hill and out of sight.

Aramean was exhausted as he made his way up the embankment, he was covered in blood and perspiration. Once again he extended his hand and let the magical power take over his mind once more. Time resumed and the battle recommenced where it had left off, except the hordes now had no weapons. The battle had turned and within hours would be won by the Romanie soldiers, the Rebion and the brave who fought to keep their freedom.

Aramean rushed back to Sirus. The army of soldiers and Rebion were more than capable now of finishing this battle without him. He knelt down beside the Immortal; surely it was not possible for this man to die; yet here he lay in the throws of death? Had the Furie called in the man's pledge? Aramean knew there was nothing he could do for him here. Even his skills with the Craft could not undermine the law of the Gods. Aramean ran back to fetch Neon. Neon's heart sank. He felt the sword buried deep in Sirus's flesh, just as if he had taken the blow himself. Aramean used the Craft's powers to levitate Sirus's body onto Neon's back and they made their way slowly back to camp.

The battle was now back in full swing. Polymar could not believe her luck. Her memory must have failed her. She seemed to remember being overcome by several grotesque figures and had been about to bite off the tongue of the ugly fat slob lobbed on top of her. But now he lay dead and she finished off the others with a lunge through their hearts. It had been easy – they had no weapons and somehow their hands were tied.

Something amazing had occurred to turn this battle around.

Polymar looked about her; all the soldiers, including the Rebion, were now in full control and the hordes were weaponless. This fact seemed to exhaust their strength as the enemy turned and started to retreat. Polymar could have stopped to ask why, but she didn't. There was a battle to win and a foe to kill. It took only a short time to destroy those who remained. Somehow it seemed wrong to kill those who had no means of defence. Still, it was no use allowing them to live. The hordes of Ommran had no sense of what they once were, and no mind with which to regain control of their lives. It was a mercy and a blessing to kill them – and set them free.

I'Eda sat on top of a hill overlooking the carnage of the battle. She watched as the last remnant of the dark and evil force was destroyed. She was covered in perspiration and bloody splotches smudged her garments. Her hair hung loose and was caked in dirt. She clung to the golden bow, its arrow now back in its sheath. She hoped all this had not been in vain. She had known instantaneously that an ancient power had worked its wonders here today. Ilisinic Magic, yet no one had used the energy for thousands of years. She didn't think anyone knew how to anymore. It was the one power of the Craft she had never been able to master. She wondered who could have known its origins and mastered it so well.

She realised suddenly that the battle to overcome the darkness that was consuming them all was far more involved than she, or the other Furie, had believed. She placed her shawl once again around her head and shoulders, as she recalled a time, long, long ago, when the Furie had been seven beings, not three, a time when Rowanise and the other Furie had vanished. Ilisinic Magic had vanished along with them. I'Eda made her way down the hill and along the gully, consumed with the thought that much more was playing out here on Romanie than she realised.

On the battlefield, the only ones left standing were Sirus's soldiers, Kwinend and his men, the King's Royal Cavalry and those who had come to lend a hand from the city. The wounded were now being gathered up and taken into a secure compound within the city walls. The dead would have songs of victory sung as they journeyed to Valhalla.

The whole city sang out their praise from the parapets as King Emid rode out of the city and headed for the large group of soldiers gathered around a pile of enemy remains.

'Renward, Jervoid,' the King shouted as he jumped from his horse. The men bowed.

'It's good to see you both again alive and well. I don't know how you managed this wonder, but it is a miracle. I have only ever seen such fighting when Sirus is about. By the way, where is he?' Both the King and the others looked around, seeking the man.

The King along with Renward and Jervoid rode around the perimeter of the battlefield enquiring after Sirus, but no one had seen him since the battle had begun. They caught up with Polymar and Kwinend, who were busy tending to the wounded Rebion warriors.

'Polymar have you seen Sirus?' Renward sounded anxious.

Polymar bowed to her King and replied that she had not seen him since the change in the battle took place. Polymar grabbed a horse and followed the others to the makeshift camp beyond the eastern foothills.

Sirus had regained consciousness. His blood loss had been severe, and now a poisonous infection had begun to spread through the wound on his side. King Emid rode into camp to find the news bad; he made his way to the tent that housed Sirus. As he entered the makeshift dwelling he could see the pallor on his friend's face. He knelt down beside the bedding. Surely this man could not die; he had lived through far worse than this.

'You have done a mighty thing this day.' His words tried to mask the desperation he felt. He had seen death before, and he could see it clearly now in Sirus's features. He smiled. 'Without your intervention these cursed hordes would have overthrown Eshtah. We need you fit and well my son.' Sirus looked up into the eyes of the king, a man he loved like a father. Sirus knew he could not guarantee a return to health; he had heralded his own death. And he had given liberty to the Furie to take his life. Immortal or not, he knew he was not long for this world. He had offered his life willingly and now he was prepared to let this life go.

Whilst he lay in an unconscious state he thought he had found himself standing before a statue of the Goddess. The statue had been so lifelike and yet when he reached out to touch the apparition its texture was nothing but cold, hard stone. Sirus had thought it nothing but an illusion, until the apparition had spoken to him. What she had relayed had left him in no doubt as to what needed to be done to ward off Ommran. Sirus knew he had no choice. The Furie had asked him the same thing. His life was little payment in return for keeping Ommran from taking over Romanie.

Polymar had been standing at the back of the tent; slowly she moved forward to stand by Sirus. She also recognised death. With her newfound powers, she could see Sirus's life force ebbing low. Confusion crossed her mind. This man was a God; surely he could not die? She remembered the question the Furie had asked him at the council and his answer. She thought of I'Eda. Jadeen would know what to do; she quickly left Sirus's side and ran to find her friend.

I'Eda was slowly making her way back toward Sirus's camp, she knew long before Polymar appeared what news she carried.

In exhausted tones Polymar spoke, 'I'Eda, Sirus is dying. Please, can't the Furie do something? I know he willingly forfeited his life, but surely you can save him?' Polymar was beside herself with grief and was unwilling to accept that this was Theron's end. He was Immortal, surely that meant he lived forever?

'Polymar, what must be, must be. As you say, he volunteered his life. If he dies then he does so willingly. I cannot change that. It is his life to do with as he wishes. But I must talk with him. Quickly, we have little time.' I'Eda grabbed Polymar by the arm and literally pulled her back to camp.

I'Eda eased her way into the makeshift tent where Sirus lay. She shoved gently past Renward and Jervoid, both of whom were startled by the lad's audacity but neither tried to stop the boy. As I'Eda approached the bed, she threw back the woollen shawl from her head. Her hair fell to her shoulders. The men gasped loudly, having never suspected the truth. King Emid turned; he too could not believe what he saw. He was torn between joy at seeing I'Eda alive and grief for the prince who was to succeed him to the throne.

'I'Eda, where have you been?' The King gathered her in his arms; he loved her, he could not deny it. 'We had given up hope of finding you alive. It's been months since you disappeared. We thought that this evil, which has swept our land had taken you.' I'Eda smiled back at her King as he held her at arm's length to gain a better look. I'Eda held his hand and gave it a squeeze. In her own way she loved him too. He had been nothing but good and kind to her during her life on Romanie.

On hearing I'Eda's name, Sirus opened his eyes to see the dirty dishevelled figure of an unlikely soldier. He watched the figure turn. He couldn't believe what he saw – I'Eda. He realised then that it was the same young man he had caught glimpses of around the camp for the last ten months, the one Polymar kept hidden. He smiled. Fancy that, she had been near me all this time, no wonder I felt at times that she was close. He had to laugh – the joke was on him.

The others in the room left – it was clearly time for these two to be left alone.

# 45

# Romanie

# 'Death and Retribution'

'Death is but one door closing and another opening.'

Hura and Levarne lay Thea on her bed and made her comfortable. Comfort was all they could provide for her right now. Hura knew the child would be born tonight and she also knew it would be a new beginning for her. She was not sure, however, that she was prepared for this new role.

Potania arrived with hot water in preparation for the birth and incense to freshen the air. Hura administered a poultice of herbs to Thea's forehead, hoping it would bring her out of her unconscious state.

Hura excused herself from the room, knowing she had to contact Talon. She hated leaving Thea at this crucial time, but Talon seemed so anxious to know.

She and Talon had arranged a signal for themselves when he first brought her here and this was only the second time she had used it. She raced hard toward the plateau beyond the village. A small piece of glass was to create the signal and it amazed Hura that the sun seemed to come out just when she needed it.

Talon landed nearby. Hura scurried over and quickly relayed the events of the day. She did not know if telling Talon about the cauldron and the power it held would help him, but she told him regardless. Talon's interest was piqued at the knowledge, but he knew it made no difference to the outcome. This day would bring much heartache to many. Especially him.

'I cannot be there when the child is born! Somehow I do not think the villagers would appreciate my presence anyway. I have to rely upon you to do one last thing for me. When the child is born, take the amulet that hangs around Thea's neck and place it about the child's neck. The chain, as you will see, has no clasp but it will fall away from Thea's neck the moment the child is born. Take it and place it around the child's neck and whisper 'Ilisimore'. Then the chain will become whole once again. Let me know once you have completed the task. Do you understand?' Talon made Hura repeat his instructions and memorise the magical word that would seal the chain.

'I will do as you ask.' Hura was unsure why all this was necessary. The chain belonged to the child anyway – it was always passed from mother to daughter.

Hura hurried back. She found herself wondering why Thea would not be able place the chain about the child's neck herself.

Talon stood watching Hura hurry back along the path to the village. He had dreaded this day. He had come to love Thea – she was poised and gracious and full of life. Talon hoped he would someday see Asserian's Queen and High Priestess returned to them, he would make sure of it.

Hura arrived at the cottage just as Thea regained consciousness and another contraction soared to its heights. Thea broke out in perspiration and cried with the pain. Hura could see this child was not going to make its entry easily, nor was it going to spare its mother's suffering. Hura rushed to Thea's side as Potania spread Thea's legs wide to see the progress of the birth. . The cervix had only partially dilated, it was going to be a long day and night ahead.

•

Sirus waited impatiently, as perspiration bubbled across his brow. He waited until everyone, including King Emid, had left the tent before he spoke to I'Eda

'Why? Why did you not let me know who you were? I wouldn't have been angry!' Sirus was grappling with the pain of the spreading infection.

'I could not take the chance of you sending me back. I had to stay close to you. I had a task to do!' She could see his suffering, but in her present form she could do nothing to alleviate it. It broke her heart to watch him suffer; she loved him more than ever.

'A task! What task?'

Sirus looked into I'Eda's eyes and for the first time he noticed something familiar; it shocked him. He suddenly realised why Jadeen had seemed so familiar, so beguiling.

'By the Gods, you are a Furie? You're Jadeen!' Incredible as it seemed, Sirus realised that a traitor had beguiled him. 'Why! Why the disguise? Why the deceit? Why inhabit the court of King Emid? What really brought you to Romanie in the first place, I'Eda, or should I say Jadeen? Have you known about all of this since the beginning?' Sirus felt the anger mounting and even in his weakened state he heard the disgust in his voice.

'It is not what you think! Do not hate me, Theron. My only reason for coming here was because of my love for you. I love you; I have always loved you. I just wanted you to love me in return. I needed you to know I existed.' Tears flowed from her eyes and dropped gently onto his chest. Sirus could see they were genuine. He pulled her in close. For the first time he realised that he loved her as he had loved no other. It was not lust or a momentary pursuit; this was a love that would always be. He pulled her to his side.

'Make love to me Theron! Make love to me, as you never have before. Give me your seed and I will nurture it.' I'Eda saw hope for the first time in Sirus's eyes. He knew what she was asking and he knew then that this woman truly loved him.

•

Thea could barely make out those now surrounding her, the air had become thick and she was disorientated. Pain blurred her vision. She noted darkness had descended. Smoke from the fire and the herbs filled the room, yet she knew Hura and Potania were watching over her. The Rebye mage sat near her feet incanting a spell to ward off evil; the woman feared that it might infiltrate the child on its passage into the world. Thea knew her incantation would be of no use; evil had been present at conception. Hura sat holding her hand and dabbing the perspiration from her forehead with tender strokes. It felt surreal. Thea could make out Levarne near the door, chanting soft melodies. The sound soothed the pounding of her heart.

Thea suddenly felt her body once again rip open with the onslaught of another contraction. How long would this misery last? She hoped the child would choose to exit her womb soon. She gave a loud cry and felt the warmth of blood as it trickled between her thighs.

She was living a nightmare or was it just a dream? As she looked about her, she thought for a brief moment she was being lifted from her bed toward a figure of the Goddess. Thea found herself standing at the Goddess's feet, a sweet smile and gentle face looked down at her; it was the face of Azrah. As Thea stood there, the Goddess spoke, her voice soft and compassionate. Thea knew then that she was dying. The Goddess reached down and took her hand; the touch smooth and warm. The Goddess whispered two words to Thea: 'Thank you.' In the next instant Thea was again in the throws of a contraction and back in the cottage in Everstarn.

Thea looked over at Hura, reaching to take the woman's hands in hers. Hura's hand was warm against her cold flesh.

'Hura take care of my daughter. Look after her as if she were your own. Make sure she grows strong and that she encapsulates all the facets of womanhood. Someday you must find a way of taking her home. Talon will guide you. Please tell her I love her, no matter how she was conceived. I love her with all my heart. Let her know she is my daughter, not her father's offspring.' Thea's words became barely audible as her body began to fail.

Hura realised Thea was losing her battle with life. She bent low to hold her close. She had loved this girl, from baby to womanhood – and she would love the child no less.

'I will love her as I have loved you; she will be safe with me.' Hura could not believe Thea had come through so much trouble and heartache to lose her life. She had been warned, but now that it was reality it just didn't seem fair.

'I will take her home someday.' It was all the hope she could give.

Thea clasped Hura's hand tighter. 'Name her Ore'arn; it means 'daughter of hope'. Do not let her forget what her father has done to our people or to me.'

Hura watched tears run down both of their cheeks; she would honour Thea and raise Ore'arn to fill her predestined role. Someday Hura would take Ore'arn back to Asserian where she would take her place as Queen and High Priestess.

Thea mustered just enough strength to let out one final cry as she forced her daughter into the unwelcoming world of Romanie. Thea's lifeless body then slumped back against the bed, her face now serene and at peace in death.

Hura was overcome with grief as she cradled Thea's lifeless body in her arms; tears rolled uncontrollably down her cheeks, Her wail of mourning pierced the calm of the room. Thea was the daughter she never had.

Potania held the baby close; its first cry broke the sadness pervading the room. Levarne walked out on silent feet to inform the villagers of the death of a Queen.

Hura remembered Talon's instructions. She released her grip on Thea and laid the body back against the bedding. She lifted Thea's bodice to find the ruby stone about her neck, the chain drooped to one side, free of its host.

She took the chain with the ruby attached and warmth flooded the palm of her hand. Quickly she snatched the object and took it to where Potania was wiping down the wee tiny girl.

'Please hand me the child.' She held up the orb. 'This belonged to her mother and it now belongs to her.'

Hura took the child into her arms; she looked into the face of the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. She was her mother's daughter – the only difference was that the child had thick, dark, curly ringlets about her crown. Hura lay the child next to her mother's still form then carefully placed the chain about its tiny neck; as she did so the chain shrunk in size to fit. Hura spoke the word 'Ilisimore', and the chain closed together as though it had always been there: solid with no clasp.

Hura gently handed the baby back to Potania; the tiny body wriggled and squirmed. The child let out a faint cry as Potania cleared the remainder of mucus from its nostrils. The baby was strong and healthy. Potania washed the baby, wrapped her in a soft thick blanket and handed her back to Hura. The child was now wide-eyed and aware.

'I'm so sorry about Thea. There was nothing I could do. The blood loss was severe. I have never seen such a birth.' Potania looked toward the bed that was stained bright red with blood. Thea's body was growing cold against the sheeting.

Hura could not bear to look any more. As she held Ore'arn close, the baby snuggled into her chest as if she knew exactly who she was and why she was there. The little girl made Hura remember a time long ago when she held another; she looked back toward the lifeless body of the infant's mother. Thea looked so peaceful. Maybe in death she had found what she had never found in life. Peace.

It seemed unfair that this tiny infant could not appreciate that only metres away lay the body of her mother, Queen and High Priestess of Asserian. Hura looked back at the child that was now her Queen. She would make sure she learned the ways of the priestess. She would honour her pledge to Thea.

•

I'Eda washed Theron's body, making sure she avoided the wound on his side. She removed her clothes then washed her body making sure to remove the dirt and grime from her hair. She rubbed Sirus's body with oil – no ordinary oil – but oil of the Furie; its pungent smell masked the pain Theron was feeling. Then they lay together, needing each other, wanting no other.

Sirus seemed to gain extra strength. Maybe this is what love does, he thought. He brought Jadeen in closer and felt her firmly; he mounded his hands around her bottom and then he moved his hand over her thighs. She was perfect: her breasts, her svelte smooth skin, her warmth and her smell attracted him like no other had before. She could have been comely, he thought and he knew he would love her just as much as he did now.

'Do you give yourself to me willingly?' It seemed an absurd question to ask, but Theron nodded his head. 'Say the words.'

'I give myself to you willingly,' he answered, his breath laboured.

'Do you love me with all your heart and are you no longer encumbered to any other?' He nodded, and it was true he wanted and loved no one else. Azrah never even entered his thoughts. 'Are you fully aware of what that means?' Jadeen worked her magic on his body as he nodded his head in reply.

'I give myself to you and no other. I give you my seed.' Theron pushed inside her, his phallus hard with desire.

I'Eda felt Theron's life force enter her body and take hold of her womb. This was a sacrifice for them both, but it was worth it. The Furie had planned this, but until this moment they did not know if Theron would be willing to follow through with his promise. And until now Jadeen did not realise how much it would tear at her soul. She now carried Theron's life inside her womb. The role she was about to perform would require much of her, in both time and patience. She thought back to the interference at the battle and knew she would now have to be very careful. Something other than Ommran lay out there; waiting somewhere and for what Jadeen was not sure.

Beneath the worlds the Great One stirred in his subterranean chamber.

I'Eda rolled away from Sirus. She quickly snatched the amulet that hung about his neck. The lifeless body before her no longer held any interest; it was a shell, nothing more. Theron would rise again and this time no one would take her from him, not even Azrah.

I'Eda sat holding her lower abdomen. She felt wonderful, elated. This would work – it had to. I'Eda quickly dressed, tucking the amulet inside the confines of her shirt. She did not look back at the body lying naked on the thick bedding on the floor. She walked out into the cool grey light of early morning. King Emid, Renward and Jervoid were seated under cover. She held herself together momentarily but broke down as she approached the King and announced Sirus's death. Unrestrained tears streaked her face. Those standing about couldn't know they were more tears of joy than grief. King Emid and those around him were overcome with sorrow at the passing of their beloved friend.

A prince, soldier, friend and son had died and King Emid knew no other who could take his place.

•

Talon stood below the plateau awaiting Hura's arrival. He knew the news would tear at his heart, but he also knew that the future now held promise. For the Great One never lied.

Hura arrived as the sun began to rise over the Belair Mountains on a new day – one that would see great change to the world of Romanie.

As Talon looked into her face, he saw the melancholy and the sadness Hura suffered. Her announcement came as no surprise.

'Thea has died in childbirth.' Hura paused; even saying the words tore at her heart.

'I did not realise what you meant when you said my suffering would require much strength.' Hura broke down.

'Thea asked me to raise her child. As you know, this child comes from a great line of queens and priestesses. I feel privileged by such a task, and I will raise her as best I can. Talon, I need a safe and secure place to do that, a place where she can learn and I can teach her.' Hura looked to Talon for guidance.

He was silent for some time. His heart suffered the same pain as Hura, but in that understanding came the realisation that it was now his undertaking to see Hura through her ordeal of raising this child. The child was now his responsibility as well.

'Did you do as I requested?' Talon looked back at Hura. She acknowledged the pain in his countenance and the pitch of his voice.

'Yes! I did exactly as you asked. The orb is securely fastened about the baby's neck.' She paused a moment. 'Thea named her Ore'arn. She didn't live long enough to see her daughter, but somehow she knew the name would suit her well.' Hura paused again, this time for several moments; she could see Talon's thoughts were far away.

'Ore'arn is a beautiful name!' Talon sighed.

'She looks just like Thea, except she has dark hair. Thick black hair.' Hura did not like to acknowledge the one feature that may have come from her father.

'She is Thea's daughter, so she will grow to be quite a lady, given time. I would like to be around to make sure she remains safe. I realise you loved Thea like a daughter, Hura. I am sorry for your loss. But I too loved her in my own way. I will miss her.'

Talon had never grown that fond of anyone, especially a human; it was a strange sensation. 'Nimmie will be heartbroken.'

'Who is Nimmie,' asked Hura.

'Oh! Never mind, just speaking my thoughts out loud. Hura come back here in a few days' time. I will ponder on your question and together I'm sure we will find a safe and friendly haven for you to raise Ore'arn. You had better head back before you are missed.'

Talon felt enormous sadness as he watched Hura leave. The legend on Nepthany had come true – he had played an integral part in the death of a Goddess and he had been unable to do anything to prevent it.

He knew life would change dramatically for everyone from this day forward.

# 46

# Asserian

# 'Ommran's New Toy'

'The sweet taste of revenge has its own rewards.'

Ommran stood on the parapet within the fortress of Ammon, his demeanour soured by the images he had seen on board Dragon Wing. He had stood watch on the ship and observed the destruction of his hordes on Romanie.

At first it had surprised him to find that his abilities with the Craft had diminished to such an extent that his only aid was the portals within his ship. Added to this was the destruction of his force on Romanie itself, it made him consider very carefully what his next subterfuge should be. Ommran knew he could still command visions through Dragon Wing, for the ship was his one true friend. But he realised, that his ship could no longer navigate land, sea or sky. Somehow, like himself, his vessel was unable to manoeuvre from the confines of this world – and that exasperated Ommran and Dragon Wing alike.

Ommran knew the Immortals on Nibulus would have no way of knowing his whereabouts, so it intrigued him as to who possessed enough mastery and skill of the Craft to be able to diminish his powers. It had to be someone far more powerful than himself. Ommran wasn't fazed by these events, or the lack of command of his powers – it only served to mildly irritate him.

However it did annoy him intensely that the eyes and ears he had created for himself on Romanie had been so easily destroyed. He had hoped his hordes would uncover the whereabouts of his brother before they were annihilated. It seemed his brother had more friends and was far more cunning than he at first comprehended

Ommran recalled how he had sat aboard his ship and watched the battle. The hordes had been winning, their sheer numbers far outweighing those of his brother's forces. So how did the battle go from near victory to outright annihilation? Ommran still could not fathom that mystery out. His brother, Theron, was obviously far more astute than he gave him credit for. And far more versatile, or was there some other explanation?

In future he would have to be more vigilant. Ommran knew he should have been able to discern his brother's whereabouts if Theron had used the powers of the Craft, but he had sensed no such energy as the battle progressed. This was really beginning to intrigue him.

Now as he contemplated his next move, his hatred for his brother intensified. He knew Theron lived; he could feel his brother's life force beating. But he felt something alter in Theron's being, a subtle change. Ommran had thought his plan was working out, but no, something had occurred, something in his brother's physical state had altered.

These issues only marginally perturbed Ommran. True, he had lost the ability to scry his brothers whereabouts and it was also true he was now compelled to remain on this world for the time being. But he could wait. Time would give him the opportunity to come up with other strategies, because time was on his side.

Ommran leaned against the cold surface of the stone façade and gazed out over the city of Ammon. The longer he stayed here, the more he despised this world. The one person who led him here had eluded him. Where could their creator have gone? Ommran suddenly yelled Azrah's name from the parapets of the fortress. Damn her! Did she not realise yet what injustice had befallen him. She was an Immortal; surely she knew his need? Why did she not heed his torment? She would come to him. He would wait.

Patience was something Ommran knew he had plenty of. He had lived a life based on his ability to wait.

He remembered the night when he had first seen Asserian's Queen. Thea had been heading up the path from the temple. His ship was at full sail in the murky black of night. At first he thought the Priestess and Queen was Azrah. Something about her had attracted him; she certainly resembled the Goddess. He found Thea fascinating and mildly alluring – alluring enough to make want. It had surprised him to learn the Queen had conceived a child by him. He thought himself incapable of fertilising anyone other than Azrah. Maybe it was because Azrah was the mother of this race that it was possible. He knew Thea was a direct descendant of the Goddess and therefore she had been a challenge. For Ommran that fact made the conquest even more exciting. Somewhere out there he had a child and someday that child would come to him. His tie to it, whether it was a male or female, would call it back to him someday and he knew the power the child possessed would be invincible.

Ommran hated humans with a passion, especially the ones who inhabited the worlds created by Theron. He blew a feather as it floated past his line of sight—that is what I think of the human race, they are just like that feather – easily blown about, he thought. He laughed. The mortals he toyed with on Romanie and Asserian were minor irritations to his plan. Playthings. Those on Romanie, who had been given the name of Ommran's hordes, had literally been a manifestation of the bitterness and vileness that had been eating away at him over thousands of years. He had hoped that vileness would have been enough to bind Theron to him and to bring him under his will. Ommran's smile left his face as he realised that he could never destroy his brother. But a smile reaffirmed itself – control of Theron would be far more amusing; it would make Theron as good as useless.

Theron would be bait to hold against the Immortals.

His thoughts turned once again to the race of people on Asserian. Ommran found them repulsive. Had he been their creator, he would have made the race strong and far more resilient than those around him. These fickle souls he lived amongst had proven his point. Once the men had been given their freedom, they had killed or destroyed the very women who could have sustained their lives. He did not understand such stupidity. He had tired weeks earlier of the wretched beings that had sought shelter and food within the fortress. They had thought to use him for their own ends. Their tardiness eventually wore thin and he sent them back onto the streets where they belonged, to fend for themselves.

Ommran drew in a breath; it had been a long day. He looked to the sky and noticed the black raven perched on its usual spot. He knew the bird was watching him. He smiled and gave a casual shrug. What could it do? The bird had little power to do him harm. He could simply destroy the pesky bird, but then he may never find out who sent it. Once again he would bide his time.

With easy steps he made his way down the staircase leading from the parapet and headed to the dungeon, in the depths of the fortress. He wanted to see how his newest toy was behaving. He hoped her disposition had changed, but he feared it probably hadn't.

Several weeks ago he had been aboard Dragon Wing; it had been late as he meandered back toward the fortress; the darkness of the day giving ease to his oppressive thoughts. As he had approached the gate of his new home he had spotted her: a black beast with a glossy coat that shone like diamonds in the faint glow of the afternoon's remaining sunlight. Ommran had watched the cat edge its way close to the main entrance of his home. It was definitely making its way inside the fortress. Something about the cat's well-muscled flanks drew Ommran's memories back to a time long ago – a time when he thought he had found peace in his life. Those times he had tried in vain to obliterate from his thoughts.

Moments after the encounter Ommran rounded up several men whom he tolerated and gave them the task of capturing the cat. She had put up quite a fight, but the wild beast now sat locked in a cage in the dungeon, awaiting Ommran's pleasure.

Now as he descended the steps in anticipation of his newfound conquest, he felt exhilarated. He sensed the cat could prove a useful tool. He arrived in the bleakness of the chamber moments later. In the cramped quarters of her cage, the black cat prowled back and forth obviously irritated by the restrictions of such a small space.

'Well, how is my pretty pussy today? Hope the cat has not got your tongue?' Ommran laughed at his own joke. The panther shrank back against the far side of the cage, readying herself to spring at the man who had abducted her.

'Now, do I rattle your cage today or are you going to be cooperative?'

Ommran once again let out a loud burst of laughter; he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

'I just get better all the time.' Ommran lifted the latch of the cage door.

He reached in and sunk his fingers into the flesh on the cat's underbelly.

She growled.

The cat clawed at his hand only to realise it made no mark on his flesh. She opened her jaw. She would teach him a thing or two, but her captor forced her mouth closed with the strength of his grip. She fell silent.

Bethsada was powerless to stop this man, as he yanked her forcibly out of her cage.

'Now don't play with your master like that, my pretty one! Remember I am your master, and here you do as I say...black....beauty.' Ommran spoke the last words very slowly. Bethsada was frantic as she tried to second-guess this ominous man's intentions. He placed one hand about her throat as he gently stroked the top of her head with the other. She tried to snarl at him, but all she did was show off the pearly white of her teeth.

Ommran knew this she-cat was more than just a stray from the hills. Her bearing and manner told him she had breeding.

The day of her capture was still fresh in his mind. When she had been brought to him he'd had to slap her hard when she had attempted to bite him. Then, remarkably, he heard her speak. It had only been a whisper, but Ommran's hearing was acute. She had called him a 'human whore'. The animal could speak – now he had to convince her to talk to him some more.

Ommran threw a heavy chain around Bethsada's neck and dragged her unceremoniously up the long flight of stairs. She growled in low tones, her fear mounting. It would be her choice, but if she didn't cooperate she would die.

Once he had her inside the Queen's old apartment, Ommran tied Bethsada to the post of his bed. He secured her tightly about the neck before he lay back against the pillows, placing his hands behind his head. He was patient, and here there was no one to disturb them.

'You have two choices, pretty pussy. You can talk to me and tell me where you come from or you can remain silent and end up gutted for my supper. The choice is yours. I know you can speak you have already spoken once in my presence and I suspect that you have a very good command of the human language. So don't think of treating me as a fool.'

Ommran leaned forward and glared into Bethsada's yellow smouldering eyes.

'You are nothing, but a fool!' She spat. 'If you were smart, you would know as much as me and obviously you don't.' Bethsada's tone was confident and proud, but inside she trembled.

'Huh. Spoken like a true shrew. But you do speak eloquently for a cat! I think I might have found myself a worthy playmate.' Ommran had the distinct impression this cat would come in handy, once he bent her to his will.

Bethsada pounced, thinking for a moment she had caught him with his guard down. But he was far too alert and strong. With precision and speed, using both his hands, he threw her down upon the cold floor. Bethsada literally sprang back on all four paws, snarled and displayed her fangs.

'Do that again, pretty lady, and I will chain your legs as well as your neck to this bedpost. You had better get used to keeping me company – and do not underestimate me for you have yet to know with whom you are dealing!' Ommran pushed his hair back from his eyes and smiled down at her.

Bethsada composed herself and stared acrimoniously at Ommran. Something about this man was familiar. Those eyes – there could not be two like those!

She had stared at those eyes for years in the room of the Goddess and the tapestries in the great hall. The eyes of a God – so like Nemare's. Could her luck have changed? She smiled a broad smile.

# 47

# Romanie

# 'The Funeral of a Queen and a Prince'

'In death we find peace. It is those that are left behind who struggle with life.'

Hura followed the funeral wagon as she cradled Ore'arn close against her bosom. The gentle snores from the babe filled her ears as she continued to rock the sleeping child. Nadic and Levarne travelled beside her, while Potania remained close behind the funeral wagon. The other villagers followed at a respectful distance, saddened by the death of this Queen. The fact they barely knew her was irrelevant.

Hura had conveyed Thea's story to the villagers. She had explained how her Queen had escaped Ammon before evil swept across the land. Romanie was large and so the Rebye had never asked where Ammon was; they assumed it lay somewhere within the confines of their world. When Thea arrived amidst the throes of winter, the people of the Rebye had welcomed her with open arms. Now they prepared to lay Thea to rest as if she was one of their own.

Beyond the village, to the south, stood a small hill where the Rebye had built a funeral mound. In Rebye tradition, Thea's body was lifted and placed carefully on top of the pyre. The women had worked day and night to create silk cloth to make a fine gown that Thea now wore on her final journey. The gown was fashioned in the style of Asserian's priestess with her breasts exposed to meet her Gods. Her hands were folded neatly across her chest. As Hura looked at the serene face of her Queen, she knew Thea had, at last, found peace. She gently unfolded the baby and offered the child one last look at her mother. Hura hoped that wherever Thea was she could see the beauty of her daughter.

Ore'arn seemed to know, and opened her eyes to look across at her mother. Hura sensed the child was already aware of her breeding as she folded the baby back within the confines of the shawl and moved away.

Nadic said a prayer, but it was not the prayer of the priestess. But Hura knew the Gods of this world were the same as those who watched over Asserian. Somehow the two worlds were linked and Hura knew Ore'arn held some key to unravelling their mystery.

The fire was lit beneath the pyre. Flames quickly took hold. Hura stood and watched as Thea's ashes drifted up toward the stars before disappearing. For one brief moment, Hura could see the faint outline of Thea's face silhouetted against the flames with a smile of peace spread across her features. It was a sad moment, but Hura felt a sense of wellbeing. Her Queen had returned home to her Goddess. She turned and slowly wandered back to the village, tears still wet upon her cheeks as Nadic and Levarne travelled at her side. She held Ore'arn tight – she would love this child no less than she had loved her mother.

•

Aramean sat cross-legged with his head bent in prayer. Neon approached slowly. He had no one now except this man and Polymar to confide in. Theron was gone. He would never have thought it possible. Immortals did not die, yet Theron's body now lay in state in the palace of King Emid. He hesitated as Aramean raised his head. Neon could see Aramean had also been affected by these latest events.

'I feel completely at a loss. My world had until recently completely revolved around Theron but now I feel so alone.' Neon's head slumped. He had known about the battle and had been shown Theron's death by the Furie, but he did not realise the impact it would have.

Aramean's hand came to rest on the forehead of the big horse and he stroked it gently. Neon liked the feeling; it reminded him of moments with Theron – moments he would never know again.

'Things are not always what they seem. I do not think he is dead. I believe he sleeps. The body of Sirus is nothing other than an empty shell. Theron's spirit is elsewhere; —I feel his life force still beating.' Aramean pulled himself up off the ground.

'Do you honestly believe that? I thought it was nothing more than me wanting it to be so. I thought I felt something too! A transfer of energy is the best way to describe it. Aramean, I hope you are right!'

Neon realised days ago that much would change after the battle. He remembered the feeling he'd had back at Gideon's Sheol; he also remembered the words the Great One imparted to him at their last meeting, and the counsel he had accepted from the Furie. He had been told he would need all his courage, strength and faith for what lay ahead. But Neon now realised he had not been prepared for Theron's death.

'What will you do now, Neon? You know you are more than welcome to stay with me. My journey will keep me bound in this realm for some time, I think.' Aramean sounded resigned to his fate.

'Thank you, Aramean! But I must decline. I have more learning to do. I will return here from time to time and check on things. Maybe in the future my services will be required. If Theron is somewhere out there waiting for a time when he can once again show himself then I want to know. Promise me one thing: if he reappears you will send for me?' Neon was cheered by his own words; they somehow gave him hope.

Theron's passing had been too sudden, too calculated. Aramean knew there was more afoot than any of them realised. He thought of I'Eda. How strange was her sudden appearance amongst the troops, how strange Polymar had not mentioned the fact she knew the young boy was indeed female. More than a little coincidental, he thought.

'I will use the Craft to let you know of any news. Take care Neon, may the journey you take give you solace.'

Neon whinnied a goodbye then turned and galloped away across the Lahore Plains. Once he was out of sight of any mortal he spread his wings and lifted into the clear morning sky. He headed for the Tibrion Mountains and the Pathway that would take him once again to the Great One.

Aramean watched until Neon was well out of sight. He would miss the friendship forged over these past months and knew none of the events that had occurred were by chance. He headed back along Emid's wall and retraced his path toward Eshtah, knowing his journey had only just begun.

I'Eda sat in her spacious apartment high in the palace of the King. She had discarded the rough and ready clothes of a soldier long ago and was wearing the garments of a princess. She had become reaccustomed to the comforts of daily baths, clean clothes, good food and soft bedding. But she found that she actually missed the comradeship of the soldiers. The men had accepted her as one of them, even though they saw her only as a lad. As a princess once more, she wondered if they would still feel the same. She walked to the window that looked out over the fertile plains and smiled as she saw the great winged horse take to the air and sweep eastward. It was strange that through all the years she had lived on Romanie, she had never suspected Neon was a master of the Craft. She had seen him often enough with Sirus on his back, but she still could not believe she had not recognised or divined what he was. She knew he would return someday.

The weather outside remained cold, but the sun had come out to brighten the bleakness of the battlefield. Spring was approaching. The carnage of the battle was now a bleak memory for most. Only those who had directly witnessed the annihilation could appreciate what had taken place there. She placed a hand on her stomach; it was still too soon, but time would see the life in her womb grow and flourish. She smiled. Gladness and love were just some of the emotions that welled up inside her. She would bring him back and he would grow strong under her guidance. Most of all, he would know he was loved.

There was a knock at her door. I'Eda was not expecting anyone.

'Who is it?'

'It's me, Polymar. May I come in? I need to have a word with you, Your Highness.' Polymar's voice sounded reserved.

I'Eda hurried over and drew back the door. Polymar stood there, her face aglow. This was the first time I'Eda had seen her since the morning of Sirus's death. She noticed Polymar was decked out in a fine leather jacket with trousers tucked into shiny leather boots. The gold buckles adorning her footwear shone in the glow of the overhead hall lamps. Her hair was shiny and freshly washed – she looked absolutely dashing. I'Eda smiled and welcomed her with open arms; the women stood hugging each other for some time until finally I'Eda pulled away and beckoned her friend inside.

'I'm so glad you have come. I never had a chance to say much when last we saw one another. I was a little preoccupied.' I'Eda beckoned Polymar to sit on a comfy sofa then she sat down next to her.

'I thought you would be upset! I mean with Sirus's death. I thought you would be distraught. But you seem happy.' Polymar asked with a sceptical look on her face.

'Sirus is gone, that is true, but Theron is not.'

'What do you mean? Theron's body is lying in state as we speak. If he is not dead then you had better explain who it is that lies in his place!' Polymar was well aware that I'Eda was holding out on her. I'Eda could see the confusion on Polymar's face. She would have to explain things carefully.

The two women talked long into the afternoon. Polymar was the one person I'Eda knew she could trust and also the one person who could help bring her plan to fruition.

•

King Emid sat staring at the body of his beloved adopted son, Sirus. Despair and loss flooded his heart and his thoughts. Jervoid and Renward stood to one side, both men lost in their own feelings of despondency.

Renward hesitated as he looked at his King.

'Sire, we have emptied the city of all those who live beyond our borders. We have sent them back to their own villages and towns. It is time for them to start rebuilding their lives.' He sounded exhausted. 'Even the Rebion have departed, only Kwinend remains to pay his last respects to Sirus. Many could wait no longer; they needed to return to their homes. Hopefully they will establish new beginnings from what remains.'

Emid couldn't think beyond his own despair. Right now he didn't care about anything except the pain in his heart.

The soldiers had burned the bodies of the hordes weeks earlier and held simple ceremonies for their own dead, but nothing could prepare Emid for the disposal of Sirus's body. The body had been embalmed and packed in herbs long ago.

'Your Majesty, it has been many weeks. You cannot delay longer, the people in the streets mourn Sirus's loss and you must give him his final farewell.' Jervoid spoke for everyone.

The King looked up. Anger, frustration and regret were etched in the contours of his face.

'It is hard to say goodbye. Sirus was like a son. What is an old man like me to do without an heir? Sirus would have made a wonderful king; he would have given hope to my people. I miss him.'

I'Eda stood at the door to the great hall with tears brimming over as she watched Emid. This was a man she respected, a man who had shown her nothing but honour and respect when she felt she deserved neither. She realised she loved him, not in the way she loved Theron, but she loved him nonetheless. She approached the King. Without even giving it a second thought, she took Emid into her arms and held him tightly as he sobbed like a child on her shoulder.

'Renward, Jervoid please leave us. If you will, arrange for the burial of our Prince. Build an altar in the town square and tonight we will send Sirus home to the Gods. Now please go.' I'Eda's, voice was strong and confident. She sounded more like a queen than a precocious princess.

When the King's sorrows finally eased, I'Eda led him gently to his throne. She lowered him down and squatted in front of him, looking intently into his eyes.

'Emid, what if I could give you back what you have lost? What if I could bring you and all the people of Romanie a future?' I'Eda had the King's attention.

She did not know if what she was about to say would ease his mind or trouble him further, but she continued on.

'I carry Sirus's child.' If she hesitated now then she would not have the determination to proceed, so she forged on. 'If you and I were to wed then this child would be your heir! I know it is a boy, so he would be the next King. You would have what you dreamed of!'

Emid sat staring at the young woman whom he had known for most of her life. He may not have known her parentage, but he knew she was more than worthy to be a Queen. He loved her that was true, but he had never considered marriage; he was an old man. But if she carried Sirus's child then she would need to wed – what better way for himself to gain both a wife and an heir? He smiled for the first time in weeks.

•

Hura stood at the base of the plateau, she watched as Talon glided down from the escarpment. She had slept little over the last weeks, worrying about the future of the child and herself. She hoped Talon had some answers.

She had secured a wet nurse for Ore'arn, whose name was Lydia. The woman had lost her own child just a week prior to Thea giving birth and Hura knew she would be loyal. Levarne and Potania had also helped where they could, but the solution was short term. Hura knew she needed a home for Ore'arn, a home befitting a Queen.

Talon landed and strutted over to where Hura stood, his face alight with mischief.

'How is the child?'

'Ore'arn is well. I have secured a wetnurse to feed her. The young girl lost her own babe several weeks ago, and she is willing to travel anywhere with us. Have you thought about what I asked, Talon? Do you have anywhere in mind, where I can raise this child?' Hura was impatient. Talon sympathised with Hura's uncertainty, but he did have a solution.

'Well, as a matter of fact I have! A friend of mine tells me that a nanny and wetnurse will be needed at the palace of the King of Eshtah before too long. So you need to make the journey there quickly and procure the position. I'm sure it will be to your liking. I'm sure a woman such as yourself can find gainful employment until your other services can be taken up. When you get to the palace, ask for Polymar. Tell her Neon sent you; she will make sure you are well taken care of.'

'Who is Neon?'

'He is a friend! Now don't ask any further questions. Just do as I say, and you will have a palace in which to raise your Queen.' Talon's voice was encouraging.

'Remember one thing: her identity must remain a secret for now.' Talon's voice held a note of uncertainty. Hura nodded her head, no one would know.

She had no choice but to do as he requested. Besides Talon was right, what better place to raise a queen than in a palace? Never mind if it was not the palace intended for her. Hura would see to it that her Queen grew up where she would become a lady. At least then she could educate her in the ways of royalty and no one would be the wiser.

•

Just after sundown, Sirus's body passed beneath the gates of the palace and headed toward the central square within the city. Thousands of soldiers and civilians congregated along the sidewalks as the procession passed by. As the cavalcade neared the square, Sirus's troops and the Royal Cavalry formed a guard of honour on either side of the cobbled pavement. At the hearth stood King Emid and I'Eda. They watched solemnly as Renward, Jervoid, and the other commanders carried the body toward the funeral pyre.

The King looked down at the woman by his side. Soon he would announce that she would become his wife and Eshtah's Queen. He looked at the remains of his beloved friend whom he would miss terribly, but the thought that he would raise his son lessened some of his loss.

The embalmed body was brought to rest on the pyre. The soldiers stepped away. King Emid whispered so none but I'Eda could hear.

'I promise to look after your son as if he were my own. I will love him as I loved you. May the Gods bless you on your journey and provide your soul with a resting place worthy of your deeds.'

I'Eda smiled – if only he knew the truth.

I'Eda and Emid stood watch, along with the multitude of onlookers, as the funeral pyre was set alight. The flames took hold and leapt into the night sky. The flames were a signal to all that a prince had passed and gone to Valhalla. Those who lined the streets and the square sang the farewell hymn of Romanie in a low serenade. There was not one eye without tears.

The smoke billowed up and disappeared into the night sky. Stars blinked as if they were tears from the Gods. Far away on a mountaintop in the Tibrion Mountains a lone black horse cried out for the loss of his dearest friend. He knew now that Theron would return, but never again would it be the same.

Romanie had changed. A price had been paid and now a new day would rise – one in which the worlds would struggle against an evil that few could comprehend.

Aramean stood on the wall of the city watching the last scene enacted by Sirus. Now all he had to do was find Azrah. Somewhere out there he knew she waited.

•

Polymar sat quietly under the moonlit skies near the palace gates; her thoughts still with the death and subsequent cremation of Sirus. She knew the truth, yet she would miss Sirus; he had become such strength in her life. There were many on Romanie who loved him and would miss him. She knew she would love to be able to explain all of this to them, but it would gain her nothing – some things were best left alone.

Polymar now sat awaiting the arrival of someone of whom she knew very little. She had no idea who it was Neon had requested her to meet. His message had been brief and precise – a woman with a child would ask for Polymar by name. She was to take the strangers in and make sure the woman found work in the palace. Polymar knew the pair must be important.

It was long after dark before Polymar saw a barrow making its way up the street toward the palace gates; it was being pushed by two serene figures. At this time of night the streets were generally deserted, only a few soldiers were about making sure all was secure for the night. Funnily enough they paid little attention to the two driving the cart. The gates of the city had been closed at sunset and Polymar thought it strange that these lone figures should only now be moving this way. Perhaps they were her guests.

Hura and Lydia pushed in unison. They had left it until now to approach the palace, thinking that at this time of night no one would be around to bother with them. Polymar moved out of the darkened gateway. She paused in front of the barrow and halted its progress. She looked both women up and down.

Hura took a deep intake of air; she was nervous. She relied solely on Neon's instructions and trust.

'I'm looking for Polymar, can you please tell him we are here?' Hura had no idea who Polymar was, and at this stage she did not particularly care. The journey had been long and both she and Lydia were tired and hungry.

'If Polymar were a he then I would inform him of your arrival, but he is in fact a woman! I am Polymar, at your service.' She bowed in greeting.

'Oh! You were expecting us. I was told to tell you Neon sent us.' Hura was clearly surprised.

'Well, Neon said a woman and a child, not two women.' Polymar walked forward as Hura motioned her to look at the inside of the cart.

'This is Lydia; she is the wet nurse.' Lydia curtsied as Hura introduced her then she looked shyly down at her feet.

Polymar examined the barrow and its meagre contents. Inside lay several Hessian bags and in one corner, fast asleep, lay a child no more than a few weeks old. Polymar was not one to be seduced by babies, but something about this child reached out and tugged at her heartstrings. For several moments she said nothing as she stared at the dark curls. Though the child was asleep something about the infant made Polymar feel reverence in its presence.

She quickly gathered herself together.

'Come quickly, move this way!' Polymar indicated for the pair to enter the palace grounds. 'I have mentioned your impending arrival to the house staff. I assume you know a thing or two about running a household?'

'Why yes, I looked after the qu...I mean I managed a wealthy merchant's home, where I come from.' Hura gave Lydia a casual yet sombre look. The wet nurse gave nothing away. 'My milk ran dry – getting too old I guess. That is why I brought Lydia along!' Hura tried to sound convincing. She knew the ramifications of anyone discovering the identity of this child. She was not sure Polymar completely believed her.

Polymar was not convinced of the truth of the tale, but if Neon sent this woman then he had good reason and she would not pry further.

Polymar closed the gates of the palace and let the guards know she had secured the palace for the night. Then she escorted Hura, Lydia and Ore'arn into their new home.

Life on Romanie would never be the same again.

The End.

Out now  
in THE IMMORTALS trilogy:

Book 2

'Awakening of The Gods'

Book 3

'Gathering of The Gods'

The author appreciates comments on her books from her readers. Please go online now to Joanne's website and leave your impressions of this novel.

www.jrmitchell.com.au

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