Sea of Souls, page 20
26. SONG OF THE LARK
Nyomae’s memory of her time spent in Abernost seemed to be from another life, in another time. Her last visit had been fifty years prior to the battle on the Gormadon Plain. She had come to consult Idraman on routine matters concerning the Order. Draegelan’s decree prohibiting Imaari from studying the divided set of scrolls still stood. Therefore, Nyomae was not permitted to read those housed in the libraries, or question Idraman on his own work unless all were present. But back then, they had felt no immediate threat. Their studies seemed more of an academic pursuit as none predicted the return of the dark forces could happen so soon.
Nyomae looked out of the arched window. How had they missed the early signs of the gathering storm? Had they been so entrenched in their arcane research they had neglected to keep an eye on the real world? At first, reports of shrouls and the odd droog had been dismissed as the tall tales of the superstitious folk at the borders. Perhaps the long centuries of peace following Ormoroth’s defeat had made life too comfortable, and they had become complacent.
Nyomae’s eyes wandered to the low hills outside Abernost. The Ul-dalak had been patient. Not all Ormoroth’s commanders had perished at Talaghir. Perhaps anticipating the outcome, he had sent many north to escape Dorlan’s wrath. The warlocks had retreated to their strongholds concealed by the great ice sheets of Nordruuk. And in their cold, bleak halls they had planned for the day they would return and avenge Ormoroth. They had outsmarted the Imaari, slowly increasing the number of raids, slowly revealing their hand to tempt Sylvena to seek the relic she believed would aid their salvation. They had yet to show their faces on the battlefields of the recent conflict, but a warlock’s kruul had entered Archonholm. And Nyomae was convinced more than one was active. Uluriel was powerful, but could she command the Draedalak alone at Gormadon? And her hold over one as strong as Mordram could not have been maintained for so long without aid. But this did not explain the warlocks’ absence from the battles to date. Surely, they would already be massing on the borders of Farrand had they led the Ruuk.
Nyomae’s heart sank. Did they strive in their ice-bound lands to bring back Ormoroth? If successful, the Five Realms would inevitably fall regardless of Nyomae’s efforts. Their only hope lay in defeating the Ul-dalak, then by some means thwarting the warlocks’ effort to free their Master. If the realms had any chance of resisting, she had to solve the secrets within the Maiden’s Cypher. But the risks could not be clearer. The Elorym had misused that power causing their own downfall, and Draegelan had deemed it too dangerous to wield, deciding instead to bury his discovery. But he had left a path to this knowledge, perhaps fearing a time when no other way lay open. And Nyomae believed that time was nigh. She had to unlock Draegelan’s second safeguard.
Nyomae massaged her temples. The distinctive scrawl of his hand drew her tired eyes across the page. Draegelan’s prose was poetic, and not the dry, scholastic style favored by the Imaari. Nyomae smiled to herself. Before the years she lived under the shadow, she had been very much a serious scholar caring little for the poets of the day. But her time wandering the lands in her confusion had opened her eyes to things that would previously have gone unseen. Had her imposed exile enhanced her mind?
Nyomae sat back and let Draegelan’s words flow through her. The words changed into his mellow voice in her head. She watched captivated as the green grasslands took shape beneath a vast, blue sky. The Maidens sang. Tears filled her eyes as she marveled at their voices and the purity of their hearts. In the blue expanse, a shape emerged. Nyomae smiled as the Maiden’s created the first skylark. Not blessed with the beauty of other birds gracing the skies, the gray, unassuming bird was gifted with a song to bring joy to the hearts of those who would follow. Nyomae sighed as the skylark first warbled its long, melodious song, hovering above meadows bursting with the wildflowers sown by the Maidens’ hands.
But alas, the songbird’s life was not to be one of tranquility. It was the skylark who first sensed the disharmony despoiling the Maidens’ Song. When they finally heeded her warning of the Evil One’s purpose, they bestowed upon her a most vital role. The lark was taught another song, not for the skies, but for those in times of need. Nyomae tilted her head. Another melody emerged as if an echo.
She understood. The second answer was not a word: it was the lark’s secret song. Nyomae retreated and sat back. She had the key. Now came the dilemma. Should she enter Aber’s Verse and read the second line? Nyomae had no choice. She closed her eyes and recalled the songbird’s melody. Her vision blurred as the harmony merged with Aber’s words. Before her eyes, the line faded, then reappeared in a different form — a form revealing the location and key to the Elorym’s vault.
The clash of swords outside brought her to her feet. But the contest in the corridor was not a close match. Metal tore at flesh and the brief conflict was over. Nyomae faced the door as it burst open. Six Nordleng barged in.
Nyomae held her ground. ‘You’ll need more than six swords to kill me!’
Their leader threw back his hood. He grinned, baring yellowing teeth through a thick, black beard. The Nordleng struggled with the common tongue, but the threat was obvious. ‘We’re not here to kill you, witch. We’re here to take you on a long journey.’
Nyomae slowed her breathing. ‘Then you still failed to bring enough men.’ She entered the Song while turning to meet the eyes of each of the six. The Nordleng appeared frozen as she found their Verses in turn. All bar the leader was no older than thirty summers, making it easy to find their Maidens’ Name. The leader’s Verse had protection from the Ul-dalak, requiring a different tactic. For now, she focused on the five. It would take a great deal of her strength to undo their existence by reciting their names, strength she needed for the months ahead. No. There was an easier way. Nyomae grinned to herself as she imagined the outcome. She circled her hands, conjuring up images of her would-be captors as young boys. She watched their motionless faces. They would see a blur as her arms moved, already casting doubt in their minds.
Nyomae removed the last twenty-five years of their Verses — a simple task for one so strong against those so weak. She stayed in the Song, turning back to the leader. His expression had changed. He existed in a different time to his underlings. He appeared to have guessed her action and would be ready when she returned to his time. Nyomae decided on an old Imaari trick she had learned from her early days in the Order. It was simple, but effective, and hopefully one the Nordleng had not previously seen. She quickly found what she needed.
Nyomae stepped out of the Song. The five Nordleng dropped their swords, stared at the strange witch-woman, then ran from the room like the frightened children they had become. The leader scoffed and raised his sword. ‘You’ll need to try harder—’ She unleashed the lightning bolt from the recent storm, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. It worked. The dazed leader staggered back as the light burst through the windows. Nyomae lunged and snatched the sword from his loosened grip. Without a second thought, she grasped the handle and ran him through. She did not kill by choice, but the Nordleng had offered no quarter to any of his victims, so Nyomae reasoned he deserved the same.
She let the sword drop and strolled from the room. Outside, she found the bodies of three library attendants. There would be more victims of these brutal servants of the Ul-dalak, but thankfully their objective had been to kidnap Nyomae and not to slaughter the people of Abernost. The five she had sent back to their childhood cowered in the corner as two guards approached.
‘Let them be.’ Nyomae raised her hand. ‘Have pity. They are but innocent children now in adult bodies. With care, they can be educated and trained to do tasks about the library or sent to work on the farms.’ She stood over the huddle of confused Nordleng. ‘Perhaps they can do something to atone for their actions. Thankfully, they will have no memory of them. But be wary, many in these parts will.’
27. ISLAND OF TROUBLED SOULS
‘As we approached the East Watchtower, the Karajan was as flat as the marshes of Lumreek.’ The flames flickered in Bardon’s yellow eyes. ‘I had never set eyes on the Archon’s sea defenses, but the sailors informed me we would see the giant waves long before we’d be upon it.’ Elodi clutched his hand. It remained cold despite spending the evening wrapped in blankets and huddled beside the fire. The innkeeper of the single hostelry in Frescove was reluctant at first to grant them entry. But Elodi had assured him Lord Broon was simply exhausted and malnourished, and not a carrier of the plague. But it had taken three gold coins to finally convince the man.
Bardon kept his eyes on the fire. ‘Reassured, I assumed the Archon had calmed the seas to allow us passage.’ His head dropped. ‘But as we drew level with the tower, a terrible churning of the waters began. From what you tell me of Uluriel’s possession, it’s now obvious it was our enemy who controlled the seas. They must have waited until our fleet sailed into the trap… and then stir the currents.’ His voice broke. ‘The sea reared up in places and sank in others. Many ships were sucked into whirlpools.’ He shivered, pulling the blanket closer to his chest. ‘It’s a terrible sight to see a large ship swallowed into a maelstrom so deep you can almost see the ocean floor. The doomed crew tried in vain to stay afloat, briefly sailing on its steep sides, but many fell from the decks into the darkness below.’ His jaw clenched. ‘We lost so many… so many good souls. Ships drawn close to the edges disappeared without trace with all hands lost. Those of us avoiding those perilous pits, by sheer luck I may add, were lashed by gigantic walls of water. The waves stacked so high they shut out the sky, growing ever taller until they toppled over, crashing onto decks, smashing galleons to matchsticks in seconds.’ Bardon shook as he relived the carnage. ‘I’m afraid General Kragan’s ship was among the first to be lost.’
Elodi chilled at the memory of the storm on the Elyssen Sea. ‘How did you survive?’
‘We fortunate few who kept our masts and had some sails to speak of, were blown farther east. The more experienced skippers managed with great skill to navigate the waves and steer a course clear of those terrifying whirlpools. But we couldn’t escape the clutches of the undercurrents. It was if hands beneath the waters dragged us towards the rocky headlands and cliffs of Mundrake’s Isle.’ Elodi’s grip softened. Plague Isle. Had she made a terrible mistake? Bardon continued. ‘Of the dozen or so ships that escaped the violent waters, I saw four come to grief on the rocks. The sea is so cruel. They’d survived the worst only to be tossed overboard in sight of shore. They were at the mercy of the waves which mercilessly dashed them against the rocks or dragged them to the bottom.’ His shaking hand went to his face. ‘Just eleven of the forty-four ships leaving Caermund made landfall on Mundrake’s Isle. Although landfall is not the right word, hurled more like. Yes, we were hurled onto the few beaches along the shore. Of these only one ship remained in a state we could possibly repair.’ He nodded over his shoulder. ‘And as you saw, it’s hardly what you’d call seaworthy.’
Elodi rested her hand on his shoulder. ‘You must have been on that island for the best part of two months.’
He shuddered. ‘And like you, I too was familiar with the tales of Plague Isle… as many refer to it. And I can tell you now, it thoroughly deserves that unwholesome name. It is indeed a bleak and lifeless place as the stories tell. It’s surrounded by the warm seas of the south and should be a land teeming with life. Yet... it’s as if the island has drifted in from the north, clinging to the cold, defying the southern climes to melt its icy heart. If it wasn’t enough to banish those suffering from the plague from their homes, they had to spend their last, miserable days in that place. Little can live on that wind-battered isle other than insects that drain your blood with a greed belying their size. Storms blow in from the Karajan with monotonous regularity, and when they take their misery elsewhere, the constant chill wind offers little solace. And there’s no shelter to be had. Once away from the cliffs, the land is mainly flat, consisting of marshes swarming with midges and those nasty hornrasps. And where the marshes relent, it’s rocky land is smothered with thick, flowerless gorse. And their sharp thorns would sooner tear you to shreds than allow you to shelter beneath. It seems the whole isle wishes you dead.’
Elodi rubbed his shivering shoulders. ‘But you survived. And you say at least a thousand still live?’
Bardon let out a long sigh. ‘More than twice that made it ashore.’ His voice wavered. ‘If we thought making landfall was the end of our ordeal, we were to be bitterly disappointed.’ He cleared his throat and straightened. For a moment, Elodi saw Bardon as she had known him, but the effort soon drained him, and he shrank into the chair. ‘It is a gloomy place. Even the sun shuns the isle. We made our way inland in a desperate attempt to shelter from the wind. At first, we thought our luck had changed as we found a small settlement of ramshackle huts. They were on the west side of a ridge, affording us some respite from the gales.’
‘Settlement? But I thought—’
‘Built, no doubt, by those unfortunate to somehow survive the plague.’
Elodi’s heart sank. ‘Survived? And there was no way back. What a terrible way to exist.’
‘But exist they did, and for a number of years.’ He shook his head. ‘If the poor souls hadn’t suffered enough, they then had to endure having their flesh torn off in chunks by hornrasps, and then ripped to pieces by the thorns. Those recovering from the curse must have soon envied the dead.’
Elodi stared at the fire. ‘I can’t begin to imagine the lives of those poor wretches.’
‘They were resourceful, I’ll give them that. They had to be to scrape a living in that dreaded place. Yet they still went to the trouble of burying their dead with dignity. It must have been a struggle to dig graves with their bare hands, and then in the few places the soil was deep enough.’ Bardon groaned as he reached for his cup. ‘Over the next few days, more survivors washed up among the many dead. Understandably, none wanted to live in the huts inhabited by plague exiles. We set up our own camps, building huts as best we could with the wreckage from the ships. We had enough food for two weeks or so, but when that ran out, we did our best to fish, or shoot down the few birds foolish enough to approach the coast. But tellingly, few do. And… I’m afraid, we had no choice but to eat the few horses that survived.’ Bardon winced. ‘Yes, it was not agreeable to us, but we had little fodder for them, and the horses became uncontrollable at night. We lost a few who ran over the clifftops in their panic.’ His hands clenched his cup. ‘A frightened horse makes a sorrowful sound. The fear soon spreads to all in earshot.’
Bardon straightened. ‘But we still had hope in our hearts in those early days. We numbered around two and a half thousand in total, which was more than I could have expected. But alas, that means close to ten thousand perished and yet lie at the bottom of the sea. So many fine people gone for good, betrayed and lost in the most horrifying of ways, unable to fight back. All those souls lost without trace or glory.’
Elodi patted his knee. ‘Then we shall ensure their sacrifice does not go untold.’ But as soon as she spoke the words, she heard how hollow her promise sounded.
Bardon looked to Elodi for the first time since recounting his tale. ‘To think we stood beside the Archon with Uluriel inside his head. And… we stopped him leaping from his tower.’
She grasped his cold hands. ‘Not a day passes when I don’t think what might have happened had we not intervened. But we weren’t to know. Uluriel deceived us all.’ She refilled his cup, daring to ask her next question. ‘How did you lose so many after you landed? Did they starve?’
His gaze went back to the flames. ‘Not all the far-fetched rumors of that isle are… so far-fetched.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We set about repairing the ship least damaged by the rocks. But few of us had the necessary skills. Thus, the work was painstakingly slow with many mistakes made. And, after what we’d experienced, all were wary of setting sail in a makeshift ship. Mund’s shoreline is dominated by cliffs more than ready to lure a wayward vessel to be dashed on its rocks. And yes, sadly, the dying did not end. Many failed to recover on the meagre rations. But it was not just the weather and bleak nature of the land that took them.’ Bardon leaned closer to the fire but could not prevent shivering. ‘I have never been a superstitious man, Elodi, but I saw things in the darkness that challenged my lifelong beliefs. The tales tell of the spirits of the dead, full of wrath for those that exiled and abandoned them to their miserable fate. At night, many of us believed we… saw them, or at the very least felt their presence.’
Elodi’s blood froze. ‘Wraiths?’
‘Worse. They were more than just apparitions, these had… a presence. They drain your spirits, almost as if they’re sucking the very life from your bones, seizing back what was taken from them. Many of us became ill, but from no obvious cause. We were all hungry but fought on. But for others it was like they just gave up hope and departed this realm. But there was another danger. Not all who died, perished in their sleep.’
Bardon stopped as the innkeeper brought food. The lord looked to the plate but chose not to eat. He turned back to Elodi and gripped her hand. ‘What I’m about to tell you must not leave this room. It may be a true account, or it may be a trick our troubled minds played upon us. By now we were delirious, half-starved, and frightened by our own shadows. I don’t know for certain whether I dreamed what I saw. Or if awake, it was a fever from the marshes that took many of us, filling our heads with nightmarish visions. Maybe in the weeks to come as we recover, we’ll come to know the truth of what we saw, but until then I’d appreciate your discretion.’
