Descent of Angels (15 page)

At that instant, he was more mindful of Narel’s directions than he was of any wider issues of fate or destiny. The woodsman had told him to head eastward along the trail in search of a clearing and a lightning blasted tree. Zahariel followed those directions, using the methods his masters had taught him to clarify his mind and turn his full mental resources to the task ahead. He urged his horse to quicken its pace down the trail.

Spurring his mount on, he rode towards his future.

Z
AHARIEL FOUND THE
lightning blasted tree easily enough, the path leading him directly to its dead mass. Beyond the tree, a forest of mossy trunks spread out like a march of weathered menhirs. Darkness and shadows haunted the forest, and Zahariel began to understand a measure of the local superstitions.

The Northwilds had long been considered a forsaken place, too close to the mountain lairs of many beasts, too thin of soil to be tilled for much reward, and the forest was too dense to move through in safety. More than that, it had acquired a reputation for unexplained phenomena, strange lights in the forest, disappearances where people lost in the woods for days would return home decades older than when their loved ones had last seen them.

Yes, the Northwilds region was a place of mystery, but as Zahariel steeled himself for venturing into its depths, he felt the first stirrings of fear. Though he had claimed not to be afraid, he realised that his fear had been submerged beneath a layer of contempt for the beast and anger at the death of Brother Amadis.

How easy it was to scoff at the superstitions of the rustics dwelling in Endriago when surrounded by your fellows and the comforting shield of illumination. How easy it was to have that complacency and certainty stripped away by darkness and isolation.

Swallowing his fear, Zahariel urged his mount onwards, sensing that it too felt fear in this place. The trees were gnarled and old, older than any others he had seen, and apparently infected with some creeping sickness that caused them to weep a viscous sap that scented the air with a rank, bitter odour like spoiled fruit mash.

The trees passed by him as he rode into the shadowy depths of the Northwilds, and Zahariel felt a breath whisper past him like the last exhalation of a dying man. The ground under his horse’s hooves was spongy and noxious, toadstools and flaring weeds tangling the roots of the forest.

Zahariel rode deeper and deeper into the forest, feeling the emptiness of the place in the depths of his soul, an aching void that chilled him from the very centre of his heart to the height of his reason.

Suddenly, Zahariel felt utterly alone, and a crushing sense of isolation enveloped him.

More than simply the absence of people, this was a loneliness of the soul, an utter absence of any contact or connection with the world around him. In the face of this horrid feeling, Zahariel almost cried out at his insignificance.

How arrogant of him to believe that he was at the centre of the spiral. How conceited to believe that he could ever make a difference to the way the world turned.

His eyes filled with tears as the horse bore him onwards, the beast oblivious to the long, dark night of the soul he endured upon its back.

‘I am not nothing,’ he whispered to the darkness. ‘I am Zahariel of the Order’

The darkness swallowed his words with a mocking silence, the words snatched from his throat as if by an unseen wind before they could breach the bubble of stagnant emptiness around him.

‘I am Zahariel of the Order!’ he yelled against the darkness.

Again his words were stolen from him, but his violent exclamation had, for a brief moment, turned the darkness assailing his soul away. Again he shouted, briefly recognising the danger of shouting while on the hunt for a dangerous predator, but more afraid of what might happen should this soul-deep numbness claim him.

His ride through the trees continued as he repeated his name over and over again. With every metre his horse bore him, he could sense an unseen malice and elemental power seeping from the ground, as though some barely suppressed source of malignant energy lurked deep, deep beneath the surface of Caliban. Like trickles of water that leaked from the caked mud of an animal’s dam, was there something that lay far beneath the surface of the world that exerted some dread influence on the life above?

No sooner had he formed the thought than he realised that he was not alone.

A gentle pull on the reins halted his destrier, and Zahariel took a long, cold breath of frigid air as he sensed the presence of a number of creatures observing him from the shadows of the trees.

He knows… he senses it…

He could not see them clearly, so completely were they cloaked in the darkness, yet he knew with utter certainty they were there, watching him from the dark.

Watching him from the dark…

He could see them from the corners of his eyes, little more than flitting shadows that vanished as soon as he turned his head to look directly upon them. How many there were, he could not say. He glimpsed at least five, but whether that represented the entire complement was a mystery.

Kill him… he is touched by it…

Whispers flitted between the trees, but Zahariel knew they were not whispers given voice by any human throat, or, truth be told, extant in a realm detectable by any of his five senses. He had the distinct impression of a conversation going on around him, and though the words, if such things had meaning in a discourse held without speech, were unknown to him, he understood their meaning perfectly.

‘Who are you?’ he shouted, striving to keep his voice steady. ‘Stop whispering and show yourselves!’

The shadowy watchers retreated further into the darkness at the sound of his voice, perhaps surprised that he was aware of them or that he had heard their wordless mutterings.

He carries the taint within him. Better to kill him now…

Zahariel’s hand slipped towards his sword at the threat, but a ghostly touch upon his thoughts warned him against such hostile action.

You waste your efforts, Zahariel of the Order. You cannot harm us with the weapons of this realm…

The voice echoed within his skull, and Zahariel cried out at the sound, the voice resonating as though the speaker was directly in front of him.

‘Who are you?’ he cried, regaining control of his senses and casting wild looks around the clearing. He saw nothing of his interlocutors, but spun his horse in a circle, his sword leaping to his hand.

‘Show yourselves!’ he again demanded. ‘I grow weary of these parlour tricks!’

Very well…

No sooner had the words registered in his consciousness than he caught sight of one of the unseen speakers.

A figure stepped from the darkness of the trees. It was no more than a few feet in height, and was swathed from head to foot in a hooded hessian robe that obscured every inch of its flesh. The darkness beneath its hood was more complete than that which surrounded Zahariel, and he had the conviction that were he to see the truth of what lay beneath its cowl, he would be driven irrevocably mad.

Its hands were clasped before it, each sunken in the opposite sleeve. Its posture was servile, though Zahariel detected no servility in its demeanour.

‘What are you?’ asked Zahariel. ‘Are you the Watchers in the Dark?’

That will suffice as an appellation for our purpose.

‘Purpose? What purpose?’ asked Zahariel.

Communicating with you in a manner you will understand. Humans require labels upon their world to make sense of it.

‘Humans?’ said Zahariel. ‘Such a word implies you are… not human, yes?’

Correct, we are of a species unknown to the majority of your race.

‘Then what are you?’

That is unimportant, but what
is
important is that you leave this place.

‘I cannot,’ said Zahariel. ‘I am sworn to hunt the beast that killed my friend.’

This creature you seek is not here, though it is close.

‘You know where it is? Tell me!’

Very well, but you must swear to leave here and never come back. These woods are corrupt and no good can come of humans being here.

‘Corrupt? Corrupted by what?’

The diminutive figure shook its head.

No, such things are not for humans to know. Your race already knows too much and seeks to tamper with things that should never be.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Zahariel. ‘What are you doing here?’

We are members of, a brotherhood, much like yourself… a cabal dedicated to thwarting the most ancient evil.

‘What evil?’ asked Zahariel. ‘You mean the great beasts?’

No, they are but a symptom of a greater ill. I will not name this evil, suffice to say it is the bane of your race and will one day consume you.

Zahariel felt a chill steal upon him at the mention of this great evil the creature spoke of, a bone-deep knowledge that it spoke the truth. Its words carried the weight of ages within them, and though such a thing was surely impossible, Zahariel felt that this creature might very well be thousands of years old, if not older.

‘This evil. Can it be fought?’ he asked.

Of course, all evil can be fought.

‘Then let me help you defeat it!’ he cried.

The figure shook its head, and Zahariel’s spirits fell.

Evil such as this can never be defeated. It can be held at bay for a time, but so long as there are humans, it will exist.

‘Then what can I do to help?’

Leave. Go far from this place and never return.

Zahariel nodded, only too eager to be away, but unwilling to leave without discovering more about these… aliens.

‘How did you come to be here?’

Again, the figure shook his head, and Zahariel saw two more small figures emerge from the trees, their attire and posture identical to the first.

He asks too many questions!

His race is curious and that will be their downfall. We should kill him.

He had no idea which of the three was speaking, for their voices were multi-layered and swirled around his head like water draining through a sinkhole. Though the speakers were small, and in any physical contest Zahariel knew he could best them easily, he had no doubt that they possessed powers beyond his understanding and could snuff out his existence as easily as a guttering candle.

‘Why should you kill me?’ he said. ‘What harm have I done you?’

Individually, none, but as a race, your kind threatens to doom the galaxy to eternal suffering.

Zahariel’s mind spun with the implications of the creature’s words, that humans existed beyond the confines of Caliban and that an entire race of humankind inhabited the stars above. The sensation was exhilarating, and to know that many of the old myths must be true was like the finest wine dancing upon his tongue.

Emboldened by this new knowledge, he held out his sword and said, ‘I have already sworn that I would oppose evil to my Order, but I swear I shall do all in my power to stand against the same evil you stand against.’

He sensed the creatures’ approbation and knew that they had read the truth beyond his words.

Very well, Zahariel of the Order. We accept your oath. Now it is time for you to go.

Zahariel had a thousand more questions for these watchers, but contented himself with the knowledge he had already gleaned, sheathing his sword and turning his horse, as the Watchers in the Dark melted back into the undergrowth.

As the outline of the watchers blended seamlessly with the darkness, one last question arose in his mind as he recalled something one of the watchers had said.

‘Wait!’ he cried. ‘What did you mean when you said the taint was in me?’

At first, he thought he was to be denied an answer, but in the moment before they faded from view, a voice whispered from the shadows.

Look not to unlock the door that leads to easy power, Zahariel of the Order. Ride back to the lightning tree and you will find what you seek.

Then they were gone.

Z
AHARIEL RODE FROM
the depths of the forest, his spirits lifting, the leaden weight that hung upon his soul on the way in, growing less with each kilometre that passed on the way out. Something terrible had happened in this part of the forest, something so awful that guardians from another world had come to Caliban to watch over it.

Whether the evil they spoke of was still on Caliban or had left echoes of its malice behind, he didn’t know, and he suspected he was better off in his ignorance. He recognised that the danger of this part of the forest was more than just what might threaten his body, but was something of an order far more dangerous.

He had been made privy to secret knowledge, and if there was one thing the Order prided itself on, it was that its members could keep a secret. The things he had learned and the things he believed would remain locked in his heart forever, for no earthly means of interrogation would force him to divulge those secrets.

Zahariel thought back to his conversation with the Lion atop the tower and how the great warrior had wondered about the existence of Terra or any other inhabited world. He alone on Caliban knew the answer to that question, and the singularity of his position thrilled him.

His journey from the forest’s dark heart passed swiftly, his horse’s step light as it picked an easy path through the tangled weeds and closely packed trees. Even the shadows that had closed in on him before seemed to be lifting, as a diffuse glow of warm, afternoon sunshine broke through the canopies of the forest.

Eventually, the thick underbrush gave way to the beginnings of a hard-packed earth path, and Zahariel smiled as he recognised the track that he had ridden along many hours ago. His horse took the path without need of his command, and he rode through leafy arbours before emerging in the clearing with the blackened, lightning struck tree.

Lost in contemplation, the beast caught Zahariel almost unawares.