Into Oblivion (Book 4) (21 page)

Akharu?

Somehow the word seemed familiar. Garret had no idea what language it was from, but he somehow knew that it meant
assassin.

“Akharu!” he shouted.

Suddenly, there was laughter. It was a quiet, malevolent laughter that stopped Garret in his tracks. It was, apparently, the intruder’s name.

“Show yourself and let’s get on with it!”

Garret stepped into the maze of jutting rocks, touching the surface of one of them as he passed. It was cold and damp, with a thin layer of some kind of slimy liquid. He rubbed his fingers together in disgust, peering farther into the grey cloak of mist.

“Show yourself, assassin,” he said.

As his eyes adjusted to the fog, a shape appeared in the distance. It was a tall and thin figure, cloaked in darkness and shadow. It bore a curved blade in either hand and stood menacingly in the mist, silhouetted in the pale light behind it.

“There you are,” Garret said. “You are not welcome here. Whatever you—“

Suddenly the figure flashed to the side, behind one of the jutting rocks. Garret stepped forward to give chase, but was blindsided by a sudden rush of wind. He thrust his saber in front of him, blocking a double slash of blade that threw him off balance.

He stumbled back, shocked at the lightning speed of the assassin. He stood poised, expecting another attack. When none came, he spoke another challenge.

“You’re very quick,” he said. “But you wield darkness. Darkness always gives way to the light.”

The deep laughter sounded again, echoing through the stone forest as if worming its way through to his ears.

“Such foolish words, mortal,” Akharu whispered. “That is what you are, is it not? Mortal?”

“Whatever I may be,” Garret replied. “I do not fear you, demon.”

Akharu laughed again. “I know who you are, and why you are here,” he said. “I can answer all of these questions for you, if you wish.”

Garret spit on the ground in a gesture of defiance. “I want nothing from you but your head.”

“My head will remain where it is. Yours, however, may or may not, depending on your next choice.”

Garret scowled, not sure of Akharu’s meaning.

“Follow me,” Akharu whispered. “Or I will kill the girl.”

“What girl?” Garret asked.

Akharu laughed again, more sinister this time.

“The innkeeper’s daughter,” Akharu replied. “You know her. You rescued her from the Jindala scum before your untimely death.”

Untimely death? What did he mean? Who had killed him? And who was the innkeeper’s daughter?

“Kill her,” Garret said. “Why should I care? I don’t even know who she is.”

“Come now, Scorpion,” Akharu said. “You would never allow an innocent woman to be murdered. Unless, of course, you did it yourself.”

Garret swung his saber through the air in challenge. “Stop talking in riddles!” he shouted.

Akharu was silent, letting his words sink in. Garret’s mind raced. His heart ached. His teeth were gritted in frustration. What was this creature doing to him. He was losing his composure, and he didn’t know why.

“Where are you?” He shouted. “Where is the girl?”

“That’s more like the real Scorpion,” Akharu chuckled. “The real Garret, assassin of the kingdom of Eirenoch. Bodyguard to the Queen. Failure. Murderer.”

“Silence!” Garret hissed. “Show yourself to me and face my blade!”

“Come then.”

A portal opened before Garret. It was a swirling mass of jumbled light that led to a dark cavern. It was strewn with filth; clothing, furniture, and random objects that seemed to have been thrown around in frustration. Among the clutter, chained to the carved stone wall, was a young woman. She was dark-haired, buxom, and looked tough as steel.

Without hesitation, Garret jumped through the portal, knowing Akharu would be waiting on the other side.

Chapter Nineteen

Eirenoch’s fleet was in line and sailing east at full speed. The ships were fully manned, armed to the teeth, and displayed full sails. Below, Jadhav’s undersea vessels complimented the warships, ready to sink the enemy by surprise.

The king looked left and right down the line, seeing his friends standing defiantly at the head of each ship. Ulrich commanded the Drakkar that had sailed down from the north; Hamal took the head of a captured Jindala ship; Lords Ferrin and Galen commanded their own vessels; and, finally, the remaining ships were captained by various sea merchants who had experience in warfare.

It looked to Eamon to be an unstoppable force.

As he gazed up and to the east, he saw the line of seven dragons approaching. Erenoth swooped down close to his ship, and the king gave him a wave to signal he had been spotted. Erenoth landed on the deck, transforming into human form.

“Greetings, my lord,” he said.

“How went the hunt?” Eamon asked.

“Three Jindala ships loaded with reinforcements were destroyed,” Erenoth replied. “The largest of them a gunship.”

Eamon grinned, knowing Erenoth’s love for making things explode. “No doubt loaded with black powder, I’m guessing.”

Erenoth smiled. “A lot of it.”

“Good. How far is the main line of ships?”

“They are a day’s travel from here,” Erenoth said. “They are in a perfect line from north to south.”

Eamon sighed. “How many?”

“
Twelve,” Erenoth replied. “Mostly light vessels, but one of them is heavily armored. I do not think the Jindala were expecting a fully armed fleet to attempt to break through. They were likely expecting nothing but transports.”

Eamon nodded. “Let’s keep it that way,” he said. “Keep watch, and let me know if anything changes.”

Erenoth bowed low, then transformed and shot up into the sky. Angen sidled up to Eamon, watching Erenoth fade into the clouds.

“Do you think we will need their help?” he asked.

“Perhaps,” Eamon said. “I do not want to put them in danger during the attack, though. They could keep watch for reinforcements as they have been, but if they join the battle directly, they may put our own ships in danger.”

“Right,” Angen agreed. “I would prefer not to be on fire when I fight.”

“Eamon!” sounded Wrothgaar’s voice from behind him. “Look off to the south!”

The king turned southward, seeing a group of whales off in the distance. He moved to the railing to get a better view. There were three of the creatures altogether; two juveniles and their mother. The mother seemed unusually large, although Eamon had never seen one up close.

“Are they supposed to be that big?” Eamon asked Angen, who had sailing experience.

“Not usually,” he replied. “And that type is not usually found here. The waters are much too shallow for a pod of whales that size.”

“What kind of whales are they?”

Angen shook his head. “
I’m not exactly sure,” he said, tapping his head. “They are similar to the ones I’ve seen farther south in deeper waters, but they look slightly different.”

Suddenly, a vessel surfaced near them, throwing ocean spray all around. Eamon winced as the mist hit his face. When the vessel became stable, its hatch opened and Jadhav appeared, smiling.

“Do you see them, my friend?” the Raja shouted.

“I do!” Eamon replied. “What are they?”

“They are the servants of Leviathan!” Jadhav yelled. “A female and her offspring!”

“Are they here to help?”

“Possibly. We’ll see. They are definitely tailing us, though.”

“Can you get closer to them without frightening them?” Eamon asked.

Jadhav laughed. “There isn’t much in the sea that would frighten them. I am sure I could get close enough.”

The Raja disappeared into his vessel, shutting the portal behind him. Eamon watched as the ship slipped beneath the waves, leaving a mass of roiling bubbles on the surface.

“He’s an odd fellow,” Angen remarked.

“That’s the sign of a good king,” Eamon said. “If the memories of my grandfather are any indication.”

Angen chuckled. “Yes, he was an odd fellow, too. Great king though, if
my
memory serves me correctly.”

Wrothgaar joined them on the railing, staring out over the sea. He was intrigued by the whales, though he had seen many in his life. These were different, he knew, and their presence was the sign of something great.

“Where there is a mother and her calves,” he said. “There will be others. Whales travel in pods.”

Eamon nodded. “Jadhav says these are servants of Leviathan, the Firstborn of the sea.”

Wrothgaar raised his brow, smiling. “I hope we get to see the great Firstborn,” he said.

“Not likely,” Angen said. “These waters are too shallow. Judging from the size of those whales, Leviathan himself would be huge. Gargantuan.”

“Like that gut of yours,” Wrothgaar said, giving Angen a smack in the belly.

“Where are the rest of the knights?” Eamon asked.

Wrothgaar shrugged. “The last time I saw them, Brynn and Daryth were at the stern. Azim is hanging over the railing, and Brianna is below deck.”

Eamon looked at Angen, who was grinning.

“Alright,” he said. “We’ll leave them alone.”

He faced ea
st again, stifling a smile, and gazed out over the waters. The battle was coming soon, and the knights needed time to themselves beforehand.

It would be glorious.

Farouk and Maedoc returned as Traegus was showing Faeraon the many maps and star charts on his walls. Maedoc’s gaze immediately went to the Alvar king, who was fascinated with the similarities of their respective worlds. Traegus introduced them.

“Faeraon,” he said. “Meet Maedoc, my friend and colleague, and the king’s uncle.”

Faeraon took Maedoc’s hand in greeting. “It is an honor to meet you, friend,” he said.

“This is Faeraon,” Traegus continued. “King of the Alvar, and the sole survivor of The Lifegiver’s last exploit.”

Maedoc nodded in respect. “I am pleased to meet you, Faeraon. I have never met one of your kind.”

Traegus led Maedoc over to his desk, where the banshee’s skull lay upon a small pedestal. Maedoc reached out, touching its surface and tracing the ancient runes inscribed upon it. His brow furrowed in curiosity, and he seemed to nod in recognition.

“This is the skull, eh?” he asked. “I never dreamed that I would ever consider bringing this entity back to its body. Nonetheless, I believe it can be done. Have we discovered the identity of the banshee?”

“The banshee is Faeraon’s daughter, Allora,” Farouk replied. “She became trapped here by this spell; enslaved to wander limbo by the sorcerer Tyrus.”

Maedoc grunted. “Tyrus, eh? It seems that this man was much more than a mere sorcerer. This language is incredibly ancient. It is much older than any human language. Where do you suppose he learned it?”

“It is his native language,” Farouk explained. “My friends, the defilers, have told me his story. He was born fifteen thousand years ago on the steppes of the mainland. He was once the shaman of a tribe of primitive human-like men. I am guessing they were similar to the islanders that Wrothgaar referred to as the wildmen.”

“Yes, yes,” Maedoc nodded. “This is, indeed, similar to their modern language, but much older. I believe I can loosely translate it. But the important thing is, we must prepare a mixture of life materials. If Faeraon is this woman’s father, his blood will be needed. Aeli, you are skilled in the creation of simulacrums, homunculi and the like?”

Aeli nodded.

“Faeraon’s blood must be used in the ritual,” Maedoc continued. “As for the spoken words themselves, I must decipher the meaning of Tyrus’ spell in order to divine the proper words of power.”

“Excellent,” Traegus said. “As the moorcat said, exciting things are afoot!”

“A foot!” Jodocus shouted. “I have two foots!”

Traegus chuckled, patting the boy on the head. “Aeli,” he said. “There is something we must discuss further while Maedoc is preparing the spell. Farouk, can you assist Maedoc in gathering Faeraon’s blood? A few drams should be sufficient, wouldn’t you say, Aeli?”

“That should be enough,” Aeli agreed.

“Very well, let us have a seat and get comfortable, then.”

Traegus and Aeli moved to the divan, sitting close to one another. Aeli’s brow was furrowed in worry.

“Do not fear,” Traegus assured her. “But I believe this spell we are about to perform will have some kind of effect on young Jodocus here.”

“What do you mean?”

Traegus pursed his lips. “He is only a year old, yet has aged to the point of a five, perhaps six, year old child.”

Aeli nodded, smiling as she watched Jodocus scratch the moorcat’s ears.

“Another growth spurt may happen due to the presence of this magic. I am quite certain a creation spell this powerful, coupled with an inter-dimensional summoning, will cause it to happen. If it does, there is no way of knowing how much more he will mature. But, rest assured, this is why he is here.”

Aeli nodded again, disappointed at the possibility that her beloved foundling would grow too fast to have a childhood. She had always wanted children, and the forest—and the universe itself, apparently—had given her one. It didn’t seem fair to her that his childhood would go by so quickly.

“I knew this would happen someday,” she said. “But I never thought it would be so soon. I’ve only had a year with him.”

“He will, most likely, still be a child,” Traegus said. “Only an older child.”

Aeli smiled. “He will always be my little boy.”

Traegus smiled, too, gripping her upper arm to comfort her. “That is a good way to look at it,
” he said. “I think the two of you will have plenty of years together. Look at yourself. You are nearly eighty years old, and look no older than thirty. I am thousands of years old, and, well… I took this body, but you get the point. Jodocus the Great Druid was nearly five thousand years old when he returned to the Earth. You will live for hundreds of years yourself. Young Jodocus will, perhaps, never die. He is a child of unknown origin, possibly sent by the Keeper himself.”

“Allora referred to him as the star
child,” Aeli said.

Traegus nodded. “That seems fitting,” he said. “Whatever it means, he was sent here for a purpose. And, might I say, the timing was just right.”

“Traegus,” Maedoc said. “I believe I may have found some answers.”

“Ah,” Traegus replied, smiling at Aeli. “Let’s see what he has found.”

Maedoc was seated on Traegus’ stool, bent over the desk. His fingers traced the inscriptions carefully as he showed them to everyone.

“There are two spells at work here,” he began. “One that binds her spirit to this skull, despite how little is left of it; the other only allows her to appear in either this realm, or her home realm. She may not leave limbo without becoming this frightening form, and may only do so at dusk. This explains why whenever she tried to communicate with Faeraon, or anyone here, she did nothing but scare the daylights out of them.”

While the adults were silent in contemplation, Jodocus’ curiosity prevented his own silence.

“How do you scare the daylights out of someone?” he asked.

The moorcat suddenly roared, causing the group to cover their ears. Jodocus jumped, quickly going to Aeli to hide his face in her robes.

“That is how,” the moorcat said, chuckling.

“That was loud,” Jodocus said into a face full of cloth.

Aeli shook her finger at the moorcat, who chuckled again.

“Every attempt she made to communicate with either realm ended in disaster,” Maedoc explained. “She never meant any harm. She only tried to communicate with anyone who came nearby, but always ended up killing them. She has terrorized this island for thousands of years through no fault of her own.”

“She would never have harmed anyone intentionally,” Faeraon said, his eyes betraying his sorrow.

“So,” Maedoc continued. “To break the curse, we need to construct a new body for her, and draw her spirit from limbo. I assume Traegus knows the proper summoning methods, and Aeli has the knowledge of what components are to be used in forming a new vessel for her spirit.”

Traegus nodded. “I will prepare the circle,” he said.

“We already have Faeraon’s blood,” Farouk added.

“We will need some soil from her world,” Aeli said. “Earthen clay would not work, since she is not from this world.”

Farouk nodded. “I will cross over and collect some,” he said.

“And I will take a nap, I think,” the moorcat said, curling up in the corner.

“Maedoc,” Aeli said. “The skull will be needed to provide material for her new bones.”

Maedoc nodded. “Yes, the skull will need to be destroyed in any case to render the spell powerless.”

“Crush it into the finest powder you can, and mix it with Faeraon’s blood.”