“Solarius,” she blurted out, raising her hands towards the jar. “Solarius. The God of Chaos.”
“Don’t lie to me witch,” Bray snapped, removing the lid entirely and tipping it towards the water.
“No, please. I tell you no lies, Solarius lives.”
Bray heard the truth in her words but struggled to believe them. Solarius was slain by the original eight, the founding fathers of the Shadojaks. His body torn apart and his dark knights killed, their swords destroyed and broken into the eight blades which the Shadojaks still hold, thousands of years after the event.
“Impossible. If he was alive we would know,” he said.
“He lives and has been plotting his own return for decades. Weaving webs, raising an army, controlling his puppets. As the barrier weakens he grows stronger. Soon he will be free of his bonds and will break both Earth and Thea, bending them to his will.”
“You are one of his puppets?”
Neptula nodded. “My last task is to let my children sing. By dawn I will have played my part. Even if you kill me now it won’t stop the task from happening.”
“Why? Solarius is nothing of the sea. Why are you his?”
“Fool. The God of Chaos won’t be content at ruling the lands of both worlds, he wants it all and will spread chaos until it is his. By bending the knee now, I will save my people, my world below the waves.”
“He’s been beaten before, when the great rift happened. That war is over, finished,” Bray argued.
“He was defeated, the battle won but not the war. He returns to get what he believes is his. And this time he’s created another beast. A weapon equally as powerful as himself, a creature spawned from his own loins. It is already here among us, right under our noses.”
Bray took in all that was being said, finding it too unreal but beginning to believe the words. If such a thing was possible, then chaos and war would ravage everything breathing on both worlds. It would go some way into explaining why there were so many takwich on Earth. An army.
He needed to contact Diagus and warn him. As he thought of it a mental picture of Elora lying dead at the Shadojak’s feet flashed across his mind. Gritting his teeth, he screwed the lid tightly on the jar.
“Why are you telling me this.”
“Let’s just say I’m hedging my bets. You may still defeat him if you take his weapon and use it against him.”
“Tell me of this new weapon, this beast he’s created. If we kill it, we may slow his plans.”
Neptula relaxed her shoulders as Bray lowered the jar to the floor. A token of his trust. “Tell me where this beast, this son of Solarius is. I’ll kill him before his father can use him.”
“Son?” Neptula smiled. “Solarius didn’t spawn a son, no. He had a daughter. Her name is Elora.”
Chapter 12
Flames and Champagne Cognac
The dark arms of night nestled over the clear sky, smothering another day away. An early star; bright but alone, shone enthusiastically above Clifford’s Tower, a medieval circular building near York’s city centre. Standing on a small grass mound in the middle of an empty car park; flood lit and on display - one of many stone-built relics that lay scattered about the richly historical city.
Diagus parked the car across two spaces and switched off the engine before climbing out. Elora watched him slam the door and wondered if he wanted her to follow. He didn’t say much - no that wasn’t right. To not say much would indicate that he had at least said something; which he hadn’t. The last words spoken to her were from Norgie.
“Take care,” he had said, giving a reassuring squeeze of her hand before closing the car door. Elora had already said goodbye to Gurple who seemed too upset to wave her off and remained in the house. She had wanted to say a farewell to Bray but the Shaigun had left before she awoke and the Shadojak was of no mind to wait.
They had travelled north for four hours, stopping only once at a service station and Diagus had not muttered one word to her, a frown constantly etched upon his brow as his one eye concentrated on the road ahead. Yet the silence suited her. Her mind was a muddle, juggling with a heavy weight of emotions from worrying about her uncle, to a sense of loss at not knowing if she would ever see Bray again.
She stared out of the window, watching the world pass by but her mind often wondered back to the fairy circle, Bray’s head on her lap, twirling his hair through her fingers. Had it really been only yesterday? It seemed so far away, so distant but it would be a memory she would take with her to the grave.
York was alive with music: people walking by, men dressed in trousers and shirts, the women, short skirts and tight tops. Couples, small groups, big groups, hen parties, all heading for pubs and clubs that lit up the city, oblivious to the new world which Elora had been introduced to. Did she envy their ignorance? No, she liked to know what was happening, what was real, all of life’s details in all its colour, including the darker shades; the perilous parts that wanted to fight her, wanted her dead. It was those that made her feel more alive, even though she was scared witless at the time.
She watched the Shadojak as he stalked towards the tower, heading for a small group of people that sat on the grass mound and decided that she would rather be with him than stay. Whether he wanted it or not.
The small group consisted of two girls a little older than herself, kneeling in front of a lavishly dressed man who sat on the grass with his back against the stone wall of Clifford’s Tower. He was playing a seven-string lute and singing with a beautiful voice that was on par, if not better than her own.
The song was jaunty, sweet and light hearted. His slender fingers picking softly at the strings, teasing each note out perfectly. The girls leaned in close, intent on the song and the comely man and didn’t notice them approach but the musician’s eyes tracked them; one pale blue, the other green. As he sang, the corners of his mouth grew wider showing perfect white teeth.
“And what a ferocious sight,
that on this particular night,
from a man so bold and feared,
the stare of the Pearly White.”
Diagus stood behind the girls, arms folded, glaring at the man. But the musician didn’t appear intimidated, finishing his song with a flourish. He stood and bowed to the girls, his locks of blonde hair almost touching the ground.
Pushing the lute behind his back he took a hand from both girls and kissed the back of each, causing them to blush.
“I fear, my little larkings, that my songs tonight have ended. But Otholo will rise again on the morrow and I will sing you the song of the ‘Glen maiden and the broken bell of Arimath’.” He kissed their hands once more. “Sweet dreams Cathy.”
“I’m Kelly,” she corrected.
“So you are my dear. And pleasant dreams to you...”
“Sophie,” the girl said, before Otholo guessed the wrong name. They both gave a nervous curtsy before hurrying off. Otholo watched them leave with a cat-like grin. When they had rounded the tower and were out of sight he descended the grass mound until he stood before Elora and the Shadojak.
