Elora leaned against the upturned font and gazed at the carnage. The granite scorched black in the very place she had ended her father’s life, along with the Shadojak’s. Both killed by the same sword. The Soul Reaver which was her father’s before becoming the property of the Shadojaks. Now it was hers. Hidden within her smuggler’s pouch, invisible and unreachable by others; she felt its weight, sensed its power and accepted the burden of responsibility that came with it. Elora was now the Shadojak. Judge, balancer and protector of both realms.
The silence between herself and Bray was broken only by the breeze that buffeted passed the broken wall, whistling as it passed over the fallen masonry and smashed rock. The church in ruin, its last song sung was now replaced by the haunting tones of the wind.
They had both known this was their final moment together, the last time they would be with each other until Bray found a way to cross over to the other side, yet she couldn’t think of anything to say. What could she say? Words wouldn’t keep them together, wouldn’t cleanse the world of the Dark Army and couldn’t bring the dead back. It would be her actions and her energies that would unpick the chaos left by her father.
A figure stepped into the large broken chamber. Delicately he weaved between the debris on the rubble-strewn floor, careful not to lose his footing and break the lute he carried.
“He’s ready for you Elora,” Otholo said. His usual sing-song voice taking on a sombre quality. He gave them both a sad smile before returning the way he came, gently plucking a melancholy tune on his beloved instrument.
“This is it then,” Bray said, rising from the font and brushing dust from his cloak before offering her his hand.
“This is it,” Elora replied, taking his hand and pulling him into an embrace and not bothering to brush the dust from her own black cloak; a gift from the Minuan people for ridding them of the curse that tied them to Eversong and to her father.
She put on a brave face as they followed the bard through the anti-chamber and up a stone staircase that led out into the open. A small garden lay behind the church; a glade that was hidden from below. A secret place, away from the Imperial Guards and hidden from those who wished to meet her. Only the peaks of the mountains bared witness to her departure, the snow from their sentinel points dusted off by the wind to drift across the blue sky.
They approached the fairy circle hand in hand, wild grass wet with mountain dew clinging to her boots as a yellow lotus tree infused its sweet aroma to the secret garden. The few friends and family that came to see her off parted as they neared.
Elora nodded towards the three elderly ladies. The Sisters Devine; Aslania’s Elders and Council. They smiled back, bowing as she passed and giving the respect shown to a Shadojak. Elora didn’t think she’d ever get used to that. Her uncle Nathaniel stood next to the circle of moon daisies, his arm around her mother. Athena’s tears running freely down her face. Elora’s heart ached to spend more time with her, the last three weeks spent at her mother’s home had passed by in a blur, giving her only a taste of what she had been missing out of her life.
They hugged each other, mother and daughter, Nathaniel’s arm giving her a squeeze as he placed a kiss upon her head.
Everything that needed to be said had been said earlier, before they left and Elora was thankful for it. She doubted her own cheeks would have been dry if they hadn’t. All the goodbyes had been done at her mother’s house. The plans for the future, the decisions of how to handle the Emperor who demanded that she come to him. How they would handle the Shadojak Supreme, who would need to grant her the official title of Shadojak - if he didn’t her life would end on the point of her sword. Ejan wanted them all to return to Rams Keep, everyone had different ideas of what was for the best, but it was guilt that set her on the path to return to Earth.
Ejan stood before her now, the Fist of the North resting against her shoulders and seeming far too heavy for the Norsewoman to lift. As Elora approached she lowered the great war hammer, its shaft resting in the grass.
Elora grasped the weapon, her own hand print embedded in the steel head and hoisted it upon her shoulder. The sheer weight of it forced her to bend over to the side to compensate for the burden. Yet she carried it with pride. It belonged to Ejan’s late husband Ragna. A Viking warrior who gave his own life to save her and the small group they travelled with. This had happened only a few weeks ago and his passing had left an emptiness in her heart. It was her job to give the hammer to his son Jaygen, who had yet to learn of his father’s death.
Ejan gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and wished her luck as she stepped through the crackling moon daisies and into the fairy circle, leaving the world of Thea behind.
She had only been in a fairy circle once before, in a cellar at a London town-house. This one was much the same; a raised dais of grass with pretty flowers in various colours and sizes, fairies busily flying amongst them. The outside world beyond the circle was a blue and green blur, the oscillating air shimmering before her forming a dome. It was like standing inside a huge snow globe.
Bray had followed her into the fairy circle but could go no further. Apart from the fairies themselves, only gods or god-created creatures could travel through them. It was a risk she was taking going through herself. She was only part god and that being the deity of Chaos, yet it was a risk she was determined to take.
Prince Dylap was sat atop his black falcon, perched on a fallen log with two other fairies flanking him on smaller grey-coloured birds. He was god-created himself, a weapon to serve a forgotten god for a war that had long ago been fought and also forgotten. The small Farrosian was now Prince of the fairies that lived in the Farrosian Forest.
He gave her a nod and kicking his heels into the flank of his bird, rose into the air and flew through the shimmering wall, his bird-riders following.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Bray said, pulling Elora around so she was facing him.
She leaned into his body, a final embrace before she departed.
“You know I can’t do that.”
“I know,” he said, resignation making his words sound thick with emotion. He placed a kiss on her lips and stood back, allowing her to leave and letting go. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Elf boy,” Elora replied.
The days spent together in each other’s company and in his arms had been heaven. She’d known it was going to end and it could be weeks or months before they were together again.
She willed herself to move, to make this departing as brief as possible. Elora stepped through the crackling air blinking back tears.
Pain exploded within her chest as the world collapsed. A crushing weight pressed in on all sides, a pressure that forced her eyes into the back of her head and the air to squeeze from her lungs. The blood in her veins began to boil. If she’d had the ability to scream, Elora would have scoured the sky with a banshee’s siren.
A disorienting feeling washed through her brain as stars rushed towards her inner vision; millions of sparkling needle points passing through her as if she had no more substance than a ghost.
Then she thumped down hard against solid ground.
Elora slowly opened her eyes, fighting down the nausea that threatened to empty her belly, but felt reassurance that she was in one piece.
She was still in a blurring dome, although the colours were now different shades of green and the ground was smooth stone cobbles with strands of yellow grass poking between the cracks. She waited a moment for the dizziness to pass before stepping out of the fairy circle and into the ruins of Rams Keep.
Evening had set in. What light she had filtered through the forest canopy, casting dark shadows over the ancient ruins. The maze of fallen walls and towers lay about in broken piles, the footings of staircases and partial archways were covered in creeping ivy and shrubs as the forest tried to claim it back. Rams Keep had a haunting, mournful edge about it, her memories of her last visit only adding to its mystery. Elora had been here before, been in its dungeons, the place where she had been re-born as that other person - the Queen of Darkness.
Prince Dylap waited for her by a fallen doorway, rusty iron bands were the only remnants left from the door itself. He was perched upon a branch of a twisted birch tree that had grown through the wall. His bird-riders either side of him. He raised his silver javelin, pointing in the direction of a deer-track and spoke in a high-pitched voice.
She quickly put her tinker’s tongue charm in her ear; the magical device which Bray had given to her when she first arrived in Thea. The small coin-shaped charm allowed her to understand the unfamiliar languages spoken to her.
“The protective ward that surrounds the keep still works,” explained the fairy Prince, the spines of his wings flexing as he spoke. Tiny forks of lighting sparked between them, different to the delicate butterfly-like wings of his bird-riding companions.
“It would be best that you remained within its protection. Although the main body of the Dark Army are marching east into Europe, there remains pockets of Solarius’s force in all areas.”
“It’s Silk I want. Has he gone into Europe?” Elora asked. She didn’t think Prince Dylap understood English, but he knew the name Silk.
“I don’t know. He was in the capital, maybe he’s still there or has followed his army. Either way I will find him. My bird-riders have already scattered to the far reaches of his host and we three,” the fairy spread his arms out to his companions, “will leave for London after the birds have rested.”
“Good,” Elora said, nodding gratefully. “I will wait for your return.”
She left them on the wall as she began the slow walk to Rams Keep Inn, a little over a mile away.
