(WIP) The Aethya's End - Forgotten Prophecy - Chapter Four.

Across miles upon miles of barren sand, liquid fire burbled in a plethora of gleaming lakes that dotted the desert. Thick steam rose from reed-rimmed fissures, the elegant stalks as a gilded frame that proudly displayed the aqua water within, and in the distance sandstone walls tipped with elaborate twists of gold stood half as tall as the jagged black mountains encircling the region.

Behind the walls identical sandstone buildings sat side by side in a neat grid, only separated by smooth paths that led from one district to the next, and each was connected by a string of interwoven mage-lit spheres that hung from every eave and swung across the pathways. The soft amber lights led through parks of burgundy-leafed trees and vibrant red vines, beds of crimson flowers and fiery shrubs, and at last opened to face a grand manor wrought with black iron and golden trappings.

Alexandria’s breath caught in her throat.

Home.

The city, the pathways, the manor… the entire scene was as familiar as the small sliver of sky she witnessed through the cracks in her den each night. She had been there before, many times before, but when? That tiny filthy room had held her trapped and bound for so long; there had been no opportunity to visit such a wonderful land of sand and lava, of hot springs and glorious cities.

Ice-flecked wind swept her hair across her face and howling gusts spun circles about her head, forcing the desert city to dim and darken.

“No,” she moaned. “Don’t leave me.”

Something tightened around her body —an arm— and her eyes snapped open. The white sands vanished and were replaced by a kaleidoscopic vortex made up of a thousand different colours that danced and twirled in mesmerising patterns across the moonlit skies.

“Is that… the Aethya?” she whispered in awe. “It looks so different.”

The arm tightened further.

“Be still,” a man commanded.

The heavenly beauty was instantly forgotten. The horseman. She had allowed the cursed magic to take over and encourage her to murder Mother, had very quickly been captured, and now all that awaited was death —may the Magisters have mercy on her for the Gods surely would not.

A sob forced itself up through her chest and she choked on it as the man tightened his grip and whispered faint words into the horse’s ear. The wind switched direction and violently whipped her hair back from her face as they made their descent and if not for the arm around her body she would have flown over the horseman’s shoulder as hooves met stone pavements.

The gusts stopped.

All that could be heard was the steady clop as the beast drew them further into the Isle’s embrace.

“At last,” Matthew whispered into his horse’s ear. “Elsin bu vin ba elasa, Ca’na. Good work tonight.”

Dismounting, he blew a sharp whistle that rang out through the silent night and dropped the witch. She landed with a dull thud but he didn’t bother looking to see how she fared. He was on sanctified ground now; nothing could harm him… except the Magisters. He furrowed his brow and whistled again, louder.

A young boy of no more than thirteen scurried towards him and quickly offered a shaky salute. Specks of dust and straw were stuck to his blonde curls and behind the lad’s frightened gaze lingered traces of recently-discarded dreams.

Matthew offered a dry smile.

“Sleeping, Tomas?”

“Y-ye— no, sir. Commander Verde… s-sir!” the boy’s eyes widened as they landed on this night’s unlikely acquisition. “By the Gods— i-is that…?”

“Do not speak a word!” Matthew snapped. “The Council has the situation under control and I will not have you sparking a panic.”

“I-I— of course, sir.”

“Take Ca’na, brush her down and give her a treat. She deserves it.”

“Yes, sir.”

He handed Tomas Ca’na’s reins and at last spun about to face the fallen witch as the boy led his mare to the stables.

The blood-coloured hair fell across her face in thick grimy tangles as she sat huddled on the cobbled stone, her tiny frame shook as she wrapped thin arms around equally thin legs and sobbed between her knees, and for the briefest of moments his heart softened. Though cursed, she was as a frightened child trapped in a woman’s emaciated body and was about to become a highly desirable play-thing wrenched and pulled from one Lord Magister’s grasp to another’s as they fought and squabbled over who would claim the blood of the fabled witch. It was likely she would not survive the week. Perhaps, in a way, he truly was her executioner.

Squashing the unwelcome sympathy, he grabbed the witch by a scrawny arm and hoisted her to her feet.

“You were not to waken yet. Will you walk or must I return you to the void?”

Alexandria raised her face to the horseman’s then hurriedly looked down at the cobbled stone. With eyes as black mirrors embedded in his harsh face he appeared more demonic than Mother had claimed her to be and she couldn’t bare the sight of herself reflected in them.

“I will walk,” she whispered.

The man’s hand tightened around her elbow and yanked her towards the foreboding fortress that loomed ahead. Stumbling over her feet, she tried to match his pace whilst cautiously peering up at the jagged quartz that rose up around them on all sides.

Reaching up to caress the heavens, they were impossibly tall, pointed white towers threaded with gold, serrated like one of Mother’s shattered bottles, and each one gleamed with soft iridescent patterns that matched those of the Aethya. They formed a semi-circle within the perimeter of the Isle, towering high above the bare glimpse of colossal trees that dared peek through the gaps between each pillar, and encased in the centre was a similarly constructed crystal castle adorned with the same mage-lit spheres in her desert dream.

There was too much open space. How did people cope with the great expanse of sky that stretched into eternity —the endless ether that threatened to engulf her and draw her up into its embrace? There were no walls to protect her. No ceiling! Heart pounding, an involuntary mewl escaped her lips.

A lightning bolt shot down and stabbed the tower beside the castle, followed by an ear-piercing crack, and she scurried faster. As though repelled by the crystal the bolt then fanned out into a dozen streaks that briefly brightened the sky, illuminating the path the horseman was taking her. The cobbled stone grated against her feet, unhelped by the rough drag the horseman caused as he pulled her along, and she fought back whimpers as they entered the same tower that had just been struck.

Dozens of candles burned in sphere-shaped sconces that floated overhead, their flames bizarrely allowing the wax they inhabited to remain whole. The crystal floor was as ice beneath her feet, a marginal improvement over the harsh stone. Several tapestries hung low from the great walls, each one was a different colour yet all displayed the snarling faces of a two-headed feline —the same feline that had descended toward her on the pommel of the horseman’s sword back in the cottage.

She whipped her head back to the floor and stared at the golden threading that spread throughout the quartz. The feline’s image… it seemed as familiar as that desert dream but instead of warm memories of a home unvisited it filled her with loathing, and dread.

How dare they worship that beast, she inwardly snarled, then froze as fear returned and drowned the brief burble of disgust.

The horseman dragged her onto a shining rose-quartz slab embedded in the centre of the white floor and within seconds the room was gone, replaced by wooden walls and a floor of lush violet carpet that felt as clouds oozing between her toes.

Her head spun and a faint nausea climbed her throat, but her disorientation vanished as the horseman yanked her one last time toward a large arched door, its edge gilded with a thick layer of gold and its surface swarming with living runes that danced and twirled across the wooden grain.

The end was coming. Pain and despair wafted from the door and encased her, goosebumps spread over her arms as soft, unintelligible voices whispered in her ear, and her heart plummeted into her stomach as the horseman knocked three times, loudly.

Without the slightest noise the door swung open and the whispers stopped. The horseman released his grip on her arm and nudged her into the dark chamber, then stood at her side.

“Commander Verde,” a man’s voice hissed. “You arrive unannounced. I assume there is a reason for this intrusion?”

“My apologies, General Magister Nicolai,” the horseman said, bowing his head. “I thought it prudent to introduce you to tonight’s bounty: a woman of the red hair. To deliver my report on the situation before taking it before the Council.”

A chandelier that dangled from the centre of the room burst into life, momentarily blinding her. A multitude of voices rose up and spoke all at once, revealed to belong to a group of nine tall, robed figures as her vision cleared. They stood around a grand circular table, as black and gleaming as the gemstones that dangled against each of their chests, and she shivered as their eyes fell upon her, as their ominous auras entwined together and shrouded her, as each of their wills burned into her and sought entry into her mind.

“Uh, of course,” the horseman coughed awkwardly. “I did not realise you were in the midst of Council. I, ah—”

“Why is that abomination standing next to you? Why did you not destroy it?” the General Magister narrowed his eyes. “Speak, boy!”

“I… that is… I assumed—”

“You dare make asssumptions of your betters?”

“Nonsense, Nicolai,” a warm voice interjected. “Your Commander is to be commended for his initiative.”

The painfully gaunt man —Nicolai— his enraged, disgusted glare embedded above skeletal cheekbones was identical to the one Mother had worn. To see that same expression on another person… she tore her gaze away and met the deep brown eyes of the man who had intervened. The least intimidating person in the chamber and yet clearly the most powerful, his energy flowed from him in thick waves and bore a hole through the ominous shroud his fellow Magisters encased her in.

“High Magister, I must disagree,” Nicolai snapped. “Centuries ago the red haired witch murdered High King Andru, your own ancestor, and invaded the heavens to destroy our Gods! Its presence cannot be tolerated and neither can its acquisition be commended.” He turned to the horseman. “Commander, you will perform your duty. Kill it.”

“Yes, milord.”

She was going to die. They were going to kill her. This was the end. Why hadn't the horseman just killed her when he kicked down the cottage door? The horseman drew his sword, the metallic screech echoing a thousand times over in the silent chamber, and Alexandria braced herself for the strike.

The High Magister raised a hand and the sword stopped mid-swing.

“Look at me,” the High Magister commanded.

Trembling, she dutifully raised her eyes to his. He offered a warm smile that brightened his freckled cheeks and her body grew heavy as she drowned in his enchanting gaze. The room and everyone in it faded into nothingness, Mother’s murder and the horseman’s collection no longer mattered, and her incoming death was no longer a concern. In this realm where no-one else existed she could die with a serenity that would not be allowed otherwise. It was a moment to be embraced.

Death did not come.

The High Magister examined her curiously, gently probed at her thoughts and mind and coaxed entry into her innermost soul, when another presence forced itself upon the realm and broke the illusion.

Lord Magister Lena pushed herself into Caelin’s unnecessary inspection and stared disdainfully at the scrawny peasant Commander Verde had delivered.

This was truly the red-haired witch of legend? It was most unimpressive. It was skinny, dirty, and held not the slightest echo of power. Clearly the horseman had been tricked into believing this wretch was a specimen worthy of Council attention and their man-child of a High Magister was making a fool of himself as he entertained this ridiculous notion.

Alexandria heard the lady Magister’s thought as clear as though it were her own and felt a familiar, loathed stirring in her gut. She could not control it and for the first time in her life did not want to; her future depended on it.

She turned away from the High Magister’s enchanted gaze as easily as though she had never been fixated and stared directly into the woman’s ice blue eyes. The chandelier swayed back and forth, its light casting deep shadows that spun about the chamber, the tapestries on the wall fluttered, the two-headed feline pictured on each seeming to snarl and growl as the fabrics rippled in the conjured breeze, and the obsidian sphere bound about the woman’s neck spun circles within its silver prison, seeking escape yet finding none.

“You are mistaken,” Alexandria purred as she climbed to her feet, ignoring the cowardly motion of the horseman as he stumbled back and away from her. Her eyes bore into those of the lady Magister’s and held her in place as she stepped closer. “There is, however, another wretch worthy of Council attention.” She glanced pointedly at the High Magister and smiled. “I don’t believe the High Magister would want you on his Council if he knew what lurks beneath that flimsy mental shield.”

She returned her stare to the woman and, without care, wrenched the forbidden thoughts from her mind. The lady Magister screamed but Alexandria took no heed, instead her voice grew louder and bolder as the woman’s thoughts flew from her mouth as rapidly as the horseman’s cyclonic approach.

“Rebellion. Revolution. Will seek support from the others. It should never have been Caelin and they know it! Demon-worshipping man-child. It was a mistake. Gain support. Our world is lost. The Gods have forsaken us. Tyrant. Despot. Usurp the usurper.”

The verbal flow stopped as suddenly as it began and Alexandria stumbled back.

Why did she do that? What were they going to do to her now? Death was all but certain. She had dared hold a Council Magister hostage! Was that possible —had she truly performed such a feat? By the Three, by the Three Gods in the eternal Aethya… have mercy, she whimpered.

The woman collapsed against the table, finally able to move once more, and her body shook uncontrollably as she struggled to find the energy to stand. Nicolai briefly touched her hand and then spun around and glared at the horseman.

“This witch has dared defile a member of Council! Commander, do your duty or—”

The High Magister burst into gales of delighted laughter.

“Nicolai! It is as I said. Your Commander should be commended; he has found for us a most amazing prize.”

“Are you daft?” Nicolai yelled. “This creature should have been killed at birth, should have been killed when my Commander first laid his eyes on her!”

“Silence!”

The air in the chamber darkened as the High Magister rose to his full height, his humour disappearing as swift as it started. He waved a flippant hand at the lady Magister still lying prostrate across the table and stared hard at Nicolai.

“Restrain her. May she forever serve as a reminder that insubordination will not be tolerated. You are sworn to me. All of you are sworn to me,” he shouted.

He snapped his fingers without awaiting further dialogue. The sharp sound reverberated about the bare chamber and within half a second a young, pale girl manifested from the shadows. Long black ringlets swept down her shoulders, matching both her black eyes and the simple black dress she wore, and her feet barely touched the carpet as she held her head high and glided towards the High Magister. He motioned to Alexandria.

“Natalia, accompany this woman to my quarters. Spare no luxury.”

“Yes, High Magister Caelin.”

Matthew winced as the witch was escorted from the General Magister’s command chamber. This was not quite how he expected this event to unfold. Nicolai’s eyes were as flames as he glowered at High Magister Caelin, Lord Magister Lena was unable to move and had to be supported by two other Council members, and he just stood there, watching like a dumbfounded imbecile.

He clenched his fists and stood at the ready, awaiting further instruction.

There was none.

Nicolai whipped away from the High Magister, shot Matthew a withering glare, and pointed a bony finger at the door.

“Leave. You are dismissed, Commander.”

 

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

 

---

 

Hello 😀

This is Chapter Four of The Aethya's End, Book One of the Forgotten Prophecy series. A book and series that is still a work-in-progress but one that I hope to finally get out there this year. (I say that every year; may this year be the one!)

It's been an active work-in-progress for over a decade and has been in mind, constantly evolving and changing shape, for double that.

To the non-native English speakers who may have tried to read this, I am sorry about my archaic voice and use of uncommon words. 😂

Next chapter coming as time allows. 😊 I am slowly getting them up to a printable/publishable standard. Well, to my standards anyway -- I am very much aware that my writing is not for today's mainstream. 😂 I love it though and will get this labour of love out of my system.

_{I really need to stop being a perfectionist and just get this out there instead of re-writing it twenty million times. Eurgh.}

 

Until next time!

Thanks for stopping by!! 😊

---

_{Book cover rights are mine, graphic design courtesy of Frina Art}