The Borderlands (Book Two): War Read online

  “Is it time?” Dale asked, watching her mother pull a linen dress out of the wooden chest at the foot of her bed.

  “Yes, time for you to visit the Prophecy.”

  Dale’s heart skipped.

  The Prophecy.

  Her mother always said once she’d seen it, once she understood it, her latent power would rise, and everyone’s hope would be restored. Dale swallowed hard. She wanted to believe it, but doubt always prevented her. She opened her mouth to ask what would happen if her powers didn’t rise, but she clamped her jaw tight, and took the linen dress instead.

  “Who else will see it?”

  “No one, just you and me. But we must be there at sunrise if you are to see it at its most powerful. Hurry, Dalendra, get dressed.”

  Dale followed her mother through the chambers, corridors and archways of the palace, their echoing footsteps the only sounds. Long shadows crept around every corner and into every crevice, highlighting the dark mood that threatened to dominate Dale's mind. She kept focus on the tall figure of her mother who walked swiftly ahead, long sleeves billowing, until they strode through the courtyard, and the orangerie, and came to the one door that was locked. Her mother paused to give Dale a smile filled with hope. It was the entrance to the Emerald Tower. Dale swallowed a nervous lump.

  Her mother withdrew a large silver key from her sleeve. She unlocked the door and it creaked open. A spiral staircase greeted them, and when Dale peered up, the early morning light filtered through stained glass windows causing pink and green splotches of colour to float on the circular stone walls. The queen started up the stairs, and Dale followed observing the glasswork with each step. The windows depicted scenes from the past, some from the dawn of time when Arcadia was made up of no more than a wandering clan of Seru people who traversed the country on horseback, and erected colourful tents – temporary villages. Another scene displayed the construction of the palace, while others depicted the cave-like structures of the Stonwold Mountains in the north, the home of the dwarves, and the wooden cottages and longhalls of Mehta in the south where the Novu people originated – those with round ears like her. There were scenes depicting festivals, marriages, markets and trades. And more sinister settings of battles with gruesome Unseelie monsters, and death. The Borderlands had a history just as rich as Earth's. Perhaps more so.

  Finally they came to the uppermost landing, both women breathing hard. The queen produced another key, this one smaller and inlaid with fine engravings. She handed it to Dale and the silver key sat heavy in her hand.

  “Open it, daughter.” Her mother’s voice echoed.

  Dale took a deep breath and placed the key in the lock. The key clicked and the heavy oak door swung open as soft as a silk curtain. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight before her and she stepped into the small tower-top chamber.

  Light shone in strange angles through the many clear windows producing rainbows and prisms of colour to float and dance around her. In the very middle on a pedestal made of gold and silver stood an emerald the size of Dale’s fist and cut in a perfect pyramid. The sun lifted over the horizon, casting its morning light on the world and the first of its rays shone through the emerald.

  “Quickly.” The queen summoned the elements with a whispered word, "cultello". A small ethereal blade appeared in her grasp. Dale held up a shaking hand and her mother clutched her index finger and pricked it with the knife’s tip. Dale drew a sharp breath with the sting of it. One thick droplet of blood bubbled and the queen guided Dale’s hand over the emerald.

  A drop of crimson fell onto the very tip of the green pyramid.

  Beams of light erupted everywhere and a thousand voices whispered in chorus.

  Dale’s flesh prickled with cold, and her eyes widened as she took in the sight before her. Light shifted and changed from dark to bright with various colourful rays, and lines of words written in light shone on the walls. All the while, the hissing chorus of voices spoke continuously, sometimes speaking as one, other times a babble of thousands.

  Her eyes found a few snippets of the words made of light and lingered long enough to read and make some sense.

  The war of the Second will have three heads. A chorus of voices chanted the words as she read them. The Third will tip the balance and must be punished.

  Dale’s hair whipped around her as light flashed and wind ranged from nowhere. She steadied her feet and focused on the words of light, and the chorus of voices rose once again.

  The saviour shall have fire for hair and emeralds for eyes – her heart knows both goodness and evil.

  She frowned. Was this her? Her red hair? What did the evil part mean?

  A powerful hysbryd will unlock…

  Dale blinked. Her eyes trying to focus on the rest of the words but the light moved and the voices were interrupted by another, louder chorus.

  One trusted is the traitor, though…

  The saviour must go to Earth…

  The balance must be restored…

  The voices grew louder, more urgent. The wind was so strong she had to lean into it.

  Time is scant…

  The hawk must be stopped…

  The voices grew into a booming crescendo.

  The saviour’s power comes…

  The words were moving faster now and giddiness made Dale queasy. Was she about to receive her power? A terrible excitement made her shudder. How was she supposed to understand the prophecy’s message? It was like trying to catch shadows. Nothing was clear.

  The voices changed. Two voices, one deep and one high came together in a strange harmony. Dale’s ears pricked as the sound rushed over her. The wind tore at her like a gale in a storm. She closed her eyes as the voices screamed.

  She will come in the seventh age and once a woman she shall inherit her fate. The Second and Third will be drawn – to fight alongside her, or oppose. Her magic is a gift, for the First have written whilst the balance remains broken, so shall she wield power. The First, The Second, the Third. All rely on her...

  The voices echoed as the wind stopped and warm dawn sunlight returned to the chamber.

  Dale blinked when a hand touched her shoulder.

  “Dalendra? Are you well?” It was her mother.

  Dale rubbed her eyes. The emerald sat calm and motionless on top of the pedestal, and the morning light still shone through it. But no words of light or voices came now.

  “Did you see it, Mother?”

  The queen smiled. “What you saw and heard is for you alone.”

  Her mother helped Dale out of the small chamber and shut the door behind them. Dale felt lightheaded, and her stomach growled.

  Her mother laughed. “Yes, it saps your energy, just like sorcery. We will attend to your breakfast soon, but first let us talk.”

  They sat on a wooden bench on the landing. It was clean enough, but the musty odour proved a stark contrast to the prophecy's chamber. Dale stared at the oak door, trying to come to grips with what she'd just experienced.

  “How do you feel?” Her mother asked, the look of hope had returned to her blue eyes.

  Dale chewed a lip; describing how she felt wasn’t going to be easy. “It was beautiful, and frightening all at the same time.”

  Her mother nodded. “Sublime, your father called it.”

  “My father? He has seen the prophecy stone?”

  “He was the one who gave it to us.”

  “Tell me more. Do you think I will meet him one day?” Dale had rarely asked about her father, it always seemed to cause her mother pain.

  She stroked the hair back from Dale’s face. “Your father is a great man. And very powerful. He gave us the emerald, the prophecy stone, aeons ago. So long ago in fact I was still a young princess, younger than you even. My parents were the rulers in Arcadia. Centuries later he returned to the palace and there was something about him that melted my heart. My parents approved our match and after our marriage, he showed us how to use the prophecy stone. But each person
will read it differently.”

  “Where is my father now?” Dale had never gleaned so much information about him. But the sad look in her mother’s eyes told her she would get no more today. “What happened to your parents?” she asked instead. “My grandparents? And Aunt Farryn? Why are they no longer here?”

  The queen looked down. “They died, trying to save us from an attack.”

  “By the Unseelie?” Somehow, Dale knew how it had happened. Images of sorcerers and soldiers came to her in a battle surrounding the palace. The very palace she sat in now. “I think I know this story. Is it possible the prophecy fed me knowledge subconsciously?”

  “Now that you have seen it, the prophecy stone will continue to feed you knowledge. In your dreams, in your daydreams, in your imagination, you will see things that have been, and things that are yet to come.”

  Dale shivered, the vision of Unseelie monsters climbing up the walls of the beautiful palace, violating it, was too real. “Mother, are you sure this saviour it speaks of… are you sure it is me?”

  The queen pulled her hand from Dale’s shoulder and frowned. “Yes, I am most certain. Surely you are too now?”

  Dale licked her lips. All the responsibility, the endless pressure of her mother’s rule hit Dale like a blast. The queen had pinned such high hopes on the prophecy because she had no other course. No other solution to the deaths, horror, and destruction the Unseelie would bring. The prophecy, and her daughter, were the queen’s last remaining hope.

  “Yes,” Dale lied. “I think so, Mother.”

  4

  Later that morning, Dale stood with the other novices in the combat hall; a vast stone building with enough space for large-scale drills on horseback and combat trials. The faint stench of sweat and horse dung hung in the air.

  The nine sorcery novices stood in a circle, all wearing pale woollen robes of various pastel colours. Dale tried to meet Agathina’s eyes, to send some gesture of apology, but her friend kept her gaze fixed firmly on the rammed mud floor.

  Dale clenched her eyes shut for a second when a memory from the prophecy came to her. Sometimes, words would flash in her mind. The saviour shall have fire for hair and emeralds for eyes. That one in particular popped into her thoughts along with the strange chanting. She’d spent some time meditating after breakfast, concentrating on snippets about returning to Earth, the hawk, and a traitor. She seriously considered telling her mother about the traitor part, given Rhys’s thoughts on the matter. He had voiced his concerns on the subject before, stating there was a traitor among the Seelie. It was the only explanation for why Ricardo, the dark sorcerer, seemed to know so much. But, there’d been no time to tell her mother. She’d have to visit her later. When the trials were all over.

  A small audience now seated themselves in the stalls; the queen and her Council, here to witness the sorcery trials and decide who would advance to the war front; to witness for themselves if Dale had made any improvement since the re-bonding ceremony and her visit to the prophecy. Dale’s heart wouldn’t slow and the butterflies in her stomach were up to their somersaulting tricks. She hadn’t tried her magic yet. She hadn’t dared.

  Once the audience settled, Master Aethyll turned to address the novices. His bushy eyebrows drew together, almost blocking his pale blue eyes. His long grey hair parted at his ears, revealing their long pointed tops, and rested over his shoulders next to his beard. He drew himself up to his full lofty height. The gravity of what he was about to say reached them before he opened his mouth to speak. “There comes the time in every neophyte’s training when the burden of duty must needs be shouldered. Today is that day. Demonstrate the level of your skill to the masters who sit in judgement.” The sorcery master focussed on all of them in turn, except for herself, Dale noticed. His eyes skipped over her. Perhaps it was a good sign. Perhaps Sa’r Aethyll had already accepted her fate. One less person she had to pretend to.

  They cleared the floor. It was time.

  Dale walked with the others toward the eastern side of the stalls. Agathina turned her back when Dale approached and sat away from her. Dale pursed her lips and sat next to Hentiel with a sigh. She’d have to find Agathina later; her apology was overdue. She just wished the churning in her stomach from the guilt would go away. She glanced at Jaral in the stalls, chatting quietly with Sa’r Coneril, and wondered again, why he had kissed her. And why she'd kissed him back. But she forced the thought away. Right now, she needed to focus on her sorcery.

  Her eyes scanned the hall. She had a good view of the audience from here, and the ground. Combat mannequins, hay bales and other props had been arranged for the purpose of exhibiting the lethal effects of their spells. Spells that would prove useful at the war front.

  Troidan was called first. The dwarf walked with an easy swagger, straight back and shoulders, head held high. And well he should. Troidan was consistently competent. Not very imaginative where his spells were concerned, but he’d get the job done. Dale had little doubt he would pass the trials in sorcery, and in combat. He carried a large satchel with him to the centre of the hall and emptied it. Short swords clattered on the floor and he left them where they lay. He closed his eyes next and started an incantation. His lips moving, but Dale couldn’t hear the words. She studied the audience. The council members were all present. Her mother sat in an ornate chair at the centre, her expression a gentle smile. Jaral wore a serious look for once. Rhys had dark rings under his eyes and she suddenly realised he must have had a bad night after their exchange, after being re-bonded.

  She shook her head. Here she was, worrying about herself, but what was Rhys feeling?

  A clank echoed and Dale's attention was drawn back to Troidan. The young dwarf’s eyes were shut tight, his face a tight grimace. His brown fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat. Dale bit down on her bottom lip, hard. Was it possible Troidan had chosen a spell above his reach? But another clank made Dale shift her gaze down. The short swords by Troidan’s feet came together, floating in the air on either side of him and he shouted a word, “confodere”. The swords shot forward like six steel bullets and thrust into the mannequins, each slamming down with a thud.

  The small audience clapped and a wide smile spread on Troidan’s face as he moved back to his seat with the same swagger, though exhaustion showed on his sweat-streaked face. It would have been a difficult spell. Dale clapped too, happy that Troidan would pass this part of the trials. He'd be a great asset at the front.

  Hentiel was called next. Dale remembered him a year ago, a skinny adolescent who seemed to jump at his own shadow. He'd been entirely green back then with no skills in sorcery apart from his capacity to see the free spirits – a natural ability of his people, and the dwarfs of Gloryll. Only those from Earth had lost the ability to see Esme and her like. The memory of when this happened exactly was difficult to pinpoint. But her mother estimated it to be around the time that humans stopped their nomadic lifestyle and built their civilizations founded on greed and exploitation.

  Hentiel had grown taller and his muscles had filled out. He’d developed a calmness vastly different from the boy who would jump with a simple illumination spell. Now he stood as serene as a lake swan – feet slightly apart, his breathing steady, his pale blue robe hung from his broad shoulders. Then he lifted his chin and uttered a single word, “Nebula”.

  A mist billowed and filled the hall. A cloud, dense and humid, thickened and in less than two breaths, Dale could no longer see in front of her face. She held her hand up, an inch from her nose, and could just make out the familiar shape of her palm, and the silver bracelet on her wrist; a fine dwarven gift from Ulroth when she’d first arrived at the Borderlands – when he thought she was worthy of such treasures. The mist thickened still, its coolness moistened her hair. She pushed her hand out and the bracelet disappeared from view. Dale blinked. Yes, this was a useful trick to take to the war. If Hentiel could pull this off the Unseelie wouldn’t be able to see a thing.

  Hentiel’s str
ange mist evaporated almost as quickly as it appeared, and the audience clapped in appreciation. Dale wiped a layer of moisture from her forehead and licked her lips. The worry of her own spell of choice was starting to nibble. Jaral had helped her. They decided on something simple yet effective, a spell she hoped would convince the masters she was ready for war, to convince them she was useful. But when she’d practised, it had failed as often as it worked. Would it work now that she’d seen the prophecy? Could she dare to hope?

  One by one, the other novices were called to perform their chosen spells. The audience clapped again and again. And so did Dale. Samblar surprised everyone by producing a wall of flame rather than an outright explosion. Shalendra summoned rain and cold wind, outside the hall, that yielded puddles and rivulets on the ground. Elanril formed a lasso made of aether and brought all the mannequins down with one throw. Alf summoned a trail of meat ants that walked up the mannequins’ legs and brought laughter from the audience. Mirthryll produced a toxic cloud that burned everything it touched, the way acid would, but she displayed her accuracy by only having it touch the hay bales.

  Then Agathina was called. What would the best of them demonstrate? Dale focused her eyes on her friend, trying to suppress the whirlwind of her own doubts and fears.

  Agathina stood at the very centre, just as the others had done. She wore a pale yellow cloak that matched the gold of her eyes, which she closed as she took a deep breath. Dale didn’t know Agathina’s chosen spell. They’d all been told to keep it secret. No doubt, it was part of the test. Who could keep a secret and who could not.

  Agathina looked up then and opened her eyes and Dale stifled a gasp. Her eyes had changed. They were more animal-like. Then something happened to Agathina’s skin and Dale brought her hands to her mouth, suddenly worried about her friend whose pale soft skin was changing, darkening and … sprouting fur. Dale blinked – Agathina was gone and a wolf stood in her place, twice the size of an ordinary wolf. The wolf prowled out from under the yellow robe and sat on its haunches. It looked just like Agathina’s hysbryd, Vulpanna. It lifted its head to howl a mournful and menacing wail that brought tears to Dale’s eyes and fear to her heart. The howl lingered and laboured, filling every shadow. There was no escape from it. Dale brought her hands to her ears, a desperate sadness clenched inside and tears fell freely from her cheeks.