Storm Holt (The Prophecies of Zanufey Book 3) (2 page)

Everything stopped, the noise, the wind, the spinning vortex. Silence. Light came. An unknown world appeared, one illuminated by a strange green moon. A massive plane of nothing but dirt and rock spread around her for miles, with not a blade of grass to be seen. Ahead was a towering spike of black rock that thrust over a thousand feet into the green-tinged sky. The air was hot and sticky. She released her death-grip on the raven talisman.
 

Her eyes fell upon a glowing white spear lying beside her - the same one she had seen in Zanufey’s hands. The long haft was plain, and looked to be made of platinum. The spear tip was also white, and moulded into a beautiful but deadly sharp leaf-shape. What was it doing there lying in the dirt? She touched its surface. It was smooth and cold, but did not feel like metal, it felt more like crystal. At her touch magic flowed within it - a low, harmonious, ringing sound. The talisman grew warm in her lap. Then another sound echoed, blotting out the chime.
 

A deafening grinding noise came from the black spire. Her heart began to pound. She squinted and saw the base of the spire opening, as if there was some giant door. Black shapes poured from the opening. To Issa they looked like a plague of insects spewing out. Blood-curdling howls filled the air and she broke into a cold sweat. The black shapes flooded in her direction, and she leapt up on to shaking legs.
Some of the things coming out of the spire flew, whilst others ran. They moved fast.
 

Demons.
 

She turned to run in the opposite direction, but faltered as she was greeted with another sight, a rising dust cloud of swiftly approaching riders. The ground shook under the pounding of the horses’ hooves, and their neighs filled the air alongside the demons’ howls. The were a dozen white horses, each carrying a heavily armoured knight, moving at break-neck speed towards her. She turned back to the demons. Though both they and the knights were a long way away, they were quickly closing the ground between them.

Are they coming for me? Or the spear?
She looked back at where she’d left it. It was glowing furiously. She couldn’t leave it there for the demons. She ran back and picked it up. The spear and the talisman pulsed in her hands, as if trying to tell her something, or perhaps in response to the approaching knights and demons.

The demons were close now, especially the flying ones. She could clearly make out their hideous faces. Long black snouts, mouths filled with fangs, eyes gleaming hungrily for death. Some of them were huge, their bodies several yards wide and their wings casting a dark shadow on the ground below.

She tore her eyes from them. Why was she here? What was she supposed to do? The sound coming from the spear became louder, latent power flowing within it, and its pulsing sent increasingly strong shock waves up her arms. It was becoming painful to hold and look upon.

‘Why am I here, I didn’t choose to come here,’ she cried, her voice lost in the din of the ringing spear.
 

The knights and demons showed no signs of slowing.
The knights won’t hurt me, I know that. Surely they can see me?
But if anything the knights came on faster, spreading themselves into one long line of charging horses. The man in the centre drew his sword and shouted. The other knights unsheathed their swords at his command, the sound of metal sliding easily against metal rang in the air. She whirled around to see the demons closing in. They too had spread themselves wide, a mass of hellish creatures coming straight for her.
 

It was too late to run, they would be on her in seconds. But surely the knights would avoid her? She whirled back to face them, but they didn’t seem to have seen her at all. Sweat beaded on her face. She clenched the talisman and the spear, whirling to face the knights and then the demons. They would reach her at the same time, and she would be trampled or eaten alive.
 

They were only a hundred yards away - the pounding of hooves, the howling of demons, the shouts of the knights, and the ringing of the spear were deafening. She closed her eyes and screamed, slamming the raven talisman against her chest in a last desperate action.

‘WHY did you not take me through the Storm Holt?’ Freydel shook the Orb of Death, desperate for an answer. Dark energy from the orb swirled with the pink energy from his hands. Nothing was really solid in the astral planes, but certainly life existed there, albeit in a less dense energy form.
 

He was somewhere in the astral planes of Celene, but it was hard to recognise the place when everything was immaterial and made of energy. The landscape looked like a painting drenched in water, so that all the colours ran into each other and mingled. He was not alone. All the time he felt eyes upon him from every direction - it didn’t matter whether they were real or imagined, he still felt them. He was lost in a moving sea of energy and he felt sick, he’d felt permanently sick since he’d been trapped here. His physical body was suffering in this unnatural place.
 

The orb remained silent.
 

‘I wish I knew how to use you fully.’ He raised his voice and it echoed around him. Echoed off what, exactly, he couldn’t be sure. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, which told him it was time to move and hide. Anger and frustration seemed to draw more attention from whatever existed in the astral.
 

He saw the hazy outline of dense trees ahead, and walked towards them. His consciousness moved forwards and he had the strangest feeling that his body was following, but lagging behind, as if there was a gap between his mind and his physical body. The trees were not distinct like in the physical realm, but took the form of semi-solid energy. He moved between the flowing trunks and stopped, drew his energy close around him and became still. The attention he had felt before was no longer there.
I cannot do this forever, either he will find me or my physical body will dissolve into pure energy in the astral planes.

Why had the spell to take him to the Storm Holt failed? Something had happened, but what? He remembered falling through the vortex and escaping Baelthrom’s grasp. The Storm Holt gateway he hated and knew so well had appeared before him, and he
had
entered it. Then his tower on Celene had appeared, and destruction filled the air. But how was that possible when there had been nothing but peace and calm when he’d left. How long had he been gone? All he had done was recite the spell to call the Wizards’ Circle. Barely minutes had passed as far as he could tell. He stared at the orb deep in thought.
 

‘Time moves differently…’ he breathed, stroking its surface. ‘But I had been gone only minutes.’ Half an hour at most. In the dream state, entire dreams often took only seconds. But maybe in the astral planes, like the dream state, time was not so linear. Could it be that the orb had travelled forwards in time in the astral? One thing was for sure, the orb’s power was purer here, unfettered by the constraints of the physical realm, and more powerful.

Freydel tugged on his beard, trying to ease his desperation to get out of here. The Storm Holt was the gateway to the demon worlds. The Murk was first, and it was one dimension below the physical plane of Maioria. The astral dimension was thusly two planes above the Murk.
Ahh. No wonder it didn’t work, I was two dimensions away rather than one.

His brain hurt. Understanding what had happened was at the limits of his intellect and power. He was treading the unknown, no wizard had ever been physically trapped in the astral. Or at least been trapped in the astral and survived to return and tell anyone about it. But had they ever pondered the time link? Time was of utmost importance. The longer he stayed, the weaker his physical body became and the less likely he would ever get out. It was all about time.

He peered between the tree trunks. There was nothing but blackened scars raking the land where Dread Dragon fire had seared. Smouldering black patches and rubble were all that remained of a village in the distance.
Celene is destroyed. The goddess knows where the people are.
But his sadness was numbed knowing his own survival was at stake. He was limited by magic and knowledge, and Baelthrom was hunting him and the orb.

The orb will do what it can to survive, perhaps this is how we have become trapped and moved in time
. He had a thought and held up the orb.

‘There is a stronger, older power at the Temple of Celene. Built as it was atop a sacred vortex millennia ago. Perhaps this power can help us now.’ He closed his eyes and visualised the temple. ‘Take me to the Temple of Celene,’ he commanded the orb. It responded instantly.

There was the briefest feeling of motion, coolness, and then all was still. The Mother’s Chamber materialised into hazy fields of energy. Two figures appeared in the haze, one dressed darkly and leaning over another dressed in white lying on the floor.

‘Cirosa,’ Freydel said aloud, recognising her instantly. Seeing her on the floor he started towards her then paused at the look of cold fury on the man’s face. Memory of that face stirred within him, but he couldn’t place it.
 

‘Cirosa, are you all right,’ he called out, but the figures didn’t move and all he could hear was an indistinct murmur as they spoke. It dawned on him then.
They cannot see or hear me.

Two huge Maphraxies entered the room. Their deformed, heavily muscled bodies and twisted faces made him grimace. He shrank back from them, praying that they really could not see him. If they were here then Baelthrom was close, watching. They slung the limp form of Cirosa over the backs and then everyone left. He let go a long-held breath.
 

When they had gone, he sat in the darkness for a long time, trying to calm his racing heart. Baelthrom was certainly near. He had to get away. They had taken Cirosa, they would either kill her or make her one of them. She was lost. Why did they take her? The orb brought him here, could it show him why?

‘Why did they take Cirosa? Show me,’ he commanded the orb. It pulsed. Movement came again and this time he felt himself moving distinctly backwards.
 

Now he was outside by the temple next to the old yew tree. It was dark and only a few lights from the dormitory windows lit up the night. Ahead, he could just make out the large feathered form of a harpy and Cirosa sat opposite it. They were speaking. He shuddered at the sight of the bird woman, and then froze. Harpies could use magic, who knows what they could see in the astral planes. He could not hear what was said, but the harpy tossed her a package.
 

‘What is in the package?’ Freydel breathed. He had not intended to command the orb this time, but it pulsed at his words and he moved forwards.
 

He felt dizzy as he took in Cirosa’s office, with its book-lined walls and large desk. Cirosa was sitting down, staring deep into an amulet. He blinked. It couldn’t be… but his eyes weren’t deceiving him.
One of Baelthrom’s blood stones
. There was a look of rapture on her face.
 

‘Is she in league with Baelthrom…?’ he said in shock. The orb pulsed.

‘Stop, enough,’ Freydel gasped, struggling to comprehend what he had seen, and afraid of being detected after speaking Baelthrom’s name aloud. ‘Take me back to now.’
 

Forward movement came, but only briefly. He stood on rocks facing out to sea. Vertigo held him for a moment, and for some time after he did not know where he was. Ahead, the sea swirled as a mass of blue energy. Behind, stretched a jagged coastline of rocks being pounded by waves, high cliffs, and tiny sandy coves. He stared to his right where a small harbour and fishing village tucked deep into a cove away from the weather and waves.
 

‘This is not Celene, this is Frayon,’ he said, finally recognising Zeath, the most south-westerly village of the mainland. From Zeath, merchants travelled to and from the Sacred Isle to sell and buy wares. He looked to the horizon and could no longer see the once visible isle.
Where is Celene?
Cold dread made him shiver.

He sat down on the rock and wiped the sweat from his face. His body trembled and he wished the sickness would go away. He had to return to the physical world, he was dying here. He forced his aching mind to think. They had taken Cirosa. Had she betrayed them and joined Baelthrom? Why else would the harpy give her a blood stone? Why she would betray them he could not fathom.
 

He looked at the orb. He’d discovered a power within it that he had not thought possible. Time travel. At least in the astral planes he could travel to any time he wished with little consequence to himself, so it appeared. If he could time travel could he be safe from Baelthrom? Time travel was dangerous, a thing both desired by all wizards and feared in equal measure.

Only his good friend the Master Wizard Grenahyme had ever claimed to have successfully time travelled. Freydel was sure his late friend had started going grey after that point. Grenahyme had admitted he’d unwillingly seen his own death, having no real control over where he travelled to. That unsavoury thought had put all other wizards off trying. But if Freydel did not travel in time now, he would not just see his own death - he would experience it.