Runestane Read online

  Runestane

  By

  Fergal F. Nally

  It begins, watch your back, enjoy the ride…

  Copyright © Fergal F. Nally 2012

  The moral right of Fergal F. Nally to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act, 1988.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Cover design by Beetiful Book Covers

  CHAPTER ONE

  Mist clung to the man’s cloak as he stood, waiting. Darkness approached silently. Still he waited. Ahead of him in the distance lay a cabin, a solitary light burning in one window, a small ray of life amongst the emptiness of the night. The smell of moist earth smothered him; he could taste the steely chill of the mountain air.

  Embraced by the night, the watcher moved in on the lone dwelling, stealthily. Uninvited. Suddenly, the light from the window died. There was emptiness all around; damp cold seemed to writhe through his bones. Something was wrong, he could sense it.

  For a moment, he considered abandoning his plan, but then reality resurfaced. He had not eaten in two days; he had no coin and no friends, nor even acquaintances in this godforsaken region. His sickness was also progressing, slowly gnawing at him, weakening him by the day. He was an outcast, unclean, no one would help him; desperation was his only ally. No, he must do this. He had to do this.

  Ashina, Ashina…forgive me…

  He had seen the old man that day, unobserved, from the cover of the forest. He had appeared from the cabin about noon, had gone about gathering wood and drawing fresh water from the nearby stream. He appeared alone; he was alone. This would be easy; still, to avoid unnecessary violence he waited until darkness when the old man would be asleep, before he made his move. A soft breeze rustled the treetops. The stream; black velvet liquid, danced through the night. He crept towards the cabin.

  Drawing near to the window, he carefully peered in from the side, a shadow amongst shadows. A small fire was lit, barely a fire, he thought. He could see a table in the centre of the floor, and signs of a recent meal; scattered leftovers amongst some papers on the table. The rest of the room was shrouded in darkness. The old man had to be asleep in the back room.

  Etaine, little one, what are you doing now? Etaine my sweet flower…

  He approached the door. Carefully, he tried the latch; there was no lock, only a simple latch and bolt. Surprisingly, the latch lifted soundlessly and the door opened into the waiting gloom.

  He waited, listening, not a sound came from within. The flames from the small fire seemed impotent and on the point of exhaustion, suffocated by darkness. He moved on, into the room and neared the table. The floor was made of stone, and did not betray his presence with any sound. He looked around the room. Outside, the trees sighed and rain began to caress the earth softly.

  Is that you Ashina? Do you call me?

  Hungrily, he snapped up the remaining food from the table: some bread, cheese and a few strips of cured meat. This he washed down with water from a nearby jug. Then an object caught his attention on the table. He felt called to it.

  His hand darted out and grasped the stone; it was cool to the touch and transparent, like some large uncut gem. He brought it close to his face and inspected it in more detail. He thought he saw a stirring in its depths, a haziness growing. He was entranced, and watched, captivated.

  The clear stone shimmered and grew warm in his hand. He could see shapes moving within. He felt himself somehow being drawn into the stone. This was impossible, a cold icy feeling gripped his heart and fear rose up inside him, fear unlike any he had ever known; instinctual, primal, base. A new awareness swept over him, a feeling of belonging, of ownership, this stone somehow was his, was meant to be his. Or, was he being claimed by it?

  ‘Pretty, isn’t it?’ a voice said from the shadows.

  The spell was broken, he jumped, startled. All thoughts of attack or escape evaporated when he saw who spoke. It was the old man.

  ‘I didn’t mean to…’ his words fell, dead, to the floor.

  A heavy silence descended. The two men stood staring at each other. The old man broke the silence first.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you to come. My time is nearing its end. You have come at last to take possession of the relic.’

  The thief clutched the shimmering stone to his chest.

  The bone weary voice seemed brittle and tight, trapped by life, as if it was no longer of this world. ‘ What name do you go by?’ he asked.

  ‘I…I have no name…since the sickness…’ the thief whispered.

  ‘Ah, yes, ‘the sickness ‘ …that is of no importance for you now, for others, yes, but for you, now, a thing soon to be a distant memory.’ The old man drew near, and extended his hand, ‘it is time for you to sleep…’ with that, the intruder fell into the arms of oblivion and knew no more.

  A light grew in his unconscious state. At first, just a pinprick in the distance. It slowly increased in size. He was drawn to it and felt himself moving through the void towards it. He was being summoned. Curiously, he felt no fear, just a sense of detachment, as if watching through another’s eyes at his own body, small and insignificant, moving towards the now unfolding, expanding light.

  Take me home Father, take me home. I have had enough.

  Suddenly, he found himself suspended above a vast desert. Below him in all directions black sand extended as far as the eye could see. This place seemed familiar to him, familiar and sad. He was pulled onwards, to the distant horizon.

  Once more, white brilliance exploded all around; a new scene unfolded. Again familiar but this time a sense of violation, desecration and devastation pervaded all he saw. His senses were shocked, assaulted with images of unspeakable horror and depravity. He saw faces, some of people he knew in his former life, before the sickness.

  This cannot be, it is not meant to be like this…

  The vision collapsed in on itself. Once again, darkness reigned. A sense of panic, of suffocation grew. He felt sick; a trickle of rancid sweat ran down his neck. Then the sounds came. Lyrical, lilting and liquid softness caressed his ears. He closed his eyes and fell into the sound. His sense of movement stopped, the sound grew dim and receded. He opened his eyes.

  Before him was a forest, but unlike any he had ever seen. The trees grew thick and thin crowding the ground, impenetrable in places. They thrust up endlessly into the sky above, looking as if they had always been there, serene and ageless. Moist dankness pervaded the atmosphere. From out of the heart of the forest spilled a path. He chose to follow it.

  Sacred Mother I am in your hands. Take me now.

  Moving along the path his speed quickened. A sense of urgency overcame him and he broke into a run. Blindly he leapt ahead, seeking an answer to the mystery. With a final burst of energy he pushed through the forest into a clearing. He was faced with emptiness. Nothing awaited him; there was no answer to the riddle.

  He tried to move but his feet did not respond. A cloying sense of decay crept around him niggling and needling. Colour drained from the clearing, haemorrhaging into thin air. His heart pounding, he shouted forth into the stillness: ‘what is it, what do you want of me?’ He fell down and sobbed.

  It goes on, it will never end.

  Slowly, he became aware of a tugging at his knees where he had fallen. He looked up. In the centre of the clearing, the ground was shifting, restless and agitated. This continued for a time and then gathered momentum. As the turbulence continued blackness appeared in the centre of the swirling earth. The edges of the disturbance unravelled, like cloth. The very fabric of the ground seemed to feed the vortex.

  Sorcery! Run damn you, run!

  Transfixed, he continued to stare at the spot, which had reached the size of a small room. The blackness at the centre of the disturbance whilst not growing in size did appear to draw in all around it. It sucked in soil and fallen branches first, and strengthened by this grew in size. Stones and trees themselves were threatened.

  The clearing was whipped into a maelstrom of whirling debris and violence; everything was dragged into the blackness, except him. Somehow he remained immune to the ferocious pull. Looking down at his hands he saw that he held the old man’s shimmering stone. The relic.

  Out of the black pool in the centre of the clearing, a shape was forming and trying to escape. Slowly, inexorably the shape grew. Then with some final will, thrust itself away from the central pool. As soon as this happened all stilled. The vortex calmed, the forest breathed again. He looked at the struggling small black form at the centre of the clearing. An area of colour began to appear around the blackness and as the shape grew, the colour infiltrated the form. He blinked, the transformation was complete; a woman lay on the ground.

  Sorcery hides truth, it always lies, flee D’janyl!

  She was breathing, but only just. He approached cautiously. She was clothed in simple robes and her feet were bare. Her hair was long and dark,
her face pale and beautiful. Time stood still. Kneeling down beside her he placed his hand on hers. She was cold as the north wind. Her breathing was shallow. He reached out with his other hand to grasp her shoulder, but before he could do so she gasped and opened her eyes. She looked directly at him, their eyes locked.

  Her stare was empty and dead; her huge pupils possessing the same blackness that had churned the centre of the clearing moments before. He could see, deeper within, the darkness still swirling and moving restlessly. She gripped his hand and whispered in a lost voice, ‘ you are the key, you alone must come…’

  A blinding pain seared his skull, his breathing stopped in shock. Then he awoke. He lay on the cold stone floor of the old man’s house. Drenched in sweat he tried to sit up. The pain in his head pounded, it seemed as if it might explode. He staggered to the table and reached out for the jug of water. He still had the stone in his hand. He quickly shoved it into his pocket and took up the jug. The water helped clear his head, and he slumped down into a chair at the back of the room.

  ‘What in the seven hells is this all about?’ he groaned. A noise came from the back room. He rose and crossed the floor. He reached the door and pushing it open, entered. On a simple bed lay the aged man barely alive. He approached the bed and put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. Nothing happened. Increasing the pressure on his shoulder he spoke aloud to the seemingly sleeping figure, ‘wake up old man, tell me what’s going on here.’

  The figure on the bed stirred slightly, the old man’s frame wasted and frail. His breathing was laboured and rasping. Suddenly his eyes opened and his hand gripped the thief’s tightly. Without speaking, a voice erupted in the mind of the younger man.

  ‘Time is against us. We must hurry it’s almost too late! Give me your name now. You must give me your name freely for the ownership to be completed successfully.’

  The younger man sat rigid on the bedside. Too many strange things had happened over the last few hours. He felt however, that something important was about to pass, and if it meant he would find answers to his questions he was willing to co-operate, for now.

  ‘My name is, was D’janyl, before the plague robbed me of my identity. I come from the west, from the Jacta Arx Mountains. My family…was claimed by the sickness. By rights I should be dead too, but somehow my time has not yet come.’

  The old man’s eyes seemed to change. The voice exploded in his head again this time with even more urgency. ‘Life is death and death is life. The Runestane is now yours. Use it wisely. It will lead you on; you must follow its path. Already you are hunted; it has begun. You must find and destroy the source of the illness. It is not a freak of nature. It has been released into the Erthe with malicious intent. You must find the source and destroy those who seek to taint the lands and murder the innocent. They intend to weaken all the Races and then when resistance is enfeebled they will come and enslave all who remain. The Runestane will guide you. Your sickness has been held for the moment, but will return if you fail in your search. Take the scrolls and map from the table and you will be shown the way. My time is finished as Guardian and Keeper of the relic.’

  The old man’s face paled and his breathing stopped. His eyes closed and a blue light flickered over his fingers. The light spread around his lifeless form, silent and shimmering. D’janyl leapt from the bed. Suddenly there was a blinding flash and the old man vanished. His tattered cloak was all that remained.

  ‘Wait, wait…deceiver! More sorcery, liar! Liar! Come back, what say you?’

  D’janyl had had enough. He ran out of the bedroom, and searched the cabin. The sooner he was out and away from this cursed place the better. He took the remaining food; some bread, cheese and cured meat strips. There was no coin to be found but he came across healing herbs and some fresh clothes for the road.

  Leave now! Leave now!

  He returned to the table and looked at the scrolls. He was unable to read but the map looked useful. He studied it. It was old; covered in strange script, the area shown was unfamiliar to him.

  Taking one last look around the cabin he made to leave. He stopped, and turned. Something told him that the papers and map should not fall into the wrong hands. He bound them up carefully, placed them into their accompanying oilcloth and case, and left.

  Mad old fool, just a mad old fool…a trickster. Damn these sorcerers!

  He had to move on, try and put as much distance between him and this place. D’janyl walked through the forest in a northerly direction, towards the great Snake River. At least it had stopped raining and he was dry. He did not have a plan, he was just trying to scavenge and survive. In the last few weeks he had become little better than an animal, living off his instincts and becoming one with the land. The sickness slowed him but had not taken him. He seemed to have some resistance to it. D’janyl was bitter and angry with himself for still living whilst his family had been taken so painfully away from him.

  It was then in the fading daylight that his mind turned to what the old man had told him. Someone or something was responsible for all this misery, this sickness. Someone was responsible for the death of his wife and daughter. He continued on, his feet seemed remote from him, reflexly moving, covering ground.

  His feelings started to return. He had buried them for so long, his denial essential for survival. Numb coldness started turning into cold anger within. As he walked, so his anger grew. He felt he had a purpose, and yet he knew not what to do.

  The moon filled the forest with a fragile, liquid light. Stars danced and shimmered in the great emptiness above. He stopped and made camp. Forcing himself to eat, he sat contemplating all that had happened. What had the old man meant when he had said he was being hunted; and that it had already begun? Too many questions without any answers.

  ‘Life is death and death is life. Trickster, what in hell’s name do you know?’

  The anger returned, seething through his veins, like some dark force it ran through his blood and grew stronger feeding off memories of the last few pain-wracked days of his innocent family. Something awakened in him. He reached for the Runestane in his tunic pocket. It fell into his hand. It felt a different shape now, smaller and lighter. He aimlessly rubbed the stone with both hands, his eyes closed. His anger coursed through him. The stone responded, changing shape moulding itself to his mood. He felt a shift within himself and then it happened.

  Her face was before him again; the woman from his vision. She looked at him, impossibly beautiful and imploring. Tears of blood ran down her face. Her eyes were black, seething with darkness, occupied by another. She was silent, but he remembered her message from before, he was the key. The key. Then all was blackness.

  He awoke, it was still night. How long had he been asleep? One, two hours? He froze, deep within the heart of the forest a sound was carried by the wind. He lay unmoving and listened. A high-pitched buzzing approached, then receded. Carefully, he withdrew from his makeshift camp. Luckily he had not built a fire, so preoccupied had he been with his thoughts.

  They come; they come for you and for what you bear. D’janyl flee my love, flee.

  He took cover behind a tall oak and waited. The buzzing sound returned again, like a persistent insect right next to his ear. Then it disappeared. Far off to his right something approached; large and cumbersome. Whatever it was, it felt wrong. He retrieved his pack quietly and started off stealthily in the opposite direction to the sound.

  As soon as he moved the sound came towards him with frightening speed. Forgetting all attempts to hide he broke into a run. The chase was on. Whatever was behind meant him harm, was looking for him. He ran on taking chances, leaping across fallen trees, ducking and weaving, trying to avoid sharp branches and thorns that reached up trying to ensnare him. The noise behind was gaining ground, catching up on him with ease.

  Hell’s teeth!

  D’janyl’s instinct took over; he pushed his body to the limit. Racing on faster than was safe, he tapped into some hidden reserve and changed direction. He leapt over a stream and changed dirsction again. He seemed to have gained ground but he could not keep the pace up. Suddenly he saw ruins ahead, through the trees in a small clearing. He made for them.