EVER, Book 3, Amora Trilogy

By Arena Julia

Mae can see them, those Shadowed Ones, come for the feasting. Circling Moon whenever she's full. Not only with light is she full, but souls as well. Souls of Mae's people. Souls for the feasting.
Long gone are hope, and heady days. Leaves are ash on Woodland's floor. Rubble replaces bustle in Village Glade. Paths crack and crumble. The walls of the Dome House point to the sky like half-chewed faery biscuits. Rummaging and scavenging in dismembered ruins is the order of the day.
For Amora is wretched, fallen. Her borders are gone to disarray. Hills and valleys fill with fear and hiding, with lying and spying. Threat skulks ill-intentioned in Amora's shadows and sweeps Amora's skies. A Land held hostage by malevolence surely gone too far, who can tame the evil of ELON, Emperor, Lord of Nether?
From darkest desires to deepest dread, through daunting betrayals and bedevilled devotions, this final adventure in the Amora Trilogy, seeps within a shadowed world, challenging trusts and long held truths, testing mercy and methods through madness.
EVER is a riveting, climactic completion to the Amora Trilogy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arena Julia
• Release date: Sep 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9780994391698

Arena Julia

I am an Australian Author and Educator privileged and fortunate to live high in the foothills of the D'Aguilar Ranges in Queensland. From my front garden, those foothills fill the skyline in a protective hug from the east, sweeping to the north and into the west. On a clear day they surge close and green into the deep blue of the skies. On others, the cold and damp drops in globs of thick fog, covering them like snow.It was those mists which opened a portal into the enchanted land of Amora, the fantasy setting for my first series, Amora Trilogy. Because of this, it doesn't really feel so far away, or so far-fetched in imagination. For I'd seen it long before it began to manifest within the pages of the first book, ESOR. Each day, I can see its fantastical figment as I fill my kettle or weed my garden. I see there, too, folk beyond my obvious knowing, who share that world - in their own reality, in their own parallel dimension. These are the folk who inhabit ESOR, and continue in their adventures in the second book, ELON, and the third book, EVER. I hope you enjoy the ride, just as I did, for I found the journey supremely magickal. Much gratitude to the folk who live within those many pages for allowing me to share their turmoils and triumphs for four wonderful years. I will miss such closeness, and will ever cherish having shared the adventure!My second series, ORB Rider, is also close to home, but in another way. While the setting is fictional, it is highly influenced by my childhood experiences - growing up within cooee of the bayside region of Brisbane, and having spent many hours of many days on its shores and on its waters. This dystopian series is set in modern times, in South East Queensland, in Australia. It is suitable for YA and adult readers, with a paranormal theme, and a gamut of esoteric practices. Singing bowls and otherworldly travel are predominant in our hero Aurin's work as an Orb Rider. ORB Rider, Angel of Shadows, is Part 1, with Part 2 due in 2021. I hope you enjoy this new, intriguing adventure!

Book preview

EVER

~Book Three~

Ever is a very long time for a promise.

Contents

Prologue

1 ~ COUNTING MOONS

2 ~ NOTE

3 ~ VISITOR

4 ~ RESURRECTION

5 ~ SMALL THINGS

6 ~ ARMAMENTS

7 ~ SPRITE SONG

8 ~ REVELATIONS

9 ~ BINDING SPELL

10 ~ PORTAL

11 ~ UNFORSAKEN

12 ~ TURRET HOUSE

13 ~ MIRE

14 ~ MAN OF BOATS

15 ~ WORLD BEYOND

16 ~ WASHING UP

17 ~ THE SCREAMING

18 ~ THRONE ROOM

19 ~ ELON

20 ~ TWISTED FATES

21 ~ SOUR APPLES

22 ~ DELIVERANCE

23 ~ TRANSFORMATION

24 ~ WINDHORSE

25 ~ CAVERN of SECRETS

26 ~ SPRITES of SIMMARON

27 ~ PAIRING

28 ~ WORKER

29 ~ ESOR

30 ~ COBBER

31 ~ TORTURER

32 ~ UNITY

33 ~ TRINITY

34 ~ EVER

Prologue

Amora is wretched, fallen. Daily, trees tumble and paths crack and crumble. Rooftops cave into storms of dust and thatching. Even the grandiose demeanour of the Dome House is now a remnant of rubble. Only a few high walls remain, like half chewed faery biscuits pointing to the sky.

For the screeching of Shadow Sidhe riding Vennagle fills the air, and the thundering of weighty birds on rooftops is a common thing. At the bidding of the new Master, Elon, darkness seeps from the World Beyond into Amora and all the Lands thereabouts.

Day and night, Shadow Sidhe gorge on souls on the run. No matter Sidhe or Faye, or even desperate woodland fauna or mountain beast, they savage skies and sunken hearts of any souled creature within reach of their screeching…

Until the new decree is passed. For the first time in Amora’s memory, new Lore dictates strict rules of hierarchy and status. While previously, some Sidhe had held high opinion and bias, never had such behaviour been Lore, and certainly in the rightness of things, never had it been considered proper.

Now, though, a pact has been made with the Shadow Ones. Common folk and Woodland animals are newly deigned to be Shadow Sidhe fodder, and to be bred for that purpose. Sidhe folk are to be left alone. Every Full Moon is a feasting time. A feasting of souls for the Shadow Ones.

It is a dire, but sensible measure, everyone says. Well, not everyone, but most everyone who is Sidhe, for if something hadn’t been done, the entire existence of Sidhe folk could be wiped out before the Spring. It’s a sensible deal for the Shadow Sidhe, too, for if all souls were to be taken, and feasted upon, they too would have nothing left.

And so, a new beginning begins - in new compounds in the Outer Regions. Daily, woodland creatures are herded and caged. Daily, too, Faye folk are captured and handfasted for breeding. Herbal preparations are forced down throats to dull memories, and quiet resistance.

In no time, dark hills and deep valleys fill with fearing and hiding, with lying and spying. Every Full Moon, dark night skies fill with swooping and gorging, with screeching and crying. Every small moment dark Sidhe hearts fill with justifying and refuting, with secreting and denying. Through fear, or self-preservation, or whatever else drives anyone to do this to another, they quietly go about their business, making the most of their newly formed rubble homes, and crumbled lives, as if it was normality, while darkness festers in their consciences.

And so it continues, for Elon, Emperor Lord of Nether is everywhere and everywhen, and everyone with any will to stand against him soon disappears, never to be seen again. No-one with resistance is left to stand.

Except Mae. Beneath the camouflage of her own dark shadow of grief, she works in stealth to find a way to transform her brother, and to save her people. Unfortunately, as always in Amora, all things unfold as they should, and not always as one hopes they would.

Chapter 1

COUNTING MOONS

When you have little else, terror is far less terrible than it usually is.

This Pit was a dark, dank, heartless place. Mae thought she’d seen the last of it after that business with that ritual and her hair, but she couldn’t have been more mistaken. Since her return from Isa, all but three moon cycles she’d watched grow and fade through the grated gate above her. This small circular hole in the ground, no more than three paces wide in any direction, had been her home and her world since then, though why she was here, she could no longer remember.

How many risings of Sun and Moon had passed her by, momentarily? When exactly in the right spot in the sky? She’d lost count really. All she had to go by were the scratchings she’d made on the Pit wall every time she saw them, to keep track of how long she’d been here. To give herself something to do as well. And a something to look forward to, she decided as an afterthought. It had surprised Mae somewhat, how small a thing could become so big a thing, so important that it made itself worthy of a looking forward to, even something as small as scratching a line on a muddy wall.

In the beginning, Mae had thought, well, hoped at least, that this confinement would be short-lived, a few risings perhaps. That it would work like one of Olicea’s usual rampages, and one of Iris’ infernal attempts to win the approval of her mother. After all, she was a Chosen One, and Olicea’s foster daughter, and Iris’ foster sister. Even more than that, her brother was in effect, Emperor now, in charge of all this. Surely they’d have to relent for such family attachments as those?

However, after a while, when the unmistakable chill of Dead of Winter came and went, and came and went, with even her birthday not reason enough to give her a small reprieve, Mae realised she could be in this Pit until the end of her days. Scratchings collected for that amount of time would surely become too many. The first of them were fading and crumbling anyway, just as her hope of ever leaving this place was also fading and crumbling. All about her, inundated walls screeched in futility and desperation at the senselessness of her existence, the scowling of her clawed markings a never-ending reminder of unrequited optimism.

No more! she screeched at the scarred walls about her. No more scratchings! she cried into the grime of her lap.

Sometimes, especially at first, when she’d remembered better, Mae had passed time with other things, besides scratchings - thoughts of others, for instance - those she’d not seen, even in a glimpse, for all these long, past risings. Most especially, she’d worried for loved ones trapped in that World Beyond - her father, and Fernseea, and Dear Naweeya. At times she’d hoped that they’d be free once more, and soon be peering through that grate above, bringing with them conversation and moments of solace. At others, harsher reality filtered Mae’s thoughts, and at those times, in possibly a weird way, she’d hoped they’d somehow be passed away into the Ether. At least there, they’d be at peace.

Nevertheless, even within her most befuddled of states, Mae felt certain that the Ether would be far too far away for any of them to achieve such a thing. How could anyone ever reach such a place, from such a place? No, her despondence had realised, every time her thoughts had returned to these small stories inside her head, those loved ones would still be there, in that dreaded World Beyond. So close to the Nether they’d be, that any soul left in them would surely be tainted by darkness. They’d have no will left, no hope left, to even try to seek a way to their true home in the Ether, from so, so far away. That’s if those Shadow Sidhe hadn’t already feasted on them, leaving them soulless, to rot as compost.

Mae could see them, those Shadowed Ones, circling Moon when she was full. Not only with light was she full. Mae could see that well enough, even with her tiniest of glimpses. No, she was full with souls as well, souls of her people, souls for the feasting.

Shamefully, their Full Moon plight had become a small salvation. For their misery, their howls of horror, kept Mae feeling. They tore at her insides and chilled her to her core. Yes, it was terror, but when you have little else, terror is far less terrible than it usually is. It was a gift - a gift for feeling alive. It reminded Mae that even if she had given up, something deep inside had not.

Appallingly, those wailing helpless souls provided something else as well, far pettier, too, than terror, and will to live. For even when a glimpse of Moon wasn’t offered, the screeching skies affirmed not only Moon’s fullness, but her presence. That screeching was one sure way to mark the endless time.

Mae often wondered what those shadowed creatures did after their feasting, when Moon was no longer ballooned with bodiless bounty, her light no longer bloated, their shadows no longer so stark against her? Where did they go at other times, through those dark durations when Moon was so empty? When this Pit was so solid with blackness? Did they come to here, to this Pit, to seek her soul too? A fingertip from her nose? Teasing her to take in their eyes, which she might inadvertently do, before she’d even know? Those thoughts shuddered inside her…

Brom was nowhere to be seen, another thought intruded, rescuing her, taking Mae away to somewhere else. Instantly, from nowhere, Mae remembered him again, and remembered also that she’d thought about him often, in the earlier cycles of her confinement. She began to pass some idle time, with that thought about his absence, and remembering him again, and where he might be now. For she’d seen nothing of him since being tossed in here - tossed in with a rag for a bed, and a tiny, rickety pail for washing and eating, and for everything else as well. The clothes on her back were all she had, and truly, she must be a sight! Likely akin to the beast her father had been. Possibly had become again.

That thought was a useful one. Mae passed quite some time on that one. Not the one about her father being a beast. That was a thought she’d rather forget, and yet also, seem to remember far too well. Tauntingly, it was too close to something she might become herself. But the other thought, of what she must look like now, in her face and hair, was a useful one, she’d found. She could feel them of course, her face clogged quite thickly in places with grime, her hair cut to the nape, in rough clumps, and never grown back. None of the previous public drama, of course, just a rough tussling in a tiny room, hands grappling to keep her still enough, long enough, to do the deed.

She’d tried a number of different things to see what she looked like now, one being spitting on her hands to make a small pool of spittle, like a mini Mirror Brook. Such an effort it was, though, to get the spit from her mouth, as it was so dry in there, inside her mouth, that the spit came out in froth and bubbles, which made a very ineffective looking glass.

When that failed to achieve effective results, she’d move on to twisting her eyes around sideways, and up and down, stretching them until they hurt. Very little beyond a blurred tip of her nose was ever visible, so once again, it wasn’t useful beyond the passing of time.

Polishing the mud floors of the Pit was the most valuable process of all, even though it never successfully produced any sheen, let alone enough to see her reflection. That shortcoming didn’t discourage Mae from trying again and again, though, because its supreme value was its usefulness in the passing of time. She’d start at the first glimpse of light in the morning, and still be amused by it when Sun sat high in the sky above her.

Mae hoped she would never lose it, that thought about polishing mud to see her reflection, because such a valuable way to pass time was a most important treasure in this place. Recently, though, if there was such a thing, for it could have been longer ago than that, but at some moment in time, Mae did begin to worry that she would lose all her thoughts evermore. Everything was beginning to feel so faded and far away, and all mushed in together somehow. Words were becoming harder to find, although Mae thought she still felt them, inside her head somewhere. They just refused to make a reliable appearance, to keep her company.

Nonetheless, even the worry of losing thoughts or words or memories was a treasure, because that kept her busy too. Fortunately, one worry always led to another, and often back again to the previous one, which made such a thing doubly useful in time-passing, so doubly important.

Regardless, one thing Mae knew for sure was that if her face and hair looked anything like what she could feel, she would easily be mistaken for evil itself. So now, after all this thinking, and remembering, and realising, Mae decided, for this moment at least, she wouldn’t want him to come by anyway, and see her like this. She’d lost his name momentarily, though she was sure she’d had it when she’d started all this thinking.

She could still see his eyes, though. Deep green they were, like pools of seawater, and today, they’d brought with them a feeling, which perhaps she’d had before, but it felt knew. It wasn’t terror that’s for sure, but something else. It had a name, a word, Mae was sure of it, but no matter. She would close her eyes and savour those eyes, and enjoy this fresh feeling.

But why hadn’t he come? her mind caught her up, taking the feeling away. Where was he? Were those eyes he gave her merely trickery? Not actually his, but empty white eyes of those screeching Shadow Ones, come to feast on her? For breakfast?

Ohhh, breakfast. That was a word she hadn’t had for a while. Mae thought she must have lost that word, just like she’d lost breakfast. But here it was, coming back to her, to visit. That was hopeful. That was thoughtful. Unlike him! That infested vermin with the green eyes! Come back in memory just to torture her!

Above Mae, the swish of skirts and the giggle of Sidhe girls caught her attention. She could see a portion of one of them. Just a glimpse momentarily. But it was enough to see so much, to learn so much, to savour for a while at least. In her hand, one of the swishing girls carried a garland twisted with Woodland’s vines, garnished with petals and feathers. And Mae noticed, shimmering with the breath of a Unicorn. How lucky she was to have such a thing. How influential. How special she must be.

Mae wasn’t special. She knew that only too well. No, she’d never had one of those garlands, or been a Garland Sidhe. And certainly, no Unicorn had ever shared a shimmering puff of its breath with her. But then, she wouldn’t want it to, really. As far as she could remember, Unicorns didn’t share their breath with anyone, unless there was something dire afoot. Certainly not for frivolity! It was far too precious. Far too powerful. Dangerous, too, in the wrong hands.

A rattle at the grated passage gate alerted Mae to the most exciting event of her day. Vine rope fell from the passage ledge into the Pit, bouncing and flapping against the wall. Immediately, Mae tied the vine to her pail, so it could be hauled up into the passage.

Never did she see a face. Never did she hear a word. All was done in silence, for Mae wasn’t permitted words or faces. She was far too tarnished and aberrant for such things as words and faces. Instead, she had to steal them, if the chance arose, just like she’d just done from that one with the swishing skirt. But one day, she thought, she hoped, if she did everything asked of her, and behaved well and obediently, this stranger might allow her a word, or a glimpse of something, perhaps even an eye. Something special like that, just for her.

Soon the rope was lowered again, this time with her pail half filled with water. Floating on top of the water was one apple, and one small roll of stale bread.

In the early days, when she’d first arrived in the Pit, Mae would hurry to lift the roll from the water before it became soggy. Soon after, she’d realised that a little sogginess helped with the swallowing of it. Though not too much, for that would mean less water in the pail for drinking. It was all a matter of degree, and quite a precise thing.

Never did she use such water for washing though. No, that would be a waste of good pail water - of good survival water - though sometimes she wondered what she was surviving for, or to do.

Nonetheless, she only washed when the water fell from the sky. Then, she would raise her arms to it, to encourage it to run down all over her. She would rub her clothes and her body, and even collect what she could into her pail. In fact, unbeknown to the visitor, Mae had dug a few holes in the Pit floor in exactly the right places for running water to find. So sometimes, there was water for much more drinking, as well as the washing. None of it was any good for seeing reflections though. No, the holes were too dark.

Today, when the visitor came, something else was in Mae’s pail. Beneath the apple, beneath the bread bun, beneath the water, something curled, sat at the bottom of the pail. Mae looked up to the visitor in surprise and amazement, but the passage gate banged shut, and the visitor was gone without a word, or a single glimpse of even one eye.

Chapter 2

NOTE

She’d learned a lot in this place…

This was all too surprising. This was all too unexpected. This was all too precious. Pacing back and forth in a restless frenzy, Mae was so unsettled by this new event that she forgot to remove her bread bun until it had sunk to the bottom of the pail. Now it was sitting on top of the surprise, beneath the apple, which was barely able to bob in what was left of the water.

Should she take the bun out? At least do that? But if she did, she’d have to remove the apple first. And then, later, she’d have nothing left to take out, except the surprise. It would all be done in such a hurry. And what if she accidentally saw too clearly what the surprise was, before she’d had time to think about it, to savour it?

It was all too much, too hard to work out. Carefully, Mae placed the pail in the very centre of the Pit. There, the greatest amount of light could fall upon it, so she could see the apple almost bobbing, and still have a glimpse of her bun without actually touching anything yet. She could also pace around them with plenty of room, so she’d be less likely to accidentally knock the pail over, and then, utterly spoil the surprise.

For some time that’s what Mae did. It felt right. It felt proper. It felt respectful of the status of this new event. But how would she know when to stop? How would she know when enough respect had been given? When enough time had passed, to pass enough time?

Suddenly, something from inside herself halted Mae in her pacing. It wasn’t really even a something. A something would have been a voice, or an eye, or water falling from the skies. This was a silent thing from somewhere deep and long ago.

Inner Knowing, words inside her head whispered. Inner Knowing. Inner Knowing.

It’s an Inner Knowing, she whispered to herself. Yes, that’s what it is. They’re the words for this…, this feeling.

Just like breakfast, those two words had come back to Mae, from nowhere. And so easily, she couldn’t help ponder. So naturally, and effortlessly. This Inner Knowing would tell her when to stop her pacing.

Mae felt a sensation crinkle her cheeks up. She hadn’t felt such a thing for…, well, for a while was all she could guess. But she knew what it was, and it felt good. That new smile felt good. And those lost words returning - breakfast, Inner Knowing - they felt good too. So this surprise, it was going to be good too. She could feel it, and her Inner Knowing could wait no longer.

Carefully, Mae lifted her apple, holding it above the pail to let the final drips of water plop back in, to join the few dregs not yet absorbed by the bread bun. This was another trick of the trade Mae had learned, during this life in this Pit - to save every last drop. Once that last drop had fallen, Mae placed the apple into her pocket. That kept in relatively clean, and it tasted much better that way. That was another one of the tricks she’d learned. She’d learned a lot in this place, she realised.

For a moment that thought stopped her in what she was doing as she became lost in it, pondering what she’d learned. That was another trick also. Don’t waste a thought, or a pondering. Stop and use it while you can, or otherwise it might slip away, and then you’d lose it, and so, lose the chance to pass more time. With so much time to pass, it had to be managed well. Just like the water, and the apple, and the bread, time needed to be managed too.

After the pondering, Mae carefully retrieved her soggy bread. She had to put one hand beneath it to support it, so filled with water had it become that it was almost falling apart. Gently, she squeezed it, sending excess water back into the pail. The water was rather creamy and murky now, but Mae would just have to drink it anyway. She must even make the most of a silly mistake.

Finally, the surprise was all that remained in the pail water. Closer visual inspection revealed what it was - a leaf parchment, rolled tightly, and tied neatly with a very thin, dainty piece of vine.

"So, a message of some kind?" words made their way to her, from a voice inside her head.

"Most likely I would say," they answered for her as well.

"So should I…?"

"Just get on with it!" they chastised.

With that, Mae reached into the now clouded waters in the pail, so carefully, so delicately, retrieving the roll of parchment. Now that it was in her hands though, she wasn’t sure. She felt jumpy, hesitant. Perhaps she cared far too much to open it? All that had driven her for so many moons beyond sheer terror, was managing time, and filling it with things to do. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was a something. Now, though, she was fighting two parts of herself, the one which wanted to explore this new wonder so desperately, and the one which had kept her safe, by pacing every small thing, and making it last.

Without her consent, her hands made the decision for her, carefully slipping the vine tie off one end, gently unwrapping the curled leaf so as not to tear it. Inside, on the leaf, were words. Her hands shook so much from the shock of such a prize that they dropped her parchment onto the dirt floor. It rolled back up all by itself.

Quickly, Mae rescued it, but before she could unroll it once more, voices approached. Once again, that group of ones with the swishing of skirts could be heard above her, but this time Mae only looked up to make sure no-one was looking down. She no longer needed the likes of them to pass this moment for her. No, so strangely, they seemed so unimportant. What was important now was that no-one else saw such a prize as this.

They would want it. They would take it. Just like they’d taken everything else from her, they would take this too. Mae shoved her precious parchment into her pocket beside her apple until the swishing had passed, her heart thumping hard in her chest. But the swishing didn’t pass this time. Instead, it stopped, right on the edge of the Pit grate above her.

Look, there she is! one of them shrieked.

Ahhhhhh! the three squealed in mockery.

In all Amora have you ever seen such ugliness? And filth! No wonder they had to lock her up down there! one of them jeered.

Mae remembered that word now. Filth. Yes, that would cover it, cover her, for indeed it did seem to cover whatever she could see and everything else of her as well. But who were they to talk? Had they not seen themselves? In that…, what was that place where they could see themselves so well, so clearly? She’d remembered it before. Never mind, that place anyway. They needed to take their filth to that place, and see it for themselves! Garlands or not, they were filthy too, on the inside too, Mae had no doubts!

Somehow, though, it helped to lift Mae’s spirits a little, to know that even the free ones above her had one burden in common with her. Free or confined, they all shared the new filth of Amora, in one way or another.

I don’t know why she’s still in there. Why she hasn’t been sent to a Full Moon feasting by now?

Or at least for breeding!

Breeding? What with? A troll?

Then they wandered off giggling as if Mae had been the greatest amusement.

Mae didn’t care. Not today.

Unrolling the note, Mae surprised herself. She recognised the handwriting, and she recognised the words. She could still read and make sense of them. Hungrily, greedily, she gobbled them up, no longer wasting them on savouring, or for the passing of time.

Dearest One,

I’m comin’ fer ye, Child. Hold yer spirits high.

Auntie.

"I’m comin’ fer ye," Mae repeated.

Good words, she found herself thinking.

I’m comin’ fer ye. I’m comin’ fer ye. I’m comin’ fer ye, she repeated over and over.

Now, every moment became a nightmare of impatience. Every breath seemed to take longer to release, and the next one longer to arrive. Such a trickster was time, for Mae thought it couldn’t travel any more slowly than it had already done these many moons past. But she was wrong. Time was taking every last moment it could to torture her just a little more.