The Black Road

By Kerry Hancock

The Mistress and The Sworn must take The Black Road to collect the fourth child. It is a road for the brave – a road where those of ill intent gather. Will God’s gift be able to help them make it through the gate and to The Far Shore? Will The Oracle be able to help The Warm Realm in its time of need? The dark craft always comes a-calling when the guardian isn’t home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781528996525

Kerry Hancock

Kerry Hancock was born in Kent. At the age of 47, and after raising her four children, she dedicated her time to fulfilling her long-held dream of becoming an author. Kerry still lives in Kent with her partner and their two dogs. They have a shared passion for gardening and grow a lot of their own food which supports their vegetarian lifestyle.

Book preview

About the Author

Kerry Hancock lives in Kent with her husband and two dogs. Her passion for reading led to her taking up the pen herself and now she writes full time. She has a great respect for the natural world and often turns to Mother Nature for inspiration when writing.

Dedication

For Gary.

Copyright Information ©

Kerry Hancock (2021)

The right of Kerry Hancock to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528996518 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398427839 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781528996525 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2021)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Acknowledgement

A little encouragement and support from a best friend goes a long way. Thank you, Rachel.

Chapter 1

The small, chill breeze knew its calling. It had taken the lifeforce that The Oracle had given it and travelled swiftly across the land, reaching The White City before sunrise. Keeping itself small and light, it whipped over field and cobble until it reached the warrior barracks. It rose and fell over buildings until it reached its destination. Swirling tightly, it rolled along the ground, a cluster of icy crystals held in the air by a wisp of The Oracle’s breath. The little breeze swept under the door like a thin, trickle of water.

Jug turned over in his bunk deep in slumber.

The little breeze slipped around sturdy beds and chairs, boots and blankets seeking the one. Jug. It reached out with tiny tendrils, soft as a falling flake, and settled itself just above Jug’s chest.

He is, the one, my love. Awaken my sister’s token, that lies in his heart, The Oracle’s voice was but a whisper upon the little breeze.

The icy crystals began to cluster, to solidify. With a force as gentle as a lover’s touch, the little breeze melted into Jug’s heart.

Jug awoke with a jolt as his lungs gasped for air. He felt strange, different. His legs swung from his bunk as he grabbed his shirt and leggings. His mind had lost reason, his body working alone. He dressed and made his way to the stables. He saddled a horse, not knowing why, his mind not his own. He set off, an empty vessel, a servant. Her bidding must be done.

Jug travelled to the forest, his eyes blank, his face set like stone. When the horse was no longer of any use he dismounted and continued on foot. As he slashed his way through brambles and trampled through brook and stream his mind played the same message over and over.

Find what is lost, find what is lost.

As the suns’ rays began to make their way through the canopy, Jug began to slow. His body’s need for water and food began to bring him to his senses. He stopped by a small, winding stream and bent to drink deeply. He shook his head and breathed in the forest air. Still his heart beat its insistent message. Find what is lost. Jug continued. As the suns reached their highest peaks, Jug had regained some direction. He knew he was in the forest, but why? He knew he had come here alone and with only his sword. But why? He couldn’t put the pieces together. He could smell the dank forest floor and hear the birds, but what was he doing here? His only choice was to continue, so onward he went. Over hillock, through trees and bushes until at last the forest started to thin and a wonder revealed itself. Snuggled into a deep valley and strangled by vine and ivy stood a fort, it’s walls veiled in soft mist, it’s turrets barely visible. He lowered his sword and stared in wonder. Is this why I have come? Is this why I am alone in the forest for no rhyme or reason that I can think of? his thoughts a whirl and his mind now returning to him, he sank to the ground.

Why am I here? he shouted to the silent trees. What trickery is this? he whispered to himself. No answer came.

He ran his hands through his thick, blond hair and rose, taking a long, hard look at the mysterious fort. I suppose I’ll look around then, he spoke to himself as he headed down into the valley, confused but curious.

As he approached the towering walls, he noticed tracks in the mud. Branches and vegetation had been hacked and cleared. Someone has been here. Or still is, he thought. With his sword gripped tightly and his courage held firm Jug followed the tracks to the fort’s gate.

Hello, he held his voice steady. I mean no harm. He was answered with stony silence. He slipped through the broken gate, its metal now rusted and bent, and entered the courtyard. All around him the forest had taken over, small trees grew in clusters, thick brush covered the ground and large vines with deep, purple flowers climbed the walls. Jug looked for the tracks he had followed. Deep wheel marks gouged the ground and drag marks had turned up stone and plant. He followed. The tracks led to a small doorway, now broken and hacked open. Nothing stirred.

My name is Jug; I am a warrior of The White City! If anyone is here, show yourself. He was becoming increasingly nervous. What in Mer’s name is this place? he thought. The passage beyond the door was damp and slick with moss. He continued one slow foot after another, making his way around the fort, always alert, waiting for the moment someone would challenge his presence there. No one was to be found. The fort had decayed beyond repair, walls were crumbling, ceilings had collapsed. Many animals had found safe ground there and he had accidently disturbed a nest of mockery birds. Their almost human voices squawked in unison as they flew in a flock around the room making him jump. They had taken flight through a hole in the roof and left him laughing at his own fear. Now what am I to do? he thought to himself as he sat upon the cold, rough floor. No one’s here. This place is obviously old and forgotten. A few more years and there will be nothing left of it. While he sat feeling confused and alone three small hearts beat strong and true below in their cell. For Illiwig, Grumble and Hiccup had heard the cry of the mockery birds’ noisy exit and the hollering voice of a man. They all prayed to the Merfolk that he would not come and take their heads.

Jug had had enough. He was hungry and thirsty and wandering around an empty, forgotten fort was not the way he wanted to spend his day. Selena would be gone to the Holding Grounds. He had lost his chance to say goodbye and to apologise for his jealousy and now he would be alone without her by his side. That’s it, he thought. I’m done. I’m going home. As he rose and dusted himself off, he noticed a door unlike the rest. It wasn’t rotten or broken. In fact, it was chained and bolted. Strange, he thought. He stepped closer for a better look. The chains looked new. I’ve come this far, I might as well see what’s beyond the door. I will explore this room then I’m off, he thought sourly as his belly rumbled its displeasure at going all day with no food. After some wrestling with the chains and some hacking with his sword he had opened the door just enough to squeeze through. Again, he spoke with no hope of a reply.

Hello. Is there anyone here? He was just about to turn and leave when he heard a small noise echoing from within. Hello. I mean no harm, he spoke once more. Silence. Jug ventured further in. The small landing led to a set of stairs. They lead down. He swallowed loudly, even though he was a warrior of The White City, he was far away from home, from the order that he knew. What am I doing? he thought. Still, he pressed on. The stairs were narrow and broken, each step was slow and precarious. At last he reached the bottom. The small amount of light the crumbling walls allowed in was faint. Jug could just make out rows of doors leading from the passage that he stood in. Dungeon, was all he could think.

My name is, Jug. Is there anyone here? this would be his last call, if there was no reply he was gone. Silence. Jug turned to leave, his foot on the first step.

Hello, the voice was so faint, Jug thought he had imagined it. We are here. Please help us.

Jug swung round, sword raised.

Merfolk protect me, Jug whispered as he crept down the passage, its walls thick with webs and moss. Who’s there? Show yourselves. Silence. Jug passed door after door. Each cell was black within, the heavy smell of decay made him gag. He came to the end of the passage and the last door. Again, it was chained.

I mean no harm. Speak! Jug’s hands shook with fear of the unknown. What in Mer’s name could be down here?

We are here. Please help, the tiny voice pleaded from inside the cell. Jug slowly peered in through the barred hole in the door. There on the floor was a huddled figure. Upon his lap were two tiny creatures.

Merfolk below! Who are you? Jug questioned, his voice taking a high pitch.

My name is, Illiwig, kind sir. Please, me and my friends are in grave danger. Will you help us?

Jug set to work on the chains and after much wrenching and slashing they came free. As he pushed open the heavy, thick door he felt a warmth flow through his heart as it beat out its calling.

You have found what has been lost. Return them, return them!

Jug shook his head, the sound of the token’s magic making him dizzy as he gripped the door frame to steady himself.

Thank you, friend. But we must be away. She could come back at any moment and my friends here will not survive another round of her games.

Jug just stood there. He couldn’t take it all in. It was all so strange. Illiwig had managed to stand and was hobbling towards Jug, towards the open door.

Please, Mr Jug, you must help us, you must take us to The Mistress. Jug stared with wide eyes. The small man was becoming frantic, Jug couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing for on his shoulder was a small plant with a face and in his hand was a fairy. How can this be? was Jug’s last thought before the darkness took him and he slumped to the ground, his task complete.

Chapter 2

Dax had entered the cage with dignity. He assessed the bars, the lock, the hard-earthen floor. He would be fine. The fire that roared fiercely nearby would fuel the magic in his blood. He would wait. He lowered himself to the floor and folded his legs beneath him. For Papa, he thought, as his mind melted into the flow of dragon magic that coursed through his body.

Malya had entered the cage on full alert running her hands over the bars judging their strength. Feeling the earth below her with her bare feet, smelling for danger. She found none. She had scratched and clawed at the stony floor, creating a shallow hole, there she had curled up into a ball. The deep, strong energy of earth calming her until she slept.

Selena had entered the cage kicking and fighting, The Mistress would be obeyed but Selena had her own terms. She had cursed and spat, raged and lashed out. The bars held. Eventually she had stilled and slept in a crumpled heap.

The Mistress would take no sleep, she could not allow such weakness while her friend lay dead and the enemy walked her lands. She rose from her furs and re-braided her hair as she thought, The token would be awake by now. May the Merfolk bless us with his success. For if the three are also lost, then our journey will be more treacherous than I believed. The Mistress stood shaking out her robe as Thistle came to her side with a hot brew.

Thistle, we must be careful. The three are more important than any of us know. Nothing must go wrong. She turned a narrow eye upon her servant. Thistle nodded her large, wispy head and returned to the pool. Stirring, always stirring. For if the knowledge is to work, to fill their very souls, the liquids must be added just right. A very important job indeed, Thistle thought as she again took up the long, heavy stick and plunged it into the warm, bubbling pool.

Ingrid had slunk into the fire and curled at its centre. Here she would stay until the knowledge was given to Dax.

You know, I never thought we would again join in battle, old friend, Manuk hissed as he slithered from the shadows within the cave.

Me neither. But if this shall be my last, I am glad you are at my side. Balboar rested against the wall, still in his crystal home encased within the sword’s hilt.

Your bonded shows spirit, Balboar. I see your good nature and charm have rubbed off. Manuk gave a small, serpentine smile. Balboar let a huge rumbling laugh fill the cave at Manuk’s jest.

So it has, my friend, so it has. And what of your charge, Manuk. Is she well? Is she spirited?

More spirit than I would care for, yes. She even challenged Jengo.

Well, well. I always thought Jengo’s ego could do with a little kicking.

Both ancient ones were grateful for the distraction of laughter, neither wanting to face what was to come. The Mistress entered the cave with purpose.

The children shall receive the knowledge at sun-down. They will need at least three days in their cages, you know what is to come. Yes? Both Manuk and Balboar nodded in agreement. It will not be pretty, especially for you, Manuk, your charge is already more feral than I would like, but then again it will be useful in the days to come.

Mistress, a kindness, may I ask? Manuk slithered close to The Mistress’s feet.

You may, old friend.

A moment with Malya, to calm her, to reach her human self. I fear her mind may be lost, Manuk’s voice took on a desperate tone.

I’m sorry, Manuk, you know it is not permitted. Malya will have to balance her two halves alone. You will have to trust in your own teaching, Manuk. Again, I am sorry. The Mistress left the cave, her head pounding, her nerves in tatters but she would show no weakness, never.

The three suns cast their last rays as The Mistress walked the Holding Grounds, Jengo at her side, the two in deep conversation.

Any news on my token? The Mistress asked, not wanting to start the ceremony until she knew that the three were safe.

No, Great One. I have every Ancient One and their pack searching the forest and beyond, but no trace has been found. The Mistress spat on hearing the news.

Very well. We will have to proceed. But, Jengo, I am to hear of anything, do you hear me, no matter how small. You are to come straight to me. Do I make myself clear?

Perfectly. With that, Jengo left the Holding Grounds to continue his search, not wishing to hear the screams of the children.

The Mistress stood before the three cages and spoke.

Hear me! You are the last of my Sworn children. What is about to happen here today will be my last ceremony of the passing of knowledge. All three of you have bonded well and I am pleased to have you accompany me on this, my final journey. The knowledge you are about to receive is given freely, the method however is…well, shall we say uncomfortable. You see, your mind will only accept it when your body is still, when your spirit is sleeping, like a babe in the womb. And with circumstances such as they are, we have no time to be gentle. You will each enter the cave, from there you will enter the pool. What happens next is not for you to know. You will be in the hands of Mother Nature; her power will do you no harm. Now, Malya, you will go first, I fear you and I have not concluded our own battle and for that reason you will take up more of my time. The Mistress blew her bone whistle and the rats swarmed around Malya’s cage door. Malya crouched down low, teeth bared, fingers and toes dug deep into the earth. She had heard The Mistress speak, understood her, even, but the pack came with such force she would fight, and fight she did.

Chapter 3

Jug awoke to the feeling of small, spidery fingers tickling over his face. His eyelids fluttered open and he was met with two small, green eyes.

Hello, friend, the tiny plant spoke from his tiny, leaf mouth. Jug shot backwards knocking his head on the cell door and yelping like a small child.

Merfolk be blessed! What are you? Jug managed to croak, his head now pounding as a lump started to form.

My name is Grumble. I am a tree elf and you, friend, are in need of healing. Grumble held out his petite hand as thin, silver goo dripped between his twiggy fingers. Jug started shaking his head. His eyes wide.

It’s OK, Mr Jug, I was just as fretful as you when the wee man helped me out. But old Illiwig got himself a bit of that sticky stuff, now I’m as good as new, see. Illiwig raised his filthy, blood-soaked shirt to show off his healed wound.

I see, well, thank you for the advice, Lollywig, but I think I shall give it a miss if it’s all the same. Jug struggled into a sitting position and scanned the three creatures before him.

Suit yourself, friend. Your loss. That cut on your forehead looks mighty deep. Jug reached up and felt the blood that had run down his cheek and neck. You cracked yourself a good’n when you had your little faint. Not that I’m judging, and it’s Illiwig, Mr Jug, not Lollywig. I don’t think our friend Grumble over there is gonna take no for an answer. Jug turned to Grumble and gave a small nod. No sooner had he taken breath the twiggy hands were upon him healing the cut with nimble fingers. When the healing was over Jug stood on shaky legs and tried to gather his senses.

So, let me get this right. You’re Illiwig and this is Grumble, a tree elf. Grumble smiled the widest smile he could manage. So, who’s this then? Jug asked pointing to Illiwig’s arms where Hiccup had been curled up for the duration.

This, Mr Jug, is Hiccup. She ain’t no fairy. I know what you’re thinking. Thought the same myself. No, she’s a firefly. Illiwig paused and waited for it to sink in.

No! They are all gone! Surely you are mistaken, man?

No, again, that’s what I thought, but you can bet your last coin on it. It’s true. This here is one of the last fireflies living in these here lands, Illiwig announced proudly.

Well, Mer protect us all. Is it friendly? Can it talk?

SHE don’t mean no harm and yes SHE can but she’s kind of the silent type. She prefers to be left alone like.

OK, OK well I’m not going to be troubling her. So, what has happened here? How did you get here?

Look, Mr Jug, I’ll be happy to talk but we can’t stay here any longer. Please take us to The Mistress. She’s the only one who can protect us, please. Illiwig had started to sob, Grumble was wringing his tiny hands and shuffling closer to Illiwig. What a strange band of creatures this is, Jug thought as he sheathed his sword and tried to get his thoughts in order.

OK, I will take you. But where in Mer’s sake is The Mistress and more importantly, who is she?

Jug led his little band up the stairs and into the fort, all the while listening for anyone approaching as he kept a watchful eye on every corner. Whoever had these three locked up here can’t be friendly, he thought.

Where to now? Jug asked the pitiful three.

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