The secret of the stone bridge: The tales of Amornia, #1

By J F Wren

A classic fantasy novel. Part one in the series The legend of Amornia


In her bed at home in Bromma, Agnes wakes up with a jerk. Something has awakened her. Cautiously, she sneaks up to the window and peeks out from behind the curtain. The wind is blowing in the tree canopy outside the house and the darkness is compact. Suddenly something yellow gleams out from behind a little lilac bush. What is that? Agnes closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them again. The yellow light has gone. In Nazaria, the dark despot is pacing about his black palace. Naz-Halham is furious. Once again, his emissary has failed. But now he is to receive his punishment. Tomorrow he will personally cut the man's heart out of his chest and sacrifice it in the sanctuary brazier. A demonic smile crosses the increasingly insane king's stiff lips. The Secret of the Stone Bridge is the first part of the Legend of Amornia series. It is an exciting, imaginative story about kings, magicians, gods - and an ordinary girl who is destined to make a journey like no other. Follow Agnes and her grandmother on an adventure that brings them face to face with prophecy, evil and dire challenges.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J F Wren
• Release date: Aug 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9789198811803

J F Wren

I HAVE ALWAYS read. As a boy it was Enid Blyton’s Famous Five, Tvillingdeckarna by Sivar Ahlrud and Bomba, The Jungle Boy by Roy Rockwood. Since then I’ve always been surrounded by books and I still read every day. But I’ve never felt the urge to write, and even hated doing essays at school. In 2009, however, I had a serious accident that put me into intensive care for four months. According to what I was told afterwards, I shouldn’t have survived; all the blood poisoning and organ failure I suffered should have cost me my life. But despite the statistics, I did survive. An ICU nurse gave me a guardian angel as a present, and said that I must have had lots of them (and I’m inclined to agree). After my long stay in hospital, I was discharged and started on my slow road to recovery. My legs had wasted away due to all the drugs I’d been given, so nowadays I’m in a wheelchair. I gradually started reading again, slowly at first, and then more and more. But this time it was different. New. There was something in my mind. I even dreamed about it. Suddenly I had a story in my head trying to grab my attention and tell me it wanted to get written. I have no idea where it came from, but I knew that the old stone bridge in Hova, which you pass when driving down the E20 from Örebro towards Gothenburg, would be pivotal to the story. So there we have it. Something happened to me when I was lying sedated for all those months in intensive care – a story appeared in my brain. I don’t know what the kind nurse who gave me the angel would have said, but maybe the reason I’m still alive is so that the story of the Stone Bridge and Agnes and all the others can be written, what do I know? J F Wren

Book preview

9789189409002.jpg

The secret of the stone bridge

The tales of Amornia, Volume 1

J F Wren

Published by J F Wren, 2022.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

THE SECRET OF THE STONE BRIDGE

First edition. August 28, 2022.

Copyright © 2022 J F Wren.

ISBN: 978-9198811803

Written by J F Wren.

Bild

© J.F. Wren, 2021

Published by JFW production, Sweden, 2021

Translator: Neil Betteridge

Graphic design: Anders Nyman

Cover image: Anton Tolstobrov

ISBN 978-91-98811-80-1

"Logic will get you from A to Z;

imagination will get you everywhere."

Albert Einstein

characters

in the book

MALE CHARACTERS

Alun: Chief Monk in the temple Thibil, Sarissa

Anselm: Chamberlain, adviser to the Emir of Thulisia

Arild: The Oracle of Thulisias brother

Attilo: Astrid’s teacher in magic, the magic maker who is now

a spice merchant in Sarissa

Axel: Agnes father, doctor

Baird: King, Molisia

Bel: God, Eturia

Bertil: Astrid’s dead husband, father of Axel, farmer, Hova

Bev-Moro: High priest, Nazarian church

Bogard: The younger, Emir, Thulisia

Bogard: The older, Emir, Thulisia

Bredon: Captain of the Molisian Royal Ship

Cassian: Prince, Sarissa, Amornia

Chaka: Shaman (Evil wizard) Molisian jungle

Cullen: Colonel, Molisia

Dorian: Prince, Thulisia, grandson of Emir Bogard the younger

Egan: Prince, Molisia

Egun: Under-Chief, Askos

Erack: King, Askos

Irven: Prince, Askos

Kian: Magician, Nazaria

Knox: Brother of the Emir’s late wife. Sarissa.

Moros: God, Nazaria

Moryn: Nephew of Naz-Halham, Nazaria

Naz-Goru: Naz-Halhams father, Nazaria

Naz-Halham: King, Nazaria

Nilo: High Priest, Thulisia

Njord: God, Askos

Nyx: Sacrificial priest, Nazaria

Rakor: Naz-Gorus right hand, Nazaria

Ridwan: Member of the Supreme Council of Thulisa

Rofoir: King of the dwarves, lives in the mountains of Askos

Rugu: Naz-Halhams right hand, Nazaria

San-Caliba XIII: Emperor, Sarissa

Sixten: Mildreds late husband, Hova

Togo: The oracle in Thule’s assistant, Thulisia

Tyr: God, Kadjar

Zander: Chamberlain in Sarissa, member of the Emir’s Council in Thule

FEMALE CHARACTERS

Agnes: The chosen one, Bromma, Sweden

Alane: Nun, Sarissa,

Astrid: Grandmother of Agnes, Hova, Sweden

Banon: Naz-Halhams sister, Nazaria

Brid: Queen, Molisien

Brie: Agnes mother

Celina: Adviser to the King of Molisia, Member of the

Supreme Council of Thulisia

Deva: Princess, Molisia

Eira: Goddess Thulisia

Garan: Belons fortune teller, Nazaria

Gilda: Oracle, Thulisia

Hild: Goddess, Sarissa

Indra: Member of The Magick Systerhood

Lowri: Princess, Askos

Minoo: Bogard the youngers late wife

Mildred: Astrids best friend, Member of The Magic

Systerhood, Hova, Sweden

Saraneld: Queen, Askos

Suja: Member of The Magick Systerhood

Ran: Goddess, Molisia

Rota: Goddess

Telyn: Princess, Sarissa, Amornia

preface

I HAVE ALWAYS read. As a boy it was Enid Blyton’s Famous Five, Tvillingdeckarna by Sivar Ahlrud and Bomba, The Jungle Boy by Roy Rockwood. Since then I’ve always been surrounded by books and I still read every day. But I’ve never felt the urge to write, and even hated doing essays at school. In 2009, however, I had a serious accident that put me into intensive care for four months. According to what I was told afterwards, I shouldn’t have survived; all the blood poisoning and organ failure I suffered should have cost me my life.

But despite the odds, I did survive. An ICU nurse gave me a guardian angel as a present, and said that I must have had lots of them (and I’m inclined to agree). After my long stay in hospital, I was discharged and started on my slow road to recovery. My legs had wasted away due to all the drugs I’d been given, so nowadays I’m in a wheelchair. I gradually started reading again, slowly at first, and then more and more. But this time it was different. New. There was something on my mind. I even dreamed about it.

Suddenly I had a story in my head trying to grab my attention’ telling me it wanted to get written. I have no idea where it came from, but I knew that the old stone bridge in Hova, which you pass when driving down the E20 from Örebro towards Gothenburg, will be pivotal to the story.

So there we have it. Something happened to me when I was lying sedated for all those months in intensive care – a story appeared in my brain. I don’t know what the kind nurse who gave me the angel would have said, but maybe the reason I’m still alive is so that the story of the Stone Bridge and Agnes and all the others can be written, what do I know?

prologue

The Year 1141 according to the Amornian calendar.

The youth stood by the great window, which on a clear day offered a spectacular view of the sea. But now the storm was upon them, and the rain beat wildly against the glass. Lightning tore across the soot-black sky and a howling wind whipped up waves as high as the tallest walls, as if the ocean itself had risen in revolt against the palace. The weather was a mirror to the man’s mood. He turned back to face the room, which was in fact a large hall. Or perhaps enormous would be a better word, for it could fit a hundred people and was mainly used for large gatherings. Despite its size, the hall was no echoing void. Its walls were adorned with paintings of Thulisian history, between each of which stood highly polished suits of armour; handsome hand-knitted carpets covered the flagstone floor and rows of chandeliers suspended from the ceiling on gilded chains. It was here in this hall that the horrors had begun. He cast his mind back to the evening one week ago and the memory of it pained him deeply. As tradition dictated, a grand feast had been held here in honour of the fair Eira, Thulisia’s beautiful goddess.

At the same time, outside the palace walls, the townsfolk were celebrating the arrival of spring, rejoicing at the return of warmer days, the calmer, seas, and the retreat of the gales and icy weather. Tavern owners and innkeepers supplied mounds of grilled meat and there were fountains of wine from which to drink – all paid for by the Emir so that poor and rich alike could eat and make merry to their hearts’ content. The custom was deeply rooted and much loved by the populace.

Many a noble visitor came to the palace from all the lands of Amornia, with the exception of Nazaria. There was much eating and drinking, fine speeches in honour of the gods, and, to end it all, a ball. This last was a much-welcomed diversion, and the honourable ladies and gentlemen waltzed around the hall to a chamber orchestra until the stroke of midnight. But by then the atrocity had already occurred; his father the Emir had been poisoned.

But as midnight rang out, no one was aware that anything had happened. No one knew that someone had interfered with the meat upon the Emir’s plate. It had been a slow-working poison and went undetected for many hours, and it was not until long afterwards that they managed to trace the noxious substance back to a morsel of uneaten meat on his plate. They also found discarded garments of the same kind as those worn by the servants that evening, and deduced that the murderer had probably been disguised as such.

But then, in the middle of the night when his father’s personal attendant had come to wake him, he had known nothing of all this. His father, Bogard the Elder, had fallen rapidly ill, and when he arrived at his father’s chamber, he was greeted with much confusion. The high priest, several healers and, not least, the servants were all fussing about his father, lying gaunt and cadaverous in his enormous bed. He seemed to have aged twenty years in the few hours that had passed since they parted company. Bogard’s mother had died in a hunting accident a few years previously, and now only his father remained. The chamber was so crowded that he almost had to gasp for air.

Please open a window, he asked the closest servant.

He looked around the room at all these people clustered about his father.

The Emir called him over to his bed and through a mighty effort of will raised his voice and commanded everyone else to leave his chamber.

Once the two men were alone, Bogard the Younger rose from the edge of the bed and went to close the window again. His father’s voice, when he began to speak, was feeble:

My son, there are things you must know of before I meet my end. I do not have long, no matter what the healers say. I have always known that this day may come, and now they have succeeded.

But Father, you will recover.

I pray you to be silent and listen carefully to me. When I have gone, you must succeed me as the new Emir. There are people you must speak to and things you must do.

His father then told him of the sacred relics that had to be protected at all costs. The importance of studying The

Prophesies with which theywere bound. He spoke with him for over an hour. Bogard learned of all he had to see to, and of the people he could turn to for aid. Once all duties and essential business had been addressed, his father spoke of Bogard’s mother, of about how he would soon be reunited with the woman he had loved so much and who had been snatched so suddenly from them.

Bogard, he then said. You must take great care. There are powerful forces afoot that want to unseat us from our throne. I must repeat my demand: the sacred relics possess tremendous power and must be protected at all costs.

The Emir closed his eyes for a moment, opened them again and said:

Now have you understood all this?

I have, Father, said Bogard with the tears rolling down his cheeks. But Father, how will I manage all this? You cannot leave us now. What you ask of me is too much.

Nothing is too much for you, whispered the almost unconscious Emir. You must find the people of whom I speak. You will succeed, for you are stronger than you think. Besides, you will receive aid from unexpected quarters. There will also be a girl, a girl with powers beyond our comprehension. She will be our salvation. So is it written. With these words, his father closed his eyes again and drifted off to sleep.

Bogard felt confused. He did not understand what his father meant by aid from unexpected quarters, or by a girl saving them. He walked with leaden steps towards the door to summon the healers back inside as he brooded over what his father had said. What or who was it that could help him? He grew anxious and felt unprepared to shoulder his father’s mantle.

It was now a week since his father had passed away, calmly and without having gained consciousness. Bogard was broken with grief and powerlessness in the face of his father’s death and the fate that awaited him. Shortly after his father’s passing, a messenger approached him in the part of the palace where he had his private rooms to deliver a scroll. Although barely able to read for the tears in his swollen eyes, he unrolled the parchment.

It was a command – there was no better word for the text he read. The ancient Oracle wished to meet him tonight. Bogard was petrified. The Oracle was feared throughout the land. Her premonitions were often chillingly accurate and dreadful, for seldom were the tidings she imparted good. He dreaded the thought of what he would be told. Now here he stood, waiting for her to arrive.

A gentle gust of air made Bogard turn. In the gloom by the door stood a figure, the Oracle. She seemed to shimmer, and was swathed in a dark shroud that apart from a small opening for her face concealed her entire form. She seemed diminished by the enormous hall and the new Emir eyed her quizzically.

Hail, thou young Emir of Thulisia! Hearken unto my vision, she croaked. A life of great turmoil awaits thee. Many sorrows will afflict thee and the family that thou shalt one day have. Thou must beware the dark forces that began with thy father’s death, a death that was even intended for thee. I have seen he who poisoned the food of which thy venerable father ate, and he himself is now dead. The forces that impelled him to murder the Emir of Thulisia forge vile plans. So too have I seen a young girl with burgeoning powers not witnessed since the Thulisian goddess Eira herself walked the Earth. She will one day come to your aid. But O! Bogard, the ninth of thy dynasty, be on thy guard against the horrors of the darkness that grow beyond the mountains. The day approaches when the power of the darkness will try to extinguish all light.

Bogard shivered as a chill swept through the room at her words. He was about to ask a question and had looked away for a brief second at a painting of his grandfather; when he turned back to the door, there was no one there. The Oracle had vanished.

In the vast lands beyond the mountains to the east, the Nazarian overlord stood gazing into the fire, his mind full of guile. There was a tentative knock and a door opened.

My Master, I have newly received word that the mission in Thulisia has been accomplished. The Emir does not have long left. Naz-Goru turned and stared at his minion with eyes aflame.

So that accursed assassin has succeeded in his charge? The Emir and his miserable brood are but a memory?

Rakor had to lift his eyes to look at his Lord and Master, who was over six feet tall. He stammered in reply:

Y-yes, our envoy managed to taint the meat being prepared for the Emir and his son, but as it was being served, something came to pass and the son left. By the time he had returned, the servants had brought in the next dish, so death only came to the Emir. The young boy had the fortune to survive.

Naz-Goru’s voice was like ice: So the son will live? You call that an accomplished mission?

I beg forgiveness, O Great One, I did not mean to speak untruthfully, but the son is a mere child of seventeen years. What threat could he pose to you, my dreaded Lord?

The King of Nazaria furiously grasped the neck of his minion and plucked him up from the cowering position he had adopted.

Do you not comprehend, you little rat, youths grow and become men? I want their bloodline eradicated! When we managed to arrange the accident that took the life of the Emir’s wife, he and his son were to meet the same fate, but now you have failed me. Their loathsome dynasty will live on through the son, and we will not be able to make another attempt for many moons. Out of my sight, you whelp! See to the assassin. the son must be killed without delay.

Rakor scuttled out of the room in absolute despair. If he displeases his Lord again it could be his end, and it will be his heart upon the sacrificial altar. In the door he ran into a young boy, the dark king’s son Halham.

Is Father busy? asked the boy. But Rakor was too distraught to answer and just hurried away as fast as he could.

Halham watched him go, shrugged and opened the door. He could hear his father talking to the old Sibyl. He heard something about it not being time yet to free their terrible god, and he heard his father reply: That act is mine alone to perform, no one else’s. I am the greatest of them all. My kingdom will reach from coast to coast and I shall kill all those who resist my rule.

Halham stepped back and withdrew into the shadows again. His father seemed to have lost his wits. He decided to go and see his mother instead.

1

Year 1180 according to the Amornian calendar.

The wind howled and the water whipped the stone paving of the narrow alley. Lightning lit up the fleeing woman’s path. Astrid slowed her steps slightly and turned her head to see how close her pursuers were. She saw no one, but heard the rattling of the men’s swords as they bounced against their iron-clad legs. It was not far now to the culvert that would take her under the city wall. Everything had gone wrong, and the men chasing her knew that she had knowledge of the old Emir’s secrets. Astrid sped up again. She had to make her way back to her own time so that she could return and save the collapsing city and country from the approaching horror.

Quickly, she approached the culvert under the city ramparts. Not many people knew this secret exit, but as she hurried round the last bend of the winding alleyway she spotted a guard patrolling just outside the slope down. He was wearing the feared Nazarian uniform of a hauberk and tabard bearing the image of a large black bird. Astrid almost stumbled as she slid to a halt.

The armed guard had his back to her. Would she be able to sneak down behind him? But just as she reached the opening under the wall, the man turned. Astrid shrank back. The guard was hulking and smiling maliciously. Halt, woman! he roared. Astrid had no choice. She had to make it into the culvert.

2

AGNES WOKE with a jerk, roused by something. She looked at the clock, which glowed red on the table beside her. 00.01. A new day – Saturday 11 March – had just begun. I turn fifteen today, thought Agnes. She puzzled for a while over what had woken her. It was something unusual: a dream? Or perhaps some other influence? Agnes was due to go to her paternal grandmother’s today, where she’d stay for six months after her parents, Axel and Brie, both surgeons, had been invited to work for Doctors without Borders. They were to travel to Haiti, where the people were still suffering the aftermath of the devastating natural disaster that struck the island a month ago.

She swung her legs over the bed and looked out of the window at the branches of the tree outside swaying in the wind. The white curtains fluttered a little in a draught that seeped in under the window frame. Was there something else out there that had woken her? She crept to the window to look out and at first could see nothing, but then she caught sight of a yellow glow coming from behind a bush. Someone was there watching her. Agnes blinked and looked again. Nothing. Must’ve been my imagination she thought and yawned widely. I guess I’m just excited about going to Nan’s. I’d better go back to bed. I’ve got a long day ahead of me. She snuggled up under her duvet again and fell asleep.

Outside the house, the creature remained, its eyes blazing in the dense darkness like two fireflies. He had been despatched there by the Supreme One a week ago to keep a watch on the girlchild called Agnes and to observe all that came to pass. All he knew was that she held some connection to the woman who managed to flee the world that was his. The creature slowly withdrew. He saw the girl in the window so was now certain that she was in the house. He thought he could sense the power of her mind. It was now time to report to his omniscient overlord for further instructions.

The annexation of Thule had proceeded according to plan, but still the Supreme One was furious. The woman had been allowed to escape into the dark alleyways of the city. Had the old Emir told her where the sacred relics were hidden? The possibility left him in a rage. To make matters worse, a number of the aged patriarch’s inner circle had disappeared. And then there was this girl from the other time, the one of whom his Sibyl had warned. The one who possessed the power that none had wielded for centuries. He had to know who she was so that they could capture and kill her.

3

ASTRID HAD MANAGED to throw her last mowaka at the bellowing guard. It struck him just under the helmet and knocked him to the ground. Astrid slipped past him and into the culvert. She could hear the men up in the alleyway. To the right of her in the tunnel was a torch. Astrid grasped it and rotated the shaft a half-turn clockwise.

A narrow gap appeared in the wall. In front of her she saw the silver handle in its holder in the middle of the room. She squeezed through the gap and as it closed behind her she heard her pursuers come bursting into the culvert.

She walked over to the handle, grabbed hold of it with her left hand and muttered the arcane words. The heat spread up through the arm and into her body, and then everything went momentarily black. When Astrid opened her eyes again, she was back in the damp little cavity that she had left six months before. She looked around her. Another journey through time and space. It still felt strange, despite all the times she’d crossed over. Her master-teacher had explained to her that time is what separates these two worlds. When she’s in her world, time passes as it should, but when she transports herself to Amornia, time in her world freezes to almost a standstill.

She shook off this inexplicable phenomenon and eased her way out of the room under the old stone bridge. It wasn’t so easy any more, sprinting or being chased by soldiers. Her granddaughter would soon be coming to stay with her. Astrid walked slowly towards her cottage deep in thought over what had just happened. Was this the end of the order to which she belonged? Had everything been in vain?

4

AGNES WAS WOKEN by clattering noises from the kitchen downstairs. She yawned widely. The events of the night seemed remote now, and she figured she’d imagined what she saw outside in the darkness. Anyway, the sun was shining and she could hear birds chattering outside. She threw off her duvet and padded on her bare feet over to the window, pulled back the curtain and peeked out. The garden looked completely different, as the sun beamed down onto the place where she thought she’d seen someone. Everything looked normal. And so she stood for a while, deep in thought. Slowly, her gaze drifted around the room. She’d recently convinced her father to paint a background wall. He’d protested wildly, but she cajoled and begged and now it was here, her pink wall.

Her gaze drifted on. She liked her nice new white-stained birchwood floor, but figured it would probably need cleaning before she left. She toyed with the idea of getting dressed to join her parents in the kitchen but remembered how much her mother enjoyed waking her on her birthday. She could hear them busying away down there and thought she could make out whispered voices. She darted back to her bed and buried herself under the duvet.

A short while later she heard a creak on the stairs and a whispered hush from her mother. Her father then hummed a pitch, there was a tap at the door followed by a Happy birthday to you – and there were her parents in their dressing gowns, her father Axel bearing a huge candle-studded cake and her mother Brie a large colourfully wrapped present. After they’d sung the final verse, her mother came bounding over to the bed.

Happy birthday, Agnes! Dad and I thought hard about what to get you, and it wasn’t an easy task! We hope you like it! She handed over the rustling package, its gold paper glittering, and the rays of the sun that flooded into the room made it seem to glow.

Agnes took the rather heavy box.

Thank you so much, she said beaming with joy. She had an idea what was inside. It had the right weight and she just hoped that her parents had picked up on her little hints about what she wanted.

Axel, put the cake on the desk for the moment and come and sit down, said Brie. We’ll have some after she’s opened her present.

Now then, she continued. Open it!

Agnes began to tear off the expensive-looking wrapping paper eagerly, sending shreds of gold paper flying. Could it be what she thought it was?

Yes, it was! The box inside was now visible and she could see the Microsoft logo. She squealed with glee. It was exactly what she wanted, the latest Surface tablet, the one she and her father had looked at in the advert. She’d read up on it and it was perfect for her, a real gem that served both as a tablet and a laptop.

Oh thank you! she said and threw her arms around her mother’s neck, hugged her tightly, felt her mother’s soft dressing gown brush her cheek, and then threw herself at her father to give him the same treatment.

So, he said as a warmth arose in his chest at seeing his daughter’s genuine joy, we figured that since we’re going to be apart for so long you’ll need a good computer. Now we’ll be able to Skype each other. Your nan’s actually got broadband in her house, we’ll just have to hope that we can get a good connection in Haiti.

Agnes’s mother was also smiling at her daughter’s appreciation of the gift. At the same time, she was sad at the thought of being away from her daughter for months. She knew that Agnes would love staying with Astrid down in Hova. Everything was arranged. Agnes was enrolled at a school in Gullspång twenty kilometres from Astrid’s cottage. She’ll be fine, Brie thought. Agnes’s mother, with her slightly unusual name, was half-French. Her father, Agnes’s grandpa, met his future wife on a business trip to Montenach in France. He was now living out the rest of their days in his wife’s native land, a stone’s throw away from where they’d first met. Agnes and her family visited them once a year.

Time for cake, said Agnes’s father, carrying it over to the bed so that Agnes could blow out the candles. Agnes took a deep breath and blew, all the candles went out and her mother clapped.

That’s my girl! Out in one! Now you’ve got to make a wish, said her father. Time for a slice each and then we’re going to have to get our skates on. We’ve a lot to do before you catch your train, sweet cheeks!

5

AGNES AND HER parents were unaware that the creature Agnes had glimpsed during the night could now see right into her room. Agnes’s mother had opened the curtains when they entered, exposing themselves to the creature with the piercing yellow eyes who sat perched in a tree at the back of the garden. He had extremely sharp vision and registered everything that happened in the room. He was not afraid of being seen as it was only those with a fully developed power who could see the likes of him, and even though he thought he could detect such a power in the girl, she was not yet trained in using it.

He had now been given a new order by the Master to follow the girl. He had noticed that she had packed some bags and deduced that she would probably be leaving soon. The creature, a Muztrum, failed to understand why he could not just kill the girl to ease his Lord’s mind. The Muztrums were a race created by the god Moros, to whom the people of Nazaria prayed. Moros was a bloodthirsty god, and during his time in the land had demanded many human sacrifices. Moros had been captured on the Isle of the Divinities a very long time ago. It was said that he was held captive in a cave under the watchful eye of the other gods. Moros’s creation pictured himself crushing the girl’s throat with his powerful jaws and could feel the warm red blood flow into his mouth. Creatures of his kind had existed for all time and lived on instilling fear and dread into human beings. Killing was in their nature and they derived much pleasure from it. However, this particular Muztrum was in the service of the Omniscient One and so had to restrain himself for the time being. He would get his reward, and come that day he would gorge on human blood – and he hoped that day would be soon. Although the girl would be a fitting start to the quenching of his bloodthirst, the creature did not dare defy the Master, for his punishment would be certain death. The beast shivered with pleasure as he thought of the impending slaughter, but for the time being had to resist all such temptations. Slowly he climbed down the tree and hunkered into the shadows behind an old tool shed. He wanted to be prepared for when the girl left.

6

DOWN IN HOVA, Astrid had recovered from her adventurous flight from Thule. She thought about all the people she had left behind, but she had not had any choice. If she had been captured, it would all have been over. Things had rapidly deteriorated there in recent times; Emir Bogard the Ninth had aged quickly and was now almost helplessly lost in the fogs brought about by the terrible disease. It had all begun five years ago. Astrid was well aware of the Oracle’s prophecy the day Bogard had assumed the Emir’s mantle after the fatal poisoning of his father. She had foretold that his life would be one of great adversity, and so it was, with the unrelenting raids from the land beyond the eastern mountains. Slowly but surely, its brutal king Naz-Halham had grown stronger and more evil. Humans were butchered in sacrifice to him, so divine did he consider himself. He had built up a vast war machine and the time had come for him to advance. Fortunately, they had been warned before the city became a theatre of war. She had had a long conversation with the Emir about the relics that for the sake of humankind had to be rescued from this most savage of tyrants. These relics were now dispersed throughout the land and she had to confide in four others, each of whom protected one of the relics. If they fell into the hands of the enemy, all hope would be lost. Astrid was now the highest practician of The Magick Systerhood, an ancient order dating back centuries. Astrid had been allowed to accompany her maternal grandmother, who in turn had followed her paternal grandmother, the power apparently skipping one generation as it was passed down. She also knew that it had been prophesied that one day a girl would be born endowed with untold powers and would come to redeem them in their darkest hour. Astrid was not sure but hoped that it might be her own granddaughter Agnes of whom the prophecy spoke.

No woman had ever shown the slightest hint of power before turning fifteen. That day had now arrived for Agnes and she would soon find out. Her granddaughter was due to arrive by train tonight to stay with her while her son and daughter-in-law, Agnes’s parents, were in Haiti. She would, in time, tell Agnes all this, about the country facing its demise and how it was their – or at least Astrid’s – duty to try to save it. Then she could only hope that Agnes had inherited the gift.

It was time to prepare for her grand-daughter’s arrival. She had already made up one of the spare rooms, and installed a desk and chair where Agnes could sit and do her homework. She had dinner to make and decided on tacos, a safe choice. Tassa came slinking in as she was making the bed. Tassa was Astrid’s little black and white moggy. She was a very affectionate cat and brushed herself against Astrid’s legs.

What do you think, Tassa? Will the room do now for Agnes?

The cat turned its large eyes up to her mistress and seemed to nod in reply. Astrid gave a laugh. Cats were delightful animals and such lovely company. She was quite sure that Tassa considered the house hers and suffered Astrid’s presence for as long as she fed her. She had actually taken Tassa with her to Thule a few times, but that was before the troubles began in the city. Cats were highly valued animals in Thule, so Tassa had been well looked after. Astrid had been doubtful whether she could travel between the worlds with an extra passenger, but had been persuaded that it was possible by one of the eldest members of the Emir’s council. The Emir’s great-grandfather had once accompanied Astrid’s ancestors to Hova. The Emir had been very curious and inquiring. But certain rules applied to the passage to the other side. Objects were not allowed, which meant that no weapons could be transported from her own world to Thule, nor could relics be brought into safety here. This reminded her that she had to contact Mildred, the order’s second in command. She lived close by Astrid and had been on many trips to Thule and the world around Thulisia, the country of which Thule was the capital. Mildred was involved, to say the least, in recent events and it was very much thanks to her that Astrid’s flight and the concealment of the relics had been possible.

7

NAZ-HALHAM PACED his chamber in the massive black palace that dominated the Norot cityscape. He had called his closest subordinate Rugu. Something had to be done about the fact that the Emir was not yet in their clutches. He had disappeared shortly before the Nazarian forces had taken the city. Nazaria was Naz-Halham’s kingdom, over which he ruled with a rod of iron, and his people were cowed into fulfilling his slightest whim. But this was not enough for him. He wanted dominion over all of Amornia, and his armies had swept through the land, crushing all opposition on their way to Thule. The Sibyl whom he had in his pay had foreseen