The Crimson Sceptre: The tales of Amornia, #2

By J F Wren

Agnes sat with tears rolling down her cheeks, cradling her grandmother's bloody head in her lap. She had managed to stem the flow of blood, but she could barely feel Astrid's pulse. Beside her lay Knox, brother of the Emir of Thulisia's late wife. The old mariner was unconscious, but breathing steadily.

 

A dim red light pulsed in the otherwise darkened chamber, fluctuating in brightness as if the thing emitting it was alive. And as it flashed, two formless beings could be glimpsed by the door. They appeared amorphous and seemed to be covered in week-old ash.

 

The Crimson Sceptre is the second volume in the Tales 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.

 

The first volume – The Secret of the Stone Bridge – was well-received by readers and critics alike.

 

What the book bloggers said:

 "A classic portal fantasy that's aflame with storytelling glee."

@hakans.hylla

"Mystery, thrills and loveable characters. A brilliant debut."

@bettan_bokprataren

• Language: English
• Publisher: J F Wren
• Release date: Aug 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9789198811810

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

Characters

in the book

MALE CHARACTERS

Agnar: Kings aid, Askos, Amornia

Alun: Chief Monk in the temple Thibil, Sarissa, Amornia

Anselm: Chamberlain, adviser to the Emir, Thule, Thulisia, Amornia

Arild: The Oracle of Thulisias brother, Thule, Thulisia,

Amornia

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

a spice merchant in Thibil, Sarissa, Amornia

Axel: Agnes father, doctor, Bromma, Sweden

Baird: King, Molisia, Amornia

Bel: God, Eturia, Amornia

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

Hova, Sweden

Bev-Moro: High priest, Nazarian church, Amornia

Bogard: The younger, Thulisia, Amornia

Bogard: The older, Emir, Thulisia, Amornia

Bredon: Captain of the Molisian Royal Ship, Molisia, Amornia

Cassian: Prince, Sarissa, Amornia

Chaka: Shaman (Evil wizard) Molisian jungle, Amornia

Cullen: Colonel, Molisia, Amornia

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

Amornia

Egan: Prince, Molisia, Amornia

Egun: Under-Chief, Askos, Amornia

Eldurk: Nefilim (Giant), Askos, Amornia

Erack: King, Askos, Amornia

Glynn: Cupbearer, Thibil, Sarissa, Amornia

Helmi: Vigar’s father, Parkajoki, Sweden

Helmut Schrödinger: Vigar’s evil friend, Berlin, Germany

Irven: Prince, Askos, Amornia

Kian: Magician, Nazaria, Amornia

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

Moros: God, Nazaria, Amornia

Moryn: Nephew of Naz-Halham, Nazaria, Amornia

Naz-Goru: Naz-Halham’s father, Nazaria, Amornia

Naz-Halham: King, Nazaria, Amornia

Nilo: High Priest, Thule, Thulisia, Amornia

Njord: God, Askos, Amornia

Nyx: Sacrificial priest, Nazaria, Amornia

Rakor: Naz-Goru’s right hand, Nazaria, Amornia

Ridwan: Adwiser to the King of Kadjar, Lorath, Kadjar, Amornia

Rofoir: The king of the dwarves, lives in the mountains

of Askos, Amornia

Rugu: Naz-Halham’s right hand, Nazaria, Amornia

San-Caliba XIII: Emperor, Sarissa, Amornia

Sixten: Mildred’s late husband, Hova, Sweden

Togo: The oracle in Thule’s assistant, Thulisia, Amornia

Tyr: God, Kadjar, Amornia

Vigar: Witch Master, Parkajoki, Sverige

Zander: Chamberlain in Sarissa, Thibil, Sarissa, Amornia

Eagle: Under-Chief, Askos, Amornia

FEMALE CHARACTERS

Agnes: The chosen one, Bromma, Sweden

Alane: Nun, Thibil, Sarissa, Amornia

Astrid: Grandmother of Agnes, Hova, Sweden

Banon: Naz-Halham’s sister, Nazaria, Amornia

Brid: Queen, Molisia, Amornia

Brie: Agnes mother, Bromma, Sweden

Celina: Adviser to the King of Molisia, Amornia

Deva: Princess, Molisia, Amornia

Eira: Goddess Thulisia, Amornia

Frideborg: Astrid’s Grandmother, Hova, Sweden

Garan: Belon’s fortune teller, Nazaria, Amornia

Gilda: Oracle, Thule, Thulisia, Amornia

Gorawen: The Isle of the Divinities, Amornia

Hild: Goddess, Sarissa, Amornia

Imona: Witch, Parkajoki, Sweden

Indra: Member of The Magick Systerhood, Thulisia, Amornia

Inga: Under-Chief, Askos, Amornia

Keelin: Under-Chief Inga’s daughter, Askos, Amornia

Liisa: Vigar’s mother, Parkajoki, Sweden

Lis-i: The children of the green sun, Molisia, Amornia

Lowri: Princess, Askos, Amornia

Malwina: Under-Chief Egun’s daughter, Askos, Amornia

Marja: Midwife, Parkajoki, Sweden

Minoo: Bogard the youngers late wife, Thulisia, Amornia

Mildred: Member of The Magic Systerhood, Hova, Sweden

Mirva: Has a dog called Blanka, Thulisia, Amornia

Nara: (of the river), Molisia, Amornia

Rhawn: Princess, Sarissa, Amornia

Saraneld: Queen, Askos, Amornia

Sos-i: The children of the green sun, Molisia, Amornia

Suja: Member of The Magick Systerhood, Thulisia, Amornia

Ran: Goddess, Molisia, Amornia

Rota: Goddess, Amornia

Telyn: Princess, Thibil, Sarissa, Amornia

Prologue

In the beginning, the world that the dual entities had formed was barren and featureless. Gradually, as long as their fleeting interest held, they added vegetation, carved rivers, and folded high mountains and deep valleys. Pleased with their work, they created living things, so that soon the pair were joined by fish in the waters, animals on the land – and, eventually, humans. These last they found baffling and decided that beings would be needed to watch over and guide these simple creatures, so they fashioned gods for them to worship. The gods were eight in number, four female and four male. And when all was done, the entities left this world and turned their attention to the next.

The eight divinities lived in symbiosis with the humans, each having chosen a people over whom to reign. Eira, the first of the minds’ creation, lived with her devotees in the west in the land she had named Thulisia. Life in Amornia, as the world was called, was pleasant and the various peoples lived in peace and harmony.

The centuries passed and Amornia flourished. Until one day, high up in the mountains of northern Nazaria, where the god Moros lived with his people, something happened. One night when the gentle god lay abed, a voice came to him, dripping into his mind the injustice of how he, the most beautiful and divine of them all, was not receiving the worship he deserved. The voice told him that he had to ensure that his people sacrificed themselves in his honour. Thus was the beginning of the reign of terror that descended on the land in the east. The people were cowed and the priests whom Moros selected performed daily human sacrifices.

When the other gods perceived their brother’s doings, they were filled with wrath. They were a blasphemy to all living things and had to cease, and the seven turned against the one. This was the start of a long war between the divinities, a war that did not stop until the two minds who had created them grew aware of the conflict raging between their creations and banished them all to an uninhabited island: the island that became known amongst humans as the Isle of the Divinities.

With their gods gone and the people confounded, it was up to the priests of the different countries to keep the memory of their gods alive. But in Nazaria, sacrifices were still made to the now exiled Moros and the priestly caste grew in power, evolving into a theocracy whose tyranny was not broken until the day a nobleman gained control of the army and began the dynasty of evil rulers from whom descended the current overlord of Nazaria –Naz-Halham.

1

Vigar

Sweden, November 1887

In the northernmost tracts of Sweden by the shores of the Muonio River stood a cluster of tumbledown houses, home to a small community who lived off whatever the forest and the river could provide. The houses were in such poor shape that they had to seal the worst of the gaps in the walls and roofs with moss and birch bark. The smokestacks that could be seen were also in an advanced state of disrepair, with bricks sitting loose amongst crumbling mortar, and the roofs through which they projected comprised little more than roughly hewn logs covered in peat. The people stopped harvesting the forest in the spring, when there was too little snow to transport the lumber on horse-drawn sleds. The men in the village supplemented their income boiling tar during the spring and autumn, between the felling and the clearing. The tar pits were reinforced with stays, logs and timber, creating large funnels some ten paces in diameter. It was a laborious task to dig up the tree stumps for tarring, but when the work was done the tar was transported on rafts all the way down to Haparanda for export.

Most of the older people in the area remembered the three years of severe famine that began in 1867. People had taken to surviving on bread made from bark and porridge made from lichens. Water soup, a blend of syrup, prunes, flower, oats and, of course, water – a lot of water – was a dish of which many had tasted. But nourishment it gave. Many were the families who left their homes to emigrate to North America. It was not until midsummer 1867 that seed could be sown in Parkajoki; similar circumstances prevailed in many places in Norrland. From the poorest villages came reports of destitution and starvation. Larders were empty and the prices of whatever food there was became inflated so much that in the end, a cask of rye cost almost fifty riksdaler, which amounted to more than a monthly wage for an industrial worker.

Times were better now, and the harvests were giving normal yields, but this particular November was bitter and cold. The smoke lay like a blanket over the little hollow in which the houses stood huddled together. Old Marja, the local midwife, had predicted a chilly and snowy evening. In the most ramshackle house lived the recently wed Liisa and Helmi, a young couple who had been united that midsummer and who were soon expecting their first child. The baby was due at any time, and Liisa had taken to her bed, enervated by the pregnancy. Liisa was slight of frame but had long, glossy black hair that when released, reached down to her midriff. Beautiful of face was she, with a straight finely chiselled nose and, most strikingly of all, ice-blue eyes. Helmi was her opposite. A rugged man with long arms, he was unusually tall – over three cubits – and had short blond hair. His face was slightly angular and unlike his new wife had almost black eyes, in spite of his complexion.

The little house, which stood a little outside the village, was an inheritance from Helmi’s paternal grandparents, who had passed away a few years before, leaving it at the mercy of the elements. It was a simple abode, with a frame of roughly adzed logs and a roof of moss and soil. Liisa had spent months sealing the gaps in the walls and had managed to stop most of the draught. The logs had greyed with age and the solitary room boasted only one small window and, in its centre, an old iron hearth that served as both a source of warmth and a stove for cooking. A little brick chimney led out through the roof. Along the wooded beams hung rows of dried fish and roundels of crisp bread, out of reach of hungry rats and mice.

Liisa was preparing the evening meal; dusk arrived early this time of year, and soon her dear husband would be returning home from the forest. She had made a rich mushroom broth from the that spring’s harvest, and with it she would serve a piece of the valuable rye bread. She felt big and clumsy and wanted nothing more than to give birth.

After their meal, the young pair sat for a while and talked about the possibility of Helmi seeking work as a navvy. The railway company was about to begin the Långsele to Vännäs stretch that would eventually lead all the way to Boden. Many men were needed to lay the tracks, work that was backbreaking and dangerous, but well-paid. The problem was just that Helmi would be away from his wife for many months at a time, and she would be all alone with their newborn baby. The distance to Långsele was also a deterrent, and although one could follow the river to Haparanda and from there travel by ship along the coast, the undertaking was a hazardous one.

I shall have to stay nearby, after all I could take employment later when they have come further north. They plan to go all the way to Boden, you know, said Helmi with a smile at his pretty wife.

The conversation turned to the new arrival.

It cannot be long now, my dear. A baby’s screams will soon fill the house again, you’ll see.

Helmi looked at his young wife and tried to cheer her up. As if provoked by their talk, her first contractions began. Liisa groaned and bent double with her hands over her belly.

Hurry! Fetch the midwife! I think the little one is coming!

Helmi leapt out of his chair and dashed over to her.

Are you certain? Shall I run and fetch her at once?

Liisa groaned again. The pain was unbearable and through clenched teeth she managed to sputter:

Hurry, Helmi.

Helmi’s mind started spinning and left him feeling addled. Then it struck him. He pulled on his thick labourer’s coat and boots and rushed out through the door. Outside, the snow had started to fall and the wind was picking up. He ran as fast as his heavy footwear would allow him. Never had the road into the village felt so long.

Back in the cottage, Liisa had managed to make her way to the bed. She had never felt such pain in her life. Something had to be amiss. She dropped onto the simple bunk and drew a blanket up over herself. She felt ready to faint.

Liisa was woken by a kick inside her, and the pain stabbed anew. She had heard voices and footsteps outside and could now see old Marja leaning over her, and the vague silhouette of her husband behind her.

How are you, my child? Marja’s here now, and all will be well, you’ll see.

The old woman turned and gave the young man a terse order.

Boil a pot of water on the hearth and fetch some clean cloths.

She turned back to the young woman and said gently:

Now let’s see if we can’t get this little baby out.

Up at the hearth, Helmi was perspiring heavily and his heart was beating in his breast like a jackhammer. He would never have guessed that it would feel so terrible to just stand and watch. Nor could he use his strong hands to help. He was wholly at the mercy of the wisdom that the old woman had accumulated over the years. He concentrated on keeping the heat in the pot.

After what seemed like an eternity, another voice was heard in the simple little home, the hoarse cry of a baby amidst the quiet lallations of a new mother. Helmi carefully drew aside the screen that the old lady had hung up around the bed and looked at the two women and the little bundle that was his child.

Did all go well?

Liisa lifted her eyes and smiled at her husband.

Yes, everything is just fine. Come and meet your son. Your son Vigar.

The old woman stepped to one side so that Helmi could approach the bed and lift up the little parcel of swaddling, but looking down he could see nothing other than a shock of black hair. He handed the baby carefully back to Liisa.

Shall I escort you home, Mother Marja? he asked. If your work here is done, I mean?

Aye, sweet boy, I do declare you have begat a son. He is hale and hearty, so I believe I am no longer required here.

Let me take you home, it’s snowing quite heavily out there and the wind has risen.

He whispered some tender words to his wife and helping the aged woman over the threshold, he headed off with her into the village.

Liisa lay silently behind in the bed looking at her son, hardly able to believe that she was a mother. She heard the door open again, but the screen partially obstructed her view of the door. Light, shuffling footsteps came towards her. She looked in alarm towards the screen. Who or what was in their house? The curtain was drawn aside and there stood what she thought was a woman, although it was hard to say for sure. The person was so muffled up that only the face could be seen. A pair of yellow eyes stared hard at her.

Then the woman opened her mouth.

Greetings, O mother of the child fated to be my acolyte. I sensed that his birth had come and wished to come hither to behold him. I, Imona, bless thy babe and tell thee that one day I shall come to claim him.

She laid her gnarled hand upon the infant and then turned away and vanished as suddenly as she had arrived. Liisa could barely believe what had happened and convinced herself that it was a dream; but deep inside, she knew. Everyone knew who Imona the Witch was. But what had she said? She was going to return for little Vigar?

Liisa shuddered and tightened her hold on her newborn son.

2

The Muztrum

Sweden , Hova and the present

The sun began to rise over Hova, Astrid’s birthplace and a village steeped in history. It is first mentioned in chronicles of the battle for the crown that was fought there in 1275 between King Valdemar and his brother, Magnus Ladulås. Both the church and its parsonage dated back to the Middle Ages.

Astrid was the grandmother of the girl who, it transpired, was destined to take the role of the Chosen One in a struggle between good and evil that was to be fought out not here in Hova, but in another world called Amornia. There was an old stone bridge in Hova that concealed a portal to this other land, a chamber from which one could cross between the worlds.

Astrid was also a member of the Magick Systerhood, an ancient order of which generations of women in her family had been members. The Order was closely associated to the country of Thulisia, which lay as far to the west as was possible to go in Amornia. The country was ruled by emirs, most of whom had borne the name of Bogard. The current ruler was thus called Bogard, and he was the ninth of his line. Astrid’s neighbour in Hova was a woman called Mildred, and she too was a member of the Order. Mildred was a trained nurse, and this had proved useful indeed.

In his youth, many sorrows had been foretold for Bogard on the day of his father’s murder. Forty years had now passed, but upon this amiable prince grief and tribulations had rained heavily.

Astrid and Mildred, who had spent much time in Thulisia over the years, had seen how sorrow weighed on their friend. Now Bogard was sixty and had succumbed to Alzheimer’s, a disease that was unknown of in Amornia, where they had tried to cure him with magic and medicinal herbs. But nothing had helped. So the drastic decision was taken to remove Bogard to Hova, where they would try to cure him with modern Swedish medicine. Their efforts paid off to some degree, but the real difference came when Agnes arrived. Agnes was Astrid’s granddaughter and, as she would later learn, the Chosen One of whom ballads and tales had been written in Amornia. She was the girl who would arrive in the people’s time of need and deliver the world from evil. Her powers were said to be of a kind never before witnessed. By sheer coincidence she had placed a hand on the Emir’s shoulder when she and Astrid had been at Mildred’s. The energy that had flowed into the older man had shocked them all.

***

The snow that had fallen during the night blanketed the old stone bridge with a thin layer of cotton wool. One or two cars passed by on the nearby motorway. This road would now have a major impact on the course of events.

Roadworks on the E20 had been going on since 2016. Big, hulking machines had been clearing away gravel and crushing rock to make way for a new stretch of road, and on this particular morning, a sixteen-wheel crane had arrived to lift the enormous pipes that were to form an underpass. The driver had parked the vehicle close to the old bridge, from which road traffic had been diverted to allow the crew to work undisturbed by motorists.

The massive crane weighted over forty tons and had to be manoeuvred with great care. The iron drums to be used for the project had been stacked up on a grassy clearing that sloped gently down to the bridge, where they were held in place by thick poles driven into the ground. Having secured the jib chain to first of the drums, the crane operator leapt nimbly into the cab to begin the lift. Slowly he raised the heavy pipe into the air and when it reached a height of ten metres, he began to swing and extend the telescopic arm into place. But as he did so, the heavy chain on which the cylinder was suspended snapped. The load seemed to hover in the air for a moment, but then gravity took hold and sent the pipe crashing to the ground. It landed on its end, and looked like it might remain upright, but slowly, slowly, it toppled over and began to roll down the slope until it slammed into the stone bridge at the bottom. The bridge seemed to tremble.

What was worse, however, was that the impact had dislodged the bridge a little off its foundations. Even more unfortunate was that it happened to be that very side on which Astrid, Mildred and the Emir had trapped the creature. But this was something of which the driver was ignorant; had he known, he would have fled for his life.

The crane operator took up his comms radio and called his foreman to ask for help reattaching the pipe. He climbed out of his enormous vehicle and walked slowly down to inspect the damage.

At the bridge, a small crack had opened up into the space where the Muztrum was imprisoned, and the slight breeze it let in had caused a reaction in the spell that Astrid had used. The creature gradually began to awaken out of the slumber into which it had been cast. Slowly, the monster opened its eyes as it drew air into its lungs. Everything came back to him. He had been intent on killing the detestable woman but had suddenly found himself bound. The witch had had help. It was terribly humiliating. But now something had happened, and he was free. Outside he heard steps. The crack in his cell wall was barely visible, but that was no problem for the creature. He slipped out of his prison as a black smoke, caught immediate sight of the man and quickly decided that it was better to depart the scene. He floated away towards the woods where his ignominious capture had happened. He now had to inform his master and receive further instructions. A short while later the creature had made contact, not with the man who owned his soul but his underling. The Evil One himself was 0ut at sea and beyond reach.

The Muztrum knew now what he had to do. He had a long journey ahead of him, but he had no choice. In this world there was nothing left for him to stalk. He had to head north, far up in this cold country, to find the man named Vigar, who lived in a place the humans called Parkajoki. When he arrived in this world, his passage had been effected by the Supreme One and his mage, but now that possibility was no longer available. But he knew that up in the north there was a secret portal that would take him direct to the mountains in northern Nazaria. Over the years Vigar had been a good ally of the Nazarian overlord, and was, in his way, a mage that appealed to the Muztrum – evil and sadistic. The creature glided swiftly through the land like a malevolent black shadow. It was far to Parkajoki, but time and distance were of no concern to demons of his kind.

Meanwhile, up in northernmost Sweden, the man called Vigar paced around swearing sulphurous curses. He had just received word from the world he called the other. Something urgent had apparently happened that could not wait and a creature was going to visit him so that he might cross, with his kind help, to Nazaria. But right now it inconvenienced the cruel man greatly.

Vigar was a foul, wicked old man, and lived in the forest a few kilometres from the little town of Parkajoki. The locals steered clear of his part of the woods, and while no one quite knew where his cottage lay, everyone was aware of the evil that infested these tracts. Vigar was skilled in necromancy and magic and could bring evil on innocent people. It was an ability he became aware of in his early years, for he had been raised in a proper home with a mother and a father, neither of whom understood the little boy who could be both sweet and charming while inside him germinated the desire to hurt. Many pets went missing during these years, and neighbours, his parents too, were convinced they had fallen prey to wild animals. But most of the disappearances were down to the young lad. The things he subjected them to were unmentionable. The years passed and the now young man grew weary of simple animals. People in his vicinity started to have strange accidents and there was a spate of unexplained fires in the little town. The surly youth grew stronger by the day. What his parents did not know was that he visited an ancient crone who lived deep in the forest. He had encountered her on one of his pensive walks around the desolate tracts to the north of his dwelling. The woman had simply appeared out of thin air and had startled him, until he remembered his powers. Staring down the old woman he had said:

You shall obey me, old woman. Hear my voice for you are in my power now.

The crone’s reaction had come as a surprise. She had broken into a cackling sound that presumably signified mirth.

Foolish boy! Dare thou come and tell the blackest witch in the land what to do? I, Imona, can destroy thee with a single curse!

She had then cast a spell on Vigar and he had found himself paralysed, his limbs frozen to ice.

And so the evil witch and the beast of a boy had met for the second time. For understandable reasons, their first encounter Vigar had no memory of, having just been an hour or so old. Imona was delighted to have chanced upon him here, as she had reckoned with another one or two years before claiming him.

The years passed and the boy grew into a cruel young man.

Many years had passed since Imona had died, and Vigar could sometimes feel a yearning for the only woman who had ever understood him. But such sentimentality would soon pass. His evil had grown with the years and from the first time he had accompanied Imona to the other place, the other world that was called Amornia, his life had gained new meaning. The dark kingdom of Nazaria, with its homicidal priesthood and deranged leaders, suited him well. Now he had to wait for the demon that was on its way up to him, for he was to escort the creature to Nazaria and do what he could to assist the kingdom in its nefarious plans. And should fortune smile, there would be much human sacrificing to do.

3

Agnes

Amornia 1180

Agnes sat with tears rolling down her cheeks, cradling her grandmother’s bloody head in her lap. She had managed to stem the flow of blood, but she could barely feel Astrid’s pulse. Beside her lay Knox, unconscious, but breathing. She could tell by the heaving of his ribcage. The screaming and shouting had stopped and in the ensuing silence Agnes felt like the loneliest person in the universe. But then the presence returned to her mind and she almost screamed aloud.

Are you there? Help me, Nan is badly hurt!

Calm yourself, my child, I am here now. This matter is far from over. The other mind, my opposite, has contravened one of the inviolable rules and its doing so is our confirmation that they are desperate and scared.

Dry your tears now, we have much to discuss. Know, however, that I have stopped time for everyone but you. The ship is enclosed in an impregnable sphere of energy. All the injured I have sent into a deep sleep and they will neither recover nor worsen. I will transport you to the destination you must reach with the help of my power. Know that all is now changed and your plans must be remade. The matter of which the man lying beside you came to tell you must be heeded with care.

I shall now instruct you what to do once we have arrived. I will have the ship become beached. It has been badly damaged by the collision with the obstacle that our foes lay in our path. You will not be able to use this ship to reach the heart of the jungle. It is imperative that you make contact with a woman who lives in the village, she whose name is Nara. She has healing powers and a high standing in the village council. You will need to change vessels to journey on up the river, so your mission will be to convince Nara that she must help you.

When we have arrived you must make sure that your grandmother goes direct to the village to see the wise woman. Most of your companions are just shaken, so they will be fine. The Captain and his crew, however, have not been so fortunate. A seaman fell overboard and has drowned and many have broken bones. But you, my dove, will endure. I can feel the energy swell in you. Rest now. We will be arriving shortly.

With this, the voice was gone.

Agnes did not know what to believe. She managed to lay her coat under Astrid’s head and climbed unsteadily onto her feet as the ship began to shift silently around her. It was a spooky sensation, the silence, but she could feel the gentle movements that drove the vessel forwards.

Suddenly she heard a pathetic little mew, and turning she saw the little cat’s nose sticking out from under the bunk.

Tomsy! she cried. I thought you’d been put to sleep along with the others! She walked over and picked up the little bundle, buried her nose in his warm fur and whispered:

Dear little cat, what is to become of me?

After a while, she felt her calm return, as if the cat’s body heat had spread into her soul. She put the little rascal on the bunk and sat down beside him, trying to straighten her thoughts: What had the entity said? They were going to travel to their destination and then her mission was to find the woman who could deliver them from this horror.

She got up. Tomsy stayed where he was, watching her movements with inquisitive eyes. She stroked the cat’s head and then went back out to Astrid and Knox. They were still in exactly the same positions, but soon the sleep would lift and then she would have to rouse Knox so that they could carry her grandmother out of the ship.

It felt eerie to stand here and be the only person awake on an entire ship. But with a plan forming in her head she decided to go up on deck. Astrid and Knox were asleep and as comfortable as possible, and right now there was nothing she could do for them.

She turned and walked back into the little cabin. She picked up Tomsy and held onto him; it felt reassuring to have a living being beside her while she went to find the others. A few rapid steps took her to the ladder leading up to the deck. She felt the fear return: what would become of her if her grandmother did not recover? She was all alone in a strange world that was quiet alien to her own. Then, like a bolt of lightning, it struck her: the mirror that the goddess had given her!

She spun round and ran back into the little cabin she shared with Astrid. As she dumped Tomsy, looking somewhat miffed, back on the bed, Agnes felt him try to tell her something. It was then she realised that she had forgotten in all the commotion that she could communicate with animals, or at least with Tomsy. Agnes received several pictures in her head – this was how she conversed with animals – and understood with some effort that the cat was wondering why people were lying asleep outside their door, and why he had not been given any milk. Tomsy was just a kitten, which was possibly why the images that came to her were harder to interpret.

She sat down and lifted Tomsy into her arms again, trying to convey to him what had happened, and explain that the milk would have to wait. She ended by suggesting that he take a little cat-nap. Tomsy curled up like a little ball of wool, yawned widely and fell instantly asleep.

Agnes now started to rummage around her bags. She knew that she had packed the fine silver mirror in one of them but could not remember which. Then, in the largest of the bags, she found it, carefully swaddled in a piece of cloth. She unfolded the stiff material and held the mirror up. What now, she thought. Just look into it and say the goddess’ name?

Unable to think of anything else, she stared intently at her reflection and said:

I, Agnes the Chosen One, seek the divine Eira.

She felt a little ridiculous, and all that she saw was her slightly panicked face. But suddenly her reflection began to shimmer and turn into whirling veils of mist. She fancied she could see something approach her in the mirror’s lustreless glass. Then she heard a voice in her head:

"O Chosen One, you seek me. Speak to me. I, Eira, am listening."

Agnes was filled with relief, knowing that she was now in safe hands. She began to tell the Thulisian goddess all.

4

Naz-Halham

On board the God Liberator, Naz-Halham had woken from his hypnotic state. He did not know what to think, the voice that had frozen him had clearly explained what would happen if the mission failed. To free the dark god from his captivity had been the Nazarian overlord’s objective ever since he murdered his mad father and usurped the throne. No one had suspected foul play on the sudden death of the old king, but right now, this was not how he had imagined his glorious ascension. He had always pictured himself as the man who would rule Amornia by his lord and master’s side.

The black god Moros had long been imprisoned in a cave on the island called the Isle of the Divinities, held there by his siblings like a common criminal. But he, the King of Nazaria, was destined to free him from his shackles.

Naz-Halham had studied all the prophecies that could be found and as he understood them, his time had now come. If truth be told, his demented old father, Naz-Goru, thought the same, but had never been able to do anything about it. Naz-Halham felt nothing but contempt for the man who had been of his blood. His mother, on the other hand, he had loved deeply, but the woman had been wholly downtrodden by her feeble-minded husband. Women generally had no voice in the country he ruled; thus was the custom and so would it always be.

The voice in his head had told him many important things, and the question now was what to do with the information. One of his men was a traitor. Was it Kian the entity meant? Kian was Naz-Halham’s chief mage, but had recently failed him seriously when they had had the contemptible Thulisian Emir’s grandson in their clutches. Kian had let himself be defeated and the boy had managed to flee. But whoever it was would soon be apparent. The liberation force Naz-Halham led, the priests and the mages he had press-ganged into his service and, finally, the two figures he had collected on the way – his useless Deathmage and his even more useless nephew – would be arriving at the island in three or four days.

Further down in the ship’s bowels slept the young Moryn, the son of Naz-Halham’s sister, Banon. The boy was normally very jovial, but now he was feeling quite sullen. He too had had a disconcerting night; the goddess Hild had visited him in his dreams and told him of her fate. She was growing weaker by the day, and her only chance of revitalisation was to have restored to her the crimson sceptre that she had possessed when still living among her people. The goddess had also named a group of people who were seeking this relic at that very moment. She had then told him that he faced a choice – to take the path of light and escape his vile uncle and foolish mother. The