Lamenter

By Terri Daneshyar

Out of darkness
The light bearer comes.
Vikander is Paladin to the Shaman-Master, sworn to protect him and the Temple of Shang To. But he is betrayed by those closest to him at a time of great danger for the Temple, setting off a chain of catastrophic events. A hidden labradorite crystal opens a portal, allowing demons to attack the temple. The Light Stone, a talisman of immense power, is stolen, releasing a monstrous demoness, and an act of misguided bravery leads to disaster.
When Vikander is called upon to lead the quest to capture the demoness, he doubts that he will have the courage. He must ride the mythical, fire-breathing chimera and survive. Will he and his allies act in time to stop the demoness from making a terrible sacrifice that will tie her to the Light Stone forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Terri Daneshyar
• Release date: Feb 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215234471

Book preview

Thick red blood oozed from the trunk as the Shaman-Master thrust his hand into the heart of the beech tree. Ignoring the burning sensation eating into his skin, he felt around in the viscous matter until his fingers closed upon the object he sought. Holding onto it tightly he withdrew his arm just as he heard a warning shout from one of his paladins. He hurriedly wrapped the key in a heavy green cloth embellished with golden runes, and concealed it within his tunic. Sword in hand, he rushed to join his paladins who were fighting off a band of hagars, twenty strong. He recognised these wild demons, twice the size of a man, formidable opponents that he knew must have been sent by Djala, the lightning spirit, to guard the key’s hiding place.

The Shaman-Master and two of the Paladin, Ragnar, a huge muscular young man and Jetta, a tall lean young woman, were embroiled in a fierce battle. The demon onslaught was relentless, they fought with razor-sharp claws and teeth, their thick hides barely marked by the Paladin’s swords. Every time Jetta’s sword found its mark, she smiled with satisfaction, enjoying the sensation of killing. Ragnar viewed it as a job to be completed, nothing more.  They were heavily outnumbered. 

The third Paladin, Vikander, a boy of sixteen, sat motionless away from the battle. He was in a deep trance, separating his mind and body so that his spirit could enter the spirit world, where he walked through a grey mist that gradually cleared to reveal a gate of intricately wrought iron. Looking to his right he saw the guardian, a triangular stone face wrapped in a hijab style covering. A hooked nose sat above a small oval mouth, deep set eyes stared back at Vikander questioning him, examining him, testing his resolve, trying to send him back to the earth world. Unswayed, Vikander raised the index and little fingers of his left hand, curling the other two into his palm. He carefully placed his raised fingers into the eye sockets. There was a loud click and the gate opened. Stepping through, Vikander found himself facing an immense griffin, an ancient spirit, half eagle and half dragon.

‘Mighty Griffin, I call upon you to aid the Shaman-Master and Paladin as they fight the Hagars.’

The Griffin bowed.

‘You have passed my guardian and entered my gate so I will answer your call. Come, you may ride.’

Vikander bowed low and mounted the griffin. In a rush of wind, the giant creature flew out of the spirit realm. Once through the border gate between realms the link broke and Vikander’s spirit returned to his body. The griffin, claws extended, wings tipped with barbs and spread to their full extent, went on to attack the hagars. Its arrival was timely, the Shaman-Master and the other two paladins were tiring. Each hagar they destroyed was replaced by another and another as Djala, safe within the spirit realm, fought to protect the key.

The griffin circled above the hagars, then increased its speed, creating a whirling vortex of air that sucked up the demons. With an ear-shattering screech it sent the hagars hurtling back into the spirit realm and went flying after them. 

When the demons had gone a huge bolt of lightning appeared in the sky, at the centre of which was a tall, slender woman, golden hair streaming out behind her.

‘Who dares remove the light key?’

‘My lady Djala, it is I, the Shaman-Master, who seeks it.’

‘For what purpose?’

‘The Temple of Shang To has called for the stone. The elder, Kalinda, says we must perform the blessing of light at midsummer. The temple’s aura fades and we must renew. I ask that you let me take the key so that we may open the chamber and perform the blessing.’

Djala circled the Shaman-Master studying him carefully, examining his aura.

‘For me to release the key into your care I must be sure that your intentions are true. It is most unfortunate that the ceremony cannot wait until the new keeper emerges.’

‘It cannot my lady,’ replied the Shaman-Master. ‘The Temple must be protected.’

‘The Light Stone’s powers are hard to control and it grows restless. Access to it must be restricted until the new keeper is found. I have to be sure that only yourself and Kalinda will be allowed near it.’

‘You have my word. There are none among my elders who desire its influence.’

Djala circled the Shaman-Master once more, then nodded and began examining Ragnar, his muscular arms, broad shoulders and determined expression.

‘You are strong, Paladin and you perform your duty with pride. You will guard the key well.’

Ragnar bowed, ‘Thank you, my lady. I give you my word as a Paladin that I will protect the key with my life.’

Djala now stood before the second fighter, Jetta. She noted her strong physique, the long black hair and sensed her aura of steel.

‘You are Jetta, the shield maiden. Your name carries healing properties but be wary, draw too much negative energy to yourself and your protective powers will wane.’ She studied Jetta for a long time as if something was hidden from her. Eventually Djala moved on. 

Jetta bowed low.

Next to be scrutinised was Vikander. Compared to the other two Paladin he was a poor specimen. Where they were strong and muscular, he was small and wiry. What she did pick up though was an inner strength. Placing her hand on his heart she looked deep within him.

‘You are an intuitive. A spirit-master. It was you who called up the griffin to defeat my hagars. Only an enlightened one would know which spirit to call. You have chosen your paladin well Shaman-Master, an excellent combination of strengths.’

Djala saw Vikander look across at Jetta and she stopped, something about his expression troubling her. But Jetta did not return the boy’s glance and the moment passed.

‘Show me the key you took.’

The Shaman-Master held out the key he had retrieved, unwrapping the cloth he had placed it in. It was silver with an infinity symbol at one end of a narrow shaft that finished in a five-pointed star. The key glistened in his hand. Djala placed her hand over his, the key immediately blazed with light. Djala held the Shaman-Master’s gaze and surrounded his aura with her own. He felt her power coursing through him and beyond to the temple at Shang To that he served. He felt the connection flow back from the temple through him, to Djala as she satisfied herself of the temple’s need. Suddenly, both he and the paladin were thrown backwards by a massive lightning bolt as the connection was released.

The key lay on the ground, only now it was just a dull grey colour, no lustre or shine radiated from it. Djala was gone. The Shaman-Master bent to pick it up but an invisible force threw him backwards. He tried again with the same result.

‘May I try, Master?’ asked Ragnar.

The Shaman-Master nodded. Again, the key rejected the approach. Jetta stepped forward. The key glistened briefly as she put her hand over it, but then she too was pushed away by the protective barrier of energy.  

Annoyed, she said, ‘Vikander, you try.’ 

He approached the key, only instead of reaching out to take it, he stood motionless before it. Letting his mind be still, he was able to see the energy field that surrounded the key. It seemed impenetrable, but then he smiled as he saw the tiniest of openings at the base of the aura. Very carefully he slid his fingers through the gap and removed the key from its shield. Once it was free there was a loud bang as the energy field dissipated.

‘Well, my boy,’ said the Shaman-Master, ‘it would seem that you are the one chosen to carry the key back to Shang To. Come, we must set off if we are to return in time for the blessing.’

‘Yes Master,’ said Vikander, placing the key once more into the cloth and secreting it inside his tunic.

‘So little one, you do have your uses after all.’  Ragnar laughed and slapped him on the back. Vikander, though, detected the hint of jealousy behind his words. He caught Jetta watching him closely, eyes like thunder, was she too, angry that the key had not come to her?

Chapter 2

The journey back to the temple took several weeks. They skirted the Arachne forest, dark and dense and headed across the fertile plains where deep rivers ran. The hot weather slowed them down. The villages and settlements, they passed through, called on the Shaman-Masters healing skills. Although they had to get back with the key, he could not refuse aid where it was asked for. By the time they reached the last settlement in the foothills of Shang To, the master was exhausted.

‘We will stay at the house of Bartolomeus tonight,’ said the master. ‘I have need of his wisdom. Vikander, you go on ahead and let him know that he will have guests, Jetta and I will cleanse the energy of this place. Something is amiss. I can sense it. Ragnar, you will guard the circle when we perform the ritual.’

‘Master, should I not assist with the cleansing? I have helped before.’

‘Not this time Vikander. It requires Jetta’s energy for this one. Besides, Bartolomeus will be expecting you.’

‘Yes Master, as you wish.’

Vikander set off to the house of Bartolomeus, leaving the Shaman-Master and Jetta to prepare the energy clearing ritual. He couldn’t help noticing the smirk of satisfaction on Ragnar’s face when he left. Something about Ragnar’s demeanour reminded Vikander of his older brother Brandt. He too, was a powerful fighter. Top of his class at cadet school, he won every trophy in every competition that he entered, and there were many. Physically fit, fast, fearless and a highly skilled combatant, the family and the garrison commander all expected him to be called up for paladin training when he turned fourteen, the age at which candidates were requested, but no call came. When he reached his fifteenth birthday without a visit from the elders, Brandt’s disappointment was immeasurable. In the two years that followed, he threw himself into his army career, becoming the youngest ever cadet to reach officer status. His failure to be chosen still rankled, but he consoled himself that at least his puny younger brother, who spent his entire life in the library, would never be asked.

Vikander studied lore and rituals. His speed of understanding astounded the librarians. He was able to decipher ancient writings with a skill and insight far beyond his years. The head librarian believed that he carried a keyondre, a wisdom spirit, that guided his footsteps. She alone, was not surprised when, a week after his fourteenth birthday, an elder arrived at the library to speak to him.

‘Your skills have been noted Vikander. The Elder Council invites you to the Temple of Shang To, to train as a paladin.’

An astonished Vikander bowed low.

‘But but I am not a warrior. I have no fighting skills. How could I become a paladin?’

‘There are many skills that a paladin must have, not just the ability to fight. The council believes that you have what is required.’

‘I am deeply honoured, Master Elder. When… when must I leave?’

‘Tomorrow at noon. We will meet here.’ The elder then bowed and took his leave.

Overwhelmed by what had just happened, Vikander remained still. To be called for paladin training was a great honour bestowed on only a handful of families. He knew that his parents would be delighted, but what about Brandt, the brother he adored, who hadn’t been called. How would he take the news? He will be pleased for me, won’t he? he thought, after all the family is still being honoured. Why then did he feel so unsure?

As expected, his parents were delighted with his news and prepared a celebration dinner. Brandt walked in to see a table laden with food and wine.

‘What are we celebrating?’ he asked.

‘Your brother has been called for paladin training,’ said his mother.

There was a moment’s silence as a dumbfounded Brandt stared at his brother...very quickly, his fists balled and his face reddened.

‘You? They chose you? How could they? You are nothing but a bookworm! You don’t have strength or courage or fighting skills. You’ll fail at the first hurdle. I’m the one who has all those abilities. I should have been chosen. What can you offer, a weedy specimen like you?’

‘Enough Brandt! Your brother has been chosen and that is to be celebrated,’ said his father. But Brandt would not be silenced. He raged on and on about the unfairness of it all and how he was much more deserving. Finally, he banged his fists on the table shouting, ‘I will never forgive you for this!’ and stormed out.

‘I’m sorry, Father,’ said Vikander.

‘Do not be. This is your moment and the fact that Brandt can’t accept it is one of the reasons why he was not chosen. He may have physical strength but he lacks insight.’

The rest of the evening passed in muted fashion, his parents both pleased and anxious for him and concerned about the rift that had now opened up between their two sons. Brandt did not return and when Vikander left the next day with the elder, he had still not seen him. Neither did he attend the ceremony two years later, when Vikander passed the trials and was chosen to be a Paladin, his bitterness keeping him away. Vikander’s reverie was broken by the booming voice of Bartolomeus calling out to him in greeting.

‘Welcome, welcome young one. The House of Bartolomeus is open to you.’

‘Thank you, oh wise one. I come to warn you that the Shaman-Master and his paladin wish to stay with you tonight.’

‘Of course, of course, Sibella and I were expecting you. Where are they?’

‘They are cleansing the village energy. The Master felt that something was out of place,’ replied Vikander.

‘Yes, I have felt it, just a ripple, a kink if you like. This is a timely visit. But where are my manners? Come in, come in and take a cup of mead and a bowl of stew.’

Vikander stepped inside the house and felt the warm glow of the fire and an air of welcome. Stirring the pot over the fire was Bartolomeus’ wife, Sibella the Seer.

‘Welcome young paladin, your journey has been long and you are tired. Sit and eat, your body craves nourishment.’

She placed a steaming bowl of mutton stew and a large hunk of bread in front of him.

‘Thank you,’ he bowed, ‘this is most welcome.’ He sat down at the table and ate hungrily while Sibella studied him. When he had finished, she took the bowl from him, touching his fingers as she did so. He felt a current run through him, then he looked into her eyes.

‘I sense a yearning for something you feel yourself unworthy of. It is not you that is unworthy. Take care boy.’ And then the connection was gone and she returned to bustling about making the house ready for guests. Vikander sat, wondering who else could be unworthy.

Chapter 3

The Shaman-Master stood in the village centre, a large open space often used for markets and meetings. Today the area had been cleared to allow him to do his cleansing work. Jetta stomped around impatiently while the Shaman-Master continued his preparations. How does he do this, day after day? Always putting the needs of others first. I’m so bored. Her eyes drifted towards Ragnar, And as for him, so full of his own self-importance. Thinks he’s king of the battlefield. She folded her arms. At least that pathetic boy Vikander, has gone on ahead. If I have to see any more of his doleful eyes, I swear I’ll punch him, she thought. 

The Shaman-Master drew a large circle and then placed an object at each of the four compass points; a green shoot at East to represent spring, an open flower at South for summer, a golden leaf at West for autumn and a leafless stick at North for winter. Then he took out his smudge pot and dried sage and feather fan and began the ceremony. First, he lit the sage, then he moved the smoke up and around Jetta to cleanse her aura, then he did the same to himself. Nodding to Ragnar to patrol the outside of the circle to protect them while they performed the cleansing.

Facing each direction in turn the Shaman-Master called the spirit keepers into the circle. Once he felt their presence, he linked hands with Jetta and the two of them fell into a deep meditation where the spirit keepers took the spirits of Jetta and the Shaman-Master and walked them around the perimeter of the circle gathering in any negative energy that manifested. When the circle was complete, the Shaman-Master took out a piece of black tourmaline stone and then, drawing on Jetta’s protective spirit he began channelling the negativity into the tourmaline. Once this was done, he dug a small hole and placed the stone in it. He then indicated to Jetta to complete the ceremony. Taking a handful of soil, Jetta uttered words of closing and placed the soil into the hole. Making sure that the Shaman-Master wasn’t watching, she momentarily clasped the tourmaline enjoying the sensation of energy that shot through her as the stone tried to earth the negative energy now stored within it. Reluctantly, Jetta fired most of the energy straight back into the stone and covered it up, keeping only a small fragment behind her heart. Satisfied that the ceremony had been completed, the Shaman-Master released the spirit keepers and closed the circle, then he and Jetta stepped out.

Exhausted from the ritual, they headed to the house of Bartolomeus, whose welcome was warm and hearty. Bowls of mutton stew and goblets of mead were handed round liberally for the Shaman-Master and Jetta to regain their strength. Ragnar ate heartily, just as he always did.

‘The village harboured more negative energy than I expected, Bartolomeus. Has anything unusual happened to create it?’ asked the Shaman-Master.

Bartolomeus pondered for a while.

‘Nothing that I can place, just the usual family issues, wilful sons or difficult mothers-in-law.’

He was interrupted by Sibella, who stopped her clearing of the dishes.

‘The gathering of ravens.’

The Shaman-Master turned to look at her.

‘When was this?’

‘Spring equinox, a gathering of ravens in the trees at the village edge. So many birds,’ she replied.

‘How long did they stay?’ asked the Shaman-Master.

‘It was brief,’ said Sibella. ‘A farmer saw them too. Between us we drove them on, but not before they had all settled in the trees.’

‘That would explain the surge of negativity, but not why they came here.’

Sibella closed her eyes. For several moments a deep silence filled the room. Eventually she spoke again.

‘The Light Stone draws them in. They sense the weakening in the temple’s aura as the renewal time approaches.’

Her eyes opened and she went back to removing the bowls from the table.

‘Others may come. At the moment of renewal, the temple will be vulnerable,’ sighed the Shaman-Master. ‘Bartolomeus I will send my scouts to you. Look in the glass and send them where it asks. There are many malevolent spirits, but thankfully at the moment, no Jhankhira to harness their energy. So, whilst they may be drawn to Shang To, theirs will be a leaderless raid.’

Interesting, thought Jetta

‘We will rest here tonight, but I fear we must leave at first light. I want to prepare for the renewal as soon as I can in order to be ready to repel these spirits.’ He looked across at Bartolomeus. ‘The village should be safe and I can perform another cleansing at the Autumn equinox if you feel it necessary my friend.’

Bartolomeus smiled, ‘Thank you Shaman-Master. I trust that won’t be the case. For now, relax. I will ask Sibella to play for us.’

Sibella was delighted to play for an audience and brought her Kadir, an instrument similar to a small harp, only this one had an upper and lower set of strings. The bottom layer sounded the deep bass notes and the top, the lighter sweeter tones. Ragnar, heavy with mead, stood up and began booming out a song which would undoubtedly have carried on all evening, had Jetta not pulled him down into a chair where he promptly fell asleep amid cheers and laughter from Bartolomeus and the Shaman-Master.

Vikander feigned a headache and retired early. From his bed he could hear the merriment, but his heart felt uneasy. For some reason, he feared the renewal. He had a sense of an ending rather than a new beginning.

Chapter 4

The next morning, the Shaman-Master’s party left the house of Bartolomeus and proceeded up the mountain on the final leg of their journey. The climb was uneventful, the mountain path a familiar one and at this time of year heather bloomed in nooks and crannies filling the air with its fragrance. About halfway up they arrived at the welcome stone, a rectangular carving of a serene and smiling face with a trough of fresh mountain water in front of it. All who passed this way drank from it and were glad of its refreshment. The stone also marked the entrance to the Temple’s domain and safety from marauding mountain creatures and mischievous spirits, since none of them dared to pass.

The Paladin always linked arms and gave thanks for their safe return when they reached this point, but today only Vikander performed the ritual, Ragnar was still hungover and Jetta had gone ahead with a message from the Master. Ragnar watched Vikander perform the brief ceremonial thank you.

‘Such a stickler for rituals, little one. I’ll never get used to your strange ways,’ he mocked.

‘The spirits are always watchful Ragnar; besides it’s always good to give thanks,’ replied Vikander.

Ragnar shrugged. ‘I shall give thanks when my head clears and I have a plate of hearty food in front of me. I’m starving.’

‘Hardly,’ muttered Vikander, then strode on towards the temple gate. The archway that marked the entrance was hewn out of the mountain with a vaulted ceiling of great majesty. The sight of it always felt comforting to him. The tall wooden gates opened to reveal the familiar wide pathway lined with mountain ash that led on to the main compound with its gardens and training grounds and the temple itself.

The Shaman-Master was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to take much notice of the bickering’s of his paladin. The gathering of ravens concerned him and he was anxious for news of any other untoward occurrences.

The Elders were pleased to have the Shaman-Master back in their midst. Kalinda rang the sacred gong to call a meeting of the council in the inner sanctum. In all, fifteen elders were present at the temple, the other five were still making their way back for the renewal ceremony. The Shaman-Master addressed the council.

‘My friends, you are all gathered here because the time for renewal fast approaches.’ He paused. ‘I have just come from the House of Bartolomeus where Sibella told me of a gathering of ravens. She and a farmer managed to drive them on, but we must take this as a warning sign. Jarli, I need you to send your best scouts to Bartolomeus. He will consult the glass and send them on their way.’

A woman dressed all in brown, with large owlish eyes, now stood and bowed. ‘I will accompany them to Bartolomeus and report