Dark Years: Sha-e-Fa, #4

By Heather Wielding

As might returns to the Universe, evil stirs within stone. Those who slept, awaken, as magic settles into unlikely hands. 

 

In the city of Assadar, power finds a young man. Newly appointed high seer Edric finds himself faced with a terror he could not have foreseen. A dwarf's memories guide him on a path he must walk to save a King's daughter, to protect his city from falling into ruin. Mysteries of old wrap him into a web of secrets he must unravel to find the truth. 

And all the while, dark wings shroud a city made of white marble, a city where an ancient entity holds a King's daughter captive in the tallest tower. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Wielding
• Release date: Mar 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215690574

Book preview

Copyright 2023 Heather Wielding

All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be copied, distributed, or published in any form without permission from the publisher. For permissions contact: [e-mail]

This is a work of fiction in which all events and characters in this book are completely imaginary. Any resemblance to actual people is entirely coincidental.

Cover designed by Heather Wielding

Published by Heather Wielding

Table of Contents

Prologue.....................................................................4

Chapter 1.....................................................................5

Chapter 2.....................................................................9

Chapter 3....................................................................27

Interlude....................................................................32

The World of the Dead.........................................................32

Chapter 4....................................................................34

Chapter 5....................................................................36

Chapter 6....................................................................39

Chapter 7....................................................................49

Interlude: The Garden..........................................................52

Chapter 8....................................................................54

Chapter 9....................................................................60

Chapter 10...................................................................64

Chapter 11...................................................................70

Chapter 12...................................................................72

Chapter 13...................................................................79

Chapter 14...................................................................91

Chapter 15..................................................................105

Chapter 16..................................................................113

Chapter 17..................................................................118

Interlude: Dragons’ Flight.....................................................124

Chapter 18..................................................................126

Chapter 19..................................................................149

Chapter 20..................................................................154

Chapter 21..................................................................165

Chapter 22..................................................................175

Chapter 23..................................................................181

Chapter 24..................................................................198

Interlude: the lake............................................................204

Chapter 25..................................................................206

Interlude: Wizard’s Peak......................................................212

A long time ago..............................................................212

Chapter 26..................................................................216

Interlude: Dreamworld........................................................221

Chapter 27..................................................................223

Last Chapter................................................................244

Epilogue...................................................................247

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Dark Years

by

Heather Wielding

Prologue

Magic shivered inside its crystal prison. Decades, perhaps centuries had passed since a dwarf rid the Universe of might. Now, magic had found a way out.

During the long years, the prison magic had been confined to had lost its integrity. Not even crystal was eternal. The small vessel shaped to resemble a turtle had grown frail, weak. Some of might’s power had seeped out, and now, it used it to its benefit.

Soft tentacles of might reached out into the Universe for the first time in centuries, perhaps millennia. They touched the minds of the unwary, probing for a vessel that could aid magic along, help it escape its small home.

On the rocky shore of a small, clear lake, a Portal opened. Magic tasted it, and took delight. It hadn’t tasted anything like it in all the years of its imprisonment.

A child stepped out of the Portal. An unlikely creature, adorned with translucent wings too small to carry her.

The child walked across the rocky shore, and finally, after what felt like another eternity, her eyes caught a light. She hurried to reach it, to pick it up in gentle, soft hands that had never touched anything harder than natural stone.

Magic shivered inside its prison, desperate to reach the mind of an innocent child. Its tentacles were weak, soft, unable to touch those unwilling to listen.

But this one, this one was eager to hear.

Magic pulsated with words in an ancient language the child had never heard of, and as the words entered the child’s mind, she listened.

And repeated.

A fragile shell was broke to shards. After centuries, perhaps millennia., magic rushed to fill the Universe.

Chapter 1

The city of Assadar had sat snuggled between two mountains longer than anyone living there could remember. It was home to ordinary people who lived their lives herding sheep, weaving cloth, baking bread. Common folk was looked after by a cast of seers, educated men with knowledge of things that held little value in the lives of those who clothed and fed them.

Above all, a king ruled with a kind yet firm hand. His word was the law, as it always had been. A gentle queen had stood by his side until her life had been lost in child-birth. In her place, a princess brought joy and comfort to those living in the fair, prosperous city.

As a child broke a crystal tortoise she’d found on a rocky shore, thus releasing magic into the Universe, the city slept. No-one observed a subtle change in the air. Seers turned in their sleep, mumbling, but took no notice. Not even the high seer, he who stood right below the King, noted the change.

Only one person in the city of Assadar noticed the change.

The highest tower cast a shadow over the city. During the day, it blocked sunlight. In night-time, the shadow was created by moonlight. In the tower, slept the princess. She was young and fair, and all those she met, loved her. In time, she would wed a prince from a neighboring county, joining two kingdoms into one. People living in the city could hardly wait for the day. Seamstresses wondered who would be commissioned to sew her wedding gown, florists competed to breed the loveliest flowers for her. The princess was the star in all small girls’ daydreams, who all wanted to carry her train in the coming wedding.

That night, the tower sighed, and shivered as old memories woke in its heart.

The princess was shaken from her slumber.

She sat in her bed, eyes wide and blind in the darkness of the night. She could feel the tower tremoring, pulsating like a living thing, and the first thing that entered her mind was an earthquake. The princess hadn’t been in one, but she had heard talk of instances where the earth shook, forcing houses to fall down. She didn’t have anything else to connect this phenomenon to.

Her first instinct was to cry for help, but sound would not leave her throat.

The tower was no longer dark. A green glow lit it. The princess could see again, but she squeezed her eyes shut to avoid it.

A ghost of a woman floated before her, the same sickening glow emitting from her. Her hair wafted in the air as she moved toward the princess.

Moments later, the ghost was nothing but a fading green glow in the princess’s eyes.

Morning arrived like it always had, painting the city first pink, then orange, and finally yellow. People rose with the sun, yawned, and headed out to work. Their hearts were light: nothing had threatened their city in centuries, and they had no reason to believe that would change.

In the castle, which stood right next to the mountains, the King sat at the head of a long table just like he did every morning. The table was filled with sweet and savory treats for his court to enjoy. The King would eat first with the princess, and after they’d had their fill, the rest would be shared equally to all those living and working in the castle. Nothing would go to waste, though the meal seemed lavishly extravagant.

This morning, the princess took longer than usual to arrive. The king waited for her as long as he could, but eventually started his meal without her.

Affairs of the kingdom would not wait, not even for a tardy princess.

The pancakes are especially nice this morning, the king complimented his cook, who had arrived to receive either praise or blame like he did each morning. The king was kind, and easy to feed: he rarely had a bad word to say. I seasoned them with cinnamon, high King, the cook smiled, and served them with fresh apple sauce.

Fire shivered in the hearth as the princess arrived. Her matted hair hung loose past her waist, her eyes were blank and dull. Her skin bore a greenish taint, which was enough to make the King cast aside his napkin, and rush to her side.

Dearest child, Therese, he said, are you not feeling well?

A small gesture made healers rush to the long hall where meals were served. The princess was loved by all, and her welfare was a concern to all those around her.

The princess hadn’t been sick since the last childhood disease had passed. She’d been an example of good health throughout her days as an adult, and now, healers felt true concern for her. They examined her with their eyes even before being able to touch her, analyzing the symptoms they could see.

The greenish skin pointed to food poisoning, as did her sluggish appearance.

In a king’s court, poison was a weapon, a popular way to get someone out of the way.

The first healer reached the princess, eager to smell her breath, to touch her forehead, to look inside her eyes. As he made an attempt to lay a hand on her, green lightnings emerged from her skin. They burned the healer, turning him into a pile of ashes in a heartbeat.

The court stood still.

The healers paused.

Servants stared at smoldering cinder, eyes wider than saucers.

The princess walked to the table. She examined the spread carefully, eyes dull, vacant.

Then, she spoke a single word.

Blood.

Servants took this as an opportunity to flee the room. They curtsied to the King, and ran. Not even the threat of death could part them with their polite habits.

The princess didn’t look at them. She stared at the table like she was expecting a vial of fresh blood to appear before her.

We do not understand, dearest child, the King said, still certain this was his beloved daughter who was merely having a bad morning. Would you like some blood sausage?

The cook, a man as wide as he was tall, bowed his head, ready to rush to the kitchen to heat up his famous sausages. For a man as large as he was, he moved surprisingly fast when he needed to.

Blood, the princess repeated.

Her eyes rose from the table to find the healer standing closest to her. For the first time since she’d entered the great hall, something stirred in her eyes.

Blood, she said for the third time, and as the healer burst open to allow his blood to rain all over the hall, the princess, and the spread of the finest dishes available in the kingdom, the King finally understood.

This was not his daughter, the fair princess he’d treasured for nineteen years.

This was a demon, a monster.

An enemy to his court.

Guards! the King barked a sharp order.

He needn’t say more. The King’s guard was trained to know what was needed of them. They read both the area, and the King’s voice.

Magic hadn’t existed in millennia. Nevertheless, those who stood between the King and the rest of the Universe were trained to protect the ruler from any attack.

Even a magical one.

A necromancer walked with the guards day and night. Four served the King, taking turns to protect him. Today, a younger one commanded the dark forces that had slept until this day. He was inexperienced, but not foolish.

The necromancer spoke words in a language used only by wizards and those in favor of magic, words that had been forgotten for millennia.

Words that forced magic to imprison the princess.

The King had been allowed into the tower only under spells forged by his necromancers. Guards stood all around him, eyes on the figure chained to bed with powerful wards.

Dearest child.

The King’s voice was broken. It reflected the pain he bore in his soul.

The princess was all he had, everything his beloved wife had given him.

And now the child was gone, replaced by a wincing, writhing monster.

She must be kept in the tower, the King commanded. A necromancer will stand at the door at all times, and four guards will protect him.

With a heavy heart, the King turned.

He locked the door behind him, and gave the key to the necromancer who was to have the first shift.

The door cannot be opened, the kind commanded. For anything.

Chapter 2

J’dra finished her tea, but hesitated before setting the cup down. It had been hers since she was a little girl. Her grandmother had given it to her on her twentieth Birthday, and it had traveled with her throughout the Universe. She’d drank her morning tea from it in the Elven world, enjoyed herbal brews from it in Ingold’s castle, filled it to the brim with firebrandy in the Dr’chen world. The cup was the only thing she’d never parted with.

Now she set it onto the table for the last time.

It was time to move along.

J’dra’s home was small, a hut rather than a house. A small garden grew lush and green outside even curing the harshest winter. She’d filled it with edible roots and flowers that, when processed correctly, soothed illnesses and wounded hearts. J’dra had chosen her plants carefully: every flower was beautiful to look at, and lovely to smell.

After today, they would take over the garden. Slowly, they would take root inside the hut, on the walls covered with vines. A few years from now, no-one would know an old, wise woman lived here.

The change had happened quickly. J’dra had expected magic to return in a bright flash and a loud bang. Instead, it had crept back into its place like a long-lost lover, soft and eager to touch. J’dra welcomed it with relief. During the long years without might as her constant companion, she’d grown used to living like an ordinary mortal. She remained in the world she’d settle upon, grew her plants with water and kind words instead of magic, relied on brimstone to light a fire.

Now, all she needed was to utter a single word to bring a book forth from where it had rested for decades. It floated to her like a trusting butterfly, and settled on the table before her.

When a wizard began his training, every spell he created was written into a book. Once he claimed his title, his place among the few regarded worthy, the book was engraved. The book of spells followed a wizard through all the days of his life. No other soul could ever read it.

There was only one wizard in the world in possession of not one, but two books of spells.

J’dra touched Ingold’s book with a careful hand. She hadn’t opened it since magic left the Universe. Without might, words were just words. They held little value alone, without a catalyst. Now, they would be different. Words written by Ingold’s dear hand would sparkle with magic, plea to be spoken.

Uttering them could lead to a disaster. Words alone were just words; intonation and emphasis altered the meaning, brought new purpose to simple words. A wizard alone knew what the spell should do. Therefore, a book of spells was regarded personal property. Books were sealed with protective enchantments, and often hidden in pockets of time and space.

As Ingold the Great passed on, his book came to J’dra with no explanation. She’d seen it as her duty to keep it safe. As might left the Universe, the book turned from a magical thing to a collection of dusty pages splattered with ink brewed from a smelly plant. Curiosity had gotten the best of J’dra only once, and she regretted ever opening the book.

Now, she was faced with a dilemma.

She would soon join Ingold in the World of the Dead. Her own book would burn to ashes; she’d made sure of it once she first touched it with a quill. Ingold’s, however, was still her responsibility. It could not remain in this world alone, and she could not take it to the other side with her.

J’dra touched the book with a careful hand, and decided it should follow her.

To wherever she would go.

Gathering up the things she needed didn’t take long. J’dra had prepared for this day during the long years she’d waited, mending bodies and souls as a wise woman. Now, she shed the skin of a witch to become what she’d once been.

Magic had chosen J’dra at an early age. She’d taken a long time to follow its will. A life of fancy was, for a young woman born of mixed blood, more important than study. Ingold had been wise enough to see this. He’d allowed J’dra time to live before summoning her to the Castle upon Wizard’s Peak.

There, J’dra had grown, and learned the ways of might.

After years of learning, she’d stepped before a high council of wizards. She’d been but a blundering novice back then, she recalled with a smile, but still, the council had bent to Ingold’s will, and raised her to a rank no woman had ever been given.

Since that day, J’dra had been a wizard, a lone woman among men.

Now, she was the last of them.

J’dra took the things she needed, and looked back one last time.

The small hut, lit with candles, that had been her home for many long years, would soon be consumed by her garden. Plants would find a way in, and take root in the earthen floor. J’dra saw it fit. She touched the cup one last time, hesitating to leave it behind. It would have no place in the World of the Dead. Only spirits resided there.

In the past, before magic returned to the Universe, traveling between realms would have been an impossible feat. Now, all J’dra needed was to open a Portal.

Her destination was clear in her mind now.

She was to meet with an old friend.

J’dra touched the surface of an orb. Inside it, blue lightnings struck as a constant, everlasting storm. She would leave the orb behind. It did not belong to her, but magic itself.

Might would take care of it, J’dra trusted.

A single word spoken in an ancient language opened a Portal. A smile, crooked and bitter, touched the corner of J’dra’s mouth as she regarded the oval lake of liquid silver. She remembered all the times she’d stepped into a Portal much like this one.

This would be the last time.

J’dra walked through, and the Portal closed behind her.

Candles continued to light the small hut. They would, in time, burn out, and die like all living things should.

They weren’t the only light, though.

Another Portal opened just below the pedestal upon which the orb sat. It devoured the orb and its stand, and closed itself.

The candles flickered, and continued to light the small hut.

The shimmer of gold lit the cave. Shadows and soft glow danced on its walls in a slow, steady rhythm, as to echo the breathing of those who had slept for a long, long time.

A green dragon shifted, and disturbed its treasure. Coins fell down in a fast, noisy avalanche, disturbing the young ones in turn.

The dragons had retreated to their cave as magic left the Universe. Like all beings born of might, they’d slept. And with them, slept a dwarf.

Magic didn’t return to them in a violent burst. Instead, it crept into the cave like a burglar, seeping into their thoughts and dreams. The dwarf was the first to awaken.

Kaim didn’t want to wake up. He tried to hold on to sleep, to linger in its soft bosom for a while longer. The real world, he’d learned, was a cold, harsh place with little solace. In dreamland, he could do anything, be anything. He could be tall and strong, command magic like Ingold, he could even fly like the dragons.

In the real world, he was just small and gray, filled with aches and pains.

Still, he opened an eye.

The cave was just as he remembered it, large enough to easily house two dozen humans, and high enough for five of them to stand on top of each other. Lindea slept in one corner, curled up, head resting on her tail. Behind her, a pile of orange and green children shifted restlessly.

Kaim sat up, frowning. Something had changed while he slept. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it seemed important. Significant, even. It had to do with the children, that much he knew.

The dwarf stretched his arms, unamused by the crackle of his spine. He combed his beard with his fingers like he did every morning. It was an unconscious action, much like breathing and blinking. He did it without paying attention to it, unless he happened to find a painful knot in his beard.

Kaim’s eyes caught the children again, and now he understood what had changed.

Bigger, he said aloud, his voice hoarse from sleep. Among dwarves, words were used sparsely. Living with wizards had taught Kaim to understand why other races spoke more elaborately, but not to change his own ways. He still spoke like a dwarf, bluntly and curtly, without wasting his words.

He remembered staring at the small ones as sleep took him. Then, the children had been but hazy figures inside their eggs. Kaim had made out patterns on their skins, seen hints of children spotted with shades of orange and green. They’d gotten colors from both their parents, Kaim remembered thinking. Now, they slept free from shells, a pile of warm, scaled creatures. They were almost Lindea’s size.

Kaim looked back to the time when Lindea herself had been a child. She’d feasted on roasted potatoes and charred possums, and as long as she ate well, she grew. Losing her guardian had made her stop eating. Without food, she remained small, much like Kaim.

Her children, however, had grown while sleeping.

Kaim scratched his head, puzzled. The children had arrived suddenly, without warning. It seemed their entire existence would be a mystery.

A noise coming from outside the cave alerted Kaim, drew him away from his thoughts. He got to his feet, slowly and clumsily, and limped outside.

Magic spilled into the Universe once more, and as it did, it found someone who had waited.

Deep within stone, an elf older than time itself sat, staring into darkness, surrounded by nothing but his own thoughts. He had created this space for himself as might was drained from the world. It had taken the last shreds of power he’d had to burrow into the essence of the Universe, into a little pocket in its loosely woven fabric. There, he’d waited while the world turned, and turned, year after year, decade after decade.

Now, as might seeped into the little nest he’d made for himself, the elf could stand. For decades, perhaps centuries, he’d sat, waiting, while his flesh withered, wrinkled, started to hang around him like a sack. His legs were weak, atrophied, but he forced them to carry his diminished weight.

Might had once been his to command. Aradim hadn’t been the most powerful being in the Universe, but magic had looked kindly upon him. Now, it remembered. It crept into the crevice in time and space, to Aradim, who had once been in its favor.

As it did, the crevice cracked, allowing sunlight to touch the withered flesh of an elf older than time itself. His hand, frail like a branch from a dry tree, flinched away from the beams of light, hesitated, returned to savor the warmth.

Slowly, the crack widened. More light poured in, more warmth touched his ancient skin. Aradim waited, patiently, until the crack was tall enough for him to step through without bending.

The years had been long. A few more moments would make no difference.

The crevice allowed himself onto a green pasture. It was spring; the sun was warm and bright, birds sang, courting each other, and cherries blossomed, filling the air with their sweet scent. Grass was soft under his feet, like it had been waiting to be stepped on.

Aradim paused, a bent, wrinkled figure, a travesty of an elf amidst the loveliest spring day.

He reached his arm out to the sun, the bright, yellow center of the world. It drew a hard, black shadow onto the ground.

A shadow under which the lush, green grass shriveled, and died.

Words of an ancient language fell from his lips that had centuries ago drawn back from his teeth. Words that beckoned magic to come to his aid, to restore his flesh.

To return him to his glory.

Magic spilled into the Universe at an increasing speed, free at last. It poured out over all known worlds searching for vessels to fill, eager souls to bend to its desires.

A long time ago, magic had tied itself to those with a strong will, and a pure heart. It remembered that time like a hazy dream after moments of waking. In Aradim, the memory became true. His flesh may be old and dying, but his will was stronger than ever.

And under that will, magic bent.

It poured into Aradim, filling him from skin to bone, and with it, returned glory.

An elf, tall and beautiful, stood amidst the loveliest spring day. Magic coursed in his veins as strong and eager as hatred burned in his eyes.

Cherry trees reached their branches down onto the pasture like they had for decades. Heavy with flowers, they stood, bees buzzing among them. Even the trees shrunk in fear as Aradim approached them.

A hand, white and frail, reached to touch a flower-bearing branch.

It crushed the flowers inside it, and a leer turned a beautiful face into a mockery of itself.

Soon, the elf spoke, and his voice was full and deep. Soon they all shall die.

A tree bent under his will, and it was not alone.

Magic, too, knew its master.

A Portal opened over the green pasture, quite close to where Aradim stood. It hovered in the air, shivered for a moment, and spat out an orb attached to a pedestal formed from finest oak.

A smile, cruel and bent, touched the corner of Aradim’s mouth.

Well, well, he spoke, hiding his hands inside the sleeves of his robe like was proper among his kind.

Gifts from the skies.

Kaim stepped out of the cave, all senses heightened. He was unarmed save from a rock he’d picked up from the ground. Still, every fiber of his being was ready to defend the dragons who still slept in the shadows of stone.

Quietly, Kaim crept out into the sun. His eyes burned in the bright daylight. He used his free hand to rub them, hoping it would ease the pain. He couldn’t see much, only light and shadow, but he could sense another being close by.

A tall being, judged by the shadow it cast.

And a noisy one, since Kaim heard it moving all the way inside the cave.

The rock was hard and warm in his hand. Kaim lifted it to his shoulder, ready to use it as a blunt weapon.

Have you slept well, old friend? a voice greeted him.

Kaim didn’t let the rock fall. There was something familiar about the voice, but he couldn’t place it. Show yourself, he grunted. Let me see your face.

The being made a sound that sounded like laughter partly muffled. My face is in plain sight. It is your eyes that fail you.

Kaim pushed out his chin, making his beard stand out. He had no argument