The Heir of Jeragoth

Four year old Alana Candril wandered down the hallway of the second floor of Castle Candril. She came upon a door where two men were standing guard. One of them looked down at her and smiled. “What are you doing here little lady?”

“I was looking for the pretty lady,” Alana replied.

He chuckled and said, “Well, there’s a pretty lady behind these doors, but she’s probably asleep. The sun’s not even up yet.”

Alana’s eyes brightened and she started bouncing on her toes in excitement. “Can I see her, please? She’s so pretty and she sings to me.”

The guard who had spoken looked at the other guard with raised eyebrows. “Lady Mirasol singing?”

The other guard shrugged. “Never seen it.”

“Can I please, please, please go in?” Alana begged.

“I suppose,” said the first guard. “What harm can it do?” He opened one of the large doors and said in a whisper, “Now be very, very quiet. You don’t want to wake anybody.”

Alana nodded and whispered, “I will.” She slipped inside the door that closed softly behind her. Her feet immediately sank into the thick soft carpet that covered the hallway. Sound seemed muted in this part of the castle. Alana walked slowly down the hallway, looking for an open door, listening for the sound of a familiar voice, anything that might bring her closer to what she sought.

Finally, she heard a woman’s voice coming from around a corner. Alana hurried toward the sound of the voice. She turned the corner and stopped short. This was not the lady for whom she had been looking. This woman was old. She was standing in the hallway with her hands on her hips, speaking to a much younger woman who was kneeling down on the floor, hurriedly gathering up linens that had been thrown onto the floor.

“If I ever see this sort of incompetence again,” the older woman said, “I’ll have you assigned to the kitchens, is that understood?”

“Yes, Miss Olivia,” the younger woman said tearfully.

“Now pick these up and fold them again,” Olivia said. “This time they had better be perfect.”

“Yes, Miss Olivia,” the younger woman responded again.

Olivia watched the young maid for a few more moments, then turned to find Alana standing there staring at her wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “What are you doing here?” she hissed angrily. She bore down on the four-year-old. “I asked, what are you doing here?”

Alana stared up at Olivia with frightened eyes. “I…I want to see the pretty lady,” she stammered.

“Well, the pretty lady does not want to see you,” Olivia snapped. “Now leave here.” When Alana didn’t move right away, Olivia leaned in close to her and snarled, “I said leave here. Now.”

Alana’s eyes went wide and filled with tears. She turned and ran down the hallway she had come down. She tried to open the door, but it was too heavy. She pounded on it with her tiny fists and said through her tears, “Please let me out.”

The door opened quickly and the guard stared at her in surprise. “What happened?” he asked.

But Alana didn’t answer him. She ran away from him down the hallway toward the first staircase she saw. She ran down the stairs to the first floor and stood trembling and sobbing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Alana.”

A woman’s voice sounded softly in her ears. Alana looked around, wiped her tears away with the backs of her hands and walked out into the dimly lit hallway. The marble floor was cold on her bare feet. She turned a corner and saw light streaming out of an open doorway. She hurried toward it. Maybe this was the place she was looking for. Maybe the pretty lady was here and not in that awful place upstairs. When she got to the room, Alana peeked around the open doorway and blinked rapidly.

The room was so brightly lit that it took her eyes a little while to adjust to the stark contrast of the dark hallway. She had never been in this room before. Everything, from floor to ceiling, was white marble. The room itself was a circle with four elaborately carved niches built into the walls at equidistant intervals.

In each niche was a statue of one of four gods: Aniyatomei, the mother Goddess. It is said that she gave birth to all of the other gods and goddesses and that she created the multiverse. Asaeria, eldest daughter and the strongest of all the gods and goddesses. All those who desire justice and order worship her. Taelerion, the eldest son and second in strength only to Asaeria. He is worshipped by good fighters almost exclusively. Diasamon, the healer god. It is said that Diasamon heals all—good or evil. The four are called the “Noble Gods” because they do not require human sacrifice of their worshipers.

High above the niches, large windows showed the dark, pre-dawn sky. The bright light in the room came from the many magical, flameless torches that were attached to walls all around the sanctuary. As soon as Alana’s eyes adjusted to the light, she could see there was a man kneeling in front of the statue of Asaeria. The statue stood tall and straight and she had a stern look on her face. She wore long robes around which was girded a very large sword. When Alana looked more closely at the kneeling man, she realized that there were two people, a man and woman, standing on either side of him facing out into the sanctuary. Both of them had long white hair and wore white robes girded with long swords. Each had one hand on either shoulder of the man.

After a moment, Alana realized she knew the man and started to walk toward him thinking maybe he could help her, but the woman standing next to him shook her head and put a finger to her lips. Alana drew back and looked around the huge room. The pretty lady from her dream wasn’t here either. Tears started in her eyes and her bottom lip began to quiver. She was so sure the lady would be here. She bit her bottom lip to prevent herself from making any noise and turned to leave. She heard a woman softly call her name again. She turned quickly, thinking that the lady was here after all. Instead, she saw an older woman with silver hair, wearing silver robes sitting on a marble bench near the statue of Aniyatomei. “Come closer, young one.” Alana was startled because it sounded like the woman was whispering in her ear even though she was still sitting on the bench.

Alana walked hesitantly over to the seated woman, wondering who she was and how she knew her name. The woman motioned for her to sit beside her on the bench. After Alana clambered up onto the bench she asked the woman, “What’s your name?”

The woman smiled at her and answered, “Speak quietly, young one. Your friend is speaking to my daughter and we would not want to disturb him.” Alana looked over to where the man was kneeling and saw that a woman now stood in front of him. She had short dark hair, a flowing white gown and a sword girded around her waist. She looked somewhat like the statue in front of which the man was kneeling, but she was sterner and more beautiful. The stern woman turned her head and looked right at Alana. She nodded once and then turned her attention back to the man. “Alana,” the woman on the bench continued, “My name is very long and might be difficult for you to say, so you may call me Anya.”

“Anya,” Alana whispered, “That’s a nice name. But how do you know my name?”

“I know a great many things. For instance, I know that the woman you are looking for is not here.”

Alana got so excited she forgot to whisper, “Do you know her?”

“Hush now, child.” Aniyatomei admonished. “Yes, I do know her. She speaks to me often.”

“Does she talk about me?” Alana asked hesitantly.

“Every time she speaks to me she talks about you.”

“Can you show me where she is?”

“I am sorry young one, but I cannot do that. It is not yet time.

Tears of disappointment stung Alana’s eyes. “But I…want her. She’s nice and she holds me and…she sings to me.” Tears fell down her pale cheeks, but she wiped them away fiercely with the back of her hand.

Anya put her arm around Alana and drew her close. She was warm and comfortable and it made Alana feel a little better. “I know your heart longs for her, but the time has not yet come for the two of you to meet. This is what I will do for you. Whenever you feel alone or sad, you can come here and call for me. I will come and sit with you for a while. Will that be all right for now?”

Alana nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

“That is good. She briefly placed her hand on Alana’s left shoulder and said, “You have my blessing, my child. Walk in love.” Then she drew Alana’s head onto her lap, “Now sleep little one.”

#

“And what are you doing here, little miss?”

Alana woke with a start to see Colonel Gormin smiling down at her. She rubbed her eyes and said sleepily, “I was talking to the lady and I fell asleep.”

“That’s funny,” he said, “I’ve been here for a while and I didn’t hear anything.”

Alana sat up, “She said I had to be quiet because you were talking to her daughter.

Gormin knelt down beside the bench and asked indulgently, “Are you saying the lady talked to you?”

“Yes,” Alana answered, “She was sitting right here and she called me.” She looked around Colonel Gormin to the shrine of Asaeria and said, “Everybody’s gone now.”

Tabor reflexively looked over his shoulder even though he already knew that the room behind him was empty. “Who’s gone?”

“The lady you were talking to and the two people who were guarding you.”

He looked at her in surprise, “Guarding me? There was somebody guarding me?”

She nodded, “Uh huh. A man and a lady. They had on white robes and they had really big swords.”

“Why were they guarding me?” he asked with some amusement.

“I don’t know,” she answered with a shrug. “The lady you were talking to must think you’re important.”

“You mean the lady over there?” he asked pointing at the statue of Asaeria.

Alana giggled, “No silly, statues can’t talk. The lady was there, in front of the statue.”

“Did the lady talk to you?”

“No, she just looked at me. She was talking to you. The other lady was talking to me.”

Tabor pointed to the statue of Aniyatomei and asked, “Did the lady look like that?”

Alana turned around and looked up at the statue for several moments. Then she turned back to Tabor and said, “Sort of. That statue’s not as pretty. She was nice and she smiled a lot. She had silver hair and a silver dress.”

“Are you saying the goddess Aniyatomei sat with you on this bench?” he asked, a strange feeling beginning in the pit of his stomach.

“She said I could call her Anya because her name was hard to say, but she didn’t tell me what it was,” she answered.

Tabor sat back on his heels. The strange sensation was now coursing through his entire body. His prayers to his goddess had been very intense. He was desperately seeking an answer to his own personal dilemma. He had been certain this time that he had heard her answer him more clearly than he had ever heard her before. Had Alana truly seen his goddess standing there listening to his prayers?

“Alana,” he asked, “What did Anya say to you?”

Alana’s face fell and she looked sad. “She said I couldn’t see the pretty lady yet. But,” she added, looking a little happier, “She said I could come visit her here if I was lonely or sad.”

Tabor was a bit confused, “You mean you could visit the pretty lady here?”

“No, just Anya,” she replied sadly.

“Who is this pretty lady you’re looking for?” he asked gently.

“I don’t know her name, but she’s pretty and she has long brown hair like me and she sings to me.”

Tabor put his arms around Alana and picked her up. He had a feeling he knew who the “pretty lady” was. It made him sad that the child had been deprived of a loving mother. “Come on little miss,” he said heartily, “Let’s take you back to Ophelia. I’m sure she’s up looking for you by now.”

#

Alana ran into the sanctuary, her eyes bright with tears. Anya had told her that she could come visit her when she was sad or lonely and Alana had been doing that for almost a year. Today though, she wasn’t sad or lonely—she was angry. “Anya!” she shouted. When there was no response, she yelled again, “Anya!” Still, there was no answer, so she yelled at the top of her lungs, “Anya!”

She heard a woman’s voice say, “Child, why are you shouting?”

Alana whirled around and saw a woman in white robes standing in front of the statue of Asaeria. “You’re not Anya.” she said sulkily.

“You are correct, child. I am not Anya. I am Asaeria, her daughter.”

Alana pouted, “I want Anya.”

“Anya is not coming. I am here. Now, tell me why you were shouting.”

Alana stamped her small foot, “But I want Anya!”

Asaeria frowned and said sternly, “Alana Candril, you are the child of warriors. Cease this behavior now.” Alana stood wide-eyed, her bottom lip quivering and her small hands clenched tightly into fists. “Now child,” Asaeria said, “Tell me why you are here.”

Alana bit her bottom lip to keep herself from crying as she answered, “It’s my birthday and Uncle Illy promised he’d be back in time but he’s not. He promised.”

“There are times when people have to break promises because they have no choice,” Asaeria said patiently.

“But he promised,” Alana insisted. “He said he’d be here and he’d bring me a present for my birthday. It’s not fair. He said he would be here. He promised.”

“I know he made a promise to you, child,” she said firmly, “but he also made a promise to me. Right now he is doing something very important that cannot be put aside.”

Alana’s eyes filled with tears and she bowed her head. “I’m important too,” she whispered.

If Alana had been looking up, she would have seen Asaeria smile. “Yes child, you are important. Your Uncle Iliard spends his life taking care of you and protecting you. What he is doing right now will also help to protect you.” Asaeria walked down to where Alana was standing and said, “Alana, look at me.” Alana looked up and blinked, surprised at how close Asaeria was to her now. “Listen carefully to me child. Your Uncle Iliard is a very special and very important man. Indeed, he is more important than you know. Right now he cares for and protects you, but there will come a time when you will have to care for and protect him. Do you understand?”

“But,” Alana objected, “He’s bigger than me.” This time Alana did see Asaeria smile. It was like watching the sunrise and feeling the joy of the beginning of the day. She couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yes child, he is bigger than you,” Asaeria answered. “But size means very little in these matters. Just know that the day will come when you will need to take care of him. Be ready for it.”

“I love Uncle Illy. I’ll take care of him.”

Asaeria knelt down and touched Alana’s cheek. “I know you will, child.” Then she stood up and faded away.

#

“Explain yourself Director Terisar.”

The Priest of Arnitath groveled at the feet of his superior, Warder Meterius. “Your Excellency, it was Novadi warriors. Two of them and two Priests of the accursed Asaeria. And one of the Novadi was a Wielder of one of the five ancient blades. They came in and destroyed everything. They killed all the Priests and acolytes and set the sacrifices free. There is nothing left.”

“And yet here you are before me,” his superior said softly, his eyes shining malevolently. “How is it that you survived?”

Terisar began to tremble. “I was able to slip away, your Excellency. I…I knew that you would want to know what happened.”

“I see,” he answered, “So, then why were you found ten miles down the road riding in the opposite direction?”

Terisar’s fear rose, “I..I was confused, your Excellency. The battle was difficult. I was wounded. I got away but I must have turned in the wrong direction. I am…grateful that your guards found me.”

His superior smiled knowingly, “Indeed, I’m sure you are not. Your incompetence allowed our temple in Candril to be discovered and desecrated by the vile Novadi and the minions of Asaeria. You fled the battle rather than die fighting to save the altar of your god. Then you tried to flee my guards when they found you.” His lips curled into a sneer of disdain.

“Your Excellency, I beg you. Allow me to make amends. I will do whatever sort of penance you wish.”

“Yes,” his master hissed softly, “You will.” He looked up at the guards and said, “Strip him and prepare him for the altar.”

“NO!” Terisar screamed as the guards picked him up by his arms. “Excellency, please, have mercy!”

“For shame Terisar,” he said mockingly as the guards stripped the struggling Terisar of his Priest’s robes. “You should be honored that you have been chosen as a sacrifice to our god. Is that not what we tell the other sacrifices?” When Terisar stood before him, completely naked, Meterius ran a long, pointed fingernail along the snake tattoo that adorned the right half of the lesser Priest’s face. “You should be glad, Terisar. Very soon you will meet our god.” He chuckled at the look of horror on Terisar’s face. He enjoyed that look. He would take great pleasure in performing this particular sacrifice himself. “Take him to the Room of Preparation.”

“NO!” Terisar screamed again, “Excellency, I beg you.”

“You should not do that here, Terisar,” Meterius said with a contemptuous smile. “You will have ample time to beg in the Room of Preparation.”

The guards dragged Terisar away, still screaming in protest. As well he should, Meterius thought. In the Room of Preparation Priests and acolytes of Arnitath would pleasure themselves on his body, violating him in every conceivable way. Meterius thought briefly about joining them, but the pleasures of the flesh rarely tempted him anymore. The only exception was when they managed to capture a Priestess of Igea. Then he would not only join in, but he would take charge of the “preparation” using special, razor sharp tools that he kept for just such an occasion.

Three hours later, the guards brought Terisar out into the sanctuary where thousands of worshippers were gathered. The former Priest couldn’t hold himself upright so the guards had to hold him under his arms and drag him the long way down the aisle to the sacrificial altar. There was a murmur of surprise from those closest to the captive when they saw the Priestly tattoos on his face.

Terisar was brought to the gray stone altar and laid down upon it. The altar was stained and sticky from the blood of the thousands of people who had come before him. Behind the altar rose a gigantic statue of the god Arnitath carved out of obsidian. One black hand held an enormous replica of the sacrificial dagger and the other held a wicked looking, notch-bladed sword. His bared chest was adorned with real necklaces of huge rubies and two ruby eyes gleamed out of a face that looked down in contempt at those who worshipped him.

Terisar’s wrists and ankles were locked into manacles that were attached to chains at each corner of the altar. Once the cuffs were secured, the wheel was turned and the chains tightened until he lay spread-eagled on the cold stone.

Warder Meterius took his place behind the altar. The forty foot tall statue of Arnitath loomed dark and forbidding behind him. He turned up the sleeves of his black robes, attaching them to the shoulders of his robes with fasteners that had been sewn inside them. From a table to his left he took the ceremonial dagger which was cleaned and newly sharpened after each sacrifice. The highly polished blade glowed red in the torch-lit room. Meterius raised up his arms in a prayer to Arnitath. He could hear Terisar whimpering in terror below him. Meterius touched the blade to the top of Terisar’s breastbone and slowly drew it down the middle of his chest to his sternum, opening his skin all the way to the bone. Terisar’s screams echoed in the cavernous chamber. The white robed acolytes in attendance swayed back and forth and chanted to their god. Meterius looked into Terisar’s eyes as he drove the blade deep into his midsection and then ran it all the way down to his pelvic bone. Meterius lifted the bloody blade in triumph as Terisar’s life blood poured out of him and his agonized screams grew fainter and fainter.

#

Iliard walked quietly into Alana’s darkened bedroom. It was well past midnight and she was undoubtedly fast asleep. He felt terrible about missing her birthday celebration. He stood beside her bed and looked down at her peaceful face. She had no idea what went on beyond the walls of this castle, did not know what lengths he and others went to in order to keep her safe. He was glad of that. No five year old should be burdened with such knowledge. She would know soon enough—too soon by his way of thinking. He would have been content if she never knew about her destiny.

He pulled a small, wrapped package out of his tunic and placed it on her night stand. At least he had remembered to bring her a gift. As he was turning to leave, he heard her sleepy voice say, “Uncle Illy?”

He turned back and sat on the edge of her bed. “What are you doing awake, small one?”

“I heard you.” He heard her sniff and then say, “And I smelled you. You smell like papa after the stables.”

Iliard chuckled, “I haven’t had a chance to take a bath. I wanted to bring you your present. I’m sorry I missed your birthday celebration.”

“That’s all right. ’Saeria said you were doing something for her and taking care of me.”

“Who’s ’Saeria?” he asked.

“One of the ladies in the round room.”

Since the castle had nine turrets, all of which had rooms in them, he asked, “The round room? Which round room?”

“You know, the white room with the four big statues.”

Iliard frowned, a bit confused, “The white room? Do you mean the Sanctuary of the Noble Gods?”

“I don’t know. It’s got white floors and white benches and four white statues. Two ladies and two men.”

Iliard paused a moment before he spoke. He knew that Alana had a high destiny, but could it be possible…? “’Saeria? Do you mean Asaeria?”

“That’s what I said,” Alana said sleepily.

He let out a slow breath. “Asaeria talked to you? What did she say?”

Alana yawned and said faintly, “She said I should take care of you ’cause you’re special.”

Iliard unexpectedly felt his throat tighten. “She said that?” he asked a bit hoarsely.

“Uh huh,” she answered, barely awake now. “I said I would ’cause I love you.”

Iliard swallowed hard and blinked away the tears that had unbidden come to his eyes. He could tell by her slow, even breathing that she had fallen back to sleep. He leaned down, kissed her forehead and whispered, “I love you too, small one.”

#

Cranerock set down his goblet of wine and tilted his head to the side. A moment later he vanished and reappeared in front of the stables. The horses stirred restlessly and whinnied softly. The creature was crouched low in the darkest shadows it could find, hiding from the bright moonlight.

“What are you doing here little cousin?” Cranerock murmured.

The imp seemed to hear him. It turned its glowing red eyes towards him, hissed and started to run in the opposite direction.

“I don’t think so.” Cranerock held up his hand and the imp stopped in its tracks. He went over to it and grabbed it by the scruff of it neck. “Who sent you?” The imp writhed and hissed as it tried to free itself from Cranerock’s iron grip.

“Nacht tor bentac agmon.” Cranerock’s guttural threat stilled the creature’s wild attempts to escape. Once again he asked, “Who sent you?” The imp remained still and silent. The hand that held the creature began to glow red. A thin, piercing shriek ripped through the night air. “Do not make me ask again,” Cranerock growled.

“Priest. Priest,” it shrieked.

“What Priest?”

“Shintar.”

“Where?”

“City.”

“Candril City?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To take the child.”

A dagger appeared in Cranerock’s hand and just as quickly slipped between the ribs of the imp. The creature went limp. Cranerock’s hand glowed fiery red. Flames spread around the imp’s body and engulfed it. Cranerock did not loose his hold on the body until it was entirely consumed. “Not while I am here,” he said softly. He turned back toward the castle and said to the shadows, “Come Colonel Gormin, we should go see the Baron now. Then perhaps a visit to Candril City.”

#

Ultan Semias, Priest of Arnitath, ran his fingers over the white braid that adorned his crisp new black robes. Director at last. It was an honor he should have been given years ago. For more than sixty years he had fought his way up the Priestly ranks, struggling against the many obstacles thrown in his path.

As he neatly folded his new robes, he wondered, yet again, why they had not just killed him years ago. Of course he knew the answer already—he was the best at what he did. Despite his refusal to grovel to his superiors, they could not fault the work he did for the glory of Arnitath. Now they had no choice but to promote him—he had become more powerful than most of his superiors.

He adjusted his gold Deliverant robes. This would be the last time he wore the gold and red. After he prostrated himself naked before High Priest Sharantar Ventinimas, he would be robed in the black and white.

He whirled around at the sound of the door to his small room closing. He had not heard it open. Before him stood a man in plate mail that shone like silver infused with blood.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“There’s no need for you to know that,” the stranger replied from beneath his concealing helm.

Ultan prepared to defend himself. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Your life.”

Ultan raised his hands up. “You will have to fight me for it,” he said as he released flames from his fingertips.

The man in plate mail raised his right hand and the flames dissipated. “I am here to give you your life.”

“What do you mean?” the Priest asked. He took a step back as a frisson of fear ran through him.

“If you walk out in front of the High Priest today, you will die.”

“That is a risk all new Directors take,” Ultan replied.

“But your death is assured,” the man asserted.

“How do you know that?”

“You have no aura, Ultan Semias. When the High Priest sees this, he will kill you.”

Ultan took another step back. “Why? How did you know? No one knows.”

“The how is unimportant,” the man said. “The why is that Ventinimas holds knowledge that he keeps secret from all his Priests. There are two prophecies. One foretells the coming of the Heir of Jeragoth who will destroy our temples and cast out our followers. The other, the one Ventinimas keeps secret, tells of the coming of one who will supplant the High Priest and rule over all on Ranwar for the glory of Arnitath. Neither person has an aura. Ventinimas is determined to stop both prophecies from being fulfilled.”

A thrill of anticipation ran through Ultan. “Am I the one in this secret prophecy?”

The man chuckled. “No, but your ambition pleases our god. You are to be the one who brings the prophecy to fruition. You will find this man and raise him up to the power that awaits him.”

“And what of me?” Ultan asked.

“You will never rule,” he man replied. “But you will have more power than you ever dreamed possible.”

A vision of himself standing beside a man in red robes came to Ultan. Prostrate before them were thousands upon thousands of humans and creatures of the Great Forest. Ultan took an unsteady breath. He looked over at the armored man and asked, “How do I know I can trust you?”

“You do not,” the man answered curtly. “But you have seen your future. It is your choice to realize it or not.”

Ultan continue to stare at the stranger, as he weighed his choices. Finally, he nodded. “I will do as you say, for the glory of Arnitath.”

The man chuckled again. “For your own glory. But it matters not. In the end, Arnitath will rule supreme over all Ranwar.” He turned to open the door saying, “Now follow me.”

“But how can we just walk out?” Ultan protested “I have been watched since I arrived.”

“I come and go as I please,” the man replied. “Just follow me.”

With no small amount of trepidation, Ultan followed the armored man out the door, down the long hallway and out of the temple. Not a soul saw their passing, nor could anyone say what had become of Ultan Semias.