Into Forbidden Lands
Darkness

After the sanctuary of the Werewood, the feeling of wrongness in the wastelands was shocking.

Charred and hacked, ancient trees lay where they had toppled among the remains of the Wood’s enemies and their rusted weapons. Illiom felt increasingly uneasy. This taint upon the land gnawed at her nerves, making her jumpy and reactive.

The one thing that sustained her on that long first day was the presence of the Woedim. Seeing them stride alongside gave Illiom a sense of serenity that countered the grimness of this ancient battlefield.

Ahead, Azulya looked up at the sky.

“Is it me, or is it darker than it should be?”

Illiom and her companions followed her gaze.

Though bitterly cold, the sky was clear of cloud.

Illiom saw that her Kroeni friend was right; the light was considerably less than one might expect on such a clear day.

Unable to determine its cause, they pressed on. It was late in the afternoon, when Iod descended into the west, that Sereth pointed towards the sun.

“Irrsche’s curse! Look!”

Illiom squinted into the brightness and felt all warmth leave her body. Iod’s orb was incomplete: a portion of his perfect roundness was missing. Krodh, the Dark Moon, had begun to obscure the Light Bringer.

It seemed that the Illignment was already upon them.

“Sudra have mercy!” Elan whispered. “Are we too late? Have we miscalculated?”

“No,” Kassargan interjected firmly. Illiom turned to look at the descrier, for this was the first time she had spoken in many days.

“I scried while we were still in the Wood and the full Illignment will peak as predicted on the last day of the Dragonmoon. So, while it has begun, it will still take that long for Krodh to eclipse Iod, as the two move at almost the same pace across the heavens. Irrsche is still not as close nor as strong as she will be at the time of the Illignment.”

Despite the descrier’s reassurance, Illiom was disturbed to see the extent of Irrsche’s impact upon Sudra. For while her thin crescent glowed bright silver, the part of her that was normally in shadow now burned a shocking red.

“Not strong enough?” asked Scald, turning towards Kassargan. “How strong does Irrsche need to get?”

No one answered and after a time they continued to march across the devastation in silence, happy to press on without resting. They kept pace with the forest folk until the Woedim came to a perfectly synchronised halt.

They had passed the worst of the embattled land, and though the landscape ahead was still blasted by ancient conflict, it was older and did not carry the same ill taint they had experienced since leaving the Werewood.

Illiom watched as the Woedim went about their ritual of restoration, plunging their taproots into the ground, seeking what nourishment they could extract from the ravaged soil.

“Feeling better?” Tarmel whispered when they bedded down for the night.

“Yes,” she answered, even though she still felt unsettled. “The sooner we leave this place behind, the better.”

They held each other and spoke no more.

A few hours later Illiom awoke to replace Irrsche high in the south-east. She was already one quarter the size of Sudra, and her glow painted the pure white blanket of snow a blood red.

When Iod rose, they broke camp hurriedly and travelled for a time beneath the light of the two suns. The south-western sky was now purple with Irrsche’s red eye shining directly into their faces, even as Iod’s radiance warmed their backs.

They travelled on, wedged between two great formations of Woedim for most of the morning.

Iod vanished behind cloud cover, leaving Irrsche’s fire to burn alone, low in the western sky. The air was frigid and the frozen ground underfoot felt hard and unyielding. A disturbing silence claimed the land and weighed oppressively over the party.

They had been marching under this pall for some time when it was suddenly shattered by a loud scream that seemed to emanate from everywhere at once. Most in the party instinctively crouched low, looking for the source of the scream, but nothing could be seen.

“What in the Seven Hels is that?” Scald whispered.

The scream continued without let until it was suddenly truncated. In the silence that followed a new disturbance arose. The ruckus grew louder, bombarding them from several directions at once.

Trepidation formed a knot in the pit of Illiom’s stomach.

A shadow flitted over them, quickly followed by several others in rapid succession.

“Protect the Chosen!” Argolan screamed, then her voice was drowned out.

Tarmel forced Illiom to the ground.

His sword flashed over her.

Something wet and hot splashed down her back.

A scream of pain fragmented the air.

She looked up and caught a glimpse of Tarmel grappling with something large. A serpent’s head with a single red eye and a cavernous mouth filled with daggers reared up before him.

It attacked in a sudden rush, but Tarmel’s sword caught it before it could strike and cleft it in half. With a shriek of rage, a second serpent clamped onto the Rider’s shoulder. Spinning quickly around he plunged his sword into his attacker’s eye.

Seeing his torn shoulder, Illiom lunged towards Tarmel.

Before she could reach him, something clamped tightly around her body.

The breath was squeezed out of her.

She tried to call his name.

A moment later she was yanked off her feet.

Even as Tarmel raced to her aid, Z’essh sped past and leapt towards Illiom.

He tried to grab her, but only managed to grasp her bag. The tribal was lifted a few spans into the air before the strap snapped and he fell heavily back to the ground.

Whatever had a hold of her quickly lifted her away, high above the raging battle. Soon all she could see was sky and the leather membrane of a wing beating furiously to gain height and distance.

Illiom knew that at any moment the creature could drop her to the ground. She was now too high to survive a fall. What seemed miraculous to her was that she was still alive.

Looking down, she could see the creature’s deadly talons gripping her chest, easily capable of crushing her.

She had no bow and no weapons.

She searched for the power that had served her so many other times, but found nothing.

A shift in the rhythm of the creature’s flight caused her to open her eyes.

It was now gliding down in wide circles towards a flat tract of land next to the bank of a frozen river. She saw thousands of creatures trudging through the snow.

Her captor did not take her towards the moving hordes, heading instead towards a cluster of makeshift structures at the top of a hill. Upon reaching them it hovered there, a few spans above the ground, before releasing its hold.

Illiom fell.

The impact winded her, and as she lay gasping for air, a group of vile creatures approached, hissing and snarling.

Now it ends, she thought, cringing away from the abominations that loomed over her, full of mindless bloodlust, ready to rip her apart. She recognised some of them from previous encounters – Skeet and Kresh – but there were others she had never seen before. The most unsettling were the ones who still bore some semblance of humanity, for they were so hideously deformed that they invoked not just fear and revulsion, but a deep anguish at the extent of their disfigurement.

A loud crack, like that of a tree snapping in half, reduced the slavering creatures to a whimper.

“So we meet again! I have pondered on the bond that connects us for a while now.”

Illiom wanted to turn to face the speaker but could not move. Her ribs hurt as she struggled for breath. His voice washed over her with such terrible familiarity that she did not need to see him to know who he was.

She had expected to die, but she had not expected this.

She looked around desperately for a means of escape but saw none. She was surrounded.

Tarmel!

Crelor stood over her, and her heart hammered in dread at his proximity.

“…and the odd thing is, I still do not understand it. I felt it the very first moment I saw you. Oh, and I wanted you, there and then.”

Crelor peered into her face, lips sneering, eyes bright with glee.

He shook his head slowly.

“You will not get away from me this time, my little Chosen! I will not allow it. I have you now, and we will have plenty of time to explore our connection.”

Illiom felt her innards turn to water.

Crelor straightened, barked out a command and a couple of his minions grabbed her by the arms and dragged her to her feet. They gripped her so hard she could not move and her feeble struggles only served to entertain her captors. So she went limp, offering no resistance, and would not meet Crelor’s eyes. Instead, she held on to that final glimpse of Tarmel, looking up at her helplessly as she was snatched away.

“So,” Crelor said in a companionable tone, “the seven of you have come a long way indeed, I will give you that. Although you might not have come quite so far without my assistance.”

Illiom took a deep breath, finally forcing herself to meet his eyes. Crelor looked very different to the man she remembered seeing in Menphan Tarn’s office. His Wardmaster’s uniform was unrecognisable, tattered and stained with blood and filth. He wore a grotesque necklace of amputated fingers. His hair and beard had grown long, and hung matted with filth. He smiled around teeth that were stained brown, and his face was blistered and covered in sores. Only the eyes remained unchanged. They were the eyes of a man gone insane.

Crelor pursed his lips, as though disappointed by her response.

“You do not look particularly surprised, and yet you should be. If I had not stayed my hand, all of you would be long dead by now. I spared you because I was curious to see what you would do next. You were gone for so long in that wretched wood that some of us thought you would never emerge. Not I, for I always knew that you would eventually come out. And now it is finally clear where you are heading.”

He paused to study Illiom’s reaction before continuing.

“Now here is a curious thing. You are making for the very place where it all began. Why Igollianath? What is there for you? Have the Adepts contrived to send you there to fetch something for them? Some aid, perhaps? A trinket of power, even? I do not blame them. Soon they will need all the help they can get!”

He paused expectantly, but Illiom remained silent. Leaning towards her, his tone was now harsh with anger.

“Do you know what I really think? I believe that the Adepts – cowardly vermin that they are – have no intention of coming out of their lairs. No, instead they send you, poor little lambs, on their errands, to face danger and slaughter, while they remain safely hidden. Less than a moon remains before your world becomes ours, and you have absolutely no inkling of where they are. Are you not even slightly concerned about this?”

Illiom felt her spirit sink.

Some of Crelor’s questions came too close to her own misgivings. She knew that he was toying with her, luring her into some kind of trap. He was trying to turn her against the Adepts, but Illiom could not doubt them now, not after all that they had been through. Too many had sacrificed too much, so that the Chosen might fulfil their quest.

She raised her chin defiantly.

“Just kill me and be done with it; I do not believe any of your lies.”

To her surprise Crelor threw back his head and laughed.

“She has spirit, this one! Captured and with no chance of rescue, yet still defiant. Well, this may come as a surprise to you, but you will not die here, today, my sweet morsel. You are of much more value alive.”

Crelor moved closer still and Illiom recoiled from the fetid reek of his breath.

“Not only that. I shall do more than simply let you live, I will set you free!”

He laughed at her expression.

“You did not anticipate that, did you? But that is what I will do. I will set you free, but only after you have given me what I want.”

Illiom glared at him and did not have to feign disgust as she spat out her answer.

“I told you, kill me and be done with it,” she snarled, hoping she sounded stronger than she felt. “You will get nothing from me.”

Crelor’s eyebrows arched in mock surprise.

“Oh? Are you sure? What makes you think that you have a choice?”

Before she could respond, he grabbed her head with both hands and pushed his mouth against hers, hurting her lips, forcing his tongue past. Illiom locked her jaw, yet the vileness of his proximity and the sudden terror that moved through her body were almost too much. Crelor dropped one hand down to her belly and began to grope there, trying to get past her garments.

Illiom, her head spinning, felt the ground recede beneath her. She railed against the sudden weakness.

No!

She could not allow herself to pass out. She had to remain conscious. It was the only chance she would have to replace a way to stop him.

Suddenly, she knew clearly what she had to do. Yet before she could act on her insight, Crelor pulled away with a perplexed expression.

“What is this?”

His hand had stopped groping, and was now pressed against her abdomen.

“You are with child!” he exclaimed, and the glee in his eyes was a hideous thing. “You have wasted no time, have you, my little whore?”

Illiom balked.

Nothing Crelor might have said could have terrified her more.

A tremor took hold of her, and she began to weep.

Tarmel!

The more she shook, the more Crelor laughed. He laughed until Illiom screamed at him to stop.

“Well, this changes everything!” he said at last. “Oh, do not worry! I will still take you; I do not make promises lightly, but now I have a better idea.”

He gloated at her misery.

“Tonight, when I return, I shall plant a seed right alongside the one that is already inside you. There, that will be nice, do you not think? To have two growing inside of you?”

His expression became a parody of concern.

“Oh, but I fear that only one of the two will survive. Nine months is a long time and my little one will need something to eat along the way!”

Crelor laughed as he let go of her.

“Sadly, I must leave you now. I have other matters that I must attend to, a war to wage and win.” His eyes burned into Illiom’s. “But I look forward to spending the night with you.”

He reached out to stroke her cheek with mock affection.

“My friends here will keep you company, just to make sure that you do not get too lonely.”

He turned and took a few steps away from Illiom, before addressing his horde.

“None of you will touch her while I am gone!” he warned, and the creatures cowered, drawing away at his words. “When I come back I will replace her exactly as I left her. Is that clear? She remains untouched. If you disobey me, I will pull every last one of you apart with my bare hands!”

Illiom sank into a pit of despair.

She was carrying the fruit of her love for Tarmel. And now…

Her misery overwhelmed her.

What was happening? None of it made any sense; this was not how it was meant to be.

All around her, the creatures gloated. They laughed, leered and drooled and she knew that the only thing that stopped them from tearing into her was Crelor’s warning.

Then she saw her chance.

“Come on!” she screamed. “He is gone! Come and get me! What are you waiting for?”

They answered with bared teeth, growls and hisses, but none approached. Illiom could see their hunger, but their fear of Crelor was greater.

One abject hairless creature, with skin that appeared to have melted over most of its body, suddenly reached towards her with a clawed hand, but before it could touch her, its arm was hacked off by a Skeet’s arm-blade.

The monsters around her began to attack one another, some trying to get to her, others fighting them off, until several lay dying.

Illiom closed her eyes. She sought desperately for her power, but nothing stirred. She had been abandoned.

She suddenly realised she no longer had her Key! It was in the shoulder bag that Z’essh had torn from her.

Remembering her Key brought her to focus upon it, to draw upon its power – with no result.

She then attempted a melding, first with Azulya, then with Malco, and finally even with Tarmel. She called on each of the Chosen. She called Kassargan.

Nothing. No one.

What is happening to me?

Had everything that she experienced so far been for nought?

The creatures that had protected her now dragged her over to an opening in the earth and cast her inside it. They then rolled something over the top, sealing out the cold, miserable light of the wastelands.

The sudden silence felt like a small boon.

She hugged herself in the dark, feeling lost.

Sudra, she implored finally. What can I do? Help me. I need you, my Goddess. Where are you? Please…

Huddling against the biting cold, she curled up on the frigid ground and prayed.

She was exhausted, but she could not let herself drift into sleep. She had to do something, but what?

It was true, was it not, that something had always come to her aid at the most crucial and testing moments? Why was she so frightened now? Was it because, in some deep recess of her mind, she feared that this time no aid would come?

She tried to stop listening to her fear, but it was like a wild beast, impossible to control. It thrashed about, screaming that she was doomed, that this time there was no way out. That even the option of death was now closed to her.

She forced her way past such thoughts, and despite the incessant railing of her mind, she recalled the plan she had hatched earlier.

It was a desperate, half-baked plan that might fail miserably and leave her even more vulnerable than she was now, but it was all she had. It stopped her from drowning in a bottomless sea of despair.

“Are you ready?”

Illiom moaned, but she did not open her eyes. She had fallen asleep after all and now there was no time left.

“What, no eagerness?” taunted Crelor. “Surely you were eager enough when you spread your legs for the other Chosen.”

A small measure of comfort there. Crelor did not know who Tarmel was, nor did he care.

“Come now, my delicious little whore, I am sure you can replace at least a little enthusiasm for me!”

She was suddenly drenched in freezing water. Shocked, she recoiled, gasping for breath, but Crelor dragged her from the pit, his hands tearing at her clothes, exposing her to him.

When his mouth slammed against hers again she was ready.

She forced herself past her disgust to allow his tongue into her mouth.

She waited and then, propelled by her rage and terror, she clamped her teeth down on him as hard as she could.

Her mouth filled instantly with his blood.

As Crelor tried to pull away, she tightened her jaw and would not let go until his fist slammed into the side of her head.

The blow knocked her momentarily senseless. She came to soon enough, spitting out as much blood as she could.

“I told you,” she snarled. “I will give you nothing!”

Incredulously, he laughed again.

The blood pouring from his mouth made him appear even more deranged. He wiped at it and then licked the blood with the remains of his tongue.

He laughed.

“You do not understand who you are dealing with, do you?” he slurred. “You really believe that you can hurt me?”

The monster shook his head and moved towards her.

“You have no idea what I am, do you?”

As he spoke he seemed to swell with perverse pride.

“You think that I am the dead queen’s brother? You are mistaken. I am Bloodrobe Balgor, and I have you! Be daunted, little Chosen! I am the nemesis of the Adepts that you so stupidly serve!”

He spat blood as he raged.

“Allow me to explain something to you. This is not my body. My body is far away and untouchable. Even if you were to kill this body – which is highly unlikely – I would remain unharmed.”

He wiped again at the blood that continued to gush from his mouth.

“Yet even though I am not really here, I am still completely connected to this body. Do you see? I feel its pain, and also all of its pleasures: food, drink and … other delights.” He sneered at her, stepping closer still.

“Ah, I see in your eyes that you now understand.”

He reached for her cheek, his hand dripping with blood.

Illiom recoiled.

“Rest assured that when I take you, I will enjoy the full pleasure of it. I will savour you until I am sated. And when I am done, I will discard you for the others to replace; broken, shattered and bearing my child. Then you can resume your futile journey, if you still have the stomach for it.”

He smeared her face with his bloodied hand and continued to tear at her clothes.

In the World of Mirrors, nothing is as it seems.

Illiom knew the voice well, but what did the words mean?

She opened her eyes.

A field, awash with small purple flowers. A mountain, tall and stark against a pristine blue sky.

Warmth of sunlight. A buzzing of bees.

And Sudra.

Right there, alongside her.

“I called you,” Illiom whispered brokenly.

The Goddess turned towards her, eyes ablaze with love.

And now we are here.

Illiom was still aware of what was happening to her body, but it was as though it was a far off thing, like a distant memory.

She was carrying Tarmel’s child. She had not known it, had misunderstood the signs. Such a precious gift, and now it would be taken from her – taken from them.

Sudra shook her head gently.

Nothing is as it seems.

Oh, how Illiom wanted to believe those words; but her thoughts railed furiously against them, as if to believe was to deny everything that had happened; all that she had suffered, and all that she held dear.

Her chest heaved as turmoil ravaged her body.

Sudra’s hand was suddenly resting against her abdomen, a deep soothing warmth that eased her.

Silent tears filled her eyes.

Nothing is as it seems.

And as she closed her eyes, the Goddess moved her hand up to rest upon her heart.

Come, be here.

Illiom could feel Sudra’s breath upon her cheek. She was so close, yet Illiom dared not look upon her. Illiom did not understand what the Goddess was asking; nevertheless, she focused on Sudra’s radiant hand. Something was pulsing there, in time with her heartbeat. An emanation flowed from Sudra’s hand and swept through her entire being, shimmering like a shower of purest moonlight.

Deeper, child. Come deeper.

Deeper? Illiom did not know how to go deeper.

And then, suddenly, she saw it, far in the distance. Compelling, irrefutable.

Deeper.

Illiom now recognised the gift that she was being offered.

She was at the threshold of true sanctuary. This was the timeless place, and she could feel its truth even before she entered. Here, waiting and time both became meaningless. Here, the fibres of illusion were destined to unravel.

Yet right there, on that threshold, she paused once again.

Poised between sanctuary and storm, she hesitated. If she stepped through, she could move completely away from Crelor and all that was happening; but in doing so, was she not also abandoning Tarmel and her unborn child? He was in the same storm as she. Was she not betraying Azulya and the other Chosen?

The voice of reason is persuasive, child.

Such is the way in the World of Mirrors.

Yet remember!

Nothing is as it seems.

Illiom opened her eyes and finally looked directly into Sudra’s.

Deeper.

So she did. She let herself go to where Sudra was beckoning and in that place she embraced it all. She opened herself to everything. She welcomed every nuance of feeling and emotion and pain that her body released, every anguished thought that her fevered mind unleashed.

Shunning nothing, she allowed and accepted it all.

And while the darkness enveloped her on the outside, on the inside Illiom erupted with light.

When she came to, Illiom had no idea where she was.

She was surrounded by a blur of faces.

Was she safe, or still in danger?

Would these beings succour or devour her?

She felt hands touching her, heard voices murmuring; but it was as though they were speaking in some distant realm and she had no way of passing through the veil that separated her from their world.

Maybe she was dying and these were the Spirits welcoming her home. Or maybe she was already dead and these voices belonged to others trying to draw her back into the land of the living.

Then it all faded and none of it mattered at all.

“My beautiful beloved,” a voice was saying. “Illiom.”

She opened her eyes, for this was a voice she recognised; a voice she loved and had longed to hear above any other.

“Tarmel,” she murmured.

He was cradling her, caressing her cheek, as his tears bathed her face.

It is all right, she wanted to say, but was not able to make another sound.

“What have they done?” he asked. “What have they done to you?”

Illiom raised a hand to touch his cheek.

I love you, she mouthed silently.

He saw and nodded, then laughed, though his tears continued to fall.

The third time she came to, he was fast asleep alongside her. His right arm and shoulder were bandaged and she remembered then that he had been bitten.

She eased herself onto her elbows and surveyed the camp around them. Dawn was nearing. Iod’s pure glow was barely visible in the east, while in the west Irrsche was setting.

The World of Mirrors.

Many Woedim squatted nearby, rooted deeply into the wounded earth. Illiom saw that their number was reduced.

Noticing her bag lying nearby, she reached for it. She could not help the gasp that escaped her as she stretched. Her body ached, but she tried again and was soon able to reach the broken strap and pull her bag within reach.

She was beyond exhaustion, yet her spirit was untouched.

She pulled the Key of Faith out from its wrapping, placed it against her belly and settled back again.

Holding the Key there felt like the sweetest balm.

She watched Tarmel’s sleeping face until her own eyes closed once more.

Breakfast was a sombre event.

Everyone was attentive to her and yet she sensed in them a careful reluctance to ask about what had befallen her.

Azulya eventually settled herself beside Illiom, and as though by tacit consent everyone else, including Tarmel, moved away.

Illiom smiled at her.

“You cannot know how glad I am that you are back,” the Kroeni Chosen said.

Illiom nodded.

“As am I,” she replied.

Her friend’s expression turned serious.

“We saw one of those flying demons, the two-headed variety, drop you in the snow ahead of us. By the time we reached you, it was gone. You were naked, Illiom, and covered in blood, and at first we believed the worst. That you were dead and your body had been dropped there to deter us.”

Azulya was silent for a few moments.

“When we discovered that you were alive, we were hard put to understand how you had survived.”

Azulya looked at her intensely.

“You have been badly hurt.”

“He violated me,” Illiom whispered.

Azulya’s eyes filled with sorrow as she reached for her friend and held her close.

Illiom was surprised to replace no trace of self-pity.

“Who did?” Azulya asked after a while.

“Crelor, but his true name is Balgor. He is one of the Bloodrobes and he revealed this to me before … before he forced himself onto me. But Azulya, there is more to this than meets the eye, I know that now. I cannot pretend that I understand any of it, but what I have found is faith.”

Illiom heard her own words and smiled. The wielder of the Key of Faith proclaiming to have found faith.

“Then you are a stronger woman than I,” Azulya said. “I do not know that I could have suffered it.”

She looked up sharply when Illiom began to laugh softly.

“I suspect you do not know your own strength, Azulya.”

The Kroeni shook her head and her eyes flashed with both compassion and fury.

“How can you be so at peace about this, about what he did to you?”

Illiom shrugged. She did not know either.

“My dear friend,” she said at last. “We have been through so much! We have experienced more in this one year than most experience in their lifetime. We cannot really know how we are changed until we are tested.”

She looked up at the sky, at Iod rising over the desolate landscape.

“That is how I feel. I have been tested and I confess that it almost destroyed me. But something has changed. Something unexpected happened. I was ready to die. I did what I could to bring it about. I could not even get him to kill me, but then I began to see everything in another light and…”

She smiled as she repeated Sudra’s words.

“…nothing is as it seems.”

Illiom peered into her friend’s eyes, but saw that even Azulya was not quite able to grasp what she was saying. Simultaneously, she felt that the other was on the cusp of the same knowing. It was only a matter of time, and time – she now knew – was of no consequence.

Illiom now looked deep into the maelstrom of Azulya’s remarkable eyes and spoke the only words that she could in that moment.

“We are infinitely stronger than we believe ourselves to be.”