Gathering of Rain – A Tale from the Path of Shades Volume I
Prologue
In a time now passed beyond memory, a man whispered over a golden disc as he set it into a vice. He lifted an engraving tool to mark the first glyph. He murmured the words of an ancient enchantment, a repeated rhythm, until it was perfect, and then whispered some more as he polished. It took time, many months, and he rushed nothing. Spoke of it to no one. Only when the time was right would he reveal his handiwork.
He possessed the tools and skills to achieve his goal, as well as the voice that was impetus and creation. To infuse inanimate gold, to gift atoms sensitivity, to compel unassailable eternity, required tone, repetition and emotion. Imperative was emotion, for it determined the ultimate nature of the infused device. If fashioned in anger, the consequence was an instrument capable of confusion; indifference led to instability, hate to darkness, mockery to deception, egotism to arrogance, and love to illumination and enlightenment. He intended only love.
The Supreme Wisdom- the Maghdim Medaillon- of the Valleur was made tangible and it was beautiful. On the day he laid it in a protective casket, he thought: I am done now. The future is secure.
He was wrong.
Part I
There is a darkness coming
Chapter One
‘This is creepy, boy; it’s about to tumble into the whirly-swirl.’
From Tattle’s Blunt Adventures
RAIN rested on the final descent from the pass, drinking deep of tepid water. He was exhausted after four days hard travel, the latter two by foot after his horse lost a shoe, and had taken a battering when he lost traction on a scree slope earlier in the day. Farinwood, journey’s end, lay just ahead now, nestled in a fold where the soil was fertile and moist all year, the town facing roughly west towards the Corridor Mountains behind him. The lower hills beyond were shrouded in dense mist and the valleys appeared oppressed in murky shadow. It was not natural. It was also the reason he had come. Rumours of darak sorcery had the Mantle in a state of flurry. Rain grimaced. Flurry wasn’t quite the word- uproar would be closer.
He followed a path only goats now knew of to enter town and as he stepped off the old, splintered bridge that spanned the canal the weight of sorcery instantly pressed down upon him. The canal was green with algae; not a comforting sight, for this was drinking water. The town itself was gloomy with vapour trailing tendrils like spooky fingers from a hell world. The quaint, old buildings shuttered, blind; the cobbled streets slick, misshapen moss growing in cracks. Rain shivered.
The first evidence of the dara-witch Infinity’s malevolence upon people was a group of armed, surly men. Knives, cudgels, even a rusty saw. Until now she had coerced nature; that was no longer so. The men looked past Rain, around him, unseeing after initial scrutiny, skittish. Someone else was on their minds. When he enquired after the nearest inn, they pointed him onward willingly enough, but eyes darted all over. One man stared intently at him as if to say something until his companion dug an elbow into his ribs and he quickly looked away. Rain wanted to fire questions and demand answers...and understood it would only spread panic.
He left the men behind. Aven would know what was going on.
In a broader street, he found a similar gathering. There were no women and no children. It was not a good sign; it meant women and children were confined. And as he passed he heard snatches of sinister mutterings.
‘…not normal this fog…’
‘...Farinwood’s a portal to the netherworld...’
‘…darkness in their hearts…’
‘…Feon saw the dara-witch…’
‘…Infinity on Hogshill…’
‘…our poor children…’
‘…an ancient curse I tell…’
‘...same war of three thousand years ago...’
The words were a continuing round of endless repetitions of fact and rumour spoken almost as mantra. He could feel their need for reassurance.
When Rain did see a cluster of children around a further corner he was relieved to think he had misjudged; if children were out, the situation in Farinwood could be redeemed. The Mantle could reverse darak mist- frightening as it was, it was only a manipulation- and could dampen the presence of fear and thereby restore Farinwood to the townspeople. It would mean concerted effort, but it was achievable.
Rain halted to study the children, looking for the signs of fear evident in their elders. He was similarly scrutinised. Across the intersection they stared at each other.
He shivered again, and began then to understand the men and their homemade weapons, their words and depression, their terrible wariness and the withdrawal from outsiders. He began to understand what Infinity had achieved.
Here it was about the children. Elsewhere on Valaris there were unexplained deaths and events, all frightening, but here it was definitely about the children.
One lad curled both his hands into claws and bared his teeth. He rose onto his toes as if about to launch an attack.
He was in actual danger; Rain sensed it instantly. There was appalling knowledge in the children’s dead eyes and they were not afraid to attack and kill like rabid dogs; as with rabid dogs, it was thus wise to retreat. Innocent children were now dark beings- incomplete at this juncture- but approaching the point where nothing would save them from an abominable fate.
The Mantle could not reverse this. He could do little to help them. He could do nothing and that meant Valaris was in real trouble.
He hurriedly turned another corner, the back of his neck prickling, and ahead saw a sign that proclaimed the Foaming Ale Inn. He felt the need to surrender the streets; never had an inn appeared at a more opportune time.
A vestibule sported a pewter hat and coat stand and beside it a mirror in a chipped gilt frame. The floor was rough slate. As a welcome chamber it was not pretty or inviting. The stand was empty; either he was early, the only patron, or fear kept others away. The tension on the streets spoke of the latter. He had not tended his appearance in days and was shocked when he glanced in the mirror. Clammy skin. Fair hair hung in long, damp strings, grey eyes bloodshot, his face colourless. Scratches from sliding down the scree.
Rain leaned against the mirror, closing his eyes. His heartbeat was uneven; the presence of fear. He drew breath and turned for the common room.
The inn door slammed inward before he could complete the action, and a new arrival barged in, glanced warily over his shoulder, shoved the door closed again and looked Rain over intently. A big man with flaming red hair and beard a shade darker, shoulders the size of an ox and a voice to match when he spoke. Rain’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. This was not a local.
‘Rain of the Mantle?’ the man boomed. ‘Name’s McSee. Relax, my lord, you have nothing to fear from me. You are Rain of the Mantle?’ He thrust his hand out.
Too flabbergasted then to do much else, Rain nodded and took the proffered hand. Long after he would wonder what would have happened had he said no to the query; would McSee have turned away not to be seen again, or were their fates already decided before that first handshake?
‘Been on your tail a few days. Just missed you in Galilan. You move fast…thirsty work. Let’s see if this dump lives up to its name!’ McSee glanced disparagingly around the vestibule and launched into the common room, not giving Rain an opportunity to get a word in. ‘An ale, barkeep! And one for my friend!’ He rolled like a runaway boulder across the empty room to a table at the hearth. A fire blazed warmth and comfort.
Rain followed in bemusement, connected by the casual claim of friends sharing a drink; to appear stubborn would only alert the barkeeper.
Rain sat, nodding greeting. McSee watched the small, rotund man busy behind the counter, and the little man winked and then returned Rain’s greeting with a nod of his own. He had a friendly face and as he poured he asked: ‘Need rooms? No problem. We’re empty presently, the unseasonable weather putting the fear of who-knows-what into superstitious folk. Granted, I’ve never known weather like this in all my years here, not in summer. Still, superstitious nonsense.’ He came over with two foaming mugs.
Changeling children, and the man called it superstition. Rain frowned into his mug as he lifted it to his mouth to swirl the dust of travel away.
McSee paid. ‘Yes, rooms and hot water. I don’t know about my friend here, but I could sorely use a scrubbing.’
The little man pulled a face. ‘It’s all I can do to keep this fire going, my staff left me in the lurch- I told them it’s fairytales and legends, but no one listens. We’re in for a spell of poorly weather, seeing as we always have it so good…you know, nature’s way of letting us know who’s in charge. Mist from a netherworld, ha! Superstitious nonsense,’ he added for good measure. ‘Name’s Julian.’ He looked pointedly at McSee, and then glanced at Rain, dark eyes inquisitive, and one could not blame him; he was in the business of people and visitors were scarce.
McSee spoke the introductions. ‘McSee,’ he said, thrusting his hand out again. Rain winced, having recently shaken that hand. ‘Just out from Gasmoor. And this here,’ McSee continued, ‘is Rain of…’ Rain faintly shook his head. ‘…ah, Rain of Galilan.’
Julian extended his hand to enfold Rain’s in a firm grip. ‘He’s rather quiet, your friend Rain, isn’t he?’
‘Tired, Julian, more tired than I have been in a long while,’ Rain answered, ignoring McSee’s curious gaze.
‘Oh, apologies, sirs, apologies! Hot water…yes, and something to eat…excuse me…’ and, managing to curb his curiosity, Julian left.
‘Did you see them? The young ones?’ McSee murmured. ‘Is he blind?’ He gestured after the round man.
‘He is afraid. Denial is a form of defence.’ Rain settled back and took a deep pull of ale. The brew definitely lived up to the name above the door. He glanced at the big man. ‘McSee. From Gasmoor.’ Gasmoor was the second largest centre on Valaris, a university city two days ride from Galilan, the capital city. ‘Well, that’s a start. So, McSee, you seem to know a little more about me than I know of you. How is that?’
McSee did not drop his gaze. ‘I mean you no harm, my lord.’
‘That remains to be seen. At this point answer my question.’
McSee sighed, set his mug down and, settling his big arms on the polished wood, twisted his fingers together. ‘I was chosen to find you, for we’ve noticed the same distressing signs the Mantle has…’
‘We?’
‘A society, my lord…’
‘Don’t call me that, for Aaru’s sake; I don’t want unnecessary attention. Rain will do fine.’
‘Of course, I’m sorry, my…Rain.’ McSee scratched self-consciously at his head.
‘A society,’ Rain prompted.
Brown eyes were sombre, expecting trouble. ‘A society of folk who think there’s great danger a-foot. We also believe what we see is a fraction of what’s coming. Allow me to offer my help. If nothing else, I find my size in odd situations is an advantage.’ There was a trace of embarrassed diffidence in McSee’s voice, but as his claim could not be named as a lie, he did not back down from it.
‘You’re not answering my question, friend. How is it you know of me? Perhaps twenty outsiders know of the existence of the Mantle.’
‘The Society knows as well,’ McSee murmured, toning his voice down on hearing Julian scuffling in an adjoining chamber. The way he accented Society revealed it as more than a generic term. ‘We know the Mantle is an organization studying signs and portents. You’re the protectors, right?’
In a manner of speaking, Rain thought, but did not answer directly. ‘And what exactly does this Society of yours do?’
For the first time the big man was uncomfortable and wary. ‘They said this will be the hardest part, and now I see why…but, please, don’t get steamed until I have a chance to explain…’ He lapsed into tongue-tied silence.
Rain took a deep breath and released it on a long sigh. ‘Something like the Mantle?’
McSee nodded. ‘Our goals are similar, but we’re more than mere academics…’
And so is the Mantle. ‘I get that,’ Rain said.
Something in Rain’s tone alerted the big man, for he sighed wearily. ‘I’m instructed to tell the real truth, so here it is: the Society is a select group of…well, of sorcerers…no, no, wait,’ McSee interjected as Rain straightened in his chair, ‘…it’s really not what you think! We don’t do darak magic, I swear; we don’t practice magic at all, only theory.’
Rain lifted a disbelieving eyebrow, and thought that meant they were only academics.
‘It’s true,’ McSee continued. ‘We train generation to generation in an attempt to keep the old knowledge alive. Long ago someone understood we’d need the theoretical arts. Folk forgot about the Society as time passed, especially after the Drasso catastrophe, but we were there then and saw what real danger is. We weren’t formal like now, maybe not so hidden, and probably not quite as unpractised as today, but that was then and I don’t know much about the past and only about the future we seek to protect. The way things add up, we need countering that can reach beyond traditional weapons. We’re not a danger to the Mantle or Valaris, quite the contrary, and if you need to keep me nearby just to prove that, then so be it; I’ll earn your trust soon enough.’
McSee leaned in. ‘You are of the Mantle, my lord…’ and he used Rain’s title deliberately, ‘… so you must know Valaris can’t hope to survive the coming darkness without trained sorcerers. Who will help us if we don’t help ourselves? I can sniff danger and fight it also.’ McSee paused, concerned at the other man’s silence, by his expressionless gaze. ‘Rain, I’d be honoured to stand at your side.’
Rain was a power in an underworld of influential men and McSee clearly knew that. Did the man aim to aid him with the different power of the Society? What, exactly, could he do? And how much did he know of the Mantle?
In the ensuing silence they heard Julian throwing water. The innkeeper would return soon.
When Rain finally spoke his voice remained low. The men with weapons outside needed just a spark, a whiff of a whisper of a sorcerer inside, and all Julian had to do was shout.
‘You’re telling me there’s a group the Mantle doesn’t know of and you say this group has been in existence a long time. There are trained sorcerers running amok on this world…by Taranis, man, how do you expect me to react?’
McSee put up a hand. ‘Three thousand years ago Valaris was the battlefield for Infinity and Drasso and their darak fallen, and the Deities descended to aid us in that war. Today we don’t know how much is fact or fairytale, but we do know there was a war and our world was almost destroyed. A handful survived, the north was forever annihilated, and it took Valaris almost a thousand years to recover. We still have the poison of the north, which the Great Dividing Forest separates us from. And now someone like Drasso could be happening again.’
Rain gave a wry smile. The big man was on target. Infinity had returned, no doubt to exact revenge for the death of her son Drasso.
‘Will the Deities come to our aid? Dare we wait for that to happen? Do we allow it to get so bad it takes another thousand years to recover?’ McSee leaned earnestly forward. ‘Better if we join forces…’ He broke off as Julian re-entered the common room.
‘Good news, gentlemen. Two tubs in the steam room out back. Fresh towels just inside the door…’ Julian’s bright eyes darted from one to the other, sensing the strained atmosphere.
Rain pushed his chair back. ‘We’ll resume this later, McSee. Lead on, Julian.’
McSee followed without an inkling as to how mercurial Rain could be…or how dangerous.
A screech tore through the town of Farinwood. Rain surged up in his bed as the reverberations shivered over his skin. The echoes of his dream- a fair girl crying out her name, ‘Mitrill, my name is Mitrill’- caused momentary confusion, and then he knew where and when he was. Night in Farinwood.
Here it was a child on the hunt. And not alone.
And then, like crystal shattering in the ensuing dead silence, a woman sobbing as if her heart had been ripped from her body.
Aaru, how could the men on the streets be expected to stop this? One was father to that screeching child. One was husband to the woman trapped in hopeless grief.
Anger was then heat and resolve. Rain left his bed, snatched his cloak up for warmth and doused the smoking lamp on the small table under the window. A moment later he snapped his fingers for the tiny flame that danced upon his palm. A sorcerer’s trick. And, on this world that despised even a sunset as too much magic, a noose slung over a branch. He needed to be ever careful; vigilantism was alive and well on Valaris and continually on the prowl for magic-users, a mindset that would lead to confrontation. Infinity would win by default- men would kill each other while she laughed from the sidelines.
He cupped his free hand around the flame. Enfolding magic, even this insignificant nuance, gifted him the ability to witness events beyond his immediate surroundings.
He employed the flame to see what the darkness hid.
Leaves skittered across cobbles, driven by gusts of contrary wind. A storm was on the way. The leaves lifted and swirled and smacked into the calves of two boys, slim shadows peering through a tall iron gate at a man holding aloft a blacksmith’s hammer. There was a sense of hunger emanating from the boys and terrible despair was etched into the man’s face.
Would the gate keep them apart?
Rain’s breathing shallowed when those shadows swiftly clambered over and padded closer. The man swung the hammer, but it was evident he was loath to use it even for defence. How did a man sleep again after hurting children? And then they were upon him and Rain’s breathing stopped. The heavy hammer thudded down; leaves scurried and rustled as if prodded and young fingers and mouths tore into cloth and flesh.
A horrible gurgle echoed. Insane giggles. Rain lost his hold on the flame as shock numbed his ability to function.
He gasped in oxygen and sweat trickled in icy rivulets over his face.
Hands on knees he fought for equilibrium and feverishly hoped Aven would know how to counter this nightmare. He prayed the old man was still alive in this netherworld town.