Rise of the Sparrows (Relics of Ar'Zac #1)

Rise of the Sparrows

by Sarina Langer

ISBN-10 1530016967

First Kindle edition
©
2016 Sarina Langer

Map © MonkeyBlood Design

Cover © Design for Writers

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any form other than that in which it was purchased and without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The author is not responsible for websites or their content that are not owned by the author.

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It was not often that the island of Kaethe, cradle of all evil, saw visitors.

Aeron held the dead baby loosely in her arms as she walked up the three hundred steps to the Mothers. She took her time, despite their impatient glares. There would be no doubt today who was in charge. On a normal day the Mothers looked after the Dark One's temple, but today Aeron was here, and she outranked them in power and ability. Those over-confident crones would not get in her way.

She felt the eyes of the people at the temple's base following her every step. The sacrifices in the village had likely never seen another living soul. They were too common to be included in important visits, when the Mothers entertained any. Their only purpose was to be sacrificed when the Dark One called on them. The farmer did not inform his livestock when a butcher had come to take a look. It didn't concern them, it simply happened to them.

Aeron smiled to herself. She was more important than any other visitor Kaethe could have received. She would finally bring death to the world—something the Mothers had sworn to do but had failed to achieve. It wasn't their fault, she knew. The Dark One had chosen her as His vessel, not them. All they could do was obey His word.

The two Mothers who guarded the entrance to the temple regarded her with indifferent stares. They could not see like most people as their eyes had been cut out during initiation. They saw through their gift, saw more than any other person alive.

Except Aeron. She saw more than they did, saw that their time was coming to an end. They had served Him well but it would not be long now. She had come to Kaethe to ensure just that.

“We welcome you to Kaethe, Mist Woman.” Their faces were veiled by the Dark Mists themselves. It allowed them to see both worlds—the world of the living and the world of the dead—at once, to better do their Master's bidding. Their arrangement worked both ways—He caught glimpses of this cursed world through them, just as He allowed them to see His domain. Their voices came from the next world, too. They were low hisses made of rough silk, the breaths of demons looking to escape into the world of life.

Aeron's lips curved into a false grin. They were powerful, and perhaps deserved more respect than she had given them, but she held more power than all Mothers combined. They deserved respect for their obedience to Him, but their power? Her gift was more dangerous than they could imagine. She could wipe them all out with a flick of her hand, if she wished it.

But she hadn't come for that.  The Dark One would have them all soon enough, when He combined both worlds into one.

“The offering.” She dropped the bloody lump in her arms on to the cold stone ground, not moving her eyes off her hosts.

Aeron thought she could see their violated eyes twitch into grins behind their veils, but the swirls of the Mists made it impossible to tell.

“Now, I have work to do. Show me to the sacrifices.”

One of the two Mothers—the superior one, she suspected—nodded to the younger one, who opened the heavy stone doors with her gift and beckoned her inside.

Aeron didn't want to waste more time. To walk inside these halls was a privilege, to spill blood inside the sacred chambers an honour without equal. To do her offering justice, she would bleed the sacrifices until not one drop of blood was left in their bodies.

A small light of raw magical energy danced over the Mother's shoulder, following her wherever she went as she escorted Aeron.

“The sacrifices await you behind these doors, Mistress Aeron.”

She walked past the Mother, placing one hand on the cold stone. It responded to her touch and began to unlock itself through her gift.

“Your assistance won't be needed. Return to your duties.” Aeron thought she heard a low hiss escape the woman's veil, but dismissed it. Her anger did not matter. Aeron was more important than any of them, but she wouldn't allow her own annoyance to get the better of her. She was here to offer the sacrifices to the Dark One, and the Mothers had protected His temple since the ancient days. Unless they provoked her she would leave them to their sad existence. They would die soon enough, like the rest of the livestock.

“Kill well.”

Aeron nodded. That they could agree on.

Terrified, rattled breaths filled the dark room when the door closed behind her. The Mothers had done as she had asked. Seven people from the village below cowered in the middle of the room, clinging on to each other as though defiance alone would save them. They had been raised for this—had lived their whole lives with the knowledge of their duty—but now that the time had come they were afraid nonetheless.

Aeron lit a flame birthed by magic in her palm, and centred it above the sacrifices. She smiled to herself. They were already stripped bare, their faces speaking well of the terror inside their minds. All of them were shaking, their eyes wide but ultimately reflecting their acceptance. With the temple of the Dark One looming over their village at all times, they had always known that He would one day have use for them. All seven of them would leave children behind. It was a rule the Mothers reinforced without mercy—every man and woman had to have a child as soon as their bodies were able, to ensure the continued survival of the sacrifices. One day those children could have become sacrifices themselves, but now they had no chance of living such an honour. She would end the world before their children had grown to maturity.

Eager to finally set her plan in motion, she stripped herself of her own clothes and joined the sacrifices in the middle of the room. Her knife, the last gift her mother had given her before Aeron had cut her throat and drunk her blood, was restless in her hand.

None of the sacrifices dared speak a word. Despite their fear they all knew what was expected of them, and they weren't foolish enough to defy the Dark One. With practised precision, Aeron drew a long cut across her arm and walked a circle around them. Her blood drew the circle needed for the complicated spell to work. None of the sacrifices begged for their lives, none tried to escape.

Aeron had rehearsed the intricate spell forms many times. The incisions had always healed quickly, but today, she knew, they would leave scars. The Dark One Himself would drink from her and feed on the sacrifices. He would finally be freed upon the world of life, and make it His. If the pact she was about to strike left scars then she was more than happy to pay in cuts of any size. They would be a reminder, a promise of what she held in store for the world and its pitiful ants.

She spoke the words as she drew the incantations on the ground, the sacrifices and finally on herself. The air in the room shifted, pulling them closer to the floor—closer to the Dark Mists and their master.

Without hesitation, she left long cuts on the sacrifices. Some screamed when her blade pierced their skin, but not one begged for mercy.

Her own body ached from the many cuts covering every inch of her exposed skin. She lifted her head, her arms spread, as she welcomed the touch of the Dark One on her soul. Around her, the sacrifices gasped as their lives were drained from them. Aeron herself could not stifle all sound as death filled her, licking at her wounds and inspecting her body as a potential host. Finally a chill colder than ice filled all of her, pouring a darkness of which she had only dreamed into every aspect of her being.

When her eyes opened and her mind cleared the sacrifices lay dead around her. Her own vision had changed, her consciousness shared with His vision.

Aeron smiled, enjoying the vicious pain their union brought her. She would kill the Sparrow once she had toyed with it, and then she would see herself on the throne of a world doomed to die screaming under her reign. Her child would be of royal descent and would have a right to the throne. It was a petty, unnecessary thing, but the people of this world would bow more easily. It would be their last illusion of hope, before she unchained the Dark One from her body.

Great days lay ahead. Her own life no longer mattered—she could either release the Dark One when the time was right, or He would escape her body should she die. Unlikely as that was, it was wise to take precautions.

Either way, they would beg for mercy where mercy would no longer exist.

Rachael kept her eyes on the shadows in the alley ahead of her, as she picked small chunks from the stale loaf of bread she had secured for herself. Someone was following her, and whomever it was had been on her trail for a while. Right now, however, her pursuer stayed hidden in the dark while she sat on her hole-ridden blanket, the prize of her daily hunt in her hands.

It wasn't much. The woman who had thrown the loaf at her feet had only given her half—the rest she had given to the other strays of Blackrock. Rachael understood what they were going through and hadn't robbed them of their meal. After all, she was one of them, as far as the villagers were concerned. No one cared about a  stray dog or about another homeless child. Now that winter had reached the small town the villagers were less willing to share their food. She knew she had gotten lucky. Winter was a rough time for everyone, and strays like her were especially affected.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the shadows move. The people of Blackrock were clumsy and went as quietly through their lives as any rabbit in the wolf's clearing. Most of them had no reason to walk silently, whereas Rachael depended on it. She didn't need to watch the shadows in the alley closely to know they were there. If they shifted, she would know.

With her stomach still begging for more, she wrapped the loaf of bread in her old blanket. Holes covered the fabric and it was wearing thin, but it had kept her warm all her life and she wasn't willing to part with it. It was the only reminder she had left of her parents, save for the rare hazy dream of a woman bending over her, asking her to stop crying. Even her own last name was forgotten, but this blanket was something real, something physical she could cling on to. It was in bad shape, but so was she. They were perfect for each other.

Sinking into the thin fabric, she held one hand to her pounding head.
The last nightmare had been bad and had left her bruised in some places. Her head had smashed into a small rock on the ground when she had thrashed around in her sleep, and her foot had hit the frozen ground. The pain of her ankle crashing into the cold cobblestone had woken her from the dream, leaving her aching and with a bleeding nose.

The last dream had been about a merchant from the wealthier part of Blackrock, who was about to leave town with his wife and two children. They were headed to Tramura, across the Boneanvil Mountains, but they would be attacked, robbed and murdered before they reached the save end of the narrow mountain passage.

A long time ago Rachael had warned the villagers, and had asked them to stay. They had ignored her, believing that she was just another homeless child craving attention. When the first woman whose death she had foreseen had died, they had blamed her.

Magic was a terrifying thing to most people, including her. They didn't understand how it worked, but they did understand that Rachael had seen a death before it happened. It was easiest to blame her.

She had only tried to help one more time after that. The villagers had responded by trying to burn her alive. She had spent months in hiding before she had dared come out into the daylight again. By then, the people had moved on to some new gossip and a new tragedy, and had paid her no mind. They had decided that it would be in their best interest to leave her alone, and life had continued. She had become a bad omen, but as long as she found food she didn't care.

The merchant and his family would have to die in the Boneanvil Mountains. Nothing good had ever come of her helping others. She knew better now than to get involved.

Rachael was up on her feet the moment the shadows darted for her. Two men, taller and stronger than her, reached her spot in the alley in mere moments, but they weren't as fast as Rachael. By the time they got to her she was already standing and prepared.

“What d'ye think? Ye wanna go first?”

A long time ago men like these had frightened her. Now they were nothing but another nuisance, like the snow or several days without food. They were annoying and a hindrance, but they were nothing she couldn't cope with.

The man grinned, exposing several gaps in his teeth and a smell bad enough to make a finer lady faint. Lucky for her, she was no fine lady. Life on the streets had a way of sharpening your edges a little if you wanted to survive.

“Aye, I think I will.” He grabbed for her without another thought, but Rachael had seen it coming. As scared as the villagers were of her, there had always been people like these two who wanted her bread or her. They were taller than her, stronger than her, but they were clumsy. Rachael knew how to defend herself, and she was fast and flexible. The men attacking her never expected her to put up a fight. 

Long before his beefy hand reached her, she had moved to the side and had laid her own hands on his arm and shoulder. She pulled with all her strength, causing the man to stumble and fall on his face. Had he been prepared for the possibility, it wouldn't have worked, but people had a habit of underestimating strays like her.

His friend stood stunned for only a second before letting out a drunk laugh, and moving in to grab her. Expecting her to use the same move twice, both of his arms lunged forward in the same moment, trying to get a hold of anything he could grab. He failed. Rachael moved around him in one swift movement, and before he knew where she had gone she kicked his backside, sending him to the floor next to his friend.

The first man was unconscious, a small pool of blood from his broken nose staining the snow underneath him. The second man was still moving, but not for long. In the same breath as her kick to his back she kicked again at his head. It wasn't enough to kill him but she knew he'd be unconscious for long enough for her to get away. She also knew that neither of them would try to rape her again. Most men were embarrassed to be defeated by a girl, a homeless orphan no less, whose feet were blistered from the cold and whose body was dangerously thin from a lack of food. Their first attempt was always their last. None of them were willing to admit that they had been bested so easily—by her, of all people.

Ignoring the moaning men behind her, Rachael wrapped her blanket around herself and cradled the rest of her bread in her arms. It was time to find a new home, until the next shadows watched her.