Empress of Clouds - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

            It all felt strange to Brythia.  To be back at her old room in the druidic temple stronghold of Hyge Bryth for the first time since Tolian’s transformation.  To have returned, even if briefly, into the daily lifestyle of the temple.  The rigorous meditations, the politics of the hierarchy, the strict, bland diet.  She looked down at herself.  The plain white winter robe of the order had replaced the stylish dresses and gowns she had become accustomed to at the palace.  She had to admit she had gotten used to being a Lormian princess, and as a result some of the more fundamentalist trappings of her religion had slid by the wayside.  Despite that, however, she was still as an adept a tracker, fighter, or nature sorceress as any in the order.  And she was still a Priestess of the Sun.

            She had been there for almost two weeks now.  Her life with Tolian seemed almost like a dream, fading slightly as she moved through the environs and trappings of her earlier existence.  Engulfed, almost, by the power and simplicity of everything in Hyge Bryth.  It had always been home to her, or the forests of the Haunted Mountains surrounding it.  The temple, like Brythia herself, was actually named after her greatest ancestor, one of the founding members of the druidic order, Brythic.  It had been her family’s home since any one could remember.  The place grounded her with its old familiarity, and gave her a sense of objectivity with which to view her life now.  Still, it did not dull the sense of loneliness she felt without Tolian.  She missed her desperately.  Sometimes she marveled at how powerful the love magick that bound them together was.  It was no wonder that such magicks were forbidden by druidic law.  She bore the High Druidess Magara no resentment for her magick; she and Tolian were perfectly happy.  And Tolian probably would never have agreed to undergo the transformation and take up the mantle as druidic champion against the Demon, if it weren’t for Magara’s spell. 

            She was hoping that once again immersing herself in her druidry would allow her the opportunity to make some sense of the events since last year.  She had told Tolian that she wanted to return to Hyge Bryth for the Solstice celebrations, and that was true to a degree.  The religious reason was valid.  But she really wanted a chance to examine the original manuscript of Brythic’s Druidic Prophecy, that potent work which had correctly predicted every major historical event since it was penned a thousand years prior, except one.  It was the thing that burned in the back of her mind since January.  The question that haunted her more than the memories of the horrors she had seen and experienced.  Had the prophecy been wrong?  Not only did it seem impossible to believe that it could be wrong in this one instance only, its last prediction.  It simply didn’t feel wrong to her, and she was as immersed in the events as anyone. 

            And so Brythia had gone to Hyge Bryth to beg Magara to allow her to examine the original copies of the prophecy.  For although all druidic teachings were passed on only orally, Brythic wrote down his prophecies.  Even in the budding order this was considered highly unusual, and after Brythic’s departure from the order, the scrolls, which contained the work, were studied, memorized, and locked away for safety, and thereafter solely passed along by mouth.  On rare occasions druidic scholars were given leave to examine and study the work.  Brythia had used the cover of the Solstice celebrations to come to Hyge Bryth under secrecy.  But secrecy from whom, she did not know.  And when Tolian wouldn’t come, she dragged Myrthis and her stepson, Relinder, with her.  Myrthis was glad enough to return to Hyge Bryth.  She was a true lover of druidry and leapt at the opportunity to return to the sacred sanctuary.

            Of course, it was next to impossible, as it turned out, to take the infant Relinder with them, but frankly, both Brythia and Myrthis raised such a uproar over it the King relented.  The old man certainly was adamant, and demanded that they take Delorick as an escort.  She thought it was amusing, but she accepted.  She knew that she and Myrthis could take care of any problems they might have.  Delorick was an agreeable enough traveling companion, and Mythis was clearly happy about the King’s choice of escort.  Sometimes, Brythia disappeared ahead into the forest to allow those two a chance to be alone.  They made a cute couple.

            When they arrived at the temple, Magara was delighted to see them.  It was all smiles, hugs, and greetings.  Why not, thought Brythia, she was like a mother to so many of us.  Yet even then Brythia wasted no time and asked Magara straight away if she could see the original prophecies.  A curious and surprised Magara agreed, but said that she had to wait until the new moon before she could do so.

            All of these memories and feelings swirled through the druidess’ mind as she was led into the deepest sanctuary of the Temple, a place few were permitted to go.  Magara held a torch, providing the only light.  It seemed as though they walked an impossibly long time, going deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain from which the temple was hewn.  Brythia could feel the heaviness of the rock around her.  This passage was narrow and roughly cut, completely unlike the smooth polished stone characterizing the bulk of the temple’s spacious corridors.  Neither of the two druidesses spoke for some time.  At last they came to the end of the passage.  A simple, but heavy wooden door with a silver opening ring stood before them.  Both women considered the door in silence for a few moments.  Finally Magara spoke. 

            “The scrolls are delicate due to their great age.  We don’t allow many people to see them.  You are the fourth person to be allowed to see them this century.”

            “Have you seen them?” asked Brythia.

            “I had no need,” the older woman said.  She began to recite the last prediction, her voice full of arcane power:

            “On the night of the Equinox, in the Year of the Bear, when three comets fill the sky.  Mark this day well, my children, mark it well.  It is the beginning of the end of the world.

            “A Demon shall enter into human flesh in the Entrine Desert.  No power can stop this.  He shall lead vast armies into war, and bring great nations to ruin.  He shall surround himself in death and suffering.

            “By the time of the Solstice—He shall be Lord of the North.

            “By the Spring Equinox—the skies shall turn black and the blood of the dead shall issue from the Earth.  These shall be the last of days.

            “Against this there is one hope:  A Champion as no other.  The Demon shall be mighty, but not indestructible:

            “He shall be killed by no man, and by none born female.  No metal of the Earth shall harm him.  He shall be slain, only, by one born of the dead, on a day not in the year.”

            Byrthia shivered slightly.  There was such power in Magara’s voice.  And still such ominousness echoed in the words.  A dread that slithered past the back of her conscious mind.  It was that feeling which brought her there.  She sighed at the entrance.

            A question flashed.

            “Magara, you said I was to be the fourth person to examine the scrolls this century.”

            “That’s correct.”

            “Well, have I heard of any of the others?”

            The High Priestess nodded gently.  “You should have heard of all the others.  You may not recall Fenstyr, father to Pathik?”

            “No, I’m afraid I do not,” confessed Brythia.  “Should I?”

            “Probably.  He was a great scholar of the prophecies.  His notes will no doubt prove useful to you.”

            “His notes?”  Brythia was surprised.  “You kept his notes?”

            “Of course, for the very same reason Brythic wrote down the prophecy in the first place:  for use by subsequent druids.  All who examine the works are required to take careful notes of their findings.  You, yourself are so charged.  However, you may not take your notes out of the Library Room.”

            “I had no idea this was considered such a serious matter,” replied the younger druidess.

            “Serious, child?  You have no idea.  Every time someone examines the scrolls a major controversy is started.  Without exception.  You certainly remember what was said of Demverstia’s vision and the renegade Davlin?  They were the other two who have examined the scrolls this century.”

            Magara looked at Brythia hard, but with a maternal kindness.  She smiled, but Brythia knew that the powerful priestess was worried.  A new nervousness crept up on Brythia. 

            “Knowing now what I have told you,” said Magara.  “I must ask you if you wish to reconsider your request to examine the scrolls?”

            She didn’t hesitate.  “No, I still wish to see them.”

            “Very well,” Magara pulled on the door ring and opened the door.  “You must enter alone.  Only those who would read the scrolls may enter the library room.”

           

            The library room was a vast, largely empty cavern.  It was illuminated by natural phosphorescence that permeated the rock of the Haunted Mountains.  Skilled manipulation by means of chisel and polish in certain key areas had allowed the early druids to bring light to the depths of mountain.  This was all the druids had done to the cavern.  They had left the few stalactites and stalagmites that had formed there. 

            The whole room was roughly two hundred feet in diameter, for Brythia determined its circular nature quickly.  Across the chamber, a small stream of water rolled down the rocky wall and gathered in a blue pool glowing and casting its own strange light, and rippling in waves against the walls.  A stone table stood off to the side of the cavern which was best lit by the harnessed mineral radiance.  Next to that sat a chair hewn into the center of a sizable stalactite.  A great chest built of cedar wood sat close by. 

            Brythia turned back towards the door as she heard it pulled closed.  She noticed immediately that, from inside, there was no means of opening the door.  She smiled.  “I wonder how long I’m in here for,” she asked aloud.  “Oh well.”

            It didn’t matter really.  She had intended to stay until she had found what she was looking for—the answer to the question that was haunting her. 

            As she turned away, a bag on the floor next to the door caught her attention.  She bent down and tentatively examined its contents:  a lamp and a small supply of oil, quills, ink, parchment, and a blanket.  She lifted the bag and walked towards the table.  As she neared the library portion of the cavern, she knew she would have little use for the lamp.  She had seen several examples of druid cave lighting techniques, but this was the most astonishing to her.  Just before she reached the table the history of the place hit her hard.  She could feel the sheer power of the seat and table.  The greatest and most curious of her predecessors had sat there and studied.  She gently lifted the lid to the scroll box.  She gasped as she saw the enormity of her task for the first time:  there were hundreds and hundreds of scrolls neatly wound and stored in the chest.  Brythia sighed.  “I had better get started.”

           

            Was it hours later, or days?  Time was of no consequence to her.  She was aware that she had fallen into a trance.  The scrolls had exerted the most awesome power over her.  She was completely consumed by her task.  Open scrolls lay all over the floor around her.  She had no interest in the notes of others, if the scroll was not in Brythic’s hand, she read no further.  Even of those that the legendary druid did write, if they concerned events of past times she had no patience for them.  Part of her was amazed at the sheer ruthlessness in her handling of the ancient heirlooms.  Yet she did not allow herself to be slowed in her quest by being overly careful.  It was only the last prophecy that concerned her and she was determined to find it.

            She did not even allow her body’s natural appetites to interfere—not hunger, not thirst.  She quickly opened and scanned each scroll, then threw it thoughtlessly out of her reach.

            Finally, she found the scroll that began “On the night of the Equinox, in the Year of the Bear...”

            She cleared the stone table of other scrolls, slowly sat in the great chair, and spread the scroll out over the table.  She took a great breath and closed her eyes for a moment.  She attempted to subdue the fervor that had hitherto marked her wild search.  Now was the time for careful study; even in the depths of that strange trance, she understood that.  She opened her eyes and brought her attention slowly and carefully to the scroll.  Ancient it was, yet remarkably well preserved.  Brythic’s runic script was neat and methodical, yet Brythia suspected from the characters that he had been in a similar trance when he wrote down those dreadful words.  She did not know how she understood this, simply that she did.

            As she studied, she saw no surprises.  The words were there, just as she had been taught them.  Except two small marks.  Two careless ink marks.  Then the marks were all she could see.  There was nothing on the page except the two marks.  They were runes, tiny runes.  The first rune was the symbol of “After Passage” and the second “One Year.”  Then their context became clear to her again.  They were between the lines “By the time of the Solstice He shall be Lord of the North.” and “By the Spring Equinox the skies shall turn black and the blood of the dead shall issue from the Earth.  These shall be the last of days.”

            Suddenly it became clear to her.  Brythic probably didn’t even realize he had put the runes there.  But she knew what they meant.  She was paralyzed by the implied horror for a moment.  It wasn’t over.  And Brythia knew that Tolian was in great danger.  The druidess ran to the door.  “Magara, let me out.”

            As the words left her lips, she knew her pleas didn’t matter.  The door would open at the appointed time, whenever that was, and not a moment before.  She prayed it wouldn’t be too late.

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