CHAPTER ONE

“You can’t stay here.”

A breeze scattered wilted lilies across his mother’s grave. Archie lifted his head and looked around to see who spoke. An old woman approached the gravesite, muttering as she shuffled through dappled shadow.

Archie straightened, relieved by the breeze that teased his hunting cloak and dried the sweat beaded on his brow. The cooling zephyr spread haze across the valley. Midges gathered while the intense heat of the day dissipated. Archie raked a hand through the dark tangle of his hair and fought back tears. He now faced summer alone. The crone drew closer, raising her hand and beckoning. Archie ignored her gesture.

Age, he decided with a ragged gasp, would no longer concern his mother. She would never grow frail or infirm. His mother’s remains lay among the dead. The other graves held village folk, local fishermen and their kin.

Their solemn families never took Archie or his mother into their confidence, even after seventeen years of living within their valley.

Carrying the memory of kelp and drying fish, gusting wind dispersed the
remnants of the day’s heat along with the scent of stale flowers and fresh turned earth.

Not recognising the stranger, Archie turned his back on the woman’s insistent diatribe. For now, he needed time to say farewell to his mother.

“Take my arm, Archibald. Come, don’t dawdle, we must move along here.”

Before Archie could object, the old crone caught his elbow and with surprising strength propelled him along a row of forgotten graves. Movement disturbed her ragged cloak releasing a rank smell. Archie tried to draw away but the grip on his elbow tightened. When the woman spoke, she punctuated each word by squeezing his flesh, leaving no room for argument or hesitation. Archie sensed the use of witchcraft and despite his abhorrence, found himself following her without question.

Casting a glance over her hunched shoulder Archie’s aged companion broke into a run, dragging him in her wake.

“Run Archie, trust me…” With each step age seemed to lift from her shoulders.

She straightened, threw back the threadbare cloak and urged him to greater speed. Only the wretched stench of untreated wounds lingered from her old crone’s disguise. Forgetting doubt, compelled by the intensity of her mood, Archie matched her stride for stride. She didn’t allow him to draw breath until the local wood covered them in shadow. Compelled to obey against his better judgement, Archie curbed his resentment of the woman’s use of witchcraft.

Behind him, footsteps and raised voices faded in the distance.
Archie’s heart leapt to his throat. Instinct drove him to clutch the hilt of his sword. Around him the grove of stately birch watched in surprised silence.

“Annabelle lost. Murderous swine, I should have warned her.” The woman
gasped, struggling to catch her breath. “I am sorry Archie, I failed to see the danger. There is no way though, that I will let you suffer the same fate. Keep on toward the old mill-house, I will follow.”

Her face now glowed with exertion, no longer carrying the features of an ancient crone; the woman turned and faced the village cemetery. With her head bowed, she lifted bandaged hands away from her sides and began to chant in a foreign tongue.

The power of her cast spells made Archie flinch. His flesh felt as if ants crawled on exposed skin. He wanted to take time to brush them off but he backed away and broke into a run. Confusion and fear overpowered his crushing grief. For reasons he did not want to fathom, he chose to obey her curt command.

***

What seemed a lifetime later, he waited for the witch in the abandoned mill. Darkness cloaked him. The sound of water tumbling over moss-covered rocks masked the soft creak of floorboards as the strange woman entered the empty storeroom. With her arrival, the mill’s pall of musty neglect retreated before the pungent smell of putrescence. Rather than run, again Archie felt compelled to remain sitting in silence. The odd sensation of ants crawling over his skin disturbed him.

He watched the woman move from door to window, around the interior of the building. She muttered under her breath, setting invisible wards to protect their sanctuary. Archie forgot to breathe until she paused, rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck before gently adjusting the frayed bandages on either hand.

“That should do, at least for a while.” She crossed through fading sunlight to join him on the bench in the shadows. “Relax, I think we threw them off our track.”

Although the sensation of crawling ants vanished, the atmosphere seemed charged with energy. The musty interior of the mill held the quiet before a storm.

Dust motes hovered, as if waiting for the slash of lightning and the rumble of thunder. Archie unclenched his hands, where fingernails drew blood in his palms.

“Do you know why my mother was murdered?”

“Ahh…” the woman’s eyes half closed. Age or regret dragged at the flesh of her cheeks. Her inherent vitality vanished. “So, they didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Archie’s stomach flipped and his fingers again curled into fists. “What didn’t ‘they’ tell me? Who are they?” His stilled his trembling limbs. “For that matter, who are you?”
“My name is Warana, Ana if you like. Yes, I am a witch of sorts.” The woman ran a finger lightly across the bandage of her other hand. “I knew your mother.” Her head lifted, for a heartbeat, her unfocused eyes mirrored the last rays of evening sunlight. “She is with your father on another world, enjoying a well earned peace.”

The witch turned to face Archie, meeting his unspoken question without flinching. A scarred finger lifted and touched his cheek.

“Annabelle loved you and kept you safe, but she was not your mother.” A sigh escaped her thin lips. Fear and urgent need chiselled compassion into the witch’s expression. “By Ort’s light I would not be the one to tell you, Archie, but time and events leave me no choice. Annabelle was never your true mother. One day I may have time to tell you the whole story. Now I ask you to trust me, for the love she bore you.”

Archie's heart pounded, he couldn't believe the words he heard, but the witch kept on speaking, ignoring his open-mouthed shock and gasp of horror.

“You must move on. Do not return here. Those who search for Sorathii treasure will not give up their hunt so easily.”

“Sorathii treasure?” Archie’s thoughts twisted and bucked when he tried to absorb the witch’s words. Annabelle was not his mother and somehow the Sorathii were involved. He grasped the hilt of his sword. The weapon was a gift of Sorathii workmanship. Although unremarkable on first glance, he knew the blade’s lightweight strength placed its value beyond price. “Who knows of the Sorathii?" Archie dare not ask about Annabelle. “I thought they like to keep their presence and their alien origins secret.”

“Too many know for you to stay here.” Warana let her hand rest on Archie’s shoulder. “If they should ever discover that you are the treasure Deklan kept hidden…”

“My mentor Deklan Duval?” Archie swallowed. “He stopped coming to see my mother and,” no longer his mother, he corrected himself, “Annabelle and me, a few years ago. Do you know why?”

“He went into hiding when the Citadel was destroyed.” Warana let her hand drop. “He would protect you with his life and I with mine. Here…” She fumbled in the folds of her shirt before removing a small pouch. The worn leather opened to reveal a pendant. “This was a gift your father gave your mother when they parted. persuaded her to come to this world when her time was near. Deklan thought you would be safe here.”

“Safe?” Archie eyed the pendant with misgiving. The witch took care not to touch the obsidian crystal. “The villagers have never welcomed us but we were not afraid.”

“The villagers knew you were protected. The sword master who came to teach you, among others…” Warana’s lopsided smile left Archie wondering who else knew more about his background than he did. “Until the attack on the Citadel destroyed all our hopes and work. Now there is no one to send, no one to watch or protect the country. The sky daemons raid villages and towns with impunity. Where is the immunity the Sorathii promised?”

“Immunity?” He recalled conversations between Annabelle and Deklan about blood work, creating a vaccine and Ildikó, the creature Archie raised from an egg. “The vaccine? Deklan collected my blood, every month all my life, until he stopped coming to visit. He brought coins and gifts. Mother…” The word choked him. “Annabelle grieved when his visits ended. I was old enough to hunt and keep the place going. We managed, until I returned from this last trip and found her name on a grave. Now no one is prepared to answer my questions.”

“So you know about the vaccine.” Warana’s smile broadened. “I am glad.
Perhaps all is not lost. I haven’t been able to contact Deklan for a while. Perhaps he is in hiding. He might continue his work if he knew you agreed with his cause.”

“A vaccine against the sky daemon’s bite?” Archie nodded and lifted the shirt on his arm where old scars showed on pale flesh. He remembered too well, how the gentleman from the Citadel would take his blood, treating each sample with utmost care. He regretted now, not asking more about the strange ritual. Sky daemons, small aggressive dragons, plagued anyone venturing beyond town limits. Before the Citadel folk created a vaccine, a scratch from these raptors was a death sentence. “Why waste so much effort. I have bled for Deklan’s schemes already. I am not afraid.”

“My guess is that whoever hunted Annabelle thought they should find gold or gems as the treasure of the Sorathii.” Warana’s gaze scanned the mill’s stationary mechanisms. She seemed to search the shadows, while she spoke. Archie shared her tension when she wiped beads of sweat from her top lip. “They wouldn’t understand that Deklan tried to protect the source of his vaccine, lest others wanted to sabotage his work or hold you for ransom.”

“If the Citadel has been destroyed no one is around to pay a ransom. Annabelle suffered for no reason. I would find those who hurt her and avenge her passing.”

“Ahh, pray they don’t find you, Archie my boy. You are grieving, don’t try to find these men, they are hunting you already and by the light of Ort, you don’t want to meet them.” Warana held out the pendant. “As for ‘ransom’, may you never know the threat your well being could provide, if our enemies discover your true heritage. Take this, I would not have the strength to refuse them again.”

“Again? You?” Archie found his mouth as dry as a desert. He struggled to speak. “Your hands? They did this to you?”

“I escaped from them Archie, I threw them off our tracks, but they will not give up. We don’t have long.”

“You are a witch and yet you are afraid?” Horror stole his words.

“They learnt nothing from me.” Warana looked away. “I hope. If I knew how much they knew, it would help. Take this pendant. You must contact your father. Deklan may know how.”

“My father? Why? He has not attempted to find me. I want nothing to do with him. Annabelle says…”

“Forget Annabelle for a moment and listen to me, Archie. A world stands in mortal danger if you refuse to heed my words.”

“A world?” Archie swallowed. “Now you jest. This is a bad jape, witch.”

“Joke? You think I would suffer this,” she raised her bandaged hands, “for a laugh?”

Archie tried to look away, but Warana touched his cheek and forced him to face her.

“Listen and listen well. I will not be around to coach you.” Her dark eyes closed and when she opened them, cold fear flowed through his veins. The witch’s expression left no doubt to the gravity of her conviction. Archie closed his mouth and nodded. “Three sorcerers were banished beyond time and space. Your father did not act alone, but was aided by the power of a dragon lord. The pendant is a window into the void where these three androgynous wizards are held.”

Archie opened his hand and glanced at the pendant. A shard of obsidian glinted black in the sunlight. When he looked closer, three shafts of colour gleamed within the pendant’s core. Warana caught his hand and stalled the impulse to cast the amulet away.

“You must keep the pendant safe, Archie. For seventeen years, I have carried it for you. Annabelle refused to allow it within your sight. Now it is your responsibility. Look close. Can you see the colours shimmer and change?”

Archie stilled his shaking hand and turned the stone. Sunlight played havoc with the reflection on the polished surface. Deep within the jewel yellow shone like gold, then dulled to the colour of wheat. Blue took on the hues of an ocean as cloud and sun played across crested waves and red flared and burnt from magenta to orange.

“These sorcerers work together. Their only goal is escape. In the past couple of weeks, the colours have shown activity. Your father must be made aware. If they escape, Ort forbid, they may find their way through the pendant, to this world. We have no dragon lords to call on. Our mages are not equipped to battle the combined will of the Three.”

“My father?” Archie shuddered. “He was a sorcerer then? Is that why Annabelle abhorred all things magical?”

“She would protect you from your heritage. Deklan didn’t understand the danger. Maybe he will now. You must find him. He may know how to contact your father.”

“Deklan?” Archie chewed his bottom lip. “No one thought to consult me?”

Warana glanced away. “If your father comes here, he will find you by this crystal. Till then, change your name, forget who you were.” She let her hands fall to her side and continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

A crested owl’s lament echoed through the building. Warana scrambled to her feet.
“Trust no one who takes more than a passing interest in the pendant, Archie. To know its history is to know too much about who you are. I must leave.” She gathered two bulging pouches from behind the bench. “Here, two silvers, a little food and a change of clothes.” With care, she swung the second pack across her shoulder and avoided taking the weight on her injured hands. “Someone is coming, Already they breech my wards. Take care. You must not return to the village.”

“Don’t leave. Please. I have so many questions, I need to have answers.”

“Go north as far as Badgers Marsh. Find Deklan. Last I heard, he went by the name of Marcel. Seek out the local healer, she may know where he hides.” Warana stepped across the darkened woodwork and paused as she leaned her shoulder to a door in the south wall. No longer on its hinges, when she pushed the heavy oak the sound seemed to drive the night into silence.

In the distance, a man’s hoarse shout carried through the darkness. Warana disappeared, closing the door behind her. Archie grabbed the remaining pack and dropped his hand to the sword at his side. For the first time in his life, he considered needing to use Deklan’s gift as a lethal weapon.

Wondering how a single day could change his life, he dropped through a
trapdoor. His feet slipped when he landed in fetid dampness beside the mill wheel.

In silence, he slunk into the deepest shadow where moss and mosquitoes thrived. Alone, and he prayed he was truly alone, Archie moved along the stream, heading north.
***

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