Scorched Earth
The Scorched Earth Trilogy
Tapestry Unravelled
Shadowed Death
The Healing Queen
The Healing Queen
Book Three of the
Scorched Earth Trilogy
Written by:
Story Master:
Crisia B. Ferguson
Contributing Authors:
Brianna Gibson
Dee Mathews
Emma Hart
Fred Dubson
Helen Pluck
Jennifer Duff
Kate Stock
Marie Sult
Mary Berquist
Misty Kennedy
Ryan Beaton
Stephanie Vann
Tonia Signor
Published with full permission
from all writers involved.
Copyright 2006
Published by The Bardic Web
Dedication:
The Story Master would like to thank all the authors who contributed to the Scorched Earth Trilogy for their time and monumental effort.
The Writers would also like to thank their families for their time, patience and support as we endeavour to follow our dreams.
Table of Contents
Whispin - Western Continent6
Whispin-Eastern Continent7
Aerdon -Continent of Nehlmere8
Chapter 19
Chapter 240
Chapter 372
Chapter 4103
Chapter 5134
Chapter 6166
Chapter 7198
Chapter 8231
Chapter 9262
Chapter 10299
Chapter 11329
Chapter 12360
Chapter 13396
Epilogue432
lLanguage Glossary449
Character Glossary457
Whispin – Western Continent
Whispin – Eastern Continent
Aerdon – Continent of Nehlmere
Chapter 1
As the first moon rose over the horizon and sailed higher in the sky over the Temple of Ceres, the Goddess of Justice, a very different meeting was about to occur than had happened here not long ago. High overhead, wispy, moonlit clouds began to swirl unnaturally, then coalesce to form a funnel that snaked from the sky like some awkward tornado. Cold pillars of white marble laced with silver mithril suddenly illuminated in pale blue light as a female figure in brilliant white strode from the shadows. Around this figure, the veils that hung from massive archways between pillars began to swirl and dance and the wind picked up. Fires in braziers snuffed out in a whirl of flying sparks, some that died, others though seemed to find new life.
Fragile seeming fingers lifted to the deep cowl of her robe, then flung it back to reveal hazed eyes of pure white; she was blind to the world around her, yet saw more than any mortal ever could. White hair escaped the elaborate knot at the back of her head and crawled up her cheek. Her face was at once ancient, yet childlike, so incredibly old yet innocent and youthful.
"Oraex," She turned within the flowing, sheer cloth that flitted on the wind and seemed to watch as a figure dressed in grey with long white hair and brilliant, electric eyes manifested from the funnel that had dipped from the sky, "You are as bad as Xraden with your showy entrances."
"Not quite." The sparks from the dying fires blew across the stone floor, then whorled up to form a nebulous figure of a burning woman, then shrank in on themselves to reveal Brighid, dressed in her saffron silk and bare-footed, her flame red hair unbound and wild looking as it danced on the wind, "Xraden would have arrived in a troupe of drunken dwarves doing a blindfolded axe-throwing trick."
"Should I be offended?" The god of Chaos himself fought with a veil, then turned to face the other three. Who knew quite what he'd been doing right before arriving, but he was wearing a sombrero and smelled like coconut oil. And nobody was asking the question.
"After all, I would think drunken Dwarves are a little overdone these days. I can do much better than that if you like. I prefer to be original, you know."
The drumbeat of wings against air filled the skies, then fell silent as Soul drifted into a glide, faceted eyes searching out a clear place to land as he angled closer to the temple. Massive claws dug into stone where many a Silver had landed before, and the Crystal dragon managed to settle in relative silence.
The God of Light slid down his companion’s shoulder, lengths of white hair swirling about Jaran’s face as he alighted close to Xraden. He raised an amused eyebrow at the God of Chaos before reaching into his cloak and producing a crystal orb. The object was tossed to the ground where it shattered and released a white mist that ebbed and flowed, coalescing into the willowy form of the Weeper.
Arminiea sniffed delicately and cast a suspicious glance in Xraden’s direction, the white orbs of her eyes revealing nothing. “Greetings,” she murmured, “one and all.” The Dragon’s head dipped down close to the Goddess of Light, his clear scales glittering in tune with the thrum of blood that pumped visibly through veins just beneath his hide. A long serpentine tongue flickered out and snaked up Xraden’s face, apparently approving of the coconut oil.
"All?" The female voice was rich and throaty. From the shadows cast by the pale blue light a figure stepped forward, the darkness seeming to coalesce about her. Raven hair flowed about her shoulders, framing strong features and onyx black eyes. Her tall, lithe form was garbed in black leather, a sword hilt protruding above her shoulder. Yet even as they watched she seemed to shift so that the warrior woman was at one and the same time a white-haired crone, her aged form draped in black robes and in the shadows that formed about her could be heard the rustle of feathery wings.
"All have their place. Even you, sister." The storm clouds broke to let through a ray of golden sunlight, the rays pooling on the stone floor of the Temple. A blonde woman shimmered into view, her thick locks flowing about her shoulders in a gentle wave. Pupil-less eyes like molten gold rested upon Nuuruhuine, night to Aedammair's day, moon to her sun.
"Indeed." Ceres benign face flickered, seemed to rip away and absorb into itself, as the Goddess of Justice appeared to turn around, her back to the rest. As her motions paused, the rest of her seemed to fall away and gruesome tears tore through her flesh. In a matter of seconds peaceful, Ceres had dissolved into something far more brutal and savage. Nyn. Her body had been torn apart to reveal a fierce, feminine face behind the white hair, behind the veil of what was good and fair. Vengeance stepped forward and slowly slanted her eyes at everyone assembled, "There is a place for all here, sister." Her eyes settled lastly on Nuuruhuine.
"Even Ny-emarr. Even the Lord of Destruction."
Beside Nyn, the air tore open with a howling rent, and through the gaping hole stepped a massively built male form. Clad in bloody, battered battle-armour the Destroyer entered the presence of the assembled gods.
"I declare my interest in what is occurring and invoke the right to name a chosen."
"That is well and fine," Brighid's hair tossed in a wind that did not exist as the goddess lifted her head to look into the face of the newest god, "But we all have pieces in the game, and while we are forbidden to touch them, we can push them in the right direction. Hold your naming until we have discussed the circumstances in their fullness."
“The circumstances,” Arminiea intoned, “are dire. Light’s Hope fades into the darkness day by day, and the Sword of Peace has strayed from his appointed path.”
“It is becoming more and more difficult to bring about what needs to be,” Jaran continued, “but such is always the case when those affected are not ours to command.”
From the shadows between Jaran and Arminiea stepped another figure, a male with long straight silver hair and eyes like chrome. “There lies hope still,” the god of Twilight spoke in a near whisper, his presence an unsure thing like wisps of fog on a morning breeze, “answers may be found, even now their path leads them to roads long forgotten.”
“Welcome brother,” Arminiea seemed slightly startled when the third Whispinian God made his presence known, “It has been a very long time since you graced us with your presence, Krell.”
Brighid and Xraden inclined their heads to the new god, one they'd never met, but Ghauld, the god of destruction and Nyn, goddess of Vengeance, merely watched, their expressions defiant.
"There were many paths forgotten." Nyn finally spoke and stepped closer to the shadowy god, "Many things to be remembered." The Goddess of Retribution stopped just before the flickering figure, "Twilight is a place where we all dwell, neither in the light nor the dark, but at home in either. Our children have forgotten that."
"They must be reminded." Ghauld nodded slowly and canted his head to the side, "This will not be the last trial, if they survive this one, and it is within their hands their survival lays. Is that not so, Ny-emarr?"
"In their hands," the raven-haired Goddess of War and Death replied, "and in their souls. Deep within the core that makes them our Chosen lies their means to survive. We may guide them, harden them as a blade must be hardened in the fires of the forge, but it is up to them to find the strength that determines whether they will live... or whether they will break." A faint smile curved her lips, "even now the reminders of their true natures have begun. Only time will tell if those lessons which must be learned have been absorbed."
“Then we are agreed,” Krell spoke in a deceptively soft tone, “the past must meet the present, old alliances restored, ancient secrets uncovered for there to be a future. Mark your chosen and prepare their paths, for the way will fall much deeper into darkness before any may find their way back into the light.”
"We have our chosen selected," Nyn's strong, lithe form began to whither and slowly turn. Dark, blood stained fingers began to shrivel and turn pale and those same fingers for a moment clutched at Ghauld's arm before releasing him. Justice had returned from within Retribution, and her hazed, blind eyes shifted to each deity there, "I shall be understood as two within one again, his left palm and his right shall be branded by my wrath, but more importantly to this path, my priestess stirs in her sleep. A vision, she is walking and I stand beside her in this vision, and show her the possible future that lies before them all. If Light’s Hope should pass forever, nothing will be able to stop DeathDream. It is the fate of the Silver race to save themselves by standing in the path of the Storm once more, and offer shelter to those caught in its way. Nenlante will have healers, it will be made so. Time can be bought, and Hope shall live a little longer."
The Lord of Destruction only gave a low, growling grunt. It was time to remind him who he was meant to be. It was time for them all to remind their children what they were.
***
Rhagi was worried, that was obvious as he approached his father. It wasn't just what he had to say, and realising that he had to say it, it was also Ro's reaction. Something was 'off' about him lately, a wrong note that sounded whenever Ghet was mentioned. Something almost desperate in his eyes. It was the only reason Rhagi had waited so long to bring this up.
"Addah? Have you..." He worried his lip between his teeth. He was pretty sure he already knew the answer to this. "Have you heard from Mum lately? Can you get through to her? Because... I'm pretty sure I felt her, on the Web, a few hours ago, and now I can't reach her. It's probably just the wards, but... she was so sad. Sad and tired, and I think... she was saying goodbye."
Y’Roden put aside the scroll he had been reading and regarded his son with a carefully schooled expression that was belied by flickering shadows in the back of his eyes. “No…” he said slowly, instinctively reaching for the Web and seeking out the familiar flame red strand trimmed with gold. Among the mass of green hues it was easy to find and follow, his thoughts passing easily through the patchy wards and beyond. Only to come against a wall of… nothing… It was like waking up in the middle of the night and swearing you were in the centre of the bed, only to roll over and fall onto the floor.
“Goodbye?” the word was slightly strained, but the half-elf maintained an outward appearance of calm. “I’m… I’m not quite sure what is going on ceren, but there must be a reasonable explanation.” Emerald greens met their reflection and Ro frowned, “A few hours? Rhagi, why didn’t you come to me then?”
The fear in Rhagi's eyes deepened. He couldn't say what he thought, not all of it. "Because I thought there might be a reasonable explanation. But it's been such a long time now, and it feels all wrong, and..." Hells. Sometimes it was nice to be able to just fall back on being a kid. "And I'm scared."
“Well… why don’t we go to Rikers then, and you can see for yourself what is going on.” The moment the word ‘scared’ had left Rhagi’s mouth; Y’Roden’s mind was set. His son came before any personal angst, and if Galain had a problem with his presence there… he’d just have to learn how to digest his own teeth. The depths of Ro's eyes turned steady and clear as he focused on Rhagi, “We can go right now if you like.”
Rhagi's relief was obvious. He hadn't wanted to ask in case Ro said no: not an unreasonable fear given he couldn't remember his father ever going to Riker's. "Yes please." No matter how bad it was, it couldn't be worse than not knowing. He took Y'Roden's hand, simply trusting.
***
Riker's was oddly quiet, uneasy. The minute they stepped through the portal, Rhagi reached for his mother along the web, and the result was the same: absence. He heard a gasp to one side and turned: Laura. He'd known her since he was a baby. Her face was stricken when she saw him, and he just knew, he couldn't bear it. He tugged urgently at his father's hand, towards the stairs. "Up there. She must be in the medbay."
It took every ounce of Y’Roden’s self control to hide the surge of panic that rippled through his mind. Medbay. He never wanted to see that particular room again, and for several gut wrenching seconds he could smell blood… hear screaming, and yet, he never faltered. Millennia of controlling every movement, every expression, served him well, and the half-elf simply gave his son’s hand a reassuring squeeze and let him lead the way.
He was just grateful, for once, that humans were short-lived creatures, and not many were likely to recognize him. “Where is everyone?” he muttered, half to distract himself as they stepped into the medbay, his brain working overtime to keep unwanted memories from pressing forwards. There was a Doctor present, and she wasn’t screaming or pressing any alarm buttons… so that had to be a good thing. But… where was Ghet?
M'Sea turned at the opening of the doors, and smiled. "Rhagi!" She'd known the boy since, well, before he'd been born. Ghet's quiet, serious little son was well-loved in the Riker's family, and probably the only person who could get that smile out of Imadi M'Sea. Her eyes moved to the boy's companion. No-one she recognised, but there was an odd familiarity about him nonetheless. It had to be the resemblance, which was strong. The eyes, the brow, the shape of the face... this had to be one of the men whose gene records she was all too familiar with. "And who have you brought with you?"
Rhagi's eyes stopped scanning the medbay furiously, and belatedly he managed to concentrate his attention on the doctor. "This is my Addah, my father, Y'Roden. Where's Mum?"
Of course she was curious. Everyone was curious about Rhagi's parentage. M'Sea's natural reserve served her well; she simply inclined her head to the man, her eyes deep and serious. "She's in the ICU, at the back. Listen, Rhagi, we had to put her in stasis, to stop her getting any sicker, all right? It looks worse than it is." Her eyes moved back to Y'Roden, unsure how much to explain. "She's in an artificially-induced coma. She's on full life support, her physical functions slowed right down. It stops the disease progressing any further." There was nothing more she could say, nothing would make it real until they saw it for themselves.
She led them to the rear of the medbay, to an area partitioned off from the rest. As Rhagi moved around the end of the wall, he saw her, lying on a bed with monitors all around her, a faint blue light delineating the edges of the stasis field. She looked tiny, and very, very still. He blinked hard, and a tiny sound escaped his throat. Far away, he heard M'Sea's voice. "It's best if you don't touch her. It disrupts the field."