Revelyn: 2nd Chronicles - The Time of the Queen Read online

  Revelyn

  Second chronicles

  The time of the Queen

  By

  Chris Ward

  For my wonderful son Lachlan

  A warrior in his own way

  Revelyn

  Second Chronicles

  The time of the Queen

  Copyright © 2013 by Chris Ward.

  ISBN 978-0-9874471-2-8

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,

  electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information

  and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Acknowledgements:

  Cover design

  Chris Ward: with many thanks to Catherine.

  Maps

  A note: Added with permission of the White Queen

  by the Royal cartographer, Faeryn.

  I have prepared 5 maps. Regrettably they are not the best representations of the land, for Revelyn is changing. The sea has altered the coast, and reports indicate that this is increasingly common, indeed faster than it is possible to prepare new drawings. It will be noted that for ease of scrutiny I have reproduced some maps in a larger size. This is the common practice in Revelyn.

  Contents

  Maps

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the Author

  Revelyn

  The time of the Queen

  Chapter 1

  Orcxyl paused in the hunt and surveyed for a moment the vast land around him which was his life. He allowed the anger and the emotion which were fighting for his heart to almost overwhelm him, and for the first time since Freya was taken, he felt the tears on his face.

  He was alone. That had not changed.

  The moon was full and the grasses waved gently in the eternal breeze, talking to him, heightening his senses, carrying the ghosts of the countless animals he had hunted here and brought to ground. To the south Orcxyl could hear the ocean, five leagues distant but he trembled for he knew what it meant. Today, he thought, it will be today. And once more the great anger pierced his heart like an arrow as if to slay him.

  The hunter was not a tall man but in the endless grasses this was a boon for he could hide behind the tussocks where the desert ruled, and run and leap nimbly over fallen trees like the marmal, where the grasses were king. He was strong beyond belief in the manner of one who can track the sabrecat all through the heat without pause, and his skin shone with the health of one who knows and believes in himself and what he can do; and in the knowing, believes this to be good.

  Orcxyl knew the aldelope was not far off now. He had tracked it for two leagues, so easily he had allowed other emotions to encroach upon his gift and in a manner so conflicting that a simple hunt had become almost a trial. It was not a large beast but he knew it would have the best meat, and since it was to be a gift it had to be the best. He bent to the ground and between a thumb and forefinger picked up a sample of the animal’s droppings. The hunter closed his eyes and smelt deeply of the freshness, but also the fear.

  He knows I am close, he thought.

  When he opened his eyes, before him the trail burnt bright once more. It had faded a little since he had last held and smelt something of his quarry, but as always the gift never betrayed him. Like the fireflies of the Gnabi desert, wherever the animal had touched the ground or brushed against some grass or tree, the trail glowed brightly even under the warm light of the full moon.

  ‘You will be mine soon little aldelope,’ the hunter whispered into the night air, and not far ahead the animal heard and shivered violently, for it knew it could no longer escape the death which pursued it so relentlessly.

  When the man moved he was silent, sensing when to step as he closed in upon the terrified creature, knowing just when the wind would bend the grasses and mask any footfall. He had no need to circle and approach from downwind for he had learnt that his odour was pleasing to animals and they did not fear it until too late. Others of his tribe were jealous of his gifts and so he hunted alone. They called him Orcxyl which meant Great Hunter for there was none other who possessed his gift.

  He came upon the animal quietly appearing suddenly as if from nowhere and spoke soothing words which seemed to calm it. His gentle chant sounded like the grasses in the breeze which had been the creature’s constant companion since its birth. It was worn out with the chase and he read in its large eyes the knowledge of the hunted.

  You know, he thought. It is a great mystery.

  The hunter’s arrow pieced its heart and the aldelope dropped instantly without pain. Orcxyl held the creature as its eyes faded to opaque and he spoke to it words of comfort and release.

  ‘I respect your life, little aldelope,’ he whispered into a twitching ear, ‘I give thanks for your gift to me. I release your spirit. Return to the earth.’ With a gentle hand he closed the sightless eyes and then with a single expert stroke he cut the creature’s throat and drained the blood quickly upon the ground.

  Orcxyl knew that this new scent would soon reach the large sabrecat which had been tracking both him and his quarry. I have little time he thought, but enough if I am quick.

  With deft strokes the hunter removed the head and the lower parts of each limb, adding to this the contents of the abdomen, expertly cleaning the body cavity of all the entrails knowing that the deadly cat would not pass by such an easy meal. Then with the aldelope secure across his shoulders the hunter disappeared back into the grasses and headed south toward the restless ocean just moments before the enormous sabrecat emerged stealthily from his cover and with a deep and earth shuddering growl, fell hungrily and possessively upon the hunter’s bloody gift.

  The village was completely empty when the hunter returned just as the first streaks of the morning lit the eastern sky and the full moon began to fade. He showed no surprise for he had expected this. The sounds of the pigs stirring and the first rooster broke the stillness, but without a human presence it seemed strangely ghostly to the man. His simple dwelling was to the south of the small collection of huts, toward the ocean which was only a league further on, just beyond the mighty barrier which held it back. He lived apart for his clan barely tolerated him now and resented their dependence on his great skills to supply food in times of scarcity. But times had been good for many months and so they needed him less. He knew that his constant outspoken criticism of the elders and all who stood with them had brought tension and resentment to the village and this had finally forced him to build a simple hut in the grasses alone, leaving his parents to a peace they did not know whilst he remained under their roof.

  He stopped now by their empty hut, these two who had bestowed upon him the great gift of life and stood proudly by as he grew and found favour with all. But that time was now a distant memory for he had lost it all. He knew this was the last time he would stand in this place. It was over, and before the night fell once more and the shrinking moon rose over the mighty plain
s all this would be gone. He knew it; he alone and none would listen. They were all too stubborn and had been betrayed by the elders and the shaman. The great anger once more came to him and his body shook with the deepest of emotions.

  ‘It did not have to be this way,’ he hissed, the words echoing endlessly around the empty village. ‘You all refused to listen, even you my kindma and kindpa.’ His breaths then came in great gasps and for a time he felt he would faint, but he did not, and soon he was himself once more.

  He placed the fresh kill upon the threshold of his parent’s hut, but he did not enter; he then removed the charm which hung around his neck. They had given it to him when he had killed his first sabrecat. Then he had seen only ten summers, and the whole village had praised him and the feast in his honour lasted three days, but the memory no longer moved him for he had lost the connection to his kin which gave it value. Orcxyl placed the charm upon his gift, returning it to the givers, and then with only the smallest nod of his head in acknowledgment of his parents he turned and strode purposefully to his hut standing alone out in the grasses.

  He wasted no time, indeed he had prepared everything before he had left to hunt and all that was required was to saddle Wynd, his ever faithful horse, and strap on the small leather bags of provisions along with his bow and arrows and the short sword, and the few possessions he knew he would need; no more. His final act was to take a glowing brand from the hearth, holding it at arm’s length as he swung easily up into the saddle. Without remorse Orcxyl the hunter thrust the fire deep into the thatch of the roof and instantly the wind brought forth the flame. He did not look back. He rode quickly toward the barrier as smoke and fire filled the air behind him, forever severing what remained of his connection to his tribe.

  He would never return, but he would look upon his people one last time, and weep. This he could not deny himself.

  It was said that a mighty giant had built the barrier, toiling endlessly through a lifetime of pain, cursed by a deep magic, held in slavery, building so as to hold back the ocean from the lowlands and the mighty grasslands which stretched from one horizon to the other. Orcxyl let his horse Wynd find his own path to the top where the sea wind blew with a fierceness that seemed almost a punishment. Immediately he knew he was to be proven right.

  It will be today. It will be now.

  Orcxyl the great hunter sat still like a statue upon his horse and felt the memories of a lifetime surround him. As far back as he could recall his childhood was full of the barrier which stretched along the shore as far as he could see in either direction, a mighty dune of sand and grasses, immoveable and an obstacle which refused always the ocean to the south, and the ocean had always been far below and even at the fullest tide it lay a half league beyond. But no longer. Not long after he had slain his first sabrecat there was the first talk in the village of the ocean creeping upon the land. The elders spoke then with a fear in their voices which all could feel. If the barrier was breached the whole land was lost, the places of their ancestors would be no more. They would be no more.

  He remembered then walking the barrier and feeling the land beneath his bare feet. He felt then what no one could feel for his strange gifts bound him to the land more deeply than any other. He knew that the ocean was not rising to engulf the land. He knew that the land was sinking into the ocean, and he could feel it. He felt the land was crying. Orcxyl watched year by year as the barrier sank and the ocean came closer. He spoke with the elders but he was just a boy and they dismissed his talk with little regard. They could not feel the land speak as he could and they laughed at his notions of the trembling and the shaking which he felt but could not adequately convey by word or action. But Orcxyl knew, and they refused to listen. They shut their stubborn ears and would not listen. The shaman too hated him for his boldness and assertions for he felt threatened that one so young might presume to instruct where he could not. It was then that Orcxyl knew he was travelling on a different path. It was then that his anger began.

  In his fifteenth summer life seemed so endless and carefree; he shared everything with his twin sister Freya, the one for whom he lived to please for she was fair and beautiful, and full like he of the love of the land and sea and the grasses. She alone understood his gifts and believed his talk of the land which mourned and was sinking in sorrow. They were inseparable. They rode and hunted together, and swam in the great ocean, and slept under the stars far along the barrier, safe in their love for each other and in their indomitable youth. In this year the elders sent the shaman to the east to seek counsel from the great White Queen who ruled in Revelyn. It was rumoured that she had wise men who might know how to hold back the ocean for it was ever closer to the barrier and a great fear had come upon the people.

  He remembered when the shaman returned after almost ten full moons had passed. He was full of proud words and a power which none could stand against for he claimed to hold all truth and knew the secret now of the rising seas. He had spoken to the great Queen and she had instructed him in what they must do to hold back the waters. He bore upon his being a strange mark; a stain of purple in the centre of his forehead which he boasted was the sign of one who knew; given him by the great White Queen of Revelyn. The shaman had returned in power and the elders could do little to prevent him leading where they had failed. There was new hope but little peace.

  Orcxyl remembered it all, and he spat upon the ground at the bitterness of it, and Wynd reared suddenly as though she too had some understanding. He rode his horse west for a league to the place where the barrier was lesser. It was the weak point which would surrender first to the sea. It was here in the small valley crossing the barrier that Orcxyl knew he would find his people. He sat straight and proudly upon Wynd and looked down upon a people lost. He swore in anger once more.

  ‘It did not have to come to this. Why did none of you listen?’ He cried aloud, but the wind instantly whipped the words from his mouth and none heard his lament, and none cared for the tears upon his face as the painful memories engulfed him once more.

  The villagers had shuddered in shock at the shaman’s cruel words. He had informed them almost gleefully it had seemed to Orcxyl, that in other places the ocean was rising to eat the land and that the only weapon to defeat this demon of the deep was to sacrifice a life. Blood spilt would satisfy the one who sort to eat the land. There was no other way.

  Despite the horror of what was spoken, the people had fallen under the spell of the shaman and the elders had not spoken against him, wanting to keep some power and influence, for they saw the people listening to his words and no longer to them. Only I spoke against the madness thought Orcxyl bitterly. And they hated me for it. I was accused of wanting to see the land lost to the ocean, and I could offer no better solution.

  Orcxyl remembered the sudden realisation which came upon him in that very moment that the village accepted that they would follow the evil offered to them; he knew by some deep intuition just who would be chosen first. He pleaded with Freya to leave, to flee with him and seek life elsewhere, but even she did not see what would come to pass. But he knew the shaman’s hate for him and the elders had lost their power, and he had less than they.

  ‘You had seen only sixteen summers Freya,’ he whispered into the wind. ‘They took your life and believed that the ocean would hold back, and your kindma and kindpa did nothing. I lost my best friend and the only one who understood.’ He refused to return in his mind to the terrible memory...to the moment when Freya has been sacrificed, murdered for nothing. It was a memory buried deep and he knew it would undo all things if it were to surface now.

  Orcxyl looked down upon his people. They knelt in the shallow valley as the ocean beyond crept remorsefully on to the place where it might flood through and change all things. Orcxyl could see that the tide was not yet full but was high upon the barrier. The moon above, now pale in the strengthening light was still strong to make the waters climb higher still. He leapt down from Wynd and felt the ground wit
h his hands.

  You tremble mightily he thought. It is the end. The land is sinking still.

  Once more upon his horse he saw the small boy below whose life blood had been chosen as worthy to spill in sacrifice.

  ‘Poor Yasi,’ he whispered, ‘you seem proud but you have been betrayed. You have played for twelve summers, and this one winter; you should be growing to a full life, not having it stolen from you.’ A great passion overcame Orcxyl in that moment and it was all he could do to stop some senseless flight into their midst to rescue the boy, but he knew they would defeat him for the warriors watched his movements and even if he succeeded, the boy would be forever shamed and another chosen to replace him.’

  He watched as though carved from stone as the boy’s blood was spilt and the people held imploring hands to the heavens. He watched unmoved now as the uncaring ocean rolled over the last remaining spit of sand and flowed down among the desperate crowd. The flood soon became a torrent and washed some away. Orcxyl watched and saw his parents running now back towards the village, as the shaman danced his evil dance surrounded by the elders who had nothing to offer beyond their betrayal of their people.

  He turned his horse and patted a faithful flank.

  ‘And now Wynd I go to kill the Queen of Revelyn, for she is to blame for bringing this evil upon us, and I vow I will not rest until this has been done, or I die in the attempt. Freya and my people will be avenged and then perhaps I will join her.’

  Without looking back, Orcxyl the great hunter rode east along the barrier as the surging sea engulfed his land and all things were changed forever.

  Chapter 2

  Rema lay back and looked up into the midnight sky. He found it hard to get comfortable in the rowboat but the stars above made a spectacular display which could really only be appreciated by lying full length, on his back. This meant his legs were never comfortable or if they were his back found some well placed intrusion to spoil the view. It was something he had never quite mastered, this lying on one’s back in a small wooden boat. His great friend Andes, the huge man in the stern, seemed to have no such problem for despite his enormous size he was always able to find a place which suited him. It seemed to Rema that he literally flowed around objects and in some mysterious way made use of every one. In the end Rema sacrificed his legs; his back was more in need of comfort.