The Seventh Seal (The Chronicles of Daniel Stone Book 1) Read online

  The town of Arahas was not for the faint hearted, having grown up fuelled by the prison there. Its occupants were a mixture of prison staff, transient and permanent traders, and ex-criminals, although ‘ex-criminal’ was not a phrase that would readily come to mind if you met them. The town itself was a combination of light wood and stone buildings and a central street; it had a store for basic provisions and a tavern called the Dragon’s Breath Inn. The prison was located about two miles south of the town, surrounded by a large wire fence with manned guard stations every one hundred feet, but security was not high on the agenda and corruption was rife amongst the guards and warden.

  When Smee arrived in the town he was made the ward of one Thomas Bishop, a guard at the prison and resident of Arahas. Bishop’s home was a modest two-bedroom townhouse to the northern end of the town with very little light as glass was hard to come by and often got broken by storms or thuggery. The houses had no addresses, there was no need of them – no one had friends and no one trusted anyone else. The town was managed by the prison warden who allocated houses and shops through bribes.

  Bishop was weak-minded and it wasn’t long before Smee had him on his side and so began the formation of his dastardly plans and the building of his secret force from the motley crew of prison escapees, ex-criminals and general lowlife of Arahas. He forged an alliance with a nomadic group called the Badaran and between them they set about a campaign of ambushes and raids around the borders of the Southern Lands. They never crossed into or near Tolemak for our forces there were too strong, but their constant attacks were weakening morale amongst the people and unsettling our balance. It was Michael in the end, out of all the Keepers, who snapped and decided to take the fight to Smee. You must remember, it is not in the nature of a Keeper to be violent and so it took some time and a little bit of Earth nature rather than Theran nature to react to Smee.

  Thera, unlike Earth and Arthe, has no twin and our destinies are not linked like Earthiens and Arthiens; our role is to maintain balance. We are by nature a gentle people of farmers and harvesters. We live with all natural things on Thera, taking only what we need. We live long lives in excess of three hundred years, if we are well blessed, but to look at we are like you; we are humans but without much of your human nature. We draw our longevity from the regulus and in turn keep good order and balance in this world. Our roots go back to the beginning of time and we formed from the dust of the early stars, each of us, by the connectivity of the regulus, linked to one another by the recycling of all that we are made of. We are few in number and like all good balance, where there is good there must be bad. Like a hand that fits snuggly in a glove, both are needed for mutual comfort. You see it is the nature of things that if there is only good, then someone somewhere will ask the question: why do they have more than me? By having concepts of good and bad, we have a viewpoint, a balance to what we have and don’t have; this, for most of us at least, makes us grateful and happy rather than jealous and envious.

  Our counterbalance is Arahas; a motley crew of the worst of the worst from Earth and Arthe housed in our infamous prison. It was the price we had to pay for our good fortunes.

  Michael, like all of us started out on a similar path to Smee and with the same chances in life; the same clean slate we are all afforded. His background, however, was quite different and was both strength and weakness to him. He was only the second Keeper in the whole of history to have not been pure Theran, and although born on Thera, he still carried much of his Earthien atoms. It gave him great insight into the balance as he was so connected to the Earthien ways; it also made him restless. Michael was in an internal fight not of his making; a fight within his soul between atomic forces he could not command.

  *

  Smee’s two close aides Butcher and Longuard, made their way back to the fire to ponder their own futures.

  ‘Do you think he can pull it off?’ said Butcher.

  ‘Who knows? We need to be flight of foot if it goes wrong though; we need our own backup plan. No one has ever defeated a Keeper; he talks a good fight, that’s for sure, but that doesn’t make me trust him. What makes you think our fate will not be the same as those poor wretches out there? Look at them, drunken fools the lot of them, ready to lay down their lives for him. He doesn’t care about anyone or anything other than himself. If the fight starts going against us, we scarper, head back to Arahas and the Badaran and lie low. I’m not sticking my neck on the block for him; mind, if he does defeat him and gets the seal we could be in for an interesting ride.’

  With that, both men laughed, deep belly laughs exposing their dark rotten teeth and filling the surrounding air with the putrid smell of their breath.

  *

  Smee was still inside the igloo reflecting on his future when Longuard entered.

  ‘Sir, all is quiet on the boundaries of the camp. We’ve posted men in rota so if there’s any trouble brewing we’ll be the first to know about it.’

  ‘The amount of noise they’re making out there I’ll be surprised if they hear anything; tell them to pipe down. I want the Keeper here. We can’t get the seal unless he is within fighting distance. Stop filling them with grog and let the fire die down a little, then get on with what I asked you to do.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Longuard turned to leave, snarling under his breath. ‘Who the hell does he think he is? These are fighting men, dogs; they need to let off steam.’

  He then tried to mimic Smee’s voice. ‘Tell them to stop drinking; I don’t like the noise. Arrrrrgggghh, idiot.’

  *

  As the darkness of the night lost its hold to the fiery red glow of the morning sun the inhabitants of the Professor’s cottage were already awake and had eaten breakfast. The Professor was now filling a backpack with all manner of strange jars along with a small leather-bound book that he placed carefully into a secure internal compartment.

  Michael was putting together provisions, food and water and checking his clothes for comfort and fit; it was a long walk and it would not be made easier with ill-fitting clothes. Albertus watched on intently.

  ‘Well, gentlemen, the time is upon us. The fate of the balance now rests with you; with only two people up against a force five times your strength. In normal circumstances the odds would be stacked against success, but you are not two ordinary people. I wish you well, my dear friends, stay safe.’

  With nods of affirmation, the two companions set off down the dirt track to the main road. Their mood was reflective and sombre as each of them contemplated their possible futures with just the sounds of nature to guide their thoughts.

  The sun was nearly at its highest point in the sky when the Professor broke their undeclared vow of silence.

  ‘Well, Michael, we’re off now, are you sure you don’t want to turn back?’

  ‘Sure I do, but we’re walking the wrong way to go back.’ Michael smiled, at ease with what was ahead.

  ‘That’s the spirit, my boy; with your trusty drows and my brains they won’t know what hit them.’

  ‘Oh that’s charming, you’re the brains, are you? Well, no one asked you to come along; I was quite happy walking into certain death on my own before you barged in on the party.’ They both laughed out loud and quickened their step down the road.

  The road ahead was a narrow cobbled stone affair with wear marks from years of hauling carts down it. Hedges either side blocked views of the countryside beyond and it was well into the afternoon before this vista changed and the land opened out into a shallow-sided valley. The road ahead followed the weaving nature of the valley floor, like an aged river that had given up trying to fight its way through the rock. With the well-kept patchwork quilt of fields now gone they left the farmlands behind and they started to climb into hills and to clearer views of the Northern Ice Fields beyond.

  After a full day’s walking they had climbed out of the valley and were on a high plateau. They were tired and needed to rest, but the landscape offered little shel
ter and the temperature was dropping fast. Both men were looking around, scanning the 360 degree horizon; Michael spotted an area about five hundred feet away that was raised above the main plateau that looked like it may afford some shelter from the night and the cold. As they approached the craggy outcrop they could see a number of semi cave-like hollows, where wind and rain had weathered softer rock. They set up camp with a warm fire and a hearty meal and with the fire roaring, both men contemplated their fate. Staring at the beautiful night sky they marvelled at how calm the world can be at night when all life’s troubles are shut away.

  ‘How are Daniel and Sarah, Michael?’

  ‘Fine, I suppose. It’s difficult isn’t it, the life we lead; well, the life I lead anyway? I’ve lied to Daniel all of his life…’

  ‘It was the choice you made and all part of your balance, my friend.’

  ‘I know, but don’t you wish sometimes you could just turn your back on this?’

  ‘Not for me, this is my life, it’s in my nature, but for you… well, you have conflicts, don’t you? You risk all that you love and hold dear in pursuit of another part of your destiny. It’s hard being two things at once,’ said the Professor almost apologetically.

  ‘Isn’t that the truth. Let’s get some sleep, Professor.’ Michael, uncomfortable with the conversation cut it short.

  Both men pulled their min-ed cloaks over themselves and settled down to sleep.

  Min-ed is a magical fabric that, like the drows, is a hallmark of the Keepers. It is harvested, in a similar way to cotton, from the ministratis edheathien plant which grows in the hills of the Southern Lands. The fibre is as strong as steel, flexible and incredibly warm as each fibre has tiny pockets of air trapped inside. It has been used by the Keepers for centuries and as it cannot be dyed, so its natural earthy green colour has become their colour and uniform. Its harvest is under the strict control of Tolemak for their sole use; as such, if value was important on Thera, then min-ed would have been like gold is to you on Earth. That night, for the two companions its added warmth was most welcome as the night grew colder.

  At dawn they packed up and headed off the plateau via a path made perilous by the low light, weaving their way through vegetation and unstable ground through the three hundred feet drop back down onto the main road. The two continued chatting and joking, keeping the mood as light as possible until they arrived at the village of Abrythin. They crossed over a small arched stone bridge spanning a small stream and entered the village to little or no activity.

  ‘It looks like Smee still has everyone spooked,’ said the Professor.

  They headed towards the local tavern, the Farmer’s Hare, and banged on the locked door. The door opened slowly, a nervous face peering through the small gap.

  ‘Good morning, Smythe, how are you this fine day?’

  ‘What do you want, Professor?’

  ‘Can we come in?’

  Smythe motioned with his head and opened the door. They entered the bar area and sat down on old wooden chairs. The tavern was dimly lit and smoky from the recently lit fire and Smythe was clearly unsettled by something.

  ‘I’ll get you some bread and cheese; I won’t be a moment…’ Smythe went into the kitchen leaving the Professor and Michael alone.

  ‘He looks so nervous,’ said Michael.

  ‘It is strange; Smee is long gone and—’

  Before the Professor could finish there was a loud noise from behind them as chairs and tables were sent scattering. Both men looked around, but in the dimly lit room they could only see a shadow and the smoky air being disturbed. It was too late by the time they realised what was going on.

  Longuard was upon them. With his black teeth snarling and sword outstretched, he was running like a bull at a gate and in the small space of the tavern there was no stopping his momentum. As the first blow from his sword came down Michael had just enough time to move sideways and it struck the wooden table, cleaving it in two. Michael rolled onto the floor and out of the way to put some distance between him and Longuard in order to recover his position. Now kneeling, facing forward, he put his hand on his drows and drew it. He spun the weapon around in his hand and immediately the long slender blade, barely visible, extended.

  ‘It’s time you met my friend,’ he shouted and lunged forward.

  The Professor had recovered his composure sufficiently and was fishing about in his backpack, eventually pulling out a jar marked ‘snap jack’. He opened the jar, picked up a pinch of the fine powder and threw it at Longuard. The powder in contact with him started to crackle and pop like little stars and distracted him sufficiently so that when Michael lunged forward his first contact blow with the drows was a good one.

  The drows cut through Longuard’s thick leather armour with ease and he screamed with agony as the blade cut deep. He fell to the floor clutching at his stomach and Michael turned his back on him to check on the Professor; that was his mistake. Longuard, whilst mortally wounded, was a strong man and had retained his sword in his hand; with one last gasp he lunged with all his remaining strength. His sword pierced Michael in the side from behind before he collapsed dead on the floor. Michael held his side as blood poured from the wound and he now fell on his knees. The Professor raced over, removed the sword and laid him out flat. Smythe, whose nervous disposition was the result of hiding Longuard, returned to the tavern bar, racing over to the scene.

  ‘Is he okay? Will he live?’

  ‘Get me hot water… now,’ screamed the Professor. ‘Michael, try not to move, the blade has missed your vital organs, but I need to heal the wound.’

  ‘Thanks, Doc, I wasn’t intending on going anywhere.’ He winced and gave a sarcastic smile.

  Smythe returned with hot water and the Professor, having already drawn from his backpack another strange jar marked ‘Doc Leaf’, mixed a quarter of the jar into the water.

  ‘Michael, where is your seal?’

  ‘Back… pack.’ He struggled to reply as the effects of the wound took hold.

  The Professor grabbed the seal and holding it high above his head muttered some strange words from his leather book.

  Within moments the seal erupted in a blaze of light travelling down the Professor’s arm and covering his body. His other hand was on Michael’s wound and he shouted at Smythe, ‘Pour the liquid over the wound now.’

  Smythe did as he was asked and the light travelled down the Professor’s other arm, enveloping Michael. Smythe stood back in shock, open mouthed, as the wound slowly started closing up. Within moments the wound was healed fully. The Professor dropped the seal and fell to the floor exhausted. Michael lay still for a moment and then sat up as if nothing had happened.

  ‘Professor, are you okay?’

  ‘Fine, Michael. Channelling the power of the regulus is very difficult and extremely draining, but I will be alright by tomorrow.’

  ‘You’d better stay here the night, gentlemen,’ said a now much calmer Smythe who then went on to describe how Longuard had arrived late the day before and had threatened to kill the entire village.

  Michael now looked composed and focused.

  ‘Smythe we must move quickly. Smee has spies everywhere and will soon come to hear what has happened. We will lose our element of surprise so we need to try and buy some time. Now listen carefully; we will leave before first light tomorrow. Tell the villagers that Longuard was successful and left with the seal and that we were both badly wounded and last seen heading back to Tolemak. If anyone in the village is loyal to him our little lie may buy us the time we need. Do you have horses?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Of course I will, sir and I have two good horses that you are welcome to. It’s the least I can do; I feel so bad for leading you into that trap.’

  ‘Don’t worry, there are no prizes for being a hero, we understand,’ assured the Professor.

  ‘Thank you for your understanding, gentlemen. Now let me cook you a hearty meal and tomorrow you can be on your way with a full belly and havi
ng had a good night’s sleep.’

  Smythe locked the door, closed all the curtains and stoked the fire with another log.

  *

  Just before dawn the two companions were packed and ready to go. Smythe had saddled the horses and they slipped out of Abrythin before the village had come to life. Smythe fed the village with the tale as Michael had requested and left the rest to the balance…

  They rode out and up, climbing into the forest of Cad Goddeu, making good speed as they headed for the base of the Sugarloaf. They were only two days away from Smee but would have to ditch the horses at the base of the pass in favour of crampons and walking; the horses were of no help on ice.

  The weather was once again kind to them and the sunlight danced about the forest floor as they made their way along a makeshift hunter’s route. They were enjoying this last bit of warmth, for as they continued to climb and head north the temperature was dropping and they now had to wear their min-ed cloaks constantly.

  By evening they had arrived at the base of the Sugarloaf Mountain and, removing their packs from the horses, sent them on their way back to Smythe in Abrythin and started the climb up.

  ‘Well, Michael, this is the beginning of an end; our destinies are nearly upon us.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s a happy end.’

  The two men were now standing at a point of change, not just for their futures, but physically. To the south there laid the temperate lands they had come from, ahead a white mass of ice and snow, the boundary clearly marked like a waterline on a bath. The land rose steadily but steeply ahead of them; they were at a point between the two worlds of warm and cold, of good and evil, of life and potential death, of change…

  Michael began to sing softly under his breath a melodic lament.

  ~

  ‘Oh distant love, hear these words of mine,

  on winds they fly, with love their wings,

  our parting sorrows, for all of time,

  these words of love, my heart it sings.