Chapter 1: ANCIENT ILLUMINATION

Fire spews and ice follows. The world Drakonis is near death and all life has fled. Except for Brennan, the thief who hears mysterious directions to Castle Drakon on the wind, and brothers Bastian and Cole, who choose to follow her. Then there’s Halley, an exotic dancer from the burning cities, and Audri, who refuses to speak.

These five are the last and it is their task to ensure at least memory remains, or Drakonis will be eternally forgotten. To ensure this, they must find Castle Drakon.

In a grotto under the ice they discover three others alive and before the warmth of a fire hear of a mighty legend. Unravelling its mysteries could lead to a way off a dying world. An ancient light will illuminate their path.

Chapter 1

Fire in the Grotto

The flames are bright, because here it is safe; here no light is able to escape to reveal us.

The fire is hot, and we are glad of it; most of us have been cold too long, most of us cannot now remember ever being warm.

We ran from fire, yes, into ice, but it feels as if that heat was a lifetime ago. We cannot recall a full stomach either or remember when last we drank of fresh water.

I reach my hands for the flames and for a moment I believe I can hold them and set them alight inside me. I am weary of cold. I am terribly weary of running.

This is why I am here.

I hope, now, with the end approaching, I may stop running. Although it may be that we dupe ourselves only with what hope is left, in this desire I am not alone.

Opposite the fire there is Bastian; his head is bowed, his dark hair filthy, obscuring his face. We have now run together, but we also met before, once, in our old lives.

Next to him is Cole, also dark-haired, almost asleep due to the unaccustomed sense of release and comfort.

They are brothers, but very different I think, despite similar appearance. I know Cole better; we have sprinted rooftops in that other life. I know he misses it as much as I do.

Crouched apart from us, fingers white around clumps of old straw - which is what we’re sitting on - there’s Halley, a dancer from a distant city … at least, this is what she claims. None of us have seen her dance. She appears the most frightened by our gathering; she does not trust easily. It will take years to undo her natural distrust.

Do any of us retain belief in these times, truth be told? Halley, particularly, is ever skittish, though. Her past weighs heavily on her. She is the most exotic of all of us, with curled golden locks, caramel skin, and the darkest eyes I have even seen. I like her and I think Cole does too, although his is a different kind of like.

And then there is Audri. Pale and fair and graceful; she looks like the dancer among us. No one has heard Audri speak. We do not know if she cannot or whether silence is a choice she made or was forced into some time in her past. She stares into the fire unafraid. As ever, she is self-possessed

I think she feels me looking, for she lifts her green gaze to me, and smiles. I want to embrace her, for that smile tells me we made the right choice.

We have run far, from fire and death into this terrible cold, holding onto only hope, and here, if for a brief time, we may sit and experience the warmth of a comforting fire. This little blaze has not the power to destroy.

An instant later I wonder how far we would go to keep this respite inviolate. It is a respite only, whatever we choose to fool ourselves with.

Bastian would kill for it, I know; he is the oldest and has run the longest, and seeks to protect his brother Cole.

Me? I would back him up and wield whatever weapon is to hand.

In this I am no doubt a fool, but I am weary of running.

 

The grotto is deep below the surface of this ice-ridden plain.

Bastian found the entrance in the rubble underneath the cliffs that mark the start of the highlands. Already on the edge of life for months, we drew from the reserves that come only with desperation, and crawled in after him. We shuffled for hours, one behind the other, in absolute darkness, until flickers of amber light revealed we had not imagined the summons or directions, that trust was not misplaced.

All of us are adorned with ragged knees and shins, torn palms and broken nails, but we are also so dirty and tatty you cannot distinguish fresh wounds from old.

After an hour of sitting, an hour of heat, we wonder if trust led us right. Nothing moves other than the flames, and there are no sounds of occupation … and yet someone built this fire.

Bastian looks up at me, a question in his blue eyes. I wish we lived in a different time, for I want to lay my hands upon his cheeks and tell him not to worry. I, after all, led them across the plain. My words brought us here.

“Ah, I see you have thawed somewhat.”

A man enters from the shadows behind Bastian and Cole - the brothers’ jerk around - his movements slow and careful. He seeks to put us at ease, I realise. His hands are displayed as empty, a gesture of peace.

He is old, very old. Wrinkled, barely any hair, and what he has left is pure white. He wears a black robe, a frayed length of rope knotted around his middle. Pouches hang from it. There is a rustle from one as he moves, and another tinkles slightly.

His feet are bare and he has no beard. I am glad of it; a beard would be too much stereotype. I have seen his kind crouched on street corners in the cities, begging for alms, ignored. This old man is no tramp, though; there is an air of confidence about him.

He cannot survive a climb into the highlands, I think. When we leave here, we leave behind a skeleton, for he will not survive the fate of Drakonis much longer.

We all stare at him as he walks around the fire to come to a halt beside me. A hand descends to my head and rests there.

“Welcome, Brennan, and thank you for bringing your friends.”

I cannot react; I am paralysed by that touch. The last time someone touched me to impart only comfort is now almost lost to memory. I am undone by the pathos.

Bastian reacts swiftly. He hurtles to his feet. His eyes seem to flash in the dancing amber light. “We heard the summons and we listened to Brennan, but blind belief may have led us astray. Who are you, old man?”

“Bastian, all your questions will receive answer. Please sit. You are safe here.”

Cole reaches up and hauls his brother down. “We trust Brennan, brother. Relax.”

“You trust her.”

“And you trust me, right? Give it a chance.”

Cole and Bastian trade stares for a while until Bastian eventually nods and looks away.

That hand is still on my head. It smooths my hair with careful strokes and then it is removed. I feel … bereft. I look up to see pale eyes twinkling at me, and I smile. Perhaps it is all right. I hope with all my heart blind trust has not led me astray. How do I answer to that? If I came alone it would be my mistake, and I would have to live with it, but I am not alone, am I?

“Who are you?” I ask. My voice is hoarse.

The old man settles into the empty space beside me, hands resting on knees. A pouch thunks into the straw. There is something heavy in there.

“I am Winter.” He smiles and waves a hand. “Not my real name, but I’ve forgotten in the long march of years what my mother called me. Someone called me ‘Winter’ in jest as a lad, and it stuck. Some now believe it’s because I love the feel of a decent fire.”

“Which means you must be cold,” Bastian mutters. He does not mean cold of body.

Winter smiles and chooses to take the comment as meaning his flesh. “I am, yes, all the time. This here is a cold land, young man. We are far north of the equator and it was cold even before the fires began in the south. I now believe fate gave to me this epitaph of ‘Winter’, for I am destined to live out my final hours under this ice field. We go together, a final symbiosis.”

“Why are we here?” Cole demands, ignoring the old man’s explanations.

He does not do so out of disrespect; he simply understands we have run out of time.

“You are here to know yourselves before your end march. Your time has come.”

ANCIENT ILLUMINATION