The Isle Of Man; Olden Day Location Of Present Day King Orry's Grave. 7:32am, 1534.
Ryke sat across the great hall from the others. The plan so far seemed to be working out smoothly, but the Druids we're tired.
They'd been casting the enchantment for about a week now, and they were only halfway through the ritual. Three druid shamans were taking a rest beside the dais on which the cracked stone slab stood. It was barely and altar, vines and weeds scattered and growing all over the ancient block of rock.
The remaining 4 druids were carving the runes into the floor and on the sides of the dais. They had finished the ones on the walls the evening before, and needed to draw the last fifteen before high noon so that they could begin chanting the ritual words.
Ryke mopped sweat from his brow, thinking back to what they had been told by the priestess of D'haii.
One will stand, one will fall,
One will rise above them all,
Two will live to answer the call,
Five will bleed to death for null,
Theron's rage abates the storm,
Orion's voice destroys the wall
Her wrinkled face and missing eyes almost made him call the poem pretty. He felt a dark, sinking feeling everytime he remembered the words and the way they had reverberated in the caves and in his skull.
He scuffed his boot gently against the weed filled ground. His long dark hair fell over his eyes, temporarily narrowing his field of vision. Merr and Corban were speaking in low tones, belying a secret they didn't wish for him to know.
Everyone seemed to constantly forget he was half elf, and therefore had a better hearing range than any normal person.
"...Till then, Merr. This isnnae something we ought'a take lightly. If the king finds out-"
"IF, the king finds out, as you stupidly believe he will," Merr hissed darkly, " then obviously all our heads are off before you can cry for your slobbery mother."
" You dinnae ha'e to be rude, you wee bitch. Lower yer voice 'fore the elf bastard o'er yon hears ye cackling toads talk!" Corban whispered harshly.
Ryke looked over slowly to catch their eyes. As soon as all three pairs of eyes met, he gave a smile and waved pretentiously. Somewhat pleased that Corban was smart enough to shush the girl, who was less a girl and more a rather mannish lady complete with the muscular form of a hulking demigod. Tavern talk said she had a manhood twice the size and girth of the average man, and took to shoving it in the arseholes of men who thought to lure her to a bed.
A chuckle from the dark corner to his left caught his attention. His brother, Daelinn, was standing there, hands inside the apron of a young girl who served ale in the Duckfoot tavern across Caniley river and had followed them just because Daelinn was a man whore and couldn't control his urges.
"What's got you laughing, Dael?" Ryke said, barely a whisper.
Daelinn looked over the girls head lazily. ' I've got me a wee piggie who longs for a toss in the mud' he said smugly, directly into his older brothers mind.
Daelinn was a year younger than Ryke, but stood a full head taller and had a more robust appearance. Coupled with his elfish good-looking face and sturdy barrel chest, women were always being lost inside his sand grey eyes and dark gold hair. Ryke, on the other hand, was a dark, dour faced man. He had dyed his hair black in an attempt to draw less attention to himself and fit in with the human folk more, but it only left him feeling more alone.
A shiver ran down Ryke's spine. Something wasn't right. The ritual was to summon a tree spirit to protect the northern border of the town of Laoch from a recent outbreak of draig and Taibhse attacks. So why did his ears hear the familiar whispers of danger?
Ryke turned to his brother. ' you feel that? ' he mind spoke.
Daelinn nodded. He shifted his eyes towards Corban and gestured with a nod.
Ryke turned towards Corban and Merr, moving his right hand to his sword slowly. Merr was bleeding from her left palm, the blood dripping onto the rune that symbolized nature. Fear rose in his gut, instantly freezing him from head to toe. Warning bells screamed in his mind, everything in his body telling him to run away as fast as he could.
Daelinn had noticed the blood as well and had knocked an arrow, aiming at Corban from his dark corner. "Ryke!!", Daelinn yelled, "Snap out of it!! I need you, NOW!!!".
Ryke shook off his fear of what might become of himself and charged at Merr, drawing his sword in the same motion as his first step. Merr was chanting in a voice that was deep, dark. It grated on his ears, making him want to hide and cower like a scared puppy.
Merr's voice became a growl, incessant, ricocheting off the walls, sounding louder each time she repeated the words that were more than words. She was calling to something. To someone.
"Eirigh ó do chuan dorcha,
Éirigh ó d'oíche shíoraí,
Beir leat do dhaille síoraí,
Súil airgid thar an teorainn idir
Súil airgid atá ag taitneamh thíos
Súil airgid a shealbhaíonn na heochracha
Nocht súil airgid do chuid fiacla!! "
Ryke only caught the words 'súil airgid'. The old tongue for 'silver eye'. The very fear he had harboured, the very grief he and Daelinn had been sworn to prevent, had just come.
YOU ARE READING
The Tree At The Center Of The World
FantasyWhen the image of a tree starts popping up in places it shouldn't, its up to one group of people to find out what's really going on.
