“It is said that worlds turn on the toss of a coin. While that might be true, those of religious persuasion linger on empty promises that absolution revokes all misdeeds. This is the folly of false gods and Dragons Avarice rules all. Heed this well, or all works are doomed.” Eldred Mortain on “The Collapse of Civilisations.”
“Love of my life, God grant the years
At the Gates of Silent Memory, Fields of the Nephilim
Confirm the chrism – rose to rood!
Anointing loves, asperging tears
In sanctifying solitude!
That holds my heaven and holds my hell.”
“Every time I see you there
I Love the Darkness in You, 69 Eyes
In the place moonlight
Dancing there all alone
With a grave in your mind.”
“And I came to a river of fire in which the fire flows like water and discharges itself into the great sea towards the west. I saw the great rivers and came to the great river and to the great darkness, and went to the place where no flesh walks.”
The Book of Enoch, Chapter XVII
This is another short story for this month’s prompt as I explore the world of Dragon Stone.
BLOGBATTLE prompt word Sanctimony
Dragon Stone: The Island of Fire
The Necromage locked his gaze onto the southern tip of a once-thriving metropolis, his determination to turn all worlds to chaos burning in his eyes. His task, though distant from his past world, held him enthralled. The Matriarch could no longer deter his unwavering ambition. Frustration, a searing fire, burned as memories of his journey through the Necropolis surged, but his resolve to turn all worlds to chaos was undeterred.
The builders should have by now secured the hatchery and sealed access to the Necropolis. His part was to convince the Morrígna to strike a deal to reclaim Nafud Dahyl and forge an alliance that would bring the Death Dragons to join the horde. Matters were becoming complicated, and yet, was that not what war entailed?
His Dragon Stone had fallen silent. Only the staff seemed alert as if reminding him that here, any outside contact would be overheard. Even The Matriarch had spoken of this, and yet trust there hung by a thread. Long ago, The Black and her had held a union. One that once knew of these Morrígna and walked the lands of Ang Nafud before the infamous Elder Magi had spawned into existence. Even now, long dormant eggs were being nursed to life and missing only a Dragon’s Fire to induce incubation.
Would that be enough to turn both ancient Dragons against all? He shrugged that aside. Little point in reflecting on what might be. The task at hand was here. His eyes stared at the waves crashing upon weathered rocks below. Somewhere out there were the Death Dragons. Their reaction to his plan was shrouded in uncertainty, casting a tense shadow over his thoughts. In the distance was an island. An isolated rock, fragile and bleak, while the might of Nature pounded its shores. Intuition said that was where the Death Dragons rested. It also inferred that Dragon Gates were once more prolific here. That in itself meant the Elder Magi did not create them, even if they understood how they functioned.
It reinforced his earlier presupposition that many portals still existed. If true, they had lain dormant for millennia.
The power of the past had been waiting for some outside interference to awaken. Aurelia Wrenn. His rage returned. How had she discovered the Necropolis and stolen a Stone without him knowing? It subsided. Fortune had altered the timeline. Without his sister, then where would he be now? Pointless questions. He was here, and she was locked in The Garden of Death with revenants and corpses for company.
He could sense something similar here. Long dead bones from some ancient battle forgotten in the mists of time. It reminded him of the Necropolis, where shelves of the dead created a library only he could access. He remembered the warning as he left the Morrigan, Ember Jinx.
Welcome Mage. The Caucus awaits. We know you have questions concerning those who defiled our Empire. Touch their bones not until our meeting ends. If agreement is reached, then a new dawn of fire will rise.
While tempting to raise enquiry and discover who the ancients were, it would break the vow and turn the prospect of an alliance into dust. Subconsciously, he held the Matriarch’s Heart Stone and felt a vague pulse indicating their link still existed despite the deception field. As he turned the serpent’s head toward the island, heat filled his palm. Beneath the cowl, he afforded a smile. Instincts ran true. That was where the Death Dragons slept. Now, it was a case of locating the portal. He turned back into the cave. Somewhere within, there should be another arm to the tunnel. One large enough to allow the egress of Wyverns. That meant this tunnel was not for the ancient beasts but for the sole use of the riders.
Again, he was tempted to use necromancy to awaken the ancient dead. His Stone turned to ice as a reminder that it would be a catastrophic failure. Instead of an alliance, they would turn all to ash. War on two fronts rippling through time would not end well. There was another concern growing. Was the Husk a rider of old? If so, could the Morrígna crush the conjurer’s bubble that the fiend was now ensnared in?
The thought passed as the tunnel grew dimmer. Not that darkness held fear for a Necromage. His eyes saw much more than shadows. More so if he were to use his arts to divine knowledge from the dead. Ahead, the tunnel branched sideways, something a traveller heading for the sea would miss, disguised as it was by a clever use of tunnelling. Another skill lost through the ages. Dwarves, most likely, but what would they gain by being in Tor Angra? So many questions with answers in the bones that he was forbidden to search.
The eyes of the serpent on the head of his staff grew more alert. He could sense it scanning the new path. Unlike the first tunnel, the air was fresh. More evidence of dwarven mining. Like Mossgarde, ducts pierced the caverns, creating flows that were drawn in by openings further down. As yet unexplored, but the Necromage knew this passage would open onto a Dragon thoroughfare. One that led back to the ocean overlooking the island. Instinct suggested that would lead back into the mountain and lead to a rune wall. Behind that would be the Dragon Gate he was searching for.
If he were right, then another would exist, leading to an opening on the island. The next challenge would be the Dragons. Somehow, he needed to commune with them to persuade them that he was there at the bequest of the Morrígna. More specifically, Ember Jinx.
The Necromancer gripped his staff and proceeded down a corridor draped in darkness. Even though he was forbidden to commune with the dead, he could still sense them cringing. Somehow, this journey was becoming more cathartic. Such stillness reminded him of first entering the Necropolis. It was the calm before the storm, except false rune traps had covered the floor. Here, it was dust and aged dead cobwebs where even arachnids failed to find food.
The channel ended abruptly. He stood on the edge of a drop that terminated in a floor that looked like glass. Aeons of Dragons eroded the rough edges as they passed back and forth. Little evidence of recent use existed. It moved perpendicular to where he stood. Perhaps there was no need for a Dragon Gate after all. Island to a Dragon Pass. No doubt more dwarven craft. What other mysteries lay buried in the sands outside?
To his left and cut into the rock were weathered stone steps. These led down toward the base of the cavern. Similar stairs rose toward another level on his right. Where they led would have to wait. Perhaps on the return journey, if time allowed. Assuming there was a return after meeting with the Dragons.
It was then that the Necromage realised a portal must exist, not for the wyverns but for those who wanted access to the island. But where? He stood on the floor of the chasm. Sea air flowed through the ducts created long ago. It was well known that many Elder portals rested in secrecy behind rune walls or perception fields, suggesting somewhere there must lie deeper arteries hidden behind the runes. Of this, he was certain, but the passage of time and Dragons may have polished them out of existence. Perhaps the dead could reveal a location. Not by direct use of necromancy but by the scent of fear as he drew nearer.
In response, the shroud fluxed as those within sensed his thoughts. He turned left, knowing that he followed the parallel course of the walkway above toward the raging sea. If he were right, then the hidden portal would rest bound inside a rock somewhere near the cave entrance, looking out toward the island.
Gripping the staff in a skeletal hand, he moved through the darkness. All the while pondering the words of the Djinn locked in the hypogeum. A warning or an omen? The outcome was as yet undecided. As he the Morrígna, they were equally cryptic and, if he were not mistaken, sanctimonious. That was the message of the Djinn. Words of warning that deeds would be more worthy than empty offers of friendship. He decided that the scales of trust were balanced on the Death Dragons. Sway those, and Elsbeth Crow, Elenwen Vex, and Ember Jinx would have no option but to ride with them.
He afforded a smile in the darkness. Let them bring the Husk and he would raise the buried legions to destroy what relics were left in Ang Nafud. A clean slate that could be repurposed for the horde. The more that thought settled, the better it seemed. Free of ties and in sole command of Dragons and hatchery. If he could locate the original command of lore and raise them as he had with the builders then Nafud Dahl was awaiting his grip.
It would require more Witch Queens. Another smirk crossed his fleshless lips. Two were in waiting, Morgan and the twin Chloe LeSage.
Inside his cloak, he could feel Victoria Jane Moreau’s wrath at the very mention of her granddaughter. An empty rage that brought yet another smile. The Paradox Man still roamed somewhere in time. The man who died once to be reborn, bear children before his birth and inherit a wealth created by the Lich Queen he turned to love.
It spurred him on. No thoughts of The Matriarch or The Black. Trust in the former was ebbing like a moonless tide. Yet both were tied to the hatchery, which made them his. All he needed was The Black’s Hearthstone and the breath of the Matriarch to begin the next cycle of Death Dragons.
Care Necromage. Plans unfold with the same speed they form. These things I warned you of
The Dark Mage paused. It seemed the Oracle could reach him even here. Then again, they held a bargain. Aurelia Wrenn for information.
I hear you Djinn. Where is the Elder Portal?
When the sound of waves breaking upon the rocks below grows louder, seek the wall on the right. Only the owner of a Stone may pass.
The Necromage afforded a frown. The key was a Stone. Without thinking he grasped that of The Matriarch. It felt dead in his palm of bones. The builders here were beyond intuitive. Rune locks and Dragon Stones. If one failed, there was a secondary key, assuming it was not deadlocked to the wielders of the Death Stones. He began to move deeper into the blackness. The words of the Djinn followed like ghosts. If The Matriarch ever walked this tunnel, he was sure its Stone would work. If not, then the quest was done. He would raise the dead and trust to hope that they would overwhelm the Morrígna. Folly, perhaps, but either way, he would have to pass their coven to return to the Necropolis.
Be wary Mage. The Death Dragons are ill-tempered and go by the names The Crystal, who is owned by Elsbeth Crow, The Serpentine of Elenwen Vex and The Bloodstone, ridden by Ember Jinx. All are volatile and slay without mercy.
Again, the Necromage paused as the Djinn entered his mind. No doubt the dead would confirm this. All roads looked bleak. He should have terminated his explorations at the hatchery and left what lay beyond alone.
The atmosphere remains heavy with rich foreboding as the various characters walk along myriad roads all interlocking with low level but nonetheless deadly conflicts.
I am drawn to the continuing theme of no truly good or evil characters just each absorbed in their own agendas in which they can justify all effort and cost.
“Again, the Necromage paused as the Djinn entered his mind. No doubt the dead would confirm this. All roads looked bleak. He should have terminated his explorations at the hatchery and left what lay beyond alone.”
That’s a very powerful phrase and sums up that one of the underlying themes
of Dragon Stone
Thanks Roger. I find reading books with good verses evil rather monotonous personally. Each character should have a motive and direction of purpose. Something to give a reader an association as it were. I think that’s why I like King.
I also see it in Tolkien too.
The Necromage is developing in the next one too. I find his character fascinating to explore. However at present December might be the last one. Either that or I modify it to make it less time consuming. I mentioned this on a comment by Joshua.
I do have the word list having said that.
There is always that challenge to invest into one character or to balance their actions with those of others.
I guess that’s why Fantasy novels tend to be longer than most.
You make a good point. Dark Tower, The Stand, GOT are all vast works and POI is back at 300 pages despite splitting it into two with Rise of The Necromage advancing due to BB.
It can be fun though when you find you really have to start tying things together.
Or totally confusing when the map isn’t ready
There’s that to it.
Immersive as ever, my friend! I always appreciate how you give a sold sense of place in your writing. I have a thing for decayed places where people once thrived and bustled. Kenopsia. It’s why I’m such a fan of postapocalyptic stuff, too – having recently finished King’s mammoth ‘The Stand’. You can almost hear the echoes of voices long past.
The interplay between each of the key players is rich and deep. Alliances are fragile things that can crumble in your hands. The criss-cross of delicate webs offers a cushion to the fall, but what of the spider who wakens upon the vibrations?
Lovely work, Gary!
Thanks Joshua. There’s loads when you start looking Nam Madol, Puma Punku to name two. That’s before you even get to the Maya and Inca. History is loaded with places that lore has forgotten about now.
As you know this saga has been with me for decades. POI is coming along at 300 pages too. Currently in a living mountain that has interred a Castle. Naz and Yish are are a junction with a wyvern ahead (which they are looking for) and Elder portals left and right down passages with white ladies and ghost lights.
Oh and they left a witch outside. Its a roll on from The Castle Weeps on here.
As for the spider… that web lies in the sands of Ang Nafud where the Necromage walks….
Even more modern places, like Pripyat, Chernobyl. There’s a solemn beauty, there, that speaks to me. Or when you see pictures of long abandoned hospitals or shopping centres – the juxtaposition between the business that was and the emptiness that now is.
Good job with the current WIPs, Gary! I thoroughly expect to see some of these trad published / self published some point soon!
I wish… still not thought about publishing yet although POI is back at 370 pages… new year maybe. Been following Dark5 now too on YouTube. Seems my interests throw up all sorts now.