Read more of my work, and of this novel, at my writing website: VIOLET

PROLOGUE

Sword chimed against sword: enemy against enemy. The sound of battle. The ringing, desperate note of war.

How did it come to this?

A whispered cry, pathetic and weak, a help to no one. But Abhner could no more stop the thought than he could the battle that raged around him. His kin and brethren lost somewhere in the noise, friends forgotten: fighting for their lives. The old enemy fought against the new. And yet no pointed tip, eager arrow or hard fist struck Abhner. At the beginning he had believed he was the reason, now he could see just how unimportant he had become.

A pain throbbed behind his left eye. Yes, his part in this tale was done.

A grunting thrust of strength filled his ears and he looked back toward the centre of the battle. Looking into it was madness. There was no sense or beauty in battle, just the desperate, clawing fingers of bleeding men too afraid to die. But not all who fought this day were men.

On Sandpoint’s top there were, in fact, only three mortal beings. Abhner himself, his younger brother Behan and – he turned – Layana. Another cry tore his head back round to the battle. Who had cried out? Was someone hurt?

His eyes moved through the gusting particles of dust and magic, over the cowering bodies of Tajar and Had’Rian, even past his brother and Silas. The cry had come from Crispin. Brave, capable Crispin. A knight. A hero. His sword’s tip was embedded in the soft tissue of an Elder’s stomach. The cry had come from the wizard.

Hypnotised, Abhner watched Crispin’s muscles ripple as he tore the sword upward, splitting the Elder’s insides in two. Leonarra – that was his name, Abhner quickly remembered – looked somewhat unsurprised by the wound. His long, blonde hair shimmered like the sun, as if diamonds had been set in the genetic make up of the Elder’s locks. A coat of sweat stood out on his long forehead, a bead trickled down to the tip of his pointed nose.

The Elder looked down. Abhner looked also. The blood had started to run. First it just blotted the white robes the old man wore, then it began to soak it. Abhner had never been sure if the Elders were made up of blood, if they could even die. It seemed his questions had been answered.

The wind roared around Abhner’s ankles, spinning fast, making the legs of his trousers flap violently against his skin. He looked down and then back across the lands. Leonarra thrust his arms out on either side of his body, tilted his head back softly on his neck and opened his mouth wide.

Light shone upwards, leaking out from between the Elder’s lips. It thrust up out of his eyes, from his ears and nostrils, also. On the other end of the sword, Crispin tried to pull himself free but could not. Abhner started forward, wanting to help his friend, the only one who had ever truly understood him. But Leonarra’s head swung forward on his neck again, the light came with him and it drenched Crispin in its white beauty.

The light grew stronger, brighter, louder. Abhner’s ears tingled; his skin began to burn. He threw his arms up to cover his eyes just as Leonarra burst apart in all that light. The energy of his extinguished life raced across the hilltop and Abhner was knocked backwards off his feet.

The wind burned just as hotly as the bright light and Abhner cried out behind his folded arms. His torn shirt billowed; the skin of his stomach was exposed and prickled painfully. He turned onto his side, curled himself up protectively and waited for the torrent to pass.

It was over far sooner than he had expected.

Very carefully sitting up, he squinted his eyes across the hilltop, his hands still raised to protect his face. But there was no light left, no burning wind – not even the Elder himself. His brethren stood where Leonarra had fallen. A heaped lump lay at their feet, scorched red and black. With a jolt, Abhner realised that it was Crispin. Burnt to an unrecognisable form, Crispin lay dead. Smoke still rose from his singed body and the scent of it carried on their air towards Abhner.

Undignified and past caring, he leaned over and vomited.
Wiping his mouth, he got unsteadily back to his feet. His eyes betrayed him and sought out his friend’s heaped carcass again. Tajar was close to it now, his hands reaching but never quite falling on the figure.

Abhner’s eyes moved left, seeking out his brother. Behan lay face down on the ground. A body lay on top of him. It was that of Silas. The youngest immortal Abhner had known – the truest of all his kind. Silas’s body was unmoving but his mouth was open in one long endless scream of agony. And Abhner was not surprised that he screamed. When the wind and light had raced across the hilltop Silas had fallen down on top of Behan, protecting his mortal body but sacrificing his own. Silas’s back was a bed of bleeding blisters.

Abhner’s hand went to his mouth, sure he would vomit again. He took deep, calming breaths, swallowing away the urge. He caught movement. Had’Rian crawling towards the bellowing Silas. Abhner watched the old immortal curl his arms carefully under Silas’s armpits and haul him gently away. Silas writhed and screamed like a bucking stallion but Had’Rian did not let him go until he was safely away from Behan. Abhner waited to see Behan move, saw him lift himself carefully and fold himself into Had’Rian’s embrace. Abhner turned away, sickened all over again.

They were not his friends, not really, not ever. They had been Behan’s strange choice, not Abhner’s. Although they had helped him these last twelve months, and although they had formed a friendship of some kind, Abhner saw now, only at the end, that they would never be his and he would never be theirs. The person he belonged to, the only one in the world –
He turned. Layana. His wife.

Screaming at the sky with a voice that Abhner had never heard from her throat before. Her black hair billowing back in the madness she had created, her eyes now pure black. He had helped her carry those powers, not ever knowing what they really were. Now he could see their destructive power. Too late he had seen. Now the apocalypse was upon them. Layana was to end to the mortal race. But not for herself.

The man she worked for, the man who had given her these powers in the first place. Lucretious. Immortal and evil. An unkempt, brown beard coated his chin and cheeks, the eyes above it were devoid of all emotion. A haggard old green cloak flapped about his skinny frame. He did not look very impressive but Abhner knew far better than most that looks could be deceiving.

Layana did not look like her father, of course, because he was not hers by conception. He had mutilated her genes with his own. Once, in the beginning, back at birth where all are equal and innocent, she had been a normal, mortal baby. More normal than Abhner had ever been with his mixed-blood. And how much more abnormal he had believed himself to be in adulthood.
After the Elders had kidnapped him at sixteen. Drugged him, performed spells on his mind. Layana had been there too. As unconscious as he, suffering from a disease the Elders had claimed. That disease had just been her father’s powers: too strong for her mortal mind and body to handle. Abhner had not known her name then, nor anything about her extraordinary life. But he had loved her. And he had spent the next two years of his life searching for her.

Once found, she had been taken from him again. Her guardians had snatched her away. Because, Abhner had believed, he was evil and dangerous. He looked at Layana now, her full mouth open in a scream of horror and excitement as the dark clouds of death she had called began to descend upon the world. How wrong they had been, he thought. How wrong they had all been.
Not all, though, he quickly corrected himself. Someone had known the entire time. The Elders.

Once there had been eight of the extraordinary wizards, then depleted at the very beginning of the century to seven. In a war that Abhner had not been born to witness, the Elders had been split down the middle. Four – Komaluna, Plazonra, Leonarra, Vahra – followed Lucretious and his immortal bigotry, three – Bouchraa, Ghabraa, Dhalidya – remained together vowing to protect the world that they had been set on earth to nurture. But they had not protected the world. Just look at the mess it was now in.

He looked back at Layana, still unable to keep his eyes from her beautiful face. Her skin was pale, her eyes so very dark and drawn, but still she was perfect. She was going to kill him and yet he could not stop loving her.

Despite the Elders’ best efforts, she had belonged to him and he to her. The great power they had shared together. The electricity that had sparked between them that had been more than just love. Abhner could see now with all the clarity that hindsight could bring that it had been the fusion of the power lying dormant in his mind and the pieces left over in Layana’s trying desperately to be rejoined. Their souls had wanted the same thing, too.

They had been married no more than two months ago. And that marriage had brought them here, to this place of death. To this battle. And Layana was no longer on the same side as Abhner. And he knew whose fault it was.

Lucretious.

He hissed the name in his mind, watched how the old man smiled greedily at his daughter’s powers. Were they stronger than his own? It didn’t matter. Layana would not fight him; she was out of control. Her only duty in this life now was to bring forth the apocalypse. Abhner’s eyes raised to the ever darkening sky. And she was doing a wonderful job.
Anger bit into the sadness that had been encasing his heart and he reached out for the abandoned sword lying on the uneven ground of Sandpoint’s top. His hand squeezed down over the hilt and he frowned his blue eyes across at his father-in-law. This was all going to end very soon, he promised himself and Lucretious.

Hunching his shoulders forward, trying to make his skinny, lanky body seem broad and strong, he lifted the sword. It took only another second for him to decide to move forward, to try to end it once and for all. Seeing Layana, her once beautiful face now contorted in concentration and evil, was enough to send his anger surging up through his body, burning him in its ferocity. Lucretious was going to pay for what he had done to his wife!

Letting out a roar as he moved, Abhner held the sword in his inexperienced grip, thrusting it out, hoping for a lucky strike. But to his horror and dismay Lucretious was ready for him, had somehow known of his plan. Flicking out his haggard cloak, Lucretious spun with amazing grace and speed for a man of his age and stature. Revealing the sword he had always had hidden beneath his clothing, he smirked that knowing smile at Abhner and the younger man suddenly felt the weakness of his own body. As if to confirm it, Lucretious struck out with his weapon, his stroke fast and true. It met Abhner’s and the blades chimed together loudly. That deadly ringing of death.

The wind roared its anger and defiance but Layana did not look over, not once did she lower her eyes from the sky and the apocalypse that would forever bear her name.

Lucretious’s power rippled down the joined swords, pressing against Abhner’s arms, making them tremble and ache. The power was not supernatural. It was the power that only an experienced swordsman could possess. Abhner thought weakly and far too late that he had never fought before, had only held a sword in the latter weeks of this trip, when Crispin had relented and offered up the weapon for inspection. He saw his own death playing out before his eyes and his strength weakened again.

Lucretious twisted his arm around, forcing Abhner to spin his sword away. The immortal man laughed wickedly as Abhner stumbled away, almost fell. Without honour, Lucretious strode forward, brought his sword down against Abhner, taking full advantage of his weakened state.

Abhner cried out as the blade tore into the flesh of his arm and Lucretious laughed heartily, revelling in his pain. Abhner stumbled back to his feet, knew that not to do so would be suicide, but Lucretious was ready for him and gave him no time to recover. Hitting out at Abhner again, Lucretious smashed his sword down over and over against Abhner’s.

Abhner clung on with the little strength he had left, desperately afraid of falling to the old man’s sword. Lucretious hammered down hard against him again, changed his attack at the last moment and spun the sword spectacularly fast in front of Abhner’s eyes. The sharp side sliced into Abhner’s left arm and he cried out in surprise more than pain and saw a beautiful spray of his own red blood arching upward into the wind.

Their swords moved together again, their bodies pulled in close. Abhner could feel the old man’s horrid breath against his face, panting in excitement.

“You did not think you would succeed, did you?” Lucretious slurred. “No one can defeat me, boy.”

Abhner clenched his teeth together, his breath puffing out from between them, and tried to hold on, digging deep inside himself for another burst of strength. But once again Lucretious pushed himself closer, still sneering and full of self-importance. Abhner could take it no more. He was not skilled with a sword, could not last another moment of Lucretious’s beatings, and so he did the only thing that he knew he could.

Moving fast, he brought the handle of the sword up, burying it deep and hard into Lucretious’s evil old face. It was the immortal man’s turn to cry out and he did so spectacularly when he saw the red blood splattering around his nose. Acting quickly, knowing he had to take full advantage, Abhner came at the old man again, pushing at him. Kicking out, he lay the sole of his foot against Lucretious’s skinny stomach and pushed him back into his royal throne.

Stunned and shocked, Lucretious stumbled back, landing awkwardly in his chair. Abhner pushed his sword against the old man’s neck and hissed, “I will kill you for what you have done to my wife.”

The look of surprise and worry melted quickly away from Lucretious’s face. Instead of crying out, begging for salvation, he smiled and then began to laugh. “You will not kill me.”

“Do not be so sure,” Abhner said, pressing the sword even closer, seeing a dot of blood appearing at its tip.

Lucretious continued to laugh. “If you kill me then you kill Layana also.”

Abhner’s stomach turned cold, the gleeful victory slipped free of his fingers in an instant. His eyes darted nervously across at his wife and then back to her father again.

“That’s right,” Lucretious chuckled, nodding his head. “We are connected, Layana and I. I live because she lives, as she lives because I do. If you kill me, Abhner, then you kill her.” He paused and fluttered his cold green eyes up at him. “Can you really kill your wife?”

Hesitation and fear made movement impossible. Standing still, lost in the injustice of the situation, Abhner heard his breath shuddering from his lungs, could feel panic rising in his chest. He looked up at Layana, his eyes wide. How could God force him to make this choice? How could he choose between killing his wife and killing the world?

Finally, Layana lowered her arms from the sky, closed her mouth and stopped the death scream. Although her eyes were black they still looked soft and she turned them on Abhner. “Can you kill me, Abhner?” she asked, sounding suddenly like the woman he loved.

Very slowly, he turned around to face her. Her long black hair blew back in the wind, revealing her beautiful pale face. The eyes that were black when they should have been blue still could not take her beauty. And as Abhner turned around to fully face her he felt the sword slipping away from Lucretious’s throat.

“No,” he whispered, defeated by love.

The sword slipped free of his hand and fell down against the floor. That eerie sound of war filled Abhner’s ears again. Following its path, Abhner buried his face in his hands, exhausted by it all.

Above him, he heard Lucretious and Layana laugh together, an awful sound that chilled his blood. Slowly, he raised his head and looked up at them both – father and daughter. Together they moved towards him and Lucretious handed Layana his sword. Abhner did not flinch, did not try to run. He kept his eyes focused on his wife. He was frightened of death, it was true, but it was all he deserved now.

Footsteps clattered behind Abhner and too late he saw the figure approaching. Not an Elder come to help his master but Abhner’s own baby brother. Sixteen year’s old and so desperate to make up for his sins. But there was nothing he could do to make up for what he had done.

“No, Behan, don’t!” Abhner shouted.

But it was too late. Always he was too late.

Helpless, he watched as Behan, screaming shrilly with effort, ran forward with a sword held out before his tiny body. Lucretious turned, stunned by the sudden attack; but even he was too late to stop it. The sword’s tip sliced right through the old man’s throat. Lucretious was propelled backwards under the weight and Behan kept pushing until the immortal man was slumped in his throne and the sword was buried almost all the way up to the hilt.

“Ahh,” Behan gasped, sounding disgusted and repulsed. The sword wobbled precariously.

A gargled sound of a lost word bubbled up out of Lucretious’s throat and then, quite suddenly, he died. Abhner sighed in shock, looked up at his baby brother and saw Behan swallowing thickly, a look of complete horror on his youthful features. The brothers looked at one another, looking so alike in their terror. And from behind came Layana’s scream.

It was a shriek of pain and Abhner turned in time to watch her black eyes return to blue and see how she dropped gracelessly to the floor.

He grabbed for her, curled his bruised fingers around her shoulders. “No, Layana, please, no,” he begged her, as if she had any control over the proceedings.

More hurried footsteps distracted Abhner. Had’Rian arriving. The fat, middle-aged-looking immortal who was in fact closer to two hundred years in age. His sandy blonde hair was drenched in dirt and blood, his face was stricken with horror. He did not even see Abhner. He wrapped his arms around Behan’s waist and the lover’s fell into one another. Abhner grunted and looked away.

“Layana?” he asked, softening his voice, praying it could not really be the end of her.

Very slowly, she raised her face to his. He saw that she was his wife again, the woman he loved.

"I am dying,” she whispered in a voice that was laced with pain. “I am glad it’s over,” she sighed, even managing to smile around the grimace. She landed clumsily against his mouth and they kissed softly.

“Do not give up,” Abhner demanded, curling a palm around her jaw, stroking his fingers through her luscious dark hair.

“I’m glad I got to see you,” she said, ignoring his statement, “one last time.”

“Do not speak like that,” he said, wanting to be angry with her but too grief-stricken to manage it.

He looked up in despair, his eyes darting desperately around the hilltop. Layana fell in against his chest and he heard her ragged breathing; it sounded as though her lungs were disintegrating.

Over the top of her head, he found the Elders. Still gathered around their fallen brother, all six of them together, the two opposing groups suddenly reunited in their grief. Had they not seen Lucretious’s death? He remembered all of their talks about prophecies and wondered if they had always known this would happen. It would explain why they were not surprised. But if they had, then hadn’t they also always known that Layana would die?

At this thought, Bouchraa, leader of the good brothers, turned to look at Abhner. Abhner tried not to flinch under his gaze but it was difficult. Bouchraa had become a figure of ridicule amongst the friends but Abhner knew how powerful the wizard was. He could stop death. He could save Layana –

Death cannot be stopped, the Elder spoke in Abhner’s thoughts, startling him. Death wishes to take a soul so then we must let it have one.

“No,” Abhner said out loud, uneducated in telepathy. “Don’t let her die. Please don’t her die. She is your daughter – you do not want this.”

My brethren and I do not wish for Layana to die. She could have a very full future. Without her I fear what will happen to the world.

“Please?” Abhner begged. “Please, do something to save her.”

What can I do? When Death calls, I must not stand in its way. It wants a soul, Abhner. Someone must die tonight.

“Then take me!” Abhner cried. Layana was so still in his lap. “Please,” he begged, “oh please hurry.”

Bouchraa did not ask Abhner to be sure of his decision. As quick as that the telepathy was closed and Bouchraa moved away from his brothers. He strode forward with purpose, his long, grey hair and white beard blowing backwards in the gentle breeze that the departing clouds left in their wake.

He stopped beside Abhner, lay his hand on top of his head and laid his left palm on Layana’s. The grey wizard’s eyes fluttered closed and he whispered an incantation in the tongues of Old. Abhner closed his own eyes, scared to look upon an Elder when he was performing a spell; the rumours were rife about the ugly manifestations that took hold.

Abhner felt nothing, saw nothing. With his eyes closed, he held Layana against his chest and prayed for it to be quick and painless.

To those who looked, Abhner’s essence could be seen moving up Bouchraa’s right arm, Layana’s moving up his left. Hers was so faint, a dying pale colour that was nearly spent. The essences moved across the wizard’s chest, the lovers reunited once more, in essence and not in form. Bouchraa’s chest filled with a great swell of love that no Elder had ever experienced before and he gasped against the weight of it. Then the essences moved apart again and the sensation ended.

They slithered down opposite arms, dropping back down into their new bodies. Bouchraa’s hands lifted and then he stepped away. Abhner looked up, felt and saw the hatred in the old wizard’s gaze, his new happiness at Abhner’s demise. Abhner worried he had made a terrible mistake – for how could he protect Layana from the wizards from the grave? But it was too late.

To Abhner it was as if someone had sucked all the energy from his body and filled it instead with knives and needles. When inhaled his chest and ribcage ached, when he let that breath go he felt sure he was expelling what little energy he had left. His head spun and he fell forward into Layana’s lap.

He could hear her breathing above him. The sweet, sweet sound of life in her body again. Her arms curled around him, lifted him up. “What is it that you have done?” she asked, confused and upset. “Why have you done this?”

“I gave you the only thing I could,” Abhner gasped. Oh, it was so very painful. “I gave you… myself.”

“Abhner, no!” Layana cried, squeezing his face between her warming palms. “Abhner, no.”

He fell forward again, laying his cheek against her breasts, listening to the steady thump of her heartbeat.

“Bouchraa, take it back!” he heard her hollering over his head. “Undo it!”

“It cannot be undone,” Bouchraa replied. Was it just Abhner’s imagination or did he sound smug? Another slice of fear dropped into his stomach.

“What’s wrong?” Behan asked, reminding Abhner that he was leaving behind his younger brother. He would be alone in this world now. No, that was not right. He would not be alone. He had his immortal friends and their unnatural love for him.

Using the last of his strength, Abhner pushed himself upwards. Behind Layana he could see Tajar and Silas limping closer, somehow sensing the end was near for one of the company. Tajar looked dejected and beaten; Silas exhausted by the pain and wanting it all to end. His eyes swung to the right and found Had’Rian and Behan still stood in each other’s arms. Abhner could see Layana with those men. He could see her life with them and his stomach contracted jealously. For they had never been his friends, not truly, but they had all worshipped and adored Layana, and they would so again once he was gone.

Curling his trembling hand around Layana’s face, Abhner pulled her soft mouth against his and died in the velvet kiss.