Shifting Stars Read online

  “Why not?”

  “Because, my dear shadow warrior, you're just not interesting enough yet. Now, if you're quite finished, it's time for us to join a friend of mine so she can explain the current situation. She is looking forward to seeing you.”

  With that, the White Guardian flies into the air, leaving Daelen little choice but to follow meekly behind.

  *****

  Lying is generally frowned upon by White Clerics, but I’m sure all the gods of goodness will forgive Aunt Mandalee for her taking sweet revenge for how the shadow warrior had acted so superior and condescending when they first met. Surely, in that context, no-one could blame her for this harmless bit of fun.

  I’m sure, gentle reader, you will have noticed, that she used the phrase ‘observation-only.’ That’s because the real answer to Daelen’s question is that the magic used for mass-market Time travel necessarily makes the visitors completely invisible and incorporeal to the natives of that time. Only the Guardians and I have Interactive Time travel, which is why only Mandalee could visit Daelen in this way and enlist his much-needed help.

  Now that he’s agreed, I can get on with my story, secure in the knowledge that my plans are in motion, metaphorically speaking. Literally speaking, nothing is in motion, because I’m keeping my house frozen in what I suppose one might call a bubble of Time.

  In another quirk of my unique magio-physiology, I can create a Time travel dead zone around me, which I can extend to those nearby. That’s how I’m holding the Black and Red Guardians captive in my room, so they can’t interfere with what Mandalee is doing. Effectively, I have changed the Time settings to ‘observation only’ so that I can see and relate a first-hand account of what happened in what one might crudely call the past. The two Guardians can’t stop me, because – and I say this without conceit – they’re not powerful enough without the ‘Power of Three.’ And, before you say anything, yes, I know that’s a cliché, and no, they don’t really call it that. I just say it to wind them up and prick their egos a bit.

  Nevertheless, the point still stands: The Guardians are greater than the sum of their parts, which is why it’s so sad to see them divided like this. It is my hope that the story I write will convince them, the Council, and you, gentle reader, that I am doing the right thing.

  ‘Who keeps me in check?’ you may ask.

  Why, Aunt Mandalee, of course! If ever I am on the receiving end of one of her Looks of Disappointment, I am completely powerless. No magic required. And failing her, there’s always Shyleen. You might not know it to see the leopard as she is now, curled up by my fire and beginning to purr, but trust me: that is one cat you don’t want to cross!

  In case you haven’t guessed, the ‘friend’ Mandalee is bringing Daelen to see, is me. I suppose it was easier for her to go with the word ‘friend’ rather than ‘immortal daughter from your future, a product of a relationship you never even got to have and who, if things go wrong between you and Catriona before they’re supposed to go wrong, might never exist, but no pressure.’

  It will be strange to meet him, when for nearly a thousand years I’ve believed I would never have a chance to know him.

  But my special relationship with Time is relevant for another reason. Even though from an external frame of reference, the pair will be here any moment, I still have as much time as I need to write this story. I know it’s weird, but as Mandalee so eloquently put it: The explanation has to do with the true nature of Time and its relative spatial dimensions, but I can't tell you about that because you’re not ready for it.

  No offence.

  Actually, I am doing you a favour by not telling you how it works; I know exactly how it works, and the whole thing makes my head hurt. I wouldn’t want to inflict that on all my innocent readers, so in short, it’s best to stick with the image of a bubble in Time.

  Now, I think it’s high time I gave you some much-needed perspective on my mother, Catriona, and my two Aunts, Mandalee and Dreya. The people who made me who I am and the world what it is. To do that, I must take us back to the beginning…

  …Or, at least, an earlier part of the middle.

  Chapter 2

  The world of Tempestria was well-named, for the sky, both day and night, was dominated by a perpetual vortex of swirling energy. The shape and pattern were continually shifting, and its intensity seemed to wax and wane according to some vast cosmic cycle, but even at its lowest ebb, it was far from what anyone could describe as ‘calm.’ Of course, in those days, no-one in this world considered this unusual or strange. After all, they knew of no other worlds with which to compare theirs. To the people of Tempestria, this was simply the nature of reality.

  Now and then a group would spring up, claiming that the world had not always been so and that it had once had another name entirely. Depending on prevailing social attitudes, the response to these individuals ranged from polite sympathy for their delusional state through to, I’m sorry to say, gentle reader, persecution and violence.

  Catriona was born to parents who many considered mismatched. Her father, Gabrian, was one of the long-lived Faery who was as rooted to his sun-drenched Quarthonian forest as any oak tree. Like many Faery, he grew uncomfortable if he strayed too far from his forest home. The one time he visited a human city, he became seriously ill. While not as ancient as many of the Quarthonian trees, at almost two hundred years old, he was considered middle-aged. Gabrian was a druid mage, a healer in the community, while Catriona’s mother, Velena Redfletching, was a fierce warrior. Equally adept at hunting both animals and people, she was well-known for the battle frenzy that would come upon her when she felt threatened. This greatly enhanced her speed, strength and focus, to the point where nothing could sway, divert or reason with her. Aged just nineteen when she first met Gabrian, she was more at home in the crowded city streets at night and rarely stayed in one place for long. She was indeed the unstoppable force to Gabrian’s immovable object. The name Redfletching came from Velena's trademark ruby-coloured feathers, which adorned the tails of all her arrows. Catriona adopted the practice and earned the name on the day she outshot her mother.

  Despite their differences – or perhaps because of them – Gabrian and Velena were hopelessly attracted to each other. Catriona was the fruit of their love, their only child. Trained in the formidable archery and hunting skills of her mother and the gentle magic of her father as she grew up, she proved to be highly gifted in both sides. From a young age, she appreciated the strength that is found in diversity and committed herself to the pursuit of Balance in herself, in magic and in the world.

  Outwardly, modern-day Faery were slightly smaller than the average human and considerably lighter, possessing hollow bones as a legacy of evolution from creatures that could fly. Faery did not have wings, however, and depictions of winged Faery were generally deemed offensive. Their most distinctive feature was a stripe of small brown spots that ran down each side of their body, legs and arms. Catriona’s markings extended to her face, although as a half-Faery, they were faded, so they could easily be mistaken for freckles. Cat was always quick to make it clear that they were not.

  The mortals of Tempestria shared their world with higher planar beings, powerful even beyond the gods to whom they prayed. Every now and then, Daelen StormTiger would drop out of the sky and fight some unfathomable cosmic threat known as Kullos, and often their great and terrible battles took their toll on innocent Tempestrians. According to legend, one particularly devastating battle, in ages past, caused Daelen to somehow split in two. He and his twin, generally known as the dark clone, did not get on, and so Daelen had two nemeses to fight. Relative to my mother’s time, that was a thousand years ago and even now, almost a thousand beyond that, we know almost nothing about the world before that time. There are no records, no history books. Nothing. To all intents and purposes, that was Year Zero, but that’s clearly impossible.

  All mortals knew of Daelen was that he was something called a
shadow warrior – as was Kullos – a being of incredible power and their world’s self-styled protector. It was a matter of some debate as to whether the world would, in fact, need a protector if he would simply go away, which, to the relief of many, he did for long periods. Still, nobody, not even the wizards and the clerics, had the power to do much about it when Daelen StormTiger chose to return and ‘protect’ them once more.

  *****

  At first, the attack on Catriona’s village seemed just another unfortunate site of these cosmic battles. Daelen appeared, as he always did, in the middle of a violent storm, bringing thunder, rain and lightning flashes that seemed to be shaped in the image of a great tiger. But there was something different about this attack: this time Kullos appeared to have an ally, which was unheard of. An ally who seemed intent on razing their quiet little village to the ground, as if in revenge for some terrible affront or unknowable offence they had caused.

  The village was not entirely alone in the face of this supernatural force. The Champion of the Gods, the faithful companion of Daelen StormTiger, was with them. He was called Ossian Miach Kaidool, but Tempestrians tended to call him ‘Michael’ as they could never pronounce his real name correctly. Trust me, gentle reader, it is not as simple as it appears on the page. There were complex inflexions to be observed and several of the common mistakes apparently translated into something highly insulting in his language. So frankly, he’d rather they just stick to ‘Michael.’

  Standing at seven feet, with dried, translucent skin stretched like parchment over a horned skull, he was somewhat disconcerting to look at. Still, he was quite an amiable chap. Just as long as one did not mispronounce his name and he wasn’t suffering from one of his bouts of depression, which were pretty understandable considering he was Fated to die at the end of every Final Battle. And there had been many Final Battles. Such death was not permanent – Daelen would always Resurrect him at a later time, but he could only do that when there was dire need.

  On that fateful day, Michael was forced to leave Daelen’s side, and try to defend the village, while the shadow warrior assailed Kullos with powerful blasts from his beam cannon and drew their great battle away from the area.

  The being attacking the village, gentle reader, was difficult to see – a phrase I use quite literally. He certainly wasn’t hiding, nor was it merely a case of camouflage. He wasn’t invisible as such, but more like a ‘void-creature.’ When one looked at his position, one didn’t really see him, so much as see the absence of him. As if there were a humanoid-shaped hole in the fabric of reality in the place he was standing. Michael had never seen anything like it before.

  Or should that be, he had ‘never not-seen nothing’ like it before? Whatever. Let’s just go with ‘void-creature.’

  Michael brought his powers to bear on this individual, but it remained unaffected. He summoned swarms of deadly insects, but they were swallowed by the void. He tried ‘A Murder of Ravens in Fugue’ bringing forth a dozen undead ravens from the Gates of Hell. Heralds of Death, they would inspire fear in those they attacked, but their calls seemed to echo and fade as if the void-creature were simply much too far away for their song to carry. Abandoning such tactics, he decided to go for a more direct approach, launching himself at the void-creature with his great Warhammer made of hardened, unbreakable petrified wood, which would imprison those it struck in the same material. The void-creature was fast – almost shadow warrior fast, but the centuries of training with Daelen paid off, and he finally hit his target. For a moment, the void-creature was cocooned, and it seemed the battle was won, but a moment later, the wood began to vibrate and quake until it shook itself apart, throwing Michael clear.

  Michael rushed at the void-creature with his golden Sword of Maruk, imbued with the power of the gods, but the void-creature opened a pocket dimension, from which he produced a great cannon and aimed it at Michael. Time slowed as Michael looked on in horror: From his readings, it seemed like a version of what Daelen and Kullos used, only even more powerful.

  Except it couldn’t be.

  The idea of a more powerful beam cannon was plausible enough in itself since the cannon drew power entirely from the shadow warrior who used it. In fact, the warrior was the real weapon – the cannon merely aided focus. A more powerful cannon really meant a more powerful shadow warrior. Just one problem: There were no more shadow warriors. Maybe not anywhere, but certainly in this realm, there were but three: Kullos, plus Daelen and his dark clone.

  But if this attack was indeed what it appeared to be, then Michael could not survive. Michael could always sense when he was Fated to die, and this was not one of those occasions. The gods had created him with the knowledge that if ever he died when it wasn’t Time, he could never be Resurrected. He would die, permanently. Forever.

  In a last, desperate attempt to make his existence count for something, he channelled every last drop of power from his very being through his sword to strike at the void-creature. As he did so, three figures appeared between them. Again, Michael couldn’t see them very well, but in a different way to the void-creature. They seemed to be shrouded by magic. All he could make out through his haze of pain was that they seemed to have a more feminine silhouette, and each seemed to radiate a particular colour: one white, one black and one red. They had woven some kind of magical net between them, which had a lensing effect on both energy beams, magnifying Michael’s and diffracting the cannon blast.

  The result of this Intervention was threefold: First, Michael was thrown to the ground in agony, but still alive – barely. Second, the void-creature was stunned long enough for the three newcomers to go on the offensive with what appeared to be a combination of all three flavours of mortal magic: wizard, cleric and druid. How mere mortal magic could be effective, Michael could not understand, but it was. The third effect of this Intervention, however, was that the portion of the diffracted cannon blast that had missed Michael slammed into the village around them. The young Catriona Redfletching was at the extreme edge of the explosion and was thrown clear. Others were not so fortunate. Cat dragged herself to her feet and cried out in tearful horror as her father, who had been only slightly closer to the blast, disintegrated into nothingness before her eyes.

  Also witness to the horrific scene was Velena who had been hunting away from the village at the time of the attack. Cat sensed her mother before she saw her, and when she turned to look at her, she felt like her spirit had been ripped from her body. She knew well the look on her mother’s face – it meant only one thing: the battle frenzy was upon her. Catriona’s fears were confirmed as Velena dropped the carcass of the stag she had slain for their dinner and reached for her weapons.

  “Mum! No!” Cat screamed, desperately, tears coursing like rivers down her cheeks. “You can’t fight them, they’re too powerful!”

  But she could see it in her mother’s eyes: at that moment, she didn’t even recognise her own daughter. Catriona tried to physically stop her, but Velena threw her aside like she was nothing to her. That hurt Cat far more than the rock that struck her head as she landed on her back.

  “Please!” she begged. “Please, Mum, I—I can’t lose you, too!”

  Velena ignored her pleas and rushed, heedless into battle, shooting arrows futilely at the void-creature.

  “Mum,” Cat whispered, her world fading as her concussion took its toll, and she lapsed into unconsciousness, “I…love…”

  *****

  The three newcomers were holding the void-creature at bay with their combined magic but did not seem able to deal a decisive blow. Not until a fourth figure appeared, glowing with a light so bright, Michael wondered if a piece of the sun had somehow broken away and decided to shine in the night sky. Michael could not look at this creature of light directly, lest it damage his eyes. Through the delirium of pain, Michael thought he could detect a strange aura and a kind of magic that he couldn’t identify.

  The figure stood unflinching before the
void-creature and said, “I can’t allow you to interfere any further here. Go back to where you belong. You know I can make you, but I’m giving you this one chance to leave by your own power.”

  The void-creature spoke for the first time. Michael suspected it would have been terrifying even without the heavy distortion that surrounded it, but he was in too much pain to give it any real thought.

  “If I go,” it said, “I’ll not be doing you any favours. It would be easier on all of you if I succeeded this day. Back home, your tricks won’t work on me the way they do here. You know that.”

  “Yes, I know,” the other admitted, “but that is how it must be.”

  “Fine, we’ll do it your way. See you later!”

  With that, the void-creature opened a portal and stepped through it.

  Once the void-creature was gone, Michael observed the four newcomers quickly consult one another over something. Apparently, an agreement was reached because the first three faded from reality, leaving just the last one behind alone. The glowing figure continued to defy any analysis, remaining incorporeal and insubstantial as it floated towards Michael.

  “Greetings, Ossian Miach Kaidool,” came an ethereal voice. To Michael’s astonishment, they pronounced his name perfectly.

  Michael always described the sound as ‘barely more than a whisper,’ and yet with ‘a kind of hidden musical quality’ that he couldn’t really explain.

  “I can help you,” said the figure, “but I will only do so on one condition: as a demigod, I know you have perception beyond that of mortals and a direct line to the gods. I am about to have an important meeting with someone, and neither you nor the gods must know anything about it. The pain you’re suffering right now is blocking all that out, so leaving you as you are would serve my needs perfectly. But I’m not without compassion, so I’m willing to take your pain away, if you agree to my taking away all your other senses, too.” The figure paused for a moment and appeared to reconsider. “Actually, I can leave you your sight, because nothing you see will matter without the wider context. Don’t worry, it will only be for a short while. Daelen’s latest fight with Kullos will soon be over, and he’ll come back here to help you, but I must be gone before he arrives, so I need your answer now. Do you consent to my terms?”