Author's Notes: Man, I'm exhausted. Okay. Little different chapter this time. But, since things are pretty much clipping along at the castle, I figure we can leave them to their own entertainments for a little while. We'll see about the mess when we get back, I'm sure. Anyway. Shorter chapter and I apologize. But you guys enjoy just the same; things are starting to happen around here! Where will we go next? -Sib
Many leagues to the north, far from the lush green Shuddering Wood, across the Great Narnia River and deep beyond the Owlwood Forest, a desolate lone hill rose from the blighted earth. The ground around it was hard, cold and strewn with rocks, sporting very little vegetation. The trees were pale imitations of their southern kin; the agonized trunks were cracked and twisted, their bare branches spread in a kind of crooked agony as they reached for the uncaring grey skies.
Very little life breathed here; twisted and misshapen creatures slithered to and fro, eking out a semblance of survival among the ravines and crags. In the middle of the diseased valley, the hill slumped in a kind of weary vigil, the mouth at the bottom gaping, yawning suggestively to any foolish enough to venture inside.
For inside, magic breathed. But it was not the wild, bright magic that soared through the southern part of Narnia. No, this magic was old and dark, content to breathe in the shadows of what once was, what had been. This darkness remembered. It recalled the frozen times before, over a thousand years ago, when the Witch of Charn had ruled Narnia in her frozen grip. It had reveled then, unchecked and abounding over the crystalline world. But spring had returned, forcing it to retreat deep into the earth, to sleep and dream of a world where chaos ran rampant, where blood soaked the earth and thunder split the skies.
A millennium passed. And it slept. But then, just two short years ago, the Great Lion's roar again split the air, shaking it from its slumber, bringing it forth into this new era, where wild, sweet magic once again soared through the woods, calling the creatures forth from their long exile. The darkness seethed; it loathed such brightness, such goodness. And peace. Anger coursed through the shadows, sending whispers of hatred and vileness scuttling through the broken earth to those receptive to its voice.
And they had come. By the score. Those creatures of Narnia who had been part of it a thousand years before, those dark creatures who had served the Witch of Charn and shared her lust for chaos, for power.
Such a one now sat in the cavern beneath the hill, muttering to herself as she blithered in her madness. Skua, the harpy. She had heard the call two years ago and had been drawn from her nest high in the Northern Mountains. Upon arriving at the hill, the shadows had led her deeper and deeper into the gloom beneath the mountain, where her simple mind had been overwhelmed by the roiling magic trapped there.
Skua sat on the small stone perch, jerking imperceptibly as she mumbled indecipherable words. Harpies were odd creatures at the beginning, but the power infesting Skua had driven her completely mad. Only when the power manifested itself through her eyes did she possess any sort of sanity.
Strangely resembling a mix between a bat and a woman, the harpy sat on the perch just like a bird, her wide leathery wings folded down her ridged back. Bones protruded from her skin, which sagged on her lank frame like old folded parchment. Naked and bedraggled, Skua sometimes cackled and yanked sharp talons through her greasy tangled hair, which fell over her eyes and down her back, the stark blackness against her milky skin resembling cracks in stonework.
Every so often, colorless lips peeled back from sharp pointed teeth as she cackled, red eyes glowing in the dimness. But her eerie laughter soon faded and she was reduced to her incessant babbling yet again, only becoming animate when the magic roused inside her or one of the dark creatures brought prey to feed her.
As now. The flames in the grates flickered as a large minotaur rumbled in, rough cloth sack slung over its shoulder. The beast grunted and clopped near to Skua's perch, snorted once then tossed the wriggling sack at the stone's base.
Skua twitched, but didn't look up.
A sly black dwarf, who was more or less Skua's keeper, slipped around her perch and cut open the bag to reveal a child faun, no more than five years old. The little creature was crying and whimpering, struggling to get away, but escape was impossible due to its broken leg, which was mercilessly bent backwards at the knee. Tograt, the dwarf, smirked and prodded it with his knife, delighting in its mewls.
Skua finally took notice and looked down at the child, her red eyes eerily glowing. She suddenly shrieked and began flapping her large wings, stirring the dust about in the cavern. Tograt wisely backed out of reach as the harpy screamed again, echoed by the faun as the monster leapt from her perch and descended on the squalling child.
The fire briefly dimmed – perhaps in sympathy – as the sounds of cracking bone and the scent of blood flooded the cavern beneath the hill as the harpy sated her hunger, the powerful evil magic inside reveling in the essence of chaos it had created.
Sometime later, after the harpy had gorged herself and crawled painfully back atop her perch and the remains had been ferreted away by the numerous dark skitterlings that seethed in the shadows, Tograt watched as Skua labored, just fighting to breathe. Her stomach was stretched paper-thin, so much had she eaten.
But it was always the same. They brought her food and she devoured, until near to bursting. The dwarf couldn't even imagine what insatiable spirit dwelled within Skua's flesh; it made his own crawl to even contemplate such a notion.
Nevertheless, the canny Torgat was ever attentive to the harpy; it was she that housed the dark magic, it was her mouth that gave it voice. Privately, the dwarf felt that the power might have found a more desirable host; the harpy was a horrid mad creature, scarcely fit for death, let alone to be the messenger of the old powerful spirits.
"…Torrrrrgattttt," she wheezed, lolling her head around to fix him with an evil crimson eye.
Obediently he sheathed his daggers and stumped to his feet – one was considerably shorter than the other, thanks to being gnarled beyond repair in a wretched Telmarine bear trap. He approached the harpy slowly, eyes downcast.
Skua took a labored breath and hissed, "…I thirrrrrrrst…waterrrrrr…"
Without a murmur, the dwarf turned and stumped behind her perch, taking a dipper from a moldy bucket and bringing it around to offer to the pathetic creature. Skua suddenly flapped her wings and squawked, startling Tograt into stepping back a pace, but she greedily snatched the small metal ladle and slurped down the tepid liquid, throwing it at him when done.
"Morrrrrre!" she shrieked, hissing evilly, bloody spittle flying from her long sharp teeth.
The dwarf retrieved the ladle and silently filled it again, fulfilling the chore four more times before she was finally sated. Shortly thereafter, the harpy's head lolled forward and she slipped into a fitful doze, jerking uncontrollably in her sleep every so often.
Tograt took the opportunity to haul the water bucket from the cave and stump painfully around the hill, headed for the sluggish stream a few hundred yards away, muttering foul obscenities to himself as he went. The water was brackish, scummed with algae, but he filled his bucket full nevertheless, even splashing a bit of the tepid stuff across his black and grey hair, wetting his mangled beard in the process.
Life had not been kind to the miserable dwarf. But he'd not let it deter him; Tograt knew that eventually the insane harpy would outlive her usefulness to the old magic and he intended to be right there when it did. Thus, his obeisance for now.
As he stumped back towards the hill, his perpetually squinted eyes caught sight of movement just beyond the scraggly trees. A brutish head appeared, followed by the rest of the powerful body. The minotaur who'd brought the meal, Astayax.
Tograt snorted, demanding, "Why are you skulking around, Astayax? You've done your job; she's been fed and requires nothing else."
The minotaur shambled from the trees, its large body moving over the ground with surprising swiftness. He snorted, the sound much akin to a bull's bellow. "I serve the Power, dwarf," he rumbled, dipping his head in a show of aggression. "Not a mere bat on a stone."
Tograt snarled, putting down the bucket and snatching out his short but deadly blade. "Mind your tongue, bull-man, else I'll relieve you of it."
The minotaur did bellow this time, the sound nearly a roar but he stopped abruptly as a shrill shriek echoed from the cavern. Tograt frowned, sheathing his blade and retrieving his bucket, hurrying into the cavern. Astayax followed, having heard the summons as well.
Skua had woken from her slumber and was screeching and flapping about on her perch, clawed toes leaving runnels in the granite. She flailed, wings beating madly and sharp talons gouging her own flesh as mad eyes rolled.
"I neeeeeeeed him!" she whined, craning her neck nearly backward, peering at her two servants from the mop of hair falling over her twisted face. "Bring him to meeeeeeee!"
Tograt, the water bucket forgotten, snarled and stumped over to pick up the things she'd strewn about in her wild flailing. "Calm yourself, Skua," he told her indifferently. "He'll be along in a few days or so."
Suddenly, Tograt choked as an invisible force grabbed his stubby body and slammed him against the wall, pinning him there immobile. Skua screamed, rising to her full height atop her perch and a backlash of power roiled around the cavern, setting the flames to roaring as she bellowed, her voice no longer that of an insane fiendish woman, but something far older, far more powerful, this was the voice of the ancient black magic itself.
"Bring him to me! The traitorous Son of Adam! Now!!"
Skua's eyes began to glow, a frightful red that seemed to fill her entire face and eerie mocking laughter roiled around the room, setting the minotaur's fur on end. Turning back to the dwarf, Skua's face abruptly changed from maniacal to cold; she tilted her head just slightly and Tograt collapsed to the unforgiving dirt floor, wheezing in attempt to catch his breath.
Steam panted from Skua's chapped lips; even in the warmth of the underground the magic was cold. She stretched her wings to fullness, head lolling back as her hellish eyes rolled in her skull.
After a moment, she turned cold calculating eyes to Astayax, demanding in that cold hollow voice, "You will bring him here before me in two night's time, Astayax, else the penalty for failure will be torment for a thousand years."
She hissed at him, lips peeling back from yellowed fangs. A slab of tongue curled around one pointed fang as she cackled, the sound spine-chilling and evil. The harpy stared with eyes unseeing as the minotaur bowed and backed out of her presence hurriedly, nor did she notice the still gurgling black dwarf that slunk painfully away from the wall to crouch in abject misery behind a firegrate as he coughed and spluttered.
Skua just stared into the past - or perhaps the future - as she grinned insanely and crouched atop her perch once more, the ancient evil magic in her body swirling behind those mad, mad eyes. She began to croon, the unholy melody sharp and accentuated every so often with her desultory cackle.
After a few minutes of this madness, Skua looked up and gazed unseeing into the still-leaping flames. Her lips cracked in a gleeful grin as her eyes flashed red in the light.
"We have much to discuss, the lord and I..."
To be continued...