The Mighty One Read online

  THE MIGHTY ONE

  Anasta Chronicles

  Book One

  JENNY MCKANE

  Copyright © 2018

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter One

  The Time Before

  The messenger was late.

  The old woman walked the length of the temple, trying hard to quell the unease that was prickling in her chest. Usually, just being in this sacred space brought her comfort; it was both her sanctuary and her home. She stared around her, at all the familiar objects: the statue of the Goddess, central in the room; the cushions surrounding it; the candles, which even now burned bright. Incense wafted to her nostrils, the overwhelming scent of sandalwood a reminder of all that she held dear.

  They were coming.

  She felt it in her bones. She had lived a long, long time; so many years, that one had started to blur into the next. She had seen so much and had grown weary. She had thought that when death came, it would be welcome. Time to go and pass her knowledge on to the next generation. That long line of knowledge that spanned the centuries. They had all believed that the knowledge would never end.

  Sighing, she knelt on the cushion, staring up at the statue. She closed her eyes. She was so adept at weaving the spells, she had thought that they were impenetrable. But now, when she travelled into the zone and started muttering, it was as if a force field had sprung up around her. The words fell into space, meaningless. Whatever was blocking them, it was powerful. She had never encountered such power before.

  Goddess of light, of all that is and all that was…

  No. As soon as the words were uttered, she felt the darkness whistling around her. Whatever happened now would depend on fighting; the spells were useless. And so was she. When she was a young woman, she would have fought alongside them; she would have marched into battle fearlessly. She was too old now. Her fighting was the spells, and they were powerless. Again, she felt the fear rising in her breast.

  She opened her eyes, just as she heard the soft swish of the curtains parting. Someone was here. She turned, her face impassive.

  It was a young woman, panting. She wore the garb of the north: plain tunic and leggings. She had obviously travelled far, and quickly. Was she the messenger?

  “Mother.” The young woman knelt, bowing her head.

  “Rise, my daughter.” The old woman’s eyes were sad. “You have travelled a long way. What is it you have to tell me?”

  The young woman stood up, her breath almost even. “Mother Sorcha sent me, to warn you. The army increases in number by the day. They travel from the north, and they are quick. I only just managed to stay ahead of them.”

  The old woman nodded. “When do you think that they will be here?”

  “Two days, at the most.”

  The old woman’s fear rose in her throat. “That is not long.” She sighed, thinking deeply. “They are large, you say? How are your sisters and brothers holding up in the north?”

  “Oh, Mother Freya.” The young woman bowed her head. “I have never seen such destruction before. They raid the villages, and even the might of the sister warriors cannot quell them. I do not want to tell you this, Mother…”

  “What is it, my daughter?” The old woman’s voice was soft.

  “They have burned the temples, as they travel,” the young woman whispered. “They smashed the statues of the Goddess, and they laugh as they do it. My mothers have invoked their most powerful protection spells, but all to no avail.”

  “Have the mothers described what happens when they try?”

  “They say they are blocked,” the young woman continued. “As soon as the words leave their mouths, it as if they are snatched away on the wind. They have never encountered such a thing before.”

  “Yes,” replied the old woman. “It is the same here. I have been invoking, but it is no longer working.” She frowned, thinking deeply. “I must consult my books. Perhaps there is a precedent, and some other spells that may work.”

  “I hope so, Mother.” The young woman’s voice was threaded with fear. “Our warriors are trying, but they are outnumbered. I fear that the only thing that can save us is the magic.”

  Mother Freya sighed again. “You should go and rest, my daughter. You have journeyed long and hard and need respite. If you go to the cooking area, one of my sisters will have some broth for you.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” The young woman turned. “Blessed Goddess of Light.” She made the sign, bowing her head.

  “Blessed Goddess of Light.” The old woman signed back. Then, she turned back to the statue, hearing the young woman’s footsteps slowly receding.

  It was as she thought. The girl had told her nothing that she had not already known. Perhaps, somewhere in the ancient texts, there would be the answer that she sought. She would take a candle and pore over them into the night.

  She had always known that this day would come. But she had chosen to block her ears and close her eyes. She had not wanted to know. And now, this realm was being laid to waste around her.

  Her own mother had told her—when she had been a little girl and was being initiated—of the ancient prophecy. A dark army from the north would descend, and the Goddess’s light would be dimmed. It did not say when or where. And as it had been passed down for centuries, it had become ritualistic. The warning had lost its power; no one believed that it would really happen. It was just something that was said.

  They had lived in relative peace and harmony for so long, no one believed that it could ever change. Their spells were powerful. Their warriors fierce. How could any force overcome them? And so, they had grown complacent. The prophecy was coming to pass, and they were not prepared. That was obvious.

  Mother Freya stared at the Goddess, seeking an answer. She knew that everyone expected her to find a way. She was the most senior now, and her powers and knowledge were formidable. She took a deep breath. Yes, she must consult the ancient texts. There had to be a way.

  She turned, bowing to the Goddess, then picked up a candle. She must start, at once.

  ***

  A young woman with nut-brown hair watched the old woman leaving the temple. She frowned. Mother was so distracted; she barely glanced at the milling warriors in the hall as she turned and walked slowly past them. Where was she going? She should be in the temple, casting the protection spells, but instead, the old woman turned down a long corridor, disappearing.

  The young woman’s chest surged with impatience. What was going on? Now was not the time to be resting. An army from the north was about to descend upon them. She turned back to the women in front of her, raising her voice to be heard above the din.

  “Have you counted the swords? We must have an immediate inventory.” She looked from one to the other as she spoke. “The messenger has said that we only have two days to prep
are! They are advancing quickly, and they seem to grow in number daily.”

  “The swords have been counted,” said a woman. “I did it myself, yesterday. They are at the blacksmith’s being sharpened in preparation, Aliza.”

  The woman named Aliza nodded. “Good. We will need to make new arrows, as well. We shall start marching into the hills tomorrow.”

  The warriors let out a cry, thrusting their arms into the air. “Blessed Goddess of Light!”

  They dispersed to their various duties, but one came up to Aliza, a frown puckering her brow.

  “Who are these intruders?” she whispered. “Why have they come?”

  Aliza frowned, too. “They are the dark army from the north, as the prophecy said. Other than that, we do not know. Even the travelling bards have never heard of them. As for why they have come, well, that seems obvious, doesn’t it?” Anger tore through her. “They seek to destroy us. The sisters in the north tried to broker talks, but they laid waste to everything.”

  Lowering her voice, the woman looked around furtively. “There are rumors, Aliza,” she whispered. “That the protection spells are no longer working. Has the Goddess deserted us? Why would she forsake us in our time of need?”

  “She has not forsaken us,” spat Aliza, her eyes hard. “She would never forsake us! We are being challenged, that is all. The spells will start to work again. And our warriors are mighty! We are the Anasta. The dark army shall not defeat us. I do not want to hear you talking this way. It lowers morale, and we need to be strong. Do you understand?”

  The woman nodded quickly. “I am sorry, Aliza. We have just never encountered such a foe before. I think that we all believed that life would go on, exactly as it always has.”

  Aliza put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Be strong. The Anasta are powerful, and we will overcome. Now, go. There are many things to do before we march tomorrow.”

  The woman smiled, then left. Aliza let out a long sigh. The warriors were spooked. It was as Mother said to her, only last night. Centuries of peace had made them complacent. Even though they trained daily and were renowned for their skill, they had never fought an enemy more powerful than they were. She needed to invoke spells of her own; the magic of the warrior about to go into battle. But when did she have the time? As leader of the warriors, she was so busy she had barely slept in a week. Her stomach twisted and growled, so long had it been since she had eaten. And she had barely had time to see her baby.

  Her breasts felt full at the thought of her. Aliza had been nursing the baby, but the sudden crisis had meant that she had to leave her with a nursemaid, who had been feeding her. Aliza’s milk was starting to dry up, and she felt a surge of sadness at the thought. By the time this battle was over, she would be no longer able to feed her little girl.

  A wave of longing swept over her to see her. She walked quickly down a corridor, opening the door to a narrow room. Inside, there was a narrow cot with a tiny figure inside it. The nursemaid was asleep on a rocking chair in the corner.

  Aliza stood over the cot, staring down at the baby. She was asleep; her chest rose and fell softly, and her eyelashes cast a dusky shadow on her cheeks. Wispy dark hair covered her head. Aliza’s eyes filled with tears. She had to remember that what she was doing was for her daughter; that this separation was only temporary, and soon she would be with her again. She had responsibilities; she was, after all, one of the Queens of Masgata. Just as this little girl would one day be a Queen.

  Aliza trailed a finger over the baby’s cheek. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Aliza’s heart filled with a love so powerful, it seemed to pulse through her chest. This little girl was her whole world, and she hadn’t even had her naming day yet. She was simply “the little one” until Mother had chanted enough that her name would be revealed to them.

  Choosing a name for one of the Anasta was carefully done, and even more so for the Queen line. Names held power. The Goddess had to choose it; it was as simple as that.

  Aliza stood looking down at the baby for a minute longer, then turned and quietly left the room. She had so much to do. And she really had to find Mother, to see why she was not in the temple invoking the magic that they needed now, more than ever.

  ***

  Mother Freya closed the old book, letting out a sigh of frustration.

  She had been poring over these ancient texts for more than an hour, and there seemed to be nothing that was in them that they had not used before. There was a lot that had been forgotten; so much arcane magic that was no longer necessary. The warrior women of the past would have known, she was sure of it. A lot of the magic was passed down by word of mouth and not written into the books. Informal magic, they called it.

  Her hands hovered over a slim book, one so old its parchment was cracked and yellowed with age. Mother Freya turned the pages carefully, her eyes squinting as she tried to make out the words. The language had changed, and these spells were written in the ancient dialect. She had been taught it, of course, but her mind was old, and she had forgotten a lot of it.

  Suddenly, her breath stilled. And then, her old heart started to beat, a little faster. Was this it? Could this be the spell that would stop the dark army from advancing and destroying everything in its wake?

  Mother Freya’s eyes widened, as she read, and then her heart sank, just a little.

  It was risky. She would have to travel, far into the mountains, to the ancient place. The place where the Goddess had been invoked, centuries past. And she would have to take the youngest of their line with her. It told her so, in black and white.

  The old Queen, and the young one, must sit upon the stone as the first rays of the sun climb over the mountain. They must be alone.

  Mother Freya read the words over and over. No, she was not mistaken. This was how it had to be. And no one must know that she had gone; no one must follow her. The spell emphasized that.

  Would Aliza agree? Would she let her take the baby, the youngest of their line, to a far-off place in the mountains? Mother Freya sat back in her chair, thinking deeply. No, Aliza would not agree. She was protective of the baby, and never let her out of her sight if she could help it. Letting the little one travel with only an old woman for protection, with the dark army advancing, would panic her. And Aliza had so much to do. She was the leader of the warriors, and she had to mentally and physically prepare for battle. Mother Freya could not distract her.

  The old woman took a deep breath. There was no choice. She must wait for the moment when Aliza had gone, then take the child far into the mountains, as the magic commanded.

  For the sake of Masgata. For the future of the Anasta, and to preserve the way of life of all their people.

  There was simply no other way.

  ***

  Aliza walked up to the horse, staring deeply into his eyes. The horse nickered slightly.

  “Are you ready, old friend?” she whispered.

  The horse’s reply filtered into her mind.

  As ready as you are, my Queen. I will follow you to the ends of the earth, if that is what is required.

  Aliza nodded. Aalto had been her companion since she was a little girl, and their bond was strong and pure. Sometimes, she found it difficult to hear other animals, but the ones closest to her spoke to her in clear voices. Kushka, her wolf, would fight beside her in battle. And Samkeit, her owl, would fly ahead and tell her what the enemy was doing.

  The Goddess had made the connections strong between all her creatures. They lived together in harmony, knowing what the other was thinking and feeling. Sometimes, Aliza preferred the company of her animals to even her sister warriors, who were bound to her by blood and magic so inexorably.

  It was time.

  She mounted Aalto, talking softly to him. Then she raised her sword, turning to her warriors.

  “Sisters,” she called. “The Goddess commands that we protect our land. We shall ride into the mountains to await the dark army. Blessed Goddess of Light!”

 
“Blessed Goddess of Light!” the voices shouted into the sky.

  And then, they were away, flying over the plains towards the mountains. Aliza felt the wind whipping her hair behind her as she rode. Kushka ran alongside, and she could see Samkeit hovering overhead.

  They would defeat the dark army. She was sure of it. And then, they would go back to living their lives in harmony. Her daughter would be named and grow into the greatest Queen that Masgata had ever known. The Anasta would prevail, and the warrior women would rule as they always had.

  Goddess of Light, of all that is and all that was…

  Aliza invoked the fighting spells as she rode. Failure was not an option. Not in the slightest.

  ***

  Mother Freya was bent double over her horse companion, leading her into the forest. On her back, the baby squirmed and cried softly.

  She had set out immediately, as soon as the warriors had left. It would take her at least a day, to get to the stone. Tanchin, who had been her horse companion for over twenty years, seemed to know the way to go instinctively. She had left behind her wolf and her owl; the spell had specified that she must be alone with the youngest of her line. Even taking Tanchin was risky. She would have to leave him a distance away and walk the final trail with the babe.

  She hadn’t realized how heavy the little girl would be. They had only just set out and already her back ached painfully. She would have to find some of the herbs that she knew grew along the river bank and prepare a tea when she had the time.

  The mountains loomed over her, snow peaked and majestic. A soft flurry of snow drifted around her. Mother Freya looked up to the sky in surprise. She had been so distracted that she hadn’t realized that the Long Cold was about to descend upon them. There would be months of snow from now on.

  Tanchin nickered, catching the snowflakes with her tongue. She had always loved the snow. Mother Freya remembered when she had first seen Tanchin. The horse had been traded by some travelling northerners. Tanchin had told her that she had been born near a glacier, where the land and the ice met. She was from a long line of strong snow horses, and she missed the harsher northern climate, where her herd would skirt fjords and climb into the mountains.