The Inner Circle: Holy Spirit

PROLOGUE

SOMEONE MISSING

His fingers ached due to a temperature lower than that which he’d felt in many years. Snowflakes gently gathered and clung to his short beard and dark hair. His back was sore from countless days riding atop a horse and yet still he persevered.

What made an ordinary countryman travel half the length of the world leaving both his home and business to crumble? Gifn Eltari loved his daughter.

Across the empty expanse of smooth ice towered the immense frozen cliffs that were home to the secretive cleff societies of the Elglair. The cleff that Gifn had fixed firmly in his sights was known as the Sixth and he’d travelled a hazardous journey to reach the place. He’d ridden on little more than faith and a few offhand tips from strangers in foreign cities that had happened upon the party he now perused so vehemently.

Gifn had travelled from Elmsville to Sitnic and on into Riverend, where he’d been tipped off in regards to his daughter’s destination. The man warned that Gifn’s daughter had boarded a riverboat destined to cut through the heart of Cold Wood. Gifn dared not to take that route, instead travelling all the way from Sat Elmore to Sat Effin and finally into Sat Elam. It was there that he discovered rumours of an Elglair woman having passed through the city with a young companion. Up until reaching Sat Elmore, Gifn could’ve only been a matter of days behind the travellers, but having had to take the long journey north of the city he could only imagine how far behind he’d fallen.

The scenery surrounding him would’ve been beautiful to the hardest of hearts, but for Gifn the ancient place held memories naught but grim. The great cliffs drew up painful recollections of the price his wife had had to pay to be him.

Jil-e-an--or, as she’d later came to be called, Jillian--had very rarely spoken of her home in the Eighth Cleff. In many ways, Gifn had been aware of her desire to return, even just one last time. But that was impossible. It was forbidden that any Elglair should marry an outlander. Even association was frowned upon. Chapped lips smiled grimly as Gifn drove his horse ever closer to the waiting city. Jil-e-an had been a strong woman and she’d chosen a life of her own desire. If only she could’ve lived it a little longer.

When the newly married couple had chosen Elmsville--a quiet little town in Gor Narvon--as a place to settle down, they’d done so under the impression that there, they would be safe. The place was as far away from the Frozen Lands as one could get while maintaining a healthy distance from Old World. At the time, it was commonly believed that not a single whisp had made it so far north as Elmsville in well over a hundred years. It’d been a cruel twist of fate that one should reach their town with the intent of killing Jil-e-an.

Jil-e-an had died without making a sound. It was the screaming of his infant daughter that had woken Gifn. At the sound of her piercing cry, he’d thrown the blankets aside and hurried out into the hallway. There he’d found Jil-e-an’s lifeless body, collapsed outside their daughter’s bedroom. All that was left to tell of her demise was the final slithers of black mist penetrating her flesh.

When the screaming came to a stop, Seteal went for many days without uttering a sound at all. She didn’t cry for food. She didn’t laugh or respond to any of the games she’d once enjoyed. It was as though she’d felt her mother’s death.

A shiver ran down Gifn’s spine. She very probably had.

Seteal had been a quiet, somewhat complacent child, waiting until her teenage years before developing a hot-headed and often rude disposition. Gifn had never told his daughter of her heritage. He knew her too well. If Seteal had discovered the truth, she’d have likely packed a bag and travelled to the Frozen Lands of her own volition. As a half-caste, there she would find only rejection and ridicule. True to Jil-e-an’s wishes, Gifn had successfully kept the secret--up until so many weeks ago when the Elglair came knocking.

Even now, Gifn was unable to fathom why they’d come for Seteal. Jil-e-an had said that they never would. Not only was Seteal a shame to the Elglair, but by their standards, she was the child of an illegitimate marriage. If the Elglair chose any action at all, Jil-e-an felt sure that they’d more likely avoid Elmsville than enter into it.

‘Whoa there.’ Gifn called his horse to a stop several strides before a steep decline, where the ground sank to form an immense basin valley. Never having been to the Sixth Cleff, he’d made sure to be cautious approaching it. The Elglair were known for their trickery and the basin was very likely a defence mechanism against invasion. Climbing steadily from his saddle, Gidn made his way over to the edge. The cleff was composed of the ice-carved structures one would expect in the Frozen Lands, but upon closer inspection, it became evident that all was not well in the Elglair city.

At the centre of the cleff was a pile of partially melted rubble so large that Gifn could only guess at the size of the structure that’d previously stood there. Great pools of water had formed where the ground had caved in. It was very difficult to melt Elglair-manufactured ice and Gifn couldn’t help but wonder what might’ve happened to destroy it. Other buildings in the city had been decimated, too, but none more so than the one at its centre.

On the eastern side of the basin, a hidoan of thousands had been gathered, but plenty more of the Elglair soldiers milled about in the central parts of the cleff. Tents of varying sizes filled the area to the east. It was there that Gifn realised he’d find the man he sought.

After about twenty minutes of searching for an entrance into the basin, Gifn came upon a sloping pathway that led down to the eastern side. Realising that his horse was nervous about descending the dangerous terrain, Gifn tied the animal to an ice tree and continued on alone. Eventually the pathway levelled out and he found himself walking cautiously amongst Elglair homes. Men and women going about their business turned to stare at him, their white pupils locking on him in astonishment.

A small boy pulled at his mother’s arm. ‘What’s wrong with his eyes?’ The woman responded only by dragging her son in the opposite direction. Gifn shook his head in disbelief.

Eventually the roads thinned out and Gifn found himself travelling across open planes as he approached the eastern military operation. Small tents filled the space on the outskirts of the gathering, but as he got closer, he noticed more prestigious abodes at the centre. As he slid past the first row of tents, he began to wonder how long it would take before he was noticed and questioned.

Gifn wasn’t left wondering very long. The cold blade of a long sword touched the flesh of his neck and he froze immediately.

‘Come no farther, outlander,’ a young and rather nervous looking an’hadoan threatened. By the look of him, Gifn doubted the boy had ever even been outside the Frozen Lands. ‘For what reason have you entered our cleff?’

‘Where’s Far-a-mael?’ Gifn stepped back from the blade and turned to face the young man.

‘Far-a-mael of the Eighth Cleff?’ The young man’s jaw dropped.

‘The one and only,’ Gifn said through gritted teeth, remembering the living torrid that the old man had put Jil-e-an through.

‘The man you speak of is now addressed as War Elder Far-a-mael of the Unified Cleffs,’ the young soldier announced, patriotic glint in his eye.

Gifn raised his eyebrows. It was just like Far-a-mael to attach himself to such a presumptuous title. ‘I don’t care what he calls himself. I’m here to see Far-a-mael. And, son, you’re not going to stop me.’ Gifn placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. It’d been many years since he’d used it, but Gifn doubted he’d forgotten how.

‘I’ll take you to my superior.’ The young man stepped back nervously.

‘And who might that be?’ Gifn enquired. ‘Who might you be, for that matter?’

‘I’m an an’hidoan,’ the boy said proudly. ‘My name is Wil-u-ke and I’ll be taking you to see Sy Tim-a-nie.’

‘Well, we’d better get a move on.’ Gifn rubbed his forehead tiredly, having never quite gotten used to Elglair names and titles. ‘I’m not getting any younger.’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’ The an’hidoan’s face was filled with concern. ‘You must be at least a hundred. We’ll leave right away.’

Gifn sighed but refused to correct the boy. Elglair were renowned for their longevity, typically living past their two hundredth birthday. The youth were taught to respect age as though it was status and as far as Gifn was concerned, the older they thought him, the better.

As Gifn hurried after the dexterous young man, weaving in between the tents before him, he soon became aware of other young an’hidoans keeping a close eye on him. Even the occasional gil paused to shoot him a rather disapproving glance, but seeing as though he had Wil-u-ke as an escort, the pair remained unhindered.

‘Sy Tim-a-nie.’ Wil-u-ke paused by the canvas flap of a rather impressive looking tent. ‘May I have audience with you?’

‘Come in, Wil-u-ke,’ a rather dissonant voice replied.

‘Stay here.’ Wil-u-ke pointed a finger at Gifn’s chest. ‘I’m serious. If you step out of line this close to the War Elder’s tent, there’s no telling what your punishment will be,’ the young man warned before stepping into Sy Tim-a-nie’s tent.

Gifn turned in a slow circle, taking in his immediate surroundings. Most of the tents in this part of the camp were rather elaborate, but one of them towered above the others and its length stretched much farther back. Wil-u-ke had said that they were close to Far-a-mael’s tent. Did Gifn dare seek out the man on his own?

The tent flap was pulled aside and Wil-u-ke stepped out, followed by an older man who could only have been Sy Tim-a-nie. Tim-a-nie’s voice did not match the physique of the man standing before Gifn, a weasel of a fellow with a sharp nose. ‘So you’re the outlander who dares to stride into our cleff unannounced? What business could you possibly have with the War Elder?’ he finished with a snarl, eyeing Gifn’s modest garb distastefully.

‘He took my daughter,’ Gifn spat. ‘I’ve come to retrieve her.’

‘Ah, yes . . . the Eltari girl.’ Tim-a-nie nodded. ‘Of course. I’m terribly sorry, but this is as far as you may come, outlander. You must return to whichever rock it is you crawled out from under.’

‘I’ve travelled for weeks to get here and you expect me to simply turn around and leave?’ Gifn raised his arms in disbelief. ‘Not a chance.’

‘Leave!’ In an instant, Tim-a-nie’s sword went from its scabbard to Gifn’s throat. ‘You’ve been denied an audience with the War Elder.’

‘All right, all right!’ Gifn’s eyes bulged in alarm and he took a step back. ‘I’ll go.’

‘Good.’ Tim-a-nie smiled mockingly. ‘Wil-u-ke. Would you kindly escort--’

Before the sy’hadoan could say another word, Gifn pulled his sword free and started swinging. ‘I want my daughter back!’ he shouted, anger and determination blinding him to the danger in which he’d put himself.

Sy Tim-a-nie leapt backward and raised his sword to ward off Gifn’s blow, but he’d caught the man by surprise and continued striking until finally, by some miracle, Tim-a-nie lost his grip and the sword fell. Fear glistened in the man’s eyes as he stood slowly without a weapon, Gifn’s sword pressed firmly against his throat. A large group of an’hidoans had gathered to watch the duel and now gaped in disbelief that their mighty sy’hadoan had been overpowered.

‘Far-a-mael!’ Gifn bellowed, his voice echoing sharply against the silence of the shocked soldiers. ‘Far-a-mael! Come out and face me like a man. We did everything you asked. We disappeared for the sake of your ego. Why have you come back now?’ Silence answered Gifn’s taunts. ‘I’ll kill him!’ Gifn shouted furiously, increasing the pressure of his sword against Tim-a-nie’s neck. ‘Show yourself, Far-a-mael, or I swear to Maker, I’ll kill him.’

‘Now, now,’ the ancient voice spoke softly and yet it seemed impossible to tell from which direction it came. ‘There’s no need for such violence, is there?’ The flap on the elaborate tent twenty strides away slid open to reveal Far-a-mael’s elderly although strong form. Arms crossed tightly across his chest, the War Elder appeared to glide across the ice without any effort whatsoever.

‘Mister Eltari,’ Far-a-mael murmured, delicately placing a single finger on the blade of Gifn’s sword. ‘What has driven you to such madness?’ He put a little pressure on the sword and Gifn found himself lowering it subordinately.

‘I need to find my daughter,’ he almost blubbered, a great tiredness overwhelming him. Gifn was exhausted to the point that he felt that if he should only be pushed, he would collapse in defeat.

‘Oh, hush, hush.’ Far-a-mael patted him sympathetically, as a father might do his boy. ‘I know you must be tired. You’ve travelled so very far. It seems unfair that you should be turned away now.’

Finally, someone understood. Gifn wept openly. All these years, he’d misjudged Far-a-mael. The man was like a father to him and he just knew that he could trust him with anything. Far-a-mael took Gifn’s chin in his hand and stared deep into his eyes with those piercing white pupils. ‘I’m so sorry to inform you of this news, my old friend, but your daughter is dead.’

‘No,’ Gifn moaned and fell to his knee. ‘No, not Seteal, too. Not my Seteal. Why did you take her? She was safe with me.’ He sobbed uncontrollably, staring up at Far-a-mael through tear-filled eyes.

‘She was not safe.’ Far-a-mael shook his head regretfully. ‘Gifn . . . a legion of demons had discovered she was Elglair and they were coming for her. We tried to keep her from them, but it was no use. They were too strong.’

‘I don’t believe you!’ Gifn cried, although inside he felt a powerful urge to accept every word the man uttered.

‘Here.’ Far-a-mael opened a canvas sack that Gifn hadn’t even noticed him carrying until now. ‘Is this not her dress?’ He removed the stained cloth and Gifn recognised it immediately as Seteal’s. He likewise recognised the stains of both human and silt blood spattered across its surface.

Gifn reached for the dress and held it like a child would their favourite toy. Seteal’s sweet scent still lingered beneath the metallic tang of blood. Words escaped Gifn thereafter. He fell into the snow weeping for what seemed like eternity. Far-a-mael loomed over him, occasionally rubbing his back and gazing into his eyes with curiosity. Each time he did, Gifn felt a reaffirmation that Far-a-mael had spoken the truth. Seteal was dead. He’d failed Jil-e-an, he’d failed as a father--and worst of all, he’d failed his daughter.

As the sun began to set, Gifn found the strength to stand, and when he did Far-a-mael placed a hand heavily on his shoulder, once more looking into his eyes. ‘The best you can do now is to go home and mourn your daughter, Gifn. The people of Elmsville are kindly. They’ll take care of you in your grief.’

‘Of course . . . you’re right.’ Gifn sobbed behind red-rimmed eyes. ‘I’ll go home,’ he murmured, turning away dejectedly.

Blind to the prying eyes surrounding him, Gifn drifted back to the gently sloping ramp and away from the Sixth Cleff. There was nothing he could do for Seteal anymore.

CHAPTER ONE

SOMETIMES BLOOD IS NOT THICKER THAN WATER

Small groups of four to six an’hadoans moved about in packs, leaving Seteal with no doubt as to with which task they’d been assigned: finding her. Fastening her hood a little more securely over her head, Seteal kept her eyes down and followed El-i-miir along dark alleyways and between frozen buildings. Ilgrin kept himself to the darkest of shadows, but everyone present was well aware that the demon’s disguise would become useless with the rising sun.

‘This way,’ the Elglair woman hissed over her shoulder. ‘Quietly,’ she warned. ‘We have to enter the street.’

‘It’s not safe,’ Seeol the elf owl piped in from his place on Seteal’s arm.

‘It’s our only choice,’ El-i-miir replied dismissively, glancing back the way they’d come. It was then that Seteal made the mistake of following the woman’s gaze only to momentarily make eye contact with a stranger.

‘Who goes there?’ the an’hadoan called from the far end of the alleyway.

‘Run!’ El-i-miir cried.

‘Stop!’ the an’hadoan shouted as the group took off around the corner and into the dimly lit street.

‘Over here.’ El-i-miir raced across the road toward a large house built from ice bricks. The Elglair home had beautiful glass windows embedded in its surface at various locations and a large door carved from a single sheet of ice. Without hesitation, the forsaken rei banged on the door. Before long, it swung open, but the man within turned away in disbelief. The stranger had a neatly trimmed black moustache and beard. His eyes were dark and it didn’t look as though he’d slept in days. Of course, this was no surprise, given the recent fate of his eldest daughter.

‘Papa,’ El-i-miir panted, frantically waving the others inside and slamming the door behind them. ‘Papa,’ she repeated as her father strode over to the window and stared out onto the street without once looking at his daughter.

‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ Arl-an-dor intoned as he drew the curtains and turned around, but his eyes shifted immediately to the figure looming behind her. His jaw worked repeatedly as he threw out his hands defensively. ‘Silt,’ he finally choked out. Ilgrin fell to his knees, his face twisted in agony as Arl-an-dor assaulted his aura.

‘Stop it!’ El-i-miir raced toward her father. ‘I can explain.’

‘Explain what, El-i-miir?’ Arl-an-dor’s voice broke. ‘Explain why you’ve brought a demon into our home when your mother and sisters are sleeping upstairs? I’m beginning to think the allegations against you were true,’ he snarled, twitching his hand and driving Ilgrin onto all fours.

‘I said stop it.’ El-i-miir raised her hands to form a counter-strike against her father. Unable to compete with his daughter’s abilities, Arl-an-dor lowered his hands and moved away. His eyes became vacant and he took a seat in the chair across the room.

‘How dare you affiliate me,’ the man snapped upon regaining his senses, and leapt to his feet. El-i-miir merely repeated her former actions and again the man sat submissively.

‘I should call the hadoan,’ Arl-an-dor said darkly after El-i-miir had released him. He rose to his feet, but made no further attack on Ilgrin, who seemed a little wobbly on his own.

Ilgrin was a demon as far as the majority of New World were concerned. The insulting term had been propagated by religious zealots throughout the ages, helped along by its frequent use in the Holy Tome. Few people believed in the ancient Scriptures anymore, but silts were still referred to as demons more often than not. With large, bat-like wings and pallid white flesh, Ilgrin easily looked the part of a foreboding villain, but on closer inspection, his large, almond-shaped, purple eyes were filled with kindness and somehow his lack of fingernails or toenails made him seem oddly harmless. But perhaps that was the illusion. With three to four times the strength of a human man, Seteal wasn’t certain she’d ever be able to trust him completely. But then, it was unlikely she’d ever trust any man again.

‘I’m Ilgrin.’ The silt went slowly in, removing his cloak. ‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.’

‘Don’t speak, demon,’ Arl-an-dor spat.

Unlike the majority of modern Elglair, El-i-miir’s parents were deeply religious and actually believed in the old writings.

‘You were forsaken to Vish’el’Tei.’ Arl-an-dor waved his hands about furiously, his gaze settling on his daughter. ‘I know it was uncalled for, but it’s done now. Have you no pride? You should’ve taken your punishment and regained the honour you’ve lost this entire family.’

‘How can you speak of honour?’ El-i-miir cringed. ‘What kind of parents stand by and watch their children die?’

‘What is this worldly philosophy?’ Arl-an-dor’s face became red. ‘I warned Far-a-mael that you were too impressionable to leave the Frozen Lands.’

‘Impressionable?’ El-i-miir raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m not going live my life in accordance with your book of fairy-tales just because you think it’s the right thing to do.’

‘That’s enough.’ Seteal spoke softly, but everyone fell silent immediately. The air in the room seemed to thicken as she stepped forward, somehow having managed to draw the attention of everyone with two simple words. ‘You must be Arl-an-dor,’ Seteal continued, as the elf owl flitted off her arm to inspect the ice-boards underfoot. ‘My name is Seteal Eltari.’

‘Yes, I . . .’ The man trailed off, his expression bewildered by the soft, captivating tone of Seteal’s voice. Unlike regular Elglair, she could not manipulate the Ways of others, nor could she see their vibrant auras. Rather, Seteal’s own Way seemed to permeate the world around her, changing it to fit her mood.

‘I am Gil Arl-an-dor of the Sixth Cleff,’ the man attempted to say with more confidence, shaking off the peculiar feeling that confused him so. He was a slender man and Seteal immediately recognised the resemblance he shared with his daughter. ‘I demand you explain yourselves,’ Arl-an-dor said firmly.

A door across the room creaked open and a small girl, no more than five years old, raced into the room with a big smile on her face. Her expression froze and fell suddenly as her eyes locked upon the demon standing behind Seteal. The girl’s mouth fell open and she screamed without restraint.

‘An-ii.’ El-i-miir raced over to the child and wrapped her arms around her to help stifle the scream. ‘It’s okay. He won’t hurt you.’ She stroked her little sister’s long black hair, undoubtedly affecting her aura as she did.

Moments later, a youthful-looking woman entered the room, followed by a girl of about twelve. Both of them bore expressions of concern that quickly became ones resembling those seen on the faces of Arl-an-dor and his daughter.

‘Mil-i-que,’ Arl-an-dor addressed his wife, ‘take the girls to their room.’

‘No.’ Seteal shook her head and watched as all eyes turned to her. ‘We will all remain in this room until I’m certain you can be trusted.

‘Seteal,’ El-i-miir murmured warningly, ‘they’re my family.’

‘Your family were willing to stand by as you were sent to your death,’ Seteal said darkly.

‘That’s not true.’ Mil-i-que scowled. ‘We did everything we could to prevent it.’

‘No, you didn’t.’ Seteal took a step forward, her face clearly bearing disgust. ‘You should have ignored the elders, packed your things, and moved south.’

‘To live among outlanders?' Mil-i-que’s face twisted in contempt.

Seteal raised her eyebrows and shook her head. ‘I’m not here to judge you.’ She sighed, although it was against her nature to ignore such things.

‘What darkness have you brought upon us?’ Arl-an-dor glared at El-i-miir, who lowered her eyes dejectedly.

‘We have important matters to discuss.’ Seteal decided to move the conversation along a more productive course.

‘What could you possibly have to discuss with us?’ Arl-an-dor frowned, his eyes once again returning to Ilgrin. ‘You don’t belong to these lands. None of you.’

‘Actually, I do,’ Seteal challenged. Whilst it was true that she did not have the white pupils of the Elglair, it was equally as true that her mother had come from the Frozen Lands. ‘My mother was Jil-e-an of the Eighth Cleff. Perhaps you’ve heard of her.’

‘A woman famed for her stupidity,’ Mil-i-que snarled, ‘and if you’re truly her half-caste child, all the more shame on you.’

Attempting to keep a handle on her rather impatient temper, Seteal took a deep breath and ignored the ignorance shown by El-i-miir’s mother. ‘We do not have time to escape the cleff today. Already, it is too light. We need clothes, food, and rest. We’ll leave this evening as soon as it’s dark enough for us to escape unnoticed.’

‘You expect me to allow a demon to remain here in my home?’ Arl-an-dor barked incredulously. ‘A demon, a half-caste, a forsaken child, and . . . and whatever that thing is?’ He frowned at Seeol as he began scratching at the ice with his beak.

‘Please, Papa,’ El-i-miir begged, indicating toward Ilgrin. ‘He’s not what you think.’

‘I’ve heard enough.’ Ilgrin narrowed his eyes and flared his wings menacingly. His pale white flesh was riddled with ghastly wounds from the time he’d spent in the Dome of the Sixth, which served only to increase his menace. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I am a demon. And when I leave this house, I’m going to shout and scream and bring more attention to this place then you could ever begin to imagine. How do you think the Elglair will respond when they see you’ve been harbouring a demon?’

‘Scary, isn’t he?’ Seeol whispered through the heavy silence that followed.

Arl-an-dor ignored the bird, instead choosing to stare at Ilgrin with utter hatred until finally his expression shifted. ‘I see you’ve backed me into a corner. You can stay, but I want you gone at dusk. All of you.’

‘Arl-an-dor,’ Mil-i-que squealed in wide-eyed horror.

Seteal turned to El-i-miir in confusion. ‘Did you . . . ?’

‘Affiliate him?’ El-i-miir finished for her. ‘No,’ she replied, equally as confused by Arl-an-dor’s change of heart as everybody else.

‘This is not happening,’ Mil-i-que clamped a hand over her stomach.

‘You need to trust me,’ Arl-an-dor addressed his wife firmly. ‘If they leave now, they’ll most definitely get caught. And you know what’ll happen to El-i-miir and the rest of us if they do.’

‘I can’t believe what you’re saying.’ Mil-i-que looked like she was about to cry as she turned and stormed out of the room.

Arl-an-dor raised his finger to the silt. ‘You have one day and I’ll be watching you every minute.’

‘Thank you,’ El-i-miir muttered as Ilgrin sank back into the shadows. ‘I know you’re not comfortable with this. I only hope that one day it will all make sense to you.

‘Oh, it makes perfect sense,’ the man said darkly. What he meant by that, Seteal couldn’t begin to imagine. ‘What have you gotten yourself into?’ He looked at El-i-miir regretfully. ‘In league with the Devil.’

‘Far-a-mael has gone mad,’ El-i-miir replied sadly. ‘He plans on going to war with Old World.’

‘That’s a good thing.’ Arl-an-dor looked at his daughter disbelievingly, his eyes filled with sorrow. ‘Where did I go wrong with you?’

‘It’s not good at all.’ Seeol pounced several handswidths forward before stopping to stand on one leg and point a toe at El-i-miir’s father. ‘You are a naughty