Yeah, here it is. The prologue to the new big thing in literature, The Raincurse Songs Series. The first book, which has a working title of A Voicer of Darkness (it’s likely going to be changed before publication) is hopefully coming sometime in October, and this is an exclusive excerpt just for my readers. This is the final version of the prologue, which means it’s going to be exactly the same in the book. So, without further ado, enjoy the prologue to A Voicer of Darkness.
A Voicer of Darkness
The Raincurse Songs
Book One
by Francis McBeare
Prologue: Greatwater
The king stood in the middle of a battlefield and waited for his death. His sword hanging loosely at his side, he looked down at the scene he couldn’t have imagined even in his worst nightmares, and he had had a lot of those in his long years.
Fifty thousand men lay dead in the clearing around the king, killed by sword or rain. The king could not decide which of the two had been more deadly, although his men had been doing well before the cursed water came. The king smiled ruefully. Water should have been a blessing. The Song knew there was little enough water in the world. But why did it have to come now, exactly at the proper moment to confuse and throw the armies into chaos? The whole two armies slaughtered in a heartbeat! It was a disaster. For Orathia only, though. If he had not known that rains were the Song's will, he would have supposed they were summoned by Cannyr. After all, this host was only a portion of Cannyr's full forces. Orathia had nothing more. The war was lost, and Zaelghyn was no longer a king. For what was a king without people to rule?
He had tried to do something to turn the battle against Cannyr, but nothing helped. Men screaming, some drinking the rainwater only to be struck down when they weren't looking, others fleeing only to be struck down from behind, yet others waving their swords wildly, killing every man in their way, even those on their side. And so they had ended each other.
But there was still hope.
Aemor was still alive in Cargath. He would bring a new generation of Voicers, a better one than Zaelghyn's ever was. He blessed the Song for giving him the wisdom to leave Aemor behind. And Taerresa. She was alive. She had to be. He hoped Aemor would take care of her. He knew he would. Zaelghyn smiled and let his sword drop to the ground. Soon, a greatwater would come, and he would let it consume him. And the sword. He prayed the damn thing would be crushed by its force, even though he knew it would stay unbroken, as it had for ages.
Zaelghyn turned up his face to the sky, opening his mouth as he did so. Cold, sweet water rushed down his throat. It was the best drink he'd had in a hundred years, and the last one of his life.
Taerresa stepped out into the rainy night, a silver ravenskull goblet floating beside her. She walked a few paces, stopped on a spot she'd chosen before, and disappeared.
She was in the forest of Shadowtree. She remembered when it had been the grandest forest in the whole world, long ago, when some Voicers had still been dedicated to saving the forests. She remembered the old, proud oaks, graceful willows, pines… Now, only a few stunted things that could barely be called trees struggled to live. And they would not remain for long.
Taerresa walked on, the sound of her footsteps like thunder in the dead silence. She headed toward the chaos she'd created, and toward Zaelghyn. She could smell the blood and sweat mixed with rain. Soon, the smell of decay would add to the mixture as well. Taerresa breathed it all in eagerly, welcoming it. This was her revenge, and she'd come to finish it.
Taerresa passed a single yew tree that still stood here like a sentinel… and stopped dead. Was it a raven's caw she'd just heard? Surely not. No ravens had been seen in this area for… There it was again. She looked up, and sure enough, perched up in the highest branches of the yew tree was a large, black raven.
This is an omen, Taerresa thought. Yes, a voice in her head responded. But is it for good or ill?
Taerresa hated ravens. And crows too. It was ironic—the raven was the sigil of house Gawnur, her house. But she hated them. Loathed them with a burning passion. She almost turned back to the raven, wanting to kill it, wanting it to suffer as she had suffered. She walked on with an enormous force of will. There would be time after, she told herself. She could kill every damned raven in the world after tonight. But there was just this one little thing to attend to before that. Well, she thought, two things, really.
She stepped in front of Zaelghyn. He did not see her; his eyes were closed. She looked at him for a long moment, and a feeling that could have been sorrow—she wasn't sure if she had feelings at all anymore—past through her. She looked past him and saw the sword lying on the ground. And the spell broke. She snatched the sword greedily off a corpse already infested by deathbees (she had to put her hand to her head to steady herself—it wouldn't do to faint now) and almost dropped it when a voice whispered, “Taerresa?”
She looked up, and there was Zaelghyn, standing motionless as before. She was sure he was the one who had spoken, though. “Did you say something, Zaelghyn?”
“I…” he finally raised his eyes to her face. “I thought I'd never see you again. You shouldn't have come here.”
“Mayhap I shouldn't have, at that. But I had to come.”
“Why?”
“I think you'll know soon enough.”
“Leave that!” Zaelghyn said harshly, pointing at the sword in her hand. “It is not something to play with.”
“Someone must bring this sword back to Cargath. I did not suppose you'd be returning home, so I took it upon myself to give the sword to your heir.” And, I don't intend to play with it.
Zaelghyn uttered a mirthless bark of laughter. “What kind of a cruel jest is this? You don’t expect me to believe this is what you came for, I hope. I may be contemplating suicide, but I have not lost my wits yet.”
“My dear, I think this is your sanest moment since… well, since your secret was discovered and this war began. Besides, you've always believed all my words.”
“Do not speak about the Secret of Old like this!” He sighed. “Oh, the Song damn it, it makes no matter anymore. I have always listened to you and look where it got me. Aemor…” Taerresa saw a sudden light in his eyes. “Have you killed him?”
Taerresa smiled. “No… not yet. But, that aside, I must congratulate you. You were very quick to discern my true motivations.”
“You planned this all along, didn't you?”
“Aye.”
He looked around and noticed the goblet. “What… is that ravenskull?”
“Aye. It was specially made for me. Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you.”
They did not speak for a minute. Taerresa waited. She knew Zaelghyn would have more questions, and she was determined to answer him. He had a right to know before he died, though it wouldn't be of much use to him.
Zaelghyn said, “It seems convenient that the rain came exactly at this time. If I did not know better, I would've said that you made it come, somehow.”
“I'll say this much. Your Voicing isn't the only high power in existence.”
“You mean the legends… the legends are true? Cloudmasters?”
“Why, I do find myself to be quite pleasantly surprised by your mind's alertness today. Yes, it has something to do with Cloudmasters. The legends, as is their way, are often highly exaggerated, but there is a thing or two which is true.”
“Gods…” There was silence for a minute or two; Zaelghyn seemed to be rendered speechless by this revelation.
At last he spoke. “What have you against me and my kingdom? I have done nothing wrong to you.”
Taerresa thought for a moment, wondering if she should tell him. It can't hurt, she thought. He'll be dead in a little while. She would tell him everything—or almost everything.
She sighed and said, “Do you see that tree, the only one that still stands?”
“How could I not see it?”
“Well, look at it now.” He looked.
“See that raven up there?”
“Aye,” he said sourly, as if he thought Taerresa was having a good joke at his expense. “What about it?”
“I'll tell you what about it.” A note of anger and hate had crept into her voice, but she made no attempt to stifle it. “Fifty years ago, you sent a few men and a lot of ravens to kill the last of House Gawnur. I suppose the ravens were an amusing final touch on your brilliant scheme to finish House Gawnur forever. It wasn't amusing for my brother, and it wasn't for me. I wept and grieved for a long time, hoping for death, praying for it to the Song. But then one day, I realized what was your plan, and hope returned to me. For you haven't finished House Gawnur with your filthy ravens. I was the last one. And, I had a plan of my own.
“For a few years, I researched and dug deep for something, something that all the children of House Gawnur were taught in their childhood since King Ereybos died and House Oryth took the throne. And then I found it, and began to execute my plan—I married you, of course, and became queen. You didn't know. How could you? It was all so perfect. You thought I was just a young, innocent girl met by chance. But, Cloudmasters age almost the same way Voicers do. I suppose you need not here the rest?”
Zaelghyn looked worse than ever. All the color had left his face, his mouth opened and closed as if he wanted to speak but couldn't, his eyes open as wide as they could go, looking at Taerresa in horror.
“You…” he said hoarsely, “you have come to kill me.” It wasn't a question; it was a simple statement of a well-known fact.
“Yes,” Taerresa said simply, “but before that, I want to tell you one more thing.” She paused for effect, and said, “Our son wasn't killed by Cannyr's men.” She made another short pause, even though Zaelghyn already new what she was going to say. “I killed him.” There, she thought. If he isn't finished now…
“Your own son,” he said softly.
“It felt like he wasn’t my son at all.”
“Now you’re talking nonsense. I cannot think why you’d feel that way.”
“Of course you can’t, and I’m not going to explain it to you—you wouldn’t understand.”
“Can you at least be so kind and tell me why you killed your own son? Your only child!”
“We clearly have different priorities in our lives, and children are on the very bottom of my list. But, I could have let him stay alive if… if he had not stood in my way. That is all I am going to tell you on this subject, and all for tonight, I think. It’s time I do my business here.”
There was no more to be said between them, and Taerresa had no time to lose; the moon was already going down. She raised Zaelghyn’s sword with both hands; it was quite heavy. A fitting end for both of them, Taerresa thought, and plunged the sword deep into Zaelghyn’s neck. The blade reappeared on the other side. Zaelghyn never had time to scream. He just fell forward with the blade sticking out of his throat, and drowned in his own blood.
Taerresa cocked her head as if she heard something, and the goblet glided toward her. She directed it toward Zaelghyn. The goblet stopped beneath his neck, and his blood poured into it. When it was full, Taerresa drew it back toward her, and after a moment it sealed itself.
She tried to pull the sword to her the same way she did with the goblet, but she couldn’t. So, she pulled it free with her hands (and got covered in blood in the process). The sword came free with a wet, squelching sound, and Zaelghyn’s head dropped onto the ground, splashing water and blood all over Taerresa once more. The sword looked as clean as ever; there was no blood on it.
So the sword was special somehow, just as she’d suspected. Perhaps even made by one of those fabled voicesmiths Zaelghyn had so loved to read about. She had no time to wonder about it now, though. There was still the other thing she had to do.
This was what Taerresa waited for ever since the ravens had killed her family. Killing Zaelghyn was just something that had to be done; Zaelghyn was just a tool. She was ready.
She tried to let the sword glide through the air on its own, but it wouldn’t, so she applied some changes to its voice. It had the most peculiar voice she’d ever heard. She directed the sword toward her chest. Praise Zorraaq, was her last coherent thought.
Then the sword struck, directly over her heart, and all thoughts were forgotten. Everything was agony, and agony was everything. She wanted to scream but could not draw breath, a million stars exploded before her eyes, the smell of blood and death was everywhere, and she thought she heard ravens cawing somewhere near. And it sounded like laughter. They were laughing at her suffering.
After a while, she raised the goblet to her lips, and drank, and fell face-first beside Zaelghyn, and rose no more. And the ravens came.
In the far south, where no man had been for five thousand years, a greatwater had already come, making the river that flowed there even wider and deeper than before. That river had no banks; it stretched from west to east, and most of the southern part of the world. It was spreading rapidly. Soon, it would cover the whole world.
Now the greatwater had done its work here, the clouds formed a neat line and began a slow procession northward. A new greatwater began. Rain poured down, bolts of lightning illuminated the water, thunder shook the earth. And the clouds marched ever northward, bringing a storm that would sweep the world.
