"All Hell" by Joanne Barnden

tarelliavage chronicles: all hell

prologue

Novena 396

      The black sky hung low over a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere. All the houses were clumped together in the centre of a barren landscape. Each was little more that a shack and except for a single hovel a couple of metres outside the rest, they were in fairly decent condition considering the elements. The wind ripped across the sand and hit the shacks at full blast, rattling shutters that were pulled closed and tied shut.

      The hovel’s facade was chipped and worn, shutters hanging off, and the stone steps in need of urgent repair. The general feel of the exterior did not inspire confidence about it’s ability to stay together for more than a few more novena. Even some of the nails seemed to be holding the walls together out of sheer luck.

      Inside, the one-room hovel was smelly and dank. Mildew clung to what pieces of curtain there were still left. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture, just a few pieces scattered here and there. An old woman sat in a corner, near the bed, which was propped up with stone blocks, the blankets moth eaten and damp. There was rubbish littering the floor, and sand covered everything, sifting in through a hole in the wall.

      The old woman saw none of the mess. She herself was not in the best of states. She was tiny, bent and frail. Her clothes were threadbare and her skin sallow. Her head was rocking backwards and forwards. She was mumbling in Ashkan, the names of her mother and daughters. She looked nowhere, saw nothing, and hadn’t for some time.

      The only door of the hovel, opposite where the woman sat, creaked open, letting a stream of sunlight across the room.

      “Se~Arz Clakka?” The words were spoken softly, as if they weren’t meant to startle the woman.

      “They will come,” Clakka spoke softly, almost reverently. “They will come. All one the same day, the same hour. They will be of every species, twelve in all. They will not grace the halls of the Overworld or demon, they will be the elipse, the all powerful.”

      “Se~Arz? the young woman spoke again. “Who will come? What are you talking about?”

      “They will come. Do not be afraid my daughter. They will come. The world will again be full of order. Don’t be afraid my daughter. Never be afraid.”

      “Se~Arz,” the young woman almost wailed. “Tell me, who will come?”

      Clakka finally seemed to see the young woman standing before her. “The Elipses, the all powerful.”

      “The all powerful?” the woman smiled. “When? When will they come?”

      “Once, twice,” Clakka muttered. “Once ye will call, twice ye will call.”

      “Clakka?”

      “Novena . . . novena . . . five hundred and eleven, novena eight thousand, four hundred and eighty five.”

      “Novena 511?” the woman’s shoulders slumped. “Oh Se~Arz.”

      “They will come for their time, once, twice.”

      “The right time? For what?”

      “To restore order to the Afterdark. Oh daughter, if the gods would let me see the day,” Clakka paused. “Da Ghe Iro heed my words,” Clakka dragged in a breath. “Ye will feel the end. Taste your glory because it will not last forever.”

      Clakka did not notice the young woman move to one corner of the hovel, and a small table, lamp and ink. “Has she been talking all day?”

      The young man seated there nodded his scarred head. “I have writ down her every word.”

      Clakka’s voice rose. “Da Ghe Iro ye will fall. Ye time it comes to an end. But, much as I regret, ye might get just one chance, to start over again, but Da Ghe Iro, take care, for if ye take this one chance. Take no prisoners Da Ghe Iro, cause no deaths, for if ye do so, ye chance will be gone!”

      As the two in the hovel watched, Clakka choked, shuddered and both her eyes slid shut.

      “Se~Arz!” the woman ran over.

      “Diane, I think Clakka is dead.”

The prophecy of the Se~Arz Clakka was studied for the next 50 novena by many scholars. Finally, it was deemed a complete fable by those who believed that the work of many Se~Arz’s was make believe designed with the purpose of satisfing a population increasingly disillusioned and opressed by the ruling Emperor, namely Da Ghe Iro Guend. However, one man, the scribe of the unfortunate prophecy, placed it in a trunk in the attic of a old old house, and left it there. He hoped that the Emperor would never get a hold of a copy...

...He of all knowledge, ye shall bring the start of the emperor’s fall, ye will call the elipses to the post assigned to them, call ye once, the thane, she of the underground, the lone wolf, the knave, the vagabond, the Queen, the tatterdemalion, the maiden, the chevalier, the sentinel, ,...

...call ye twice, o’ man of all knowledge, the cheater of death, the fallen angel, he of endless night, the prisoner, the theif, the Huntress, he of gold, he of silver, the shadow, the faerie, the daughter of the demon, he of flames...