Scroll down to read the prologue to The Revelations of Arran Nak

The moon was full and pale as milk, the Northwoods eerily quiet. Mist crept across the forest floor, hugging the scarred stems of the naked trees. The still air smelled of mud and decay. In a small cave under a rocky outcrop Estarta sat motionless in front of a crackling fire, the shadow of her scrawny frame dancing wildly on the wall of rock. The oracle’s eyes were closed, her head sunken between her shoulders. Her lips moved silently to the rhythm of an ancient chant, while the light of the flames played with the folds and grooves in her parchment face.
    Time passed unnoticed. The fire slowly faded. But although the air in the cave grew increasingly cold, the old woman remained as still as a column of stone. Then the muscles at the corner of her mouth twitched, and with a start, she woke up from her state of trance.
    Estarta blinked. Her eyes moved wildly behind their milky white veil, as if to follow the visions that were unfolding in her mind, and a flash of fear registered on her face.
   “Let him come to me then,” she muttered.
    She started to rekindle the fire, using brushwood from a small pile to her left, and a warm glow spread through the cave. She resumed her chant, her words whispering through the gloom, until her head sank to her bony chest and her eyelids dropped.
    It was close to dawn when the dying fire was disturbed by a draft. Estarta lifted her head, facing the shadow that had materialized in front of her. She inhaled deeply, tasting the air.
    “I was expecting you, Ghulut,” she croaked. Her mouth widened in a forced grin that showed her toothless gums. “Sit down. You must be tired. You’re a long way from home.”
    The shadow didn’t move. A voice spoke to her in broken Attarian. “You are the wise one?”
    Estarta’s grin disappeared. “I would hardly call myself wise, shaman,” she said grimly. “But in a world of fools even a halfwit stands out, I guess.”
    Ghulut leaned forward until his ashen face hovered over the glow of the fire. “Your eyes are clouded with age,” he said. “Yet you are said to see more than anyone.”
    She moved back, grimacing at the acrid odor that surrounded him. She knew its source all too well. It was the dead man’s root, a highly poisonous plant that could only be found in the Moaning Forest and was prized by those who wished to enter the spirit world. “Why don’t you sit down,” she insisted, gesturing with her arm.
    Ghulut continued to stare. Then he squatted. His eyes rested on the objects that lay by her side: a small pouch filled with dried meat; a wooden bowl; and a spoon. He glanced around, looking for herbs or potions, but could find nothing else. He frowned. “You can see without the root that unveils?”
    Estarta chose to ignore the question. “What brings you here, Ghulut?” she asked. “What can an old woman do for a mighty shaman like you?”
    Ghulut’s gaze intensified, and the black depths in his eyes pulsated in the glow of the embers. “A great darkness is coming,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Many visions I have seen, but their meaning escapes me. It is said you are the oracle. Tell me what you know.”
    Estarta sighed. She lifted her head, her eyes now looking straight into his. “Yes, I have the gift of second sight,” she said, nodding slowly. “But so do you. You, of all men, should know that nobody can see the future exactly as it will unfold.”
    His eyes flashed. “Do not try to fool me, woman. What did you see?”
    She couldn’t help flinching at the controlled anger in his voice. Yet her words remained defiant. “Our peoples have been enemies since before I was born,” she said. “Why would I tell you my darkest secrets?”
    For a brief moment, pure hatred emanated from Ghulut’s eyes. Then he moved back from the flames, and his ashen face dissolved in the dark. Estarta sat motionless, sensing his presence and trying to suppress the fear that was building up inside of her. It was a strange, intense feeling, something long forgotten.
    “I’m not afraid of death, Ghulut,” she said. “My time has passed. It passed a long time ago.”
    A soft chuckle came from across the fire, followed by a peculiar hissing sound. A hand lunged out from the dark, grabbing her by the throat, and her old joints popped as he lifted her up. He stared at her, the black depths in his eyes throbbing like a beating heart.
    “Death is not what scares us most,” he whispered. “It is suffering.”
    Something cold slid across Estarta’s face, and a white gash appeared on her left cheek. Blood started dripping down the wound, sizzling as it hit the glowing embers. Ghulut tightened his grasp, and she gasped for air, her eyes growing wide. Just before she passed out, he put her down. “Speak to me,” he said.
    Estarta coughed. Red marks appeared on her throat. She swallowed hard and took a few gasping breaths, and as she recovered, her milky white gaze turned back to Ghulut.
    She started to giggle.
    For a moment the shaman seemed taken aback. Then he grabbed the thin strands of hair that covered her scalp and jerked her head back. Estarta yelped, her face drawn back into a wrinkled grimace of agony. “It will do you little good, holy man,” she wheezed, her voice soft and hoarse. “I will tell you what I know. But it will do you little good.”
    He looked down at her with contempt. Then he let go of her. “Tell me about the darkness,” he demanded.
    Estarta picked up her flask and took a few sips, wincing at the pain in her throat as she swallowed. She wiped her mouth with a dirty hand. “Most of what I know has been prophesied,” she started. “By the giants who came down from the heavens. It is ancient knowledge, and much of it was lost in time because people prefer to be ignorant. But the words were passed on to me by my mother, as they were passed on to each of the women in my bloodline, an unbroken line of oracles that stretches back to—”
    “The prophecy, woman,” Ghulut snapped.
    Estarta winced. She leaned closer to the fire, her face now shrouded in a curtain of smoke.
    “After the giants had landed their silver bird on our lands, king Homekh tried to drive them away,” she continued. “But it was, of course, in vain; it is said that they could control the elements, sending out thunder and lightning at will. Homekh went into hiding, hoping that the intruders would eventually go back to where they came from, but they didn’t leave. Growing desperate, he decided to visit them and offer them his allegiance in order to save his people. It was a huge risk. Everyone expected him to be killed as soon as he showed his face, but curiously enough, the giants welcomed him instead. They even made a pact with him, speaking to him and no one else.”
    Estarta sighed. “But they spoke only in riddles. Unable to make sense of what they said, Homekh wrote down their words so that those who came after him might understand.”
    Her gaze sharpened, and her face grew dark. “Listen carefully, holy man,” she said. “For the prophecy is about to be fulfilled.” Then she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and when she spoke again, the words came out like a chant.
    “Beware of the dark one that lurks in the void, for when he returns, the heavens will burn. Fiery rain will fall from the skies, covering man and beast in boils, and blood will fill the rivers and lakes. For twelve years his powers will grow until the sign is three sixes. And when he is born, it will be as if the night will never end. It is then that the sea will rise and the mountains tremble. It is then that the earth itself will be torn apart and the sun driven from its rightful place in the skies. And it is then that the world of mankind will cease to exist. There can be no escape. For this has happened before, and it will happen again, and there is nothing you can do to stop your fate.”
    She paused to catch her breath, her eyes resting on the shadow in front of her. “No escape, holy man,” she said softly. “No escape.” Then her shoulders drooped, and she fell silent, staring into the glowing embers. She suddenly looked terribly frail.
    Ghulut bent down, bringing his face in front of hers. “What does it mean?” he said.
    Estarta shook her head. “I don’t know.”
    “Has it happened? Did the dark one cause the flood?”
    She grinned, but her face was drained of all color and nearly as white as his. “Child’s play,” she whispered. “It is only child’s play compared to what will come. And there is nothing you can do, holy man. Nothing.”
    She looked up at him and suddenly started to giggle again, her eyes rolling madly as if she had gone insane. He grabbed her throat and pulled her closer. “The dark one! What is it?”
    “I told you,” Estarta wheezed. “I don’t know.” She clawed at his arm, but she was helpless under his grip. Ghulut squeezed harder, nearly crushing her gullet, but then he released his grasp.
    “Tell me what you have seen,” he said softly.
    She swallowed hard. Somehow, the calmness of his voice was even more frightening than the pulsating glow in his eyes. “It’s a blackness that cannot be perceived,” she gasped. “Not even by those who have the second sight. Some would call it evil, but I…I don’t know what to call it. There is no name for it. It is nothing.”
    Ghulut reached out and took an ember from the fire, seemingly oblivious to its heat. He placed the glowing coal into the palm of her hand. Then he closed her hand into a fist, holding it tightly. The smell of burning flesh spread through the cave.
    “Tell me what you have seen.”
    Estarta clenched her jaws, refusing to scream, but the pain was too much to bear. She shrieked, nodding fiercely. He let go of her hand, and the ember dropped to the floor, leaving a fiery mark on her skin.
    She gasped for breath, clutching her wrist. Her body trembled uncontrollably. “The Arrannak,” she breathed. “The Arrannak is the key. It’s all I can tell you.” She sensed Ghulut moving behind her, and she stiffened. “No, please! It’s all I know. Please! It’s all I know!”
    His hand moved across her face, and her shrieks turned into a muffled groan. She tensed. Then she sagged, and her limp body fell sideways to the ground.
    Ghulut inhaled deeply, his nostrils quivering. His face betrayed no emotion as he looked down upon the oracle’s lifeless form.
    “You were wise not to lie,” he said as he turned and left the cave.