ILLBORN

  ILLBORN

  Daniel T. Jackson is a fantasy enthusiast, with a love for fantastical worlds and epic adventures. After 25 years of creating stories for friends and family, Daniel finally escaped from his day job to fulfil his lifelong ambition of writing Illborn. With The Illborn Saga, he hopes to create the next classic fantasy series.

  Daniel is married with four children, and lives in the United Kingdom. He also loves hiking, cycling and piano, and volunteers for a number of good causes. Illborn is his first published novel.

  Copyright © 2021 Daniel T. Jackson

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  Matador

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  Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

  Tel: 0116 279 2299

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  ISBN 978 1800468 962

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  To Elaine, my lovely wife.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  Interlude 1

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  Interlude 2

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  Some months later

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Caddin

  –

  Year of Our Lord,

  After Ascension, 761AA

  How does the opportunity ever arise for one person to alter the destiny of a world?

  Although Caddin Sendromm had a passing interest in matters of philosophy, he had never given any previous consideration to this particular question. Nor was he considering it now, whilst sitting in a dark corner of a grimy tavern in northern Angloss. Instead, he was merely contemplating the direction that his next day’s travel might take, at the moment when the stranger approached him.

  ‘Begging your pardon, master,’ the unknown man said quietly, while raising a hand to touch a lock of hair on his forehead. ‘My name’s Sern Maddoc. I’m a sheep farmer out at the Maddoc Farm, seven miles from here. I’m told that you’re a healer and a wise man. Is that correct, master?’

  Caddin chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his throat. ‘A healer and a wise man, eh? A healer certainly, but perhaps not always so wise, friend.’

  Maddoc displayed no reaction to the attempt at humour. He had averted his eyes downwards, and his feet shifted restlessly as he stood in place before Caddin’s table.

  ‘Please, be at ease, friend,’ Caddin added warmly, and gestured to the chair next to him. ‘I’m Caddin. Caddin Sendromm. Please, take a seat and tell me what’s troubling you.’

  The farmer shuffled forwards to accept the invitation, glancing to Caddin’s side as he sat down. Caddin knew that Maddoc had for the first time seen the oversized mace which rested against Caddin’s chair. The weapon was comprised of three feet of solid oak shaft, topped with a formidable steel head.

  Caddin patted the mace reassuringly. ‘Please, pay the weapon no mind. It’s my travelling companion, and keeps me safe on the road, sometimes. No need for a good fellow like you to be concerned by it.’

  Maddoc shifted in his seat, looking around in what appeared to be an assessment of the distance between the two of them and the other occupants of the hostelry. Having apparently satisfied himself on this point, he leaned forwards in his chair, and uttered in a low voice, ‘I… a member of my family, that is… have need of a healer.’

  ‘That is indeed my profession, amongst other things,’ replied Caddin, also keeping his voice low. ‘What’s wrong with your family member?’

  Maddoc’s eyes dropped down to the table, before he turned his head to once again check the proximity of everyone else in the room. ‘I can’t say, master. Not here. But he needs help. I need to show you.’

  Caddin’s curiosity was roused. ‘You cannot say? Why not?’

  Maddoc responded in a voice close to a whisper. ‘I’ve been told that you accept payment for your services, master Caddin. I’d pay you, if you were to come out to my farm with me. But I can’t tell you here, master. I have to show you.’

  Caddin leaned his head in closer to the man, dropping his own voice further. ‘I must admit, I’m intrigued by whatever ailment your family member could possibly have to merit your concern for secrecy. However, I’d prefer to hear some details here before I say yes or no. We’re past noon already, and a fourteen-mile round trip is a journey I’d rather not take only to find out it’s either a matter of no consequence, or some condition for which I can be of no service.’

  Maddoc scowled, his expression suggesting that the conversation was not proceeding in the manner which he had planned out in advance. ‘Please name a fair price for the journey then, master. I promise you that it’s… important. Real important, and I’d be grateful for any help I can get or any learning that you can share. We’ve no true healers in this valley, see, and people I trust in this town have told me that your wise learning is far above that of any local person. If you can’t help my family, well, then I’ll pay you for the wasted journey, but I can’t tell you more right now. I have to show you, master.’ By the time that Maddoc had finished, there was a pleading tone in his voice.

  Caddin leaned back in his seat, considering the matter. In this case, the decision came easily.

  Remember, he thought to himself, reciting one of the mantras which had sustained him on the road over many long years, Aiduel reminds us that he who does not search shall never find.

  ‘I shall not take your coin for making a journey, Sern,’ Caddin replied, sincerely. ‘Let’s go to your farm. When we get there, I hope that you’ll be more forthcoming and that I’ll be able to help. If so, you can then pay me whatever you consider to be fair. Tell me one thing though, before we leave. You said “he” needs help. Who is “he”?’

  ‘My son,’ Maddoc replied, his tone softening in apparent relief. ‘My son needs help.’

  –

  Two hours later, Caddin was riding his horse through the northern Angloss countryside. Sern Maddoc was a few metres ahead of him, the shepherd seated upon a rickety horse-drawn wool cart. Caddin gripped his own horse’s reins in one fist,
and patted the mace which hung from his saddle with the other hand. He then directed his horse to follow as the sheep farmer turned his cart off from the main road, and through a gate onto a much smaller side-track towards the Maddoc farm.

  The sky had turned from clear blue to dark grey in the time it had taken them to travel from the town. Ominous clouds had swept in from the east and were now threatening a storm. The gloomy weather acted to emphasise the bleak nature of the countryside in these parts, with open moorland and scrub covering shallow, rolling hills. These features were interspersed only occasionally with jagged outcrops of rock or standalone stunted trees.

  Sheep country, Caddin thought ruefully, grimacing in reaction to the miserable surroundings, full of sheep, shit, and more sheep. Oh, and apparent mystery illnesses.

  ‘How much further?’ he enquired of Maddoc.

  ‘My farm’s a quarter of a mile down this track, master, around the hill up there ahead. The gate we passed through marked the edge of my land.’

  Caddin grunted in acknowledgement, but did not attempt to engage Maddoc in any deeper conversation. Since leaving the town he had tried to extract more information from the sheep farmer, but most of his questions had been met with a request to wait until they reached the farm. Instead, Caddin shifted the straps of the backpack on his shoulder. He then reached his hand up to touch the medallion which rested against his chest, hidden beneath his robes. Feeling reassured by the welcome contact with the metal object, he stared back towards the main road as it disappeared from view.

  After a short time, the Maddoc farm came into sight, its buildings nestling in the shallow valley between a hill to the south and a gently rising slope to the north. The Maddoc property was clearly remote from its nearest neighbour.

  The farm consisted of three buildings; a two-storey stone farmhouse, a smaller stone outhouse, and a larger wooden barn. Caddin’s eyes focused upon the barn, where two people and a number of dogs were busy shepherding the Maddoc flock through open doors to the shelter within. As they got closer, Caddin could see that the first of the two individuals was a woman of similar age to Maddoc himself, who Caddin assumed was the farmer’s wife. The second was a blonde-haired and scrawny boy, who was in his early teens.

  ‘Is that your son?’ Caddin asked, while gesturing towards the youth.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Maddoc. ‘My son Cillian, with my wife Hengra. They’re bringing the sheep in before this storm hits us.’

  Caddin watched as the son’s head turned towards them, after the boy had heard their voices. Whether through a trick of the light or otherwise, the youth’s eyes seemed to glow eerily as he focused upon the unusual sight of his father arriving with an outsider.

  Then the shepherd boy’s stare locked fully onto Caddin. Instantly, Caddin felt the boy’s scrutiny and inspection as something akin to a physical impact; assailing him, pushing against him, attempting to invade him. Immediately, he felt his breath quicken and his heart beat faster. Associated with that, an emotion lurched into Caddin’s mind from which he had long since become detached. Fear.

  Lord Aiduel, he recited to himself, Make my thoughts and actions true, and deliver me from evil.

  The mantra calmed his quickening heart, but his thoughts were still racing, and his mind continued to prickle at the sensation of some outside force probing against it. Could he finally have found the thing which he had been searching for, after all of these years?

  –

  Just minutes later he was sitting opposite the boy, within the small confines of Sern Maddoc’s home. A large and sturdy wooden table separated the two of them.

  The farmhouse consisted of two rooms downstairs, one for the family and one for livestock, plus a wooden-beamed upper floor reached by way of a smoke-stained ladder. The place reeked of the dilapidation and poverty of the family’s meagre farming existence.

  Caddin was leaning with apparent nonchalance against the back of his chair, his backpack and mace placed on the floor behind him. The pose on his face was calm and emotionless, his years of training allowing him to maintain this poise despite the twin emotions of excitement and alarm coursing through his thoughts.

  Sern Maddoc was seated to Caddin’s right, with the farmer’s homely wife stood nervously close behind her husband. Neither of those two people held Caddin’s attention, though. His entire interest was focused upon the child seated across from him.

  The boy looked to be about twelve years old – the exact right age, Caddin thought – and was sandy-haired, with a small, wiry build. There was nothing outwardly exceptional about him except perhaps for the dark piercing eyes, which continued to stare shrewdly at Caddin. Staring at him in a manner that did not accord with how a farmer’s boy would normally act in the presence of an elder healer.

  Caddin also continued to feel a lingering sensation, which he was certain was emanating from the boy, of something unnatural probing against his mind. Seeking to find a way in. He had been experiencing this feeling ever since the initial shock of the boy’s inspection of him, out in the farmyard. However, he now felt more confident that the internal reciting of calming mantras to The Lord, combined with the security of his medallion, were somehow holding this invading presence at bay. He also sensed that it was very important for his own safety that he continue to keep it at bay. He waited, tensely intrigued to see how this encounter would proceed.

  Sern Maddoc broke the silence. ‘Cillian, why don’t you tell healer Caddin here about what’s been troubling you?’

  The boy frowned, looking perturbed, not taking his eyes from Caddin even as he addressed his father. ‘Is he really just a healer, Da? I think he’s more than a healer. I think maybe he’s a… holy man, Da.’

  ‘What?’ replied Maddoc. ‘Cillian, don’t be rude-’

  ‘That’s OK, Sern,’ said Caddin, interrupting him, his voice intentionally gentle and friendly. Caddin’s eyes narrowed slightly, but otherwise he did not show any outward reaction to the boy’s statement. ‘Your boy is very astute. I was a priest, a holy man as the boy says, many years ago. But for many more years now I’ve been a travelling healer.’ This was not quite true, but was close enough for the purpose of what they needed to know. Caddin’s medallion, which might have identified him as something much more than a travelling healer, was tucked away and was out of sight. ‘Now, my turn for a question, Cillian. Tell me how you knew that?’

  Before the boy could answer, Sern Maddoc interrupted. ‘A priest, master? You didn’t share that with me when we first spoke? Had I known that, I mightn’t have asked you here.’ The farmer looked uncomfortable. ‘How… strongly… do you feel your beliefs, master?’

  Caddin switched his eyes from the boy to the father. ‘I’m no longer a priest, shepherd Sern,’ he replied. ‘I’ve not been one for over ten years. And if I might save us both time and worry by cutting to what I understand to be at the heart of your question, I have no interest in heresy, or heretics, or the pursuit of heretics, or in helping those who would pursue heretics. No interest. None.’

  Maddoc appeared to consider Caddin’s response, looking like a man torn between a desire to have never initiated this encounter, and someone who desperately wanted to find out where it could possibly lead. After a pause of a few seconds, a change in his expression indicated that he had made a decision. He looked towards the boy, and his head moved in a small nod, giving his son permission to speak.

  ‘I didn’t know it for sure, sir,’ said the youth, answering Caddin’s earlier question. ‘I just… felt it. Felt it coming from you, telling me.’

  ‘Felt it, how?’ Caddin’s voice was outwardly casual. But the alarming sensation of a probing oily presence continued to circulate around the boundaries of his mind, even as he asked the question. Teasing for a way in.

  Lord Aiduel, let me forever walk with you in the light, and keep me from the all-consuming darkness.

  ‘I don’t know,’ ans
wered the child. ‘I just hear things. Feel things. I don’t know how, but I find I… just, know things. It scares Ma and Da.’

  ‘What kinds of things?’

  Caddin’s large hands rested on the surface of the table, fingers splayed out, with palms down. The insistent, probing mental presence made him want to reach up to touch his medallion, to feel its reassuring cold form within his grasp, but he wilfully resisted the urge.

  The youth answered, his voice heavily accented but indicative of intelligence. ‘Things like… what people are feeling, or thinking. Like that Ma and Da are scared right now. A little scared of you, but more of me. They’ve been scared of me for a long time now.’

  ‘What else? What other things?’

  ‘Things I shouldn’t know. Ma said something to Da a few weeks ago when I was out with the sheep. Something about me. Something I didn’t hear. But I knew she said it, and it scared her when I said it back to her. Scared Da too.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  Cillian looked across at his mother, who appeared embarrassed and frightened in equal measure, then at his father. The father again made a nodding motion.

  ‘That I may not be right. That I may be a bad one. That there may be an evil spirit in me.’

  ‘And what do you think? Is there an evil spirit in you?’

  ‘No,’ replied the boy, with conviction. ‘I’m a good son. Aren’t I, Da? I’m not bad.’

  ‘He’s a good boy, yes he is,’ said Sern Maddoc, putting out a hand onto his son’s shoulder. ‘Good boy. Good worker. Ma spoke wrongly when she said that. Tell him about the things you see, Cillian.’

  ‘OK Da. Like Da says, I see things, sir. Like, I knew there was a sheep trapped, and where, when I couldn’t have known. And I see other things. Things that…’ He stopped, suddenly closing his eyes tight, with a look which was somewhat akin to pain contorting his face. He inhaled deeply, appearing to Caddin to forcibly take control of himself, before continuing. ‘Things that haven’t happened yet.’