The Goddess of Blood and Bone

by Nattie Kate Mason

  Soon enough they would learn to accept their fates, the fight would snuff out of them and the noise would quieten. Then peace would be once more restored to the Hall of Shadows and Lilith could finally rest.

  Lilith allowed her eyes to flutter closed, her head now resting against a silk pillow she had magicked up from some hidden antechamber in the realm. The shadows trailing off her dark hair and gown leisurely uncoiled, as she allowed herself time to relax and prepare for whatever trouble Nushka’s impending visit would bring.

  More souls would progressively appear into the Hall of Shadows as the Goddess paused her work, that would always be the case. But they could await their eternal judgement a little longer, they had time without end ahead of them after all.

  *

  12

  Agnes

  Startled, the handmaiden woke to the sound of a guard unlocking the cell door, the keys thudding against the bone lock. The room would have been in complete darkness were it not for the ghoul guard who carried a torch in his other hand as he pushed open the cell door and stepped inside. Her forty-fifth pillar candle had long burned out. The handmaiden cringed at the reek of the ghoul’s breath, smelled from her straw bed on the opposite side of the cell.

  A young peuchen guard entered after the ghoul, his towering presence an intimidating sight to behold.

  “Come,” the peuchen hissed telepathically.

  “Where are you taking me?” Agnes questioned.

  “You’lll sssee,” the peuchen snickered mind-to-mind.

  Releasing a pained sigh, Agnes lifted herself from the bed of straw. She bit down on her lip as her blistered and burnt feet touched the scorching stone floor.

  “Where are you taking me?” Agnes stammered.

  “Your presssence is demanded by the missstress,” the peuchen guard hissed telepathically into Agnes’s mind. “Now get movvving.”

  Agnes gulped.

  “Afffter you,” the peuchen guard hissed with a twitch of his tail, gesturing for her to follow the ghoul.

  Agnes hobbled defiantly after the foul-smelling phantom, biting down harder on her lip with each agonizing step. She was a warrior and had endured far worse. She would not allow a few burns to be her undoing.

  With a warrior’s heart, Agnes possessed a will of steel from enduring years of bullying, seen as unworthy of her title as Princess of Alearia. She had taken great pleasure in proving her siblings and the Kingdom wrong in her final years once her second, more potent gifting had awakened. Even without her mind conqueror gifting, she was still capable of so much more than people expected of her.

  Agnes spent long years training as a human, honing her body into a weapon. Her mind was another, sharp as a blade and cunning as a fox. People had always made the mistake of underestimating her and she prayed the Gods were just as clueless when it came time to carry out her mission.

  After all she had endured, Agnes wouldn’t let a few burns and blisters bring her down. They would only serve to stoke the fire of vengeance stirring in her very being. She was a warrior, and she would not be broken.

  Chin held high, Agnes slowly followed the ghoul through the dungeon corridors and up one of the bone staircases. The peuchen slithered closely behind, the talons on the ends of its tucked-in wings scraping along the bone walls as it progressed.

  Rather than continuing up the levels to the throne room as she had expected, they turned down a familiar corridor and Agnes’s stomach dropped. Instead of being taken before the Goddess, the wendigast leader, Hyacinth, stood over her, accompanied by several of her own wendigast handmaidens. Sinister grins spread across their faces. Their cobweb hair floated in the air escaping a fissure in the ground. The hot springs brought back a flood of mixed emotions.

  Hyacinth resembled a tree spirit with her gaunt figure, long gangly limbs, tall stature, and bark-plated gown. Her handmaidens were dressed similarly, as was custom for their clan. The wendigast were a powerful race blessed with elemental magic. Over time they had learned to adapt to the mortal realms environment and utilized the herbs and natural ingredients to enhance their powers. They were the first witches to grace the mortal realm, Agnes had gleaned from the orb.

  “Welcome slave,” Hyacinth sneered as she gazed upon Agnes with contempt holding herself with preternatural stillness.

  The High Witch’s vibrant green eyes penetrated deep into Agnes’s soul, as if weighing her value. Her stomach in knots, Agnes bowed before the leader of the wendigast, keeping her mouth shut, unsure of how to respond.

  Hyacinth smirked at her show of reverence.

  “A well-trained dog, I see,” Hyacinth derided. “Though how someone as pathetic as you could be the undoing of the Gods, I cannot fathom…”

  Agnes straightened at her comment. Blood boiling, fists curling, she held the leash tight on the temper that threatened to break loose.

  “Why am I here?” Agnes asked. “The guard said I was summoned by the Mistress. Where is Nushka?”

  Hyacinth tilted her head.

  “The dog speaks. So, there is some level of intelligence there after all,” she smirked, ignoring Agnes’s questions completely.

  The High Witch’s minions snickered behind her, shadows dancing upon their fangs and gaunt features, making Agnes’s skin crawl. The temptation to unleash her pent-up rage grew, but Agnes bit her tongue.

  “My handmaidens and I are here to prepare you for your meeting with the Goddess of Darkness, as per your master’s request,” Hyacinth spat. “The Dark Goddess believes you will pave the way for our invasion. You should pray she is right. Because if you fail us, I will personally request that our Queen allows me to enslave you once she has had her fill,” a predatory gleam in her eyes. “One day with me, and you will wish you were wiped away from all eternity.”

  Agnes stared down the High Witch, letting her see the rage burning inside her, the fury simmering in her eyes.

  “Get in line, witch!” Agnes snapped, baring her teeth. “You are not the first to despise me for no reason and you will not be the last. But mark my words, when I complete my task and I am given my just rewards, I will make you pay for your insolence.”

  Hyacinth, ire in her gaze, struck Agnes across the face with her branch-like hand. The force reverberated through her jaw.

  “Speak to me with such disrespect again, slave, and you will not exist long enough to carry out the Goddess’s plan. There are plenty more desperate souls willing to carry out the Queen’s bidding. Do not make the mistake of thinking yourself special!” Hyacinth seethed, emerald eyes flaring.

  The leader of the wendigast turned to her handmaidens.

  “You know what to do,” Hyacinth ordered before she turned and stalked out of the chamber, leaving Agnes alone with five unforgiving witch spirits.

  ‘Oh fuck.’

  ~

  The wendigast witches delighted in thrashing Agnes to a pulp with their elemental magic. Though Agnes was sure the warrior race was more than capable of delving out their punishments the old-fashioned way, it appeared the handmaidens preferred to keep their hands clean. Vines summoned from another realm had pegged Agnes against the hot, hard ground, while the witches traded between funnels of boiling water and whips of wind to carry out their ministrations.

  Eyes swollen shut, the fight taken out of her, Agnes lay curled up in a pitiful heap upon the rocks surrounding the hot springs. Devoid of any energy and overwhelmed with pain, Agnes could not summon so much as a snarl to her lips.

  The witches had carried out their orders well. Agnes could not remember the last time she had endured such a beating, and she prayed it would be a long time before it happened again. The rocks beneath her did not scorch her skin as the dungeon floor had. Though the heat was still intolerable, giving her superficial burns from the prolonged exposure, adding to her numerous injuries.

  Agnes couldn’t lift her head, the pain in her corporal form insufferable. Without warning, one of the wendigast handmaidens lashed at Agnes with a wall of wind. Water enve
loped her as she landed in the hot springs with a splash. Water sloshing over pool’s edge from the impact, sizzled into steam. Shock overcame her as she struggled to stand to keep her head above water. Agnes hissed as her broken skin stung. Her blood dispersed into the pool around her.

  “Did you enjoy our little gift?” one of the handmaidens cackled, teeth gleaming. “We are meant to heal you, to make you presentable for the Goddess of Darkness, but we could not allow such disrespect of our High Witch to go unpunished. A lesson of sorts, of what is to come if you fail at your future task. A reminder that you are nothing.”

  The break in the torture was a welcome reprieve.

  “One day you will pay for this,” Agnes vowed. She could barely make out her enemy.

  “We shall see…” a sinister voice whispered in her ear, like an echo of the witch’s power.

  Her fellow clan members cackled in response, voicing their own creative taunts. A mouse trapped amongst a group of insatiable vultures.

  The water enveloped Agnes tighter, the liquid squeezing her lungs and limbs as the witches forced the hot water to bind her like manacles. Had she been human, Agnes would have departed this realm long ago. In her current existence, even as a deceased soul in corporal form, it would take a lot more to be wiped from all eternity.

  The wendigast handmaidens joined their prey in the pool. Ripples lapped at Agnes’s mouth as the witches surrounded her. They towered over her with branch-like limbs, leering at her. Their wet cobweb hair clung to their scalps and necks.

  “Swear that you will not speak of this to anyone, especially the Goddess. If you do, we’ll make you wish you never crossed us. Deny our terms and we will leave you to wallow in pain until you come to your senses. Either way, we will get what we want. Do we have an accord, dog?” the wendigast handmaiden asked coolly.

  Agnes’s heart thundered inside her chest, her lungs begged for release. “I agree,” she croaked.

  Agnes could taste the wendigast handmaidens’ satisfaction as they scoffed, relishing in their transgressions. Their taunts fed her ever-growing anger. She mentally added the wendigast handmaidens to the list of beings she would exact revenge upon.

  Excruciatingly slowly, the witches healed Agnes’s body. First the blisters, burns and cracks of open skin under her feet, then the cuts and burns to her fingers. They left the injuries they had inflicted until last, relishing in her drawn-out agony.

  One by one, using their powers and herbal tinctures, the wendigast healed every cut, bruise and wound they had inflicted. The swelling and bruising around her eyes dissipated until her vision was once again clear.

  Agnes peered into the water’s reflection. Her eyes widened. All evidence of her injuries had been wiped away. Her skin was now perfectly pristine, her hair once more vibrant, even her eyes gleamed. The past few hours, days, had been erased from her appearance.

  With her body now fully healed, the wendigast loosened their water bindings, allowing her enough range of movement to climb out of the pool. Within moments, the heat of the room had dried her. A pair of leather sandals awaited Agnes at the edge of the pool, presumably to protect her newly healed feet from the harsh environment of Moor. A gift that certainly would have come in handy days ago.

  Agnes was roughly dressed in a long sleeved, full length gown that resembled something a priestess would typically wear back in her homeland. A pious dress fit for a soul seeking forgiveness for her past crimes. The wendigast arranged her hair in a tight bun. She was the picture of a woman who has seen the error of her ways and was looking for redemption. The perfect ensemble to set the scene for the ruse she was about to attempt.

  *

  13

  The Goddess of Blood and Bone

  The great hall was full to the brim of Nushka’s favored souls and allies. The night’s festivities were a cacophony of music, dancing and intimate encounters. It had been an age since the Goddess could recall hosting so many in her home. She ground her teeth at the overcrowded conditions.

  Anticipation of the impending coup was stirring, and many of her depraved creations were behaving as if the war was already won. The hall floor was slick with wine and all manner of bodily fluids. Her guests, particularly her allied leaders, were on high alert, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. Even the Dark Goddess struggled to rein in her bloodlust. Only the ever-flowing wine and their carnal urges managed to temporarily abate their cravings for violence.

  Along the volcanic plains and trailing up into the jagged peaks surrounding The Pitts, ground and aerial legions of every kind were preparing for battle. Earlier, Nushka had spent time watching the peuchen legions fly in formation, their forms illuminated by the rilles in the ground radiating light. The peuchens’ stealth, despite their size, was a marvel to watch.

  Stretched out across the wrinkle ridges, the ghouls gathered in their hundreds. Herds of chimera with fierce heads of snake, dragon and lion, practiced drills on the volcanic plains, their paws protected from the heat by the Goddess’s power.

  Zeri, adopting chimera form, had joined in with the drills, perpetually floating just above the surface even as they fought, taking the opportunity to develop their fighting skills. Whether Agnes was successful or not, there would be a battle. Nushka’s allies would need to unite as one army to defeat the Gods. The Deities would not go down quietly, even if rendered powerless.

  In the Hall of Bone, beneath Nushka’s skirts and concealed with shadow magic, a handmaiden tended to the Queen’s needs. Even amongst the festivities, the Goddess still thirsted for life, still craved touch. The handmaiden wasn’t particularly skilled, but her services were adequate enough.

  The Goddess of Blood and Bone didn’t give a second thought to the thousands gathered at the foot of her dais. Many were likewise engaged in some form or another of fornication.

  A door slamming shut drew Nushka’s attention. The Goddess watched on as Agnes was manhandled into the room under wendigast and peuchen guard and flung at the foot of the dais. Nushka eyes widened as she beamed at their use of force.

  The handmaiden looked radiant; a far cry from the mess she would have been earlier that day. Nushka had to admit, she was impressed by the witches’ healing skills.

  “Leave me,” Nushka commanded as she kicked the handmaiden out from beneath her skirts. The handmaiden hastily retreated out into the open and disappeared from the dais into the crowd.

  “Useless whore,” the Goddess cursed under her breath, incensed that her urges had not been sated. Her long ebony hair flicked in irritation at being denied.

  “Sorry to interrupt you, My Queen,” Agnes obnoxiously smirked at the other handmaiden’s exit, drawing Nushka from her thoughts.

  Like a whip, Nushka lashed one of her shadows at the handmaiden’s left arm. Agnes hissed in pain as her power found its mark ripping the handmaiden’s gown and leaving a nasty welt in its wake.

  “My apologies for my insolence,” Agnes rasped, wincing in pain as she drew her injured arm protectively up to her chest with her free hand.

  Nushka sighed heavily. With a wave of her hand the gown and Agnes’s arm were repaired. The Goddess took her time appraising the rest of the handmaiden from head to toe, her lip curling into a devious grin.

  “As I was going to say, before you apparently needed a reminder of who holds your leash,” the Queen added. Agnes flinched at her words. “It appears your leave of absence has done you well. You’re practically glowing,” she remarked tauntingly.

  Nushka had a good feeling she knew exactly why the handmaiden’s skin was so blemish free.

  The Dark Goddess momentarily turned her attention to the wendigast handmaiden standing smugly at Agnes’s side. She did not know her name, nor did she care. All handmaidens were useful for was serving the needs of their masters and carrying out their unwanted tasks. She only bothered to learn their names if they drew her curiosity.

  Nushka was sure the wendigast’s demeanor and Agnes’s presentation meant that more healing than anticipa
ted had been required. Nushka smirked knowingly. She found herself wishing that she had been present to witness the thrashing that the wendigast had likely administered. She would have reveled in seeing the handmaiden thoroughly put in her place. The Deity ruled over her minions with fear as the predominant motivator. Any extra terror installed in Agnes would only help her cause and serve as a warning of the potential consequences if she should fail in the task ahead.

  “Thank you for your assistance,” Nushka addressed the wendigast handmaidens with a knowing smirk. “You may now return to your High Witch.”

  The wendigast handmaidens bowed before the Goddess before taking their leave, their plated bark gowns dragging on the slate floor behind them.

  As the hall cheered and the celebrations continued, Nushka turned her attention back to Agnes. Chocolate brown eyes met her own piecing gaze.

  “Come,” Nushka summoned Agnes, beckoning her with a clawed, curling finger. “It is time to re-write our fates.”

  *

  14

  Agnes

  The Hall of Shadows blurred around them as hand-in-hand Nushka spirited them away. Darkness thrashed at Agnes from all angles. The kiss of darkness felt like sharp blades slashing her skin though it left no mark. The Goddess of Blood and Bone’s hateful essence seemed to wrap around her, pounding at her sides, threatening to tear her apart.

  Then, as quickly as it began, the shadows dissipated and that unbearable pain eased. Agnes braced her hands on her knees, panting as she tried to reel herself back together.

  “What the fuck was that?!” Agnes hissed under her breath.

  Nushka ignored her.

  Agnes sighed; she didn’t know why she had wasted her time even asking. Then she noticed the air… the temperature. Pleasantly surprised, she straightened. No longer did it feel as if her lungs were perpetually on fire. The smoke, the haze, were gone. The temperature, to her wonder, was mild. If it were not for the long sleeves of the absurd gown, she might have even needed a light coat.