She was still a horrid mess, Randar saw. Her skin was stretched over bloated soft tissue, purplish-gray with decay, and her lips were swollen and misshapen. It would take some time for her to return to normal—whatever that was—and he realized that she was likely hungry for life energy. He remembered Igraina having drained the life force from young girls of the nearby villages, and if this witch was somehow related to her, she would likely do the same.
He needed to find her a meal.
"Lilit," he spoke. "Can you hear me?"
The witch's head turned slowly, twitching as her muscles and tendons popped and creaked. Her eyes focused on him, still wild-looking and filled with horror. Her lips trembled, and it appeared that she was trying to speak, but only a weak groan escaped.
"I don't know if you can even understand me," he continued. "But my name is Randar, and I have need of your talents; my king has need of your talents."
Her lips continued to move, and a low, unintelligible whisper came out.
"You needn't worry," Randar said. "I will not harm you. I will take care of you. We will make you strong again, and you will have your vengeance against those who imprisoned you. I promise you. But for now, you need to regain enough strength to make the journey back to the fortress."
Realizing his own energy was her only hope of at least obtaining a small amount of strength, he drew his dagger and cut his palm, balling up his fist and allowing the blood to drip onto her lips. She licked them with her swollen tongue, her breath deepening and quickening as her hunger awoke her.
Before long, Randar saw that her skin began to regain some of its color. The water that had saturated her tissues began to leak from her pores, forming a pool around her, and her limbs became more supple and shapely. What was emerging from the bloated and sickening carcass was beginning to return to its former beauty. But, as she stopped to breath, Randar realized that his blood was only a taste of what she would need.
She would have to have a human body to drain in order to return to her former self. That meant returning to the village where he had murdered the local fortune teller. But now, at least, she had the strength to get there with his help. He would not have to carry her, but she would have to remain cloaked until she was fully restored. Luckily, his cloak was hooded, and would serve that purpose well.
"Come now," he said, taking her hand and helping her to her feet. "We will find you a meal and continue on our journey."
She turned to him, reaching up to touch his face. Though he felt a strange and uncomfortable probing of his mind, he allowed it. She closed her eyes, seeming to read his thoughts, learning from the words and images that flashed in his mind's eye. After just a moment, she opened her eyes again, lowering her hands as her mouth finally spoke its first words.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked in a harsh whisper.
"Why, home my dear," he said with a smile. "Home where you can recover and become the queen you were meant to be."
Though still deformed and crooked, her smile told him that she liked that idea.
Igraina was awakened by the strong sense of doom that suddenly overcame her in her sleep. Not since her childhood had she fallen asleep, and the experience was rife with nightmares and strange visions that left her sweating and breathless. Her heart raced painfully, and her hands trembled with what she could only imagine was terror.
She gasped for breath as she stood, clutching her robes in an effort to tighten their comforting softness around her. It was a mild comfort, though, and her body was still wracked with tremors.
The darkened, abandoned cabin she had found was no comfort, either. It was cold, dusty and lonely, offering nothing but shelter from the elements that were, strangely enough, affecting her for the first time in her life.
But what was it that had awakened her?
She sat back down, her mind twisting and churning to find the answers. She had heard a strange phrase in her dreams. The same words that had been spoken recently, but she couldn't remember when or where.
Ach-Ia-gra!
What did it mean?
She gritted her teeth, searching for some kind of explanation. But her mind was blank, disturbed, not functioning the way it was supposed to. There was also that underlying sense of doom; something that creeped around her in the ether. It was an unknown force, some presence that she could not remember, but felt familiar to her. It was the same sense of recognition she had experienced in the deep corridors of T'kar's fortress. But there was also the horror that this presence exuded.
It was not the fascination she had felt before, but a terrifying feeling like someone or something had awakened. Something that once pursued her—once hunted her. Long dead, or sleeping, but now awake once more.
Ach-Ia-gra!
"Stop it!" she cried out, covering her ears against the vile voices. "Stop it!"
She fell to the floor, writhing with inner torment. The name spoken tore at her soul, grasped her heart and squeezed it with iron gauntlets. It was painful to hear, even more painful to try to recall its meaning.
"Why do you torment me?" she pleaded. "Who are you?"
Ach-Ia-gra…
"Hello," a soft voice came from the creaking door.
Igraina froze, her eyes frozen to the floor and her heart fluttering.
"Are you alright?" the voice asked. "I heard you as I was passing by and wanted to make sure you weren't hurt or…"
"Who are you?" Igraina asked as the pain subsided.
"My name is Jodocus," the voice said.
Jodocus?
Igraina pushed herself slowly, quivering with pain and anguish. She looked up at the doorway, squinting to see through her tears. There, dressed in a long earth-toned robe, was a young man bearing only a twisted oak staff. His blond hair was long and unkempt, and his boyish face had signs of stubble. But the most striking features were the bright blue eyes that stared at her with such kindness—the likes of which she had never seen.
"You are a Druid," she said.
Jodocus smiled. "Yes," he said. "I am a Druid. I am the Druid of these lands."
Igraina sighed, letting her eyes drift back down to the floor. "I have heard of you," she said. "And if you are truly who you say you are, then you shouldn't be here."
"And why is that?"
Igraina laughed humorlessly. "Because we are enemies."
Jodocus laughed. "Enemies? And why should we be enemies? We've never met."
Igraina's eyes welled up with tears again. She could hear the soft footfalls of Jodocus entering the cabin, and saw his sandaled feet, dirty yet somehow pure and unspoiled. She saw his hand reach down, open and welcoming.
"Come," he said. "Let me help you to your bed."
She glared at his hand hanging there, wanting to spit upon it like she knew she would have in the past. But somehow, as she saw its rough purity—the hands of a divine being—she felt its beckoning and reached up to take it. She looked into Jodocus' eyes as he helped her to the bed and sat down next to her. The kind smile never left his face, and his blue eyes seemed to melt her very soul
He was beautiful. Wild and innocent at the same time.
"You seem troubled," he said. "Is there something I can do to help you?"
She shook her head half-heartedly, knowing there was nothing he could really do for her. He was a Druid, and she was a vile, evil thing spawned for some unknown reason, left to walk the Earth in solitude and torment. She felt ashamed to even be in his presence.
"You are weary," he said. "I can feel it. There is much pain and anger within you, isn't there?"
She could only nod.
"You have walked this Earth for so long that you don't even remember why."
"It has been so long…"
"Of course it has," Jodocus said. "The painful times always seem to last the longest, don't they?"
She looked up at him, seeing that strange kindness in his eyes. They were not judgmental or suspicious, just genuinely concerned and sympathetic to her pain. She could
not guess why.
"Yes, they do," she replied. "And that is all I have ever known."
Jodocus nodded, cocking his head with what seemed like great empathy.
"I can see that, Igraina."
Her heart jumped at the mention of her name. "How did you know?"
"I am a Druid," he replied. "I speak to the Earth, and it speaks to me. I know things only the oldest creatures in this land know. Why? Because they tell me so."
"Then you know who and what I am," she said.
"Of course," Jodocus replied. "And I know that Igraina is the name your tribe gave you."
She froze, unable to speak. Did this Druid know her true name?
"I know everything you have done, of course," he continued. "And I know the evils you have committed."
"Then why do you wish to help me?"
Jodocus smiled. "Because even the most evil of creatures are capable of doing good," he said. "And I know that it is your pain and torment that causes this evil. In your heart, you are eager to right things. You even acted on that eagerness many years ago when you allowed the Dragon's child to escape T'kar's wrath."
"Yes," she said. "I wanted to cause T'kar's fall, but for my own selfish reasons."
"Of course," Jodocus said. "But by doing so, you may very well have changed things for the better. For that, you deserve better than to wander alone in the murky woods, stepping in puddles and sleeping in shacks."
"You said… my name?"
"You know your name," Jodocus said. "You hear it when you close your eyes. But that is not who you are. It doesn't have to be, anyway. You can be whomever you wish. I can sense the good in you, and I know there is a desire to see the true king to his throne."
"The Dragon's son," Igraina said.
Jodocus nodded, smiling again. "Even now he rushes to the aid of the Highlanders, who are under attack from T'kar's forces in their own lands."
So he survived after all, she realized. She had inadvertently altered the course of history, possibly bringing an end to T'kar's reign. She may sit upon the throne yet.
Jodocus laughed, and she realized he could sense what she was thinking. She turned away, ashamed yet again.
"Igraina," Jodocus said. "It is not in my nature to interfere with the plights of men. It is my duty to maintain the balance, and offer my guidance when it is appropriate. But you can do whatever you wish. You are not bound by anything but your own desires. It is you who could still change things for the better."
"How?" she asked, turning back to him.
"Make sure that the young man finds his way to Dol Drakkar," Jodocus said. "Keep him alive, keep him strong, and keep him away from T'kar until the time is right."
"He does not know who he is," she said.
"That is correct," Jodocus confirmed. "But he is alive, and he has the desire to destroy T'kar. All that he knows is that he is of the people of Eirenoch, and not one of the Northmen who raised him. It is this bond with them that drives him alone. He does not know that the very blood of the Dragon flows within him."
"So what shall I do?" Igraina asked.
"Continue your journey north with a newfound purpose," Jodocus said. "Forget who you were, and who you will be in the future. For now, focus on being a force of good in this land. Perhaps, before your end comes, you may find redemption, and the gods will relieve your suffering. That is not my place to say. But now is your chance to live without pain or guilt. The more you do for others, the less your pain will be."
Igraina nodded, not sure if she could do anything beneficial for herself at this point, much less for others. But, she realized, there was no point in not trying. She was immortal. She had nothing to lose. But still she wondered…
"Something seeks me," she said, hopeful.
"Yes," Jodocus said. "There were others like you in the past; others who were abandoned and left to suffer or die. Though most of them have passed into shadow, there is one who still lives, and has awakened. You will know her when you see her."
"Why does she seek me? Who is she?"
"She is your sister, Igraina," Jodocus said. "And she is responsible for killing the others of your kind. She is here for you now, but you must remain strong and not fear her. She cannot truly harm you, for you are the strongest."
"What is her name?"
"Ach-Li-litu," Jodocus said.
Ach-Li-litu, she repeated in her mind. "And my name is Ach-Ia-gra."
She let her eyes drift back to the floor again, horrified yet somehow relieved at this revelation. She now knew the meaning of the painful words, but still not who it was that spoke them, or who gave her that name. Perhaps Jodocus would know.
But Jodocus was gone.
"No!" she cried out, falling to her knees as she slid off the edge of the bed. "Please… come back."
Her voice faded as she covered her face with her hands. She wept again, nearly growling with frustration as she tried desperately to make some sense of all of this new information. She wanted the Druid to come back. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her so she could lay her head on his shoulder and give him all of her pain. She knew he would take it from her.
She just knew.
Seek the son of the Dragon, Jodocus spoke into her mind. See him to Dol Drakkar.
She wiped her tears away, sitting back up on the bed. She looked around the filthy hovel, suddenly disgusted with the way it looked, the way it smelled. Why she had chosen this place she did not remember. Somehow it seemed safe and cozy at the time, but was now a run-down shack that disgusted her.
She was better than this, she realized. She could do much better. She deserved much better, and she would see to it that she redeemed herself in the eyes of the Dragon. She would do as she was asked, and protect the Dragon's son. She would make sure he regained the throne and ended T'kar's reign of terror. She would be a beacon of light in the Beast's darkness, and a force of benevolence.
For a time.
Chapter Sixteen
Smoke filled the valley, glowing orange in the morning sunrise. Dearg and his companions, a dozen and a half Northmen warriors and his new archer, descended from the mountain path in shock. Through the haze, they could see the remains of the many huts, smoking and blackened, and the bodies of dozens of Highlanders lying about.
It was obvious there had been a battle, and the Highlanders had not fared well. Ivar immediately bent down to take a look at the ground near the edge of the village, shaking his head as he stood and walked around in the area where the battle had taken place.
"They were vastly outnumbered," he said. "Judging by the size of Hamish's tribe, I'd say at least four to one."
"There aren't many enemy bodies, either," Hafdan said. "But the ones that are here are T'kar's troops for sure."
Dearg staggered into the smoke, his eyes shifting in every direction, and his heart sinking as he sought out Morrigan. He hoped that she was not among the dead, and that she had escaped somehow. The only indication that there were survivors was the fact that there were no children among the dead.
Someone had gotten them to safety.
"I'm sorry, Dearg," Freyja said as she joined him in searching. "Are you looking for someone in particular?"
"A woman," he said. "Morrigan. She would be about your height, with reddish-blond hair."
Freyja sighed. "I don't see many women at all," she said. "That is probably good news. At least for her, anyway. Was she a warrior?"
"Yes," Dearg said. "As fierce as Igrid, if not more so."
The morose silence was suddenly interrupted by an anguished scream. Dearg's hand went to his blade as he turned, but as he saw Fleek pick up a body and cradle it in his arms, he knew that the worst had happened. He went to his friend, sharing a worried glance at Ivar as they stood behind him.
Fleek wept loudly as he rocked the plump woman back and forth. Dearg's own heart sank in sympathy, knowing that she had made his friend happier than he had ever seen. It was a devastating blow, he knew, and one that would drive Fle
ek into madness if he did not get revenge.
"What was her name?" Ivar asked as he crouched down.
"Leela," Fleek said, lowering her face so he could look at it. "She made me feel good inside."
Dearg could see that Freyja had tears in her eyes. She felt Fleek's pain as they all did. Like everyone else in the tribe, she had known Fleek as a kind, gentle soul who deserved nothing but happiness. Seeing him this way was heartbreaking to everyone.
"Dearg," Hafdan said. "The other villages are to the east. The tracks go in that direction. There are other bodies there. Some women and children, but mostly T'kar's men."
"That means at least some of the women and children made it to safety," Dearg said. "Most of them anyway."
He put his hand on Hafdan's shoulder. "Stay here with Fleek," he said. "We will follow the tracks. Join us when he is ready."
"Aye," Hafdan said.
"Come then," Dearg said to the others. "We have to find the survivors, if there are any."
Taking one last look at Fleek, they continued east along the valley. They could see that the huts on both sides of the main path were destroyed; some of them burned to the ground with smoking piles of peat and grass, and others simply collapsed. Morrigan's hut was among them, as well as Dana's.
And that was where Ivar stopped. Though Morrigan's body was nowhere around, Dana lay face down in a puddle, a bloody sword at her side. Ivar sighed as he examined the scene, obviously upset but not terribly disheartened.
"This is her blade," he said proudly. "She died fighting. That is good."
"I'm sorry, friend," Dearg said.
Ivar shrugged, seemingly happy that she died the way she did. There were worse ways to die, he realized, and taking a few enemies with you was better than dying on your knees. Dearg was impressed, as well. Highland women were definitely as brave and willing to fight as the women of the north.
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