“We were placed on the earth amidst humanity to play our part. The Moirai, who you called the Fates, kept balance while my children and I guided humanity from the caves to the great cities of the world. We were called gods. And that suited us.”
“Are you fallen angels?” Vanora asked timidly.
Leto scoffed at this. “No. We are not. There is one God, but many gods.”
Struggling to grasp all that she was hearing, Vanora’s gaze drifted to the box. It was the past. Did that mean it was changeable?
“No,” a voice seethed out of the darkness. It was one of the Fates.
“What is done is done,” another added.
“Which is why you must play your role,” said the third.
Adamantly shaking her head, Vanora said, “I don’t have to do anything I don’t choose to. I don’t care if you are The Fates.” Anger, raw and fierce, flared inside her. She was so sick of people trying to control her.
“Leave her be,” Leto said sharply. “She doesn’t know the full truth yet.”
“Then tell her,” one of the Fates ordered. “Show her the past. Let her see what must be done.”
Vanora bristled at these words. They were all so certain she’d do as they desired. What about what she wanted? With her heart thudding anxiously, she realized she wanted to know the truth. She wanted to see the past and know what they required of her. The only consolation was that she’d finally know the truth. She was still resolved to making her own choices, gods, fates, and prophecy be damned.
“She can’t fight her fate,” one of the women declared, as though reading her thoughts.
“But another did and won,” Leto snarled in response.
The three women fell silent, then one hissed, “For now...”
“Enough!” Vanora said, her voice a sharp bark that echoed throughout the temple.
The four women stared at her in surprise.
“This is my life. My magic. And my supposed fate you’re discussing. I want to know the truth. I want to know what the hell is going on. Now!” Vanora slid to her feet, her gown swishing around her bare feet. The white light of her magic sizzled beneath her skin. “Now, show me all that has been hidden from me.”
“You can’t speak to us-”
“Silence!” Leto roared, cutting off the Fates.
The three women slid into the firelight and Vanora was relieved that they were no longer disguised as Carys, Rhonda and Lorelei. The three looked eerily alike, almost like the same woman at various stages of her life. There was a young teenage girl, a woman who appeared to be in her thirties and an older woman maybe in her mid-fifties. All three had sharp noses, dark green eyes, brown curly hair, and light olive skin. Their robes were colorful with gold thread edging the hems.
“Just because you stand outside...”
“...of time...”
“..don’t think...”
“...you’re beyond...”
“...our reach...”
The women spoke over each other.
Leto stared at the Fates with a small smirk on her lips. “Is that your promise?”
“Stop it!” Vanora shouted at them. “I’m so sick and tired of people talking around me. I’m done. Stop it.”
The smoke boiled out of the fire pit and filled the temple with a steamy haze. Vanora dragged in a full breath of the fragrant smoke then exhaled. Instantly, the air cleared and she found herself alone with the Oracle.
The Oracle tilted her head upward and smirked at Vanora. “Well done.”
“Did I...” Vanora faltered, her heart thumping harshly against her ribs.
“Oh, yes.”
Feeling a bit faint all at once, Vanora sat down a little too fast, the impact painfully rocketing up her spine. The pain stabilized her thoughts. All at once she wanted to both cry and laugh. All her life, she had lamented not being like everyone else, and now she knew for certain she was not. She wasn’t even technically human.
The Oracle poured more water on the hot coals, steam slithering over her skin. “I am Siana. I am the last of the oracles.”
Curling her arms about her knees, Vanora hugged her legs to her chest. The fact she’d banished the goddesses from the temple had her feeling a bit dazed. Maybe this world was just in her head and that’s why she was able to assert her will, but it left her feeling shaken. Just what exactly was she? “What happened to the other oracles?”
“They were killed,” Siana answered matter-of-factly. “In the dark days of the first purge, the oracles were the first to die. The weakest to the strongest. All murdered in their temples.”
“But not you?”
Siana tilted her head to one side. “Oracles are not immortal by nature.” Pressing her fingers to ugly scars on her neck, she said, “I still live because in the final moments of my death, Aeron recognized the folly of destroying me.”
“He needed you,” Vanora said, understanding.
“Yes. And I fought my way back to life, but was scarred in the aftermath.”
“But why destroy the oracles?”
A soft laugh sifted from Siana’s lips. “So that none could divine a different outcome to his life.”
“And there weren’t any more oracles born?”
“The lineages were destroyed. It runs through the blood, you see. The gift...” Siana lowered her head, her hand pressed to her belly. “My female children would have carried the gift. But my womb is now barren.”
“So you’re the last...” Vanora shivered inwardly, wondering how many witches were still alive.
Siana lifted one hand to set it on the bronze chest hovering above their heads. “Yes, I am the last. But so are you. The last of Aeron’s line. The fulfillment of prophecy. His destiny.”
A shiver of fear sizzled along her nerve endings, and Vanora’s body tensed.
“You have nothing to fear from me. It wouldn’t serve my purpose to kill you in revenge.” Siana said the words in such a way that made Vanora suspect that the Oracle had seriously considered that option.
“So what is your purpose?” Vanora tilted her head, curious and wary.
“To show you the past so you can fulfill your destiny. Without full knowledge of what lies behind you, how can you embrace what lays ahead?”
“Maybe I won’t embrace it,” Vanora retorted.
“We shall see...”
The smoke writhed about Vanora taking on the form of mythological creatures for just a brief second before dissipating. Unease filling her, she stared at the bronze box floating above her head. She was tired of games, tired of lies, and tired of listening to people prattle on about her future.
“Show me,” she commanded.
Siana raised her hands and the box descended. “Don’t be afraid, Vanora.”
“I’m more angry than afraid,” Vanora retorted, but it wasn’t easy to ignore the icy touch of fear pressing into her thoughts.
The box settled into Siana’s grip. The etchings in the bronze caught the light from the flames causing them to appear as though the carved figures were moving. Gracefully rising, the Oracle drifted around the fire pit, her body suspended by wisps of smoke. Even though her eyes were hidden, Vanora felt Siana’s gaze on her.
Halting before Vanora, she said, “Rise.”
Vanora obeyed, clenching her trembling hands into tight fists at her sides. It was a futile attempt to calm her nerves. The fragrant smoke thickened, warm and heavy against her white skin.
“When you are ready, open the box.”
“That’s it?”
“All has been prepared for you...you merely have to lift the lid.”
Timidly, Vanora stretched out one hand to touch the latch on the box.
“Before you open it, remember this is the past. It cannot be changed. You can only observe what once was,” Siana warned, the smoke lapping against the edges of her face. It was as if she was sinking into the thick, spicy haze.
“Is it dangerous?” Vanora dared to ask, her fingers hovering over the latch.
“Yes, but not in the way you fear,” Siana replied.
Vanora hesitated. What did she fear? Her thoughts flitted about like butterflies, eluding her grasp. She knew for certain what made her angry, which was the notion that she had no control over her own life, but wasn’t that anger born out of fear? So what did Siana’s comment mean?
There was really only one way to find out.
Vanora’s fingers found the latch, and she opened the box...
...and Vanora was instantly enshrouded in darkness. With a little gasp, she stumbled backward, her foot catching on uneven ground. She landed with a hard thump on what felt like a bed. Out of the gloom came the sounds of a small child sniffling. It took a few seconds for Vanora’s eyes to adjust and realize she was in a large, circular hut with a pointed thatched roof with heavy beams crisscrossing overhead. The door to the structure was slightly ajar, casting a slim beam of light along the dry clay covering the thick wood logs that made up the floor. The child continued to weep beside her, hidden under rough covers. It was a heartbreaking sound, full of despair.
Though she had been warned she could not change the past, Vanora couldn’t help but rest a comforting hand on the sobbing little one. The child sat up abruptly, a startling white face framed with thick white hair coming into focus. Purple eyes worriedly scanned the interior of the hut as he rubbed the tears away. About six years old, the little boy appeared sweet and mild-mannered as he huddled on the bed. Vanora shifted away from him, regretting her action. The boy sniffled, his chubby fingers playing with the edge of the blanket.
“Mother?” he called out.
The door was shoved completely open and a woman entered carrying a basket filled with food. “Aeron, what is it?”
The words were not in English, yet Vanora understood them. Though she’d known instantly who the boy was upon seeing him, hearing his name made her heart thump harder. The timid child beside her would one day destroy her life. It was difficult to accept this reality while gazing at his chubby flushed cheeks and big tear-filled eyes.
“Something touched me,” he whispered fearfully.
Thick brown hair twisted into braids and decorated with ornate jewelry framed a round face with a smattering of freckles and vivid green eyes that reminded Vanora of Alisha. With a start, she realized the woman was also her ancestor. Vanora was descended from Aeron’s bloodline, which meant this woman was her relation. Aeron’s mother came to her son’s side and squatted beside the bed. Long, elegant hands roughened by life, skimmed over his chubby frame, then her gaze narrowed. Slowly, her eyes scanned the hut before returning to Aeron. “You have a guardian.” The mother pointed directly at Vanora. “She’s watching over you. Don’t be afraid. She won’t hurt you.”
Shivering, Vanora was frightened to move. It was obvious that Aeron’s mother was a witch. The power in Vanora’s veins was an inheritance from the ruddy faced lady in front of her. And the witch could either see her, or sense her.
Rubbing the tears from his white cheeks, the little boy snuffled loudly. “Is it because I’m cursed?”
“Not cursed, Aeron. Blessed. Your father cannot see the future I see. You will be a chieftain over many. Powerful and strong.” She kissed her son’s forehead.
“But I can’t even go outside.”
“That’s because you’re a child of the night. The moon watches over you, not the sun.” Lifting the basket, his mother said, “Come eat.”
The little boy, who would grow up to be a fearsome warrior and vampire, rubbed his nose and slid off the bed. He padded after his mother. “I miss my brother.”
“I’m sure he misses you to,” the woman answered. “We’ll see him again during the festival.”
“Why does he go get to live with my uncle and I can’t?”
Vanora dimly remembered that Celtic children were fostered out to their mother’s tribe, which meant Aeron being raised by his mother was unusual.
“Because you’re a child of the moon,” she answered with a grin. “And I must guide you on the path to your future.”
“Father hates me,” Aeron grumbled.
“He doesn’t hate you. He fears for you. He doesn’t see the future like I do. Because of that, he doesn’t understand what great things you will do.”
Aeron plucked a piece of bread from the basket and nibbled on it. “But I’m little.”
“When you’re a grown man, you’ll be a greater warrior than your father.”
Aeron sighed. “But I can’t even go outside when the sun is up.”
A sympathetic pang beat in Vanora's heart for the little boy. Throughout her childhood, she’d felt apart from the world around her. It bothered her that she had this much in common with Aeron. She’d never considered how his albinism had affected his life as a mortal.
“Just wait and see, Aeron.”
Caught in curiosity’s grip, Vanora climbed off the bed and crept toward the doorway. This world of the past appeared real, yet everything about it was muted, as though she wasn’t completely attached to it. Scents, noises, and sensations were nearly intangible. Only the voices of the mother and child sounded normal.
Outside the hut, the world was a vibrant green beyond the hillfort. Vanora inhaled sharply, realizing she was certainly in Wales. Huts of various sizes were spread out along the top level of the multi-tiered hillfort. Sharp wood spikes and other traps edged each descending level to the valley below. The tribe appeared to be at war. A mix of men and women in colorful garb strode past her, their swords dangling at their sides as they talked excitedly among themselves. One man, taller than all the others, with long locks of red hair, reminded her vividly of Aeron. Staring at him, Vanora was both awed and frightened by his stern appearance. No wonder Aeron feared his father.
Looking away from the warriors, Vanora was instantly disoriented. The world had transformed. More huts decorated the hilltop and armaments had been added to the defenses. The sky was dark with a coming storm.
A second later, an albino ten-year-old boy clad in a brightly colored shirt and blue pants darted past her. Long white-blond hair flowing around his shoulders, he raced into the coming rain, lifting his hands over his head. One of his arms was heavily bandaged.
“Aeron!” his mother shouted after him.
“No sun!” he yelled, then dashed to join other children cavorting in the downpour. With shouts of joy, the band of youthful exuberance dashed away.
“You need to watch over him more carefully,” Aeron’s mother said in a stern voice.
Vanora spun about to face the woman.
But Aeron’s mother wasn’t talking to her, but to his imposing father.
“I am. He’s proving himself. Growing stronger. He doesn’t need a fearful mother,” came the gruff, but loving response from the big man lingering behind his wife in the doorway of their hut. Hadn’t Roman said similar things about her to Alisha?
“But he was hurt,” she protested.
“And if your prophecy that he will one day be a powerful warrior is true, then he will be hurt many times. He doesn’t need you protecting him. And didn’t you claim he has a guardian?”
“He does,” Aeron’s mother answered, gesturing to Vanora. “She watches over him.”
“Then I hope this spirit guides him well. His path will not be easy,” was the father’s answer, obviously not seeing Vanora standing nearby.
“I’m not his guide,” Vanora protested. “I’m not.”
But Aeron’s parents retreated into the hut leaving her words to hang impotent in the cold, moist air.
Redirecting her gaze after Aeron, Vanora found herself standing in moonlight. Fires along the lower levels of the hillfort revealed the dark shapes of sentries. The huts were darkened and snores emanated from within the one she stood before. A small white figure slipped out of the darkened hut to stare up at the moon. Aeron was older now, maybe in his mid-teens. A growth spurt had added to his height, and lean muscle showed on his arms and bare chest. Ducking into the shadows
pooling along the edges of the hut, he gazed at the moon with a sorrowful expression on his face.
“Guardian,” he whispered, “if you’re here, please don’t leave my side tomorrow during the battle. Though Mother says I will live forever, I fear I will fail to fulfill her prophecy and disappoint my father.”
Vanora stood so close to the teenager she could see the tear tracks on his cheeks. His lavender eyes rested fearfully on the fires in the distance. Vanora surmised that another tribe was preparing to attack. No wonder Aeron was afraid. This was most likely his first battle. Yet, she knew he would survive this fight and many more. In his youthful face, she saw the features that would develop into breathtaking handsomeness: the finely shaped lips, the sharp cheekbones, the strong jaw. Yet, his face was sweet and almost pretty without the cruelty or arrogance of his adult visage. This was Aeron untouched by the darkness that was to come.
It broke her heart.
Tentatively, she rested her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll survive, Aeron.”
Startled, his eyes darted about, seeking either the source of the touch, or the sound of her voice. She wasn’t sure which. This time, she didn’t withdraw her hand, but let him know she was there. It seemed ridiculous that she would want to comfort him when he’d grow up to become a cruel ruler over a vampire kingdom, but in the moment, all she saw was the male reflection of her own adolescent pain and fears. Trembling, he pressed his hands over hers, his fingers passing through her flesh. She was a wraith to the past, but yet he felt her touch.
“I knew you were there,” he whispered, tears glittering in his eyes. “I wish I could see you.”
Loud shouts erupted from below, startling the teenage boy. Within seconds, men and women stumbled out of their huts, swords and daggers in hand. A battle cry went up. Aeron wiped away his tears and darted into his hut. Vanora moved to follow him, but instead found herself in the midst of a bloody battle. The sun was rising on the horizon, but already the ground was covered in bodies and blood. How many hours had the tribes been fighting? Grunts and the clank of metal pulled her attention toward two large warriors fighting nearby. One was Aeron’s father, the other a huge dark haired man. Their iron swords were battered and covered in viscera. Sweat and blood covered their faces, hair, and clothing. Though both were formidable in appearance, their brutal attacks showed signs of exhaustion and pain. Wounds adorned their flesh and slowed their actions.
In Darkness We Must Abide: The Complete Third Season Page 6