Blood and Betrayal

by S. K. Sayari

  His father called for him, and he glanced at the man who had planned out his whole life, down to every last detail. Now Remalt knew differently; one day he would be happy, and he would do anything to find that happiness.

  Caecilia entered Remalt’s mind again, but his smile did not falter. His marriage could be arranged—but so could his status as a widower.

  Remalt met Faustus by the gate right outside the villa. His friend came running towards him, grabbing his shoulders with a worried expression. Remalt stood still as the delicate wizard looked frantically for the source of his wounds, lifting limbs and several layers of clothing. When he found nothing, he lifted his eyes to look at Remalt’s bloodied face.

  “Rem, what happened? Are you hurt?” He tenderly placed his hands on Remalt’s cheeks.

  “It’s not my blood, Faustus. Don’t worry.”

  “Then whose?” Faustus’s eyebrows met in the middle, creating a concerned expression. “Rem…what have you done?”

  Remalt lifted his hand to put it on his friend’s cheek, caressing it gently with his thumb. “It was something I had to do, Faust, but they did not suffer.”

  When he tried to give Faustus a reassuring smile, his friend did not smile back, his eyes full of tears.

  Remalt took a deep breath. “I need to clean myself. I have something for our guest, and I should look presentable.”

  “Rem, you’re scaring me. You’re not acting like yourself. This…” Faustus gestured to Remalt’s bloody clothes. “This is not the man I— Why are you so obsessed with that demon?”

  “Destiny showed the way, and I paved the road.”

  “That is blasphemy—the Eternal Chaos discredits Destiny. What has blinded you?” Faustus shed a tear at his last question, and Remalt caught it with his finger.

  “True love,” he whispered, and Faustus’s gaze fell from his.

  Remalt headed inside, ordering the first slaves he saw to ready some warm water and a cloth. It was brought to his room minutes later, and at his own request he was left to tend to himself alone. It took some time for him to wash the dried blood from his hands and face, but in the end he both looked and felt like himself again.

  The slave who came to get the bloodied water would not meet his eyes. On her way to leave, he ordered her to wait. He could see how she tensed her shoulders, and how her knees shook.

  “I need two cups of wine,” he told her. “One of them just over half full.”

  “Yes, Domine,” she answered, hurrying out as quickly as possible. When she came back with what he had ordered, she still did not lift her gaze. “To whom should I give the other one, Domine?” Her voice shook too.

  He lifted both cups off the tray. “I’ll take care of it. You can go back and tend to your master.”

  Left alone once more, he sat down on his bed and put the cups down on a small table beside it. He lifted his wig gently off his head, taking care not to make any sudden movements—

  tied to and hidden between the braids hung a tiny ceramic jar. After untying it as carefully as he could manage, his hands shaking in trepidation, he opened the lid and put his nose to the jar, but there was no odor. He put the lid back on to give himself a moment to think.

  What scared Remalt most was the thought that Sitri might not understand that he had done everything to bring happiness to both of them. If Sitri reacted the same way as the slave girl had, Remalt’s heart would break. But then he reminded himself that the seer he’d met had predicted a happy future: true love would reveal itself. Remalt smiled, picturing Sitri and himself embracing.

  Figuring that he had come too far to back out now, he poured the potion into the cup with the least amount of wine. Grabbing one cup with each hand, he headed toward Sitri’s chambers.

  “Senator,” Sitri said as the wizard entered the room, “good evening.”

  “Good evening, Sitri. How are you feeling?” Remalt sat down at the edge of the bed, handing Sitri the poisoned cup with a smile.

  “I’m feeling much better, thank you for asking.” The demon accepted the cup, his expression slightly bemused. “Wine? Is it a special occasion?”

  “I suppose,” Remalt replied with a nervous chuckle. “I have some good news.”

  Sitri lit up. “Did you get a letter from my wife? A reply?” He held his hand out expectantly.

  Remalt had to think for a second, but then he remembered the letter he was supposed to have sent several days ago. He moved to put his hand on top of Sitri’s to comfort him, but the demon moved away as soon as they touched.

  “I’m sorry, Sitri,” he said, retracting his rejected hand. “I don’t think she loved you the way you hoped she did.”

  “With all due respect, Senator, you do not know her. She always tells me that when Chaos made the two of us, it planted a part of each other in both of us, so that we would feel incomplete without the other. True love like that does not fade within a few days. Are you sure your slave gave the letter to the right woman?”

  “Yes,” Remalt barked. His vision went blurry and his body felt numb as he listened to the demon talk. Sitri looked surprised at the sudden, harsh tone, and Remalt managed to compose himself. “I’m sure.” He sighed. “Drink, please. The wine is good.”

  “Apologies,” Sitri mumbled, before putting his lips against the cup to take a few gulps of his drink. “You’re right, it’s good.”

  Remalt tried to peek at him through his peripheral vision, wondering how much the demon had drunk.

  “So, Remalt,” Sitri began, “I hope you know that I do appreciate everything you and Senator Faustus have done for me. I just want you to know that…you’ve sort of changed my opinion about wizards.”

  “Oh? In what way?” Remalt asked, taking a swig of his own drink to keep his nerves in check.

  “I mean, obviously some of them can be cruel, but now that I’ve met you, I know that not all wizards are horrible. My impression of your kind was that you only cared about your own, but you’ve taken such good care of me. I just wanted to say thank you…so, thank you,” Sitri concluded, giving him a gentle smile before taking another sip of wine.

  Remalt smiled back, his heart warmed.

  “Oh, I forgot—you said you had good news,” the demon added, taking the last sip of his wine before searching for a place to put his cup.

  Remalt took it away from him and put both of their cups down on the floor. Now all he had to do was wait for the potion to work. When he looked up, he met Sitri’s gaze. The demon’s magnificent red eyes gleamed with anticipation.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I’ve arranged for you to come back to Rome with me in a couple of days,” Remalt explained.

  Sitri looked at him with utter confusion, the demon’s eyes studying his face. “I don’t understand.”

  Why had Sitri built a life with someone else? A useless attachment that hindered their happiness. Sitri wouldn’t give up on his woman unless he understood what was truly at stake: their true love.

  “There’s…a prophecy,” Remalt said. “A seer told me I’d find you, and that we were… That we would fall in love. Since I live in Rome, you should come with me so we can give it a chance.”

  The demon looked uncomfortable, rubbing his forehead with his palm. “I have a wife, Senator. I understand that you’ve…” He took a deep breath. “That you’ve been told we’re supposed to be in love, but I’ve already found the person I want to spend my life with. I hope you can understand.”

  He had just managed to finish speaking before he started coughing violently, his whole body shaking. Remalt reached out to him again, wanting to help, but this time Sitri moved his whole body away, dragging himself further up the bed.

  “Please, don’t,” he managed to push out between coughs.

  “You need to relax,” Remalt explained, wanting the transformation to happen as comfortably as possible.

  The coughing stopped after a while, but Remalt’s worry only grew when Sitri began to bleed from both his mouth and nose. Drop
lets dripped onto the demon’s bare chest and the bedsheets.

  “What’s going on?” Sitri whispered as he touched his face, staining his hands with some of the blood. Big tears formed in his eyes, running down his cheeks as if they were racing each other to the bottom. “Senator, if you’re doing this, please stop,” he sobbed in between gulps for air.

  “It’s the potion. Just relax; it’s not dangerous.” Remalt gave him a gentle smile in the hope that it would be comforting.

  “What potion?” Sitri looked to the empty cups. “What did you give me?” he demanded, his pupils dilating as their eyes met again.

  Before Remalt could answer, Sitri squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. Remalt watched with fascination as the demon’s body slowly started changing. His arms smoothly morphed into wings. His fingers became elongated and his skin stretched out to create membranes, so that they looked like bat wings. Sitri seemed to calm down for a moment, opening his eyes to look at himself.

  “They’re beautiful—your wings,” Remalt said. He was used to seeing the more fragile dragonfly-like wings that wizards possessed; seeing the strong wings of a demon truly intrigued him. The demon lifted his head to look at Remalt, but his expression was not one of appreciation.

  “It hurts. What did you do?” he managed to say.

  “It will be over soon, I promise.”

  “Please, Rem—” The demon let out another groan as the transformation continued. Everything started to happen at once now. His wings grew longer, creating a truly unnatural shape that made Remalt’s stomach churn, and a lion-like tail appeared. Horns sprouted, bending all the way to the back of Sitri’s head. His ears grew pointed, his nails turned into claws, and his heels elongated into a shape resembling the feet of a werewolf. Finally, his ruby markings disappeared and his skin greyed, making him look like he’d risen from a newly dug grave.

  They sat in silence as Sitri caught his breath. When he seemed calmer, Remalt put his hand on the demon’s cheek, caressing it gently. Small drops of sweat and tears were caught by his thumb. “You see? It’s over now. You’re fine.”

  Sitri growled at him, pushing his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” The demon wrapped his wings around himself protectively. “What did the potion do? Why do I look like…like a beast?”

  “You don’t look like a beast to me. I’ll always be here for you, Sitri, that’s what I want you to understand. We’re meant to be together, and I need you to come to Rome with me.”

  “I’m not coming to Rome with you, Senator. I have a wife and children.”

  “They wouldn’t want you like this,” Remalt tried to convince him. “No one would desire you like this, except me.” He edged closer, hopeful Sitri would not move away from him this time. The demon stayed still, but he turned his gaze to the floor. “Sitri, my dear, you have to understand. I did it for us. We are meant to be, it is true love—you’ll learn to see that in time.”

  “I’m not in love with you,” the demon stated harshly.

  “Not yet, but in—”

  “I will never be in love with you, Senator. I love my wife.” Sitri got up from the bed in a swift movement, but Remalt could see that the wound from the arrow still caused him pain. “I will be heading home now.”

  “Sitri.”

  There was no reaction from the other man, who walked toward the doorway.

  “Sitri, they’re dead.” This caused the demon to stop moving, but he didn’t turn around. “I killed them. I knew they’d be a distraction, so I fixed it for you.”

  When nothing happened after his confession, Remalt got up and walked over to Sitri, who shifted away from him. Remalt turned quickly, grabbing Sitri’s wing.

  “Please, hear me out, I—” he began, but before he could finish Sitri pressed up against him, bringing their lips together in a soft but passionate kiss.

  Remalt’s whole body gave in, making him instinctively close his eyes and kiss the other man back. All he felt was peace and happiness. He put his arms around his beloved, letting himself be pulled back toward the bed without breaking the kiss. Sitri sat down on the edge and Remalt leaned forward, placing one hand on either side of the demon. They lay down without their lips ever breaking apart.

  Remalt recoiled when he felt something hard shatter against his head. He groaned in pain, automatically reaching for the part of his head that had been hit. Sitri moved under him, but he was too dizzy to focus on what the other man was doing. His hand felt wet; he was bleeding.

  As he moved his hand back down, he felt Sitri grab hold of his clothes and give a quick slash against his throat. Seconds passed before he started to panic. Hot, red fluid oozed down his neck and chest, but the only reason he knew it was happening was because of how it warmed his skin but made his insides freeze.

  Sitri moved away, letting Remalt struggle for his life without the warmth of another person to soothe his descent into the eternal darkness of Chaos. Remalt found the silence almost more unbearable. He wanted to scream. Scream at the pain that weakened his body. Scream out the fear that overtook him as he realized that he would soon be gone. But he could do nothing but gurgle on his own blood.

  He was dying at the hands of the person who had been prophesied to love him. It made no sense. Unless… Had he been wrong?

  In one last desperate attempt to understand, he lifted his eyes to look at Sitri’s red ones. They did not strike him as beautiful anymore now that they were staring at him with utter revulsion. But another’s eyes flashed in his mind, blue ones that had looked at him with utter adoration for many years. It made him realize that he had known love; he’d just been blind to it.

  Then he remembered, and all he could feel was regret. Enthusiastic words, spoken by the most delicate mouth, echoed in the distance. I love those flowers—irises.…

  Witch-Dragon

  S. K. Sayari

  The Scourge neared.

  Solveig smelled rot on the wind, tasted metallicity on her tongue, and heard beating drums in the distance. Death approached, and only human lifeblood could satiate it.

  The Witch-Dragon of Barasthar was most likely close too. A being born of the Scourge—the blight that sought to turn everything to rot. The blight that only the Lightbringer could battle. Solveig’s lips curled into a fierce smile at the thought of her mother who bore such Light in her soul, so powerful that no darkness could escape unscathed.

  Solveig turned her attention south. The inky darkness of the Scourge pooled in the pallid sky, unhindered by the harsh winds of the Ahai desert as it glistened like oil. The white sands churned restlessly as if they knew it was near, and the sun battered down on Solveig’s face as she stood on the crest of a dune. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead and slithered down her nose. It was hot today, more than usual, though it didn’t bother her too much.

  “Ch…Chief!” shouted a squeaky voice.

  Solveig turned, raising a hand to block the glare of the sun. A spindly boy, Aran, was running up the dune toward her. He panted heavily, his arms waving like cloth in the wind as he battled the incline.

  “The…Witch-Dragon…is close!”

  “I can feel it.” Solveig wiped her face with her hand as Aran crested the dune. “How far away?”

  “Eastward. About five days away on swift feet.” said Aran, placing his hands on his hips.

  Solveig nodded. Her muscles ached at the very thought of fighting the Witch-Dragon. “Tell my brother to come here.”

  Aran bounced on his toes and sped back toward the ragged tents littered below. Solveig turned her attention back to the darkness in the sky. She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as though the Scourge had either grown larger or closer—she couldn’t tell which.

  How long had Solveig and her people lived under a blanket of fear? The Scourge and its children had been ‘alive’ for longer than she could remember. Whenever she asked her mother, the Lightbringer simply brushed away her questions.

  At the sound of muttered curses, Solveig looked over her shoulder. A man
with thinning black hair, sunken cheeks, and a prominent, permanent scowl was ascending the incline. When he reached Solveig, his scowl deepened, and he clutched his dark robes tightly to his chest.

  “Watching the evil won’t make it any less powerful, Sol.”

  “I know that, Soren,” snapped Solveig. “Did your silly little books tell you that, or did you by chance actually fight the Scourge as Mother and I are doing?”

  “I’m a scholar and a sorcerer,” hissed Soren. “My strength doesn’t lie in savagery and prancing about with pointy metal sticks. It lies in information and deduction, as well as the art of magic.”

  Solveig snorted. Soren played with tomes of ancient magic that their father had gifted him. Though his magic was strong, it was still no match for immortality. Nothing but the Light was.

  “If it weren’t for my ‘savagery,’ you’d be dead, Brother. All of us would have perished at the will of the Witch-Dragon.”

  Soren grumbled, lowering his head. “You’re right, Sol. I’m sorry.”

  It was unlike Soren to apologize. Solveig’s heart twisted with guilt, and she bit her lip. “I’m sorry too.”

  “I suppose I’ll go play my part, then. It’s time for me to pay the Witch-Dragon a visit.”

  “So nonchalant about it. You know that it’s immortal, right?”

  Soren snorted. “Yes, I do. I won’t get too close, don’t worry. I’ll just be scouting, but depending on how fast it travels, I might engage it. I should be back in around ten days’ time. You get the others ready to run if the worst comes to pass.”

  Solveig nodded. The clan was about sixty people strong, but most were either elderly or children. “Take Dart and Bec with you.”

  “No. I’ll go alone.” With a pat on her shoulder, Soren descended the dune.

  Solveig stayed on its peak, returning her gaze to the Scourge. One day, she would free the desert and her people.

  One day, they would know no more fear.

  “We’re running out of supplies,” Solveig muttered to herself, mashing cactus in a crude mortar with a pestle. Her mouth watered as liquid oozed from the flesh of the plant. She swallowed around her parched throat, then smiled at a child, ushering him to come forward. “Here’s today’s ration, Elmir.”