by K T Munson
She brought her hand up and brushed the back of her hand against his cheek, and he did the same with hers. It was strange custom that the Det Mor Clan upheld with fervor. It was supposed to show kindness, an intimacy even, at a first meeting.
“We are known,” she said, and his voice married hers.
“You know the custom,” he said with a pleased smile that could have melted a mortal woman into piles of sensual goo. “Who taught you this?”
She cleared her throat as her mortal half tried to melt. Instead, she managed, “My adoptive father.”
He nodded before turning. “The Mad Dog.”
“I have heard him called that,” Elisabeth said, hurrying after him. “Why was he given this moniker?”
“He was a fighter, a very strong one, but he decided to bite his master’s hand and hold his own leash,” he said, glancing at her. “It was because of a mortal that he tore his immortality from his head and condemned himself to a limited lifetime. Only a mad dog would do this.”
Part of her was saddened that her papa would do something as brash as condemn himself to a mortal life. Yet without his having made that decision, she would not have survived. A life for an immortal life, it seemed. She could not imagine Malthael now as anything but what he was.
Soon they left the poppy fields and entered the edge of the forest that ran between the poppy fields and the fortress of the Divine Court. The trees were tall, and the leaves were purple, faded in places and blotched with yellow and a deeper purple in others. The deep brownish green of the roots matched the purple almost perfectly. To her left she could see where the more sinister version of the Dusky Woods existed. Unlike the rest of the Nether, these woods seemed to be lit by natural sunlight. Elisabeth knew magic when she saw it, though, and she couldn’t feel the warmth on her skin.
A thundering came from the distance.
“We need to hide,” Ethandirill said, moving back before ducking behind a large shimmery rock.
“Oh my,” Elisabeth said as beings galloped by.
Their coats shimmered and their tails were impossibly long. Single horns stuck out from their heads and the opalescent scales on their back caught the light. She was half over the rock in wonderment when the prince of the Det Mor Clan dragged her down.
“Unicorns,” he said with his back pressed up against the rock. “Beautiful but vicious.”
“I thought they were pure white,” she whispered, remembering the stories. “And kind.”
“Foolish planet-dweller,” he scoffed, but his lips betrayed his amusement. “So full of hope. You see them for what they are—wild, shimmering with color, and selfish.”
She listened as they stampeded by, and she knew this memory would remain with her. When all fell silent, Ethandirill looked over the top of the rock. He surveyed the area before darting across the clearing. Elisabeth hurried behind him, her leg brushing up against a strange red plant as she went.
“How much further?” Elisabeth asked and then stumbled a little.
She looked down at her leg and saw that it was smeared with red. Her eyes opened wide as she reached down and pulled out a single barb. Her hands shook as she hastily threw it. She tried to say something, but her tongue was swollen.
“Not much further,” he said. She fell forward, and he turned back in surprise, “Elisabeth?”
She moaned, and he hurried to turn her over. Her entire body went numb. He must have seen the marking on her leg, as he frowned. Elisabeth was trying hard not to panic, but it was become more and more difficult. Her breath was coming in short bursts, each one harder and harder to take
“The lilies here are deadly,” he said. He set her down and strode over to pluck the flower from which the barb had come. “You need to drink.”
He knelt down and lifted her head. He opened her mouth as he pried the closed bloom open. Bitter liquid poured into her throat, which she tried to swallow but couldn’t. Seeing him press a hand over her nose and mouth, she tried to scream. She couldn’t feel anything except for the movement of her throat as he forced her to swallow. When he moved away his hand, she gasped for air.
“It will be over soon,” he said.
Elisabeth’s fingers began to work first, and after a moment she could lift her arm. She tried to move her legs, which were slower to respond, as she wiggled her tongue around in her mouth. He helped her sit up. She turned her head as she wrinkled her nose at the revolting after taste.
“Don’t say it will be over soon. That sounds so ominous,” she choked out, half glaring.
Ethandirill raised his eyebrows in mocking surprise. “Any Netherworlder knows to avoid the flowers. All of them have their own way to kill.”
“Ki would have known,” she grumbled.
“Ah yes, your pet,” Ethandirill said, offering her an arm.
All parts of her but the leg that had been stung were now completely fine. Apparently the poison took as long to spread through her system as it did to wear off. She wobbled a little, but he kept her steady as he glanced around. She thought for a moment before she made a decision to be honest.
“He’s my assassin,” she corrected him plainly.
He turned his head back to her in surprise. With a little chuckle he asked, “Who do you need to kill?”
She all but rolled her eyes as she took a measured step forward. She nearly stumbled, and he caught her arm. “You misunderstand. He is my assassin. He intends to kill me,” she replied.
He squinted at her as though he thought she was joking. It was a long moment before he finally turned back to her. Frowning, he studied her face, his sharp green eyes seeming to glow.
“If you keep staring at me like that, your face will get stuck,” she muttered as she took a few steps on her own.
“Why do you let him follow you?” he asked finally.
“He can’t let me die until he can be the one to kill me.” She sighed heavily as she continued to walk, her leg gaining strength with every step. “Until then, he is like a guardian.”
“He both protects you and promises to kill you?” Ethandirill asked, coming around to walk at her side.
“Basically,” Elisabeth conceded with a sheepish grin. “My life seems to be too complicated lately. I much preferred when I tried to determine the stranger things in life. Fringe sciences and ectoplasmic research now seem so normal.”
Ethandirill began to slow, and Elisabeth could see the towers of the Divine Court. They could only be so many paces away. The architectural details of the complex building caressed the skyline. The elegant steeples were arching and ethereal. The greyish stone was almost white in some areas, and she wondered if time had changed its color.
“I can go no further,” he responded as she saw the edge of the woods. “This is where I leave you.”
“Thank you,” she said, adjusting her pack.
She turned to leave, but he caught her arm and said softly, “Tell Nanette my name. I want to her know it.”
Before Elisabeth could respond, he swiftly moved into the shadows that the forest provided. His gaze was sharp as it watched something. Elisabeth’s eyes opened wide as she followed the direction of this stare. A man nearly twice as tall as her stood between them and the Divine Court. She walked slowly forward toward the edge of the hedgerow and saw that great antlers crowned his head.
“Daughter of life and death,” he said, his voice so deep that she felt it shake the very ground she walked on. “I am here to escort you to King Nauberon. Long be his reign.”
She stepped from the tree line to see all of him. He was muscular and wore finely made embroidered leather. On his black chest were thick long claw-like red markings. His pitch-black skin was marked with golden tattoos, much like the ones on Ethandirill’s head, and he stared with dark eyes. He carried a great bow on his back, carved with intricate details.
“Arawn,” she said. She knew who he was from pictures in books, but the static images did not capture his intensity.
He seemed pleased that
she knew his name. She gawked, trying hard not to fear him, but he was the King of the Hunt. No one could match him, and if he’d been sent to fetch her, she could only imagine what King Nauberon thought of her. Was it meant to intimidate or show respect? When he turned to leave, she followed, sparing only a single glance back in Ethandirill’s direction. The further she got from the Dusky Woods, the more she realized she was very much alone.
Chapter 40: Ashlad
“There has been no word,” Milo said with a frown. His body was fully recovered, and he stood before Malthael with a face of displeasure.
“She should be in Morhaven by now,” Malthael said, pacing in his study, “or already to the Divine Court.”
“You should not have let her go,” Milo said harshly, finally voicing the irritation that had been on his face all morning.
“She is her own woman,” Malthael countered, but his words sounded hollow even to himself.
“She adores you. She would do anything you asked,” the lesser demon countered.
“I wanted her to stay, but the worlds need her,” he all but yelled, his temper snapping at the edges. “A need greater than the wants of one father.”
“She is your daughter,” he said, his young face contorted in discontent. “You should have sent her to Hystera. It is not as dangerous as the Nether. You should not have sent her where we cannot see or help her!”
“I wanted her to go to Troy, but I could not stop her when she chose the Nether!” he bellowed before stalking out of the room and toward the kitchen.
He stomped all the way there. His temper didn’t dissipate with every slammed door and every stomp but instead grew and swirled with his worry. Elisabeth was all that mattered now. She was all that ever had mattered, but he couldn’t control her. He swore that she would make her own choices, and now he would have to live with it. All of the consequences were not borne by her alone, though; he felt them just as keenly.
When he burst into the kitchen, Tiss gasped in astonishment. The snake demon turned her beautiful face, which was already made up, as her serpentine body coiled around the kitchen. He hunkered down at the small table used by the staff and grumbled to himself.
After a moment he said, “Coffee, black.”
She was already pouring the cup and set it down in front of him without adding milk. “To match your mood.”
“I have no need for your wit this morning,” he said, snatching the cup from her fingers.
“How about my reason?” Tiss asked as she went around the table and sat down.
He barely kept from grumbling as he muttered, “What logic of yours could possibly improve my mood?”
“That she has seen worse things in this house; she has grown up amongst demons. That she is as much a part of this world as she is of the Netherworld. That the Det Mor Clan has more to gain by keeping her alive because without her the balance would be thrown off. At least one half-breed must exist.”
“Thank you,” Malthael managed, his voice hushed. She’d thrown logic at him, making him realize that he was letting emotion cloud his reason.
“Now go,” she said, pushing herself up and moving around to the kitchen counter where she had been cutting. “Go and do something useful.”
He swallowed the coffee and ignored that it scalded his mouth and throat. The pain would fade in a moment, and he needed the extra boast, though coffee was about as ineffective as alcohol on him—which is why he bought the highly concentrated kind of both. He went around the counter and kissed her softly on the cheek.
“Your wisdom, though not your face, show your age,” he said, patting her on the shoulder.
“Your compliments aren’t needed,” Tiss said, but he could see her swell with pride.
Snake demons were extremely vain, and she was no different. It has been some time since he had taken a moment to appreciate her. He was glad he could take a moment now and give her the compliment she needed. Elisabeth was much better at filling that role, and with each passing day Malthael was coming to realize more and more ways that Elisabeth had taken care of him. She had run this household when she was here and had made sure Malthael knew what to do when she was gone. This time had been different.
He walked with purpose as he returned to the study. Milo was gone, so he would have to apologize for his behavior later. Milo was right, yet he was also wrong. He was right to worry, but he was wrong that Elisabeth couldn’t handle herself. She was his daughter, and Malthael had not spared any expense on her thorough education. Only the Netherworld had been kept from her.
When he clicked open the passage and the slab of rock turned away, Nathan and Duke appeared at his side. They followed him down, their great hooves clicking on the marble. He went down into the underbelly and to the gate. He pulled the dial back, and it instantly clicked through the different areas. They had been keeping meetings lately, but Malthael had another objective.
When Troy’s face appeared and Meridith’s as well, they turned to him in surprise. Troy sat up and asked immediately, “Has the Seer returned?”
“No,” Malthael replied, “but I need to know where Elisabeth should go when she returns.”
“It is out in the plains,” Troy said and then disappeared, though his voice could be heard. “A small village called Himota.”
“What is it, Malthael?” Meridith asked, her face worried.
“If Nathan and Duke know where to take her, she can go to your elder faster,” Malthael said, and saw the surprise on Troy’s face.
“That makes sense,” he replied in an even tone as he held a rolled parchment in his hand.
“It does, the map,” Malthael said, gesturing toward it.
Nathan and Duke crowded around him as Troy cleared his throat and unrolled the map. He pointed and said, “Here is Himota.”
“Is that enough?” Malthael asked, looking down at the two dogs.
They sniffed the gate before Nathan sneezed. They both looked up at him with their sharp fur and their tongues rolled out of their mouths. They most certainly knew what they were doing. Malthael petted their head for good measure. Though they looked more like boars, their demeanors were that of domesticated dogs.
“When Elizabeth returns, I shall direct her there the moment she is ready,” Malthael declared, reaching out to turn the gate closed.
“Malthael,” Troy said, putting a hand up to stop him, “send her my regards.”
It was as near to an apology as Troy would manage. The light marks on his head reminded the demon of truly how young Hystera’s Gate Guardian was. Malthael tilted his head but nodded without adding a verbal chide. Troy was young, and he would learn that apologies did not cost as much as he thought.
“Of course,” he said before clicking the dial back in place and returning the gate to stone.
Chapter 41: The Divine Court
Nanette was ushered toward a short door. She couldn’t help but glance at the beings guarding it. They were large and wore strange masks—long triangles that very much reminded her of crows. The masks had frowning mouths, and the swords they carried were meant to bite and kill. She stared at them and the blades exposed on their backs, her mind imagining what they could do.
They wore long robes of red and grey, belted at their waists, and tall boots. The details of every stitch of their clothing were amazing. She studied it as they escorted her. Her attention waivered when they entered certain rooms, as some bore great gardens, and in the hallway they had turned down were rows and rows of uniquely ornate doors. It was overwhelming, but she focused on one that was a soft crystal because it reminded her of Yuna.
It had been hard to think of home, but as she made her way to meet The Fates, she could not keep it from her thoughts. Her mild-mannered sister came to mind and her kindness. Would they never share sweets again? She reminisced about her father and wondered if he had lost weight because of all his worrying. She couldn’t help but to wonder if Tidus would miss her. Even now she mooned for a married man; what a fool she was.
>
Suddenly, the guards stopped in front of a set of blue doors. They opened them and waited. Nanette took a hesitant step into the room. It was something of a fairytale—one of the nice ones. There in the middle was a brightly painted house the color of cerulean. It had a white door and seemed to glow as it lit the otherwise dark room. It sat on a little island surrounded by a small river.
One of her guards pointed, and she stepped toward the bridge that connected the rest of the shrubbery-sized forest with the perfectly nestled cottage. When she strode on the bridge, she glimpsed over the side at the water and saw that golden strings danced in it—not sinking or floating, just drifting. They shimmered softly when the light from the house caught them. They reminded her of golden reeds.
When she stepped off the bridge, the door opened. Nanette hesitated only a moment before stepping into the tiny cottage; she nearly had to duck to get inside. Her mouth dropped open once she crossed the threshold at the intricately painted ceiling rising high above her. An old woman wrapped in robes sauntered over, smiling as she did. Nanette swallowed hard as the woman closed the door. Her face had no eyes. Where sockets and eyes should have been, there was only flesh.
“It’s bigger on the inside,” Nanette managed as the woman gently moved her further into the room.
“Why of course, everything of any importance always is,” she responded, her voice lithe and pleasant. “I am Melody.”
“I am Nanette,” she replied politely.
“And these are Serenity and Destiny,” Melody said, waving her arm toward the only other two people in the room. “Forgive them. Serenity cannot speak, and Destiny hardly ever stops.”
“Sister!” Destiny scolded before holding up a bowl, “Pomegranate? A delicacy in your world.”
Nanette remembered the stories of eating food from the Netherworld, and how it was bad. Yet she took a few seeds from the top and put them in her pocket. “For later,” she said politely.
Serenity turned and lifted the veil from her head to reveal that her mouth was only a flat surface of flesh. She glanced at Destiny and found a smiling woman who matched Melody, as she had no eyes. Yet despite their lack of eyes, Nanette had the peculiar feeling that they could all see better than anyone else she had ever met; she took an instinctive step back from them.