by Ethan Proud
Chapter Sixty-one
Vahrun smiled when he saw Mond seated on her throne. The goddess returned the gesture and rose to her feet. A ball of water coalesced in her hand and she shot a blast at the demon with the force of a tsunami. Vahrun was swept across the court as he slipped against the slick floor. He smacked into a pillar and felt the air forced from his lungs. He leapt to his feet and cleared the gap between himself and Mond with three strides. He batted her to the ground and grabbed a fistful of her hair.
Mond viciously aimed a kick at his kneecap and the demon buckled and fell but did not relinquish his grip on the goddess. His maw loomed open as he lunged for her face. She shot out an arm to stop him and it disappeared down his gullet. His jaws snapped shut and warm ichor flowed into his mouth. He shook his head like a dog, but the flesh of a goddess was stronger than that of man. Mond was pulled from her feet and whipped to and fro, but she was far from defeated. She limberly caught Vahrun around the neck with one leg and stopped her body from swinging. Quick as a viper she brought her other foot around and squeezed the demon’s throat until his eyes bulged. With her free hand she punched him in the nose until he relinquished his grip.
Mond withdrew her hand and gouged the demon’s third eye. Vahrun gasped in pain and grabbed the goddess with all four arms and lifted her from his shoulders. He held her aloft and smashed her into the cold marble floor thrice until she stopped moving. Vahrun stooped over her body and opened his mouth wide, his hands twitching as they prepared to stuff the goddess into his mouth.
“Now is not her time,” Detrita’s singsong voice said loudly and clearly. Mushrooms bloomed in her wake and her sons Mycorr and Hizae ran along behind her in the form of stoats. Their bodies constantly shifted from fully alive to green with decay and bloat, but it didn’t do anything to lessen their exuberance.
“This is between myself and Mond. Not you,” Vahrun argued.
“You should have learned your lesson when you devoured my brother Messis. No one finds death’s door unless bidden by me. I traded you the lives of my most loyal followers as a token of good faith that you would not cross me again. Do not take my kindness for granted,” Detrita warned.
“The Goddess of Death and Decay is ever so kind,” Vahrun sneered.
Detrita snorted and snapped her fingers. Fungal blooms appeared across Vahrun’s body. Slime molds pulsed and radiated outward to suffocate every patch of bare skin while toadstools popped from his thighs and arms. Spores spilled from his mouth as hyphae spread throughout his brain. He staggered to the ground and pawed at it weakly.
“Come here, girl,” Detrita said and Beatrice meekly came to her side. Detrita pulled a knife from her belt. It was made from a single piece of bone; a condyle made the pommel. “The honor is yours if you want it.”
“Thanks,” Beatrice croaked out, but she shook her head.
“Very well then.” Detrita crossed the gap between herself and the demon and slipped the blade between his ribs. He uttered one last gasp and shuddered before death took him.
“My sons, make sure there isn’t a shred of soul left in that body,” Detrita commanded and the weasels morphed into a more human form and began consuming the corpse of the demon. “Who sent Vahrun here?”
“Artemisia,” Beatrice said, the name coming out of her mouth slowly as if it were sticky.
Detrita smiled with admiration. “She is most resourceful.”
In the corner, the Goddess Mond began to stir.
“We’ll see if she survives this,” Detrita murmured.
***
Artemisia leapt out of the way before a blast of turgid saltwater struck her in the middle of the chest. She didn’t move quickly enough, and she felt one of her wards crumple beneath the divine attack. Her mind was reeling. De’lune was more powerful than any other priestess she had ever encountered, Mond clearly had a bone to pick.
In the sky above them, the moon rose level with the sun and blocked it from the sky. A blanket of darkness descended and De’lune glowed stark white. The air crackled as lightning raced from her fingertips.
The witch was completely out of tricks. A bolt of lightning struck her square in the chest and her amulet of obsidian and jade shattered, leaving welts and cuts across her collarbones. That had been her most powerful defense charm. The priestess De’lune would make short work of her. Artemisia felt another elemental blast and was forced to the ground. She lay there prostrate, gasping for air. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw De’lune’s feet approaching.
***
Easy, Mission heard a voice whisper in his ear as he walked stiffly up behind De’lune. The priestess was completely enthralled in her quest for vengeance and she didn’t even hear him. Mission let a tear roll down his cheek as he realized what he was about to do. He pulled a knife from his belt and looked down when he discovered that its feel wasn’t familiar to him. The knife in his hand stared back at him, stark white.
He didn’t bother to question its origins, De’lune’s hands were raised and divine power crackled between her hands as she prepared for the killing blow. Mission reached out and grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back, baring her neck. He drew the bone dagger across her throat. De’lune dropped to her knees, gurgling, clutching her throat as her life left her. Mission let go of her head and she collapsed on one side. As she breathed her last, her left eye clouded over.
***
Artemisia got shakily to her feet. She stared down at the mushrooms that bloomed from the clean slit across De’lune’s throat. The dagger that Mission had held only a moment before was inexplicably gone.
“Thank you,” Artemisia said.
Mission blew out a ragged breath. “I couldn’t let her kill you.”
The witch let a wry smile play at her lips. The Empress, the Moon, Death, and the Tower. Her interpretation of the cards couldn’t have been a little more literal. The Moon and Death. Mond and Detrita. What she could have done to earn Detrita’s favor was a mystery to her.
Chapter Sixty-two
Gertrude rushed to the jail after witnessing the showdown between the priestess and the witch. She would have stayed to make sure that Artemisia was all right, but she had Mission to look after her. James Kerfield had no one.
The sheriff’s widow pushed back the door of the jail and stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes were locked on the pair of feet swinging in the air in front of her. She didn’t have the heart to look up at James’s face. A sob wracked its way free of her body as she sank against the door jamb. Her entire body quivered as she held her hand tight against her mouth.
***
The Coraxes walked back to Artemisia’s cabin, Mission supporting his sister as she managed to limp along.
“I am sorry about De’lune, I know what she meant to you,” Artemisia said. They had left the priestesses body where it had lain, for the power of Detrita’s blade had expeditiously rotted her past the point of recognition. The sky above them raged with lightning and snow, no doubt reflecting the anger of Mond.
“I was of little consequence to her,” Mission said pathetically before smiling. “If she had given a damn about me, she would have never tried to kill you. Gods and goddesses or no.”
Artemisia laughed even though it sent pain lancing through every part of her body. A tea of arnica and bone-set was in order. Perhaps even a little henbane wine to share with her cousin to celebrate their victory over werewolves, demons, and priestesses.
***
“How could you?!” Mond screamed at the top of her lungs, spittle flying from her cosmic lips and speckling across Detrita’s face. The Goddess of Decay showed little emotion in the face of this onslaught.
“It wasn’t her time. Just as it wasn’t yours,” Detrita said nonchalantly. She put a hand on Mond’s chest and steadily pushed the goddess out to arm’s length.
“But it was De’lune’s? You know that was a dirty trick…” Mond said irately.
“The hands of Fate have many tricks. I simply serve the
m. Death comes to all, gods, demons, humans all the same. Those who seek to cheat it find it first,” Detrita said and turned away from the Goddess of the Moon.
“This is why you came here? To make sure that I did not foil the Fates’ plan,” Mond accused her fellow goddess.
“I certainly wasn’t here because I enjoy your company,” Detrita said evenly. “And the woman Beatrice, her time will not come for many years. Treat her right while she is in your service. Her return to the first plane is foretold, but she will never see Northgate again.”
With that final warning, the Goddess of Death and Decay left the Temple of the Moon with her two sons in tow. Beatrice, who had been present for the whole exchange, looked uneasily at Mond.
“You heard her, I can’t do anything cruel to you or I will face the fury of Death. Would you like a tour?” Mond asked Beatrice. Her voice changed from a grated growl to a heavenly, sweet sound.
Epilogue
The town of Northgate carried on as if the demon Vahrun had never been the Mayor. The disappearance of Kerrick’s home only made the rich more wary around Artemisia and Mission, though the poor and working class lauded them as heroes. Attorney Jackson Stromville and Treasurer William Maybury had been cured of the demon’s curse and now toiled to organize an election without Beatrice Axel around to see that the town ran smoothly. Her abduction by the gods was a mystery that no one wished to dwell on.
To the south of the town, a modest proceeding was occurring. Kerfield’s body was being laid to rest in the soil behind the Ruckstead home. The only people in attendance were Gertrude, Benjamin, the nanny, Artemisia, Mission, and the Cronley family. Next to the headstone marking James Kerfield’s place of resting and date of birth and death was a matching one for Wilder Ruckstead. The soil before the sheriff’s headstone was untouched as no body lay beneath the tangle of roots and topsoil.
A pale striped cat of immense size came trotting from the countryside and wound its way sinuously around Artemisia’s feet. She plucked him from the ground and held him close to her chest.
“I knew you’d find your way back,” she whispered in his tufted ears.
Seabound
A Witchwood Novella
Ethan Proud
Lands of the Damned
Book One
Prologue
Among the marble pillars streaked with precious jewels, the Goddess Mond sat upon her throne. She wore a sheer fabric that seemed to glow with the power of her deity, the moon and all her children. Her pale legs were crossed and her head rested on the palm of her left hand which was supported by the arm of her cathedra. Her hall was empty save for a single servant, bestowed upon her by the Goddess Detrita.
Beatrice Axel, a lowly woman of the first plane, attended to the divine woman, holding a plate of succulent fruits found across all biomes of the human realm, and many that were completely alien to the human. In a similar fashion, several years had passed since Beatrice had first become stranded.
The great stone doors creaked open though no human hand had pushed them and Mond had not bid them swing to welcome some new visitor.
Two stoats came bounding in, their bodies contorting between life and death. Bleeding tooth fungi bloomed in their wake and the bones of many rodents fell from their fur as they approached the throne. Their very presence fouled the air. Without remorse or sense of decorum, they clambered up the goddess’ skirts to whisper in her ear. One took the left, and the other the right. They took turns, ushering half sentences and warnings to the Goddess of the Moon. They paid Beatrice Axel no heed, and before a minute had passed they leapt from the throne. Exchanging chortles with each other, they skittered from the room while nipping at each other's necks. The godlings, Mycorr and Hizae, departed and the fungi wilted behind them whilst the bones turned to ash.
Mond turned a lazy eye towards her servant. “Detrita is arranging your return to the first plane with the Fates.”
“I get to go home?” Beatrice’s heart leapt into her throat as tears threatened to overtake her eyes.
“Not home,” Mond chuckled. “Remember, the Fates decreed that you shall never return to Northgate. You shall be a gypsy, a vagabond.”
Beatrice hung her head. “When do I get to go back?”
“It won’t be handed to you. You must earn it, and the journey will be dangerous. The Fates have decided that you must return through the Underworld,” Mond said as she plucked a strange fruit from the platter.
“Is that the fourth plane?” Beatrice asked referring to the demonic realm. Mond nearly choked on her snack.
“No, this is the Temporal World, above us is the Liminal World, and beneath us is the Underworld,” Mond explained. “Each is comprised of seven planes and ruled by a different fate. Detrita has a union with the Ruler of the Underworld and to him you must prove yourself worthy of return.”
“Prove myself?” Beatrice asked.
Mond’s reply was cryptic. “Good luck.”
Chapter One
The pillars began to let off a pale red light and the sound of a lute whistling a mellow tune filled the air. Mond rose from her throne and a look of pure delight filled her face. Her teeth glowed radiantly as if chipped from diamonds themselves, her pale eyes glowed like the midday sky, and her skin was emitting a softer light than the rest of her divine dwelling. Underwing moths fluttered from the ceiling to braid her hair into a thick rope that they draped over her shoulder. Foxes, raccoons, and deer pranced from unseen corners of her hall to follow in her wake.
“Come, Beatrice,” the goddess nearly sang.
After three years, Beatrice knew that this unforeseen attitude was a result of the winter solstice. In the summer solstice, when the days began to wane, Mond’s wrath grew and she sought an outlet for her rage on wicked men and heretic women.
Beatrice ghosted up to her side, joining Mond’s retinue of nocturnal animals. With her bare hands Mond drew a geometric shape in the air and opened a gateway to the first realm. Stars shimmered in the middle of the temple on the seventh plane and Beatrice felt her heart leap into her throat. Her home. For all the splendor of the realm of the gods, she missed the first plane dearly. Mond had told her that she had never left earth, that the planes were interwoven, not stacked, which was why travel between them was possible. The goddess had also warned her that until Detrita declared that it was her time, she could not return. Detrita served the Fates, and the Fates were careless for the whims and desires of the gods. Much as the gods were for those of the humans.
Beneath the shimmering stars a bonfire raged in the middle of a usually busy city street. It seemed as if the entire residents had taken to the streets. Rimming the fire were vendors; flagons of beer and ale, wine glasses could be heard clinking from five planes apart, and the general merriment was palpable.
“Why this town?” Beatrice asked before she stepped through the portal with Mond.
“Because the port town of Hollandale dedicates their entire Winter Solstice Festivities to me. It would be wrong not to show them the attention and favor of their deity,” Mond said before she gestured to the first plane again. “There are more than one thousand souls down there awaiting my blessing. What better way to reward them for their devotion than to appear to them?”
“You’ll make it known that you are the Goddess Mond?” Beatrice asked, somewhat skeptical.
“No, but my mere interaction will have them speaking of their collective rapture for weeks, if not years,” Mond said, her smile never fading. “Enough of this, we have a party to attend.”
Mond reached her hand out and took Beatrice’s and clasped it tight as they stepped into the revelry of the first plane city of Hollandale.
***
The air of the first plane was brisk and redolent of smells both pleasant and full, unlike the seventh plane which always smelled of ripening fruits, healthy soil, and fine wine. Beatrice’s throat tightened with the euphoria of being home. As soon as the thought crossed her mind her stomach clenched. This was not h
er home. Northgate was her home. A home she could never return to. Despite the celebration raging around her she felt bitter. Next to her, the goddess beamed. It wasn’t a mere expression either, her entire being was illuminated with light. Her feet barely touched the ground. Her usual transparent clothes were replaced with something more modest. She wore a white blouse and a skirt befitting a milkmaid, but without a doubt she was the most beautiful soul at the solstice ceremony.
Her eyes glowed as if she was actually interested in each conversation she had, whether it was with aristocracy or a commoner. In fact, Mond seemed to have a stronger affinity with those in rags than she did with those whose wealth was evident on their fingers, necks, and earlobes. One woman, who was clearly blind and hunched with age, Mond bent over and kissed her cheek, stooping several feet to do so. Immediately years shed from the woman and the cataracts unclouded from her eyes. The joy on the crone’s face was worth the pain Beatrice felt returning to the first plane.
Wherever Mond drifted, she drew a crowd. Men and women both vied for her attention. When she left, a few would trail after her before pausing and staring glassy eyed at her departure while the rest would gush over her appearance.
Beatrice felt tears tug at her eyes; to feel such human emotions again and share them with others of her kind would be a reprieve. The goddess’ moods were unpredictable and had no explanation via the human psyche. Mond was a different creature entirely and the heartstrings of humans meant little to her. As such, Beatrice had toiled in her service for years with little reward. Yet now, Mond was lavishing her favor and kindness on a city that merely served the idea of Mond, while Beatrice actually tended to the goddess, hand and foot.