A Mermaid's Ransom

by Joey W. Hill

  The fire spread, eating away the interior of the circle, boxing her in. She pushed that awareness away and centered on him alone. His malevolence and darkness seemed absolute, but she kept her focus on that spark, fanning it with every thought and feeling she could. It was a spark far different from all the flames leaping around her and starting to scorch her flesh. Exhaustion closed in with the fire and smoke. That fatigue she'd been unable to shake ever since she'd returned from the Dark One world was dogging her again, because there hadn't been enough time for long naps and proper meals. Hadn't been enough time for anything.

  Desperate, she gave him her images of what they'd shared to help him remember his own. If she'd had more time, she could have made more of a difference. Oh, Goddess, if she lost him, she would lose everything, and not just because her words to Seneth and the Fen about her destiny had been truth. It was more personal than that.

  Dante would tear her soul in half if he was lost to her. He'd come to her in his dreams, and yet she thought maybe he'd always been there, the shadowy form of what she knew was hers. Nothing easy or the answer to a girl's romantic dreams, but a real, overwhelming devotion and love, something that would consume and elevate at once, always be a roller-coaster ride of challenge.

  Dante, don't let me lose you. I believe in you.

  She couldn't breathe anymore. Her vision was getting gray because of the effort, or perhaps because Dante's power had been an explosion of Dark One poison so much like what was in his world. She hadn't really gotten over her last bout with it.

  But if this was the cost, she'd take it. Distantly aware of angry discord going on outside the circle, she hoped Mina understood and didn't take the choice away from her.

  Dante, I love you. I would die for you, but I'd really rather not. And I don't want you to die. Please trust me. Come to me. Surrender to me.

  Her arms were trembling. In another moment her cheek would be pressed to the hot ground, the ground that was even now burning her scales as if she were lying on heated tin. She'd give anything for that terrible stench to go away, the smell of death and hopelessness, decay and things best forgotten. As her arms gave out, she let out a cry.

  She stopped just short of that heated surface. Dante's hands were on her upper arms, bringing her upright again. Her tail curved in a shimmering red and gold arc between his feet. Though his palms were almost as hot as the ground, and slick with sweat and blood, they could have been engulfed in flames and she would have welcomed the brand of their touch. Lifting her weary head to look at him, she gave him a tear-streaked smile. He stared at her, so many things struggling in his confused, tormented soul, more than she could understand, as always. She'd always had trouble reading him, because so much was there. But she would decipher every feeling, offer something to each one. Comfort to his sadness, companionship to his loneliness, love to a heart that had received so little of it. Please, Goddess, give us the time. We both surrender to Your Will. Please help us.

  She held her breath. As his head slowly bowed, tears spilled out of her eyes. Since she couldn't stand, and he was already kneeling, he had to go lower. Curling up on his side, his wary gaze never losing its intent lock on her face, he laid his head on her lap.

  Her hand fell to his shoulder, then over his bare hip, stroking him, soothing him. It took a while, long enough that she was shivering with pain, but then the flames withdrew, retreating to the outer edge of the circle, dying away until it was just her curved over Dante on a tiny, circular patch of hot but unscorched earth.

  Taking a deep breath, she laid her hand on the silver band at his throat. On an impulse, she fingered the latch, and it sprang free at her touch. She'd collared him, she could release him. High emotions running through her, she slid the band out from under his throat. He remained motionless, though she felt a quiver run through him. Laying it aside, she put her hands on him again.

  Blinking, she looked up and met Seneth's gaze. Surprise, speculation, but nothing else. Of course, the Bentigo were the judge, not the jury. Changing her probe, she directed it toward the Fen.

  Her heart fell, stabbed by cold fear.

  They were afraid of the magic they'd just seen, overwhelmed by it. But there was no alteration in their feelings. The anger was still there, the grief. Over it all was resentment at what she'd shown them. They weren't interested in healing his soul, or her destiny. What they wanted was blood and vengeance.

  No, that was surface. Pushing aside her despair and pulling on a deeper well, she found the under layer. What they wanted was an easing of their pain and loss, and only time could bring them that. After Dante's execution.

  Like the angels of her world, the Bentigo apparently knew the minds and desires of those they protected. Seneth spoke. "It appears you stand alone, angel's daughter."

  She swallowed over a throat aching with tears and smoke. Dante's fingers tightened on her thighs. The bestial rage of the violent sorcerer had receded, leaving something far more heartbreaking. He was glad to be free of the bindings. They had hurt. He was glad for the softness of her thighs, her touch, however brief it might be. He was weary, so weary he wasn't sure any of it mattered anymore.

  No, she demanded, as more of her tears spilled. Dropping onto his face and shoulder, they left a trail in the ash and soot.

  "Alexis." It was her father speaking. She raised her face toward him, even though she didn't want to do so. Her feelings, her sense of failure, overwhelmed everything else, so she couldn't interpret his state of mind, but she knew his impassive expression. It was the way he looked when he was facing the most difficult of choices, or when he was concealing great emotion. "Come here, Alexis. Come stand beside me."

  Go to him. I surrendered to you, but you must obey me. I will not have you in the middle of whatever is about to happen.

  I won't leave you.

  You must. Do this one last thing for me, and know that you have done far more than I ever deserved.

  "Alexis." Jonah's voice was sharp now, sharp enough to cut through her emotions. She choked on a sob and looked back at him. He extended a hand, his voice gentling. "Come here, Seabird."

  Trust your father. Unbidden, her mother's words came to her. But how could she trust him to do what she wanted him to do, when she knew it would be against everything he knew was right? Even what she knew was right. But the right thing wasn't always the right thing.

  Go to him, Alexis. This time, it was Dante's voice in her head. I will allow your witch to kill me. I sense what she has done in her spell. Though she will not override their death sentence, she doesn't intend to give me back to them. She will make it quick, and I will not be bound or made a slave. They are right, Alexis. No matter why I did it, I took from them. And you have shown me . . . made me understand something of what it would be to lose someone like that. Give me the gift I cannot give them. Let me know the one I came closest to loving is safe.

  She wouldn't do this, wouldn't just step aside and let them or Mina kill him. It was wrong, but she didn't know how to make them understand that, any more than she'd already tried.

  "No," she repeated, and levitated off the ground. Though it was agonizing, she forced her damaged wing to help her move. Her fingers slipped off of Dante reluctantly, but she moved and hovered at the edge of the circle, placing herself between him and Seneth. "I will not let you harm him."

  At his implacable look, she reached out through the circle's barrier, closed her hand on his crossed forearms in desperation. "There is a reason there are gods wiser than us, who understand what we don't. He's in our world now, learning to be different."

  When his expression didn't change, she looked toward the Fen. "You may not be in a place where you can forgive him enough to let him go. But justice is as deep as a river, and as unfathomable. Let his justice be meted out during his life."

  "Alexis." Jonah's voice was low. "I am only going to say it once more. Come here and stand beside me."

  If he had to do so, he would snatch her back next to him before
anyone here was even aware movement had occurred. A lump grew in her throat. No . . .

  Alexis. Dante's soft voice in her head broke her heart, as he repeated his words. Obey him. I will accept this punishment.

  They were all united. She'd lost. The witch will make it quick . . . That was the best outcome now. She turned and faced Dante. He'd risen to his feet, but the eyes on her face were no longer enraged. They held tenderness, something she'd taught him. Their touch was a caress. Her heart clogged her throat. Protection or no, her soul would be incinerated with him.

  She wanted to go to him one last time, but he gave a faint shake of his head, jerked his head toward her father. Stifling a sob she thought might choke her, she turned and moved out of the circle, relying on the one wing and the base of her tail to move her along at a crippled shuffle that reflected how she felt inside. Scraped raw, burned to ash, aching from a beating that would never heal. Numb, she kept her head down, wondering if she could just close her eyes and imagine this wasn't happening. Her father's hand touched her arm, guided her until she stood at his side. David, Mina and Marcellus stood shoulder to shoulder with them, Marcellus's arm going around her waist to take her weight.

  "Now," Jonah said mildly, adjusting to face Seneth. "It appears she does not stand alone."

  AT first she wasn't sure she'd heard him right. Apparently, Seneth felt the same way. He blinked. "You would reject what is clearly the course of justice here?"

  Jonah lifted a shoulder. "There are times justice must take a different path. What guides us is balance. As she said, until the past several days, he's never known anything else but evil and death. Now, thanks to my daughter, he has. He is not pure evil, with no interest in being more than that. I think you and I both sense that." Jonah held the gaze of the Bentigo commander. "I believe that he could be and do something different with his life, if he had the chance. We can't get back the harm he's done, but if he's willing to change who he is, help and save others, then by killing him, we lose his attempt to balance the scales. One life cannot pay back sixty-two lives, not unless he has the chance to save the lives of three times sixty-two souls. And my daughter's gift is not a light matter to be dismissed, either. I do not exonerate him from his crimes. He will pay for them. But let him pay a different way."

  As Seneth shifted, Jonah did as well. In a blink Alexis felt the energy alter between the two groups. Marcellus and David became far more alert, and Jonah's hand was now resting with deceptive casual-ness on his sword hilt. "I advise you to give us this opportunity," her father continued in the same reasonable tone. "You know we are honorable. I do not believe the lives lost to the Fen should go unanswered. Trust us to make sure that amends are made. But give us his life."

  Seneth looked toward the Fen chief. The tribal leader seemed to have a dialogue of body language with the others, a rapid communication Alexis couldn't follow, since her own tensions had drawn up in a knot, blocking all others. At length, the leader surprised her by walking forward and looking directly at her. "Give us her life instead."

  The slide of steel from three scabbards was swift, but not as swift as the response within the circle. Naked and bloody, Dante hit the circle's edge closest to the Fen so hard the binding flashed in reverberation. Seneth's angels moved to block him, though the circle held. Barely. Lex noted a strain to Mina's expression that suggested his impact had taken its toll on even the witch's strength. But Dante's gaze never left the Fen chief, even as the electrical current of the circle's edge sparked in front of him.

  "You touch her, you scratch her, you make one move toward her, and nothing will hold me away from you. You will join your wives, sisters and mothers."

  The escalation to combat was something she'd never experienced, but in that heartbeat, she felt Seneth's protectors preparing for full engagement, as well as her father. The only ones who weren't were the Fen.

  The Fen leader held Dante's gaze. After a weighted pause, he nodded, as if he'd received an answer. He raised his hands, apparently a gesture indicating his next words would be of import. The Fen behind him stilled, as did the Bentigo, the only movement the rustle of the leathery wings as the wind strengthened. The myriad emotions sweeping Alexis came from all directions. Violence, sadness, fear, anger, hatred. The hushed moment was so significant, she could almost feel the universe holding its breath, waiting for the decision.

  When the Fen leader spoke, his face might have been carved from stone. His voice was wooden. "When evil becomes something good, the weapon has two edges." He lifted his spear, gestured to the bladed end. "One day, you will know what you took from us. Not in your mind. In your soul, your heart. When that day comes, you will prefer to die a thousand deaths than face what you are."

  His gaze turned from Dante, toward Alexis. "Because all worlds are just, it is when you love her the most that Fate will take her from you, as payment for what you have done to us. And that loss will have the power of sixty-two broken hearts, to shatter your soul three times sixty-two times."

  The words died away on the knoll, echoing among the silent audience. The chief nodded to Jonah. "Take him from our world and never let him return. We will mourn our dead."

  Thirty-one

  WHEN Mina brought them back to their world, she transported them to Machanon. Though Lex was worried about Dante's injuries, she noted his wounds were healing already, most of what the Bentigo had inflicted upon him tender red lines only, not open wounds. Even so, she noted he held himself stiffly, and suspected he needed blood.

  It made her wonder about the wounds that couldn't be seen, the ones that were usually more severe than anything that could be done to the flesh. Was it possible to heal such wounds, when the salt of slain innocents had been rubbed into them sixty-two times?

  She was sure that thought was uppermost in more minds than hers. The mood was somber. Though she'd succeeded in bringing Dante back, this couldn't feel like a victory to any of them. The angels spent their entire existence protecting the innocent, not those who harmed them. Yet they had stood with her, been willing to fight the Bentigo, who were creatures of the Light as well.

  The angels are rarely wrong . . .

  When they arrived on the outer bailey of the Citadel and oriented themselves to their return, she saw Dante's gaze alight on the Garden of Eden. It was a distant roll of green, the silver blue of the river winding through it, the rainbow a ribbon stretched over it that never faded. She'd wanted to take him there. Had her own yearning toward it tugged his subconscious in that direction now, or was he just focusing on something lovely and clean, trying to manage what had happened?

  He took a seat on the parapet, his back to them all, and a stillness settled over his shoulders. Visibly, it was as if he'd turned to stone, a permanent gargoyle seeking the horizon for answers, but Lex could feel the powder keg of his emotions. She wanted to go to him, but instead, Raphael's hand fell upon her, and it was backed up by Jonah shifting in between them.

  "Let him heal you first," Jonah said quietly, brushing a knuckle against her cheek to temper his words. "You're about to fall down, Seabird."

  She just wanted to touch Dante, see his eyes for one second, but then he spoke in her head. Go with them, Lex. I will wait here. He's right.

  As she hesitated, torn, Raphael touched her arm. "We can go inside the turret right here. You'll be less than twenty feet from him."

  She wondered, because looking at that wide back, she suspected Dante was much further away, perhaps as far away as the Dark One world.

  RAPHAEL healed the break and strengthened her with an infusion of light energy that cleaned out the damaging effects of the smoke and fire. However, as he pressed his palms on her chest and back, his attention focused on whatever he sensed going on inside of her, she felt his concern, the dissipation of his usual cheerful aura.

  Lex glanced up at him. "It's permanent, isn't it?"

  Raphael pressed his lips together. "It's difficult to have a patient that can read her healer's emotions."

&n
bsp; "I've been tired since I came back." Lex raised a shoulder. "The Dark One atmosphere would have destroyed any of you. Dante's protection helped me survive, but it didn't make me entirely immune to it, did it?"

  "No." He held her gaze. "The damage is irreversible. I wasn't certain when you returned from the Dark One world. I needed time to see the rate of recuperation of your body's systems. There was some marginal improvement, but it's not enough. You'll be more susceptible to injury. That's why your wing broke again so easily. Your lung capacity has been reduced by a third. And your muscle weakness . . . if you rest, convalesce properly, receive regular treatments from me, as well as blood from your vampire, it won't degrade rapidly, but it will continue. Your life span . . ." He stopped.

  Closing her hand on his wrist, Alexis managed a weary smile. "Might as well just say it."

  "Your life span has likely been cut in half." He grimaced. "However, I cannot say how dour a prediction that is. Unlike your mother, who we know will live until three hundred unless she's injured, or your father, who would have to be struck out of the sky, we don't know how long you'll live, because your blood falls somewhere in between them. I just know it will be less than any of us want."

  Alexis swallowed. "Well, isn't that the way it always is? I can still have children, right?"

  "Childbearing is an enormous strain that may exacerbate your symptoms. It's--"

  "Raphael." Her grip tightened. "Can I still have them?" Her gaze flicked toward the outer bailey, where her father was standing, speaking to several of his captains. Raphael followed her look. He sighed.

  "Yes. You can still have them."

  "Okay." Lex took a deep breath, wrapping her mind around it. A glance toward the wall showed Dante still in statue-mode, thank Goddess, because that meant he likely wasn't listening in. "You're a Full Submission angel, right?"

  Raphael nodded.

  "Can you block everyone out there, including my father and Dante, from hearing what we're doing or saying in here?"