by Allie Jean
“It’s too late for that,” Damon replied. “I’ve been ordered to take her in.”
“You take your orders from the Evil One now?” Mathias tightened his grip on his sword, and a stream of blood trailed down his arm.
“Seems you have been wounded. Hand her over and everybody lives to fight another day,” Damon said, his wicked smile growing in intensity. Mathias shrugged off the comment, never taking his eyes away from the enemy.
“You’re a little outnumbered, brother.”
“And you’d be a fool to think I came alone . . .” As if on cue, two more Kajola soldiers appeared armed with heavy swords.
“Ready?” Damon’s question came out as a taunt, clearly enjoying the predicament Mathias had landed in—three immortal warriors against himself, with nothing but two defenseless victims to guard.
“Always.”
Without another word, Mathias lunged toward Damon, his blade hitting its mark. Chantal twisted out of the way as both warriors came crashing down beside her, stone and dirt flying in all directions.
Titus and Andreu battled the snarling beast, both gaining the upper hand. Titus, sword firm in his grip, slid under the protruding stomach of the creature, slicing into its gut causing its bowels to spill out onto the ground. At the same moment, Andreu leapt onto its head, plunging a blade straight through the back of its skull.
With a jolt of relief, her gaze fixed on the horrific sight as the beast fell to the floor with a loud thud. Both warriors scrambled to their feet.
In the short time that she was preoccupied watching the beast be defeated, the situation on the other side of the grotto had doubled in ferocity. Mathias was battling not only Damon, but another warrior as well. His movements were lithe, almost choreographed, yet the other two seemed to counter him with little success. Her heart ached to help him even though she knew deep down she would only distract him, causing him to be hurt. She knew the best way to help him was to stay out of the way. She turned to the sound of heavy footfalls and sighed with relief when she saw Titus and his friends fast approaching the grotto.
“Help the priest!” Titus yelled.
Father Ralph had been deep in battle with the remaining Kajola. Though badly injured, he fought with valor. His strength and speed were outmatched, but he fought to keep her safe. His back toward her, she could hear him saying something, but the words were indistinguishable
Andreu and Lukas gripped their blades and made their way toward the priest. Just as the pair were about to cross onto the hallowed ground, a half-dozen creatures suddenly appeared. These were small, goat-like devils with the morbid ability to walk on two legs. Pot-bellied and smelling like rotten eggs, each creature held pitchforks and axes dripping with what appeared to be the blood of her protectors. Speed and deadly accuracy made up for their small stature as they attacked, and soon both Lukas and Andreu were surrounded by a swarming onslaught.
Not seeing the fresh wave of assailants, Titus attacked the soldier who fought Mathias from behind. Both brothers moved in both accuracy and synchronization as they fought, gaining the upper hand back from their enemy.
Chantal returned her attention back to the priest. He seemed to be struggling as his opponent smiled in triumph. With all four warriors in active battle, Chantal racked her brain for ways she could help. Sitting there as a pathetic observer was no longer sitting well with her, but she had no way to help them fight. She looked around for anything she could use as a weapon when she noticed the blade once sheathed into Damon’s back laying on the ground. She looked back at the priest and then scooted forward.
Wrapping her fingers around the hilt, she crept toward Father Ralph taking shallow breaths, scared she’d be discovered. If only she could reach a vantage point without being noticed and stab the Kajola that was attacking the priest.
“No, don’t!” the priest yelled, and she looked up just in time to witness the old man fall to his knees, his weapon lying useless at his side. The evil Fallen brethren standing over him, his sword held high in preparation to deliver the final death blow. Distracted by his impending victory, she crept up from behind and sunk the dagger between his shoulder blades.
The enemy screamed as she twisted the blade, keeping him from reaching behind and removing it.
Run!” Chantal screamed. The warrior turned at the sound of her voice, still able to move slowly in her direction unable to reach the sword that protruded between his shoulder blades. In obvious discomfort, the Kajola spit black blood onto the ground as he got closer to his newly acquired target, oblivious to anything around it, focused on the person who caused its pain.
The priest stumbled to his feet, took a shaky step toward her, his sword held loosely in his hand. The humble father took the handle in both hands, ready to slice her attacker before he reached Chantal when the wicked Kajola solider turned and cut him down, leaving his body in a bloody heap as he fell.
Chantal screamed as tears clouded her vision. She heard a gurgled intake of breath from the priest’s contorted body as anger consumed her when she saw the Kajola aim a booted foot square into the priest’s stomach. Blood spurted from the father’s mouth, covering the ground in front of him.
“No!”
“M-my child . . .” the priest said and reached his hand out to her, making a vague sign of the cross with his trembling finger as he tried to regain his footing. Falling at the feet of the Virgin Mother, his eyes rolled back, his open mouth frozen in his final prayer.
The booming sound of maniacal laughter muffled her cries of grief. Senses numb, Chantal stood on shaky legs. Hot tears and sweat poured down her face, mingling with the pool of blood on the ground.
“You killed him,” she said, her hate-filled eyes aimed at the priest’s murderer. Vision red, her sadness morphed to a boiling anger. The warrior bellowed his victory.
“That I did,” he said. “He was a fool to fight me to begin with. He gave his life for yours, Oracle. Can you live with more dying in vain or are you prepared to give yourself up?”
Chantal seethed with the injustice of another innocent death because of her, sparking something deep inside. Of its own volition, her fingers searched the ground, finding the priest’s forgotten sword.
“You choose to fight me, little one?”
“No,” Chantal said, her knuckles turning white from the strength of her grip upon the blade. “I choose to honor his life by taking yours!”
Her legs propelled her off the ground, launching her over the head of the stunned Kajola soldier. With one swipe of her blade, the head of a warrior turned evil fell to the ground with a sickening thud, his body falling lifeless beside it.
“Chantal!”
She heard Mathias call her name, but she couldn’t find the will to look at him. Instead, she focused on the warriors fighting in the garden against the goat-like creatures to the death.
“Chantal, no!”
Gaze trained and locked on her targets, she crossed the barrier noting again that slight shift in pressure, but didn’t slow down. As she approached, she saw Andreu and Lukas surrounded by the creatures, biting and clawing at their skin until it was nothing but mangled flesh. Fury and desire for revenge bubbled to the surface, and without regard for her own safety or purpose as the oldest living Oracle, Chantal cut down her enemy with the precision of a well-trained fighter. She was reacting on instinct fueled by hurt and anger.
A beast came barreling toward her, dripping fangs, reaching out with claws as weapons. Unafraid and undaunted, Chantal gripped the priest’s blade tighter, now coated in thick, black blood of the enemy, and stabbed the beast through. It disappeared into smoke and ash, and Chantal whirled around just as another leapt to attack.
The next few moments were nothing but a blur of violence and black death. Five snarling creatures ran forward in a blitz attack, yet her movements remained swift, sharp, and accurate. Not caring where the power came from, she reveled in it, using it to destroy the enemy, the feeling as natural to her as breathing.
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br /> The enemy scattered, as each warrior prevailed and every creature of the dark had fallen, Chantal’s vision cleared. That all-consuming need for death and vengeance melted away, and the reality of what she’d done sank in. She could feel the weight of it deep inside her chest.
Looking up, she saw Nick watching her in awe. After a few moments of staring at each other, he stepped forward and searched her body, checking for wounds, making sure she wasn’t in need of healing. As he looked her over, she also took notice of his countless injuries, watching the blood seep from several different cuts to his arms and torso.
Alarm coursed through her, panic and fear enveloping her once again. A priest killed, Nick had been hurt, and it was all her fault. She took a step toward him, her heart racing, while her legs unsteady and weak.
Something akin to panic churned inside her, and her throat constricted, making it hard to breathe.
“Nick,” she managed to say. Her vision swam as she fell to the ground in a useless heap. She heard her name whispered before her world went black and silent.
What had she done?
Mathias watched awestruck as Chantal battled more than a few creatures, drawing his attention dangerously away from the fight with Damon. It didn’t matter, however. His opponent had been engrossed with Chantal as well.
It had been understood that the power of the Oracles grew as they aged, but to see her take up arms and fight off some of the most menacing monsters the Shade had to offer had been nothing short of amazing. She looked more like the girl he’d watched over, defending the people around her regardless of any danger to herself. Mathias stood once again, staring at his charge, mesmerized by her beauty and strength. The look in her eyes permanently burned into his brain. The sight before him, both proud and sad: Chantal would never be the same.
Then, she had fallen to the ground, and the world around him seemed to shift on its axis.
“Chantal!”
He wanted her close to him to protect her from any other beasts, wanting to kill them himself. He wanted her out of the war and tucked away somewhere safe not fighting in the midst of it all. Mathias knew he couldn’t keep her from the war, she was an important part to ending it, but he would try. It was his duty.
It’d taken him a moment to realize his error. While watching her fight, he’d left himself wide open for attack. Damon could’ve cut him down in an instant, taking him out of the battle forever. Turning Chantal’s care over to another since his death was not an option. He knew it was not his time nor was he willing to give her up, though he knew any of his brothers would lay down their life for any of the Oracles, Chantal was special. Chantal was his.
He whirled around, blade tight in his hand, thoughts of the unconscious Chantal and his dead friend, Father Ralph, pushed to back of his mind. Ready to defend her and all who depended on him, he raised his weapon against his adversary, but the Kajola’s expression held nothing but regret and frustration. Damon smirked as he stepped back into the shadows. Aggravated, Mathias thrust his sword into the ground as Damon crossed the hallowed barrier and disappeared into the Shade. He wanted to go after him, to end this threat, but his brother’s words held him in place. He retrieved his weapon and turned to Titus.
“Mathias, not now. Get to Chantal and tell the others to fall back,” Titus ordered, his attention still on his Kajola opponent. In the chaos of it all, his focus never swayed from his objective. He’d kept the girl in his line of sight, just as any well-trained warrior would’ve done in battle while taking out his enemy. The soldier stumbled back, holding both hands over a large wound in his abdomen. Titus made one final slash, felling his enemy to the ground.
In the aftermath of a battle, a few key aspects could determine victory. One, if the opponent was dead or had fled from battle, victory would be considered achieved. On the other hand, if the object of desire, say a valuable treasure, remained in the hands of the rightful owner, despite the casualties, the same end was achieved. Victory.
In this case, none of that mattered. Win or lose, Mathias’ heart hung heavy. His feet pounded the ground, racing to be near Chantal. His initial assessment of her body didn’t reveal any wounds or significant injury, yet she’d tumbled to the ground like a rag doll following her last strike. His trained eye could’ve missed something significant, and time was of the essence when it came to a mortal blow.
Death.
It came fast and without prejudice. It wouldn’t matter to the powers that be if she were the oldest surviving Oracle. Fate was unbiased and unforgiving that way.
Fear of her impending death clawed at his throat. Images of her still and cold flooded his mind, not allowing him to think clearly, believing that he had failed in his duty and worse, failed her. It felt like a century had passed by the time he arrived at her side.
“Chantal, can you hear me?”
“Mmhmmm . . .” Her voice sounded weak as she gave him a small grin. Her eyes remained closed as if in a light sleep, and there were no signs of pain to his relief. She opened her eyes and looked happy, euphoric even. Mathias watched for the slightest change in her expression.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m greeeeaaat,” she slurred as if she were drunk. “Did you seeeee me? I am a waaarior like yooou, Niick.” She closed her eyes again, the smile still plastered across her face.
His mouth quirked with an amused grin as he listened to her, and looked over at Titus who was leaning against a bench chuckling.
“I did, you are, and now you’re on the ground. Are you hurt?”
Chantal peeled her eyes open with what looked like great effort. She lifted her head and glanced around, swaying with the effort, then slammed it back down as if were too heavy to hold up. She lifted her head again while she reached for the side of her head that had just hit the dirt.
“My head huuuurts, and I feeeel strrrange,” she said, still slurring her words.
“Your head hurts from hitting the ground. The strange feeling is from the Power of the Spirit that was in you as you yielded Father Ralph’s weapon in his honor. It was a sight to behold, an Oracle and the Spirit fighting as one,” Mathias said. He had never seen this union to this extent. He had witnessed some humans experience it in prayer and during worship, as well as a few of the older Oracles when comforting an over-wrought youngling, but never to this level.
“Is this what it feels like when you drink lotsss of alcohol?” Chantal asked, struggling with the word and pushed herself up onto one elbow. “I’ve never drank before in my life, but I feel amaaazing!” She reached and placed her other hand on his cheek. At the realization of their close proximity, he pulled back quickly causing her hand to slap his thigh before it slid down and rest next to her. She looked up him. Confused embarrassment quickly turned to giddiness.
“What’s wrong with her? Could she truly have experienced the Spirit so strong her first time?” Titus asked, his sword gripped in his hand. Both he and his blade were covered in thick, black blood.
“I have no idea,” Mathias answered. He watched Chantal, stunned at her odd behavior.
“I lied to yoooouuu.” She giggled. “I have drunk before. Nat stole some of Regina’s rum. It was naasty and made me sick, but it felt kind of like this.” Chantal pushed up on her elbows to sit up. She shook her head and pushed hard. Mathias grabbed her elbow and steadied her as she sat with her knees underneath her. She looked over his shoulder and screamed, “Father Ralph, noooo!” Using Mathias, she pulled herself to her feet and started toward his body. She took one unsteady step, wobbled and fell against Mathias out cold. He caught her before she hit the ground again.
“We need to get her out of here,” Titus grumbled, running a blackened hand through his blonde locks, turning them a muddy gray.
“What the hell?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll figure that out later. Pick her up and let’s get out of here.”
Mathias glanced down at the girl now cradled in his arms, just in time to hear a snore tear from her
nose. With her eyes closed, she instinctively curled in closer to his chest, dead asleep. He glanced up at his brother who wore a matching expression of confusion and pride.
“Is she okay?” Andreu ran up to the group, panting from exertion. Lukas trailed close behind him.
“I don’t know. She doesn’t look injured.”
“What was that?” Lukas chimed in. “Did you see her kill those things? It’s like she was somebody else!”
“Are all the Seethers destroyed?” Titus said, redirecting them back to business at hand.
“Yes, brother. Those that were left behind when the Shade closed burst into ash once the sun peeked over the horizon.”
Lukas hadn’t taken his eyes off Mathias and Chantal while he answered the question. His expression seemed just as dumbfounded as the rest of the warriors, expecting her to look somehow different after what she had just accomplished.
Chantal snored and mumbled something incoherent, and Mathias frowned, wondering what really had happened to trigger such a stupor.
“I have heard of humans getting drunk in the Spirit, but never witnessed it personally, and definitely never an Oracle,” Andreu commented.
“Yeah, she never snores,” Mathias answered as he stared at her, not noticing the sudden silence that had fallen over the group. A couple of moments had passed before he finally glanced up. The other men were watching him with curious expressions. Lukas’s almost had a lewd edge to it, like Mathias’ comment about Chantal sleeping alluded to more than just an innocent comment.
“You would question my honor?” Mathias said. “I have been watching over her since she was nine years old.”
“You are right.” Lukas nodded. “Though, I’m sure you have noticed she isn’t nine anymore, brother.”
Mathias scoffed at the implication, making Lukas chortle.
“Enough, we must get her out of here, now,” Titus said. “We need to get her to a safe place. The Shade has closed, so we have to travel by foot. Time is now our enemy. We must get her hidden on hallowed ground once again.”