Winterskin: A Dark Fantasy (Kindred Souls Book 1)

by C. M. Estopare

  “Oh my,” came an airy voice. Soft and sweet. “dear me. Councilwoman, I believe she's crying.”

  Kat blinked. Sliding her eyes from her forearm, she came face to face with Anais as the heart-faced woman placed her hands upon knees enshrouded beneath crimson colored taffeta. Lowering her tiny torso, Anais let the tops of her breasts spill from the V-shaped dip of her lace embroidered bodice. Her bulbous bosoms spewing forth from the contents of her tightly laced garments as she leaned over.

  “My dear, are you alright?” the callow-faced woman asked, wide brown eyes reminding Kat of a doe. “You survived quite a fall, perhaps you've hit your head rather hard?”

  “I'm fine.” Kat responded. Her voice a croak as she tasted acidic bile. “I'd like to know when I may leave.” she snapped.

  Anais stood, breasts springing back into place, as she clasped her hands behind her lower back and backstepped away. Allowing a clear path for the other woman standing at the center of the circular chamber. Slippers whispered across stone as Vidonia approached Kat with her arms firmly crossed.

  “How did you spirit away my archmage?” the taller woman demanded, her bloodied hand hidden within the thick fabric of her drop-sleeves. “My envoys reported two women clutching to the edge of a tower, now ruined by Elisedd and his ilk. One description matches my archmage perfectly, the other...” piercing olive eyes marked in smoky kohl narrowed to kohl painted slits as Vidonia looked Kat over. A single eyebrow raising as she noted Kat's disheveled clothing and dirt streaked face. “...pertains to you.”

  Kat bristled in her seat, attempted to stand, but thought better of it as Vidonia slowly shook her head at the movement.

  “I'll petrify you.” she warned, lazily lifting a hand from its resting place atop her crossed arm. “I'd like to play gently, your face is trustworthy. Court-worthy, even. But cross me,” she murmured, cocking her head slightly, “and I will not hesitate.” Vidonia's voice was level as she showed her bloodied hand. Balling it into a fist, a familiar energy resembling a liquefied mirror began to thrum around her skin. The pulsating aura beating, growing and lengthening, like a quickening heart thrashing within a heaving chest.

  Kat nodded, bringing her hands to either sides of her chair as she forced herself to relax into the rugged wood of the seat. Her heart slamming itself against her rib cage in time to the growing magic around Vidonia's bloodied fist.

  The pulsating energy died. The thrumming aura vanishing with a curt snap of Vidonia's long fingers. “Good,” Vidonia sighed, loosely crossing her arms across her chest as she rolled her neck. “now, how did you spirit her away?” the woman repeated, rubicund locks curving over the thin fabric of her shoulders. “Did you use teleportation, little one?” Vidonia asked, raising her chin before audibly sniffing the air. The woman breathed in deep, hissing as she let the air escape through the creased corners of her mouth. “The Power's crux alludes this one.”

  “But the archmage disappeared!” Anais hissed from her corner, lowering her gaze to the floor. “If this one possesses no magical ability, how could Ledora have gotten away in a blink?”

  “Ah!” Vidonia snapped, locking her gaze with Kat's as she lowered her head. “You!” she grinned, the smile taut and strained. “You distorted Elisedd's beliefs, turning him against me and mine at the last moment. Ah!” her smile grew, her lips stretching across the expanse of her face. The grin did not meet her eyes as Vidonia glowered at Kat. “Yet, you sit here befuddled and clueless. Oh—I love outliers. Players in games they have no knowledge of—ah! Tell me your name, little one. You have the curious eyes of a southerner.”

  Kat wet her lips. “Katell Maeva,” she murmured, suddenly shy. Suddenly unsure of herself. “of Montbereau.” she quickly added.

  Vidonia's smile capsized, sinking into a sharp frown. “Ah, Montbereau, the troublesome 'Voice of the South'. Tell me, Katell Maeva, do you also call for independence from the Monarchy? The Rose?” closing the gap between herself and Kat, Vidonia slammed her palms to Kat's shoulders and holstered her up. Forced Kat to stand and face her. “Who spirited away my wicked witch, Katell Maeva? I may not taste the Power, but I do taste Blood.” Katell felt herself shake, felt ice stretch from Vidonia's hands and rip into her shoulders. The chill forcing its way into her blood and bones. “Blood working is forbidden, little one. Forbidden and extremely difficult to master, much less control. So, I shall ask again—where is Ledora?”

  Kat cut away her gaze, clenching her fists before letting her fingers fall to her sides. “Gone.” Kat whispered, shrugging away the icy feeling the woman's veined hands left upon her shoulders. “Taken to Baate Noir by the Night Lady.” Meeting Vidonia's smoky eyes, Kat caught a hint of fear. Caught a racing hint of shocked recognition. “Saw it with my own eyes.” she murmured, still staring. Unable to break Vidonia's harsh gaze as she bit the inside of her cheek.

  “Gone.” Kat repeated, as Vidonia let go of her shoulders. The woman backing away. A sneer firmly planted upon her pale face, harshly twisting her features. “In a blink and a blaze of light.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Vidonia's brows drew together, the slender arches lowering as her smoky eyes narrowed. Crossing her arms once more, she straightened her back. “Night Lady?” she repeated Kat's words, pursing her ruby-red lips.

  “She speaks of Seraphina Merchand, Councilwoman.” Anais breathed, her right hand pressing upon her chest. “You're her daughter, correct? Oh, it's like looking into a mirror...”

  “Seraphina Merchand is anathema,” Vidonia spat, raising her chin as her narrowed eyes locked with Kat's. “not a creature of myth. Why do southerners call her, 'Night Lady'? To what end?”

  Kat opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it as she clamped her lips closed. Shaking her head, she dropped back into the chair behind her. Suddenly drained. Her spirit spent and exhausted as the chair creaked beneath her weight.

  Outside, the rain continued to pour. Icy droplets pelting the stony roof of the tower.

  “She haunts Baate Noir like a specter...” Kat began, head falling backwards upon the stout back of the chair as she sighed her exhaustion away. “...for a time, I believed she was a myth as well...” Kat shut her eyes, “...until I found out that she was my mother.” Until she saved me—stopped me from freezing to death in the cold.

  Bertrand...

  Kat shook the thought away—her best friend, gone...her cousin at fault, Alan is probably dead...

  Shutting her eyes, Kat shook the thoughts away.

  Anais clapped her hands, crimson drop-sleeves dancing. “Aha! I knew it—,”

  “Yet, your surname is not Merchand...” Vidonia murmured, raising an eyebrow. “...did you know that your mother was infected? Cursed herself with a plague that the Sybil controlled...once.” she spat the word as if it were acid swirling upon the tip of her tongue, her face sour as her lips twisted into the ghost of a sneer. “Do southerners know of the ater sanguis? I've heard that the curse often reaches the Poudurac, but never ventures farther than the Black Forest—Baate Noir, as you know it to be. Did you know that your mother was infected with this...black blood?”

  Opening her eyes, Kat brought her head forward and leveled her gaze with Vidonia's before dropping her head into her hands. “She raised me—she massacred an entire village. I know her as mother. I also know her as Night Lady—what more is there? People throw terms at me—yet they ignore the fact that I do not understand. I need explanations!”

  “If I were to choose one thing southerners are known for,” Anais scoffed, clasping her hands behind her back as she rolled large brown eyes, “it would be their ignorance of any matters beyond the Black Forest. As if nothing exists beyond the Southern Reaches.”

  Vidonia shot Anais a scathing look, olive eyes turning to ice as her gaze caused the shorter woman's face to burn brightly, “Ater sanguis,” Vidonia began, turning on her heel as she began to pace towards the far wall. “known by the north as, 'the curse of the black blood'...often titled wrongly as a '
plague',” whirling around in a flash of scarlet skirts and twinkling embroidery, Vidonia paced towards the opposite side of the room with her hand upon her chin. Her kohl marked gaze cast to the ceiling as if she were watching her story unfold from above. Her tale of the black blood blossoming forth from the heavens. “years ago, when our guild—the Sybil—was newly formed, we held absolute reign over the Blood. Expert hands adept in blood work and blood magic could use the Blood to bring the dead back to life—whole and immensely powerful. The 'undead' no longer human, in some respects, after being brought back from the brink of death by the Blood.

  “Ater sanguis made our guild of sorceresses important in the eyes of the Monarchy. No longer were women blessed with magical abilities born to die at the hands of witch hunters—at the hands of the Sonant of Liberation and the Hope for Extinction. No longer were witches, forced by ignorant superstition, made to leave their homes and families. Venturing out into the wilds only to be taken away by the harsh hands of nature and the Fates. No longer—the ater sanguis saved many. Witches became Sorceresses. Sorceresses became advisers, councilwomen, commanders...the Sybil became an entity to be respected...an entity to be feared...” Rounding on her heel once more, Vidonia halted before Kat. Olive eyes burning in their sockets as she glowered at the sitting girl. “...and then, the Blood was taken from us. Stolen in the night by one of the Sybil's many founders. Swiped by a non-human sympathizer. A woman with a heart as soft as she was pathetic and charitable. Greedy.

  “Anathema. Seraphina Merchand gave our combined invention to a handful of night-stalking elves who cried injustice whenever the city demanded they pay their taxes. These knife-eared churls set the Blood against us—the boors completely ignorant of how ater sanguis worked. Therefore, they decided to unleash it on the populace as poison, contaminating the entirety of the capital's water supply with a few poorly measured drops and a wish. A hope that humans could feel what non-humans felt; the lesser species housed in ghettos before the incident. Now...now that non-humans have proven themselves to be a menace, they are barred from the Capital of the White Rose—but that does not mean they cannot attack it. Stirring hate and fear, yet never leaving behind a physical presence.” Vidonia caught her breath, closing her eyes as she raised her head slightly.

  “Your mother,” she began again, giving Kat her back as she floated towards the middle of the chamber, “helped non-humans form the Scyllah, a non-human terrorist organization that plagues the entirety of the north like a mosquito to the ear, or a rapist to an unsuspecting young woman. Your mother helped the Scyllah brand itself as an organization chocked with terrorists—” her voice steadily rose. Steadily began to grate on Kat's ears as her tone devolved into a shrill screech, “—Your mother not only allowed the Sybil's invention to fall into the wrong hands—but orchestrated the guild's demise. Orchestrated the Sybil's own fall as the Monarchy blamed us for the sudden plague of death that swept through the capital in the expanse of a week. Mass graves piled to the skies—stinking bodies festering upon cobblestone streets—we worked like mad women to cure it. And I can only honestly say that the entire city did not die, not because of our cure or our handiwork, but because the Fates allowed the Blood to fester some place else. Now the black blood shifts city to city as if by sheer will—as if it possesses a divine consciousness that allows it to pick and choose where it strikes next. Because of this glaring stain upon the Sybil's reputation—because of your mother—the south turned its back on us and now thousands of witches die...burning upon stakes...starvation...exposure—now thousands of women die because the south refuses to hand them over to us.

  “And your mother,” Vidonia growled, body trembling as she hissed a shaking breath, “is anathema to the guild. To the entire world.”

  Lowering her head, Vidonia raised her hands to the ceiling before bringing her open palms down. Breath hissing through her nostrils as she repeated the movement, slowly. Moving with fluidity, the woman's strange movement a river of flowing motion. “Now,” she breathed, “do you understand, Katell Maeva?”

  “Though your surname should be Merchand.” Anais quipped, her voice soft as she cast a sidelong gaze at Kat.

  Kat's mouth had gone slack, her eyes unfocused. “My mother...” ...the Night Lady...

  Vidonia brought her palms before her, rubicund tresses trailing down the expanse of her black capote in shivering scarlet waves. “While the Blood has its uses, when pumped through a patient's veins it robs them of the one thing that is vital to this life. More vital to most, perhaps, while others believing mourning its loss is a result of pure vanity. Or, pure ignorance.” Vidonia turned, hands clasped. Head of red hair cocked. “Simply put, Katell, your mother was barren when she left the guild. When she was banished to the Black Forest, your mother was barren. Before she became anathema, before she knowingly gifted the Blood to terrorists, she tested the Blood upon herself to prove that ater sanguis could be helpful to humans. This robbed her of her ability to have children. Her, and another.”

  Kat gawked, hands squarely on her knees as she felt her legs turning to slush. “What do you mean? I know who my mother is, witch!—,”

  “I do not question your lineage.” Vidonia snapped, gaze hardening once more as Anais's doe eyes bulged from her head in shock. “I only question who spirited my archmage away—who truly teleported her to the Black Forest. Yes, your mother may have been barren, but she was powerful. Seraphina was a High Sorceress when she was banished by my archmage—my Ledora, whom I have decided is a traitor for allowing the Scyllah to destroy Labassette. Once again, Katell, I ask you to tell me the truth—who spirited my archmage away?”

  “I possess no magic—you said so yourself! Both of you!” Kat squirmed under the sorceresses combined gazes, their faces expectant as Kat fidgeted. As Kat felt herself become light-headed once more, as if floating on a cloud. On a glimpse of mist. “I've never been able to siphon the Power—I've never once touched it's crux! I am a shieldmaiden—bound to the ax and blade! I am a—,”

  She felt it then—power leaving her as if it were being stolen. Her head floating—her blood bubbling beneath her skin as a chill spiraled through her chest and ebbed through her arms as a spear. As a spear of winter cold and wind. She felt it then—felt like she was flying as she shut her eyes tight.

  Wind. A gale howled, ripping past her ears. Snatching her hair from her face, black tendrils coiling around her head, as the wind tossed her around. Beating her—lifting her from her seat as the whole chamber shook, her garments catching on the force. Her slippers drifting from her feet as she was pulled from her seat, blood racing from her body. Making her head light, her skin pallid.

  I grant you my power.

  A voice, a whisper, a song soaring on a gust of wind.

  It was her mother's voice—the voice of the Night Lady—moments before she pulled back her stygian shadows and brought her to. The woman healing her chest after the claven had broken it. The woman promising Kat to leave her body and...find another way.

  Ledora told her she had to live.

  Because my life—my life is key.

  Kat's breath hitched in her throat as the air became thin, her throat constricting as she fought to breathe.

  I grant you my power.

  “E'lunne shesha mar daurthe.”

  It was a command. A booming phrase laced with heart sputtering power that paused the wind as it left Vidonia's ruby-red lips. The tall sorceress's limber arms extended towards Kat as she called the phrase, her voice unwavering. Calm.

  Deadly.

  Kat felt her heart stop. Snapped her eyes open to gaze at the far away ground and the two small presences below.

  Had she flown? Levitated herself up here?

  Did she call upon the Power?

  “Come down.” Vidonia intoned, arms outstretched.

  Kat lost her position in the air as blood powered through her, the roaring rush deafening as it suddenly blinded her. Lifeblood warming her as her limbs tingled, her life-force retur
ning as she plummeted towards the ground. Eyes wide open only to close them. Eyes snapped shut as the flagstones of the chamber rushed at her—the sorceress's strange words yanking her towards the stones. Towards Vidonia.

  Lithe arms caught her. A soft oof whispered through shocked lips.

  Anais whimpered as she gently placed Kat upon the ground, “Another magebane, Councilwoman—what are we to do with her? If she can control the Blood...”

  Kat's head spun as Vidonia approached her, the statuesque woman assailed by a stream of crimson locks that slid forth from her shoulders. Red ringlets hanging in the air as she studied Kat, her face unreadable. Kohl marked eyes dull. Glaciated.

  “We will bring her to the Sybil—so that the world will be safe,” Vidonia murmured, eyes scanning Kat's as Vidonia became two within Kat's vision. The girl dizzy and sick. “first, we await the Montbereau Chaperon. But, until their arrival, we study. We scan. We learn.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Councilwoman governed her charges like an unyielding taskmaster as she fought to hammer Labassette Chateau into a habitable space despite the immutable debris and ruin the Scyllah's dragon wrought upon half of the ancient fortress.

  Ignoring the lack of her party's architectural skill, Councilwoman Vidonia commanded her force to brush away the debris before Labassette and recreate their tent city upon the patch of crushed grass beneath. Those she considered high upon the chain of her auxiliary's command were welcomed to make space for themselves within Labassette's two standing towers. Those deemed the Councilwoman's officials were instructed to clear away rubble and rubbish within the old chateau's crumbling walls as others slaved outside. The Councilwoman's auxiliary toiling from dawn till dusk over the expanse of four days as they worked to bring Labassette up to the Councilwoman's standards.