“The Shackles of Hell Below, were supposed to force the Black Dragon into a duel,” her eyes cut over to Logan with the same deep fear he’d seen in Darioush and the other High Elves. “The Fates would have been put to the test once and for all…”
“But that isn’t what happened,” Logan said, “Who gave you the Shackles?”
“The First Sword of my Queen, Mordreck.”
“Evelyn, we need you!” Everyone turned at Gwen’s urgent words and found the boy flopping around on the table as Eris and Gwen held him down. Logan and the others jumped to help, but the witches warned them all back.
“Don’t touch the boy!” Logan had never heard such harshness from Eris before, but the witch looked terrified.
Now that he looked closely there was a haze hovering around Simon and the deeper he peered into it, the farther into another world his eyes saw. A sky so dull and lifeless it sapped his will to live, and ground covered in ash dust so fine it puffed up into clouds that choked whenever one stepped. Off in the distance stood a forest that stretched as far as the eye could see. Only the forest was too rigid and square. There was something odd about that place, and in the center of it…
“Logan!”
Shaking his head and stepping back, he realized he’d been reaching towards the hazy darkness.
“Becca get him out of here,” Evelyn warned, “all of you should go. If you come in contact with this penumbra of evil, you’ll be trapped along with Simon.”
“Trapped?” Logan asked, at the same moment Jex’Amina and Ly’Synthia started whispering fearfully to one another, and the High Elf got a disbelieving look on her face.
“Come on,” Becca said, pushing and herding the others out the door, “You heard the witch, let’s give them space to work-.”
“Where is the golden cunt?!”
Chapter 12
The shriek of anger, let out at the same time the front door of the witch’s hovel slamming open, announced Meryl’s arrival. Logan saw the disbelief shift into naked terror when the White Knight spotted the wild-haired sage at the end of the hall. Standing behind the ancient dark elf was Simon’s Mom. The short woman looked beside herself with worry, a handkerchief clutched in one hand as she stared around the witch’s hovel as if not seeing it.
“Dr. Ngyuen, Simon is in here.” Logan pushed the High Elf back into his room, out of sight of the sage, as the pair hurried over. “Meryl, see if you can help too.” As the little Dark Elf passed, she gave a sharp hiss of anger when she saw the high elf, but Logan pushed her on and gave a warning look that silenced her. The pair slipped into the ritual room which emitted flashes of dark and light almost like silent fireworks were exploding inside.
“The rest of you can wait in the living room,” They didn’t like it, but they followed his orders, all except Syn who wouldn’t leave his side no matter what he ordered. Not with the high elf there.
When he turned back into the room to interrogate the elf, he found her staring at his sword propped up against the corner. The woman’s golden eyes were wide and her jaw working soundlessly. Her eyes traced the silvery script on the scabbard and turned her wide eyes on Logan.
“The reports were not faulty… You wield Excalibur?”
“Not well, yet.” Logan said with a nod as he crossed his arms. “But it is mine. Now tell me everything-.”
“And the crown? Did you steal it as well?”
Syn’s jaw dropped open and Logan saw she was about to let out a tirade at the slender elf, but he raised a hand and her teeth clicked shut. The high elf noted how readily the dark elf took the human’s suggestions as commands and her certainty grew shaky.
“I stole nothing. I wanted nothing. These,” he said, willing the crown into existence and picking up the sword and drawing a few inches of its silvery blade, “were thrust upon me.”
The elf was shaking her head as if convincing herself that what she was seeing wasn’t real.
“You’ve worked illusions to trick my mind,” though her words were filled with anger, Logan also recognized a lack of certainty.
“He’s begun gathering the Broken Throne,” Ly’Synthia said, and the high elf’s head shot up at that to meet the dark-skinned elf’s eyes. “Look at the crown, Golden One, can you deny that our liege has been reborn?”
“But it’s impossible,” she said again, shaking her head.
“Tell me everything,” Logan said, motioning for the elf to take a seat as he took one on the bed. There was the creak of floorboards outside the open door, and he could sense the others had crept close to overhear. “Beginning with your name.”
“I am Captain Iyllia, fifth in command of the White Knights, second daughter to Princess Fyllri, the daughter-in-waiting, first in line for the throne. I was given the Shackles of Hell Below by my Commander Sir Darioush and ordered to take a Trio and force a duel between us.”
“Why didn’t Sir Darioush come himself?” Logan asked, remembering the haughty looking elf from the shores of that river in Fae.
“Commander Darioush would not tempt the Fates again. As Second Blade it was my responsibility to meet the threat,” her eyes rose to Logan’s, and he saw resolve firming under the confusion. “My Queen has called you Black Dragon, sir, and the ancient tales speak of the destruction he will bring to my homeland.”
“Then why aren’t you trying to kill me now?” Logan asked, holding out a hand to still Ly’Synthia at his side.
The high elf didn’t answer right away, and Logan saw her resolve faulter, shaken by what she found in his eyes.
“You are not the wicked devil Mordrek claimed you to be… But this,” she waved a hand at the crown and sword, “Could all still be a ruse to gain my people’s trust. A mortal was struck, from my throw of that gemstone, so my honor will allow nothing else, until he is safe. But once that moment is here, you will meet me on the field of battle, Black Dragon, and we shall see who the Fates favor then.”
“If he isn’t safe,” Logan said, his anger cold and remote, “Then you will answer for your crime.”
The high elf’s back went stiff and her face registered indignation, but she kept any words she might have said to herself. As the others quietly talked to one another he paced up and down the hall. The lights flashing from under the ritual room’s door, told him the witches and Meryl were still at work, and every second that slipped past, his fears grew.
Finally, the little sage pushed her way out of the room, her kinky black hair pushed back from her face and lines of sweat tracking their way down her brow. The witches came out after her, and Logan peered in to see Simon’s mom patting his hand with a worried frown on her lips.
“Well?” He asked and his hopes fell when the witches shared frowns of worry with one another. Evelyn finally opened her mouth to speak but Meryl spoke first, the little sage’s acerbic voice unusually soft and gentle.
“The boy’s soul and mind are gone. The trap he triggered should have carried him, body and soul, to Hell itself, but something interrupted the spell. I can’t say what it is yet, but there’s something off about that boy…” the little dark elf shot Simon’s mom a concerned glance and went on, “His body remains but it’s a shell, nothing more. If Gwen’s magic were to cease, the mortal shell would wither and die in hours.”
“Can nothing be done?” Logan asked, “Where are his soul and mind?”
“We have no way of knowing,” Evelyn said in a voice filled with concern. “In Hell with the Fallen One and his minions, most likely.”
The sadness filling the witches was plain, and Logan saw tears fill Dr. Nguyen that she tried and failed to stifle.
“I saw a world of ash and gray skies… with a forest in the distance,” Logan said.
“Where?” Meryl’s voice was sharp as she spun on him.
“In the haze that surrounded his body.”
“Purgatory,” The Dark Elf breathed, turning excited eyes on the witches. The three busty women regarded Logan with odd looks, and he heard the high elf h
iss something under her breath.
“His gaze will pierce the Veil of Life…”
“Was it your eye?” Meryl asked, “What did you see exactly?! Tell us everything.”
Logan did, though the glimpse had been brief, it had been so vivid he couldn’t forget it.
“It would make sense,” Evelyn said, musing to herself. “If the magical bonds were severed along the way, stretched too thin as the mortal body remained behind… The trap may have locked him to the nearest plane of existence. But can we be certain?”
“The Speakers of the Dead will know,” Eris said, and a shiver passed through her and the other witches when the name was spoken.
“Who?” Logan asked, though only Becca and Dr. Ngyuen wore the same look of confusion as he did.
“Sentinels of the afterlife,” it was Syn who answered, and from the discomfort on her face and the way she rubbed her upper arms, she was just as uncomfortable as the witches in talking about them. “Their touch is death… the moment made manifest.”
“If the boy passed through Purgatory, Hell or the Place Above, those freak-shows will know it… But what do we offer in payment?”
“Their price is never the same,” Gwen said, “but it’s always higher than you’re willing to pay.”
“Summon them,” Logan said, his words grinding out like stone on stone and there could be no denying the fire that burned in the young man’s eyes. The witches clutched at their dresses, suddenly nervous of the wild will they sensed in their Lord and Master.
For the hundredth time, they wondered again what hid deep within him. For now, and then, at times like this, they would catch a glimpse of something cold and alien deep within his lone pale blue eye. Something far more frightening and terrible than the awesome power wrapped in the golden one.
Before the women could protest, Logan stalked into the ritual room to gaze down at his friend. Dawn gazed up at him with a worried frown and reached out to slip her warm fingers into his hand.
“I’ll save him,” Logan said, “I’ll bring him back to you safe, I swear it by my life, by this useless crown… on everything I hold dear.”
“Please, Logan. Please bring my boy back to me,” the woman’s voice cracked, and Becca was there, pulling her into her arms. The teens dark blue eyes met Logan’s and matched his concern as the doctor wept on her shoulder.
A dark shape materialized out of the shadows beneath the table Simon lay on and Logan nearly jumped back as the little demon-girl loomed out at him. Her terrible gaze was fixed on his face and he couldn’t tell what expression her alien features registered, but the promise in them was just as emphatic as his had been.
Chapter 13
It took Meryl and the witches three hours to set up their ritual circle in the living room. The one in the ritual room was set to keep Simon’s body functioning with Gwen’s spell, but the one they inscribed in the living room was done with their blood. The scene was gristly, as the women each sliced open a vein and dribbled thick splatters of bright red blood across the carved lines.
Gwen healed the cuts once the floor was coated, and the three witches dropped to their knees, and crawled around the inscribed circle. They chanted as they rubbed the blood into the carved runes, their words inaudible but raising the hairs on the backs of Logan’s arms. He couldn’t see the Fae magics they wove through the floorboards and tied off with their blood; they’d been inverted, their magics reaching into a cold and dark place. If he strained, he felt he could pierce the veil and see where the magics touched, but a fear so deep he couldn’t acknowledge it, held him back.
“Mortal eyes may not look upon the countenance of death without losing some of their life essence,” Meryl said, as she tore long strips of cloth from a white sheet. Laying the strips before her, she wove her fingers over the fabric, and faint traces of magic reached down and faded into them. “These will act as a filter, or sunglasses, if you will. Do not remove them no matter what you hear or see. The Speakers will try to get you to remove it, so they may touch you, ignore their hunger, and if you falter there is no shame in leaving this room.”
“You will do this thing?” Iyllia asked, her anger obvious but Logan thought it hid a deeper fear. “The Gods will flay your souls for this blasphemy.”
“What blasphemy?” Meryl asked with a sneer, “The Sentinels are dangerous, but so is a starved wolf, would you call it blasphemous?”
“The Gods-.”
“I won’t listen to a high elf speak of the Gods,” Meryl said, her tone so dismissive Logan saw Iyllia’s back stiffen. “And if you want to know what the Gods think, just ask my Lord here to summon either the Moon, or Sister Deep and they’ll set you straight.”
The high elf’s anger fled suddenly, and she barked out a laugh of amusement, “Summon the Gods? You take me for that much of a-.”
“Meryl’s right, Lord Logan,” Jex’Amina said, tapping her chin with a long, slender finger as she frowned. “Sister Deep or the Moon Goddess may treat with the Sentinels in your place, freeing you of payment.”
“Eris?” Logan asked.
The red-headed witch nodded and pushed up her sleeves, “I’ve wanted to see Sister Deep since you returned, guess this as good a time as any to test your connection to her, Master.”
“You’re serious?” Iyllia asked, her disbelief still plain but eyes widening as a silvery glow emanated from the witches’ palms.
“Better sit back here and watch, love,” Becca said to the high elf with a wink. “If you’ve never witnessed a goddess’s entrance, you’ll want to be sitting down.”
“They are both here,” Eris’s voice came out in a hiss, her eyes rolling back into her head as her body shook with convulsions. Raising her arms to the heavens, the red-haired witch exploded in swirling silver energies, forcing those too close to stagger back as the ethereal winds whipped around the room.
Twin beams of light appeared, hovering in the air with the witches’ hands in their centers. One appeared silvery-white, while the other had a darker cast to it. The light coalesced into the twin figures of the Goddesses and the witch sagged in place.
Knees hit the floor all around the room as Dark Elves and Witches made their obeisance’s, but a gasp of shock and a hiss of fear pulled Logan’s gaze away from the naked perfection hovering before him.
Iyllia stood frozen in place, her lips twisted in a rictus snarl and her eyes disbelieving as she beheld the goddesses. The demon-girl crouched in the darkest corner of the room, one arm up to cover her face and the other clawed hand scrambling at the wall and floorboards.
“YOU SUMMON US, KING WHO WAS PROMISED?”
The Moon Goddess’s voice reached into the center of Logan’s being once again and set his spine to vibrating. His eyes locked onto their flawless figures and he struggled to form words.
“My friend Simon has been hit with a spell, or trap. Can you help him in any way?”
“NAY,” the Deep Goddess said, and the single word held a world of sorrow in it. “THY FAITH IN US IS BECOMING, BUT OUR REACH EXTENDS TO THE MORAL REALMS AND NOT THOSE BEYOND.”
“TAKE CARE WHEN TREATING WITH THE SPEAKERS, NOBLE ONE. THEY WILL EXACT A TERRIBLE PRICE FOR ANY TRUTHS THEY REVEAL.”
“Is there another option?”
The goddesses gazed at one another and Logan could sense silent communication passing between them before their twin gazes fell upon him once more.
“THE ORACLE MUST BE SAVED, FOR YOUR FATES ARE INTERTWINED. BUT WHERE YOU MUST JOURNEY WILL BE BEYOND OUR REACH. TAKE CARE, NOBLE ONE, FOR IN THE LANDS THAT TOUCH DEATH’S DOMAIN, THE FALLEN ONE RULES.”
“I don’t care where I have to go or what I have to do.” Logan said, and the goddesses bowed their heads and spoke as one.
“THEN YOU MUST SEEK PASSAGE ACROSS THE RIVER, AND JOURNEY TO THE HEART OF PURGATORY.”
“TAKE OUR BLESSINGS, KING WHO WAS PROMISED,” the Moon Goddess began, “AND SEEK NOT GLORY OR TREASURE IN YOUR NOBLE QUEST.”
“BUT REMAIN PURE O
R HELL WILL DRAG YOU UNDER AND ALL WILL BE LOST.” Finished the Deep Goddess.
As the goddess began to fade, each reached out and placed a gentle hand on Logan’s brow. He felt the heat deep within that cold touch and saw hungry grins flash across the goddesses faces before they faded, each promising silently that he owed them for the blessings and benevolence. As they disappeared a dark energy filled the void their presence left.
The things that filled the ritual were invisible, but their hunger was palpable.
“Veils, quickly!” Eris’s sharp hiss had hands scrambling to pull lengths of cloth around heads and the witches moved around the room quickly, checking that everyone’s eyes were hidden. Iyllia tried to pull out of Evelyn’s grasp but the witch uttered a single word of command and the elf froze in place.
“You entered our den, White Knight. Did you think that didn’t put you under our power the moment you stepped over the threshold?”
Logan would have had the witch take the words back if he could, because he saw the high elf’s nostrils and eyes flare with anger. Gwen adjusted the cloth covering his eyes, and he found he could still see through the thin material, though the room had a hazy filter over it and the magics imbued within it tingled against his skin.
The malign force filling the circle had no form, or shape, but there was intent behind the mass of growing darkness. And that intent was focused solely on Logan.
Sweat broke out on the young man’s brow as death reached for him, and a part of him desired nothing more than to reach out and take their hand. The desire to escape the slow torture of life reached a crescendo, but Logan held to thoughts of the witches and Simon, of Meryl and Becca and all the others he’d met recently, and the desire faded to a manageable level.
“He calls brothers and sisters. He calls!”
The sibilant hiss sounded like it came from a dozen voices at once.
“Pythia is gone, but her heir is here. Lost in the grayness of the Between. You seek power and privilege, Crown-wearer, but not knowledge and the price will come due.”
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