Flames of Awakening: Faemoch Cycle Book 1

by Reynolds, Michael

  He opened his swollen eyelids as far as they would go, only to see the menacing barbarian standing over him. Jaxius' sigh was immediately followed by a cough. A fine mist of crimson sprayed from his mouth to the already blood-stained floor. Jaxius pushed up onto his hands and knees, attempting to stand up. He was cut short by the searing pain of Morgrys's boot kicking his ribs. He felt the bones crunch and collapsed back to the floor.

  Morgrys raised his warhammer high into the air.

  Jaxius knew he was finished; the witch's magical bolt had taken too much out of him. His vision was coming and going, blurring with every slight, pain wracking movement he made.

  The huge barbarian's muscles tensed, and Morgrys struck. He stopped mid-swing, grasping at his side. He felt the handle of a throwing knife jutting from between his ribs and angrily ripped it out.

  Tolian stood in the doorway looking little better than Jaxius. One of his eyes had swollen completely shut and his lip was split and bulging as well. Numerous small scrapes and nicks covered his fine-fingered hands. Both his hair and cloak were caked with clotted blood, and there was a large tear in his shirt that exposed a deep gash in his side.

  "Hey," Tolian said. He pointed at Morgrys. "I don't believe you want to do that."

  "Oh? And who are you to stop me, runt?"

  "Funny you should ask," Tolian answered with a lopsided smile. "I am Tolia..."

  That was all that Tolian could say before Morgrys flung the knife back at him. The nimble song master caught the blood-covered blade inches in front of his face. "Now, that wasn't very nice at all. Was it? Quite rude, I should say. I shall most assuredly repay the favor."

  Tolian stepped into the room, focused on helping his friends.

  Jaxius looked up at Tolian and mouthed, "Run." He stretched a hand out to drag himself toward the bard.

  Tolian pulled back into a defensive stance and taunted the barbarian again. "What? You can't beat a man who is standing at the ready? Pity, really. Of course, everyone knows that the Nordrasians are the greater warriors, anyway."

  "You shut your mouth. Better, I will shut it for you." Morgrys stepped across the room, readying his warhammer to strike down the mouthy bard.

  Jaxius capitalized on the distraction Tolian provided to drag himself to his feet. He wearily looked around the small room and spotted his viortassi, which was partially under the altar. He hobbled quickly to it and snatched it up. Now, the half-elf had to choose: help Tolian, who was very much alive and in danger, or aid Bergar, whose unknown condition could render a whole new set of problems.

  Tolian dodged and danced around the giant barbarian's swings. Bergar hung suspended upside-down several inches from the ground by some invisible magic, his lifeblood spilling to the floor. The choice was not a difficult one at all.

  * * *

  Tolian dodged and ducked the Morgrys' advances. His foe moved quickly, but Tolian knew that he could eventually wear down the brute. His conundrum was that he wasn't sure exactly how long the big man could keep up his pace. On the one hand, Morgrys' face appeared scalded, but on the other, he and his men had run unnaturally fast and long from Nordras. There was also a witch, engrossed at the moment in casting her evil spell, still inside the tower room. So, there was no sure way of knowing if the barbarian still had any magic on his side. If he did not, Tolian estimated that Morgrys would wear out in rather short order. If there was a magical enhancement cast on the barbarian, then the bard could very well be performing his last dance.

  Morgrys swung his hammer again and again, barely missing the fleet-footed songster with every heavy swing. That was Tolian's intention. Every time the barbarian's arms brought the hammer close enough to Tolian, he scored another tiny cut to the forearm.

  "Now, witch, you die," Jaxius said. He leveled his viortassi at her.

  Fylzia, now unprotected, turned to face the lone half-elf. She snarled and glanced at the dagger in her hand, still dripping Bergar's blood. Her yellowed eyes came back to meet Jaxius' gaze. She launched another white hot bolt of energy at Jaxius.

  Jaxius saw the bolt leave her hand this time and felt his muscles tense as he dove to the side. The bolt whistled past his head as he narrowly escaped its burning punishment. A second bolt, hurled just in front of his face, caused him to stutter step and fall backward. Her magical barrage came too fast for Jaxius to react to each one. He focused, wishing that he could slow time like he had before. He felt the air grow thick. The witch's movements began to look lethargic. But Jaxius was too late. A single bolt of the white energy that he had not accounted for was at his chest. He watched the room slip past him as he was again uprooted and flung across the room.

  This time, however, he saw everything slowly and with perfect clarity. As he sailed across the room, he saw Bergar breathing shallowly but steadily and Tolian making a good showing against the witch's guardian. Jaxius could smell his own flesh searing from the heat of the magical blast. He was able to keep his wits enough to hold fast to his blade this time. Just as he felt his back slam into the wall, he noticed the gaudy mirror tucked away on an unattended side of the room. He saw in that mirror a robed figure standing pale-faced. A hood largely covered the figure's face and only enough light reflected into the mirror to show Jaxius that the man had one eyebrow lifted questioningly. The hooded man's eyes glowed an eerily bright red.

  Jaxius slammed into the wall like he had been discharged from a trebuchet. The blow winded, but thankfully did not kill, him. However, he slumped to the floor in an attempt to make the watching witch believe he was defeated. Jaxius reasoned that the mirror had to be spelled in some way, because the man was obviously not in the room. Perhaps, this was the place that gave the witch her power.

  Jaxius abruptly abandoned his plan to fool the hag. Instead, he surged up from the floor, prepared to sprint before his feet ever settled. He lunged for the mirror, heavy blade extended. He connected, and for an instant, it felt as if the elven-made blade might slip through, into the magic. Then the glass shattered into thousands of tiny pieces, each smoking in blue-green wisps.

  Tolian's plan eventually worked as he had hoped. His deadly dance never abated and finally the barbarian slowed. His thick chest heaved with ragged breaths. Small beads of blood trailed down his arms. His blows came weaker and with more strain.

  When Tolian was certain that he had broken the beast, he lunged in for his final thrusting attack. He pushed up and through Morgrys's defenses piercing his flesh right at the ribs. Blood wept from the wounds like spring rain from a newly-made roof.

  Morgrys faltered and hugged his sides. Bent double in pain, he skittered to the right, then careened into the wall beside the door. Using the wall for support he stabilized himself and spit a mouthful of blood to the floor.

  Tolian, seizing the opportunity to end the fight once and for all, lunged with his sword, thrusting to pierce Morgrys' throat. The barbarian had one last surprise for the wily bard; he leaned away, dodging Tolian's onslaught. His hefty fist shot up and brutally connected with Tolian's chest. With the last of Mondgys's strength, he thrust Tolian into the ceiling. The stonework fissured from the impact. The bard fell lifelessly to the dust littered floor, his flame extinguished.

  Morgrys, his lifeblood spilled to the floor, paled. His pale eyes rolled into his head. Losing consciousness, Morgrys fell through the gaping door into the stairwell.

  Jaxius stood, turned, and looked over his shoulder at his young barbarian friend, dying, then to the crone. His eyes flashed a bright emerald green, and he stalked deliberately toward the witch.

  That's it. Remember. Chlora's voice came from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

  The accursed witch hurled another magical blast at Jaxius.

  He snapped his blade up and parried the magical bolt harmlessly away. Static filled his long black hair which began to stand out from his head. Energy crackled throughout the room. Jaxius' eyes blazed like emerald suns at high noon on a summer day.

  Remember.

  The w
itch turned and fled, breaking for the open door.

  Jaxius launched his massive, curved elven blade through the air with one hand. It carved through her, all the way to the pommel.

  "No, you do not escape this. You die here, tonight, witch. You die for your injustice. You die for your atrocities against that which is natural. You die by my hand. At my judgment," Jaxius thundered.

  The witch fell to her knees and turned. The viortassi blade scraped the ground in front of her as she did so. Blood and bile flowed down its length.

  "Then if I cannot have life, at least I can rob you of your friend's." She raised her hands and chanted a couple of short words in a bizarre language Jaxius didn't understand. Bergar, chained to the rack, bucked and shuddered. Then the chains disappeared and the young man fell to the floor. His skin immediately grayed, and his thick black hair thinned before falling out. Bergar's thick body wasted, and his skin sagged on his diminishing frame.

  Jaxius dashed for the witch who was turning to face Tolian. He grabbed hold of the viortassi blade and ripped it upward, splitting the witch from her belly to her shoulder.

  He looked at the two friends he had just lost and slumped to the floor, ashamed that he had failed both.

  Chapter Eleven

  There was no pain. The relief overcame him, so much so that he just lay there with his eyes squeezed shut. Finally the witch's torments had ceased. He had burned from the inside out as whatever magic she used to abuse him took hold. Now he felt no pain at all. In fact, it was difficult to even say that he felt anything. But that did not bother Bergar much at all as long as the hag's cruel dagger departed from his flesh.

  Bergar opened eyes that had just been throbbing in agony and saw a great white expanse. He was no longer in the stone room being tortured. He was alone.

  Instinctively, Bergar knew what had happened. The witch had not given up on her torture; his body had given up on trying. He died.

  Bergar wondered what the next step would be. Would he see his father or uncle again? What about his mother and little sister? Where would his soul spend the afterlife? He had feared and respected the gods. Not a religious fanatic, but reverent nonetheless. But was that enough? Would he live forever in the rolling fields of Glaochana? Or had he failed in some way and would now spend forever cursed and tortured by demons? Where was he? A place of judgment? Or was this his eternity, nothing at all?

  As if in response to his questioning, a light shone brightly from far above him. He noticed the clouds parting and rays of sunshine spilling through. In the distance the white nothingness took form and colored green. He made out trees and hillsides covered in verdant grasses. The wilderness grew and opened toward him.

  Satisfied now that he had done well in his life, the young warrior took a step forward.

  My faithful Bergar, son of Grundar, son of Hundar. I welcome you. A clear, deep, manly voice came to him from everywhere at once. You have done we...

  No, a female voice cut in. This one is mine. This was my ritual and I have rights to the soul.

  He has been faithful to my ways, the man returned.

  Rules are rules though, the sultry female voice said.

  The growing forest and the warm, welcoming light shrank back and faded, and Bergar's vision was filled with a roiling black smoke. His eyes watered, and his lungs burned as he inhaled noxious fumes. The stench of rot was sickening. Every pain that the witch inflicted on him and more came screaming back. Bergar doubled over and fell to his knees in excruciating agony.

  Glowing red eyes cut the black fog. Walking slowly toward him, Bergar could see the smooth flowing curves of a voluptuous woman. Not a displeasing woman, either, by the sight. Her skin was ash gray, but not revolting. Her full lips accentuated her perfect face. Her simple clothing covered just enough to keep to the barest of modesty, but not so much as to really conceal anything. She walked right up to him, placed a single finger between his shoulder blades, and pushed his face to the inky ground.

  "This is the proper position," she said aloud. "Do you know who I am, mortal?"

  "Carwyn, the Unworthy," Bergar referred to her by her derogatory name.

  Her finger nail broke through the skin of his back and sliced a gaping hole from shoulder to shoulder.

  A guttural scream of pain exploded from Bergar's mouth.

  "Carwyn, yes. Unworthy...?" She laughed heartily. Her finger twitched with every heave of her chest as she laughed.

  Sweat formed on Bergar's brow, and he shuddered from the pain.

  She finally stopped laughing and removed her finger from his back, much to Bergar's relief. "Foolish, weak … thing. I am Carwyn, the Lost Bride. I am Carwyn, the Spurned. Carwyn, the Cruel, I will even allow. But I am not Carwyn, the Unworthy. These are all but names. Do you know who I am? What I am?"

  "Y... you are the Queen of the Unnatural. You bring abominations into the world."

  "Precisely. But what you call abomination, I merely call change. I am the Mistress of Change." She began circling him as they talked, smoke coiling around her legs like a serpent on a branch. "I ensure that the world remains interesting, and when it gets boring, I correct it."

  "Heh. Interesting? All you do is cause trouble. Those what follow you fear and hate you like everyone else. 'Cept they got the wrong amounts of fear and hate," the defiant Bergar snarled at the goddess.

  "Silence will be maintained in my domain," Carwyn demanded, and his lips were no more. His mouth fused shut. Bergar was forced to breathe the loathsome air through his nose. The stench was nearly unbearable.

  "Now, I have interceded because my witch failed to do what she was told. Really, I am not irritated with her. Don't misunderstand me. She must be punished for her utter failure, but I do not think it will last for more than an eternity. But, because she did fail, I have to make certain judgments. Aren't you interested to find out what decisions I have to make concerning you?"

  She paused as if to let him answer and then smiled evilly when he couldn't open his mouth.

  "On the one hand," she continued, "I could use you. Or, I could release you to enjoy the chaos that will be created. I have decided to force ... let ... you make that choice for me."

  She grabbed Bergar's head by the hair and snapped it up. Bergar was transported back to the small room at the top of the stone tower. Jaxius knelt in the middle of the destroyed room, tears cascading down his cheeks. Bergar's own body lay desiccated in the blood-covered floor. And Tolian lay crumpled near the door, not breathing.

  "Look. See the scene we have laid out before us. Your friends have defeated my creature. She was but one of a great many. A calculated risk taken, granting me the opportunity to collect the prize that I have before me."

  She licked her luscious lips as she watched Jaxius grieving for his lost companions.

  "He is special, you know. I shall not tell you how or why, of course. But know that he is very special indeed. But I offer you a choice today. It will not be a good or fair choice, but you have more alternatives than most other mortals receive here.

  "You can go back to the world of the living. Have your body back, with my blessings, and live."

  Bergar raised an eyebrow, not trusting the dark goddess.

  "You are correct to assume that it is not as plain as all that. You may re-enter your body. Just. As. It. Is. You can have eternal life and freedom. However, your body is rotting quickly thanks to the final spell my witch cast upon you, just before you left the mortal realm.

  "The other option," she grinned a toothy grin, "is to enter your almost dead friend's body. Inhabit the same body. Share all with the bard and live out the blissfully chaotic life that you must live.

  "The choice is yours, Bergar, eternal life in service to a queen and High Goddess. Or, you can live a half life with a pathetic storyteller. Which is it, then?"

  She paused. This time it was her turn to cock an eyebrow, but not from distrust.

  Bergar's mind raced. At first he thought the decision would be easy. Surely Tol
ian could stand to have a little bit of manhood in his head. But the more he thought, the more he pondered how weak he would be. And how he would lose his own identity. He would no longer be heir to the clan-head. His father would not know him.

  However, if he chose to live as a walking corpse, then his people would surely not accept him. Moreover, they would most likely kill him. That is, if Jaxius didn't slay him where he rose. Undead abominations were just that ... abominations. That was his answer, though. The release of well and truly dying. He could choose that path and be slain to return to his proper life after death.

  "I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that you will just get yourself killed again, so that you can go back to that 'happier' place. The one with the forests and animal droppings. Well, let me explain to you another bit of information. If you die as an 'abomination,' as you call it, then you are mine. Forever."

  Never. He would never spend eternity being tormented by this foul witch. He would choose to invade Tolian's body and share it with him. A half life with the prospect of finding a way out of this mess was better than eternity under this one's heel. And surely the bard wouldn't mind. It would fuel his stories for years.

  "I choose to share my friend's body," Bergar said slowly, surprised to find his lips once again in place.

  "Very well," she said smiling. "Off you go. I shall certainly enjoy watching this!"

  She lifted Bergar up by his jaw from the ground until he was face to face with her. Her red eyes blazed brightly, and Bergar squinted to see. Finally the blinding red light engulfed all of his vision, and he was forced to close his eyes. He disappeared from her grip with a small pop.

  That was not much like you. The male voice filled the void where Bergar had just been.

  "No? Wait to see what glorious chaos comes from this. Then tell me that this wasn't like me at all."

  Put that way, I see. But what if he finds a way to thwart your little game?