Lethal Red Riding Hood (Dark Goddess Chronicles Book 1)

by Leonard Wilson

  Violet’s emotional anchor abruptly vanished as a whole sea of emotions threatened to capsize her reason in the span of a few heartbeats. Even without the trappings, even through the haze of a decade’s worth of memories, she knew that face and she knew that voice in an instant.

  The last time that woman had walked into her life, it had cost Violet her only son. He’d been young and hot-headed and unwilling to stand by and watch the Inquisition do its “work”. By the time Violet knew what he’d gotten himself into, it had been too late to do anything but try to preserve the rest of her family. She’d remained as calm and rational and calculating about the whole thing as any mother could have managed under the circumstances, and she’d hated herself for it every minute of every day since.

  So it was with a resigned sort of helplessness that the clinical portion of her brain stood back and watched as ten years of loathing pulled the pistol from her belt and raised it toward the woman. In the instant before Violet pulled the trigger, she could hear herself scream out one single-minded order, “Kill Jane Carver!”

  Caer Cacamwri made the old hunting lodge—where they’d found Minda and Doryne holed up—look like Keely’s shiny metropolitan townhouse by comparison. Little remained of the old hill fort beyond patches of crumbling stone wall perched atop concentric embankments of earth that seemed for all the world like natural hillside at this point in their life.

  The place must have been abandoned centuries before the first stone was laid for Castle Haywood. The biggest protection it afforded against anything at this point was run-off. The earthworks managed to trap broad, shallow pools of brackish water, creating an upland marsh that Keely approached with considerable unease until Ulric assured her the site was clear of pits, bone or otherwise.

  After that, she approached them with only moderate trepidation and a reflexive sense of dismay when her boots would sink to the ankle into the soft mud. It might have been considerable dismay if she hadn’t known her boots would manage to clean themselves soon enough. That had actually been her first hint to the nature of their magic.

  She also had enough experience with marshes to finally be thankful that the weather had taken a cold turn. During the summer months, the remnants of Caer Cacamwri were surely miserable with biting insects.

  Nolan’s group had holed up in what seemed to be the one intact structure on the site, a cabin built half into the side of the topmost embankment. Despite its primitive design, the cabin looked sturdily built and couldn’t possibly have been part of the original construction. Keely suspected she could count on her fingers the number of years of weathering the little building had seen. It offered only one cramped room to crowd everyone into to get out of the elements, though, and their expedition numbered eleven now, counting the inquisitrix.

  Pondering the book she still held close to her chest, Keely reflected that everything was finally coming together now. It was coming together in unexpected ways, yes, but these things always did. That was the fun bit.

  They left Shoshona tied to a chair in the cabin under Ulric’s watchful eye while Keely led everyone else around to the far side of the hill, where large patches of sunlight managed to make it down through the trees. While the others sat soaking up what warmth they could, Keely held their new prize aloft.

  “For those of you who don’t already know,” she said, “this is not the Grimm Truth we found.” Keely lowered the book and lofted it toward Elissa, who managed to catch it with only a token amount of fumbling. “It’s just another go’ss-forsaken bread crumb.” From another woman, that would have probably come out sounding of bitter disappointment, but Keely somehow managed to deliver the curse with such easygoing good nature that it sounded like she’d have been a bit surprised to find the book had been anything else. “So the race isn’t over, but now we do have a vital clue that the Inquisition knows nothing about. That changes the nature of the game. Jenny?”

  Elissa started by clearing her throat and looking sheepishly at the small crowd. “My name’s Elissa, actually,” she said apologetically. “Anyway, Vyncent Amberford died the same year as the last entries in that journal that started all this. When he stopped writing abruptly after claiming he found the Grimm Truth, I assumed he was killed over it. In fact, it seems he stopped writing when he did because that journal was stolen from him, along with the Grimm Truth. What we have here is the new journal he kept after that, detailing what remained of his life over the next couple of months.

  “According to this, he’d ‘liberated’ the book from what he described as ‘a coven of witches who haunted the marshes at the north edge of the Crimson Forest’ along the Sanguine River. The coven found him and liberated it back. When he led an expedition back to deal with them, he shattered the coven and its ‘brigand supporters’. One of the witches escaped with their ‘library of heresies’, and the Grimm Truth was last seen headed downriver aboard a small pirate ship.”

  “Wait,” Keely said, blinking. “You said the Sanguine River?”

  Elissa nodded uncertainly. “Why?”

  “The Sanguine River that empties into Lake Etherea?”

  “I think so,” Elissa said with a hint of exasperation, then rolled her shoulders and angled her back toward Keely. “You want to check my map?”

  Keely let the offer pass, much to Elissa’s relief. “I once met a pirate queen of Lake Etherea,” Keely said, a dark expression crossing her face. “Before the Inquisition murdered her, she implied that magic ran in her family.”

  “You did? She did?” Elissa asked, thoroughly taken aback.

  “Right. No time to get distracted with theories,” Keely said, waving a hand intended to be dismissive. “The point is, we’re back to dealing with the Inquisition without the benefit of having the Grimm Truth in hand, so our first line of offense will need to be deceit. Jenny’s starting to show real promise there…”

  Elissa buried her face in her hand. “You are a bad person, Keely,” she muttered from behind her fingers.

  “…and Ulric seems to have a flare for thinking on his feet. Who else? Don’t be shy. A lot of lives are riding on this, including our own.” No one hurried to speak up. “Well?”

  Finally, Evadne raised a hand—so that she could use it to level a finger at Baldassare. When he cocked an offended eyebrow her direction, the giantess smirked. “If you are no scoundrel, sir, then surely I am a dwarf.”

  “Excellent,” Keely nodded. “I’ll take all the scoundrels I can get right now. Anyone else adept at telling tall tales? Keeping a poker face? Leading a double-life as a masked outlaw with a heart of gold?”

  Tentatively, after another long pause, Minda raised her hand, and nudged Doryne into guiltily doing the same.

  “All of the above?” Keely asked with a hopefulness that just might have been genuine, but then shrugged without waiting for a response. “It’s a pity that…” Suddenly her eyes lit up. “The rest of you go ahead and make camp or whatever. Ladies, you and I need to talk.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Ghost Story Too

  Hunger, thirst, her bindings, and even the call of nature had done little to chip away at Shoshona’s resolve during her captivity. She’d wet the horse she’d been riding when they dragged her through the rainstorm, rather than give her captors the satisfaction of seeing her indignity. And they’d at least poured water into her mouth a couple of times discounting the storm, in a bid to keep her alive for whatever nefarious purpose they needed her for. She’d even been guided on a couple of blind, circuitous walks since dismounting the horse, so had been able to stretch her legs a bit and get the circulation back. Things could have been much worse.

  They’d kept her blindfolded, and they’d said little when within earshot of her, but she’d done what she could to learn their individual voices to help her settle accounts later. She’d also done what she could to work out of her bindings, but the witch’s foul henchman seemed to be well-versed in knots. She’d made no appreciable progress by the time the blindfold
was finally removed, and she found the white-haired witch in the tattered red cloak staring her in the face from much too close for comfort.

  “Oh, good,” the witch said, “we’re awake.”

  Outside the open door of the small cabin Shoshona found herself in, she could see that the shadows were beginning to deepen toward dusk. She sat tied to a crude wooden chair in the middle of what seemed to be the building’s only room. The infuriating henchman who’d pointed a gun at her stood flanking the door on one side, and another man who looked like a one-time gentleman exiled from somewhere stood on the other. In her head, Shoshona ran through numerous curses to hurl, but settled for her best glare, thanks to the gag.

  “Thought you’d like to know, I found the book,” the witch said, smiling—for lack of a better word—sweetly. “Now I just need a righteous woman to donate for the blood ritual. Oh, wait.” Any hint of sweetness drained from her smile. “I’ve got one.”

  Behind the witch, a hooded figure glided into the room, and Shoshona felt her hatred redouble to see it was a woman in the silver robes of a priestess. It seemed that the witch’s poison had already infiltrated the rank-and-file of the church.

  “All those stories about ‘Miraculata Grimm’, martyred for your church? That was a cover-up, you know,” the witch said. “They found out too late where her power came from—that it wasn’t holy miracles she was performing. Antonia Grimm was the first real witch, and my great, great, great, great…” She trailed off, counting in her head, then shrugged. “I’m her direct descendant.”

  Shoshona glared harder.

  The woman in silver glided up, stopping a pace to the witch’s left and standing silently, her face obscured beneath the hood of the robe.

  The witch studied Shoshona’s face for a minute, then sighed. “You were more fun when you were yelling at me,” she said, reaching up to undo the gag. “This whole ‘silent treatment’ isn’t nearly as satisfying.”

  “How mortifying,” Shoshona said sardonically, spitting the taste of the gag out of her mouth. “I can’t believe I’ve been so rude.”

  “We can’t all be perfect,” the witch said cheerily.

  “Who’s your friend?” Shoshona asked, tilting her chin toward the woman in silver.

  The witch swung her gaze past the woman, without stopping, to look back toward the door. “Him? I never can keep track of their names. I just call them Hench One and Hench Two, or whatever.”

  “I mean her,” Shoshona said.

  The woman raised a conspiratorial finger to her lips and shook her head.

  “Her who?” The witch turned her gaze on the woman, but seemed to be looking right through her.

  “They can’t see me,” the woman said. “I came back to help.”

  “Came back from where?” Shoshona demanded. “Who are you?”

  “Pardon?” The witch turned back to stare pointedly at Shoshona. “I’m the witch you chased across half a dozen kingdoms. I didn’t think introductions were necessary.”

  “They can’t hear me, either,” the woman said, pulling back her hood to fully reveal the features of…

  “The Haywood girl?” Shoshona blinked in surprise. “But…”

  “Okay, this is even worse than the silence,” the witch said, rolling her eyes with a sigh. “Did Hench Three hit your head on the stone sepulcher last night, because your insanity usually sounds more lucid than this.”

  “But they killed me, yes,” Minda Haywood said with a serene smile. “It’s lovely. Your work isn’t done, though, so I was sent back to make sure you live to complete it. Now hush up about me.”

  “I…” Shoshona started, but trailed off uncertainly. “I do have quite the headache,” she said at last.

  Suddenly, from outside came the sounds of clanging and shouting.

  “What now?!” the witch asked in exasperation. “Do try to pull yourself together so I can gloat properly,” she said as she turned on her heels and stalked out the door. “Hench One, with me,” she beckoned, then started shouting herself. “Am I going to have to turn somebody into a newt?!”

  Minda sighed. “I was hoping that would draw all of them off. No help for it. It’s taking a lot out of me just being here, so listen. She can’t be allowed to complete that ritual tomorrow night.”

  Shoshona nodded her understanding and agreement.

  “But you’re the key to the whole thing. You’re the only woman righteous enough that she’ll be able to get her hands on before it’s too late. So no heroics. Not until the dawn after tomorrow night. Survive that long, and it will be weeks before the stars align properly again. It won’t go well for her, either. She’s got unholy bargains to keep. She’ll lose some of her support, and her powers will be on the wane.”

  Shoshona nodded again.

  “I’m going to free you, but don’t let on until I can go create enough to distraction to draw the other guard out. I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to manifest again, but go grab the first horse you find. It will be able to see me even if you can’t, and I’ll lead it out of the forest. Rally your followers and come back to strike in force two mornings hence.” She paused as if rolling a thought around in here head. “Yes, hence. Two mornings. That’s a really odd word. Anyway, do you understand?”

  Another nod.

  “Hold very still,” Minda said, disappearing around behind her. “Handling physical objects is turning out to be tricky.”

  Shoshona felt cold metal against her wrists and a tug against her bindings, then suddenly they parted.

  “I’ll leave to handle the rest. Good luck, warrior.” There came a faint rustling sound, then light streamed in softly from above and behind Shoshona for a few moments before the room subsided back into its previous gloom.

  Somewhere outside a gun went off. “Hench Two!” the witch bellowed, and the other guard dashed out the door, leaving Shoshona unguarded. She wasted no time in undoing the rest of her bindings, then looking around for the Haywood girl, but behind the chair where she’d been tied, Shoshona found nothing but featureless walls and a disused fire pit. Tracing the eye of Seriena on her forehead in silent thanks, Shoshona headed for the door.

  Keely arrived at the hilltop above the cabin just in time to join Minda, Evadne, and Nolan in watching Shoshona disappear into the forest on her stolen pony.

  “Do you think she suspects?” Minda asked.

  Keely shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. The important thing is she isn’t sure you’re not her divine intervention. That’ll be enough to keep her on the path of least resistance for the moment. You did good.”

  “That pony really knows the way back to the castle?” Evadne asked.

  “From here? Ananda could find her way with both eyes shut if she didn’t have to worry about tree roots and such,” Minda said. “The lantern I left on her saddle is almost a formality. Help me with this.” She got down and tugged at the tarp they’d used to cover up the smoke hole over the fire pit, both before and after lifting her out. Evadne set to helping Minda, while Nolan began to wind the rope.

  “After our last visit from the Inquisition,” Minda said, “Mother and Father laid out an escape route through the forest, clear to the other side, over Whitecliff Ridge, and they made sure their girls knew it by heart. This is where they set up the first supply cache. Ananda there’s probably made the trip as many times as I have.”

  Keely led the way back down to where the others had gathered on the far side of the earthworks. “The wheels are in motion,” she announced. “With any luck, she’ll spend tomorrow rallying the troops, then lead them into a Tuatha ambush the next morning. Without luck, this still buys us some time.”

  “We stay the night here,” Ulric said, “and set out at first light, heading for the Wolf’s Tooth. From there we’ll…”

  “I’m not leaving the forest without my sister,” Baldassare cut in.

  “Right, then.” Ulric nodded. “Where do we start?” When Baldassare hesitated in answering, Ulric pointed off to his left.
“You think she’s that way? Or would we have better luck over there?” He pointed to his right. “We’ve got thousands of square miles of forest out here. Any traces of your sister’s passing that weren’t obliterated by the storm are currently in peril of being trampled out of existence by one of our warring factions. So we head for the Wolf’s Tooth.

  “From there, we’ll replenish supplies, make sure Earl Haywood is appraised of the current situation, and probably split up to pursue separate missions. One of those missions will be finding your sister. If we assume she’s still alive at this point, we should also assume it’s because she’s taken shelter with someone who lives in the forest, so we’ll find you a guide to help you make inquiries among them. Worst case, you wind up with scores of eyes who know the terrain who’ll be keeping an eye out for her. Fair enough?”

  Baldassare nodded his capitulation. “That’ll do.”

  “We don’t have a strong defensive position here,” Ulric said, “but we do have enough people to stand watch in five two-person shifts. Let’s get that sorted, then get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

  The nightmares started again almost as soon as she closed her eyes. It was astounding, really, that they hadn’t already hit her the night before. Perhaps she simply hadn’t let down her guard yet, even in her sleep, but between having successfully uncovered the secret of the bilge glyphs and seeing Shoshona safely on her way to move things to the next stage of the con, she seemed to have breathed a mental sigh of relief, and everything she’d been holding back came rushing in.

  For better or worse, at least it wasn’t the usual nightmare. Instead, she found herself on the deck of a ship being tossed on a stormy sea while a squid in an eye-patch struggled to keep the helm under control. Towering apple trees grew where a waking person might have expected to find masts, each growing nearly so fast as the fire that threatened to consume them, so that rather than being reduced to blackened husks, they seemed to melt and flow like candles, raining down cinders and flaming fruit that would crash into the deck or plunge into the sea like fiery cannon balls.