BlackWind

by Boyett-Compo

  “Aye, you have a point there. What do you suggest I do?”

  The Bugul Noz leaned back against the trunk of a black walnut tree and took a deep pull on his clay pipe. He thought for a moment as the smoke left his lungs through his misshapen nose, then he pointed the long pipe stem at Danyon. “If I were you, I would converse with this being. Ask her what it is she wants with the Reaper. Remind her that the enemy of your enemy is your friend. Perhaps you can help her in some way.”

  “Or she can help me,” Danyon replied.

  Ordin nodded as he chewed on the pipe stem. He inhaled the acrid smoke, held it deep in his barrel chest, then blew smoke rings in the night air.

  “That is a filthy habit, Gver,” Danyon said.

  “We all have our little addictions,” the Bugul Noz quipped. “Mine is a fine skein of tobacco unraveling within me, and yours is the twitch of a shapely behind.” He laughed, his loud braying an unpleasant sound even to Danyon's ears.

  “I have but one addiction, my friend, and that is the lovely Bronwyn.”

  “A woman you can not have.”

  “I will have her.”

  Ordin shrugged. “Whatever I can do to help in that regard, you have but to ask, as you know.”

  A companionable silence settled as both creatures watched a star fall from the heavens. Ordin traced its lonely pathway to earth.

  “You would conjure the thing that came for the Reaper, eh?” Danyon finally asked.

  “What have you to lose?” Ordin raised a jagged brow. “Your soul?”

  Danyon rolled his eyes. “I lost that long, long ago.”

  “Then seek out that one. Ask what it is that sets the Reaper's knees to trembling when she comes to call. My guess will be, whatever she has to tell you, will be to your advantage—and against the Reaper.”

  “But where will I find her? How will I contact her?”

  The Bugul Noz considered the question, then tapped the stem of his pipe against his bottom fangs. “Take something that belongs to him—something that has his scent on it.”

  Danyon threw another log on the fire that kept them warm. He stared into the flames, consigning the Reaper to the conflagration. In the dancing sparks that rose to the night sky, he thought he could see blood-red eyes staring back at him.

  “Something tells me I will not need to make a trip to the Abyss,” he said. “All I may have to do is say his vile name and she will come to me.”

  The Bugul Noz snorted. He got clumsily to his feet, dusting off his rough tweed britches. “Call her if you like, but wait until I am well away. I have no desire to truck with beings any more powerful than a tipsy leprechaun.”

  “Deserting me?” Danyon teased. “Leaving me to beard the ogress alone?”

  Ordin shrugged. “You're a big boy, Nightwind. I have faith in your ability to handle the situation.”

  As Danyon watched, the Bugul Noz's outline wavered, then vanished, drawing in on itself until it became a spark of light that wafted away with the sparks of the fire.

  Minutes passed with only the sounds of the popping fire to keep Danyon company. He liked the smell of the burning wood, the warmth it extended. Sitting with his knees drawn up into the perimeter of his arms, he was content to be alone in the cool, clear, Iowa night and stare into the leaping flames. Overhead, millions of stars twinkled and the moon, a week away from its fullness, shone a soft light upon the rolling hills of the countryside.

  When ground fog began to creep toward him from across the meadow, he felt his heartbeat accelerate. As the vile stench reached his sensitive nostrils, he grimaced, using his expert powers to block out the smell; but even as great as his powers were, he could not entirely eliminate that god-awful stink. His eyes watering, he put a hand to his nose and mouth to filter the scent.

  The hideous dampness settling over him bothered the Nightwind more than anything else. It was a moistness that saturated his clothing and oozed over him, dragging across his flesh like the tongue of a slobbering beast. He could feel its slime, experiencing the reek of its malevolence as it spread over his body. Its touch left him unclean, defiled, and it was all he could do not to run to the nearest stream and plunge beneath the waters.

  “What are you?” he asked, getting to his feet. The stick of his clothing to his chest and back made him nauseous.

  “What are you?” came the seductive purr.

  Danyon looked around, but saw nothing save the insidious fog that was now waist-high about him. “I am Danyon. I am a Nightwind.”

  The fog swirled upward in a column taller than Danyon's six-foot four-inch height and began to take humanoid form. It glistened a sickening blue color that gave Danyon a brutal headache.

  “I am Ski'Ah,” the being informed him. “I am a Blackwind, the Vengeance of the Amazeen.”

  Danyon did not know the term. He was about to say as much when he felt groping at his genitals. He jumped, pushing aside the unseen hands.

  “Do not!” he ordered. His fangs extended and his talons arched from the pads of his fingers.

  An eerie laugh rang out over the meadow. The fire flared, shooting hundreds of sparks into the air.

  A spectral finger smoothed over Danyon's lips. He snapped, his jaws closing on air. Another peal of laughter echoed about him. He turned as a hand caressed his backside and quick fingers trailed down his legs.

  “Stop!” He backed away from the fire and, in his fury, changed into the beast he was.

  “Ah,” the phantom whispered as though pleased with what it was seeing. “Another of his kind. I suspected as much.”

  “I am nothing like Cree!” he growled.

  “But close enough.”

  “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

  “It is of little matter. Let me take you, little one,” Ski'Ah whispered in his ear. “I will be gentle.”

  Danyon brushed angrily at his ear, sickened by the feel of her evil spittle clinging inside. “I am taken!” he bellowed. “I have a mistress!”

  With a sudden blast of frigid wind, the stench intensified, then vanished. The form of a woman slowly materialized out of the blue fog.

  At first Danyon was shocked by the being that appeared. Her long black hair fell in thick waves to her ankles and the diaphanous gown that clung to her like a second skin left nothing to the imagination. She was dark-skinned and tall, her lips a rich burgundy. Vibrant blue eyes—the color of dark sapphires—watched him from beneath long sooty lashes. With shapely limbs, voluptuous breasts, and a waist Danyon knew he could span with his hands, the female was exquisitely beautiful.

  “Is your mistress as desirable as I, Nightwind?”

  “You do not look as you smell!”

  “The smell is my protection. It is only one of the preternatural powers given to me as a high-ranking Daughter of the Multitude. I can do many things outside the realm of possibility.”

  He watched her roam about the clearing. She sniffed, then arched a brow at him.

  “Bugul Noz,” he explained.

  “A rancid smell with an ugly name.”

  “You're a fine one to talk about stench, woman!” Danyon scoffed.

  A foot taller than he, she leaned over him and her sharp white teeth flashed. “What do you want of me, Nightwind?”

  “I want to know about the Reaper,” he muttered, stepping back.

  A horrible frown marred the perfection of the Blackwind's face. “What of that Rysalian jackal?”

  “What is he to you?”

  “I own him.”

  Danyon's eyebrows rose. “Own him?”

  “Through Rights of Possession.”

  “I don't—”

  “My ancestor paid eight-hundred-thousand credits to the Warlord of Dahrenia Province for Viraidan Cree when the Reaper was but a bantling of two cycles. It was her intention to breed many Reapers from his staff when he came of age. But Cree managed to escape. He fled our world in a stolen starjet and we have been searching for him ever since!”

  “We?”<
br />
  “Those of my clan,” she snapped. “I am the forty-ninth generation of my family to seek him and, praise to the Great Lady, I have found him! Under Amazeen law, he is mine to do with as I please. He will sorely regret having caused us so much trouble.”

  Danyon chuckled. “Your clan doesn't give up.”

  “Not when our honor is at stake. He owes us and he will pay a dear price, I assure you!”

  “I almost feel sorry for the bastard.”

  “You should. He will be punished in ways you can not imagine!”

  “He is not entirely the warrior your ancestor bargained for.”

  “I sensed there was a tainting within him. He is spoiled by inferior traits.”

  “Human traits,” Danyon explained. “They are an inferior race—frail, vulnerable, not worthy of the attention of one such as yourself.”

  Ski'Ah smiled and her beautiful face took Danyon's breath away. “You find me alluring, do you, Nightwind?” Her gaze roamed over him. “I find you most agreeable.”

  “I am taken,” Danyon was quick to repeat.

  The smile hardened on the Blackwind's lovely countenance. “Under Amazeen law, I can not take that which belongs to another female, so I may not touch you, though...” Her look grew hot and evil. “If you would like me to purchase your articles of indenture from your present mistress or enter into combat with her...” She let the offer lay there as she licked her full lips.

  “That is not our way. I have a blood pact with my mistress. I will belong to Aiofe and her family for all eternity. She can never release me.”

  A pout settled on Ski'Ah's mouth. “A pity, Nightwind.” She flung out a dismissive hand. “You would have enjoyed my sheath.”

  “I'm sure I would have.”

  “I will content myself with the Reaper, then, if I can not indulge my desires with you.”

  “Even though he also belongs to another woman?”

  “What woman?” she demanded, her lips peeled back from her sharp teeth. “Who would dare lay hands to a male belonging to the house of Dubhgaoth?”

  “That depends on which woman you mean.”

  She gasped. “What are you saying?”

  “The Reaper part of him mated with one called Chandra,” Danyon said, reporting what the Bugul Noz had told him. “The human part of him mated with a human girl. The one called Chandra is long dead.”

  “And the human?” came the savage inquiry.

  Danyon hesitated. “Is under my protection,” he declared. “And the Reaper's.”

  “I have no fear of you, Nightwind! The Reaper I consider a worm to be trod beneath my boot heel!”

  “I don't care what you do to Cree, but I will throw the might of every Nightwind in the megaverse against you should you try to harm one hair on Bronwyn McGregor's head!”

  Ski'Ah arched a perfectly shaped brow. “You would do combat with me for this human?”

  “I would rip you apart with my bare hands and devour every last morsel of marrow in your bones!”

  The Blackwind appeared to shudder, then shrugged. “Why would I harm a fellow Sister?” she growled. “My vengeance is reserved for Viraidan Cree, and his punishment will be fulfilled!”

  “I don't give a rat's ass what you do the bastard.”

  Ski'Ah cocked her head. “Perhaps we can help one another, then.”

  “Get him out of Bronwyn's life and I will be eternally grateful.”

  The Blackwind looked at him slyly. “You have signed a pact with this girl?”

  A muscle in Danyon's jaw jumped. “No, but that is of no importance. She will relent one day and sign.”

  “She is from the lineage of the one you are pledged to, then.”

  “Aye, but she is unaware of the connection. I could not have gone to her had she not been of Aiofe's blood.”

  “Ah,” the Blackwind cooed. “You are a duplicitous demon, are you not?”

  “I do what must be done,” he replied, “to have the females I desire.”

  “As I will do what must be done to bring Viraidan Cree to justice.”

  “I can help you, but it might take a while.”

  “Why would it?”

  Danyon smiled so evilly the Blackwind shivered. “My lady will not come to me of her own accord,” he explained. “I must lure her to me and the lure, the bait, is the Reaper.”

  “She desires him?” Ski'Ah growled.

  “Not yet, but she will.”

  “You are that sure of his prowess?”

  “It is what is inside him she will crave when she learns it is there.”

  Understanding lit her sapphire eyes. A savage smile stretched her lips. “How long a time do we speak of here?”

  “What is a day, a week, a month, even a year when your family has waited thirteen generations to avenge Cree's insult, lovely Ski'Ah?”

  “I do not wish to—”

  “The human inside Cree desires her, Ski'Ah. He aches with need for her. His dreams are filled with thoughts of her. His every waking moment is spent in remembering how she felt in his arms so long ago.”

  The Blackwind stiffened. “You think this improves the chance of me helping you, Nightwind?” she hissed.

  “Think, lovely one! Think of the agony he will experience when you tear him from her arms!”

  “They are lovers now?”

  “Not yet. They have been and they will be again.”

  “You know this, do you?”

  “I intend to see to it.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “But will this not hurt her? Do you not care if she is harmed when I fetch the Reaper and take him to Amazeen in chains?”

  “She will have me to comfort her,” he said, his smile hard as stone. “And I will comfort her in ways she will not be able to resist.”

  The Blackwind stared at him for a long time, then nodded. “Hurt him is all I ask. Make him weep with the brutal pain of her loss and I will aid you in any way I can.”

  Danyon put out his hand. “Your word of honor as a warrioress of your clan?”

  Ski'Ah did not hesitate. She clasped his wrist—sword hand to sword hand—in a fierce grip. “On my honor as a princess of the Amazeen. Tell me what I need do to help you bring the Reaper to his knees and it will be done!”

  CHAPTER 30

  Bronwyn opened her door that evening to find a handsome older man smiling at her. “May I help you?” she asked.

  “Hello, Bronwyn.” He extended his hand. “I am Brian O'Shea.”

  Looking into pale blue eyes that were a carbon copy of Sean's, Bronwyn felt tears welling. She took his hand, drawing him into the apartment. “Come in.”

  “I hope I haven't come at a bad time,” he remarked in a thick Irish brogue.

  “No,” she said, still holding his hand. It felt warm and comforting in hers.

  He gave her hand a light squeeze, then gently withdrew from her grip and surveyed the room. “My, my, my, this is absolutely lovely.”

  Bronwyn let out a shuddery breath and closed the door. Her heart pounded as she turned to her visitor. “My mom and I had a great time decorating it.”

  “DeeDee has good taste. She also helped me decorate my place.”

  Bronwyn's brows shot up. “Does she know you were Sean's father?”

  “No, and I would just as soon keep it that way, Bronnie. Your mother had no love for my boy.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “Perfectly understandable under the circumstances. I don't blame her for how she felt.” He craned his neck to look down the hallway. “Is your, ah, friend here?”

  “Friend?”

  “Cedric, is it? The Nightwind?”

  Bronwyn gasped. “You know about him?”

  Brian smiled. “Cree told me.”

  She bit her lip. “Do you know what...”

  “A Nightwind is?” Brian finished for her. “Aye, Sweeting. I know all about the ungodly fiends.”

  “And you don't find it bizarre that such creatures exist?”

  He shrugge
d. “No more bizarre than knowing Reapers exist.”

  “Reapers?”

  “So where is your aged night beastie?” he inquired.

  Picking up on Brian's reluctance to explain, she flung out a dismissive hand. “He's probably sleeping.”

  “In the rocker beside your bed.”

  “Apparently Captain Cree tells you everything.”

  “Only what he wants me to know,” Brian said with a sigh.

  “I gather he is a secretive man.”

  “More secretive than most.” Brian looked pointedly at the sofa.

  Bronwyn blushed. “I'm sorry! Where are my manners? Please sit down, Dr. O'Shea. May I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you. I just had supper. And please, call me Brian.” He sat down, then patted the place beside him.

  Bronwyn sat beside him, folding her arms over her chest. Her breath came quick and shallow.

  “There is no reason to be afraid of me, dearling,” he said in a husky voice.

  “I'm not. It's just this is so...so...”

  “Unexpected,” he finished for her.

  “Sean never mentioned you to me.”

  “He knew nothing of me until after you were taken to Ireland.”

  “You came here to get him,” she accused.

  Brian nodded. “I was ordered to.”

  “By Daniel Dunne?”

  “Aye. I had no choice. If I hadn't come after him, Dunne would have sent someone else. That someone might have been rough on Sean.”

  “Did you know Sean would be trained like he was?” she asked, searching the man's face.

  “I knew,” he whispered. “And I will regret it ‘til the day I die.”

  Bronwyn shuddered, while a single tear fell down her cheek. “I despise the IRA.”

  “There's something you should know about that, Bronnie. The explosion that killed your father rocked the IRA. They were not happy being given credit for the bombing.”

  “Why not? They were responsible, weren't they? Mama showed me the file Mr. Brell had compiled. There was a lot about Daniel Dunne in there. He was training IRA assassins in that place.”

  “Aye, Dunne was doing that, but your fathers’ assassination wasn't carried out by the IRA,” Brian said. “It was entirely Dunne's idea.”

  “Why would he have singled out my father? Daddy wasn't involved with any of the politics over here. Was it a mistake?”