by Tim Marquitz
Forever she would bear the blood of the woman who oppressed the people and forced them to their knees. Emerald would never be free of the history that came with the name of Altus, but that was her lot now, like as not. Fearful she resign the throne to another of the witches and watch as the circle turned upon itself once more, she felt obliged to remain. It was a burden she would never carry well. She was not meant to rule, and if no one else knew it was so, she did.
She let Victor hold the reins often, more so with every passing day—his confidence sufficient for them both—so she could focus on Valerius. He would need to be strong to face the world he’d been born into. One day he too would inherit the throne, a change enacted by Victor to help promote the acceptance of warlocks among the Council and its supporters. Emerald hoped the world would turn by the time he was grown, the cruelties she’d witnessed at the hands of her mother forgotten in the glories of a new age and cast aside in hopes of a better life for all.
Emerald laughed at her thoughts. She knew she dreamed, but if not her, then who else? She would see her world at peace, if only for as long as she could command it to be so.
She glanced down at Valerius again, the smile once more upon her lips. There was still time to rescue Mynistiria from itself.
Forty
The snow fell heavy, covering the earth under a thick blanket of white where Sebastian had laid his father to rest these many months past. Still he came to pay his respects. He sat upon the cold, wet ground, staring at the blank canvass the sky had laid before him. It sparkled in the illuminated gloom of snowfall.
He felt no tears upon his face this visit, as he had for so many before. Sebastian had, at long last, grown comfortable with fate’s decision to take his father. His mother needed the man more. He understood that now, distance having dulled the edges of his loss. The wound would never fully heal, but it would not sear his heart so greatly as the hands of time crept on. It was little comfort to think such a way, but Sebastian had little other comfort to fall upon.
Alone, he made his home the woods, as he and his father had before they’d set out for revenge. The new White Witch, Emerald, had done some good for Mynistiria since her ascension to the throne; no longer did desperate people flock to the savage waste lands to flee the tyranny of the Council and the Red Guard. She had begun to rebuild the shattered realm, laying out terms of peace to quell the fury left behind by her mother’s rule. Emerald appeared born of another woman, her edicts far from the rough-handed cruelty the people had grown accustomed to. It would take them time to adjust to kindness, as well.
The resistance had vanished, those not killed in the prior White Witch’s last stand, had returned to their homes to blend once more into the citizenry. Mynistiria no longer needed a resistance force, and none were quick to claim membership for fear of retribution.
Though he’d heard tale the army still sought his head, he had seen none of them in search, and none had come to try to take it from his shoulders. That suited him well enough. There was enough blood on his hands, and he felt little interest in showering them with more. He had lost much since his father died, his desire for battle but one of such things.
Staring down at the snow, he drew his fingers through the cold wetness, knowing his mark would soon be swept away by the storm. He sat for a long time in the silence; his clothes soaked through, his hair dangling wet in his eyes. Nothing waited for him beyond this moment. No one waited. He wondered if he might just stay there, letting the snow wipe him from existence as it had the earth, drifting away in the cold embrace of the world.
The crunch of heavy boots behind snapped him from his depressive reverie. He didn’t bother to move, knowing full well who it was that stood at his back. No one had come near the wastes in months, the promise of a happier life once more centered upon the inner realm. Only one person would come this far to see him; only one person could find him so easily.
“What do you want, Victor?” he asked.
He heard the brush of leather on cloth, and spied the vague shadow of something tossed into the air just before it landed in the snow before him. He glanced up at it and saw that it stared back through sunken, black sockets. Wild hair hung about the pale face, and Sebastian recognized the Green Witch’s head. Death had come for her, having cut it from her neck cleanly.
“I thought you might want proof of her end…for your father.”
Sebastian drew in a slow, deep breath, the frigid air biting at his throat. “Thank you.” He felt his anger warming his cheeks in spite of the snow that fluttered down to cool it. He kept his hand from his sword. “Emerald? Is she well?”
“She is, as well our son: Valerius, she has named him,” the Lord answered, drawing no closer.
Sebastian nodded. “Good for them both. Give her my regards, and my apologies for what I had to do to her mother. I would hope she understands.”
“She does, boy, though there are political ramifications to be considered, which she can do nothing about.”
Sebastian grinned, glad not everything in the world had changed. “If the Red Guard wishes to find me, they need only to look.” He held out his arms to show he did not hide. “And you, Lord, what are the ramifications for you?”
“I believe that rests in your hands, now.” His voice grew quieter. “I would not have you come to Corilea to settle the score, for fear of who might pay for our conflict. As such, I have come here, to you. If you would have vengeance, I ask that you take it now so no others suffer for it.”
Sebastian sat silent, thinking of the opportunity the Lord was offering; the chance to end their quarrel here and now, far from the prying eyes of Corilea and Emerald; her child.
He thought back to the day he’d claimed his father’s body, his sadness having stolen the taste of revenge from his mouth. As he thought now of striking down the Lord, he realized he had yet to regain the desire for it. If his father was with his mother, as he had dreamed, then Darius was in a better place, no matter how he’d come to be there. Sebastian could see no cause to resume hostilities.
He waved his hand dismissively. “Though doubtful I would win against you, I would not risk depriving your son of his father, as you have me.” He got to his feet slowly and turned to face the Lord, an unexpected calmness washing over him. Sebastian stared into the man’s gray eyes. “Go home to your family, Victor, and do everything within your power to keep them safe. I will not seek you out nor dare to harm Emerald or your son. On that, you have my word.” He proffered his hand.
Wide-eyed, the Lord clasped it in his.
“I offer this as a warning, however. Should any seek me out to claim the price on my head, I will lay ruin to them without pity.”
Victor slipped his hand free with a nod. “Fair warning.” He glanced at the snow-covered grave. “Your father was a great man, despite it all.” He looked back to Sebastian. “He did well with you. I pray to the One we do not cross paths again.” He turned and walked toward the woods.
Sebastian watched until he was gone from sight, then turned back to look at his father’s grave. The Green Witch’s head still lay there, staring up at him. Her face was rigid with the torment that had brought her death. He stepped to it and snatched the head up by its hair, casting it as far across the open wastes as he could. Sebastian turned back to the grave and wiped the snow smooth again, where it had lay, erasing all traces of the witch. He would not have its foulness soil his father’s resting place.
The snow canvass once more smooth, Sebastian rose and said his farewells. He turned and looked out across the frozen, white wastes. Somewhere out there life waited to be found. Leaving nothing behind but death and misery, Sebastian headed toward the farthest reaches of the realm, looking for another beyond Mynistiria’s borders.
He would find himself there, or he would die trying.
Epilogue
The Lord of the Hunt strode into the dark crypt, the gloom settling about him as though it were a winter cloak. His breath steamed in the frigid air, the
burial chamber even colder than the storm outside. A lone torch flickered in a sconce set just beyond the heavy iron door he’d passed through, its pathetic light doing little to chase away the shadows cast by the rows of ancient sepulchers. Stacked side-by-side, the stone tombs stood guard at each side of the passage.
His footsteps echoed hollow, each barely fading away as the next rose up to take its place. He walked toward the rear of the crypt, the darkness thickening into an inky blackness he could feel pressing uninvited against his flesh. Victor felt phantom tingles where his sigils had been, until Emerald had them removed, as though they still squirmed inside, only hidden from the eyes outside. A gentle creak sounded loud in his ears, reverberating through the crypt as though it had come from everywhere, all at once. A moment after it died away, he heard a quiet voice drift out of the darkness, sounding as ancient as the tombs themselves.
“Is it done?” The words settled heavy in the still air.
“It is,” Victor answered, staring into the black.
“Good. Return to your duties. We shall know soon enough if your seed has flowered.”
Victor bowed and turned away, leaving the crypt with heavy steps. He shut the door behind him, its hinges squealing in protest, throwing the tomb into darkness once more.
About the Author
Raised on a diet of Heavy Metal and bad intentions, Tim Marquitz has always been interested in writing, but it wasn't until about 1995 the urge became a compulsion. However, it would be many years later before the ability matched the interest. Fortunately, the two have reconciled...mostly.
Writing a mix of the dark perverse, the horrific, and the tragic, tinged with sarcasm and biting humor, he looks to leave a gaping wound in the minds of his readers like his inspirations: Clive Barker, Jim Butcher, and Stephen King.
A former grave digger, bouncer, and dedicated metalhead, Tim is a huge fan of Mixed Martial Arts and fighting in general.
He lives in Texas with his beautiful wife and daughter.
http://www.tmarquitz.com