Maiden of Fire

by Ishabelle Torry

  Maiden of Fire

  Ishabelle Torry

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Chapter Twenty-one

  22. Chapter Twenty-two

  23. Chapter Twenty-three

  24. Chapter Twenty-four

  25. Chapter Twenty-five

  26. Chapter Twenty-six

  27. Chapter Twenty-seven

  28. Chapter Twenty-eight

  29. Chapter Twenty-nine

  30. Chapter Thirty

  31. Chapter Thirty-one

  32. Chapter Thirty-two

  33. Chapter Thirty-three

  34. Chapter Thirty-four

  35. Chapter Thirty-five

  36. Chapter Thirty-six

  37. Chapter Thirty-seven

  38. Chapter Thirty-eight

  39. Chapter Thirty-nine

  40. Chapter Forty

  41. Chapter Forty-one

  42. Chapter Forty-two

  43. Chapter Forty-three

  44. Chapter Forty-four

  45. Chapter Forty-five

  46. Chapter Forty-six

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Copyright 2017 Ishabelle Torry

  Cover Artist: Winter Bayne

  Editor: Leona Bushman

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written consent from the author, except in the case of brief quotations for the use of/in reviews.

  Created with Vellum

  This one’s for my sister, Noe. There is no other woman in this world who can compare with your strength, wisdom, kindness, and just absolutely amazing soul. You are the world!

  Prologue

  The podium's position at center stage allowed for a full view. High Priestess Lyrene focused on the council of forty-five, noting the strained atmosphere hanging silently in the air. Her hands gripped the sides of the wood stand as she cleared her throat with exaggerated intensity and scanned the horseshoe shaped bar set before the platform. When the assembly quieted, she raised her arms and spoke. “My fellow Vespians. The time has come for drastic action to save our kind. Numerous generations ago, we escaped our dying home world. We then found a new home on Earth. However, our second sanctuary now threatens us with extinction.”

  From the midpoint, Horen stood and approached the platform. Silver ceremonial robes flared out behind him as he regally ascended the marble steps to take a spot behind a second speaker podium to Lyrene’s left. “You mean the humans who dwell in our new home have turned upon us?”

  Not again. Lyrene smiled despite the frustration his repetitive words provoked. The youngest member of the committee, Horen's new-age hatred of humanity often infected any civil meeting with animosity. He raised an arm for recognition. Lyrene acknowledged his right to speak with a curt nod.

  “My fellow Vespians”—his gaze turned slowly from left to right—“our new home has not turned on us. The inhabitants of this lush globe have brought war, death, and disease. It is not our fault, nor responsibility, to care for anything other than our survival!” He paused and shook his head dramatically. “Why must we continue to worry about human endurance when our very essence is being challenged?”

  The chamber exploded into whispers. And here we go. Lyrene raised her hand to speak. “How can you say such things, Horen? The humans bear no more responsibility for our ailments than we do. It was not a human war that started the cycle, mind you, rather, one of our own.”

  Horen clasped his hands together and laughed; azure eyes similar to her own mocked back. “Nay, High Priestess Lyrene. It was not one of our own, but a half-breed unable to control the magnanimous powers gifted at birth.”

  The hall reverberated with the astonished gasps of the council. Lyrene inhaled deeply; her hands shook. “I dare say you should watch how much you let your tongue venture, young Vespa.”

  “Why?” he snarled. “Because you cannot face your own birthright’s tainted blood? The very atrocity that leads to the same temptations as the Three Sisters of Legend! We all know you're a fraud! I am still trying to comprehend how you managed to gain a position as High Priestess.”

  The entire chamber erupted with voices, each louder than the last.

  “Silence your words!” Yalen shouted from the meeting chamber’s doorway. Horen visibly cowered as the large human warrior approached with his hand on the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip. Despite the shocked protests of the other Vespians, he stormed the stage to stand beside Lyrene. He turned narrowed eyes toward Horen. “I suggest you leave.”

  Horen rushed from the stage without complaint. Lyrene leaned against Yalen and drew comfort from his strength. “My love,” she whispered as he cradled her into his side.

  Yalen raised his arm to speak, and no one dared to naysay his request to be heard. “The council is dismissed. The High Priestess needs her rest now.”

  Lyrene's hand burned with ignition as she conjured a palm sized fireball. She rubbed the flickering flame against her swollen tummy in an attempt to soothe the kicking infant inside. “There, my little one,” she cooed with a smile.

  Yalen lay beside her in the overlarge bed, one arm draped over her side. “Don't cook my son, woman.”

  She closed her hands and extinguished the little puffs of flame with a simple thought. “Your son? What if I told you I believe it to be a daughter?”

  He rolled her over and kissed her lips. “Then you may cook the child all you want.”

  Lyrene squealed with mock outrage and swatted at his chest. “I would not have to cook neither your son nor daughter if he or she would settle down for more than two minutes at a time. It seems the heat from the fire is the only thing that can calm the babe when she's stressed.”

  “He.”

  Lyrene conceded with a laugh. “Fine. He.” She stretched her legs and arms to their limit and snuggled into her mate. This week marked a wonderful fifth year together, and hopefully the birth of their first child. She wasn’t sure how much more of the pregnancy she could endure before she burst. Her due date was a mere three days away with no sign of approaching labor.

  Yalen pulled the blankets over his body and sunk into the mattress. “You should sleep, love. Tomorrow, there is another meeting to discuss the Sacred Scrolls, and I am sure Horen will be there to cause trouble.”

  Lyrene sat up and grumbled to herself. Aye, Horen would be there to oppose her every word and vote for human extermination. No matter what he said to try and convince the others, it would not come during her time as high priestess. She'd die before that happened.

  Her stomach gurgled its upset loudly. Careful not to disturb her fast asleep mate, she rolled out of the bed, slipped a robe over her nightdress, and tiptoed to the door. If luck was kind, Thalia would still be awake, and she could purchase a fresh batch of mint
to ease her queasiness throughout the night.

  Fluorescent tubes along the walls offered dim lighting as Lyrene proceeded down the long hallway leading to the stairwell. Thaila's chambers, located a level above, was open and lit up, but she wasn’t anywhere in immediate sight. Lyrene stepped into the room, cautiously scanning the empty apartment. Goosebumps covered his skin. “Hello? Thaila? It's Lyrene.”

  A few feet from the facilities in the far corner of the chamber, a dark red puddle seeped from beneath the thin privacy curtain. She gasped as she realized it was blood. It pooled at the exit and trickled across the tiles in spots. Lyrene followed the specks leading back to the hallway outside of Thaila’s quarters. She closed her eyes and drew upon the energy of past shadows to reveal the most recent events. Obscurity overcame her mind. Something dark blocked her majik. A shiver of foreboding seized her. Yalen. Focusing on her husband's face, she mentally called for him. But the phantom of whatever anonymity blocked her telepathy.

  A stab of pain jolted through her lower abdomen as she ran from the room and down the hall. Momentarily crippled, she hunched over, cradling her unborn babe. Her breath came in huffs. “All right, little one. I need you to hang on just a while longer. Shh.”

  Pulling herself erect, she forced her legs to move. The pressure in her lower extremities slowed her pace. By the time she made it to the stairwells, she had to use the railing for support as she descended the steps. Midway down, another piercing slashed across her stomach and doubled her over. This time, her stomach contracted tightly for several seconds. She dropped to her buttocks and continued to scoot down the steps one at a time. “Yalen!” she called out repeatedly, hoping her voice would carry to their bedchamber.

  By the All Mother, why couldn’t Yalen hear her? “Yalen! The baby comes!”

  “Yalen is dead.”

  “What?” Lyrene twisted around to find Horen standing a few steps above. His words left her breathless, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her unsuspecting head.

  His eyes narrowed into barely visible slits of blue. He smirked. Arrogance stained his aura. “That’s right. I killed your pathetic human warrior, just like I killed Thaila. And now you and your unborn abomination.”

  Lyrene wanted to scream out that he lied, yet, she somehow felt he didn’t. The physical pain of labor dulled in comparison to the ripping of her heart and soul. She clenched her legs closed and covered her belly with protective arms. “Why, Horen? Why?”

  He deliberately stepped with heavy feet as he descended, each thump echoing menacingly. “Have you even read the Sacred Scrolls lately? Or has your pregnancy interfered with your duties as High Priestess?”

  “Of course I have. But what does that have to do with your crimes this night?”

  “Everything! I cannot let you birth this child, Lyrene. She will bring about the end to true order if she lives.”

  She? How could Horen know of her child's sex when she didn’t? “You speak in riddles. I carry Yalen’s son!”

  His deep laughter echoed of the sheening walls of the staircase. “Nay, you bring into this world the Fiery Maiden.”

  Lyrene gasped. “That cannot be! The Fiery Maiden’s saga is ancient. She died three thousand years ago, and it has never been written of a rebirth.”

  “Aye, she did die then. But not before she defeated Labelle. My greatest of great grandmothers.”

  Lyrene shook her head. The Scrolls had predicted one day Labelle would attempt to rise again. Could the ancient sorceress still be a threat? The crazed look in Horen's eyes confirmed it. How had the council missed this?

  The pain in her abdomen became nonstop. The pressure between her legs lessened as liquid gushed out, soaking her entire lower body and the steps she sat on. Her water had broken. There was no delaying childbirth any longer.

  Horen stood directly in front of her. “I promise”—he reached for the dagger strapped at his side—“the child will not suffer…much.”

  Lyrene’s palms ignited; a force field of fire surrounded her. A blast of plasma shot out from within the shield and struck Horen. His body flew several feet, smacking into a wall with a sickening thump. He tried to fight free of the invisible grip holding him steadfast. Lyrene slowly squeezed her hands together to mimic choking.

  He screamed for mercy. “You’re the High Priestess of Vespa! You cannot use your majik to harm another!”

  She tightened her fist, barely managing to keep from crushing his throat with her power. As much as she despised Horen for his unspeakable crimes, it went against everything the Vespa believed. It was sacrilege to use light majik to harm another living being—no matter how much evil corrupted their soul. She loosened the unseen clasp around his neck and allowed him to breathe freely.

  Lyrene screamed as the baby dropped lower, and the urge to push outweighed the fear. It took a substantial amount of strength to keep Horen pinned while she labored. She inhaled deeply, and upon exhale, bore down until all the air was expelled from her lungs. Five attempts later, she felt the head of the baby emerge. Her hands cradled the infant’s head as she continued to push. Another three pushes borne the child.

  The force field of fire dissipated from around Lyrene and her newborn, but Horen’s body remained plastered in place. She held the child tightly against her bosom and peeked between the babe’s legs. She couldn’t help but smile. “It is a girl, Horen. You were right.”

  The baby cried loudly, instantly seeking a nipple through Lyrene's nightdress. “There’ll be plenty of time for that, little one.”

  Horen’s cruel laughter pierced Lyrene's soul. “Nay, there will not be any time for your child to do anything. She will die, even if not by my hand. You think I am the only one who wishes to restore the rightful Queen Labelle to power?”

  His words froze her veins despite the warmth of the fire that still coursed through her. She had no guarantee he spoke the truth. For all she knew, a horde of soldiers awaited Labelle’s release into the world. Tears clouded her eyes as she stared down upon the baby. A sob escaped her throat as emerald eyes just like her father’s brightened with contact. Yalen’s daughter. His legacy would live on in this child, and she’d secure this child’s future as prophesied by all means.

  “I promise you, she will not live to see adulthood,” Horen sneered.

  Sadness overcame her joy. “How can you smile knowing you will most likely be condemned by the council for your actions this eve? I promise, Labelle will not show to save you, Horen.”

  “Nay, she will not. And if the council condemns me, so be it. I accept my fate in the name of Labelle.”

  Lyrene shook her head; anger raised her pulse. Her conscience warned her of the implications should she act rashly, but her heart—her mother’s heart—demanded action. Even if only a temporary fix, she would do whatever she had to do to ensure her daughter’s survival. She met his stare with sympathy and flicked her wrist. “As you said, so be it.”

  Horen’s neck snapped with a loud crack. Lyrene's stomach reeled when his lifeless body hit the stairwell floor. She cradled her infant daughter tightly, sprinkling kisses atop her head. “My little one, I name thee Ramona, after your father’s mother. She was a great woman who birthed a great son. One day, you will be proud to learn of your heritage. But until then, we must do the unthinkable if we are to survive until the day your destiny pulls you away from me.”

  Lyrene pushed herself from the steps and followed the long corridor using the wall for support. She stopped in front of her bedchamber, but did not open the door. She couldn’t endure seeing Yalen’s dead body. Her last image of him would be preserved as she last saw him. “Goodbye, my love,” she cried.

  Using her robe to wrap the naked babe, Lyrene continued down the hall to the elevator. If Horen's claims about Ramona's birthright were true, then she had no option but to enter the Catacombs of Time and cross the timeline with her daughter. To a time where Labelle had yet to be born.

  Holding the baby securely, she zigzagged through th
e damp dungeon like chambers, locating the glowing Circle of Phases on the ground. She began to utter the chant that would open the time stream, wondering just how many times she had lived this scenario before. How many times had Horen killed her beloved in the never-ending time-loop?

  The blue vortex of the time stream formed before her. One day, all would be as it was originally ordained. It was the way of the Sacred Scrolls. With a deep breath, she stepped through the gateway.

  Chapter One

  1120 A.A. (After Abaddon)

  Built into the face of a mountain, Castle Dilseacht offered a prominent view for miles in all directions. Massive gray stone walls enclosed the entire fort. Heavily armored guards patrolled the parapets and manned the most outer towers.

  Jalomar, Supreme Ruler of Dilseacht of the Western Hemisphere, casually strolled through the early morning market, the newly risen sun promising a warm day. The center of the courtyard, littered with colored tents, boasted dozens of merchants selling their wares. The smell of freshly baked bread drifted on the morning breeze, reminding Jalomar’s growling stomach of its emptiness. After tossing a coin from the pouch tied to his belt to the toothless female merchant, he snatched a freshly buttered loaf from one of the crude wagon-like stands. Chewing a mouthful, he continued along the worn dirt path toward the stables located inside the farthest eastern corner of the walls for morning inspections.

  “Lord Jalomar! Lord Jalomar!” A peasant lad of about fourteen sprinted across the courtyard frantically. “Come see, quickly afore it's gone!

  “What is it, boy?”

  “It’s a light of sorts, milord! Come and see!”

  The boy dashed off, forcing Jalomar to sprint after him. He chased the boy through the courtyard and up the eastern ramparts. Upon the parapet, Jalomar spotted the flashing lights with ease. At first glimpse, it appeared to radiate from beyond the Great Crater, bordering the Eastern Hemisphere—Gypsy territory. Another intense strike confirmed its position on the boundary of his kingdom.