by Unknown
They were conviction happy, regularly pronouncing soul removal upon witches. A biased, opinionated group of elders, whose laws and decisions were absolute, final, and harsh. He’d be hard-pressed to persuade them to change Saylym’s sentence, but somehow, he’d find the right words.
Ever since the Salem tragedy, the guild had nothing but contempt for the females of their species. The witches were still being punished because of things that happened centuries ago. Talon figured some of the punishment stemmed from jealousy over the fact that their females chose to take another species for their mates, giving birth to the race of Impures. They had no objections against them mating with demons, but a human male was entirely a different matter. Humans weren’t magical creatures and that race was afraid of the ones who did possess magic.
Well it was done and over with and it was past time the guild crawled out of the dark ages and changed their laws. He blew out a long breath and braced for more argument. “You must admit we don’t exactly have a noble history where our witches are concerned.”
Once again the members of the guild gasped at his brash outspokenness. Talon ignored their anger. They didn’t like to be reminded of the truth. Too bad. “We’re just as responsible for the near extinction of our females as the illumrofs. Assassination of witches must stop! I ask you, who can blame them for taking demon or mortal mates? They don’t have to fear either species will steal their soul at the peak of their mating.”
“This is an outrage,” King Darak bellowed. “Mating with demons isn’t frowned upon.”
Talon frowned. “It should be.”
The king shook his head. “No. They’re an immortal race, same as us. But humans? It is a disgusting practice that produces Impures, which are even more revolting. Impures owe no allegiance to either species. They aren’t to be trusted. Our females should never have mingled their blood with humans!”
Talon swung his gaze toward his father. “It’s time…past time…wakens let go of their grudges and their prejudices.” His jaw tensed. He couldn’t count how many times he and the guild had argued over this same issue. They couldn’t see what was happening under their very noses. Their bloodline wasn’t being wiped out by mortals. It was being obliterated by the demon race.
Even now, the members whispered nervously to each other, obviously trying to decide if he’d lost his mind. Frustration gnawed at him. Had they heard a word he said? Were they even listening to him?
He knew he was treading on dangerous ground in refusing to terminate a witch who’d been sentenced for spirit removal. True, he was guilty of frequent rebellion, but with this, the guild would now see him as a possible threat to Ru-Noc. He was next in line for the crown if something happened to Stry. With his radical beliefs, the elders would never allow him to take the throne if it became necessary. They’d order his death first.
However, this was the first time he’d outright defied them or refused to do their bidding. He’d never cared enough to risk challenging their authority, until now. His impatience with the group and their blind stubbornness increased with each minute he remained here. They were clever, to be sure. They knew how to draw out their disapproval. By the gods, he’d stand here and argue all day, if that’s what it took to win this dispute with them.
“You’re certainly not very popular today,” Sage remarked, his lips curling with wry humor.
“Yeah,” Talon replied, unconcerned. “They get a new lease on life when I disagree with them.”
Sage flashed him a look filled with quiet laughter and then winced as he swung a doubtful glance toward the Ancients. “Right about now, cousin, I’d say their lease is running out, and their tempers are sparking. Somehow, I can’t see them being happy about it.”
Talon darted his cousin a telling look. Along with Stry, Sage was the wakens’ golden boy. There wasn’t a female witch who didn’t have a crush on Sage or Stry. Sage possessed shoulder length hair black as a winter’s night, and his eyes were a blend of two shades of lavender…unusual, even for a waken. They were consistently filled with a teasing light, at least when one eye wasn’t covered with a patch.
“Maybe I don’t care if they’re happy or not,” Talon replied. “It’s time someone forced them to face reality.”
Sage grinned. “Good luck with that.”
Talon switched his gaze to the royal throne. He’d never be able to separate the man who was his father from the man who was his king. He couldn’t. It hardly mattered. Not anymore. They disagreed about everything, which was one of the reasons he was moving out of the palace. He needed the freedom to be himself, to make decisions without needing to clear it with his king first, his father second, and the guild third. If he remained at the palace, kept his place as a member of the ruling monarch’s household, he’d suffocate.
It was apparent from the vein pulsing on his father’s temple that he was royally displeased. Talon rubbed his forehead where a dull ache had settled between his eyes. Sage was right about one thing, he’d definitely pissed them all off…again.
The group sat around a massive round table like rigid soldiers, displeasure a prevalent wrinkle on their ancient faces. Each one of them looked as if he’d bitten into something sour. It was just his luck, that three of the elders who sat on the guild were related to him; his grandfather, great-grandfather and Uncle Teek. As a rule, they followed the king’s lead.
Talon shifted, uncomfortable with the burning glare Uncle Teek directed toward Sage. Poor Sage, he may be an only son—only child—but he’d get his ears blistered from Teek once they got home. Tension coiled through the air around all of them like a viper waiting to strike.
At last, the king cleared his throat. “We have no time to waste on foolishness. You have your orders, Talon.” As a declaration, his father’s words were cut and dried, leaving little room for negotiations.
Talon knew that was exactly the way Darak liked it.
Very well, two could play that game.
He’d make what he had to say just as brief, and after that, he’d at least know where he stood with the guild.
If he died as a result of his declaration, he had no choice but to take the risk. “I’ll spend eternity in Nemaland before I commit the heinous act of stealing Saylym Winslow’s soul. That is my final word.” Talon folded his arms across his chest and waited for the sheeahta to hit the fan.
Chapter Six
Over the next few weeks, other townspeople came forward and testified that they, too, had been harmed by or had seen strange apparitions of some of the community members. As the witch hunt continued, accusations were rampant and made against many different people.
~Salem Witch Trials
March 1, 1692
Page Entry…
Though the wakens remained dissatisfied with the one time a year allowed to them to mate, Ru-Noc settled into an uneasy routine of peace and quiet, except for the vicious quarrels between Queen Leyla and her mate, Zoman.
The waken steadfastly refused to take back his declaration that Kran was heir to the witches’ throne and since Leyla had produced no other children, his word stood.
Fifty years passed with Zoman grooming Kran to one day take the throne of Sanctuary. Another Beltane came and went, but this time, Queen Leyla conceived a second child. The witches had prayed to their fertility goddess nightly for the queen to conceive a girl knowing if she didn’t, Leyla would murder her son before she ever allowed him to sit on the throne of Sanctuary.
They knew their prayers were answered the second week of Beltane from the displeased look on Zoman’s dark face when he left the queen’s chambers, for one of the greatest powers granted a male witch is the ability to know when his mate conceives and the sex of the child at the moment of conception.
Leyla’s baby girl took the name, Shy-Ryn.
~Pages of history from the Winslow witches.
In the Year of Samhain, 1050
Ru-Noc
Droth
City of the wakens
King Dara
k sat upon his gilded throne and glared at his son. As ruler of Ru-Noc, he knew he dared not allow Talon to get by with his brash insubordination, his reckless declarations or condemnation that nothing was done about the demons mating with witches season after season.
His son was one day going to be a waken to reckon with, but for now, he was young and impetuous and had no concept of the army the two demon kings commanded. He knew Talon was right about everything he spoke of, but losing face in front of the guild was unacceptable, for him, and for his sons.
It was imperative they showed a united front to their people. His reign would crumble if he revealed signs of weakness, even with his family. When it came to ruling, he had no family. The wellbeing of Ru-Noc always came first.
Neither was he ready to step down from his throne and turn the kingdom over to his elder son and heir. In his infinite wisdom, he didn’t believe Stry was capable of ruling the realm or facing the battles that lay ahead.
Not yet.
His son would immediately want to make changes. Ru-Noc wasn’t prepared for great changes. New rules, new laws, would only cause disruption and make the kingdom more vulnerable.
Darak turned his gaze on his younger son. Damn Talon and his impossible crusade for the witches. Didn’t the boy realize he was bucking centuries of prejudice, and it’d take the passing of more centuries before the guild bent those laws?
He’d love to be able to support Talon against the elders, but he’d learned that sometimes the termination of a witch’s soul was necessary. As long as he was king, nothing was going to change. He was comfortable with their laws and the peace, and so was the guild. Given time, maybe new laws would prevail, but even when he gave up his crown, he’d still have a seat on the guild, so it wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
Talon made it more difficult every time he challenged his authority and decisions. It simply proved to the guild the younger wakens were out of control, disrespectful, so the elders tightened their chokehold on them.
It didn’t matter what the subject was, he and Talon never agreed on anything. It was that simple. That complex. Somehow, he’d failed his younger son. He didn’t know what it’d take to topple the wall between them. He was no closer to an answer today than he’d been yesterday.
Darak saw the coolness settle in Talon’s green eyes. His throat clenched. He swallowed past the ache. There was no choice in the matter. If Ru-Noc was to survive, then nothing could change…for now. And this damn witch, this Impure who’d upset everything with her sudden appearance…well, there was no choice. The witch’s magic was too unstable. He had to consider the harm she could inflict upon the kingdom of Ru-Noc.
But Talon…Talon was his son. It was difficult. He knew he walked a tightrope when it came to losing his son, and he was hanging by a thread. The quarrel between them was somehow different this time. He felt it in his heart.
Talon would never forgive him if he continued to demand this witch’s life. Darak drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled, and deep inside where no one could see, he grieved. The witch was an Impure. For his son to be involved with her was unacceptable.
* * * *
Recognizing the stubborn look settling on Darak’s face, Talon knew his father would never approve of his interest in Saylym. Darak would support the guild, no big surprise there. Straightening his shoulders, he held up his palms, elevating his voice above the livid outbursts of the elders. “I’ve met Saylym Winslow. I’ve seen nothing to indicate a need to steal her spirit. She isn’t a threat to us.”
Liar! Vox shouted the silent message from his perch on the wide oak beams that stretched from one end of the chamber to the other. You saw. She has no control of her magic. She practically roasted you alive.
Talon frowned at the truth of the words ringing in his mind.
“There is a need,” Darak replied. “She’s a threat to our very existence.”
“Her crime? What has she done that is heinous enough to command her death?” Talon fired the questions back at his father. No way in hell was he giving up without a battle.
“She isn’t formally charged with anything,” Teek replied in his brusque voice.
Talon whipped toward his uncle. “Ordering her death without charging her is an outrage. If it’s a crime to wield magic with no knowledge of what you’re doing, then okay, charge her with that. If she has not been formally accused, then she’s free and no one may harm her.”
Teek lifted a thick, auburn brow and tugged thoughtfully on his bushy red beard. “It isn’t that simple. She crossed between worlds, nephew. She came from the illumrof world into the Ru-Noc realm as if it were nothing for her to cross the barriers that keep our worlds apart. That in itself is a crime punishable by death and has been since 1692. Only Futhars, wakens, or warlocks travel between worlds without this threat over their heads.”
“Maybe the witches don’t agree with your rules. And what about this illumrof, Hannah Miller?” Talon asked for what he knew was the umpteenth time. “She crossed our borders as well. I wouldn’t want her death on my conscience either, but if anyone’s a threat to us, it’s this female.”
Teek paused, pondering over the truth of the statement. He took a long time scratching behind his ear before he spoke. “The witch is our priority. No one knows who she is or who she descended from or what kind of powers she may possess. Even your Futhar could not find information in the archives. It’s as if she appeared, fully grown, without a single page of history written of her existence. That is unacceptable.”
“She has a past,” Talon said instantly. “Everyone has a past. You’re totally ignoring the fact we have an illumrof among us.”
“The fact,” Teek said, narrowing his pale green eyes, “is we have no knowledge of this Winslow witch’s magical skills or her heritage. With her bumbling, she could accidentally bring down the walls separating our worlds and the mortal realm. It’s bad enough that the vampires dwell among the humans, but for mortals to discover all the magical realms that exist, would be the Salem catastrophe all over again.” He slammed his palm down on top of the table. “This not knowing could prove far more hazardous to Ru-Noc than worrying about a mere illumrof who has no magical abilities for us to fear dwelling amongst us.”
Grandfather Saul cupped his ear and leaned forward. “Winslow?” He croaked out the word in a wispy voice. “Did someone say, ‘Winslow’? I know that name.”
“Where do you know the name from, Papa Saul?” Talon asked patiently. He dearly loved his mother’s father, even if the old waken was stubborn as hell. Saul had been the father to him that Darak hadn’t had time to be.
“Eeehh? Did you say something, Grandson?”
Talon leaned closer and shouted, “I asked where you know the name from.”
“What name?” the old man shouted back.
Talon winced. “Winslow,” he replied gently. “Where do you know the name Winslow from?”
“Never heard of it,” Saul said his voice grumpy. “Did you say the hens are slow?”
Talon saw the mischievous twinkle in the old man’s sharp blue eyes. Going along with the game, he replied, “No, Papa Saul. I said—”
“No need to shout,” Saul declared irately. “I’m not deaf.” He glowered. “Boy, you need to learn some manners when speaking to your elders. And you need to know when to walk away.”
Talon met the old man’s steady gaze. He wasn’t certain what message his grandfather was trying to give him. Did he want him to walk away from them or walk away from Saylym? “You and Eldora Waters should get together, Papa Saul. You’re both ornery as Titan.”
The old man reared back as if he’d been shot. “Eldora Waters? That old witch is still breathing?” He grinned, rubbing his chin. “I haven’t seen her in centuries. There was this one time during Beltane that she and I…humph…well, we…really…” As if realizing he’d said something he shouldn’t have, he dragged his words to a slow halt, made a big production of clearing his throat, then mumbled, “Henslow. Hens
low. I know that name from somewhere.” He rubbed his chin. “I suppose it’s possible this witch grew up in the illumrof world and has just discovered the ability to cross into our realm.”
“She could have brought this illumrof, Hannah Miller, with her,” Teek inserted, his voiced threaded with impatience.
“No,” Talon said. “I was there yesterday when the two of them met for the first time. Saylym didn’t bring Hannah into our realm.” He rubbed his head. “I believe the witch who is part owner of the pastry shop brought the mortal here. They’re friends.”
“Then we need to find out who that witch is as well,” Teek stated. “If she brought the illumrof creature into our world, then she’ll have to be terminated, too. She broke our laws bringing a human into our midst.”
Talon snapped his fingers as he suddenly remembered the witch’s name. “Kirrah. Her name’s Kirrah Walker.”
“Never heard of her,” Saul said, “doesn’t sound familiar at all. I don’t recall a dab of history of a female witch with the surname Walker.”
“But you recognize the Winslow name?”