Asha's Power (Soul Merge Saga Book 4)

by M. P. A. Hanson

  “Except these wytches created the twenty-one worlds and everyone who inhabits them.” Asha caught a hint of sass that made her smile.

  “Yeah, except that.” There was a small silence where all that could be heard was the gentle splash of water before Asha’s curiosity got the better of her manners. “So what are your parents like? Why did you get cast out? What does that even mean?”

  There was a small gasp from the other side of the screen and another slight pause before Masozi answered.

  “My mother is queen of the winter court.” She began, “And my father is her philandering consort.” There was an edge of bitterness to her tone. “I was born as the sole heir to the throne, but when I showed no trace of having fey powers at age ten; my mother was forced to excise me from the clan, and I was raised with the other clanless children. When my wytch powers manifested three years later I was cast out of the fey society all together, my hair was shaved and I was set adrift.”

  “Set adrift?” Surely she couldn’t mean what Asha thought she did.

  “They left me on a raft in the sea with no provisions. If I was pushed back to the islands by the tide then it would be a death sentence. If the sea carried me to another land then I was to be an exile. Fate chose the latter option.”

  “That was horrible.” Asha couldn’t imagine her mother and father doing that even if she had been born a monster.

  “I travelled for a few years, my powers drove me to seek out battlefields and conflict, and often I caused small arguments wherever I went without meaning to. When I heard of the Isle of the Gifted I focused on searching for it, but when I arrived I was told that my powers were dark in nature and I was to be sent to live with mercenaries and murderers.”

  The towel disappeared over the side of the screen as Asha considered what to say next.

  “Those were my first thoughts too.” She admitted. “They sound rather terrifying, but my mother is the head of the Light Coven, and she reminded me that all wytches were together in a single coven to begin with. The dark wytches are named that only for their powers, not because they’re evil themselves. Many of them are still friends with my mother.”

  The robes disappeared over the edge of the screen and Asha heard the small gasp as Masozi discovered what the robes could do.

  When her friend walked out from behind the screen she was wearing an elaborate short blue leather dress that was covered in beads of glimmering crystal shaped like tiny icicles. The dress had a halter neckline that left her entire back bare and her hands were wrapped in armoured fingerless gloves. Beads swung from threads around her waist and ankles, decorating even her bare feet.

  “Wow.” Asha smiled. “You look amazing!” Her compliment earned her a shy smile from Masozi.

  And it was true, now that Masozi’s hair was washed it fell to just above her shoulders in gleaming ivory waves. The crystal shade of her eyes was set off by the shimmering beading and contrasted with the deep blue of the material that was obviously designed to double as a form of light armour. She still looked frail and tiny, but with the armour it was obvious that Masozi could take care of herself if she had to.

  “Can you fight?” Asha asked suddenly, noticing the weapons sheaths on Masozi’s arms and thighs.

  “I was taught before I was made clanless.” She replied.

  “Do you not get cold?” Asha asked, gesturing to her bare feet and back.

  “I am an ice-fey.” Masozi spoke as if the question of her getting cold was a ridiculous one. “I would dress like this on the glaciers atop the mountains where my people live.”

  Asha berated herself for asking such a ridiculous question. “Do you want to go and find Lena and see if there’s any food?” She asked.

  Masozi’s stomach chose that exact second to rumble loudly, and she blushed, the blood in her cheeks in such contrast to her snow white skin that it was almost alarming.

  “Come on,” Asha said, moving towards the door. “I promise Lena has no more magic than your average house brownie.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  FIRST BLOOD

  Silver swooped low across the craggy mountaintops of Maria and Alda’s home world. Up until now her plan had been to remain above the clouds, hidden from the inhabitants below. Now she sensed Issart’e and Dukran’s presence nearby, and had no choice but to leave her camouflage to search for them properly.

  Looking around this world, she could almost pity the two insane sisters. Everything was in shades of grey. Grey deserts blew sands against slate mountains where the strange creatures lived and Silver wondered idly if the creatures were colour-blind; they’d have to be if they didn’t want to go insane in this bland world. This was Llewellyn’s own world, and the chances of the other Ancient interfering to protect Maria were greater here. If she’d had a little less pride Silver would have asked Gaillean’s assistance, but unfortunately she was above begging her dear father for help even in the face of such an adversary.

  She had barely begun her descent when she spotted them, glowing golden skin a beacon in the barren landscape. Did the idiots have no inkling of how to blend with their surroundings? Of course, they stood out all the more for the fact that both of them were inside one of Issart’e’s golden shields, and surrounded by a legion of angry looking flying natives.

  It was obvious that the two were at a standoff, with Issart’e’s shield to protect them from any weapon, yet no means of escape they were stuck there unless aid came. Luckily Silver was feeling like playing the cavalry today, although the temptation to wait a while and leave them hanging a little longer was strong.

  Silver smirked as she realised that Maria, confident enough to show her own face while the numbers were on her side, was also among the mob. Her white hair shone as a beacon among the others, and she looked to be brandishing a staff similar to the one her sister had used.

  Though she looked like Alda in many ways, it was easy to differentiate between the two. Clearly they had both had different mothers, although Silver couldn’t for the life of her understand how anyone would want to bed one of these hideous alien creatures, yet alone two. Maria, unlike Alda, had inherited the pincer tipped wings of her mother’s people and looked far older than her sister had. Perhaps this meant Alda had in fact been just a child when Silver killed her. Not that it mattered much to Silver, an enemy was an enemy and, even young, Alda had been in no way innocent.

  Maria appeared to be taunting the brothers as she stood just out of reach of Dukran’s golden spear with the rest of her men, the smirk on her jowly face certainly indicated she was enjoying herself, relaxed in the knowledge that she was winning. It was all just too easy, Llewellyn wasn’t even anywhere in sight. Did he care nothing for the fate of his daughter? Possibly not, Silver thought, after all, it wasn’t as if Maria was the last one; Llewellyn was famous mostly for seducing women on every single one of the twenty-one worlds and had probably begotten bastards on all of them too.

  She hovered for a moment, considering the situation. Ideally she wanted the rest of Maria’s people out of the way, and Maria herself captured quickly and with as little fuss as possible. However containing a powerful sorceress wasn’t something Silver usually did without a little more preparation and a sturdy set of anti-magic chains. Containing all of that power for the time it took for Silver to transport Maria to the dungeons of Dalmorin was going to be a problem. Mind you, she thought, Issart’e was doing a very good job at repelling all of that power.

  “Good morning cousins!” She greeted Issart’e and Dukran mentally, letting her smugness seep into the words. “What a wonderful day for a stroll across an alien world, don’t you agree?”

  Dukran’s mental curses were so loud Silver actually had to shut off her psychic senses for a second before she could hear Issart’e’s rather more refined greeting.

  “A very good morning to you too, fair cousin,” he returned her greeting with his usual shameless flirting, and for some strange reason Silver found herself glad Keenan wasn’t here to
hear it. “I trust you slept well? If the bed was a little cold, I would be more than happy to rectify the situation once we work our way out of this little problem.”

  “Actually I prefer my sheets a touch icy.” Silver retorted.

  “If you two have quite finished your disgusting antics?” Dukran asked. “I for one would like to know if Silver has a plan to get us out of this mess or not.”

  “Oh, I’d actually planned to leave you here.” Silver replied, her tone sincere as could be.

  Below her she saw Dukran surreptitiously glance towards the sky looking for traces of her presence, while trying not to give away her position.

  “Once I get out of here…” He threatened.

  “Oh calm yourself brother.” Issart’e muttered. “Silver was merely teasing. Do tell, cousin, what is your plan?”

  “First I need to know if that shield of yours can keep magic in as well as out.” Silver replied, smiling when he confirmed her suspicions. “I need you to use it to keep Maria contained while your brother and I take out her supporters. Can you do that and keep yourself shielded?”

  “I can do no less than my lady commands,” he confirmed, and Silver was struck by the rather odd thought that if Issart’e had been wearing a hat at that moment he probably would have taken it off to her with a flourish that spoke of the flamboyant manners of human gentlemen.

  “Then do it.” Silver informed him, taking a deep breath and opened portals all around the group. Pyro-demons swarmed in, using their deadly fire to shoot the flying creatures.

  Issart’e instantly created the shield she had asked for, imprisoning their cousin and keeping her out of the fight even as Silver dived into the fray.

  Her blades seemed to dance, and she relished in the bloodshed and the unearthly calm that accompanied it. Her kills were logical, precise and clean. A few cuts of her silver swords dismembering the natives left, right and centre in a macabre flying ballet.

  Dukran, stuck as he was on the ground, was at a disadvantage, constantly being swarmed by the creatures. Occasionally, she would witness his spear morph into either a great halberd or a two-handed sword which he used in devastating sweeps to keep his distance from his enemies’ pincers.

  There seemed no end to the swarm, and somewhere in the back of her mind Silver recognised that more of the creatures were burrowing up from the grey sand beneath them. She summoned more pyro-demons to aid them, and edged her swords with their fire to vaporise anything they touched, making killing swifter.

  Issart’e himself didn’t partake in the killing, and Silver quickly came to realise that the twin’s powers reflected their owner’s natures; Dukran was an entity of barely leashed aggression while Issart’e was a defender to the core. He acted as their backup: summoning shields to protect the two of them when he saw a blade they wouldn’t have dodged in time even as his brow remained furrowed with the effort it took to keep the flailing Maria contained.

  The battlefield was almost completely empty, and Silver was looking for her next target when she saw Dukran’s spear flying through the air towards her. Acting on instinct, she twirled and ducked, only to hear the squelching thud as the golden weapon embedded itself in the last creature remaining; the one which had been about to take her head.

  “My thanks,” She commented, hefting the heavy weapon out of the body and passing it back to Dukran, who took it with wordless acceptance.

  “We appreciate your assistance, dear cousin.” Issart’e commented smoothly, though his skin was pale and sweaty from the effort it was taking to hold the shield together.

  Thinking quickly, Silver directed a stream of magic in his direction, easing the strain on his own reserves. Giving him power in this way was a tiny act of trust, and it was clear he understood this as he nodded his thanks, even as colour began to return to his cheeks.

  “Speak for yourself.” Dukran muttered. “I had everything under control.” Silver smirked, watching as Issart’e let his own shield fall and shrunk the one around Maria. The other half-Ancient shrieked as the walls of the golden bubble of light seemed to collapse in on her. Shrieking was good, it meant Maria still feared for her own life, and that meant she would give them the information they needed if threatened. “Why did you not just kill her?” Dukran demanded, “It would have been simpler.”

  “Information,” Issart’e interjected before Silver could say anything. “The true enemy isn’t Maria – she had too much of her mother’s blood to be truly powerful – but those Ancients who have sided against Silver’s father. Am I correct?”

  Silver nodded. “We need to know what she knows about your father and his allies.”

  “Llewellyn was not our father.” Dukran grated. “Our father was the man who hunted for our family and defended our place in the tribe to the elders despite the fact we were not of his blood. Llewellyn is nothing to us.”

  “Clearly he was something considering he gave you those scars.” Silver made a shot in the dark and was rewarded with Dukran glaring at Issart’e who stuck his hands in the air.

  “I told her nothing.” The flirty twin replied to his brother’s scathing look.

  “I guessed, and you just confirmed it.” Silver replied. “You are both free to leave the fortress and return to your home world if you wish.”

  “We would like to remain to witness Maria’s death, and ensure she is definitely gone from our lives.” Issart’e informed her, clearly trying to ignore his brother’s enraged look which was directed at her.

  “Fine,” Silver replied. “I am interrogating her first, however.”

  “We knew about her first.” Dukran retorted, “Hence I get to draw first blood.”

  “You already did.” Silver gestured to the wound in Maria’s stomach.

  “Children, children,” Issart’e said with a smile, “We can solve this simply enough.” He pulled out a small golden coin and turned to her, “Heads or tails?” He asked.

  “Tails,” Silver replied.

  He flipped the coin, catching it in one hand and slapping it down over the other before drawing his hand back.

  A picture of the kingling’s head stared back at her and Silver cursed.

  “Fine,” She smirked. “I have no doubt the only real information we’ll get from her will be when I have my turn anyway.”

  Secretly, however, she wished Dukran every success, because the one year grace period before the Ancient’s came together in a violent clash of immortals was running out with every moment that passed, and it looked as if Silver’s own world was to become the battlefield.

  She opened a portal, which Issart’e walked through without hesitation. Dukran, however, grabbed her arm as she went to follow his brother. She nearly pulled a dagger, all too aware of Dukran’s barely leashed aggression towards her.

  “You saved us both out there.” Dukran informed her. “As reluctant as I may be to admit it, you have proved yourself an ally. In recognition of that, I must ask that you allow my brother and I to remain with you on your quest to kill the rogue Ancients. Even more importantly, I request that you let my brother strike the killing blow against Llewellyn.” The words seemed forced from his mouth.

  “Why?” Silver demanded, incredulous. “You should both go home and enjoy the peaceful life you had before this mess came about.”

  Dukran grunted a little. “True, that is what we should do. But do you know the true reason we joined Kobos in the first place?”

  “Issart’e said you believed you could learn something from him.” Silver replied.

  “That is the truth, but not all of it. Kobos promised us the power to take over the twenty-one worlds, and kill Llewellyn and the others of his kind. We cared not for the power, but since I was a tiny child I have longed to see the head of the man who created my twin and I mounted on a pike.”

  Silver didn’t interrupt, aware that she was about to find out the truth behind Dukran’s scars.

  “We were born with our powers.” Dukran began. “My mother wept when Issart’
e and I first conjured our weapons. Our people have no magic, and so we were strange to them, kept only because my mother’s husband was a powerful elder who had sworn us under his protection. We knew the powers set us apart, and so when we could, we would sneak into the long grass to practice in secret, in case we ever had the opportunity to prove to the tribe that we could use our magic to help.”

  He took a deep breath. “We never considered our birth father would come back for us. We thought ourselves invulnerable since our powers protected us from everything we threw at each other. When Llewellyn arrived, appearing right next to us, we knew who he was straight away because when he arrived he was wearing armour and weapons just like our own.”

  “We knew what he’d done to our mother, and Issart’e, safe behind his shield, immediately accused him. He didn’t think of the consequences, and Llewellyn was… displeased, to find his children hated him so badly. His reasoning was that he had given us no reason to truly hate him, but that he would give us such a reason because of that one display of defiance from my brother.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Imagine his surprise when he couldn’t pierce Issart’e’s shield. It didn’t matter to him whether he punished the true culprit, however, he decided then and there that our looks and hatred made us interchangeable and therefore since I was easier to control, he would use me to vent his frustration.”

  Silver said nothing, aware that Dukran had never released his grip on her arm. They stood among a desert whose grey sands were already absorbing the corpses of the dead while Dukran worked on forcing his next words from his mouth.

  “I fought, of course.” He began, eventually. “But how can you fight when the man who is against you can control your very limbs? Issart’e was ready to drop his shield then and there once he saw the first drops of my blood hit the ground. I had to slip into his mind, as I had done since we were children, and force him to keep his shield up. Even as my own body weakened and my blood soaked the earth I held onto Issart’e’s mind, and he held onto me, refusing to let me die. We swore an oath that day; we would kill our birth father if presented with the opportunity, and we would become strong enough that there would never be a repeat of that day again. I don’t care if I kill him or not, but Issart’e still feels responsible for my scars. He won’t stop blaming himself until he kills Llewellyn with his own hands. So it is for him that I ask this of you.”