It said nothing. Using a sword as a cane, it leaned, assuming the stance of a patient sentinel. It was doing exactly what was expected; she could do no less.
“Right then. Wish me luck.” A small joke in a realm without humor. Luck would have no substance here. There was only action and reaction. She took a deep breath and continued.
“I can do this,” she whispered, the stagnant air growing more and more humid with each step. “I am a sorceress now and I have courage as well as faith.”
A surge of heat blasted into her face. Olivia stopped, closing her eyes at the onslaught. She was not welcome here. The air stirred at her presence. Far from refreshing, the wind blew a languorous heat, warning her she should turn back, or fall into a dreamy state of semi consciousness. She was alive. This was no place for those who wished to continue existence.
She uttered a parched shriek when a hand touched her arm. “Do not fear.”
A bold handsome face met her gaze. “Dagaz,” she said. Relief flooded through her breast. He bore a faint resemblance to William--the nose, the brown eyes, the sturdy bulk of a warrior. His appearance alone renewed her flagging courage--normality within an empire of the unnatural.
He bowed, the same flowing grace as his father, and kissed her hand. “My service is yours,” he said with authority.
“Thank you,” she answered. “I shall need all the help I can get.”
Impossible to measure time it seemed like hours that they stood, staring at each other. Olivia remembered the solemn images she had witnessed in the water of her cup--Sophia, murdered by her brother--then Dagaz, the sword thrust into his chest. These innocent lives were stolen by a brother, whose only motive was searing hatred. Sophia died without hope; Dagaz at least was able to initiate a curse against the guilty, a curse which fell to her. Yet as they peered at each other there was a silent communion between them. Hope resided with her, final retribution her quest. Dagaz placed his hand on the shoulder that bore his mark, the sorcerer’s mark, a symbol of the power he had achieved in life, his smile the confirmation that his magic was coming to fruition. “It honors me to meet you at last,” he said with reverence.
The torches blew flames high into the black endless ceiling, the gargoyles shifted to a stirred excitement. The ooze beneath coursed toward the great gates, the locks shivering, as though someone behind was preparing to free all inhabitants. A frightening prospect, she clutched Dagaz. “What’s happening?” she whispered with foreboding.
Dagaz guided her to one side, into the dim light beyond the blazing torches. “Fate follows you,” he said, leaning close to her ear. “The doors open for the newly dead. We shall wait for them to enter and then follow.”
Olivia shivered. “The newly dead,” she repeated numbly.
Dagaz draped a cloak around her shoulders, pulling the hood over her hair. “No,” he said with softness. “Your grandmother is not amongst these sorrowful souls. Those who enter here are lost.” He pulled his cloak also and they waited as a long line of the condemned shuffled up to the Gates, creaking wider to invite the damned into the realm of dark eternity.
Weeping, wailing, the slow clanking of shackles, a sound that echoed with those who bore the chains of ruin. “What was their crime?” she asked, safe beside Dagaz’s authority.
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Do not speak. Better that they know nothing of our existence. We want nothing to do with their plight, only to enter without being noticed.”
Olivia couldn’t watch the somber procession. She turned her forehead, resting it on Dagaz’s cloak, while the noise of gnashing teeth and cries for mercy grew louder.
The Gates shrieked wider as the line proceeded. Dragging feet were intermingled with the weighty clatter of chains. Heat from the torches was intense, doing nothing to alleviate Olivia’s shivering. She bit into her bottom lip, sympathy for those who entered.
“Do not show empathy for those who go in,” Dagaz whispered. “Their judgment is justified. Their choices in life were made without ignorance. Prepare, Sorceress. The line ends. We shall follow without delay. Shield your face.”
Olivia adjusted her hood, keeping her gaze lowered. Dagaz fell into the line and she followed. The Gates swung shut behind them.
She expected carnage. She expected rivers of fire, instruments of torture, wracked bodies that would never perish. She expected yawning emptiness. Instead, she witnessed roads lined with black motionless alders, rivers that flowed toward distant mountains. And there were buildings, some nothing more than hastily hoisted shacks; others were magnificent estates. “I don’t understand,” she said to Dagaz, as they hung behind, the line of the lost continuing onward without them.
“They go to the final court so that their crimes can be announced. Unlike in life they have no choice which path to follow. We still have choice, Mother,” he said.
The term filled her with a warm glow. “Why do you call me Mother?”
“Life gives birth to hope.” He pointed to one road that wound a crooked path to the right, to an estate nestled between two rolling hills. “That is your destination. I shall go with you only halfway. The rest you must follow alone.”
“How are we going to get out again?” she asked, casting a wary eye behind to the locked Gates. “I’m not prepared to stay here just yet,” she added with a weak smile.
“Leave that to me.” He drew his sword and started a slow march.
“To think I once considered coming here alone.”
He lifted a finger, denoting silence. They hadn’t gone far when Dagaz suddenly stopped. “She sits outside, watching the procession. I mustn’t go farther, in case she recognizes your true cause through me. Be bold,” he said, coaxing Olivia to step ahead. “Answer her lies with truth.”
Olivia squinted to see the goddess, a dot against the bleak home. “I’ll do my best.”
Straightening her shoulders, Olivia strode the rest of the way with feigned confidence. Inside she trembled. This was the pivotal confrontation. William’s future depended on the success of quick wit. And she had little idea how clever the woman might be. Expect the worst and hope for the best, she thought.
Oddly, the willowy figure paid no attention to Olivia as she approached the garden that circled the house. Steely green eyes were transfixed on the line of the condemned souls that paraded beyond, while one white sleeveless arm rocked a cradle. A cradle. Another oddity for William said she was barren. Could he have been mistaken?
“Hello,” Olivia said solidly. Having been given no instruction on protocol when greeting the more esteemed members of the netherworld’s hierarchy, she relied solely on casualty.
“He’s not there. He’s not amongst the group. I’d know if he were. He should be here by now.” The green eyes hadn’t left the vanishing procession.
“Who is it you’re looking for?” Olivia asked. Her tone was light and friendly.
The porcelain hand rocked the cradle fiercely. “My baby’s father.”
Olivia caught quick glimpses into the cradle as it rocked dangerously close to being tipped over, one side then the other. She saw no child--nothing except a pile of gray rags--and no cry rose from the crib. “Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked nonchalantly. What mother wasn’t pleased to discuss an offspring?
“I haven’t decided yet.” An icy glare was now fixated on Olivia.
“Oh,” Olivia said, stifling a smile. “Well, congratulations. I, too, expect a child soon.”
The eyes widened and dropped to Olivia’s midriff. A pointed nose sniffed. A hard smirk chiseled into her otherwise smooth features. “And pray, tell me, who is your baby’s father?”
Olivia over-exaggerated a deep satisfied sigh. “A most amazing man. He is taller than an oak, stronger than a mighty storm, wiser than the most studied scholar. His eyes are black pools, his hair curls down his back, he has muscles all over his body, but,” she leaned as though sharing a most treasured secret. “But his manliness culminates between his legs. A fierce lover, yet warm an
d passionate and his sessions can go on and on until I have to beg him to stop or cry with pain. So potent is his masculinity, why, just once and I was with child.”
The jaw dropped. For a brief moment Olivia thought the woman would weep. She swallowed, the bulge in her long throat bounced. “How nice for you.”
“Oh, but it is. He warms me every night, every morning and every afternoon with sweat from his brawn and I bathe in his scent as though a coveted perfume. I can never deny his hunger and the man starves. There are times I have difficulty walking; he leaves me sore from such a massive bulk.” Olivia distanced her palms from each other, exemplifying a large endowment. “The ache is a small price to pay to feel him flow inside my womb. He is truly magnificent.”
“Is he a god?” she asked with indignation. “You speak of him as though he sustains mystical powers?”
“He is a god to me. To everyone else he is a....” Olivia’s face stiffened to the mystery. She peeked from side to side as though someone listened. “To everyone else he is a....”
“What? A what? Speak, you foolish girl, or has too much fornication decreased the limited ability of your brain?” The white cheeks flushed red. The cradle jerked to an impatient surge.
“He is a sorcerer, one of legend these past centuries. And he claimed me for his own. And now I am blessed with his child.”
“A sorcerer?” She scoffed. “A sorcerer is nothing more than a worm wriggling through the black muck.” She then turned her chin up, a high and mighty pose.
“You are probably correct. My husband would be sorely insignificant compared to yours.” Olivia leaned to glance inside the cradle.
The woman quickly dipped the cradle to her side, shielding Olivia’s view. “My husband is truly a god,” she announced proudly. “He rules the oceans and has been away on imperative business. He does not yet know of the child I bore him. I am anxious for his return.”
Intuition told Olivia the lies had begun in earnest. The woman’s cheeks were flushed from jealousy.
“She is barren. Once she is blinded with rage search for the box. It will be near her.”
“May I hold your baby?” Olivia asked with innocence.
“Certainly not! Who are you to make such a request?” She sniffed again. “You hold no prominence here. Go away.”
“I think you once met my husband,” Olivia continued. “Yes, in fact, I’m sure of it. He told me about the beautiful wise Goddess who refused his attention.”
Her stormy eyes narrowed with intense suspicion. “Then give me his name so I can spit on the ground at your feet.”
“Oh no, he forbade me to utter his name in this place. He said you would become fiercely jealous because you regret his not making love to you.”
“I regret nothing! And I would certainly never lower myself to welcome a mere sorcerer into my bed.”
“Yes, he said you’d say that as well, to cover your insolence.”
“What?” She rose to her feet, swelling large with fury. “No man would dare say such a thing against me. My lovemaking is legendary with those I permit to lie with me.”
“Ah, he said this as well.” Olivia smiled. “Someday, he said, she will be far more infamous than the great Whore of Babylon.”
So sharp was the intake of air that Olivia nearly lost her balance. “I demand to know this name so I can order my armies to silence his foul tongue.”
Olivia’s fingers danced over her collar. “You know him because he has been robbed. You promised him immortality for his power of love.” She tugged one edge of her blouse to reveal the rubies, made from the blood of an open wound, the wound to his heart. “You stole his love so you could create a child. Woe to you, wretched woman, for I don’t believe there is a child. The cradle is empty, and so is your womb.”
Violent eyes dropped to the necklace around Olivia’s neck. Fists clenched like sledgehammers she shook to a heightening rage. “The one who called himself De Croft,” she seethed.
“That’s right,” Olivia chirped. “Shame you didn’t allow him into your bed. Maybe a good session would have lightened your mood, to say nothing of resulting in a child. That is, if you weren’t barren.” To add salt to the wound of insult, Olivia winked.
“Witch!” she screamed. Her willowy body shivered with uncontrollable tremors.
“Is that the best you can do?” Olivia eyed the cradle. She was certain the box was within the blankets. Taking a step closer she grinned. “Whore.”
The air moved. Phantoms, long, thin and dark, were rising from the manicured garden beneath them. The Goddess glowed red, so overwhelming was her fury. “You shall be punished for this!” she screamed, her voice so constricted with vehemence she could barely speak. “You shall burn in eternal fire, I shall see to it!”
“Thanks anyway, but I must be going.” Olivia lunged for the cradle, throwing aside the blankets. The box was there. She grabbed it and backed away. Not quickly enough.
Olivia had misjudged the Goddess’ power, even though blinded with insult. A swift hand, long nails sharp as knives, raked against her neck with such speed Olivia screeched. The delicate chain broke at the onslaught and the beads, to Olivia’s horror, scattered into the opening earth where the foul devils rose to their mistress’ call.
Olivia had the box but she had no choice but to leave her prized amulet behind.
Sure and steady she raced to where Dagaz waited, comforted by the raised sword that warned the pursuing phantoms to stay back. It flashed through the putrid air, air that was soiled by curses that were uttered from the lips of the infuriated Goddess.
“Keep going,” Dagaz said as she brushed past where he stood. “I will meet you at the Gate.”
Olivia didn’t look back. She clutched the box with all her might, her heart thrashing with the intoxication of success. They weren’t free of danger yet, however. The Gates were closed and the walls too high to even consider crawling over. And magic, a power that aided her well in one world, was impotent here.
The sickening thud of a wielded sword through flesh filled her ears. Relentless in her quest to escape she reached the Gate, panting, the air humid and unsatisfying. The steps behind her were Dagaz’s. He knelt on the ground revealing a tunnel, one crudely dug. “Through here,” he ordered. “Go.”
“It’s so small,” she exclaimed.
“Large enough. Now hurry. They are upon us.”
“What of you, Dagaz?” she asked, mortified. The hole would never take his great bulk.
“Mother,” he said with urgent softness. “I dug it for you alone. Once you are through it must be covered again or these demons will follow. Make haste. I shall fight them off so you can be freed.”
“But....”
“Go!” With that he kicked her, without harm, into the hole.
She wiggled down and under, reaching the other side, the box clamped in one hand. “Dagaz,” she cried out from the other side. “Why? What have you done?” It was obvious now he had no intention of freeing himself, only her.
“My love is for you,” she heard the muffled voice from beyond the wall. “Run and be free.” The earth swallowed any further sound. He had stayed behind, sacrificed himself for her.
Tears on her cheeks, Olivia continued her flight. Treading with utmost care on the slimy stones, almost sightless from her hot tears, she raced into the murky stickiness toward where the Shadow waited, the last lap.
She caught sight of her guardian, leaning as she had left him, on the sword, the hood draped over his face. Breathless now, she gasped as his form grew in stature. “I’ve got it,” she wheezed. “I’m safe.”
The cloak rose, slow motion, the forefinger pointing to her throat.
“I know,” she said, regaining some strength from the energetic sprint. “She broke the chain. I couldn’t stay. There wasn’t time.”
The forefinger retreated to the inside fold of the black cape. When it reemerged the broken nail dangled a ring, one glistening ruby.
Olivia reeled wit
h renewed horror. Her mind seemed to close in a sharp flash of panic. She peered at the ring--the very one she had thrown into the fog at the cemetery. Slowly she lifted her gaze to the blackness under the hood. “More appropriate you wear this anyway,” purred a stony harsh voice. The assailant seized her wrist, twisting her arm in an inescapable lock.
With one long sweep the hood fell back.
Olivia felt the scream rise in her throat, where it lodged.
“Greetings, sister. We meet, in the flesh, at last.”
Before succumbing to a dead faint, Olivia saw only the wide smile on Dietrick’s face.
Chapter Twelve
Something had gone wrong. His gut constricted, a cold unease branched from the core through every limb. He listened, tipping his head one way then the other; if the smallest of cries had been uttered he would hear. There was no call, no plea, no sob. A drumming silence was all that he could single out.
Stretching his fingers wide he circled his palm in the air, distorting it, waves shivering, an image struggling to become visible. Imps had surrounded a fallen sword, none brave enough to touch it. He tapped his finger, widening the unsteady scene. An infuriated slim woman, the very Goddess who had tricked him, the one who had been tricked in return, was inflicting a slow torturous death on her prisoner. Not Olivia. She was gone.
“Dagaz. Leave what is past and find new life.” The quiet prayer was all he could ask. Nothing else could be done to save his son. Better he perish, however, for to sacrifice breath meant a spirit freed for renewal. They both knew this was what fate had deemed.
Still, a heart swollen in grief, conscience dictated emotion. Of course it would, for the shield was down. Without darkness to hide in, the light exposes the tenderness of emotions--ones that cause the most pain--regret, empathy, guilt, loss--past crimes stung not only his chest but his memory, and he knelt at the depression of the pain he had caused so many, the pain inflicted by carelessness, selfishness, negligence. With no darkness of his inner self to deafen the voice of conscience, the finger of accusation stabbed without pause.
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