First Of Her Kind (Book 1)

by K. L. Schwengel

  Then someone yanked her to her to her feet and, with a hard hand against her back, shoved her toward an open archway.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ciara never made if from the chamber. The air grew thick, and her feet felt as though they were mired in muck. She turned to seek out the old woman and found herself the target of those sharp, grey eyes.

  The woman began to chant again; a strange sing-song that reminded Ciara of the one that had bound her and Sandeen in the forest. It vibrated up through the soles of her feet, and in that frozen moment of panicked hesitation it found Andrakaos and moved across him like a lover's caress. The sensation rippled through Ciara and she shuddered, her eyes half closed. Her breath quickened, anticipation growing-

  -a man's face, a jagged scar across his cheek that twitched in laughter as he held her down, his hands groping at her. She had killed him for trying to take her, just as this old woman tried to take Andrakaos from her now. Ciara should have felt terror at the invasion. Instead, the languid warmth left her and she screamed in rage. She would never let this dry, old, hag of a woman take any part of her.

  The woman smiled at her -- smiled, of all things! As though she had just won a victory. Ciara sucked in a deep breath, stretched out her hand, and called Andrakaos to her.

  "That's the way, child," the woman said. "Let it consume you."

  "Let it consume you!" Ciara raised her arms to the dark swirl of power and called his name again. She stretched her arms out to him and spoke the ancient words that gave him shape. The sigils danced all around her. Ciara knew what they were for now, and how to join them. She knew how to say them -- the meaning behind each one. The old woman had given them to her in the strains of her chant. They were the words that would control the darkness and give it form.

  The woman's eyes glowed in anticipation. Ciara’s mouth curled into a smile cold as the deepest winter. Did the hag foresee her own death and welcome it? Decaying old fool. She didn't realize she could never stand before Ciara. Not now. Not ever again. No one could. Donovan had been right. Andrakaos rose far above mere magic. This was true power, strong and wild. He flooded her veins in a rush that blinded her to all else. Nothing else existed, and couldn't unless she allowed it. And she existed only because of Andrakaos.

  Ciara sucked air as though for the first time, nostrils flaring, and saw nothing beyond the swirling power -- black as a starless night, fraught with streaks of red and silver.

  Her focus snapped outward again, and locked on the old woman. Anger coursed through her, as it had that day on the road, and Ciara lashed out without thought. A single dark strand of power flew across the chamber, focused on that one target. It sliced through the fire pit as though the flames were made of fluff. Ciara bared her teeth in a feral grin that turned snarl when the flames clapped suddenly shut.

  She jerked backwards, but couldn't pull free of the trap; nor could she release her grip. The flames held her tethered.

  "You see," the woman cooed, as she advanced around the ring of stone towards Ciara, "you can't win here. I shall have your power, child, and together we will destroy the Goddess."

  A frustrated growl rose from Ciara's throat and she threw her weight back in vain, only peripherally aware of movement. Someone reached past her from behind and wrapped hands around the dark length of power, began to draw it back from the flames and away from Ciara.

  She whirled and her rage found a new target in Bolin. It would be such a simple thing to kill him.

  "Yes!"

  Ciara looked at Donovan, his dark eyes were bright and eager. That day on the road -- he had encouraged her, had pushed her to kill even as he did now. Ciara's gut twisted at the realization. Is that what he wanted of her? Blood? She wavered.

  Bolin spoke to Andrakaos as he had before, in the same ancient language as the woman's chant. But these words were different. They carried none of the anger and heat the others had. They were words of calming. And Bolin drew Andrakaos in as though he owned him.

  "Ciara!" Bolin gave no more warning than that. He yanked the strand of power to him and it wrenched Ciara around, spinning her into the circle of his arms. The coils of darkness hissed and twisted around them as Bolin worked to bring them under his control.

  Ciara struggled against him. She had lost track of the words, and they scattered like leaves in the wind. Leaves the woman collected and sang with renewed force, enticing them from Bolin. Ciara shoved against Bolin’s chest to free herself but he held her tightly.

  "He would control you just as the Goddess would," the woman said.

  "Daughter." Donovan held out a hand to her. Blood streaked the side of his face. "Come to me."

  But Bolin held her fast and Ciara could no more go to Donovan, than she could control the fury swirling around her. Andrakaos no longer heeded her. He listened only to Bolin now, and responded to his touch as he never had to hers. He rose up in Bolin’s embrace, Ciara with him. Her breath tore through her in ragged bursts as Bolin wrapped them in a seething blanket of darkness.

  But there were chinks in Bolin’s working, and the old woman found them, pried them apart like vine through mortar as she wrestled with him for control of Andrakaos. Even through the confusion around her, Ciara felt the sudden swelling of the air, and knew what to expect in the same instant Bolin swung her out of the way and sent a blast of power roaring towards the woman.

  Her power!

  Andrakaos hissed. Shards of red and silver scattered around her and skittered around the chamber, angry and alive. Blood lust seeped through Ciara's confusion, the same thrilling sense of omnipotence she had felt when the belt tightened around Scar-face's throat.

  Ciara twisted from Bolin's grip on her wrist to free herself of the shield he had built around them.

  Shield or prison?

  A thought and a gesture, Donovan’s voice whispered in her head. You have the words now. Use them!

  "Ciara." Bolin's voice in her ear, as unshakeable as the man himself.

  Trust only yourself. Kill them or lose me.

  "No!" She tried to move away, but Bolin pulled her back against him. "Leave me alone!"

  She turned away from him in time to see Donovan gesture their way. The words she spoke were foreign to her tongue. She drew them up from the darkest part of her, pulled them out of the ground beneath her feet, and hurled them outwards with as much force as she could. Bolin jerked violently, and sucked in a ragged gasp as the world around them exploded.

  Stone cracked in the ceiling overhead and tumbled down in great chunks as a whirlwind of power sent everything in the chamber spinning -- tables and books, jars, bits of stone. Only the four of them seemed rooted in place in the midst of the turmoil.

  They all wanted her. They pushed at her, tried to force her to their will, and Ciara lay on the road again, stones cutting into her back as he held her down. The stench of sweat and manure clogged her nostrils. Her throat burned. Rough hands pulled at her clothing.

  "Leave me alone!" she screamed, with a force that made the edges of her vision go black. But pain no longer mattered. Ciara sobbed, and in that moment opened herself over to the full force of her power.

  Everything around her dwindled.

  All save that one person, who stood firm in her way, unyielding as the earth itself. He gathered the bits of destruction and reshaped them as quickly as they appeared. She watched him for a moment, her curiosity growing. What would he do with them, she wondered? Would he use them against the old woman? Against Donovan? Or would he use them against her? He wanted her. She could feel the desire in him. If she tried, she could look into his soul and see everything behind the mask.

  His light eyes found hers. "Stop."

  She laughed, the sound an hysterical cackle. "Too late." In a voice not her own.

  Icy calm replaced hot anger and she began to mimick Bolin, gathering up the scattered bits of Andrakaos. This is what Donovan had wanted to teach her -- to control not be controlled.

  The old woman stood amidst the
chaos, taunting her, still singing her foolish little song.

  Ciara snarled. "You think to stand against me, old woman?"

  A shimmer licked suddenly around her, and Ciara cocked a brow at it. She looked sidelong at Donovan, reached out a finger, and poked the cage of light. It popped like a bubble. Donovan flinched and braced as though expecting a blow, but Ciara laughed again in sheer exhilaration. The room whirled around her, and she rode the cords of power past Donovan and Bolin, past the withered old stump of a woman, as an eagle rides the wind. No one would ever touch her again.

  "Ciara, stop!"

  Bolin, again. A growl rose in her throat, and became a roar as he reached for her. He disappeared beneath the blast of power in that sound, but before she could think to regret it, he reappeared, and an inhuman scream ripped from her. Why did he constantly stand in her way? He wanted the old woman dead; Ciara could do it. He wanted her to learn how to control her power, and she tried. Yet he stopped her at every turn.

  Something seared her shoulder from behind, and Ciara cried out in sudden pain. She turned to find the source. Donovan and the woman stood side by side, chanting. The old woman flicked a hand her way as though waving away a fly. Ciara jerked back, and more pain erupted through her. Words surrounded her. They shimmered in the air, and held her rooted in place. Andrakaos began to slip from her grasp, pulled upwards into the air beyond her reach. Ciara snarled, swiping and clawing at the elusive words as she tried to reclaim her power.

  The room became solid around her again as her hold on Andrakaos weakened, and her mind began to clear.

  Be still and open.

  Again? And who told her now? Too many voices and words swirled around her. Sigils danced before her eyes like bits of broken ice as Andrakaos soared higher and farther from her.

  Still and open.

  Ciara dragged in a tattered breath. Her mouth moved, her lips shaping those same words, words that would draw Andrakaos back to her. A voice whispered to her what to say, and helped her put order to the sigils that whizzed about her in chaotic frenzy.

  The old woman shrieked in anger. Ciara yanked hard on the strands of power she had gathered, and pulled them back without regard for the consequences. They hit with the force of a blast, ripping through to her core. Somehow she managed to keep her feet, and she sent all that power streaking back at the only target she could be certain of.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The crone's screech at the onslaught ripped across Bolin's nerves like ragged claws. She staggered back, and lost the rhythm of her chant but didn't go down. Bolin cursed. Ciara had lost herself to Andrakaos, and if Bolin released his hold on that ancient power it would certainly consume her. She didn't have the knowledge or strength to prevent that. Of course, at this point, Bolin couldn't be sure he did either.

  Ciara turned and Bolin froze. Her eyes were solid black -- no glimmer of the girl remained. She launched straight up into the air and hovered above their heads; shadowy coils of power swirling around her. She spread her arms wide, threw her head back and laughed -- a sound of pure delight and exaltation.

  A sliver of awareness turned toward Bolin. Sciath na Duinne, it said, in a whisper amidst the raging storm. A wisp of darkness snaked down from the chamber heights, and Bolin tried not to flinch as it curled around his waist. I know you.

  "Yes," he said, his throat tight.

  Do you want me, Sciath na Duinne?

  Bolin wet his lips.

  You desire me, do you not?

  A warm caress slid across his chest, and up to his face. Pain and exhaustion disappeared in the wake of that touch, and he found it hard to keep his pulse steady.

  I could be yours. These others are not worthy. But, you, his hair moved with the breath in his ear, you and I could rule even the Emperor.

  Bolin lifted his hand as though in a dream, and the darkness wrapped snake-like around his wrist. He trembled at the sense of completeness it brought with it. It offered whatever he desired. The world would be laid out before him. Never again would another's sense of duty bind him. His breathing grew deep, each inhalation drawing up power from the depths of the earth. Never had he experienced anything like this. It flooded his senses and filled him with exhilaration, and all of it could be his.

  Yes. Claim me.

  A scream shattered the spell and Bolin jerked his head up. Ciara writhed in mid air. Words assaulted her from every angle, an angry swarm that attempted to wrestle Andrakaos from her. Bolin slid his gaze to the crone. Her gnarled face had taken on a look of ecstasy, her eyes bright and eager. Donovan stood beside her, but when he met Bolin's gaze something flickered in the depths of his eyes.

  Bolin bowed his head. Andrakaos still cooed seductively to him, whispering promises. He could end this, could claim what should be rightfully his. No one would defy him. No one would count him wrong for taking his due. Bolin drew in a long breath. The scent of decay had given way to the intoxicating, spicy odor of the ages old power that swirled about them. He closed his fingers.

  Yes, it murmured. Claim me.

  But when Bolin tightened his fist, Andrakaos knew instantly what he intended. A flash of anger replaced the tender touch. Bolin called out to the broken bits of Ciara’s earth magic, all but forgotten, and began to form them into something they were never meant to be.

  The fire in his hand engulfed his arm, and he clamped his jaw to keep from crying out. He concentrated on the calm, white glow of Ciara’s earth magic. Something hit him hard in the side and he dropped to one knee, sucking after air. Ciara turned toward him. Her eyes flashed red with anger and she opened her mouth to roar, but Bolin angled his head toward the crone and Ciara followed the gesture. Through his hold on Andrakaos, Bolin directed all that anger toward a different target. The smile that spread across Ciara's face had nothing to do with mirth. She bared her teeth in an expression of cruel hatred and anticipated victory, and Bolin's gut clenched. The crone's face contorted as she realized what he intended. Bolin gave her no time to react. He guided Ciara's focus, pulled in all the tendrils of Andrakaos, wrapped the altered earth magic around it, and sent it straight into the crone's chest. Her chant shattered, the words flittered away from her. Blood seeped from her nose and eyes, and she desperately tried to renew her chant, but couldn't make it whole.

  Bolin knew the instant Donovan joined them against the crone. He also knew he'd be Donovan's next target. Defending himself, however, would mean leaving Ciara vulnerable. To destroy the crone, and protect Ciara, were all he could manage.

  The crone convulsed under the triple assault. She gestured in Donovan's direction but either the blow had little force, or Donovan managed to evade it. Her limbs flailed and she screeched -- an inhuman sound that drew a deafening response from Andrakaos. With her defenses in tatters, the crone couldn't ward her own power. Bolin risked everything and made a grab for it.

  Something he instantly regretted.

  The crone had spent centuries corrupting her power, warping it until it had become as dark and evil as her soul. It ripped at Bolin as he pulled it in, and he cried out and dropped to his knees. He couldn't breathe. Splinters of the crone's power tore through bone and muscle, and Bolin lost his hold on Andrakaos. His vision blurred as he wrestled for control. He could feel the crone's glee. She would have him.

  "Never," he growled.

  He ignored the blinding pain, and with the last of his strength, forced the knife-like bits of the crone's power together. He dug through his memory to find the word to bind them, and shoved them back at their source. The crone's eyes widened, her hands went to her throat and though her mouth opened, no sound came out. Black flame erupted from where she stood, and the cavern collapsed around them.

  * * *

  Bolin hauled himself out of oblivion with nothing other than sheer determination. A heavy weight across his back held him pinned to the ground, and he could see nothing but slivers of dust laden grey light. It took a bit of doing to get his arms under his body and heave upwards, and he fail
ed the first time. A sense of urgency pushed him to try again. He made a noise low in his throat and thrust up, then struggled to crawl out from under the debris, collapsing as soon as he managed to drag himself clear. For a long while he could only lay there, breathing short and harsh, working up enough strength to get onto all fours. He coughed and spit blood, then raised his head to peer through the gloom.

  Most of the cavern's ceiling lay scattered on the ground; timbers and chunks of stone created a jumbled mess, punctuated by splinters of furniture, and lit by the dim half moon. Bolin's eyes swept the ruins, searching for Ciara. A crumpled heap of rags lay by the fire pit, and his breath caught. Bolin scrambled through the jagged landscape to reach it. His heart tightened as he half slid, half fell across a shattered timber to settle beside Ciara's still form. He gathered her gently into his lap, and laid trembling fingers against her throat, searching for a pulse. It fluttered beneath his fingertips. He let out the breath he'd been holding, and rested his forehead against hers, offering up a quick thanks to the Goddess.

  "Ciara." Bolin's his voice cracked, but Ciara didn't stir.

  Goddess's blood, he couldn't lose her now. Not now. He ran his hands over her, searching for broken bones. A jagged, red burn ripped across her left shoulder, and she had a cut across her temple, but he could find nothing else. Her heart beat slow and steady against his palm when he laid his hand over her breast. He needed to get her away from here, to people who could help her, and he needed to do it quickly.

  Getting to his feet with Ciara held in his arms, her head cradled against his shoulder, took an exorbitant amount of effort. Bolin's battered body protested with the strain, and he grit his teeth. He prayed to the Goddess Sandeen hadn't bolted, or they'd get no further than the edge of the rubble -- if he could even make it that far. He staggered as he tried to maneuver around the wreckage, and nearly dropped Ciara in the process.