His opponent sneered. “Might as well give up now. You know you’ve lost.”
“Think again!” Weylyn launched his own attack, but the enforcer swayed back, the sword just grazing his arm. Each time his opponent attacked, Weylyn deflected it. The swords clanked and hissed, the weapons flashing in the bright afternoon sunlight. Enraged, the enforcer aimed a thrust, but Weylyn deflected it again, twisting his sword around his opponent’s.
Finally, Weylyn saw a pattern. The enforcer stomped his foot twice when he was going to feint an attack, but only once when he intended to follow through. With that advantage, Weylyn launched his own attack. His blade evaded the enforcer’s frantic parry. He stepped away from one of the enforcer’s attacks and smiled. The smile tipped the man’s self-control.
The enforcer lost his deftness and aimed a brute thrust, but once again Weylyn deflected it.
Weylyn’s mind worked as his arm and feet moved, and he was now able to anticipate his opponent’s moves. Each time the enforcer lunged with an attack, Weylyn parried, then riposted, always looking for an opening. He launched a false attack low. The enforcer responded by shifting to a low guard, leaving his throat a target.
Ah! I have him now. But Weylyn could not kill the man.
The enforcer leered. “What’s the matter, pretty boy? Afraid to kill me?” The enforcer lunged at Weylyn, a movement he had expected. Weylyn shifted his weight back, just enough to let the sword pass by. He grasped the enforcer’s sword with his guard hand and plunged his sword through his opponent’s chest. A startled look captured the opponent’s face as he toppled to the ground. Twitching, he gasped and gurgled, the blood flowing from his throat. He tried to rise, then lay silent and unmoving.
Weylyn breathed deeply, at first unable to find his voice. He raised his sword high and shouted. “From this day on, there will be no more human sacrifices in Lochlann. Let us pray to the gods that the practice will disappear from the kingdom.”
Wiping his arm across his sweaty forehead, he nodded toward the other enforcer who still clasped the girl. “Release her. She must not suffer for our sakes.”
Frowning, the enforcer looked to the head druid for guidance. Head bowed, the druid nodded and spoke in a rasping voice. “Free her.”
Crying with joy, the girl rushed to Weylyn and knelt at his feet. She clung to his legs and looked up at him, her eyes shining with gratitude.
He raised the girl to her feet. “Go home now, child, and thank the gods and goddesses for your deliverance.”
“Thank you, oh, thank you.” She hugged him, then turned away, looking for her family among the crowds. The spectators were already departing the square, rushing home to lock their doors against the demons, crying in fright. They shoved and pushed, yelling in fear and anger. Who knew what would happen now? With no sacrifice to appease the gods, the demons might knock their doors down, enter their houses and slaughter them.
Weylyn looked for Briana. He had unfinished business to settle with her, profuse apologies for his cruel behavior and a fresh declaration of his love.
And then the demons! Even during the duel, the creatures had remained in the forefront of his mind. He must meet them by the circle of stones, show them that his people wanted to make peace. He would fetch a horse from the stable and ride forth to meet them.
But first, Briana. Where was she?
Throughout the entire duel, Briana’s gaze never left Weylyn. Even if he no longer loved her, she knew her love for him would last for all time. He was part of her heart and soul and body, a man she could never forget. No one else could take his place. She heard the talk around her, all the murmurings of the crowds. Bits and snatches of sentences reached her ears. She sensed that the people abhorred the sacrifice, but they feared the demons more. Only a few of the older spectators knew Weylyn, and most of the people cheered his opponent.
Her eyes continually searched the crowds, her thoughts always on Enid. Surely she would see the dear woman among these people. Her gaze slid to someone who reminded her of Regan Mulhoney, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on—the woman’s stance, her full breasts that thrust against the bodice of her gown, the smirk on her face. But this woman had gray hair and wrinkled skin. The woman turned and met her gaze, and her smirk widened, a look of satisfaction on her face. It was Regan! Gods! How many years had elapsed since she’d left the village? Forty years, at least! Forty years that she and Weylyn had spent in the fairy kingdom.
Later, she would return to the house where she had grown up, a mission she must undertake for her own peace of mind. Yet she feared her trip would be futile, for in her heart she knew Enid had passed on to the Otherworld. She wept silently for the woman she had loved and lost, for all the years she’d been away.
In silence, too, she cheered Weylyn whenever he parried or attacked. Her heart thudded the entire time, her head moving back and forth in all directions, following the movement of Weylyn and his opponent. Weylyn, you must defeat him! She clenched her fists so hard her arms ached. This duel must end soon and Weylyn must win. She could not accept any other outcome. Life would have no meaning without him. Nausea churned in her stomach, and she continually swallowed. She heard the oohs and ahs of the crowds, heard them shout their joy whenever his opponent attached. Be quiet! she wanted to tell them. Gods, be with Weylyn this day.
There! The enforcer plunged to the ground. Was he dead? She waited long minutes and still he languished on the ground. Weylyn, my love, you did it! She bowed her head and pressed her hand to her heart, a tremendous weight lifted from her. She thanked the gods and goddesses for saving his life. Even if he never comes back to me, I shall always love him, she vowed. Looking up, she saw Regan again, the woman’s vicious expression sent her way, the smirk still on her face. What’s that all about? she wondered, but she couldn’t stay here. She had a task to complete. The crowds rushed from the square, pushing each other out of the way, crying in fright.
“The demons! The demons! Now they will come and get us!”
I hope not, Briana prayed. The sun arced across the western sky, a reminder she had not a moment to lose. Since she was at the edge of the crowd, it took her but little time to leave the square.
Free of the crowds and away from the village square, she raced on, past the shops and businesses, the cottages that edged the forest. She must hurry, meet the demons at the circle of stones. Time! She needed time to get to the forest before the demons. Now past the village, she ran toward the forest, covering about a mile on the dirt road that led to the woods. Here, the ground sloped, the rocks and roots a continual impediment. She slowed down, mindful she must conserve her energy. She couldn’t keep on at this pace. The forest loomed ahead of her, mound upon mound, its hills blanketed with evergreens, its peaks reaching upwards of three-thousand feet. Closer now, she caught the aromas of pine and rain. She scrabbled up the rocky path, grabbing bushes for support, her leg muscles straining. The sky dimmed, the sun sinking in the west, but she still had much distance to cover. She slipped on wet leaves but caught herself in time, recalling her sprained ankle of a few days—or years—ago.
She climbed higher, ignoring the sharp branches that caught at her dress, forcing her to stop now and then to pull the fabric loose. Halting for a slight rest, she leaned against a hemlock and looked up to see the darkening sky, the first faint stars that decorated the heavens. She breathed deeply, fighting for breath as she raised the hem of her dress to wipe across her perspiring forehead. With another deep breath, she continued on, her gaze on the rocky trail where wet leaves made the ground slippery and thick tree roots presented obstacles.
Always keeping to the path, she wove among the towering trees, the branches dripping with moisture, past the laurel bushes and understory. Another one or two miles, she figured, would take her to the circle of stones. There she would wait for whatever was to come.
“Briana!” Weylyn searched in vain for his wife. The crowds were leaving the village square, pushing and shoving, rushing to m
ake it home before darkness brought the demons. “Briana!” he called yet again. He must find her, then he must face the otherworlders.
The demons! That’s where she’s gone! Hoping with all his heart he was mistaken, he checked one more time for her. And didn’t see her. Gods, Briana, why did you do it? He must get to her before she reached the circle of stones. She must not face the otherworlders herself.
First retrieving his cloak, he raced across the square, headed for the stables behind the temple. But crowds surged in that direction, holding him back. One woman fell, the others trampling over her. He bent to help her rise, as still, the crowds kept coming. At last! The stable came in sight.
One quick glance told him the stable had aged since he’d left, boards missing, the building in need of repair. He checked in the dim light of the building and didn’t see the stable boy. Where was he? Ah, he’d be returning from the village square. Finally, he came into view.
“Saddle a horse for me!” Weylyn cried.
“But sir, the demons—”
“There will be no demons this night, or ever.” He hoped. “Now saddle the horse, or do I have to do it?”
“But sir, I don’t know you—”
“Just saddle the damn horse!”
“Yes, sir.” He reached for the tack in the stall. Working quickly, he bridled and saddled the horse and led him outside, then spun around. “Now I must bolt the doors!”
“Then do it!” Weylyn mounted the horse. His mind went back to the time, days or years ago, when he had ridden his horse, Epona, from the same stable to go after Briana. Now he was doing the same, but for a different reason.
Starting at a slow pace, he knew better than to gallop, but he cursed every minute that went by, always mindful that he must reach the circle before Briana. Once on the road leading to the forest, he saw four horsemen ahead of him, blocking the road. He’d never get past them. Hemmed in on both sides by trees and bushes, he saw nothing to do but wait and hope they stopped soon. He shouted at them and waved his arms. They looked behind them—and did nothing, kept at the same leisurely pace. Gods, are you not with me this day? After about two miles, they turned off at a mansion. Thank all the gods and goddesses.
Still, he’d lost precious time. Briana must not face the demons. Gods, how he loved this woman, and how he wanted to cherish and protect her for the rest of their lives. He looked up at the darkening sky. Would he make it to the circle in time? Would he catch up with Briana? He had to, had to! Once past the mansion, he urged the horse to a gallop.
Complete darkness fell, a multitude of stars and a full moon decorating the night sky. With a final spurt of energy, Briana raced up the rocky trail. The circle of stones, at last! Her heart beat fast as she looked from the circle to the dark trees, her eyes searching for the demons, her mind ever alert for the creatures. She leaned against the circle and closed her eyes. Tempted to climb across, find the portal and escape to the fairy kingdom, she stayed where she stood. She must complete her task. And she could not leave Weylyn. Gods, I can’t do it.
There! Among the trees! Fiery eyes blazed in the dark, the otherworlders slipping among the trees. The stench of rotten meat blew her way, the earth shaking with their heavy footsteps.
Gods, help me! Show me the way! She clenched her mouth so hard her jaw ached, while every instinct told her to run, escape. Her breath came in gasps. She couldn’t do it. Could not.
First one, then another and another, they came from all directions, their grunts louder, their stench unbearable. Furry, squat bodies closed in, their gleaming eyes focused on her. She drew back, pressing against the stones, wanting to scream, wanting to climb across the stones, go back to the fairy world.
Now! She must say the words now. But she had to do something else first. What was it?
Ah, yes, it all came back to her. Suppressing her fear, her terror, she knelt on the ground and bowed her head. She stared at the ground, at the furry feet with claws like daggers. She raised her head and looked at them. The words! She couldn’t remember. Past her fear, her horror, she delved into her brain and found the words.
“Es urta l gret,” she murmured, her voice trembling. Gathering her courage, she spoke louder. “En laret nenen set k sarnen.”
The demons stared at her, their fiery eyes piercing her soul. They stepped closer.
Gods, they don’t understand!
She looked up at them again, her eyes taking in each creature. She repeated the words.
The demons stared at her, then at each other, then back to her. They spoke among themselves in a harsh, guttural language, words she couldn’t begin to understand. Then one of them—their leader, she supposed—spoke to her, the same words, barely distinguishable.
They bowed their heads and gradually stepped away from her. They climbed back up the hill, whence they’d come. Before reaching the top, they turned and waved.
She stood and waved back, her heart still pounding, her mind scarcely believing she had succeeded. She slumped against the stones, faint with relief, giving in to a rush of joy, of satisfaction, of happiness.
But wait—was their departure for all time, or only this Samhain? She didn’t know. Only time would tell.
10/16/04 Weylyn reached the last knoll before the circle of stones. The ground shook with thudding feet, the demons’ stench strong and pungent. Too late! They had Briana! They would take her off to the Otherworld, if they hadn’t slaughtered her already.
Wisely, he tethered the horse to a tree branch and proceeded on foot. No matter how much he wanted to rush to her and protect her, his mind advised caution. Several steps later, he heard Briana’s voice. Ah, my dear one, my dear wife. She spoke the words the queen had taught them, her voice hesitant at first, becoming stronger, more confident.
But what was happening? Would the otherworlders understand the words? And even if they did, would Briana succeed? Unable to see what transpired, he peered around a tree, to see without being seen. Briana. At that moment, he saw the demons turn and leave, waving to her from the top of the hill. He bent his head, overcome with relief, wanting nothing but to go to his wife, and hold her close for all time. Yet he waited a while longer, fearing his presence might spoil Briana’s message. The demons might return, kill them both.
After they disappeared, he raced the rest of the way up the hill.
“Briana!” Despite his joy, he lowered his voice.
She turned his way, a look of pure happiness on her face, but puzzlement, too. “Weylyn!” Never had she looked so lovely, the full moon silvering her blonde hair, her beautiful face the most welcome sight. Never had he loved her as he did now, this minute.
They met and embraced, both crying tears of joy. He kissed her again and again, afraid this moment was too good to be true, fearful she would spurn him after his ill treatment of her in the forest. Damn Regan! He must make amends to this dear one, even if it took him the rest of his life.
He drew back and gazed into her eyes. “Oh, my love! If anything had happened to you, I wouldn’t want to live.”
Looking bewildered, she stared at him. “I thought you were angry with me, sorry you married me.”
“Ah, darling!” He held her close again, vowing to never let her out of his sight. “I was bewitched, sweetheart. I’ll explain that on our ride back. I’ve a horse waiting farther down the trail. Come, I’m taking you home.”
From that Samhain on, the demons no longer threatened Lochlann, nor indeed, the entire country of Maigh Fearann. They remained in the Otherworld, content to stay among their own kind.
As for Regan, upon seeing that Weylyn still loved his wife, she went home and ingested a fatal dose of strychnine. A few of the villagers found her several days later.
What about Briana and Weylyn? Why, of course, they lived happily ever after.
The End
The Seductress
By
C.H. Scott
PROLOGUE
It’s too hard to be normal.
Colette
McFarland tightened her arms around the brown paper bag of groceries. Her high heels clicked against the cement as she walked down the poorly lit sidewalk toward her apartment building only a half-mile away. Working until seven o’clock at the travel agency didn’t give her enough daylight hours to go shopping, and if she wanted to be like everybody else, she had to follow their daily routine. Of course, with a snap of her fingers, she could be in her apartment right now fixing dinner. For that matter, she could even return to find dinner already prepared.
But no, she had to do things like regular people.
Her heel caught on a small crack in the sidewalk and she stumbled. Righting herself, she cursed under her breath and tested her foot. When she put weight on it, pain shot up her leg. It’d be hard to walk in heels with a twisted ankle. Should she whisk herself home?
For the hundredth time since leaving work, she reminded herself that she must act normal. Wouldn’t her Zoetan ancestors be scowling at her now if they knew what thoughts swam through her head?
She quickly forgot about her past and froze when a familiar twitch irritated her skin. She wrinkled her nose. Something bad was happening.
She cocked her head and listened. The street by the small market remained quiet, only a distant honking sounded in the night. But something was wrong. Somebody out there needed help.
She lifted her hand from the paper bag to touch the jade and diamond dragon necklace around her throat. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her feelings.
Other noises echoed through her head, closer this time, and she focused in on the sounds. Scuffling, then the thud of something hitting the ground. Foul curses, the whooshing sound of a person losing his breath. A groan.
She inhaled sharply. The sounds came from the alley just around the corner. Cautiously, she limped near the shadowed path and peeked around the brick wall. Down at the end of the way, two men stood over a man’s prone body, kicking him.
In the Witching Hour Page 24