Sword Sisters
A Red Reaper Novel
Tara Cardinal and Alex Bledsoe
© 2014 Tara Cardinal
Cover Artwork by Arman Akopian
Cover Design by Shawn T. King
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Worldwide Rights
Created in the United States of America
Published by Ragnarok Publications | www.ragnarokpub.com
Editor-In-Chief: Tim Marquitz | Creative Director: J.M. Martin
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
About the Authors
Sword Sisters
A Red Reaper Novel
PROLOGUE
The origin of the Demons remains a mystery; even they don’t seem to know. But one day, over a millennium ago, they found their way from their world to ours. That began the Thousand Year War.
Unknown to the Demons, they actually created the race that would defeat them: the Reapers. The first of them were hybrids: half demon, half human, born of mortal women raped by Demons. They lived far longer than humans and could battle the Demons on their own terms. Demon rage fueled by a treacherous human heart is a lethal combination, and these half-breeds were a vicious and terrible race, destroying humans and Demons with equal ferocity.
Tormented and dominated by their Demon fathers, they tortured humans because they did not know right from wrong. They were brutal, unpredictable, and chaotic. Their cruelty was legendary, and humans learned to hate and fear the Reapers. Humanity fought back, and was all but decimated by the power and rage of these savage and terrifying beasts. Like their Demon fathers, they destroyed villages, enslaved the commoners, and raped the women, impregnating them and leaving them to die in childbirth.
But those women gave birth to something entirely different. These hybrid creatures were now only one quarter demon. Human mothers died in childbirth whether their rapists were Demons or Reapers, but these were the first Reapers plagued by guilt over the deaths of their human mothers. All over the world, something magical happened.
Humans came to call it “The Awakening.” Reapers—the younger, more human ones—banded together in a great army, unified by their tremendous need to protect humanity from the unrelenting cruelty of demonkind. These new Reapers became the deadliest warriors our world has ever known. It was the human soul that gave these heroes their advantage in battle. And eventually, they won. The half-breed Reapers were destroyed, the Demons were driven back into the darkness, and an era of peace began.
The watered down bloodline yielded surprising changes. These new Reapers were very strong but weakened with age, a trait not found in their half-blood ancestors. Their lives were shorter, and many of them were barren.
Many years passed, and the Awakened Reapers served their human brothers as a warrior class, working tirelessly to repair the damage done by the chaotic half-breed Reapers. Relations were strained between the new Reapers and the surviving humans. Adonis, the leader of the Reapers, began courting the chief oracle of the humans, Diah, a beautiful and powerful Teller Witch. Relations improved, and the villages began to rebuild and vie for power while Reapers kept the peace. Then the unthinkable happened.
The Demon leader, Ganesh, kidnapped and raped Diah on her wedding night to Adonis. From this horrible union came Aella, another of the dreaded half-breeds, born with flaming red hair and the fury that goes with it.
Although human women died giving birth to Reapers, Diah survived, kept alive by a swallow of Ganesh’s magical blood. Ashamed, she let everyone believe she was dead, especially Adonis, whom she still loved. When Aella was just five in human years, Diah sold her daughter to Ganesh for a bottle of his own blood, which the Teller Witch used to increase her powers and stay alive. Aella was raised among the Demons but not as one of them. She was tormented as only Demons can torment a child, in ways best left to the imagination, and grew to young womanhood as a victim, nursing fantasies of revenge.
In the great final battle of the Thousand Year War, Aella was rescued and brought back to Ilan, chief country of the humans. She lived among the Reapers but remained isolated, separate from them even in the castle they shared. As the only true half-breed in the castle and perhaps the world, her Demon nature terrified them, and her relative youth meant she lacked control and maturity.
The Teller Witch, before her apparent demise, prophesied that a Reaper with flaming red hair would not only be born but would become the last of the Reapers with the strength of ten Demons and the heart and soul of a human. She would be the last hope of humankind. Was this Aella? No one knew. Many thought not. But the Reapers tolerated her presence, tried to teach her to control her Demon nature, and waited for a further sign that this was, indeed, her destiny.
CHAPTER ONE
The arrow in my back had found its way through my ribs and into my lungs, so it was understandable when the boy nudged me with his foot and said, “Hey. Little girl? Little girl?”
I should’ve been angry that I’d been discovered, but instead, I fixated on his words. Little girl? I thought in outrage. Sure, I wasn’t very tall, and I was sprawled flat on the forest floor between two protruding, table-sized rocks, so I guess it was a fair mistake to make. But I was definitely no child. I’m twelve, you ass.
Then he asked, “Are you dead?”
I wanted to say, That’s a stupid question because how can I answer if yes, but the arrow hurt so bad, and I’d lost so much blood that I only managed to raise my head and wheeze at him. His dog promptly licked me in the face then sniffed at my bloody clothes. I tried to twist away so the dog wouldn’t lap up my blood. That could be a disaster beyond reckoning!
“Oh, boy,” he said, and his voice shook. Great, he’s squeamish. I could only see him from the knees down. He wore soft brown boots, the kind with flexible soles so you wouldn’t make noise while hunting. He dropped a bow and arrow beside these boots and said, “Wow, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know anyone was around. Oh, boy, am I in trouble.”
My head was foggy, but I understood that he believed the arrow in my back was his. That was foolish, I thought. No one should mistake a Reaper arrow for anyone else’s. They had distinctive shafts and fletching, not to mention a peculiarly narrow, barbed head. Of course, he couldn’t see the head at the moment because it was buried in my flesh. But still.
He knelt beside me and put a hand on my back, over the spot where another arrow had penetrated my skin mere hours earlier. That one, I could reach and remove, and by now the wound had healed. But the remaining one had struck me dead center, and despite my best efforts, it had finally worn me down. It wouldn’t kill me, of course. But it was damned inconvenient.
“Okay, um, look…” he said. His voice was still nervous but not panicked. “If you can hear me, I’m going to take you back to my hunting blind. I have some first aid stuff there…herbs and bandages
and things. I’m going to have to pick you up though.”
I couldn’t warn him. I looked small, but my muscles were far denser than humans, which meant that I was heavier than I appeared. Much heavier. If I hadn’t been so hurt, I would’ve laughed out loud at his grunt when he cavalierly tried to lift me. He stepped back, changed his grip, and put me over his shoulder. I saw the two rocks, one tall and one squat. Then his dog filled my field of vision, regarding me with canine puzzlement. Usually, dogs immediately growled at me, recognizing me as a danger. I suppose at the moment, the dog was right; I was about as dangerous as one of the pheasants he retrieved for his master.
“Won’t take long,” the boy said, his voice tight with effort. “Just hang on, and please don’t die.”
It didn’t take long, but every damned bone-jarring step was agony. Reaper arrowheads were designed to work their way deeper if the injured party moved, and it did its job well until I could feel its point trying to push its way out just above my navel.
Then we started climbing. His hunting blind was up a tree, reached by a crude ladder hammered into the trunk. Through the tunnel formed by my dangling hair, I saw the dog watching us as we worked our way up.
Inside the little hideaway, the boy gently put me down on my side, and I finally glimpsed his face. He was older than me, or at least older than I appeared to be. Reapers age more slowly than humans. I guessed he was probably around fourteen or fifteen. He had dark hair that grew wild and unruly around a face that, for all its kindness, already hinted at potential strength. Something ached in my chest that had nothing whatsoever to do with the arrow nearly impaling me.
He said, “Good, you’re still alive. I’m going to check your wound now, okay? So let’s just…”
He turned me gently, almost delicately, on my stomach, and brushed my long red hair aside. Then I felt the presence of steel near my skin. Normally, it would have sent me into action, but I was too weak. And when he began to cut away my leather armor (really useful, Andraste, thanks a bunch) and the tunic beneath it, I panicked. He’ll see. He’ll know.
I gathered every last bit of my Reaper strength and will and said, “Stop.” It came out as a whisper and a pretty pathetic one at that.
“I promise, I won’t look at anything I’m not supposed to,” he said. “Now let’s just…” His voice trailed off. He sat very still.
He knows! It became a scream in my head. He knows-he knows-he knows-he knows…
“Well, I’ve never seen anything like that,” he said finally. “You’re a Reaper.”
The hunting blind was silent. I couldn’t say anything from weakness, and he couldn’t from shock. But I knew what he must be feeling. Repulsion. Disgust.
“I heard you had natural armor,” he said finally. “This was a one in a million shot, you know that? Right between the ribs, right in that tiny little place where there’s a gap in the bone. I couldn’t do it again on purpose if I tried.”
I had to tell him. “You…didn’t do it,” I managed.
“I didn’t? Oh, yeah, that’s not one of my arrows. Wow, how did I miss that?”
I was ready for him to roll me off the platform and down onto the ground, where I’d wait in agony for one of the others to find me. Instead, I felt his small, warm fingertips around the place where the shaft pierced my skin. “Can you hear me?” he asked gently. His voice sounded deep, kind even.
I nodded.
“If I remember the stories right…a Reaper arrow can’t be pulled free. It’s designed to work its way deeper when you mess with it. Is that right?”
I nodded again. I was very close to losing consciousness. I knew I couldn’t actually die—only a few things could kill a Reaper—but I could certainly be incapacitated by injury and blood loss. Even if I lost all of my blood, I would go into a kind of hibernation until the arrow was finally removed. Then my body would restore itself.
“So…I’m going to push it all the way through, so I can grab the tip and pull it free.”
He was right, that was exactly what he should do. It’s exactly what I should have done. Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe my teacher, Eldrid, was right: I was tough and strong but about as bright as an outhouse on a moonless night.
He rolled me onto my side again, brushed my hair—my damned, unruly, untamable red hair—from my face. He pushed my tunic up from my waist, exposing my stomach. Then he put his lips close to my ear. “I’ll do it quickly. I’ll try not to make it hurt any more than it has to.” Then he kissed my cheek.
He kissed my cheek.
No man had ever done that before. I’d been touched, of course. The Demons who’d…well, “raised” isn’t right, but…whatever, they’d certainly touched me. But the Reapers who’d rescued me had not been inclined to coddle a Demon-haunted, Demon-trained girl who might or might not go into a psychopathic rage and destroy everything around her at any given moment. They’d given me a home and a purpose, but their affection was always at a distance.
This…this was not. This was immediate, and here, and now.
It was such a new sensation that I felt almost none of the pain when the arrowhead broke the skin of my belly or the sensation of the shaft sliding through my internal organs. Then it was gone, and the maddening, itching tingles that signaled my body’s healing kicked in.
The boy sat back and looked at the arrow. “Wow,” he said. “That’s quite the weapon.” Then he smiled at me. He smiled. After all he’d seen, after all he’d comprehended, he still smiled. “Listen, I have to go now or my family will go crazy. They hate it when I’m late. But I’ve been told that Reapers can heal themselves really quickly. Is that true?”
“Yes,” I said although I wasn’t sure if the word was audible.
“I’ll be back after dark to check on you as soon as I can sneak out. There’s food and water here, so help yourself to what you need. And feel free to borrow a fresh hunting tunic.” Then he bent down and did it again. He kissed my cheek again.
I wouldn’t be here when he came back of course. Long before then, I’d be good as new, and I had to get away before this boy, this human, told anyone about me. Most humans regarded Reapers with a fair amount of distrust, and in my vulnerable state, I was no match for an angry mob. I managed to raise my head and look him in the eyes. I was fading fast, sliding into the sleep that would allow my body to knit itself back together, but I couldn’t go yet. I had to know one thing. “Name…?” I breathed.
He smiled. At me. He said, “Oh, that’s right, we haven’t been introduced. My name’s…”
And then I passed out.
I snapped out of my favorite memory of that excruciatingly gorgeous smart, kind, young man as the wood beside my face exploded and drove razor-sharp splinters into my cheek.
CHAPTER TWO
An enormous boot crashed through the log that hid me, narrowly missing my head. My Reaper instincts took over: I curled into a ball and rolled backward, out of my hiding place and into the open. Clearing the log, I flipped back onto my feet and took off. I needed some distance before I could turn and fight.
Or so I intended. No sooner had I taken a step than two meaty fists grabbed my biceps from behind and lifted me high off the ground. Incredibly strong fingers encircled my upper arms and dug into my skin. The forest swirled around me as I fought.
The iron firmness of his grip did it. First, I saw the little flashes of light around the edges of my vision, then a reddish tint washed over everything, turning the world crimson. I knew the cause: My body was throwing itself into Demon mode, rushing blood and adrenalin to all my muscles and senses, making them stronger, faster, and more lethal. Even the veins in my eyes dilated, which explained the blood-tinted view. In moments, the rational parts of my brain would shut down, and I would go berserk to a degree even my captor might not be able to control or survive. I was no longer a Reaper but a Demon. And that meant someone had to die.
But there was a tiny spark still unaffected, and in the voice of my mother, the Teller Witch, i
t said firmly, No! NO! A great surge of ice-cold calm turned the rush of blood back on itself. I froze, locked between my Demon and Reaper natures.
Then the rage faded. No one would ever know how close it had been or how strong I had to be to resist it. They would consider me weak, in fact, for letting it peek out at all.
For a moment, my feet still kicked before I got conscious control of myself. Then I growled, deep and low. After all, at my core, I’m nothing but a wild creature even without the Demon blood in my veins.
I looked back over my shoulder and met my captor’s gaze. He assessed me with his usual cool amusement, completely sure of his superior size and strength. If he only knew how close he’d come.
“Aella,” he rumbled, my name becoming as much a growl as my own animalistic noises. Then a deep guffaw erupted from his chest, and playfully, he dropped me to the ground. I spun to face him.
“Aella,” he chided again, still in the throes of a roaring belly laugh. “You bring me endless amusement!”
Andraste, or “Andre,” towered over me; he towered over almost everyone, human or Reaper. He had a massive body, all hard muscle and leathery sinew, and his arms were almost as big around as my waist. In battle, he was merciless, yet there was another side to him, a tenderness that surfaced whenever his mate Freya was in his presence. I, of course, never saw any of that same tenderness directed toward me. He was here to teach me to be a warrior, and tenderness was not useful in battle.
His laugh angered me, and his ridicule angered me more. His interruption of that fleeting, most precious memory of the boy who’d kissed my cheek reignited my rage and, without even thinking about it, my fist was already on its way toward its mark.
Of course, Andraste—older, wiser, stronger, and with faster reflexes—caught my fist just an inch away from his solar plexus. It would have been a painful but inconsequential blow: lethal to a human but to a Reaper only really annoying.
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