Archipellus: God of Samhain (A Sons of Herne romance)

by J. Rose Allister

  “That would be true for most people on most nights.” Archipellus said, pulling open the front door. “But this is the eve of All Souls, and I am the god of Samhain.” He turned to Jorandil. “My sword, brother. I need it.”

  Jorandil veered off and retrieved the scabbard. Archipellus took it, and they all went outside. The sounds of night in Jorus were many and unpleasant. Screeching and wails, fell breezes and roars hit his ears.

  He withdrew the sword and eyed the other men. “I will make my crossing and see what I can learn.”

  Jorandil nodded. “Godspeed, brother. Let us pray that you find your mother—and that she can indeed stop this.”

  “She can. She did it once for our father.”

  He blocked out the wild sounds of the swamp realm and concentrated. From this far into the outer worlds, the voices of the dead were harder to hear. But with the sword held in front of him, their whispers came into focus. “Mother,” he murmured, his breath fogging the gleaming, mirrored blade. “Mother, I need your help. Please.”

  “Mother,” he heard in sing-song fashion. He was being mocked by the dead. “Mother, help us.”

  “By the gods,” Andero murmured, glancing around. So, the god of death was not the only one who could hear the voices as it approached the midnight hour on All Souls.

  With gritted teeth, Archipellus shut out the ridicule and honed in on his memory of her, the long, flowing black hair and kind eyes that had no red glow when he knew her.

  “My son,” he heard, and his breath caught. “My Archipellus calls to me.”

  “I am coming, Mother.” He opened his eyes, ignoring Andero’s wide-eyed stare. “Stand aside,” he told him.

  Andero moved out of the way while the god of Samhain aimed the tip of the sword into midair. He sliced into the veil, praying he would indeed step through in the right spot. And that he would make it back again.

  “Watch over the rift in case the dead try to come through,” he said to them. “Watch over Melissa.”

  He made the crossing into the underworld.

  When he entered the realm of the dead, the first thing that struck him was how different it seemed from how he had always imagined the place where his mother had gone. He thought there would be a barren, perhaps rocky landscape, and a chill in the air sharp enough to pierce a soul to the marrow. But here it was warm and dry,despite a roiling fog that sprung up from the ground as well as pressing down from above. A sickly green shadow draped over the underworld, blanketing a large expanse of woods. The trees here grew roots up, with branches and rotting leaves spread over the ground.

  Moans rose around him, from the souls of tortured departed who floated in a river nearby. The slowly flowing path snaked along in a soothing, graceful pattern at the edge of the tree line. He strapped the scabbard to his back, keeping the sword in hand as he drew near. The water glistened as though struck by some nonexistent sunlight. Eerie, translucent faces peered out, arms stretching forth while the throngs whispered, “Here, Archipellus. Your mother exists here in the water. Come seek her with us.”

  “Do not draw too near the river,” he heard. He spun around to see a familiar face. “They will lure in any who venture close. They wish others to join in their misery.”

  He stepped away from the river bank, blinking in shock. “Is it really you?”

  “My son. You have grown strong and handsome. Much like your father.”

  Gwaneth looked and sounded like the mother he had remembered, but not entirely. She had the same lilting tone, and the flowing, black hair that fell to mid-thigh. But her eyes glowed red, and there were dark, fleshy wings folded against her back.

  “You no longer look human,” he said.

  “My mortal appearance was temporary. I regained my true form when I passed over. ” She stepped close, fingering his long hair and giving him a wan smile. “You are still among the living. How is it you were able to cross over?”

  “I wield the sword of Apollyon,” he said, holding it out to the side. “I am the keeper of Samhain, able to breach the veil between worlds—even those dividing the living from the dead.” He glanced around at the upside down trees. “Although I confess this was not what I expected to find.”

  “We are not in the depths of the underworld. Here, we are close to the place between our worlds. I like to walk in these woods and contemplate many things.” She studied his face. “So, my son is the god of the holiest sabbat.”

  He sheathed his sword. “Many were surprised when my father appointed an incubus demon as keeper of Samhain.”

  She gave a small, coughing laugh. “Of that I have little doubt. I am glad your father did not turn his back on you when your nature was awakened. I feared for you every night from the moment of your birth, praying that the horns would not sprout.” She turned away. “That you would not be like I was.”

  “Although I believed that he had. He carried so much anger and bitterness. He resented me.”

  “It was never you whom he resented,” she said. “It was the demon in me that drove a wedge in the life we might have shared. It was difficult for him, seeing that same nature awaken within you. Hiding you from Herne during your insatiable phase was no simple task. Particularly since your lust drove you near mad with the urge to seek the power of a draining. You often escaped to satisfy the demon.”

  He swallowed. That part of his life, in late adolescence when sexual maturity had brought forth his true nature, was not a time he liked to remember. A newly awakened incubus or succubus was a greedy, lustful creature, unable to satisfy their need for sex and power even after many orgasms, many victims drained. It was called the insatiable phase, the time in which most of his kind unleashed their greatest carnal chaos on the realms. Humans were one of the beings most susceptible. They succumbed so easily to the pheromones of an incubus, and their energy was so readily extracted.

  “I resented you for keeping me hidden away,” he said. “I was so reckless and consumed by my selfish urges that I could not see that you wanted to help. That you were protecting others from what I would do—and from what my father would do to me in return.”

  “None of us can see truth during the awakening. We are mindless and blinded by lust. It turned out well that Herne discovered the truth and locked you up during the phase. That he was able to put aside his personal feelings about our kind was proof indeed of his love for you.”

  “His love felt quite different from yours. It felt much more like control and judgment.”

  “That is the way of things with sons and fathers. Particularly fathers who are also stubborn gods.” Her hair drifted on a puff of fog. “He wanted better for you than what my blood afforded. He wanted you to be strong enough to battle the demon and win, and so you must have. You resisted your need to drain energy and have become god of the high sabbat.” Her smile faded as she gazed up into his eyes. “And yet, I see that you suffer.”

  “I am not as controlled as you would believe of me.”

  “You have drained someone.” His heart thudded while she studied him closer, and he looked away. “Not just anyone. Someone you care for.”

  “I did not come here for a visit. I need your help, Mother. I need you to tell me how to undo what has been done.” He returned her gaze, his throat thickening. “Please.”

  “You know that our kind take energy. We cannot give it back.”

  “That is not entirely true though, is it? You did it for Father.”

  “With time, this girl may recover.”

  “Far too much time, if she indeed survives. I drew from her right up to the point of no return. I cannot live with that.”

  “Then you have my sympathy, for such remorse does not end readily for one of our kind. We know only how to offer weakness and death.”

  “I healed someone.”

  She eyed him. “With herbs and charms?”

  “With my power.” He looked steadily at her. “One who was dying was restored when she touched my horns after a draining. She took some
of the energy meant to replenish the veil between worlds, and the wasting disease left her.”

  His mother stared at him. “Truly?”

  He nodded. “Do you know of such a thing?”

  She shook her head. “But you are not only my offspring. You are a son of Herne. Perhaps your healing power came about because a god’s blood runs through your veins.”

  “Then it does not run through them strongly enough, for when I attempted to heal the woman I drained, it did not work. It seemed to make matters worse.”

  “Perhaps because she was not dying of mortal means. I do not know.”

  “But this is not the only way to save her. You know of another. The way you saved my father.”

  “You are a sabbat god. You cannot sacrifice the way that I did for Herne.”

  He leaned his forearm against the nearest tree. “If you could just see her, Mother, you would know she deserves such a sacrifice. If you saw for yourself how passionate she is about life and the things she cares about. How strong and determined she can be, throwing herself in harm’s way to protect others. Stubborn as the fires of hell, true. But so beautiful that sometimes I cannot even breathe when she is near.”

  She laid a delicate hand over her heart. “My son. That is love you speak of. You have fallen for her.”

  “Love is not possible. I have barely known her.”

  “I fell for Herne the forest god the first time I laid eyes on him. He possessed my heart the moment I saw him standing tall and proud in the woods, his bow drawn and his gaze fixed on a mighty stag. That falling sensation, that catch in your chest when you can no longer breathe, tells you that you have been flung headlong at love, my son. Make no mistake.”

  “If love feels like your gut is being torn apart at the thought that you have harmed them, then perhaps you are right.” He straightened. “You said that on the night you conceived me, you had drained my father to the point where you had to save him. I need you to tell me how.”

  Fear glittered in her red eyes. “Do not ask this of me. The god of Samhain is too important to risk.”

  “I am not worthy of the title if I do not fix what I have done.” He took her hand. “Mother. Tell me how you did it.”

  They gazed at one another.

  “I had to give up what I was,” she said. “I had to become mortal.”

  “I know. But you did not tell me how.”

  She heaved a sigh. “I had to lie with him and draw him to the point of death.”

  “As Melissa is nearly there, that would put her at too great a risk.”

  “Perhaps. But as our kind can sense when a victim is being pulled to the other side, you will know the moment to act to spare her.”

  “How?”

  She held out her wrist, revealing the thin, white scar. “I drained myself of most of my blood, spilling it into a basin beside him. When I was weakened enough, I gave him of it.”

  “He drank it?”

  “His own power was within my blood by that point, for I had taken it in during our lovemaking. Only by infusing it back was I able to restore him.”

  “You drained yourself to replenish him. Would it succeed with a human?”

  “I am fair certain it would work, but not without consequences. And I know not what they would be. Herne was a powerful god. It took much of my blood to help him. By the time he revived, I was lying beside him, pale and unconscious. My wings shriveled and fell off. Because I had shown that I would sacrifice myself to make amends for my crimes, he helped nurse me back to health. When my eyes next reopened, they had lost their crimson glow. I was mortal—and I was carrying his child.”

  His pulse sped. “You said you did this to make amends for your crimes, as in plural. Was it not just for draining him?”

  Now she turned and stared into the woods. “I pursued many wrongs in my obsession that your father and I might be happy together. Even though you know it is not possible for our kind.”

  “With humans.”

  “With anyone. Even our own kind will drain one another endlessly. I did not tell Herene what I was, only allowing brief affection between us out of fear that I would go too far. Being a lusty male god who could sense how much I wanted him, he pressed the matter a little more each time we were together. I finally gave in, but I helped him finish quickly and did not take my own pleasure. Even that left him unusually fatigued, of course, but he did not catch on for some time. Then he realized I was holding back from him, that my cries of climax were false. He accused me of playing with his affections.” She turned back. “He had fallen for me too, you see. And his pride would not let him stand for a woman he could not satisfy. So he left.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I should have let him go. But I was selfish, weak. Hungry in the way only one of our kind can understand. So then I had an idea of how I could give him what we both wanted without killing him. I would drain another first.”

  Archipellus nodded. “Once sated enough, a subsequent bedding would not draw as much power from the victim.”

  “It was well enough at first. But my need for Herne grew—and once I had given myself to him fully, he craved more. Enough to challenge even the lust of a succubus. So I had to bed more males before our times together. Two, then three. At the last, four men drained had not sated me enough to keep me from bringing the great Herne almost to the breaking point.”

  “Our kind cannot kill a god,” Archipellus observed.

  “But we claim enough of their power to incapacitate them for some time. It was a risk I took every time I gave into my desire for Herne, yet I could not bring myself to tell him the truth. I knew he would reject me if he found out what I was. And that is exactly what happened, even after I sacrificed my own blood to save him. He accepted you as his son, for he had felt his god seed take in my womb. Despite my infidelity, he knew you were his. Deep down, I believe he felt remorse for our parting. But my lies ran too deep, and my betrayals with other men too many. I pray you do not repeat my mistakes with this woman you care for.”

  “I already know I cannot be with Melissa. But I would not leave her in her current state because she became my lover. Especially because she laid with me to heal me when I was poisoned. She is much like you, Mother. She risked herself for my sake. Now I must do the same.”

  “Then hurry. Save her. And pray that, unlike me, you have the strength to walk away and never seek the pleasure of her arms again.” She took his hands. “I am sorry that mortality took me from you before I could see you as the god you have become.”

  A heavy weight pressed on his chest. “I was not there to care for you when you took ill. Father had already locked me away because of the awakening. Forgive me.”

  “Forgive you for being part of me?” She stroked his face, and he leaned into the touch he had not felt for centuries. “I swell with pride and much gratitude now that I have had the chance to see you once more. Farewell, my son. May you continue to be the best of your father and me.”

  “Wait,” he said, but her touch—and her image—faded. “Come back.”

  He glanced around, but he was alone.

  “Wait,” whispers taunted from the nearby river. “Come back.”

  A tiny glimmer in the air revealed the rift he had carved into the barrier between worlds. After one final look around, a shudder passing over him as the souls of the dead continued mocking him, he stepped back through it.

  Jorandil was fighting a six-legged creature upon Archipellus’s return. The beast was the size of a dog, with ruby-colored flesh and translucent eyes that glowed in the night.

  “Wait,” Archipellus said. “I can use it to seal the rift.”

  Jorandil eyed him. “How?”

  “Come toward me.”

  The animal glared at the men while Jorandil backed up to his brother’s side. Archipellus crouched and hissed at the thing, which sprang at him and landed in his waiting arms. They struggled, claws scrabbling at his thighs to gain purchase, and fangs sank into his fo
rearm.

  “Ah!” he cried out, but he shut down the pain and closed his eyes. There, in his mind, he was with Melissa, watching her ride him with her hair gleaming as it spilled around her creamy shoulders. Her breasts bounced while she drove her pussy over him, wet, tight, bringing him to the edge of sanity.

  He felt the creature’s struggle subside, its power flowing into his horns. He hooked the tips into the edges of the veil he had cut open, and the rift fused. He dropped the beast at his feet. It was smaller now, still alive but emaciated and unconscious. Jorandil took his sword and drove it down through the ribcage that stuck out.

  “I am not certain I like this new skill you have discovered,” his brother said while he cleaned off the sword on the animal’s body.

  “Nor I. But it has served a purpose here.”

  “Were you successful? Did you find her?”

  “I did. And she told me of the night she saved my father, the truth of how she did it.” He paused. “Many truths.”

  “So you can save her?”

  He paused. Jorandil would likely not be happy about the method. Neither would the others. “I believe so, yes. Where is Andero?”

  “He is watching over Melissa as you asked. Although truth be known, I believe he is there more to comfort Bethany.” He eyed is brother. “I have the feeling that this cure of yours is not something the rest of us want to witness.”

  “I am fair certain of it, but I must ask you to be with me anyway.” He eyed his brother. “There is risk to us both in what I will attempt to do. I must lie with her.”

  “No. That you cannot do.”

  “I must enter her body and make the connection,” he went on. “But this time, I must weaken myself as well. My blood can restore her. But should I fall unconscious before I succeed...”

  Jorandil nodded. “Then you would continue to drain her until it is too late.”

  “But you being there will eliminate that risk.” He headed for the dwelling. “I will need a basin of some sort. Plus the jeweled knife. I would rather not feed my blood to the sword of Apollyon while I attempt this.”