The Dragon Writers Collection

by DragonWritersCollective

  Ilythiiria held her breath.

  Euryale’s lips sank into disappointment. “Deserving enough for you to call me friend and Sister all these years. If you have evidence I am unfit to serve as a student of this Assembly, then please present it, Sister. Otherwise, let us not stray from the purpose . . . .”

  The Assembly Mother’s voice expanded and contracted, sucking the volume out of all other sounds in the chamber. “Enough! Of. This. Banter. Euryale speaks truth in that no other choices were presented to me.” She looked at the Mother of House Sheifilli. “Now that we have reason to reconsider this matter of funding our alliance, do you offer the Daughter of House Sheifilli as an alternative? If not, we have nothing further to discuss.”

  Stunned, Braunise sat down hard, and all eyes shifted toward Braunise’s mother.

  The Mother of House Sheifilli avoided looking at her first-born as she answered the Assembly Mother. “It is true our treasured Daughter is the most suitable candidate for controlling the alliance with the Surfacers. And though we will mourn our loss, House Sheifilli offers—with humility and in service to this Assembly—the life of our eldest Daughter.”

  As her mother’s words waned into silence, Braunise’s eyes widened and then stared down at her own reflection in the table’s polished obsidian surface.

  The Assembly Mother continued, “As the Mother of House Sheifilli has so generously offered to fund the alliance with the Daughter of her House, this Assembly now has options to deliberate.”

  “You seriously consider this ridiculous plot by an ambitious half-breed?!” Braunise screamed out, still staring at her reflection.

  The Assembly Mother arched an eyebrow as gasps sounded in the cavernous chamber. “I will forgive your insolence at this table, Daughter of House Sheifilli.” She looked around the table as she continued, “Service to the Great Mother and the best interests of this Assembly are all that guide my decisions. Do any Representatives object to this change in the funding of our alliance with the Surfacers?”

  The seated women looked from one to the other. None spoke up.

  “Then our decision is made. The Daughter of House Sheifilli will become our Ambassador. Braunise will leave us to live as the wife of the Surfacers’ Prime Minister.”

  Niamh whispered, “Unfortunate. She will not live happily above ground, nor will she relish the ways of Surfacers. May her Great Mother ease the pain yet to come.”

  All of the young women standing behind the table except Euryale looked at Braunise, whose expression had blanked. A slight smile stretched Euryale’s lips as she continued to watch the Assembly Mother.

  “In deference to her willingness to serve, Davielle will keep her seat on this Assembly. Then, none can question the motive of her House Mother.” The Assembly Mother looked directly at Euryale. “And you, who so wisely have convinced us to reconsider the situation? You will take the place of Braunise.”

  “What??!!” cried out one of the standing onlookers. “You allow her to steal the seat of the highest ranking Daughter?”

  The Assembly Mother frowned, but her gaze did not move from Euryale. “But not at this Assembly table. Since you have pointed out the close friendship between you and the Daughter of Sheifilli, I will allow you the honour of bearing one of her sacrifices. In service to this Assembly, she leaves us to live with Surfacers, and, in so doing, she defies the laws of the Great Mother and forfeits Deliverance. You will face the Abyss in her place . . . so that your dear friend and Sister may someday claim the reward for her sacrifice and return to the arms of the Great Mother.”

  Whispers rushed around the room.

  Euryale stood stone still and unblinking, but Ilythiiria could tell her former charge was not still. She was probing the aura of someone.

  Young women stepped aside to let the guards through the crowd. Euryale turned when the clicking heels of the guards halted, and Ilythiiria caught the satisfied smile previously hidden from Euryale’s countenance now displaying itself as the unaffected poise of power. Ilythiiria recognized that poise. Euryale had found something in the probe, and it had made her feel powerful.

  Niamh lowered her head. “It would seem the threat of war has been averted. Sadly, our Council’s prediction has unfolded true. Euryale has pushed the boundaries of her talents beyond tolerable limits. She would have done the same among her own people.”

  “But the Abyss? She does not deserve such a dreadful end. We failed to train her from an early age. Why should a child bear responsibility for our failure?” Ilythiiria said.

  “Perhaps, we did fail her, but there is nothing you or I can do about that now,” whispered Niamh as she withdrew her hand from Ilythiiria’s and clouded the pond. “The Council has spoken.”

  “I do not agree. We can correct our mistakes. We owe her that much.” Ilythiiria’s stomach knotted.

  Niamh sighed. “I know you love her, but we cannot ignore what she knows and does. She has demonstrated we cannot alter her will in using her knowledge or skill. She has chosen her path.”

  Ilythiiria pursed her lips. “The High Council. I am sure they have watched all of this, just as you and I watched. Why did none speak up and intervene, if not in debt to Euryale or for the sake of preserving life, then on behalf of Euryale’s father? He is a widow, and Euryale his only daughter. By default, she was the Head of his House. The very House to which we confined her! Our abandonment of Euryale has left her father in a House without a female. What of him? What path must he trod? This certainly is not the path he chose.”

  “You know why they chose to leave her to live among the Concealed. Her father knows why, as well. He is not without a hand in this matter. He chose his path long before Euryale was born.”

  Ilythiiria sighed and conceded to herself that further attempts at soliciting Niamh’s help would be fruitless. She doubted any of the Priestesses would help save the woman they had failed at least once as a child and again just now, even if they didn’t know it.

  Although her colleagues’ sudden lack of involvement in Euryale’s life concerned Ilythiiria, Euryale’s failure to contest the Assembly Mother’s decision troubled her even more. Niamh was right in that Euryale’s acumen for political strategies was superb. She knew and could recite every word of Concealed law. Her rhetoric was flawless. Yet, she had neither responded nor reacted to a death sentence she easily could have pressured the Assembly into overturning. In fact, she had not so much as acknowledged it, and Ilythiiria wanted . . . no needed . . . to know why.

  “Come, Ilythiiria. Let us join the others for wine. Forget your worries for a little while,” Niamh said, linking her arm with the arm of her dark-skinned colleague.

  Ilythiiria smiled but drew her robed arm away from Niamh. “Thank you for your kindness, but I would make sore company. It would be better if I returned to my compartments.”

  Niamh nodded and walked in the direction opposite of Ilythiiria’s chambers.

  A few minutes later, Ilythiiria closed and bolted the door to her private room. Doing nothing was no course for correcting mistakes. Despite what the others said, the Priestesses had made a mistake with Euryale. They had a responsibility to make amends, and if they wouldn’t, then she would. She retrieved her Stave, and—arms outstretched skyward—she concentrated on what she remembered—first, the scent of night lilies always surrounding Euryale, and then the water-gazed image of the violet gown she’d worn to the meeting, and finally, the current of her gait rustling the hem of the gown. “Euryale,” she whispered.

  ***

  Euryale’s skirt moved more than it should have, and she knew something around her had changed. She pressed her palm near the cavern wall and felt its aura. Nothing. She looked through the bars of her cell. Nobody moving. When her skirt moved a second time, she zoomed in on the air around her and let it filter past fingers spread wide. Mother beckoning. She had never known her own mother, but she had imagined how a mother would feel—terrifying and compelling. Ilythiiria had felt that way. “I am here. Come for
me if you will.” She stiffened and awaited the embrace of the Great Mother’s arms, all eight of them.

  Nothing touched her.

  “Why do you hesitate? Do you fear the light of a single torch? I dare you to leave the comfort of your black Abyss!” Euryale’s skirt stopped moving, and the aura faded into remnants of previous inmates’ fear.

  Nothing grabbed her.

  Euryale sat on the stone bench in her cell, trying to keep her mind on anything but the chilled air. Things hadn’t worked out the way she’d planned. She hadn’t gained a seat in the Assembly. One minor miscalculation had cost her not just the seat, but her life. She hadn’t expected the Assembly Mother to fear her so much she felt compelled to eliminate the threat immediately. She had probed the Assembly Mother’s aura and confirmed what she suspected after the death sentence had been spoken. The tribal leader’s fear had felt satisfying, and Euryale had savored its fullness, despite the twisted irony that it would bring about an unexpected end to her life.

  Even now, the intensity of the Assembly Mother’s fear warmed Euryale. She wasn’t as warmed by the fear she’d gleaned from an aura she was certain belonged to Ilythiiria. She had sensed her mentor’s presence when she’d probed the Assembly Mother’s aura. Ilythiiria’s fear had drawn her attention. It had overpowered the Assembly Mother’s fear and felt more substantial, though Euryale didn’t know why. Is that why you did not come? Were you too afraid, Mother?

  A few hours later, at Winter Dark, when the rocky ceilings closest to the Surface grew coldest, Euryale heard the death rattle of cell keys. By then, she had decided to leave the fools who were her father’s tribe with impunity and self-judgment. She had been a fool to think the Great Mother might end prematurely the anguish of waiting to die. She had definitely acted the fool in overestimating the Assembly Mother. And perhaps her greatest act of foolishness had come in counting on Ilythiiria’s loyalty. “Why have you dallied?” she reproached the guard as he opened the cell door.

  “Forgive me, Lady,” he replied.

  “No.” Euryale paraded past him and led the way to the Temple.

  As they approached the Sacred Daughter guarding the doorway to the Temple, the celebrant waved her hand in front of the stone door, and it began to slide to the right, complaining like an old washerman’s knees. The Sacred Daughter’s duty done, she turned her back to Euryale.

  The door inched open. Firelight spilled out of the Temple, casting a glow on the image of the Great Mother carved into the obsidian floor of the foyer.

  Inside stood the Assembly. Representatives, each dressed in a hooded black robe tied at the waist with a wool belt, formed a circle so tight Euryale couldn’t see its center. She didn’t need to see it to know what it was: a hole in the floor almost as large as the entire room, a gaping cavity opening into the Abyss, at the bottom of which the Great Mother awaited a sacrifice. On a stone dais across the room stood Braunise beside the Assembly Mother, who wore a black robe similar to those of the others. Unlike the simple robes of the Representatives, however, the Assembly Mother’s garment flowed unrestricted by a belt and was adorned on its front with silver embroidery of the Great Mother’s Web.

  When Euryale made eye contact with the Assembly Mother, the leader of the Concealed raised her arms and motioned for the condemned woman to approach, the embroidered Web expanding and shuddering as if an unseen corner had entangled prey.

  Euryale skirted the perimeter of the circle, her gaze fixed on the Assembly Mother, who turned toward her when she reached the elevated platform.

  “Euryale Farrior, daughter of Faereich, we welcome you. The Great Mother awaits.” She outstretched her arms, and Euryale stepped up and into the embrace of the Assembly Mother.

  The stone platform creaked as it slowly crept toward the circle. The Representatives at the edge of the platform moved away from each other, leaving a notch in the ring. When the platform’s edge had extended over a quarter of the diameter of the hole, it stopped moving forward and sank until the dais leveled with the floor. The Representatives closed in on either side of Braunise and the Assembly Mother, including them in the reformed circle.

  Euryale didn’t look at Braunise. Nonetheless, she could feel the cold, smug glare of her former friend. She found it oddly comforting and unique amid the cacophony of so many auras in such a tight space. Most of the auras radiated a sticky combination of terror and avoidance, though Euryale couldn’t distinguish if the avoidance was of her—the shunned—or of the Abyss.

  “May the eyes of the Great Mother bear witness to your sacrifice,” the Assembly Mother said.

  Eight globes, dangling from the tips of stalactites above, slowly illuminated, casting crimson beams into the darkness of the hole in the floor.

  “And to ours.” As her words died into a whisper, the Assembly Mother released Euryale and turned until she faced the back wall of the cavern.

  The circle slithered as, one by one, the Representatives followed suit and turned their backs on Euryale, as well. In turn, each chanted, “And to ours.”

  Euryale rotated slowly and faced the chasm. As much as she had thought herself prepared for this moment, the degree of serenity surprised her. She took a deep breath and lifted a heel to step forward, ready to meet the cowardly Great Mother who would devour her as assuredly as Euryale had devoured Braunise’s power in the Assembly.

  Braunise whispered venomously, “No one deserves this more than you, dearest Sister.”

  Euryale’s knee locked, and her lips twisted into a smirk, but she kept her back to Braunise. When she spoke, her tone dripped the sickly sweetness of nightshade. “Thank you, Sister. I shall die filled with peace and joy, knowing that my suffering will be short-lived while you will live a full lifetime in the light.”

  “Die, half-breed!” Braunise screeched.

  Euryale felt the heels of Braunise’s palms jam against her shoulder blades. The slap of palms against the fabric of the gown echoed like the unyielding crash of stone against stone.

  Tumbling headfirst into the hole in the floor, Euryale heard the gush of wind and then a panic-stricken scream as the Abyss opened its jaws to engulf her. Unseen in the pitch black void, her arresting eyes widened when she realized the terrified scream streaming behind her was her own.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Disruptors

  Euryale knew she was falling even though it felt nothing like when she’d tumbled off a crumbling parapet as a child and had seen the ground rushing toward her. This time, cold air slapped her face and then rushed past the rest of her body. The hem of her gown snapped loudly as it flapped against her legs, stinging them. The aura of the dark space gobbled her inch by inch. Detached and hungry.

  A gush of warm wind reached out and grabbed Euryale’s arm, yanking her body violently to a full stop. Warmth coiled around her torso even as blood rushed to her head. A sudden light dilated her pupils painfully.

  She squeezed her eyelids shut as her body puddled onto frigid stone.

  “Do . . . not . . . open your eyes,” said Ilythiiria, panting. “Give yourself a moment to adjust.”

  Euryale pressed her palms against the stone underneath her, the aura of the place where she’d landed becoming her eyes. Foreign. Different. Ilythiiria nearby. “Where are we?” she asked.

  “An outlying cave in Alya,” replied a masculine voice Euryale didn’t recognize.

  Euryale turned her head in the direction of the voice. She slowly opened her eyelids, squinting through the filter of eyelashes. She could make out dim light from a torch and the shadowy shape of the being holding it, next to whom stood Ilythiiria.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  A sound alternating between a rattle and a ringing bell echoed in the cave, but Euryale was certain it emanated from the area where the figure held the torch.

  “His name is Glendoque, and he is here at my request to protect you,” answered Ilythiiria before the Alyan could reply. “Have your eyes adjusted to the light?”

  “I th
ink so.”

  “Do not be alarmed by his appearance. He will not harm you.”

  Euryale’s curiosity prompted her to open her eyes fully. She stared at the odd creature holding the torch. He was tall, with a lean body not unlike her own, but with extremely pale skin that shimmered in the torchlight. Dressed in leather layers resembling scales, the bald male carried a bow on his back and a sheathed sword at his hip. Warrior.

  The rattling bell echoed again, and Euryale looked toward the source of the sound. Behind the warrior flicked a lumpy tail, from which chime-like tinkling and a soft rattle radiated. Euryale arched an eyebrow.

  “There issss no reasssson to be afraid,” Glendoque said.

  Euryale stiffened at the hiss. “Help me up,” she commanded abruptly.

  “Of coursssse, Lady Euryale.” Glendoque handed the torch to Ilythiiria and approached Euryale, his tail curling up and sliding under the back of his tunic. He stretched out his hand and grasped Euryale’s before sliding the other arm around her waist, lifting her easily to her feet. When he relaxed his arm, her weight swayed slightly. “Can you sssstand alone?” he asked.

  “Of course I can, you fool,” she snapped at him, prying his hand away from her waist and wobbling a bit. Stiffening her spine, she balanced herself. “Do not lay your scaly hands on me again, or I will skin and roast you, snakeman.”

  “Euryale,” Ilythiiria scolded, handing the torch back to the Alyan. “My time here is limited. I must leave. Glendoque will stay with you until Moira comes for the both of you. Use another name and . . . cloak . . . yourself, at least until I can return to you. We have much to discuss.” She looked at the Alyan. “Glendoque, you know what to say and do.”

  “I do,” he replied.

  “You are leaving me here with . . . with that?” Euryale pointed to Glendoque, whose tail rattled, this time without any tinkling of bells.

  “I am. And you will demonstrate respect for him. He will protect you until Moira can take you to a safe place.”