by Kristie Cook
“But you cannot flash.”
“What do you mean, flash?”
“This.” She was instantly gone from his side, standing at the crest of the mountain they climbed. Then just as quickly, she stood next to him again. Jordan was impressed.
“Why can’t I?”
“You don’t have the power. The Ancients can give it to you. If they want to.”
Jordan suggested she flash to keep up with him and they tried the idea, but it was still too slow for Eris. In one flash she could travel farther then he could run in a day. The next morning he awoke to her crouched over a black metal pot sitting in their campfire, waving her hands through the orange steam rising above it. She scooped a bowl into the pot and handed him the foul smelling soup.
“Drink this,” she commanded.
Jordan wrinkled his nose. “You can’t be serious.”
“If you want to travel with me, you need the magick within. We are taking too long and if we don’t arrive soon, the Ancients will be angry. You don’t want to see them angry.”
Jordan drank the soup that tasted as bad as it smelled, struggling to keep it from coming back up. When they were ready, she took his hand and the air whooshed out of his lungs and his vision went black. He stumbled over his own feet when they reappeared. Then she did it again. And again. And again. Each time they appeared somewhere new and, disoriented, he staggered and once even fell, nearly toppling over the edge of a cliff.
“We’ll stay here for the night,” Eris finally said when they appeared outside a cave on the side of a mountain. She had to shout over the sound of a raging waterfall across the valley. The air here was much colder and crisper than where they had been just that morning—according to Eris, they’d already traveled much farther in one day than they had in all the weeks past.
Inside the cave, a mound of furry pelts sat near the wall. Eris sorted them into two piles and Jordan quickly realized they weren’t just flat furs. Some were stitched into the form of heavy cloaks and coverings for their legs.
“You’ve been here before,” he said, stating the obvious.
“Another of my homes.” She flicked her fingers and flames burst from the stone floor. She handed Jordan a cloak and leg coverings. “It gets very cold here, especially at night.”
Although the air itself seemed to freeze after the sun set and Jordan had never felt so cold in all his years and all his travels, Eris still kept him at a distance. They lay on opposite sides of the fire under the heavy furs and she continued her on-going explanation about the creatures that made up the Daemoni. Besides vampyres and mages, the Ancients had created shifters or, as Eris sometimes called them, Weres. A number of Ancients had taken the bodies of every kind of predatory animal that lived on Earth and, using their unearthly powers, created beasts that could transform into human shape and back again.
“You have encountered one,” she said. “A werewolf. Your sister’s friend almost killed him.”
“That was a werewolf?” Jordan asked. I was right! It wasn’t a normal wolf.
“The Daemoni have been living among humans since nearly the beginning of time. People who disappear, seemingly lost in the woods or wilderness...they become food. Or sometimes one of us. A vampyre or shapeshifter, that is. No human can become a mage. We are born.”
“Vampyres and shifters are not?”
“Weres can be born, but they can also be created through infection of a human. Vampyres can only reproduce by draining a human’s blood and then replacing it with some of their own. The human nearly dies and nearly comes back to life. But not all the way.”
“Like those soldiers Cassandra saw,” Jordan muttered, recalling his sister’s story.
“Hmph. Another problem with vampyres. The Ancients want them to keep creating more and battlefields provide perfect opportunities, but they are usually sloppy at it. They shouldn’t let their children rise all alone like that. It’s too dangerous.”
“Are you saying you care about the humans they’ll attack?”
“Of course not. I care for our secrecy. Abandoned newborns can ruin us.”
The following day, Eris led him again on flashes through the mountains until they appeared on a snow-covered expanse of land bordering a lake so large, Jordan couldn’t see the other side. Perhaps it was a sea. He found the whites and blues of the landscape beautiful in a completely opposite way of how he thought of home as beautiful, but he saw no indication of any kind of life—not human or animal or inhuman. At least, not until Eris waved her hands and an entire village suddenly appeared around them.
The village was small, made of several tents encircling an open area where people dressed in furs gathered around a large fire pit in the center.
“Shaman,” Eris said, nodding at them. “That’s what they call themselves, though they are essentially witches and wizards. Follow me.”
She led him into one of the tents made of animal skins stretched over long logs. The tent was barren inside, showing no signs of being used. Jordan wondered if this was another of Eris’s homes, but before he could ask, she waved her hands over the center of the floor and a hole opened up before them. Crude stairs carved into the earth descended into darkness. She led him downward.
The stairs became a tunnel that continued down, far below the Earth’s surface. Just when Jordan began to tire of this unending descent, the tunnel flattened and opened wider, into a network of caves. The deeper they went, the more Jordan realized it was like an underground city, lit by fires in sconces on the walls and in pits dotting the caverns. People who weren’t really human—he could feel the magick crackling in the air—milled about, conversing in languages unfamiliar to him.
In one cave they passed, a pale-skinned vampyre bent over a naked human, his mouth at her throat and his hand between her legs. She didn’t struggle, even seemed to be enjoying it, as the vampyre drained her blood. In another cavern, three men sat around a wooden table and gnawed on bones, their teeth scraping and pulling off the raw meat, reminding Jordan of wild dogs consuming their kill. Yet, in others, men and women traded furs and pelts, jewels and other goods, just as they did in the agora back home.
Eris tugged at his hand. He’d slowed, distracted by all the activity, but she told him they still had a ways to go. They left what must have been the city’s center, passing more caves, these dark and cold. Moaning, growls and even cries of pain filled the air. Finally, they came to the end of the passage. A heavy wooden door with two beastly men blocked their way. Eris murmured something to them in a language Jordan didn’t know and tossed her head toward him. They nodded and one stepped back while the other opened the door.
They passed into a large, circular room with hearths carved into the walls every ten or so strides, fires burning within them. Jordan had never seen flames with such vivid colors of green, purple, pink and blue. In a semi-circle of chairs that looked like king’s thrones sat figures covered in black cloaks, hiding their forms and faces. Naked women fed them grapes, wine and even their own blood, holding their wrists to where the figures’ mouths were hidden in shadows. The evil power thrummed in the room, almost tangible, giving Jordan a thrill.
“Welcome, Jordan,” one of them said, rising from his chair and dismissing the attractive blond who’d been sitting on his lap. “We have been waiting for you.”
Eris dipped into a sort of curtsey. “Father.”
“Thank you, Eris.” The figure removed his hood, revealing a young-looking face with Eris’s dark eyes and the white hair of someone very elderly. He eyed Jordan and smiled. A proud smile. “Do you know where you are, Jordan?”
“Hell?”
Someone laughed—one of the cloaked figures standing by a fire. He turned toward Jordan, but kept his hood in place, showing nothing of his face. “Very close, indeed. As close as you can get on this side of the veil between here and the Otherworld. How does that make you feel?”
Jordan lifted his chest, bowing up. “At home, to be honest.”
He fe
lt more at home here than he’d ever had with his family. They feared their darkness, tried to hide it, pretended they were something they were not. Made him feel like an outcast of his own kin because he let that darkness show, sometimes even embraced it. Here, he could be himself. Here, he belonged, like he had nowhere before. He felt it in his bones.
“Very good, then. That’s what we hoped to hear. But still … you must prove yourself worthy.”
“Worthy of what?” Jordan asked.
“Worthy of joining us,” another figure answered. “This is not a place for weak humans.”
“I am not weak and prefer not to be compared to the humans.”
“We shall see,” Eris’s father said. “Do you believe in God? The one God?”
The way he said “one God” sounded as though he mocked the idea.
Jordan cocked his head. “I did before. Then I wasn’t sure, until my father shared his truth with me. Proved to me that angels and demons exist, so God and Satan must exist, too. With all I have seen in the world, however, I find it difficult to believe that God truly cares for us.”
“Because he doesn’t,” said someone sitting in one of the thrones. “God only cares for himself. He wants all the glory. He wants all the control. He wants everyone to submit to His will. Bah!”
Noises of disgust and anger filled the room, then quieted when Eris’s father, the sorcerer, stepped forward.
“Our Lord, however, would be a much better god,” he said. “He doesn’t want all the glory. He wants his followers to keep it for themselves, to feel pride in their accomplishments and who they are. He doesn’t want control, but promises everyone would be allowed to do whatever they want. He will not ask you to submit to his will.” The sorcerer continued sauntering toward Jordan as he spoke, his voice slightly rising as his excitement grew. “When God demands everyone to care for others, Our Lord says, ‘Why? You need only to care for yourself.’ God wants humans to be more like Him, but Our Lord points out the truth—that it’s unnatural. Humans aren’t gods. They should be allowed to be human.” He stood right in front of Jordan now and leaned even closer. He dropped his voice to nearly a whisper. “And the inhuman should be allowed to be their natural selves, too.”
Jordan’s eyes lit up. “I think I like this lord of yours. He is … ?”
“Satan, yes,” the sorcerer said. “The truly better god. Do you agree?”
Jordan didn’t have to think about it for long. The choice was simple. “How can I not agree? He offers so much more.”
The figure by the fire moved between two thrones, into the center of the room. He didn’t so much as walk as he did glide. More figures rose from the thrones and gathered in the center, too, encroaching on Jordan and Eris.
“He offers everything,” one said. “Money, land, women … power. Especially to you, Jordan.”
“To me?”
“He’s been waiting for you. He was concerned with the prophecy about your mother at first, even sent us after her to prevent her from bearing children, but when he learned she would give birth to you, he realized he’d misunderstood. Your sister means nothing to him. He’s no longer worried about her, when we have you.”
Jordan’s chest rose with pride once again.
“But first you must prove yourself worthy,” Eris’s father said. “Prove you can be one of us. Have you taken my daughter yet?”
Jordan looked at Eris and back at her father, surprised at the turn in conversation. “No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“She told me she is not that kind of woman and I respected her wishes.”
Eris’s father laughed. So did several others. Jordan looked at Eris again, expecting her to be blushing. She wasn’t. Her eyes glowed with a knowing look. She licked her lips, her tongue running slowly over the full, pink skin.
“How very human of you,” her father said. He turned toward the others. “I told you he was too weak.”
Jordan bowed up again. “I am not weak!”
“Then prove it,” one of the cloaked figures commanded. “Take her.”
“Certainly,” Jordan agreed.
“Now. Here,” another said.
“Here?” Jordan asked. In front of them? In front of her own father?
“Can you take orders or not?” someone demanded.
Jordan looked at Eris again. She stood completely still, her body rigid and her face devoid of any emotion.
“Take her whether she wants it or not!”
“Prove yourself, Jordan, or we have no need for you.”
“He’s not worthy,” Eris’s father said dismissively. “Get him out of here. Give him to the wolves.”
Fear of being exiled from where he belonged—rejected by his own kind—jolted through his body. What do I care about Eris? If forcing his way with her would prove he was worthy and satisfy them, then that’s what he would do. He clamped his hand around her wrist and jerked her into his arms. Everyone fell silent. He braced the back of her head, preventing her from turning away from him, and crushed his mouth onto hers.
To his surprise, her lips yielded to his, parted, allowed his tongue into her mouth. He’d been yearning for this moment since he first laid eyes on her, wanting to feel her softness under his fingers, under himself. He grew hard against her belly and she pressed herself against him, making him shudder. She moved her mouth over his cheek and to his ear.
“You have to do this,” she whispered, her teeth scraping his earlobe. “Right here. Show them who you are. What you can be.”
“How?” he asked, his hand rubbing and squeezing her soft but firm backside as she ground against him.
“Show them the demon within you. Take me. Take me hard.”
She stepped back, as if to move away, but her eyes glinted, encouraging him. He grabbed the shoulders of her peplos and jerked outward, tearing it apart and revealing those beautiful breasts that had been teasing him for weeks. He let the fabric drop to the floor and he took in the full gloriousness of her body. The rest of the room disappeared. He forgot about everyone else, her beauty completely consuming him. He tore off his own clothing and her eyes devoured him. Her lips curled just slightly, enough for him—but no one else—to see the invitation.
And he took her hard, just as she said. He took her every way possible, making her beg and moan and scream his name, until both of them collapsed in a pile of panting satisfaction.
“You did it,” she whispered against his ear.
“Very good!” her father said from some distance, clapping his hands. Reality filtered its way back into Jordan’s world, reminding him they were not alone. “I’ve never seen anyone make Eris reach such heights. Very impressive.”
Jordan’s pride swelled. He had an urge to rise to his feet and strut around the room, displaying his manliness to the women and the men … to the demons.
“You’ve passed this test,” said one of the others. “But this is only the beginning.”
Chapter 7
Cassandra’s mind wandered just as much as her feet did as she walked up the rough terrain of the hill, thinking how vast the world was, how she could travel for days or longer without crossing paths with another person. In the last several months, since leaving behind the hut—and the frightening creatures in those woods—the only human contact she’d had was when she stumbled upon battlefields. She treated the injured, as always, then moved along before anyone could capture her.
Just as she avoided forests, especially at night, she also avoided every village, giving them wide berths as Father had done when they moved, but with a clearer understanding of why. Niko—who had slipped away while she slept the night she’d rejected him—had implanted in her a fear of the marketplace that neither Jordan nor Father had been able to do. She’d never felt so alone.
Well, except for Fig, whose rope she gave a tug.
“Come on, Fig, we’re almost over the top and we can see what’s on the other side. Then I promise we can eat.”
The black goat to
re another clump of grass and looked up at her, blades disappearing into her mouth as she chewed. Cassandra found her months ago, tangled in a dead fig tree and the weeds growing around it. She’d been bleeding from many gashes, her front leg broken and her eyes already glassy. Anyone else would have put her out of her misery, but Cassandra saw injuries she could heal, the promise of milk and cheese and, even better, companionship for the first time since Niko left. So she freed the nanny, hauled her to the cave she’d stayed in for most of the winter and nursed her back to health.
“You can eat, anyway,” Cassandra corrected herself as she tugged again on the rope. “I’m all out of food and don’t share the same taste for grass and weeds as you.”
She’d made it through winter, barely, surviving off the occasional small animal she’d been able to hunt and Fig’s milk and cheese. The earth was just now beginning to green again, but her edibles were not yet ripe for picking, except for a few early berries she’d found. And already eaten. What she ached with longing for was bread—for the feeling of mixing the grain and oil between her fingers, for the savory smell as it cooked, for the warmth and satisfaction only bread could provide to the mouth and belly. She hadn’t had a bite of bread since the night she’d crushed a beautiful man’s heart.
While her body craved bread, her soul yearned for Niko. Too often she questioned her decision in sending him away. Her head knew it was best for both of them, but her heart felt differently. It had wanted to chase after him that next morning when she awoke and he was already gone. It wanted to feel his arms around her again and the jolt through her lips when he brushed them with his. She hadn’t gone a day without thinking about him and wondered if he ever thought about her.
“There you go again,” she admonished herself as she always did when her mind found its way back to him. “He has a life. There’s no reason he’d be thinking of you, unless with anger and disgust. He offered everything to you and you turned your back on him.”
Fig bleated at her, surely recognizing this same diatribe Cassandra always gave herself, probably seconding her opinion or telling her to quit thinking about him.