A devious smile spread across Tristan’s lips. “Wait for Bram to return, and then you kill him.”
Once the shock of Tristan’s revelation had worn off, Malcolm finally agreed to their absurd proposal. The promise of fresh air and an escape from the rats proved too tempting to pass up. Seren had lingered after her brother went back up the ladder, peering at Malcolm with those secretive eyes.
“You will be the one to free us,” Seren said in a low whisper. “I just know it.”
Malcolm wasn’t sure how to respond. The certainty in her voice unsettled him. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “I hope we can all go free from the place.”
“We will,” Seren said with a smile. “I saw it in the blood.”
Malcolm’s brows knitted together in confusion, but before he could ask her to elaborate, she climbed the stairs.
“Strange girl,” he murmured to himself.
In the hours that followed, time moved slower than a river of honey as Malcolm waited in the dark for his moment to arrive. He got no sleep that night, his mind racing with images of things to come. Could he manage to bring down the barbarous man who’d maimed him, or would he fail and lose his head along with everything else he’d been fighting for? There was no other alternative, really. He envisioned the slaves on the beach, starved and dragged along like dogs. Bram’s sons were all replicas of their father and at least twice the size of an average man. In this condition, Malcolm didn’t stand a chance against them. And if he didn’t escape before they dragged him out to sea, he too could end up with an axe plunged deep in his back.
This was his only chance, and if Seren and Tristan were being truthful, he would be free from this hell soon enough. It was difficult to know what to make of the two strange siblings. The disparity between Seren’s benevolence and Tristan’s hostility confounded him, as did their mother’s condemnations. Perhaps Seren was right and Davina was simply deranged by the centuries. She wouldn’t be the first Dia to lose her senses.
For most of the next day, Malcolm rested, and while he could walk, the pain in his leg grew with each step. He needed to save his strength for when Tristan came for him.
By the time the smell of smoke and roasting meat finally reached Malcolm, and his hole in the ground was completely black, he knew the time was drawing near. The sound of laughter and flutes from above stoked the fires of determination within him, while the repetitive drumbeat counted down the minutes.
His mind wandered as he stared sullenly at the walls of black earth. He clutched his mangled hand to his chest, far too weary for anger. He was humiliated. Over and over again he’d been disgraced, robbed, laughed at. The hardest truth to face was that there still might be more degradation to come. He had wanted everything and succeeded at nothing. Hope was now but a whisper in the past, still carried on the winds, but too distant to hear.
Malcolm pressed his head against the soft earth. He had nothing left to lose and nothing left to love. Even his own mother had become an unseen shadow, abandoning him in his time of need. She was useless to him, as she always had been, and he vowed that if she ever showed herself to him again, he would speak any word that might pierce a mother’s soul.
There was an eruption of cheers overhead. Malcolm looked up at the streaks of firelight bleeding through the wooden hatch.
“I’ve always been alone,” he whispered to himself, hoping his mother was listening. “From the moment I took my first breath of life, I have been alone.”
Malcolm sat forward, staring in to the dark as though it would show him his future, and his lips pressed in a hard line as he realized his future was indeed staring back at him.
Black. Nothingness.
“I can’t let it be so,” he said. “I can’t let them destroy me.”
Anyone he’d ever cared about had thought him a monster. Rowan, his guardian, had turned on him, called him a villain. Mara had loathed him long before he ever took her power. Even Corbin, who should have loved him like a brother, had turned cold before Malcolm had ever given in to his own darkness. If he was a monster, he was not born that way, but carefully molded in to one by deceitfully loving hands.
And now he was nothing.
He was a mortal, and a crippled one at that. The need for revenge that had flowed through his veins for the last two years had now curdled, and the prospect of getting his Light restored to him seemed further and further away. If he returned to Valenia and took his old body back, he would be trapped in the fortress forever. If he continued on as he was, he wouldn’t have the strength to travel, let alone take on Mara and Corbin.
It was hopeless.
He closed his eyes, turned his head up, and prayed to the gods to give him strength, to give him a way out of this darkness, to give him a sign.
Just then he heard the creak of a metal lock and the door above slowly opened. A black figure flanked in yellow light looked down on him.
“It is time,” Tristan said.
Malcolm struggled to climb the ladder. Pushing on the unsteady rungs sent arrows of pain up his thigh. He went as fast as he could, stopping every few steps to catch his breath and wrap his bad hand around each rung.
“Help me,” he cried out. “Somebody help me!”
When he finally reached the top, he pushed on the door, opening it just an inch to peer out. Torches were lit all around the hamlet. He looked to the far left. The villagers danced around an immense fire.
Very carefully, Malcolm lifted the hatch door and set it on the ground. Tristan stepped out from the shadows and leaned against a small hut, watching him with a smirk.
Malcolm scowled as he struggled to pull himself up onto the ground. “Are you just going to stand there and watch?” Malcolm whispered angrily.
Tristan pushed away from the wall and helped Malcolm to his feet. “I thought you didn’t want my help.”
Malcolm snatched his hand away and stood tall, trying to gather some dignity. “I don’t.”
Tristan gave an amused smile, handed Malcolm a coarse woolen cloak, and waved his hand. “Follow me,” he whispered, moving back into the shadows.
Malcolm put the cloak on, pulled the hood over his head and shuffled after him, glancing nervously at the celebration taking place at the other end of the village. His heart raced and his leg throbbed, but he pushed forward into the darkness. Tristan stopped at a large hut with a wreath of flowers on the door, and waited for Malcolm to catch up.
“Well?” Malcolm said, expecting Tristan to tell him what would come next.
Tristan’s eyes glistened as he reached to his side and drew out a dagger, swiping it dangerously close to Malcolm’s neck.
He grinned when Malcolm flinched, and then turned the blade to his fingers, handing the hilt to Malcolm. It took all of Malcolm’s will not to turn the blade back on Tristan, but he stopped himself, grabbed it with his left hand, and tucked it under his sleeve. “Now what?” Malcolm whispered.
Tristan’s eyes followed the sound of music. He took a step towards it. “Now you go in there and wait.”
Malcolm’s body went rigid. “You expect me to take on Bram by myself? Where are you going?”
Tristan shrugged. “I have other matters to attend to. Wait until Bram and Seren return to make your move. But be cautious; one wrong slip of the hand and you’ll be dead.” Tristan held up his right hand tauntingly.
Malcolm’s teeth clenched with irritation as he watched Tristan vanish into the shadows. “Better watch out for that slip of the hand,” Malcolm muttered.
Standing outside the door, Malcolm wondered what kept him from simply slipping away through the gates. Why would he risk his own life to help Tristan? He was truly beginning to hate the bastard, and if he insisted on antagonizing Malcolm, Tristan might find himself at the bottom of a river with only the fish to hear his jests. But then his thoughts quickly turned to Seren. There was no doubt in his mind she had risked her own safety to help him. Could he leave her without fulfilling his promise?
He w
as risking his life by staying. If he left now, he might still have enough time to vanish into the hills long before Bram even noticed he was missing.
No, he thought with a shake of his head. Tristan would know. And Seren would know. And one of them was likely to come after him. Even if he stole his freedom, he was sure to be hunted.
With a grunt of frustration Malcolm leaned on the door to think, but his deliberations were disrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching on the dry earth. He held his breath and pressed himself up against the wall as the footsteps drew nearer.
He craned his neck around the corner and saw a peasant woman walking through the huts. She approached from his only escape. It was either plow past her or seek cover in Bram’s cabin. He looked from one to the other and just before he came face to face with the woman, he pushed on Bram’s door and closed it without so much as a rattle.
The footsteps moved past the door while Malcolm breathed a cautious sigh of relief.
The candle-lit room was large, warmed by a small fire set in a shallow stone pit. Malcolm stared at the fire longingly. He would give anything to sit next to it with a blanket on his shoulders and a warm cup of wine in his hand, the long weeks of agony forgotten. His heart became heavy in that moment, and his resolve melted in to a pool of murky water. He wondered if he’d ever know such simple indulgences again.
With an agonizing step forward, Malcolm scanned the room, looking for a place to hide. The hut was sparse. A wooden bed with a thick straw mattress lay at one end, and a long, narrow table sat at the other with a jug of ale on top. Malcolm eyed a fur coverlet draped over one end of the table. Being that the bed was too low for him to fit under, the table was the only place for him to hide.
Just then, there was a loud boom of laughter outside. He knew that laugh. Bram was only steps away from the door. As fast as he could, Malcolm limped over to the table and squeezed himself between it and the wall. Ducking down, he repositioned the coverlet so that it concealed him, and hoped to the gods that Bram wouldn’t notice it out of place.
The moment Malcolm settled in his hiding spot, the door to the hut swung open with a crash and more grating laughter filled the room. Through a tear in the cover, Malcolm held his breath and watched Bram step in, pulling Seren by the wrist. She stumbled in, her face sour and her amber eyes dark. She wore a dress the color of spring leaves and a circlet of yellow flowers on her head. She was a tribal bride now, and as Malcolm realized, a beautiful one at that. She’d been bathed for her wedding, her lustrous hair reflecting the glow of the fire, and her skin the color of heavy cream.
When the door to the hut was latched shut, Bram went straight for the jug of ale on the table. Malcolm froze with terror as Bram knocked the table with his hip, nearly sending the fur coverlet to the ground.
Bram grabbed the ale and poured himself a cup, drank it in one gulp, and poured another. “Drink up, woman,” he said, handing a full cup to Seren. “This is our wedding night and I’ll not have my bride so tart. Sweeten yourself with some ale.”
Seren scowled at him. “Tis more like a burial than a wedding.”
Bram chuckled indifferently. “Nonsense. You are the lady of the village now.” He forced the ale into her hands and touched her cheek.
“And what does that make my mother, then?” she hissed.
Bram lowered the cup in his hand and swiftly backhanded Seren across the face.
Her hand shot up to the spot, eyes wide with surprise.
“That’s enough out of you,” Bram slurred. “Keep your interests to your own matters. You are now my wife and you will treat me as your lord.” Bram stumbled over to the table, filled the cup again and drank. “Get on the bed and spread your legs,” he ordered, downing the rest of the ale directly from the jug. When it was empty, he slammed the jug down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Seren moved to the bed obediently, and stole a quick glance at Malcolm. The scowl on her face melted in to a hard look of grit, but when Bram approached her, undoing his belt, she quickly turned away.
Malcolm knew what was to come next. He’d done it with women many times, willing and unwilling. But now, there was something about the look on Seren’s face that gave rise to a sense of sympathy within him. It caught him off guard, this new emotion, and for a moment, he’d forgotten his fear. Why should he care that her bridal bedding was about to take place right in front of him? She was, after all, Bram’s bride. At one time he would have found it pleasing, and perhaps even arousing, to watch a woman ravaged. But there was a murmur of compassion in his ear, begging him not to forget that she’d just saved his life. She was the reason he still had hope, and while he didn’t quite trust her, he owed her more than the attack that was happening right before his eyes.
Malcolm pressed his lips together and tried to stop the dagger from shaking in his hand. He watched as Bram climbed on top of her, covering her with his broad frame, impervious to her struggles. Bram really was protected from her power, her strength. There was a lull of time as Malcolm took in a breath and glared at Bram, drawing on all the courage he could gather. The beast was so preoccupied, that he didn’t notice his new bride’s eyes locked steadily on the approaching attacker.
Malcolm rose up, letting the fur coverlet fall to the floor. His good hand trembled and he pressed his fingerless hand to his side.
Bram pawed at Seren like a bear shredding its meat, and that’s when Malcolm lunged forward. Without a sound he sprang on the gigantic man’s back, using his fingerless hand to anchor himself in place, and with the other, Malcolm pressed the dagger to Bram’s throat and dragged it over the skin so that it split like soft cheese. Blood poured out all over Seren, and Bram jumped up with such force that the dagger slipped from Malcolm’s grip, and sent him tumbling to the floor.
The bear tried to holler, but only a liquid growl came oozing from his throat. He turned around with one hand pressed to the gash, his eyes opened wide with madness, staring at Malcolm.
Malcolm crawled backwards as Bram charged towards him, his body so tall and wide that it cast a menacing shadow of over the entire room.
“Malcolm!” Seren jumped to her feet and scrambled for the dropped dagger just as Bram’s heavy hand came down on Malcolm’s shoulder.
“Finish him, Seren!” Malcolm growled through the crushing vice of Bram’s grip.
“You have to do it,” Seren cried. “Mother’s spell…” She slid the dagger along the floor. Malcolm caught it just before Bram lifted him into the air by the throat. Thick blood oozed from between the leathery fingers over Bram’s wound. Malcolm fumbled with the dagger, trying to grasp the handle in his good hand, and nearly dropped it before catching it between his fingers.
“Now!” Seren shouted.
The bear’s face was becoming a dark purple as he pressed harder on Malcolm’s airway. Malcolm couldn’t get a breath. If Bram went on much longer, they’d both fall dead to the floor. He clutched the dagger and thrust it forward, burying it in Bram’s ribcage, but the beast wouldn’t fall.
Instead, Bram’s eyes widened and he pressed harder until Malcolm thought his entire throat would collapse. He moved to pull the dagger loose, but it was lodged tightly in the beast’s ribs. He pulled and wrenched it as his eyes began to go dark, consciousness leaving him.
“Malcolm, don’t give up!” Seren cried.
Malcolm knew he had less than seconds left. He stopped pulling on the lodged dagger, and instead, drew his hand back with the little strength he had left and hammered it in further, twisting it like it was stuck in splintering wood.
Bram’s eyes bulged from his sockets and then rolled back in his head. In an instant, he let go. They both went crashing to the floor with Bram’s dead weight falling on Malcolm.
“Malcolm, are you all right?” Seren asked.
Malcolm coughed and gasped for air, trying to push the lumbering corpse off of him.
Seren rushed over and with a strength that belied her small frame, pulled Bram’s body away
.
It took Malcolm a minute to catch his breath and let his vision clear, but when he looked down, he could barely believe he’d succeeded. Bram laid face up, his eyes open and his mouth twisted in a horrifying scowl. Dead. The beast was dead and Malcolm had been the one to slay him.
Seren reached for the dagger and pulled it from Bram’s ribs. “I thought he almost had you there.” She smiled and handed the bloodstained knife to Malcolm.
“He nearly did,” Malcolm said with a grimace.
“I would have helped you,” she said, “but the spell protects him from me. You were my only chance.” She offered her hand to Malcolm, who reluctantly took it and got to his feet. Seren’s bridal dress was now covered in blood, and her delicate curls were wild. As she stared at her dead husband, Malcolm saw the scowl on her lips, the loathing in her eyes.
But this wasn’t the look of a woman who’d nearly been raped on her wedding bed. This was the look of a woman taking stock of a victory, relishing the blood as though it were her own hatred come to life.
Malcolm shuddered, realizing that perhaps Seren wasn’t as helpless as she wanted him to believe. He rubbed his neck and looked away from her. “Well, it’s done now. I suppose we should be going quickly.”
“Tristan should be here any moment.” Seren pulled the blood-soaked green dress over her head so that she stood before him unabashedly in only her smallclothes, her dark nipples showing through the thin fabric of her shift. Malcolm stared at the lines of her body, the curve of her hips, while she opened a sack, took out a dark woolen tunic and slipped it on. “There,” she said with a wry smile. “Like it never happened.”
Malcolm nodded and turned to the door, wondering what could be taking Tristan so long. “Where has he been all this time?”
Seren straightened her clothes and closed up the sack. “Killing our mother,” she said coolly.
Malcolm furrowed his brow, unsure whether he believed her. But when a soft knock came at the door and there stood Tristan covered in blood, there was little doubt in his mind.
The Embers of Light Page 11