“There were others?” Crystalia was shocked at such a notion.
“Aye. For each generation, one arises, but most never know it. They go about their lives, ignorant. They court, marry, have children and are never the wiser to their destiny. Only a few who awakened to know their true heritage.”
It was strange to think others had her title, not that Crystalia really knew what her title really implied or meant. Still, it made her feel both disappointed and gleeful that someone else had walked this path before.
“What was she like? Sequen?”
“She looked much like you. Although she had a much better understanding of her powers. Do you even know how to generate heat?”
Crystalia bristled a bit at the Faery’s condescending tone. “Yes. I used it to keep myself warm out on the Plains.”
Emerald snorted. “There is much more to your talent than that, child. But you will learn.” The Faery’s playful nature rose to the surface again as she smoothed the ruffles on Crystalia’s new gown. “This was one of Sequen’s favorite gowns. I kept it for her after she left.” The Faery must have noticed the look on Crystalia’s face, for Emerald rushed on. “Not that she died a horrible death or anything. After the Dark Menace was vanquished, Sequen retired to the countryside. Married a tanner, if I’m not mistaken.”
Crystalia cringed. She could not image going back to stirring a pot for her father after everything she had been through. There was certainly more to life than Last Hitch.
Emerald continued. “Sequen was the only one of the Maidens I liked. The rest — they did not care. Sequen relished the endless snowy-white Plains. She loved each and every snowflake as it fell. There was nothing about the Winter that Sequen did not cherish.”
Staying quiet, Crystalia hoped Emerald could not sense her tension. It would not fare for the Faery to know how much Crystalia despised the chill in the air. The girl could not even enjoy a wintry sunrise. The wind was always too cold, the snow glared over much, and the ice made it hard to walk. No, she was truly nothing like Sequen.
“There was a time when —” Emerald was interrupted by Miss Emmert and the strange boy’s entrance.
“We must speak,” Miss Emmert stated.
“Yes, once I’m done —”
“Now, Emerald. The Labrinyth has stirred. The Hero and Ice Princess are trapped in its bowels.”
The Faery shrugged her tiny shoulders. “That should keep them from the Icy Throne.”
“Griffins have attacked Vizor’s herd. Dimitri is moving them to higher ground.” Miss Emmert paused as Emerald’s face began to look less certain. “You know what this heralds, Guardian. The signs could not be clearer.”
Emerald finally nodded but did not speak.
“Signs of what?” Crystalia asked.
“The Endless Winter’s perils are not limited to the weather. There are creatures, beings who can only survive in perpetual frost. The world has not seen the likes of them since the last Ice Age.”
“What does Traven have to do with this?”
Miss Emmert looked to Emerald. The Faery nodded, so the woman continued. “She has a right to know.”
“It is prophesized, and we can only pray that it is true, that the Hero alone gains the power to close the Spiral Vortex.”
The strange boy’s face scrunched up, making him look even more freakish. “Why? Why this Hero?”
Miss Emmert patted the boy’s shoulder. “It is the way of the Fates, son. You are the Way. He is The Man. It is how it is.” Miss Emmert swallowed hard. “One thing we know for certain. If the Hero dies, our only hope of fending off the Frigid Warriors dies with him.”
*****
CHAPTER 23
Holt’s claws dug deeply into the ledge’s crumbling brick. The garrison was not aging well, Holt noted as he shifted his weight. The wind was stiff and cold, but his transformed skin was impervious to its battering.
No, he could prowl all night in this weather and never suffer a shiver. It had been far too long since he had hunted. The Vampyr part of him was angered at the delay. It had been promised blood, and the hunger was a fever in Holt’s blood.
But the human side of Holt resisted the urge to smash through the lower windows and unleash the beast’s fury. The temptation was great, but Holt knew that he needed just a bit more patience. As long as the garrison was quiet, his mother was safe. He could smell her just below him. Her scent tasted not of fear, only of concern.
The Vampyr within him cared nothing for this. It relished the aroma of terror that permeated the town. The townsfolk were whipped into a frenzy, building a pyre. More than likely, to roast his mother upon. As much as the idea revolted Holt, the Vampyr found there was nothing like the bouquet of panic to heighten one’s enjoyment of the night.
Holt’s head cocked to the side. A small group approached. The lieutenant had the stench of dread thick about him. How easy it would be to swoop down and feed upon this pasty man. Holt could almost taste the hot blood that would ooze from the man’s neck. The human side of Holt noted that the blonde girl and older man with the soldier had no such smell. If anything, they had the look and smell of victory. They had the aura of one whose long hunt was reaching its end.
Stretching his wings, Holt prepared for battle. With a push of his thick thighs, he launched himself from the parapets. Soaring through the brisk air, the Vampyr reveled in its freedom. It would savor the coming bloodshed.
***
Madame Hesper sighed as the lieutenant walked towards her cell. She had hoped that the man would come to his senses and find a way around the carnage, but he still wore the same smug expression. The officer thought himself aligned with an unbeatable force. How little the man truly knew. They might have caught the Commander off guard, but she was not such easy prey.
“We’ve come to get the prisoner,” the lieutenant said.
Bailiff Omar seemed unimpressed with the officer’s arrogant attitude. “I’ll need a signature from the Commander.”
“How dare you! I arrested her. I will have her released.”
Madame Hesper stayed her hand. She needed to be sure there were no more conspirators than the three standing before her.
“The law is the law, sir. Until I have his approval, the prisoner stays here.”
“The Commander is... He is indisposed.”
Omar shrugged. “Then we will wait until he is available to sign for her release.”
Madame Hesper charged the door, but it was too late. The Drakol priestess had shed her human skin and lashed out, decapitating the Bailiff with a single swipe of her claw. Blood drenched the floor. The priestess ran at the cell, but flew back from it at the last moment.
“Forget what iron can do to you, priestess?” Madame Hesper asked.
Crawling out of her skin cocoon, the priestess bared two rows of sharp teeth. “Get the keys.”
The lieutenant fumbled in the Bailiff’s pockets and came up with the key. Madame Hesper backed away from the door, feigning weakened knees. The Drakol’s fangs dripped green saliva as she panted her eagerness.
Fine, Madame Hesper thought — let the priestess reveal in her prowess.
“I have waited long for this...” the priestess slurred through her slimy teeth.
Turning the key, the lieutenant’s hand shook so violently that he almost dropped the brass ring. “I’m sorry,” the man stuttered, eyes averted.
Madame Hesper kept her features calm. The lieutenant had no idea how sorry he was about to be. A scream arose from outside. The trio turned for an instant towards the new disturbance, giving the medium the opportunity to focus on the key. Using a tiny tendril of her power, Madame Hesper caressed the brass and urged the key to turn just a titch further, unlocking her cell. Drawing the magic back into her finger, the old woman waited patiently.
From the shouts and shrieks of terror, it sounded as if Holt was alight. All the better. Her son’s arrival must mean that Ekoli was ready for travel. Madame Hesper intended to put miles between he
r party and this town before the sun rose again.
That was, once a few matters were settled. The lieutenant turned towards the old woman, his pupils dilated so wide that you could no longer make out the color of his eyes. Madame Hesper allowed a tight smile to escape her lips.
“This is for Jory,” she whispered just before she shoved the iron door open, slamming it into his face.
The man tumbled backwards, blood pouring from his nose. The sound drew the Drakols’ attention. The pair leapt forward, roaring their rage. Instead of fighting or darting out of the way, Madame Hesper took a single step back. The priestess lunged but shied before she crossed the threshold into the cell. Green eyes glared in the dim light.
Clearly Viola could sense the trap, but could not see how this fragile old woman could possibly spring it. Still, the priestess hissed to her apostle, “Drag her from there.” Viola spat as the lieutenant shouted for more guards.
The half man, half Drakol had no such reservations as his priestess and charged into the cell, heedless of the potential danger. Madame Hesper allowed him to close the distance in two bounds, then sidestepped slightly, blowing a bit of magic into the air before him.
In his fury, the beast rushed into the hazy cloud. Suddenly, the Drakol acolyte bellowed, clutching at his eyes in a wild frenzy. The powder was just only trifling of sorcery, but it played its role well, sending the Drakol crashing into the iron bars. An inhuman scream escaped its lips as the scent of burnt flesh filled the room.
Where skin touched the metal, the flesh was seered off, yet the bars would not release its victim. Uniformed men rushed into the room but skidded to a halt. Holding his broken nose, the lieutenant directed the men to free the demon from the metal, but these boys were born and raised in Last Hitch.
Trembling, they balked.
Holt, on wing, swooped through the front door, scattering the young soldiers. The priestess sprang backward, claws at the ready. The anguished cries of the male Drakol still haunted the room as the bars chewed through to bone.
Not slowing in the least, Holt barreled into the lieutenant, flooring the sallow man. In a single motion, Holt was landed, clutching the lieutenant in a talon. “Release her, or watch me drink from him.”
Viola shed more of her human form, releasing the demon within as her disciples’ final wail died from the air. “Feel free. I had planned to eat him myself.”
Madame Hesper cautiously inched towards the cell’s door. Holt’s hand shook, and she could tell the Vampyr’s hunger ran deep. Not that she necessarily cared if her son took a meal from the callous lieutenant. Instead, she feared the Drakol was baiting Holt, tricking him into exposing his own vulnerable neck, but Holt was stronger than the lust that ran through his veins. He sent the lieutenant sprawling into a desk.
“Drakol blood sounds more to my liking,” Holt said as he surged forward.
Madame Hesper had to keep from shouting a warning. Despite his transformation, she knew the Vampyr was no match for a full-blooded Drakol priestess. Perhaps both mother’s and son’s powers combined were not going to be enough to down the demon, but Madame Hesper planned to die trying.
The priestess easily repelled Holt’s first attack and lunged at him with poison-tipped claws. Using leg and wing, Holt scurried out of her range. The Vampyr was now fully formed. In the struggle, what was left of Holt had collapsed under the Curse. A shriek, of which no human ear should ever have to endure, erupted from Holt’s throat. Now, the fight was beast to beast.
As the two creatures circled one another, Madame Hesper slinked past the bars and positioned herself at the far end of the room. She could no longer trust Holt not to harm his own mother in the melee.
Once the Drakol priestess was vanquished, Madame Hesper would then have to deal with her own son. A Drakol curse sprouted from the demon’s lips as she took a slash at Holt. The Vampyr was lithe and quick, but the foul creature was fueled by a far stronger enchantment. The Drakol was born unto her power. Holt was still fresh to his.
Even Madame Hesper could not attack the priestess directly. The demon was renowned for its ability to take raw power and use it to its own gain. No, any magic used would need to be the most subtle kind. Madame Hesper could not tally much longer, lest she risk Holt’s life. But the two’s actions were so swift that the window of opportunity to strike at the Drakol was fleeting.
Raising her hands, Madame Hesper whispered ancient words onto her fingertips. Each one glowed with a sparkling color. Satisfied that the power was under her control, rather than vice versa, Madame Hesper wove an intricate pattern in the air. Her fingertips left a trail of light where they passed. Soon, the old woman had a glistening spider web floating before her.
Luck was with them as Holt spun off to the side to avoid a wicked slice of the Drakol’s tail. Snatching the opportunity, Madame Hesper sent the web flying. The priestess sensed the attack but turned to face her attacker rather than sidestepping. The fine filaments anchored themselves into the Drakol’s mottled green skin. The beast roared in rage, thrashing against the nearly invisible constraints.
“No!” Madame Hesper screamed as the Vampyr leapt towards the flailing creature. The two were locked in a twisting duel of unnatural forces.
Madame Hesper clapped twice as she chanted. A torch flew across the room into her hand. A powerful natural element was the only hope against the Drakol. Heedless of the danger, Madame Hesper rushed forward, grinding the brand into the Drakol’s back.
She gained small solace in the beast’s screams. The Vampyr flinched away from the flame but refused to let go of his prey. Infuriated, the Drakol lashed out, lancing Holt’s chest with a thin gash. Madame Hesper, near panic, pulled back and smashed the torch into the Drakol’s face. A muffled howl gushed from the priestess.
The Vampyr’s wound was a minor one, but Madame Hesper knew that if it was not cauterized immediately, it would be fatal to Holt. With no hesitation, Madame Hesper arced the flame again, this time hitting the Vampyr squarely in the chest.
The fire burned the oozing blood and poison away as the Vampyr turned its wrath towards the old woman. Madame Hesper swiped the torch towards Holt, trying to hold the Vampyr off. She did not have much time. The Drakol was wounded but very near to breaking the bonds that restrained the priestess.
Pulling a tiny knife hidden in her sash, Madame Hesper randomly sliced at the priestess. Green blood flowed from the wounds, smelling strong and metallic. The Vampyr wavered in his assault on Madame Hesper. Blood called more loudly than revenge. Yet the medium could not allow Holt to get near the deadly Drakol. As the priestess broke out of the last strands, Madame Hesper gave the demon a kick. The Drakol rolled away, unharmed by the attack. But harming the demon had not been Madame Hesper’s intent. Instead, the priestess had left behind a large puddle of blood.
The Vampyr could not resist the pool of food and knelt over to lap at the sweet fluid. Confident that she had a few moments without Holt’s interference, Madame Hesper called out to the four elements.
Each she called by their most intimate names. The words rolled off her tongue with familiarity. They each owed her a boon, and Madame Hesper proposed to have those debts paid.
Hopefully, the spirits were not as fickle as the townsfolk.
Wind announced his arrival first. The rush of air that greeted Wind’s entrance blew out her torch. Water trickled down through the roof, dripping in a rhythm that at another time might have been soothing. The floor beneath their feet creaked as Earth rumbled to Madame Hesper’s invitation. Fire was the last to appear. Bright and dancing, the element smiled a wicked greeting.
“Why have you disturbed us?” Light twinkled and sparked with each word from the flame-drenched female form.
Madame Hesper took a moment to form her words. A single misspoken entreaty could bring doom upon them and the rest of the town.
“This Drakol has wronged me and my family. I wish her interred.”
“We have no quarrel with the Drakol. They are not so a
rrogant as to think that they might command the Elements,” Wind whispered in her ear.
Madame Hesper ignored the slight. Wind was the most fickle of the siblings. She had to be wary of insulting that one. “I do not ask upon merit, Bringers of All That We Know. I only humbly request that my favors to each of you bear fruit.”
The Drakol priestess, now bent down in supplication, tried to intervene. “My Lords. We are but mortals — far beneath your concern. Allow us to resolve our differences amongst ourselves.”
“It is not our way to interfere,” Water bubbled as she flowed over the walls.
Madame Hesper did not bother to comment on the complete inaccuracy of the Elements’ words. The Four meddled constantly, only it was usually of their own prerogative. Each of them bristled at the slightest hint of being ordered about.
“I ask only that you involve yourself to the level that I once did on each of your behalves.”
Fire flared to a dark mahogany. “We never settled on a price, witch. Be careful for what you ask.”
Madame Hesper had every intention of using caution. With measured words, she beseeched the Elements. “I request only that Earth open a crevice to contain the Drakol. Fire to send a small flame with the demon to let her know the pain I have endured at her hands, and Wind to give a stiff sail away from this town.”
“We do not take life,” Earth grumbled.
No, you just grind mortals between your slabs every opportunity you get, Madame Hesper thought, but did not speak. The Elements’ ethics were as slippery as an eel’s tongue.
“Nay. I ask only that she be interred. She has enough magic to sustain her until her brethren return.” Then, in punishment, the Drakol’s own kind would most likely slaughter her, but that was not the issue of the moment. “I ask only that she suffer as I have. An eye for an eye.”
“What has she done to warrant the wrath of the Elements?” Water asked.
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