Rayna Myana. She jumped, but neither Channon nor Mina gave any indication that they had heard Sudmaris’s telepathic voice. I speak to you alone, Rayna. Your actions do not make you the same as Rhael Demetrian. We all make choices, sometimes impossible ones. But it is not our dilemmas that define us, but how we cope with the consequences of our actions. Your guilt, your uncertainty, these feelings are not easy, but they mark you as human.
Again, she looked at Channon. What about him? she asked in her mind. How is he coping with the consequences of his actions?
Sudmaris sighed. I cannot share the secrets of another, but, he paused as a pod of dolphins gamboled across the sea in front of them, your friend is at a crossroads. He may yet emerge as the man he was meant to be, but such suffering he has endured. His pain has the power to transform his very soul.
How can I help him? Rayna’s heart pounded. Channon must have heard it, but did not appear to think anything wrong.
You alone cannot save him. He must want to be saved. Help him want it, Rayna; help him remember how to be human, even in a time of such violence.
Rayna was not sure she understood all of Sudmaris’s advice, but he did not reply to her confused thoughts. They continued on as the sun sank to their right, lighting the waves with the colors of fire. Their waterskins had been contaminated with saltwater, so Sudmaris brought them to a chain of islands to refill their supplies and rest for the night. He coasted to a stop several tail-lengths away from the shore, and the three land-dwellers slid off his back and swam to the closest island. The ferns and beech trees revealed where fresh water could be found.
“Do you think anyone will believe us when we tell them we rode to Alvorn on the back of an ancient sea leviathan?” Mina asked with a grin as she filled her skins from the trickling spring.
“It may actually be one of the more believable parts of our story,” said Rayna.
Once their waterskins had been filled and they had each drunk as much as they could, they trekked toward a bed of moss near the island’s center. It was warmer than Vanuuk had been, but they still shivered in the high sea winds as they unrolled their sleeping sacks. It was too windy to risk a fire, so they found a spot behind some of the larger trees to shelter them from the worst of the cold. Mina chatted as usual, but was soon snoring after the exhaustion of the day. Rayna leaned her cheek against Channon’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Her own weary body longed for sleep, but she could not get Sudmaris’s voice out of her head. She wanted to help Channon readjust, but how could she do that when their lives were so absurd, so full of cruelty?
“Ray?” Channon ran his hand over her arm. “Get some rest. We should arrive in Alvorn tomorrow. You need your strength.”
“I know. I’m just worried.” She did not want him to think she worried about him, so she cast about for one of her many other concerns. “What if we can’t convince the Alvornians to help us?”
“Then they’re cowards.” The severity in his voice surprised her. “We’ll fight without them.” He faced her, his gaze dropping to her lips. Rayna exhaled as he brought his fingers to the corner of her mouth, lingering there before his touch moved to her cheek, tracing the four scratches he had left. “I’m sorry. I should have known it was you. Now you'll always have these scars.”
“I’m Fenearen,” she said, twining her fingers through his and lowering their linked hands to her lap. “Scars are nothing new.”
“But I gave you those.” He dropped her hold balling his fist at his side. “I was supposed to protect you. I promised Bayne when I agreed to accompany you to Maenor. I promised him I would keep you safe, but you ended up saving me. You almost died. I almost killed you. I failed you, Ray.”
“No.” Rayna bowed her head, whispering into his neck. “No, Channon, you didn’t fail me. You were hexed because you were protecting me. None of this is your fault. None of it.”
“I wasn’t strong enough. I never have been. All I ever did was hold you back–”
“Stop.” Rayna cupped his cheeks. “None of that is true. You’re my best friend. You’re more than that. You’re everything to me, Channon. You make me better, so don’t you dare say that you hold me back.”
He closed his eyes, inhaling. “I’m sorry. I have these thoughts, and I don’t know which are mine and which are…” He opened his eyes, leaned forward, and kissed her forehead. “Do you think it will ever be like it was before? Do you think we’ll ever be us again?” He wiped a tear she did not even realize she had shed with his thumb.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll even be alive long enough for that.” She paused while she re-settled herself against his chest. “But we’ll always be us. We’re together, and I won’t let anyone separate us again. I promise.”
He folded his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, but said nothing more as his breathing evened into sleep. Eventually she joined him, wondering if making a promise you had no power to keep counted as a lie.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Nero stared at the sky. The same stars he had seen his whole life looked different somehow. A cloud blocked his view, and he lowered his gaze. Scratching his mutilated ear, he looked at the dozens of tent rows surrounding him. It was late, and most of the fires had burned to ashes. The wind had carried the worst of the smoke away, but the smell of the Da’ Gammorn and their army of dead forest creatures still made his eyes stream. Rhael’s undead allies horrified him, but he was grateful to be on their side at least. Seeing Bayne the day before, as sanctimonious as ever, strengthened his belief that turning on his people was the best choice he could have made. He hated Fenear. He had never been given what he had deserved, and the only woman he had cared about had chosen Bayne over him. Now he had the opportunity to make them pay. Killing Thera had been satisfying, but it had not been enough. He had killed her in the heat of the moment. Getting his claws into her son would be different. Or ripping out Bayne's throat, of course, though he suspected the Overlord would have that honor if Bayne survived long enough to meet him on the field.
Silver would be fighting, too. Some echo of his affection for her tugged at his mind, but he laughed at his own sentiment. Silver was beautiful, fierce, loyal–everything a man would want in a mate. But she was as conceited as Bayne, not to mention, more than thirty winters old. What did he care about Silver, a barren woman past her prime, when he had Morna? He was not foolish enough to think the Maenoren girl loved him, but that did not matter. She was his, and he would treat her well. Let Silver die with the knowledge that she had chosen the weaker man.
A sickening scent brought him back to reality. Rotting flesh, stronger than usual. He cursed his Fenearen sense of smell as he doubled over at the stench. Negiol, the Da’ Gammorn commander, strode toward Nero. It stopped less than a tail-length away, head cocked, watching him with dreadful curiosity.
“What do you want?” Nero growled.
“Strange. Wolfkind are said to be so strong, and yet all it takes is our scent and you can barely stand.”
“What are you on about?” Nero demanded, breathing through his mouth.
“Excuse us if we have offended. We live to serve.”
“There is nothing living about you that I can see.”
“Or smell, apparently.”
Nero grimaced. “Obviously.”
The Da’ Gammorn seemed amused by Nero’s annoyance. It pulled its rotted husks of lips into a sneer. Nero’s hair rose along his neck, and a guttural growl quivered in his throat.
A hiss cut the rancid air. “Negiol, please.” Rhael appeared on Nero’s other side. “The commander has many concerns on his mind, and I am sure your experiments aren’t appropriate for a man,” he paused, causing Negiol’s grin to widen, “so preoccupied.”
Nero knew the Overlord did not respect him, either, but at least Rhael gave him something in return for putting up with his arrogance.
“Of course, Overlord. We meant no disrespect.” The demon turned and melted into the d
ark.
“My apologies, Commander Geddeont. Negiol does enjoy his little games.”
“Well, I have no interest in playing with it, or with any of its kind.” Nero fanned the air to rid it of the stench left by the demon.
“Tell me, Commander, how is your Miss Helena?”
“Better, now that she’s recovering from the beating you inflicted upon her,” Nero growled.
“I am sorry about that, but as I said, she nearly drowned when she broke camp rules and tried to fetch water at night. She needed to learn her lesson.”
“I would have thought almost drowning and freezing to death punishment enough, but as you say Overlord.”
“And her dreams?”
“They’re getting worse. Almost every night she tosses and turns. I’ve seen her eyes flash silver a few times, like you said. She's even vomited. What is wrong with her? Some kind of falling sickness?”
Rhael chuckled. “No. She is perfectly well. Does she say anything?”
Nero ground his teeth. Rhael had not been very forthcoming about whatever was affecting Morna–only that she was in no danger. “Nonsense, mostly. Something about a mountain, black shores, demons. She says Rayna’s name quite often. Is it true what Bayne and Seperun said? She escaped you?”
Rhael did not answer immediately. His fists clenched. “She did, though it was due more to fortune than her own intelligence.”
“You think she’s still alive?” The idea appealed to Nero; he would love to kill her himself. “Why would Morna dream of her? I didn't think they knew each other well.”
“They did not, but they do have something in common. If Morna still dreams of her, then I believe my former bride does live. Knowing her, I would suspect she is trying to return to Fenear, with delusions of stopping the inevitable, I’m sure.”
“She gets that from her uncle.”
“Indeed, which brings me to why I’m here.” Rhael glanced at the tent behind them where Morna slept. “Wake Miss Helena and bring her to my tent.”
“Why do you need to see her? And now? It’s late, my lord and she rarely sleeps so soundly.”
“If my betrothed is indeed returning home, then I think it only right I have a gift prepared for her. With Miss Helena’s assistance, I may have just the thing.”
Nero bowed reluctantly. Rhael did love to be theatrical. “Yes, Overlord.”
Satisfied, the Overlord disappeared into the darkness as Negiol had. Nero ignored the spiny dread crawling up his veins and entered his tent. Morna, half-hidden by a fur mantle, slept in their pallet with her face toward the hearth. He knelt beside her and swept the dark hair off her cheek. Her eyelids opened, revealing exhausted, doe-like eyes.
“Sorry for waking you, but the Overlord wants to see us.”
She sat up, her expression sliding behind the ever-obedient veil she always wore. “No need for apologies, my lord. We must not keep him waiting.” She pulled on her red silk robe and ran her fingers through her hair. Nero handed her a heavier coat, which she accepted with a kiss to his cheek, and they walked into the wintry night.
Rhael’s tent was not far from theirs. Six men and a pair of boar hounds guarded the entrance, but they parted to allow Nero and Morna passage. The dogs eyed Nero with trembling lips and high tails, but he knew they were petrified beneath their posturing. Dogs, even large dogs, were no match for wolves. Once they reached the entrance, Morna pulled back the flap, but Nero stopped her.
“Just a moment, please,” he whispered. “Before we go in, I should tell you that Rhael needs something particular from you. Something about a gift for Rayna if she does return. Do you have any idea what he means?”
He heard Morna’s heart flutter against her ribs. She must have been nervous, and rightly so. “No, my lord. I cannot imagine what the Overlord wants from me.”
With a shrug, Nero swept open the tent entrance.
Had Nero’s nose not been distracted by smoke and the Da' Gammorn's stench, he would have smelled what was spread on the tent floor before they entered. Instead, the sight of the half-rotted body surprised him as much as Morna. They both froze as the Overlord stood from where he had been kneeling beside the corpse.
“Commander Geddeont, Miss Helena. Please come in.”
“What is this? Who is he?” Nero asked, gesturing to the gray, worm-eaten form sprawled over the carpeted ground. Whoever he was, he had been dead for weeks, maybe even months.
“Tell me, Miss Helena,” the Overlord said as Morna caught her breath, “do you recognize him?”
With a cautious glance at Rhael, Morna approached the body. She crouched over it. After a moment's consideration, she nodded. “I don’t remember his name, but I remember what he did.”
“Good. His name is not important, not to you anyway. I just want to make sure he can be recognized by those who knew him in life.”
“You’re going to have the Da’ Gammorn possess him?” Morna stood, returning to Nero. He put his arm around her.
The Overlord shook his head, and a manic smile spread across his features. “No. Thanks to Negiol, I have something better and more permanent planned. If this works, he’ll be the first of many more.”
“If what works?” Nero asked, unable to hide his fear.
“The Aetolo Avemn.”
Morna gasped, but Nero did not know why. “What does that mean?”
“Miss Helena, please give Commander Geddeont the necessary history lesson.” Rhael turned away, busying himself at an altar covered in runes, candles, and burning herbs.
Morna spoke stiffly, as if she did not really believe her own words. “The Aetolo Avemn. A ritual performed by Kalmor, Lord Rhael’s ancestor, long ago. It allowed him to bind the souls of thousands of demons to the bodies of his slain enemies.”
“When he made the Da’ Gammorn, you mean. But Overlord, I don’t understand. You have hundreds of those things, and they can posses the bodies of other dead things. Why do you need more?”
Rhael looked up from the altar. “The Da’ Gammorn can control the bodies of the dead beyond their hosts, but without the head and heart runes to bind them, it’s temporary. Useful in a battle, but for a long-term campaign, only the original Da’ Gammorn can be counted on. True Da’ Gammorn, like Negiol and his army created by Kalmor, are much stronger than the dead puppets they can control.” In the dim light, Rhael’s pupils dilated until only the thinnest sliver of gold remained. “If I can create more true Da’ Gammorn from the bodies of my enemies, then no army in Osterna, not Alvorn or even the Kyreans, could stand against me. Fenear would only be the beginning, and thanks to Negiol, I know how to bring this about.”
Nero heard Morna’s blood pumping faster, but whether from fear or excitement, he was not sure. “Why start with him?”
“I've been experimenting with this body,” Rhael pushed the corpse's chin with his boot, “because the man who once inhabited it was a member of the Maenoren Resistance. He will be the first of their number to suffer this fate, to have his soul sent to Hell in the place of the demons we raise, but not the last. As an added benefit, if Rayna does return for the battle, she will have a familiar face to greet her.”
“All right.” Nero crossed his arms. “How’s it done? Why do you need Morna?”
“The Aetolo Avemn is a unique bit of spellwork, because it requires all four kinds of magic. Demonic and blood, those are simple enough.” Rhael gestured to his altar. “The word magic is no issue; Negiol knew the rune. The real trick is the divine. Tell me, Miss Helena, how did Kalmor perform the original Aetolo Avemn?”
Morna gulped, moving closer to Rhael, eyes wide and chest heaving. Nero was certain now; this was exciting her. “He used blood. The blood of their families.”
Rhael smiled like an indulgent teacher. “Very good. The love that runs in families is itself a form of divine magic, one of the more powerful sources. Familial blood is filled with potential divine magic, if you can capture it. But this pathetic man had no family. Besides, if I am to create an enti
re army of Da’ Gammorn, I cannot waste time tracking down the family of any corpse I want to use.”
Nero did not understand, but Morna had comprehended Rhael’s ravings. “You need another source of divine magic, then.”
Rhael did not reply, instead taking a golden bowl filled with a smoking black liquid from his altar. He dipped his fingers into the substance and drew a circle around the body. Transfixed, Nero watched as the Overlord sketched a rune on the dead man’s forehead and chest. Rhael rose, replaced the bowl on the altar, and turned back to Morna.
“All I need now,” he reached for a dagger resting between a pair of black candles, “is the divine blood of a seer.”
Morna stepped forward, but Nero jumped between them. “Her blood? You need her blood?”
“Yes. The blood of a seer contains more divine magic than almost anything else in Osterna.”
“Please, Overlord, I’m begging you–”
“Calm down Commander. I don’t need all of it.”
Morna guided Nero to the side. “Peace, Nero. I am happy to serve the Overlord.”
Rhael took her hand and pricked the very tip of her finger with the edge of the dagger. Nero growled as the blood dripped onto the blade, but Rhael sealed the wound with a flick of his wrist.
“Thank you, Miss Helena.” Rhael brushed the bloody knife with his own forefinger. He knelt above the corpse’s head. “I advise you both to stand back.”
Nero grabbed Morna, pulling her as far from the Overlord as the tent would allow. Rhael touched his blood-coated finger to the runes on the dead man’s forehead and chest, and a crack of thunder resounded through the still winter night. Rhael backed away from the body until he stood by Nero and Morna. As the thunder died away, the corpse convulsed. Then, to Nero’s horror, it screamed. The carpets around it smoldered, melting into the hot bubbling mud that rose from the ground, covering it. The screams were smothered in horrible, choking coughs, followed by eerie silence as the twitching ceased.
Hex Breaker (The Fenearen Chronicles Book 1) Page 39