I collapsed. “Why are you here?” I whimpered, my voice temporarily returned to me.
“We’ve met before,” he said simply.
“I’d have remembered that.”
I must have said it a bit too fervently, for the briefest of smiles crossed his face. “I promise you, I speak the truth.”
Another pain ripped through me. The wood creaked, the chain carving into my wrists. Henryk grimaced. Gripping my wrists, he pressed me to the bed. “She is mine!” I/the demon shouted.
Henryk grunted. “She was taken from me.”
“I will kill her before you get her back.” My voice, again, not my own. I was so sick of being a prisoner. At the convent. In my own body. This life and probably the next, I thought wearily.
“I don’t think so.” Leaning forward, Henryk pressed his lips to my forehead. “Cristiana, try to remember. Try to come back to me.”
“You’re confusing me with someone else.” I screamed, “Mother!”
He put his hand over my mouth yet again. “Your death during the plague wasn’t the first time you died. We were hand-fasted on Midsummer’s Eve.” He spoke hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder as we both heard approaching footsteps. “An archer’s arrow pierced your heart as we stood inside the sacred circle. Not all the guardians were invoked. The circle was incomplete. That thing which has you, possessed you before your mother cursed you. You are doomed to a cycle of deaths and rebirths until you remember. Until you fight and break free.”
I shuddered. He spoke so sincerely, so truthfully. How could I not remember? How could it be true?
Still covering my mouth with his hand, he pressed his lips to my forehead and his other hand over my heart. The words he whispered against my brow were in a language my heart told me I should know, but my head refused to remember. He switched to a tongue I understood. “He’s failed to take you all these years because you placed your heart in my hands. I’ve come to help you get your soul back. Help me help you. Fight.” He held his left hand up. The tip of his ring finger was missing. “You bit it off the last time I tried to exorcise you. Remember?”
Mother Superior appeared at that moment, all righteous indignation. I turned my head and wept.
When I recovered from this latest demonic episode, I avoided “Brother” Henryk as if he possessed the plague. He continued to preach at our services. I continued to listen, but now half-formed memories haunted my dreams. Of Henryk, dressed in green and brown with a mask of stag horns and vines. Of myself, garbed in flowing white robes and bearing a peeled willow branch. And worse memories for one supposed to have taken vows of chastity. Henryk did not wear a ring as Brother Aaron, his superior, did. What did that make him? Half a brother? Given my dreams and his words, not a holy man at all.
All remained silent until the Abbot and his black-robed brothers arrived a few weeks later. “I have been informed that you have one demon-possessed in your midst,” the Abbot proclaimed.
Who had tattled? I glanced, terrified, from Mother Superior to the Abbot. Brother Aaron? Henryk? One of the novices? It didn’t matter. I was to be exorcised.
The candles were lit by deeply hooded and unidentifiable brothers. I lay bound to the altar in holy-water soaked rope. Wherever it touched my bared skin, it burned. When Henry noticed this, he had to be physically restrained by the others.
But the monks had made a fatal mistake. They did not want to sully our church so another place was chosen for rites. Unfinished, Magdalene Chapel had yet to be christened and lay outside the original convent boundaries on land donated by a grateful patron. Invoking the first of the exorcism prayers only goaded the demon.
While I screamed and writhed and bled on my altar of stone, one of the robed monks stepped forward and drove his fist through the priest leading the prayers. He raised his blood-garbed fist like a gauntlet. Peeling back his hood, the demon fixed his gaze on the horrified crowd. The abbot fainted. Henryk shook off his stunned captors’ grips and drew a sword. Brother Aaron calmly picked up the book of prayers and began again.
The demon strode forward. A monk blocked his path, a cross clutched in his hands. The demon struck him down. The hem of Brother Aaron’s cloak began to burn, but he continued his prayers. I felt as if I was burning with him. Flames crept up the brother’s roped belt. He ignored them. The walls of the chapel shuddered, then the south wall collapsed.
I burned. Brother Aaron burned. And Henryk burned, but with a flame of his own power. Abruptly I remembered another burning. The raiders were coming. Our fields burned. We had so little time. I raised a cup to the sky, Henryk’s hands covering mine, begging the deities to protect our people.
I sat upright, the ropes burned from my body. “Samtliche,” I whispered. Demon and Henryk froze, staring at me. “I bound you once, Samtliche. I shall bind you again.”
With a snarl, the demon vanished, but the fires continued to burn.
Brother Aaron grabbed the folds of my cloak. His throat worked but no sound escaped his burnt lips. He tried again. “Holy ground, Cristiana, is made every time a saint’s foot strikes God’s earth.” Closing his eyes, he died.
My woolen skirt soaked up Brother Aaron’s blood like the desert sands stealing moisture from a dying man’s flesh. I didn’t care.
I need not be imprisoned on holy ground. I need only walk in the shadow of a saint. Who better than a man who shunned his own redemption to follow his beloved through time?
Gradually, the sounds of the monastery grounds returned. Someone chanted Last Rites, presumably for Brother Aaron. Fat, rainbow-hued droplets splashed around me, like a forest canopy showering an early morning pilgrim. Holy water. I did not burn. I turned my hand up, catching several water droplets in my cupped palm. Sunlight crept over the chapel’s broken stone windowsill and puddled in my hand, changing the water into thousands of prism-filled promises.
A hand appeared in my line of sight, shadowing my tiny palm-sheltered lake. I didn’t dare move. The fingers wiggled. I noticed the missing tip of the ring finger.
The fingers wiggled again, more impatiently this time. Taking a deep breath, I raised my eyes. Henryk met my timid gaze. I wanted to ask if he’d heard Brother Aaron’s words.
“You fought the demon for me.” It wasn’t the first thing I wanted to say. Thanking him for my wretched life would have been more appropriate. I didn’t want to die again. Dying hurt. I looked down at Brother Aaron’s burned face. Tears collected in my lowered lashes; I fought them back. Living hurt, too.
“Yes.”
I wanted to ask if he chose damnation or was damned because of me. I couldn’t do it. “Thank you.”
He tipped his head. A mahogany lock dropped over one eye. He impatiently tossed his head back, like a well-bred stallion chafing against his leather restraints. “Is that all?”
“I’m ready to learn. To fight,” I quickly added.
“About time,” he grumbled.
I tipped my hand. The miniature lake, still calm and so tempting, fractured. The holy water spilled onto the hard-packed earth, no longer one solid lake but hundreds of droplets once again. I placed my blessed hand into his. He didn’t flinch. His fingers closed around mine, strong and warm.
“Where will we go?” I whispered.
“Away.”
I placed my other hand in his. It was sticky, with blood, I presumed. How fitting. Human frailty sealed one set of joined hands; faith the other.
“There are worse things out there than what we faced today,” he said.
“I know. I thought you’d died.” I didn’t remember everything, but I didn’t want to hurt him with that knowledge. I remembered just enough; he was important to me.
His hands clenched mine. He brought our joined hands to his lips. “Cristiana,” he whispered.
Standing on my tiptoes, I leaned forward and kissed him.
He groaned. Dropping my hands, he swept me into a full-bodied embrace. He tasted of wild things: truffles buried beneath loamy earth, ice cold water from
an unsullied mountain spring, tart like a newly unfurled comfrey leaf. My hands slid up his arms, feeling the flex and bunch of his muscles. I cupped his stubbled cheeks, then plunged my fingers into his thick hair.
Someone cleared his throat.
Henryk paused his ravaging of my face and glanced over my shoulder. “Yes, Abbot?” he said, face wiped clean of all the emotion I’d just seen it bear.
“Bishop Weldon is a worldly man. My report will not mention any battles with otherworldly creatures.”
“Of course.”
“It will express my regret in losing both Brother Aaron and his promising assistant, Brother Henryk, as well as several novices, including Sister Cristiana, in the collapse of Magdalene Chapel. Do you understand?”
I understood. Even though we’d survived, we were being sentenced to death as far as the official Church was concerned. I turned in Henryk’s embrace. The Abbot wouldn’t quite meet my stare. “Pray for us.” He met my gaze then with surprise and a hint of fear.
Henryk’s arms tightened around me. “Yes, please do.”
Abbot Paul glanced from Henryk to I and back to Henryk. He nodded once, a short choppy gesture, as if words failed him. What did one say to someone haunted by the likes of what he’d just seen?
Henryk surprised us all then by dropping to his knees, taking me with him. “A blessing, if you please, before we go.” Henryk pressed his lips to the crown of my hair, our heads bowed.
“Oh, children, what do I say?” Abbot Paul whispered.
Henryk briefly lifted his head. “Anything from the heart will do.”
While Abbot Paul called upon his rote lessons to guide his words, I silently prayed in my own sloppy way. Keep us safe. Make me strong. Help me learn to fight rather than flee. And most importantly, Protect Henryk from harm for though I do not possess my soul, my heart is in his keeping and his in mine.
When the demon and I next meet, it will be I who hold blessed steel between us.
Warrior’s Heart
by Alicia Nordwell
It wasn't that instant, he's meant to be mine, fireworks and cymbals crashing moment that romantic women think will come for them. My moment of meeting came on the battlefield as I was forced back to back with a stranger. No, it wasn’t romantic at all, something I was truly thankful for. I, Aleria of the Falcon Clan, could never admit to having a romantic bone in my body. Or so I thought.
I was fast, faster than most of the other fledglings I trained with in Jintue. We slashed and parried, darted in and then back out as we twisted and swayed away from the wooden practice weapons. My body was small and slight just like the other Carthera fledglings. Until we matured we looked much like regular young humans. Bird Carthera were smaller than most clans but when we got our wings and talons we more than made up for it with utter ferocity in battle. Our Jintue training from a young age assured our supremacy. Of course I didn’t have my wings and talons yet and unless I met my mate I never would.
I refused to go hide with the other fledglings when an attack came from the Lynx Carthera clan. They wanted to hunt the humans in the territory my clan protected. My father did not have time to argue with me but roared at me to stay back from the main attack as he flew to defend our eyrie. I circled to the south but that didn't stop a small group of lynx from splitting off and trying to flank the main battle and I met one of them sneaking through a field.
He attacked and I shrieked in pain when a claw snagged my arm and sliced a deep cut that instantly throbbed with burning pain as I began to drip blood onto the rocky ground. I glared at the cat, "You'll pay for that!"
He laughed at me, "What are you going to do little bird? You're all alone now." He stalked me, razor sharp claws in his fingers coming out when he flexed them over and over. I could see the fading light catch his predator eyes and they gleamed with a cold green light. I pretended to stumble backward, half falling down into a vulnerable crouch which I knew the lynx would not be able to resist.
I grabbed the large knife out of my boot sheath, holding it up with both hands as the lynx jumped. His assumption that I was weak and helpless would be his biggest mistake. I visualized the strike as I waited for his body to come down on mine but the impact never came. A split second before he made contact a body came flying from the left and slammed into him, knocking him away from me and the death waiting for him. My unnecessary and unwanted defender rolled and sprang to his feet as the lynx screamed his fury at being thwarted in his attack.
"Run!" The man yelled as he swept his blade in the air in front of the crouching cat. I looked at him in disbelief. He was human but he was not human. Somehow I got the sense that he was also bird Carthera. I was puzzled and confused and angry, not a good combination in a fight. He was bigger than most of the men in my clan but not yet graced by wings or talons. Whoever he was, whatever he was, I couldn't believe he thought he could order me around.
"I do not run!" I seethed in fury. This threat would be removed if only this idiot hadn't interfered. Suddenly I heard a sound that chilled me; a snarl coming from behind us was the only sound the second prowling lynx made as he came to join his friend in a bit of bird baiting. "This isn't good," I said, "not good at all." The man risked a quick glance over his shoulder and cursed.
"Back to back," he said and I saw the wisdom in that. I moved my body to stand up against him, my head just barely topping his shoulders.
"Do you know the ninth move?" he asked me as we slowly moved to counter our attackers who began to pace in a circle trying to separate us.
"Yes. I'm surprised you do. Do you think it will work on the ground?" I was wishing now that I had listened to my father as I heard sounds from the main battle fade. I was too focused on the disaster I was in to pay attention. The lynx Carthera I had been fighting originally was in front of me and licking his lips as he stared at the blood still dripping down my arm. I didn’t want my knife to slip in the blood so I held it in my other hand, waiting for the signal to attack.
"You think you can fight us?" the lynx laughed derisively. He was on all fours, muscles moving around his shoulders in disturbing ways as he crept a few paces closer. "You will die," he snarled.
"Not before you!" I felt the movement of my companion and surged to the left. The lynx moved faster than I thought and changed the direction of his attack almost as fast as I moved. Instead of running away I went straight for him. At the last second I leapt up and over him, twisting my body. I rolled and came back up in a blur before I launched myself on to his back. I reached up with my knife and sliced it across his throat. Blood sprayed from the wound as he snarled before his eyes widened and he slumped slowly to the ground. I rode his back down until I was sure he was dead.
I looked for the other lynx only to find him also laid out on the ground with blood pooling under his head and body and his lifeless eyes now staring out in space. I shuddered. Movement caught my eye and I brought up my knife as I watched the strange man came toward me slowly.
"It's okay, you're okay now," he crooned at me, "put down the knife sweetheart."
I narrowed my eyes at him, "Sweetheart? I don't know who the hell you are and I may owe you for helping me kill this scum but I am not your sweetheart!" I got stiffly to my feet, looking carefully around us to make sure that there were no more enemies creeping up. I cocked my head; I still couldn’t hear any noise from the main attack.
"I've got to find my father." I kept my blade out and stalked off toward the northern approach to our eyrie trying to ignore the man who followed me.
"My name is Seth," he said as he moved up beside me, ignoring my glare and the slight move I made with my knife. I continued to walk; I needed to know my father was safe before I could fall apart. I had never killed anyone before and while my predator nature was satisfied the civilized part of me was appalled and in shock.
"Aren't you going to tell me your name?" he asked, "It’s only polite." That stopped me dead in my tracks. He smirked at me.
"Polite? My people are bein
g attacked, my family and friends are in danger and you expect me to be polite! Why don't you just go leap off a cliff somewhere?" I was glaring at him and imagining kicking his ass. Polite? I'd show him polite.
Without warning I rushed him, hooking one foot behind his leg and shoving him to the ground. I straddled him and shoved my face into his, trying desperately to ignore the feel of his lean hips between my thighs. "You are not wanted or needed. Leave me alone!" I hissed holding my knife ready.
Moving almost as fast as I could he grabbed my thighs and rolled us, landing on top of me with his body cradled between my wide open thighs. I gasped as I felt him lunge against the center of my body but it was only to give him enough room to reach up and force my hand to drop my knife. I shrieked in fury and tried to get him off me but he was too heavy, much heavier than any of the males I had trained with in Jintue. I slumped on the ground under him, panting in exhaustion.
"I want to know your name, that's all. I helped you, saved you really, and that's not too much to ask."
I glared at him. "Go to hell! I don't owe you anything. I didn't ask for your help." I pushed at his chest, trying to shove him off me.
He smirked down at me as if amused by my struggles. "Your name or I'll just stay here until your father finds us. I'm sure that he will find our current position very interesting." He ground his hips into me and an incredible heat flashed through my body as I arched up just a little into him. He chuckled and I felt myself flushing in embarrassment and fury. I could only imagine what my father would say, much less my brothers if they saw this... this... man on top of me out in public.
"Aleria!" I stopped struggling and gave in.
"What was that?" He cocked his head and grinned at me.
"My name is Aleria. You win, okay? I don't want anyone to see me like this," I could feel the blush blazing in my cheeks, "so do you think you could get off now?"
He pushed up and back off my body, kneeling in front of me while I looked for my knife. When I looked at him he held it up waggling it a little.
Just One Bite Volume 3 Page 7