by C. L. Roman
Phaella stopped her with a look. “No, don’t bother, it doesn’t matter for now. Call Fomor. If those children are to have any chance at all, we need to find them now. Every minute we waste…” she stopped abruptly and Danae paled.
“May mean another life. Yes, I see it now. He took them to feed her, and possibly himself, but mostly her. I’ll get my scrying bowl.”
“Call Fomor first. I can fill him in while you look.”
Danae shot the angel a puzzled look but opened her mouth to call Fomor’s name. Phaella cut her off with a gesture. “No, call him. Like you did when you saw the village. Like you did on your wedding day when Shahara figured out what we are.”
“I didn’t “call him” as you put it. He just – came. I needed him and…” she trailed off as the realization struck her.
“He came. You needed him. You thought or you felt that you needed him, and he came, just like you knew to come when he was hurt. You are connected, Danae. You have been for a long while. One cannot need without the other knowing.”
“But, when we saw the village…”
“You’ll have to ask him, but my guess is, he began to feel uneasy, worried, when you did.”
“When I saw the smoke,” Danae whispered.
Phaella nodded agreement, “But it wasn’t enough to pull him away from whatever he was doing. The feeling probably worsened for him as you realized the extent of the carnage.”
“When I found my father, I thought that I would die of the pain. And then Fomor was there.”
“He came when you called – even if you didn’t know you were calling.”
Danae closed her eyes and concentrated on her husband, on her need for him. Moments later there was a rustling of wings as Fomor settled to the earth. His dagger was not drawn, but his hand rested lightly on the hilt and his bow was in his hand.
“What has happened?” he asked.
Danae smiled at him and touched his hand. “Phaella will fill you in. I need to get my scrying bowl.” She started off toward their house but stopped and turned back after a few steps. “Did you know?” At his puzzled look she continued, “Did you know that we can call each other that way?”
A look of confusion crossed his face and before he could reply, Phaella broke in. “Apparently not. I’ll include it in my report. Go.”
Danae went.
Within half an hour all that remained of Nephel’s family had gathered in the clearing that had seen so many celebrations, and had now become charnel ground.
Danae knelt on the ground in front of the bowl, now half filled with clear water. It should be a simple matter, really, to find the children. She knew all of them, could picture them easily in her mind. Still, she hesitated. Already she had seen so much blood today, so much death. If the demon has already killed them, I do not want to know, she realized. But if he has not…she let the thought hang in her mind, took a deep breath and looked into the water.
For a long while it seemed to her that no image formed, then she realized that this was not precisely true. There was no picture that she could see, but instead the water, clear and transparent when she poured it into the bowl, now appeared black as obsidian. Frowning, she concentrated harder, trying to see past the barrier. She could feel herself moving deeper into the vision, and looking over her shoulder she could see far behind her a tiny circle of light and the hazy outline of a kneeling female figure.
The air grew warm and humid, pressing moistly against her skin, tighter and tighter until it became hard to breathe. The circle of light was a mere pinprick now. This has to be a mistake, nothing could live down here. She stopped, nearly retreated, but then she heard it. The sob of a dying child.
Desperation drove her downward, faster and faster, struggling for each breath until, without warning, the pressure released and she popped into a wider space. She could breathe again. Looking around she saw that she hovered near the ceiling of a dimly lit cavern. The walls glinted black in the murky light. At one end the cave floor was covered with rich, woven carpets. The light came from candles sitting on six ornate golden candlesticks placed at strategic intervals along the wall. Their wavering illumination lit only half the rough oval. A short stone bench or table, covered in purple cloth divided the room in half; dark, damp shadows to her left and soft, shimmering light to her right.
On the candlelit side, two curtained alcoves flanked a huge pile of cushions covered in expensive velvet and samite. Among the pillows lay a baby girl, perhaps eight months old, black haired, brown eyed with shell like ears and smooth olive skin. As Danae watched in surprise, the child plucked a black grape from a nearby bowl with a dexterity that belied her size. She examined the dusky globe carefully, pursing full, red lips in contemplation of the fruit’s quality. This was no ordinary infant. Just as obviously, this was not the child whose cry she had just heard.
A tiny sound, like a cough, but weaker, softer, drew Danae’s glance to the cloth-covered table. With an exclamation of delight, the baby leapt to her feet, dropping the grape as she ran over to the table. Danae watched in amazed horror. What is this thing?
“You’ve already eaten two, Ash. This one will make three,” a lazy male voice commented from one of the shadowy alcoves. “You might want to save some for later.”
The child pouted but stopped. “Please Father, just a little more. I am a growing girl, you know. I need my nutrition,” she wheedled, turning a sweetly pleading glance toward the curtain.
An indulgent chuckle issued from the alcove. “Very well. You may finish this one. But that’s all for tonight. It’s time for bed.”
An indistinct grumble was heard from the second niche, but the infant ignored it, clapping her hands in delight as she approached the heavily draped table. “It’s almost finished anyway, there is hardly enough left for a snack,” she commented, running a soft pink tongue over her lips. She reached out to remove the cover, but before she could touch it a feeble ripple disturbed the surface from beneath. The child giggled, revealing two rows of pointed, white teeth. “So, there’s still some life in you after all. Excellent!”
Danae gasped, “Astarte!” and the little girl stopped, tilting her head as if listening to something just beyond the reach of her hearing.
“Father, did you hear that?”
The curtain over the alcove fluttered. “Hear what?” Molek pushed aside the cloth and swung long legs to the floor.
“A voice – a whisper really – like someone calling my name.”
Molek looked sharply around the cavern and Danae held her breath. “Benat,” he snapped after a moment. “Leave your little playmate alone, and get out here.”
“What is it?” A voice whined from the second alcove. “I’m sleeping.”
Molek muttered a curse and strode to the closed curtain, reached in and dragged the now trembling occupant into the dim light. “When I call, you come, dog. Never forget it.”
Of course Master, of course. Benat only meant – we are safe here. There is no way the Host could know where we are, cut off as they are from Sab—”
“Silence,” Molek roared, kicking Benat so hard that Danae could hear his ribs crack, hurling him across the room to slam against the stone wall behind the table. There was a scuffling movement and the cries of startled, sleepy children while Benat huddled, weeping, in the dirt.
Molek adjusted his tunic, brushing off a speck of dust from the sleeve before continuing in a quiet, nearly friendly tone. “Remember, we only suspect that they are cut off. We do not know for sure. And,” steel crept in to his voice, “are you really such a fool as to believe it safe to say that name? Do you want to draw His attention?”
“Now,” the larger demon picked up a candle and walked over to where Benat groveled in the dust. “Put that nasty little bauble of yours to use, won’t you? Have a look around and see if any of them have come creeping into our little sanctuary.”
Still whining and muttering, Benat tottered to his feet, nursing the pain in his ribs while he felt abou
t under his tunic. Finally he brought out a small gold pendant and held it up close to his eyes. It was a small three dimensional hexagon, perhaps three inches tall by two inches wide. The little gold bracelets have served Benat well, he thought.
Benat caressed the delicate filigree sides and admired the translucent aragonite underlayment. It had not been easy to shave the white stone so thin, but it had been worth it. A red glow pulsed within the pendant, staining the white casing pink with its light.
But the contents will serve Benat better. With one long talon Benat deftly flicked open one side of the hexagon on minute, cleverly hidden hinges. A beacon flashed out, bathing the surrounding area in a light that was at once bright and red as blood, shedding a sharply defined rectangle of light that contracted and expanded with the distance between the pendant and the objects in the cave.
The illumination flitted over the objects in the room: the table, its coverlet twitching in restless terror, as if something weak under it wanted to crawl away, the pillows where Astarte had so recently lain, a heap of rags in one corner and an archway that opened onto a dim corridor.
Danae watched, holding her breath as he searched the entire cavern, each point flashing into sharp relief and then back into comparative darkness as the light moved: the two sleeping alcoves, the dark corner where the children crouched. It was hard to count them as they huddled in sleepy confusion. A face suddenly sprang into momentary sharp relief with dark eyes under an unruly mop of tight, black curls. The wide mouth, made for smiling, hung slack and despairing under the long straight nose. The light passed on and all she could see was a shapeless huddle of bodies, but the single glance had been enough. It was Kefir.
Danae choked back a sob of horror and relief. Immediately the red light flashed across the roof of the cavern, catching her form in the center its rectangular red illumination. Benat gave a gleeful shout of discovery and Molek shot into the air, clinging to the stone next to her he reached out to catch hold of her arm, but the clutching fingers passed through as if she were made of air.
Danae shivered and scrabbled sideways across the ceiling, out of the light, then abruptly changed direction, diving down to the floor to hide behind the pile of rags she had seen earlier. Her awful scream vibrated through the dank air of the cave as she realized that the “rags” were actually all that remained of two children, one only an infant, the other slightly older, pale now, empty of blood and life. The red beam flashed in her direction and she fled, up first and then, with another sudden directional shift, across to conceal herself in the deeper shadows under the table.
“What are you?” Molek howled. “Find it, find it,” he commanded and Benat’s light flashed over the cavern like a crazed red star.
There was a wrenching whoosh and the lights went out. Danae felt hands close around her arms in the dark and she shrieked again, spitting and clawing to get away, screaming her defiance.
“Danae,” Fomor’s hoarse cry tugged at her terror, his hands clamped carefully around her upper arms, his face already bleeding from her nails as she fought against him. She took a deep, sobbing breath and looked around her. It was late afternoon in the clearing; the scrying bowl lay empty on the ground nearby. With a wounded cry she pressed her hot, damp face against his neck and huddled against his chest.
After a moment Danae was able to calm herself enough to look over Fomor’s shoulder. Shahara stood with Volot behind her, clutching the arms he put around her with anxious fingers. Phaella stood with Magnus, Adahna with Zam, Gwyneth with Jotun. Only Gant stood alone. Behind them were the two preparation tents and the bodies of the dead. She was back.
“He has them. All of them, though he has already…” She choked on a sob, but forced it back and continued. “Two are already dead, a third nearly so, but he has the rest and his daughter,” she spat the foul word out of her mouth, “seems to be sated for the moment.”
Fomor stood, arms crossed, legs braced. “Can you tell where they are?”
Danae shook her head. “It is no place I have ever been or seen. They are in a cave, but not like the ones in the Nera’s valley. And…Oh God, oh God…” she raised her hands to her face and rocked in his arms, “I saw Kefir. They have him and ten others still alive. And Fomor,” she clutched at his sleeve, the words she knew must be spoken were a gall upon her tongue, “he saw me.”
The others remained silent and Fomor frowned. “What do you mean, he saw you? You didn’t go anywhere.”
She shrugged uncomfortably, “There was – there was a barrier, something I’ve not encountered before. Maybe the cavern is deep underground, or inside a mountain, but I had to push harder, farther than with the temple. I think – I think a part of me, a part of my spirit, may have entered there somehow.” At her husband’s hiss of disapproval she hunched defensively, “I had to find them, and besides, I was – careful, I could feel the link between my spirit and my body.”
“And if that link broke? Or was severed?” Fomor said. “Then what? How would you have gotten back then?”
Adahna laid a hand on Fomor’s shoulder. “This doesn’t answer the question of how the enemy saw her.”
Danae glanced up at her gratefully but Fomor’s lips settled into a grim line. “Let’s hear it then. Tell the whole story. We’ll discuss the rest later, in private.”
Danae paled, but gathered herself and related the events inside the cavern, the form under the coverlet, the two alcoves, Benat with his pendant and the red light. By the time she had finished, Shahara was dead white and Gwyneth had turned in Jotun’s arms and was sobbing quietly against his chest. The rest of the company stood for several moments in silence.
Everyone started when Gant’s low voice broke the silence. “Sena’s heart.”
“You don’t know that,” Adahna replied.
“Don’t I?” He gave a soft huff of bitter laughter. “We are made to know the truth, to reveal it.”
“Yes, and if it was Danae’s spirit inside that cavern rather than just her sight, they would have been able to see her for themselves. Why would they have to use Sena’s heart?”
“They’re damaged. What might be plainly visible to us,” Gant shrugged, “maybe they can’t see it anymore. It doesn’t matter. What matters is now we know they have Sena’s heart.”
Fomor agreed, but there was no joy in his expression. “Along with a group of innocent children. And we still don’t know where.”
Volot cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably as he suddenly found himself the center of attention. “It’s a small chance,” he hesitated but no one spoke. “When I was traveling just before the wedding, I found a village of miners. That’s where I got the gold and jewels I brought back. Their village sits at the foot of a mountain, which is riddled with caves.”
“What makes you think this might be the place?” Jotun asked.
The other angel sent a nervous glance at Fomor, “I – they were worshipping something in one of the caves. Blood sacrifice – and I don’t mean blood from animals. That’s why I didn’t trade there again.”
Angry disbelief showed clearly on Jotun’s face, “And you didn’t say anything because…”
“It is a possibility,” Fomor interrupted with controlled fury. “Volot, we will deal with this breach of yours later. In the meantime, you, Jotun and Adahna will come with me. Gant, Phaella, you will stay here and—”
“I won’t,” Gant cut him off. His words were quiet but held a note of implacability.
Fomor lifted one eyebrow. “You won’t what?”
“Stay here while you go after Molek. You heard your wife, he has his dog with him.”
“That is beside the point. You have been given an order.”
“Your orders put Sena in a glass box, Fomor,” Gant hissed. “I don’t think I’ll be following your orders anymore.”
“Because your last foray into disobedience worked out so well,” Volot taunted.
Gant’s lips twisted in a bitter grin. “As well as yours, I think.”
<
br /> “Mine,” Volot scoffed. “I wasn’t under any orders regarding that village.”
“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it,” Gant snarled back.
“Then what are you talking about?”
“Did you think we wouldn’t figure it out? That you could keep it secret forever? Sena figured it out within a few days of General Bellator’s little visit.”
“Figured what out, Gant? What are you accusing him of?” Adahna broke in.
Gant turned a burning gaze on her, “You mean Fomor didn’t see fit to tell you either?”
“If you have something to say Gant, you’d best spit it out. Otherwise quit wasting our time,” Fomor said, setting Danae carefully to one side. Almost casually he crossed his arms over his chest, braced his feet as if for impact but kept his face expressionless.
A mirthless laugh shook Gant’s frame. “You know, it’s funny. Sena figured it out, but she wouldn’t say anything, and she wouldn’t let me either. She said there had to be a reason you were keeping his treachery hidden. She trusted you – and look where it got her.”
A look that might have been regret shadowed Fomor’s face, but he said nothing. Danae moved to his side and kept his silence.
Jotun had apparently heard enough. “Like Fomor said Gant – spit it out or quit wasting time. There are lives in the balance and we don’t have time for this nonsense.”
“I hardly think disobeying a direct order is nonsense.”
“What order?” Volot spoke hurriedly, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Unfortunately he appears to know a great deal more than you might wish.” Fomor looked sadly at his second in command. “Though not the whole of it, I’m sure. Go ahead Gant. You’ve started it, you might as well finish. But hurry it up. There is work to do.”
Danae spoke quietly, “As you have said, husband, there is work to be done. We will go and begin it. Remember though,” her voice shook, belying the stern look she turned on the angels. The seer took a deep breath and steadied her voice. “You will remember that there are children held by a monster. We need to move soon if we are to save them.” With that she led her siblings into the preparation tents and set them to work preparing the bodies for burial.