Rose Borne

by Phoenix Briar

  What could she do? If she agreed, then that meant that she would have to leave Jacob here. How was she going to manage that? Who would take him in? And what would he say about why Keturah was gone? What’s more, how could she explaining returning in a year? She had to talk to Jacob. She couldn’t just leave. She had to go explain what was going on, get their stories straight, make sure that he had a little bit to get by, and try to arrange for someone to take him. But without the Darkwaters knowing.

  One person knowing about Jacob was enough. Even as a brother, he was a liability and leverage against her. And the Darkwaters did not seem to be forgiving people in the least. She sighed, having made up her mind. Still, Lady Darkwaters did not return until the sun had begun to fall. She came into the room, flanked by her husband who was looking like he would just as soon kill Keturah and be done with it. Keturah ground her teeth and lifted her chin up into the air.

  “Have you made your decision?” the woman asked, and she seemed uncertain as to what the thief would decide.

  Keturah shifted a bit, meeting the woman in the eyes. Although this woman was clearly much taller than Keturah would be, she would have felt better standing up. Thankfully, her chest was still wrapped, but her breast was bruised from Alexzander’s hold and from the tight wrappings, and she ached. It made breathing difficult. “I have,” said she. “I will go with you. But,” everyone waited, “I need to return home. For only a few hours, to make arrangements.”

  “Then we will send an escort,” she said shortly.

  “No,” Keturah growled, glaring. “I will go on my own.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “And how do we know that you will keep your word and return? What is to keep you from running off?”

  “My word is my life,” Keturah snarled at her, narrowing her eyes. “A man’s word is everything.”

  The Lady Regina Darkwaters studied her for a very long moment. She did not crouch as before but remained standing, tall and regal despite the lack of any sort of adornment or jewel with the exception of the dragon-bone rose. At long last, she gave a single nod. “Take care of your business and meet us back here at the inn. It is up to you whether or not you are seen.”

  Keturah gave a single nod. “You have my word. Within the hour, I will return.” The woman gestured with her head, and a man stepped forward and cut the ties. Keturah stood, uneasily, and rubbed at her wrists and ankles. Her feet were bare and had turned a faint shade of blue from how tightly the binds had been tied. It took a moment to feel the blood flow back through them, and when it had, she looked up at Lady Darkwaters and gave a single nod, going to the window. Manok glanced to his mother, who nodded, and stepped aside.

  “One hour,” the lady reminded her. Keturah gave a single nod. One hour.

  A Beast’s Tale

  The wind howls around the Lady Regina Darkwaters in great torrents, and the rain pelts against her in sheets. Storms always seem to follow me, or perhaps I only make myself known within them. There is a comfort to their electric revelry, comfort within their furious wrath. And just as she becomes used to the rhythmic pleating of hail, it stops. She can still hear the sound of it, but she looks up and sees that it is falling away from her before striking her, and she knows that it is the work of the creature before her. Sometimes I choose the way of the mortals, entering through doors or even windows when they are large enough to suit my frame. But from the balcony she called to me, and it is to the balcony I went.

  I am clothed as I usually am, in darkness. My cloak is pulled up over my head, and my chin is dipped down towards the woman. She is taller than most women I have met and many men as well, and so she is privy to slightly more of my features than most of the miserable humans who have chanced to look upon me. My rich, blue eyes are set in darkness, black fur around my sight and down my nose, down to the terrible maw where white, sharp teeth show themselves with each breath.

  Her eyes flicker from my eyes to my teeth, and I shut my mouth, blue eyes locked on her, and I snort out my breath. It is just enough to rustle her hair, and she flinches back from me. I stand before her in silence, and she merely gawks upon me and my dark form.

  Few know of my true name, and how this woman came about its knowledge, I have not the slightest idea. I had thought that name lost to the entirety of the world. For that alone, I answered her summons, my great, dark form standing before her now and blocking out the rain. My blue eyes watch her with intensity from the darkness.

  I have seen her before, Lady Darkwaters. She is a warrior goddess among her people, fierce and protective and sometimes the only source of wisdom within the Darkwaters family. I have had dealings with her husband before in the East, and that fool nearly irked me enough to destroy his entire country. It was I who drove them out of their homeland to this barren place.

  She is not from her husband’s lands, however. He is dark and massive in form with brown skin and black hair, eyes like flat, brown stones and just as unyielding. This creature, however, is slight (although only by comparison to the women of his country). Hair that is nearly white in shade escapes from beneath the hood of her cloak, a tint of yellow weaving within the strands. Her skin is a warm gold, and those eyes of hers, while so similar to her husband’s in color, are so remarkably different. They are warm and soft, the color of honey and fresh earth. They are the eyes of strength and beauty.

  The lady stands before me, her dress hidden beneath a large, blue cloak, overlarge for her, and so perhaps it belongs to her husband. There is something in her arms, but I cannot see it, merely a bulge at her arms from beneath the cloak.

  Regina Darkwaters is surprised by me, and thus silent. She is used to greatness. She lives among giants. Her husband is a massive seven and a half feet tall and with great, wide shoulders like two mountain peeks, each arm as big around as she, and his legs like the trunks of the oldest trees. But even he would be dwarfed by my frame, much like a kitten would be by a tiger, and my bite is much more fierce. I have no form, no shape known by humans. I am merely darkness, looming over her and waiting.

  But alas, I grow tired of her fearful gawking and trembling. “Why have you summoned me…Lady Darkwaters?” My voice is not anything a human could have made; my wife told me once it was like the sound of pebbles rolling against stones and somehow making a sound, and for a moment, I fear that the lady had not understood me. Yet she understands me all the same; it is like trying to pick words out of thunder. I have learned to always speak slowly and carefully. Not merely to calm the cowardly and pathetic humans around me but so that they can understand my own speech.

  She sucks in a breath, and the thing against her bosom stirs. I growl faintly, surprised, and I take a step back from her. A child. Her beloved second-borne son. He stirs against her, his dark face peering out of the gape in the cloak, and he makes a short, unhappy sound before snuggling into her chest again. I have no notion as to how the mother carried the creature, for he is a great beast of a child, surely no younger than five. She has him wrapped in a blanket and laid against her chest, his head at her shoulder and his large feet dangling past her hip, even cradled as he is. “P-Please,” she gasps, staring at the creature I am, unable not to. “M-My son,” she looks down at the child in her arms and then slowly reveals him to the beast before her.

  I do not flinch at his form, but it does surprise me. I merely stare at the inhuman, deformed thing. Surely it is not human. Although his body is large, the face tells me that he is not more than two years of age, if it can be called a face. His forehead is tall and flat, thick wrinkles above his brows. His nose is crushed up against his face in a way that might have been cute on a baby were it not also hooked to one side. His cheeks are not fat and plump the way a babe’s should be. They are sharp and severe, his lips thin and gnarled. What I can see of his teeth from his mouth slightly agape are sharp points, uneven and wickedly curved, and when lightning flashes behind me, I can see four bumps on his head, four little horns, two smaller than the other. But his eyes…his eyes are twi
n pockets of dark brown that stare back at me with such unearthly sadness as I have never seen.

  I know this child, although it has been so long since I have seen the babe, and not before he left his mother’s womb. It was back in their Eastern country, when his father made a pact with me for the power to destroy his enemies and protect his family. A fellow tribe had come upon them and driven them into the mountains. They had killed many of his people, and the proud leader was determined to run them out. I had agreed to his terms and asked, in return, that when he conquered his enemies that he acquire something for me—an artifact of ancient days, powerful and dangerous in the hands of the humans. I wanted to destroy it, to remove it from this world.

  Sure enough, Menawa defeated his foes and procured the object. But rather than to return the object to me, the man insisted that he needed it to protect his tribe, to make sure that none would be able to oppose them. I do not bargain with fools. When I sought to take the artifact, Menawa was foolish enough to challenge me. I struck him down but let him live and instead cursed the one thing he holds dear—perhaps the only thing that hard heart of his cares for—his wife.

  I did not hurt the young creature, but I struck the child within her womb, tainted him with my magic to make the child into a source of spite and pain for his father who so deeply loathes magic. I had not realized that my spell had so gravely deformed the child, but I am not particularly surprised. It is regrettably much the same as what was done to me many years ago.

  “I cannot turn him handsome,” I say at last, my voice low and heavy. “It is my own magic that has made him thus…and it cannot be undone without killing him…So what do you ask of me?”

  “Oh please,” the lady sobs, clutching her son to her. She burrows her face into the boy’s hair, and her voice becomes murmured and muffled. “He will be hated and feared all his life. If you cannot ease his face then I beg you to ease his heart. To make his burden easier.” She clings to her child, burying her face against the boy who is beginning to stir out of his stupor. “I beg you,” she gasps. “There must be something you can do…so that he will not be alone.”

  She looks up at me, her warm brown eyes meeting my blue ones. “He has done nothing to you. It is Menawa who defied you. My child has done nothing. Why must he suffer so? Why must the child suffer for the father’s failures?”

  I give a low rumble deep within my chest and bow my head over the child who opens his large, brown eyes to stare sleepily at me once more. I do not enjoy being manipulated by her pleas, but I cannot help but agree with her either. I did not anticipate such a disturbingly remarkable reaction in the child, and I can only assume that it is the result of whatever strange Eastern power was possessed within him before.

  I give a low, slow sigh, studying the boy. “I will see what I can do,” I reply simply, not daring to promise her anything. There is nothing in this world to ease his form, and I cannot begin to think of what would ease the monster-child’s heart. “But what will you give me in return?”

  She looks up at the dark shadows beneath my hood, finding only my eyes to look into. “Anything…” she whispers, her voice barely heard above the storm, but I know her words.

  I look from her to the child and think back on my words to the Duke Hawthorne many years ago now. As with him, there is nothing that I desire in all this land. But perhaps… “An heir,” I reply, and she turns pale, her eyes going impossibly large with fear. I am terrible for doing so, but I laugh, a booming, awful sound at the poor conclusion she drew from my words. “I do not ask that of you, lady.” I rumble low in my chest and incline my head towards the child. “He shall be my heir…you have your firstborn…but this one will be mine. I will train him in my magic.” And perhaps…he shall keep company with me in this world. I shall see if there is any hope left for these humans.

  Lady Darkwaters stares down at the boy, so much hope and love and fear in her eyes. She would do anything for her sons, and I am glad, at least, that Menawa was sensible enough to chose her for a wife. No other would have suited his coarseness and often blatant stupidity. “Very well,” she says and closes her eyes, feeling hot tears run down her face, and when she opens then again, she is alone in the rain.

  A cure for a monster, something to ease his pain.

  I know well that feeling of pain that child must know. Although I was not borne to my monstrous form, it has been many years that it has cursed my life. No longer does it disturb me, but I remember once when it did. When I became the only person to walk among this earth. Alone. Such loneliness as no soul should ever know. There was nothing left for me in this world, no source of joy, nor of happiness. There was no comfort for my soul.

  And then…I met her…the woman with soft eyes and hair the color of midnight who wrapped me up in her heart and held me safely there…

  Perhaps…perhaps she can be my key to finding a remedy for the unfortunate child…

  Chapter Four

  “Ketan!” Jacob cried, standing at the doorway and looking anxious in his shirt and breeches, tears in his eyes. Keturah gave a tired smile, but her heart felt as though it was made of lead and sank into her belly. She had doubled back from the inn to make sure that she wasn’t followed, and so she had little time for goodbyes. Keturah had been given back her shirt, but she still felt cold when Jacob ran to her and threw his arms around her, hugging her legs. “Where were you?” he cried, still traumatized by the night before.

  “I—” Keturah sucked in a breath as one of the great giants from the inn stepped into view from the foliage. She immediately pushed Jacob behind her, standing to face him, ready to fight. It was Manok, she realized, who approached slowly and inoffensively, showing no signs of aggression towards her, but merely waiting. And soon, two of his brethren and his mother came forward.

  “So,” said the Lady Darkwaters calmly, stepping forward, “this is the cause of your hesitation.” There was nothing threatening or uneasy in her words, merely curious and perhaps a little more understanding now, her eyes lifting to look at Keturah. Keturah clenched her teeth and glared at the woman, hiding Jacob from view, standing in front of him. “Who is he?” she asked calmly.

  Keturah sucked in a breath through her nose, feeling her heart pound. What should she say? What could she say? What would they believe? “My brother,” she decided at last. If they asked the villagers, they would know that it was true. “This is my little brother…Jacob…”

  “Why did you hide him from us?” she asked, and Keturah’s teeth snapped together.

  “Because he is none of your concern!” Keturah nearly screamed, a fierce edge to her voice that had the woman’s two guards sink a bit lower in case they should need to fight.

  Lady Darkwaters did not seem offended. She merely studied Keturah for a moment before asking, “Tell me… who would take care of the boy when you are gone?”

  “Gone?” Jacob squeaked, tugging Keturah’s shirt. “What does she mean, Ketan? Where are you going?”

  Keturah’s heart squeezed, but she slapped his hand away. “Silence, child,” she snapped at him, but then studied the lady for a moment before answering, “I was going to make arrangements with him…tell him to make up a story about me and see if someone will take him in…if the villagers are unaware of my…profession…they will take him in.”

  “I see…” said the woman gently, nodding her head a bit. “You must love your brother very much.”

  Keturah narrowed her eyes. “He’s my responsibility.”

  The woman said nothing for a moment, watching the pair of them together, how fiercely Keturah guarded the boy …like a mother bear. She gave a little smile at long last and said, “Very well then. Bring the boy with you.”

  “No.” Keturah glared at her. “I will not have my brother living in the home of some deranged, temperamental sorcerer!”

  The woman frowned. She was tired of this thief’s games. And she knew all the cards now. “I guarantee you, young man, that the sorcerer is of no threat to the child,
nor is his magic. The greatest threat is in leaving him behind. And do not mistake me,” her words had a final edge to them, worse than many a mercenary Keturah had met, “I was not asking.”

  Keturah held her ground, and so did the lady. After a moment of tension between the two, the woman said icily, “You can either go pack belongings for the pair of you for a two day trip…or my men can drag you kicking and screaming to the caravan with the boy, and everyone will know of your secret.” Keturah had the unfortunate effect of making people entirely unreasonable.

  Another long moment passed where the four great creatures faced the young woman and her child. At long last, Keturah said tersely, “Jacob, go inside.” He hesitated, but when she snapped, “Now!” he turned and ran in as he was told. Keturah followed slowly, her eyes remaining on the intruders. One of them went to guard the back door and another, the front.

  Inside the house, Keturah packed up what little they had: clothes, food, anything that they might need. When she emerged, she found the Lady Darkwaters inspecting the house curiously. All of the windows were broken and the garden was destroyed. Glass remained on the outside where Keturah had swept it out, but someone so protective of their charge would not leave glass in so precarious of a place to a little one’s foot that it could not have been there long.

  Still, Lady Darkwaters was quite certain that any prodding into the matter would illicit only further ire from the young man and make all of their lives much more miserable. And so, she stayed there with them at the front of the house until her husband pulled up with the team of horses. He shared a few quiet words with his wife before she climbed into the carriage, and a mean glance at Keturah told her that she was to follow. Hesitantly, with her canvas bag in tow, Keturah took the little Jacob’s hand and tugged him with her to the carriage, helping him in with her one good arm before sitting in beside him. The door shut with an ominous click.