“I intend to trap Hel with it.”
“What?” Fenrir exclaimed. The audacity of the statement was staggering.
“I doubt that it will hold her for very long, but we will not need very long. Just enough time to escape with Raine and my mother.”
“So you are going to march into the Underworld, trap the Goddess with magic, and free Raine and Talan?”
“Yes.”
“You do realize there are hundreds of thousands of Hyr’rok’kin,” Fenrir said, shaking his mane, “demons, demi-gods, specters, and other creatures in the Underworld, all that answer to Hel without question?”
“Yes, but that’s not my problem. I was given a singular task, and that is the one I’m working on.”
Fenrir considered the mage’s words. Perhaps audacity was the only thing that would work in this situation. Traditional tactics would be useless.
“Well,” he said, “regardless of the multitude of Hel’s followers, you still have the most difficult task of all.”
“I am aware of that,” Idonea said.
Chapter 15
Raine rolled over in the sheets, her surroundings coming into focus. Although alone in the bed, she was not entirely alone, as Feray sat next to the volcanic rock frame, waiting for her to awaken.
“The Goddess is already in court,” the handmaiden said, “and has commanded your presence upon your awakening.”
Raine rubbed her eyes. Hel had been particularly insatiable last night, and Raine, once having fully satisfied her, passed into an unconscious sleep. Feray had sat contemplating Raine as she slept, the captive enjoying yet one more privilege she was oblivious to. The Goddess had arisen, enjoyed the sight of her exhausted lover tangled in the sheets, then went about her day, leaving the Arlanian to her handmaiden’s charge.
Raine rose from the bed. She knew better than to argue with Feray. The woman wielded an enormous amount of power as only underlings can do. But Raine also knew how to unbalance her, and she did so now by pulling herself from the bed and padding across the floor barefoot and completely naked. Even Feray was affected by the Arlanian’s charisma and watched the muscular form settle into the bath, desire twisting inside her torso. She forcefully suppressed the urge to go bathe the woman, knowing such an act might result in her destruction.
Raine cleaned herself quickly, methodically, taking little pleasure from the bath other than the warmth of the water, which felt good on her perennially cold skin. She scrubbed herself harshly, her thoughts elsewhere, and handmaidens appeared with black towels. She stepped from the pool, ignoring their stares, and dried herself in the same brusque manner. The clothing that Feray presented was beautiful, and Raine donned it without argument, those disputes having proved futile and a waste of time. She ran her fingers through her fair hair, and the handmaidens marveled that the simple gesture had as much effect as hours before a mirror: the hair was tousled, even a little unkempt, and wildly attractive.
Feray motioned for Raine to join her on the balcony and Raine did so. Immediately, Hel’s chin tilted upward, aware of her presence, and the eyes of everyone in the room followed the attention of their Queen. Raine started down the steps, eyes forward, ignoring everyone around her as she stalked through the throng. Despite her disregard of everything in the room, she had made this trek so many times now that she recognized the “regulars.” There was the woman with the greenish skin and enormous breasts, a creature half-sprite and half-serpent, the lower part slithering about on the floor, the upper part leaning across Raine’s path as if to thrust those breasts in her face. Raine could not fathom the union that had produced this monstrosity. There were the various nobles in their finery, men and women who could pass in any court in the mortal realm, although there was always something slightly “off” about them, a sinister expression, a twisted gleam in their eye, a maniacal tinge to their polite laughter.
But the demons were the worst. Although most in the court had accepted Hel’s elevation of the newcomer, the demons, through sheer stubbornness, still resisted. They were the least likely to hide their lust as the Arlanian walked through their midst, the most likely to whisper behind her back, and the most likely to attempt to threaten and intimidate Raine. This did not seem to bother Hel; it was simply the price of doing business with abhorrent creatures who had no morality, no scruples, and very little intelligence. Faen proved a remarkable exception, but most of the demons were only slightly more intelligent than the Hyr’rok’kin.
Raine saw one particularly large demon crowding the edge of her path. Orso’a was the foulest, and he took greater liberties because he was a consistent champion in the gladiatorial contests. He wore only a loin cloth and his enormous chest and shoulders were granite-like, a perception magnified by the grayish color of his skin. His biceps bulged and his forearms corded in a threatening manner as Raine neared. His brutish features leered down at her.
Raine’s jaw tightened as she brushed past him, but she did not slow or deviate from her path. She fully expected him to make some revolting comment, but his words were despicable even for him.
“Fucked a lot of Arlanians,” Orso’a sneered, “maybe even your mother.”
Raine stopped, and the great hall grew very quiet. Hel could not hear the exchange, but she sat upright at the abrupt halt and sudden tension in the mortal’s body.
Raine turned around, looking up at the gigantic demon.
“What did you just say?”
Those nearest the demon and the mortal shifted uneasily and many took a step back. Orso’a was deadly, and although sworn to Hel’s service, could be unpredictable. A few glanced to Hel, who seemed on the verge of putting a stop to the scene. But Orso’a had hated the mortal on sight, a hatred fueled by jealousy, lust, and a sense of inferiority only amplified by Hel’s obvious favor of the weakling. He had been waiting for this opportunity and would press forward before it was stolen from him.
“I said, I fucked a lot of Arlanians, maybe even your mother. I might even have some little half-demon, bitch-Arlanians running around here.”
Raine reached up and slapped the demon, a move so startlingly fast that Orso’a could not quite comprehend the sting on his flesh.
“I challenge you for insulting my honor.”
Orso’a smiled, revealing a row of sharpened fangs. He rubbed the sting on his cheek. “You have no standing here. You have no honor to defend.”
Hel stood up to stop the situation from unraveling further when Raine said the only thing that would stay her hand.
“Then I will fight for her honor.”
All eyes turned to the Goddess of the Underworld, for that was where Raine was pointing. Slowly, Hel sat back down. Although her expression was impassive, Hel was furious and her emerald eyes glowed with that wrath. That idiot demon had orchestrated this situation and the Arlanian had neatly trapped her. Although few were allowed to declare themselves her champion, the fact that the girl sat at her side gave the declaration instant legitimacy. And to stop the challenge now would bring grave insult. Hel wanted to strike down Orso’a due to his stupidity and insolence, and she wanted to punish the Arlanian for her insubordination. But, as she settled on the throne and smoothed her robes about her, she had to admit one thing: she stayed her hand as much from uncertainty as from a preservation of honor. She was curious as to how exactly this would play out, and was the only one in the room who thought the mortal stood even a chance.
Orso’a sensed none of his Queen’s fury, or her doubt, and he sought only to push the Arlanian further. “You don’t seem to have any weapons.”
And this angered Raine more than anything, even more so than the childish taunts regarding her mother. Orso’a wore her weapons at his side. Raine had no idea how he had obtained them, but he brandished them as trophies he hadn’t earned, for he had not been at the battle in Nifelheim. Each time she had entered the court, she had passed him and felt her
anger burn at his possession of her most cherished items. She had shifted restlessly as he had fought for the entertainment of all with the dual swords tempered in a Scinterian forge. And the object swinging from his belt, the one that he clearly had no idea how to use, was the one she desired most of all.
“I’m going to kill you with that,” Raine said, pointing at the metallic object.
“This?” Orso’a said, reaching down.
But he was not fast enough, for in a move that was indescribable in speed, Raine snatched the object from his waist, flicked her wrist in a violent movement, snapped the risers out to their full-lengths, and spun the weapon into position. The strange-looking object was a Scinterian bow, deadly as a ranged weapon but just as deadly in melee combat. As Orso’a was drawing the double swords, Raine stepped sideways and swept the wickedly-sharp leading edge downward across the back of his leg, severing all the tendons at the knee. The swords came out but the giant was already hobbled, and Raine swept his other knee. He stumbled, swinging the swords, but Raine drew a beautiful arc in the air, trapping the sword nearest her, then slicing down with the bow and cutting the tendons at the elbow. It was a Scinterian battle tactic to cripple a much larger opponent if possible, and Orso’a was not wearing armor. Raine’s precision was such that the demon’s overpowering strength was removed as a factor.
Still, her rage drove her to unleash her own unnatural strength, and with a flip of the wrist, the bow was retracted, tucked into her sash, and she moved to snatch the sword dangling from the demon’s injured arm. She twisted the appendage and Orso’a screamed. She stepped forward into his looming bulk, closing the distance between them, and blocked the clumsy attack from the demon’s other hand. Forearm to forearm, she then sliced the tendons of that elbow as well with her still-free sword hand. The demon screamed again in fury and pain, but he did not scream for long as Raine snatched the other sword, then flipped them about her wrists in a dazzling flurry. She crossed the blades, one on each side of his thick neck, and pulled them apart with such violence it severed his head cleanly and sent it halfway across the room.
The great hall went completely silent. Hel sat on her throne, elbow on her arm rest, her index finger pressed against her cheek and her chin propped upon her hand, a look of mild exasperation on her face, but little if any surprise at the outcome.
Those surrounding the Arlanian, who had just been forcefully reminded that she was also Scinterian, moved back, for the mortal was still armed and seething with anger. Raine sought to control herself, for it was certain the Goddess would not allow her any more leeway. Hel glanced to Faen, and he grimaced at her implicit command. He started down the steps, having received the unenviable task of disarming the deadly creature. He stopped a short distance from Raine, and the court guards all raised their pikes so that they hovered in her direction, although their positioning appeared more defensive than threatening. Faen’s tail wavered taut just above the ground, the appendage ready to flee even if its master did not. Finally, Raine turned towards the demon, flicked the swords about her wrists in a snapping movement that made Faen flinch, and handed them to him hilt first. She removed the bow from her sash and shoved it towards his chest. He juggled the weapons before securing them.
“Make sure my weapons are cleaned,” she said, then turned and dismissed him, walking away. For once, Faen took the dismissal with more relief than anger.
Raine made her way up the steps, her eyes lowered. Hel watched the approach, entertained. Feray stepped forward and Raine took the cloth she extended. She wiped a small spot of blood from her cheek, then returned the cloth to the handmaiden. Raine then took her place at Hel’s side, sitting down without speaking a word.
Hel enjoyed the sulky, brooding look of her captive for a moment, particularly the pouty fullness it gave her lips. This could not have worked out more perfectly for her ultimate plans for the mortal. She returned her attention to the court, her thoughts pleasantly elsewhere. If the Arlanian thought last night had been challenging, she should prepare herself for a night to remember.
Raine collapsed upon the Goddess, breathing much harder than she had in her battle with Orso’a. She was bathed in sweat, her Scinterian markings livid upon her skin. Hel had given her a phallus, some infernal, cursed device which intensified her pleasure even more than usual, and seemed to drive Hel to heights of unmatched ecstasy. Now her heart beat like a hummingbird against her chest wall.
Hel brushed the damp hair at the nape of Raine’s neck, then began tracing the blue and gold markings on that muscular back. Her pleasure had little to do with Sjöfn’s toy. The Arlanian had been nearly violent in her love-making, driven by anger, desire, and passion, none of which she could control. Hel had sensed her attempt to engage her Scinterian side, and for once, simply let her do it. The outcome was not what Raine had hoped and exactly what Hel had expected. She continued to trace the markings, almost mockingly.
“Do you really think I don’t know what you were trying to do?” Hel murmured into her ear.
Raine remained mute, her heart finally beginning to slow its frantic beating against the breasts of the Goddess.
“You thought if you could bring forth the Scinterian in you, you might gain some semblance of control.”
A muscle jumped in Raine’s cheek as she stared at the black sheets, still silent.
“The truth of the matter,” Hel continued, “is that I will enjoy that half of you as much as the other.”
Hel rolled Raine over onto her back and stared down into violet eyes, then down at the blue and gold markings that curved over the top of the shoulders. She leaned down to kiss the beautiful scars. She then kissed her lips, luxuriating in the purple depths as she spoke her decree.
“And now both belong to me.”
When Raine awoke, it was to find her weapons hanging on the wall of the adjacent room, encased in some type of hardened sap, much like relics from the past could be trapped in amber. She could see them from the bed, hung on the slanted walls. It seemed the shrine would now serve as a trophy room as well.
The thought of a trophy room disturbed Raine in some instinctual way, and the disquiet roused her from the bed. She pulled on the clothing that had been left her, and found her steps drawn to the Tree of Death in the garden. The sap of the monstrosity glowed ominously in the dim light in front of her. She sat down on the bench in front of the tree and pondered the unease that those heavy curtains caused her. Every attempt to move the massive coverings had failed. She could no more budge them than the heavy door that was the only viable exit from Hel’s chambers.
Raine’s thoughts, and then her gaze, drifted to the darkness surrounding her, the vast emptiness that bordered the garden. It had become tempting of late. At first she had tried to push these thoughts from her mind, dismissing them as cowardly and suicidal. But lately, she more considered escape into that oblivion. She tried to rationalize the pull of the darkness, telling herself that perhaps she could survive where others had not. But the rationalizations were unconvincing, the traitorous lures of despair, and she would not risk ending it all when she did not know the fate of her love. Somewhere, Weynild was still alive, and that was the only thing she could hold onto when the importance of all else had faded.
Feray approached her quietly from behind. Raine made the slightest movement of her head, acknowledging her presence.
“I have a message from the Goddess.”
Raine stared at the golden sap that ran down the trunk of the tree like blood from an open wound.
“Yes?”
“She was greatly pleased by your victory over Orso’a, and the honor it brought her name.”
Raine’s jaw clenched as she stared mutely at the rivulets of gold. It was just as likely the Goddess was pleased by the fact she had fucked her into mindless ecstasy.
“She has offered you a gift,” Feray continued, “anything you might desire.”
; “So she will free me?” Raine asked sarcastically.
“You know the answer to that,” Feray said.
Raine did indeed know the answer to that. Hel offered her anything she desired that did not interfere with her own desires. Raine immediately shut out any idea of asking about Weynild. Those questions were perilous in every way, including a threat to her own sanity. She would ask nothing from the Goddess about her beloved.
She considered asking for her weapons back, but that, too, was futile. It was unlikely the weapons would be of any use against a god, but Raine had proven herself more than capable of taking down the other denizens of the Underworld. She might not escape, but she could wreak a glorious havoc, which Hel would not allow.
Raine could think of nothing she wanted that the Goddess would be willing to give her. Where so many others had wished for wealth, or special abilities, or fame, she wanted none of these things. She looked up at the foreign stars that had grown no more familiar to her during her lengthy stay.
“I know what I want.”
Feray turned to her in surprise. She fully expected to return to the Goddess with no response, at least none that would be acceptable to her Majesty.
“These stars,” Raine said, “the ones here and in the chambers, I want them to be the ones over Arianthem.”
Feray considered the request. It was minimal, requiring no effort at all on the part of the Goddess, and it did not seem likely to raise her ire. If anything, she might be irritated that the Arlanian had asked for so little. She nodded, then left Raine alone in the garden.
Raine reclined on the bench to look up at the night sky. She could not see Feray as she made her way down the steps into the court, nor when she made her way back up the staircase to the dais. She could not see the handmaiden pause at the side of the throne to whisper in the ear of the Goddess. She could not see Hel consider the request, sigh and roll her eyes, then wave her hand imperiously. But she did see the immediate result of that command.
The Goddess of the Underworld: The Chronicles of Arianthem VIII Page 8