by H. D. Gordon
Below her, the frozen people of her kingdom looked on, Hunters, royals and common folks alike, watching her deliver death above them as if a war had erupted among the stars. The barrier blocked the spilling and spurting black blood of the Demons from the people, but it splashed against it the way mud would on glass.
Samson also ran and leapt atop the barrier, fighting alongside his mistress with a grace and penchant for killing that only true Beasts could ever obtain. The hisses and feline sounds that issued from his belly as he tore through Demon bodies with teeth and claw were the only things louder than the screeches of the Demons, which was pain-filled music to Surah’s ears.
She killed two more, ducking out of the way of the swipe of a Demon’s sharp claws just in time and skewering him from below, right into its gut, spraying herself with more of the icky blood. Time was moving both fast and slow. She killed one Demon after another, receiving scrapes and a few deep gashes on her arms and legs that went unnoticed for all the adrenaline that was running through her.
I always wished these creatures tasted better, Samson’s voice spoke in her head at the same time as he tackled another Demon that had been swooping at Surah from above. He had gripped the thing by its scaly throat, and its claws were digging into him, trying to free itself, so he whipped his huge head to the side, ripping out its throat and flinging the piece of tough, gamey meat to the side. It hit the Magical barrier below them the way an insect smashes into glass, and the people beneath did not have to have control of their movements for Surah to know they’d just cringed internally.
Surah shook her head, her face streaked with the black blood, making the smile she gave her cat eerie, to say the least.
What? Sam asked. You wanted to put on a show, did you not?
In answer, Surah stuck her sais deep into the stomach of another Demon, which lashed out and scratched her deep enough to scar above her eyebrow, mixing her red blood with that of the black gore that covered her. Climbing up the Demon’s tall, lanky body as if it were a ladder, she set her boots on its shoulders, tucking her sais into their leather holders on her back, and snapped the Demon’s neck with her bare hands. The rotten bones there cracked as loud as thunder, and the Demon, blood spilling from its gut and neck creased at an unusual angle, fell dead beneath her.
Rolling to her feet, Surah slipped the long knife from its holster on her thigh and climbed up the back of another Demon, which she realized was the last one still alive. There was a mess atop the barrier that Bassil was still holding between Surah and the people like a glass ceiling. Demon bodies and bits lay strewn all around in the way that only battle can achieve; careless and haphazard. Blood obscured the invisible glass of the barrier, but the people below had not been spared the sounds. Surah had not wanted them to be spared at all.
Samson sat on his haunches atop the barrier, licking the black blood around his mouth and sticking out his tongue in distaste. Surah gripped the horn of the last Demon, yanking its head back and exposing its throat, her long knife gripped tight in her right hand. She slashed at the bony part that held its wings to its back, disabling the creature’s flight. They both fell to the barrier, Surah maintaining her advantageous position. Its claws scraped at the air above its head, and it screeched like a bat out of hell, but Surah knew that Demons were like crustaceans; if you gripped them in the right place, you had nothing to worry about.
She held her blade to its throat now, looking down at all the people standing below her, meeting the eyes of as many as she could. She wanted them to see her face. She wanted them to see what was behind the mask she’d worn for as long as she could remember, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t care whether it scared them. Hell, they needed to be scared. When she spoke, her voice came out that of a queen, the question of her strength more than answered in the deeds her people had just witnessed.
“I promised you my protection,” she told all those present, speaking loudly enough to be heard by all, and giving the Demon’s horn a sharp yank when it tried to screech in frustration. She placed her blade to its throat, and in one swift motion, drew it deep into the creature’s scaly skin, a fountain of steaming black blood spraying out into the air. She let the horn she was still gripping fall to the barrier, the Demon’s head hitting it with a cringe worthy thawk!
Wiping her blade off on her thigh and replacing it in its holster, Surah strode calmly over to Bassil and placed a hand on the Shaman’s large shoulder, letting him know he could release the Spells. Sweat rolled down his ebony brow, and his dark eyes were bloodshot when he opened them.
With a spalt! that made even some of the stronger stomachs in the crowd twist, the gore of the deceased Demons fell free of the diminishing barrier and covered some of those below, who stumbled and coughed and took long, wide-eyed breaths as they regained control over their bodies.
As they did so, Surah climbed to the top of the royal dock from which she’d just barely said goodbye to her father. It was elevated higher than the others, and though it was nighttime, the blazes of the Lost Ones atop the lake were still burning strong. The moon was full and round. The crowd was huge and silent, and their eyes were only for her. She stood before them now, covered in the blood and body parts of those who would dare threaten them, and she did not bother to wipe it away, not even from her lips.
Let them see, she thought. Let them have a glimpse of the things I do to protect them.
“I promised you my protection,” she repeated, her voice loud and larger than one would think possible from such a petite woman. “Is there anyone among you who thinks I’m incapable of this? If so, step forward now.” She paused, her heart racing faster than it had even during the killing. “If not, bow before me now as your queen, and follow me as I defend our Territory against those who have wronged us.”
Time seemed to stop in the handful of seconds that followed, the world freezing before her as if this were all some dream, and the Gods had pressed pause. Then, slowly, like a gentle wave rolling out in an intelligent sea, the Sorcerer people began to take to their knees, bowing before their new queen, chins tucked and eyes cast down in respect.
Bassil, a smile on his kind face despite his obvious exhaustion, came forward and replaced the queen’s piece of White Stone around her neck, where it glowed bright enough for all to see.
CHAPTER 14
CHARLIE
When his eyes peeled open sometime later, night had fallen in the Fae Forest. For the split second before swimming back to full consciousness, Charlie awoke to find he didn’t know where he was. He’d dreamed he was back home at his cabin in the countryside, a warm fire blazing in the fireplace, and his guitar resting in the corner. Surah had been there. Of course Surah had been there. She’d been a figure of his dreams for as long as Charlie could remember. In the most recent feature, she’d been curled up on the couch beside him, her long, soft legs stretched across his lap, reading a book about some imagined world full of imagined people with imagined problems all their own.
And then he’d been pulled back to consciousness, blinking and heart sinking as the slow realization of reality came over him. The scents filling his nose, the sounds in his ears, and even the air of the place confirmed its identity. He was on the floor of the Fae Forest, amidst the odd pink fog, his body wrapped in thick, thorny green vines from shoulder to feet. He could not feel the right side of his body at all, and thus came to the conclusion that the plant life restraining him must be of the poisonous sort. His head was pounding and his vision blurry, and his heart felt like it weighed a hundred pounds in his chest.
He could not remember ever feeling so lost and hopeless, though he was sure he had back at Contrain—the Sorcerer prison where he’d served three century-long terms. Somehow, the situation he was in now seemed worse, and he supposed that was because he felt that this time he actually had something to lose.
Lost. You’ve already lost her.
Charlie rolled over onto his back with a grunt, the thorns there making fresh
digs into his skin, which he hardly felt for all the paralysis the plant’s poison was holding over his body. Above, the fluffy, pastel-colored canopies of the trees danced lightly in the sweet-scented wind, and beyond that, three moons and millions of stars lit the night sky.
If not for the absolute awfulness of the whole situation, Charlie would have to admit this small, strange Territory owned by the Fae was quite lovely in its otherness.
A small rustle sounded in the trees around him, and he knew the Fae children had returned, their little high-pitched voices a mixture between the chirps of morning birds and the songs of nighttime bugs. Their eyes, wide and slanted, glowed in the darkness, a stunning color of earthy-green that was a wonder to look at, despite the effort it took Charlie to even turn his head and do so.
Their glowing gazes stared back at him in the dozens, and the foliage of the forest floor rustled and shook as they darted around the way children of all species are wont to do. Charlie began to fade in and out of consciousness, listening to the strange children and catching glimpses of the moons between the trees.
He was not sure how much time had passed, how deep it was into the night when the girl approached him. At this point, he had no concept of time. In fact, it took a couple slaps to his face before he actually awoke and took notice of her. Her face was so lovely that he thought he must have been dreaming of an angel.
“Wake up,” the girl whispered, slightly slanted green eyes as bright as emeralds staring down at him. Soft fingers touched his chin, holding his head in place, the girl sighed. Her breath smelled of flowers and sunshine. “Wake up, Sorcerer,” she repeated.
It took enormous effort on his part for Charlie to clear his mind enough to keep his eyes open. The girl with the angelic face and stunning eyes was running her fingers lightly over the vines around him, whispering in a way that seemed oddly motherly, and after a few moments, Charlie realized that the pain of all the thorns stabbing into the various parts of his body was subsiding. The vine itself was pulling out the hooks, and instead of the poison they’d been administering, a cool, burning sensation filled the wounds, the way a disinfectant might.
After ten minutes of whatever the girl was doing, Charlie felt almost completely better, though he was still restrained by the plant. He found he could breathe again, and his eyes looked up at the strange girl in wonder. “Thank you,” he said, with the genuine gratitude of someone who has just been liberated from considerable suffering.
The girl sat back on her haunches, her long and wavy reddish-brown hair falling over her delicate shoulders. Her emerald eyes—a deeper, somehow shinier shade of green than Charlie’s, with a slight slant that gave away her Fae descent—narrowed slightly as she looked down at him.
“You’re welcome,” she said, her voice strong, a slight musical quality to it. A moment of silence passed between them, and then, with one last look all around, the girl sat cross-legged beside him, her eyes never leaving his face.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The girl smirked, and Charlie wondered if she knew that each of her expressions was more beautiful than the last. “Don’t you mean, what am I?” she replied.
Charlie raised an eyebrow. “That too.”
She smiled now, and sure enough, this made her even lovelier. Surah was the only woman for Charlie, the most beautiful in the all the worlds in his eyes, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the attractiveness of others. And this Fae girl, no older than a teenager, for sure, would woo even a blind man.
“My name is Aria,” she said. “I’m a Halfling.” When Charlie only blinked at her, she added, “I’m half Fae and half human. I act as a liaison between the worlds.”
He let this sink in. “Well, my name’s Charlie, Aria, and I’m the guy trapped in your forest.”
Another smile, only half of one, but somehow twice as lovely. She pushed a lock of thick, red-brown hair behind her ear, which was not pointed like a Fae’s, but rounded like a human’s. Actually, the closer Charlie looked at the girl, the more he saw that if not for the slight slant to her otherworldly colored eyes, she could pass for completely human. As a liaison in the human world, she no doubt did.
“The Forest isn’t mine, Charlie,” Aria answered. “The Forest doesn’t belong to anyone.” She was keeping her sweet voice low, her eyes glancing all around before settling back on him.
Charlie craned his neck and saw that she was dressed in human clothes, with black leggings and black combat boots, a gray t-shirt and black leather jacket. Tucked behind her back, Charlie caught a glimpse of a wooden staff. He nodded at it as best as he could with his limited mobility. “What’s that for?” he asked, though he knew the answer.
Aria’s hand reached behind her jacket, stroking the weapon before falling away. Half-smile still pulling up her lips, she reached up and brushed a piece of Charlie’s dark blond hair off of his forehead. “All the Territories are dangerous places, not the least of which the human world,” she said. “A girl’s gotta be careful.”
Charlie gave a small nod, looking down at his restraints. “Seems a guy’s got to, too.”
Her face grew serious, eyes darting around the dark forest once more before settling back on him. “You’re the brother of the dark Sorcerer, right?” she asked, her words taking on a haste that had not been present a moment ago.
Charlie sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “But it seems he’s chosen your queen over his blood.”
Her head tilted back, her face taking on a knowing look. “The same way you chose the Sorceress queen over him?”
Charlie’s brows pulled down low over his eyes. “How do you know that?”
“It’s my job to know things,” she said, dismissing this question with a wave of her hand. By the red nail polish on her fingernails, Charlie gleamed that this girl spent most of her life in the human world, and though she was not nearly as out of place in the Fae Forest as he was, she was not right at home, either.
A cool, sweet-scented breeze went through the trees, ruffling the fluffy leaves and lifting Aria’s red-brown hair from her shoulders. Once again, urgency filled her eyes as she looked down at Charlie. The Fae children were growing antsy, disappearing to wherever they went when not staring or laughing at Charlie, slipping away, the voids they left filling with a silence that made Charlie’s heart pick up in pace.
He knew what it meant. The Fae Queen was approaching. Aria spoke quickly. “War is coming, Charlie,” she told him, green eyes locked on his. “Not just between the Fae and the Sorcerers—a big war, an equivalent to The Great War, which you were present for, were you not?”
Something in the way the girl said this made goose bumps break out over his skin, the hair on the back of his neck standing at stiff attention. “I was,” he said, “and I’m not sure you can understand the gravity of what you’re saying.”
Aria leaned in closer, her young face filling with a wisdom beyond her years, her expression as grave as the dead. Her voice was lower now, somehow older than it had been just before. “You may be centuries older than I am, Sorcerer, but I’ve known my share of loss.” She swallowed before continuing, her eyes darting to the south, where the forest itself was beckoning the Fae Queen’s arrival. Aria placed her small, cool hand on his cheek, the floral scent of her surrounding him. “Answer me a question, Charlie,” she said, using his given name, though he wasn’t sure he had told it to her. “In the battles that lie ahead, which side will you be fighting on? That of the darkness, or that of the light?”
Charlie did not consider lying. He didn’t see the point. Also, he felt that somehow his next words to the strange Halfling girl were going to determine something important, that they may mean the difference between his life and his death.
The truth came out the way truth always does, smooth and easy. “I’m gonna be fightin’ on whatever side Surah Stormsong’s fightin’ on,” he said.
Aria gave a crooked smile, and something mischievous flashed behind her earth-green eyes.
T
hen a hole opened up in the forest floor beneath him, and Charlie was sucked into it like liquid in a straw, falling through the abyss with a neck-jerking quickness, his beaten heart lodging itself somewhere in his throat.
CHAPTER 15
SURAH
Surah watched as the blood of the Demons she’d slain circled the drain near her feet. She’d been in the shower for five minutes, and still the water falling over her had not run clear.
The icky substance was in her hair, under her nails. It had streaked her face and soaked through her clothes. She could smell its rank, sewage-like aroma when she breathed in deeply, could taste the rottenness of it in her mouth. She did not struggle with the killing, or the violence. It had been a long time since this was something that had bothered her, but it was still always an unpleasant experience to stand under running water and wait for the blood of your enemies to wash free of your skin. Because the irony, Surah knew well, was that the blood of those whose lives you took could never be washed free of your hands. It was something that left an invisible, indelible stain on you forever.
When she thought of blood, she usually thought of Alexa Montgomery. It was impossible not to. Though Surah had lived much longer than the young Sun Warrior, she had never seen a scene painted as red as the one that fateful night in the Silver City. Thinking of Alexa seemed to give her strength as of late, and Surah thought that perhaps if she could maintain half the strength of that girl, she would see this mess through all right.
She shut off the shower and stepped out onto the cold floor, wrapping a towel around her body and another around her head. Samson was out on the balcony, letting the cool rain that had begun to drizzle clean his fur of the gore that covered him. Surah stood watching him through the glass doors of her balcony for a moment, her heart breaking anew at the thought of him leaving her. His enormous, black-and-blue striped body stood overlooking the city below, his ears flattened against his head and his amber eyes squinted against the rain. He stood as still and stoic as a statue, while Surah stood inside the warmth of her bedroom and fought hard against the urge to crumble.