by H. D. Gordon
He also knew for certain that Black Heart and the Fae Queen Tristell had to be stopped. It was no longer just for Surah. It was for the young Charlie’s and Michael’s of their world, for the strange Forest Children who dwelled deep in the Fae Forest, for the girls like Aria, who was so young and so green, but obviously wiser and deeper than she most likely received credit for.
Because the girl was right: War was good for no one, and one needn’t have lived through the horrors of a war to know that. One needn’t, but Charlie Redmine had. And as he sat looking at the Halfling girl, her feet tucked under her as she read her human books and wrote her human essays and lived forever as an outsider in the human world, Charlie knew for the first time in his life that if it came down to it, if the only way to stop the coming of another war was to kill his older brother, the former Michael Redmine, the current Dark Sorcerer plaguing their world, then so be it.
This thought settled on his shoulders and in his gut like something that had been written long ago, something that had always been meant to be.
Like fate, or prophesy.
CHAPTER 19
SURAH
She stared into its depths, at the darkness in its endless, unflawed prisms. The Black Stone reflected in the vibrant violet of her eyes, as if casting her under a trance. But Surah Stormsong was under no Spell. She was fully aware of what she was doing, and equally aware that there would be consequences for the use of this Stone of Dark Magic.
When the door to the secret chamber opened behind her, she nearly dropped the thing, startled as though she’d just been snapped out of a trance she would’ve sworn she was not under.
Bassil stood in the entryway of the chamber, and his dark eyes narrowed as he shut the door behind him. The reflections of Black Stone looked only like little shiny flecks in his ebony eyes. “Surah…” he cautioned.
Though she knew he was only concerned for her wellbeing, her back went up a touch at the look the Shaman gave her. “If you’ve got any other suggestions, Bassil,” she snapped. “I would love to hear them. If not,” she paused, and her hand tightened around the large stone, which was so big that it shined through the cracks of her fingers, “then save the lecture.”
The Shaman said nothing for a long while, only folded his hands into the long sleeves of his patchwork cloak and stared at her with those onyx eyes. The small, secret space was dim and musty, and Surah was just going to teleport out of there when he sighed.
“You are the queen, Surah,” he said slowly, “By divine right and law, the Black Stone is yours to do with whatever you see fit.”
Surah’s purple gaze narrowed, and she waited, knowing the old Shaman well enough to anticipate the ‘but’ that would surely follow this.
But Bassil said nothing, only stood staring at her, offering every opportunity for her to leave, Black Stone in hand.
And she almost did. There was a big part of her that wanted nothing more than to snap her fingers and teleport out from under the arbitrating gaze of the Shaman. But there was another part of her that wanted to be talked out of this madness, back from this ledge she’d been pushed to the edge of, the toes of her boots suspended in open air.
Still, the Shaman said nothing, because the truth was, they both knew there weren’t any other options. Surah had to go to the Underworld and seek out a Dark Lord. Not just any Dark Lord, but a Dark Lord who had hated the Stormsong family for as long as any of the descendants could remember.
Any of the descendants, Surah thought, the words in her head as small and dark as the space she was standing in. I’m the only one left. Utterly alone in the world.
She slapped this thought away, because it was counterproductive. Lifting her chin, she asked, “You’d rather I visit the Underworld without the protection of the Black Stone?”
Bassil placed his large hands on her shoulders, his smooth, ebony face full of love and sympathy that somehow only served to make Surah feel like crying, though she would do no such thing. The time for tears had long passed.
“Dear child,” the Shaman said, “what I would rather makes none the difference… I would rather you not have to go into the Underworld at all. I would rather we not be at war with the Fae. I would rather…”
Surah waited, and when he didn’t finish, she took a deep breath. “You’d rather what? Just say it.”
The half-smile that pulled up one side of Bassil’s full mouth was colored with sadness on her behalf. “I would rather that you didn’t love Charlie Redmine,” he said at last. “Not because he’s not worthy, not because he’s not a good man, and not because I don’t think he loves you as much as you obviously love him.” He shook his head, his gaze going distant, as if remembering a time from long ago. When he spoke next, his deep voice was barely above a whisper. “But simply because it would make things a hell of a lot easier, wouldn’t it?”
Surah’s lips pulled up a touch at this, but her heart remained as sunken as a sea-swallowed ship. “You ever known me to do things the easy way?” she asked.
This made a small chuckle escape him, and he pulled her into a hug that was as close to a fatherly embrace as she would ever get again. As small as it was, she decided it was something to be grateful for.
When he pulled back, Bassil kept hold of her shoulders, meeting her gaze. Surah placed her hands over his and squeezed. “I don’t want to do any of this either,” she admitted. “But you agree that it must be done?”
Bassil smirked. “You’re asking for my permission before doing something dangerous and crazy?” he laughed. “Who are you, and what have you done with Surah?”
“So you’re not here to stop me, then?”
“Would I even be able to stop you if I were?”
She smiled at this, again her mouth lifting but her heart remaining anchored. She shook her head. “I don’t suppose you could.”
His dark face grew serious, and he took the Black Stone from her hands, tucking it gently into a pocket on the inside of her cloak. “And that is the point, dear child,” the wise Shaman told her. “Whenever there has been something you’ve really wanted, all the powers and Magic and crossed stars in the universe have never been able to stop you from getting it. You’ll be keeping that Stone of Dark Magic so close to your heart… I just don’t want you to lose sight of things. Don’t let it change who you are. Don’t let it corrupt you. There is the greatest of lights within you, Surah Stormsong, but even bright lights can be doused with shadows.”
Surah said nothing to this, because there was nothing to say. How could she tell him that it was too late, that she had long been corrupted, that she had spent hundreds of years fighting off the shadows, only to have them creeping in like creatures of the night right now? How could she tell her old friend, her lifelong mentor, that sometimes one could not fight the darkness with light, that sometimes one had to take a torch in hand and battle fire with fire, darkness with darkness, hate and revenge with hate and revenge?
She could not say these things to Bassil, because he would not understand. Only those who were as lost as she could possibly comprehend, and to someone as lost as she, there would be no need for explanation.
So what she said was, “Okay, Bassil. I’ll do my best.”
The smile he gave her then was enough to break her heart, had there been any part of it left unbroken. “That’s all any of us can do, dear child,” he said, and kissed her forehead.
Before he could see the moisture that was beginning to fill her eyes, the start of salty tears she hadn’t the time nor the patience for, Surah gripped the piece of White Stone around her neck and teleported out of the secret space in which they’d been standing.
Using the power of both the Stones combined, she commanded them to take her to Charlie Redmine, and Gods help whoever stood in her way.
***
Surah landed in a small apartment, her mind a bit fuzzy from the use of so much Magic in one burst. She had crossed realms, of that, she was sure, and she could smell a slight saltiness to the air tha
t suggested close proximity to an ocean, but other than that, she had no idea where she was.
“Holy jumping jacks!” said a sweet voice, and Surah spun on her heel, her hands gripping her sais, the silver weapons slipping free of her cloak as she braced herself for an attack.
Her eyebrows rose as the owner of the voice hopped up from the old couch she’d been sitting on, a large book spilling to the floor in the process. “I’ve never seen a portal open like that,” the girl said, her pretty face lit up in a smile.
Surah only looked at her, wondering if the Stones had somehow taken her to the wrong place. She looked around the small space, determining that she was in the human world, but that couldn’t be right. Why would Black Heart have taken Charlie here?
Before she could ask these things, the over-excited girl held out her hand, her bright green eyes locked on the sais in Surah’s. “You must be Queen Surah,” she said with a bow. “I’m Aria. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Surah’s voice was poised, careful. She returned the bow mostly out of habit. “The pleasure is all mine, Aria,” she said. She studied the girl closely. “You’re a Halfling,” she observed. It was not a question.
Aria grinned, tossing some of her thick, red-brown hair over her shoulder. “So you’re the smart one in the couple, huh?” she said, as if in jest.
Surah was growing more confused by the moment, but before she could ask the girl what that was supposed to mean, Charlie stepped out of the back bedroom, he opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to jam up in his throat as he saw Surah.
For a moment, as she took in the sight of him, it was if the world stopped. The small apartment, with its slightly sea-scented air and old furniture, dropped away around her, and all she could see was Charlie. Her gaze traveled the length of him, checking over for injuries, nearly convinced she was seeing a ghost. Until just this moment, she had not realized that a part of her had suspected she might never see him again. Not alive, anyway. And the sight of him now, so obviously alive and as transfixed by the sight of her as she was by that of him, took on a somehow surreal quality.
And then she was in his arms, not even aware of having moved. Their bodies seemed to pull together like magnets of opposite charges, the way that gravity holds things to the earth. His strong arms went around her with an ease and automatic nature that seemed as natural as breathing—which she realized now that she was in his embrace, came much easier to her. The clean, masculine smell of him filled her senses, and she held him in return the way a drowning woman might cling to a life raft.
He held her much the same way. “I thought I might never see you again,” he whispered in her ear, making her suppress a shiver that seemed to run all the way from her toes to the top of her head.
They may well have stayed in that manner for eternity, wrapped in each other’s hold and hearts beating side by side, had Aria not cleared her throat behind them. Surah had totally forgotten the girl was there, and that she didn’t know where ‘there’ was.
The Halfling girl quirked an eyebrow at Charlie. “Told you she’d come for you,” she said.
Charlie sighed in a way that suggested he’d grown used to the girl and her somewhat crass way of speaking. “That, you did, Aria,” he agreed, his eyes never leaving Surah’s face. He traced her soft cheek with his thumb, the look in the emerald of his gaze full of words unspoken.
Surah didn’t want to speak about all the things that needed addressing between them. Not yet, anyway. Not until they were alone. She pulled herself out of his arms more than reluctantly and turned to face the girl. “So, Aria,” she began, “how did you come to be in possession of a wanted Sorcerer?”
Aria plopped back down on the couch, settling herself in the middle of her books. “I stole him from the Fae Forest when the Fae Queen wasn’t looking,” she said.
Surah raised a half-amused, half-disbelieving eyebrow at Charlie, who spread his hands and nodded. “She’s tellin’ the truth,” he said. “She talks a lot, but she sure saved me from a pinch.”
Aria rolled her eyes in a manner only teenage girls seem able to accomplish. “Says the guy who asks the world’s dumbest questions,” she retorted.
Surah couldn’t help a small smile at this. She looked sideways at Charlie. “I think I like her,” she said.
Charlie nodded again. “Yeah, somehow she manages that, too.”
“Uh, hello,” Aria said. “I’m right here. And if you two don’t mind, I’ve got homework due tomorrow.” She looked at Charlie. “And, again, you’re totally welcome. No big deal at all, you know, for stealing you from Tristell and all that.”
Slowly, Surah realized whom, or rather what, this girl was. “You’re a Faevian Peace Broker,” Surah said. Again, it was not a question.
Aria grinned and tipped her a wink. “Like I said, you’re the smart one.”
“Why haven’t your people reached out before now?” Surah asked. “Where have you been while all this mess between the Fae and the Sorcerers has been brewing?”
“I’ve been right here,” Aria replied, a slight snap to her tone. “Following orders. Don’t shoot the soldier. Besides, it’s not an easy decision to decide to counter the Queen you’ve pledged allegiance to. The Peace Brokers had to try diplomacy first.” She rolled her eyes as if this would not have been the way she’d have done things. She shrugged. “I guess Tristell has finally gone too far.” Aria met Surah’s gaze square, with more backbone than most people whom Surah met. “We don’t want a war.”
Surah gestured to the chair across from the Halfling girl. “May I sit?” she asked.
Aria’s waved a hand. “By all means, your majesty.”
“Thank you,” Surah said, taking a seat across from the girl. She crossed her legs and smoothed out her cloak. “I don’t want war with your people either, but I’m afraid it may be too late. Your queen hasn’t left me much of a choice.” She thought of her father, lying on the pyre, of the Demons that hadn’t even allowed her the chance to really say goodbye. “Your queen enlisted the help of a Dark Lord. Demons have been attacking the Sorcerer Territory. Hundreds are dead.” Surah shook her head, removed her hood, and held the girl’s eyes. “There’s no way back now. Tristell will die. I’m going to kill her myself.”
Unexpectedly, the Halfling girl grinned, as if this was exactly what she’d wanted to hear. She gave one nod, her long, red-brown hair falling over her shoulders. “With all do respect, your majesty,” Aria said, “Tristell isn’t my queen, and I know you’re going to kill her, because I’m going to help you do it.”
CHAPTER 20
SAMSON
For a cat that was not used to teleportation, stepping through the portal in Surah’s bedroom and landing in the jungle of his homeland would have been a dizzying feat, to say the least. But Samson was no ordinary cat, so he emerged in the jungles with a clear head, but an aching heart.
He had not wanted to leave her, and she had not wanted him to, either. Sam knew Surah understood that their last goodbye could be their last ever goodbye; he had seen it in her beautiful violet eyes. He may never return from this trip, this insane agreement he’d made with the King of the Beasts in the northern jungles of his homeland.
Sam had made the deal to save Surah when she’d been captured by Black Heart and kept in a cave in these jungles. In exchange for information, he’d fought and defeated the pride’s greatest fighter, but that had been only half of the deal.
The other half was a promise he’d made to the King. A promise he was here to fulfill, or to die trying. Not particularly out of moral regard or even honor, but because Sam knew that if he’d made the King of Beasts come and find him, everyone around Sam could get hurt in the process. Surah was the only Two-Leg he cared about, but she was more than enough to hold the cat to his word.
There could be no avoiding it. He began to walk slowly through the jungle, his large, padded paws moving lithely over the undergrowth that surrounded the trees. His large head and long tail were held lo
w and still, the powerful muscles in his back rippling on his shoulders. When in the Jungles of the Beasts, one had better always be on the lookout. He headed in the direction of the pride’s field, where the Great Cats spent most of their time when not on the hunt.
The closer he drew, the faster his aching heart seemed to beat in his chest. His senses were filled with the clean, pleasant smells of the jungle, all green vegetation and clean water that hung in the humid air. The sun had not yet fully risen, but the soft blue light of morning was began to scatter the shadows that ruled the jungles at night.
If not for the nearly palpable feeling of loss that had settled somewhere in his gut after saying goodbye to his Surah, Samson would have to admit that the jungle was a much better place for a cat. Here, the air was not polluted with the stenches of Two-Legs, who reeked of such fear at the sight of Sam that refraining from hunting them had become a constant battle, had taught him self-control he wasn’t sure any cat was meant to have. Here, the only sounds were the soft chirping and clicking of insects, the occasional rustle of the trees. In the jungle, when the weather was such, one could listen to the music of rainfall for hours, could fall asleep to it and awake again to find it still gently playing.
When a cat was tired, he simply found a place among the brush to rest his head. When he was hungry, he went on the hunt, and if successful, was rewarded with the inimitable taste of fresh, hot and pulsing blood as he tore through the neck of a fresh kill. He loved Surah for all the effort she put into obtaining different types of meat to sustain him, but there simply was no replacement for a good old hunt in the jungle, nothing better than taking down a Great Dear—
“And sharing the spoils with your pride,” a familiar voice spoke up in his mind. Samson’s head jerked up, looking to the thick green canopies above him.
Among the greenery, he spotted her, with her jet-black coat and bright green eyes, Mila was unmistakable. “I didn’t think you’d return,” she said, speaking only in his mind, communicating in the way of the Great Cats.