Forgotten Fates

by S J Doran

  “I’d give everything to save him...”

  “If I recall your vow to me correctly, you already did.”

  At the reminder of the price she had been made to pay Alura paled, which made Amara grin. A sadistic little habit she couldn’t be bothered to break.

  “I am guessing you did not come here to enjoy tonight’s show.”

  The ghostly pale turned a light shade of green, one which had Agate take a rather large a step to the side with a grimace.

  “Was all that really necessary?”

  Amara closed the distance between them in two steps, coming face to face with the ill looking female. “I only do things for two reasons, either they are necessary, or they amuse me.”

  Enjoying the fear she felt radiating from her guest, Amara let the tip of a claw run down the marble like curve of Alura’s neck. “I’ll let you judge which of the two guided my actions tonight.”

  To her surprise the Fae’s eyes flared crimson, and small fangs protruded out as she hissed. The Fae had been turned, interesting. “You will not intimidate me Amara.”

  And she felt her own grin turn into a smile at the challenge in Alura’s gaze, she enjoyed goading the timid ones out of their shells. Perhaps it was part of her sadistic nature. “You won’t? Well there goes my fun, and since I fail to see the necessity of this conversation… goodbye Alura.”

  She had already turned her back onto her unexpected guest, all she wanted was to finish her task at the Inner Sanctum and bathe. She felt...filthy.

  “It’s Gwynn…”

  Within the next heartbeat her fingers had closed around Alura’s wrist, bath forgotten. Instead of heading towards the Inner Sanctum she was already pulling the Fae along towards the portal which would take them to Tir Na Nog.

  “What happened?”

  “He led the Wild Hunt during the blood moon…”

  Not ten minutes later they were within the throne room of the dark king’s castle, standing amongst the crowd of Fae warily circling their crazed king.

  Darkness moved over Gwynn, shadows to everyone else, but voices and entities to the dark king. Darkness was speaking to him, and he listened, and the longer he listened, the closer they lured him into the abyss of madness.

  Any who dared enter that circle got swung at by the scythe he carried upon him. But it wasn’t the swinging blade that held Amara’s attention, it was the fact Gwynn was wearing nothing but his good looks as he was doing so.

  “Aren’t you going to DO something?” Alura’s tone sounded as if she was close to a panic.

  “Hmm....” Each swing of the scythe caused those firm muscles of his to ripple and flex. “Do something about what?”

  “Amara!”

  “Oh right… By the way, that is a lovely perfume you wear Alura.”

  “Thank you, wait- what? What are you up to?”

  She was already shoving her way through the crowd to the edge of the circle.

  “Me? Nothing. Can’t I just give a compliment to be… nice?”

  She heard Alura’s scoff right as she set foot within the circle. Dodging the first swing as it whooshed by.

  “You? No.”

  She winked at the flustered Fae before turning her back on her, needing all her focus to deal with the crazed Fae King with the deadly scythe.

  Darkness and she were old friends, she had long ago welcomed it into her soul and it knew her, when she called, it answered.

  Power brushed along her senses, then latched to her magic as if to feed from it, just like it had in Ghata’n. Back then it had been the darkness inside of her which had caused her magic to summon forth the Draugr, now she used it to summon for Gwynn, hoping she hadn’t been too late.

  Carefully she stepped deeper into the circle, her eyes never leaving that swinging scythe, she was within range now and its sharp blade was more than capable of lopping off her head in a single blow.

  Another hesitant step as she allowed more of her magic to flow from her, more darkness latched- the scythe stopped swinging.

  Another step would place her before him, were the dark king would either welcome her or strike her down.

  “Asbu sa?”

  Eyes the color of a golden supernova blinked, then opened to a flash of crystalline blue.

  “A stór?”

  She took that last step without further hesitation a relieved smile curling her lips as she let her finger trail down the blue markings across his jaw.

  “Hey tall, dark and crazy, we have a problem. One of us is underdressed and causing a scene, and for once- it isn’t me…”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  upping the ante

  The cacophonous racket of his throne room was going to push him to the brink of insanity. Demon representatives from all the realms clamoured about, talking over one another, shouting to make themselves heard.

  Word had gotten out about Levistus’s release and Basileus’s exile.

  Anger was simmering to a boil within him.

  They dared not accuse him of anything directly. Ironically, he had Amara to thank for that. Being gutted with the Holy Sword had given Cass an air of reverence. Not many would have survived such a wound.

  They crowded the bottom steps of his dais, red-faced and speaking among themselves, growing louder, words turning to actions as shoving matches broke out. He stood, walking to the edge of the dais, meeting the eyes of a few of the more vocal demons.

  The Herald of the Second approached his throne, belligerence written all over his reddened face.

  Cass stood, the floor trembling under his feet, the Herald’s steps faltering.

  “SILENCE.” Levistus shouted across the room.

  And then there was silence.

  Cass resumed his seat, offering Levistus a grin. The demon sat to his right, the seat that was reserved for his herald, Jez sitting in front of him on the top step of the dais, in a silent state of confusion.

  “You know,” Cass said, low enough so just Levistus could hear, “I am in need of a Herald.” Every Arch-Deacon had one of their own, a Herald to be their voice when they were unavailable, a right-hand to help them rule their respective realm. It was an oddity that he, as high-ruler over all, hadn’t assigned his own.

  Levistus scoffed. “Don’t look to me boy. I’ll act as advisor, I won’t be set under thumb.”

  Cass nodded, leaving that thought to ponder at a later time.

  “I’ve come to address your concerns,” he spoke loudly, leaning forward in his uncomfortable throne. “I’ll address them all, with four words.”

  “I. AM. YOUR. KING.” He shouted, releasing the rage that had been building.

  “You are a child!” One of the Herald’s shouted back. “You expect us to show allegiance, you have done nothing to prove yourself, and have unleashed a beast that cannot be controlled,” the demon’s eyes shot over to Levistus then back to Cass.

  “Does he need to be controlled?” Cassius spoke softly, venom in his tone.

  “You’ve banished Basileus,” another demon spoke up, stepping up beside the other. “What are his alleged crimes? Do you banish us now at your whim?”

  Cass glared him down. “His trespasses were personal. I do not answer to you.”

  “Who do you answer to then?” The first Herald stood straighter, his chest puffed up.

  “I answer to the Nine Hells themselves. The Nessus is mine, in my blood. You dare to question this?”

  The Herald sneered. “A boy. With unproven powers.” He turned back to address the crowd and Cass let out a growl.

  “You will offer me allegiance or be banished to the pits.” Cass said, jaw clenched.

  “Oho. And you would toss us all in the pits?” The Herald turned back. “Who would grovel at your feet when your halls are emptied?”

  A wave of dizziness washed over him. the walls of the throne room trembled around him, an influx of power hit— so massive it nearly toppled him. He opened his hands, letting them fall to his sides as he took it all in, surges of it
, more than he got from feeding directly.

  Amara. He smiled to himself, even as the demons loitering in his throne room shouted and scrambled and fought to stay on their feet.

  The priestess did something. Blood moon, sacrifices, the timing couldn’t have been better.

  The ever-present gnawing of hunger inside of him appeased, every cell in his body flooded with the power of it-

  Jez stood at his side, tapping his face.

  “Your eyes are glowing.” The angel whispered with awe.

  Cass grasped his hand in his, nodding before turning back to the room. The angel groaned, his body shuddering. Their essences twined once more, the power influx evening out between them at the physical touch. For the length of a breath, they were one.

  One. With a celestial.

  A whim of a thought began to percolate. An idea-

  “Are there any who question the power of their King?” Levistus paced in front of him, speaking to the chaotic assembly. “Any who doubt he is as powerful as his sire?”

  There were a lot of noises of dissent, grumbles and hushed whispers.

  “Then drop to a knee and accept your King. Trust when I say you want to remain in his good graces.” Levistus said, then turned back to Cass, dropped a hand to his shoulder, and with a quick squeeze stepped back behind him.

  Like a wave, the assembled demons dropped to their knees amid the rubble now strewn about the hall.

  “Allow me to present my Herald.” Cass spoke clearly, voice trembling with power. “Jez’Piel, former Power, executioner for the Celestials, now Voice of the Hells.”

  At his proclamation, Cass felt the power flare between them, the beginnings of their bonds solidifying into something more.

  Jez gasped loudly, trying to pull his hand from Cass’s, Cass just held it tighter, giving a reassuring squeeze.

  “Feel free to continue your feasting.” Cass said, then pulled Jez from the throne room, Levistus swiftly following.

  “By the Hells boy, what do you think you’re doing?” Levistus hissed in his ear.

  Cass stopped and opened the door to his room, ushering them both in.

  “We’ve formed a bond.” Cass shrugged. “It wasn’t my intention, but I intend to make use of it.”

  Jez dropped to the chaise, burying his face in his hands with a sob.

  “You flirt with the wrath of the Celestial courts.” Levistus said, pacing to the window.

  It hadn’t been his first choice either- to bond with a celestial. He would have been better off with someone who had political connections, at least knowledge. He dropped to the seat beside Jez, pulling his wing over his lap and absently stroking it while he considered Levistus’ words.

  “Perhaps they should worry more about provoking mine.” He looked up and met Levistus’ eyes, knowing his own were still glowing with power. It throbbed through him. Bliss. Ecstasy.

  Levistus knelt in front of the angel. “Do you understand what it means to be Herald to the First?”

  Jez finally looked up, eyes puffy with unshed tears. “I am to be forever mind linked with the King of Hell. I am to be his voice to dictate his orders, his diplomat when it comes to negotiating between races,” Jez gave Cass a lingering look. “It means I will never redeem my grace. I am outcast and Fallen and fallen to the lowest depths.”

  Cass growled. “It means,” He lowered his voice, “that you are now the second highest being in these realms. That you are answerable only to me. That you have freedom. Your Celestial brothers wouldn’t dare to seek trouble with the Herald to the King of the Hells.”

  Jez hung his head, and Cass felt the agony seeping out of him.

  Levistus stood, looking down at them both. “Do not think of it in terms of being lowered, Jez’Piel.” Levistus slipped his shirt over his head and wings appeared, larger and darker than Jez’s. “We are merely opposite ends of the spectrum. Balance.”

  Jez stared up at him, in wondrous silence.

  Cass looked between the two of them. “How come I don’t have wings?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  of all the bothersome timing

  “Oh… right there!”

  Clever fingers moved up her inner thigh while his tongue worked to rob her of all her senses “Gwynn!”

  “One more time A Stór, scream my name one more time, and I will allow you to cum.”

  “You high handed, lousy excuse of a... Ahh!”

  The deep rumble of stifled laughter rose up from between her legs. “Endearments do not count, try again.”

  His teeth scraped along the swollen bud of her clit, forcing her back to arch, but releasing too quickly to push her over the edge. He had worked her body up until she felt like a tightly wrapped coil, and the tricksy fae clearly derived pleasure by keeping her there. She struggled to keep heavy eyes open, not wanting to give up the delectable sight of him as he languidly moved his fist to work his own rigid flesh.

  An intrusive tug at her senses had all pleasure fade to the back, a rising sense of distress taking hold instead. “Oh, please no...”

  “Amara of Asurim, high priestess of the ancients, Queen of the warlocks. I summon you.”

  Sensing the energy shift Gwynn stopped, his strong fingers closing around her wrist instead as he pulled her into his chest. “Fight if off A Stór, you can do this.”

  The compulsion rang through her, emerging from inside her mind before latching onto very her soul. An ancient magic ruled by the law of creation, forcing those with even a drop of demon blood in their veins to obey the call when summoned for by name. Her warlock side gave her some resistance to the compulsion, but not enough to against the more powerful calls.

  The hold of this summons was too strong to break, even with all her wards and protections in place. “Gwynn, I can’t...”

  A portal was already opening at her side, the vacuum gaining strength as to draw her in. She could feel the moisture of her skin evaporate as she continued to resist its pull, her mouth going dry as she stared into its void.

  “I don’t even recognize the imprint. Gwynn, I don’t know where I am being summoned to.”

  Distress quickly turned to panic. Ever since she had been six years old, since she had been tossed into that portal which had led to her captivity- each summons had turned into a terror filled event. Somehow, she had managed to keep this weakness a secret from most, but Gwynn often suffered visions, and had understood her quirks without her ever needing to open up. He knew she couldn’t.

  a different girl, a different demon...another life.

  “It matters not where you go, you can handle what awaits you on the other side.” The silk of clean robes was draped over her shoulders. The same fingers which moments ago had pushed her to the limit of her senses moving quickly to clasp a singular silver belt around her waist, securing her modesty while providing her with a weapon, her athame.

  “Breathe A Stór, if you are not returned to my side in two days I will come searching.”

  She fought for control over her breathing, too scared to be embarrassed by her own cowardice.

  “Gwynn…” She could not hold the back for very much longer. “Don’t forget about me.”

  Crystalline blue eyes blazed golden for a brief instant, not a promising sign towards his lasting mental stability. He was going to forget her. She heard him mumble something about fate, the roar of the portal too loud for her to make out all the words, in the next moment the void closed in around her, and she fell.

  After what felt like an eternity of plummeting aimlessly through the cold and empty space, a flash of pale light assaulted her eyes. Then the air was pushed out of her lungs as she crash-landed onto dark, rich soil. Gaia. She recognized that pale moonlight, that earthy scent, and the drain of the ley lines.

  As soon as her legs would obey, she pushed herself off the ground, wiping dirt and grass from her robes. Not the impressive entrance one would hope to make, but at least she had managed not to spill her stomach contents during the journey this
time.

  A luminescent gold energy surrounded her, the barrier of the summoning circle which bound her in place. Its power would keep her locked within, and only when the summoner broke the circle would she be set free from it. Summons were a way for mortals to barter favors from demons, and a way for demons to royally piss each other off. Summoning amongst their kind considered an offense.

  With the exception of a cunning few who had possessed the foresight to ensure their survival had value to Amara, all who had dared summon for her in the past had not lived long enough to see their bargains fulfilled. Most in the realms knew well not to dare call upon her. And yet, someone had.

  Her own magic rose to the fore, tendrils of black swirling around her, filling the confinement she was bound to, eager to lash out and strike.

  “Who summons me?”

  Except for her ungraceful landing she appeared utterly unaffected by her poorly timed summons, nothing could be further from the truth, she was seething.

  “Amara?”

  An unfamiliar voice called to her, masculine and commanding yet his tone filled with wonderment. Unusual, but not entirely undeserved, she had worked hard on earning her nefarious reputation.

  “Yes, I am well aware of my own name, I asked for yours.” Great, had she been summoned by a first timer? She hadn’t popped anyone’s summoning cherry before. But then how had the compulsion been so strong that she had been unable to break from it?

  “Your eyes, I can see her in you.”

  She bristled. “If it’s my eyes you bargain for, I must warn you that their price is astonishingly high. Took me twelve moons to regenerate the last pair.”

  “Your eyes…? What? No! What kind of horrid deals have you been making, priestess?”

  “The kind which always turn in my favor.” She had traded them for the heart string of a cherubim, a hard to come by ingredient for a potion she kept.

  Her fingers closed around the hilt of her athame as she peered into the distance, still unable to identify who had called for her.