“I give you nothing.” Samanthŕa hissed as Daŕēus rose with pride.
“We leave.” He looked at all those who came with him. “If you want her title, take it if you can. That will be the only way you get it.” He turned from his seat along with the others but Aréel threw up a hand to stop him.
“We will not have to take it. We are not fools. We know we cannot. She will give it to us willingly.”
“And how exactly do you foresee that happening?” Chymeŕah scoffed.
Aréel smiled brightly as she motioned to a Veŕatü warrior in the corner. His lips were stained black. His head was bald except for the long, forest green ponytail extending from the top of his head. His chest was bare and scarred as if he had been tormented with lashings. He wore ripped leather pants which had rusted, dull daggers clipped up and down his legs and to his boots. He left the room as Aréel turned back towards Samanthŕa. “To add a little extra something sweet to all of this, I have brought with me the nectar of the fruit, so to speak. To ensure that at least you, Samanthŕa, give up what is no longer yours by treason.”
The Veŕatü began to drag in a body. It was thrown to the floor, covered in burlap. Aréel gestured for the burlap to be removed.
Samanthŕa watched suspiciously, as they removed the covering.
Underneath was Staphãyn, nearly dead and badly beaten. Samanthŕa ran to his side. She shoved the Veŕatü away from him. He tried to come back but she hissed. Her eyes dared him to try. She fell to the floor beside Staphãyn. Tears came to her eyes as she lifted his face into her hands. He was barely conscious. She could hear Daŕēus, her mother and the Lycãons yelling with heated rage around her but her mind was only on him.
“Sill-silly v-vii,” he tried to say as they brought in his woman. She had not been beaten or harmed but she was in chains. Her hair was tousled and her dress torn. She was kept away from Staphãyn and Samanthŕa.
“What is this?” Samanthŕa hissed low at Aréel.
Ariel laughed. Samanthŕa’s eyes shot towards Dĩas but he refused to look at his son. He just sat there staring at the floor.
“Staphãyn will die if you do not relinquish your title and powers, Priestess. We shall rip the babes from the whore’s belly. We shall devour them in front of you. We shall claim their power, since he was immortal when he poisoned her with his seed.”
“Is this the law of our people, father, or have you become Evil yourself?” Samanthŕa yelled at Dĩas but he wouldn’t even acknowledge her.
“He is not of our people.” Aréel viciously said. “He renounced us and waged war on our kind. Or have you forgotten?”
Samanthŕa’s eyes looked at Darius who was filling with rage. Her soul reflected his as if pleading silently for help. The horror and sorrow in his eyes drifted and faded though, as they became blackened with hate. His rage, which he had controlled up until now was unleashed.
“I warn you now to be wary of your threats and deeds done!” Daŕēus’ beast rose. “These tactics will not force our hand. The only thing you will gain from this is a war you will not survive.”
“Attack any on us Daŕēus and you shall be cursed to the Sleep of the Damned again. Oh, we thought of that one especially for you.” Aréel leered.
Daŕēus argued back and forth with Aréel and Dĩas, but their voices faded from Samanthŕa’s awareness. All her care was for her brother. Gently she ran her fingers through Staphãyn’s hair while her helpless tears fell on his face. He felt as though he were…dying. “I told you to run.” She whispered low. She had to speak aloud because he could no longer hear her thoughts. By renouncing his blood, he’d given up his gifts.
“Came…” He began to cough up blood. This frightened her.
“Hush now.” She wiped the blood from his dirty face. “Don’t speak. Save your strength. Hush.”
He wouldn’t listen. “Back . . . to . . . to . . . he-help . . . you . . . him.” Staphãyn raised a hand and pointed at Daŕēus. His mortality was now his death sentence. He could have survived this before as an immortal, but now she had little faith that he could.
She leaned down and kissed him. Bless her sweet Staphãyn. He had not turned his back on his blood. He was coming back. She was choking, she was crying so hard. “Your time is not up yet, my sweet Staphãyn. I have your immortality. I kept it safe.” She wiped the hair away from his face. She still cried. “Let me give it to you. Let me give it back to you.”
He had to claim the words. He had to invoke the gift. He had to reclaim what he claimed was not his, what he gave away. She could not force it on him. There was no promise it would work since his three nights had passed, but she prayed to the Goddess that he would take that chance.
He began to cough up more blood. “No.” He shook his head as his own tears filled his eyes. “Not…not.” He kept fighting to speak but it was so painful. “Woman,” His eyes pointed Samanthŕa in the direction of the woman Evil held.
Samanthŕa’s eyes glared at her and then turned back to him. “Not the woman I saw you with?”
Staphãyn shook his head. A sharp pain drove into his body, she could feel it. It became difficult to breathe. “Killed her.” His teeth started to grind. “Skin… Skin… Walker.” His body threatened seizures. It tightened up and arched. His muscles clenched as Samanthŕa grabbed hold of him.
“No. No. No. Hold on, brother. No.” She got on her knees and hovered over him. She even slapped him, ordering him to live. No one noticed because they were screaming and yelling. Samanthŕa never noticed their screaming and yelling. “Ask me for it! Ask me for your immortality!”
Staphãyn grabbed her by her bodice and jerked her down to him, his cracking voice close to her ear. With everything he had, he said, “Do not compromise. Not even for your sisters. Do not agree to anything. They want to bind Darius through you. You don’t understand but that’s how they mean to do it. Remember what I told you. Stay by the Father of the Blood and do not trust Dias. Do not trust Dias. Underneath the willow, remember the willow?” He spewed more blood and his body let go of hers. It fell and began to jerk.
“The willow, yes, I remember! We played there as children,” Samanthŕa sobbed. “Who cares about the willow, Staphãyn? You’re not making sense. Ask me for your immortality. Claim your blood back! The blood our souls are bound to! Claim it, brother, please!”
“Silly Vii, silly. The willow,” He started to gag. “Left some-something for you, the willow. Remember why I call you silly Vii?”
“Staphãyn, we will both go to the Willow. We will both go. Just hold on, my brother, and we will both go. You can take me there if you claim your blood!” Samanthŕa begged him. Her tears had turned to blood.
He turned his head away and looked at Dĩas. He spit blood towards him even though Dĩas kept his back turned. “Never claim a part of him.”
“No, Staphãyn! Claim me. You can claim me! That’s enough! It will be enough!” Samanthŕa buried her face in his chest. She was frantic. “If I had only Awakened and were no longer Vii I could give you my blood and change you…if only I…” She was sobbing.
He choked, “History repeats itself. Love repeats itself. I have suffered, seen her suffer, no more.” His body fell limp. He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He wouldn’t answer.
He died there in her arms as if life didn’t want him anymore. It was as if he didn’t matter or wasn’t worth keeping. She beat on his chest while the entire Great Hall fell into silence at her screams. She pulled him up and held him to her breast as though he were a child. She rocked him as she buried her face in his hair trying to find his scent, which seemed lost in all the blood and misery he had been dragged through. The agonizing moment seemed to last for an eternity until Aréel began to laugh, a crippling laugh, which ended Samanthŕa’s screams and cries. The entire room fell silent and still. All eyes were on Samanthŕa and Staphãyn’s body.
Samanthŕa grew still, if not morbid with shock. She laid Staphãyn’s body down gently while her cold dark eyes rose to look
at Aréel.
“Oh my, I forget how mortals die so quickly. Silly me. Oh well, what I said still stands. We have his unborn children left. So what say you, Samanthŕa? Will you agree or shall they die as well?” Aréel’s cards were on the table. She’d meant for Staphãyn to die in Samanthŕa’s arms. Wanted her to feel that misery and do what those usually did when they lost someone precious. Cling to those they had left, to their siblings…Staphãyn’s unborn siblings.
Samanthŕa rose slowly. Her eyes never left Aréel. She never even bothered looking at Dĩas or Daŕēus, nor did she know where they were. The room seemed to go black around her and her only thoughts were fueled by pain.
“These unborn children?” Her voice seemed to drip with venom as she walked to the woman, who appeared to be crying. Before Aréel could answer, Samanthŕa jerked the sword from the scabbard of one of the Veŕatüs holding her. She swung it hard and swift, cutting him, beheading her. Screams of shock filled the room.
The Veŕatü on the other side dropped his hold over the body. He backed away fearfully. The headless corpse fell to the floor hard and the head itself began to melt and change. The face of one of Aréel’s bloodline appeared, a brother, a worthless brother not even worth naming. He was the skin walker pretending to be Staphãyn’s woman.
Aréel screamed in rage when Samanthŕa threw the sword at her, through the pit of her stomach. Her eyes burned red. A low growl came from her lips, causing Daŕēus to smile.
Evil had made one mistake. They had underestimated Samanthŕa. They never saw her as a threat. They never tried to bind her to the meeting the way they did him. With blackened, hollow eyes, Samanthŕa began to curse her.
“Curse my sisters?
Curse me?
What curse you have hissed, you shall suffer times three.
Be wicked you wench, for wicked you shall have.
Beware the priestess, who will see you go mad.”
The curse left Samanthŕa’s lips and lashed out at Aréel. She began to spin around, holding her head tightly. She screamed horribly as the curse of madness began to seep into her head. Those with her tried to grab her and drag her out of the room, but she kicked and clawed at them.
Samanthŕa walked slowly up to her, with her claws extended from the beast which had hungered to emerge. It finally had its chance now, like her fangs, to peek out into life and take a stab at it. Aréel’s face froze and her body fell to the floor. Samanthŕa ripped open her chest and tore out her black withering heart, slammed it on the table and looked around at everyone who was frozen and still, in complete shock. They’d thought Daŕēus was a threat. They were wrong. “You will take nothing more from me!” She then looked at Dĩas, who backed his chair away for she slammed the bloody heart purposely in front of him. Her cold eyes reflected nothing but venomous hate. Dĩas said nothing. He swallowed hard, keeping his face still with an effort.
She turned to Daŕēus, who could do nothing more than look proud. His beast was savagely recognizing the one in her. “Will you bring my Brother’s body?” Samanthŕa’s voice was deep and disturbed yet he could still sense her sorrow.
Daŕēus bowed to the Priestess, promising he would. He lifted Staphãyn in his arms and followed her out. She never looked back. She never once cared about what she had done. She never once felt remorse or guilt. She only felt pain and that pain, she channeled into hate.
Before Daŕēus left the Great Hall, he turned one last time to look at them. With malice in his voice he growled, “Dark nights lie ahead. Hide yourselves well and expect me. Your trickery failed. Your jest of a truce is now your demise.” He turned with Staphãyn’s ruined body and vanished.
But there was one left to follow. Kaléé slowly walked past and stopped before Dĩas as Rameŕas strutted by arm. The large room was suddenly filled with her wicked laughter until it horrifically stopped, eyes fixed on him.
“Never under estimate the power of Vlachŕa Kaléé of the Lycãon, you pathetic fool.” She slammed her staff against the floor while Rameŕas helped her onward. Slowly, without hurry they walked out. Her wicked laughter renewed was the only thing left that echoed against the stone.
~Chapter 18~
The Willow
***
The Gods they be callin’.
Callin’ you home to walk among the free.
Forget not this maiden mournin’.
I carry your heart away with me.
Can you see the hill with the weepin’ willow?
There she stands beneath and do cry.
Can ye hear her weepin’ neath’ that willow?
Her heart will suffer till the end of time.
***
Rain drizzled from a dreary sky. The mournful song of a Phãegen was wafting emotion from a cliff above. The soft ancient words clung to the notes of a haunting and distressed tune.
The air was cold and damp, befitting the tears falling from wintry cheeks. Bitter kissed hearts, pain’s frigid claw. The four corners were called, the watchtowers invoked, East by air, South by fire, West by water and North by earth.
The body of Staphãyn drifted silently across the Sea of Abyss, which seemed oddly calm for the weather. Its massive boundaries of water were black and thick with salt. The flames lapping with their heated tongues at the foundations of his burial ship, at last caused it to drift no more. Hot steam and smoke blurred the horizon. Gulls crossed the drab empty skies. Sorrow blackened memory. The ceremony faded as though it had been a million years in its passing.
Fare well, sweet Staphãyn. May the Goddess embrace you, fare well.
Samanthŕa silently mourned. Death was not eternal. It wasn’t feared. It was abnormal and alien, without true meaning or definition, until now. When and if one died, they could be brought back, unless some sort of curse or dark reason hung over their head. Normally, within three nights, they could be opening their eyes to a new life or find themselves refreshed in their old one. Normally.
Staphãyn had renounced himself, though. He had refused life in the end and without her Awakening Samanthŕa could offer none of hers. There was no bringing him back. There was no knowing what might happen to him. They were charting unknown ground and Samanthŕa wavered through a situation, its own meaningless world, which she had never before known.
Fare well, sweet Staphãyn. May the Goddess embrace you, for I cannot, no matter how hard I try. You have severed your ties to me, crossed into a world I may never know. Fare well.
Those were the only words Samanthŕa could think of as she waded through what seemed to last an eternity. She turned in silence, away from the darkened, seedless shores which had stolen what was left of him. Those of her bloodlines moved away like spirits haunting the dusk. Lycãons shifted and howled from the cliffs above.
Farewell.
While all else faded, she went to the one place that held the last of their happy memories, The Willow. It was high on a hill above a clear spring, with nothing else around it but tall grass and endless fields. It had nothing above it but sky and stars. It had nothing below it but earth and dust.
Dust, she thought. Her thoughts were confused and distorted. Rise from the dust, Staphãyn. Rise from the womb of the earth. Surprise me. Shock me. Anything except forget me.
Her tears bled from her eyes while soulful pain sobbed out in sorrowful buckets. Her body huddled in to the breast of the tree, rocking back and forth in its state of misery. She wasn’t accustomed or conditioned for this kind of loss. And she felt separated from everyone and everything, even her sisters.
Immortality didn’t mean forever. She knew that now. It was nothing more than a misunderstanding-- something easily debated, taken for granted, left to be desired without ever knowing its true meaning or worth. It came in phases, like the birth of a tree, from seed to soil, from soil to air, breath. From breath came life and then many seasons. Were the seeds its immortality? For the tree sooner or later died. Yet it lived on, didn’t it? Except through another phase of life? Were many lives merely another
phase or mask of Immortality? If so, what mask did Staphãyn wear now? Again, she knew not the answers.
Know thy self and live. Die. Live again. Nothing lasted forever because nothing lived forever to witness it lasting. What can exist without proof of its existence? What proof did Staphãyn leave behind except the pain which crippled her now? Where were his children? Everything faded in one way or another, fading into something changed and unknown. Nothing was what it seemed to be. She remembered him reminding her of that. She remembered him also saying, why do I call you silly Vii?
“Silly Vii who falls so easily for Dĩas’ illusions,” she remembered Staphãyn saying, and the night he’d said it. Her memories played out in front of her. Through blurry eyes, she watched.
She was so happy then about earning her title of High Priestess. How she’d fought for it, struggled for it, pushed past her boundaries to have it! She had just been through the ritual making her one with the Goddess, the voice of the Goddess, the daughter of the Goddess. She had escaped the celebrations afterwards, having no interest in them, so that she could sit alone in a dark room and dream-- dream of the good she would do, the magic she would do, the things she would change or make better. Sitting there in her long dark robes, she was trying to decide how she would rediscover the Old Ways, or so she thought-- until Staphãyn laughed at her, until he slapped her in the face with his truths.
“Silly Vii, your dreams are only dreams. Your title is nothing more than an illusion. Do you think Dĩas will ever allow you to even come into your full power? Nothing is what it seems. Your mother has told you this often. Nothing is what it seems. All of this is but an illusion,” he’d said from behind her, opening his flask and taking a drink. He wore his normal warrior garb, dark pants, boots, and unbuttoned, loose sleeved shirt.
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