by SL Figuhr
He spoke, after his eyes had started watering from the effort not to blink. “Thinking back on it, no. Our journey was fairly uneventful, if you don’t count the bandits we ran into right outside of town. They killed Colin, then we managed to kill them.”
The man decided to eschew the cup and started drinking straight from the bottle. “So what you’re trying to tell me is the whole town is fucked. Nice.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hands and ran his fingers through his hair.
Eron continued, “Let me get this straight. Nicky has an army waiting to raze the town, and Mica with it, the ability to change his age, and a demon whom he believes plotted with you. Oh, and he knows he killed me, so if he sees me, he knows I’m part of the club.” He thought a moment and continued, “Yup, we’re fucked, royally and with sandy Vaseline; bend over and kiss your ass good-bye, buttercup.” He began to laugh.
I’m afraid he saw how un-amusing I found his glee; his laugher died suddenly and he unknowingly shrank back. Oops, needed to tone down the fear factor.
“Lira, we’ve seen what he has with him. What he commands. He didn’t have those powers before. So I say that makes it your problem now as well. Especially if you plan on staying here since it doesn’t seem he’s going anywhere anytime soon. Did I mention he’s a vengeful bastard? He’ll remember you opposed him and won’t stop going after you until you’re dead. It won’t matter if you pull stakes to live elsewhere, he’ll send people after you and when it doesn’t work, he’ll come for you himself.” Eron smirked. “Just ask Mica and Colin, oops that’s right we can’t, BECAUSE NICKY HAS THEM!” He threw the bottle at me in rage.
Oh this was too much! Suddenly I was in front of him before he’d seen me move. I felt my blood coursing through my body. My canines itched with the need to plunge themselves into veins and pull the warm liquid out. What the hell was wrong with me? It had to be the taint of the demon causing this to happen; even where we were. I must control myself! This is not the way to convince him!
It was a great effort for me to stalk away from him over to the window. I stared out; trying to ignore the blood lust singing inside of me. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, it took several dozen repetitions before I could get my emotions back under control.
I tried to speak as casually as possible, though it was a great effort. “If we kill Nicky, how do we get rid of a demon? I do not think they just roam our world at will. The boy... I think the boy is controlling it.”
I felt Eron trying to bore holes in my back, as if willing me to turn around. Not going to happen.
“Why? Did his pet demon tell you that? Why would you believe anything a being like that says? Legend speaks of them as nasty, lying things best kept away from and not to make bargains with.”
I continued to stare sightlessly out a window. Damn the thing the little boy had trapped! It made it hard to keep my emotions in check as the beast welled up. The urge to rip into him, smash him, destroy him nearly overwhelmed me.
“I don’t trust a word it says, but what it has said contains grains of truth.” I swung away from the window and stalked back to a chair. I wrapped my hands around the back, staring at him over the top. “I wish we could discern truth from lies.”
Eron sat transfixed, staring at me. “I don’t think that’s a wise course. We need to concentrate on finding the brothers, unless you’re planning on becoming an evil overlord?”
Oh for! “I have to have something to do with my time. I can’t always be a noble with a lot of business interests to pass the years until I am forced to move to another place where I am unknown. As I’m sure you must know, traveling takes money, as does setting oneself up somewhere new. I’m afraid I’ve become accustomed to a certain standard of living.”
Eron stared at me in disbelief, “What, is it too hard for your kind to live like peasants every now and then? I hear it’s good for one’s soul.”
“Yes, I can see the effects poverty’s had on your soul,” I replied drily. “What does Mica have which you and Colin need? We know where Nicky lives. He’s desperate for my title and standing. Why don’t I just lure him somewhere you can ambush him without interference?”
“Because it worked so well the last time?” He needled me and gestured for a bottle of wine.
“At least we are no longer cursed!” I shot back as I picked up a still-corked Traminer half-way down the table and set it in front of him.
He worked the cork out and tasted it. Then ticked points off on his fingers. “One, we will work together to get rid of our common enemy; known as Nicky. Two, we will not let Colin know what you are. Three, we find the brothers. Four: the demon.”
I mulled this over, it all seemed rather reasonable to me, “Five, I wish to hear your story.”
I startled him. “My what?”
“How you came to be. I wish to hear it, if you please.” I regarded him steadily.
I could see he didn’t know what to say, “What does it have to do with anything?”
“What if there is something in your origins that will let us know how Nicky is able to change his age and do the things which smack of magic?”
“I doubt it.” He was adamant.
I smiled sweetly, “Humor me.”
“I really don’t think that would be a good idea.” I could see he was considering something. He looked toward the window. “How old are you?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked. If he could play, so could I.
“Fine. My story for yours.”
“My story?”
“Humor me.” He gave me a smirk.
“Fine, but after this is over. My story is not as important as yours could be.” He stared for a moment at my face. Then, he began:
“My tale starts when Africa was the cradle of life and Egypt was only a baby. I’m not Egyptian though, I don’t remember what I was, Sumerian, Babylonian, Mesopotamian; I’ve forgotten, it’s been so long. I wasn’t always the man you see now. I was...” He paused, “Well, I suppose you could say I was poised between evil and goodness. I was a young warrior, who thought he knew more than anyone.”
“What happened?”
“I won’t bore you with my whole life’s story. Know I had an overwhelming amount of ambition and pride. I was a young soldier under a very ruthless general. I had been born into a family of warriors. My father was a trusted general in our King’s army, and by dint of hard work, a lot of backstabbing, I quickly rose through the ranks to be the king’s second in command. Now, our sire wanted more than he had, wanted to rule over vast numbers of people, vast tracts of land. Because he was so bloodthirsty, we went on many a raid, conquering neighboring tribes and bringing them under the man’s rule. I believed I could rule better than my king, and one day, I was finally given the chance to usurp him.”
* * *
Eron galloped into the desert camp a three months’ ride from the palace. Women and children screamed and hid in tents. The men ran to meet the invaders with whatever weapons they had at hand. Eron saw the first man, covered head to toe in a white garment. He fell under the slash of Eron’s sword.
“Don’t touch the women! All who surrender will be shown mercy!” Eron bellowed as he rode over men and sliced them down.
As he turned his horse’s head to go back through the camp, an old man stepped from a tent with a staff and his daughter. Everything seemed in slow motion to Eron. One of his men rode up behind the man, slice his sword down, but was flung away before it even touched the man. The horse he was on shied suddenly, dumping the rider on the ground.
The old man held his staff up and cried aloud in an unknown language. The air seemed to shimmer and pulse around him and his daughter. Eron’s men seemed unable to target anything. Their horses started to plunge and snort in fear.
“Hold! Hold, I say!” Eron screamed to his men. For a few tense seconds he thought they would not listen and then the cry went out.
“Round everyone up, bring them to me,” he commanded and his m
en hastened to obey.
Eron walked his horse up to the old man. He was so bent and wizened he had to look up at Eron on his mount. There was complete calmness in his eyes as he meet his attacker’s.
“So you have come at last,” the old man croaked out.
“Silence, I will do the talking,” Eron demanded.
The old man merely smiled, and Eron felt something invisible twine around him and the horse. It tried to rear in fright but Eron kept a firm hand on the reins. He could hear his men mutter in terror as the same unknown thing swirled around them too.
* * *
Eron paused at the memory, seemed ashamed of past behavior.
“Now, there had been many times when I had considered taking my king’s place; I was only held back by the thought many had tried and died horrible deaths. I thought once again about betrayal. Here was someone with real power. If only I could learn what it was, learn how to use and control it, I could be king. I of course did not let any of this show on my face. I remember, as the sun burned down upon us and my men shifted restlessly, the old man threatened us with his power.”
Eron seemed lost to me and the room. “I don’t remember exactly what he said, but a strange thrill ran through me when he spoke and something whispered in my mind, telling me how to capture the old man and his strange power.”
* * *
The hot sun beat down on Eron and his men, and even though it was a cloudless, breezeless day something still stirred the air. He moved his eyes from the old man to his daughter, a lush beauty, and she did not lower her eyes but stared boldly, almost defiantly, back.
The strange breeze pulsed around him again and he thought he heard his dead mother’s voice on the air.
“Show them the medallion, speak the words,” that instinctual voice whispered. Eron drew from underneath his breastplate and tunic a worn, carved medallion. He held it up to the old man and spoke the words his mother had taught him went along with the metal.
He saw a faint flicker of fearful dread in the old man’s eyes before he could control himself. The next thing Eron knew, the breeze had gotten stronger, swirling sand about. His men cried out, but Eron only raised the medallion again and in a more insistent voice cried out the words. Suddenly, the medallion grew hot in his hand, so hot he felt he would be burned. But the heat subsided, the metal was nothing more than a harmless medallion.
“Where is your power now, old man?” Eron taunted.
The daughter plucked at her father’s sleeve and whispered to him. He gave her a harsh command and she fell silent once more.
The old man lifted his staff, and cried aloud his strange words, but nothing happened. He lowered the staff and in a voice creaking with age, addressed Eron.
“You have won this round, general, but do not think the medallion will hold my power forever.”
“It only has to last until you are dead, old man. Take him and his daughter. They will be a gift for the king. No one is to touch or harm them. The rest of the village shall be slaves. You may have the women.”
Eron’s men rushed to obey him. That night, they dined well and the next morning started back to the palace.
* * *
“During our trek back, I worked at getting the old man to teach me his power. It wasn’t until we were at court, and he had been tortured by the king that he agreed. Or, it would be more accurate to say he agreed after I saw him die from the torture and was assigned to get rid of him.”
* * *
Eron grumbled to himself as he dumped the old man’s broken body in a cart. He should not have to do such menial labor!
“I will be sure next time I question the King’s judgment, it will be with him spitted upon my sword point.”
Eron pushed the cart out the archway. He knew of a spot right outside the palace which would do nicely. Let the vultures feed on this offal. As he trudged along, Eron thought the heat must be getting to him; he could swear the old man’s body was healing itself, and was it breathing he heard? Eron tumbled the body from the cart, saw it land in the pit smooth and whole again. The old man looked like he had never gone through the King’s torture. Eron’s eyes narrowed as he inspected the body. Giving a quick look around, Eron took off his outer robe and wrapped the old man up in it. He slung the body over his shoulder and made his way back to his chambers. There, he chained the body to the wall and sat to wait with a cup of wine.
It was not long before the old man’s chest heaved and his eyes flew open. He looked around him and hurled curses in his native tongue at the soldier before him.
Startled, Eron flew up from his chair, his hand clenched involuntarily around the medallion hidden beneath his tunic.
“You can’t die! How wonderful! Tell me, old man, did you plan to sneak back into the palace and free your daughter? Perhaps sneak away with her and live somewhere else? This is marvelous, you will tell me how to become immortal.”
“It is not for greedy fools such as you!” He spit on Eron.
“Why you... you’ll regret that!”
* * *
After a brief pause to moisten his throat with wine, Eron continued, “But it was not to be. After what I put the old man through as well, he was ready to do anything I asked; and to have his daughter released from my men’s tender care. Now, the shaman taught me all he knew. But there was one great secret he still would not tell me, how to be immortal. I eventually tricked him. I got what I wanted and I was so...overwhelmed. I was glorying in the rush of invincibility! Not even the king himself could harm me! So greedy was I, my thoughts showed themselves plainly on my face. The old man must have seen what would become. He tried to undo the ritual but it was too late. I threatened to maim his daughter as a way of forcing him to do the ritual on himself. I almost didn’t believe it would work, but it did. I killed the old man in front of his daughter.”
He closed his eyes and fought down a strong wave of emotion. Illyria felt her heart beat faster at his revelations.
When Eron continued, his voice was rough with suppressed emotion.
“I slaughtered the current king and all those loyal to him and kept the daughter as my personal slave, little knowing she too knew the secret. The old man had been wily in that respect. I wanted people to hear my name and tremble in fear and dread. I got what I wanted, but at a terrible price.”
* * *
Moonlight streamed in through an ornamental screen across the windows. The young woman in the room heard voices outside the door to the chamber. She stopped to listen, but as the voices continued on, she relaxed. She stepped to a cedar table upon which rested a tray bearing a decanter and a goblet. The young woman fingered one of her rings thoughtfully, and opened a secret compartment underneath the jewel. She poured the powder into the drink as the door flew open. She tried to appear normal, though her pulse was throbbing and her heart beat madly in her chest.
“Cassiopeia, bring me some wine.” Eron swaggered in as the guards shut the doors behind him.
Taking a deep breath, Cassiopeia poured the wine into the goblet and kneeling before the man, she offered it up. He moved past her and still she stayed where she was, as he had taught her. After several heartbeats she heard the golden goblet thud to the floor and a choking, gasping in front of her.
“You hair of a cunt! What have you done to me?”
Swiftly the woman drew a dagger from a hidden pocket in her sheath as he crouched on hands and knees on the marble floor. She plunged the dagger into his back until the poison and blood loss caused him to die.
Once he was dead, she backed up and looked around. She would not have much time to find the medallion in which he had imprisoned his soul before he woke to life again. She must do things in order; if he woke, he would kill her. She was mortal still, this was her only chance. Cassiopeia drew off one of her arm bands. A golden snake with ruby red eyes. She dumped the ritual herbs into a bowl and ignited them, placing the band on top.
Cassiopeia held her arms up, palms out, and began the chant her fat
her had taught her. So engrossed, she failed to see Eron revive, see and hear what she was doing. He reached for the dagger at his waist and threw it, but his aim was off. Cassiopeia felt a sharp pain in her shoulder and cried out, her concentration broken. She fell to the floor in pain.
Eron struggled to his knees and crawled to the traitorous bitch. He jerked the dagger out, drawing another cry of pain. He leaned over and hissed,
“So you think to outsmart me like your father did? But the ritual is not finished? Tell me what I want to know and I’ll make your death a quick one.”
Cassiopeia thought quickly. She only had a line or two more to chant; perhaps if he got what he wanted, she could finish the ritual without him noticing. If she could, it wouldn’t matter if he killed her. She would be able to come alive later.
“Well?” Drawing her arm before her, Cassiopeia watched as he slit it. The pain a bright thing. He knew how to make someone suffer for a very long time without killing them.
“Y...yes, yes whatever you wish, Majesty. For a clean death.”
“Good,” He went to a chest and took out a tablet and held it up so she could see. “On this is how to make one immortal. You remember how I had your father teach me it, and the correct lettering, as evidenced by the many living immortal birds caged about the room?”
He waited for her nod and continued, “You shall teach me the Ritual of Undoing and how it is written.” He walked over to his writing table and prepared a new tablet. On the desk sat different fruit seeds in a bronze bowl; these held the souls of the birds.
Eron held up the bowl. “In here, you know what I have. I will give you your clean death when I can release the bird’s soul from its seed, and kill it. If you don’t give me the correct ritual, your death will be long and painful.”