“I lied.”
She looked at him without meeting his eyes. “Will you stand in our way?”
“Not now. But when Cytherea is done with her little…chore, then she will let me choose my reward.” The demon was suddenly standing before them. Jessa’s horse screamed and reared, hoofs lashing the air.
The demon grinned as Jessa fought to control the animal. “Perhaps I will ask for you, sorceress.”
Jessa glared at him. “Will you beg for a treat like a well-trained dog?”
The demon’s ears curled into tight rolls, his claws flexing the air. “I am no dog, woman. I am ice demon and I will show you what that means.”
“You will harm me before Cytherea sees me? Is that wise?”
The demon roared, clawing at the trees, raking ice and wood into splinters. The horses went wild. When Jessa and Gregoor slowed the trembling animals, Jessa found a splinter of ice in her cheek. She pulled it out and found it bloody. She would have thrown it on the ground, but the demon was watching her, eyes intent, a strange eagerness in his scaled face. She held the bloody crystal, unsure what to do with it.
Gregoor whispered, “Jessa, try not to make it more angry than you have to.”
“Cytherea is your enemy, not us. She has bound you into her service. What if we could free you?”
The demon stared at her. “How?”
“If she is dead, then you are free.”
He snorted. “You cannot kill her with sorcery.”
“We will not kill her with sorcery.”
“Why tell me, when now I can warn her?”
“You want your freedom. We want her death.”
“What do you want of me, sorceress?”
“An oath that you will not help Cytherea against us.”
The demon flashed fangs. “Of course, I promise, I will not hurt either of you.”
“No, demon, an oath to Verm and Loth.”
His ears furled in surprise. “A vow to the dark ones will sever Cytherea’s control over me. Will allow me to stand and watch.” He grinned. “One of the few things that will. You are not just a sorceress, are you?”
“No,” she said.
“And what do you vow, mortal?”
“We vow to free you.”
“I simply watch while you kill Cytherea. Then I am free.”
Jessa nodded.
“The exchange is fair, and because of that I cannot take it.”
Gregoor started to protest, but Jessa silenced him. “I understand, demon; you must come out the better in the bargain.”
He nodded. “You have dealt with demons before.”
“Perhaps.” She caught Gregoor’s shocked look and ignored it.
“What do you offer to sweeten the bargain?” the demon asked.
She held up the bloody splinter. “Blood.”
The demon licked his lips. “And from the man?”
Gregoor said, “No.”
Jessa frowned at him. “Will you bargain with just my blood?”
“If I cannot harm either of you, then I must have blood from both of you, or we fight here and now.”
“Gregoor, just a few drops…”
“Look at its face.”
The demon’s face was lined with hunger; he seemed almost to have grown thinner. He shimmered with a horrible eagerness. “I see him,” Jessa said softly.
“Then how can you offer him our blood? I am an herb-witch, and I could kill with a single drop of it. What could a demon do with blood?”
“I will taste your soul,” the demon whispered.
Gregoor said, “I will not give that thing my blood.”
“Then we will fight it here and now. It is your choice, Gregoor. I understand your uneasiness and I will abide by your decision.”
He shifted in his saddle, hand stroking his sword hilt.
“Fight me, wizard. I will have your blood one way or another.”
“No,” Gregoor suddenly said. “I will give what is asked.”
Jessa held out the bloody shard. The demon reached for it, and she covered it with her hand. “Swear, demon. Swear by Verm and Loth.”
“Let the wizard draw blood first.”
Gregoor took off his gloves and drew his dagger. He nicked one finger, letting three drops of blood fall into the snow. “There is your blood.” He wiped his dagger clean and applied pressure to the small wound.
Jessa said, “Make oath, demon.”
“I swear by the birds of Loth and the hounds of Verm that I will not harm you by direct actions.”
The demon grimaced, claws clicking like ice breaking, but he repeated it word perfect. Jessa handed over the ice shard with its cold blood. The demon took it delicately in his claws and licked it, daintily as a cat with cream. He licked it clean, but the ice did not melt. He chewed up the ice, crunching it with his teeth.
Then the demon knelt in the snow, all glittering in a shaft of light. He rolled his eyes at Gregoor and scooped up the bloody snow. Sucking sounds filled the forest, obscene and joyous. The snow did not melt at his touch, and he swallowed. He grinned and stood, stretching arms wide. “I will see you in your dreams.” He vanished.
Gregoor said, “What does that mean?”
“We will relive this in our nightmares, with certain changes.”
“Jessa, what have we done?”
“We have bargained with a demon. Did you think to come out of it untouched?”
He stared down at his gloved hands. “I don’t know what I thought.” He drew a deep shuddering breath and looked at her. “Let’s go kill this bitch and get out of here.”
Jessa smiled, her eyes full of a strange dark light. “Let us go hunting. May Magnus guide our strokes and strengthen our spells.”
The village of Bardou lay in a small hollow, trusting to be hidden rather than protected by a stout wall. Perhaps a dozen houses huddled in the snow. There was activity near one end, people moving. A scream carried through the cold air. Two figures were left isolated in the snow as the rest backed away into the houses. A tall figure in red, fur-cloaked, stood alone before the two who had been cast out.
Gregoor said, “It would be better to wait until she is in the middle of her spell. We could catch her by surprise.”
Jessa shook her head. “Enough have died in my place already. I cannot let these two die while I watch.” She met Gregoor’s eyes. The killing light had faded from her face, replaced by something he could not decipher. “By saving these people our plan falls apart.”
“I know, but this is your choice, Jessa. I will abide by your decision.”
Jessa smiled. “Perhaps I have been playing the mercenary too long.” She kicked her horse into a gallop and Gregoor followed. The red-cloaked figure was chanting strange twisted words that slid along Jessa’s mind and left a stain. Jessa called, “Hold, Cytherea, mother of Soldon.”
The woman looked up, startled. Jessa glimpsed a pale face. As she rode closer, the woman stared at her with eyes the cold gray of good steel. There was no expression on Cytherea’s face, only a blank waiting. Thin yellow hair blew in strands around a fox-lined hood. The reddish-brown fur made the face paler.
“You seek the earth-witch who killed your only son. Is that not true?”
There was no change in the pale eyes, but she nodded.
Gregoor had a potion open in his hand, waiting.
“Let these poor fools go; I am here.”
Cytherea shook her head, slowly. Her voice was as flat and unemotional as her face. “You are a sorceress. Do not stand in my way, or I will destroy you.”
Jessa rode her horse between the two huddled earth-witches and Cytherea. The first flicker of emotion passed those gray eyes: anger. Gregoor dismounted, staying off to one side.
“Do you remember the village of Threllkill?”
Cytherea frowned. “They killed my husband, and my son destroyed them for it.”
“Your husband died of old age. Even sorcerers die, Cytherea.”
“No,” she sa
id.
“Your son destroyed innocent people, but I survived. When I was grown, I hunted him down and I killed him.”
Anger flared and turned the eyes a darker color, the color of storm clouds. “Get out of my way, little sorceress, or I will kill you as I slew the earth creatures that killed my son.”
Jessa dismounted and pushed back her hood. Gregoor poured the potion upon the ground.
Suddenly, the world was cold; the cold that numbs bones and steals air from lungs. A glittering figure of ice appeared beside Cytherea; vague eyes and mouth appeared, but nothing more. The ice elemental whispered to the sorceress, “The man spilled a potion on the ground.”
Cytherea blinked as if trying to focus on what was happening. “Demon, where are you? Jecktor?”
The demon appeared and bowed before her. “Kill them, Jecktor, get them from my sight.”
The demon said, “I fear I cannot.”
She turned on him, anger flashing sorcery like embers on the wind. “What?”
Jessa reached out to the earth where Gregoor’s potion lay, pooling and still warm in the snow. She touched it with her earth-magic. There was the scent of green growing earth, strong and clean.
Cytherea turned back from the cowering demon. “What are you?”
Jessa said, “I am earth-witch.”
The earth exploded upward, showering down dirt and rock. A figure stood full-grown from the ground. It was ten feet tall, roughly man-shaped, formed of rich black earth and the redness of clay. One eye was a diamond, the other an emerald. It took a heavy step forward, and the ground moved.
The ice elemental grew like an ice fire and rushed over the earth elemental, shrieking like a banshee wind.
Cytherea screamed, “Then die, earth-witch!” She pointed her left hand and its ring at Jessa. A shriveling, killing magic flashed outward. Jessa staggered from its touch, but it washed past her as if she were a rock in a stream.
Cytherea stared at her. “No!” Again she raised the ring. The ground began to smoke and pop to either side of Jessa.
Cytherea turned to Gregoor. “Die!” He stood unmoved and unharmed. “What is happening here?”
“We are both already cursed. You cannot curse someone twice,” Jessa said.
The sorceress shrieked and tore her cloak away. She stood, hair streaming in the wind, the emerald necklace sparkling in the cold light. She put a hand over the emerald and began to chant.
Encased in ice, the ice elemental moved forward, its movements stiff. Ice froze the earth, until the earth-giant moved in agony. The ice wind shrieked in triumph.
Jessa felt the power growing. She felt the pull of the enchantment. It called to her magic; it beckoned, a poisoned seduction. Her magic answered it, flaring and shredding on the winter wind. It drew off the magic she had absorbed. Jessa drew her sword and started forward, but she could not move against the necklace. It was sucking her dry.
A throwing knife blossomed in Cytherea’s side. She shrieked and staggered.
Jessa saw Gregoor coming forward, another knife in his hand. She fell slowly to her knees in the snow.
Gregoor screamed, “Jessa!”
Cytherea had regained her control. She gestured and sorcery flared in her hands. Blue flame enveloped Gregoor.
There was a crackling thunder and the earth elemental burst free of the ice. Then it was suddenly running, shaking the ground as it came. Cytherea was forced to turn her attention to the earth-giant.
Gregoor fell face down into the snow, unmoving.
Blue light and ice crawled over the earth elemental. Jessa felt it scream through the frozen ground. She began to crawl toward Cytherea, naked sword dragging over the snow.
Cytherea was bathed in blue flame; she crackled and seemed to glow. Jessa was almost close enough to touch her skirts. Stray bits of power crawled along Jessa’s skin, burning with cold fire. She staggered to her feet, sword held two-handed for an upward thrust.
The ice elemental hissed, “Behind you, mistress.”
It was too late. The steel bit into Cytherea’s back; the blue fire shredded and vanished. Jessa shoved the blade upward, seeking her heart. Cytherea shrieked, but she would not die. She put a hand on the emerald necklace and Jessa felt the power begin to grow.
Jessa screamed, “Die, damn you, die!”
The earth elemental leaned over them, one massive hand reaching. Cytherea yelled, “No, the necklace is mine! You can’t have it!” The earth elemental stood, the broken chain dangling from his massive fingers. Earth-magic poured out of the broken enchantment, free at last. Magic that swelled and flowed and carried Jessa with it until she thought she would explode with the power. It rushed over and through her, a magically visible green fire.
Jessa drew her sword free. Bloody, but still alive, Cytherea turned and began another spell. Jessa’s blade crawled with emerald fire. The silver-green blade sliced outward. The sorceress’s head spun off into the snow. The body toppled into the crimson-washed snow.
Jessa dropped to the ground, unsure of how to cope with so much power. Gregoor was huddled against the earth, staring wide-eyed. Green grass showed in the snow. Summer warmth beat down. Earth-magic pulsed and spread from the earth elemental as it grasped the emerald necklace in one massive hand.
The ice elemental had fled. The demon bowed to Jessa. “Earth-witch, I am most impressed.” As he faded from sight, he said, “Perhaps we will meet again, some winter’s night.”
Gregoor crawled to her. “I can’t stand up. The earth pulses like a great heartbeat.”
Jessa could not speak past the magic. She could feel it racing over the ravaged land, healing, awakening, reviving.
Finally, she said, “Begone, earthling, back to the depths from which you came. Thank you for aid.” The elemental melted into the earth, taking the necklace with it. Cytherea’s body lay in a circle of black fresh-turned earth.
Jessa crawled to the dead sorceress and looked down on her. The face was blank as any dead man’s. “Peace at last, mother, peace at last.”
Gregoor was scratching his face. “You did it.”
“We did it, Gregoor.”
He grinned, then grimaced as he tore his coat to get to new itches.
Jessa smiled. “Perhaps the village of Bardou boasts a curse-maker.”
He looked at her, a hopeful light in his eyes. “Oh, that would be a blessing indeed.”
“Come, they should be grateful enough to remove a couple of curses.” Jessa paused, staring at a pale hand; the ring of curses was still on the left hand. It was a slim band of iron, empty now, but waiting. Jessa slipped the ring from Cytherea’s finger.
“It’s expensive to get something like that re-enchanted,” Gregoor said.
She slipped the ring into her pouch. “But well worth it, don’t you think?”
“I can think of a few uses for it.”
Jessa reached out and touched him and green fire flowed from her across his skin. He gasped, then forced a grin.
“Extraordinary,” he whispered.
They helped each other to stand and began to limp toward the village.
There was a strong scent of roses on the air, almost choking in its sweetness. Jessa turned.
There in the earth was a fresh rosebush, blossoms flared to the new sun. The roses were yellow, the color of Cytherea’s hair.
Jessa called softly, “Mother.” A breeze began to blow gently against them. The earth-fire began to melt into the ground. Jessa found herself crying. She walked alone to the roses, on unsteady legs. The flowers moved, stretching toward her hands, without aid of wind. One small blossom rubbed against her hand.
Gregoor asked, “What is it?”
“I think I am being forgiven.”
“Forgiven for what?”
Jessa did not answer; for some things there were no words. And some things were not meant to be shared.
STEALING SOULS
This is the first story I ever sold. It’s the one I sent to Marion Zimmer Bradley
after she rejected “A Token for Celandine.” This story is also the one I edited after going through my one and only writing workshop. The writers who taught it were Emma Bull, Will Shetterly, and Stephan Gould. All working, selling writers, which is what you should look for in a workshop. They didn’t teach me how to be a better writer, but they did teach me how to be a better editor of my own work. I also met the beginnings of my writing group, The Alternate Historians, there. Only two of the original members are still left, me and Deborah Millitello. But we’ve existed as a group for over ten years now. The seven of us have over forty books, and untold short stories, published. All but one of us had never sold a thing before joining the group. Not a bad track record. This story is the first appearance of Sidra and Leech, who would later appear in “The Curse-Maker.”
STEALING souls was hard; stealing them back was harder. Sebastiane had spent fifteen years learning just how hard.
The Red Goat Tavern was full of people. They swirled, laughing, round Sebastiane’s table but did not touch her. For she was the mercenary Sidra Ironfist. And she had passed through many lands as Sidra until she had more stories told about her under that name than her own. She towered over most of the people in the room. The two swords at her waist, one long and one short, looked well cared for and much used. Scars decorated her arms and hands like spider tracings. Her cool gray eyes had a way of staring through a person, as if nothing was hidden.
She had been Sidra so long that sometimes she wondered where Sebastiane had gone. But fighting was not her true occupation. It was more an avocation that allowed her entrance to places her occupation would have closed to her. Most people did not welcome a thief. Especially a thief who had no intention of sharing her prize with the local thieves’ guild. Sidra had traveled half a continent and bartered a piece of her soul to be here. She would share with no one.
But then the local thieves’ guild did not traffic in souls. And that was the goal this time. There would be jewels and magic items to bring out, but like every good thief, she did not allow baubles to distract her from the main goal.
The herb-witch had said that the bones she sought would be in two earthenware pots. They would be bound with black and green braided cord and suspended from a thin branch made up of some white wood. They would be hung high up in the room where the wizard performed his magic.
[Anita Blake Collection] - Strange Candy Page 19