by Mark Eller
“All right.” Calto looked down at his bandaged hands. They were torn from having to fight bare fisted against one of the demons during the attack. As Ani understood matters, the knight had been getting ready for bed when the demons came upon him. His fighting them without a weapon, and even killing one, was still something she couldn’t believe Calto had managed. She overheard a few of the other knights whispering that godhood must have come upon him. They thought Calto might have risen to the ranks of the Seven, perhaps replacing the missing Flinstar.
The chair scraped haphazardly across the stone floor as Calto pulled it over in front of Ani where she sat on the divan. He winced as he sat.
“You and Larson didn’t meet by chance. We chose you to sire a child because of your lineage.”
“What? What are you talking about?” Ani leaned away from Calto, wary, nervous, shaking her head.
“You are directly descended from Omitan, the god of all plants and trees, of forests, fields, and farms. You have a gift from him which has been carried down through the generations from your great great grandmother. When she became pregnant with Omitan’s first and only child, he gave her a gift which is passed only through the female bloodline.” Pausing, Calto paused and drew in a deep breath. “It is this gift Zorce openly covets and fears...one he destroys as soon as its bearer is discovered. Anithia, you were orphaned because Zorce’s minions murdered your entire family.”
Disbelieving and speechless, Ani’s mouth sagged open with surprise. The man was insane. She had no gift. She couldn’t do magic, and Larson hadn’t married her because she was a god’s several times great grandchild. He had married her for love, not because it was the easiest way to plant his seed.
Hadn’t he?
“You were orphaned because your mother unwisely chose to reveal her gift after several years of uneventful hiding,” Calto continued. “As soon as Zorce’s spies reported her, he had your parents and brother murdered. On the same night, all your cousins to the third generation disappeared, leaving you as Omitan’s last surviving descendant. You survived only because your mother hid you under the floorboards moments before hellborn broke down the door. Not long after, a wood nymph named Galia heard your cries from beneath your burning home. She pulled you free and took you to a childless couple who lived nearby.”
Ani sat a moment, remembering her foster parents telling her it had been a miracle when she came into their lives after surviving a terrible fire, how if not for the bravery of a passing stranger, she would have been burnt alive in the small cottage. They never said the stranger was a wood nymph.
“So why didn’t anybody tell me I had this gift, and what is it? Why haven’t I ever known about it before?” Ani felt lost. So many unanswered questions. So many hidden secrets.
“Your foster parents never knew,” Calto explained. “As for the few others who carried the secret, well, the wood nymph told them to never reveal what they knew unless they desired to face Omitan’s anger. I had nothing to do with it at the time. I was too young, but I agree with the decision. It was for your own protection Ani. When you came of age you were to be told, except you ran away from your new family at a young age. For a long time nobody had a clue where you were.” Calto rubbed at his temple. He looked old, care worn, his suave and debonair attitude gone. She glanced over his shirtless body and saw many white, puckered scars. Several of them appeared fresh.
“My magic?” she said, not wanting to delve into the reasons why she had run from two abusive parents with their own child soon to arrive.
“Your magic displayed itself tonight,” Calto sighed. “Without help, you successfully kept Mercktos at bay and saved several lives. As best I can put it together, your scream called forth the song of life. The song caused the gelf’s rose bush to grow to an enormous proportion. The gelf used that to attack Mercktos. Meanwhile, I was busy dying downstairs after a devil I had just eviscerated opened one of my veins. Two of my knights were fighting another and losing badly. Then your song came down, driving the remaining devil off and healing the worst of our wounds.”
“No,” Ani said, shaking her head. “I don’t remember anything like that. All I remember is sort of drifting around in some sort of fog. I didn’t sing no song, and I didn’t heal no—
“Look,” Calto said, interrupting. Reaching out a hand, he placed it on Ani’s knee. She instantly swatted it away. Calto shook his head and gritted his teeth. “Ani… Fine.” Pausing, he took in a deep breath. “The gift Omitan gave his earthly bride was the song of the land. In her voice was contained all the sounds of peace and beauty, the song of the rivers and streams, the birds and the wind. He gave her the gift to call upon the land itself, to control all of nature. You and Missa both possess the song of life. I am not sure, but I think if you try hard enough you could even control the elements of the weather like some of Omitan’s elemental priests can.”
The song of the land— control the weather? This was too much for Ani. “No. I can’t do any of those things.”
She tried to remember any unusual events from her youth. The only thing she came up with was her mother’s early admonishment about never singing in public. Thinking back on it, the command did seem a bit strange to give a child. Maybe there was something to Calto’s delusion, but if so why hadn’t her mother just told her the truth? Had her foster parent’s suspected something was different about her? Probably. After all, they had kept her a virtual prisoner on their farm? She ate, slept, did her chores, and was forbidden to sing. During her few idle hours she taught herself to read, do figures, and a small bit of engineering from some books left behind by the last tenant. Those hours of peaceful solitude were too few, which was why she ran away. After her foster mother grew big with child and the promise of more chores came Ani’s way, she felt she had no choice. She couldn’t take the loneliness anymore, couldn’t fight the urge to sing; it was nothing but misery. All she wanted was freedom. Free to see the world, free to talk to other people, and most important, free to sing. Song was in her blood, her heart, her soul. The exhilaration she felt brought her such peace and happiness. And when others heard her song she could tell by their faces that they, too, felt joy in her melodies. Not so many months earlier it had even brought a spawn to some semblance of intelligence.
“Larson and I spent two years searching for you Anithia,” Calto explained. “Years where we thought you were dead or already in Hell’s grasp. It was by accident we found you. If Larson hadn’t insisted we stop into the dive where you were performing, we would have passed right by you.”
Thedive? The inn hadn’t been a dive. It was one of the nicer Inn’s in Yylse, one where the innkeeper didn’t mind if she made a little extra money now and again in one of his rooms as long as he got a small bit for himself. She wasn’t proud of what she had done to survive, but she had no regrets. She had chosen freedom over the farm. Both had proven equally miserable, but when free she had made her own decisions.
“So what you’re saying is you and Larson were looking for me so you could breed with me?” Ani’s eyes narrowed, her lips firmed. How dare he accuse Larson of such villainy? It was a lie. Larson married her because he loved her, not because he wanted to breed her. Anger bubbled in Ani’s chest, burning away her feelings of hopelessness and sorrow from Missa’s kidnapping. How could Calto say such a cruel thing?
“Shut up! You are an evil, evil, man.” Ani leapt to her feet. Quick, without thought, she struck Calto across his face.
Inhaling sharply, Ani held her breath, surprised at her sudden outburst. Calto appeared shocked. He stood slowly, his hands clenched at his side. Would he strike her? She waited for the blow, but none came.
Calto’s smooth exterior broke. His face became pink with anger. His jaw clenched. “Oh no, Anithia, have no fear on that matter. Larson loved you. Once he heard your song he never thought twice about whether it would be him or me who bedded you.” Calto’s voice was a cold whisper and his eyes half-lidded threats. “It didn’t bother me, though.
I wanted nothing to do with lowborn trash like you.”
Like being punched in the gut, Ani’s stomach clenched. Her chest constricted. Calto didn’t need to strike her. His insult did more damage than any physical blow.
“Satisfied?” Turning, he limped over to grab the clean shirt his servant had left for him on the table.
No, Ani was not satisfied. She was angry, hurt, and beyond humiliated. Anithia stalked to the door. The bastard.
“Where do you think you are going?” Calto barked.
Ani reached the door and placed her hand on the knob before twisting around to face him. “I’m going after my daughter, and may the gods have pity on anyone who gets in my way.”
“I am not done talking to you.” Calto slipped his shirt on and walked toward her.
“Iam done talking toyou,” Ani rejoined. “I don’t care what else you have to say, and I suggest you stay the hell out of my way.” Her voice sounded shrill and angry. Her fingers hurt from clutching the door handle so hard.
How could she have been such an idiot? How could she have thought Calto cared for her?
“You stubborn pig headed fool!” Stopping, Calto glared, all pretense of civility gone. “You won’t last a day without my help.”
“Ani, listen please. It’s important that you know the rest.” Almost forgotten in Ani’s fury, Tessla walked up to her and gently removed Ani’s hand from the doorknob.
Ani wanted to jerk away from the god cursed creature, but Tessla held Ani’s gaze with her own. Her gaze held no malice, no pity, just…honesty. “There is more. It is vital you know the rest.”
Ani hesitated, and then let Tessla lead her back to the divan. What more could there be to say? Calto was a jerk. He had somehow cursed her daughter and obviously didn’t give a whore’s ass about Ani. It hurt. Everything hurt. Her fucking life hurt. What more could Tessla or Calto possibly add to make it any worse?
“Come sit down. I’m sure Calto will choose his words more wisely this time.” Tessla gave Calto a hard, calculating look, an obvious warning.
Calto stood rigid, angry, but his face had returned to its normally smooth, controlled perfection. When he began to speak again, his voice was calm, steady, and exact.
“As I was saying, there is more. It has to do with Missa and herunique gift.”
Ani didn’t like the way Calto emphasized the word ‘unique.’ It made her stomach twist into a knot. But she listened, and as she listened, her fists balled into tight, hard hammers. It took every bit of control she possessed not to punch him in his face when he told her what they had done to her baby and how things would soon get worse.
Much worse.
* * * *
Somewhere in the all the sunshine and happy thoughts, Mercktos had fallen asleep. He wasn’t sure when or how it happened, but it did. Foggy pictures of strange people and even stranger places niggled at the very edges of his memory, pestered him to be brought into sharper focus, but no matter how hard he tried, they just kept getting more blurry and surreal. The meadow he had lain down in seemed far away, barely discernible as having ever been a real place.
A stinging sensation began to bring him from his slumber. Bright sunlight burned through his eyelids. He realized with a sudden jerk that someone slapped his face while shouting, angry, shrill epithets.
“Wake up you idiot!” Sulya yelled. “I told you not to take the gag out. She could have escaped, you damned stupid arvid’s arse.”
Mercktos opened his eyes to see Sulya reaching her hand back to slap him again. His own hand blurred and caught hers before she had a chance to strike. “Slap me again and you won’t have an arm to swing that hand with.” His throat felt dry, tight, like it had been a long time since he last used it.
Mercktos sat up slowly, still holding her wrist tight. He restrained himself from breaking it. Even if he did, he would just have to heal it anyway. Zorce was very clear about his general’s continued well being— for now. However, as soon as Zorce ruled all of Yernden, Mercktos had been promised he could do with Sulya what he wished.
Maybe he would make her face a chamber pot brush? Yes, he liked that idea.
Sulya winced in pain. When he released her hand, she staggered back. Looking around, Mercktos saw the little girl bound and gagged on the bed.
“She wasn’t going anywhere,” he growled. “She gave her word. Release her hands.” He stood, his body aching and naked, and glared at the one remaining demon.
“Well, do it—now!” He narrowed his eyes at the creature and his growl deepened.
The demon looked at Sulya then back at Mercktos. It sidled slowly over to the small child, seeming almost afraid to touch her.
“Don’t you dare release her,” Sulya ordered through clenched teeth. Her skin shifted from a soft powder blue to a deeper cobalt.
Mercktos turned to her with deliberate care. With one nod of his head, he dismissed the demon. “Let’s get one thing straight. You may be Zorce’s whore, but you will never be his right hand. That honor will always be mine, no matter how angry I make him. So—” Mercktos shifted, rising to his full eight feet, and spread his emerging wings. The darkness within him, pooled in the center of his being, crashed from his body like a tidal wave. He sliced his hellish miasma, his power, into Sulya’s body, pinning her physically to the wall. Helplessly squirming, she gasped as his hatred penetrated and desecrated her soul.
“Go peddle your ass like a good little slut and leave the real work to me,” Mercktos spat while watching Sulya fight back the urge to scream from searing pain and humiliation; angry tears flowed down her face. As tendrils of misery seeped into her body, the pain he gave her rebounded back to him as well. Sweat rolled down her body, but he merely grinned as his black skin shivered. Mercktos thought of increasing her torment until she begged for mercy, willing to endure the reciprocal agony as proof of his superiority, but from behind him he heard a muffled sob.
Frowning, he turned his head toward the sound.
On the bed, Missa was curled in a ball, shivering and mewling while bright silver tears poured from her tightly shut eyes. Her arms clenched tight around her body as she futilely tried to shield herself from Mercktos’s power. Her anguish hit him like someone had thrown a boulder into his stomach. Mercktos didn’t care. Amping up his power, he prepared to throw it into Sulya, but then images of the meadow came back to him. They surrounded him with promises of peace, and then they shattered in his mind like glass.
Mercktos gasped, stumbled, lost his focus. Released, Sulya slid down the wall as Missa slowly uncurled.
What in Zorce’s Hell had just happened, he wondered in dazed confusion. He leaned against the wall, bent over, breathing deep and slow. He felt shaky, lightheaded. Strange images flashed like small explosions behind his eyes. And a name—
“I warned you.” Sulya sounded weak as if even the effort of talking was too much. She rose up on an elbow. “I warned you…she’s…dangerous.” Pausing, she lay back on the floor again, exhausted. “How long did she sing to you? A minute? An hour? All night?”
Mercktos straightened, slow, cautious. An odd afterimage formed briefly over the child; a woman with beautiful green eyes. He blinked, focused, and the image faded. The child looked frightened, frail— and suddenly hazardous to his health. Mercktos now understood his folly in allowing himself to believe a child couldn’t harm him. It was a mistake he would not make again.
Chapter 7-- The Breaking Heart
“Hanna! Hanna!WHERE ARE YOU?”
Stomach twisted in painful knots, Valerai waited in tense silence for a reply. She strained her ears harder while cursing the sound of the wind and her pounding heartbeat and every other sound that defeated her desire for silence so she could hear one small voice coming to her from the dead, snow dusted wheat. Her hands hurt. Her ax gripping fingers were bloodless with the force of her grasp. She did not care. Hanna was gone.
“Hanna!”
A sudden clang jarred her nerves.
Startled and ang
ry, she turned quickly in the doorway. The ax jerked reflexively into the air above her head, thumped painfully into the top jam. She lowered it, hugged it.
“Roland,” she shouted. “I told you to stay still and be quiet!”
Her four-year-old let out a wail and dropped the pie tin he held. Valerai silently cursed again, and inwardly cried at the sight of him. She loved him and Hanna, and she feared they would die the same as her Gil and Adale had died, the same as her beautifully handsome Linner. Turning back, her eyes fastened with hopeful fright on the outside world where cold and snow and a beast that ravaged children might be killing another of her babies. Three of her brood were dead. Their father and his hired hand were out there, searching for the thing that killed them. Her protectors were out there when she needed them here, and she cursed their diligence because Valerai’s heart could not take another loss.
“Hanna!”
She gripped the ax tighter to her chest. Roland still cried. The noise of it stretched her nerves tauter than strung wire. She wanted to turn around and beat him until he shut up. She wanted to smother his damned mouth with rags so she could listen to the sounds the wind brought to her. She wanted to hold him to her breast and cover him with her arms so he would always remain safe from the world.
Oh Gods, baby, please be quiet. Mama is falling apart.
Movement. She leaned forward with apprehension. A head bobbed in the winter dry wheat. A white ball bounced on top of a green hat. Her breath caught with momentary hope, but she knew this was not her five-year-old. The hat belonged to a wanderer, one of the little people who traveled the land for no reason other than a desire to know.