by Mark Eller
Calto’s eyes snapped back into focus. “You died? Then how are you here?”
Ani related the story of her ascent to paradise and then her fall back to earth. “I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay with him, but he said I wasn’t meant to be a god and then tossed me out.” Her voice had gone quieter, the hurt of Larson’s rejection rising painfully once more in her heart.
Calto stared at her, eyes wide, considering her tale. “I am sorry Anithia, but he was right.”
Ani looked up sharply and started to pull away from him. His strong arms held her in place.
“Listen to me. It wasn’t your time Ani. If Larson had not taken Omitan’s godhood from you all that power, shoved into your mortal body so quickly, would have driven you mad. He meant you couldn’t contain it and not be hurt. I am sure he did not remove it all. You most likely still retain something extra, but Larson was protecting you…so you could return to Missa.”
Anithia shook her head in denial. “No. I died, and he threw me back— like I wasn’t worthy.”
Calto stroked her hair and smiled benignly. “If anyone is worthy of paradise Ani, it is you. The heavens called you forth to return what was taken from you— hope, love, a future— then returned you here so you could live out your life like you are supposed to. It simply— it wasn’t your time Anithia.”
Ani turned her gaze away. She didn’t feel worthy of his regard. Instead, she felt small and alone.
Calto pulled her back into a warm hug, and suddenly the smell of jasmine and honeysuckle filled her senses. The warmth of his arms seeped into her weary body, finding her aches and pains and soul hurts, healing them all. The memory of paradise rose fresh in her mind. For a brief moment she thought she felt Larson touch her mind and whisper her name. Wrapping her arms around Calto, she returned the hug. All her bitterness bled out of her, and for the first time since Larson died she felt whole.
“I told you to fix it, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.” Queen Elise’s voice floated across the room from the door. It did not sound pleased.
Slowly drawing back from Ani, Calto focused his attention on the queen. Sitting up, Ani found she no longer became dizzy when she moved. Standing just inside the door, the queen did not look friendly.
“I was giving her Anothosia’s blessings, and as my future wife…I believe I am allowed.” Calto replied serenely.
The queen’s face became momentarily pained, but she locked down whatever lapse of control she may have had and firmed her features into cold formality. “Yes. I suppose you are. My congratulations on your happy nuptials.” She clasped her hands stiffly in front of her.
Calto sagged a bit, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Thank you My Queen.”
Queen Elise nodded stiffly. “Yes, of course. I hope you will wait a few months so the wedding can be held here at the castle. I’m afraid it will be a bit before things are put to rights. Wouldn’t want you to rush into this and not have a proper place to be married.” She drew herself up, squared her shoulders, and looked down her nose at the two of them.
Calto dipped his head to her, never losing eye contact, “As you so desire My Queen.”
Elise nodded and left.
Anithia sighed, deep and knowing. They belonged together. They loved each other, and one way or another, love would find a way. “I think if anyone is worthy enough to marry a queen, it is you Calto.”
He turned his head in surprise. “Thank you, but she has no desire to make me a part of her world nor do I think her father would ever allow it.”
Anithia paused a moment, giving his words some thought. “Hmm. I don’t think you are giving her enough time to recover from nearly losing her kingdom to Hell…or enough credit to make up her own mind. Elise is a woman of strength, character, and determination. Her father isn’t going to put a toe in Yernden politics without it getting stepped on.” Ani gave him an earnest stare. He merely shook his head.
“No. I would not have my queen looked upon badly by anyone…especially not her father. And I have screwed up too terribly of late to ever be allowed to be her king.” Sighing, Calto stared at the floor.
“Maybe you have screwed up, but I don’t think you’ve done too badly. Not when it counted. Calto, you cared enough to give all you had, including your life. You stood and fought beside her when many of the other nobles hid behind their comfort and watched their own people nearly destroyed. You never once, even in all your arrogance, forgot it was your place to protect others.” Reaching over, Ani took his hand in hers.
Calto gave it a light squeeze and his smile brightened. “Thank you Ani. From you, it means a lot. I hope others see that their goddess and her servant did not abandon them. Goddess knows I have a lot of rebuilding to do, and I don’t just mean Anothosia’s temples.” He took a deep breath and stood up. “You get dressed. I still need to give Elise— Her Majesty— her morning blessing.”
Walking to the door, he put his hand on its knob, paused, and turned back to her. “I meant what I said Lady Morlon.” He gave her a serious look. “When Morlon Manner is restored I want the two of you to stay. You will want for nothing. I will teach you how to be the true lady of the manor, and I promise to show you the respect befitting a wife of a nobleman.” Nodding once, he turned back to the door and left.
Anithia snuggled into the pillows and smiled. Home. She and Missa had a home. And no one would slap her butt anymore, try to lift up her skirts or corner her in some filthy kitchen. Not to mention Omitan’s temples needed to be rebuilt and Lok Mir forest needed to be consecrated and brought back to life. Now that her head was working better she could see Calto was right. She was Omitan’s High Priestess. It was an honor she intended never to give up, an honor she wasn’t sure she was allowed to quit. The people needed a show of strength, needed something to believe in, and she wanted to give it to them. Omitan may be gone, but not his message, and not his linage. Ani would make sure those lived on.
A gentle knock sounded at her door before it once again swung open. Ani’s mouth dropped open in surprise when she saw her next guest, and then she delivered a slow smile of welcome. “Lady Simta. Have you really come to see me?”
“I always have time for my friends,” Simta replied. “I’ve come to apologize for leaving you in my father’s rough care.”
“There are no apologies between friends,” Ani said. “I’ve missed our talks, and I owe you an apology of my own. I never thanked you properly for your help in bringing Missa back to me.”
“No apologies between friends,” Simta said, coming further into the room. She moved to the bed and reached for Ani’s hand before settling down to sit on the bed’s edge. “There is no need for thanks either, and Ani, I have missed your advice. Right now, I’d like you to help me brainstorm on how to get rid of the world’s most annoyingly persistent suitor without resorting to murder. It seems after everything that has happened Charmain still thinks he has a claim on me. The ambitious bastard just won’t leave me alone and my father isn’t helping matters.”
* * * *
With the stench of death and the moans of those still dying surrounding her, Suyla tossed the rocks covering her aside, feeling amazed she was still alive. Shoving the last block of broken stone away, she cautiously pulled herself erect and took a careful look around. Satisfied nothing dangerous remained standing, she rotated both her shoulders, moved her head from side to side, and then wiggled her fingers and toes. Surprisingly, nothing seemed broken. Her ability to heal quickly seemed to have worked even with her being unconscious and unaware, something totally new. In the past quick healing had always taken a great deal of concentration and even more energy.
Feeling confused, she took another look around and found the landscape littered with bits and pieces of dead and mostly dead hellborn.
What in the two holy hells had happened?
Sulya tried to clear her head and remember, but everything remained fuzzy and disjointed. She seemed to remember Omitan dying, leaving the He
ll Mouth standing open. Her legion had charged down into the tunnel and then…and then…the fucking light. She remembered the god’s damned fucking light. It had surrounded her and all who were with her. It had burned her body and scorched deep into her soul, making her feel like she was being consumed from the inside out.
Fine. So things hadn’t gone so great, but then what? She didn’t remember.
Frustrated, consumed with anger, Sulya gave up. The battle had obviously continued without her, which wasn’t a good thing. What would Zorce do when he found out she not only failed him, she still lived after that failure?
Sulya closed her eyes as an involuntary shudder traveled up her spine. Hundreds of years of plotting and clawing and murder had come to this. She was undone by some god’s cursed light. She needed to get out of here— now— before Zorce discovered her. There were other lands, other conflicts. Rumblings had mentioned unrest in Illian, and Illian was outside Zorce’s influence.
For now.
Not for long.
She had to run far, far away.
Sweating, Sulya stepped over the wreckage and wound her way back up the tunnel she had come through at the battle’s beginning, but found navigating it to be a difficult thing to do. For some reason the further away from the gate she walked the worse she physically felt. Soon, after only a few paces, her legs locked tight. An impossible weight pressed down, and she could move no more.
Trembling, Sulya fell to her knees and placed a supporting hand on the ground. Her back trembled under the strain. “What the frigging hell is wrong with me?”
She tried to strain against the weight, but it was no use. It held her fast to the spot. She couldn’t move forward.
Sulya studied her surroundings. Yes, she was only a few feet away from where the Hell Mouth had once been; she was sure of it. If she could reach it she would be able to remove the rocks blocking the passage and get back into the castle. But she couldn’t. For some damned reason her limbs refused to obey.
Enraged and frustrated, Sulya gave up and partially crawled back toward the gates. Soon, the weight diminished and her body began feeling better, allowing her to stand. Apparently, going back was much easier than forward, which meant she only had one direction to go. Back toward Zorce.
Holy frigging fuck. Rotting tits and boiling pus. Just what she needed.
Although the black bone gates were ripped from their hinges and lay some thirty feet from where they once stood, they appeared undamaged. Setting her hands to her hips, Sulya surveyed the macabre death scene once more in hopes of finding something still alive and aware enough to answer questions, but saw nothing hopeful. Seeing no other way but forward, she dropped her hands and passed between the ruined gates.
When her foot came down upon the other side she froze, rooted to the spot as a surge of energy traveled along her body. Here, in the space between the two worlds, she was caught. Pinpoints of dark light blurred her vision, and the last moments of the battle blazed across her mind.
She saw Anithia floating above the ground, her arms and legs flung outward, her body pulsating with heat and light. Sulya gave her battle cry, but even as it left her mouth demons fell to either side, their flesh turned into flakes of charred ash, blowing and twirling in the air on some netherworld wind. As if each second were a lifetime, Sulya watched in fascination as they disintegrated. She called out Zorce’s name, begging him to save her, but then her eyes found her master’s body lying amongst so many dead. His body weakened, Zorce’s essence flowed from him like a black river of midnight sky. His eyes snapped to her, and he reached into her mind, begging her to save him, commanding her to open her soul to his.
And Sulya had obeyed. What else could she do? She was his servant. His slave. He owned her.
Their minds merged. Their souls entwined, and the universe opened. Sulya felt her body shift, her bones crack, and her skin flow like lava. Pain and power, raw and untamed, pumped through her veins like liquid heat, burning her unlike any earthly fire. It was horrible. It was incredible. Gasping, Sulya had closed her eyes tight against the exquisite pain while opening herself to the thrill of the change. She willingly allowed it to happen. Welcomed it. Relished it.
And then darkness came. She fell, and fell, and fell.
Taking in a shuddering breath, Sulya returned to herself and blinked several times.
Well, if her memory did not lie, things were looking up. If Zorce was dead, then she might not have to run after all. A good thing since, apparently, she was unable to do so.
Frowning, Sulya looked down at her body, lifting her hands and arms from her sides to study them, searching proof.
And there it was. Her memories had not lied. She was muscled like a man, Glancing down, she saw she still had breasts. They were high, round and firm, so that was good. Casting her gaze further south she learned her female genitalia were covered in midnight hair, an unheard of thing in a similian, although the red scales she bore after her previous change had not been normal either. Apparently, the hair color was consistent because The tresses spilling over her shoulders to a shapely waist was also midnight, as was the a faint haze of dark hair decorating her arms.
Sulya smiled. So fine. Midnight black was her newest favorite color. She could work with it.
Her hands, however, might prove difficult to accept without a bit of practice. Her once delicate fingers were now long, powerful, and possessed red, razor sharp talons, each at least six inches long. They were an uncomfortable and awkward length but she would learn to deal with them. After all, it had only taken her half a day to learn how to handle the smaller talons she gained after her previous change.
Okay, so most of the changes were things she could handle, but she wasn’t sure about her new skin color. It was an ugly shade of gray, like someone had rubbed her body down with charcoal. Sulya concentrated, trying to turn her skin light blue, but nothing happened, which made her unhappy. When her body had worn scales only from her waist down she had still been able to change the color of her upper half to suit her mood. Now…nothing.
Well holy fucking shit. It wasn’t as if she had a choice. She now owned midnight hair, red talons, and grey skin she couldn’t change. Hopefully, she wasn’t as unsightly as she suspected, but Sulya would need a mirror to know for sure. Didn’t matter. Alive was much better than dead no matter what the inconvenience. True, she was pissed at losing the ability to change her skin color. It was a vanity she would miss more than any other, but it didn’t really matter, did it? Not when she had been transformed into something much, much more than the half-devil she had morphed into during her last change.
Sulya brushed the regret aside and stood a moment more, running her hands over her body, exploring its new landscape, discovering she had two long horns jutting from atop her head and, like with her fingers, her feet also bore red talons.
When she was finished examining herself Sulya shrugged and began rummaging around the dismembered bodies. She needed but one more thing to complete her metamorphosis.
Closing her eyes, she let her mind roam over the desecrated landscape, searching for power.
There. It called to her. Wanted her. Desired to be back with a master.
Turning, she opened her eyes and stepped to the left of the fallen gate. After digging through a pile of hellborn parts, she found what she needed.
Zorce’s barbed whip— his cat of nine tails, or whatever instrument of torture he wanted its shape to assume. It was a very versatile weapon, one she would put to good use.
Sulya smiled and picked it up. Almost instantly its cold grip became warm, and it formed itself to fit her hand.
Which explained a lot. Almost everything, in fact. She understood now. She now knew why she couldn’t leave. She belonged here, in Hell, and not because she had been damned or had died. No. She had lived. She had transformed. She had become something greater than awesome.
And now…she ruled.
* * * *
Joss silently walked through the castle
’s blackened gardens, listening to new sounds and feeling sensations totally foreign to anything he had ever encountered before. Around him, the garden was nothing but ash stained stone surrounded by the skeletons of charred trees and wilted plants. Beside him walked Ludwig and Harlo, dressed in new finery, bright, and puffy, and far too superficial appearing when contrasted with their darkly tanned and scarred faces.
“I suppose I could get used to being married again,” Ludwig intoned imperiously. “But really, you would think a fellow with two wives would get lucky a little more often.”
“Price you pay for knocking them both up at the same time,” Harlo responded.
“Well, hell! It isn’t like Tirelle is all that pregnant. Best we can tell, it’s only been a few weeks and so she’s not entirely pregnant because she’s only a little bit human. I’m asking you, Harlo. If she’s only a little pregnant is there any reason she can’t open her thighs to her husband so I can finish the job? The answer is obviously no, but will she listen when I tell her there’s no reason why we can’t play bumpy bump? Nooo…she just tells me her body might be somewhat human but her spirit is still nymph so there are things she just can’t do now. I’m telling you Harlo, it’s intolerable! Intolerable!”
“Tell ya’ what,” Harlo chuckled. “First chance we get you and I will go slumming and visit a whorehouse down in Yyles’s Downs. I’ve heard of a place where the gals are willing to do things even I’ve never tried before.”
“Both my wives would have my tripe’s for dinner,” Ludwig moaned. “What with Gertunda looking ready to drop any day now, although she swears she isn’t due for another two months…at the very least. I’m tellin’ you Harlo, if it wasn’t for—”
Joss silently smiled when Harlo’s abruptly lifted hand silenced his friend. “Don’t call me Harlo.”
“What?”
“My dear Ludwig. You may no longer call me Harlo. After all, you are only a lowly and landless baron while I am one of the kingdom’s most influential and powerful dukes. It isn’t seemly for you to keep calling me by my first name. My Lord, or Duke Hilshire will do,”