PRINCE OF THE WIND

by Charlotte Boyet-Compo

  "No!" Christine shrieked and began to pummel Atramentous with her free hand.

  He caught her flailing hand and pulled her against him. "He can never return here. You would all be at risk. He must flee to the OtherWorld, for that is his only option until the time comes for him to seek shelter with the Gatherer!"

  "No!"

  "I know this is hard for you to accept. But you must understand this is the only way for him. The day will come when he will be free of Suzanna and the Dead One, but that time is a long way away."

  "Riain," she whimpered, sagging against her captor. She was nearly oblivious to the gently restraining arms enfolding her in her misery.

  "He will one day be with the woman he loves," the sorcerer predicted. "I promise you this is so."

  "There is no woman," she whispered, grief in her voice.

  "But there is. Her name is Maeve."

  When Christine lifted her tear-stained face to him, he nodded.

  "Maeve of the Morrigan."

  "But she is—"

  Atramentous placed a warning finger across her lips. "Aye," he whispered. "But no one else should know."

  "She—she loves him?"

  "He will be the only human she will ever love. She saved his life when he would have succumbed to the fever. From that time, she marked him as her own."

  Stunned, Christine eased away. "One day he will be safe?" she asked on a broken sigh. "You promise this?"

  "Safe and free of the evil that will hound him for centuries."

  "For centuries…"

  "Such will it be."

  * * *

  One moment he was standing on the battlements of Chantilon Keep, the next he was soaring over the snowcapped peaks of the Serenian Alps. He looked down at the serpentine river that flowed into Lake Myria, its waters glistening like diamonds in the moonlight. He marveled at the two-mile-high waterfall that cascaded down the sheer cliffs and exploded into the waters of the lake. He inhaled the scent of jasmine and gardenia floating up to him from the Southzone as he swooped low over Norus Keep. Following the Lucifus River into the heart of Diabolusia, he ventured out over the Gulf of Montyne and looked northward to see the fog banks that hid the Sinisters from view. The craggy cliffs passed beneath him and the heat from the Abyss blasted him in the face like the open door of a furnace. As the rose-colored dunes of Rysalia slipped into view beneath his spread wings, he lowered his head and dove for the gates of Abbadon Keep. Before his talons touched the ground and his feet became human again, he craned his long neck and looked above to see the boy following in his wake, his flight clumsy, but determined. He stepped out of the boy’s landing path when that one fell to earth and skidded, face down in the soft desert sand.

  * * *

  Riain pushed himself up, shook his head, and spat out a mouthful of dirt. He rolled over to his back as his body began to Transition into human form. He was vaguely aware of Atramentous standing over him, arms akimbo, the sorcerer’s lanky shadow shielding the yellow glare of the desert moon.

  "How did you like that?" the sorcerer asked.

  Riain answered by flipping to his side and becoming sick in the sand.

  "You have much to learn, young one." Atramentous sighed.

  "You call this a Reaper?"

  Atramentous frowned at the man who had spoken. "He is not accustomed to the Transitions, and this was his first flight."

  "Has he made his first kill?"

  "Nay, he has not."

  The giant who ruled Abbadon with an iron hand that brooked no resistance, strode forward and lowered his cold gaze to Riain. "He will not be allowed into my keep until he has made his first kill. That is the rule, sorcerer. You know this!"

  Atramentous nodded. "And we will follow your rules, Lord Amardad."

  Lord Amardad looked up at the blazing moon. "He has until sunup. If he has not made the kill, do not bother bringing him back. Is that understood?"

  The sorcerer bowed respectfully to the giant and hunkered down beside Riain. "Get up, boy, before you embarrass me further!"

  Riain groaned and wiped the back of his hand across his dry lips. His head hurt unmercifully and his belly cramped as though a fire burned inside.

  "It is the need for Sustenance that makes you so," Atramentous snapped, grabbing Riain’s arm and propelling him to his wobbly feet.

  At the mention of Sustenance, Riain gagged and turned away, the sound of his dry heaving bringing laughter to the guards standing at attention beside Abbadon’s mighty iron gates.

  "Water," Riain begged.

  " ’Tis not water you need, fool," Lord Amardad snorted. "You have not instructed him adequately in the way of things, have you, sorcerer?"

  "He knows," Atrementous ground out. "He is denying his nature."

  "Humpf!" Lord Amardad hawked a wad of phlegm from his throat and spat at Riain’s feet.

  Riain looked away from the glistening glob, straining not to heave. He looked at the massive stone walls of Abbadon and felt a chill wiggle down his spine. This was the very Gates of Hell, as his world knew it, and the evil of this keep had been well documented. He could not believe he was standing on Rysalian soil, not many miles from the capitol of Dahrenia, much less on the very doorsteps of Abbadon. He, like most of his clansmen, had a healthy fear of Hasdu tribesmen, and the men of Dahrenia were rumored to be the fiercest of nomad warriors.

  "You would do well to fear us, boy," Lord Amardad said with an evil grin. "We eat pretty boys like you as snacks before bedtime." He wagged his busy black brows, then spun on his heel and stomped away, harsh laughter following in his wake.

  The guards hastened to open the iron-studded gates for their Overlord. They followed him inside, locking the heavy portals behind them. The sound of the thick bolt slipping into place was loud and telling.

  "The gods damn my hide for not having you make your first kill in Chrystallus!" Atramentous spat, shoving his apprentice.

  Riain grabbed his arm, wincing. "I told you, I will not kill!"

  "You," the sorcerer shouted, "have no choice!"

  Riain would have argued, but he was in so much pain, he could barely think, much less protest the thunderous threat. He sat on the sand, feeling the heat of the day’s sun still seeped into the granules.

  "Do you know what Amardad is?" Atramentous queried, his face ugly in the moonlight.

  "No."

  "He is an Akakhar."

  Riain shrugged, his lower lip thrust out in a boyish pout.

  "You have never heard the term?"

  "I’ve led a sheltered life!"

  The sorcerer bent and thrust his face close to Riain’s. "You remember the commandant at the Labyrinth? What was his name?"

  "I don’t remember," Riain mumbled, lowering his eyes.

  "Aye, you do, but even the name has the power to instill fear and loathing in you, doesn’t it? Did he do to you what he does to many of the inmates?"

  Riain snapped up his head. "I was kept well away from him!"

  "But you knew what he was about."

  "I knew," Riain admitted with a shudder of revulsion.

  "Lord Amardad and his cambions make the commandant look like a heavenly being. As suggested, you would do well to fear him and his kind."

  "Cambions?"

  "Cambions are the offspring of incubi and succubi. Know you those terms?"

  Riain shook his head and flinched when Atramentous threw his hands into the air and cursed a blue streak.

  "I have an imbecile to instruct!" The sorcerer glared at Riain. "Incubi are male sexual demons who visit females. Succubi are female demons who visit males in the dead hours of the night. They are evil creatures that take advantage of a human’s need to be loved and twist that need into something vile and vulgar. Now do you know what they are?"

  "I have heard tales of such, but did not remember the names."

  "An Akakhar is the worst kind of incubus. It not only mates with humans, overwhelming them with lust and arousing them to unbelievable heights of passi
on, it drinks their victim’s blood until they have drained them dry, leaving behind an empty husk. Akakhars make NightWinds look tame." He straightened. "Such is Lord Amardad and his men."

  Riain felt as though he would be sick again.

  "And then there are the Ardat-Lile," Atramentous continued. "They are the females who reside here. Their reputations are so fierce, even Lord Amardad is circumspect in dealing with them. They have voracious sexual appetites and delight in doing harm to mankind. Stay away from any female you may encounter in this vile place, do you understand?"

  "What kind of hellhole have you brought me to?" Riain asked, his eyes wide.

  "The very Gates of Hell, young one."

  * * *

  A world away in the secret keep at World’s End, Rhiannon Chastayne stepped away from her scrying mirror and stretched out on the silken coverlet adorning her brass bed. She put her hand to the soft mound of her belly and rubbed gently. The life growing within her stirred at her touch. She smiled. "Daemion," she named the son she had stolen from Riain Cree’s eager young loins.

  In four more months, the child would be born.

  Daemion would carry on the Cree tradition of magic-saying, something his father had refused to do.

  "If you had, you would not have fallen into Suzanna’s trap. You are a naïve boy, Riain Cree."

  Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift back to the scrying mirror and the sight of Riain trudging across the Rysalian desert at the side of the Molong. She was tempted to rouse herself and fly to Dahrenia, but she was tired and the child in her womb took all her strength. Yet the young man should be told about the being with whom he was keeping company.

  "I am of the People," she said, mimicking the sorcerer’s words. "Aye, you are that, Atramentous Takei." A moué of distaste twisted Rhiannon’s mouth. "But there are only a few of us who know why the Brotherhood cast you out!"

  She turned to her side, smiling at the protest from the child inside her. Arching her back to relieve the pressure of the babe’s kicking, she stared at the wall, trying to decide the best way to deal with Atramentous and the threat he posed to the father of her child.

  "You could lure him here," a Voice whispered in her ear.

  "I could."

  "There would no longer be a threat to the boy."

  "True, but then I would be burdened with the sorcerer."

  "There is plenty of room here. A man could get lost for centuries within these walls. I made it so."

  Rhiannon frowned. "How much threat to Riain is there?"

  There was a moment’s pause, then the Voice spoke, Its last words drifting away on an errant breeze. "An evil beyond knowing…"

  Rhiannon tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position. She finally sat up, her mind going over the problem.

  There had to be the kill. That had to happen. There was no way around it. Until Riain made his first kill, he was vulnerable. After the first kill, he would be invincible, as powerful a warrior as any who ever drew breath, and along with his immortality, he would be a force with which to reckon.

  But once the bloodletting was done and the Molong was assured of Riain’s loyalty, what would happen?

  "He’ll try to turn him into a Molong," Rhiannon hissed. "And I’ll not let that happen."

  "You had best not," another Voice whispered.

  "Go away!" Rhiannon warned.

  "He is mine."

  "I know that, you Morrigú witch!"

  "Be careful, Rhiannon. Even I have my limits."

  Rhiannon clenched her fists. As long as she was safe within the walls of World’s End, nothing could harm her. No one ventured past the doors save those she invited in. And once inside, no visitor was ever allowed to leave. Inside these walls, Rhiannon knew she was immortal, but…

  "Leave these walls and you have me to reckon with," the Voice taunted. "Be careful how you tread."

  "What would you have me do?" Rhiannon shouted and felt the child leap in her womb.

  "Take the Molong out of the equation. Lest he be tempted to make my love one of his kind."

  "I can not do that until after the first kill, Maeve!"

  "No, you can not, but as soon as the bloodletting is done, snatch up the Molong and bring him here. Get him out of Riain’s life."

  Rhiannon mumbled as she swung her legs over the bed and stomped to her scrying mirror. She waved her hand over the glassy ebon argentine surface and waves formed over the convex face. The waves parted, and there, walking behind the Molong, she found Riain, his black hair gleaming in the moonlight. Waving her hand across the mirror once more, the vision changed, and she saw a village with a few lighted windows and smoke rising from chimneys.

  "His kill is among the villagers," the Voice told Rhiannon. "A child molester. An evil needing to be eradicated from this world."

  "Does the Molong know who the victim will be?"

  "His kind always do."

  Rhiannon shivered. She did not want to deal with Atramentous Takei this night—or any other, for that matter—but Riain’s safety was of the utmost importance. He was her son’s sire and the sire was to be protected at all costs.

  "Thieves pay the price for their thieving, Rhiannon. Taking care of the Molong is small payment for the great theft you committed," the Voice said harshly. "In some cultures, the thief’s hand is lopped from the wrist or her neck stretched in the noose. Be careful such punishments do not befall you."

  "I’ll do what needs doing! And stop threatening me, Morrigú!"

  "Did you think it was a threat, Rhiannon? ’Twas a promise!"

  Chapter 8

  * * *

  Riain sat on the hard ground and raised his knees. His belly cramped violently; his flesh felt as though he stood in the midst of a bale-fire. Swallowing convulsively, trying to bring some semblance of moisture to his mouth, he groaned, sicker than he had ever been.

  "The Transition will come within the hour," the sorcerer advised. "All the signs are there."

  Riain lifted his head and stared gloomily at Atramentous. "Will it hurt as badly as it did the first time?"

  Atramentous shrugged. "How would I know? Do I feel such things?"

  "You are a shapeshifter. Why would you not know?"

  "All Molong can shapeshift, young one," Atramentous snapped, then cast his pupil a quick look. He seemed almost pleased at Riain’s confusion. "Know you not that term, either?"

  "I’ve had no truck with your kind. I’ve never wanted to and wish to the gods I didn’t have to now! I didn’t even know I was capable of doing what you had me do atop Chantilon."

  Atramentous chuckled. "You were a bit surprised, weren’t you, boy?"

  Riain remembered…

  "W…what are you doing?" he had gasped.

  The sorcerer had climbed atop the battlement wall and spread his arms. "I am preparing to journey. Join me!"

  Horror drained the blood from Riain’s face. He backed away from the crenulated walls. "Get down before you fall, Milord! The wind is brisk and—"

  The sorcerer sprang into the void.

  "Milord!" Riain ran to the wall, peering over the edge. When he did not see Atramentous plummeting to the hard rocks, he ran from one end of the battlement wall to the other, calling in fear the man’s name over and over.

  "I am here, young one!"

  "Merciful Alel!" Riain watched the huge bird soaring on the thermals above. He gawked in awe as the creature glided from one side of the keep to the other, swooping low over the treetops.

  "Join me!" The creature laughed and flew close to Riain, who ducked. The laughter that followed was like the shriek of an eagle. "Join me!"

  With his eyes wide and his mouth gaping, Riain could not seem to move as the creature landed on the battlement wall, perched and preened, its long neck swiveling under its wing.

  "Damned nits," Atramentous complained as he pecked at his wing. "They are a nuisance."

  Unable to speak, Riain stared at his teacher. Gathering his courage like a blanket
, he sidled up to the creature and reached out a trembling hand to touch it.

  "Boy, we do not have the live long day for you to decide if I am real," the sorcerer snapped. "Hop your ass up here and let’s be about our business!"

  Riain jumped back as the creature rose on its long legs and flapped its wings. He could see the last vestiges of a human face along the beak and beady eyes, and shuddered. "When I change, do I look as you do?"

  "No," Atramentous snorted. "When you change, you become a wolf, you stupid boy."

  "Then how am I to join you in flight? Wolves don’t fly!"

  "Bats do! And Reapers turn to bats when they wish to fly!"

  "I’d rather be a raven!"

  "Then be a raven. I care not what you change into. Just change!"

  Riain’s eyebrows shot up. "I can be a raven?"

  "Or an eagle like me, or a cardinal or a snow goose or anything else with wings. Just think it and you’ll be it!"

  "H…how?" Riain asked as he climbed on the wall.

  "Picture yourself soaring across the horizon in the form you wish to use. You can do it—if you believe."

  Riain closed his eyes, leapt into the void—and dropped like a rock to the ground, landing with a hard impact.

  "Let that be a lesson, brat," Atramentous called. "You need to think before you leap!"

  Riain lay spreadeagle, hurting so badly he could not even blink. Every bone in his body ached and he wondered how he could feel anything, for surely the fall had killed him.

  "You’re already dead!" Atramentous shouted. "Get up and try again!"

  "Nooo." Riain finally began to accept the fact that he was no longer among the living. The pain in his heart was staggering.

  The sorcerer drifted down to stand by his pupil. "She did this to you, and if you allow her to take the life of the McGregor boy because you are feeling sorry for yourself, you will be as bad as she."

  "I am dead," Riain whispered.