Forest of Demons

by Debbie Cassidy

  “I should go.” He turned away.

  “Wait!”

  He froze again, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he thought for certain she must be able to hear it.

  “I . . . I’m sorry, but have we met?”

  Aryan closed his eyes. “No.”

  “Well then is it not customary to give introduction?” A coy note had entered her voice that confused him.

  He faced her, and she bridged the gap between them. “My name is Valasea,”

  “I am Aryan, chief of your life-mate’s Hand.”

  “Well met Aryan, chief of my life-mate’s Hand.”

  Aryan swallowed. “You should go back in. Fen will wonder where you have gone.”

  “Fen is too intoxicated to wonder much of anything.”

  Was that bitterness tainting her words? “Still, it would not be proper for you to be seen alone with a strange male.”

  She cocked her head. “You don’t look strange to me.”

  Aryan’s lips twitched.

  “May I walk with you a ways?”

  What could he say? Insist she return? He had already done that. What harm could a short walk do? He would let her accompany him to the baths and then insist she return.

  “Very well,” he said.

  They walked at a leisurely pace, her arm brushing his from time to time, sending sharp shivers of desire through him.

  “When I saw you at Earl’s I was certain we had met, spoken even, but my mind . . . it is a little fuzzy on some matters.”

  “I can assure you that we have not met.” The lie slipped smoothly off his tongue.

  She glanced sharply at him, but he kept his gaze fixed ahead.

  The baths had come into view, and as they came abreast of the entrance he turned to her with the intention of ending their walk, but before the words could leave his lips she shoved him hard, pushing him through the arch into the baths, into the shadows and up against the stone wall.

  He groaned as her body pressed up against his, hot and hard. He raised his hands to push her away but instead found them slipping through her hair, pulling it from its twist and wrapping it round his fingers.

  Her mouth found his in a hungry kiss. She inhaled him; he drank her in.

  They broke apart for a brief moment.

  “I knew it was you. I have dreamed of you. My body has yearned for you.”

  All rational though fled as she disrobed before him, exposing her bronze flesh to his hungry eyes. His shaft stood to attention, painfully hard. He couldn’t think past that pulse in his crotch, didn’t want to think, and so he didn’t.

  He took her up against the stone wall, burying himself inside her hard and fast, their moans, pants, and gasps of desire mingling as they fucked. It was over all too soon, but every moment of the encounter would be burned into his memory.

  He was ruined.

  He was lost.

  He slipped into bed beside Mia, his body still thrumming from Valasea’s touch. Mia murmured and turned into him, snuggling into his warmth. Guilt clawed at his insides. Tonight, fantasy had become reality. He closed his eyes and saw Valasea’s face, lips parted in ecstasy. His shaft twitched, he squeezed his eyes shut to dispel her image. It could not happen again, they’d agreed, never again.

  Mia’s breathing changed. She lifted her head to look at him sleepily. “You went out?”

  “Yes, sorry. I had to attend Earl’s celebration.”

  She nodded, laying her head back on his chest. “How is Victor? Hera must be . . . be overjoyed.” Her voice cracked. He held her tighter.

  “I spoke to Victor. Mia, there’s something you should know.” He relayed what Victor had told him, when he had finished Mia was silent. “Mia?”

  “He killed our boy,” Mia said.

  “What? No, Mia, he didn’t.”

  “Yes, yes he did!” Mia was sitting up now, her eyes blazing. “Our son is dead because of Victor’s cowardice. He killed our boy! Does Hera know? Does Earl? People need to know!”

  This was not what Aryan had been expecting. He’d thought Mia would be grateful to know what had become of Ivor. He’d thought Mia would find peace in the knowledge that he had died a man, a brave warrior fighting an impossible foe, but Mia was anything but grateful. Her nostrils flared in a telltale signal of rage. Aryan took her shoulders in his large hands, his fingers digging into her flesh to ground her.

  “Victor did not kill our son, and you will say nothing of what I have told you to anyone. I told you so you may find some peace, so you would know that he died well.”

  She balked. “Died well? How can any ama think her child died well? Death is death, horrible and final. Nothing you could tell me would make me believe otherwise. My son would be here with me now if not for Victor.” She tried to extricate herself from his grasp but he held firm.

  “Listen to me, woman. You will keep your mouth shut, or you will answer to me. I have been a good life-mate to you. I have given you everything you desired, but if you fight me on this, I will not be so kind.”

  Mia stared at him with wide eyes. Her lip trembled. “You would protect your son’s murderer?”

  “Frack, woman! An ice wraith killed our son, not Victor. And if Victor had intervened, he would have died too. We would never have known what happened to our boy. Don’t you see, at least now we know. Victor will have to live with his guilt for the rest of his days, but we can move on, we can mourn, we can find peace. Our son died with honor.”

  All the fight drained out of Mia. She slumped against him, her delicate frame trembling with sorrow.

  He rubbed her back in slow circles, whispering in her hair that it would be all right, that everything would be all right, but deep down he knew that was a lie. Deep down he knew that the winds were changing, and he wasn’t sure if they were ill or fair.

  He was running through the City streets, his arms pumping, his feet pounding the ground. He would never forgive himself if he were late.

  The great hall came into view, and relief surged through him when he saw the doors were still ajar.

  He still had time.

  Marduk’s face appeared in the aperture just as he reached the base of the steps.

  “Wait!”

  Marduk stopped with his hand on the door. “Hurry.”

  Aryan took the steps two at a time and slipped inside. “Thank you.”

  Marduk inclined his head. “Of course. I would not be so cruel as to take away your chance at a farewell. Your da is in the waiting room. You have five minutes.”

  Aryan nodded quickly, rushing through into the long corridor they called a waiting room. Transition citizens were seated on benches against the wall surrounded by their family members. The sound of light laughter and gentle sobs carried through the air. Aryan scanned faces until he found Mia. She waved him over. Ama was bent over Da, her arms wrapped around his neck, her body trembling. His hands rubbed her back in a soothing motion.

  Mia shook her head, her eyes welling up, and he experienced a surge of love for her. She had just lost her only son, yet here she was, ready to grieve with him and his ama. How could he have betrayed such a fine woman?

  “Mia, go my love. I will see you at home.”

  She squared her shoulders. “No, I will stay.”

  Aryan cupped her face. “I know you will, you are strong and true, and I don’t deserve you, but you have experienced your share of sorrow. Go home, and I will come to you soon.”

  Mia glanced at Ama and Da, still locked in their embrace and then back up at Aryan, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

  He stroked her hair. “Go, my love.”

  Mia raised herself on her toes to place a soft kiss on his cheek. She leaned down and whispered something to Ama. Ama raised her head, and upon seeing Aryan burst into tears. Mia kissed Da’s cheek, silent tears sliding down her own, before leaving the room.

  “Aryan, my son.” Da stood and held out his arms. Aryan stepped into the embrace. “Take care of your ama.”
>
  “I will.”

  “Times are changing, my boy. Remember, things aren’t always what they seem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I wish I could tell you more. I wish I had known sooner, although I am not sure what I would have done with that knowledge, but I know this: If you open your eyes, you will see what has been hidden.”

  “Da, what are you—”

  “Transitions, please form a queue. Citizens, please leave the room,” the enforcer said.

  Da pulled him close for one final embrace. His mouth brushed his ear. “If you get the chance to leave, you will see, my boy, but then it will be your responsibility never to forget.”

  He released Aryan, stepping back for one last embrace with his life-mate.

  They watched him move toward the rapidly forming line. Ama turned her face into Aryan’s chest. He wrapped an arm about her shoulders. Together they followed the citizens out of the room.

  He stepped outside, Ama hanging off his arm, to see the crystals changing hue from day to night. Pinpricks appeared in the faux sky. He tilted his head to stare at them as they winked into life one by one, as if the order were not random, as if he stared hard enough, there would be some cosmic pattern, some reason.

  Da was gone. Dead. He would not see his weathered face again, never hear his soothing baritone. Victor was gone also, and he would never have the chance to open his heart to him. The love he’d held in reserve would remain there to fester until he found somewhere to channel it. Maybe it was time for another child. This time he would do things differently. He had been a coward, a fool, but no longer.

  “Aryan, look.” Ama squeezed his arm.

  Aryan almost broke when he saw his Hand waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. Mia stood with them.

  “Go son, be with your brothers.”

  Aryan looked down at her, startled. “No, I can’t leave you. I won’t.”

  Ama smiled. “I will be fine. I am sure Mia will keep me company.” She released him and went down the steps to join Mia. They linked arms and began to walk away.

  Aryan considered protesting but decided against it. His heart knew what it needed, and it was standing before him in the shape of his warrior brothers.

  “Another round of the Red, Emille!” Bojan said.

  Fen burped, lifting his butt cheeks to fart in Cadoc’s direction.

  “You son of a vole!” Cadoc waved the air in front of his face.

  Fen giggled, the sound so feminine that it had them all laughing.

  Emille brought two jugs of red brew to the table. “You want food?”

  Aryan’s stomach grumbled. “I could eat.”

  Emille nodded curtly and disappeared into the kitchens.

  Earl refilled their mugs then raised his own in a toast. “To a brave warrior now passed. Jun!”

  “Jun!” they all echoed.

  It was strange hearing his da’s name, he was so used to just calling him Da, but tonight was a reminder that he had been so much more than that. He had been a warrior, a fighter, a protector, and a provider.

  They drained their mugs. Earl refilled them all again.

  The Brew was potent, and Aryan felt the first twinge of carefree warmth swell in his stomach.

  They were seated at a long table by the bar, two blubber lamps between them casting their amber glow in a circle around them. He could see other warriors cocooned in their own circles of light and recognized one or two faces from the waiting room earlier. So this was how it was done: Grief was drowned and forgotten, and the morning would bring a furry tongue and a new day.

  Fen and Cadoc were busy arguing about something or other, and to Aryan’s left, Bojan was lost in thought. Earl leaned in. “I meant to ask earlier, what did Victor say to you?”

  “Why?”

  “He’s been quiet—too quiet and distant. I hoped maybe if I spoke to you, I could find some clue, some way to help him. Hera has been beside herself with worry.” He hung his head. “I know that the Forging can be hard . . . harder on some more than others. But if I don’t know what happened, I can’t help him. I’m afraid that we’ll lose him.”

  Aryan considered lying but decided against it. The truth would help Earl more than it would harm Victor, and so he told him, briefly and simply, what Victor had said.

  Earl sat silently for a long time, sipping his Brew, his brows drawn, his expression troubled. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you must have felt when he told you.”

  “Relief. I felt relief.” Aryan shot him a lopsided smile. “My boy died a man, and it’s only thanks to your son that I know this.”

  Earl glanced sharply at him and then shook his head in wonder. “Only you would put such a positive spin on it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind.”

  Aryan would have pushed further, but the door of the tap opened and Victor strode in. Earl was on his feet instantly, but Victor’s eyes were on Cadoc.

  Cadoc paused, his mug halfway to his lips.

  “Alma. The baby is coming.”

  Emille entered the room with two platters of cooked meats just in time to watch the warriors rush out. Shaking his head and grumbling to himself, he retreated back into his kitchens.

  Aryan paced the ground outside Cadoc’s home. Earl paced in the opposite direction, while Bojan and Fen stood about, looking uncomfortable. Hera was inside, busy aiding Alma in her delivery. Aryan wasn’t sure whether it had been a conscious decision to accompany Cadoc, or whether they had simply all just followed on instinct. Whatever the reason, they were here, and Cadoc was inside ushering his firstborn into the world.

  “Should it take this long?” Fen asked.

  “Mia was quick,” Aryan said.

  “Hera took some time,” Earl said.

  “So should it take so long?” Fen asked again.

  It was Bojan that answered. “It varies. Every woman is different.”

  The men lapsed into silence. The pacing continued.

  It was strange how this child was fighting its way into the world on the same day so many souls had left it. Maybe it was a cosmic balance.

  The door opened and Hera appeared, her face flushed, damp tendrils of hair plastered to the sides of her face. She smiled, but it was all wrong—shaky and forced.

  “Is it here?” Earl asked.

  Hera nodded.

  “Praise the Divine!”

  Hera swallowed nervously. “We should . . . we should go.”

  Fen tsked. “What, and not see the new addition to the family?”

  Hera was looking more and more uncomfortable.

  Realization dawned like a slimy worm pushing its way up from the dark recesses of Aryan’s subconscious. “Hera? The baby . . . is it . . . all right?”

  Hera pressed her lips together, the skin around her mouth paling with the pressure. Her eyes glittered, and a wretched sob broke from her lips. She slapped her hand over her mouth to smother it, then glanced back toward the house.

  Earl went to her, pulling her into his arms, whispering in her ear to calm her.

  Fen and Bojan were alert now, both warriors coming to the same realization that Aryan had but a moment ago.

  “Crud!” Bojan kicked at the ground lacing his hands over his head.

  Fen hung his head, arms on hips.

  Aryan moved toward the door.

  “Wait!” Hera held out her arm. “I promised . . . I promised I would give them some time with him before we . . .” Her voice broke. She turned her face into Earl’s shoulder.

  Aryan nodded, crossing his arms across his chest. His chest was burning; his head felt too tight. He realized that he was furious. This should not be happening! He couldn’t wait any longer. Pushing past Hera and Earl, he strode into the house and knocked on the bedchamber door.

  A soft sob was followed by rapid whispering.

  “I’m coming in,” Aryan said, pushing open the door.

  Cadoc was on his feet, his face contorted with grie
f and anger.

  Alma clutched the tiny bundle to her breast, her face streaked with tears and mucus.

  “Aryan?” Cadoc said. His eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Let me see,” Aryan demanded.

  Alma glanced at Cadoc in panic. Cadoc’s shoulders slumped. He nodded.

  Alma laid the bundle on the bed and unwrapped it carefully, reverently. The tiny body squirmed and kicked and opened its tiny mouth, letting out an angry wail.

  Aryan scanned its body seeing nothing but clean, perfect skin. He looked questioningly at Alma. Alma raised the baby’s arm, revealing the mark hidden in his armpit. Rosy and smooth, it was barely noticeable.

  Aryan looked into Alma’s frightened eyes and made a decision. “A perfect child.”

  Alma gasped.

  “Aryan?” Cadoc’s voice was hoarse, unsure.

  “A perfect healthy boy. Congratulations on your son, brother.” He left them to their newborn and found his way back outside.

  Earl looked at his empty arms and then back toward the house.

  Aryan smiled. “A perfectly healthy boy.” He chuckled. “The fools mistook some birthing mucus for a mark.”

  Hera stared at him for a long beat, her eyes widened in comprehension. “I was . . . overcome. The delivery was . . . hard and I . . . I should have checked. Thank The Divine!”

  “Frack!” Fen said. “You had me worried there. Look, I better get home—Valasea will be waiting up. Give Cadoc my best. May we meet again, brothers.”

  They watched him leave.

  Bojan turned on Aryan. “Birthing mucus? Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Aryan considered his words carefully. Only Hera had seen the child’s imperfection. He had given her a lie she could hold him to if questioned. There was no need to muddy Bojan’s conscious, or to confirm the truth to Earl, so when he spoke he injected the right amount of confusion into his tone.

  “Do what, Bojan?”

  Bojan met his gaze levelly for a long beat, and then his handsome face split in a wide grin. “You never fail to surprise me, Chief.”

  Earl looked between them in confusion.

  Aryan maintained a neutral expression. “I should get going. Mia will be waiting. May we meet again.”