Children of the Sun

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Joryn tried to jest. “It sounds as though I’ve made that possibility a bit easier for you.”

  She wanted to say yes in a very definitive voice, but she couldn’t manage a single word.

  ***

  When the next day arrived and Keelia was obviously not in her fertile time, Joryn might’ve tried to seduce her. He thought about it. He was still in pain from need, and he certainly still wanted her. It seemed he always wanted her. She had actually said she loved him, and that alone was enough to cool his ardor. Best to maintain this distance he had created in the name of remaining childless.

  If only he didn’t want her so much.

  He could not dismiss the way she had leaned in last night and whispered in his ear. In the dreams she had often whispered words he could not decipher, but he’d known that they were important words, a message of great weight, words that would change his life. I love you couldn’t be the message he’d dreamed of. It did not carry the import he’d known her dream whisper to have.

  Following the trail of the mutant Caradon was easy enough. The creature stank to high heaven, and the scent permeated everything. Joryn could only hope that the beast was leading them along the path to the wizard, and not along the path to death. A great fall, Keelia had said. There were certainly a number of possibilities for great falls as they climbed higher in these unfriendly mountains. At times the trail they followed was not much wider than the width of one foot, and a slip at the wrong time and place would send a careless traveler to a nasty death below. Keelia made her way with the grace he had come to expect from her, and a strength that continued to amaze him.

  When they reached a wider section of the trail where death did not await with every misstep, Keelia relaxed visibly. Her breathing changed, and her limbs relaxed, as much so as was possible given the circumstances. There was very little left of her gown, and in actuality it could no longer be called more than a rag that barely covered her breasts and her belly and the tops of her thighs.

  He rather liked it, but the garb did nothing to cool his ardor.

  “When I get home, I’m going to have a bath straight away,” she said. “A long, scented, bubbling bath.”

  It was good to think of what might come later if they survived. “I wouldn’t mind a bath myself,” he said. “And something to eat that didn’t come straight from the tree or charred from a campfire.”

  “Redberry pie,” Keelia said dreamily.

  “Hunbeast stew.”

  “Bread still warm from the oven.”

  “Roasted, seasoned tilsi.”

  “Aunt Sophie’s chicken and dumplings.”

  “Greasy fried tubers.”

  Keelia wrinkled her nose. “I don’t care for fried tubers.”

  “More for me,” he said, as if they would ever share a meal when this task was done. No, he would return to the Grandmother, his chore completed, and Keelia would return to her throne, where she would be waited upon and adored for the remainder of her life.

  There were times when he was certain that Keelia would never appear less than queenly, no matter what the circumstance. It was also easy to forget, now and then, that she was a queen. It was more than the ragged clothes and tangled hair that sometimes made her appear less than regal, it was the way she attacked this chore. The way she was determined, as any soldier would be. She was a remarkable woman, but he could never tell her so.

  Unaware of his thoughts, she continued the conversation. “I will gladly burn what is left of this dress, and order five others made to take its place. Usually a gown is disposed of if it is marred by one small stain, or the tiniest of tears. This”—she picked at the ragged hem—“is appalling. My mother would be dismayed to see me this way.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you wear,” Joryn said. “You’re still Queen of the Anwyn, and a beautiful woman as well.”

  Keelia glanced back at him and raised her eyebrows slightly. “If you’re trying to sweet-talk me, save your breath. I have not changed my mind. I demand all or nothing, and you have chosen nothing.”

  “I was speaking the truth, not attempting to sweet-talk you.”

  “Good,” she said dispassionately as she returned her gaze to the trail ahead and changed the subject. “I have begun to feel a bit anxious since we came off the narrow ledge. Do you sense anything different?”

  “No.” But then, he had no psychic powers. “Perhaps you feel anxious because we’re moving closer to our destination.”

  “I hope that’s all it is,” she said, lifting her eyes to study the rock face to her right. “I don’t think any other Anwyn or human has ever been this deep in Caradon Territory.”

  “Likely not,” Joryn agreed.

  “That knowledge makes me feel a bit lonely. Maybe a bit lost.” She studied her surroundings, continuing to move forward. “I am consumed by the certainty that I don’t belong here.”

  Yes, you do. You very much belong here. Joryn dashed that thought aside with force.

  It was late in the day when she stopped. They would both prefer to go a while longer before camping to attempt to sleep, but they could not continue on endlessly without rest.

  Keelia didn’t immediately sit to rest her weary legs, but rounded a boulder where she could have a moment of privacy. Joryn did not know why she continued to be shy about some things when she was anything but shy about others. Still, he did not chide her for hiding from him for these brief moments during the day. He made himself comfortable on the hard ground, sitting at first, then lying back to stretch out and gaze into the darkening sky.

  Three days now until the full moon. Joryn felt the passing of each day as if it flew by much too quickly. He was not afraid of death. Thanks to his gift, he knew without doubt that the afterlife was real, that death was not the end. There was the Land of the Dead for those who had earned reward, and a less pleasant destination for those who had done evil. The land in-between, the land he was able to visit on occasion through his fiery doorway, was for those who had not yet earned either reward. Their fate was uncertain, but it wasn’t as if the land in-between was an unpleasant place.

  He had done no evil in his lifetime, unless kidnapping Keelia counted as evil. As his intentions were honorable, he did not consider it to be so.

  Joryn wasn’t afraid of death, but he did feel as if this life was not done. Not yet. It was too soon for him to go to the Land of the Dead or the land in-between. He was not ready. There was wine to be drunk, and sights to see. Lessons to learn and laughter to share. There were women to love, though at the moment he could think only of one.

  He watched the boulder, waiting for Keelia to appear. Deep inside, he was beginning to wonder if perhaps she might be a part of the life he was not ready to leave. Not forever, but for a while. For as long as they enjoyed one another’s company. They’d had little opportunity for laughter, and he wanted very much to take her in a large, soft bed. He wanted to feed her that redberry pie, and dance with her to soft music, and take her to beautiful places she had never been.

  As if a Queen of the Anwyn would agree to such a temporary relationship.

  Where was she? She should’ve joined him by now. She needed rest, but they did not have time to linger here for very long. Three days until the full moon. Three short days.

  “Keelia?” he called, sitting up and dismissing his ridiculous fantasies. “Is everything all right?”

  All remained silent. If she was back there enjoying herself in one of those maddening trances that left her flushed and shaking... no, she didn’t mind if he watched that particular activity. Perhaps she realized how frustrating it was to witness such a delicious spectacle and not touch, and she enjoyed torturing him.

  She did not answer his call, and he strained to listen. He heard nothing, nothing at all.

  Joryn jumped up and ran for the boulder, wishing fervently that he would find her there lost in a trance where she could experience release without him, but knowing in his heart that it would not be so. He no longer heard h
er, smelled her, felt her. How could this have happened so fast?

  Behind the boulder, he found exactly what he had known he would find.

  Nothing. Keelia was gone.

  ***

  Keelia tried to struggle, but she could not move. She tried to scream, but no sound would leave her throat. A dark cloth of some sort covered her head, so she couldn’t see anything either. She had been tossed over a large, hairy shoulder, and while it was similar to the position she had been in when Joryn had carried her, this harsh captor did not bother to be at all gentle about it. She was jostled mercilessly.

  No wonder she had felt such unease this afternoon. The kidnapper had been watching for a while, waiting for an opportunity to sneak up behind her, drop a heavy, silencing talisman around her neck, and grab her.

  Even though her psychic talents had been tainted, she could see some of the creature who had magically immobilized and grabbed her. The thoughts of the kidnapper were jumbled and sharp, and entirely unpleasant. He hated all those who were not like him. He most especially hated her, but he had been ordered not to harm the Anwyn Queen. Someone—someone of whom the soulless creature was afraid—had plans for her.

  The mutant Caradon hadn’t wanted to harm her—at least not too badly—when he and the others had attempted to kidnap her before. The three beasts—including this one lone survivor—had been ordered to take her alive, and unharmed if possible. The talisman she now wore had been in his possession all the time, only he had not had the opportunity to use it, not until now.

  The beast had realized all along that she and Joryn followed. The thing had led his prey to precisely where he wanted them to be, and then waited for the right moment to attack them.

  No, he’d waited for the right moment to attack her. The thing was quite certain that Joryn would soon be like him, twisted inside and out, soulless and existing only to serve its two masters—the wizard and the demon.

  They had not been alarmed by his scent, because his stench was everywhere. He had planned well, this soulless creature had. Either that, or the wizard had armed him with a variety of plans for any contingency.

  If she could unsheathe her claws, she could fight. Like everything else, they were frozen. Useless. All was numb.

  If she and Joryn had built the kind of mental connection Anwyn Queens and their mates were supposed to possess, she could reach out to him now and call for help. But there was no connection beyond sex and their joint determination to stop the wizard who had created the mutants who threatened their mountains. Nothing more. Nothing at all. She didn’t know if it was the bracelet or Joryn himself that interfered. Maybe it was both. Maybe they were one and the same in some way she did not understand.

  Even though he’d been ordered to deliver her alive and preferably unharmed, if this creature had anything to say about the matter, she wouldn’t have long to live. His hate of her was painful to experience, gut-wrenching to taste. His hate was not reserved just for her, of course. Hate permeated his misshapen body and his bitter mind. It filled the hole his soul had once possessed. Keelia shut down her ability to connect with the creature, sure that such bitterness would harm her if she wallowed in it for too long.

  They had been traveling for a long while when the creature spoke, his voice muddy as it had been before. Each word was an effort, she knew, and yet he felt it necessary to speak to her. Even though his words were less than perfect, she had no trouble understanding him.

  “T’ey vnt you badly, my mysters do. Bof ov dem haf great plan fur you.” He cleared his throat and spat. “I hope you dis’ppoint dem, Anwyn Keen. Meybe iv yu annoy my mysters, dey vill gif yu to me to dispose ov.” He spat again, harder this time. “I vuld like dat,” he said dreamily.

  Apparently the trail that would’ve led her to death by a great fall would’ve been the right choice, if this was the path to the wizard.

  ***

  Their camp was isolated, and still Ciro made sure his legion operated properly, as an army should. Some soldiers kept watch on all perimeters, while others trained for the arduous battles to come.

  Training—with strict orders not to kill one another—did not sate their need for blood, and they were growing hungry again. They were not ready. Not to take on experienced soldiers or armed and vigilant villagers.

  Ciro’s tent was positioned in the center of camp, where anyone who thought to attack would have to fight past every soldier of his growing army, his devoted Own, to reach him. More of his Own came to him every day, and with each addition his army grew stronger. Even though he was anxious to continue on his journey, he knew it was not yet time.

  Diella entered his tent as if it were her own. Ciro grit his teeth. He would be so glad when the time came that he could kill her outright. She was an annoyance, and she behaved as if she were still empress when her time was long past. She was merely the spirit of a long-dead empress trapped in a stolen body, but for some reason the demon wanted her to remain alive. For now.

  “I’m bored,” she said as she sauntered toward him.

  “That’s hardly my problem,” Ciro responded.

  “Surely you’re not entirely happy to be sitting here when there is so much to be done.”

  “The demon will tell me when the time is right for us to make the next move.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it will.”

  Diella boldly sat on his knee, reaching into her pocket to withdraw a healthy portion of the drug Panwyr. At the sight of the gently sparkling brawn powder, Ciro’s mouth began to water. His brain pounded and his eyes could see nothing else but the offering on her palm.

  The Isen Demon had been addicted for a long while, and Ciro had become addicted soon after the demon had joined with him.

  “This will help us to pass the evening, will it not?”

  Diella took a small pinch of the drug and sniffed it up her nose. Her cheeks, even the scarred one, went rosy, and her lips parted with a satisfied sigh.

  Ciro took the drug from her palm, inhaling it as she had done. All worries about the battles to come melted away. When he was not thinking about taking his father’s throne, he had room in his mind only for Rayne.

  Beautiful Rayne, who would be his empress. Beautiful Rayne, who would bear his son.

  Diella took his face in her hands, and he allowed her to do so. “So young,” she whispered. “So handsome.” Her fingers raked through his hair. “Such fair, lovely hair. Like an angel.” One bold hand dropped into his lap and she sighed. “So large.”

  In the back of his mind, Ciro knew that Diella was not the one for him, that he should save himself for his beloved. He did not tell the woman on his lap to stop, not when she fondled him, not when she freed him.

  Diella roughly freed one breast and all but shoved it in his face, and Ciro did not mind. He was tempted to bite into the vein there, to take a taste of her blood. He did not bite. He squeezed hard, and laid his lips on the swell of young flesh, unable to stop himself. The drug swirled through his blood and made the world a fine place. There were many colors, here in his tent, colors which had taste and smell.

  The power that surged through him was almost overwhelming, and he finally gave in to his impulses and raked his teeth over a tempting blue vein. He took a sip of blood, no more.

  Diella’s attentions became more ardent, and she stroked him forcefully and with demand. No one demanded anything of Ciro, not anymore.

  No one but the Isen Demon.

  The demon whispered inside Ciro’s head. She is mine. Take her for me.

  “She’s not...” Ciro stopped speaking and shut his eyes tight. His words were slurred. His thoughts were not. She is not Rayne.

  Open your eyes.

  He did so, and gasped at the sight so near. It was Rayne who leaned down to kiss the side of his neck, Rayne, with her dark hair and flawless face and perfect body who lifted her skirt and straddled him. It was Rayne’s bare breast slightly stained with blood.

  It was beautiful, pure of soul Rayne who took him into
her body and offered him womanly heat and much needed release.

  He had not known that an untried maid could be so bold and enthusiastic.

  In the back of his mind, a dark voice whispered. Mine. Mine.

  And then.

  Ours.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Gently, gently,” a deep and pleasant male voice ordered as Keelia’s captor tossed her to the ground. Her limbs were still useless, and she could not speak even to cry out in pain. She dropped to the ground limply, utterly defenseless.

  She sensed a presence beside her—a presence very different from the rough and unkind creature who had kidnapped her.

  “I’m sorry for your discomfort.” The voice was low and reassuring, gentle and intelligent. Equally gentle hands removed the hood from her head, and she saw the wizard from her vision, the one who had enchanted the stone that had created the soulless monsters.

  He lifted her head with great care and dropped yet another talisman around her neck. It was smaller than the binding talisman, and hung from a dainty silver chain. The stone was swirling gold and deep purple, and seemed to be alive in the way it sparkled and churned. At first Keelia was alarmed, but a rush of peace descended upon her.

  The wizard seemed so kind. Perhaps her visions of him as an evildoer had been wrong. Perhaps her visions had been twisted by the same power that had dampened her psychic abilities. Nothing about him alarmed her, not in any way.

  He was dressed in a flowing dark purple robe, and a very pretty silver and gold medallion lay against his chest. It wasn’t a crude talisman like the ones the beasts wore, but was a very attractive piece of masculine jewelry. The two metals, one warm and one cool, were blended together, intertwining in fascinating swirls.

  His hair was long and black, without even a hint of curl or wave, and it hung well past his shoulders. His eyes were green as emeralds, but there was a touch of something else blended with the green. Black, perhaps. Deep, endless black that she could very easily fall into. The eyes were odd, but his face was decidedly handsome. He had a wonderful smile. Keelia’s heart leapt, and in that moment she knew she had been enchanted in some way. By the newest talisman perhaps, or by the eyes, or by some other spell he had used upon her. She tried to fight against the unnatural forces that affected her, but it was so hard. It would be so much easier to drift into the mindless oblivion he offered, rather than continuing to fight.