“That’s not—”
“Possible?” Druson had apparently picked the word from Joryn’s head. “As we are now, no, but we were not then entirely as we are now. We were powerful shape-shifters who embraced nature and unity and peace. Most could transform into two or three animals. A few had a limitless power of transformation. Some even had the power of flight, and large birds flew over these mountains, soaring high.”
A fanciful tale or a true telling of long ago? Joryn couldn’t be sure. “What happened?”
“War,” Druson whispered. “Two brothers of high station both loved the same woman. The brothers fought over her, and they divided the people. Where there was once harmony, there came bloodshed. The people were divided, and the peace that had sheltered us vanished. No, it didn’t vanish; it was eaten away, one tiny bit at a time, until there was none left.
“There was a very powerful witch in these mountains who lost all her sons in the senseless battle, and when she buried the youngest, she cursed us all. She cursed us to be forever separated and weakened and... and incomplete, but forever is not really forever, and we are coming back to one again.” Druson lifted his hands to Joryn. “All is not yet decided. Who will our people be in the years to come? Who will rule our hearts and minds and souls? The decision comes down to one powerful woman and two men.”
“Keelia,” Joryn whispered.
Druson shook his head, and then said, “Yes. You should’ve given her a child when she asked,” he chastised. “The queen knew, deep inside her soul, that your child growing inside her would be the first step in healing our people and the Mountains of the North and the very world. Her child will fly again, as we once did, but if it’s his child, too, then all is ruined.”
“Ruined?”
“Ruined to the very core. He says chaos,” Druson whispered. “I say destruction. I see nothing where Caradon and Anwyn once lived. I see death and disease where once there was life and beauty.” Tears ran down his face. “I see too much, Joryn. Too much, too much, too...”
“Calm down,” Joryn said, his voice surprisingly composed, considering the situation. “These powers of yours are new and untested. How sure are you that all this you see is truth?”
Druson laughed madly. “I wish I thought I might be wrong, but I’m not. I’m not wrong, Joryn. We must save our queen.”
The efforts of seeing so much had apparently exhausted Druson. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted, falling limply and landing hard on the stone floor, leaving Joryn to contemplate how he might escape this seemingly inescapable situation.
***
Ciro watched his soldiers with a hint of pride. With training, they had improved greatly. The next villagers who were foolish enough to fight back would regret their decision and wish for a quick death.
While his legion ate, Ciro sat and watched them as if they were his beloved children, and he dreamed. It was odd that the Isen Demon inside him allowed him to dream, but it was decidedly so. He dreamed of power and blood, and he dreamed of Rayne.
The real, true Rayne, not the illusion Diella sometimes created. Ciro thought of Rayne as she had been when he’d last seen her, chained in the basement of her father’s home. He tried to reach out to her with his mind and spirit, as he could reach out to his Own, but his beloved’s pure soul kept her from him. He could not touch her mind, not yet. The time would come.
He had been smitten with Rayne at first sight, even before the demon had revealed his plans for them. He wished he had lain with her before departing, but the demon had been very insistent that the time was not yet right. A particular infusion of power was necessary, and while the demon grew stronger every day, that particular strength was not yet theirs.
There were a number of instructions to follow in creating his son. The stars were to be aligned just as the demon instructed, and Rayne was to be pure when he planted the child inside her.
Thanks to the whisperings of the Isen Demon, Ciro realized that his son was not the only special child. Other special babes were planned by the demon. One was a daughter soon to be created, a daughter who would wed the son of Ciro and Rayne and stand beside the dark ruler as the world changed and shifted into a long period of darkness.
Ciro realized that his own reign would be filled with battles against those who continued to foolishly seek the light, but when his son and the soon-to-be-made girl-child ruled, there would be no more light in the world.
In the years to come, there would be other children created with the demon’s special touch and assistance, but the initial three were the key to victory.
Ciro’s son.
The girl-child of the mountains.
The bastard Diella carried.
Ciro had come to despise Diella, who sauntered toward him as if she were of higher station, as if she were not as much a slave to the demon as any of the others. “Is it time to begin our journey again?” she snapped. “Do you think your legion is ready for what they might face on the road?”
“You are anxious to take the palace?”
“Yes,” Diella snapped. “I did not wait in filth and pain for more than a quarter of a century just to sleep on the ground and rut with your filthy soldiers. I want a bed, and handsome sentinels, and pretty clothes, and all the Panwyr I desire, and I want slaves to cater to my every whim.”
Another man might wonder if the child Diella carried might’ve been fathered by someone else, but thanks to the demon, Ciro knew that the newly created child inside Diella was his. His and the Isen Demon’s. She didn’t even know of the child’s existence, and he would not be the one to tell her. Not yet.
In times past Diella had repulsed Ciro, and he’d refused her advances. The demon had been leading him, making him wait for the moment when the stars were aligned correctly and the power of the demon was strong enough for what needed to be done.
“That sounds very much like the life you had before your emperor husband killed you,” Ciro countered.
Diella’s eyes went hard. “Sebestyen didn’t kill me. The coward tossed me into Level Thirteen and allowed the vermin there to do the job for him.”
Ciro was glad he had scarred the face of the young body Diella had taken for her own. She was more trouble than she’d been worth thus far, but the demon insisted that she had a maternal purpose yet to serve, and so he could not kill her. Perhaps after the child was born.
“So,” she continued. “Is your legion ready?”
“If anyone else spoke to me in that tone, he’d soon be my supper.”
Diella grinned. “You can’t make me your supper, can you? The Isen Demon owes me for all I’ve done on its behalf, and it will not allow you to hurt me.”
Did she really think the demon would allow her to live as a favor? She did not understand her master at all, if that was the case.
He wanted, so very badly, to kill her. When we are finished with her she will be yours, the demon whispered deep in Ciro’s mind.
“We march for Arthes in the morning,” he said, his voice calm as he imagined how he’d dispose of Diella when the time came.
***
The time for her wedding would soon come. The day was growing darker, and Maccus had instructed his servants to prepare a special site beneath the stars for their vows. Keelia studied the place, squirming in the heavy black gown that Maccus had insisted she wear, and fiddling with the ring he had given her.
Here, well beyond the walls of the cave, they would be bathed in moonlight. Smallish rocks formed an almost perfect circle around a clearing, and there was an altar of sorts in the center of the circle. The altar was also made of stone.
Keelia had always imagined that there would be flowers at her marriage ceremony, if she ever had one, but there were no flowers here. The clearing was stark, decorated only by an arrangement of long-dead leaves still attached to their severed tree limbs.
She heard a commotion and turned to watch. Ten servants—ten mutants—led the two prisoners toward the circle. Her heart leapt
as she caught sight of Joryn’s face, even though she knew he did not love her, knew he did not want her, knew he had never intended to stay with her. If he now insisted they were mated, it was in an attempt to save his life.
When she experienced doubts, she was suddenly washed in that welcomed numbness that allowed for no pain.
Don’t let him touch you.
Shouldn’t you be begging for your own life?
I don’t care about my own life.
But he cared about her? That did not fit with what she knew; it certainly did not fit with what Maccus told her.
I’m going to create a child tonight. A special child.
Joryn jerked against his bonds, but he did not escape. No!
He loves me.
I love you.
There was that twitching again. The silver band grew warm, reminding her of the moment Joryn had slipped it onto her wrist. No, you don’t.
Maccus told his servants where to place the prisoners. No one seemed to pay the strange man with graying hair much mind. He was always crouched and often mumbled, and never put up any sort of a fight. He was constantly befuddled. Keelia had thought him to be ancient when she’d first had a vision of him, but only his eyes were old. His eyes and his mind. Apparently he was insane.
Her betrothed, who was dressed in black as she was, came to her once the prisoners were in position. Maccus placed his hands on her shoulders and smiled. “Soon, love, we will be married.”
Keelia attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite work. Joryn was trying to talk to her. She did her best not to hear him, but the words kept coming. She was able to ignore some of what he said, but whenever he said that he loved her, the words were loud and clear. Those words worked their way past everything else.
If she told Maccus that Joryn spoke to her in a way no one else could hear, he would silence the doomed man with his magic or by violence. So why didn’t she tell? Why didn’t she betray the secret conversation?
Everything inside Keelia told her that Maccus was right for her, that he loved her, that their life together would be perfect. He said he was her mate.
Chaos.
But she did not share this secret connection with him. She could not see inside Maccus’s mind. Of course, she had never really tried.
While her betrothed told her that the time for their joining would soon be here, Keelia attempted to peek into his mind. Nothing. She tried again, and soon realized that he had not blocked her abilities. There was nothing within him. Blackness. Emptiness. A dark void...
Why should she worry about such things? The numbness began to creep upon her again, offering welcome respite from the turmoil of her mind.
Maccus pressed a dagger into her hand, forcing her fingers to curl around the handle. It was not plain, like Joryn’s dagger, but was set with colorful stones that seemed to be alive. The weapon was pretty, but it was also evil. She felt that evil. It made her palm itch and burn. Maccus turned her about and forced her to stand before Joryn, who was tightly bound to a stake at the edge of the circle.
“Wait until he changes,” Maccus instructed. “As soon as the transformation is complete, you are to drive this blade into his heart. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Keelia touched the tip of the blade to Joryn’s bare chest. “I understand.”
“You are to use your powers to retain your human form, and once I am fully elevated, we will be wed.”
“Keelia,” Joryn whispered aloud. “Don’t.”
“Beg all you want,” Maccus said sharply. “She’s mine now. In a very short time the queen will be entirely mine, and you will be dead.” He smiled. “When you’re elevated, the demon will take your soul, so when you die it will already be lost to you. Lost forever. Yours is a powerful soul, and he awaits it with much anticipation. You will feed him well. You will feed us all.”
Maccus glanced down at a bound Druson, who all but cowered in the dirt.
“Leave him alone,” Joryn commanded.
“I will for now. For some reason, the demon wants him to see everything that happens here tonight.”
Darkness came too quickly, and the full moon shone down in bright, silvery rays. Joryn felt the shift in his blood; he felt the pain of a transformation which was usually painless. The wizard was caught in the throes of transformation, too, writhing and pulling at his clothing.
Keelia stood before him, the tip of her knife resting over his heart. While he could still speak, Joryn said, “I love you, Keelia.”
“Liar. You’re only saying that in a vain attempt to save your life.”
“No. This is not a life I want to lead.” Already his voice was changing, growing deeper and rockier, more indistinct. “Remember, I asked you to kill me if I became like them. Kill me, and then run, Keelia. Run away from these monsters.”
“They are not monsters,” she said, but her voice sounded less than certain.
“Do you remember how the creature we found by the stream fought for his soul?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I plan to fight for mine, and I want you to fight now, too. Can you do that, Keelia? Can you fight?”
Her lips parted as if to form an answer, but no words came out. The other mutants were busy watching their master’s transformation, awed and reverent as the man who had created and led them became one of them. Druson mumbled incoherently and twitched. Soon he would shift himself into the familiar form of mountain cat. Perhaps when that happened, he could escape. Someone should escape this nightmarish horror.
“I love you,” Joryn said again, but this time he was too far gone and the words made no sense. So he spoke to her with his mind, something he had fought against for the entire time he’d known her. He had never wanted to be this close to anyone, and now that closeness was all he had left that was good and right. I love you. Fight, Keelia. Fight!
Joryn felt his soul slipping away. No, not slipping, but being grabbed and pulled. The demon was trying to yank his soul from him. Such an outrage was the most unnatural of atrocities. He grit his teeth and fought.
It would be so easy to just let his soul go, but like the creature by the stream, Joryn wrestled to keep it within him. The battle was painful, as if the soul considered this twisted body to no longer be its home.
The wizard at the center of the stone circle stopped writhing and stood tall. His face was grotesquely caught between mountain cat and man, and his hands were claws. His black shirt had been torn, but still hung on a torso that was part skin and part fur.
Maccus spoke, his words muddy but clear enough. “Finish it, love. Bathe yourself in your lover’s blood so that we can be wed and create our special daughter.”
The tip of the blade in Keelia’s control barely cut into Joryn’s skin.
Chapter Fifteen
Fight. It was a simple enough word, and Keelia had done her fair share of fighting in her lifetime—most specifically in recent weeks. So why was it so hard to fight now?
Her eyes were drawn down to the ring on her finger; the ring Maccus had placed there. The green stone swirled and danced in a way a rock should not. Her glance shifted to Maccus. He was grotesque, but a part of her thought him handsome and powerful and hers. A part of her could not wait to be his bride.
It isn’t real, Keelia. He’s bewitched you somehow. Fight, please, My Beautiful and Brave Majesty.
The graying prisoner changed into a mountain cat, but not before shouting once in that gruff voice that came between man and cat, “You don’t need your hands!” The large, powerful cat—his fur mottled black and gray—quickly fought off its bonds and ran, escaping while Maccus’s servants had their attention on the bride and her task.
Her task was to kill her lover and wear his blood to her wedding.
Fight.
A drop of Joryn’s blood sprang onto the end of the blade she wielded. She could feel him fighting, not for his life but for his very soul.
“Finish it, love,” Maccus said, his words rough and ill-defined but
crisper than Eneo’s had ever been. “This is one task I cannot take on for you. This duty is yours, and yours alone. Do as I command, love, and complete freedom will follow.”
Freedom from what? Thought, right, love, judgment.
“My will is yours,” Maccus whispered. “Kill him, adorn your face and arms with his blood, and then come to me.”
The silver bracelet on Keelia’s wrist warmed and tingled. It reminded her of who she’d been before coming to this place. It reminded her of who she’d been before another’s will had become her own. It reminded her that Joryn was right. She’d been bewitched.
Feeling as if she were fighting against gravity and time itself, Keelia yanked her hand down and away, releasing the dagger so that it fell to the ground. She dropped to her haunches and swung her hand fiercely at the nearest rock, slamming the wrongly alive stone of her ring against the rock with such force that it shattered and died.
Instantly, she was free of the wizard’s enchantment, and he knew it. He cursed and reached for her with deformed paws, but she was able to roll out of his reach.
Others moved in to assist their wizard master. There were so many of them! Maccus and his soldiers outnumbered her, and Joryn was still tied to a stake.
Was he? Did the Joryn she loved still exist within that twisted body? Yes, she knew he did. She felt his struggle. She had promised to take his life if this happened, but she couldn’t even think of that now, not while it was possible that she could save him.
She could save him as long as he continued to fight.
Maccus and his monsters came near, but they did not move forward to harm her. They needed her, and they still had hope that she could be used as they intended. Used to bear a monster. Used to rule these mountains at the side of an evil, twisted wizard.
“All your magic is caught in the things you possess,” she said, rising slowly to her feet. “All your bewitchment is in stone and metal, in silver and gems.” She ripped the damaged ring from her hand and threw it to the ground. “Do you have any talents of your own? Any talents that reside inside you? No, you need spells and talismans and objects to hold the temporary magic you create. None of it is yours to own. You’re a vessel for a demon and nothing more.”
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