“Where is your master, so I may slay him?” he asked again. The souls at his chest had fallen silent as they understood his brutality, or else they realised his actions were unaffected by their will alone. Someone could do great things with them answering to his desire. The Hounds would be eternal.
“The lure bends your will to madness. You must fight it, Iaculous,” Mallum suddenly whispered from within his mind.
Iaculous recoiled at the invasion. This was not the familiarity of the demon. This was something else entirely, and he hated it as it gave its mind to him.
“Meet me now, and I will spare your flock,” Iaculous said aloud so that all could hear. He might be The Dark One, but he was no monster, like Mallum.
As one, the acolytes gripped their swords and held their shields out in front of them. He thought this both admirable and foolish. What hold did the dark weaver have upon their young minds?
“We can return Arielle to the world as she was, if you lay down your wrath,” the voice inside his mind whispered.
Iaculous gripped his head as fierce shards of ice shot through him and blinded him with pain. He stumbled to his knees as the dark weaver attempted to tear his will from him. He searched for Mallum’s hatred, and he cried out in pain when all he could feel was a pathetic desire for Arielle. He had no right to her.
“Come back from the brink, Iaculous.”
“I will kill you all!” Iaculous cried.
He attempted defensive enchantments to hold back the assault, but Mallum was wilier than he had expected. The world darkened around him, and his entire body went numb. He saw the acolytes forming up around him, but he couldn’t react. He caught sight of Arielle in his mind, and for a moment, he thought her beautiful as he always had. But then he realised this beauty was something different. This beauty was beyond what he knew or even remembered. It was as though he were meeting her for the first time. He felt his deep wells of confusion stirring within him, for he also saw her as the enemy. And he saw himself as her quarry.
“Get out of my head, monster.” His voice echoed through the courtyard, through the castle, and through the entire thurken valley.
The dark weaver’s trick was the cruellest of all. Iaculous was living the thoughts and reasoning of Mallum, and it disgusted him. He felt Mallum’s stomach quiver as his own as he kissed Arielle for the first time in the tavern. He tried to fight the control Mallum had over his mind, but it was impossible, for he enjoyed the pleasure of this act. He could taste her, feel her warm breath, and he felt many desires to take her. And then he did.
“You will pay for this!” he screamed but lessened his struggle, for knowing this pleasure was incredible. He felt himself tearing at her body, wonderfully and distantly. He felt himself ripping apart what they had once had as future lovers, and he couldn’t stop himself. This was the desire shared by those who shared a soul.
“Please, not like this,” he moaned pathetically as tears of sorrow and realisation struck him.
Then he felt the first blade enter his chest as one acolyte pierced him with a sharpened blade. No finer way to die.
He felt his fingers rip the clothing from Arielle’s body and the taste of her lips upon his as she gave herself over to him completely. Though he knew this was a borrowed memory, he loved it so. As much as he reviled it, because he heard her giggle, he laughed along in a voice that was not his.
A second blade pierced him through the stomach. He felt himself attempt healing as a dagger of bronze ripped across his throat and tore it apart.
He felt himself inside Arielle. He felt satisfaction like he had never felt before as she moved in delirious joy with him. He felt the completing love of intertwined souls, and it brought coldness, for he realised that it was Mallum who shared this eternal bond with her.
He felt himself falling to the ground as the acolytes killed him, and he could only think of Arielle. His lost Arielle. And then he felt something else as he spent himself gloriously inside her. Something incredible and historical. Something powerful enough to tear a lure from its guided path. Something to tear a soul from a welcoming body in that terrible moment. Something demonic ripped apart from love. A new life from love.
“Oh, please no!” Iaculous screamed madly. He tore himself from Mallum’s mind and lay upon the cold stone of the courtyard.
He lost all desire for the whore, for she was tainted and weighed down by responsibility now. It would have hurt less had Mallum taken her by force, but he had not. He felt the wounds closing up on his body as he willed his blood to replenish. He felt the souls stirring in anticipation of the next few steps.
Around him, the remaining acolytes lay in eleven piles of charred ash. Even his own subconscious was more devastating than anything Mallum’s apprentices could use.
“It’s time to end this.” He climbed to his feet, and, with a delicate flick of his wrist, he tore the keep’s heavy oak door from its frame.
49
The Lured Quarry
So tired. So exhausted. Not just the body but also the soul in its entirety. Iaculous stepped through the doorway and knew it was all at an end. It was time to complete the task and see how strong he truly was.
He thought of Silvious and thought it strange how strong the rat’s soul was. He had imagined him possessing a frailer spirit than the others, yet there was a great nobility within. Perhaps he should have given the rat a little more respect as he had lived.
Cherrie stirred in her cage, and he willed her to silence, though it took more effort than it did for the rest because she was stronger than all of them put together. She was the only warrior willing to sacrifice herself for the greater good and for her sister. He patted the little container at his chest.
“Soon my betrayal and your sacrifice will bear fruit,” he whispered and walked into the keep.
What good could Denan really have brought to the fight anyway? The lure had twisted his tremendous courage into deathly fear, and only Iaculous’s testing manipulations had granted the fierce warrior a reprieve from his unnatural cowardice at the end. Had there been no army waiting for them at his father’s fallen kingdom, as he had promised, Iaculous might well have practiced on the warrior sooner with more success. Still, it was no matter now that he had faced the demon and gathered what he needed. Denan was a royal, and the world needed no more royals in power.
He thought of the rotting mind of Eralorien’s soul and cursed the wretched old man for what he was. How easy the lure had twisted his fragility into insanity. How brazen he had been to see Iaculous’s talent and temper his skills their entire life together. The first soul entrapped was frenzied and lost, and despite him knowing this man the longest, he felt least bonded to the burning source of near eternal energy. Perhaps his master’s madness would serve him from his prison. Maybe he had it better than the rest of them combined.
Last, he thought of his leader, Heygar. His soul was the weakest of them all, yet still fierce enough to instil energy within him for a lifetime. He should have hated the man for enchanting them all, but without his foolish task, Iaculous would not be so powerful this glorious night, would he?
With Mallum’s whispered memories still floating in his thoughts, Iaculous knew the truth and reason behind it all. Heygar’s interfering had brought about the true devastating effects of a lure, and Iaculous thought such a thing was incredible with far-reaching consequences. He understood why the lure had behaved as it did. With the creation of life and a beautiful new soul, the lure became more than a cruel piece of weaving, for inconceivable circumstances had played an incredible part.
What if the creators of a child with a beautiful soul were soulmates themselves? What if a careless weaver bound those soulmates to hate and kill each other? In that moment, such weavings had caused the world to shudder. Such weavings might have repercussions spanning the rest of times. Such weavings might cause a power between both worlds so fierce that all seven keys that separated them might shudder, crack, and await the right weaver in th
e right moment to shatter them completely.
“All the soul stones, lured in a row; seven souls with nowhere to go,” he whispered to himself and to the souls upon his chest. They stirred with excitement for the end of their torment.
The keep was nothing more than a chapel to pray to the seven gods of this land. The chapel was long and cold as most chapels were, with stained glass windows that were thin, tall, and darkly coloured. Iaculous couldn’t make out the tales they told, nor was he interested. Preachers spoke of seven gods and seven demons. He had met one of the demons and thought a little less of the beasts because of it. He spat his disgust for this place and eyed the man standing at the altar like a pious leader of faith awaiting his flock. The man watched in silence, and he was not alone.
A shield of energy suddenly formed up around Iaculous and blocked his way. It was the same energy used by the demon and the fire of his own will. Mallum had learned from the demon as Silencio had claimed. Did he cower when he learned the demon’s true intentions as Silencio also claimed? Did it really matter?
The shield covered the entire room, separating him completely from his victim, though Iaculous was untroubled. Beside Mallum lay Arielle. They sprawled her out along a stone bench, and she looked to be sleeping peacefully. Her bedding was straw and silk. They brushed her hair, and her face was flawless and as beautiful as he had ever seen her. Upon his chest, the souls stirred. One of them screamed and raged so much so that Iaculous took hold of the canister upon the bandoleer and willed its fury to peter away.
Mallum approached the shield silently. As before, he was impressive. He carried himself with dignity and fearlessness despite knowing the inevitable. “Perhaps we would not have found ourselves in such a place if I had the power to tear that lure from your mind, Iaculous,” he said and looked through the younger man as though he were as translucent as the shield itself. “I attempted to tear it from the mind of…”
Mallum trailed off and looked back to the comatose Arielle. Upon her chest was an amulet. It glowed brightly, and he nodded as if listening to her suggestion. Iaculous could not imagine what trickery it was on his part not to have the soul at his grasp. How deluded was he to think he could stand with Iaculous without her power to call upon?
“Eralorien,” he said and turned back to Iaculous. “Yes, Eralorien was the one I attempted to free first, but any enchantment as fierce as this must run its course unless undone with the darkest of weavings,” Mallum said. His eyes fell upon the glowing orbs on Iaculous’s bandoleer. “Denan of the Green no longer walks?” he asked, and his head dropped as though learning of an idol’s demise.
“Why were you there that night?” Iaculous’s fingers twitched with murderous intent.
“It was no surprise King Lemier enlisted the wrath of the Hounds to take my life. I came to offer Heygar’s Hounds a new deal. Venistra needs all the help it can get. I came to seek your help that night, unarmed and humble, as I do now.”
Mallum offered his hands openly. Iaculous saw tears streaming down his eyes, but the man did not wipe them away. What weakness was this? For a moment, he felt the terrible sadness that afflicted the dark weaver.
“I need your power to free her from this dreadful event,” he pleaded and looked to the shell of Arielle.
“You think I would help you, Mallum?”
“You have taken everything from me this day, so why not take my life, so they may know theirs?” Mallum said. Iaculous believed him, and it angered him further.
“You are a murderer and a fool.” Iaculous struck the shield fiercely. Not to tear through it but merely to show he still had fight. Mallum hissed and struck the shield right back. He still had a fight in him too.
“The lure deludes you,” Mallum cried with the broken frustration of a man with the finest hand in a game of death-chance, when no one else was playing the round.
“You think a lure commands my mind, as it did the rest?”
“I have seen your mind as you have seen mine. You have seen all my sins, yet still, you see none of your own,” Mallum hissed.
Iaculous struck the shield with a weaving fist and shattered it. The eruption of energy was violent, and it blew Mallum across the room. He fell among some praying benches. Before he could rise, Iaculous placed a holding enchantment upon him and stood over him.
He felt his mind spinning as the lure tasted the victory. Somewhere in the world, seven soul stones rattled and shook, and all that mattered was finishing the task. Iaculous felt the souls surging. They desired blood, death, and payment. Even in death, they could be no different. They were the Hounds.
“Arielle begged me not to kill you. It was the first thing she willed from the stone that night,” Mallum gasped and forced the enchantment away.
He formed a field of energy around Iaculous once again, but with a flick of Iaculous’s wrist, that, too, shattered to nothing. Mallum retreated to the altar. His movements were panicked. He was the same master who had torn the remaining Hounds apart a few days previously, but Iaculous was no longer an apprentice conjuring a spit of fire. He had met with the demon and bested its brutality. He was now closer to a god than a man. He felt the power of the bandoleer, and it was endless. It was righteous. It was worthy of him.
Iaculous took hold of the man’s mind and tore it asunder, and then he reached in towards his darkness. Mallum did not fight the invasion. He allowed him to know this mind, and Iaculous was worse for it. Terrible, enlightening visions of a man’s desperate will to save all that he could washed through Iaculous. As he had experienced the act of Arielle and her throngs of passion before, he again felt and saw through the eyes of Mallum.
He saw Silencio’s first meeting many years ago and experienced Mallum’s revulsion as the demon granted him knowledge and failed to coerce the youth into darkness. He saw the demon come to him, time and time again, and he fought the demon’s advancements best he could. He saw the land turn grey around him, and he lamented Venistra’s lost beauty, for he saw the terrible greyness grow and consume the earth of its riches.
He saw the collapse of the economy after the king of Dellerin ceased all exports in reply to a lower yield of fortunes. He felt the desperation as a new year’s taxes were tripled, which brought ruin to nearly all men and women—rich, royal, or peasant—and he hated Dellerin for all that it owned. He saw his country split into penniless towns of criminals and murderers, and open farmlands turned to desolate abandonment as a third crop failure in as many seasons brought Venistra to its knees. He felt a terrible pity for his people as the winter took hold, and he saw the ravages of the famine as it threatened to end what chances of life they had.
He was, however, not silent nor idle to any of these things. For he learned from a disgraced prince who valued honour over duty. Perhaps had Mallum been more than a child when Prince Denan had fallen he might very well have stood with him. Instead, Denan had inspired Mallum to grow up with eyes wide open. Though nearly two decades late, he spoke up for this oppression, this misery. Stirred on by what had happened before he banded together the Hundred Houses, and with their support, and what failing coin they had, they fed and farmed the land, all under one banner. Somewhere along this miserable way, the people listened to his views of hope. They watched him give up all the fortunes he had earned to feed those he could. They prayed for war and rebellion, but still, he wished no death upon any man, woman, or child, and the people with hungry bellies loved him more for this.
He saw himself kneeling at King Lemier’s feet, begging for negotiation and receiving assassination attempts in reply. He saw himself rally the people as any decent leader would as thousands more fell to starvation, and no one from Dellerin came to help in their hours of need. He felt the love of the people as they fought the injustice in silence, and he watched helplessly as they tried to save themselves after the point of ruin was crossed. He watched the vile king of Venistra fall to their silent revolution. He watched the wretched settle in the regions of the Hundred Houses, where the grey h
ad not yet poisoned.
He felt the ground rumble as a source-infused beast emerged, ravenous, from the dark caves in the dead of night to lay waste to his home. He saw so many people he loved fall at the claw of a beast as it tore through his city, driven mad by one of the cursed monoliths of this world. He saw his country’s fiercest hunters give up their lives to the enormous crustacuus as the people retreated from the once wealthy region they had hoped to be a sanctuary. He had seen the pathetic numbers gathered and led them to the last stronghold with fertile land.
Iaculous pulled his mind from the weaver but not before he saw the last visions of the great and kind man he was to slay. He saw the few hundred survivors build for them a life and regrow. He felt their love for him, but he felt his own love for them greatly.
Then he saw Arielle for the first time. He felt the awfulness of her lured soul becoming bonded to his own soul in tragic punishment for denying the lure its quarry, for creating life instead of bringing death. He remembered the demon laughing as he begged for a way to return her to the world of the living. He remembered the demon mocking him for the father he had become and the vacant wife who was but a silent voice in his mind. And still, she never blamed him, for she only saw his beauty, even from her cage.
“No!” Iaculous screamed. He fell from the dark weaver as the pain of the recent slaughters brought his guilt into physical pain. He fell away from the fallen man, his mind shattering as the realisation of his actions struck him. He searched for any emotion beyond hatred and found nothing else. Mallum was a good man that needed to die.
“Please, Iaculous. Turn from this lure and help me save her, so they may live,” Mallum begged and fell beside the still body of Arielle.
The Seven Page 31