Forsaken Fates

by S J Doran

  “Lumos,” he mumbled with a smirk. “Damn. Where’s my magic wand when I need it.” Not even a whisper of another being to be heard. The sound of his own voice was startling in the silent dark.

  Had they snuck off and left him on some sort of twisted spirit quest? When he’d agreed to try meeting his mother here, he’d thought he’d have Mara at his side. What would he even have to say to the mother who’d abandoned him? Could be this was all a waste of time. Levistus was right, even if she did have the power, who’s to say she’d be allowed to intervene? Gods were not allowed to interfere with destiny, not without dire consequence.

  That’s saying she’d even show up.

  “Mara?” he shouted, looking around quickly for any sign of movement. Nothing but shadows hiding shadows.

  Then up ahead, a glowing blue shimmer lit up, filtered through scrub brush and flickering as though moving. His steps sped up. Perhaps it was Mara; she’d brought a compass, surely she’d have the foresight to pack a flashlight. the light flickered again. Could be one of those LED numbers, with the long-lasting bulbs that shone with cool light.

  It was mocking him. No matter how much faster he walked, the damned light was still the same distance off. Small, flickering beam, beckoning him like a wayward wil-o-the wisp of Tír na nÓg. Yeah, he’d had his share of run-ins. This freaky light might be of the same sort, luring him to his doom… hells, that sounded far too ominous even for his overly suspicious mind.

  He was in the damned underworld, how much more doom could there be? Well. They were on a ferryman imposed time limit… was he being lured off to waste his allotted time to trap him here? Deep, steadying breath. He still felt some sort of power tingling through him. The King of Hells could not become trapped in another realm.

  The light grew steady, casting a beam that narrowed to a source. He was gaining on it. Finally. He wandered off the worn path, cutting through knee-high scrub brush and crunching… leaves. Yes. Better if he just imagined they were leaves beneath his feet. If some of them cracked instead of crunched—hell and who was he to question.

  This place made him realize how much he took the Nessus for granted. Yes, it was full of demons, some incredibly grotesque—but the rotting corpses never stayed in the ninth layer. Souls were well processed before they ever reached—if they ever reached the Nessus.

  He picked his way through, following the light to the entrance of a cave. He groaned silently. This was possibly stupid. He could hear Mara’s goading voice reminding him of the folly of following strange lights into caves in the sides of strange mountains, but he couldn’t figure out any other direction to go. With a rueful shake of his head, he threw back his shoulders and stepped into the cave.

  As soon as he crossed the threshold completely, it was like a foot was removed from his chest. He could fill his lungs, his power no longer felt stifled. And the creepiness factor upped another few notches. Noises echoed throughout, his head barely cleared the roof, the walls no better than a crevasse. He’d explored enough of those in his lifetime, the Nessus was composed of craggy cliffs with narrow paths through them. It was almost like being home. A creepy, almost cartoonishly horror version of home. And home was pretty horrific to begin with.

  He heard voices amongst the echoes, halting his steps. He didn’t recognize Mara or Levistus’s voice—that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Could just mean they found who they’d come for. He still didn’t have any other options of where to head, they’d wandered off without him, and he could remain wandering through Kur until he was trapped for all of his remaining days. Slowly starving to death. Not one of his top ten ways to expire.

  “You could just summon him, this is your domain, under your rule.”

  He did recognize that voice. Couldn’t place it, but the familiarity nagged at him, prickled awareness in a sleeping part of his memory.

  “You come into my home and dictate my rule?” The answering voice, just as feminine, even colder. Funny, the condescension in the tone sounded just like his father. He wondered, off-handedly if his father had a mother. He didn’t believe celestials of his caste had parents, so to speak—he’d thought they were created—fashioned. Some divine cocktail of genomes and energy, a kick-start — et voilà, Frankenstein’s monster. Or… angel. Whatever.

  His musings were interrupted by the end of the path. Two women stood in the center of a lavish room — one that didn’t belong at the end of a cave—both staring at him. Their bodies faced each other in combative stances, their heads turned, mouths open, taking him in.

  One was dark and gleaming, standing tall and proud like a statue carved from unblemished ebony, her hair bound in hundreds of tiny braids held back by an ornate golden crown. Beautiful and emanating power. The other, ivory pale, set off by yards of black silk hair that appeared back-lit by fire.

  The polite thing to do would be to introduce himself, or bow out excusing himself from interrupting. Despite his father’s insistence on imparting manners, Cass was not polite. He was a survivor. He pulled his war helm off his head, fighting to free the obsidian-tipped horns when they got caught up in the dusty robes, then ran his hand through his hair, as much to collect himself as to neaten it. He tucked the helm against his chest and held it in front of himself, creating a protective buffer.

  “Where’s Amara?” He looked from one to the other. The one with the elaborate crown gathered herself first, her head tilted regally, staring down her nose at him. As though he were no better than the dust he’d trod to make it here. “If you’ve hurt her…”

  “Those who enter my realm only do so because they belong.” The crowned lady spoke.

  “No.” He shook his head. “No, we came down with Charon. I’m not sure where we got separated—she had the compass.”

  “You look so much like your father.” The other lady finally spoke, her eyes bright and glassy.

  The helm dropped to one side as the air left his chest. He’d seen her likeness, and recently, in one of the books he and Mara had been going through.

  “Really, Avrogale?” The crowned lady preened, “I can see his resemblance to you. Though he reeks of filthy human souls and celestial.”

  Cass stumbled back a step, his back hitting the opulent marble stones of the wall. He looked around quickly, searching for the entrance he’d come through, but the room had completely changed, not an entrance to be found. Or exit.

  His mother.

  He thought he’d been prepared for this. He thought Mara would be here at his side. Where was she?

  The expected memories didn’t surge up. Even with his mind now intact, the only clear one he had was the day she’d left him.

  My strong boy. You don’t need me anymore

  He had needed her. And she’d left him. With him.

  She took a step toward him and he shrunk back against the wall. He sure as fuck didn’t need her now.

  “I am looking for Amara, the Warlock Queen,” he said, notching his chin, emulating the imperial tone his father had used to dictate.

  “Ah there it is,” the crowned lady said, “Asmodeus.”

  “Enough, Ereshkigal.” His mother held up her hand. His mother. His mind wasn’t grasping that. “We made a deal. You promised to allow me to speak with him.”

  Ereshkigal nodded, narrowing her eyes on Cass. “And so I shall. It appears I have a warlock loose in my realm that I need to find.”

  “High Priestess.” Cass cut her off. “She’s a priestess, and it’s due to her that your kind haven’t altogether disappeared into the fade.”

  She tittered. “Oh listen to him, Avrogale. Speaking as though he’s not one of us.” Her eyes glowed a yellow gold like a cat in the night, settling on Cass once more. “How much of your power comes from your mother, boy? Surely you don’t think you would have been powerful enough to overthrow Asmodeus by using his own power against him?”

  His nostrils flared, he took a steadying breath. “It wasn’t power that led to his downfall. It was cunning and patience.”
He wouldn’t look at his mother. She’d given him nothing. She’d left him to be tormented.

  Ereshkigal waved her hand, a bright smile lighting up her narrow face, highlighting her beauty. “Oh, something like strategy? Are you completely unaware who your mother is?” Her eyes narrowed and true irritation crossed her features.

  “Please, leave us.” Avrogale cut off her rant before the waspishness could turn completely venomous.

  “No.” Cass stepped forward, his feet carrying him within touching distance of the two ladies. “Take me to find Amara.”

  Ereshkigal tilted her head and brought up her hand, tracing her fingertips down his cheek. “How sweet. The boy is in love?” She swayed in closer, her eyes growing heavy. “Hm. You could be amusing.”

  Cass looked over at his mother, waiting for her to cut in. Toss him a life raft, something.

  “I do love her.” He grabbed Ereshkigal’s wrist, gently, pulling it away from his face, his thumb rubbing across the sensitive inner skin. “You might have been fun yourself, had I met you first.” He gave her a brazen grin and pressed a kiss to her upturned wrist.

  “Cassius.” Avrogale finally spoke, her tone affronted.

  There was a spark of something dangerous that lit up in his chest. He was pleased, maybe, that he’d offended her. Good. She abandoned him to be raised by a demon. This was who he was now.

  He let Ereshkigal’s hand go, lingering, his lips turning up at the sight of the flush on her cheeks.

  “I’ll… um… leave so the two of you can speak.” The crowned goddess winked at him, watching him over her shoulder as she walked out of the room.

  “What was that?” she hissed, stepping in front of Cass’s view.

  He scowled, then dropped into a bow. “Prince of Lust.” He looked up, arched a brow. “I’m demon born, did you expect anything less?”

  She looked disgusted. Good. He ignored whatever feeling was settling in his gut.

  “I wanted to come back to you,” she started speaking, and he stepped back, crossed his arms over his chest and looked around again. Had to be an exit—he’d come in from somewhere. “I was trapped in the ether. The power I traded for with your father…”

  “I don’t care,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  “My boy,” She moved closer, putting her hand on his arm, he shook it off.

  “No.” His hands clenched under his arms, wishing he hadn’t left his father’s sword at the river.

  “Cassius,” she sighed. “Okay.” She hung her head, looking dejected and no—that wasn’t guilt. “Will you at least listen to what I have to say and take my words into consideration?”

  His jaw ticked as his teeth ground together. “Are you going to try telling me what to do with my life? The one you left him to shape?”

  Her hands twisted together and she finally looked back up at him. Her eyes were the same dark amber as his own, reflections of gold and copper lighting them up and giving them depth. She emanated a low thrum of power, belying her excuse of not having the power to cross the ether, solidifying his resolve.

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Of course you did,” he scoffed. “You left me with him. You knew what he was like. Did you think he’d be softer because I was his son?”

  “I was fading,” she said, her voice pitching up an octave, “I had nothing left to give. If I’d stayed in the Hells he would have killed me.”

  “He nearly did kill me.”

  Her mouth snapped shut, her brows drawing together, her head shaking slowly. “I didn’t know. They didn’t tell me. They were supposed to be watching out for you.”

  “I had no one,” he growled, baring his teeth. “No one except Mara.” He took a few steps back, looking around, hoping the exit would magically reappear. “And I need to go find her now.”

  “You need to STOP and listen to me.” She all but stomped her foot.

  He did stop. And took in a breath. Then another for good measure.

  He took a moment to look at her, really look at her, the black silk of her hair, the one strong memory he had of her, the shape of her lips, so like his own—he’d always thought he was nearly a replica of his father —coloring aside— but he was wrong. He could see little likenesses he’d inherited from her, enough to make him different from the man who sired him. It was enough. He wasn’t all his father.

  He nodded, relaxing.

  “The High Priestess asked me to come,” she said with a gentle smile. “For your Mara’s sake, will you sit with me?”

  He looked around. The once bare room now had a fountain in the center, with cushions scattered around the floor and a throne at one end. He nodded and followed, remembering the reason he’d come to see her. She could help them, she owed him that much.

  He sat on a cushion across from her, rigid, unsure of what to expect. Reconciliation? He wasn’t sure what he could offer her. He needed time to sort out the jumble of feelings churning in his gut.

  “Your father wasn’t always as corrupt as he is now. When he first married Benzosia, he was lawful and just, upholding the law as he was created to do.” She picked at the trim on her cushion, avoiding his gaze. “Then he became enamored of his own laws, his own power.” She looked up and met his eyes, “He forgot where he came from, became the very thing he was created to stand sentinel against.”

  “I forgot you would have known him back when they were married.” He nodded, pausing as thoughts crowded his mind. “I was born after she died, yes?”

  “I approached him nearly a century after. He needed time to mourn.”

  Cass once again scoffed. “Mourn the female he killed.”

  Avrogale’s mouth fell open. “You know this as fact?”

  Cass shrugged. “Rumors and hearsay and one of the reasons we came here.” He gestured around the room. “So you waited until he was single.” He tilted his head. “Yet, you didn’t marry him yourself.”

  “Once the news spread that I carried his… I mean, you, I was crowned consort by default. Taking vows was unnecessary at that point, as you well know.” Her mouth tightened. “Marriage contracts are taken very seriously by our kind, before even realizing what was happening, I was trapped.”

  “Marriage is taken seriously. But not a child?” He straightened once more in his seat, regretting the words as soon as they’d left his mouth.

  “That’s not…” she sighed and tried to reach for him again, and again he pulled back. “No. Marriage is a binding vow. Children are sentient with their own will. There is no comparison.”

  “Sentient, with a will of their own unless robbed of their very soul and recreated, shaped into a more biddable pawn.” Sadistic glee filled him at the sight of the color washing out of her face. “I was just created to be used. Your pawn. His. Who else?”

  “The time for that to be revealed has not yet come to pass.”

  “Is there a point to this confession? I have a priestess to find.” He wanted to stand and pace, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing how unsettled he was.

  “Your vows to Amara have been sealed.” She studied her hands instead of his face. “Did you realize at the time you made them, that it was my mother’s blessing you asked for that day?”

  “Lot of good it did us.” Pain replaced the air in his lungs, stealing his breath. He still hadn’t revisited the events that passed after they’d exchanged their rushed vows.

  “More good than you realize.” She looked up at him again. “It was because of your vows that your souls were joined, saving you from your father, saving her from that wretched spirit crystal. It was your grandmother’s sword that recognized your spirit within her, and through it the injustice done by your father’s hand was set right.”

  “You believe this makes it all right when she couldn’t stop him from doing what he did to my wife?” His voice broke, but he continued. “You didn’t try to stop what he did to me? You think undoing what was done four hundred years after the fact is enough to earn forgivenes
s?”

  Tears magnified her eyes, but didn’t spill over. “The time was not right.”

  He jumped to his feet. “If you say one fucking word about prophecy, I am cutting open a damned hellgate, and tossing you through it, consequence be damned.”

  “Sit,” she shouted, and he sat, shocked at the tone. “I am powerless outside of my place in our realm, but not without influence. Whether you accept it or not, you are an heir of Inanna, one of the few of our pantheon who can survive outside of the ether. You have many beings on your side, working in all ways to right wrongs. As for now, your joining with the High Priestess,” she paused at his snarl of outrage, “right. Your wife. Is sure to cause the end of times. Not just for the realms, you two will unravel creation…”

  “Thus the entire reason I came here.” He wanted to get up and pace again, but he wasn’t too proud to admit he was wary of her power. He wasn’t sure how much, and what, she wielded. Mara would know, hells, he needed her here.

  She rolled her eyes, the most human-like thing he’d seen her do. “You came to visit your mother because you’re sexually unsatisfied?” She scrunched up her nose, and a surprised chuckle escaped him.

  “Azadiel suggested I ask you about the Ruby Rod.”

  She went completely still and silent, the nimbus of power surrounding her shrinking tight to her body.

  “The Rod.” She sighed and leaned forward as if to touch him, he flinched back. “That was where the corruption began. At first, it was no more than a tool he imparted with his will, then it became… sentient. And it grew powerful, more powerful than he. It overtook him,” her voice trailed off as her own words sunk into her brain.

  “Asmodeus buried the Rod away. It is corruption incarnate, a poison to all it touches upon.”

  “Buried it where?” It was his turn to stare at his hands. Anything but see that look of yearning on her face when she said his father’s name.

  She gave him a mulish look, one he’d seen reflected in his own expressions far too often.

  “My boy. Why would you think it is you who needs more power? Is what you hold not enough? You have the blood of my divinity running though you, enhancing all that your father passed on, even if it can no longer stand on its own.” She managed to grasp his hand and wasn’t letting go. After a moment, he relaxed and let her hold it. “You are enough. You’ve held your own in the Nessus, you haven’t let corruption corrode the essence of who you are. If the Rod resurfaces, your enemies could use it against you. It’s powerful enough to tip the balance in favor of whoever wields it. But eventually, it will always turn against its own master.”