by M. D. Grimm
Suddenly, Aishe’s face filled my vision. He gripped my face between his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. He was sweating as well, his pale skin shiny with it. “I’m sorry I broke my promise but I couldn’t—”
“Shhhh.” I leaned my forehead against his which silenced him. “I understand.” I couldn’t raise my voice above a whisper.
“By the Hunter.” It seemed as if Aishe finally realized I was injured as well. He lifted my head again but I could barely focus. My vision was fading, the pain too much to bear. I couldn’t breathe.
“Mae!” Aishe said. The warriors laid me on my back, and Aishe held my head in his lap. “Stay with me, Morgorth. Please, stay with me.”
I smiled. “Always Aishe. Always.”
Chapter Twelve
I woke up in a tent again. My chest was sore, but certainly not as bad as it had been. I allowed myself to lie there for several moments, focusing on breathing, taking everything in. My eyes still closed, I listened to the busy activity outside the tent, but it was normal activity. I carefully reviewed the battle, wondering who all survived. Then I thought of the agate.
I gasped and my eyes popped open. I reared up in bed, panic full-blown in my mind as my head snapped toward the table set right next to me. Upon it sat the smooth, tempting agate, Atcoatlu. I stared at it dumbly for a short moment before exhaling deeply and falling back onto the cot. I grunted and rubbed my chest. Thankfully, I wasn’t naked again. My trousers were still on, my jacket folded neatly next to the stone, and my shoes set by the bed.
I touched my magick again and it felt robust and at full strength. Interesting. Seems my new spell didn’t leave even a dent in my magick. Wouldn’t Master Ulezander be impressed? I couldn’t help but smile with pride, even though a shiver of fear sped down my spine. I couldn’t say when Master Ulezander had created his own spell, which I mimicked, but I didn’t think it was before his third phase of training. It did help to see it in action, though, before attempting the creation. Had Master Ulezander known another mage who could literally freeze the time of a creature? Yet another thing I’d have to ask him.
Sighing, I sat up, dressed. There wasn’t even a bandage on my chest, just another scar to add to the rest that adorned my body. I fingered it, realizing it was still raw. Slightingly pink and puckered, I wondered how deep it had penetrated my body. Maybe Nunya would know if she’d been the one to heal me.
I’d just finished latching my jacket, my boots already on, when Amyla strode into the tent. She beamed upon seeing me, her young face literally lighting up. I smiled in return.
“Oh, I’m so happy to see you awake.” She looked like she wanted to hug me but instead touched my arm. I appreciated her control.
“I’m happy to be awake. And alive. I suppose I have your mother to thank.”
She nodded. “And a few others. We had to work quickly, and Mae didn’t have enough energy to give you, after she saw our father.”
“How is he?”
Her smile never dimmed. “He’s great. It’s such a relief! His shoulder was his worst injury.” She lowered her voice. “And maybe his pride.”
I chuckled. “Well, his pride should remain intact. Not many are brave enough to go against a mage, nor are many skilled enough to stand toe-to-toe. He did his tribe proud.”
I could tell my words affected her. Her eyes filled but she looked away, refusing to let any tears fall.
“How’s Aishe?” I pulled my sleeve over my hand, keeping the cloth between my skin and the stone as I picked up the agate. I dropped it into a pouch hanging from my belt, tying it securely shut. Stones liked to “get lost” whenever they had the opportunity. I wasn’t going to give Atcoatlu any of those. Amyla watched me carefully, her eyes interested. She followed me out of the tent, and I flung a hand up to shield my eyes from the sun. Blinking rapidly, I realized we were in the same camp where the attack had taken place. Everything was already rebuilt, except for the severely burned tents, and the fire had apparently been stopped.
“He’s sleeping. He watched over you all night.”
My gut clenched. I kept my face emotionless as I turned to Amyla. She stared at me intently, trying to read me, I was sure.
“So it’s only been one day? The attack was yesterday?”
“Yes.”
I nodded. “Where is Drasyln?”
“Guarded, in that tent.” She pointed to a small, brown tent where five warriors, three males and two females, stood with spears in their hands, swords at their hips. Two of them had a bow and quiver strapped to their back. Each had a hard, grim face.
“Good.”
“My pae would like to speak to you.”
I smiled tightly. “I’m sure he would,” I said under my breath. I patted her shoulder in thanks, before striding over to the large, purple tent that housed the chief. Dialen watched me as I walked, and I nodded to some, and they nodded back. I know I didn’t mistake the relief in many of the eyes that watched me. Relief I was alive and able to walk. I wasn’t used to many being happy I had survived a battle. It was unnerving. But nice, really nice.
I stopped in front of the tent. “May I come in?”
“Morgorth? Come in!”
I pushed apart the flap as I stepped inside. Breyln sat at the table, food and drink in front of him. My stomach rumbled. My gaze moved past him to the back of the tent, where Nunya slept on a large pile of furs and blankets, her beautiful face showing strain, shadows under her eyes. Breyln noticed where my gaze had landed and he snorted. “She wore herself out, healing everyone. She took on too much and now she’s paying for it.”
Nunya didn’t even move when her mate spoke. I heard the affection in his tone, the pride. Walking to the table, I waited for him to gesture me toward the other chair.
“Eat. Drink. You look like you need it.” He looked well, considering. The movements of his arm were stiff but it didn’t look like it pained him. There were a few scrapes and cuts on his face and hands, and I was sure on the rest of his body, but he certainly came out on the winning end of a battle with a mage.
We ate in comfortable silence for a short while until finally he sat back, a tankard in hand. I felt his gaze and met his eyes, wiping my hands on a cloth napkin.
“I spoke to everyone who saw the final battle, after I was thrown down.”
I nodded. “And what was your conclusion?”
“That I’m damn glad you’re on our side.”
I laughed, I couldn’t help it. He chuckled.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” I said, once I calmed myself. “I really am, Breyln.”
“You and me both, Morgorth.” His smile was genuine and his eyes warm. Some barrier had dropped between us, and I wasn’t sad to see it go. But I had uneasiness under my heart. The knowledge of his fate, of his family’s fate, was a dagger in my gut, a slice in my happiness.
“I’m also glad that you survived that fight,” he said, and raised his tankard to me. I raised mine. We drank deep.
“Did anyone...?” I couldn’t say the words.
Breyln looked into his tankard. “A few. But they died with honor, their swords in their hands. Now they are with the Mother. We performed the death rites last night. It was better not to wait.”
I nodded, my body suddenly chilled. I forced myself to take a deep, cleansing breath. They were with the Mother; their trials over.
“You will leave with her this day?” he asked a moment later.
I sighed and stood. “Yes. And I promise you, Breyln, she will receive punishment. The Hand of the Council of Mages will not show the least amount of leniency.”
He nodded, fingering the pouch under his tunic. I felt Rambujek’s call and ignored her. Breyln stood and set his tankard down. He stepped toward me, then completely shocked me by slipping an arm around my waist, another over my shoulders, and giving me a firm, unnerving hug.
“Thank you, Morgorth,” he said softly. “We all owe you our lives. You have done us a great service, and a great honor.”<
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Entirely overwhelmed, I slowly hugged him back, and his scent surrounded me: worn leather, fresh, forest air, and steel filled my nose. Soft hair brushed my face and his strength humbled me. Then one of his hands patted my back, almost like...like how a father would hug his son. Oh, Mother help me. I closed my eyes, feeling them burn. I could feel my breath start to hitch, and I struggled to even it out. I swallowed hard, and my throat threatened to close. Then he stepped back, quite suddenly, before I could control my emotions. He must have seen something because he suddenly looked concerned. I turned away, pinching the bridge of my nose, and cleared my throat.
“I have made you uneasy.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s not that. Not really. It’s just...I’m unused to gratitude.” When I finally reined in my emotions, I forced myself to turn back, to face him.
He frowned. “Unused to gratitude? What is the world like when you come from?”
I managed to smile slightly, shaking my head. “I’m not very popular in my time and—” I paused, taking a moment to just look at Aishe’s father; his beautiful, intense green eyes, where a strong and courageous spirit shone; his innate strength, loyalty, and devotion to his family and his tribe. His determination to sacrifice his own life for those he loved. And he’d found a dialen female with the same fierce spirit to take as a mate. “Aishe is blessed to have you,” I looked at sleeping Nunya, “to have all of you. Not many are that fortunate.”
Breyln considered me. “Am I right to assume you are one that was not?”
“You are.”
“Then they were fools.”
I stared at him. The confidence of his tone shook me to the core. He crossed his arms over his chest, a stubborn tilt to his chin.
“But you don’t even know them. Or me,” I said softly.
“My mate and my son are not the only ones with gifts,” he said. “I’ve seen your actions since you arrived here. You are not false. If your family did not appreciate the gift of your life, then they’re a family of fools, and your father the king.”
Speechless, I could only stare. He said it so matter of fact, like it was the only truth that mattered.
“Besides,” Breyln glanced at his wife, before meeting my eyes once more, “if what you say is true and Aishe becomes your mate in the future...we are your family, are we not?”
I couldn’t take any more of this. My eyes burned more intensely, and I had to look away. I stared at the entrance to the tent, my breaths shallow, my fists clenched.
“Now, I have made you uneasy.” There was a note of amusement in his voice.
I swallowed hard and a slight laugh escaped me. “You have, indeed.” I had an internal battle with myself, one that caused me pain. All that Aishe ever told me about his tribe flooded through my mind. Words he spoke to me when I first met him, in Happy Valley, reared up. There were certain revelations that had to be made known if the future was to unfold the way it should.
Mother, guide me. I walked over to Breyln and gripped his arm. He raised an eyebrow.
“Guard yourself, Breyln,” I whispered. “This will not be the only time a mage comes for the ruby.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Your fate, and the fate of your tribe, is not one I can change, despite how dearly I wish to. Many years in the future, a mage will come to you. One who claims the wish to learn from you. You must allow him to, and you must send Aishe away. By whatever means, you must send Aishe away.”
Breyln’s eyes bore into mine. The silence stretched out between us before he gave a hard nod. I took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. I let go of his arm and stepped back.
“This fate you speak of,” Breyln said softly. “It’s not good, is it?”
I didn’t answer, which was answer enough. Breyln closed his eyes a moment, breathing deeply. Then he looked at Nunya, who still slept, oblivious to our conversation.
“If that is what is written for us,” he whispered. He cleared his throat and looked back at me, drawing himself up to his full height. “If you are correct, mage, that means we are unlikely to meet again in the future. So I will say this now, and I speak for Nunya as well as myself. We give our consent to you.”
I blinked. “Your consent?”
“To become the mate of our son.”
I ducked my head, my hands clenched into fists once again. I trembled, overwhelmed, and it took me a few moments to control my voice. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He paused. “You’ll tell him before you leave?”
I didn’t need to ask who “he” was. I nodded.
“Good.”
I inclined my upper body to him before departing, once again blocking my eyes from the bright sun. I told myself it was the sun that made my eyes burn and tear. Wiping them, annoyed with myself, I bottled up my emotions and turned toward the tent that housed Drasyln. Tender thoughts fled, gratitude to Breyln and Nunya, this tribe, vanished. In their place was a cold, hard resolve, and a thirst for vengeance that wouldn’t be easily sated.
I could honestly forgive her for most of her transgressions. If she hadn’t stolen the stone, I wouldn’t be here, right? The Mother wrote it, so it had to be. But she’d harmed Aishe. She wounded him, scarred him. She’d tried to take his father away from him, his tribe. There was no forgiveness for that, Mother-written or not.
Striding forward, I walked around the tent, placing crystals at its corners, and murmured a word to activate them. Then I paused outside the opening of the tent, not even glancing at the guards. “Don’t allow anyone to come in. Understand?”
I got silent nods. I stepped inside.
Drasyln lay on her side on some blankets, her ankles and wrists tied together behind her back. She was still gagged. Her clothes were disheveled, her hair knotted and splayed out around her head. Her eyes popped open when I stepped in and they shone with fear. I stared down at her for a moment before I knelt. I reached out a hand, enjoying the way she flinched, and ran my fingers through her soft, thick hair.
“Remember when you spoke of weakness, Drasyln?” She tried to speak through her gag, probably to beg, but I paid her no heed. “I clearly remember those times you called me weak. Pathetic, even. And you claimed Aishe was my greatest weakness. I can’t argue with that. In many ways, he is.” I met her eyes. “But he is also my greatest strength. A strength you’ll never have, one you’ll never understand. It’s strength of the heart, you see. Of spirit. And you tried to destroy that.”
My fingers tangled in her hair and I yanked. Hard. She cried out, her eyes huge. I lowered my face very close to hers, she couldn’t look away.
“Aishe is mine, Drasyln. His heart, his mind, is mine. Completely and utterly. That means his tribe is mine. They are under my protection. Do you know what happens when someone attacks what is mine?”
Fear turned into terror in her eyes.
My lips curled up at the corners. It couldn’t be called a smile. “You should have listened to me the first time we met, Drasyln. You should have stayed away from me and mine. But it appears you like pain. You like to be dominated. Don’t think I don’t remember the passion between us when we met. You liked that I hurt you as I thrust inside you.”
She whimpered.
“Since you like pain, I’ll give it to you. You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure. I’ll just have to enjoy it even more.”
My thumb and forefinger found a single strand of her hair. I twined it around my finger, longing to yank it and use it against her. Using her hair would be the best way to torture her but I couldn’t risk it. Besides, there were other ways to harm her. Tears rained down her face, and she continued to try to speak through the gag. I ignored her.
I reached over and gripped her arm: skin-to-skin contact. The Council of Mages didn’t officially approve of torture, or vengeance between mages. But there were ways to inflict punishment without leaving a mark.
My will, desire, and control merged into one, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I wanted this. I was
to be the Destroyer, after all, which meant my magick must be made especially for this.
With a word thought in my head, my magick was unleashed. Drasyln’s body clenched and her head snapped back, eyes wide and bulging. To keep her from disturbing the camp, the crystals around the tent held a spell that muffled any noises from inside the tent. Even Drasyln’s shrill screaming. There was no reason to expose the tribe to such unpleasantries. My magick burned around her heart, inflaming it, causing it to bubble and blister. I would imagine the pain was immense. I kept my hand firmly grasped on her arm, observing my work. I released the spell. She slumped and gasped for breath through her gag.
My next spell caused her blood to boil. Her screams would have echoed through the forest, and possibly to neighboring kingdoms, if I allowed them to be heard outside the tent. Her screams throbbed against my eardrums but I wanted them. I relished them. I watched her, gauging how long to hold the spell, before I released it.
I continued like that: alternating between spells I knew would cause her the maximum amount of pain, while testing some new ones. There were some old favorites, from years before, that never went out of style, and I soon had her sweating like a fountain—a puddle forming underneath her. Her nose bled as her eyes became bloodshot. Her face was flushed, her weeping never ceased, far from the dark beauty she had once been. She wouldn’t be able to use her arms or legs for several weeks, perhaps a month if I did things right. The tent filled with the unpleasant sent of urine.
Finally, after a significant time had passed, I released my grip, nothing but cold satisfaction humming through my veins. I slowly lowered the gag.
“P-please,” her voice nothing but a hoarse, croaky whimper, “kill me. Just kill me.”