“You knew this the whole time, didn’t you, you deceitful slut?” he snarled. “You never wanted to kill this wimp here, even though he’d betrayed you and deserves nothing but death.” The Emissary looked at Hrot with a scowl of disgust. Then his eyes bore back into Jasmin. “You will regret that for the rest of your life!”
The lane trembled under the beating of hundreds of small hooves. Startled, Jasmin and Hrot looked around to see where the sound was coming from. They could see nothing, however, and the sound soon died away. When they looked back, the Emissary was gone.
Only shadows and an unearthly stench lingered under the arch. The pact burst into ashes and fluttered out of Jasmin’s hand. The mark of the Emissary’s talon, which had branded Hrot’s forearm for four centuries, started to fade. Behind one of the filthy windows above, three pairs of lips stretched in a benevolent smile. Somewhere in the realm of the dead, Sid, Anath, Felix, and Plamena sighed in relief.
THE MARKED MAP NO LONGER hung on Jasmin’s wall. She took the two euros out of the envelope to buy bread and ham, which they ate on a bench by the River Douro. The sun was out, and the river sparkled as if it were laden with the Emissary’s gold.
Jasmin watched one of the colorful tourist boats come back from the ocean. Then she turned her head to Hrot. She had to admit he was very handsome. He’d shaved his insane beard and trimmed his tangled hair, and he looked ten years younger than he had in Granja.
Jasmin also looked much younger and prettier than a few days ago. The black crescents had disappeared from under her eyes, for she was sleeping well again. The goddess Krverah had erased all bad dreams from her memory, and the Emissary himself was slowly fading into a graying nightmare. Her appetite was back, and she’d eaten most of the ham and bread. She would soon regain her weight.
Hrot was staring at his feet, but he knew Jasmin was looking at him. He wanted to hug her or at least touch her arm or shoulder, but he didn’t even dare to meet her eye. Shame and regret devoured him from inside. He knew she was still furious. Even though she had let him stay in her apartment, she hardly ever spoke to him.
Her eyes bored into him like two arrowheads, and he twitched when she suddenly laughed. “What is it?” he asked.
“I just remembered the night on the beach. How you trembled and clutched at my ankles.”
“I thought you were about to stab me, Jasmin. But—you never wanted to kill me, did you?”
Jasmin didn’t reply. Her eyes wandered toward the approaching boat. She knew that if she looked at him a moment longer, she would forgive him. And he didn’t deserve that. Not yet.
“Did you or didn’t you, Jasmin?”
“Oh, you just can’t drop it, can you? I took that knife because I was frightened. It was dark, and I felt that the three-headed wolf was lurking around. I should have realized it was Krverah, but I couldn’t think clearly.”
Jasmin paused for a few moments, and a shudder ran through her body. If Krverah hadn’t blocked her way to Espinho, Jasmin would have never found Hrot, and they would now be dying and suffering in the Emissary’s claws.
She took a deep breath and continued, “At times, I did feel like killing you, but mostly I felt like killing myself. My love for you can survive anything, even though snakes like you hardly deserve to be loved. The Emissary would never understand that, of course. That’s why it was so easy to fool him.”
A pigeon alighted near their bench, and Jasmin threw it a piece of bread. Then she turned to Hrot. “You can’t even imagine how thrilled I was two years ago when the Emissary told me you were still alive. I was happy even though I knew you were a filthy liar and that you had sold me out as if you’d never loved me.”
“But I did love you—and always will,” Hrot protested. “I was too scared to die, though. I wanted a little bit of freedom after so many centuries of captivity.” He hung his head, his face burning with shame. He didn’t look her in the eye as he added, “I know it’s not much of an excuse.”
“Not really,” Jasmin said. “But it’s all over now.”
The tourist boat was passing in front of them, bobbing cheerfully. An Asian woman in a pink hat waved at them from the stern. Jasmin waved back.
“I lived in fear this whole year, Hrot,” Jasmin said after a while. “And perhaps my own fear had made me understand why you had betrayed me. I dreaded not finding you because that would mean eternity in the realm of that monster. But I dreaded finding you as well: I was almost sure you had no idea that you came from the future rather than from the past. But if you had proved me wrong, we would’ve been lost. You put me through such hell, Hrot. I can’t believe I didn’t even give you a small kick when I had you at my feet.”
“You still can,” he said.
She shifted closer to him—and then she took his hand into hers. Hrot sighed happily. This was the first time their hands had ever touched.
“I’ll forgive you, Hrot,” she said after a while, flushing him with a new wave of happiness. “One of these days I will. But let’s never talk about the past again.”
The nearby ocean began to swell. The currents of the coming tide flowed into the river, raising its level and making it stir. A flock of seagulls flew above their heads. Loud voices kept coming from the market stalls behind them.
“I’m sure our minds will soon lock all the past horrors away,” he said after a while. “But what about the future?”
Jasmin cringed. Future had become a dreaded word ever since she’d seen the stainless steel objects beneath the bombarded warehouse. Hrot knew now where he’d come from. He knew something dreadful must have happened to plunge mankind back to tribal barbarism. Fortunately, he was oblivious to the scale and proximity of the disaster.
One day, she would have to tell him. One day, she would have to tell everyone. She knew she could end up in an institution, as it was easier to call someone mad than face the truth. But she would have to try.
Perhaps there would come a generation of world leaders that contrasted—rather than resembled—the blind, ruthless, and selfish Emissary. And perhaps they would listen before it was too late. But what were the chances of that?
Jasmin turned to Hrot and kissed his cheek. “Unless you try to betray me again, our future will be bright and beautiful,” she said with a smile.
Then she turned her head so that he wouldn’t see the tears sparkling in her eyes.
—THE END—
FROM THE AUTHOR
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THE PRIEST OF ORPAGUS IS COMING SOON!
Brave and good-hearted, Braze Wilson prevents a murder. Then he becomes such a fiend that he wishes he hadn’t.
The incident helps him meet the bewitching Mehpare Eroglu, and he dreams about her ever after. What invades his sleep even more often, though, is a lifeless valley in Southern Turkey, which the victim named just before the attack. When Braze and Mehpare descend there to find a ruined temple, they realize that Orpagus isn’t as empty as it looks.
An infernal deity still lingers in the depths below the ruin, and his immortal priest keeps him alive with gory rites. But the demon doesn’t live on blood alone. He also thrives on lust, wrath, and revenge—and he deems a swift ritual death too merciful for the intruders.
Although he lets them free, he warps their mind beyond repair. He fans and exploits their lowest instincts in the hope that they would bring him the highest sacrifice.
Will Braze or Mehpare find enough strength to defy him? Can either of them win back their souls and sanity? Find out this summer on Amazon.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank the following people for their contr
ibution in making Deception of the Damned reality.
To author R.K. Lander for showing me the way and guiding me through the labyrinths of the self-publishing process.
To my editor Andrea Lundgren for helping me improve the typescript in every way.
To designer Andjela K. for creating such a beautiful cover.
Special thanks to my great friend Lesley Leachman for proofreading almost everything I’ve ever written, and for supporting me and cheering me on since the very beginning.
To my other friends and amazing beta readers, Elaine Marie, DW Brownlaw, John Dee, Daniel Barber, Dimple Gursahani, and Nicole Cypher for taking their time to plow through the typescript on the lookout for blunders.
You all have helped me to make my publishing dream come true. I’ll be forever grateful to each and one of you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
P.C. Darkcliff has been writing fiction ever since he learned his letters. His first attempt was a short story about a talking dog. After a brief flirtation with sci-fi and adventure, he discovered the world of fantasy and dark fiction, and there was no turning back.
He has written four novels. The Priest of Orpagus will be released this summer. God of Madness and The Dead Immortal are coming out over the next two years. The fifth novel, Toothache, is in the making.
P.C. has lived in six countries and on three different continents, and many of his adventures have spilled into his stories and novels. He has recently settled with his wife in Southwestern Spain.
Learn more about P.C. through this interview.
Deception of the Damned Page 28
