In Darkness We Must Abide: The Complete Third Season

by Frater, Rhiannon

  Setting the bowl to one side, Siana moved her legs beneath her so that she was kneeling before the fire pit. The tight curls shifted around her face again, and Vanora swore she saw a serpent’s head peering out from the locks. The white stripe of Siana’s hair rested against her cheek, and the longer Vanora stared at it, the more it resembled a snake. Was this where the myth of the gorgons started, or was Siana more than she appeared to be?

  “Kneel, Vanora.”

  Obeying, Vanora glanced toward Dexios. He sat on top of the pedestals of the shattered statues in shadows, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched. It was a comfort to have him near. Vanora was uncertain if her physical body would leave the temple, but if it remained, it was good to know he would guard her.

  Pouring water from a bronze jug onto the coals, Siana whispered beneath her breath as white steam filled the air. Vanora dug her fingertips into the meat of her thighs to contain their shaking. Even though the ceremony was what Vanora wanted, she was afraid.

  Siana continued to cast the spell, her words slithering through the air in wisps of darkness. The heavy ropes of her hair writhed into a mass of dark snakes, the white streak becoming an albino cobra. It rose over Siana’s head and spread its hood.

  Clutching a handful of the contents of the bowl, Siana stared at Vanora over the fire pit. Orbs of flame inhabited her eye sockets and the tattooed eye on her forehead. “Do you dare to step across time?”

  Heart thudding in her chest, Vanora watched, both mesmerized and frightened. “Yes,” Vanora eked out.

  Siana tossed the spell onto the hot coals.

  Steam sizzled off the fire pit, billowing up in a plume of vapor. Golden light traced through the rising white haze, reminding Vanora of lightning in storm clouds. The temple air was thick with the cloying reek of magic, incense, and fear. Lifting her head to watch the spell manifesting, Vanora gasped. The massive serpents of smoke recoiled from the center of the ceiling as a ring of golden-white fire sputtered to life.

  Compelled by an unknown force, Vanora raised her hands. An overwhelming force billowed up from beneath her like a wave in the ocean and carried her body upward. Before she could cry out, she was swept into the center of the flames.

  The tangible world was lost to her.

  Encompassed in a golden-white aura, Vanora found herself adrift in an endless night. The bounty of the stars and vastness of the void filled her with awe.

  She thought, I am the moon, and then understanding unfurled within her, and the sun.

  An instant later, wisps of golden magic dragged her down into a swirling vortex of iridescent colors. The magic washed over her, warm and inviting.

  Abruptly, the world transformed, and she found herself standing in the courtyard of Parthenia’s hidden mountain palace. The flagstones were cool beneath her bare feet and fresh evening air filled her lungs. Shakily, Vanora steadied herself against a statue of a maiden and surveyed the scene.

  The Seven Sisters clustered around Aeron. As one, they helped him to his feet. Blood dripped from his lips and spotted his white beard. He was beautiful, blood-stained, and transformed. Lavender eyes sparkling with joy, he welcomed the attention of the Seven Sisters.

  “My destiny is fulfilled,” he said, his smile rapturous.

  “A gift to us,” Parthenia said, her fingers lightly touching his lips.

  Vanora flinched at the heat of possessiveness that flamed through her. Digging her nails into her palms, she fought against the need to be with Aeron. It was difficult to watch Parthenia press herself into his side and run her hands lasciviously over his chiseled chest. Close by, her obviously upset lover, Althea, watched with jealous eyes.

  “We must celebrate your arrival properly,” Parthenia decided.

  “There are plenty of delicious young maidens and men awaiting your bite,” one of the other sisters said.

  “I am hungry,” Aeron admitted, then cast a furtive look in Vanora’s direction.

  Her breath hitched in her chest. Did he sense her?

  “Come then. Enter your new home and embrace your new legacy.” Parthenia guided him forward, her fingers trailing down his back.

  The dark haired vampires in their long elegant gowns disappeared into the candlelit gloom of the palace, leaving Vanora alone in the bloodstained courtyard.

  Heart thudding from her conflicting emotions, Vanora stepped toward the spot where Aeron had laid while hovering just out of death’s reach. His cloak, leather bag, and tunic sat in a puddle of bloody water. Vanora squatted beside the pile and rested her shaking hands against her knees. Could she touch the objects? Pursing her lips, she stretched her fingers toward the cloak.

  Like spider silk catching a ray of sun, a thin gossamer line caught her eye. It took her a brief moment to realize it was the thread of life unraveling from the lining of the cloak. Vanora lashed out and grabbed the fine shimmering strand. To her relief, her fingers caught the filament, and it burned against her skin as it was drawn away by an unseen force. The intricate embroidery created by Aeron’s thread of life was rapidly unstitching from the cloak.

  Recognizing that she was running out of time, Vanora rotated her wrist, spooling the thread of life around it. A second later, the thread was pulled taut and she was dragged along with it. The courtyard vanished beneath her feet. The cool night air gushed over her body, and for a terrifying moment, Vanora feared she would fall into the valley below.

  A familiar circlet of white-gold flames appeared in the sky above her head. Flailing in the wind, Vanora was tugged up and through the portal.

  This time she wasn’t greeted by the beauty of the endless night, but the blazing brightness of a golden sun. Twirling about, she cried out when the thread was unraveled from her wrist and she fell. Crashing through tree branches, she attempted to stop her fall. Instead, she smacked into the earth.

  Breathless, Vanora laid face down on the ground, expecting agony to bloom in her body from the impact. How far had she fallen? Dew-drenched grass pressed into her cheeks and tickled the palms of her hands. The anticipated pain didn’t materialize, and she cautiously dug her toes into the ground. It was a tangible reality, but what did that mean?

  The whisper of magic compelled her to finally lift her head. At first she thought she was gazing at the sun itself, but then spotted flaws in the glowing golden orb floating before her. There were patches of its surface missing, revealing darkness within.

  Gingerly, she clambered to her feet in order to get a better look.

  The clearing was familiar. It was the same spot Arianrhod had cast the spell that had wrought all this pain on Vanora’s life. Where the bonfire had once burned the sphere of magic rotated above the ground. White glowing magic slithered over its surface, coalescing with golden fire. Other colors mingled in the miasma, glimpsed for the briefest moment before being subsumed by the whorls of white and gold. Dark spots were slashed through the globe. Vanora craned her head to gaze at one particularly large one. It was an empty spot that the rest of the magic avoided. There was a glimmer of something inside.

  “It’s what you took from her,” a familiar voice said.

  Vanora whirled about to see her mother standing a few feet away. Her thick curls were tucked away from her face and she was dressed in a simple white dress.

  “Mom?”

  With a small smile on her lips, Carys shook her head. “I’m merely a representation of a spell.”

  “Cast by my mother?” Vanora guessed based on the illusion’s appearance.

  “And others from your lineage.”

  Vanora craned her head to gaze up. The night sky was serene and beautiful, but somehow off. Rotating about, she realized what was amiss. The world around her was still. No movement, no sound. Nothing. It was as if she inhabited a photograph. “This place is frozen in time.”

  “Yes.”

  “So no one could find the spell and undo it. No one could find Aeron’s thread of life and destroy it.”

  “But you’re here now, Vano
ra.”

  “Because this--” she pointed to the orb “--is the source of me.”

  “True. Only you could ever come to this place and not be destroyed by the protective ward.”

  “Arianrhod must’ve not anticipated I wouldn’t want her legacy.”

  “But your mother made sure you would deny it, didn’t she? In that way, she has been victorious.”

  A shiver ran up Vanora’s spine. She’d recently spent a good chunk of time being angry with her mother, but Carys had done her best to protect her daughter. Guilt simmered in Vanora’s thoughts as she considered her mother’s quandary. Carys had obviously recognized her life was in danger and had cast spells to protect and guide her while also poisoning her against Aeron through visions. Though Carys had been a witch, her power had been no match for that of a goddess and an ancient prophecy.

  “If you’re a representation of a spell cast by the women of my family, what is your purpose?”

  “To give you clarity when the time was right.”

  Sweeping her gaze over the picturesque area before settling on the magical sphere, Vanora let out a bitter laugh. “I guess now is the time. I made it here.”

  “Yes.”

  Vanora studied the image of her mother. Like the setting around her, Carys appeared to be an image clipped out of a picture. There was nothing truly life-like about her. She wasn’t breathing or moving except to speak.

  “Why were you created?”

  As though speaking from a script, the phantasm said, “For a time, the legend of the White Queen was a treasured tale in our family, but later generations were haunted by visions and dreams of your fate. Overtime, the women of your family came to understand that your manifestation would herald destruction, not the utopia they first thought.”

  “My mother had visions about me?”

  “And your sister.”

  With a sigh, Vanora inclined her head. “Of course. That makes sense. All those paintings.”

  “Spells were cast against this… atrocity.” The image of Carys indicated the orb. “But none of your foremothers were strong enough to tear it apart. Each generation tried. Each failed. When you were born, your mother realized that the spell had finally taken root in reality and that time was short.”

  “How did she know?” Vanora hesitated, and then exhaled with frustration. “Oh. My albinism.”

  It made horrible sense. Arianrhod had done everything possible to create the perfect wife for Aeron. Vanora had witnessed Aeron as a child suffering the same difficulties she had. Not only did they share a soul, but life experiences. It had been a clever way to manipulate her into empathizing with him.

  “When you were born, your mother did everything she could to protect you.”

  “But it didn’t work.”

  “Didn’t it?” The apparition gestured toward the globe. “You’ve already done more to cripple the spell than anyone before you.”

  “The dark spots are where Arianrhod’s magic infused the spell. I weakened it when I took her power.”

  “Yes.”

  Taking a tentative step toward the sphere, Vanora studied the fissure that had drawn her gaze before. Something glinted inside the darkness that dwelled in the heart of the orb. The closer she came to the magic, the more vibrant and beautiful it became. The power within her tingled in her veins and a touch of euphoria brought a smile to her lips. Looking at her hands, she saw spirals of light swirling beneath her skin.

  Of course the spell would respond to her. It was the source of her creation.

  “Aeron’s thread of life brought me to this place.”

  “Yes,” Carys answered. “Captured upon his transformation and summoned here.”

  “But where is it?”

  The moment the words left her lips, Vanora knew. It was inside the spell, hidden and safe. Returning her scrutiny to the orb, Vanora held her hand a few inches from the surface. Whorls of iridescent color shimmered beneath her fingers, growing gradually brighter. The spell was the source of Vanora’s very existence; therefore, it stood to reason that she was still connected to it. If she was to deconstruct the spell and claim Aeron’s thread of life, she had to understand what she was dealing with.

  “Show me what you are,” Vanora commanded, and unleashed the magic within her.

  The sparkling white magic flooded out of her hand to tangle with the spell. Panic filled Vanora as the power she’d taken from Arianrhod attempted to weave itself back into the orb.

  “No, it’s mine,” Vanora said through gritted teeth, her fingers closing into a fist. The drag of the spell ceased. Vanora’s magic sizzled against the surface of the globe. Through the vibrant connection, visions and voices flooded her mind. In an instant, she understood the truth of Arianrhod’s legacy.

  When the Seven Sisters had risen and killed their father, his magic had imbued his sister. Arianrhod, in her grief, had attempted to bring him back to life by using their combined powers. Sensing that Arianrhod was attempting to alter their designs, the Fates warned Leto. The She-wolf had stopped Arianrhod from resurrecting her brother. As punishment, she’d thrust the goddess into the body of a mortal female baby, imprisoning for her defiance of ancient sacred laws.

  Over the years, Arianrhod had managed to recapture her magic and that of her brother. Intertwining the two, she’d created the spell that protected Aeron from death and created Vanora, thwarting the design of the Fates. The spell had been formed by the magic of the sun and the moon. Perhaps not the physical embodiment, but the spiritual one. When Vanora had taken Arianrhod’s power, she had stripped away part of the spell.

  Gripping her head between her hands, Vanora shuddered. The flood of information was not only overwhelming, but painfully invasive. She could feel the knowledge ferreted from the depths of the spell burrowing into her mind.

  Arianrhod had acted out of love for her brother and son. Having lost her own brother, Vanora understood her grief. If she could somehow return Roman to life, she’d do it without hesitation. But would she defy the Fates to save her child from death? Hadn’t Carys attempted that very thing when she’d fought the fate falsely created by Arianrhod?

  Vanora had considered Arianrhod evil, but now she recognized the woman had been ruthless in her quest to protect her son. The Fates had stolen her brother and weaved a horrendous ending to her son’s life. In her quest to give her son immortality and an exalted destiny, Arianrhod had altered the future of not only Vanora, but the world.

  “She believed in his goodness,” Vanora said aloud.

  “Perhaps, but she also believed in the old ways,” Carys answered.

  “Gods and goddesses ruling over humanity.”

  Vanora wanted to rip the spell to shreds, to destroy what Arianrhod had wrought, but an appalling truth immediately stopped her.

  If the spell was completely undone, Vanora would be no more.

  “If I do destroy the spell and die, will it kill Aeron?”

  “That question I cannot answer.”

  Staring at the spell that had dominated her entire existence, Vanora again fought the urge to tear it apart. She had no doubt she could do it, but if she did, she would die and his thread of life would remain hidden. She’d leave her loved ones at the mercy of an indestructible Aeron.

  Through the empty spots in the orb, Vanora again caught sight of a glimmer of something golden. Careful not to touch the edges of the fissure, she reached into the core of the spell. Her fingers bumped against something solid and she closed her hand around it. When she withdrew her arm, she stared at the golden spindle tucked into her hand. A fine gossamer thread was wound around the pin. It was just like the myths of old. For some reason she hadn’t expected it to be so literal, yet here she was, holding it.

  “Aeron’s thread of life,” Vanora murmured in awe.

  Then she saw something that made her shudder.

  Another thread, this one golden, was intertwined with the white one.

  It was her thread of life. There was no doubt
in her mind.

  Just as she’d feared, Arianrhod had connected them. But if Aeron was indestructible because of his mother’s actions, did that mean Vanora was, too?

  “What do I do with it now?”

  There was no answer.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Vanora saw she was alone. The apparition was gone. Scrutinizing the spindle in her hand, Vanora realized the golden thread had unspooled from the pin. Following the barely discernable strand, she inhaled sharply. It was still attached to the sphere. Her life was definitely bound to the spell.

  “Fuck,” she muttered.

  If she departed with the spool containing her thread of life, it would still be connected to the spell. Would that work against her? Or for her? What was she to do?

  A dark knot of despair filled her when she realized what action she needed to take next. Pressing the spindle to her chest, Vanora raised her eyes toward the sky. In response to her silent summons, the ring of white fire appeared.

  It was time to face the Fates.

  * * *

  The warmth of the fire pit and the strong fragrance of incense greeted Vanora when she raised her head. It was unnerving to find that she was still seated across from the Oracle. For one second she doubted all she had experienced, but it was the tangible presence of the spool of thread in her hand that shoved those thoughts away. Her fingers closed about the precious object. It was both empowering and terrifying to hold her own fate in her hand.

  Siana’s head drooped toward her chest, wobbling slightly on her thin neck. The Oracle’s long tresses were no longer snakes, and the heavy curls hid her face. Relief washed away her fear that the Oracle was dead when Siana stirred slightly.

  “Give us the thread of life,” a voice demanded.

  “I knew you’d be waiting,” Vanora replied, shifting so she could look at the three women standing behind her.

  “Of course we’d be waiting...”