It was all coming together.
Her destiny.
So now she was riding swiftly after stopping at a brothel for a rubbing of her back, neck and shoulders and a hot scented bath then taking a nice meal at her leisure in a pub (Ry was also generous with his travel tithe, though Marian preferred to think of it as it actually was: him paying her for her bloody service, something no Go’Ella received).
She needed to be there in the night and the Ancient Ritual Ground was close to Go’Doan, less than a full day’s ride away.
But after she spent the part of the day she’d have to spend waiting for the night if she got there too early (she’d learned that right away), she took the route quickly for the ride was rife with concerns.
This was partly due to the fact it was also close to the edge of The Enchantments, and there were all manner of men who regularly journeyed there for whatever purpose they got in their heads to go.
Over two hundred years, and not a one of them got in.
Men did not learn speedily. In some aspects it took centuries.
Even millennia.
Not to mention there were Zees.
Marian had no squabble with the Zees. She understood them traveling in their bright caravans, keeping themselves to themselves and very much not liking when anyone poked their nose in their business.
The problem was, they were known to set upon travelers. They didn’t tend to harm them, just steal their possessions, including their horses.
And Marian needed her horse to get to the Ritual Grounds and then get back to Go’Doan. Ry could be downright fatherly when his mind was turned from his writings. If he knew Marian had been harassed by Zees, he might demand a G’Tish accompany her.
And that would not do.
She set her sights on her destination, settling the small dagger she had more firmly in her belt.
The pixies were out, their zip and buzz could be seen all through the dark of the trees with a light like a firefly’s, except far less leisurely and they were lit constant. That was, when they were in motion. When they landed on something, their light dulled.
They’d soon be fewer and fewer. They disliked the cold, but more, the trees when they were naked of their leaves. They’d forage for food and go to share with others of their kind. But they would not dash and soar for flying’s sake in abundance as they did in the summer.
And it was growing cold.
The next quake (which she hoped would come sooner, and not be delayed as the last, something that had alarmed her greatly), instead of the light cloak she now wore, she’d need fur robes to keep her warm.
Wodell had a wet chill that seeped into the bones in the autumn and winter (and a good part of the spring, especially up north). Something, as she’d come from the north, she was glad to see the back of when she made the mistake-slash-blessing of leaving behind her cruel mother, her oftentimes vexing profession of a prostitute, and going where many of her ilk went when there was no other choice.
Go’Doan.
It could get cold in the Dome City as well. But not near as cold as the north of Wodell. Not to mention, Ry kept the fire in his Go’Ella’s cell blazing.
Marian rode on, thinking of this and deciding, when she met her destiny, she would be kind to G’Ry, as he had been to her.
And she was nearing. She knew it by her location but also by the quickening.
She’d need no fur robes as she got closer.
No.
And she sensed all would happen soon. After the power of the last quake, and that plaintive cry, it could be nothing else.
She finally reached her destination and her skin felt flush all over to the point it was heated.
And thus, she wasted no time in doing as she’d done the many times before, first divesting herself of the Dellish garments that Ry insisted she wear for her own protection when she left Go’Doan.
She also wasted no time, wearing nothing but her white Go’Ella sheer, in laying herself upon the ground.
She did this on her back with arms over her head and legs spread wide.
Like all the others.
Without the tethers.
Marian smelled the blood. The sweat. Centuries of it permeating the dirt.
But some of it was so very fresh.
She closed her eyes as saliva filled her mouth at sensing the struggle. The cries. The pleadings. The sobs. The eventual despair and capitulation. The prolonged death. Sensing it so strongly, with each passing moment that sensation growing to the point she could hear the cries and see the struggles…
And watch the death.
She would find them.
Oh, she would.
She would find them all and the things she’d do.
The things they would do.
It came, not as normal—a hum, like a lullaby, soothing her mind and soul, but further heating her skin.
Instead, it was a small trembling, not the likes of what was felt in the beginning of the quakes.
Something different.
Something Marian fancied was not about her destiny.
Or perhaps it was.
Something she did not like in the slightest.
That trembling came and was gone so fast, it was almost like it did not happen at all.
And then…
Nothing.
Moments fell into minutes and more and more of them ticked by and there was still nothing.
No hum.
No lullaby.
As she waited even longer, she grew concerned.
Was he angry at her?
On this thought, suddenly, she cried out as she found her waist captured in a strong grip on either side.
This hold coming from below.
But by what?
She could not then find an answer to that question as she was instead finding herself drawing dirt into her throat instead of air.
She closed her mouth, her eyes, as she went down when there was no down to go.
But she was going.
Down, into the earth, the roots of trees scraping her flesh.
Down deeper, her lungs beginning to burn at holding her breath, her eyes shut tight, her lips drawn in and pressed together by her teeth to keep her mouth closed and not scream in terror.
She did not writhe in the hold on her. She had far more prevalent concerns. And they weren’t simply that she could not breathe.
Primarily, the weight of the dirt on top of her the deeper she fell—or was pulled—was bearing greatly on her.
Like it would crush her bones.
Crush her entire body.
And then she was in free fall and she did cry out, spluttering and spitting out dirt as her body was jarred with a landing.
However, she did not fall to the ground.
She was being held.
Held to…
She shook the dirt from her face, turned her head, opened her eyes and abruptly found herself on her feet as the creature before her took two steps back.
He was very tall.
Lean of frame, but broad of shoulder.
He had golden hair and bright blue eyes.
Winged dark brows and pleasing angular features.
Like her visions.
Just like her dreams.
That gilt head bent, and his voice rumbled forth toward her.
“Patrona.”
Marian’s skin came alive.
“Me Brutum,” she whispered.
He lifted his head and stared directly at her.
Her vision.
Her dream.
Her destiny.
Her Beast.
Yes.
It was happening.
43
The Setback
The Priest
Ancient Ritual Ground, Lesser Thicket Forest
WODELL
He had to join them via the astral plane.
Which he did.
When he arrived, he saw the others were not happy.
They couldn’t possibly know i
t was he who killed one of their own.
“You are most lucky you’re not actually you,” his least favorite spat the moment the priest took astral form.
They knew.
“Beware, my brother,” the priest warned.
“Beware?” the man asked, throwing both of his arms wide in fury. “Beware of you setting a Firenz asp on me? Do you think we were foolish enough not to have consumed the antidote every morn since we heard how Rupert expired?”
Less clever brothers should have been chosen.
“The news is everywhere,” another of the men joined in. “We must cease. We shouldn’t even be here. If anyone deduced what we’ve deduced,” he indicted the two men at his side with a hand, “investigators from four realms will be set upon us and the Go’Doan won’t keep their noses out of it. With but a few tomes reviewed, at the very least, this sacred site will be breached. You know that best of all, being a bloody Go’Doan yourself.”
“You can’t possibly imagine my brothers in the Go’Doan haven’t been poring over those tomes already and yet, we have not been discovered,” the priest noted.
“That was before the Beast roared in conjunction with three people in two different realms losing their lives in the same but uncommon way,” the second man returned.
“No one will put it together,” the priest assured.
“The night of the mightiest quake where a roar could be heard across Triton, a life was taken at the king’s palace in Firenze, and within hours, a member of Airen’s landed gentry dies the same way, an unusual way, especially considering a Firenz asp, a creature that doesn’t leave the sand, was the result of all the slayings,” his least favorite summed things up snidely. “You don’t think anyone will put that together?”
“Why did you kill the woman at the palace?” the third man asked.
The priest couldn’t tell them he’d made a mistake. He’d meant to kill the betrothed of Prince True. He’d meant to put an end to the prophecy before it began.
Learning that he’d failed, after he’d seen to the death of his Rupert and Rupert’s slut, was equally bad news that sorry day some weeks before. A day that should have been joyous.
“It was not me,” he lied.
“Bullshite,” his least favorite bit. “What are you playing at?” he demanded. “That mess and now we cannot perform rituals, we don’t have the men, and furthermore, we have to lie low in case anyone adds Rupert to that Firenz woman to the Beast and gets us. But before that, you demanded we reduce our rituals, when we should have bloody doubled them, and then you rode to Firenze to quell some magical prophecy we’ve never bloody heard of so we couldn’t even perform them at all.”
“It wasn’t only that. I’m part of a diplomatic envoy,” the priest spat. “I couldn’t demur. History is being made. It would be suspect if I declined. Especially as the Go’Doan know why history is being made with these marital alliances. We will resume our rituals, on schedule, once we recruit a new brother.”
“Why is Rupert dead?” the third man asked.
“We will recruit another brother,” the priest repeated.
“You didn’t answer my question,” the man returned. “Why is Rupert gone?”
Before the priest could answer, his nemesis did it for him. “Because he was fucking some wench and not fisting his own cock with thoughts of that one’s,” he jerked his head toward the priest, “arse.” The man looked to him. “They were found together, naked, after intercourse. You caught him with a woman. And in a fit of jealousy, you killed them both.”
“It doesn’t matter,” the priest muttered.
“You killed one of us,” the man retorted. “It does matter.”
“I don’t answer to you,” the priest clipped.
“We don’t answer to you either,” the man fired back.
The second man joined in, stating, “You realize, Rupert was loyal to you.”
The priest had no response for he had seen with his own eyes he was not.
“We do not like you,” the first said. “We don’t trust you. The only reason we put up with you was because Rupert had great things to say about your magic. Because he told us, without you, it would not be in our generation that the Beast was roused. If it were not for Rupert, it would be you who would no longer have the ability to perform the rituals.”
“You threaten me?” the priest whispered.
The man shook his head. “You find a man. You train a man. Not one you want to fuck. One who will get the job done. And we all renew our vows and the rituals begin again, no. If you do none of these things…”
He didn’t finish.
And yes.
It was a threat.
The priest did not like to be threatened.
“I am currently on my way to Notting Thicket for Prince True’s wedding,” the priest sniffed.
“You better find your way to get your arse here,” the second man demanded. “If you don’t, we’ll carry on without you.”
“The Beast does not rouse for you,” the priest snapped. “As you know, the rituals must go on as prescribed or they’re meaningless.”
“Would you like to test that?” the third man queried.
The priest looked amongst them.
He needed them.
He needed all of them.
He could not recruit four men. Not do that and retain his guise as a Go’Doan emissary.
And if they all fell prey to some “accident,” how would he explain that to the Society?
He needed them until he was free to replace them.
All of them.
“I’ve received a missive from the Society,” he said. “They know of Rupert’s demise and they’ve informed me they’ve planned for such an occurrence. There is one always ready to join our ranks. I will dispatch a message to them and have him brought to me. I will interview him. If he’s suitable, I will train him, I will bring him to you and I will come with him.”
“And what if we don’t find him suitable?” the second man asked.
“You will,” the priest gritted.
“And how long will this take?” the first man inquired.
“The ride from Notting Thicket to the Ritual Ground is but a week. We’ve been delayed in leaving Firenze due to the death of that woman and the ostentatious ceremony King Mars bestowed on her. And the King of Mar-el demanded a further delay as he, for some reason, must take his wife and men to the sea. In other words, there is an interruption in the prophecy fulfilling itself. With our setback, we’ve been granted a boon.”
“Without our setback, and this delay, the Beast might be here already, and Triton would be ours,” his antagonist noted.
The priest said nothing.
“Fix it,” the man hissed.
“It will be done,” the priest returned haughtily, and before they could annoy him more, he returned across the astral plane to his physical form in the forest of southern Wodell, sitting atop his pentagram drawn in the dirt, the candles about him in a circle lit.
He extinguished them immediately. He was not near to the camp. He was also not far enough for his liking. He’d taken a chance lighting them. Now that he was safely back, he could risk it no longer.
And he sat in the dark, staring into the shadowy trees, giving the wax in the chilly clime time to harden so he could gather his implements, and he did this trying to keep his thoughts calm.
“This is but a setback,” he eventually murmured and stood, reclaiming the candles and putting them in his sack.
He used his foot to erase the pentagram.
“Just a setback,” he decreed.
With that, he made his way back to camp.
44
The Incomplete Circle
The Great Coven
Silbury Henge, Argyll Forest
AIREN
In the clearing of the forest, the first flash of light came before the first of the five standing stones.
The light was green.
The next came and it was marine
blue.
The next was bright white.
And the next was crimson.
“We must—” Rebecca, the most powerful witch of Wodell started speaking urgently.
Nandra of Firenze interrupted her. “Not until we’re all here.”
“We must speak of Ophelia,” Rebecca stated stubbornly.
“She is right,” Lena of Mar-el agreed.
Fern of Airen drew breath into her nose but said nothing.
“I feel the veil absorbing her,” Rebecca declared.
Nandra stared at her fellow witch.
Lena looked to the ground.
Fern drew in both her lips and bore down on them with her teeth.
“And all of you feel it too,” Rebecca accused.
“There is naught we can do about it,” Nandra said.
“As much as I hate to say this about my sister, my friend, a woman I respect greatly, she must be replaced. This is a burden on her,” Rebecca told the coven. “And times are rife. We need this circle to be complete.”
“’Tis true, our power is reduced if but one of us is not at her best,” Fern said quietly. “And in this time especially, we need this circle at full strength.”
“And who would you have replace her?” Nandra demanded to know. “Serena is a menace and Elena is caught up in the prophecy.”
“Melisse,” Rebecca stated.
Fern looked away.
Lena caught the movement and noted, “Melisse is an excellent suggestion.”
Fern took her time looking back at her sisters before she admitted, “I’ve had a vision.”
“Oh goddess,” Nandra murmured.
“What vision?” Lena inquired.
“It is not good for…Melisse,” Fern told them.
“Are you mad?” Nandra snapped.
Fern straightened her shoulders and Rebecca retorted, “Nandra. Calm down.”
Nandra didn’t calm. “When did you have this vision?”
“Not long ago,” Fern shared.
“Unless it was fifteen minutes ago, it was too long not to inform the rest of us. Does she perish?” Nandra asked.
Fern shook her head. “It’s murky.”
“Of course,” Lena mumbled.
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