The days in Lodin’s tower passed in a blur. She stayed in bed too long, trying to find escape in sleep, but her dreams were haunted, filled with her father’s face. She barely ate, rarely spoke to anyone. The food the servants brought went cold. Eventually, they'd take the food away and replace it with more. When she couldn’t stay in bed any longer, she’d wander the tower's dark hallways, with Maeve always behind her, a constant pattering escort. The servants knelt before her, but Angie barely saw them. She could have been dream walking.
Sometimes Lodin accompanied her, holding her hand and talking softly. At those times, she'd forget what she had done and find peace. When he left her again, the horror would rush back. She began to look forward to his visits. They'd talk for hours about the Hollows, his subjects, traitors in his kingdom—but most importantly, the freedom that came from accepting their special gift. He wasn’t like her, wasn’t wracked by guilt. He didn’t think of taking another’s life force as murder, merely a necessary part of what he was: a source mage. Her guilt, she realized, must have been why she had convinced herself it had been the Shade King that had taken all those lives.
But it had been her. She knew that now.
Lodin insisted it was the natural order of things. The two of them were the apex predators of the magical world. Others existed to provide life energy for them. To not make use of this gift was the crime. His magic made him king here, but it had also let him end the constant internecine wars that had plagued the Fey. Yes, there were still traitors—the troll chieftain Garaka Dun had been an example of one—but most of Lodin’s subjects lived in peace and happiness because of his rule, because of the power he held as a source mage. And once Angie joined her magic to his, they'd rule the Hollows together. None would dare stand against them. Nor did she need to worry about a human's short life span; he'd show her magic to prolong her life. They could create a dynasty that would last a thousand years.
It was all lovely, exciting even, but every now and then, the image of a dark-haired warrior with emerald eyes would flash in her memory, and she’d feel a nagging worry that this was all wrong. Sometimes she even imagined a voice in her head, but the voice was muted, impossible to hear properly.
And then Lodin would smile, and the worry and the voice would vanish.
The days ran together, became weeks, and she began to worry less and eat more, to regain her strength. She even stopped wearing Nightfall, finding a side-sword a bit ... silly. After all, there were guards everywhere, her guards. Besides, Lodin would keep her safe. He'd always keep her safe.
Forever.
Sometimes the dark thoughts came back—always when Lodin was away attending to matters of state. Today was such a day. She wandered the tower's hallways, her thoughts a morass of self-pity, but she couldn’t remember why she felt so bad. Maeve accompanied her, chattering incessantly. Maeve was talking about braiding Angie's hair for a ceremony, telling her how beautiful she'd be. Angie barely heard the satyr. Her thoughts cascaded inside her skull: father, mother, brother, best friend ... lover. Whenever she tried to latch onto any thought, any memory, it slipped away from her. She had done ... something. Something terrible. But someone had loved her. Lodin. Lodin loved her. And she loved Lodin.
No. Not Lodin. Someone else.
Someone with green eyes.
Someone she loved.
Without realizing where she had been going, she found herself on the stairs leading to the tower’s summit. Then she was out in the open air, the wind blowing her hair about. Why did I come up here? She stared out at the landscape below. Maeve was asking her something, her voice filled with uncharacteristic worry, but Angie couldn't focus on the satyr's words. They might as well have been wind. What had Angie done that was so terrible? And why did it feel like she was asleep even when awake, her thoughts a thick fog? Maeve tugged at her sleeve, kept saying something, but Angie pulled free and stepped closer to the battlements. The sky was becoming a darker shade of crimson, what passed for nightfall here. She found she missed the true sunsets of her world.
Her world. Not the Hollows.
There was a war.
She felt a coldness in her core, suddenly remembering gunfire, smoke, screams of the dying. Just as quickly, the memory slipped away again, leaving only Lodin's beautiful smiling face, those sparkling golden eyes.
"My queen," Maeve pleaded. "Please come away."
That was when Angie realized she had climbed atop the stone crenellations. The wind whipped her hair about as she stared down on Lodin's maze, his hilltop, and the junglelike glen behind it. From here, she could just make out the broken stones of the portal and the silver griffin that guarded them. Moonwing looked like a pet, and Angie smiled. Would his feathers be soft to pet?
"My queen," Maeve repeated. "Please..."
And then Angie remembered—the memory startling her, cutting through her fugue like a rapier thrust through the heart—and she gasped: She had killed her own father. Driven away her mother and older brother.
How could she have forgotten?
Maeve edged closer, her hooves clopping on the stones. She reached out for Angie but froze when Angie leaned forward.
Angie ignored the terror in the satyr's eyes. "Can you believe that I once feared the Shade King was the demon?" She laughed, a hint of hysteria in her voice. "Turns out, I was far worse than it could ever be."
"My love," Lodin said softly, surprising her as he climbed from the steps and onto the tower’s summit. "Perhaps you should step down." He wore a golden toga that accentuated his broad shoulders and powerful chest. His chest hair was so blond it looked like spun gold. Everything about Lodin was golden. He held his hand out to her, his eyes shining, and she wondered what she had just been thinking.
"My beautiful, shining lord," she said, filled with love for him. "You can see Moonwing from up here." She took his hand.
"Yes, my love, you can," he said as he helped her down. He placed his powerful arm around her waist and pulled her toward him, hugging her against him. She kissed his cheek, glancing at Maeve and wondering why she looked like she had just swallowed a lemon.
Fey were odd.
"I was walking with Maeve," she said.
"I know, my love. I have brought you a gift."
"A gift?" Excitement coursed through her, and she ran her hands over his chest. "Show me," she said, her heart near to bursting with love.
He knelt on one knee. Why was he kneeling? He was lord here. Others knelt before him. He took her left hand in his. "It is the custom in your land, is it not, to bestow a diamond ring upon one's bride?"
"A ring?" she asked, her eyes smiling as she gazed upon this perfect golden man.
He slipped a huge ring around her left ring finger. The diamond on the band was as large as her fingertip and glittered in the red sky. Angie gasped. "Yes, yes, yes," she cried, pulling Lodin to his feet and kissing him.
Maeve beamed. "And flowers in your hair, a crown of star tulips, I think."
The next day passed in a blur. She was aware of preparations for a ceremony. All the servants were excited and kept telling her how happy she'd be. And she was happy, blissful even. She loved Lodin. Her entire world was Lodin, would only ever be Lodin. But this morning, just as she was waking, she had felt a presence in her mind, the voice again.
But this time it had been screaming at her.
The wedding ceremony was more beautiful than a fairy tale, her gown glittering silver and blue. Maeve had braided her hair and set a crown of woven tulips in it. She was beautiful; she saw it in the faces of the Fey servants. Even the nymphs paled in comparison. And Lodin was like a god, his skin glowing, his smile whiter than snow.
Later that night, he took her to his—to their—bedchamber. As she stood before him, he gently removed her gown, letting it fall upon the floor. Then he lay her before him on an enormous bed covered in thick furs. His magical spear sat atop a stand near the far wall, its spearhead glittering in the light of the flames crackling in the fireplace. T
he same flames shone upon her love, her husband, accentuating his golden hair and skin. He stood before her, naked and perfect, his muscles shining in the torchlight, his manhood a thick rod—almost too big.
"Make love to me," she said breathlessly, raising herself on her elbows. "I need you, my lord." And she did. She burned for his touch. Burned to feel him inside her.
The shine in his eyes was oddly one of savage triumph, not love. She wondered at that, but then he gripped her ankles and yanked her toward him, pulling her legs wide. Angie gasped, closing her eyes and readying herself.
And then the Shade King's screams finally broke through her psyche and took her mind from this place.
Chapter 28
In a single moment of wrenching disorientation, Angie found herself standing under a scorching sun amid stone ruins surrounded by dunes of sand as far as she could see. An ancient city lay all about her: blasted stone and shattered columns, broken towers, pyramids, and shells of buildings that had once been temples, courts, and estates of a long-dead civilization. Half buried in the sand were tall statues of figures that stood on two legs with too-long arms and visages distinctly lionlike. She had seen this place, these ruins, these statues once before—when the Shade King had shown her a vision of its past.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked the Shade King.
There was no answer but the slowly shifting sand.
She had been in Lodin’s bed, naked, more than willing to consummate their marriage, but now she was here, fully dressed in the camouflaged combat uniform of a Home Guard soldier. Even Nightfall sat on her hip once more, but she remembered putting it away in a footlocker in her bedchamber. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, her head was clear. I got married, she realized in shock. I married Lodin. Why?
She shivered with sudden understanding: He cast a spell on me, but it must not work here. But where is here?
MY ONCE HOME, the Shade King finally answered. This time its voice didn't thunder in her skull but resonated softly. WELCOME TO THE KINGDOM OF ATLANSOR, SOURCE MAGE. WELCOME, ANGELA HARRIET RITTER.
"Why can I hear you so clearly now? What's changed?"
EVERYTHING. YOUR MIND WAS A MAZE THAT LOCKED AWAY YOUR PAST, INTERFERING IN OUR DIALOGUE. FIRST THE DRAGON AND THEN THE SUCCUBUS. BOTH WOVE NETS OVER YOUR MEMORY. THE DRAGON SOUGHT TO PROTECT YOU FROM WHAT YOU HAD DONE TO YOUR FATHER. THE SUCCUBUS SOUGHT TO PROTECT YOU FROM ME. PERHAPS THEIR INTENTIONS WERE PURE. I DO NOT KNOW. BUT I DO KNOW THAT THE THIRD ONE, THE OTHER SOURCE MAGE, CLOUDS YOUR MIND ON PURPOSE—AND HIS INTENTIONS ARE NOT PURE.
"Lodin. I ... I don't love him." And she didn't. She understood that now. It was like waking from a dream.
HE HAS CAST A SPELL OVER YOU. I HAVE SPENT MORE THAN A WEEK TRYING TO BREAK THROUGH AND ONLY JUST SUCCEEDED. IN HIS LUST, HIS CONTROL OVER YOUR MIND SLIPS.
"Lust?" She remembered being naked in his bed, but it felt more like an erotic dream than reality, a fantasy—a dark fantasy. She shivered despite the heat and wrapped her arms about herself, wanting nothing more than to change the subject. She turned in place, gazing out over the ruined city and the shifting sands. "This … place. You called it a kingdom?"
THE KINGDOM OF ATLANSOR, BUT IT IS NOW FORGOTTEN AND LOST TO ALL BUT ME. EVEN MY OWN KIND NO LONGER REMEMBER WHAT THEY ONCE WERE.
"Shades," she whispered. "Your people became shades."
YES.
"Who are you, really?"
MY NAME NO LONGER MATTERS. TO SPEAK IT AGAIN WOULD ONLY BRING ME PAIN. I WOULD SOONER FORGET, JUST AS MY PEOPLE HAVE. THERE IS A PEACE TO LETTING GO.
She thought of her father and wished she could let go.
WE LOVED BEAUTY AND MAGIC OVER ALL THINGS. I REMEMBER THAT MUCH. WE WERE GREAT SORCERERS BUT EVER TOO PROUD. AND IN OUR PRIDE, WE SOUGHT TO TRANSFORM OURSELVES AND BECOME CREATURES OF PURE MAGIC, PURE ETHEREAL ENERGY—TO MY SHAME, I SUCCEEDED.
IT WAS I WHO CAST THE GREAT SPELL THAT TRANSFORMED MY PEOPLE, BUT I NEVER CONSIDERED WHAT SUCCESS MEANT. IN THE TRANSFORMATION, THEY LOST THEIR CONSCIOUSNESS, LOST ALL KNOWLEDGE OF WHO THEY WERE. AND MOST DAMNING OF ALL, THEY LOST THAT WHICH THEY LOVED MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE: THE ABILITY TO TOUCH MAGIC.
The Shade King laughed, but it was the laughter of the lost.
THE IRONY IS LIKE A MOUNTAIN. THIS IS WHY MY PEOPLE ARE DRAWN TO MAGES, TO THOSE WHO CAN STILL TOUCH MAGIC. THROUGH YOU, THEY CAN ATTAIN A MEASURE OF WHAT THEY ONCE WERE BUT ONLY A TRICKLE. BONDING WITH A HUMAN OR FEY MAGE IS LIKE DRINKING THE DROPS THAT FALL FROM A NEAR-EMPTY PITCHER. FOR OTHERS OF MY KIND, THIS IS ENOUGH, BUT NOT FOR ONE SUCH AS I. I NEEDED MORE. I NEEDED A WATERFALL. I NEEDED YOU.
"Why are you different?"
BECAUSE I WAS THE GREATEST OF OUR SORCERER-KINGS. BECAUSE I CAST THE SPELL THAT TRANSFORMED MY RACE INTO BEINGS OF ENERGY, INTO SHADES. BECAUSE OF MY SINS, I ALONE RETAINED A MEMORY OF WHAT WAS, OF WHO I WAS.
The world blurred, and suddenly the ruins were gone, replaced by gleaming white marble buildings and vast pyramids. Tall, gleaming white towers reached for the heavens. The city was whole, at the height of its power. Even the sand and dunes were gone, replaced by bright-green irrigated fields and oases. The city's strange feline-like inhabitants walked about, tall and blue skinned with the heads of lions and long manes that blazed fire. The strange inhabitants walked past her, through her, never seeing her. She was the ghost here. The city’s inhabitants were all mages and worked magic the likes of which she had never seen. And atop the tallest of the pyramids, a group of blue-skinned sorcerers performed a powerful ritual. A storm built above the city, growing quickly in intensity. Thunder boomed and dark clouds roiled, broken only by the flare of near-constant lightning.
IN MY HUBRIS, I ENDED MY PEOPLE, NEVER SUSPECTING WHAT WOULD HAPPEN WHEN I PLAYED AT GODHOOD.
A wave of glimmering magic detonated out from the pyramid's summit, cascading down throughout the city. One by one, the beautiful blue-skinned lion-headed creatures flashed into fire. They sped away, tornadoes of flames, careening about the desert.
THEY SPED TO EVERY CORNER OF THE WORLD. IN TIME, THEY BECAME ONLY SHADOWS OF WHAT THEY HAD ONCE BEEN: SHADES.
Just for a moment, Angie felt the Shade King’s soul-wrenching misery. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm so sorry."
THE CRIME IS NOT YOURS.
"What are you, truly?"
TRULY? I NO LONGER REMEMBER, BUT OTHERS OF YOUR KIND HAVE NAMED US EFFRIT, DJINN, PAZUZU, AND DEVA. BUT THESE ARE ONLY WORDS, DEVOID OF ANY TRUE MEANING. I AM FIRE AND WIND AND STORM.
Visions passed before her as the eons passed. She saw the first of humanity's civilizations rise, little more than nomadic tribes chasing herds across the landscape, but soon villages, towns, and entire cities rose. And the humans worshipped the beings of flame.
THE FIRST BONDING BETWEEN YOUR KIND AND MINE WAS AN ACCIDENT. A HUMAN SORCERER EXPERIMENTING WITH POWERS HE DIDN'T UNDERSTAND DREW IN TOO MUCH OF THE AMBIENT MANA AROUND HIM, THE PALTRY RESIDUE OF LIFE ENERGY THAT MY KIND WOULDN'T HAVE EVER BOTHERED WITH. BUT STARVED TO TOUCH MANA ONCE MORE, ONE OF MY KIND WAS UNABLE TO RESIST AND BONDED FORCEFULLY WITH THE MAGE. THE BOND WAS DESTRUCTIVE, THE HUMAN UNABLE TO GRASP THAT ANOTHER ENTITY SHARED HIS MIND. HE BECAME VIOLENT. BUT A DOOR HAD BEEN OPENED, AND OTHERS OF MY KIND SOUGHT OUT OTHER MAGES. THEY BONDED WITH YOUR KIND AGAIN AND AGAIN, UNABLE TO RESIST, ALMOST ALWAYS ENDING WITH THE DEATH OF BOTH MAGE AND SHADE. UNTIL ONE TIME, ALMOST BY ACCIDENT, A SHADE BONDED WITH A FEY, ONE OF THOSE WHO HAD BEGUN TRAVELING HERE FROM THEIR OWN REALM. THE BONDING HELD. NEITHER DIED.
THAT FEY MAGE HELPED OTHERS OF HER KIND BOND WITH OTHER SHADES, SHARING MAGIC AND POWER. IN TIME, THE FEY BECAME POWERFUL SORCERERS, MUCH MORE EASILY CROSSING THE BARRIER BETWEEN REALMS. MANY THOUSANDS OF YEARS LATER, YOUR OWN ADOPTED MOTHER WAS THE FIRST TO HELP BOND HUMAN MAGES WITH SHADES, A MUTUAL JOINING.
"Our bonding wasn’t mutual," Angie said, hearing the anger in her voice, feeling it build within her. "You possessed me when I was only a child."
She felt its vast shame then, a crushing weight upon it. TO
MY NEVER-ENDING DISGRACE. THE FEY WHO SENT ME TO YOUR MOTHER BELIEVED THE JAR HELD ME PRISONER, BUT THE TRUTH WAS THAT I WAS HIDING WITHIN, HOPING DEATH WOULD FINALLY TAKE ME, BUT IT NEVER DID. PERHAPS IMMORTALITY IS MY PUNISHMENT.
Its voice trailed off, and Angie almost felt sorry for it. Almost.
I REMAINED IN DARKNESS FOR SO LONG WITHOUT THE TOUCH OF MAGIC. UNTIL THE DAY I FELT YOU.
"When Char asked me to use my life-sense magic on the jar?"
JUST SO. I COULD HAVE RESISTED ALL OTHERS, BUT NOT YOU, NOT ANOTHER SOURCE MAGE, NOT ONE WHOSE HEART WAS AS PURE AS YOURS, UNSTAINED BY EVIL. I AM SORRY.
"Another source mage? There were others like me?"
LIKE YOU? NEVER. BUT THERE HAVE BEEN OTHERS WITH YOUR GIFT. WATCH AND LEARN. SEE WHY I WISHED FOR THE RELEASE OF DEATH.
The sand whipped about her, stinging with its intensity. She hid her face behind her arm. When the sand died away, she saw yet another desert kingdom, this one built along the banks of a huge green river, a human kingdom, Babylonian or Egyptian, perhaps. The buildings were made of crude bricks and clay formed from dried mud and painted with garish colors. Farmers tended fields, fishermen pulled their catch from the river with rope nets, and children ran about, playing happily. It was all so beautiful, like a fairy tale.
As with the blue-skinned lion race, no one saw her. She was another ghost.
She blinked and found herself within the city, standing on a busy street. Citizens in bright robes rushed about. Merchants hawked their wares. The buzz of a thousand conversations washed over her in a language she didn't know. She stood before a young man, his hair bound in a turban, wearing little more than a dirty loincloth, sitting cross-legged against a brick building, his palms resting up against his thin, scabby knees. His face was malnourished, his lips covered in glistening sores. A beggar, she realized, his stench gag-inducing.
But one who glowed with arcane energy.
AL-ADIN. THE FIRST SOURCE MAGE I BONDED WITH. WHEN I REALIZED HIS POTENTIAL, I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF. I WAS LITTLE MORE THAN A STARVING BEAST.
Firestorm Page 22
