Faith, to her credit, barely reacted. She blinked, unimpressed.
“I think I have a leg up on Light, because look at me,” Jag went on, oblivious to the uncaring expression on her face and the sour one on Light’s. “I am much more pleasing to the eye than the Elf.”
“You’re also hairier. I don’t know if I like that,” Faith said before shooting Light a look. “What’s your argument for why you’d win?” There was an undercurrent of something in her voice, as if she expected him to bring up their past heated sessions of one-on-one time.
Light couldn’t bring that up. Not only did he not want to air everything out in front of Jag, but he also didn’t want to sound like he was bragging. As if he’d ever brag about kissing a Human—the very race that he swore up and down to all those who’d listen that he hated. So he kept quiet.
Faith lifted her arms above her head, stretching, and immediately, Jag’s gaze fell to her chest. Light was going to scold him, tell him to look elsewhere, but then he too started staring at it, remembering that morning, remembering waking up and holding it. What a peculiar sensation that was.
She laughed as she said, “Pathetic. Both of you are pathetic.”
Wait a moment. Was her stretch fake just so she could catch them ogling?
Light had to admit, she did look a lot better in her own clothing than in the ugly uniform she wore with her classmates when they were here. Blue pants, tight around her legs, showing the curve of her butt, boots with buckles that ended halfway up her calf, and a fitting shirt whose sleeves covered her Victi.
Damn. Light had it bad.
“And besides, who says either of you have to win? Why can’t you both win?”
Jag muttered a confused “What?” Faith’s only response was lifting her eyebrows, and he started to understand. His expression morphed from confusion to surprise to acceptance, and finally to excitement. He opened his mouth, probably to accept, when she shook her head.
“Kidding,” Faith said, stepping out from between them. “It was a joke. As if I want either of you touching me like that.” She gave them both a disappointed look, then she went into his home.
Once he recovered from her fake suggestion, Jag muttered, “Damn. She got me excited.”
Light was no longer stunned into silence. Finding his voice, he looked to his friend and said, “I cannot believe you would agree to something like that.”
“Says the Elf. Aren’t orgies kind of your thing?”
Scowling, Light said, “Not mine.”
Getting naked, sharing Faith, it was not something that he wished to do. He wasn’t like that. He’d never be like that…although, hadn’t he once said the same about Humans? Hadn’t he sworn to himself that he hated them, that they were hideous and revolting? Now look at him. Subject to such inane jokes, yet wanting her all the same.
Torturous.
“So,” Jag said, pointing to the house. “If we walked in and she was naked in there, you’d seriously turn around and leave?”
Light couldn’t even imagine what she looked like naked. “I would kick you out.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You couldn’t. Even if she said she wanted both of us?” Jag shrugged beneath the harsh glare Light gave him. “Just because you kick me out of the house doesn’t mean I couldn’t watch through the window—”
Light, despite himself, laughed. He punched his friend in the arm, though not hard since the Malus’s arms were double the size of his. “Shut it, Jag.”
“For now, sure,” his friend agreed with him.
Together, they went inside the house. Kicking Jag out of the house would’ve been next to impossible anyway. Light was not nearly as strong as he was. Based on strength alone, Jag would win. If anyone was going to get kicked out of the house, it’d be him, not Jag. However, Faith was not naked, thankfully, so Light didn’t have to worry about what he’d do.
He just had to worry about Camden, and hope that the Ulen would come soon.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A strange water world. A halfway point. A world of dusk, or was it dawn? Faith stood in the center of an endless tide, the sky above her black and the water below her golden and warm. To her right, far, far in the distance, a small sun rose—or fell. Its yellow light illuminated the world just enough that she could see, just enough that she was warm, even though she was naked. Her feet were not submerged in the water. They rested comfortably atop it, floating, even with the pull of the tide.
Hello? she asked, though her mouth did not open. The word echoed in the empty space, in the between, where she stood, naked and confused. Is anyone there?
The only thing that answered her was her own echo.
Where am I?
A new connection. An old spark. The same lifeline, or was it death disguised? It always was, and always would be. There were no legs to hold him, no arms for him to wave or fingers for him to clench. He had no mouth to shout to the black and yellow sky, no feet to stand on the endless waters of his mind. He was alone, like he always was, until he wasn’t.
Forever was a long punishment, wasn’t it? As endless as the waters below, as dark and confused as the sky above. He had no mind, but he was there. Memories slowly returned to him, his strength gathering. The same sequence, the same order. This was his fate, forever and always, until the world itself looked like the space around his essence. An in-between world that held nothing but emptiness.
Nothing but emptiness until…until his non-ears heard a hesitant voice say Hello? It echoed, bouncing around him, calling him down and starting to shape him. The same fire that burned within him ignited—the flames that were destined to destroy and devour anything his enemy touched. He knew who he was then, and just like he always did, he swore to himself that he would never forget. But he would, for he hadn’t a choice. He would forget and disappear until it was time again.
Is anyone there?
As the voice spoke again, another series of echoes raced around him. With each word, he felt more alive, he felt angrier and he was fueled by that anger. The voice sounded different; it was not his own. It was a stranger’s, another being caught in the recesses of his mind, as desperate to escape as he was.
Where am I? The third time the voice interrupted his silence, he realized that it was a female’s voice. A woman—was it the same as the one who had doomed him to this existence? Of all creatures alive and dead, she should know where they were. She should know, for she created this place for him and him alone.
She should not be here.
This world belonged to him. He had to fight for the other realm, but this—this world was his. She did not belong here. Rage captured his heart, his mind, and slowly he began to form. Hands to clench, arms to wave and legs to hold him. Feet to stand on and a mouth to shout to the skies.
It was almost time.
He felt…strange. He was confused. Fate would find a way, in spite of all the obstacles that were placed before it. Eons had passed since that first time.
At his sides, his hands clenched. He stood, a man among Dracon. A man without fear, without hope. A man seething with rage and hatred for one person, one Human who was destined, just as he was, to return again and again. The Human had it easy; a new body each time, young and strong, though they were never a match for him. The only thing that passed on were the memories, the urge to stop him, the drive to kill him. The Harbinger was fortunate in that way.
Stabbed, dismembered, flayed alive, decapitated. Such were the favorites of his, favorite deaths among many. Deaths that happened to his body, the same body he would return in, the same body that, sometimes, felt tired. His bones were old, it was true, but his mind was strong and his will—even stronger than that.
He was Dracyrus, and he would end this stalemate. He would end the reign of the Harbinger. This time, he would not perish at the hands of a Human. This time, the Harbinger would fall and Dracyrus would rise.
“I’m here,” he said, his voic
e echoing in the space. When the female’s voice did not reply, he turned his torso, twisting to look behind him, for he did not see anyone or anything in the watery space before him. Endless scenery of water and sky and scant else, save for a ball in the horizon, where light radiated.
There was no one there, no one in his mind, in this place that was created for him, this world where he gathered his strength until he was plunged back into the everlasting war between the Dread King and the Harbinger.
He was here, though he would not be for long. He closed his eyes, trying to wake, but when his eyes opened, he remained in the water world. Empty except him. Alone as he always was. It was not yet time for him to return. Bowing to things he could not control, he sat, crossing his legs, setting his hands on his bare knees, his long, curled horns tilted toward the sky. Eyes as black as his soul, as his heart, closed. He breathed in, though it was false air inside an equally false chest.
This was both real and unreal. This world both existed and was nonexistent. The first time he was reborn, he spent it shouting at the ball in the sky, demanding answers and other pointless drivel. He pounded the water below with his fists, commanding someone to explain why he was trapped. This world owed him nothing. No answers were ever found here, for there were none to be held.
Dracyrus was young, then. Mentally, he was comparable to a fledgling. He was wiser now, older, numerous wars beneath his belt and hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths bloodied his hands. No one was safe in war, especially those who chose to side with the Harbinger and Humanity, the two scourges upon his world.
He would be patient. It was only a matter of time until he woke in his true body, until he found the Harbinger and defeated him, lived past his death in triumph.
He would wait.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Light only had one bed. Faith argued with him about it, for she was perfectly able to sleep on the floor, but he wouldn’t have it. He also barely looked at her, which irritated her to no end. As if he had any right to be mad, to judge her for kissing Jag. Sure, she understood the jealousy aspect of it, but really? There were much more important things to deal with than one Elf’s jealousy.
First, they had to convince the Court that she was the Harbinger, which apparently they needed a cloak to do, since the Ageless Blade vanished. Faith wasn’t about to admit that she woke with it on her chest and that it disappeared after she touched it. The Court would probably find a way to turn it around on her and make it look like she stole it. She didn’t need to go to prison, or whatever it was Elves did with their criminals.
She had to stop the Dread King.
Second, see above.
Third, she had to find out where the boys from her class were. She hoped they were still alive out there somewhere, and that there was a trail that the Elves missed. It was a stupid thing to hope, not to mention improbable, but she had to, otherwise…otherwise everything felt too real. Even if it was a pointless hope, she had to have it. She couldn’t fall into despair, not in the beginning.
And, lastly, while doing all of this Faith had to avoid the I.D., which was easier said than done. They’d come for her, demand for her to go back to Earth and she would have to refuse. There was no going back.
Dumb sense of duty.
Faith sat, staring at the bowl of soup or chowder or whatever the hell Light said it was, a mishmash of brown and grey, with floating chunks of meat. It didn’t taste half as bad as it looked, but that wasn’t saying much because it looked pretty disgusting. If this was what she had to eat while in the Second, she wasn’t certain she’d even last to see the Dread King. The food would kill her first.
She was just about to mutter something about the food to Jag, who sat near the window, ears attentive to something in the back, when Light called from the front of the house, “He’s coming—I see him down the road.”
Both she and Jag moved through the small house, stopping beside Light, who stood smiling near the road. At least he can smile, Faith thought sourly. At least his pretty Elven face wasn’t stuck in a permanent frown.
The figure was too far in the distance; all Faith saw was a blob moving in their direction. “I’m assuming the Ulen live far from here. How do you have so many connections, Sunnytoes?” It wasn’t like she wanted Light’s whole backstory. Just enough to fill in the pieces in her head.
Light was going to answer, but Jag cut in with a hearty laugh, “Sunnytoes? She calls you Sunnytoes? That’s brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?” He laughed more, scratching the back of his head. The longer tufts of fur that were more like hair on his head stuck every which way. He must not know what a comb was. He was still shirtless, wearing the same pants that he wore the day before, though she noticed that the string around his waist was not tied. It hung loosely at his sides, revealing just a bit more muscle.
Still. Faith wasn’t sure whether or not she found panther-man attractive. A bit too weird for her. Although, on Earth, she was certain there were a lot of people who’d gladly do the deed with Jag. There were other kinks out there—feet, getting urinated on, even evil, scary clowns. So what if she sort of, kind of, in a tiny way found Jag nice to look at? There were weirder things to like out there. Like robots or aliens or something.
Hmm. Trying to rationalize it to herself was not making it better.
Light gave Jag a look that said, shut up, and he replied, “Jag’s tribe was near my old home.”
Jag smiled. “He means we grew up together. Well, I was born when he was already half the height he is now, and I followed him around until I was suddenly larger than him. We’ve been friends ever since.”
“And the Ulen?” Faith asked.
“Camden is…” Light trailed off. “As a hunter, I’ve been to many places looking for exotic catches to bring back to Springsweet. I know many people.”
Camden was the Ulen’s name? She would have to do her best to remember it, being so horrible at names in the first place.
Squinting, Faith was able to see Camden a bit better now, and she was stunned to realize that he was running toward them. Did he run the whole way, across kingdoms? No. Impossible. That was surely impossible. “He’s running to us,” she muttered. Running.
“Ulen are…a bit different from the rest of us,” Light said.
Jag nudged her. When Camden slowed to a walk and was close enough to hear, Jag shouted, “What, no horse?” His good-natured question dripped facetiousness, but the instant Camden met them, everything faded away.
He was not at all what she expected.
Nearly as tall as Light, perhaps a few inches shorter. Short hair somewhere between black and grey. A perfectly carved face, angular cheeks and a strong nose. Cloudy amber eyes that seemed reserved and quiet. Every part of him that wasn’t covered in his buckled getup was a metallic grey. His skin painted, perhaps? He held a bag on his back, his arms no stronger or thicker than Light’s. And his ears…they were as pointed as any Elf’s.
Camden, Faith realized as her stomach twisted, used to be an Elf.
“I’m faster,” Camden said, a lot more light-spoken than his appearance would give him credit for. “And I need fewer breaks.” His amber eyes looked to Light, pointedly ignoring her. “Your letter didn’t say it was a girl.” His shrouded feet shifted backward, as if he debated on running all the way back to his home, his kingdom.
Light moved away from Jag and Faith and closer to him, lowering his voice as he said, “No, because I knew you would not come if it did.”
“The Harbinger is never a woman,” Camden whispered. “What good will the cloak do when—” He paused, looking stunned as Light placed a hand on his shoulder.
“She is the Harbinger. She was able to touch the Ageless Blade.”
Was that something he was able to just throw around with these guys? Was Light that comfortable and trusting with them? Faith wasn’t so sure, but she hardly knew them, so she supposed she couldn’t judge.
“Then why can’t you just use that?” Camden asked
a very logical question.
“The…Blade disappeared. We don’t know where it went.” Light glanced at his other hand. His skin had completely healed in the time since. “The cloak should be a close second. Everyone knows it’s his.” He withdrew from his friend, glancing at her. “Faith. Let me introduce you.” He beckoned for her to come closer, and she inched forward.
Camden’s cloudy gaze was on her for a split-second before he quickly looked away. Beneath the paint, he was exactly like Light—gorgeous in an ethereal way, so pretty that every model on Earth would be jealous, even with those pointed ears that were two inches too long.
Well, she thought, trying to be positive about the situation, at least Camden was not like Jag. Faith didn’t need another flirt to deal with, nor did she need another scowling Elf like Light.
“Camden,” Light said, “this is—”
“I heard,” he said quietly. “I have Ulen senses, lest you forget.” He reached for the strap on his shoulder, shifting.
“Great,” Jag spoke loudly, startling Camden’s quiet demeanor. “Let’s head inside, shall we?” After a moment of deliberation, they all agreed to. Faith was the first in, followed closely by Jag—too shortly, maybe—and then Camden, and last Light.
Light closed the door behind them, switching the lock and moving to close the shutters on the windows. No glass in the homes here. Only the castle, where the Court lived, had glass. Living with nature or something like that. Faith hadn’t learned nearly the amount she was supposed to about their culture and shit during her short field trip here the first time.
“So,” Faith asked, looking from Elf to Ulen to Malus. “What now?”
“Now,” Light answered, glimpsing at her, “I go beg an audience with the Court.” He pointed to the sack on Camden’s back. “Don’t let her see it. It should wait until we’re before the Court.” He went for the door, but Faith stopped him. He looked at her, once again wearing a mask of annoyance. “What?”
The Harbinger Page 17
