TWENTY-TWO
Ledora let her leave in silence, musk mingling with the sour air of her study as the Vanguard slammed the heavy bronze door behind her. Dechamp's last words seemed to linger upon the paintings of the study like colorless poltergeists, taunting the archmage. Making her see red.
She had lost her eye for these people. She had given so much.
And they still saw her as magebane. Even the auxiliary had a waning opinion of her—despite all that she has sacrificed to attain power for the Sybil as a whole. Even the auxiliary looked to Councilor Vidonia for guidance and leadership. Even the auxiliary.
Councilor Vidonia—the name made her bristle. Councilor Vidonia.
Ledora helped create the Sybil. She brought the guild of sorceresses together in the hopes of stopping the Sonants from taking so many innocent lives. She sought to change the world's opinion of women endowed with magical abilities. Ledora had made mistakes in her youth, just like any other young woman venturing blindly into adulthood, but her mistakes had led to a safe heaven for young female mages. She coined the term Sorceress. She—Ledora. She forced the Monarchy to see the Sybil as more than just a gaggle of restless women, but as an intellectual organization. As a guild of professionals and artists. Yet, they still refused to let the past die.
Councilor Vidonia—Ledora braced her open palms against the desk, staring into the wheezing woman's emotionless face—that upstart.
If only she could just forget.
Shaking her head, Ledora lifted her hands from the desk and brought them to the blunted arm of the claven as Dechamp's commanding howls erupted through the tense quiet outside the study's tiny window.
But most say that it is good to remember, bringing her forehead towards the blunted arm of the claven, Ledora let her eyelids fall as the instrument touched her. Kissed her with a cold brush of steel,
so that the past might not repeat itself.
~~~
Ledora opened her eyes to a world swathed in hissing shadows, the stygian blackness unfurling on the edge of her vision like the wreathing tentacles of an abysmal creature colossal in stature, its stygian body swallowing her. Tentacles curling, reaching only to curl up once more. The creature fluttering about at the edge of her eye.
“This is your daughter.” Ledora called out. “Yes? The child whom you occupy, Katell Maeva?” The darkness did not phase Ledora as she blinked, the vision in her one good eye blurring. “Yet, in the past I remember your surname being, 'Marchand'. You married once you left the guild?” Once I banished you—Ledora blinked, bringing her gaze over each shoulder as darkness danced above.
The darkness bubbled, light flashing above Ledora's head as if a lantern had been lit and lowered.
Ledora did not dare to look up. “Seraphina...do you think me a dunce? Do you think I would not know your face? Your offspring?” She felt something slither down the expanse of her right shoulder. Something slimy. Something alive.
“Seraphina...Night Lady...you call yourself this now, yes? What are you doing outside of the south, Sera? What are you doing out of the woods?”
Ledora expected silence as she opened her mouth to question the presence once more, but as another creature slithered down her shoulder, she spun on her heel hoping to spot the source.
Only for the light above her head to fizzle out, the flame fading away with a harsh whisper.
Get out of Katell's mind, magebane. Taste her blood and your problems shall become bigger than dragons.
“Half of the Sybil avoids the very air I breathe because of what I did to you. Because of what I had to do to you.” she felt it again, the slithering. Fat little snakes racing up her back only to fly off her shoulder.
One stuck. Its slimy body fixing itself to her skin as she lifted her arm in the darkness.
Leave this place, magebane. The voice responded, its tone a gentle rhythm of reverberating beats that echoed throughout the darkness. I have no desire to speak to you.
“I banished you to Baate Noir—how have you returned? How has Elisedd gotten hold of the curse? The Scyllah—I always believed them to be a ragtag band of scavengers. They've never held reign of a dragon, Sera! The black blood was never supposed to be left behind in their wake! Not after what happened! The black blood...” blood buzzed through her right arm, ice ripping through her veins as she brought her left hand to her forehead. “...it was never to leave the black forest, Sera. All those years ago...it was never to leave our laboratory...but you...!”
The snake attached to her arm grew five appendages that acted as fingers. They dug into her skin, metallic nails biting down to the muscle as blood pooled around them. Liquid wept from the sudden incision in her forearm, blood creeping down her arm and falling. Raining upon the black floor below.
The past haunts you as a dark stain upon your memory, the whisper sounded closer now as a physical presence pressed down upon Ledora's bowed back, I haunt you, do I not? I haunt you.
Hot breath trickled up the nape of her neck as the nails dug deeper, blood spilling like unending tears. Black blood.
We did this to ourselves, Jacinthe. You only have to accept what you are. Embrace it, and you will no longer be magebane.
Ledora set her jaw. “Get out of this child's mind. Go back to Baate Noir, creature!”
Katell clings to me as a daughter should. I give her strength, and in return—
Whirling around, Ledora clasped shoulders draped in dancing shadow as she met the single red eye of Seraphina. The Night Lady. Her creation.
In that eye she saw herself—what she could become if she succumbed to her addiction. To her tendencies towards flesh. Towards blood.
“Get out of this child! I cast you out!”
The eye narrowed, If I return to that place, I shall take you with me.
Snatching her bleeding forearm from Seraphina's grasp, Ledora brought her palm to the black sky above. Opening her hand, she let the dribbling blood pelt her face. The action slow and deliberate as black droplets created oily trails of blood upon her cheeks.
“I bind you with my lifeblood, demon.” she commanded, glowering at Seraphina's single eye as the shadowy presence seemed to freeze. Seemed to pause as the wreathing tentacles surrounding Ledora halted.
This world is falling to pieces, the Night Lady hissed, her voice a raking rasp as it clawed through the darkness. This is but the beginning, old friend. The pieces I have scattered, the damage I have done—these are but springs. Sources others will draw from. A dawning of a new age is upon us, Ledora. An age in which humanity shall be left behind as it has left so many others.
Cast me out and I shall find another way. Katell shall be my guiding light back to this world as the Age of Men comes to a brutal and bloody close—
“I entered Katell to see you with my own eyes, Seraphina.” Ledora snapped, nostrils flaring. “Banishing you to the black forest so many years ago destroyed my career, but you were an outlier that needed to be silenced. Say what you will, creature, but humanity will always prevail. It is unfortunate that you could not learn this lesson the first time.” she sighed, shaking her head. “I had to be sure that it was you lurking like a cornered rat in there. I had to be sure.” Closing her hand, Ledora snapped her good eye shut. “Now, begone.”
TWENTY-THREE
I grant you my power.
Air surged through Katell's lungs, the prolonged breath swift and sweet as it chilled her. Cooling oxygen filling up her lungs like a life-giving river of melting slush as it powered through her. Waking her up. Bringing her back.
Daughter, the voice above died upon the breath of a whisper. The Night Lady murmuring words only Kat could hear and understand.
Daughter, she repeated, the black above dissipating as a storm of bubbling smoke, I grant you my power.
Above, the stygian shadows receded as she stared. Eyes transfixed. Had she truly spoken to her mother? The Night Lady? Kat brought her hands to her chest, the claven's needle-arm bobbing relentlessly overhead as the ins
trument pulled back from the miniature hole in her chest. Though the brown fabric of her tunic had been punctured, the skin that the claven had broken through only moments ago had knitted itself back together. Only a scar remained, a tiny hole of black that resembled a misshapen birthmark.
Kat brought her eyes to the claven, its needle-arm slowing to an abrupt stillness as the Night Lady's words lingered in her head. Something about the claven meant to cure impurities of the heart. Something about Kat not trusting her—When have I ever left you to face the world alone?
The Night Lady had spoken of non-humans. Had planted questions in Kat's mind as to why non-humans do not frequent the south. She remembered the Lady's words of Baate Noir—her questions. Tell me why creatures marked as fiends and beasts detain themselves to Baate Noir, and only prowl the black forest? Tell me why they are openly volatile to anything on two legs—to anything describing itself as human?
Tell me why they hate your kind?
Outside, a metallic screech razed through the air as a biting chill rippled up Kat's spine, creeping its way towards the crown of her head. She felt the desk beneath her shiver. Watched the needle-arm of the claven shake.
Tell me why the land is doused in the blood of non-humans, child.
Crimson bloodied the sky, glowering scarlet erupting upon the study's tiny window as the needle-arm of the claven bobbed towards her. Pinning her palms to either sides of the desk, her muscles stiffened at the sound of screeching flames. The embers erupting from on high, following the bestial belch of a soaring dragon.
Tell me why.
Kat heard the ground moan, the floor quaking beneath her as a colossal presence slammed to the yellowed field outside. Amidst a roaring cacophony of war cries and squawking commands spearing through the air outside, the thunderous peal of a dragon's guttural growl tore through all. The sound making her see silver as her body trembled. Cold sweat beading upon the nape of her neck as she turned her gaze towards the tiny window at the edge of the gaudy room with eyes that bulged from their sockets.
A dragon.
How long had she been out?
Turning her head towards the room's exit, she forced herself to sit up as her head spun. As blood and bone shifted within her body from the abrupt movement, her legs became numb with cold as she swung them over the side of the desk. A grunt wove through the air as the toes of her slippers slammed into something solid. Something alive.
Kat peered down, the ground trembling as the wyrm outside screeched with harrowing intensity. Narrowing her eyes, her glare caught a head of disheveled hair. A black chignon sprung from its lacy webbing at the back of the archmage's head as she lay upon the wood-rotten boards of the floor. One arm sprawled forward as if reaching, the other pulled back. Crooked fingers square upon the nape of her shiny neck as her body lay prostrate.
Planting her feet upon the floor, Kat shoved the claven from the desk hoping the sudden crash of silverite upon wood would bring the unconscious woman to. As the warped instrument clapped to the floor, its intertwining arms springing up before toppling to its side and rolling towards the study's bronze exit, Kat paced. Sharp eyes watching for some sort of recognition—for a breath. For the subtle rise and fall of the woman's back as she breathed.
Kat caught nothing. The woman was still. Frozen.
Kneeling at the archmage's prone side, Kat bristled at the sound of a bestial screech as gargantuan wings beat against the air outside, crimson burning upon the horizon outside of the study's window. Screams pelting the air.
“Lady.” she hissed, bringing a hand to the creamy shoulder of the archmage's plush blouse. “Lady.”
She heard a grunt—a groan. Yanking her hand away from the puffed fabric of the archmage's shoulder, she watched the woman press her palms into the floorboards. Heard them creak as the archmage pressed herself up with a curse and a volatile shake of her stormy locks.
“She's done this purposefully—that wretch. She's kept me out—,” the archmage snapped her gaze to Kat as the girl continued to kneel. Listening. “Gratitude.” the woman mumbled, shoving herself to standing. “Gratitude, Katell Maeva, for not leaving me to perish.”
Katell nodded, “What have you...” and let the question die upon her lips as the archmage approached the bronze door to her study, brought her hand to the door's silver handle, pulled and cursed.
Kat stood as the archmage brought both hands to the handle, yanking and pulling as throbbing veins rose beneath the dark skin of her neck. Somewhere overhead, the thunderous crack of wing-beats was edging closer as a cry ricocheted through the air. The sound chilling her down to her toes as the archmage pressed both feet to the door's bronze face and yanked at the exit's handle with all of her might.
“Merde, get over here, girl! It's stuck!” the archmage screeched, “Katell!”
And the stones of the fortress wobbled. The walls quaking. Shifting as the foundation of the chateau groaned. The entire structure threatened to keel to its left as a colossal force perched upon its top. The wyrm crying out to the heavens as the men and women soldered to the land below hollered back.
Sprinting for the door, Kat slapped her hands to it's silver handle and yanked with the archmage. Hunching her back as she grunted, Kat was reminded of her days spent with Gran. Hefting large logs around only to split them in two at the end of the day. This is proof of your endurance, Kat remembered the older woman muttering as she watched her. Evaluated her with the sharp eyes of a graying eagle, this is proof of your strength. One day you'll thank me for these lessons. Instead, Kat would curse her. Curse her for the sore feeling and stiffness of her muscles when she woke the next morning only to do the entire exercise all over again. It was preparation—preparation for acceptance into the Montbereau Guard, Kat reminded herself as she shut her eyes tight. Her lips twisted into a sneer as she saw Gran's wrinkled face in her mind's eye. Groaning lightly, her muscles strained against whatever was blocking the door as she saw Gran's weary face smile. Saw little crinkles grow into pronged crows feet at the sharp edges of the older woman's eyes.
She wondered if she'd ever see that smile again. In person. She wondered if she'd live to tell Gran what she's seen. What she's had to run away from.
The door moaned beneath their combined strength as Kat pulled with the archmage, the woman's face tightening as her features twisted. Her single blue eye bulging as tiny red veins threaded through the white.
“Three days...three days!” the archmage grumbled, hissing through her teeth. “She has stolen time. Valuable, precious, time...!” sighing heavily, the archmage let her fingers slip from the handle as Kat continued to pull. Continued to grunt with concentration as she felt the door jolt. Kat closed her eyes. Bit her tongue at the roaring cry of the dragon overhead. Sharp teeth drew blood as she smelt the acrid scent of smoke.
She wondered if she'd get to tell Gran about dragons and elves. Vampires and direwolves.
The Night Lady—Kat's mother.
She wondered if Gran knew. She wondered...
A hand pressed to her shoulder, nails digging through the brown fabric. “No use.” the archmage snapped. “We take the window.”
Kat gawked. “We go outside?!”
“Would you rather stay here and be crushed by falling stone?” reaching for Kat's forearm, the archmage clasped it. Her single eye shone with determined intensity as she stared into Kat's gaze. “You cannot die here,” she told her amidst the peels of the roaring wyrm above. “to do so would bring Her back, and I cannot allow that. Not after all that I have suffered. I cannot.” the archmage sighed, shaking her head. “Your life is the key to confining Her, do you understand? You must survive.” Tightening her grasp upon the girl's forearm, the archmage turned on her heel, “Now, come.”
Above, the ceiling groaned. The stones wailing as the dragon perched atop the fortress careened forward. Wing-beats crashed through the stones of the fortress with a blast of chaotic and uncontrolled booms as a thundering twang rippled through the air at the call
of a cacophonous outcry of human voices.
Both women froze as the heavily decorated walls of the study shook, the paintings edging apart as gray stone poked through the motley collection of water soured shades and colors. Vibrant blues mimicked the sky as the color spread along the watery walls of the study, the faux sky ripped asunder by large square stones as they shoved themselves through the paintings.
Overhead, the ceiling wept thick gray dust as the chandelier teetering above the desk shook, waving side to side as if caught between the howling winds of a tumultuous hurricane. Dancing flame flickering upon the chandelier's wicks fluttered out with a breath of warm air as another twang speared through the air outside. The dragon screeching as something caught beneath its scales with a sickly squelch, the creature careening overhead as it rolled towards their tower. Taking down half of the chateau with it.
The archmage pressed her hands to Kat's shoulders. “Go.” she commanded, freeing a hand to set her palm towards the collapsing ceiling above. “Before I change my mind, child. Go!”
Kat's lungs emptied as the archmage shoved her back. Pressing both palms towards the crumbling ceiling above, a bubble of orange tinted air wheezed into existence around them. The rounded surface of the archmage's bubble stretching towards the very top of the ceiling as a large wooden rafter detached from its place above, crashing to the face of the archmage's orange tinted bubble with a splintered thwack.
Kat froze, staring. “Why do this?” she murmured, eyes on the archmage as oily black trails trickled from the woman's flared nostrils. “All of this—why?”
The archmage sneered, her lips twisting into a disgusted grimace as she brought her gaze to the ceiling. Kat flinched, gaze snapping to the claven as the beast above cried. Pain peppering its voice as the stones of the chateau began to collapse. The fortress falling beneath the weight of the injured beast.
Picking up the claven, Kat approached the study's tiny window and flung the instrument at the glass. The instrument shattering the window with a harsh crash of glass upon silverite. The claven springing into a million silver pieces as it continued to fly, its heavy stand spiraling through the air.
Winterskin: A Dark Fantasy (Kindred Souls Book 1) Page 11
