Having taken in the entirety of the place, Kellan felt all the details nestle deeply into his mind, and turned back to Shannon. “So, I’ve looked the place over and still don’t see why you couldn’t have been living here. Although I do see that it’s clearly too small for a family.”
Shannon just looked at him for a long moment while Kellan tried to puzzle out her expression. “A man is a man no matter the age from whence they come, I suppose.”
“Huh?”
Shannon then dragged two fingers along the table and held them up for Kellan to see.
“What?” he said.
Shannon made a disgusted sound and dragged the fingers against Kellan’s chest. “It’s filthy and clearly only a man lives here.” She paused, looking suddenly sad. “Or lived here. Had I lived here, Kellan Thorne, I assure you that the floors, let alone, the table, would have been fit to eat from.” She then glowered at him with hands on hips.
Kellan just held his hands up in a placating gesture. “I meant no offense. Honest. But you seem more upset about my slight to your housekeeping skills than about the craziness that is our lives now. Apparently you are in danger and I think I’m supposed to keep you safe or something. How will I even know if you need me?”
Shannon walked around the table, demeanor shifting so abruptly that Kellan tried to take a step back, but she continued forward, standing uncomfortably close and smiled the Devil’s own smile. “How do you know that I am not the one who is supposed to keep you safe? Regardless,” she said, now flashing an innocent smile while tapping her finger to her temple, “You are nestled up here somehow as I am up there for you. I imagine that happened for a reason and if either of us needs the other, we’ll know. Good night, Kellan Thorne. Rest well. And remember you do so in the home of our dear friend, Micah.”
Without another word Shannon slipped out the door, closing it behind her with a soft click and leaving Kellan with his mouth agape and mind dumfounded.
“Ok, let there be no doubt, I totally hate the 13th century. I hate you,” Kellan yelled to the rafters while laying supine on the small bed. It was not a comfortable bed. He wondered exactly with what it had been stuffed. Twigs and rocks competed for top spots within his mind. With a final frustrated groan, Kellan swung his feet off the bed and walked into the small common room of the cottage. Some small amount of starlight sprinkled in from two glassless windows, barely illuminating the gloom enough to see. Kellan held up a hand and rubbed his thumb rapidly against pointer and middle finger, causing them to make a soft rasping sound for a couple seconds while he channeled a trickle of power. Moments later, a small, bright flame appeared above his fingers, flickering there as if the digits were the wax of a candle. He waved his hand slightly and the flame danced away, floating towards the nearby pillar candle that rested in the middle of the rough hewn table. It paused momentarily above the wick bringing it to light and then meandered to the three other candles, slender tapers, scattered about the room. In moments all were flickering merrily. The disembodied flame returned to Kellan and slowly wavered in midair. He smiled, puffed out a short breath, and the flame vanished with a barely discernible pop.
Kellan pulled out his iPhone and tried to wake it, but the device remained dark and silent. Kellan sighed, sitting down heavily while staring at the small screen. “Note to self,” Kellan said to the air, “Never travel back eight centuries without fully charging your phone. No plants vs zombies for you, mister.”
He spun the phone quickly on the table and stood again, resolving to find something he liked about his current situation, then walked over to what, in Kellan’s mind, passed for the kitchen. He quickly took stock of what was at hand. Within a small wooden chest he found some potatoes, carrots, and onions. Opening a cabinet door rewarded him with a rather large round of cheese that had been half eaten. He pulled that down along with the wooden plate on which it sat, then crouched down to peer at the other shelf. Reaching in, he pulled out a quarter loaf of brown bread that was wrapped in a rough spun cloth and a single apple. The bread seemed slightly stale, but not horribly so and the apple was full and fresh. Glancing to the right, Kellan spied a brown clay pitcher and hefted it to find it still half full with some liquid. He sniffed, then poured its contents into one of the cups he and Shannon had used for tea hours earlier. Kellan took a sip. Water. Gathering up his cup, cheese, apple, and the lone knife from the counter, Kellan made his way back to the table and had himself a quite passable, if somewhat unique, apple-cheese sandwich.
He was just taking the last bite when he heard a soft tap at the door. He stiffened, but didn’t move, hand paused holding the final bit of sandwich. He cocked his head, wondering if it was just a tree branch scraping against the cottage or some such thing. When the sound didn’t repeat, he shrugged and popped the final bite into his mouth.
Another tap—this time much clearer and insistent came from the door.
“Ok, not a branch,” Kellan said, standing. He walked over and reached for the door as he channeled power, snapping a shield around himself, then paused, making note of the heat in his eyes. Hmmm, shield myself but look like I’ve got Kryptonite contacts or look normal and risk getting sliced and diced—great choice. A moment later, he released the power, felt the shield vanish, and opened the door.
“Hello?” called Kellan. The woman, who had begun to walk away from the cottage, turned back and smiled shyly.
“Can I help you?” he added, while his inner monologue took stock of her appearance with masculine glee. She looked about Kellan’s age, seemed of average height, and moved lithely as she turned back toward Kellan, her long blonde hair sweeping down to her middle back. Her skin was pale, almost like porcelain in the starlight, and she had large almond shaped eyes the color of honey. She wore a long brown skirt that ended just above the ankle and a blue vest that was largely obscured by the tartan shawl draped about her shoulders.
“I saw your light.”
“Heh, yeah. That’s my light alright. I’m awake. Very awake.” Kellan shut his mouth, cursing himself for an idiot.
She cocked her head, smiling more broadly. “Yes, I can see that. I’m very sorry to intrude so early in the morning, but I’ve been walking most of the night. My horse threw a shoe some miles back without my knowing it and went lame. I left her to graze while I looked for help. Might I come in to rest until first light?”
“Sure, sure; c’mon in,” he said, stepping aside to allow her entry into the small room. “It’s not much to look at, I’m afraid.”
“It’s lovely,” she replied removing, her shawl and looking about for a place to hang it.
“Um, I’ll take that,” said Kellan, accepting the shawl and feeling a warm tingle as her hand brushed his. He turned the corner quickly and laid it gently on the bed, pausing for a moment. “What is wrong with you,” he whispered to himself, “Jesus, pull it together dude.” Kellan gave himself a curt nod and returned to his guest, whose face again lit up with a smile.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Amy. Amy MacDonald of Glencoe.”
“Kellan Thorne,” said Kellan, holding out his hand.
She stared at his outstretched hand for several long heartbeats and then slowly reached out, uncertainly placing her hand in his.
With his inner monologue laughing uproariously while hurling a string of self-directed insults, Kellan leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her hand. Amy accepted the gesture graciously but giggled and said, “I thank you for that, but I am no Lady.”
“I try to always treat a Dame like a Lady and a Lady like a Dame,” replied Kellan, while picturing his inner self rolling on the floor laughing hysterically at his anachronistic Sinatra quote.
“A…Dame?”
“Never mind, please have a seat. Can I get you something? I have,” Kellan paused wincing, “Um, water and cheese.”
“That would be wonderful, Mr. Thorne. Thank you.”
“Oh please, it’s Kellan,” he said while draining the last of th
e water into a cup and handing it to her.
She accepted it, eyes widening slightly, and replied, “Well, then you must call me Amy.” She took a small bite of cheese and smiled. “Delicious, and much appreciated. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
“I’m sorry I don’t have more. I, uh, haven’t been to the…market,” Kellan began haltingly, “Unless you want a carrot. I have some of those.”
She laughed. “No, the cheese is fine.”
They settled into an uncomfortable silence with Kellan stealing a sideways glance as she nibbled the last of the cheese.
“Hey,” he began, “Why don’t you take me to where you left your horse and we’ll get you two fixed up.”
She brightened at the suggestion. “Are you a farrier then?”
“Uh, no, not exactly, but I do know a thing or two about horses and I’m sure we can get your girl fixed up enough so she’ll make it to the village nearby. I have a friend who lives there and she’ll be sure to know someone who can help.”
“That’s very kind of you to offer, but I’ve imposed on you enough by taking both food and sleep from you.”
“Nonsense. I was awake anyway and it’s not like I laid out a four course meal for you.” She looked at Kellan quizzically again and he quickly moved on. “Let me get your shawl and we’ll be off.”
Amy rewarded him with another smile and Kellan felt himself flush, laughing slightly as he went to retrieve her shawl. “Here you go,” Kellan said as he turned the corner, his right foot catching the foot of the bed, causing him to stumble.
His right shoulder suddenly felt hot, and he glanced down to find a red stain spreading out from where the hilt of a dagger protruded. A wave of nausea hit him and Kellan felt his knees buckle. Still, he retained enough of his wits to realize that had he not tripped moments before, the blade would have found his heart rather than shoulder.
“Amy?” he said, still not fully comprehending what was going on.
She stared down at him grimly. “Not Amy. Lamia, and I am sorry, but there is no other way. It’s either you or them.” With that, her face contorted in what seemed like pain and her lower body seemed to melt and pool about her, even as her eyes changed from their pale honey brown to a glowing dark red. In the span of two heartbeats she was on him. Her legs and torso had become serpentine and she wrapped around him, constricting, as she yanked the dagger free and made to drive it into his chest.
Kellan drew deeply from the river of power, eyes flashing to life, and felt his hair begin to stand on end as he channeled electrical energy, drawing from both environmental and bodily sources. He released the energy in a rush, blue sparks arcing all about his body and hurling Lamia across the room even as he was slammed backwards against the near wall. He saw her rise up on the thick coil that had now replaced her waist and legs. All the candles winked out.
Kellan staggered to his feet, holding a glowing ball of white hot flame in his left hand and screamed in pain as he willed a small tendril to leap towards his right shoulder. It buried itself into the knife wound, cauterizing it. He then hurled the fireball at Lamia while trying to make his way to the cottage door. The flame exploded on her, slamming her against the wall again, and showering the cottage with tongues of flame that quickly licked against the dry wood—bringing the cottage ablaze.
He grabbed for the door and fell down the stoop, sprawling on the grass, then rolled on his back in time to see her emerge from the cottage which was now fully engulfed in flame. The fire burned all around her. Her skin and scales seemed to glow from the intense heat, but she was not consumed.
Kellan began to scamper backwards on hands and feet, trying to regain a standing position, even as his mind assembled the recent facts, and demanded his attention.
Lamia, from the Greek. Queen of Libya, who, according to mythology, became a child-eating daemon. The ancient Athenian comic playwright, Aristophanes, believed her name to be derived from the Greek word for gullet, ‘laimos’, referring to her habit of devouring children. Known to take the form of a serpent in whole or in part. Immune to fire, thought to only be killed by decapitation.
“You’re a fucking demon? What did I ever do to you?” he yelled as she loomed over him for a moment before a focused gust of wind struck her, lifting her up and hurling her back into the conflagration. Kellan regained his feet as she again emerged from the cottage, skin and scales glowing fiercely like embers in a forge.
“I’m sorry. I have no choice. I have to save them and this is the only way. He demands it.”
“Yeah, well, the sexual mojo you shot at me was uncool, but then, who expects a demon to fight fair? Hands off my libido, bitch, and I’m giving you one chance to back off or I’m going to end you!”
Kellan saw her shake her head violently as she continued towards him. “Fine!” he yelled, “Have it your way.” Then he raised both hands just above his shoulders, held them there a moment, and threw them forward until both were pointed directly at Lamia.
She paused, eyes widening in fear, locking on to his.
Nothing happened.
Kellan saw her relief and her face became a mask of determination as she raced toward him. For his part, Kellan didn’t move, but continued to hold both hands towards her, brows knitted in concentration. She was only several paces away when the first projectile struck with a hiss, knocking her back, as the flying dagger sublimated from ice to steam when it struck her superheated body. More followed in rapid succession as Kellan continued to channel heat from the nearby stream into the already burning cottage and directed a torrent of frozen projectiles toward the demon.
Dozens more struck her, again driving her back, but not surviving the heat long enough to do any real damage. She cried out in frustration as she strove to close the distance between them only to have another wave of ice daggers fly into her. This time, they were driving into flesh that was no longer hot enough to melt them.
She staggered and fell, blood pouring from dozens of wounds even as the last several ice daggers arced into the air above her and struck, pinning her to the ground where she struggled weakly against the frozen nails.
Kellan walked towards her as a glowing blue sword materialized in his outstretched hand. Her eyes were wild with fear as he stood over her sword raised.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she cried.
“Far too late for that,” said Kellan, grim faced.
She laughed, blood coming to her lips, “Not you, Sentinel. I’m sorry for them—my babies.”
“Well, confession is good for the soul which, I assume, you don’t have, so not sure what you’re hoping to accomplish by being sorry for all the children you’ve devoured over the years.”
“Lies! Never!” She spat out the words, tears streaming from her eyes, then stared directly at Kellan. “Do it! It’s what Sentinels do. They kill demons—so do it! Make Micah proud; you are just like him!”
Kellan felt his muscles tense as he began the downward swing just as she closed her eyes and whispered, “Then Asmodeus will kill my babies and we will be together.”
The sword rang out as it struck the ground, cleaving cleanly through the large stone by Lamia’s head. Kellan saw her wince and open her eyes as he knelt beside her in the grass.
“I was wrong,” she said, “You are worse than Micah, to draw out my pain. He, at least, would have been quick.”
Kellan ignored her, but stared deeply into her eyes, pondering what he saw there in the predawn light. “Who will Asmodeus kill?
She spat at him, and Kellan felt it drip down his cheek. “Who will Asmodeus kill?” he asked again softly.
“I will tell you nothing. Great Sentinel Demon killer. Do what Micah taught you and end this!”
Kellan tilted his head slightly and stood, resting the flat of the sword on his shoulder. “Ok, I’ll end it now.” With that, he gestured and all the ice pinning Lamia to the ground vanished, turning to water in the blink of an eye. He watched as the wounds stopped bleeding an
d knitted up, then took several steps back—eyeing her warily. “Go. You are free.”
Lamia stood, shakily at first, but rapidly regained her strength. Her lower extremities again took their human form. She narrowed her eyes. “What trick is this, Sentinel.”
“No trick—go.”
“Micah would never—”
Kellan interrupted her by lowering the sword from his shoulder and making her jump in alarm. “As I’ve been saying all too often, ‘I am not he.’”
Lamia, clearly confused, turned toward the woods and Kellan saw her body tense, preparing to run.
“But,” he began in a loud voice, causing her to turn back to him, fear returning to her face, “But, if you do go now, then you will never know if I could save your children from him. Your choice of course.” Kellan smiled, turned his back on the demon, and began walking toward the stream. Moments later he heard the crunch of her feet on the grass as she followed slowly behind and knew his gambit was well played.
Kellan stripped off his shirt and tore a bit of fabric from where Lamia’s dagger had entered. He dipped it in the cold stream water and dabbed at his shoulder while she watched him from a distance. Kellan winced more from cold than pain as the water slushed away dried blood to reveal a mostly healed wound. He slipped his shirt back on and leaned against Shannon’s rock, staring at the demon expectantly. She said nothing.
Finally, Kellan glanced eastward at the brightening sky, “Sun’s going to be up any minute.”
“And what’s that to me? I’m not a vampire.”
Kellan shrugged. “Didn’t know what the sun does to demons.”
“It makes us warm when we lay in it,” she replied sarcastically, then smiled and started walking toward Kellan. “But you know, this was really just a big misunderstanding and I’m terribly sorry.”
Kellan felt the warmth begin to grow and butterflies begin to twirl about his stomach. He returned her smile even as several wickedly sharp ice daggers rose from the nearby stream, turned towards Lamia, and began to revolve menacingly. “Seduce me once, shame on you. Seduce me twice, shame on me. Let’s not try that dance again, shall we?”
Sentinels of Creation: A Power Renewed Page 19
