Protector of the Flame

by Isis Rushdan

  As she ascended the ladder toward the open hatch of the sub, a frigid breeze made her regret not putting her jacket on first. A frosty gust of wind smacked her, whipping her hair in her face. She grasped the edge of the tower opening to steady herself. Climbing down the slick ladder on the side of the sub, she almost slipped twice.

  “Greetings Lady Serenity, I’m Daniel!” said a young man, wearing a white coat and gloves, over the wind.

  With chattering teeth, Serenity nodded and pulled on her parka.

  “Winter started early this year,” Daniel said as he led them to a silver 4x4.

  Spero held the door open for her and she climbed in. Grateful to be out of the cold, she shivered, rubbing her hands together to warm them.

  “Is this it for your security detail?” Spero asked.

  “Security detail?” Daniel said with a bewildered tone. “There’s no need for security. You’re quite safe here.”

  Serenity glanced around the isolated pier. “How long is the drive?”

  “Forty-five minutes inland,” responded the driver who didn’t introduce himself.

  “Exactly where are we going?” she asked.

  Daniel looked over his seat. “The mystic mountains, that’s what the humans call it.”

  She set her bag between her legs. “How do you keep people away? Tourists, I mean.”

  “Humans are afraid to come on our land. Superstitious tales of witches and trolls.”

  “Hasn’t anyone gotten curious and ventured too far?”

  Daniel faced forward as if he didn’t want to answer her question.

  “It’s rare, but it happens,” the driver said. He wore gloves, so she couldn’t be certain but suspected he also had a tattoo of flames. “When it does we make an example of the human. A tourist will stumble upon the body on the border of our land, a Celtic symbol for witch branded in its forehead.”

  “You kill people?” She shot Spero an alarmed glance. “And the authorities don’t investigate it?”

  The driver laughed. “The authorities practically work for House Aten. They warn tourists to stay away.”

  Serenity stared out her window as they drove deep into the countryside. Snow flurries cascaded from the gray sky like white rain. They traveled on a dirt path through a valley of green hills, headed for a ridge of white-capped mountains. After crossing fields of volcanic rock that stretched for miles, they passed a blue canyon with a breathtaking waterfall. “Aten is beyond the gorge.” Daniel pointed to a narrow entrance carved between two steep mountain peaks.

  A massive orb of white light flickered and danced in the snow several miles ahead in the heart of another mountain on the other side of the gorge. “The citadel of lights,” she mumbled.

  The wind picked up, blasting heavy sheets of snow through the sky and whooshing around the vehicle.

  “Didn’t expect the snow squall for another few hours, but we’ll be there shortly,” said the driver, decreasing the speed of the car.

  Clumps of snowflakes gathered on the windshield. The driver turned on the wipers as they entered the throat of the narrow passage. The rocky sides of the mouth looked like razor-sharp teeth ready to rip them to shreds.

  Oddly, in the pass flanked by high walls of rock the car swayed from the wind. She couldn’t see the light ahead anymore through the heavy snowfall, but her heartbeat quickened in anticipation. House Aten held the secrets to her past and the only way to free herself of the evil magic that killed her child, but once inside she’d have more than a little necklace to worry about.

  The immortals had a dark agenda that could alter her fate.

  A loud click filled the car. The dashboard went black, the wipers stopped and they suddenly slowed.

  The driver turned the key in the ignition, clacking followed. The car rolled to a stop. He pumped the accelerator and turned the key again.

  “What’s wrong?” Spero scanned their surroundings three hundred and sixty degrees.

  “I don’t know,” replied the driver. “The car is dead.”

  Spero unbuckled his seatbelt and tightened his grip on his sword. “How often do you service your vehicles?”

  Daniel turned around in his seat. “Quite regularly.”

  The driver popped the hood. Daniel motioned to get out, but the other man stopped him with a hand to the shoulder. “I’ll take a look. Left to you and we’ll miss breakfast.” He hopped out, slammed the door and raised the hood, blocking their frontal view.

  Spero unsheathed his sword.

  “He’ll fix it,” Daniel said confidently. “If we have to, we can walk from here. The perimeter shield is less than two miles. Once inside we’ll be safe from the elements.” Daniel removed his gloves and handed them to Serenity. He didn’t have a tattoo of flames.

  The driver stumbled around the car. Snowfall whipped around him. He opened his door and pulled something out of his neck. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came. Then he crumpled to the ground.

  “Jeremiah!” Daniel cried.

  Gusts of snow blew into the car. The wind howled. Serenity wished she’d listened to Cyrus and brought her crossbow.

  “Daniel, reach over and close the door,” Spero commanded in a calm voice.

  With shaking hands, Daniel unbuckled his seatbelt and did as instructed.

  Spero removed his jacket. “Are you a fighter or a mage?”

  “Neither. I was Jeremiah’s apprentice.”

  Wonderful. Why couldn’t the jittery apprentice be the one incapacitated?

  Spero reached into his bag, pulled out a dagger and shoved it into his boot. “Are you completely useless or can you do something to protect yourself and Lady Serenity?”

  “Uh, I know a spell that creates a circle of protection. Nothing can penetrate the shield, but I can only make it last for a minute, two at most. It takes a lot of energy and time to cast.”

  “How much time?” Serenity looked out the window in search of some unseen enemy and put on her backpack.

  Daniel shrugged, his eyes bulging. “Thirty seconds?”

  Spero strapped a photon gun across his body and pressed a button on the side. Lights flashed across the top of the gun. “Do you have to be stationary or will it work as you move?”

  “Move.” Daniel nodded.

  “Go with Daniel,” Spero said. “Don’t stop running until you’re inside Aten. I’ll hold them off.”

  Adrenaline spiked through Serenity in a blistering flame. She curled her hands into fists. “We should stick together.”

  “Hold who off? What’s going on?” Daniel asked in a shrill voice.

  “No time to explain,” Spero said. “Cast your spell, young apprentice.”

  Daniel climbed into the backseat, squeezing between them. “We have to touch for it to protect both of us. Don’t let go.” He grabbed her hand and chanted.

  She glanced at Spero. “If we stay together, we’ll have a better chance. I’m not useless. I’ve killed one warrior. I can protect myself.”

  “When I tell you,” he said, ignoring her suggestion, “I want both of you to get out of the car and run.” He looked at the gun. A solid blue line replaced flashing lights.

  Once Daniel finished, an incandescent white light shimmered around them.

  “Go now!”

  They opened their doors. Spero jumped out to the left, Serenity and Daniel to the right.

  A slim figure dressed in black, wearing a ski mask and tinted goggles landed on the roof of the vehicle in a crouched position, without making a sound. Spero swung his sword, but only hit air.

  The ninja rolled off the roof, down the windshield and landed a kick to Spero’s head.

  “Run!” Spero raised the photon gun.

  The black clad figure pulled out a double-bladed sword.

  Instinct urged Serenity to stay and fight, but Daniel tugged her away. She needed to trust in Spero’s centuries of experience and judgment, defying the fierce desire to stand her ground.

  They sp
rinted through the snow. Electric energy arced through her spine, surging in her veins, fueling her legs.

  Blasts echoed behind them. She glanced back. A shower of snow obscured everything.

  She tightened her grip on Daniel’s hand and yanked him forward. His chest heaved as he struggled to keep up.

  The shimmering light around them flickered and then faded.

  Had it been two minutes already? “Shit! Cast it again.”

  He chanted breathlessly as she hauled him along. Despite the weight of her backpack, Daniel slowed her down. If she had the strength of a warrior, it would’ve been faster to carry him. The protective shield sparkled over them again. Her heart leapt in temporary relief.

  Heavy snowfall made it impossible to gauge the distance to the entrance of House Aten. Serenity glanced at Daniel. He had difficulty breathing, his already poor pace slowed. They weren’t going to make it, but she couldn’t leave him behind.

  A gleaming orb burned through the snow. A golden field glimmered about a mile away.

  The protective shield around them disintegrated. Daniel could barely breathe, much less cast a spell. He tripped and fell, breaking the connection of their hands.

  Damn it. He’d have to start over.

  She reached to lift him. A hiss cut through the wind and something long and black, like a whip, coiled around Daniel’s ankles.

  “Help!” His face contorted in horror as he tried to pull the cord off. He looked up at her with pleading eyes.

  The cord around his ankles tightened and he shrieked.

  Panic seized her as someone reeled Daniel away, his screams fading in the snowfall.

  Panting, Serenity turned toward Aten and made a flat out dash for the golden light. She pumped her arms, ignoring the moist burning of her lungs.

  Only eight hundred yards. She could make it.

  Something sharp pinched her right calf. She couldn’t take the time to look down. Breath tore from her lips as she elongated the stretch of her legs and sprinted for the light.

  Numbness seeped through her calf up to her thigh. She crashed to the ground. Her left knee slammed into the rock floor. Crushing pain exploded. Her right leg grew limp as if falling asleep—no, worse—she couldn’t feel it at all. She climbed to her feet.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she pressed on, dragging her leg.

  The dark figure sauntered toward her, taking his time, keeping plenty of space between them, fading in and out of sight like some unholy phantom.

  Icy paralysis crawled up her left side. She fell again. Both legs were dead. She pulled herself forward on her forearms. She began to lose all feeling below the waist. Pervasive numbness swept through her core, chest, arms and face.

  Completely paralyzed, unable to blink, she stared at the frozen white ground.

  The man flipped her over and brushed hair from her face. He stared at her for a moment and then tossed her over his shoulder.

  A Paladin. An ordinary battle-guard of Sekhem wouldn’t have gotten by Spero so easily.

  Strapped to the slight man’s body, she watched the ground pull away, helpless, while he quickly scaled the rock wall. She dangled hundreds of feet above the rock floor with only a Paladin captor to keep her from plummeting.

  He bolted over frosty landscape, never slowing, without apparent fatigue from her added weight.

  Her torso swayed across his back. Black clad legs moved with inhuman speed, crossing miles of snow-covered ground in minutes.

  Tossed face up into the aisle of a cramped compartment, she made out the distinct interior of a small aircraft. The door closed, shutting out the frigid air and an engine started.

  Would the Paladins be merciful and only sterilize her?

  The fanatical warriors weren’t known for mercy. Yet she lived, for the moment.

  Twenty minutes ago she couldn’t stomach the idea of never giving Cyrus a child. Now, she’d sacrifice anything if it meant she could spend the rest of her days at his side.

  Chapter Nine

  The jet touched down on the remote landing strip deep within the Himalayas. As they coasted inside the fortified hangar, Cyrus unbuckled his seatbelt, ready as he ever would be to face his Council. Returning to the confines of this House, to their smothering clutches—the chosen son, the Blessed Kindred who would save them—was an inevitability he couldn’t escape.

  But not once had he imagined it’d be under these circumstances.

  The Triumvirate would bombard him with questions. None of his answers would appease them. How the situation would look in their eyes was fiercely clear. He’d come so close to achieving Herut’s goals. Only to fail.

  He glanced at his watch and wondered if Serenity had made it safely to Iceland by now. There was no telling the speed of Aten’s subs and Vainamoinen had given no further insight into the length of the journey other than they’d arrive at daybreak. Straightening the suit he’d changed into, he walked down the stairs of the plane into the cool hangar.

  An exuberant mob of acolytes bowed before rushing him, throwing rose petals and singing praises.

  “Glory be, you’ve returned to us!”

  “Praise the Creator, you found your kabashem. At last, the curse will be broken!”

  “Where is Lady Serenity?”

  Their smiles and tributes twisted something inside his chest, stealing his breath. Facing his Triumvirate he’d prepared for, but this…

  Cyrus stormed through the crowd of well-wishers, trampling their elation with his silence. Four battle-guard warriors bowed their heads in respect as he marched through the open reinforced doors into the majestic halls of House Herut.

  The lustrous marble walls and floor glowed as if radiating light in celebration. Even the semi-precious stones exquisitely inlaid in the massive pillars stretching more than forty feet somehow shined brighter than he remembered.

  More smiles, bows and utterances of praise to drive the knife deeper into his heart.

  His gaze fell on the deadpan face of Abbadon, a welcomed sight. They clasped each other’s forearms in the traditional greeting of friends.

  “Where is Serenity?” Abbadon asked, looking back at the warriors that accompanied him from New York.

  Cyrus kept walking. “Has the Council convened?”

  His old friend and most trusted advisor narrowed his eyes at the deflection. “The Triumvirate is in chamber awaiting you and your kabashem.”

  Avoiding eye contact with as many of his kinsmen as possible, Cyrus headed toward the ceremonial chamber. Abbadon placed a hand on his shoulder, urging him to stop, but Cyrus drove onward.

  “Tell me what happened,” Abbadon said in a low voice. “Is Serenity well?”

  “I don’t know.” Cyrus met Abbadon’s bewildered eyes and stopped. “I’m only going to explain once. If you want to know what happened, I suggest you come with me.”

  Minerva, the Lady in charge of all servants, cooks and the proper running of the House, broke through a crowd and seized an opening provided by Cyrus’s miscalculation in halting. Beaming as the others had, with flowers in her arms, she gave a deep curtsy, silken skirt swirling around her ankles.

  “Lord Cyrus, praise be to the Creator you’ve returned.” Rising, she looked around, undoubtedly in search of his kabashem. “Shall your consort, Lady Serenity, share your quarters or will she have her own?”

  “Serenity and I were sealed. She’s my uxora, not my consort.” The words left his mouth with a sharp edge he didn’t intend.

  Minerva bowed her head. “A thousand pardons. I meant no disrespect.” She glanced around again, resuming her search. “Will she be along shortly? I have to make preparations and ensure attendants are ready to receive—”

  “My chambers will suffice,” he snapped, his patience shredded to a thread after the long flight. “No other preparations are needed.” He pivoted and left before more questions ensued.

  The intricately carved double doors of the ceremonial chamber loomed ahead, the Eye of Herut engraved in the center
of each. Dazzling emeralds the size of his hand were set as the pupils. Abbadon increased his pace to open the door for Cyrus.

  Drawing in a breath, he tamped down the sickening sting of failure churning his stomach, but nothing would abate the sense he was less than whole since being separated from his mate. He crossed the gleaming onyx floor, approaching the three Council members perched on gold thrones studded with jewels. In the center sat Lord Constantine, his grandfather. To be nearly a thousand years old, his weathered face and age-spotted bald head looked remarkably dignified.

  At Constantine’s right hand was the stunning Lady Leta, his maternal aunt and consort-misère of his father. On Constantine’s left sat Lord Orazio.

  Cyrus lowered to one knee, head bowed.

  “It warms our hearts to have you back at Herut,” his grandfather said.

  “Rise.” Lady Leta’s voice overflowed with enthusiasm. “Where is your kabashem? It would bring us immense pleasure to meet her.”

  Cyrus pulled himself to his feet, straightening his spine and clasping his hands behind his back. He opened his mouth and spewed the details he’d concealed from them about the last two weeks in New York. Every word uttered—the prediction of a crazed oracle, Sekhem’s battle-guard discovering Serenity, Seshata’s visit and invitation to Aten—sucked joy from their faces.

  Then he shared the events of his honeymoon and the devastating tragedy of their loss.

  Lord Orazio stroked his gray mustache in contemplation. Leta clutched her chest, lips pinched, swaying as if she might faint.

  Constantine gripped the arms of his solid gold chair until metal squealed beneath his fingers. “You dared lie to us?” Surprise overwhelmed anger in his tone.

  “I didn’t lie.”

  “An omission is a lie!” His voice rang in the chamber, echoing off the stone walls. “Then you take it upon yourself to let your kabashem run off to House Aten without consulting us?” Disgust permeated each word.

  Cyrus met their disappointed gazes without flinching. “I am what you’ve made me, a leader that trusts his own judgment, follows his instincts. Not some frightened ram in need of a shepherd’s guidance.”

  “You don’t lead Herut yet, Cyrus.” Lord Orazio crossed his legs. “Be clear, there are three seats on this Council and all of them are filled. You are not above our dictates.”