Murdo’s grin faltered and his heavy-browed dark eyes became even more hooded as he frowned. ‘You’re very cocky, given that you’re outnumbered.’
Cassien’s expression lost its amusement. ‘I don’t like bullies, Murdo. They need the comfort and bravado of others around them to applaud, to laugh at their jokes, to make them feel like the chieftain they are son to but can’t live up to.’ The silence that greeted this remark was so thick it felt like a dead weight leaning on Cassien. Nevertheless, he continued to push this needle into Murdo’s rapidly deflating ego. ‘I’m sure Metheven would be proud to see how far his son has fallen.’
Now the atmosphere of pure taunting turned in an instant to one of a storm gathering. Murdo’s stare reflected nothing short of hate.
‘Do not dare to mention my father.’ His voice sounded like stones grating against each other.
‘But I just did,’ Cassien said, sounding deliberately breezy and glancing at his two minders.
Murdo walked away, momentarily perplexing Cassien until he saw in which direction the big man was headed. So, fists aren’t enough, Cassien thought, and braced himself for what was coming. During Loup’s painful ministrations, Cassien had learned how to shrink within himself — how to become so small and distant from the skin he lived in that he believed he became his spirit.
And that was when he’d first heard Romaine talking to him. Follow me, she’d said in his mind. He had let his mind wander and it had felt as though he had company within his own body. You are wolf, her voice said. Come to where a wolf in your form pays homage to his kin.
And within a blink he’d found himself standing in the great nave of the cathedral of Pearlis. He had visited the cathedral only once, as a lad with Brother Josse to discover his beast. Slowly he had walked down the nave,
waiting for one of the massive, beautiful sculpted creatures to call to him.
‘How will I know?’ he’d asked Josse, wide-eyed with wonder.
‘You will know. Your heart will respond instantly.’
‘Which is yours, Brother Josse?’
‘I am Anguis.’
‘The lizard.’
‘Well done.’
‘What is his peculiarity?’
‘Anguis is known for his clarity of thought. The more sight I lose as I age, the more I become like the lizard who looks for the sun, and by that I mean, the more enlightenment I search for.’
‘You are always very wise, Brother Josse,’ Cassien remembered himself replying and his elder had chuckled.
‘Find your beast, know yourself and your strengths,’ he’d said. Josse had remained standing before Anguis while Cassien moved on.
Cassien had needed to walk almost the length of the nave before he’d felt his heart begin to race. At one moment it was beating at its normal rhythm and the next it had begun to pound. It had pounded so hard he thought it might tear right through the cage of bones that held it within his chest. And with this racing heart had come dizziness. He thought it was for Lupus. The wolf. Strong, quiet, cunning, proud, fast, loyal. But he was confused.
He’d been looking down when the strange sensations had all assaulted him at once but he’d looked up at the enormous stone head of another: ‘Dragon?’ he’d whispered, confused, while warmth had suffused his body.
When Josse had arrived at his side and asked the inevitable, he had immediately replied ‘Lupus’ because in truth he did feel a kinship toward the wolf. He had never returned to the cathedral again, other than in his mind — the first time with Romaine. We are family now, she had said, as she’d led him away from Loup’s pain and he had found solace in the nave of the cathedral he could conjure in his mind’s eye.
She never mentioned his creature. Never asked.
In this spiritual place he could endure Loup’s punishments while sitting at the feet of Lupus. Never the Dragon, although he felt its pull. So it was to the huge form of Lupus that he fled in his mind now as Murdo walked back toward him holding a glowing iron.
‘I wish this had my family’s sigil on its tip so I could burn it into your flesh for taking our name in vain,’ he growled. ‘Now you will scream your penance to my father … to me.’
Cassien stared at him, the notion that Romaine walked alongside providing comfort. ‘You’ll hear no sound of capitulation, or anything else, from me. You clearly feel that you are a disappointment to your father or you wouldn’t be so touchy about me mentioning Metheven. I certainly took no-one’s name in vain but if that’s how you see it …’ He shrugged.
Murdo’s face darkened still further. ‘You really are a cocky bastard.’
‘I am a bastard, yes, but I simply say the truth.’
‘Stop talking or I’ll close your mouth properly,’ Murdo said, bringing the glowing white-hot tip close to Cassien’s lips.
Cassien sensibly remained still but he refused to shrink back as the hot iron came closer. He met Murdo’s angry gaze steadily, daring him to use the weapon.
Murdo did just that, lowering the iron before it cooled and touching it against the bared flesh of Cassien’s upper chest, where it crackled and hissed, blackening and blistering the skin, laying it open raw. He smiled as he pressed on the iron, but faltered in surprise as Cassien’s expression did not change. It was Murdo who flinched as if burned when he realised that Cassien was pushing back against the iron, defying Murdo further.
The Razor warrior ripped the iron back, tearing flesh and even then the newcomer to Orkyld showed no emotion, not even a spark in his eye of the pain he was surely experiencing. Murdo flung the iron and grabbed at Cassien’s shirt.
‘What in hell’s flames are you?’ he growled into his face.
‘Your conscience.’
‘Take back what you said and I’ll let you go.’
‘Words can’t be removed.’
‘Then apologise,’ Murdo yelled.
He shook his head. ‘Not for speaking the truth.’
‘Murdo!’ came a new voice, breathy and angry. They all looked up to see Vivienne pushing into the barn with Ham at her side.
‘You stupid, stupid oaf. What have you done?’ she shrieked, eyeing the seeping wound in Cassien’s chest. ‘Aren’t your big bludgeoning fists enough for you?’
Vivienne rushed towards them, but Murdo was now caught in his shame and he struck out as any cornered animal might. His backhanded blow connected horribly with Vivienne, who was sent tumbling backwards, her head knocking against a low beam. She crumpled like a half-empty sack of corn. Hamelyn was equally enraged and leapt onto Murdo’s back, pulling at his hair and face, raining down ineffectual blows.
‘You’re just a big, useless, drunken bully, Murdo,’ he railed.
Murdo flicked him away and Hamelyn soon joined Vivienne on the floor. He wasn’t stunned as she had been but he was nursing a bruised rib.
Murdo turned back to Cassien but was confronted by a new expression. Gone were the calmness and the almost mocking look. Now his features appeared shrouded in anger; his eyes seemed to lighten from dark green to yellow and in a heartbeat he’d shrugged off his surprised minders, twisting out of their loosened hold and bounding into space.
‘Oh, so now you want to fight, do you?’ Murdo taunted.
‘Anyone who beats up women and children needs to be taught a lesson. And it won’t be a fight.’
Murdo howled with contrived glee. ‘It won’t be fair, I’ll give you that.’
‘No, it won’t. But you won’t land a blow.’
Murdo grimaced. ‘Take your best shot, pretty boy.’
Cassien jumped into the air. No-one saw the terrible blow coming — least of all Murdo — as Cassien’s foot shot out in a powerful, sweeping horizontal kick from head height that connected with Murdo’s imposing chin. Murdo’s head snapped helplessly to one side, exactly as Cassien had anticipated. He knew the force of the blow, the shock it imposed on the neck and the head, the air that was cut off within that terrible moment of impact, would all conspire to drop Murdo cold.
As Cassien was leaping neatly back onto two feet, Murdo was already falling with his eyes rolling back into his head.
Murdo landed heavily as his body crashed, unconscious. His tongue lolled from the side of his mouth and was bleeding where he had bitten it during the impact. His companions looked on, shocked, at their leader’s prone, lifeless-looking body.
‘You’ve killed him,’ one said.
Cassien glared at the man. ‘He’s not dead, although he will die if he drinks any more tonight. And that tongue is going to be mightily sore when he comes around. Respect his headache — it is not without its dangers. He needs to be laid quietly in a darkened room for a few hours to recover.’ He dusted himself off and walked toward Vivienne, who had regained her wits and was being tended to by Ham.
‘Vivienne?’
Hamelyn nodded for her. ‘She’s all right, I think.’
‘What’s my name?’ he said, snapping his fingers in front of her face.
She batted his hand away weakly. ‘Cassien the stupid,’ she bleated and then groaned.
‘What about you, Ham?’
‘I’ve had worse,’ he said, grimacing as he stood.
In a fluid motion he lifted Vivienne easily into his arms.
‘What are you doing?’ she protested.
‘Taking you both away from here.’ He turned back to Murdo, who was not yet moving. Cassien could see the rise of his chest and having been knocked out like this himself previously, he knew how it felt.
‘Take proper care of your prince,’ he ordered the men, ‘or I’ll pay you a visit and mete out some of the same treatment.’
Cassien walked out into the night with the whore in his arms and a lad trotting alongside him who wore a wide grin.
‘I think I must learn how to kick like that,’ Ham remarked, his tone reverent.
THIRTEEN
Gabe had remained silent, invisible, since the shock of the arrival of strangers into his body. His sinister companions had no idea that he was present. It had taken him a long time to believe what had occurred, to accept that he was still alive — albeit in a curious form — and also to feel sure that neither of the usurpers was aware of his presence. He had made himself so insignificant that his being alongside them was inconsequential. It was all part of the trick he’d taught himself as a youngster, and practised throughout his life, to go within himself. His defence mechanism and protection from fears.
‘Within’ was safety and he had spent a long time ‘within’ after his family’s death. He would be silent and think through this extreme and unique situation.
It felt as though an eternity had passed since he’d last seen his apartment and life had felt anything other than blurred. He’d convinced himself to accept that he was not moving through a dream sequence. That’s what had taken him the longest time: suspending his own disbelief and no longer praying for deliverance from a nightmare. This was real. The male that now controlled his body was named Cyricus. Angelina’s name was revealed as Aphra.
‘Why do we travel in one body, my love?’ she said now.
‘You were travelling in such a handsome shape. Why would I want to remain as fat old Flek when I can be young and virile Gabriel? I like this façade. I may keep it for a while.’
‘So we’ll travel together?’
‘Until I can find you an alternative. I will look for a suitable host for you. One who measures up to your beauty.’ He sounded patronising.
Gabe had listened, darkly fascinated by this conversation, from within himself. Cyricus was now fully in charge of his body. What had occurred defied all rational understanding, so he’d stopped drawing on what he knew to be normal and ruthlessly confronted what he had actually experienced.
Cyricus and Aphra were ancient, he knew that much now, and they spoke as lovers. She was every inch the slave. He sensed she was frightened of Cyricus, but found his cunning and power addictive. From their discussion Gabe gleaned that master and slave had been separated for a long time. She’d had been banished centuries ago, from wherever they’d last been together, to wander aimlessly until she’d finally discovered Gabe. He was her ‘way back’ into the world her demon master inhabited.
‘You chose well,’ Cyricus had said to her. ‘He is without scent or trace of being from elsewhere. No-one will know he is not from this world. I’m intrigued, though. How can this be?’
‘As soon as I met him I knew he was the one. He dreamed of Pearlis too. He is an aberration … a gift. I almost believed you somehow sent him to bring me back to you.’
Cyricus had made a soft sound of disdain. ‘I wish I could say I had. I admit this is somewhat overly neat. How does a man from one world dream accurately of a cathedral in a world he doesn’t know exists?’
Gabe had heard her hesitation and fear. Good. He hadn’t even begun to pay attention to the hate that he was feeling for Angelina, but soon he would. No, he reminded himself, she wasn’t Angelina. Angelina was some poor young woman whom this vile creature had possessed, using Angelina’s body and her own wiles to lure him into her wicked plan.
Cyricus had pushed for more details. ‘How has his arrival into this world not caused a disturbance to it, I wonder. Or maybe it has and people attuned to such magic are already sounding alarms.’
Gabe could now feel the tension rising in his body.
‘I don’t know. It is passing strange,’ she replied sweetly, and quickly added, ‘but, my love, you know we have experienced where worlds have touched before. You’ve told me of occasions when people have passed between the worlds.’
‘This is true; the most recent I recall was of a man and woman, except those were people of Penraven, who returned to it. This man we inhabit is not from our world.’
‘No, of course he’s not,’ she said, sounding worried. ‘I found him by chance. We bumped into each other and one thing led to another. I knew he was the one. I knew he could bring me back to you because of his dreaming of the cathedral. You surely don’t wish I had stayed lost forever? Perhaps his vision of the cathedral was just a leak from our world. He could only ever dream it, not touch it or move to it. It leaked into his world as a dream and remained his.’
Gabe mentally blinked. That sounded overly simplified.
He heard the demon sigh. ‘Gabriel is dead. And with him went any potential magical connection he’d possessed. What’s left is his soulless vessel and when the time is right I’ll cast it aside. Pity, I like this handsome presence. I will have to make good use of it while I can.’
Aphra gasped as if hurt.
‘You misunderstand. Gabriel’s good looks and honest face will open doors. Be assured you’ve always been my favourite. I give you special privileges, Aphra, but when a demon dabbles with mortals, he must be extremely cautious.’
‘I know, my lord, that you are being cautious. Gabriel is gone; his body is safe. No-one will be any wiser to your arrival … or my return,’ she’d cooed.
It suddenly hit him. She had lied to her master! Gabe’s hopes surged … she wasn’t telling Cyricus everything. It was Reynard who had brought Angelina into his life; they hadn’t bumped into each other, she hadn’t stalked him. Reynard had found him, befriended him and then introduced them.
So Reynard had been telling the truth in warning him about Angelina. But why bring her to him? Did he know what she was? How could he? Gabe reached, as if closing his eyes, straining for the answers. Why had Reynard given him that quill? It meant something — he was sure of that now. And the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that his customer at the bookshop had known far more than he’d let on.
Had Reynard deliberately set him up? It sounded like madness to think this and yet the notion would not leave him. The more Gabe recalled the way in which Reynard had pushed him and Angelina together, the more he believed the man’s protestations at leaving them alone were all a ruse.
It was becoming more credible that Reynard might well have known the series of events that would occur to put him here
— Reynard had wanted it to happen, or at least had needed to see it happen. Why? He recalled the raven; it too had been watching Gabe, waiting for something to take place. Was it the death of Angelina and the transference of Aphra into his body? How would it have looked to that bird? One moment he would have been in his apartment naked with Angelina, the next she would be bleeding to death and he would have winked out of existence? His thoughts continued to crash against one another, each one more dramatic and unbelievable than the last. And yet, the more difficult it became to counter these wild ideas, the easier it became to entertain the idea that he had slipped between worlds and the whole event had been staged, carefully planned. Aphra thought she was outsmarting Reynard, but now Gabe firmly believed she was the one outwitted. And he — Gabe — was the stooge, the mule, the courier! Why? Cyricus had just voiced a similar concern. Now Gabe also wanted to know what it was about him that had allowed his body to move between these two planes without creating a disturbance.
There had to be a reason that Reynard had found him, that Aphra had used him. There had to be an explanation for why he had dreamed of a cathedral he’d not seen or known of, but which almost certainly stood proudly in this different world.
He had plenty to learn before he could begin to fathom how to thwart Cyricus and rid himself of his presence. As for Aphra, he hoped they would find a ‘suitable host’ very soon; he could no longer stand the sound of her voice reverberating through him. She sickened him. Gabe had always thought he didn’t possess any capacity for violence and that his calm reasoning would always get him through a situation. Now, his rage was such that he would kill Aphra with his bare hands … if either of them were made of something substantial.
However, he must remain calm and invisible to them. He would sit dormant within his own body, pulling tight any clues to his existence, and he would listen and pay attention. Perhaps he could find a way to get help from the outside. He’d already tried to leave clues. Even in his terrified, mind-scattered state, when he’d been forced into killing Flek, he’d pressed the quill against the man, hoping it would be found and cause questions to be asked.
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