by C. A. McHugh
Kira felt no remorse with the goddess’s decree, but the pain that tightened the faces of those that left family behind tore at her heart. How must it feel to live forever while your loved ones grew old and died?
Master Tyrrus’s words echoed in her mind. You are mortal, and you will eventually grow old and die. Galen, on the other hand, is immortal. Even when the dust that was once your body is scattered to the wind, he will be as you see him now. She glanced at her husband and wondered if he would have felt the same pain as he watched her wither away.
He met her gaze and nodded, the solemn set of his lips telling her of how he’d agonized over that idea.
Fergan swallowed hard as though his fate were a cup of strong whiskey. “Then so be it. I will take watch of the northern reaches, so I can glance on Highmounte from time to time.”
The fog swirled around him, surrounding him until he vanished.
“I prefer the warmth and sunshine of my homeland in Darvingnon, so I’ll take the southern end of the divide.” Lohman faded from view like Fergan did, presumably travelling to where the mountains met the sea.
One by one, the other three chose the realm of the mountains they preferred to watch over, leaving just Kira and Galen alone with the goddess. Her throat choked up as Elios looked to her. “Please, I only wish to stay with my husband.”
The goddess smiled. “I have no intention of separating Ruheshi, especially considering how hard Mariliel and I worked to bring you two together.”
Kira’s chest tightened. “You brought us together?” Why would two goddesses be concerned about someone as insignificant as her?
“Do you find that so hard to believe?” Elios reached out and lifted Kira’s chin. “Galen has told you the tale of the Ruheshi. You are the other half of his soul, trapped in a human body, but every step of your life has been choreographed to bring you to this point. Mariliel gave you your visions, and I solved the problem of your mortal body.”
“I ended up here because of you?”
“You ended up here because of the choices you made. You could have chosen to ignore your visions. You could have stayed in Dromore instead of following your Master. You could have stayed at the gate instead of stepping into the ritual.” Elios stepped back. “We gods rarely interfere unless needed. Instead, we give you opportunities—gifts—to use as you travel along your life’s path.”
She now understood Arlisle’s habit of pausing before he spoke. So many emotions tumbled inside her that she feared what may come out of her mouth when she opened it. “Then I am grateful to be here,” she said at last.
“And I am grateful that you found a way to keep us together.” Galen wrapped his arm around her, but there was something missing in his embrace that left her feeling like he was miles away instead of next to her. “Home is where she is.”
Elios tilted her head to the side. “And yet you are still troubled.”
“Ranealya.”
Of course he would be worried about his sister. The last thing she remembered was Ranealya being thrown from the circle.
Elios waved her hand, parting the fog once again to reveal a moonlit field. Kira’s stomach lurched as the scene flew toward them. Even though the ground remained solid beneath her feet, indicating she never left the mountain peak, she watched as though she were standing mere feet away from the couple sitting in the center of the field.
Ranealya, looking as she did the day Kira first met her, cradled Gregor in her arms. She rocked his unconscious form in her arms while chanting something in Elvish.
Galen jerked forward. “Nyelle, don’t!”
The fog closed in on them once again, and Galen stumbled on the loose rocks, reminding them of the sacrifice they’d made. They could watch their loved ones, but they were trapped here. He glared at Elios once he regained his footing. “I have to stop her.”
“Why?” the goddess asked innocently.
“Because if someone finds out that she cast the Judahrae, she’ll be executed.”
“Why?”
Galen’s brows drew together. “Doesn’t it anger you when one of your children sacrifices their immortality?”
“Do I look angry?” A bemused smile lingered in her features. “I told Ranealya I would end her miserable existence today, and I have. She is no longer cursed, no longer alone. If she chooses to sacrifice her immortality to be with the one she loves, then what harm is there in that? Surely, you would have done the same.”
He closed his eyes and nodded, his hand squeezing Kira’s. “Yes, I would have.”
“Then do not worry about your sister. I’m not finished with her yet.”
A halo of light surrounded Elios, growing brighter until it completely enveloped her. When it faded, she was gone.
Despite the thick fog, the air trembled with magic in the goddess’s wake. Kira reached out to grab hold of it, only to be left with a tingle in her fingers. “Do you feel it, too?” she asked.
Galen nodded, still staring out into the void.
“I wonder if we can do that.” She turned in the other direction toward the Elgeus and pictured the crowded streets of Dromore in her mind. The scene rushed toward her as the fog parted to reveal Mistress Love laughing with a customer while she refilled his mug. It was so real, Kira almost believed she was there until someone walked straight through her. The distraction pulled her from the spell, and the fog swirled back into place.
Galen’s breath warmed her cheek. “How did you do that?”
“I just thought of a place, and it appeared. You try it.”
His thoughts lay on the other side of the mountains. Scenes of people they knew flashed in front of them, from Jaius resting on a riverbank beside Arlisle to a huddled Elisus pressing a bloody cloth over his missing eye.
“At least we can feel like we’re still part of the outside world, even if we can’t leave these mountains,” he said at last.
Kira nodded. “And we still have plenty of things to do for now.”
“Such as?”
“Shelter would be nice. Perhaps a fire. And then, once we’re warm and cozy…” She grinned as she ran her fingers along his jaw, letting her mind fill with images of nights spent in his arms for the rest of eternity.
The story continues in…
The Tears of Elios
by
Crista McHugh
Shape-shifters’ Rule #1: Don’t let the humans know you still exist.
Rule #2: If a human finds out about you, silence them.
Some rules were meant to be broken…
Ranealya ruthlessly plays by the rules and has outlived most of her race because of it. If she wants to survive, she’ll have to stick to them, especially with a genocidal tyrant hell-bent on destroying all the non-humans in the realm. But everything falls apart when a human saves her life.
Gregor knows he’s inviting trouble when he helps a wounded shape-shifter, but he can’t pass up the opportunity to study one before they become extinct. She disturbs the quiet order of his scholarly existence, vexes him in more ways than he can count, and encourages him to break enough of the kingdom’s laws so that not even being the king’s cousin will save his head. The problem is, he’s already lost his heart.
Excerpt follows…
CHAPTER 1
Ranealya smelled death. It called to her from the body of an old man lying in the road ahead, over-powering the stench of unwashed bodies that clung to most humans. She approached it with caution and stared into its dull blue eyes. Freshly dead. The corpse remained in pristine condition otherwise, signaling she was the first person to stumble across it.
Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten in days, but she refused to feast on the bounty before her. Let the other beasts have him. There were far more civilized ways to scavenge.
She sniffed the air and surveyed her surroundings, making sure she was alone before she shifted. The thick fur of a wolf melted from her body as she took a familiar form, one of a middle-aged man, and dragged the
corpse deeper into the woods. The icy wind prickled her bare skin, and she cursed humans once again for their lack of hair.
A search of the body’s possessions revealed a change of fresh clothes in his pack, a small dagger, and enough money to buy her a hot meal and a night in an inn. Just in time, she thought as the first flakes of snow started falling. Winter behaved like a spoiled child in this part of the kingdom, moody and unpredictable. The only reason she stayed here was because the remote location offered protection from those who hunted her. Staying on the fringes of society had allowed her to survive this long, even though the isolation ate away at her soul as the years passed. But she could endure it. She had for centuries.
While she dressed, she tested her voice to find the right pitch to go along with her disguise. Weeks of dormancy made it sound gravelly, but after a few sentences, her vocal cords loosened up.
Once she finished taking all she found useful from the old man, she began walking to the nearest town. A new scent caught her attention after she’d travelled about a quarter of a mile down the road, and she froze. An icy chill raced down her spine. She wasn’t alone.
“Hello, traveler,” a voice cried out from the trees.
She stared at the figure that appeared out of the lengthening shadows. As much as she wanted to avoid any human contact, running away would only rouse his suspicion. “Greetings.”
“Headed into Poole?”
She nodded, hoping he would accept her answer and leave her alone as she continued on her way.
“Mind if I keep you company the rest of the way?”
She gritted her teeth, but shook her head. As long as she made it clear she wasn’t in a talking mood, maybe he wouldn’t discover what she truly was.
“It looks like there’s a nasty storm brewing. Might shut down the roads for a few days.” The lanky, grizzled man fell into step beside her and studied her through narrowed eyes. “You’re not from Poole, are you?”
“Just passing through.”
“So your appearance here has nothing to do with the reports that there may be a shape-shifter in the area?”
She fought to control her emotions, to keep her voice flat while she feigned disinterest. “Shape-shifters are just a story made up by the elves to frighten humans.”
The man pulled a pipe out of his pocket and packed it with tobacco. “They ain’t legends -- they’re true. My grandfather participated in the Great Hunts. And there’s one in this area. I’ve seen proof of it -- tracks that change or disappear without explanation, normal animals acting strange when it’s around.” He lit his pipe. “Pray you never run across one.”
Ranealya’s jaw tightened. This man knew a little too much for her comfort. “How could you distinguish a shape-shifter from an ordinary person or animal?”
“Look ‘em in the eye. They’ll never have normal looking eyes, no matter what form they’re in. Even when they pretend to be human, their eyes are still wild.”
She lowered her gaze and rubbed her arms, trying to shake out the ice forming in her veins. She could still smell the burning flesh of the murdered shape-shifters. Her companion needed to be silenced before he revived the madness of the hunts from half a century ago. “You seem to know a lot about shape-shifters.”
He lifted his chin. “Some people refuse to believe the legends, but they’re real, I tell you. Dangerous, too. People would rather forget what they don’t see.”
She nodded and came closer, her hand wrapping around the hilt of the dagger she stole from the corpse. “Maybe it’s better they forget.”
“King Anilayus believes in them. He even sent out the Azekborn to find it. The area’s been crawlin’ with them lately, but I’m gonna catch it before they do. The King’s even increased the bounty set during the Great Hunts. Soon, there won’t be a non-human left in the realm.”
Her pulse increased. Years of being a huntress had sharpened her senses. He seemed so caught up with telling her what he planned to do with the bounty that she couldn’t smell any fear on him. Now was her chance to act, before he realized what she was. She slid her blade from its sheath and hid it in the folds of her cloak, ready to silence him permanently. For a second she hesitated, wondering if she could get away with scaring him into silence. Too much blood had been shed between humans and shape-shifters over the last century.
He jerked to a stop and pointed to her face. “Your eyes!”
She laughed softly as her body slid into its natural form. After all, he should see a real shape-shifter before he died. Fur rippled down her arms, and her fangs grew long enough to press into her bottom lip. She reveled in the few precious seconds she was allowed to be herself, to strike fear into a human and not worry about hiding her true nature. “You were saying?”
His eyes widened, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down several times before he found his voice again. “I’ll kill you and collect enough money to make me a rich man.” He drew a hunting knife that dwarfed the small weapon in her hand.
Survival instincts took over, and the blade of her knife sliced through his vocal cords, preventing him from uttering another sound. She stepped to the side to avoid the blood spraying from the severed neck arteries. A twinge of regret passed through her chest as his body collapsed in the middle of the road. Would killing ever become easier? But now there was one less human who knew her secrets, one less human who would hunt her. Survival always came at a price.
The blood gurgled from his throat and stained the surrounding snow. She cleaned the knife on his trousers and stood. The sound of riders approaching sent a trickle of paranoia through her veins. Her heart skipped a beat from the smell of brimstone that followed. There was no mistaking scent of the King’s servants. The outlines of three figures raced toward her.
Ranealya fled into the trees, sure they could hear her pounding heart. That’s just my luck, she thought as she tore off her clothes. As much as she hated running away, attacking three Azekborn alone would be suicide. It had taken hundreds of casters to drive the drae into another realm, and those drae didn’t have the demon-infused powers the Azekborn did. Her body shrank into a skinny mutt, never breaking stride as she ran.
Even the thick snow couldn’t muffle the heavy gallop of hooves sounded behind her. By the Goddess, will they ever stop chasing me?
The sound of rushing water filled her ears. The river was close, flowing between the walls of a steep canyon it had carved out the land centuries before. She could cross it without a bridge, but they couldn’t. She turned toward the sound, darting between trees in an effort to throw them off her trail.
A dark figure jumped in front of her, followed by the hiss of a blade through the air. Ranealya tumbled head first into the snow, shifting into a snow leopard as she regained her footing. If they wanted to play rough, then so be it. Her tail twitched as she crouched close to the ground.
The Azekborn lifted his sword and charged after her. Her sides heaved, but that was the only motion she allowed until he was almost on top of her. She sprung, fearing only a coward’s death. The bitter, black blood of the Azekborn filled her mouth, and they tumbled to the ground together. Her jaw locked, sending her fangs deeper into his sword arm. A cry filled the air when she pulled the flesh from the bone.
She lifted her head just in time to see a crossbow bolt embed itself into her prey’s chest, barely missed her cheek. She backed away, the Azekborn’s arm still clutched in her teeth. She tossed the limb at the other two hunters. Who’s next?
The standoff dragged on for several long seconds. Behind her, the rush of the river sang a song of escape, if she could only reach it. She growled and continued to back away, already beginning her next shift. Feathers replaced her fur, and her body shrank. In less than a blink of an eye, she was up in the air, flapping her wings to quickly gain altitude. The leopard’s snarl morphed into the shrill call of a hawk that echoed off the canyon walls as she flew toward her freedom.
A crossbow bolt whizzed toward her from behind and buried into her
wing. Her body stiffened in pain. The sharp rocks below raced toward her. With one final flap of her wings, she propelled herself forward and crashed into the trees on the other side of the river.
Her feathers melted away as she shifted back into her normal form and pulled the bolt out of her shoulder. The effort sent waves of pain throughout her body. She bit back a scream.
On the opposite side of the canyon, the two Azekborn stopped at the edge. She glared at them with satisfaction. Once again, she’d escaped them, but not completely unscathed this time.
Blood flowed from the wound in her shoulder, and the surrounding skin burned like hundreds of burning splinters had been buried into it. Hykona leaves would draw the poison out if she could find them this late in the year. Casting one more glance at her would-be hunters, she ran deeper into the snowy woods.
CHAPTER 2
An irritating trickle of moisture streaked down Gregor’s back. He shook his cloak out in frustration. Somehow, he missed the sapling in front of him, and its branches showered him with their freshly accumulated snow when he’d collided with it. He brushed the flakes off his book and resumed his simultaneous reading and walking.
Ahead, a large gray dog with loose wrinkled skin bounded through the drifts, his tail wagging with excitement. To the normal ear, the dog only barked, but Gregor could hear the dog’s thoughts. “Snow! Snow! Snow!”
Although he looked forward to his daily hike through the woods, the wind grew icy after half an hour. With a sigh, he closed his book and began to turn back to his house. He whistled for his dog to follow him, but Duke stood still in front of a small cave. "What do you see, boy?"
“Deer-not-deer,” came the gruff reply.
Gregor took a few steps forward, puzzled by the dog’s cryptic response. "What was that?"
Duke bounded over to him and yanked on his cloak. “Deer-not-deer. Hurt. Come see.”
Gregor stumbled forward. His toes had gone numb, and all he wanted to do was finish his translations in front of a nice warm fire. If he could somehow prove to the King that the Clearances could be harmful to the realm, maybe he could save both lives and knowledge. He couldn’t care less about a wounded deer.
