“Bring her,” the demon boy ordered.
Two male dire wolves, white eyes foggy and unseeing, approached her with their heads down, tails held limply behind them. She wondered once again what the demon child had done to them to make them serve. Her magic flared, and a memory surfaced: her gargoyle father looking out over a battlement, listless, head hanging. She’d been a small child, four or five at most, and seeing her father like that saddened her. He’d been “disciplined” after he’d tried to escape with her. She remembered her mother had been upset with the Wardens for resorting to soul–binding magic. Trap a soul so that it could not gain strength from the Spirit Realm or a living body, and it would weaken. A weakened soul would in turn weaken a mind, making the person more biddable. Her mother had called it one of the darkest forms of magic.
And the same spell had been cast upon the two dire wolves approaching her. She moved away from the porch, allowing the big wolves to herd her toward the east side of the cabin. They continued to guide her until she was blocked on one side by the small creek. Death magic rose from the water’s surface like fog, seeking and smothering life as it came in contact with it. She strengthened her shields another notch even though the magic hadn’t been able to do more than brush along the curve of her shield before being repelled.
The demon child said nothing as it trailed along behind Lillian. She maintained a brisk pace, wanting to stay ahead of the demon. It sidled up next to her, perhaps sensing her unease. Then it tried to take her hand like a child would. She inched closer to the stream.
The scent of death wafted upon the breeze. But underlying that stench, there was a sweeter smell. Honeysuckle. And something else similar to sandalwood. Memories stirred.
A sense of peace like returning home after a long life.
Impossible.
She took a deeper breath. Yes, she was certain. The Lord of the Underworld was near.
But how could that be? He was imprisoned in his own temple. Both of the Twins were. The duality curse. One sibling couldn’t walk free while the other was trapped. The Lady of Battles was still imprisoned. Lillian knew it in her heart—and yet she sensed the Lord of the Underworld near.
The death magic flowing from the water was deadly, but now it lacked the stench of evil. Strange. She tried to piece together the memories that told her why the magic in the water was dangerous but not evil and they slipped away.
They entered the forest once again. Nothing living remained. All was dead. She mourned the trees and the wildflowers. Even the moss was dead.
“It didn’t like our tinkering and lashed out,” the demon said. “It killed a good half of us before we could get out of its range.”
“What didn’t like your tinkering?” Whatever “it” was, if it had killed half of these little monsters, she wanted to help it kill the other half.
“When we sacrifice you, it will be more biddable,” the demon called over its shoulder as it skipped ahead. It giggled and vanished around a bend in the path.
She swallowed against the bile rising in her throat. Touching the demon was the only way to know for sure if it had possessed a child or merely shapeshifted to look like one. She didn’t want to get close enough to find out. Better not to know.
The footing became treacherous as the path narrowed. Boulders and rocks showed through the eroded soil like the bones of the earth. With her eyes on the rocky ground, she didn’t see she’d emerged into a new meadow until she finished climbing up the leaf–littered slope.
She blinked several times and still she didn’t understand what she saw. Trees lay broken and splintered like a hurricane had exploded out from the middle of the meadow. Branches and trunks were tossed haphazardly to form a dam of wooden shrapnel along the outer edge of the newly, and violently cleared meadow. At the center someone had erected a monolith. She didn’t know what else to call it. It looked like a sword. A massive twenty–foot sword. A giant’s weapon. By the way the point was embedded in the rocky soil, it looked like something had stabbed it down into the earth with a great deal of rage.
Its blade shimmered, eerie in the dim light. And if she was to approach it and run a finger along its blade, it looked sharp enough to cut off her hand. She shivered. The death magic was stronger here at the source.
No, she’d been wrong. This great weapon didn’t belong to a giant. It belonged to a god. Memories from past lives unfolded, triggered by the sight of one of Lord of the Underworld’s four swords. In the memory, she and Gregory had returned victorious from a battle, and were bringing a dangerous artifact back to the Lord of the Underworld for safe keeping. As they had bowed at his hooves, he had towered over them. His horse’s body topped with a four–armed humanoid torso and a jackal–like head. In another life, she’d not thought him strange—but now, all she could think was that he looked to be the love child of Anubis and a centaur. He had horns and a flowing mane like a gargoyle, and she remembered Gregory had once said all gargoyles called the god of death their master. If this creature wasn’t fearsome enough on his own, having to walk between his four massive swords before kneeling at his feet, would have cowed most anything.
However, that time she and the gargoyle had nothing to fear from the Lord of the Underworld. He’d greeted them like friends, and she supposed they were. Being the god of death was a lonely duty, and like the gargoyles, he’d spent his existence alone.
“It rests, dormant as far as we can tell,” the demon said in its child’s voice.
Memories faded and she returned to the present. She still faced the massive sword.
The sword complicated her plan a bit.
“The sword may have used up its defenses, but we’re not risking ourselves on a guess,” the demon said. “But the sword will recognize you as the Goddess’ avatar. It won’t consider you a threat. And then we’ll use your blood to forge its new allegiance.”
She didn’t need to be told what their next step would be. They’d command the sword to tear a hole in the Veil between the Realms, and more demons would flood into this land. The Clan and the Coven would be the first causalities in the war.
Chapter Twenty-two
Lillian let them herd her toward a dead tree, one of only three still standing within forty feet of the sword. The demons were careful to go no closer to the weapon. Come on Lil, you can do this. Act the helpless victim. Pretend you don’t have the knowledge to protect yourself. How hard can that be? No acting required.
Using a bit of nylon rope, they tied her to the tree’s blackened trunk with jerky motions. The occasional anxious glance over their shoulders said they didn’t trust the sword’s serenity. She didn’t either.
An insubstantial current of magic swirled past her ankles on its way toward the sword. The great weapon siphoned power from the land, reclaiming some of the magic it had spent in the first attack. She didn’t think the demons sensed what it was doing, or she doubted they’d still be so close. Lowering her shields, she opened herself to the magic coiled within her soul. A small trickle welled up and flowed across her skin. She directed it into the ground. None of the demons looked in her direction. They were busy erecting a circle of stones for their spell casting. Or rebuilding one, perhaps? Yes. That looked likely. She’d come to them sooner than they planned. Good.
Maybe she’d have time to give the sword enough power to return to its master. She dare not let her captors use her blood to remake the sword. Nor could she risk the sword falling into the hands of the Lady of Battles. There was no telling what damage the dark goddess could do with one of her brother’s weapons.
Lillian opened the part of her soul connected to the Spirit Realm. A cold rush of power filled her. She guided it into the ground, one slow, measured bit at a time. With her head bowed, she looked up through her lashes in the sword’s direction. The massive blade continued to feed.
Fifteen minutes passed, and the demons still hadn’t noticed her silent rebellion.
This wasn’t so hard. All she needed to do was give the s
word enough power to return home before the demons came to slay her. Simple. Easy.
Right.
Lillian didn’t want to think about what would happen if the demons triggered the darkness sleeping in her soul before the sword could escape. If her own demon soul awoke before she was ready, it might enslave her and then the sword and return to the Lady of Battles with a great prize.
She glanced at the stone ring. Unfortunately, demons and vampires possessed strength and agility greater than a human, and the ring of stones circling the central altar was nearly complete. Lillian didn’t think her enemies would lavish much time on other preparations once the last stone was in place.
Frosty power filled her body to the point of pain and still she held it in check. Long minutes crept by as she gritted her teeth against the burning pressure. When she could hold no more, she released a great flow of magic into the ground. With the crisp smell of winter, cold air rushed away from her in an enlarging circle, caressing the grass and kicking up a fine scattering of dust as it raced away.
A dire wolf eased out of the trees to the west of her position. He raised his head and sniffed in her direction. Uh–oh, perhaps the demons were nose–dead, but the wolves weren’t. Shit. Before she choked off the flow of magic, the dire wolf barked, a high–pitched sound of warning.
At the alarm, vampires and demons rushed from the trees as if the dead forest spat them out. Forty, fifty. Far too many. Instinctively, she pressed her back into the dead tree.
“Stop her,” the first demon yelled. He was on the opposite side of the meadow, sprinting toward her.
“Oh, what the fuck.” She unleashed another wave of magic. The sword drank her power, swallowing it faster than she’d thought possible. Go, she willed it. Go home. Please.
Not enough power, it whispered into her mind.
She dropped her mental shields to speed up the transfer of power and Gregory was suddenly in her mind, his grief and rage buffeting her. She blinked, and then realized he’d been there the whole time, but she’d been so focused on the situation that she’d blocked him from her consciousness. Now there was only one way to protect him. She showed him what was unfolding while she shoved all her recent memories at him. The number of the enemies, their plans to force the sword to serve them and tear a hole in the Veil between the Realms, and all tactical information about the meadow. Then with that done, she sent one last message. “Gregory, I love you.”
Lillian turned her thoughts from him to the task at hand as she forced her connection to the Spirit Realm wide open. Power flowed through her, more than she had ever used. She screamed as a wild current tore through her thoughts. Her vision blurred, and then cleared in time to see a demon standing in front of her, his arm raised, the silver glint of a blade in his hand. Pain exploded in her shoulder and a second scream tore free of her chest.
****
The world below streaked past in a blur as Gregory winged closer to Lillian. He was almost there, then her thoughts came to him, flowing across his own. His wings faltered. Shocked, he grasped at her thoughts as he leveled out his flight. Her thoughts flooded his mind with the knowledge she’d gathered. The demons. The sword. Their plan to invade this Realm through the torn Veil. He smelled evil carried on the breeze, and overlaying that odor, the distinct scent of the Lord of the Underworld.
Gregory was almost there. Hope filled his numb wings and burning lungs, and with renewed strength he sped toward his other half.
Another image of the enemies flashed through his mind. A demon with a dagger poised to strike.
Despair engulfed him. He’d hunt the demons down, find the deepest abyss in the Black Kingdom, and imprison them with their own dark magic until all they would know was unending torment. And it wouldn’t be one quarter of the pain he’d feel for failing Lillian.
Lillian’s fear washed across his mind, her agony resonated within his soul. He roared one short, sharp howl, echoing her pain.
****
Lillian awoke, a hot, wet agony slicing along her stomach. God. Had they stabbed her with a branding iron? She girt her teeth and looked down. She was naked, her abdomen a red ruin. Blood soaked her bare legs. A second, smaller ember of fire gnawed at her shoulder where a demon blade was buried—probably the same dagger they’d all but gutted her with.
A whimper escaped. Her breath came quick and shallow. She’d been prepared for death, but not this pain. A swift death. She’d been too naive.
She didn’t remember the demons moving her, but a slab of stone propped at an angle now supported her back. She hung from her tied hands, her shoulder joints so taut something would dislocate if she moved even a little.
Blood covered the stone, running down its surface in rivulets. Jagged little flashes of light sparked at the edge of her vision. She wasn’t going to pass out, not yet. When she closed her eyes, she could sense Gregory near. His thoughts were no longer crisp, but muffled by whatever the demon blade was doing. Or perhaps it was from losing so much blood. But whatever the cause, she was weakening fast.
Just not fast enough.
Gregory would arrive in time to watch her die and then he’d get himself killed. He’d died for her so many times in the past; he deserved to live this time. While she couldn’t will herself to die faster, perhaps she could find another way to defeat them. Lillian had hoped the demons would trigger whatever trap the Lady of Battles has laid on her soul when they stabbed her, but Gregory must have done something to keep her demon soul from waking. Now, the stupid magic couldn’t even kill her properly.
Focusing proved difficult, but she gathered her thoughts and began picking at the tight knot of coiled memories and magic at her core. There must be something there she could use. She just had to get to it.
Blood continued its slow descent. It circled around her ankle and dripped off her bare toes, and still Lillian dug deeper into her memories. Then she found what she sought, a tether linking her demon soul to the Lady of Battles. Lillian followed the path, reaching, stretching, seeking until another powerful and fearsome being acknowledged her with a caress like lightning across her skin.
“MY CHILD,” the other said as a malevolent power snaked through Lillian.
A mild surge of relief escaped Lillian in a giddy laugh. The demons turned puzzled eyes in her direction, but she didn’t care if she’d given herself away. There was nothing the demons could do to stop her. Power poured from her and flooded out across the meadow. Fog rose from the earth, shifting and flowing into thick ropes which wove themselves into a billowing tapestry. The mist solidified and became a silver–edged window, similar to the time Lillian had spoken to the Warden Gryton, but this one was much larger.
The Lady of Battles reclined on the garnet–colored stone steps outside her temple. She raised her head, and then came to her feet with the soft rustle of fabric and the rattle of chains. With the deep–red stairs and the polished–black onyx of her temple behind her, the Lady of Battles glowed pale against the darkness, an ethereal creature with alabaster skin and green eyes. A delicate bare foot poked out from under the hem of her cream–colored dress as she descended the steps. Her slim–figured elegance was at odds the blood–red breastplate and manacles encircling her wrists and ankles.
The goddess continued down the steps in an unhurried manner. Her billowing skirt reminded Lillian of sails in a strong wind, the chains disappearing into the shadows, the ship’s rigging.
It wasn’t until the Lady of Battles reached the foot of her temple and knelt down to peer through the shimmering window that Lillian realized her true size. The dark goddess was a giant, like a Titan of old. The individual links of the chain binding her were the size of Lillian’s torso.
If she was not so far gone, Lillian would have been terrified. But terror was too great an emotion to muster at the moment.
“WHAT IS THIS?” The Lady of Battles demanded, her voice booming across the clearing. “WEE LITTLE DEMONS, DO YOU SEEK TO BETTER YOURSELVES?” Her voice grew softer and darker.
“BETTER YOURSELVES BY SACRIFICING MY DAUGHTER? I THINK NOT.”
Lillian was so woozy, she could barely think. Had the dark goddess just called Lillian daughter? That couldn’t be good, could it?
“I HAVE PLANNED TOO LONG TO LET YOUR FOOLISH GREED DESTROY MY WORK. RETURN TO THE BLACK KINGDOM NOW AND I MAY LET YOU LIVE,” the Lady said, while her piercing gaze tracked everything in the clearing. The two green orbs at last settled on Lillian. “DAUGHTER, LET ME HELP YOU.”
Accompanying the words, Lillian felt more of the foreign magic invade the meadow from the viewing window. The demons hissed at one another, nearly stumbling over each other in their hurry to get away. The magic continued to pour into the meadow and then it reached her.
Lillian burned and itched. A searing agony shot through her. She bucked and spasmed with the pain, feeling as though her bones were melting and reshaping themselves.
****
Gregory flared his wings to slow his descent while he took in scene more horrible than he’d expected. A chaotic mix of power swirled around the meadow. But it was the essence of his greatest enemy which overlaid every other scent. Somehow the Lady of Battles was here.
“YOU’RE LATE,” the Lady said as Gregory landed. “AGAIN.”
Gregory froze at the sight of the silver window occupying half the meadow. The Lady of Battles looked out upon the scene from the steps of her temple. In front of the mirror was a small slab of stone propped up haphazardly by another boulder half–buried in the ground. Upon the stone altar, Lillian hung suspended by her wrists. Blood dripped down the length of her naked body and coated the stone beneath. With a cry, Gregory bolted into motion, uncaring if he was about to walk into the Lady’s trap.
Up close, Lillian was gray, and her breath came in shallow pants. Her eyes, wide with fear, met his. He slashed the ropes tying her to the crude stone alter. She slumped into his arms.
“Go. I don’t want you to die,” she whispered.
“Foolish, beloved Sorceress. I can endure much, but I can’t live without you.” He lowered his muzzle to her and rested his forehead against hers. This was all he could do. Hold her while she died. “I’ll follow you. Soon we’ll start over.” He would seek out the Lady of Battles in her prison and pick a fight he couldn’t win.
Stone's Kiss Page 23
