Burnt Offerings
Page 8
The earth quaked again, knocking her to the ground and heralding new destruction as the hellish peak spat flaming chunks of rock into the air, hurtling them toward the village. Several people froze in shocked disbelief as they watched the blazing stones rain down upon them, but they, and countless others, were soon relieved of doubt as the fiery boulders crashed into the square, maiming and killing with insensate abandon.
As she struggled to stand, Alen’s mother saw a small family huddle together against the destructive shower of flaming stones. A small gasp of surprise escaped her lips as she recognized the man who struggled to protect the sobbing girl and woman in his arms as the same guard who had refused to help her boy in his moment of need. She didn’t want to feel any sympathy for him, but when his horrified eyes met her gaze, her heart ached with sadness at the tragedy unfolding before her eyes. Maybe now, at the end of his life, he would realize the magnitude of his apathetic crime. She found it within herself to weep for him when he and his family disappeared under the burning thatch that fell upon them.
As the rocks continued to fall from the sky, a lone voice rose frantically above the chaotic clamor of shrieks and cries. Glancing toward the source of the hysterical shouts, her eyes narrowed as she espied the odious priest who had ripped her boy from her arms. Toward that quarter, at least, her hatred was unequivocal.
“My lord, was my offer found wanting? Was that wretched boy not enough to satisfy you? Then tell me,” he cried, “what more worthy sacrifice can I make to appease your glorious wrath?”
Her fury melded with outraged shock as he bellowed out a desperate plea to the god of the mountain, ignoring the plight of the village and begging that he alone be spared. Her fingers curved as she heaved herself to her feet, a vision of her clawing out the bastard’s eyes with her own nails dawning clearly in her mind. Determined to avenge her son by spilling the cleric’s worthless blood, she struggled toward the tottering figure, fighting to keep her feet as the ground lurched beneath her. But before she could appease her bitter grief, she was forestalled by the sight of the priest’s eyes widening in almost comedic fright. Following his gaze, she stared in amazement as the largest of the smoldering rocks headed straight for him as though guided by a divine hand. He raised his hands to ward off the projectile, but the effort was wasted, his scream of terror falling to silence as the boulder effortlessly snuffed out his life. Her gaze was steady as she witnessed the priest’s immolation, no feelings of pity marring the righteous anger that surged through her breast as he was crushed and consumed by the greedy flames. Now that his persecutor had met such an ignominious end, she prayed her son might at last know a measure of peace. But before she could fully appreciate the spectacle of the cleric’s demise, the mountain thundered once more, bellowing up more thick smoke and choking ash.
“Alen!” Her wail echoed in her ears as she looked up toward the mountain, her eyes aching at the brightness, almost unable to bear the luminous radiance of the burning trees. With a keening moan, she resumed her perilous course, though just how she planned to circumvent the lava that surrounded the village, she did not know. Nor did she care that her son was, surely, already dead. She would not be satisfied until she had seen his remains with her own eyes, for only then could her heart find acceptance.
Though she ventured as close as she could to the edge of the flowing lava, she was thwarted by the intense heat and sulfurous fumes. A hot wind, scalding and glutted with cinders, gusted past her face, and she cried out as she was assaulted by numerous small burns. Still she did not retreat. Praying to whatever god would listen that she be allowed to pass, she labored onward, determined to discern her son’s fate, yet she came no closer to her goal as the molten torrent hindered all progress.
“Oh, Alen,” she wailed, distraught that her efforts were to be in vain. “Forgive me.” Falling to her knees perilously close to the blazing flux, she wrapped her arms about herself and wept bitter tears. Her darling boy was gone. At that moment, she cared not if she, too, should die.
“Ma. Ma, you must heed me.”
The voice was subtle as it struggled through her sobs, and it was only after a long moment that she discerned it at all. It was as if the wind had suddenly spoken to her, the sound wafting to her over the frightened screams of the doomed. She forcibly quieted her sobs enough to listen as she looked around eagerly to find the source of the summons. Her frantic hunt was filled with reckless hope, for the voice she’d heard was dearer to her than any other and was one she had never again thought to hearken.
“Please go back,” it beseeched, sighing past her ear like a gentle but insistent breeze.
“Alen!” she cried, surging to her feet as she desperately searched to and fro. “Alen? Where are you?!” She blinked against the stinging smoke, her irritated eyes filled with blinding tears. Her distress increased when she saw nothing but the vague shapes of the townspeople reeling about as they tried to escape the fires razing the village to the ground.
“Go back, ma! Back to the cottage. Quickly now!”
Never before had she heard her son’s dulcet voice raised in a shout of command. The shock of it was enough to send her running back the way she’d come. The ash-filled air made it terribly difficult to breathe, and by the time she reached the door of the cottage, she felt faint from the lack of palatable air. Fighting to keep her wits about her, she flung herself inside and shut the door as a futile hedge against the encroaching devastation. Chest heaving from exertion and longing, she gasped the cleaner air into her lungs, but spared no other thought for her well-being. Her only desire was to hear that precious sound again.
“Where are you, my love?” she croaked past a throat ravaged by the sooty air.
“I am here. Look to the fire.”
The fire? How could her son be there? Though her mind whirled in confusion, she did as he bade. She rushed to the hearth, falling to her knees on the hard cinder blocks that provided a safe surround for the pit. Peering through the flames, she squinted against the leaping brilliance as she struggled to penetrate them with her gaze. Yet her efforts proved for naught when nothing met her pursuit but the dancing blaze, unaware of its unimpressive stature compared to the hell beyond the cottage door.
Of course there was nothing there. Miracles did not exist; there was only her growing madness. Despair pressed down on her until she lacked even the will to call herself a fool as she realized the impossibility of her wish. Turning away from the hearth, she knew she had to accept the truth and abandon all hope. She looked toward the door, her body moving toward it before she had fully processed her intentions. Beyond it lay certain death, but then, was it not better to die in the mountain’s fire, sharing the same fate as her boy, than to languish on without him?
“Ma, please do not turn from me, for I have not left you.”
Ignoring the dictates of reason, she looked around, and her eyes rounded with amazement as she stared into the hearth. For the beautiful face of her beloved son hovered within the sedate blaze, his skin glowing with an inner fire and his eyes flickering like the hottest blue flame. Her lips parted in a mockery of speech, yet no sound would issue from her throat. She reached out, longing to touch his serene smile, to prove that this was not some fevered dream.
“No!” Alen warned. “Do not, for these flames are as dangerous as those without, and I do not wish to see you harmed. I would see you safe and happy, with no sadness or tears upon your face.”
“How can this be?” she breathed, resolved, if not satisfied, to simply gaze upon him. As if in reply, another, taller figure appeared behind her son. In stark contrast to Alen’s delicate features, the other face was stunning in its masculinity. She gaped at the newcomer, marveling at his grandeur even as she feared for her son. “Alen, who is he?” She gazed fretfully toward the stranger as Alen glanced up at him. “Please,” she bade, her voice an anxious whisper. “I beg of you, release my boy.”
Dark, crimson lips smiled kindly at her, but when the man looked down at A
len, the love that shone in the burnished gold of his eyes nearly stilled her heart. “That I cannot do, for I will allow nothing to part me from your son. Calm your fears, good lady, for I mean him no harm. Indeed he is the master of my soul, and to hurt him in the smallest way is to destroy myself.”
“B-But who are you?” she whispered. The radiant affection on Alen’s face as he gazed at his companion had astonished her, but it instantly quieted her anxiety, though her bewilderment remained. When the man spoke again, the sound of his voice rolled over her like a warm, soothing balm, inexplicably lifting her spirits so that she attended his reply with a comforted heart.
“I am Firnal, the god of the very mountain that is raining down my judgment upon those presumptuous fools you call neighbors. They who had the audacity to force their despicable jealousies and lusts upon your son shall know my vengeance. None shall be spared, not even they who were merely content to remain silent in the face of his suffering. Their thoughtless cruelty toward my beloved can never be forgiven, and they shall soon comprehend how inconsequential is their hatred in the face of my wrath.”
The god of the mountain?! Alen’s mother stared into the fire, her astonished gaze shifting from the self-proclaimed deity to her son. It seemed incredible, but the man’s power was palpable, compelling her to accept his words as truth. As she met Alen’s flickering gaze, her remaining questions faltered into nothingness. It mattered not how he had come to be with the god or why this divine being had apparently claimed her boy as his own. The only thing that mattered to her was the unabated contentment that radiated from her son’s beautiful countenance.
The love Alen held for the impossible creature at his side shone as brightly as the flames that surrounded him. Though she knew she would forever be haunted by the pain of losing him, she could not begrudge him his choice. His obvious joy allowed her to accept his fate with a glad heart. Her boy had, at long last, found happiness, and his joy would be her serenity.
“Stay in the cottage,” Alen said, “and you will be safe. After this is all over, despite my absence, I swear you will want for nothing the rest of your days. Firnal has sworn this to me, and I have no desire to distrust his word.”
“Indeed,” Firnal appended, “you shall be rewarded for granting me this gift. Their punishment shall not be yours.”
“Perhaps not,” she replied, “but my sentence is just as harsh, for you are taking my boy away from me.” The quiet smile with which she regarded the pair mitigated any reproach in her tone. “In truth, I am just happy to know that my son will be safe and that he will finally know the contentment that I have wished for him since the moment of his birth.”
Alen’s expression lost all hints of sorrow as his smile grew in brilliance. “Do not worry, ma. I will always be with you, so long as you keep a fire burning in your hearth and remember me in your heart.”
She had taught her son to always keep his promises and knew that she could trust him to keep this vow. Alen’s words stayed with her as he and his eternal companion faded from view, leaving her alone but for the homey sound of crackling logs. She remained next to the hearth for a long while, safe in the untouched island of her little cottage, holding Alen’s pledge to her heart as the village burned around her and the screams continued throughout the night.
And as she picked up the pieces of her life, leaving the devastated village behind her in the gray, cooling ash, she knew that, no matter where she settled, the flames in her hearth and her soul would always be burning brightly. Thus would her son always find his way home.
About the Author
PEARL LOVE has been writing since she was a kid, but it was the pretty boys who frolic around in her head who finally convinced her to pursue it seriously. She’s a Midwest transplant who currently thrives in the hustle and bustle of the nation’s capital. A jack of many genres, she enjoys just about any type of story, so long as in the end, the boy gets the boy. Pearl is the proud mommy of two bunny rabbits and a ridiculously large stash of yarn and knitting needles.
You can contact Pearl at pearllove925@gmail.com. Visit her web site at http://pearllovebooks.com; Facebook: Pearl Love (pearllove925@gmail.com); Twitter: pearllovebooks; and LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/pearl_love.
Also from PEARL LOVE
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Copyright
Burnt Offerings ©Copyright Pearl Love, 2011
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
382 NE 191st Street #88329
Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Anne Cain annecain.art@gmail.com
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 382 NE 191st Street #88329, Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
Released in the United States of America
October 2011
eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-180-3