Son of Erebus gol-1

by J. S. Chansellor

  Bella heaved a great sigh. "I just want to see you happy — everyone does. I cannot tell you how many of your friends have made mention of your disposition as of late."

  Ariana sat in silence for a moment. She looked at Sara, who cringed. Though Bella's comment wasn't unfair, it still seemed poor taste in regards to her timing.

  "I'm sorry to disenchant everyone so. I can keep the anniversary of my mother's death reverent without your help." Ariana rose from the table and started toward the door, when Bella intercepted her.

  "Do not leave this house ill with me." She handed Ariana her cloak with a look in her eyes that defied her to refuse it. Ariana, accepting the cloak, reached for her satchel where she'd hung it on the wall and slung it over her shoulder. She had one foot out the door when Bella spoke again.

  "I am not insensitive, child, nor have I forgotten your mother. I loved her, too."

  "Then be reasonable, Palingard has not been blessed. Ours is a dying realm, in case you've forgotten that as well — a realm that needs to be cautious with what little we have. This festival is nothing but disgraceful when you consider its cost." She dropped the cloak and spun to cross the threshold to the dry dirt beyond.

  Ariana walked the short distance to the stables, eager to be free of the whole world as she knew it, at least for a little while.

  Palingard wasn't very big. The houses were modest, with thatched roofs and stone walls. All things considered, Ariana had grown up a child of relative privilege. Her father had been an important member of the hierarchy and had led their men against the Ereubinians. He was periodically absent throughout her childhood, but stayed with her more often after her mother died. The last time he had left was more than ten years ago. Most understood him to be no longer living; rumors held that he'd been killed in the Netherwoods by Ereubinian scouts, but she'd never believed that story.

  Her father had never met Koen, but would have liked him. She had found the dog at the edge of the woods, dirty and homeless, a short time after her father left. None of the other villagers wanted anything to do with him, he was nearly as big as she was and closely resembled a wolf. Other than livestock and horses, feeding animals wasn't high on the villagers' list of priorities.

  Sara leaned over the side of the stall as Ariana tended to her horse, Shadow. "She didn't mean anything by — "

  Ariana was not in the mood to hear it. More specifically, she wasn't in the mood to hear it from Sara. Both of her parents were alive and well. "I don't care what her intentions were," she said sorely. "I should just stay out of everyone's way for the next few days."

  The streets had already begun to transform. Ribbons reached from the corner of one roof to another, draping down in the middle to create a bright canopy. It wouldn't be long before villagers would start to hang red-leafed wreaths on their doors and once nighttime arrived, each threshold would harbor blood-red candles to be lit in honor of the Adorians who they fancied were their protectors.

  "I was afraid you would say something like that," Sara said, "so I took the liberty of telling Jeremy that you would be attending the dance tomorrow evening and were in dire need of an escort."

  Ariana took her time responding. "You did not." She wanted nothing to do with Jeremy. He was lazy and a poor swordsman. In fact, there wasn't a single thing about him that appealed to her, save perhaps the sound of his footsteps whenever she was gifted with his departure.

  "And just what would you have done had I been telling the truth?" Sara laughed. "I caught that fleeting moment of horror."

  "Oh, I don't know, I'm sure I could think of something equally cruel." She'd intended to keep a straight face, but failed miserably. "Like perhaps telling your betrothed in order to marry you he'll have to grow wings — and learn to keep an eye on his opponent." Sara's intended, Jonathan, had lost a practice joust in recent days and Ariana had teased Sara without mercy about it ever since.

  Sara frowned. "I was not imagining things. There was a white-winged Adorian knight in those woods as sure as I stand here now. In regards to Jonathan, as I've already stated, it wasn't his fault."

  Sara's recollection seemed convincing for a moment, but there was nothing about the hallucination that warranted merit. She hadn't mentioned him in months, leading Ariana to believe Sara's reasoning had won her over. Plainly it had not.

  "I'm sure you weren't imagining things. Why wouldn't mystical beings have sympathy for the realm of man? We are such beautiful, brilliant creatures." Just then, several disheveled men tore through the fields just beyond the entrance to the stables, chasing a young boy.

  Ariana groaned as she realized who was among them. "Speaking of beauty and brilliance." She grabbed the boy as he skirted toward them and threw him into the stall with her horse, just as the men came around the corner. The men stopped, having lost sight of the boy, their breath coming in staggered pants.

  "Have you seen a boy come through here?" Jeremy approached with an instigative look on his face and leaned in as close to Ariana as he could without being improper.

  "A boy?" Ariana grinned wickedly, unable to imagine this opportunity presenting itself twice. "What would you want with a boy? Or have you finally grown tired of losing to the other men in your swordplay?"

  His left eye twitched as he turned to Sara, "Have you seen him?"

  She shook her head, an innocent expression on her face that would have fooled even Ariana if she hadn't known better. "No. What are you chasing him for?"

  "It is the stuff of men. Proper initiation, if you must know."

  Ariana couldn't help herself. It irritated her that he felt the need to address Sara's question but ignore hers. "Perhaps I've been unfair in my assumptions," Ariana said. She did her best to sound at the very least cordial. "It sounds like such a noble thing. What might this initiation consist of?"

  Jeremy smiled and took her acknowledgment as an invitation to move closer. If it weren't for the feel of the boy's breath on her back as he cowered behind her, she would have moved.

  "Far too gruesome for a fair maiden such as yourself. It's simply something to prove the boy's valor."

  "Fair maiden?" Ariana laughed. "My! Someone has been filling your head with fantasies." She narrowed her eyes at Sara.

  "He's probably half into the woods by now, we're wasting our time." Jeremy gave her an awkward nod. She'd quietly moved both herself and the boy a good foot backwards. It wasn't as far as she'd have liked, but it was enough to remove her from the stench of breakfast that lingered on his breath.

  "Safe journey then, noble sir. Fare thee well." She said it with more dramatic flair than she'd thought she had available, bending into an obscenely formal bow — careful not to go so low as to reveal their hideaway.

  Jeremy's face flushed and he cleared his throat. "Will I see you at tomorrow's dance?"

  "No. I'll be in mourning for that poor boy and whatever it is you're planning on doing to him. Though I have to say, it appears that he's already proven his stealth and prowess by eluding you."

  Jeremy couldn't find the words to respond, but as he turned to walk away, he touched Sara briefly on the shoulder.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Sara turned to her. "That seemed unnecessary. Jeremy is an acceptable choice for a husband."

  She scoffed. "That's rich coming from someone who has pined over a myth for years. I see the look in your eyes when Jonathan is around — it isn't love."

  Before Sara could respond, the boy emerged from the stall. "Are they gone?" His face was bright red, his wet hair matted to his forehead.

  Sara, having always been more sympathetic than Ariana, brushed his hair out of his eyes, as a mother would have done. "Yes, love. They suspect you've braved the Nethers. What trouble have you gotten yourself into?"

  The boy shook his head. "No trouble. Just fun and games really, but I don't like the one who was talking just then. Full of hot air, he is."

  Ariana grinned down at him. "Keep that sense about you. Your gut is often smarter than your head."r />
  The boy nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Thank you. I'll try to repay the favor one day."

  Sara waved him off with a pat on the shoulder, and then turned to Ariana. "What is it that so bothers you about them?"

  Ariana didn't have the slightest idea who she was referring to.

  "Adorians." Sara spoke the word with more reverence than most would conjure for their dead ancestors.

  Ariana groaned as she secured her soft leather bow case with a full quiver of arrows to the saddle. "Something that does not exist cannot bother me, Sara. That's all that it is — myth. We're the last ones left. Even if they were real, they are obviously powerless against the Laionai." At the sight of Sara's expression, Ariana added, "That was harsh. I didn't — "

  "I know. I just wish that I could make things easier for you."

  Ariana wanted to say something serious, something to express her sincere wish to respect Sara's beliefs, but the words just wouldn't come. "Well, you could start by not giving Jeremy false hope anymore. I'll marry an Ereubinian before I'll marry him."

  "I'll try my best. Are you leaving now?"

  Ariana nodded, calling Koen. "I'll be back before too long. Tell Bella I'm sorry, will you?"

  "I will. Three days?"

  Ariana mounted Shadow, smiling. "Three days."

  She made it to the bluff in record time. Koen seemed to grin from where he sat in wait below the low boughs of her favorite Elpsis tree. "One of these days you're going to tell me how you do that." She smirked. "I've still got one thing on you though — you don't have opposable thumbs."

  After tying her mount to the tree, she pulled a blanket from the satchel and sat down with her back against the trunk. She took a deep breath and looked out across the expanse. Her mind wandered over the previous years, the festivals she had tried to participate in that all had been disastrous, finally coming to contemplate the grave day they commemorated. As she closed her eyes, she envisioned her mother lying on the cottage floor close enough to touch Ariana's hand. She had struggled to lift her finger to her lips, urging her only child to remain quiet and hidden. Her father had come in after it was over, still breathing hard from the battle. It had taken him a few minutes to regain his bearings and crouch down to find Ariana hidden below the bed. She could still feel his strong embrace and the cold metal of his armor on her bare feet.

  It had taken years to recover from the loss. The carnage alone was a gruesome scene she was thankful to have only a vague memory of. Even before that day, she had grown up hearing dark tales about the inhabitants of Eidolon. The Ereubinians were rumored to have the power to steal the human soul and enslave it for their Goddess. But was it true? Those who were knowledgeable spoke only in whispers of Eidolon, often referred to as the City of Shadows, and of the Laionai. Though Duncan, her father's closest friend, used to entertain them with stories of great battles and lore, her father abhorred any mention of either Adoria or its fabled war with Eidolon. She was lost in her thoughts when she heard a sound.

  At first it sounded like thunder, a great rumble far in the distance. Then the sharp, piercing cries of the Dragee grew distinct. She hadn't heard the sound in so many years that its foreignness kept her pinned to the tree.

  It can't be!

  She slowly opened her eyes, praying that she had fallen asleep and that it was some terrible nightmare stirred up from her thoughts of the past. She was not so fortunate.

  The horizon overflowed with riders, the Moriors darkening the sky above them in a thick black mass, the Ereubinians each astride their Dragee, a creature not quite horse or dragon, but an unsettling combination of the two. They screamed as their hooves pounded the dry ground. Her heart felt stuck in her chest, devoid of blood, and despite all her talk of readiness, it took her a moment to shake herself out of disbelief.

  "Koen, run!" She tore the reins from the tree branch while mounting and dug her heels into the steed's side. She heard them as if they were already upon her, so many of them — far more than she remembered from the last time.

  Please, Shadow. Ride swiftly.

  As she came to the edge of the village, she jerked hard on the reins. There were enemies in Palingard. It must have been an advanced group. Shadow reared at the sudden pull on the bit, but she steered him hard to the right, toward the Netherwoods.

  She couldn't see much from where she rode, but what she glimpsed was a losing battle. She pulled her bow from the case and pivoted in the saddle enough to nock and aim an arrow. She struck a black-cloaked Ereubinian in the left side of his chest. Another shot and then a third were let fly in succession, several more Ereubinians falling, before she felt a tug on the bow. Suddenly, it was ripped from her hands by some unseen force and tossed beneath Shadow's feet.

  What the…?

  She gasped as a hooded rider appeared beside her, as if born of thin air. There had been no one near her, she was certain of it.

  He shook his head.

  She dug in her heels and sped through the thicket at the edge of the woods, small limbs and twigs hitting her face. A Dragee was much faster than a horse and she realized as she heard him growing ever closer that she couldn't outrun him this way. As much as she didn't want to do it, there were areas in the Nethers that were simply too dense for the beast. Her decision had been made for her.

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, folded her arms across her chest and slid her heels from the stirrups. Then, tucking her head, she braced herself and turned sharply to the right, where she executed an under-practiced rolling dismount.

  She slid as she fought to get solid ground beneath her feet. Just as she'd found it, a sharp pain sliced through her ankle and she bit her lip hard enough to bring the metallic taste of blood to her mouth. She blocked out all feeling as she darted through the wild overgrowth, focusing only on the sound of her pursuer.

  The root was thick — so thick that she might have seen it had she not looked back. It twisted upwards from the dirt and back down to form a perfect loop, which her injured ankle found with ease. Her back met the forest floor with rib-breaking force, stealing the breath from her lungs and clouding her vision with black swirls that threatened to pull her under.

  Within seconds he was beside her, panting, his sword pointed at her neck. Once he'd caught his breath, he straddled her waist with a knee to her right and a foot planted on her left, careful to keep the blade at her throat.

  He was dressed fully in black. Leather guards adorned his wrists and shins, connected by various plates of armor. Dragon's heads served as shoulder plates and extended to his elbows. His hood covered an elaborate helmet that shielded all of his face except his eyes, which flared bright violet.

  "I should tell you," he said, "that I am impressed that you made it this far. I'm not easy to outrun, but you must already know that by now."

  "The threat of having one's soul stolen tends to quicken one's feet," she hissed.

  He removed his glove and placed his hand on her cheek, perhaps to keep her from turning from him in fear, though she wasn't about to grant him that. Her gaze did not waver from his masked face.

  Unimpressed, he ignored her bravado and closed his eyes, speaking in a language that she didn't recognize. It wasn't a very harsh-sounding phrase, but she could tell it wasn't meant for her benefit. She contemplated an attempt to pry her ankle from its snare, but found even a slight shift impossible.

  He abruptly stopped, seemingly mid-word, though there was no way she could tell for sure, and sat upright to slide the hood back and remove his helmet, revealing a black shirt below his breastplate that rose and clung to his neck. His jaw was strong, his profile defined. But the look in his eyes as they grew ordinary brown in color, the expression, was what struck her — he was not just handsome, but known somehow. It made her chest ache.

  An acrid thought crossed her mind that the odd emotional reaction he was invoking in her was somehow related to the Erubians' rumored power to steal a human's soul.

  "You a
re not human," he murmured, scowling in an unsuccessful attempt to conceal his shock.

  "Of course I'm human," she said, "do you not see me bleeding?"

  "Adorians also bleed. Why are you here?"

  She assumed that it was a rhetorical question, but before either of them could speak again, a cry pierced close to where they'd entered the woods.

  Garren glanced back toward the sound of the Morior's cry, visions of the Laionai's justice filling his mind. He'd seen death come slowly by their hands for much lesser sins than this.

  "If I am what you say I am, then I'm your mortal enemy, am I not?" When the girl spoke, there was acid in her words and none of the timidity or outright dread he had come to expect from others in his presence.

  He turned back to her with narrowed eyes, his lips twisted in an incredulous smirk, and laughed below his breath before he could speak. He couldn't begin to imagine her reason for antagonizing him, especially considering what she was. "You don't fear me?" She started to answer him but he cut her off. "Before you speak, perhaps you should know to whom you are speaking."

  "I don't care who you are. Your arrival has told me enough of your allegiance, that's all I need to know."

  He really wasn't certain what to say. Before he could reply, the Morior could be heard coming closer and he saw, finally, fear in her eyes. He expected to be pleased by it; instead, all sound left his head and his sight blurred. His gut felt uneasy.

  She lifted her gaze to the sky above them, took a deep breath, and with no small portion of reluctance, acknowledged her defeat by gracing him with a faint smile. It wasn't sarcastic. All traces of amusement had fled her winsome features. What it was, however, was so much worse; she'd resigned herself to leave this world on her own terms regardless of the circumstances. Her expression was perhaps the sincerest he'd ever seen.

  He lowered his eyes, weighing his decision. "Can you walk at all?" The words came out as a forced whisper from his lips.