One, I recognized. Valkyrian Walker. The man who had given me the pendant. I would recognize his dark hair, green eyes and ageless grace anywhere. He screamed at the man who stood before the accused woman. To my surprise, he shoved the older man, and the two engaged in a heated argument. The man who had accompanied Valkyrian I did not recognize. He stood, utterly still, his eyes glued to the woman on the cross with deep sadness.
The woman stared back at him. I kept expecting to see her cry, the desperate sadness in her eyes was heart-wrenching. She said something, and I was able to read the words from her lips. Forgive me. She was asking the blond man to forgive her. Forgive what, I wondered. Suddenly, the man with the eerie blue eyes grabbed a torch from an onlooker. Facing the woman tied, he stared at her for a long moment.
The crowd gathered around the two men who had suddenly become enraged. Held back by the crowd of men, the two thrashed and yelled, punching and kicking, clawing their way to get to the dark-haired woman. The last thing I saw before the man lit her in flames was the look of peace upon the woman’s face. I gasped. Her body became consumed by flames, her skin charring and falling from her body. I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry. I wanted to stop seeing this vision, but I seemed unable to remove my hand, as though the tree wanted me to witness more.
I was forced to watch until all that remained of the striking woman was ash and embers. The man who had burned her alive stood for a very long time, staring at the pile of smoldering ash as though he had lost something very dear. I hated him. I felt the hate swell within me. I wanted to kill him for what he had done to her. When, finally, he walked away, I noticed the three who stayed long after the crowd had disbanded.
The three knelt on the ground before the ashes of the woman. Valkyrian held the grief-stricken Belladona in his arms as they stared into the ashes. The blond man gazed into her remains with regret and fury. I could see that these three people had cared deeply for the woman, whoever she had been. Watching them, I became aware of another. He stood outside the rim of trees, shrouded in darkness, he muttered silent words as tears flowed down his face. His eerily familiar brown eyes reflected loss and devastation. In his hand, he held an object.
When he had finished muttering his words, he approached the three people kneeling before the ashes. At first, they were angry at the sight of him. The blond man lunged, but Valkyrian held him back. The man held his hand out to Valkyrian. He spoke words I could not understand, but I recognized what lay in his hands, and I sucked in a breath. The pendant.
Reaching my other hand to my chest, I fingered the necklace that lay there against my skin, invisible to all but me. The man with the warm brown eyes held it out, telling Valkyrian to take it. I wished desperately I could hear the words he spoke. When Valkyrian had taken the necklace, the man walked away. Stopping outside the clearing, he turned back and said three words. I couldn’t see him well enough to read his lips.
The tree released me then. Falling back away from it, stumbling, I sucked in gulp after gulp of air that didn’t seem to penetrate my lungs. Hitting the ground roughly, I felt an overwhelming sense of loss and grief. Pulling my knees up, I buried my face against them, whispering, “Why couldn’t I hear what they spoke?”
Lost and confused, I sat beneath the heavy branches of the Tree of Ashes for many hours. I had no idea what this glimpse into the past meant for me. I knew that I was clearly somehow involved, and part of my mind said I was the woman who had been burned alive, but I tossed that thought aside time and again. There was no way. I will admit she had the same coloring as me, but that woman had been stunningly beautiful while I was pretty and nothing more.
Surely, if I had lived another life, I would know it. Right? It just didn’t make sense to entertain the thought that I could have been alive four-hundred or so years ago. It was impossible. Wasn’t it? Too many thoughts, too many theories whirled in my overactive mind.
A twig snapped somewhere behind me, and I froze. Slowly, I turned my head to scan the area for a threat. I felt my senses were growing stronger. I knew someone was here, even if I could not see them. I felt them. There was a presence here, a strong one. It lingered nearby. Standing slowly, I became aware of myself sniffing the air. I frowned. Eew. Did I really just sniff like an animal? Shaking the thought away, I tried to focus.
Another noise came from my left. I could see…something there. It was odd, like a heavy mist swirling there. I frowned deeper. What was this that I was seeing? Stepping toward it, I called out, “Who’s there? Show yourself.”
The mist shifted. A man stood there. I felt myself go utterly still as I stared into the face of the brown-eyed man from my vision. He stared at me for a long time. His eyes took on a softness, and I could see the Ghost of a smile touch the corners of his mouth. He was attractive. His dark hair hung slightly over his eyes and stopped just above his shoulders in the back. His soft brown eyes were friendly, knowledgeable, kind.
“Who are you?” I wasn’t sure if he was actually real, or if my mind was playing tricks on me.
“Hello, Valkyrie. I knew I would find you here one day. I sensed a shifting in the tree, and I wondered if the day had finally come to see you again.”
I frowned. “That doesn’t answer my question. Who are you?”
“Impatient as ever. It was never your strongest virtue, patience. I see at least one trait accompanied you into this life.” Tilting his head, he studied me. “I wasn’t sure you would look the same, but I am not disappointed that you do.”
I rolled my eyes. This man was annoying already. “What is it with the people I have met over the last week and their inability to answer questions?”
He laughed. The sound was… distracting. The sound of his voice, of his deep husky laugh, floated over me, caressing my skin like warm honey. I felt my skin tingle as though his voice had physically touched me. It took me a moment to regain my bearings, and when I glanced back into the brown eyes of the man, he was watching me with an expression that I didn’t know. The look on his face made me want to blush.
Smiling warmly, he said, “I am a friend. You and I go back a very long time. I admit that I wasn’t one hundred percent sure my spell would work when I spoke the words so many decades ago. Do you not remember me at all?”
I stared at him. He was familiar to me, just as he had been in the vision I had witnessed, but beyond that, I didn’t know who he was. I shook my head.
He sighed, bowing his head for a moment before looking back up at me. “I was afraid of that. My name is Desmond Wolfe. I was your friend once. I was not able to save you, and for that, I will be forever sorry. I did the next best thing I could. I cursed you to live for all of eternity, never to fully die. You would be reborn upon your death. Unfortunately, I was still young, and I was only an apprentice, still learning.
I feared for your safety, so I stole a spell I had seen in my mentor’s book. The sad truth is that I had little knowledge of this spell or the catastrophic results it could cause. I only thought of you. I couldn’t let them kill you and do nothing. Your father was deranged, and I was no match for a Vampire such as him. I failed you. For that, I will be forever sorry, Valkyrie.”
I stared at him. Desmond Wolfe. The name reverberated through me like the fire that swarmed my veins. I knew that name. Knew it like the very soul within me. I trembled. I stared at him. I was speechless. My mind struggled to call up the memories I felt trying to reach me, but they were suppressed. I felt they were right there, stretching toward my mind, toward my fingertips, but I couldn’t quite grasp them.
Desmond stared at me. He seemed to know what was going on. He whispered as he shook his head. “Your soul remembers me, but your mind cannot process that knowledge. One day, perhaps. When you are stronger your mind may be ready then. I wish I knew what that spell had done to you. Even now, more than four centuries of waiting for your return, I still do not know the ramifications of what I did that night.”
Trying to control the overpowering feelings inside me, I
managed to find my voice. “The woman in the vision, the one they burned. Who was she?”
Tilting his head, he smiled sadly. “I think you already know, my love. I see that there is much you must learn. You are not ready to know the truths. Find the one they call The Fiddler. He will be able to help you. Until then, you must be very careful.”
The image of Desmond began to fade. “I will find you again when you are ready to face the past….”
He disappeared before my eyes. I was getting a little tired of half answers and disappearances. It seemed everyone I encountered had more knowledge and more powers than I could even conceive. As Desmond’s image faded to mist and then to nothing, I felt an overwhelming sense of loss overcome me. I had lost this man once before, and I felt that I was losing him again. I understood what he had said.
The breathtaking woman who had touched my heart as I had watched her burn alive had been me. Whether I wanted to believe it or not, I had just been told the truth of that. The life I had lived before the explosion was not my first life. I didn’t want to dwell on the vision or what it meant any longer. Standing, I left the shelter of the Tree of Ashes’ branches. Turning, I whispered a goodbye to the tree. I knew I would forever feel connected to this place.
Leaving the island and its giant oaks behind, I sighed as walked beneath their sweeping boughs one last time. I didn’t know if I would ever return to this place that held so much grief and past history for me. Right then, I needed answers, and I set out to find the one called The Fiddler, as I tried to forget the odd sensations Desmond had caused in my soul, and to still the longing I felt for the man I knew nothing about.
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8
Unlikely Friends
Crouching beneath the shadows of an old dilapidated house which had been abandoned in the face of disaster, I waited silently. The men in the street were up to no good, and I preferred to avoid confrontations as much as possible. A month had passed since my visit down memory lane at the Tree of Ashes. Since first hearing the deep sultry voice of Desmond Wolfe. Both the vision of my past and the voice of the man haunted my ever-awake mind.
His voice and the memory of him was like a thick coat of warm molasses stuck to my soul and to my mind. His voice was brandished there, whispering sweet warm promises to me in my darkest hours. Why Desmond had touched my soul in such a profound way, I didn’t even want to think about. I had the growing suspicion he and I had been more than friends in my past life, and that was a memory I was happy to avoid.
I had spent the last weeks ambling from place to place, seeking both The Fiddler and my own identity. I hated not knowing, feeling always as though a chunk of myself was missing. There was a part of me that wanted to know, to remember every vivid detail of my past life, and there was another part of me that wanted nothing to do with it. As though the two parts of me were their own entities, they battled with each other.
In my constant struggle to stay alive and unnoticed, I had gone a little crazy. With no one to speak to throughout the lonely unending cycle of consciousness, I had begun to formulate a great imagination in which I painted colorful ideas about my past life. About who I was, who I had been, and the things I had done and seen. In my search for the one Desmond had called The Fiddler, I found myself in the crowded, colorful streets of New Orleans.
I now knew Belladona had not been lying when she had called me her sister. She had loved me once, sought to protect me, then and now. Being in New Orleans, closer than ever to my sister’s permanent residence, I was sorely tempted to seek her out. I controlled that urge with the foreboding warning from Viren reverberating in my mind.
“The Hallows in Baton Rouge is one of the deadliest and most dangerous Lost Cities you can find. The city itself teems with corruption and the Vampire Lord who rules that city is your greatest enemy.”
I had been given strict instructions from both my sister and Viren to stay well away from The Hallows. The problem with warnings is the temptation they create to defy the rules they represent. I had an itch I desperately wanted to scratch. I decided to meet my warnings and my itch halfway. I came to New Orleans for its close proximity to The Hallows, and Belladona.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t been prepared for the huge influx of people and others I found there. From the moment I entered the enchantingly, mysterious city, I found myself facing a different problem. This town was not quiet and empty in the wee hours of the morning like the towns I had roamed during the past month. This city was busy throughout day and night. The streets teemed with party goers and sightseers in a giant web of never-ending activity.
My favorite time of day, or perhaps I should say the night, was in the earliest hours before dawn. There was a quiet, still time of night in the hours of dusk when I felt truly alone. I had grown accustomed to being alone, to basking in the glow of the moon as I played with fire on my fingertips. I was trying to get used to being some strange undead fire person. Though I realized I couldn’t exactly classify myself as a person any longer.
The time had been good for me. I was growing more accustomed to my fiery veins and the lack of necessities for things such as food and sleep. Having come into this busy city, however, I found I was no longer alone. Even in the pre-dawn hours of dusk, there were people about. Of course, I realized that many of them were other than human. I had come to sense patterns in them that helped me to identify them.
The Vampire had blue eyes. They could vary in shades from dark blue to light blue, nearly white even, but always they were blue. I had come across another creature when I had first entered New Orleans, and I was still unsure what he had been. Now, as I crouched beneath a house, I watched a group of men in the street. They were not human, but I sensed somehow that they were not Vampires either.
They had something about them, a scent perhaps that tickled my senses and made the fire in my veins stir to life. I no longer had to see the glowing orange color flowing beneath my skin to know it had awoken. I could feel it now. I was more attuned to it, and therefore I was also better at controlling it. I smothered it now, counting to ten, trying to relax my body and ease the fear.
Triggers caused it to become overwhelming. Fear was a trigger. Emotion was a trigger. Anger was a trigger. The men in the street paused in their destruction. Turning, they looked around with a newfound interest, and I had a bad feeling stir in the pit of my stomach. I was pretty sure they had sensed my presence. So far, I’d had no reason to have to defend myself, but now, I felt that was about to change.
They moved together like a pack. That realization stirred my fear. I watched them in silence as they slunk toward me, malevolence in their expressions. They were young, perhaps my own age, but they were up to no good. They sought trouble as a man seeks a beautiful woman. One man stood toward the front, a leader maybe. Motioning the others forward, he stalked toward the house beneath which I hid.
My skin tingled; my heart raced. I could still feel it within me, beating wildly. Maybe it was fueled by fire now and not blood. I wasn’t sure. Glancing up at the quarter moon, I took a deep breath to still my nerves and calm the flames within. The fire inside of me wanted to come out to play, but I was afraid to let it.
The choice was taken from me as a hand dug into my arm and yanked me out from under the house. I hit the ground on my back as I was dragged forward, knocking my head and igniting my annoyance. It wasn’t that the action caused me pain-I felt no pain- but that didn’t mean I liked being yanked through the mud. Lying there, I surveyed the group of six men around me as they moved closer. Their faces held sneers as they stared down at me.
The one who had led them stared at me. Sniffing the air, he frowned. His lips pulled back in a snarl as he spat at me. “The hell are you, girl?”
I glowered at him. Had he really just spat at me? The disgusting chunk of saliva hit my hand, and as I listened to it sizzle on my heated skin, I smiled for the first time in a month.
Jumping to my feet, I proceeded to wipe the mud from my leather pants.
Ignoring the men around me, I tsked at the mess they had made of my clothes. Behind me, I heard growls.
“I asked you a question, bitch. You don’t answer, and I’m not going to ask again.” He paced before me. Clearly agitated that I didn’t cower before him.
I lifted my gaze toward him, watching his face display shock and then fear as I responded, “Your worst nightmare, dog.”
He scowled at me. I knew what I must look like, and I almost wanted to congratulate him for not slinking away in fear as his comrades did. One thing I knew was animals have a natural fear of flames. This guy smelled like an animal.
In his dark eyes, I caught my reflection, and I paused. Staring, I was honestly stunned. I stood, clad from head to toe in black leather, my black hair hanging long and straight around me, the tips sparking with flame, and my eyes glowing like the embers of molten lava. I found myself deeply affected by what I saw. The man, unfortunately, used my moment of hesitation to his advantage.
Tackling me, he tossed me to the ground before pinning me down. I tossed and turned, attempting to dislodge the large body atop mine. I had never been in this predicament before. I had taken no self-defense classes and I realized I was screwed. It was when I felt his hand slide up the inside of my thigh that my mind left and the fiery creature I had become took over.
My body burst into flames, engulfing everything that touched it. My clothes dissipated with a cloud of smoke, and the man holding me down let out a startled howl of pain. Leaping back, he thrashed around, trying to put out the fire that singed his skin. His face reflected rage and fear as he stared at me in disbelief.
Becoming Valkyrie Page 8
