Shadows of the Keeper

by Karey Brown

  “Your eyes, they must close or we can cover your head.”

  “I can’t see anyway, so it’s not like I’ll show someone where you live.”

  “The drop will make you scream.”

  “You’re going to drop me?!” Emily clobbered the creature holding her arms. Vicious hissing and gurgling made her quickly cover her face and scrunch her shoulders against her neck, terrified they bite into her artery. Hissing escalated, sounding as if she’d stuck her head inside a beehive.

  “Your life we save. Your life, we’ll end, if again we must warn you to be still. The drop will take many of us to carry you. Frightening to those not used to falling.” More brick scraping laughter filled the tight passageway.

  “Please, just tell me you’re not taking me to be a slow-eaten meal by your newly hatched.” She was going to scream; felt it welling up. “God, just let me die.”

  “Dezenial’s kingdom is where you will rest. You, we watched. Captured and tortured, he allowed himself to be.”

  “Who?” It dawned on her whom they implied. “Dezenial took that beating on purpose?”

  “Land-dweller, your life, he saves.”

  It would seem you are in need of my rescuing, echoed from memory. “Yeah, and where did it get him? Dead. Dead, dead, dead!” Her anguish peaked and shattered the last shreds of control. Low, tortuous sobs filled the narrow tunnel.

  “His blood remains warm.”

  Long moments passed before Emily cued in on what the creepy-crawly had said. She snuffled. “I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t make that light come back into my hands.”

  “You killed a Sentach. It is enough.”

  “Enough?”

  Scratchy chuckling again.

  “Close your eyes, Keer’dra.”

  Jerking her head, she scanned dark oblivion. Foreign words were muttered, increasing the spookiness of being engulfed in nothingness. “Dez?”

  Chanting filled her head.

  “Please . . . please, I beg of you. So . . . much pain. My back . . . tears more.” Words melded into whimpers. Her mind fogged. Windshield wipers. Turn on defrost. She blinked. Strange thoughts. Too dark. Were her eyes opened or closed? Pain now her constant. Hot pokers. Singing escalated in tempo. They had monks down here? Prisoners. Had to be. Sweat beaded her brow. “I’m dying.” She smiled. “I hear voices.” She relaxed, no longer interested in fighting to stay awake. “Living is . . . overrated. Too excruciating. Voices. Like monks. Maybe . . . I’ll see Dez . . . again.” Emily’s body sagged.

  “She passes.”

  “Put . . . her down.”

  Motion halted.

  “Keer’dra?”

  “Dezenial?” She whimpered. “He’s going to . . . shoot my hands. No. Wait.”

  “Open your eyes, Keer’dra.”

  “Tired. You father . . . says he’ll . . . care . . .”

  “Her end is here.”

  “No!” Dezenial hissed. Incantation spewed forth, his voice deepening, strengthening—drowning out those others daring to chant; daring to call out to her soul.

  Emily’s neck arched. With great exertion, she opened her eyes. “Dezenial? What’s happening? Why are all of you chanting? Your father . . . promises, no more pain.”

  Dezenial gazed down at his woman. Pitch-blackness enveloped them. He could not leave her to these beings. What they had done to his wound to stop the bleeding . . . quickly, he diverted his thoughts. Gods did not shudder. Spinner loyalty was not synonymous with Lumynari. They would have their price, of this, he was sure.

  The Spinner cradling Emily’s head bobbed a few times before glassy dark eyes focused on Dezenial again. “You know what you must do.”

  “This is no mere human to put through the consequences of such a deed.” Dezenial answered in Balkorian. He wasn’t sure which realm Emily’s mind wandered in right now, but he hoped she wouldn’t understand their debate. He was not pleased his father advanced, calling to Emily, forcing his hand.

  “See ourselves, the magic she wields. A choice, you do not possess. Move, we must.”

  “No knife.”

  “Slice against our fang.”

  “You think me fool?” Taste of blood would lead to a feeding frenzy. The amount currently spilling from her was already trying them. He was not about to test their self-control any further.

  “Dez? Chanting fades. Make . . . it . . . come back. The Spinners, they’ve left? Oh God! We’ve been deserted! We’re going to be left here—“

  “Here, we remain,” their voices reassured.

  Visibly, she relaxed.

  “Odd that she draws comfort from you,” Dezenial remarked, studying the creature as it gently cradled Emily’s head. Emily’s eyes opened wide, searching for light as land-dwellers were wont to do. “I require light to ease her fear. She won’t understand what I’m about to do without it.”

  “Wait, you must, for us to close each side, or we will be seen by enemy Spinners. Freedom slips from us. Hurry your endeavor when I give word.”

  Something slipped into Dezenial’s hand. A knife. Soft light bloomed in the tunnel. He had mere seconds to take in his miniscule surroundings. “How far to my region?”

  “Be still, she be, several hours the way we know, the way of no Lumynari or the others hunting you.”

  Dezenial nodded. “Remove your webbing you’ve cradled her in. Keer’dra?” He inched closer.

  She tore her gaze from the frightful sight looming over her, wondering if the creature had finally decided to have a taste. “Dezenial? Dez?” She covered her mouth, turning her face away, sobbing. Gently, he cupped her face, returning her gaze to lock with his. “It isn’t easy, making this choice for you, but if I don’t do this, you won’t live. You’ve lost too much blood, Keer’dra. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” Never again would her face be so battered as the past two times he’d seen her in the flesh. What had happened to the guard? Had the Spinners sated their ferocious appetite?

  “You look sad,” she muttered. “What are you going to do? Please, Dez, don’t hurt me.”

  Only his Emily would take such liberties with his name. Never, in over nine-thousand years of living, had anyone dared.

  “Please, no more pain. Don’t hurt me—“

  Warm fingers slipped over her mouth. Though he spoke to Emily, his gaze locked and held the apparent leader of newly acquired allies. “Ancient magicks of the gods. Forbidden.” Yet, these creatures had known he possessed it. “How long have you spied?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m going to share blood with you, Keer’dra.”

  “Share . . . blood?” She swallowed. “Transfusion, right? Tell me . . . you’re talking about—you have fangs. Jesus, I’m in . . . purgatory.” She closed her eyes. “Death comes. I feel it.” Faint smile touched her lips. “Says his name . . . Hades. He has ermine . . . blankets. Promises . . . no pain. Calls you . . . “ Emily frowned. “Fool.”

  “Keer’dra?”

  Eye movement behind closed lids ceased. Dezenial, non-too gently, rolled her over. Their time had run out. He slashed away bloodied webbing. And averted his gaze.

  Vicious infection left her back nothing more than flayed, puckering, rotting flesh. It wasn’t blood loss killing her. It was blood infection!

  “Drakar will craze over her escape. More Lumynari swarm to find her. You must perform the deed now!”

  What he was about to do would change his path forever. And Emily’s. Rapidly, ancient words fell from his lips. Hades’ laughter echoed, only Dezenial hearing the god as he sailed away from Emily, roaring rapids of Styx carrying him back to his realm. Seven-thousand years earlier, Hades had warned that Dezenial would call upon power—call upon his birthright.

  But, there would be a price.

  He would be bonded to one woman for all time.

  And he would become the Dark Prince he was destined to be. Dezenial had scoffed, Lumynari never sexual with the same partner twice. So too, he had sneered over Hades’ further implication that he, son
of Shadow, would become a protector of mortals. Impossible. He relished competing with Inzyr, how many humans they could enslave. The thought of ever giving a damn about their trivialities had provided amusement for both he and the assassin.

  Ancient words rapidly muttered, Dezenial held out his arm. To hell with penalties. This was not Zaiyne, nor Aurelia. Emily touched somewhere deeper in him than either of the previous two women she’d once been. Sharp pointed tip of blade slipped easily enough into flesh of his wrist, and upon each word, slid the length of his arm until reaching the crook. His words drifted into singsong chanting. His bleeding arm hovered over Emily’s lower back. Strength in tone deepened, though he labored against shouting—his life’s essence pouring into Emily.

  Daemon nectar.

  Diligently, he swept the length of her back with his bleeding arm, mere inches above her cruel wounds, until his blood saturated her shredded flesh. Emily had survived far worse than any human could.

  If she’d been human to begin with.

  Dezenial smiled. His Keer’dra, the hellcat—literally now. A Spinner held her beautiful white hair to the side, enabling him to saturate the welts upon her nape. His mantra came to an end.

  “Closed, you will need that.”

  Dezenial held out his arm, refusing to watch. He felt a sickening moistness slither across the cut he’d made down his forearm. When he pulled his arm back, a sticky substance held his flesh bound, bloodless.

  “We are bonded now,” it informed him. “Your blood, I have tasted.”

  “I am aware your ways, but do not look to have acquired any powers.”

  “One of us, you are now.”

  So that was their price. Brotherhood. He sighed. In the span of seconds, his life irrevocably changed forever, and he owed gratitude. He’d never owed any. “You may call the caves of Prim home. I will expect loyalty . . . brother, your eyes to be my ears.”

  “The Assassin, you must inform.”

  “He will know not to set flame to your web.”

  “Oath and gratitude given. She will need to be stung.”

  Dezenial’s jaw ticked. “A small dose. I agree, it would be better if she slumbers during our journey.” The being scurried to Emily’s feet. “Do not hurt her.”

  “Think of it, I would not.”

  Emily, unconscious, squeaked, earning the creature a venomous scowl.

  “If she dies, pray to my mother I die with her.” Dezenial scrutinized her heel. Two pinpricks of red were barely visible.

  “Lumynari blood, she has. Too small, my bite, suffer she will not.”

  Lumynari blood.

  She had more of it than any of them realized.

  As he watched, flesh pulled together, regenerated new tissue, Emily’s back rapidly healing. No longer would he possess arrogant freedom to pretend indifference to his heritage. He’d had two paths to choose from. He had opted to call upon power bestowed only to Hades, Zeus, and Poseidon. Three brothers. His mother’s wrath would be legendary; beyond anything her realm of Lumynari had ever witnessed.

  Dezenial forced his attention back to the woman now slumbering by influence of toxins. A mere mortal would be rendered insane with his blood now coursing in their veins.

  Emily’s consequences would be far more severe.

  He wondered if she would prefer loss of mind versus results of what he’d just done to them both.

  “Linger too long here, we have. Our escape must resume.”

  Dezenial grunted in agreement.

  His blood now flowed through her. There would be no returning to her silly world in Texas.

  He had just merged their souls beyond the realms of the living.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “There exists a whisper of magic I have not felt since . . .” Aunsgar’s lithe form leapt from the barebacked mount, eyes scanning snow-covered terrain. Blindly, his hand stayed the nervous mare, more companion than service animal. Broc’s horse snorted and pawed at the snow. “The steeds sense it as well.” Keen eyes darted, scanning the horizon to their backs, then to their east. For a time, he stared into the panorama of weather surrounding them, his head tilted, listening. Stoic, only his long white hair moved, fluttering in the chilly breeze.

  “I would have you tell me, no matter how grave,” Broc stated, looking down from his nervous mount.

  Aunsgar riveted his attention beyond the laird.

  The MacLarrin didn’t need to follow the Elf’s gaze. “Who is it you have invited to journey with us, this perilous quest? And why have they dropped from their mounts, hunkering into a tight circle?” He leaned over the pommel, his voice plunging. “Their chanting spooks mi’ men. What gods do they pray to, that such a racket is required?”

  “Need you ask, my friend?”

  Collectively, Forest Lords turned in their saddles. Openly, they scrutinized. Dawning rippled. Quickly, every immortal dismounted and dropped to one knee, head bowed. Not sure what was transpiring, their mortal companions followed suit. If an immortal leapt from horse and bowed, not caring if he sank half a foot into the snow, best to forfeit sanity and imitate without question.

  The Elders observed, their billowing hair black as crow’s wings. Their intense stare tapped each man’s soul. Aedan gulped loudly, earning Reignsfeugh’s elbow into his ribs. “Silence, laddie.”

  “Ye’ doona understand.”

  “I understand yer’ about ta’ ‘ave us turned into vulture fodder.” The Celt dared a cursory glance at the ancients he himself had heard about during his sister’s fireside stories. Myths to hand down to his own bairns. He’d never imagined he himself was to become myth.

  “I teased one o’ them ta’ be too auld, but admired his bravery.”

  “Och. Ye’ fecker! We’re done fer.” Reignsfeugh dropped his head deeper, muttering prayers to every entity he’d learned about in the three-thousand plus years he’d roamed this wild terrain, though now tame by far in comparison to when Vik—“

  “Son of Lady Larrin.” The Elders nodded their heads in unison. “Rise. We are all much too old to be on our knees, especially in this cold.” Amusement tinged their tone.

  “Thought it ‘twas his da that was the Larrin?”

  Garreck leaned closer to Henry. “Didn’t I warn ye’ when ye’ were knee high, take yer studies more seriously?” He laughed at the man’s glare. “Picts or Forest Lords inherit the tribes from the mother, though that one,” he nudged his chin towards Broc, “would have taken it, regardless.”

  The subject of their discussion stood and swept snow from his knees. Aunsgar glided past, making his way towards the old men. “I will have you tell me what it is ye’ sense,” Broc called after the Elf.

  Aunsgar halted. Indiscernible nods from the Elders, and the Elf turned to face the laird. “Emily.”

  The Elders resumed their chanting. Horses whinnied, backing away, their large glassy eyes rolling with fright. Swiftly, men grappled bridles, cooing nonsensical words, hoping to calm the beasts lest they rear. Flaying hooves would be deadly in this knot of men. Chanting escalated to a keening wail, Elders’ voices harmonizing.

  Broc’s soul chilled.

  He’d heard this before. The night Emily healed Aedan. And when Aurelia passed. The laird charged until he caught up with Aunsgar. Grappling the royal’s arm, his glare warned Urkani not to follow through with freeing his now clasped hilt. “I will have you tell me what is happening! ‘Tis the same sounds filling the forest long ago when Aurelia and my people were slaughtered!”

  Austere Elf turned saddened eyes upon Broc. The Forest Lord released his hold, fearing heartache would infect him as well. It was not to be. The MacLarrin’s heart seized. He knew. Oh, how he knew!

  “Emily passes,” Aunsgar whispered.

  Wild-eyed, Broc searched the terrain. Nothing. No movement, no oddity, nothing but forsaken white stretching the land taut. “Torture?” He would make it his life’s vow to hunt every Lumynari and slaughter them.

  “She travels beneath us. Not of h
er own accord . . . “ Aunsgar peered down at the ground where several horses stood. His head snapped around, wildly scanning. Broc observed, as if, through the Elf, he would somehow see Emily moving beneath where they stood. Aunsgar’s head fell back, eyes closed tightly.

  “They’ve stopped chanting. We are too late.”

  Aunsgar did not answer. He glided away, walking unhampered through deep snow to join the Elders. Broc didn’t bother pursuing him. Maybe it was best not hearing any sort of a confirmation.

  Emily was dead. Had their chant succeeded in purging her soul from the Lumynari? Broc slipped to his knees. He was too late—again. The horizon yielded no answers; no condolences. How long before Pendaran bore down on them, a new punishment? What curse would he bestow this time? Emily. He closed his eyes, shutting out pristine white countryside. White meant good. Holy. Untouched. Sacred. There was nothing pure about his life. He had failed a warrior princess. He had failed a silly innocent woman asking for nothing more than his acceptance of who she was in this life. And to be returned to her home. Instead, he’d given her contempt, and railed against her quick laughter.

  He wept.

  He’d greeted a breath of sunshine with blackened storms. And now, she suffered beyond anything she could have imagined. Snow dusted his thigh. A hand rested upon his shoulder. He shrugged it off. Pity was not something he deserved, nor sought.

  “I have news.”

  Broc remained unseeing; uncaring if his ally witnessed his open grief. “Speak.”

  Aunsgar dropped down. Broc felt himself being scrutinized. Much time passed before the prince finally acquiesced the laird’s command. “Emily lives.”

  Broc nodded. Spans of silence passed between them before the Forest Lord trusted himself to speak. “You are not telling me this with a smile of ease and relief. There is more.” His gaze drifted to Aunsgar and studied him for a time. He then swept his attention to the Elders. They laughed amongst themselves as if this were nothing more than an amusing excursion. He didn’t like them thirty-six hundred years ago; he detested them now.

  “Legend weaves tales their power is to rival ancient gods.”