by Jill Morrow
The current between Alys and Gregory pulsed pure and immediate. Kat wanted it. She wanted to feel the strength and energy of such a love race through her, filling her to the core.
Suddenly, her yearning for Stephen felt almost tangible.
“Did you see that?” Stephen asked. “The light in front of Kat jumped.”
Francesca nodded. “The frequency increased. It’s brighter.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. But it happened just in time. Asteroth was about to strike.”
Sure enough, the vapor loomed particularly dark and oily near where Kat knelt.
“How can you tell?” Stephen demanded. “I’m trying not to look, but every time I do, all I see is a mass of smoke or something.”
Francesca paused. “Do you want to see Asteroth?”
“I’m not supposed to.”
“You can, Stephen, if you keep your armor intact and harness your mind. Do you want to see him?”
Stephen took a deep breath. Of course he didn’t want to see this ancient demon. He didn’t want to be standing here in this netherworld, either, but here he was.
He glanced at Kat, who still held Julia close. He thought of Claire, apparently safe, but far from here.
He had to bring them all home safely.
But he was no superhero. He was just a regular guy, a restaurateur playing games with pretend armor and a stupid sword that nobody on earth could see.
His head jerked up toward the vapor. Those were not his thoughts, not by a long shot. They sounded familiar; he recognized enough of his own wallowing to know that the thoughts were based in reality. But they certainly didn’t represent the man he meant to be, the man he knew he could become.
He again studied Kat. She lifted her head, staring toward him almost as if she knew he was there. The determination on her face strengthened him. He gripped the sword in his hand and straightened.
“Yes,” he said, eyes narrowing. “I want to see him.”
Francesca nodded. “Tell him.”
“Tell him?” He hadn’t counted on that.
“You fight with the light, Stephen. You speak with authority. Tell him to show himself. He’ll be only too happy to meet you one-on-one. But hurry. Time grows short.”
“I thought time didn’t matter here.”
“It doesn’t, not as you think. But you want to return to the cathedral, don’t you? Time matters there.”
He thought fast. It was surely long past 2:15, the time he’d assumed the door of time would open again to allow a reentry from the medieval to the modern world.
Francesca seemed to read his thoughts. “The time coordinates of the fourteenth and twenty-first centuries are not the same. But they will align briefly, and that will be your last opportunity to go home. You must move quickly.”
The force field wavered again, mostly around the prioress. Kat seemed oblivious to it, but the vapor began to drift in that direction, clearly focusing on any weakness it could find.
“Sometimes,” Francesca said, “the best battle plan requires timing, not weaponry.”
Stephen locked his gaze on the vapor and stepped forward.
Kat stared at the behemoth, mesmerized by the immensity of him. He was fully defined, now, right down to his dirty toes. Could he walk? As if in response to her unasked question, the huge man lifted one sandal-clad foot. Kat’s fingers flew to her throat. Could he come closer, perhaps thrust a fist through this flimsy wall of light and rip them toward their deaths?
No. She yanked herself away from the thought. The light before her had wavered perceptibly the second she’d given in to fear. This situation was bad enough with Julia so afraid and Alys wavering. She couldn’t afford to follow their example.
As if in response to her renewed resolve, the sheet of light in front of her brightened.
She did a quick check. The light near Julia seemed strong enough, though nowhere near as intense as her own portion of the column. Alys’s section remained thin, a patchwork of constantly shifting gray, leaving a Swiss-cheese mosaic of holes behind.
“The light is weakest near you,” she told Gregory, who still held Alys close.
He nodded, filling Kat with relief that she did not need to waste her energy in explanations. She could already feel Julia’s body tense beside her. She followed her daughter’s gaze to the mass of evil outside the force field. Julia’s jaw had dropped. Kat sensed the thoughts racing through her mind. She knew her daughter envisioned herself crushed lifeless in the fists of the abominable creature towering before them.
“No, Julia.” Kat gripped the girl’s wrist as the light began to fade. “Look away. Think of home. Think of how good it will be when we’re back with Dad and Claire. Just look away!”
But Julia remained hypnotized by the ugliness before her and could not turn her head until Kat did it for her.
“Alys.”
Alys looked up into the dark eyes of the man she’d loved for so many years.
“Tell me of the thoughts that haunt you,” Gregory said, and as always, the soft honey of his voice poured over her like a soothing balm.
She tried to wrench free of his arms, but it was a halfhearted attempt, one she’d never really expected to complete. “Gregory, can you not see? If we have any hope of victory, any chance to live, we must fight!”
He nestled his cheek against the silk of her hair and gently stroked her arm. “I don’t fight,” he said. “It is not my way.”
“But if it is the only way to escape death—”
“It’s not my way,” he repeated, and she fell silent.
She had known this of him from the earliest days of their friendship. It had been, in fact, one of the reasons she’d grown to love him. She remembered the loud, raucous banquets in her father’s manor hall, where sweaty men bawled out tales of blood and lust between draughts of ale. She remembered one such banquet in particular. She’d sat on a hard wooden bench under the threatening glare of her father, the old man he’d selected as her betrothed beside her with one hand in the trencher they shared and the other grasped firmly around her waist. Even now, the memory of his knobby fingers splayed across her rib cage raised a shudder of revulsion. How he’d rambled on and on about his victories on battlefields and crusades, the noxious fumes from his toothless mouth causing her to gasp for breath whenever she could. How proud he’d been to recount in detail each thrust of his sword, each decapitation or amputation he’d inflicted. She’d paid scant attention, so busy was she squirming away from his clawlike hand as it dropped to her thigh.
And she would never forget when her desperate glance met the eyes of the priest who stood at the door. She’d known of Gregory’s gentle patience even then. She’d met him two summers before, and he often lingered to talk to her when no one else would bother. In her father’s eyes she was merely a fourth daughter, useful only as a pawn for power through marriage, and even then an expensive proposition because of the dowry required. Through Father Gregory’s eyes, however, she glimpsed within herself something of value and beauty.
How calmly he’d strode across the room, stopping only when he stood directly before her. Her betrothed’s soiled hand had slipped away from her body.
“My lady Alys,” Father Gregory had said, eyebrow raised.
“Yes.” She’d risen hastily, knowing that even her father would not cross this man of the cloth and the Church that had sent him. “Yes, Father Gregory, forgive me. I had forgotten that I’d asked earlier to speak with you.”
She would confess the lie later. For now, it was enough to follow this serene man out of the hall. Drunkards parted to let them pass as he led her away from the harsh noise of daily life. At that moment, her young mind had understood clearly that quiet intent said far more than loud boasts and brags.
Now she could see in his eyes that he remembered, too. He knew her heart as well as he knew his own. She loved him more than she could ever say, more than life itself.
She raised a hand to caress hi
s cheek. Her fingers rested on the familiar curve of his jawbone, lingered on his chin. She opened her mouth to speak of her love for him.
The words stuck in her throat as a thought, searing as a fireball, blazed through her head.
If he loved you, truly loved you, he’d have found a way to marry you and give you the life you so richly deserve.
She saw herself bedecked in a golden silk gown trimmed with ermine, a contented smile illuminating her face into brilliant radiance. Rings of ruby and emerald dripped from her fingers. Her hair, braided with intertwined ribbon, was looped into lustrous coils on either side of her head. She sat on a plush chair, surrounded by children. A boy of perhaps fourteen stood beside her, his confident grace marking him the obvious heir to the manor house. He had Gregory’s dark hair and eyes, but his features were undeniably hers. A younger boy smiled up from the floor, where he sat at her feet. A girl of perhaps twelve flanked Alys’s other side. Her hair, dark like Gregory’s but glinting red in the shaft of sunlight that lit the room, flowed to her waist. She so favored Alys’s dead mother that the prioress could not prevent the anguished moan that escaped her.
Gregory grasped both her hands.
“Alys,” he said in a low voice, “do not see it. It is not truth.”
But it should have been, the relentless voice in her head mocked. She sensed knowing laughter as an image of Gregory entered the scene, the essence of virility as he flung back his cape and surveyed his family with pride.
The Gregory of her vision held out a commanding hand, and as if watching a dream, Alys saw her gold-clad counterpart rise to accept it. She watched as the man pulled her close. With a low chuckle, he drew her lips to his. He kissed her hungrily, as if no amount of her could ever satiate his desire.
Ah, what you have missed, the voice said.
Alys drew back. With difficulty, she pulled herself away from the story unfolding in her head. She wanted to stay there, to drink in every moment of the life she had not lived, but something was wrong.
Her eyes focused on the very real man before her. Gregory’s face was lined, now. He was not vigorous like the man in the vision, nor had he married her, given her children or a life of wealth. But everything this man was, he had given freely to her. When he held her, when she looked deep into his eyes, she knew that he loved her to the depths of his soul. She did not need frenzied lust and possession. She did not need wealth. She saw very clearly that she’d missed nothing at all in her lifetime.
She tilted her head back and closed her eyes.
“Gregory,” she whispered, “kiss me.”
He did not question her, merely bent until his lips touched hers.
Alys wrapped her arms around his neck and knew that she would rather die with this man than live without him. Perhaps she could not trust Katerina, but she would trust Gregory forever. And she would trust the God who, against all odds, had granted her a love this sweet and true.
The light surrounding the priest and the prioress blazed to life with bright, clear strength.
“Whoa!” Stephen shielded his eyes with his arm. “How did that happen?”
No response. Surprised, he lowered his sword and looked around. He’d expected Francesca to be right behind him as he closed in on Asteroth. When had she gone? Was this his cue to leave, too? The column of light appeared intact. No part of it burned more brightly than the section near the priest and the prioress, but there were no holes.
Suddenly, the light in front of Julia collapsed, leaving her totally exposed.
“No!” Stephen and Kat cried in unison as Asteroth turned her way.
39
“J ULIA!” K AT GASPED AS THE COLUMN OF LIGHT PROTECTING her daughter vanished. “What happened?”
Tears streamed down Julia’s cheeks as she stared at the seething hulk before her. “I can’t do it, Mom. I’m not like you. I can’t pretend that…that… thing isn’t out there!”
“Help me, Gregory,” Kat pleaded as Asteroth turned toward her daughter. How had they gotten stuck inside this horrible, relentless video game? She only hoped this creature couldn’t hurl thunderbolts or shoot laser beams.
“What must I do?” Gregory asked, and Kat remembered that not only couldn’t he see the light, he probably had no idea how to maintain it.
There was no time to explain anything now.
“Just take care of Alys,” she said. “No fears, no doubts. Stay strong.”
Asteroth’s heavy hand reached for the sword at his side. Kat had not noticed it before, but now she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it. Its blade, chiseled from dark, hard flint, sliced through the air as he raised it high.
“Dear God.” A heavy, dark fear threatened to engulf her. She pushed it aside, angered by its very presence. No, anger wouldn’t do, either. None of these negative emotions would save Julia, who’d crumpled to the ground in a useless heap.
“A fly.” Asteroth sneered. “The merest trifle, a small annoyance, easily destroyed.” The tip of the sword circled in the air as he considered. “Shall I slice you in two now or wait another moment?”
Kat closed her eyes and concentrated. Somehow, she had to reerect that shield of light. But she was terrible with light, could never envision it completely. The image of it always faded in and out whenever she tried to use it. Why couldn’t it come in a form she could easily understand, one that would stay where she put it? Something like a toothpaste dispenser would come in mighty handy about now.
Her eyes flew open. Why not?
Asteroth’s sword began a heavy, downward fall toward Julia’s head.
Clenching her teeth, Kat averted her eyes and quickly pictured Julia covered in a thick, sticky paste of glowing light. The paste dripped from the girl’s head, encasing her arms and torso. Kat imagined it streaming from a tube. She applied it to her daughter’s legs, working until every part of Julia was covered. Then she fell back, exhausted. Lighting Julia hadn’t seemed particularly strenuous, but it had taken nearly every ounce of energy she had.
The paste glowed like the armor Julia had never learned to wear. Kat used the little energy she had left to keep it in place. She banished every other thought from her mind and bathed her daughter in a clean, white glow.
Asteroth gave a low, angry growl, but his sword had gained too much momentum to stop. It landed atop Julia’s light-drenched head. She apparently felt little. She simply looked up as if awakened from a nightmare. Dazed, she raised a hand to her head, patting to feel what could have possibly saved her.
The sword shuddered in Asteroth’s hand. A loud crack reverberated through the clearing. A series of breaks traveled up the massive arm as it shattered from wrist to shoulder, dropping to the ground with a smash. The sword clattered at the creature’s feet.
Startled by what she’d somehow managed to do, Kat gaped at her daughter. Julia stared back through a veil of light.
“Mom, how did you do that?”
A dangerous fatigue washed over Kat, leaving her limp and drained. “I don’t know. But Julia, you can see that all is not lost, can’t you? Can you tell that you’re covered with light?”
Julia studied her hand. “I don’t see it,” she said. “But I feel different. Safe. Something must have happened, or I’d be dead right now.”
Kat saw color return to Julia’s face. Her daughter had regained a sense of hope. “Julia, imagine yourself bright like a torch, okay? Please, think of nothing else. You’ve got to protect yourself. Can you do it?”
The girl swallowed, then squared her shoulders. “Yes. I’ll try.”
Kat turned back toward Asteroth. A sharp, jagged edge protruded at his shoulder where the destroyed arm had once been. He could probably create another limb, but the lack of an arm did not seem an obstacle to him. His cold stare rested on her, chilling her through and through.
She raised her hands to rub her throbbing temples. To her right she saw the light surrounding Gregory and Alys. To her left, Julia glowed like a steady flame. Good. They were all safe. P
erhaps they could finally maintain their own shields of light.
“Kat-er-in-a,” Asteroth said slowly, advancing toward her.
She saw him far too clearly.
With a start, she realized why. Only a thin scrim of light now separated her from this monster. She must have given more of herself than she’d thought to protect Julia. Panic gripped her, threatening to overpower every other emotion she had.
Before she could control her instinctive reaction, the last of the light before her disappeared.
“Yes,” Asteroth said. “You are the one I want.”
Too late, she realized that she’d been tricked into leaving herself defenseless before him.
The column of light in front of Kat peeled away like skin from a banana. Stephen lunged toward his wife as the greasy cloud of darkness stretched above her, ready to engulf her completely.
A low rumble stopped him in his tracks. “Do something, Kat,” he murmured beneath his breath. “Do it now.”
He sensed a cacophony of emotion emanating from the core of the vapor. How could something so amorphous project such a barrage of raw sensation? Triumph, conquest, victory—the vapor pulsed with the energy flow of each, a bundle of exposed wires ready to electrocute on contact.
Kat stared up, white and immobile. A dark shadow fell across her face.
“Asteroth!” Stephen’s voice rang across the gray distance.
The vapor paused, a barely contained mass of movement.
“Asteroth,” Stephen said again, this time with more authority.
Another hesitation, as if Asteroth could not decide whether acknowledgment of this human was worth the effort.
Kat looked confused. Stephen thought she must recognize the pause in the massive flow of darkness but not know what caused it.
He had to buy her time.
“Asteroth,” he said, “you owe me an explanation.”
He could swear the vapor laughed. A hoarse, rough grumble ricocheted off unseen boundaries, sending an unpleasant vibration through his body. A deep voice echoed all around him.
