“Very well,” Corbin said, rubbing her arm and giving her a light kiss on the forehead. “I will be right here if you need me.”
She bid them all goodnight and walked down the long torch-lit hall. Another muffled growl of thunder seeped through the thick stone walls, causing Mara to stop, put her hand to her head, and try and convince herself that she hadn’t just done something terribly, terribly wrong.
Malcolm beat the ground with his hand, forgetting that his fingers were missing. “Mother? Mother?” he called out in the darkness. Silence was the only response. Not even a cold wind brushed past him. “Come back, Mother. I did not mean what I said.” He widened his eyes, trying to see his surroundings. There was nothing but blackness. He trembled violently like a wilting leaf, dangling on the edge of the world. And then suddenly, the dank earth beneath him gave way and he was falling. He clawed at the mud walls, but he had no fingers to grab with, no hands, no arms. The tunnel of earth opened up into nothingness, and he fell in to an unending pit of darkness.
“Help me,” he cried out. “Somebody help me!”
He hit the ground, falling flat on rocky earth, knocking the breath right out of him. He was in Valenia, trapped inside the ghostly fortress. An icy chill ran up his back and his eyes bulged as a gray mist crept towards him along the stone floor.
“What have you done, Malcolm? What have you done?” came Mara’s voice.
Malcolm scrambled to his knees, pushing himself up on the stumps of his arms. “Mara? Mara, where are you?”
“What have you done?” she repeated venomously. “What have you done?”
Malcolm tried to reach for the fog, but he had no arms. “Help me, please,” he begged. “I’m a traitor, a vile piece of shit. I know that now. Help me, please.”
“What have you done?” she repeated, sounding farther and farther away.
Malcolm cried out in despair and rolled on his side. “Don’t leave me here. Kill me if you must. But don’t leave me here to rot.”
He buried his face in the ground, letting his mouth fill with dirt. “Don’t leave me here,” he cried. “I’m afraid.”
He lay there, turned on his back, and looked up in the dark. “I’m ready,” he whispered. “I’m ready to die.”
“Not yet you’re not,” came a soft voice that dragged him out of the horrible nightmare.
Malcolm felt a wet cloth on his forehead and he opened his eyes to see Seren kneeling before him, her gentle face illuminated by the single candle beside her. Malcolm jolted upright and a monstrous pain shot up his leg. He howled in agony.
“Hush,” Seren said, pulling a blanket over him and moving wisps of brown curls from her face. “Bram will have my head if he knows I’m down here.”
Malcolm’s gaze darted around with panic. He was still in the ground. Earthen walls breached by deep roots surrounded him.
He eyed Seren, wondering how long she’d been there, and fell back as an ice-cold quiver ran over his body.
“Where am I?” he managed, his throat dry like ash.
Seren wet the cloth and pressed it to his head again. “You are in the slave keep. It’s really just a hole in the ground, but so far, no one’s managed to escape it.” She shook her head. “He treats his slaves worse than dogs, leaving them to rot in their own filth.” She pressed the cool cloth to his neck. “And if they survive, he sells them into a life of bondage.” She set the cloth down and picked up a cup.
Malcolm went to reach for it, but stilled when he saw the stump of his bandaged hand with only his thumb sticking out.
Seren gently pressed him back down and put the cup to his lips. “Sometimes he leaves them down here for months.” She sat quietly as Malcolm drank and coughed most of it back up.
“You’ve survived the sickness,” she said. “It kills most by now. You’ve held on many weeks.” She smiled. “You must have the gods on your side.”
“I doubt that,” Malcolm said bitterly. “Has it been you tending to my wounds?”
Seren nodded. “Do you not remember? You’ve been in and out of consciousness a long while. I thought you’d spoken to me, but it must have been in your dreams.”
“Ha. Dreams,” Malcolm scoffed. He tried to reposition himself and looked down at his leg.
“It’s only broken,” Seren said in answer to his horrified stare. “It’s well on its way to mending. I used some of my special mixtures to quicken the healing. You will walk again.”
The tender look on her face suddenly made Malcolm’s heart ache, and his bitterness melted like butter. “Why are you helping me?” he whispered.
Her mouth pressed in to a still line. “Do you think I am any more liberated than you? Just because I’m not made to live in chains doesn’t mean I’m not tethered to this hell.” She lifted Malcolm’s bandaged hand. “Here, let me change the dressing. I’ll not have you survive the sickness only to die of the rot.” She began to unravel the bandage and paused. “Look away,” she said before the hand was exposed.
Malcolm did as he was told.
“Wynn has been asking for you. He sits outside every day, waiting for you to wake up.”
Malcolm nodded and braced himself for the pain as she unwrapped the last of the bandage.
“Why didn’t you let Bram kill me right there?” he asked.
Seren shrugged. “I’m tired of watching men die by his hand.” She began to wrap a clean cloth around his hand. “Unfortunately, it seems that my efforts to save you have only caused you more pain. Bram’s mercy is never without a price. He always gets his way in the end.”
She set Malcolm’s hand down gently.
“Then I am destined to die,” Malcolm lamented. It was then he remembered his last moments before Bram’s attack, and his conversation with Davina. She was a descendant, which meant Seren was a descendant as well.
Malcolm examined her again, only then noticing the deception in her eyes. He knew it well because he’d worn that look his entire life. Mountains of secrets hid beneath her amber eyes, and Malcolm wasn’t so sure he wanted to know them. The little candle next to Seren flickered, casting her shadow like a serpent on the earthen wall.
“Your mother,” Malcolm began with his eyes still fixed on her face, “she came to see me.”
Seren nodded, looking down. “I’d hoped she would listen to me just once. But she has her own ideas on how things should be.”
Though Seren was being kind to him, tending to his wounds, the mention of her mother revealed a darkness in this young woman that made Malcolm uneasy and curious at the same time. “Why do you stay, then?”
Seren looked up, and Malcolm saw it—her yellow eyes like fire. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of it—her power glowing beneath a glassy stare.
“She’ll never let me go,” she said sourly.
From a hole in the roof of the earthen keep, a raven cawed. Malcolm looked up when the latch opened, letting in a beam of sun.
Seren’s expression hardened and she shooed away the shadowy figure coming down the ladder. “I’m coming,” she said. “Go away.”
The figure jumped down and stepped into the dim light.
“Tristan, I told you to watch for Bram,” Seren scolded.
Tristan stared at Malcolm as though he was a rat nibbling on the last piece of cheese. “Bram is on his way back. I suggest you hurry it up, dear sister.”
Seren glared at him. “I am coming.” She handed Malcolm a loaf of bread and placed the jug of water near him. “You have to eat something. I know you feel terrible right now, but you are on the mend.” She reached back to her brother. “Hand me that stick.”
Tristan grabbed a thick branch and handed it to her.
Seren set it down in front of Malcolm. “Practice with this. You must learn to walk with it. Use your good hand to carry the weight from your right side.”
Malcolm regarded it skeptically. “And I’m supposed to just hobble out of here on that stick?” He was trying to be grateful for her help. He was grateful. But he
couldn’t seem to keep his cynicism at bay.
Tristan laughed. “You won’t make it past the gate.”
Malcolm bit his tongue, realizing the cause of his rising exasperation was the curly-headed smart-mouth standing before him.
“Hush, Tristan,” Seren scolded. She set the stick across Malcolm’s legs. “Learn to walk with it. I will be back as soon as I can.”
Tristan climbed the ladder without another word as Seren got to her feet. “The candle won’t last much longer. Make use of its light. Learn to walk.” She turned on her heel and ascended the ladder.
“Thank you,” Malcolm whispered, suddenly afraid to be left alone.
She looked back with a nod. “Learn to walk,” she repeated, and climbed to the top. The wooden door closed, causing the candle to flicker dangerously.
Malcolm cupped his hand around it to steady the flame and breathed a sigh of relief that, although he was alone, he was no longer in the dark. He held his bandaged hand up to the light. The look of it made his stomach turn and he recalled the horrible series of thuds as each finger rolled to the ground. He pushed himself back against the wall and took in quick, panicked breaths, his heart gaining speed as it thundered against his chest. This was a sensation he’d never known, a terror that had no face. He was ruined, maimed, broken. Now he’d never get his body back. Never get vengeance for what Mara had done to him.
But what did vengeance matter now?
As he stared at the flicker of the candle, Malcolm realized that he would give up every chance at revenge just to make it out of this hole, just to breathe fresh air and know he was alive.
He let his head fall back, remembering his dream…and her voice. Why had he degraded himself so easily? The old Malcolm would never have resorted to begging. But then again, he wasn’t the old Malcolm. He was a cripple. And he was desperate.
Malcolm swallowed hard and focused on the stick across his legs. He wasn’t ready to make any deals with the gods just yet, but he had to try. Pressing his left hand to the ground behind him, he balanced enough to curl his left leg in and raise himself up. He couldn’t get to his feet with only one hand. He looked at the bandaged stump, pursed his lips and pressed the knuckles into the ground. He put all of his weight on it, despite the agony, and tried to swing his right leg behind him.
He let out a low growl to stop himself from screaming in pain, and with hard breaths between his teeth, he tried again. Curling his left leg under him and using his right fist to steady himself, he turned his body and got to his knee. His broken leg was still stretched out behind him. Slowly, Malcolm put all his weight on his good hand and knuckle, and jumped so that he could stand on his left leg.
He leaned on the dirt wall, exhausted and completely out of breath. He waited a moment to recover, and then he reached down for the stick. It was cut long enough to fit under his arm, and wrapped in linen around the top.
Tucking it snug under his left arm, he put his left leg forward. His body shook so much that he thought he would topple over. He forced himself to breathe, and with the stick in his left hand, he moved it along with his right foot, putting as little pressure on his leg as possible.
Pain shot up and down his spine, but he stood tall. He took another step and a brief moment of hope came over him, like a swordsman who’d finally mastered his skill, right before he crashed down to the ground and the candle went out.
Malcolm’s eyes had finally adjusted to the dark when he’d regained enough strength in his leg to walk without the stick. Day and night he paced, or rather, hobbled back and forth. Now and then the door to the keep would open and a sack of food would be thrown in, but there was no more sign of Seren, Tristan, or Wynn.
The isolation and darkness were driving him mad. Had Seren abandoned him already? He should have known not to trust her. Those eyes were too vicious despite her gentle touch. He couldn’t depend on her. He couldn’t depend on anyone, not even his own mother.
For hours on end Malcolm would pace back and forth, ignoring the lingering pain in his leg and never looking at what was left of his hand. It was terribly itchy. Whatever Seren had done to him, whatever magic she’d worked or concoctions she’d put on him had staved off the rot, but it hadn’t dulled the ache. All he could do to pass the time was walk; each step making him feel stronger, braver, and bitterer. Walking would get him to Mara. He couldn’t let go of that. And only then could he get his power back.
It was late in the evening. Malcolm knew this by listening to the quiet above him, and when all the muffled footsteps had stopped, and the chickens were quiet, he knew the village was at rest. He sat against the wall, staring in to the nothingness when he heard whispers above. The door opened and the rope ladder was dropped down. Malcolm’s eyes shot up and he scurried into the shadow.
“Malcolm?” Seren whispered. “Are you all right?”
He narrowed his eyes as he learned forward. “You’ve finally decided to return,” he said coldly.
Seren came down the ladder, followed by Tristan with a torch in his hand.
“I couldn’t come sooner,” she said.
Malcolm felt a sour taste in his mouth. “You lie,” he spat. “You think I don’t know what you are? You act like scared mortals, but you don’t fool me.”
Tristan swiped the torch at Malcolm. “Watch your tongue.”
Seren took the torch from Tristan and set it near Malcolm. She looked him over. “How is your leg?”
Malcolm shrugged, trying to appear stronger than he felt. “I can stand on it now.”
“Good,” Seren said. “Now,” she looked to Tristan and back to Malcolm, “are you going to tell us what you are?”
Malcolm pressed his lips together and squinted. “Where have you been all this time?” he asked. “I’ve been rotting down here.”
Seren sighed and offered her hands. “My mother watches me relentlessly. I couldn’t escape her, not when she knows you’re here and I wanted to save you. Tonight she lies with Bram, so I was able to sneak away.”
There was a note of truth in her voice. Tristan, however, continued to stare at him with contempt.
“How long am I meant to stay down here?” Malcolm asked.
Tristan crossed his arms. “Bram leaves for the islands in two days’ time. Soon you’ll be on your way.”
Malcolm’s throat tightened remembering the slaves on the beach of Valenia. He wasn’t sure he could survive that journey, and if he did, would he be able to survive what came next?
Seren put a hand on Malcolm. “Tell me what you are. I can sense something about you. You’re different.”
There was a pause as Malcolm looked at them both, then with a defeated slump of his shoulders he said, “I am like you. Or at least, I once was.”
Tristan took a step forward. “He lies. Look at him. He is nothing more than a man. You have told him too much already.”
“Be quiet, Tristan,” Seren said with a hand to him. She stared in Malcolm’s eyes. “We are Tylwyth Teg.”
Malcolm knew of the Tylwyth Teg. They were descendants of the Tuatha Dé Danann, who’d retreated to the mountains from across the sea. But Rowan had warned Malcolm of their transformation. They weren’t like the Dia Malcolm knew. The Teg were shifters, never to be trusted by appearances alone. In their centuries as creatures of the mountains, they’d gone from being warriors and protectors, to mischievous, sometimes murderous creatures.
Malcolm eyed both of them. He didn’t trust them, didn’t want to tell them the whole truth about what he was, and worse yet, he didn’t want to tell them how far he’d fallen. But what did he have left to lose? These two were the only ones who might be able to help him. “I was a Dia,” he said. “But I am mortal now. There is no Light left in me.” He hung his head.
“You see, he can’t help us,” Tristan said.
“Yes, he can,” Seren shot back. “He is the only one in this village not under Mother’s spell.”
“Spell?” Malcolm asked.
Seren nodded. “T
hese villagers are…not what they seem. Their minds are all compelled by our mother.”
“And their lives are protected, as well,” Tristan added.
Malcolm nodded but found little comfort in being the only one free from Davina’s compulsion. “How can I help you? I’m lame, crippled.”
Seren regarded him with curiosity in her golden eyes and exhaled. “There is to be a marriage ceremony tomorrow. Mother is marrying me to Bram.”
This took Malcolm by surprise, but once again he had the sudden taste of betrayal on his lips. What did they want from him? If this were a trick, some guise to shame him further, he wouldn’t walk right into it. “Well, you have my congratulations,” he said sourly.
“She doesn’t want to marry him, you fool,” Tristan growled.
Malcolm felt his face grow hot. Tristan’s insolence was wearing on his already weak nerves. He sat up. “Who are you calling a fool, boy? You expect me to believe that my captor’s betrothed wants to help me? And what kind of mother marries her daughter to her own lover? Use your powers against him. I’m not interested in playing your games. If you can’t help me, by the gods, how am I supposed to help you!”
Seren stood with the dwindling pride of a conquered general. The stakes were high, but the cost for doing nothing was higher. “Believe me, these are no games. She has lost her senses and nothing I say will convince her to let us go. She has a protection spell on everyone in this village, and there are eyes on us constantly. Don’t you think we have tried to leave this place? We need your help. There is no other way. If she marries me to Bram, no doubt I will soon be with child.” Seren hung her head when Tristan put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Malcolm held out his arm to show them his bandages. “And what exactly do you expect me to do for you?”
“Everyone will be preoccupied with the wedding tomorrow,” Tristan said icily.
“Yes,” Seren continued. “While the celebrations are taking place, Tristan will let you out. Go to Bram’s hut, the one on the north side of the hamlet, and wait.”
Malcolm arched an eyebrow. “Wait for what?”
The Embers of Light Page 10
