The Embers of Light

by Tammy Farrell

  Corbin lowered his hand. “No,” he said, “but this is not a usual night.”

  Seren lifted her shoulder from the doorway and stepped into the room, the linen shift Annora had given her trailed on the ground. “No, I suppose it isn’t.” She pulled her freshly washed hair over her shoulder to cover the swell of her breast beneath the thin fabric. “I hope you’re not guarded because of us. My brother and I are grateful for your hospitality. This is the first night in years that I’ve actually felt safe.”

  Corbin’s mouth suddenly went dry and his thoughts seemed too fleeting to grasp. “I heard footsteps,” he managed to say.

  Seren smiled and took a step closer as though testing cool water. “That must have been me,” she said. “My brother is a skittish sort. I wanted to make sure he was comfortable.”

  “And is he?” Corbin asked, his gaze moving toward the open doorway.

  “Sound asleep,” Seren said.

  As she inched her way closer, Corbin’s body became sheathed in warmth, and when she was only inches from him, he couldn’t move away.

  Seren reached out and let her fingers trail over the dagger. “You don’t plan to use that on me, do you?” She looked up and smiled with a glow in her golden eyes that made Corbin’s stomach flutter. He took a step back, but she followed, this time pressing herself up against him. Corbin’s heart quickened as his mind told him to run, but the enticing scent of cinnamon and rose water overpowered his thoughts.

  Before he knew what was happening, his dagger fell to the floor with a clang, and the dark-haired woman was in his arms, her mouth crushing his. As he stumbled back, she stumbled with him, arms in a tangle around each other, lips and skin so warm and soft that for a moment Corbin thought it was a dream. But as his hands reflexively moved to her breasts, and her tongue pushed its way inside his mouth like a serpent, the gleam of moonlight on the blade of his dagger snapped him back to reality.

  This was no dream.

  And this woman was no harmless Dia.

  Corbin tried to push her away, but her lips were fixed to his, her hands slipping down the front of his trousers to latch on like claws. He pressed his hands on her shoulders, but her tongue slithered farther down his throat so that no air could get through. The taste of metal filled his mouth. Overcome with a mix of aberrant desire and disgust all at the same time, Corbin fought. And as her tongue aimed to choke him and her hands moved to pleasure him, Corbin eyed the dagger on the floor.

  He took another step back, resisting the urge to simply give in, to let her lick and stroke and touch every part of him. She had to be working a spell on him, and if he didn’t break free soon, she might just win. He took another step, and when he was close enough to the bed, he returned her kiss, reached for the dagger, and pushed it to her throat.

  Instantly, her tongue slithered back to normal and her hands released him.

  Corbin gasped for air and spat on the ground, keeping the dagger pointed with a shaking hand.

  Seren put her hands on her hips with a quick laugh, the golden flecks in her eyes turning a dull brown. “Why are you so bothered? Don’t you find me attractive?” she said, unfazed by the dagger in her face.

  “What are you?” Corbin asked breathlessly.

  Seren shrugged. “You seemed lonely. I thought you’d like a warm, soft body to lie with.”

  Corbin spat, the taste of metallic blood still in his mouth, and took a step forward. “You think you can play mind tricks on me?” He spat again.

  She smiled and pointed at the dagger. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about. I seem to be the one in peril at the moment, wouldn’t you say?”

  Corbin tried to calm the shaking in his hand, the dagger quivering in the air. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to call for Ailwen and Annora, but before any sound came out, Seren put her fingers to her lips and Corbin’s throat tightened. He coughed against it, but her magic silenced him.

  She stood still, staring at him like a demon. “You look exhausted,” she said. “I think you should get some rest.”

  The wave of harmony came over Corbin again, and without thinking, he nodded. “I am very tired,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Yes, you are,” she said. “Now, go lie down and go to sleep. When you wake in the morning you will feel rested and this will all seem like a dream.”

  Corbin nodded, and despite the voice in his head screaming for him to fight it, he moved to the bed and lay down.

  Seren kept her distance with a broad smile on her face. “You keep that dagger, prince. It will keep you safe.” She turned and moved toward the door. “Sweet dreams,” she said, blowing him a kiss and leaving the room.

  Corbin tried to resist the heaviness of his eyelids, fought the complete enervation in his limbs, and clutched the dagger as the blissful sensation of peace overcame him.

  Sweat dripped down Malcolm’s forehead, his hands were clammy and his heart hammered through is chest. “There is no turning back,” he whispered as he stood before the great doors of Ayrith, sheathed in moonlight. He waited for what seemed like hours, hoping Tristan would open the door, but fearing that Corbin would get there first. This was a risk Malcolm had to take. His body was close. He could feel it calling to him, the tug on his soul willing him to find it and settle back in his rightful form. The thought was exhilarating, so much so, that he would consider giving up everything, even his crusade against Mara and Corbin to have his body back. Nothing else mattered to him then. Nothing in his entire life had ever mattered more.

  He would become himself again, or die trying.

  Malcolm did his best to quell his impatience, and when the sound of metal grinding against metal came from within the great mountain fortress, Malcolm’s resolve intensified, his mind became clear, and his hands steadied. Now was the time. Either Corbin would kill him, or Tristan would liberate him. Whatever it was, he was ready.

  Malcolm stood firm in front of the door, and when it opened, Tristan’s expressionless face stared back at him. Malcolm couldn’t help but smile, and for the first time since meeting the insolent raven, he wanted to embrace him.

  Tristan opened the door a little wider and put a finger to his lips. “Come,” he whispered.

  In the expansive hallway, Malcolm looked neither left nor right, wasting not a second on observation as he limped behind Tristan through another set of towering doors. At the head of the room, two massive throne chairs gleamed like golden fire under the open arches, and marble floors reflected moonlight like liquid beneath his feet.

  Tristan stopped before the stairs to the dais, hooked his finger around a golden ring in the floor, and pulled up a hatch door. Almost instantly Malcolm’s throat went dry and his determination faltered. The last time he’d gone through a hatch door he’d been a cripple. If he went down this one, would he ever make it out? The wave of fear nearly toppled him, his breath all but lost.

  Tristan’s brows came together as he frowned, motioning for Malcolm to move quickly. But Malcolm was stuck in the mud of his own terror. How could he trust Tristan? The thought had crossed Malcolm’s mind that perhaps Tristan was trying to get him into the vault only to shut him in there forever. Would anyone even hear his calls? The urge to turn back shook every part of Malcolm’s body, when he heard a gentle laugh behind him. Tristan’s eyes shot up, and Malcolm turned in a panic to see Annora standing in the doorway. The blood rushed from Malcolm’s face as he waited for Corbin and Ailwen to come charging through the door, but the longer he looked at Annora, the more he began to realize that she was calm, even smiling.

  “I knew you’d find your way here eventually,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound like the one Malcolm remembered.

  She sashayed towards him, her long scarlet skirts trailing behind her. With a glowing candle in her hand, she stopped in front of him.

  Malcolm’s mouth hung open as he stared at her, but then her blue eyes flashed white, and Malcolm knew exactly who stood before him.

  “Mother,” he sa
id coldly.

  She gave one nod and smiled. “I am pleased to see you, despite your frosty greeting.” She motioned for the vault. “But now is not the time to discuss our quarrel. Your body awaits you.” She reached for Malcolm’s hand and led him to the opening of the hatch. Tristan still held the door with a baffled expression on his face. Instead of explaining, Malcolm gave Tristan a nod of reassurance and followed his mother down the stairs and into the darkness.

  “This is an ancient chamber,” she whispered as they walked. “It is the only place on earth where a Dia has no power.” She stopped in front of an open doorway. “Any Dia that sets foot through those doors is without magic, without Light. It is a prison created by the ancients. Once that door is closed, it cannot be escaped.”

  Malcolm swallowed hard, leaned in to get a better look and gasped when he saw his body laid on a stone slab.

  “The only way out of this door is if someone opens it,” Daria said, her hand pressed to the open door. “Now get your body, son.”

  The gloomy vault nearly turned Malcolm’s nerves to pulp. Had he been caught, he could have been a captive for eternity in a place even worse than Valenia. With his good hand, he took the candle from Daria and stepped into the room.

  A shudder ran down his back, remnant magic of the spell that bound the vault. His heart thudded as he stared at his body. Dried blood caked his nostrils and the collar of his shirt, but otherwise, his body was unharmed. Malcolm approached with a growing sense of excitement, his soul aching to feel his own limbs, to know the beating of his own heart, to be rid of pain and deformity.

  He set the candle on the platform, said a quick prayer and just as he had done the day he took Eli’s body, he cleared his mind, took deep breaths, and willed his soul to move. Unlike the struggles he’d had before, this time Malcolm felt his soul begin to lift from its unnatural form almost immediately. Whether it was because of his extreme desperation, or his own body so close, like a sword unsheathed, his soul detached and Eli’s body fell in a heap to the floor.

  Malcolm’s formless spirit floated up, and without pause, his body pulled his spirit in, welcoming him back to his rightful place. There was a quick moment of darkness and then, as if he had never lost them, Malcolm opened his eyes.

  The candle cast dancing shadows on the ceiling of the vault, and while Malcolm’s eyes were still those of a mortal, he saw with a clarity that nearly moved him to tears.

  He sat up and swung his legs over the slab of stone, bringing his hands to his face; two hands with four fingers and two thumbs. He was counting each digit on the perfectly shaped hands just to be sure when a groan from the floor got his attention.

  Malcolm leaned over to look at Eli.

  The mortal’s face was covered with dark strands of greasy hair, and his maimed hand rested on his chest. Malcolm didn’t know if Eli was still under Mara’s spell, but even if he wasn’t, the once fierce champion was marred for life. Eli groaned again and opened his eyes, the vacant stare from his corrupted mind looked up.

  With a growl of regret, Malcolm jumped from the slab, his feet hitting the ground without any hint of pain.

  Daria still stood in the doorway, her watchful blue eyes reflecting the white of the soul inside. “You must be quick,” she whispered.

  Malcolm nodded and helped Eli to his feet. “I’m very sorry, friend,” he said putting his hands on the sides of Eli’s face.

  Eli looked at him like a pup, his pupils large and glossy, his mouth open but without words.

  For a moment, Malcolm paused. He was sorry for being the reason Eli was in this state. It was he who’d forced Eli to fight Corbin and Mara, earning Eli a life of mindlessness. And it was he who’d stolen Eli’s body, had him disfigured, crippled, and nearly killed.

  Eli was an unfortunate man who got caught up in a game of Dia—a game that he never had any chance of winning.

  “I will set you free,” Malcolm said, surprised to feel the sting of sadness in his eyes. He took in a breath, tightened his grip on Eli’s head, and with all of his mortal strength he quickly twisted Eli’s head until he heard the spine snap like cracking nuts. Malcolm let go and Eli fell to the floor.

  It was the kindest thing he could have done for the ruined warrior.

  “Maybe we’ll meet again in the next life, friend. Until then, go with the gods.”

  Patting the dust from his shirt and trousers, Malcolm straightened his back, stepped over Eli’s body, and followed Daria back through the tunnel of darkness, up the stairs. Just before they reached the top, the smile returned to Malcolm’s face. He’d done it.

  Seren and Tristan waited at the opening, staring at him as though he were a ghost in the candlelit night.

  “I told you I was a Revenant,” he said to them, unable to stop his lips from smiling. Now they were seeing him as he was, as he should always be. The way their eyes raked over him gave him a sense of pride he hadn’t felt in ages. But even though he was filled with joy in that moment, he was still very aware that he’d not yet escaped the danger of being caught. “Where is Corbin?” he asked Seren. “Did your magic work?”

  Seren nodded. “Not as well as it would have on a mortal. He was quite resistant. But for now he is asleep. Though I don’t know how much longer that will last.”

  “Well done,” Malcolm said with a satisfied grin.

  Seren and Tristan tensed as their gaze drifted to Daria.

  “Forgive me for not making an introduction,” Malcolm said. “This is my mother, Daria. She is a Revenant as well. It seems she’s taken Annora’s body as her own.”

  Daria smiled. “We’ve met.” She ran her hands down the silky fabric of her dress. “And I dare say, this body suites me quite well.”

  “How did you take her?” Malcolm asked. “I thought Revenants couldn’t possess another Dia.”

  Daria chuckled. “This is a young one, my dear. And weak of mind. I got her in her sleep. The poor thing fought hard against me, even screamed bloody murder, but by the time the others came to her aid, I was planted inside her.”

  “Didn’t they wonder what was wrong with her?” Malcolm asked.

  Daria shrugged. “A simple bad dream explained it all.” Daria’s devious smile crossed Annora’s lips, the once sweet face now dimmed by possession. “I suppose these two helped you escape that awful little hamlet of changelings?” Daria said, looking at Tristan and Seren.

  “Yes,” Malcolm said. “And no thanks to you.”

  Daria tilted her head, her eyes softened. “You banished me, Malcolm. But I had faith in you. I knew you’d find a way out of that place. Mortal or not, your spirit is strong, your will to live even stronger.”

  Malcolm exhaled but didn’t give in to her. “Or perhaps that is what one would say after the child they’ve abandoned survives.”

  An irritated groan forced Malcolm to turn his head.

  Ailwen marched into the room. “A child now, is it Malcolm? You fancy yourself a child? Have some dignity.”

  A mingling of anger and bewilderment seeped into Malcolm’s veins, turning his blood cold. Ailwen walked past him, ascended the dais, and sat on the looming, gilded throne.

  Malcolm didn’t have to look back to know that Seren and Tristan were inching their way closer to him. But what protection did they think he could offer, and more importantly, what did they need protection from?

  Ailwen said nothing while Malcolm looked him over. This was not the same mortal man Malcolm had once known. Mara had certainly made him a Dia. The finest lines of his mortal face were now as smooth as glass, his sandy hair lustrous, his eyes glistening like black diamonds. As a mortal, Ailwen had been like Corbin; two men cut from the same cloth, honorable to a fault. But this thing sitting before Malcolm was not that man. Dia or not, this was not Ailwen.

  “Your expression gives away your thoughts, Malcolm.” Ailwen clicked his tongue and shook his head with disapproval. “No wonder you had your Light stolen. A man who can’t even hide his thoughts is an easy adversary t
o defeat.”

  Ailwen smirked as Malcolm’s face reddened.

  “You see,” Ailwen said, “even now you can’t control yourself.” He looked down on Daria. “This is your son? You tell him he is strong but in the first moment I lay eyes on him he cowers like a fawn who’s lost its mother.”

  For a moment, Malcolm forgot he was still without Light. He took an angry step forward, his fists clenched. “Who are you to sit in judgment of me? I was born a Dia. You are nothing more than a creation, an abomination of our kind!”

  “Malcolm—” Daria began before Ailwen raised a hand to silence her.

  Ailwen gave an amused chuckle, his eyes arches of black. “At least he’s perceptive.” Ailwen pushed himself up from the throne and slowly walked down each step. “I am an abomination, Malcolm. Unnatural in every sense of the word.” He reached the bottom of the steps and continued forward, his gait unhurried, his shoulders squared back.

  “Let’s go,” Tristan whispered, but his words went ignored.

  Ailwen kept his gaze fixed on Malcolm. “What were you as a Dia? Before you had your Light taken?”

  “A Cian,” Malcolm said, trying to stand tall enough to match Ailwen’s height.

  “Ah.” Ailwen put a finger to his lips. “A Cian is a powerful force. There are virtually no limitations to their powers; the elements are theirs to control, minds are open to them like books. They are never quite what they seem.”

  “Yes,” Malcolm said, bitterness rising at the reminder of what he’d lost.

  “I know it well,” Ailwen said, his expression hardening. “So please tell me, Malcolm, how can a Cian manage to lose his power to a woman?”

  Malcolm’s entire body shook with rage. The tips of his ears were on fire. “That woman holds the power of the Keeper and the Lia Fàil!” Malcolm paused, looking Ailwen over with new curiosity. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  Ailwen guffawed and glanced at Daria.

  “He’s your father, Malcolm,” Daria said, her tone restrained.