Seraphina's Lament (The Bloodlands Book 1)

by Sarah Chorn

  He inhaled through his nose, taking in the stale, musty smell of the cave, felt his lungs fill up with air rather than water, the cold stone slab under his back, and the earth wrapped around his wrists and ankles holding him in place. Then, he opened his eyes and took it all in, the large room, the stranger standing beside him, and his absolute powerlessness.

  He thrashed around, tried to pull his arms and legs free, but got nowhere. The earth moved along with him. Panic rose up, burst from his throat in a shout that echoed in the cavernous room. He shouted and fought until he lost all strength. “Who are you?” He shouted at the stranger. “Why am I here?”

  “You may call me Lyall,” he said. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with skin as pale as Neryan’s, but tinged with a slight green tone. His hair was the color of fertile soil, and his eyes were the color of moss growing in a shady forest. “This transition will get easier over time. The first few times is always the hardest. You are doing fine, little brother.” His voice buzzed around Neryan like a fly. Lyall’s hand was warm as it pushed the hair out of Neryan’s eyes. “You are such an interesting, troubled creature, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”

  “Why?” Neryan breathed. Panic had morphed into terror. He felt himself shaking, his entire body vibrating from it. He wanted to flee, but couldn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to call on his water but he couldn’t reach it. In here, he was just a man. “What is this place?”

  He didn’t trust this man, but there was a connection between them, something that went beyond soul and skirted around kinship, almost elemental; and perhaps that was frightening him even more. He wanted to trust Lyall. He needed to, but he couldn’t. How could he trust someone who had lured him down here, and tied him to a rock like a sacrifice? Lyall’s eyes were full of a hungry desperation, his jaw a bit too sharp, and he was studying Neryan as though he were a feast rather than a person.

  Neryan screamed again. Screamed until his voice gave out.

  “Calm down, little brother,” Lyall said, pressing a warm hand against Neryan’s cheek. He deftly untied Neryan’s shirt, exposing his skin. His hands were warm, and calloused, and moved with acute determination. “You’ve got another half, haven’t you? Water and fire go together. They always go together. Is it a lover or a twin?”

  Neryan inadvertently flinched at the mention of a twin, and Lyall smirked.

  “Where is she? Nearby? You are so far into the transition, I’m surprised she hasn’t turned into fire yet. She must have incredible control.” He hummed a song Neryan didn’t recognize as he finished undressing him, the manacles of hard earth shifting from his arms and legs to allow the man to remove his clothes. He folded them in a neat pile on the floor. “You both must Become for the rest of you to finish the transition. That is the way of things. Fire and water root the group.”

  “What are you talking about?” Neryan asked. He suddenly felt like he was in very real danger. His blood turned to ice and his stomach felt like it was crawling with spiders. He wanted to run, to be anywhere but here, with this man touching him, undressing him, tying him down. He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t want this. He felt violated. This must be what a chicken felt like when it was being dressed for dinner.

  Oh, gods above and below, Mother and your small gods, what is happening to me?

  He couldn’t move, and this guy was touching him, pinching his skin, looking in his eyes, peeling back his lips and poking at his teeth. He might as well be a slave at the auction block, and this stranger was babbling away without really answering any questions. Without giving him time to really ask any.

  “What is this place?” Neryan asked, shooting out questions as quickly as he could, hoping maybe he’d get an answer, any answer. “What are you doing to me? Why am I here? What do you want?”

  Neryan had come here, wanting… something… but now all he wanted to do was leave and he couldn’t move. He’d been answering a call, the call of this man, and now he was here he wished he could be anywhere else, doing anything else. He wasn’t powerful anymore. Now, he was just another person, and a submissive one at that, and the man poking a finger at his breast was the god. He could feel Lyall’s power coiled around him like a fist, his eyes shining with an excited mania.

  The air in the cavern was cold, his skin beaded with chill bumps. The rock under his back was unforgiving. He shivered. He felt like throwing up.

  He gave up on asking questions and turned to pleading, not ashamed of the desperation in his voice. “Let me go. Please let me go. I have a sister. She needs me. She has a life to live. I have a life to live. Please. I won’t tell anyone you’re down here. I’ll never breath a word of any of this. Just let me go. Please let me go. I never wanted to come here. I never wanted any of this. Please. Please. Please.”

  He was begging and he didn’t care. He’d beg. He’d plead. He’d do anything to be somewhere else.

  “The thing about Becoming,” Lyall said, stopping his perusal of Neryan’s body, “is that it’s never easy, and very few have the strength to do it. There’s something about completely shattering that most people can’t handle. It’s not the shattering that breaks people. Not really. It’s the rebuilding that’s the hard part. But something tells me that this batch is different than all the others. The problem is, you can’t fully Become until your sister does, and she’s resisting. No group has ever gotten this close before, and you are all so very, very close. I’m going to need to give you all a bit of a push. I can feel you converging. The earth is ready, waiting for all of you, and soon, with this last thrust, it’ll finally happen. It’s unfortunate that it’s the Water Lord that I have to push. That will make this whole situation far more precarious. Extremely dangerous, but there we are.”

  Belief shone in Lyall’s eyes. Whoever, whatever, he was, he fully believed every word he said, and said it with such calm conviction that a chill ran through Neryan. Belief was a terrifying thing, he realized. Give a man a blade forged of purpose and another of belief, and he’d have all the justification he’d need to do anything he wanted. And Lyall shone with purpose and belief. It oozed out of him.

  Oh, Seraphina, my sister, run from this.

  She’d never give up her control, Neryan realized. Seraphina had spent a life living without any control, and now she had found some semblance of freedom and self-determination, she wouldn’t let it go. If this process of Becoming meant handing herself over to some other power, some other force that wasn’t her own, she would fight it to her death. Neryan had been so drunk on his own freedom, intoxicated by his growing ability, that he hadn’t even realized what he was giving up. But now he was here, he wanted Seraphina to stay far, far away, to run the other direction as fast as her bent body would allow.

  He shivered in the chill air of the cavernous space. Lyall moved to one of the far walls, rummaging around in a pile of cloth that Neryan hadn’t seen before, until he found what he needed. He came back and ran a hand through Neryan’s hair. The gesture made his skin crawl. It made him want to boil himself just to feel clean again.

  “Hush,” he whispered. His voice was gentle. It felt like a betrayal, trying to soften this hard moment. “You’ve been through so much, and you’re almost done. Almost there.”

  Despite his fear, Neryan believed Lyall with every fiber of his being. There was truth in his words, and strange comfort in the cool air around him, the earth under him soothing his aches. Neryan started to speak, and the man dribbled a little bit of honey in his mouth. It slid down his throat like drops of sunshine. A wave of sensation washed through him, bringing him strength as it went, calming him as it flowed through his body. Lyall would fix him. He’d make everything right. He’d brought Neryan into this quiet, cool place but he wasn’t going to hurt him. They were kin. That much he knew in the bones of his changing body.

  With each swallow, each calm, whispered word, he in turn calmed, until his body felt as heavy as the stone he was strapped to. He couldn’t move even if he had wan
ted to. Lyall kept murmuring in his ear, speaking in a language Neryan had never heard before. The words were like liquid, moving, like water, shifting like wind through the trees, and eventually he closed his eyes and just listened.

  Calm rolled through him like a wave, sinking deep through his skin, muscle, sinew, and settling down in his bones. Part of him was aware that this was wrong, all wrong, that he should be panicking, but that part was easily overridden. A contented sigh pushed out of his lungs. This was what he had been walking toward. This was what had been calling him. Of course it was. There hadn’t been any need to panic, no need to worry or fret. Lyall would take care of him. Why had he been so afraid before?

  By the time Neryan realized that his mouth was sealing shut it was too late. He wasn’t relaxed and satisfied. He was drugged. The world spun as he pried his eyes open, a dizzying rush that made him feel sick. It was full of colors that didn’t exist, and he was prone in the middle of it all.

  Too weak to fight.

  Too stupid to realize what was happening until it was too late.

  One man had called his name, and he had given in. He couldn’t make a sound, he couldn’t do anything but lay there like a sacrifice.

  “Close your eyes, little brother,” Lyall purred into his ear. “It’ll be easier if you don’t watch.”

  Neryan squeezed them shut, glad to hide from reality; but it didn’t help the rolling, spinning, tilting sensation gripping his mind. He did it because there was nothing to do but obey this man and his silky words, nothing else to do but lay there and let him drip that strange honey onto his eyes, sealing them shut.

  He tried to move, but he was paralyzed. Immobile. He couldn’t move himself any more than he could move the rock he was strapped to, or the palace far over his head. He sent his thoughts out, felt Vadden, knew Vadden was changing, and… Mouse? Two other men.

  Where was Seraphina? He wanted her to run away. He wanted her to rescue him. He wanted her to light the world on fire.

  “Calm down, little brother, we’re almost done,” he commanded. Neryan heard the man move, icy air shifting around him.

  Seraphina, I’m so sorry.

  “I’m sorry, Neryan, but this will hurt terribly for a moment,” Lyall said.

  Horror gripped Neryan and his muscles fired, one last vain attempt to thrash in his bonds, but it was pointless. He tried to open his mouth to shout, to do something, anything.

  Had he come all this way just to be… what? Gutted like a sheep on an altar? He sent a cry out through his mind, a shout to the heavens, hoping someone, anyone would hear him. He was a cornered bear, a caged wildcat. He was…

  Instead of a shout, a pathetic moan caught in his throat like food going down the wrong way.

  Words slipped into his ear in that strange liquid language. They sounded like a prayer.

  A flash of blinding, horrible pain.

  Then Lyall ripped out Neryan’s heart.

  Eyad

  He was choking on the panicked, anguished thoughts of a dying nation.

  Vadden ran, down and down, that howling hurtling after them, Eyad bouncing in his arms as they went. The tunnels seemed to reach into the belly of the world itself, spiraling down ever deeper. Eyad had been in these tunnels a hundred times before, and never once had he found one that went down this far, or this directly.

  Darkness spun around him as Vadden ran, holding him tight as though he was a small, frail child. Vadden’s eyes glowed like torches, and Eyad saw flashes of a whole world down here that he’d never had a chance to explore, and nor would he. Entrances opened out from landings in the descending tunnel, illuminated for mere moments by Vadden’s glowing eyes. Buildings pressed up against the wall here, a large square there. Later, a perfectly preserved well made of marble that looked so new it still gleamed. It made no sense, these things. He’d never seen them before. The tunnels he’d traveled in were just dirt, full of cobwebs and spiders, but nothing else.

  Vadden ran.

  Seraphina’s shouting followed them, her howls so keen and sharp, they made his head ring. Vadden’s jaw was clamped tight, his eyes never wavering as he ran down and down and down. Seraphina’s heat flowed after them, announcing her presence. She was burning through the world, nothing but rage and power now.

  He was terrified. Eyad hadn’t felt true, visceral fear like this since he watched Vadden leave ten years before, and this was so much worse. It wasn’t fear, but a darker, more primal emotion that made him want to crawl out of his own skin and disappear. He thought he’d lost the capacity to feel anything after Vadden had left; but here it was, roaring up in his chest, devouring him. He was helpless before it, embraced by it with hard, unforgiving arms as he bounced along to the rhythm of Vadden’s running steps, listening to the rapid tattoo of his husband’s heart. He was afraid, but Vadden would keep him safe from Seraphina, and for now, that was enough.

  Shrieking. So much shrieking. He’d carry that sound with him into his grave.

  Vadden turned a corner, and stopped dead. “I’m powerless here,” he said, sounding confused. Frightened. “Why am I powerless here?”

  They were in a large, open room, full of directionless white light, with odd stick-figure paintings in rainbows of colors on all of the walls. A high, domed ceiling gave the space an almost reverent, religious atmosphere. It all looked too well-kept to have been buried so deep. The rest of the ruins they’d traveled through had been covered in dust and worn by time. This place was pristine, and obviously maintained. Far out of place for how deep it was.

  “I am going to lay you down,” Vadden whispered in his ear. He gently set Eyad on the ground, but he felt stiffness in the motion, coiled tension and the willingness to act, if pressed.

  Eyad wanted to stand, or at least sit up, but he was too weak. His heart hurt. His eyes couldn’t focus. The room seemed to spin around him. The poison saturated every part of his body now, infusing the air in his lungs, tainting his blood.

  His left arm lay over Vadden’s feet. He was right there, protective, when he’d been about to stab him in his breast and end his life just moments ago. His eyes were white. He wore lightning like armor. He was beautiful, all power and hard lines. He wanted to die looking up at his husband, just like this.

  His dying mind was giving him new perspective. Eyad was a man with two natures, love or hate, and when he wasn’t in the bounds of one, he was wallowing in the waters of the opposite. His was a black-and-white world—and perhaps that twisted him up, tainted him somehow. Who was he kidding. He was a bottomless well of contradictions, and there was Vadden, always sitting on the ledge of his darkness, fishing for light. They’d been terrible and wonderful together.

  Why was it that he had to be dying to truly appreciate his own nature and the nature of his love for the first time? So many lost moments. He was nearly dead, and now he finally felt remorse. It filled him up like a bitter wine, and left him woozy, with his heart thumping slowly, painfully in his chest, and the world swaying around him, going just a tad darker.

  It was too much. He’d done too much today, and now he lay in this barrow, placed there by his husband, he knew he would not leave this room. That truth etched itself in his heart. He was staring death in the face, and he was unmoved. Unimpressed. If it was going to take him, he wanted it to be soon, rather than prolong the inevitable.

  “Ah,” a stranger said, cutting through his thoughts. His words were strangely accented, turning all the consonants into sharp points, elongating the vowels oddly. “You have finally arrived. Be welcome.” He was talking like nothing was wrong, like an inferno wasn’t chasing after them. Eyad tried to care, tried to muster some worry or fear, some nervous anxiety, but his body was too drained. Dying was taking up all his energy.

  He stretched, turned, shifted slightly, and looked around the room again.

  What was this place? And who was this man? Why were they here?

  Too many questions all at once, flowing through him like water. He was too weak to focu
s on them all, too weak to pick any one out and decide if it should actually be voiced. He could feel his body ending. He wondered who would be waiting for him when he finally closed his eyes.

  The heat from Seraphina’s fire seemed to have abated. It was still there, still in the air, but not nearly as strong as it had been before. He wondered what she was doing now. Maybe it was best left a mystery.

  Then Vadden gasped, and Eyad turned his head to follow his husband’s gaze.

  “Oh, Neryan,” he said.

  Neryan was less a man now, and more a body to be studied. His chest had been ripped open, ribs splayed wide, the cage that had been locking up his heart broken. Blood spattered everywhere, turning the granite rock he lay on into a wet, red ocean. His heart lay beside his pale, cooling corpse like a ruby; his eyes shut, locked in an eternal sleep. He looked like a fallen angel, too fair for the world. Ravaged by reality.

  No one deserved that fate. Seraphina must have known the moment Neryan had died, and…

  And then she’d broken. Of course she’d broken. No one could survive something like that. No one should survive something like that. If it had been Vadden on that slab, he’d burn the world, too.

  “What have you done to him?” Vadden shouted. He launched himself at the man, his body colliding with the stranger’s with a slap of flesh and a thump before the earth wrapped around his arms and legs, pinning him in place.

  “You are in my barrow,” the man said, his voice roaring in the cavern. “This is my space. My power rules here. I invited you in. You will not disrespect where I rest. Your friend is not dead, not really. Not yet. I do not want to subdue you, little brother, but I will if you do not play nice. I will master you if you force my hand.” Eyad had no doubt that was true, no doubt that this person would do everything he promised and none of it would be pleasant. “You will not speak again. You will stay on your side of the room, and leave me in peace. More is happening tonight than you understand. Get out of my way, or I will move you by force.” His power had been displayed, the ease of its use was shocking, proving his point.