by J. C. Owens
Pensir sighed and then drooped, his gaze rising to Tar and Brenaith. “Perhaps he is right. Books are heavy and cumbersome and…”
Tar put a hand on his shoulder, massaging lightly. “Gather the best ones, the ones you think are of most value. We cannot take them all, much though you would like to, but I think we can manage at least a few.” He gave his younger brother a gentle push in the direction of the shelves. “Get to it, boy. We don’t have much time. When Spensa awakens, get him to help. He is almost as bad as you about books.”
Pensir nodded, worry still evident, but as he turned and made his way to the shelves, his expression cleared into determination.
Tar turned back to Brenaith. “You and I have to come up with something to carry Shay in.”
Just like that, he was included in the plan, as though he were one of them. Close knit as they were, it was a compliment Brenaith could not help holding close.
* * *
They crested the ridge, looking back over their shoulders to see smoke beginning to rise from the position of the fortress.
It was Spensa who, upon awakening at last, had sensed the approach of the humans, and they had barely made it out without being detected.
They stood in a group, and Brenaith watched their expressions with a degree of sympathy. The fortress had been their home, and even he found himself flinching at the thought of Shaynith-una’s rooms being stripped and then burned. They had been a haven in that place of darkness. Still, he could feel absolutely no regret at Dasoam’s destruction. One less place in this world that would hold Lutan’s malignant energy. The Elites, however, would see it quite differently and he tried to respect that.
He let them have their moment, going over to the wagon and checking on Shaynith-una. They had rigged up a hammock within the wagon box, trying to ensure his ride would not jostle him cruelly.
Here in the cold, they had no option but to cover him in thick blankets. Brenaith lifted the corner of one, peering beneath it, his spirits rising as he realized the open wound around the knight’s ankle was definitely healing. The first truly positive sign that he was improving. Now they just had to make sure the journey did not set him back.
He jumped as a hand settled on his shoulder, but it was only Spensa, leaning over to get a look at the wounds as well. A small smile tilted his lips, the worried crease in his brow evening out a little. “That definitely looks to be healing. Once he gets to a certain point, I think it will happen quickly. His body is strong.” He paused, the worried line returning. “It is his will that is the problem, I think. Without Lutan…I do not know how this will affect him. To be a god’s creation and have that taken from you. I don’t know. Until he wakes, until we can feel his new essence, I am not sure what he is or will be.”
Brenaith nodded, unsure what to say. There was no point in even speculating on what the future could be.
The other Elites returned, Pensir with a suspicious sheen in his eyes, and they continued on.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brenaith startled awake, leaning up on one elbow.
The cave they had found sheltered them from the blowing snow outside. Glowing coals from the large fire they had used were sending waves of comforting warmth over him.
The others slept, worn from the day’s trials. The path had becoming increasingly steep, so that they often had to push the wagon to help the laboring horse, and their progress was slowing. Brenaith had the feeling that Tar would suggest leaving the wagon in the cave, although it certainly had been useful in carrying Shaynith-una this far.
He peered into the semi-darkness, wondering what had woken him. Putting out a hand, he snagged a piece of wood and placed it in the coals, waiting until it flared to life, the sudden burst of flame making him blink.
Rolling over, he gently pulled the blanket back from Shaynith-una’s face only to find red eyes staring back.
His breath stopped, then he smiled tentatively. Red eyes. Not pink. A good sign? Brenaith put out a tentative hand to touch the knight’s face. “You are awake. How are you feeling?”
Shaynith-una licked his lips, and Brenaith took the hint, leaning to his pack to find a water jar. He held it to Shaynith-una’s lips, and the knight drank almost frantically, one hand coming up to hold the jar more firmly. Brenaith took the time to observe the burns upon his face, noting with pleasure that they seemed to have stopped weeping, some even beginning to heal over. True improvement.
A good thing, if they had to carry him from here on out.
To his surprise, the shadow knight pushed the covers back and made an attempt to sit up. Shocked, Brenaith put a supporting arm behind him, trying desperately not to touch a wound.
That the movement was painful was beyond doubt. Shaynith-una’s eyes flared darker, teeth gritted. They sat there, Brenaith wincing with sympathy, watching the muscled back heave with each harsh breath. The pain must be beyond reason.
Yet, the knight held out his arm. “I want to get up. I have to move, my muscles need movement, and soon I will have to walk. You cannot carry me all the way there.”
Brenaith gaped. “You know where we are headed?”
“I have heard a great many things. I think I have been in a sort of half sleep because sound is clear to me.” He reached out, laid a gentle hand upon Brenaith’s cheek. “What are you doing, Brenaith? I wanted you free, and you are. Why then are you coming with us? The humans would not have harmed you, indeed they might have seen you as a surviving hero of the wars. Why would you do this?”
Why indeed.
Brenaith found himself leaning into the touch, closing his eyes. Shaynith-una was awake, was sitting here, touching him. In the horrible preceding days, that had seemed unlikely at best, impossible at worst.
The hand withdrew, and Shaynith-una viewed him closely, frowning. “Dars would get that look, want to be near me. Do you love me, Brenaith? Is that what this is?”
Brenaith reared back, eyes wide.
The knight tilted his head in that questioning way he had. “Why would loving me make you come with us? I don’t understand why it forces people to do things they would not normally do. It seems—foolish—to me.”
Brenaith took a deep, fortifying breath. The fact that he understood as little about the motivations he held as the shadow knight was not comforting. Surely he should be better at accounting for emotions, yet he could not say he could pare down his feelings into something recognizable.
“I feel something for you. I do not know if it could be termed love or not. But I want to help. I want to see you free of this, healed and finding somewhere you can discover who you have become.” He floundered to a stop.
Shaynith-una seemed to curl into himself, a motion so unlike his early demeanor. “But what am I now?” His whisper echoed between them, resonating with fear.
Shadow knights were raised to have no fear, that much Brenaith knew from his time in the fortress. That Shaynith-una was encountering this new emotion certainly pointed to a great change within him. So it seemed that even the shadow knight worried about what he had become. With awakening would come awareness of all that had changed.
Brenaith felt a throb of sympathy at the thought. He knew what it was like to find yourself torn apart, and when you came back together, discover that you were utterly different, newly formed around the pain within.
He was still trying to discover who he was, this new Brenaith who had survived so much. Was he stronger? Weaker? Or just more resilient? All he knew was that he was so far removed from who he had been before his capture, that it was like it had been someone else entirely.
In this, he could help Shaynith-una. For so long he had been utterly helpless, like a leaf on the breeze. But now he was free, whatever that truly meant, and it felt like healing itself to be able to aid someone else, to know he had use for his mind and not just his body. Brenaith had hidden his mind for so long, trying to protect that last bastion of self, that to be able to freely think now, to open himself, was a gift without pri
ce.
The only other being to know his thoughts was Shaynith-una. Brenaith was quite sure that if he had been given to any other shadow knight, his mind would have been torn apart and put back together in a manner more pleasing to his new master. From all he had heard, Lutan’s creations were fully capable of such things. Yet Shaynith-una had never attempted to recreate him. Indeed had clumsily used Tynan as a way to relax Brenaith.
That still made him shudder, but the reasoning behind it now made sense, as he knew the knight better and could understand his motivations. Somewhere, deep within, there was a part of Shaynith-una that no amount of demon blood, no conditioning from his birth onward could completely eradicate. Something finer. Whether it was elven, demon, or something created solely from the combination, he could not say. Only that he felt that Shaynith-una, in some fashion, was greater than either of his parents.
Demigod or not, he felt destiny-touched, as though his path would lead to greatness, good or bad.
The shadow knight again urged Brenaith to help him up, which the human did not think was a good idea at all. But when Shaynith-una struggled to get up on his own, a stubborn twist to his mouth, Brenaith was there to help, cursing at him quietly in order not to wake the others. It took all his strength to steady him, and after only a few steps, the shadow knight sagged to the ground, kneeling in the dirt of the cave, panting.
Brenaith had dragged a thick duvet with him, and he wrapped it now about Shaynith-una’s shoulders, holding him close and chiding him in whispers. “You should not be standing. Give yourself time to heal, damn it. Stubborn ass.”
A strained, rough sound came from the shadow knight’s lips, and it took a moment to realize it was laughter. Brenaith found his own lips quirking, pleased that, at last, he had brought humor to Shaynith-una, when before it had only been his brothers who had ever provoked such a reaction.
“Freedom does you good,” the knight wheezed, head hanging.
Brenaith’s grip tightened for a moment. “But does the release of the bond do you good?” he questioned softly.
There was silence between them, only the renewed crackle of the fire filling the night.
“I don’t know,” Shaynith-una whispered, a hint of despair in the tone. “I don’t know who or what I am now. Nothing is the same. When we were with the elves, I did not need blood, did not even seem to feel hunger. Now? Now I still feel nothing, though I have not eaten all this time. What creature does not need to feed?” Fear pulsed in the words.
“You have lost considerable weight,” Brenaith offered. “That is normal in anyone who has been ill. Sometimes hunger does not come when you are healing, at least at first. Now you are awake, perhaps things will change. Give yourself a chance to find out who you are. So much has happened, don’t be so anxious to find a swift answer.”
A trembling, long fingered hand came out of the duvet to clutch Brenaith’s fingers. “Be wary of me. I don’t know what lies in the depths of my soul now. I don’t know what will come to the fore.”
Brenaith turned his grip and held the hand close. “You told me that before. To save me. I think somehow, whatever will come, that you will surprise yourself with the caliber of what will appear.”
Shaynith-una opened one eye, peering at him quizzically. “You have more faith in me than I do. Is that a human trait? Faith? Certainly, if you are the norm, then humans must have incredible mental strength. I suppose it makes up for the frail bodies you are given.”
Brenaith only shook his head, feeling a warm, pleased flush at the words. It showed that the shadow knight was more aware of his servant than Brenaith had ever given him credit for.
“Up. Back to bed. It is too cold for these nighttime wanderings, no matter how much you might wish to be well enough to move. I was foolish to give in to you.” He heaved Shaynith-una back to his feet and they stumbled like drunken fools back toward the makeshift bed.
Only to see four pairs of eyes staring at them.
Shaynith-una sighed, obviously little surprised by his brothers’ wakening.
“Demon ears,” he whispered to Brenaith, his lips quirking faintly as the four frowned. Spensa rose from his warm covers to help. The humor he displayed was so different from the master Brenaith had known. It made him more approachable, seem less dangerous.
He had to remember the knight’s own words.
Be wary of me.
* * *
Shaynith-una was unable to walk in the morning, and it was evident that now awake, he was becoming frustrated. Brenaith heard his low cursing when he tried to push Pensir away as his brother helped him dress for the first time.
Brenaith worried that the barely healing wounds would break open with the touch of the cloth, but it was very clear that the shadow knight was in no mood for reasonable strictures. He stared at them, chewing his lip with thought. There had to be a way…
Brenaith found himself stepping forward, drawing his eating dagger from its sheath and slicing delicately across his little fingertip. There was a long silence as he held it beneath Shaynith-una’s nose.
The knight drew back, but Brenaith grasped him, pushing his bleeding finger between his lips before he could protest.
No fangs appeared, his eyes did not change color, but something flashed in them, something hot and hungry.
Before he could blink, his wrist was snared in powerful fingers, and Shaynith-una growled, a low, terrifying sound, before suckling on his finger, drawing the blood with painful rhythm.
He felt a hand descend on his shoulder and looked up into Tar’s eyes.
“This is a dangerous experiment.” The tone was bland, but Tar’s eyes were concerned.
“This gave him strength before. It might make a difference now.” Brenaith watched the shadow knight’s lips on his finger, feeling an uncomfortable surge of lust heat his body.
Tar’s frown held doubt, but he held his tongue.
It was only moments later that Shaynith-una’s fangs dropped into place, and he pulled Brenaith closer with terrifying strength, those needle sharp points sinking into his forearm. Brenaith grimaced, tried to hold fear at bay. He had begun this, he had to see it through.
The four brothers stepped closer, their concern obviously sharpening as their youngest brother showed no signs of letting go. Tar reached out to touch his shoulder, and Shaynith-una snapped round, his eyes wild and mad, blood upon his lips. His grip upon Brenaith tightened brutally, and he could not help crying out as clawed fingers raked his flesh, leaving bloody furrows in their wake.
The shadow knight pulled him back against him, snarling something in the demon tongue that made the brothers freeze in place, both confusion and fear rising in their expressions.
Brenaith panted with the pain. “My lord, Shaynith-una, you are hurting me. Please…”
Bloodred eyes pinned him in place, their wildness unnerving. He stared soundlessly at Brenaith for a few moments, then he blinked, his grip loosening, a hint of confusion in his expression.
“Please,” Brenaith whispered, never letting himself flinch or show the fear that so attracted a demon’s blood lust.
The shadow knight drew back, releasing him, glancing at his brothers with no recognition before suddenly collapsing forward, curling around himself, a sharp whine of pain echoing in the cave.
Tar was faster than all of them and he caught Shaynith-una before he hit the rock floor, his form, so much larger than his youngest brother, dwarfing the shadow knight.
The high-pitched keening made Brenaith flinch, his eyes widening as he saw the flesh on the knight’s back begin to heave, twisting and contorting in stomach-churning fashion. Brenaith felt nausea rise. It was nothing real, nothing possible. Yet the four older brothers did not seem unduly surprised. Their expressions showed more delight and anticipation than any sort of alarm.
Shaynith-una threw his head back and screamed—and his skin split upon his back, two ragged wounds forming as they watched. Wet, black ridges emerged, newborn, covered in blood and t
issue. They were tiny, fragile, but Brenaith could see they were wings, though nothing like the black, feathered form of his brothers. These seemed more delicate, more primal, like a bat’s wings.
Shaynith-una huddled, gasping, eyes half rolled back into his head, sagging into his brother’s embrace. His head lolled against Tar’s shoulder, and he seemed only half aware of his surroundings.
“Did I cause this?” The horror in Brenaith’s tone seemed to echo in the cave, emphasizing the emotion.
Spensa looked up, awe and pride in his eyes.
“If this was you, then you will be blessed by our people.” He shook his head as Brenaith looked disbelievingly at the pain the knight was enduring.
“When our brother was born, there was much disappointment from our god, for Shaynith-una was to be the embodiment of Lutan on earth. Instead, he seemed more elven-looking than demon, and it angered Lutan greatly. He tried to create other children, but each time, the elf woman would lose the child. It became evident that Shaynith-una would be his sole son, the only one he could create.” His eyes returned to his youngest brother, awe in their depths. “Yet, here, now, it is happening. I do not understand why.”
Tar held the shadow knight’s shivering form close, a protective gleam in his eyes. “This could not be worse timing. His wings are just forming. They are delicate and easily damaged. And the pain he will endure…” He shook his head. “We must continue. I do not believe this place will offer any safety in a day or two. The humans will follow, and our lord is too weak to protect himself. We will have to take the cart after all, even though it slows us.” His gaze fell upon Pensir. “The books will have to be left here, brother. We will return when we can. No one will find them here, and it is dry enough to keep them safe. The horse will manage a faster pace without the weight.”
Pensir glanced at Shaynith-una, then nodded. “His safety is of greater import than the books, much though I love them.”
