Mona Lisa Darkening m-4

by Sunny

Blaec did so cautiously.

  "So you are saying that Mona Lisa was transported down to NetherHell because of that tainted part of Mona Louisa's dead essence in her?"

  "Yes," the High Lord said. An expression too much like sadness moved in his eyes.

  "Then we go there and bring her back."

  Thick, stony silence.

  "Father," Halcyon said. "I need your help."

  A wave of energy pulsed out from the High Lord and filled the room. Power strong enough, suffocating enough, to snatch away Gryphon's breath and squeeze a gasp from him. At the involuntary sound, the oppressive power immediately lightened as Blaec brought himself back under control.

  "You cannot go there, Halcyon," Blaec said.

  "I cannot not go, Father. Please, you have to open the gate for me."

  Gryphon looked and saw something in Blaec's eyes that he could never have imagined seeing in a being so powerful and old. He saw fear — fear for his son.

  "Why don't you want Halcyon to go?" Gryphon asked.

  Blaec's gentle, even tone masked for a moment the dire contents of his words. "Because NetherHell is not like any place that you know of. It is the realm for the cursed, the damned. For the evil ones. And like the dead souls of the people it pulls down, the realm is twisted and evil in its own way. Those that walk the Nether Realm become altered. The damned souls that find themselves there start to change almost immediately. The corruption that is within starts to become visible on the surface of their skin after only a week's time. We know this because the gate between our two realms was once open. I closed it almost a millennia ago when a distorted Nether creature crossed into our realm and escaped into the living realm. Five demon guardians were lost and more than twenty humans were killed before we were able to stop it."

  "The potential for good and evil resides in all creatures. In animals as well as humans and Monère," Blaec said. "We are all a mix of good and bad. It is the balance between the two that is important, that decides which realm one goes to for those gifted with afterlife. Those who have more good balanced in them find themselves in Hell. Those who are more evil become inhabitants of NetherHell. Unlike other realms, though, the Nether Realm continues to actively distort the physical self, mutating it. Not only does it change the outer appearance, more important, it changes what is inside you. Slowly, surely, it grows the bad part that resides in you, expresses it more fully, molds it more strongly, twisting and unbalancing the natural equilibrium. No one is safe from this effect, because no one is one hundred percent good. There is some bad in all of us. With time, and time is a crucial matter here, all who reside there change. For the worse, not the better. Even if I reopen the gate, this thinning between the realms exists only for a twenty-four-hour period. After that, the barriers between the realms solidify again, and you would be trapped in that realm for another ninety-two days until the walls thin once more at summer solstice. Ninety-two days can alter you much in body and spirit. In so changed a state, I could not allow you to return to Hell," Blaec said, looking at Gryphon. "Do you understand?"

  He did. And his decision was an easy one. "Halcyon need not go. I'll find Mona Lisa and try to bring her back in that twenty-four-hour period. If I don't make it back in time, then I'll stay there in NetherHell. I'd rather become a twisted damned creature down there with her than exist here without her."

  "A noble sentiment," Halcyon said. "But you are newly dead. You, alone, are not strong enough to handle this task."

  "His new status will actually make it easier for him to walk the realm's thicker atmosphere," Blaec said.

  "Easier to physically walk that realm, yes. But not strong enough in psychic power to survive its many dangers as I could — to have any chance of finding Mona Lisa in less than a day and bring her back. He is only just coming into his demon strength. You know as well as I do that I must go."

  "I'm going with you," Gryphon said with firm resolve. "My existence here means nothing without her."

  "You are young in Monère years, as well as demon years," Halcyon said, not unkindly. "You will find another to love."

  "As you so obviously did," Gryphon said darkly. "In your over six hundred years of existence here, I'm sure you found dozens, hundreds, of other women to love before Mona Lisa."

  Halcyon nodded wryly, conceding Gryphon's point. Before Mona Lisa, he had found no one. After her, there would also likely be no one. "In this, sadly, I am in agreement with our young love-struck demon. I would rather be in that realm with her, just on the slim chance that she is there, than exist here without her. I'm sorry, Father."

  Both grief and understanding were in Blaec's eyes. "You have found love. Love such as few of us ever know. It is not something to be sorry about, son. It is a treasure worth fighting to reclaim. But thought of losing you…"

  "It comforts me to know that you will be here if I don't return," Halcyon said, gripping his father's arms. "You have guided our people for more centuries than I have existed. In truth, I have always felt partly to blame for your withdrawal, for the apathy that gripped you for so long."

  "Why would you feel such guilt?" Blaec asked.

  "Because had I not been here to take over the rule of our people, you would never have allowed yourself to fall into such a state."

  "You are my son," Blaec said, frowning fiercely. "You and your sister, Lucinda, are the sole reasons why I still exist."

  "Then you know why I must go. Please, Father. Open the gate for us."

  Slowly, the High Lord nodded. "Very well. I will reopen the gate this one last time. You will have twenty hours to bring her back." Several hours had already passed since the clock started ticking. "If you do not return by then, the gate — and this realm — will be forever closed to you."

  CHAPTER NINE

  I was in real trouble. That knowledge was driven home stingingly sharp as the whip cut into my flesh. I wrapped my hands around the thick leather and pulled. The whip-wielder was smarter this time. He released it — not that I could do much with it. By the time I unwound it from around my neck and shoulders. Miles had reached me. His sword came slashing down, murder, mayhem, and hate filling those blue eyes.

  As death faced me — final death — something shifted within me. Literally. It was like being sucked down while something else, someone else, rolled over me. Mona Louisa came to the fore and took control, and I felt my body shift, rearrange itself, shrinking in places, expanding in others. The bones in my face altered, taking on her distinct cast, and from deep down inside, I heard Mona Louisa speak. "Stop, Miles!"

  Surprisingly, he did. He saw his old Queen, heard her command, and obeyed. The sword that would have severed my head off my shoulders stopped in midstroke. The tip of the blade dropped limply to the ground. And so did he, falling to his knees in boneless shock.

  "Mona Louisa?" His voice trembled with emotion, with something that sounded almost like — you've got to be kidding me — joy. "Is it that truly you?" he asked.

  Yup. Joy quivered his voice. I was surprised because Mona Louisa was the reason for his death. His crime had simply been carrying out her orders.

  He doesn't hate you, I thought.

  Of course not. He loves me. And Mona Louisa, in her own way, loved him. Like a useful pet. It was weird and really creepy being able to hear her thoughts and feel her emotions while she held sway over my body. I didn't try to fight her for control. Later, perhaps. We'd see later whose will, whose strength, was greatest. For now I was more than happy to let her run the show.

  As I had been with you, came the mocking thought. But your fighting skills are of no use now with two broken legs. My wile and cunning will serve us better.

  I certainly hoped so.

  "How can this be?" Miles asked. The other bull dheu had backed away with fear in his eyes.

  "Two spirits dwell in this one body," Mona Louisa told him. Or would that be bodies, I wondered? Two spirits with two bodies inhabiting the same space. It was like I was being subleased out against my will. But as l
ong as she paid the rent — i.e., kept us from being chopped up into little pieces — I would tolerate it.

  You tolerate nothing. It is only what I allow.

  Oh yeah? We'd see later which one of us wore the pants of this changeable body. For now, I wanted her to do something useful, besides keeping us from being sliced and diced. Find out where the hell we are? Or if we even are in Hell?

  I felt her face twist into a frown. But she obviously wanted to know as much as I did, because she complied with my demand.

  "Where are we?" she asked Miles.

  "We are in NetherHell, milady."

  "What part of Hell is that?"

  "It's not. It's another, separate realm. What inhabitants call the Cursed Realm."

  "The Cursed Realm?" Shock and fear strummed through both of us. I screamed inside, a long soundless scream — No!

  "Are we dead?" she asked, ignoring my inner howling.

  Miles nodded, his face bleak.

  Ask him to take us to Hell, I said.

  "You must bring me to Hell," Mona Louisa repeated.

  Coarse sounds came from behind Miles. I — or rather she — looked and saw that we had more company. Pietrus and the other two bull dheus had decided to grace us with their attention, now that their other prey had flown the coop. It took a moment to realize that the coarse snorting sounds they were making was laughter.

  "Look at what we have here. A Monère Queen," Pietrus said. His eyes had filled with more intelligence. Pity. I liked him much better stupid. "Or would that be two Monère Queens? Two for the price of one." He guffawed a few more times, laughing at his own joke, then strode up to Miles and cuffed him in the head. The slight blow knocked Miles down like a bowling pin tipped over onto its side. "Up off your knees. One good thing about this cursed existence is that we no longer bow down to Queens."

  Miles lurched to his feet, fists clenched, but he didn't challenge the bigger bull dheu.

  Were all the bull dheus here former Monères? I wondered.

  "Is this your former Queen, Miles?" Pietrus asked.

  "She is."

  Pietrus grunted. "Much better looking than the other one. This one's beautiful enough to warrant our lord's interest instead of selling her to the slavers." He turned and gazed at Mona Louisa, all mirth dying on that new smooth face. "There is no escape from this realm. But your fate, if you are fortunate enough, will be easier than that of the men we captured. You may even retain your beauty," he said, reaching out to stroke a rough finger over our cheek.

  Inside I shuddered. Mona Louisa bore the caress without flinching. "Then bring me to the one you serve," she said haughtily. It was weird hearing her cool voice issuing out of my mouth. No matter the shape of the lips, wider than my own, I still saw it as my mouth, my body.

  Anger flared in the bull dheu's eyes. But instead of striking Mona Louisa, he wrapped huge fingers around her jaw. Both Mona Louisa and I felt the punishing power in that grip. "If you wish to keep your lovely face intact, do not presume to issue me orders."

  Wisely, Mona Louisa kept her mouth shut.

  "Bring her," he snarled at Miles. Releasing our face, he and the others strode away.

  "Milady," Miles said, kneeling back beside us. "I must straighten your leg before it begins to heal."

  The lower half of my right leg was bent out at an angle that no normal leg should have been able to achieve. Mona Louisa stared down at it unflinchingly. I, on the other hand, felt my stomach pitch and heave at the gross sight. Trying to stand on it had definitely not been one of my better ideas.

  Mona Louisa nodded her consent and much too soon, before I was ready, Miles realigned the broken pieces with one sharp pull. Outwardly, Mona Louisa didn't make a sound. Inside, I screamed for the both of us.

  Miles ripped off his sleeves, tore them into four strips, and used his sword and sheath to splint our leg. His bared arms showed the same repulsive growth that was sprinkled on his face. Mona Louisa stared fixedly at the unsightly blemishes, her jaw clenched tight, as he moved to our left leg and examined it. "Did this leg pain you when you stood?"

  "Yes."

  "Then the long bone is likely cracked, but still intact."

  Exactly what I had deduced without all that poking and prodding.

  "Hold on to me, milady," Miles said, and lifted her into his arms with gentle care. It was one of the most bizarre things, to be carried by your enemy, held so tenderly by him. I felt emotion move like a soft wave in Mona Louisa, and she lifted a hand, ran it lightly over the ugly, bumpy growth that had begun to crust over Miles's face. No words. But that touch was an unspoken apology. Not for the part she had played in his death — that she still believed had been her right as Queen, to command and have him blindly obey. But remorse for his death… yes, she felt that now when she hadn't before.

  "I'm sorry that you are here in this realm," she whispered. "But I am glad that I am not alone."

  Good old Mona Louisa, I thought. Selfish as always.

  Mile's reaction, though, was vastly different. He stopped, held motionless for a second, as if he wasn't used to having her apologize or speak to him so. Or maybe he simply hadn't expected her to touch him, as blemished as he was. With that same careful gentleness, he turned his face and brushed his lips lightly against her fingers, before continuing to walk.

  You're wrong, she thought. I'm different. Such words and action are not my usual habit or inclination. More like yours. She seemed surprised, thoughtful. It seems inhabiting the same flesh, sharing your thoughts and emotions, as well as your body, has affected me more than I was aware of.

  It didn't cost you much, did it, I asked, that gesture, those words?

  Kindness is not my usual nature. She spoke matter-of-factly. But it is yours.

  Not always, I answered, thinking of the brutal, violent part of myself that was emerging.

  No, not always. I am quite aware of your ruthless side. But even that you wield for others, which is very odd. Against our nature.

  Her comment puzzled me. Why?

  Because it is not conducive to survival.

  Her answer shut me up. I couldn't argue against that, not considering where I was.

  In the fifteen minutes it took us to catch up to the others, both of my legs had healed. The swelling was absorbed, the bruising faded away at a far more rapid speed than I was used to. She wiggled her toes and we felt no pain. Sweet.

  "I am healed," she said. "Put me down."

  Miles stopped but didn't set her down. "We are almost to the others. If I may, I would like to hold you a little bit longer."

  Not carry. But hold.

  He stood, waiting silently for her reply, and again she surprised me… and perhaps herself. She nodded her consent.

  Miles hesitated, as if expecting her to abruptly change her mind. When she didn't, he continued walking.

  As you said, came her voice inside me, it does not cost me much. He serves me still. Gives me care and respect when he no longer needs to. A moment more in his arms is not much to give in return.

  What? I asked dryly. You no longer consider his services, his respect, your simple due?

  Her answer was pragmatic. It is a different realm, with different rules and different rulers. The only thing familiar to me is this man who carries me and the three others who once served me. Her next thought was more misty feeling than actual words. Small wonder that I should want his arms around me longer for comfort. To cling as he does, to what is familiar.

  Lucky you, I whispered, feeling true envy. I had nothing. Everyone that I had loved was gone — my life, my people, my lovers. Even Halcyon and Gryphon were lost to me. Being dead in the Cursed Realm sucked.

  Yes, it does came her agreement. But her hand stroked that blond hair and through our shared feelings, I knew that even caked with dirt, the strands still retained a hint of their silky softness. The part of me that was Mona Louisa remembered doing that in the past, stroking her fingers over her men's hair, part ownership, part simple enjoyment of
the soft sensation.

  Miles released a soft sigh.

  The sounds and scent of blood grew stronger as we crested a ridge and saw the others. The more senior soldiers walked ahead, while Gilford, Demetrius, and Rupert herded the captives from behind. The frequent crack of their whips drove the prisoners at a fast, shuffling pace. All the prisoners were roped together, even the two men forced to carry the limp form of the unconscious man the inmate had beaten to a pulp. They were tethered to their burden, one roped to the unconscious man's bound hands, the other to his feet. If they tried to run, they wouldn't get far, not roped as they were to their heavy burden. The inmate and the two others struck down by swords stumbled along, hunched over, pushed and pulled by the other prisoners tied in front of them and behind them.

  "They are not healed yet like I am," Mona Louisa observed.

  "Humans heal slower and are less strong than Monère. The same in death as it was in life," Miles said, setting her on her feet. The gentle, careful way he handled her touched her against her will.

  You have made me softer, she hissed.

  Sometimes you find greater strength, greater power in softness, I replied.

  Miles knelt, unknotting the cloth ties and removing the sword splint from her leg. I — or Mona Louisa, rather — walked the rest of the distance on our own two healed legs.

  Gilford, Demetrius, and Rupert glanced back and saw her. Startled, shocked expressions crossed their faces, almost as if they were seeing a ghost.

  Mona Louisa laughed in my mind. They are, silly Mixed Blood. They are seeing a ghost.

  They almost knelt, a knee-jerk reaction that had carried over from life into death. They were stopped by a low growl from Pietrus, who watched us. They dipped their heads down instead.

  "Milady," Gilford said respectfully as we walked up beside him. Sliding off the extra supply sack he had carried on his shoulder, he passed it to Miles. "What of the other Queen that we saw, Mona Lisa?" Gilford asked in a low voice.

  A brief, awkward moment of silence, before Miles said, "She shares the same body as our Queen."