The Goddess of the Underworld: The Chronicles of Arianthem VIII

by Samantha Sabian

  “Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

  Y’arren and Idonea exchanged significant glances, and Skye grew wary.

  “What?”

  “First tell me how you felt on this quest,” Y’arren said.

  “I felt fine,” Skye said again, realizing that she was just repeating herself and the description was insufficient. She thought back.

  “When I first cast the ephemeral spell on all of us, it was not hard. When I released Drakar from the spell, it grew easier. I began to grow a little tired as Kylan and I made our way through the castle, but I was able to release Kylan from the spell as well, when we came upon Volva. Then I had only to keep myself hidden.”

  “Until the stone fell.”

  “Yes,” Skye said, then fell silent as she grew thoughtful. Y’arren and Idonea exchanged another glance.

  “I really didn’t think I would be able to stop that stone,” Skye murmured, half to herself, “I caught it right before it struck Kylan and made it pass through both her and the ground.”

  Skye toyed with a flower, caressing the silky petals with her fingers.

  “And you reappeared to save Kylan?” Y’arren prompted.

  “Yes,” Skye said, fingering the plant. “I couldn’t maintain the spell on myself and the stone at the same time. Then I had to run away, because Volva could see me.”

  “And yet you were able to cast the spell a final time, on an enormous object, while exhausted, and fleeing for your life.”

  “Yes, and—,” Skye stopped, unable to put her feelings into words. Y’arren and Idonea waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts.

  “And strangely, that was the easiest of all.”

  Y’arren rubbed the head of her gnarled wooden staff, an area worn smooth by this action over years. She sighed. It was as she expected.

  “What?” Skye asked. “You act as if that was a bad thing.”

  “No,” the ancient elf said, “not a bad thing. It can be a very good thing, but one not without consequences.”

  Skye turned to Idonea, who might better explain Y’arren’s sometimes oblique pronouncements.

  “I once told you what Isleif thought about pure light magic, that it was possible it could reach a tipping point and become self-sustainable, replicating almost without end. You may be nearing that tipping point.”

  “Me?” Skye said in disbelief. “I am hardly capable of that.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Y’arren said. “And if it comes to that, you may be able to accomplish extraordinary things. Unheard of things. But it will come with a price.”

  “Yes,” Skye said, “I remember the whole ‘destroying the world’ thing.”

  “That is one danger,” Y’arren agreed, “but I’m beginning to think you can avoid that if you’re not casting a destructive spell. But there will still be a price.”

  “What price?”

  Y’arren rubbed the wooden head of her staff once more, staring down at its knotted surface.

  “What price?” Skye said, turning to Idonea.

  “There is the very real possibility your power will be exhausted,” Idonea said. “You might never be able to practice magic again.”

  Skye did not have to long consider this option. “I don’t care. I spent most of my life without magic. And if I can save Raine, then I will gladly give it up.”

  Y’arren nodded. “That is what I thought, but I could not allow you to proceed without knowing the risks.”

  Skye was adamant. “Raine has saved my life more times than I can count. And one time when I was standing right up there on that terrace,” she said, pointing up to the passageway overhead, “when I felt lost because I was endangering everyone around me. She told me that one day I would save her. And I will take her words over any stupid prophecy.”

  Y’arren glanced up at the terrace. More she would have to meditate upon, another revelation from Raine. It seemed her goddaughter had left clues, particularly with this Tavinter. And those clues made it appear as if Raine was in a war of words with the gods themselves.

  Chapter 33

  Hel found Raine in the shrine, her back pressed up against the words of the prophecy, staring up at the empty eyes of her lover. The mortal had avoided this room for some time, for Hel had grown angry at the amount of time she spent sitting before Talan and had trapped her on the bench. She had dropped the Arlanian’s pants around her ankles and gone down on her for an extended period of time, her hungry mouth and tongue driving the woman to orgasm, then climaxing herself as the mortal twisted about beneath her dragon lover’s unseeing eyes. Hel would not have her possession pay attention to another, and she particularly enjoyed the captive audience, unseeing or not, of one who had spurned her.

  Hel settled on the bench across from Raine, and regarded her Consort. The mortal had changed of late, perhaps yielding to her unending attentions with a degree of resignation. Her fate would not change. There were many things Hel wanted to try as she carried the Arlanian deeper and deeper into the world of sexual darkness that awaited her. Truly, she had been gentle thus far, but the mortal had proven remarkably resilient, a characteristic that would prove unfortunate for her future. Hel had no desire to harm her, but the thought that the Arlanian would both climax and survive, no matter what she did to her, thrilled and fired her imagination.

  As much as Hel enjoyed physically tormenting the Arlanian, the mental games she played with her entertained her even more. She was ever-vigilant against any softening towards her, wary of any weakness or tender feelings that might arise, and perhaps the expression of that vigilance was her brutality.

  “So,” Hel said, “you seem to grow resigned to your position.”

  Raine’s eyes drifted downward and settled on the Goddess, but she did not speak.

  “I could see your many schemes and plans when I first brought you here. Your thoughts of escape. Even when I revealed the prophecy to you, I could see you still had hope. But at last, I see that hope is dying.”

  Raine still did not speak, merely sat staring mutely.

  “Did you think to make me fall in love with you?” Hel said mockingly. “Did you think I would regret my actions? See the error of my ways? Did you think that I would grow soft and one day set you free?”

  Raine could have denied any and every part of the conversation. But instead, she responded quietly, with a confidence that was devastating.

  “I know that you will not fall in love me,” she said, and then paused.

  “Because you’re still in love with Talan.”

  Hel did not flinch at the pronouncement, but it was a testament to the blow that she did nothing at all. She just sat there staring. Raine expected any response: laughter, denial, the infliction of violence, pain, even death. But instead, the Goddess just sat there, stunned by the perfect strike.

  The two adversaries sat across from one another, one composed in her helplessness, one flustered in her omnipotence. At last, after what felt an eternity, the Goddess stood, smoothed her robes, and walked away.

  Chapter 34

  The dust of the Empty Land drifted to and fro on the horizon. The barren landscape looked even more forbidding than it had twenty-some years before. Idonea sat on her black stallion, wearing a long, maroon robe emblazoned with glyphs representing the interplay between dark magic and dragons. The vestments swirled about her in the gusts of wind as she held her staff at her side.

  Feyden sat next to her on a white horse, eschewing the hardened armor of the high elves and instead wearing his personal armor, a greenish leather that moved as one with him. The elven markings on his jerkin told the history of his people. His sword glinted in the sunlight, its gold hilt polished to a high sheen, and his bow was strapped to his back.

  Next to him, Lorifal was astride a brown horse, his stout figure solid in the saddle, his great axe slung over his shoulder. H
is horse was stockier than the others, shorter in the leg and more muscular, a perfect beast to accommodate the heavy burden of its rider in full dwarven armor.

  To Idonea’s right was Elyara of the Halvor, also dressed in the flowing garments of a mage, hers green where Idonea’s were maroon, and covered with the yellow glyphs of the wood elves and the natural world. She, too, was astride a horse and bore a staff, one holding an orb illuminated with a soft green glow.

  And at Elyara’s side was her love of two decades, the one she had met on this same journey years ago. Dagna, Official Bard of the Empire, who bore a sword and a shield, the latter emblazoned with the crest of the current Empress. She wore light armor and rode a sturdy steed, for their journey would be long, this she knew.

  Bristol also knew the length of the journey, and he had been a much younger man when they had made it before. But still he wore the heavy armor of a Knight Commander, his broadsword strapped to his back, his helmet tied to his saddle until it would be needed. It was likely days before they would meet an enemy or battle, but he was prepared nonetheless.

  Skye was slightly behind the six, sitting on a blue roan that grazed placidly while she unconsciously stroked its neck. She wore the Tavinter leather armor with an eagle on her chest, the uniform of the First Ranger of the Ha’kan. Her sword hung at her side, her bow strapped to her back. There was a peculiar tension about her, as if she were balancing on some unsteady, unseen object, but displaying a confidence and certainty that Idonea had rarely seen in her.

  “How are you feeling?” Idonea asked. “Are you certain you can do this? It’s a very long journey.”

  If Skye had shown the slightest bit of indecision or doubt, they would go with a secondary plan. But Skye answered breezily.

  “I feel good. I feel strong.”

  Idonea looked to her companions, the five who had made this journey with her so many years ago, when she had foolishly sought to steal the soul of an Ancient Dragon, and Raine had saved her. Raine had saved them all, time and again, and now it was time for them to repay her.

  “Then cast your spell.”

  Skye did so, and the band turned translucent while the land around them remained solid.

  Idonea nudged her steed, and it began trotting out across the forbidding desert, followed by the fluid-like horses of her companions.

  Chapter 35

  The Gardener was tending the saplings, and Raine lay on the bench on her back watching him. His transparent form bent over the small trees, preening them, talking to them, and generally just muttering to himself. He was quite mad, that was apparent, but Raine could not hear the nonsense that streamed from him. She could only see the contortions of his translucent face, but that was enough to give clue to his insane ramblings. She could not interact with him in his parallel world, and she wondered how he was able to interact with the plants, musing that it might have been the nature of the plants themselves. They were all unholy renditions of real plants, night jasmine, red flare, fluorescent gladiolas, similar enough to be recognizable, but with something dark running through their veins. Perhaps death itself ran through the stems, just like it ran in the golden sap of the young trees.

  Usually the sight of the Gardener would fill Raine with dread, for it would bring forth the Goddess. Hel would enter the realm of the dead to speak with him, and his animated gesturing increased proportionally, making him appear even more unbalanced than his normal state. When she returned, she would invariably set her sights on Raine, and Raine would soon be on her back, on her knees, or pinned or tied in whatever position pleased Hel.

  But Hel was gone right now, that much of which Raine was certain. As composed as she had been in her deadly verbal salvo, Raine knew there would be repercussions, and the way that Hel looked at her after that, with a seething intensity and a promise of retribution, made her body and blood turn cold. The assertion regarding Talan had been an educated guess, but it had landed with devastating effect.

  But the Goddess of the Underworld wasn’t in the Underworld, for Raine could breathe easier, did not feel as cold, and did not have the constant wariness that burdened her like a heavy cloak, its weight essential but exhausting. Feray and Faen took turns watching her, one or the other, if not both, never very far. But their attention did not weigh on her the way that Hel’s did. Feray tended to blend into the background with circumspect efficiency, treating Raine much as she treated the Goddess. And Faen had given up taunting the mortal, rather simply watched her with his glowing eyes as his emotions regarding the Arlanian had grown so complex it hurt his head to think of her. Hatred, jealousy, fear, and grudging respect warred within him. One somehow overwhelmed the other three, although he still watched her, hopeful to see her commit some infraction he could gleefully carry back to his Mistress. The handmaidens were always a possibility, for they fluttered about her in a constant state of attempted seduction, but the mortal was steadfast in ignoring them. So he sat in his silent contemplation, engaging in more self-reflection than he had at any time in his long life.

  Raine relaxed, staring up at the night sky which still held the constellations of Arianthem. She had feared that Hel would take them from her, and she probably would when she returned, but for now she would enjoy this one connection with home.

  Chapter 36

  Idonea gazed downward into the endless depths at the Edge of the World. They had moved slowly across the Empty Land, but unlike before, they had not had to battle an army of Hyr’rok’kin. In fact, they had met little life of any kind other than a few snakes and beetles. The Empty Land had been utterly desolate, and the band had only the elements to fight, a battle for which they were well-prepared.

  Skye stood staring down into the emptiness below her and remembered Raine describing the vertigo that took hold at that place. It was difficult to tell if she was on a cliff looking down or on the ground looking into a massive hole, and the sensations alternated, causing dizziness and mental discomfort. Still, a shiver of excitement passed down her back. She was standing at a place very few in all of history had seen.

  “How are you doing?” Elyara asked. Skye liked the kind, gentle elf, as well as her ribald companion, the imperial bard. They made an interesting couple, really quite opposite in all things. But one characteristic they shared became apparent the minute they set out on the quest: both were fierce, experienced warriors in their own way.

  “I’m fine,” Skye said, smiling. “This is really no strain at all.”

  “Good,” Idonea said, “because I think from here on out, we should remain invisible.”

  The band had been invisible for the majority of the journey, uncloaking briefly to communicate, which was much easier in a solid state. The fact that Skye was able to maintain the spell even when she slept was a revelation to Idonea and did indeed support Isleif’s supposition that Skye’s magic could become self-sustaining. Idonea just hoped that it did not become like the ball of light: an unstoppable force gently bobbing along in a straight-line path, annihilating everything in its way.

  “Not ephemeral?” Skye asked.

  “No,” Idonea replied. “Not yet. I don’t want to overtask you. It’s a long, steep trip down, and although I have no doubt of your physical conditioning, we need you to stay strong. We will have to leave the horses here.”

  At that pronouncement, the black stallion and blue roan transformed into Drakar and Kylan in their human form.

  “Ah, that was enjoyable,” Drakar said, who had carried his sister across the Empty Land.

  “Hmm,” Kylan said, less than convinced, “I think that’s the longest I’ve been ridden without a climax at the end of it. You owe me, little Tavinter.”

  Skye turned bright red, wishing she could come up with any clever response. That was a debt she would gladly pay.

  “Don’t rattle her,” Idonea said, “we don’t want her to lose control.”

  “Not here, anyway,” Kyl
an said, the double-meaning clear. Idonea cast her a scolding glance.

  “Skye, go ahead and return us to invisibility.”

  Skye complied, and the band turned translucent to one another, and invisible to the rest of the world.

  “One advantage of invisible over ephemeral is that we can see the landscape better,” Skye said, remembering the disorientation of watching a transparent Drakar against the background of a transparent courtyard.

  “We’ll just have to watch our step,” Idonea agreed.

  The small band started down the trail leading into the Veil. “Trail” was a misnomer, for it was more like a highway now. Years before, preparations were being made to widen the path, but it had still been fairly narrow. Now it was broad with little danger of falling over the edge, built to accommodate the army of Hyr’rok’kin that had marched forth from it. Although the road was steep, it was smooth and the trek was not as difficult as decades before.

  “Isn’t it strange,” Dagna said, “to see Idonea be the responsible one?”

  “Indeed,” Feyden responded as Lorifal chuckled, and Elyara muffled laughter with her hand.

  “You may be invisible,” Idonea said, “but I can still hear you.”

  Raine sat before Talan in the shrine. As usual, the sight of her lover brought her comfort. She had spent hours running her hands over the amber surface of the tomb, searching for any weakness or defect, always out of sight of the Goddess or her minions. She had even pounded upon it with her bare fists, then any implement she could find. But nothing had worked or had any effect. The surface was flawless.

  So Raine sat before the silver-haired woman in the dragonscale armor, admiring her high cheekbones, her full lips, the golden eyes that stared out at nothing. She had no fear that the Goddess would catch her; Hel was still gone. Although Feray would probably report her vigil upon her return, that would be the least of the transgressions for which Raine faced punishment. And Raine thought that punishment would be great, for the Goddess had been gone longer this time than she ever had before.