“I tire of this,” Jovian said, drawing his sword with such swiftness that Angelica didn’t realize what he had done until she saw the sword raised in his hands.
“Patience,” Porillon said, holding up her hand. Instantly the air around Jovian’s hand froze solid, and though he struggled with all his might, he could not move the Shin-Buto. “I have not finished yet. I see that you grow restless, so I will not go over what is already common knowledge. I do feel, however, that you need to know what led to this point. Why did I select your sisters out and not you? Where was I all this time that I had not been found when Sylvie destroyed all the other Alarists that had dealings in her sisters’ demise? Rest assured she knew that I was the one who converted and led to their fall. Also know that she sought long and hard for me in the process of her genocide.”
Neither of them spoke, but Porillon felt that she had their attention enough that she released Jovian from her wyrded hold.
“First you should know that I traveled many places trying to flee from your mother’s wrath, for it was just and it was merciless. Finally I found refuge with the Chaos Dwarves of the Realm of Earth. They were very hospitable … after a time, that is. It took some encouragement on my end for them to see things my way.
“Years I stayed with them learning things from them even as I taught them. Sometimes my lessons were unwanted, but they learned nonetheless; as you can imagine this did not help my disposition much. How many years I stayed with them I lost count, but there came news on wyrded air one day that four children had been born. Can you believe that – four children? Quintuplets! I was shocked that one woman could have so many children on a plantation, away from sound medical treatment, and even make it through the birth of more than two; after all, she was rumored to be very small indeed. Why, something like this could have been said to be miraculous, and we know who grants miracles.” Porillon turned to point at the statue of the pregnant Goddess towering above them all, as if they needed the clue.
“I could not deny how much the wyrd of the Great Realms had changed with the coming of the four children. At first I believed it was just because of the death of the Twin Flames or the Splitting of the World. Don’t get me wrong; those things affected the wyrd greatly, but not as much as two of those four children did. The wyrd seemed to hum with the coming of those two, for they would be like none of the world had seen. They would be so filled with wyrd that they would be like gods among men, blah ,blah, blah.” Porillon rolled her hand along with her eyes as if she were reciting rubbish. She stopped and looked the two of them over and then smirked. “Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t see anything all that great. I have already killed one of you once; I don’t think the second time will be all that hard.
“Anyway, with my curiosity piqued I began looking more into this phenomenon. Two names came to me then, along with a prophecy. The prophecy was old, spoken before even the coming of the LaFayes, but the names were new. Neferis I recognized immediately, for that was one of the first male followers Sylvie and Pharoh attracted. It was no shock to find that Dauin was the supplier of that name; him I knew intimately.” Her eyes flashed scandalously, and the fire kindled hotter within Angelica and Jovian as if, for some reason, they were filled with jealousy at the thought of this woman having lain with their father.
“The second name I had heard before, but it took me some time to remember where I had heard it: Misha.” Porillon stopped and tapped her chin thoughtfully, as if she were showing them exactly how long it took her to think of where the name came from, and as if even now she had forgotten it again. “AH!” she exclaimed, her eyes brightening and her finger pointing up as if she had now just found the name. “It wasn’t a very common name, but a name that Sylvie often gave to her wolf side. Imagine that – an uncommon name, gifted to a shape changer’s alter ego paired with the last name of one of their followers. Why, if Sylvie was trying to hide she did not do a great job of it, for mere months after having left the embrace of the Chaos Dwarves I had found her.
“Or at least I had found the trace of her. But in finding that trace I found her family, and her four beautiful little babies.” She cooed the last part as if she were even now talking to those babies and not the adults they had grown into. “Oh, just a bit of useless information. Did you know that the two of you were stillborn? That is, before your birth killed Sylvie. You were the death of her, you know?”
They hadn’t known, but something inside of them knew, as if there was a wisdom within them that was older than them, wiser, and more knowing of life before they had come, the life of their family.
“That is of no consequence now. What did matter, however, was that your dearest Aunt Pharoh had intended on Sylvie’s having a child, one – singular. But she didn’t. Instead she had a litter, which, of course is another thing that alerted me to the bizarre nature of four children birthed at once; it was like the damn woman had a litter of pups.” Porillon crowed at her own joke, but hers was the only laughter that drifted on the air, and soon it stopped.
“Anyway, this child Pharoh knew was going to be gifted in wyrd, she knew this child was going to be a sorcerer like her, so she had passed the medallion with her essence in it down to Sylvie. Not many people knew why, but I did. I knew that she intended on teaching the next child in her ways, and then instructing the sorcerer in question to finish her work, for that is where Pharoh went wrong – she never finished the work the Goddess had set down for her.
“Now this is where it got sticky,” Porillon said wagging her finger. “With four children how could I be sure which one would be the sorcerer of whom she spoke?” She shrugged. It became apparent to Angelica and Jovian that she was beginning to forget their presence as she got wrapped up in her own memories. “I took my chances, of course, and took the firstborn. I knew that two of the four children were not sorcerers. Gossip, you see, works wonders. See, Dauin knew that all of his children were gifted in wyrd. How he knew exactly I am not sure, though I suspect that bit of information had come to him by the courtesy of Grace. She does seem to crop up a lot in your history; too bad she won’t be around to see your future.
“Now that I knew Dauin knew of your wyrd, I also figured that Dauin knew what Pharoh had intended, and ever being the devout follower he would want the medallion to teach all of you, but how would he do that? Well, he would gift it to you in order of birth: Amber, Joya, Angelica, and then Jovian. Of course, with Amber and the medallion gone he wouldn’t be able to pass it on.” She stopped and turned to them as if she suddenly had a grand idea. “How rich – steal the medallion along with the firstborn? Why yes, there was my answer!
“The boy in Meedesville was not hard to … persuade. After all, it only took that which the Goddess holds in high esteem to influence him. Once he fell in love with my agent he was very easy to manipulate. And dear Arael, you would not imagine how quickly he fell.” Porillon cackled outright as if she half expected them to join in her merriment.
“I forget what it was like to be young and in love.
“Anyway, young he may have been, but effective he was in his chore. He stole Amber right from under your nose and set Baba Yaga on your trail. I still don’t know how he was able to pull that one off; the old crone is not normally one to be swayed by wyrd like ours, but swayed she was. Of course, we rewarded him for his efforts.” Porillon smiled wickedly. “He finally got what he wanted, my agent. His body was never the same after that. Oh,” she added, seeing their anger at her mention of rape. “Rest assured he liked every minute of it, but the wyrd of that night was so much that he will be forever changed.”
The fire within them kindled more into hate. They could understand their hatred of her, but at the same time the fury was not one like they should have been feeling. They hated her for more than what she was speaking of right now. They hated her for things in the past that they could not completely explain, things they didn’t know the entirety of.
“Like I said, they did well in getting Amber, and they
also created a diversion enough for us to get at her, for us to begin our work on her. However, the one thing I wanted they didn’t do.
“My followers did not do a great job of showing you which way they had gone from the plantation, but somehow you found your way to my next clue. I had to let you know, somehow, that you were on the right track, for I needed the two of you just as much as I wanted you. The sprites, as it were, provided the perfect clue. Did you know they do not like the wyrd of an Alarist much?” She turned to them as if expecting an answer and just smirked when they didn’t provide one.
“Oh, of course you did. You were there, and you saw precisely how much they did not like my wyrd.
“Anyway,” she said beginning her pacing in front of the thrones again, the fire all around them licking pleasantly as if she were not reciting the ruination of their world. “With the sprites in ruin, we waited. See, my anger consumed me then. Why should I let four of her brats live when my master lay dead because of her? I waited for you, and when you came along the Foothills of Nependier is when I acted rashly. I let Amber slip out of my grasp for a moment, just enough to get your attention. I entertained the little comedy, and when the time was right: SNAP.”
With the outcry she let lightning arch from her fingers in a blistering rendition of what happened that night. The act made Jovian flinch even as the lightning faded out before his very eyes. She laughed at him as the peel of thunder rippled through the room, reverberating through their very being.
“I had not counted on the elf that night, but he only wounded me, a wound that was quick in healing. I transported us to the other side of the Mountain of Nependier, and there is where I found the nymphs,” she continued.
“I like the Wyrd Holdings most deplorably. The nymphs were an unnecessary pleasure on my part, and I delighted in removing their tongues and eyes. What they could not see they could not tell. Of course, I knew they did not see their visions with normal sight; that was merely for show. The tongues were the important part. I had to take them so that they could not speak what they saw, for they saw the truth of the situation that night, the truth that I have pleasantly glossed over even now. Did Grace get my message? See, the truth is within the message, for it took me a long time to think of that.
“Tell me, wise brood of the LaFaye blood, where exactly was the lie here?” She smiled curtly at them. Angelica and Jovian felt their blood boil and something between the two of them snapped, lifted. It wasn’t anything within them that was removed, but instead it was something that kept the two of them separate, something that kept Angelica herself and Jovian himself. Once that was removed the lines between what was Angelica and what was Jovian began to blur.
“No need to tell me now; in time you will meet the lie.” She continued on, not noticing the difference in the wyrd of the room, not realizing that the two before her, the two that she taunted, were even now becoming a force greater than she could comprehend.
“Now, Galdibar Elestraw, or as you refer to him; the Tall Stranger – now he was fun. We came upon Galdibar one night having just snuck through the fog bank that keeps the Holy Realm and the Shadow Realm apart. He was being lynched by some mob of the Holy Realm, as often happens to those that sneak across the border. I saw spirit in him, a fire; the same fire that burned in me. He was doing an apt job of killing that mob, but he needed help, help that I was more than willing to provide. After the mob was dead and burned, he swore fealty to me. He was only more than happy to do as I instructed.
“At the time there was something else within me just then, a thought, a nagging notion that maybe I had not nabbed the right daughter. For I had been rather hasty in my actions, but time was against me, you see, and I had to act fast before the change took them. Now that I had the one, I wanted the other. He told me that he would get her, bring her to me, and that she would be mine. His efforts were many and they were noble, but unfortunately he met his end.
“It is strange,” she said, changing the subject, stopping directly before the statue of the Goddess they were both surprised she would dare pose before. “I have heard that just recently a black stone was found in one of the caves in the northern reaches of the Barrier Mountains. It seems this stone is legendary among the Chaos Dwarves; they call it Wyrder’s Bane. Isn’t that interesting? I can only imagine that it is so called because it has the ability to destroy wyrd. At least I thought that is what it did until I had given it to them. They told me in our little meeting that it was not, in fact, death to wyrd, but instead death to those that harbored it, kind of a stone to protect and rid them of wyrders. Just a little something I could do for them after their hospitality to me so many years back. Of course, it helps me greatly as well.”
“If it is so lethal to those with wyrd, how did you get it?” Angelica asked.
Porillon laughed uproariously. “You don’t honestly expect me to tell you how to counter it do you?” She laughed harder. “What would be the point in giving a most powerful weapon to an enemy of wyrd if I told those it would be used on how to evade attack?
“All of these things were wonderfully fun for me. I took great pleasure in every act that I committed for my master, but none so much as the night I killed you.”
She turned to Jovian then, clasping her hands before her, the markings on her face glowing ever more intently, and writhing in angry lashes across her skin. “Tell me, dear boy, why is it that you did not stay dead?”
“It takes more than one the likes of you to defeat the LaFaye blood,” Angelica and Jovian said in unison as something slid in place within them. The last little part that blurred their edges finally lifted completely and they became more than aware of one another. The lines that were Angelica and Jovian finally splintered and they fused together, their two consciences becoming one.
“As I recall,” they said as one entity, and though they were made up of equal parts male and female, there was no doubt that the feminine side was winning over in the scornful voice. “You tried before in that task and failed miserably, leaving your master to pick up after you. By the way, how did that failure work out for you?”
Her snarl was all the warning they got before her hands lanced out and lightning sprang at Jovian again. This time when he met the lightning with the steel of the Shin-Buto, he was not filled with pain, but instead with wyrd.
The lightning arched through the air from her fingers to the tip of the Shin-Buto with a bright flash that nearly blinded the eye. As the lightning slithered down the sword, it filled both Angelica and Jovian’s forms with wyrd so intense that they glowed slightly, as if the lightning were illuminated their skin with more than just light, but with the pure essence of that deadly bolt.
They went through many changes that night, but their eyes changing from their normal green and blue to amber gold startled Porillon the most. In her faltering is when Angelica struck.
Though the lightning was arching down Jovian’s blade, it filled them both because they were so linked at that moment they shared everything, including breath. The same lightning that Porillon was shooting at Jovian came lancing back at her from Angelica’s outstretched hands, she was shocked to the point of not being able to throw up a shield in time.
The lightning hit her square in the chest, flipping her over the throne to land unceremoniously in a cluster of blue pillows, drapes, and gray-blue skirts. Her hair spreading a silky silver sea around her, and when she pushed herself upright once more, her flesh smoking but not burned in the slightest, her eyes portrayed her displeasure.
“That was highly uncalled for,” she said. She straightened her dress around her once more, patting her hair back into place. “For that I will now destroy you.”
They were locked together; her wyrd against his steal. And it was only by the grace of the Goddess that they had not killed each other yet. Wyrd burned the night even as the metallic clank sang through the air, each attack, miraculously not touching the other.
Joya attacked with wyrd she never knew she had, such powe
r that she was staggered. Still Maeven lived, dodging her bolts, jumping the balls of fire she flung at him, fire that even now lit foliage and thrashed at the graphite stone of the temple, useless.
She was filled with speed, speed like the night they had faced the torzul, but this time it came, like all of her wyrd, without the aid of her book.
Maeven swung at her head, and she darted out of the way, crouching down and rolling behind him to come up swiftly, jabbing him in the back, an attack that caused him to stumble. As he was busy regaining his footing, a fireball sprang to her hands.
She launched it at him, but he jumped out of the way allowing it to glide past him to burst fruitlessly against the skin of their captor.
And still the music continued, corrupting, poisoning, and twisting their minds into a darker image of what they had been. The music was like the night they had dreamed, that being the fight existed not because of the music or in juncture with it, but instead that the music provoked the fight, elicited the emotions of revulsion they felt. It was this that instigated the very need to destroy one another.
They were pawns to the music, Joya knew this. Part of her rebelled against what was happening here, knowing that it was not right, that it was out of order. The same wyrd she felt her Aunt Pharoh give her suddenly flared to life, giving her reason and motive to be free of the music that assailed them.
Joya knew there was something not right about what was happening here. She remembered Maeven; she knew who he was and what he meant to all of them. In a short amount of time he had become to her like a brother.
The Mirror of the Moon (Revenant Wyrd Book 2) Page 27
