The Unforgiven

by A. Katie Rose

  “I wish –”

  Then I saw the corpses.

  “Glory,” Buck-Eye muttered.

  “Flynn,” Iyumi said, her voice rising high. “Don’t.”

  What I wished for escaped my brain as the sight shorted out my tongue. Like butchered lambs, they lay piled against the wall to my left. Tough leather thongs bound their hands in front of them. Their royal gowns of silk and cloth of gold were drenched in dripping black. Heart’s blood. Once purple, now stained with the darkness of death. Twin sets of glazed eyes stared into nothing, their last sight a horror not of this world.

  In the room’s center, still dripping fresh blood, stood a stone table. The demon’s altar. On the blazing hearth cooked two blackened pieces of meat. I didn’t need to know how I knew – I knew what those things were. Their hearts burned there, the living sacrifice to the dark gods who ruled the underworld. In scenting the evil, the disgusting rot, my belly roiled.

  I knew them. I knew them both. I knew their pale beloved faces. I’d stroked my hand down their cheeks, held them in my arms, brushed their silken hair. I loved them both with every beat of my soul. I fell to my knees, feeling beyond sick. Gods, gods, bring them back! Where are they? Bring them back. Bring them back!

  My plunging heart shut off all hope of breath as I collapsed further, onto my hands. I wanted to vomit. I tried to vomit, for if I could purge the horror out my throat then it might no longer plague my guts.

  Fainche’s dead eyes stared at me, her breast cut open. I couldn’t look away from her filmed blue eyes. They didn’t accuse me. Oh, no, Fainche loved me. She’d never accuse me of deserting her in her hour of need. She forgave all, even the merciless bitch who murdered her. Her heart burned not with her love for me, but on the whore’s fire. She’d been tossed aside like so much garbage. I think that hurt me the most. She’d been used, then cast aside – a broken tool, no longer useful. That offhand carelessness is probably what kept me from curling up on the floor and weeping like a child. Much as a leak in a dam eventually breaks the stones apart, a trickle of rage seeped into my soul.

  Sofia lay on her back in an ocean of blood, her sightless eyes staring at the ceiling. Enya hadn’t just cut out her heart. Her belly lay wide open, gutted like a doe. On the floor beside her lay a small red thing. It looked somewhat like a soft waterskin, lumpy and oozing. I had no idea what that could be – until I saw the tiny hand.

  I hurled everything my belly contained onto the blood-soaked floor.

  “Oh, good, she’s here.”

  Enya’s voice, bereft of any emotion, crept into my ears. As I vomited again and again, helpless on the slate tiles, she drifted toward the blood-soaked stone in the center of the room. “Place the child on the altar, Flynn, there’s a good boy.”

  Control yourself, you fool. Get up, get up now.

  I slowly rose from my knees, spitting the sour taste of vomit from my mouth. I staggered a step, then another, toward her, my tears wet on my cheeks. “Why would you slaughter your own daughter? Your own daughter?”

  High laughter answered my question. “For power, boy. What else?”

  “Fainche was innocent,” I roared.

  “Of course she was, dear. Innocence is the most sacred of sacrifices.”

  “You murdered my wife, my son. My son!”

  Enya sighed, impatient. “Good gods, Flynn, are you that simple? You didn’t love Sofia, you never have. And you can sire other sons. On yonder maiden, for instance, should you so choose.”

  Her voice lowered, turned sensual, as her tongue emerged to caress her upper lip. Her reddish eyes glowed with – damn it, I couldn’t believe it – lust. Yes, she stared at me with an expression no mother on this world should ever have for her son. As I gaped, my belly roiling for another round of heaving, she caressed her own with her slender hand.

  “Or on me.”

  “Devil’s whore!” Iyumi screamed from somewhere behind me. “You’d corrupt your own son?”

  “I already have, dear,” Enya purred. “Think of it, Flynn. You ruling the world at my side. Both of us, supreme in our power. The gods will tremble at the sound of our footsteps. Our sons will live forever!”

  In rapid succession, two loud booms rose from outside. The castle floor vibrated from the impact. Enya glanced at the ceiling, her fair brows lowering, as though confused. My mind registered their meaning just as the stray thought collided with my grief.

  Keep her attention on you.

  “What was that?” Boden muttered.

  “The drawbridges,” I answered, my mouth numb. “They just came down.”

  “That means –”

  “Invasion.”

  Enya half-turned toward the great window as though intending to investigate the noise. The black moon inched across the red sun, devouring its glory. Lightning flickered across its evil face, thunder shattering the dawn and rattling the window glass in its pane. Under the onslaught of the terrifying wind, the north tower creaked like an old gentleman’s joints and swayed ever so slightly. Surely it wouldn’t collapse, I half-thought.

  “Who was it I sacrificed that night, Mother?”

  She turned away from the spectacle. Enya’s chortle vibrated with the sound resonating through the slate under my feet. “One of Finian’s by-blows,” she answered, her head tilted back as her laughter rippled forth. “He never was the faithful type.”

  Keep her talking.

  I tilted my head to the right, catching her fiercely happy gaze. “Finias was my brother?”

  “Half-brother, dear. Only half.”

  “You told me the mother died.”

  “Oh, she did, Flynn,” Enya cackled. “She died, screaming, under my knife.”

  “You forced me to murder my own brother? You told me he was already dying!”

  “Oh, Flynn, dear.” Enya laughed, as though at a great joke. “A sacrifice means nothing unless it means something. You should know that, silly boy. Sacrifice only the useful, that’s what the gods demand. Place an already dead chicken on the fire and you are scorned. But place the heart of your kin on the brazier – then the world is yours.”

  “Only your demons from hell crave sacrifice, bitch,” Iyumi screamed. “The gods deny you.”

  “Shut her up, Flynn,” Enya said, her laughter stilled, her tone bored.

  “You’ll not harm her,” I said, circling around my mother with my sword bared, slowly stalking her. “Nor that child.”

  She kept her eyes on me, a slight frown on her fair brows. “Don’t be foolish, boy. Once I sacrifice that child to the dark arts, all the power of the world shall be mine. You’ll rule at my side. Think of it! Mother and son. None shall ever overthrow us, until the end of days.”

  I clenched my jaw, but stepped lightly on balanced feet. I gripped my sword in both hands, readying. “The end of days has arrived, Mother. You lose.”

  Remember your oath.

  What oath?

  ‘Should I ever lift my hand against her in hatred, may the gods strike me dead.’

  I remembered. What I said in that evil clearing not so long ago, in the moments before I took an innocent boy’s life. When I believed in her. When I trusted her. When I loved her beyond my own life. I don’t care, I thought fiercely. I swore that oath, yes. Take my life if you choose, good gods, but this day the Red Bitch dies for her crimes. If you think ill of me for it, then the hell with you. If you agree I was mistaken, and wronged, then help me send her where she belongs.

  “The gods have cursed your soul,” Iyumi shouted, clutching the troll tight. She half-turned, placing her slender body between Enya and the baby, as though that might prevent Enya from taking the troll from her.

  “The gods fear me, child. I’m more powerful than they.”

  Enya, smiling, her lips a dark red slash in her face, didn’t quite dare turn her back on me. Behind her the sun’s golden glows drowned under the whipping lightning, the dark advance of the moon. Thunder crashed over the sound of the horrible wind. The time of the evil
supremacy had arrived. Her eyes glowed, not just with fanaticism, but with a strange hellish tinge. That same hue I noticed when she brought Dra’agor to me. The blood sacrifices to her demons brought her a strength I knew I couldn’t match.

  Enya snapped her fingers. “Slave,” she cooed, catching Dra’agor’s attention. “Fetch me that child now. Bring it to me.”

  Cold cascaded down my spine. Dra’agor. The blood binding. Iyumi told me to free him, said I had the power, but I hadn’t. I didn’t know how. The Bitch held him in thrall, and despite his love for me and Iyumi, he had no choice but to obey her. His head and ears low, his legs stiff, Dra’agor advanced toward Iyumi. Whining, growling low in his throat, he shot a half-glance toward me, as his body obeyed my mother’s command against his will. He’d take the baby from Iyumi’s arms, I knew, and place it on the demon’s blood-drenched altar.

  Iyumi stared at him as he stalked forward, her eyes wide and wild. “Free him, Flynn!” she cried. “Free him! You know how!”

  An arrow shot past my shoulder and buried itself in Enya’s chest. Though I hadn’t ordered the attack, I liked smart men about me. I paid them handsomely for their ability to think on their feet. I might be as useless as tits on a boar, in my grief, yet my lads knew how to protect me.

  Unfortunately, Boden’s arrow had as much effect as an annoying fly. Enya frowned, her expression vague, and plucked the arrow’s barb from her flesh. No blood seeped from the wound to stain her already bloody royal gown. She snapped the arrow in half over her fingers and scowled.

  “Idiot,” she murmured. “Now you’ve gone and done it.”

  “Boden,” I yelled. “Run.”

  He tried. He turned, panic etched across his pale features, and bolted for the doors I kicked in. Enya’s burst of flame cut him down before he reached them. He screamed as he burned, his intaken breath sucking superheated air into his lungs. Fire burned him from the inside out as his eyes boiled in their sockets. His flesh melted even as he screamed without sound.

  Buck-Eye, Torass and Lyall bolted in all directions. Though he fled the burning flame of his friend, Buck-Eye at least dragged Iyumi and the troll with him. As my loyal navigator died, dancing like a flaming marionette, I used the distraction he provided. Forgive me, Boden.

  Before Boden fell, falling upon his black face, I attacked. Even as Enya smiled upon her handiwork, momentarily forgetting I stood within range of her throat, I swung my sword. Cat-quick, she spun, her hand rising, her power reaching for me. Pity she didn’t realize I’d anticipate that. Her hellish power splashed across my magical shield, leaving me unharmed and still lunging, aiming to split her face into halves.

  The Red Witch screamed in inarticulate fury, ducking out from under my sword. Swinging my blade in a backhand, I slashed again at her head, but this time it clashed against a sword of her own.

  “Foolish boy,” she spat, growling like a panther.

  “Hell-bitch,” I grated.

  Though she didn’t have much experience fighting with a sword, she did have evil on her side. She fought like a demon in truth, but all I wanted was time. If I could keep her busy until the black moon passed, perhaps her powers might wan. Or until I thought of a brilliant method of killing her.

  “Wolf!” she screamed. “Bring me that baby!”

  All but forgotten in our battle, Dra’agor had halted in his advance on Iyumi. My mother’s will had turned from him, permitting him a small respite. But as her power surged and recaptured him, he continued his reluctant advance on the princess and the sacrificial child. He loved Iyumi. He’d never, under his own will, ever harm her. But now, under the Witch’s evil compulsion, he’d rip her throat should she deny him that baby.

  “Flynn!” Iyumi screamed, clutching the crying troll to her meager bosom.

  You can free him, she told me.

  I don’t know how.

  Yes, you do. Think about it.

  Magical spells needed time and some degree of concentration to work effectively. My mother was determined not to give me that time. I fought off her attempt to cut my head from my shoulders with a flaming sword she didn’t hold in her hands. I countered it with an ice cold axe that struck her red-orange blade into glittering shards. Enya halted a fraction of an instant, a moment I took full advantage of. My axe swung toward her head, forcing her backward. I might be a greenhorn when it came to a battle of magic and willpower, but so was she. She absorbed the power of evil, but she hadn’t practiced much. My father beat some military ability into me, and though I wasn’t the greatest swordsman in Raithin Mawrn, I was the champion archer.

  Instantly creating a flaming bow, I spun a dozen blazing arrows from nothing. Nocking one after the other, I shot them into her, my hands a blur. Boden’s wooded arrow and steel tip affected her not at all. Mine, however, burned with my evil power and hurt her deeply. She screamed as each tip buried itself into her slender body, their flames catching on her flesh, her clothes, her hair. If left to their own devices, my flames might yet burn her to ashes. But I wasn’t so naïve as all that. I gained a few precious moments to regroup, and that was all.

  Free him! Before it’s too late.

  In driving Enya back, trying to extinguish my fires, I halted. I permitted my fiery bow to vanish, concentrating. Iyumi said I knew how and I trusted her. Break the blood-binding. Free Dra’agor. Damn it! I don’t know how! I thought back to how the blood-binding worked. The Witch took the blood of her victim, mixed it with her own, and then drank it. The victim’s essence, and will, became hers. How do I change it back? Give Dra’agor his blood back? Was it really that simple?

  Hurry.

  Forcing myself to ignore the tempest outside the tower, the black moon encompassing the sun’s face, and the imminent threat of my mother, I bowed my head. Stretching my fingers toward my friend, my Dra’agor, I concentrated. I shut my eyes. I called forth on the deep well of knowledge my mother herself gave me. Though she intended for me to commit great evil with it, I knew, that if I so chose, I could also create great good.

  The words came unbidden to my lips. I spoke them, the language of the gods. The language of old, our Mother Tongue. Asar’ar’makam, bekan azam. Uharkan, ma’harani! Ekananai! Depart thing of evil. Depart, and come no more. Obey!

  I clenched my will, and twisted my fist. I felt it yield. I felt its fear. Under my command, something fled, wailing into the new dawn, free and helpless and frightened. The sound of its final cry echoed across the chamber, and shook the stone walls of the castle. I hadn’t know the spell of the blood binding was so powerful until that moment. If its passing shook the physical world with such power, how did it affect the underworld?

  I didn’t have long to wait.

  Enya’s scream of sheer agony ripped across the tower room. She dropped to her knees, weakened, vulnerable, opened to my attack. A huge wind, manifested in a swirling twister, blew everything not nailed down into a swift tempest. It collided with the glass pane of the east wall, and fractured it. A spider-web of slender cracks emanated from its center toward every angle in its delicate frame.

  In the same instant, Dra’agor not just halted his stiff-legged advance on Iyumi, he drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long, drawn-out howl of both relief and triumph. He spun around, free, his amber-brown eyes clear and his ears flat. His lips skinned back from his teeth. With Enya’s tender throat his target, he lunged toward her with his hind claws digging deep furrows in the blue slate tiles of the tower.

  “Uh, sorry, lad,” I muttered, my fingers raised.

  I halted his feral rush with a simple spell. I blocked his charge and permitted him to crash full onto my shield with his head. Falling back, dazed, Dra’agor staggered upright, his paws sliding out from under him. Had I understood his mixture of whines and growls, I’d suspect he cursed under his breath. Bloody stupid humans.

  “You can’t kill her,” I snapped, pointing toward Iyumi and the babe. “I need you there. Protect them!”

  Growling, his hackles raised an
d ears flattened, he shot me a dark glance. He obeyed me. Not out of evil compulsion, but out of the realization I was right: should he attack Enya, she’d set his fur ablaze and in dying he couldn’t protect his lady. Stalking, stiff-legged, his tail a tough bristle cone behind him, he snarled and grumbled his way to Iyumi. She greeted him with a small cry and threw her manacled hands around his heavy neck. Buck-Eye stood over her, his sword in hand, his obvious courage and strong loyalty overruling his panic. I knew he wanted to throw down his weapon and run. I saw it in his fear-sweat, his huge eyes.

  He didn’t. Torass, calm and determined, crouched with blade drawn in the open doorway. Lyall stalked to Buck-Eye’s left, his arrow nocked and his bowstring pulled halfway to his chin, his narrowed eyes on Enya. Gold alone didn’t earn that kind of loyalty. Any fool could pay with good money with less risk involved. They didn’t decamp, and leave me to my fate, upon discovering what they truly faced in that tower room. How did I find such dedicated men? How did I earn such devotion? I didn’t know, but right then wasn’t the exact time to make polite inquiries.

  “Now then,” I said, my tone genial as I turned back to Enya. “Where were we?”

  Didn’t Buck-Eye drill into my foolish head that arrogance can kill? She recovered faster than I’d estimated and I suddenly faced her raw fury, her devil’s eyes tightened to mere slits. Her sudden burst of power didn’t intend to kill me. No, it sent both me and my shield across the room to strike the wall, left shoulder first. I felt it snap upon impact. I felt no immediate pain, but I was dazed, my breath knocked from my chest. This isn’t good, I half-thought, struggling to rise. If I didn’t stop her, she’d murder both Iyumi and the troll on her black altar. Then she’ll turn her blade on me.

  I didn’t care if I died. All I ever lived for had gone before me. Kill me if you must, great gods, I thought, but, please, I beg you, let me take her with me. All I ask. Let me take her with me.

  The moon all but covered the sun outside. Clouds boiled as the lightning and thunder crashed around the tower. I fancied I saw cat-like eyes peering in from that hellish moon, eyes watching and gloating. But perhaps that was nothing more than spots flashing in my eyes. Get up, fool, I told myself. You don’t need a shoulder to stand. Nor is it necessary in this particular battle.