Voices of Blaze

by H. O. Charles

  His warrior wife had turned into a housemaid, but Morghiad was quite sure that he had not married a housemaid. No, something was definitely not quite right inside her, but whether it had anything to do with the child was another question.

  Morghiad looked at the swell of her stomach, and tried as hard as he could to suppress his growing feeling of unease about it. He suspected the creature inside, and not just because he no longer had his bond with Artemi. He trusted her judgment about such matters, and if she felt something was wrong, which she had now admitted on three occasions, then it was likely she was right. Kalad had turned out a good lad, but Artemi had felt there was something different about him when all seemed well, and she had been right. The prophecy that Dorlunh had once told him about echoed in his mind.

  Perhaps this child was the son he would kill.

  Morghiad shook his head clear of the thought. He could not allow that to pass.

  No, he decided. Even if it came out of her with horns, claws and gnashing teeth, he would not kill it. No matter what. He would let whatever was inside her live and find another way to deal with it. It would be their monster.

  “He is kicking again,” she said. “Here.” Artemi placed his hand over the site of the movement, and he tried as best he could to enjoy the prods and swipes. It had been better before, of course, when he could feel everything as she did and nothing was missed. He sighed. He had never asked to be born a man, or to be the one who had to pick fights with strangers and have his teeth kicked out on a daily basis, or to be filled with such rage at other men who dared to hurt his Artemi. At least the women of this world could live a life where they would be protected and kept safe, no matter how deadly their true nature was.

  “I am getting close to Febain now,” Morghiad said, “I think I shall have an opportunity to meet him, or perhaps to beat him, tomorrow.”

  Artemi nodded and smiled, which was all wrong. He missed her challenges and expressions of annoyance at his plan. At least then he knew what she was thinking, but at this moment, he did not. Blazes, were they really so poor at understanding one another without that link in place?

  “I am already in a position to lead a small group of them,” he said.

  “That was quick.”

  Morghiad grunted quietly in agreement. He had done so much more with the ones he had beaten; he had demonstrated where he could lead them by taking them to the uppermost level they controlled, and by laying claim to each of the chambers on the two levels above it. Jikaari, he called himself here. It meant deadly grip.

  Artemi had not realised it, but the chamber they shared was now guarded by three men from the Reduvian Band and watched by a further four. All of the criminals he had overpowered knew of her condition, and if anything should happen to him, the most trustworthy had been instructed to take her and the child to relative safety. Trustworthy. Morghiad barely suppressed a wry grin at that, but the urge to smile soon faded. There would be no Artemi to take to safety if he did not remove her from this place in the next few days.

  “That was my role once, when I was king: to make people want to be ruled by me-” he said, stroking her hair. It still glowed fire red and gold in the candlelight. “-even if they thought they did not. I think I was not too bad at it.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  Morghiad stretched himself out on the rug beside her. “How are you feeling?”

  “For the last time, I am fine! Everything is fine.”

  Fires, but he was glad to hear an outburst from her after seeing so many pale smiles and hearing such measured tones from the woman! He decided to push a little further. “Are you sure?”

  Artemi lay down next to him. “Meet eyes with me,” she said, placing a hand at his jaw. She looked as if she were about to say something, but then she paused. Eventually she said, “No, I am not fine. None of this is. This child is wrong, you are wrong. I am wrong. All of it is wrong. I made a mistake by not staying true to you, and I shall regret it forever. And I know that you betrayed me for the right reasons, and I believe you completely. I believe that you were right to put the lives of a hundred thousand strangers before me, but I… I wish to the very heart of all that burns in this world that I could get the thought of her… touching you out of my head. I wish I could tear out her eyes and slit her mouth and cut off her breasts! In my next life, I will go to her grave, and I will carve out her name and replace it with a truer one: whore. And if this child suffers, believe me, I shall make one of hers suffer too.”

  As much as Morghiad disliked the idea of his wife torturing innocents, he had missed seeing that passion in her eyes. If only he could feel the fire from her as well as see it. There was an ache inside of him to have her at all costs, and he would have been content to give in to it at that moment, but the monsters became too excited about it to keep their silence.

  Don’t weaken yourself before her, they said. Show no weaknesses. Take what is yours!

  I have hurt her enough! he roared back at them.

  Guilt is for the feeble. We will rule all! We will burn! We will kill!

  The chanting and stamping and screeching inside his head was becoming deafening, and Morghiad knew he was fast losing his battle. “I did not do the right thing,” he blurted out.

  Artemi blinked at him, and her features seemed to crumple. “What?”

  “It was not right. I should have damned the fools and let the world burn. I lay with her for nothing, Artemi. It gained me nothing except your pain.”

  “But the wars you have prevented-”

  “Dorlunh secured King Paolin’s signature without any of Dorinna’s influence. I didn’t even need to lie with her to get it. I didn’t know at the time... but I-” The monsters were raving at him furiously for his admission, and so Morghiad continued to spite them. “I have done other bad things, Artemi.”

  “What things?”

  “I killed… I… Muscica and Corvid. Do you remember them? It was when I discovered you that first time in Cadra. I knew they would hurt you, and so I had them murdered. I found the deadliest outlaws in Cadra’s prison, and I set them loose in the forest. I told them – I told them they would have their freedom for all the days that they lived if they did as I asked. And so I sent Calidell’s kanaala on a false mission to find a wielder, and the two groups met. Jarynd Farpike was supposed to die on that day too, though it was a shame that Passerid did not.”

  Artemi was silent for a while, but then asked, “Are those the only two?”

  “No.” Morghiad shook his head. His eyes were full of tears, and he could not fight them back. “Beodrin Mori.”

  “But he-”

  “When you were captured by Febain, he said it would be better if I allowed you to die because of what you were. I was disgusted with him, and later, when I believed that Mirel had killed you, he would not stop telling me that she had been the one to die. Over and over, he told me that I had imprisoned you in error. I grew to hate him; I was convinced he was in league with Mirel. So I… encouraged him to wander into one of her traps.” Morghiad could still recall the man’s screams, and his cries for help that did not come. And he could still remember the fear in Ulena’s eyes. Blazes, Ulena! Artemi did not need to know about that yet, or the others…

  She blinked at him, and rolled onto her back. “You were not in possession of your mind then.”

  “I am dangerous. I want to kill for you. Can’t you see it? My heart is so given to you that I have become hollow inside. All I can feel now is love for you. That is everything and it is the only thing. I am like this forever,” he said in a near-growl, “I will love you forever.”

  Before he knew what was happening, Artemi was straddling him and kissing him forcefully on the lips. He tore off the shirt she had borrowed from him, and lifted her to place her upon her back so that he could rain more kisses on her neck and breasts. It was odd, he thought, to be kissing her like this and to feel no wild flame from it.

  As cold as our Queen of Night and Shadow.

/>   Morghiad ignored them; Artemi was nothing like her, and he had enough fire in his heart for his wife to make up for what was missing. He began pulling off her breeches so that he could kiss her between her legs, but Artemi caught him by the shoulder before he could. “No,” she said, before pushing him onto his back and unfastening his breeches.

  Her fingers were gentle as they stroked his manhood, and her lips were soft upon its shaft. Morghiad soon forgot about her firelessness, and all the chill from his misdeeds with Blaze ran from his bones. The pleasure she gave him was intense enough to make him perspire and struggle for breath, but it was only a fraction of what he knew he would feel inside of her. Morghiad pulled her close enough that the firmness of her rounded belly pressed against him, and drew her legs about his waist. Soon she was seated in his lap, and their connection was renewed once more.

  All of the fires that had remained confined inside her were released in a surge that coursed through every vein and every fibre of his body. It tore at him and soothed him and terrified him all at the same time, but it was so pure, so perfect. He felt all of Artemi’s ecstasies, and all of the pleasure he gave her. In his mind’s eye, he was washed and swept along mercilessly within the great, orange torrent of flame that was her power. The closer he came to climax, the closer he was pulled to the source of all Blaze – a vortex of light from which all wielders drew their fires - and the more inferno raged through him.

  “My Artemi,” he whispered.

  “I love you,” she said as she dug her fingers deep into his hair.

  He would have been happy to eke out every level of pleasure for as long as possible, but Artemi was impatient. She writhed and battled with him just as she had when they had been enemies, and she moaned when he denied her the rhythm she wanted. And so, the power that flooded his body grew rapidly.

  It grew rapidly enough that there was a moment before Morghiad blinked, when he saw her skin glow white, and her hair come aflame, but after that, he found he could not see at all. The fires that rushed through him began to burn hotter than they ever had, and they seared straight through his flesh to the bone. In an instant, his fingers were scorched so completely that they became numb, and his limbs were no longer his own. Morghiad was engulfed in flame – more than he could ever hope to handle, and he could do nothing to resist the tow to the vortex of fire. Down and down he was pulled into the inferno that fed all wielders – deeper and deeper into the roiling mass of flame.

  Pleasure gave way to the most brutal, beautiful agony he had ever known; he was sure he screamed from it, but no sound could come from his smoke-filled lungs. He gasped for breath and fought against the viscous air, but his efforts were in vain. He was drowned.

  Chapter 17

  Artemi had never expected him to be awake through it all. Somehow, she had always imagined eisiels were forged in such agony and heat that they would fall unconscious and awaken as something new. At least, she was sure she recalled Mirel had once described the process that way. But Morghiad had not fallen asleep. Nor had he been granted any sort of escape from the horror of it. Instead, his legs lay entwined with hers, and he was blinking, moving and fully awake.

  On the handful of previous occasions when she had lain with other men in the Darkworld, either in ignorance of what she was or by force, the men had died. She had never created a living eisiel before, and this was the last thing she desired for the man she loved. Even with the knowledge of what he had done.

  Morghiad’s eyes had no irises to give them colour now, but she was sure he was staring at her.

  “Are you in pain?” she asked, gingerly touching a section of his blackened, crisp skin.

  There came the sound of some rasping as he struggled to breathe, and then there was a feeble, “Yes.”

  “Do you… do you remember who you are?” As her hand reached up to his hair, or what charred remnants still clung to his skull, several of his lidir crumbled in her fingers.

  “Yes,” he responded.

  Artemi glanced down at the points where their bodies met. There were smears of pinh all over her breasts and the swell of her stomach, and flakes of ash stuck to the oil like a sprinkling of dirty snow. Oh Blazes, their son!

  She shuffled away to get free, but one of Morghiad’s hands gripped her shoulder and its claws dug into her flesh. Artemi stared at him, wide-eyed and feeling her heart thump even faster. He would not – he would not kill her! And their child? He would not, would he? “Please – I need to clean your blood from me. It will poison him-” she began.

  But Morghiad seemed content to regard her exactly where she was.

  “Morghiad, please-” She wriggled to try and unhook his hand, but it did not release. As she moved, her son shifted a little inside her. It gave her some relief to know that he lived, but she knew that it was no guarantee all was well. Fires, not this! “Please - I need to make sure he is safe.”

  Morghiad moved his face toward her and began sniffing her neck. She could feel the cold, slick drops of liquid as it oozed onto her skin from the prongs of his teeth. He inhaled deeply – an extended breath that rattled in whatever was left of his lungs.

  Artemi reached to the hand that gripped her shoulder and began to pry it open. It resisted her, but eventually it released its hold. Then, slowly as she dared, she slipped her legs from between his and edged out of his arms. Throughout, his white-eyed stare remained utterly steady, and his breathing low and constant. He did not even blink.

  “I am sorry,” Artemi said as she went to the half-barrel of clean water – water that had been ingeniously collected from a dripping part of the cave - and clambered into it. She scrubbed slowly at first, but did so more rapidly when she realised Morghiad was not about to leap at her. “I cannot… I will do what I can to put this right,” she continued, “I cannot cure you, but I can kill you to save you more pain. I will take your life when we escape this place. You have my word on that.”

  Artemi had no choice but to do anything and everything she could to get out of the prison before her child was born, and there were now fewer than three days before he reached term. Unquenching herself would now be impossible, and she was in poor condition to do much fighting. On the other hand, she did possess an eisiel, and Mirel’s eisiels had always been very deadly.

  “Do you think you can fight for me, Morghiad - help me get out of here?”

  With a suddenness that made her jump, he sprang to his feet and ran a single claw along the profile of his face. “Tell me whom to kill,” he rasped.

  Artemi had a good idea, but she towelled herself dry and dressed before she said any more. A plan was already crystallising in her mind - a plan that Ravendasor would have been proud of. She pulled on her breeches, cursing loudly that only one fastening could now be closed, and then threw on Morghiad’s shirt. It needed a wash, but then, so did everything else in the blazed, stinking place. “Come with me,” she said to her eisiel.

  They stepped out onto the gallery, and Artemi gazed up toward the cavern ceiling. Oh for some wings! This was the Nightworld, but a Nightworld where people were held firmly to the ground. She looked to Morghiad, whose ashy, crisped skin now shone with the poison that oozed from him. He was crouched, but anyone could tell that he was taller and heavier than most men in here.

  “We are going to find Febain Reduvi, husband. You are going to get him to hand over his Band to me, and then you are going to kill him.”

  More of Morghiad’s twisted teeth were revealed in one of the most horrible smiles Artemi had ever seen, but she summoned the strength to smile back at it, and they set on their way. A narrow, winding set of iron steps took them up to the next level, where almost immediately Artemi was met by resistance. Two men armed with wooden clubs advanced on her, but their feet froze when they saw Morghiad.

  “What is that?” whispered one to the other.

  “Your death,” responded Artemi.

  Morghiad pounced on the first one in a flash of claws and oily muscle, and pulled the man’s head
clean from his neck. The other inmate ran away screaming, but Morghiad had his hooks in the man’s back before he could escape. His head soon joined his companion’s.

  “To me!” Artemi ordered, and Morghiad slunk obediently back to her, his talons dripping with blood. He was good, she thought to herself, and freedom from this place could be entirely possible. As she scanned the gallery for the next set of stairs to climb, she heard clangs from the steps below. Four burly men had followed her, and each of them held a weapon.

  “Wait!” one of them shouted when he saw that she was staring at him. “Jikaari set us to guard you and the baby. We are no threat to you.”

  Artemi backed away from the stairs in any case; no one could be trusted here. When the four inmates lined up at the top of the steps, Morghiad leaned across to whisper in her ear, “Use these men. They are my gift to you.”

  “Is that Jikaari?” a man with shoulders the width of a cart and a neck almost as thick said. “He was a strong one. Kularin, ma’ed infar.” He bowed with the words.

  Artemi understood them to mean ‘honour before my greater opponent’, but she could not recall the language they belonged to. “How long have you been down here?” she asked.

  His eyes rose to the ceiling as if to count imaginary numbers. “Going on three-thousand years, though it is hard to be accurate when you cannot see the sun set.”

  “Then you remember Marteus Ironheart?”

  “I remember his wife.” The man smirked. “’Queen of the Trees’, we used to call her in Dunrovia.”