“Who is she?” He’d talked to her, but he had no idea who she was.
“She’s—”
“What does she have to do with Amira?” he interrupted her, “What kind of ritual are we talking about here exactly?” There were so many things he needed to know. So little time, everything inside him screamed. Standing there was getting harder by the second.
The girl opened her mouth and shut it, apparently at a loss for words. Not knowing where to begin.
“Just start from the beginning,” he prompted.
She nodded again. “Thousands of years ago magic ruled the world and witches were the only habitants of this earth. Immortals—that’s what they were called.”
Raven listened silently. He had said to start from the beginning—he just didn’t think she would take it literally and begin from the dawn of humankind. Definitely not an official version, though. But, maybe it had something to do with the said Nially. The more he knew, the better chance he had of figuring everything out.
“They were strong, powerful, never-aging. It was almost impossible to kill them. See, their powers were different from ours. We are just…” she lowered her eyes, “…just a shadow of the magic that once existed. They were more like…”
“Amira,” he offered.
“Yes, but greater.”
Alright, so she was one of a kind. He didn’t have to be told that to know it. But it still didn’t explain what the extinct witches had to do with her. Even if their powers were related.
“Nially was the most powerful of them all—a princess, who bore a mortal male child. The one she protected with her life when the council of elders tried to kill him for fear of the future they foresaw he would bring. Nially hid him, despite the knowledge that it would cost her her life. By the time he was found, it was too late.”
Too late? Raven arched a brow. How could it be too late for the ones who were immortal? Then again, not a single one of them had survived till now.
“No one knows how it happened, but immortals vanished, giving way to humans. Some say they died, others—that they retreated someplace, but the only thing we know for certain is what the Prophecy tells us.”
She took a step back, lifted her chin, and proudly recited a few lines.
Brought forth with vengeance a soul shall rise,
The vessel waiting for the time.
And once is filled the path shall clear,
The enemies shall know the fear.
The witch then continued with a tale of how Nially was destined to come and save them from slaughter, heralding the new age with their enemies vanquished from the face of the earth.
Raven barely managed to suppress a snort. What kind of delusional fantasy did they live in? He’d had this Nially in front of him, and benevolent was the last thing he would call her. What’s more, there was nothing remotely close between what he heard in the lines the witch had recited and her suppositions. Nially might be coming to wage a war, but Raven could bet his life it was with her own enemies and not with the Order.
“And Amira?”
“She is the vessel. She was born to become her.”
“What?”
“The ritual brings Nially into Amira’s body. The only one who can sustain the princess.”
“And Amira?” he asked again with dread.
“Ceases to be.”
“That’s murder!” he growled.
“The Prophecy must be fulfilled.” He heard the same damned words the goddess had spoken, having difficulty in understanding how they were capable of saying it so casually. For the longest moment he couldn’t talk. He felt as if someone or something was choking him.
“Where and when does the ritual take place?”
“Two days from now, in the Mountains,” she answered, obviously not afraid he would try to stop it. No man could venture into the Impenetrable Mountains, and he hoped he would find Amira before then.
Raven tried to sum up what he knew. She was not there right now and the witches were still traveling, which meant they would meet someplace in between, since the witches couldn’t make the journey in such a short time. If he followed this girl… No, it was too risky. He had to find her now.
“Do you know where she is at the moment?”
“Home, I suppose. Saying her goodbyes.” Goodbyes, his insides twisted again. No way, if he had anything to say about it. And he most definitely had.
“That’s all I wanted from you,” he said curtly. She immediately created distance between them as if expecting him to stop her. No, she was afraid he would not keep his word, Raven realized, reading her without even trying.
He could always feel things about others, but it was usually so undefined, so misted he could barely name it. But now, it was ten times stronger. If not more. It was overwhelming. Raven definitely didn’t want to know, or worse, feel her fears and worries, but he could not seem to find a way to turn it off. Time to go, he decided, before he got another headache.
“About Ethely…”
Raven glanced at the girl without the slightest hint of interest.
“I thought you would want to know…” she explained.
“I really don’t,” he told her, and walked back into the mist to search for the only witch he cared about.
After three wrong turns, a pond and a cliff, Raven finally emerged dripping wet in front of his home. Appearing someplace within the blink of an eye was a nice way of traveling, if you got the hang of it—his soaked clothes proved he hadn’t quite. Not to mention it was not his home he was trying to reach, but hers.
He’d never imagined how much concentration it required. That any passing thought could throw him hundreds of miles from his destination point. Maybe riding Lightning was a better way. A safer one, for sure. He remembered the moment he had reappeared on the edge of the cliff, only to fall down into the abyss. Needless to say, trying to concentrate while falling was an experience he didn’t relish repeating ever again.
He ran to the stables, determined to saddle Lightning, when he realized he didn’t know where he should go. He had no idea where her family lived. The forest where he’d found her was the only clue he had.
He ran into the building and almost smashed into his brother who was leading a horse from his paddock.
“The truth,” he demanded, remembering that Dacian knew something.
“This new look suits you,” he laughed, and continued on as if Raven hadn’t even been there.
Raven grabbed his brother by his shirt and slammed him into the wall, hard. “The truth!” he repeated. He was done tiptoeing around him.
“Or what?” Dacian’s defiant eyes met him. His brother struggled against Raven’s hold, but soon realized it was futile.
“Don’t make me forget we are brothers,” he all but pleaded.
“I forgot it years ago. When you left me with that monster.”
“I did no such thing!” Raven’s hold loosened and he raked his damp hair with his fingers. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You put me in the cage yourself! That memory is crystal clear.” Dacian’s accusation left him speechless as he stared back at the angry face of his brother.
“You truly believe that?”
“I…” Dacian grabbed for his head as if it pained him. His fingers dug into his hair so tightly that Raven thought he would try to tear his hair out.
“Breathe,” he ordered, steadying his brother. “In and out.”
After several minutes Dacian blinked at him and frowned. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he finally uttered. “Half of the things in my head don’t make any sense. There are holes upon holes. And what I do remember… I wish I wouldn’t.”
“I didn’t sell you out,” Raven told him, willing him to see the truth in his eyes. “I searched for you, for years.”
“Now I need to do some searching of my own,” was all Dacian said, and Raven noticed that his horse was saddled for a long journey.
“Before you go, tell me what you know of
Amira…”
Dacian halted, sighed. They stood in silence for so long, Raven thought he was not going to answer, but finally he did. “I remember Ethely talking about a witch it was obvious she was green with envy of. She liked to hear her own voice, you know. Mostly I didn’t listen, but from what I can gather, I can tell you that if it’s Amira—and I believe it is—she is not for you. Never was. Only for the purposes of gods. The sooner you understand that, the better.”
“We’ll see about that,” Raven pledged. He would sooner die than let her be sacrificed for some ten thousand year old princess, who couldn’t just stay dead like she was supposed to.
“That serious, huh?” Dacian’s eyebrows lifted.
“Just tell me where I can find her.”
“You know Deron St. Clair?” his brother asked.
Raven nodded. He’d heard of him. And frankly, who hadn’t? The man was a saint, according to the people of Trinton. He used all his influence and money to keep the Order outside the fortified walls of the town. There were no burnings. No executions. No stakes in the town’s square.
“Good, so I guess you’ll have no problem in finding his mansion, or his daughter.” His lips curved into a smile, “If they don’t shoot you on the doorstep for kidnapping her, of course.”
“Is that why you are sending me there?” he couldn’t help but ask.
“No you dolt,” Dacian rolled his eyes. “I’m sending you to save the woman who brought me back to life.”
“Thank you.”
Dacian didn’t utter a word more. He simply turned, took his horse by the bridle and led him out of the stables. It was the first civil conversation they had had in fifteen years, and it finally gave Raven a glimmer of hope that one day they could be brothers again. But right now, he had his own journey to undertake.
Chapter 32
Amira placed a pendant between her breasts, smiling bitterly. The sacrificial lamb was prepared. Or as prepared as she would ever be.
She glanced at her dark purple gown, knowing this ancient ceremonial garment was the last thing she would ever wear. Knowing she probably had hours to live, minutes to feel, and not even a second more to be happy. Still, her eyes were as dry as a wasted desert in the heat of the scorching sun. Not a single raindrop fell from the sky. Not a single teardrop ran down her face.
Not that she wanted to cry. Maybe deep down, where she still felt herself—locked in a cage she couldn’t get out of. Inside, she was screaming—her emotions too raw to bear. Inside, she was Amira, and she was heartbroken.
Looking at herself in the mirror was like looking at a different person—a creature who possessed her body, her voice, even her magic, but was only a shell, a vessel for the transformation to take place in. She felt everything the other one did, but she almost didn’t feel herself anymore. The cell of her prison she’d been shoved into was getting smaller and smaller by the second and she knew, soon—she would have no air to breathe.
The being inside her was dormant most of the time, waiting for the ritual she needed to permanently silence Amira. But it never failed to wake up the moment she attempted to return to Raven. If she concentrated enough, she could still take over. For mere moments, no more. Moments that were not enough for her to accomplish anything.
She felt powerless. Desperate. She felt sick thinking of what Nially had tried to make him believe. It mattered little that Amira was confident he would see right through the lie. It was a knowledge she guarded close to her heart, but that same knowledge was like a double-edged sword.
If he conquered the spell, he would only be coming to witness her death. Or worse, die himself. But at the same time, she hated the possibility of him not coming. The sword cut her on both sides.
“Oh stop it!” the creature frowned, tracing her thoughts, “he’s only a man. You had them before.”
True. Some of the women she’d once been had known men. None had the heart, the touch and the magic that sang to her soul. None was her Raven.
“You should be grateful I left him alive,” Nially’s voice hardened as if irritated.
I wouldn’t have let you kill him, Amira yelled inside the head she no longer felt was hers alone. Ever!
“And, I let you come and say your goodbyes to your family. What more do you want?”
For you to die! She gnashed her teeth.
She did say her goodbyes, even confessed to what she was, but did they listen? Her father thought her crazy, or suffering from anxiety and stress after her ordeal. Her mother tried to console her, but she didn’t believe her. She didn’t even know there was such a thing as a prophecy—but that was the way of witches who had never lived in the Mountains. All her parents wanted to do was interrogate her. Ciaran was the only one who listened. He appeared somewhat doubtful, but for the first time she could see he was listening. Which was a feat in itself.
Suddenly, an eerie calmness settled over her. It was a lull, nothing more. She felt so detached, she almost welcomed the sensation. At least until a serene presence wrapped around her. The heat of his embrace was so unexpected and so encompassing, Amira gasped. It was strength and it was life. It was him, so near, she could practically taste it.
“Enough!” the creature’s voice cut her off. She felt her shoulders straighten, her chin go up. Nially marched out of the chamber, for Amira to greet darkness, but when they approached the stairs, Amira heard arguing.
The hall was packed with people. Everyone so absorbed, they didn’t notice her at the top of the grand stairs. She froze at the sound of her father yelling—for all the years she had known him, he’d never once raised his voice. Then, the meaning of his words sank in and her heart leapt with joy, all but bursting through her ribcage.
“You dare come here after kidnapping my only child?”
“I didn’t come to fight.”
She easily found Raven in the crowd and realized how much she’d missed him. But when she opened her mouth, it was not Amira’s voice that flew out. “Why did you come here?” Every single pair of eyes landed on her. “I thought I made everything clear.”
“Crystal,” Raven said as he focused his gaze on the woman descending the stairs. “Except you are not Amira, are you?”
“More than just looks … hmm … who would have thought,” she laughed. Her long skirt swished as she walked, revealing shapely legs with every step she took.
Amira or not, but the woman was a vision in a purple silk gown, the likes of which he’d never seen before. Raven wasn’t even certain it could be called a gown. It looked more like she’d wrapped a silk scarf around her breasts, leaving her abdomen bare. And even though the skirt was long, the material was see-through with so many slits, she would have been more covered up if she wore a fishing net.
She had golden snake-bracelets wriggling around her arms from the pointing finger all the way to her neck, and braids in her loose hair enlaced with some kind of golden thread.
Yes, she was a vision. Wrong on so many levels.
“What for the love of all that is holy are you wearing?” someone inquired.
“Can someone just shoot him?” she asked at the same time as her father ordered her to cover herself. Raven would’ve been amused seeing all those stupefied faces, if not for the fact he’d sensed she was ready to disappear.
“You bargain with the demon to bring him back, and now you want him dead?” The conviction in Ciaran’s voice shut everyone up. “Call me crazy, but this just doesn’t add up.”
Well, at least one of them wasn’t stupid, Raven thought.
Someone gasped at the mention of the bargain. “I knew I sensed something strange about him,” he heard the whispers between the women he was convinced were witches. They had been ogling him from the moment he’d stepped foot in this house. Those gazes were unnerving. Despite everything, his eyes never left the woman who approached with confidence. Until Ciaran’s words had left his mouth.
She blanched. Huge eyes met his, and Raven witnessed dread shadowing her face—the
face of Amira. She stared at him as if expecting the earth to part and swallow him whole. As if she feared something awful was about to happen.
Seeing her reaction, knowing it was so strong that she was able to take control of her body, Raven set the last piece of the jigsaw into its place. “I already knew I was dead.” And now he knew why she hadn’t told him.
Amira’s hands shook when she took his face in her palms. “Nothing is happening,” she murmured.
“What did you expect? Me to die?” He wrapped his arms around her waist, ignoring the racket in the room.
“If you ever found out…” her voice trailed off. A second later her eyes widened and Amira realized why he hadn’t died. Dazlog himself was protecting him because of the condition she’d placed.
“I don’t want to talk about me right now,” he said. “Better tell me how to get rid of Nially.”
Amira shook her head in despair, her eyes welling up. “It’s not possible,” her voice was laced with parts of both of them. It was as if that creature inside her wanted to show that she was the commanding force.
“You’ll never get rid of me!” Nially’s voice echoed and bounced around the massive room, despite Amira’s struggles to stay in control.
“I don’t believe that,” Raven insisted, as his fingers brushed the hair out of her face. He seemed so determined to fight her monsters, it was overwhelming. “I am not giving you to some vindictive old witch so she can relive her glory days. You can fight her. Together we can win.”
It was too much. The way his midnight eyes were looking at her, asking her to stay, she … Amira’s tears spilled.
She would have loved nothing more than to stay with him, in his arms. Forever. To have his touch melt her bones and quicken the beat of her heart. It was killing it now. The thought of him coming for her, of still believing she could win—was killing her. She could barely suppress the princess as it was. Moments were all she had.
Hot tears were running down her cheeks in earnest now. She was ruled by a pull to follow her destiny. A pull so strong, her body quaked. It hurt fighting it, but fight it she did. Amira was not ready to let go. Not ready to lose him.
Till Death And Beyond (Witch World) Page 29
