by Ryvr Jones
“Listen.” Nell put the cup and the spoon on the floor, where Seersha could reach them. “I know you’re all dead, wish you were dead, or are Death yourself,” she said as Caeron entered the library with a plate and a bottle in hand. “Big fucking deal. You’re all still living, one way or another.”
Tamerah opened her cup and looked at the ice cream. It didn’t look like paradise. Paradise was what she’d found in Rhys’s arms. In his eyes when he looked at her and she could see his soul.
“And what matters while you’re living,” Nell went on, “are the small things. Bits of happiness. The moment your fingers touch your lover’s hand after a good fuck. The scent of rain. A delicious sandwich.” She winked to Caeron. “And ice cream. Ice cream is happiness. In a bucket.” She took a spoonful of her dessert, and nodded to herself. “Oh, yes.”
Tamerah decided to try. She didn’t think she’d ever eaten anything, but Nell did look happy, and Rhys and Caeron weren’t protesting. So she scooped a dollop of cream and put it in her mouth.
Delicious flavor exploded over her tongue, the texture soft and cool. It was mind-blowing, and the pleasure wrenched a low moan from her throat. She took another spoonful and moaned louder. “You’re correct. This is happiness in a bucket.”
“I think Rhys is happy too, Tamerah,” Caeron said from his desk. He was standing beside Rhys, whose face was flushed. “Really happy.”
“Shut up, Caeron.” Rhys’s cheeks reddened even more when he caught Tamerah’s eyes glued to the bulge in his pants.
She remembered having him in her mouth, instead of the spoon, and licked her lips. I bet the ice cream would taste even better over his skin.
Rhys made a strangled noise, no doubt reading her thoughts on her face. She smiled at him and licked her lips again, slower this time. I can’t wait to suck you dry again, Rhys.
His eyes widened slightly before narrowing to slits, his nostrils flaring. Tamerah could feel the beast awakening in his belly, and the promise of punishment for her taunting. Later, he mouthed, making her heart beat faster and her blood race in her veins.
“It’s not my fault if you like entirely too much the noises she makes,” Caeron said, giving Rhys the plate and the beer. “Nell says you have to eat a sandwich. It’s good for the soul. Ice cream is better, it seems, but I can attest this sandwich will make your soul happy.”
Rhys grumbled, but accepted the food. He put the beer on the desk and took a bite from his sandwich, his gaze on hers. Tamerah remembered how he’d bitten her, marking her neck, her breasts, her thighs. A shudder wracked her body, wetness flooding her sex.
Before she jumped him right there and then, she turned her attention back to the ice cream. It was almost as good as sucking Rhys. Almost.
“C’mon, boss.” Nell was still cajoling Seersha. “Try it. What do you have to lose? You may even like it.”
“Seriously, lady historian, what difference does it make to you?” Seersha pinned her with a hard stare. “We barely know each other, I can’t believe my wellbeing is that important to you.”
Nell shoved more ice cream in her mouth, swallowed. “Not that important,” she admitted. “But I know it’s hard to fight, to keep going on, when you feel like shit. And since we’re in the same crappy boat, I intend to do my best to keep you all as happy as possible, given the circumstances.”
“I see.” Seersha’s tone was glacial, but she did grab her cup, opened it and took a taste. Her eyes widened a fraction. She didn’t say anything, but kept eating.
“See?” Nell grinned.
“I know how you feel, Nell.” Tamerah stared at her own cup. “You didn’t choose to be here, to get involved in this fight. And you think you don’t have a say in the matter.”
“Well, no,” Nell huffed. “I just wanted to deliver the damn box and maybe learn a little more about myself. So what?”
“At first, I didn’t think I had a choice, either. I thought I was shackled to my fate, to the purpose I’d been created to fulfill.” Tamerah looked at Seersha, feeling a hint of a smile curl her lips. “But someone told me I did have a choice.”
“Ha,” Nell snorted. “Maybe you did, but me? What choice? I’m supposed to protect humankind, and I don’t even know what that means. I don’t know shit, except that the fucking Lineages, as in, me, need to…I don’t even know what! I’m just a lousy human with some knives and books.” She crushed her empty cup around her spoon. “I don’t want to be here, of course not. I don’t want any of this. But what can I do? Go hide in a hole and wait for the world to end?”
“I was as angry as you’re terrified.” Tamerah let her gaze drift to the fire. “Maybe more so. I felt like a puppet, like an object. I couldn’t event trust myself, since so much of me was…not me.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.” There was frustration in Nell’s voice.
“You do have a choice.” Tamerah turned to her. “If you want to go hide in a hole, you can. If you want to stay and fight, you can. But whatever you do, do it because you’ve decided to go down that road. Knowing you have chosen your path is the only way you’ll be able to face the consequences of your decision.”
“That sounds even worse than having no choice,” Nell muttered.
“Free will is a blessing, but it’s also a curse,” Seersha said, her head bowed. “A heavy burden we all must carry. Don’t fool yourself, though, thinking it would be better to be stripped of it, to be powerless over your own life.” She looked at Nell, her eyes once again completely black. “Freedom is worth fighting for. If you allow fear to take you away from what matters, you’ll regret it.”
“You say those things as if you know it from experience.” Tamerah tilted her head. “But I don’t remember anything like that during my time with you.”
Seersha’s eyes returned to normal. “I’m much, much older than you, Tamerah. Almost as old as time. Besides, I did my best to keep the gruesome parts of my life from you.” Her voice was sad, and Tamerah wanted to give her a hug. To comfort her.
“I know.” Tamerah reached out and squeezed her hand.
Seersha gave her a brief squeeze in return. “Now, let me rest. You still haven’t discovered where the hell those rotten fuckers came from, what do they want, or how to save Rhys’s soul, or anything.” She laid back on her pillow, closing her eyes. “Go. You have important shit to figure out.”
Tamerah fought the impulse of giving her a kiss on the cheek. Seersha wouldn’t like a public display of affection.
“Thank you,” Seersha whispered in Tamerah’s head.
Giving a brief nod, Tamerah stood. “Let’s go,” she said to Nell, “before she gets pissed. You won’t like the boss when she’s pissed.”
Nell had asked Tamerah to keep her company while she cleaned the kitchen, but Caeron had already done it.
“Oh, bonehead, you’re such a charmer.” Nell giggled.
To see the historian getting along with Caeron warmed Tamerah’s heart. She knew what it was like to be lost, not knowing who you should trust, who you could count on.
“Well, I’ll take care of my own crap, then,” Nell said, going back to the library, followed by Tamerah. “My backpack probably needs to be washed—if it’s not completely destroyed.”
The bag was dirty, the straps torn apart. It was a miracle it had survived the explosion.
Talking to herself, Nell opened the zipper and her brows slammed together. “This wasn’t here before.” She took a book out of the bag, examining it with big eyes. “Guys! Did you put this book in my backpack?”
Suspicion hardening his face, Rhys shook his head at the same time Tamerah did, and she felt Seersha tensing up. Apprehension tightened in her belly.
“No,” Caeron said. “Are you sure it wasn’t there before?”
“Of course I’m sure, bonehead.” Nell looked at him as if he was crazy. “But if none of you put it in my backpack, then how the fuck—” Her voice died and she dropped the book to the floor, her face going pale.
“Fuck.” Caeron picked the book up. It was leather bound, and seemed ancient. “Myth, Lore and Legends of Death,” he read the title out loud as he cleared some space on his desk and put it down. “I think it’s safe to assume it’s a gift from our rotten friends.”
Tamerah shuddered, remembering those disgusting things hovering over her, slashing her throat, the blood, so much blood…She wavered and Rhys crossed the room to hug her.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered in her ear, tightening his embrace. “Those fuckers will never touch you again.”
I need to ask Nell for some fighting lessons. And maybe borrow a couple of daggers. Tamerah trusted Rhys to protect her, but she hated to feel vulnerable. She wanted to be able to defend herself, and to help him fight. To protect him.
She’d never felt so helpless as when the rotten corpse bent over her, the black dagger descending to her neck…
Black dagger.
Trying to focus her memory, Tamerah closed her eyes. The rancid stench, the vitreous eyes staring at her, yellow and brown teeth behind tattered lips. A putrid hand, swollen and blackened.
The dagger, entirely black, full of carved symbols.
Then the pain, the fiery line that had opened her throat. Tamerah heaved, her legs turning to jelly.
Rhys clasped her more firmly, avoiding her fall. “Tarani, what’s wrong?”
“The dagger,” she croaked. “The dagger they used to cut me. It was like the one that killed you.”
His entire body went rigid, and his pain hammered inside her chest. “Are you sure?”
“I think I am.” She gagged, overcome with fear and disgust, her stomach revolting with the memories of the violence, the pain, the bleeding, Rhys’s death. “I hit my head when I fell, my vision was slightly blurred. But I’m sure the dagger was black, and there were symbols carved on the blade. It looked similar to the dagger I saw…when I you died.”
“It can’t be the same one.” Rhys shivered. “Carden’s dagger was destroyed after the Thousand Deaths Battle. I took care of it myself.”
“But another one could’ve been made since then,” Caeron said, rummaging through a bookshelf. “We’re talking Black Arts, right? I have something about it. Here.” He took a bound manuscript from the shelf and opened it on his desk. After scanning some pages, he asked, “Did it look like this?”
Tamerah approached the desk slowly, her legs still wobbly. Rhys walked by her side, ready to catch her.
The manuscript was yellowed by the years, the edges ragged and frayed. The open page showed some handwritten text in a language she didn’t understand, and a drawing of a dagger.
Paying special attention to the symbols on the blade, Tamerah examined the drawing. “Yes. I’m certain. I didn’t see all the symbols, but the dagger was exactly like this one, and these symbols,” she pointed to the area near the tip, “were definitely the same.”
“Fuck me to hell and beyond,” Rhys growled, lacing his fingers behind his neck and looking at the ceiling. “This is even more fucked up than we thought.”
“Why?” Nell asked, wringing her hands.
“Because this means it wasn’t Rhys’s darkness that landed Tamerah in the Abyss, but the dagger. And you need some serious power to pull this shit off,” Caeron answered. “Anyone could replicate the dagger, but to make it capable of sending someone to the Abyss, you need to have a good deal of knowledge of the Black Arts, and magical juice. A lot of it.”
“As in, black magic?”
“As in undiluted evil. Carden was a powerful demon. To him, enchanting a dagger like this—or to send a soul to the Abyss—was child’s play. Since it took Tamerah some time to get there, and she was able to come back on her own, I’m guessing this fucker is not as powerful as him.”
“Still powerful enough to use the Black Arts, and to control the rotten souls,” Rhys spat. “Brianna was right, she was always right. The decaying army, the rotten corpses. They have a master, and he’s dangerous.”
“The Blind One.” Tamerah recited what she remembered from the letter. “He’s blind, but he sees. He’s neither alive nor dead. He’s been watching Rhys since—”
“We don’t know for how long,” Caeron interrupted, “but it seems to me it has been a good long while. Maybe centuries.”
“And he ‘was once a man’. Who we think cheated death, somehow.” Tamerah plopped down on the couch, frustrated. “How is it possible that none of you have the slightest idea about how someone could do that? At least a rumor, a myth, something!”
“Ceridwen’s Cauldron,” Nell muttered and slapped her own forehead. “The legend says it could restore the dead to life. After all I’ve learned about supernaturals in the last few days, I suppose Ceridwen is not just a myth, which means the Cauldron actually existed.”
“I dislike Ceridwen a lot,” Seersha grumbled from her spot near the fire. “She’s always messing with my job.”
“So I’m right?” Nell grinned. “The story goes like this: there was a battle, and one army was using the Cauldron to revive their dead soldiers, throwing the corpses inside and bringing them back to life. They were kicking their enemy’s ass.” She started to pace. “The enemies’ leader sees what they’re doing, and hides among the winning army’s corpses. They end up throwing him into the cauldron, and he destroys it from within, sacrificing himself to give his army a fighting chance.”
“Nice bedtime story, little human. So what?”
“So, bonehead,” Nell stopped and put her hands on her hips, “the legend says nothing about him dying, or exactly how he destroyed the Cauldron. What if something went bonkers, since he was alive when he was thrown inside, and he ended up ‘neither alive nor dead’?”
“Listen to the lady historian,” Seersha said. “Ceridwen’s powers are as messy as life itself.”
“Are you saying that’s what happened?” Rhys turned to Seersha.
“I’m not saying anything.”
“Of course not,” he muttered. “Let’s say this is it. Something went wrong, and this person…fuck me sideways. He’s like me, isn’t he?” He turned to Seersha again.
“I cannot deny or confirm it.” Seersha’s face lighted up with dry amusement.
Tamerah could feel Rhys’s frustration, but she had to smile. Seersha was getting better, going back to her usual, annoying, frustrating self.
“What do you mean, like you?” Caeron frowned, then his lips curved slightly in a wry smile. “As I’ve said before, nobody is quite like you, Rhys.”
“Ha ha ha, still not funny, jackass.” Rhys ran a hand through his hair. “When I came back from the Abyss, I’d become an anomaly. I’m neither alive nor dead, not really.”
“You died, but you came back to life,” Caeron said, shaking his head. “You’re alive, and that’s why you’re subjected to the Rules, and our dear boss here can keep you under her leash. The Sheramath says this fucker is beyond Seersha’s reach, so no, not like you.”
“Still,” Rhys insisted. “The darkness won’t let me die. I’m outside the natural laws, as is this blind fucker.”
Something tickled Tamerah’s consciousness, and she tilted her head. “That’s not correct. You can die. You just shouldn’t, not until you’re free from the darkness.”
“Then why the fuck haven’t I died, not even after I was fucking beheaded?” Rhys exploded.
Memories surfaced and collided inside Tamerah’s mind, screaming in pain and sorrow. Rhys dying again, and again, and again, blood, and a shadow…“Oh Goddess.” She covered her mouth with a hand, afraid of spilling it all out, and looked to Seersha, who now sat upright over the cushions.
Seersha nodded slightly.
“Seersha kept you alive.” Tears welled in Tamerah’s eyes. “She healed your body and kept your soul attached to it every time you tried to kill yourself.”
Fury ignited in Rhys’s gaze as it landed on Seersha. “You little liar. You fucking traitor!” He stepped towards her, his hands fisted at his sides. “I swear to th
e Gods, I’ll find a way to kill you. I swear!” The betrayal and violation he felt echoed in Tamerah’s chest, cutting her soul.
“Rhys, no.” Tamerah touched his arm, pulling him back. “She did what she had to. You know this. If you’d died, not only the darkness would’ve been unleashed, but you would’ve been bound forever to it.”
“You should at least have told me about what you did.” He was still looking at Seersha, his eyes spiting fire. “You had no right!”
“I had every right!” Seersha got on her feet. “I couldn’t let you unleash the shit you brought from the Abyss and screw up everything. I risked a lot by keeping you alive, and I wasn’t willing to risk even more by telling you about it.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder, a cold gleam in her eyes. “If you hadn’t used a freaking Black Dagger to try to kill the Child of Darkness, none of this would’ve happened. So, shut it!”
Rhys’s breath sawed in and out of him, his face red, all of his muscles tense. He looked ready to kill. After a moment, he turned away and walked out of the room.
Tamerah followed him to the entrance hall, where he stopped by a window, looking to the outside, bracing his hands on the windowsill. She didn’t know what to say, but he broke the silence.
“Seersha is right. I’d happily kill her right now for what she did, but she’s right. This is my fault. All of this.”
“I’m sorry.” Tamerah hugged him from behind, resting her cheek against his back.
“So am I.” He rose one hand to cover hers, and bowed his head.
They stood still for long minutes, just breathing together. Once Rhys had his emotions under control, they went back to the library.
Seersha was perched on the couch’s arm, her feet on the seat and her elbows resting on her knees, her gaze lost in the fireplace. She didn’t acknowledge their return. Caeron and Nell were in the same spot as before, their hips leaning against the table.
“We’re talking about our Cauldron-gone-bonkers theory,” Caeron said. “We think the blind dude discovered a way of passing his not-alive-not-dead thing along, and used it to create the rotten souls.”
