Rise (War Witch Book 1)

by Cain S. Latrani

  So, there really was no path open to her save wife or whore. He had, even if he hadn't realized it, asked her to be Esteban's mistress. Tears burned their way through her eyes as she accepted it. He was a kind old man, a doting father, and what he’d asked, it wasn't something she wasn't already familiar with.

  It was what she did. It was who she was.

  Rakiss nudged the emotion, his face sad and weary as he spun her heart.

  Chara nodded, wiping her eyes as she sniffed down the pain. If there was no other option, no other road, then at least, with Esteban, she could make everyone who had demanded she find a man eat their words. At least with him, she could pretend to be happy.

  Maybe, she might even come to love him. There were worse things than having that and a way to make those who had tried to force her sorry for ever doing so. It was all she was going to get in this life, she knew. May as well try to enjoy it.

  Bowing his head, Rakiss watched her march down the stairs. He hadn't wanted to play that gambit, didn't want her to feel that way. He loved her, and had hoped she would come around, but she hadn't. Already, her incredible will was undoing all he had put in her aura, her heart moving back to Ramora with a steadfastness he found remarkable.

  There was nothing left for him to do. It was this, or lose her forever. Still, he watched the crimson of self-loathing spread through her aura like a wildfire, and for the first time since he had found her, wished he’d never heard her name.

  “This is for the greater good,” he assured himself. “All of this, it's for the greater good.”

  Esteban growled softly, rubbing his eyes. Across from him, Ramora looked up in concern. He shook his head and leaned back with a heavy sigh, offering her a smile.

  "It's nothing. Just my eyes. Reading too much is apparently something even I can do," he told her.

  She grinned a bit, leaning back as well and rubbing her face, indicating that she understood. Looking at the book she had set to the side a bit ago, she pondered it a moment, wondering if she should ask about it. Finally, she slid it over to him, wanting to know more than she did.

  Esteban took a single look at it and sighed again. "So, you've learned of that, have you?"

  Ramora shrugged a little, giving him an apologetic smile.

  "No, no," he said, waving it off. "I know father meant to tell you of it. He just hasn't found the right time or way. Still, you may as well know about him."

  She watched as he picked the book up, thumbing through it slowly, frowning as he did. She hadn't read all of it, but enough to get the general gist. Clearly, it was a sore spot for Esteban and Imicot as well.

  "Deacon Rillian," he said slowly. "He came here about fifteen years ago, seeking father, petitioning to be his student. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten along well with the Masters of Sorcery in Qur, and his education was only half finished. He wanted, or so he claimed, to learn from a true master of the art."

  Ramora leaned back a bit as the Werecat lost himself in the memories for a moment.

  "He was an apt pupil, too," he told her. "Very bright, eager to learn, and quite skilled. However, there was something always off about him. We never could figure out what it was, at least, not until it was too late. By then, he’d learned far too much, and had become a danger."

  She’d picked that up from the diary she found, detailing Imicot's attempts to train the young man. What she didn't know was what had happened. Imicot had either left that out, or written it elsewhere. She only knew he’d found his student turning dark.

  Esteban set the diary aside. "Father learned that Deacon had a fascination with the darker aspects of sorcery. The profane blood magics and rituals. Those were what he truly sought to master. He was hungry for power, you see, and believed he'd found a shortcut to attaining it. Eventually, father had no choice but to banish him from the keep, though he vowed to return one day and seize this place as his own, when he was more powerful than father."

  Not liking where this was going, the Blessed leaned forward.

  "Return he did, too, about eight months ago," the Werecat continued. "He wasn’t more powerful than father, though. More than he had been, enough to get past the barrier outside that prevents evil from entering, but not enough to best father, even in his weakened state. Worse, he’d fallen to worship of the Demon Gods."

  Ramora sighed heavily, bowing her head. She really wished Imicot had told her of this sooner. Looking back up at Esteban, she motioned for him to go on, to tell her everything.

  He nodded slowly. "Yes, it’s as you fear. I can see it on your face. He is a Dark Blessed."

  Slamming a hand on the table she rose, kicking over a stack of books in her fury. This was the sort of thing she should’ve been told much sooner. A Dark Blessed, the Demon Gods’ answer to people like her. Mortals granted Demonic Power, bearing terrible Gifts. They were difficult at best to defeat, and at worst, had slain many who carried the Divine Mark as she did. The Generals of Hell, they often called themselves.

  "Father meant to tell you, but he hoped that you would be gone before Deacon returned," Esteban explained. “After he’s no longer with us, father instructed me to seal the keep. There’s a spell on the wall outside that will shift the entire tower out of our reality. Only a powerful sorcerer in service to Heaven will be able to find it, and pull it back."

  Snatching up a quill, she quickly jotted out a note asking what they would do if he came before Imicot passed.

  Esteban sighed wearily. "I don’t know, though father has taught me to use some of the weapons he developed in his lab. If all else fails, I will kill him myself."

  Ramora slammed her hand on the table again, shaking her head. Gravely, she pointed at the Divine Mark on her brow. A Blessed of Ramor, a servant of Heaven, a soldier in the war against the Demon Gods. It would be she who ended his life.

  "Ramora, Deacon is a powerful sorcerer," Esteban warned her. "Defeating him will not be easy, especially for someone who relies on the sword."

  She made an annoyed face at him as she transcribed a rune in the air, summoning a small gout of flame to her palm, her Avatar singing it into being happily.

  "I’m aware of this," the Werecat told her dryly. "However, I noted that father said you have a Rabbit Avatar. Deacon possess a Dragon Avatar, and he has corrupted it."

  Ramora sighed, getting his point as she snuffed the flame, her Rabbit reclaiming much of the mystic energy used to create it. Dragon Avatars were not to be taken lightly. They were masters of air and electrical magic, as well as being potent batteries of mystic energy.

  Her Rabbit warbled its apologies for being so small and useless, and in her mind, she cradled it close, telling it not to talk such nonsense. She wouldn't trade it for anything in the world, since it augmented the effects of her magic powerfully.

  Soothed, it whistled to her how much it loved her, and she assured it she felt the same. Still, if a Dark Blessed sorcerer with a Dragon Avatar was coming, she would need to prepare. Looking about the library, she accepted that her search would have to be put on hold for the time being. This was simply more important.

  The Nexus Gate upstairs could not be allowed to fall into Demon Seed hands. With it, the amount of havoc they could wreak was beyond belief.

  Turning back to Esteban, she picked up the quill again, writing out her request. Esteban looked at it and nodded slowly.

  "I'd be happy to show you the armory."

  Chara had paused at her room to shower, having learned that was what the glassed-in chamber was called. Apparently, it was something Imicot had learned of while traveling the Shadow Realms, and had recreated it. She had to admit, it was incredible, and did much to soothe her ragged nerves and emotions.

  Still, she couldn't help but feel powerless at the path that had been laid out before her. At least when she’d believed she was in love with Ramora, it had made her feel like an equal. As kind and sweet as Esteban was, she knew, she would always feel like she was his accessory.

  She dressed slowly,
wondering why she felt that way. It wasn't anything he’d done, she knew. Most likely, she decided, it was a lifetime of being told women needed men to feel complete. That made her feel as if being with any man, even a Werefolk one, was settling; becoming what she'd always been told to be. As if she were giving in to what others wanted of her.

  Rakiss found he had to push back against the growing defensiveness in her aura. Never had he seen such a strong will. So determined to not follow any path but her own, her aura required constant attention to keep her on the path he’d set. It was rather exhausting.

  Shaking herself, she headed back downstairs, making for the library. The sooner they found what they needed, the better. She didn't want to spend any more time in Ramora's company than she had to, the very sight of the Blessed irritating her.

  Again, she paused, thinking about that. She couldn't find any reason for it, and in fact, knew she should apologize for calling her a liar. She was a Blessed of Ramor, after all, the Father of Honor. Lying wasn't something she could just do easily, if at all. Standing there, she asked herself, why am I angry with her?

  Shaking his head, Rakiss spun her aura as hard as he could. Damn, but he didn't know if he could keep this up.

  Feeling the flush of rage wash through her, she decided it didn't matter. Ramora had wronged her, let her believe things that weren't true. It didn't matter if she’d lied herself, or let one stand, it was all the same. Shaking her head, she continued down the stairs.

  The sound of Esteban's voice coming from one of the rooms above the library startled her. Pausing, she eased to the door, looking in on the vast assortment of weapons, armor, and other things she couldn't name as he spoke with Ramora, who was poking about a box on a table.

  "What's going on?" Chara asked as she entered. "Why are you guys up here?"

  Surprised, Esteban grimaced a bit and then looked embarrassed. "Ah, well, you see, something has sort of come up."

  Ramora gave him an irritated look, snapping her fingers at him. Chagrined, the Cat nodded. Chara eyed the Blessed for a moment and then looked away in disgust as she started to sign something.

  To her surprise, Ramora thumped the box on the table and stormed over, grabbing her by the front of her shirt and jerking her around with one hand, holding the other right in her face so she couldn’t ignore what the warrior said to her. In all the fights they’d had since they’d known each other, Ramora had never done that, throwing the young woman so completely, she could do nothing but stare at her fingers.

  I don’t have time for this shit, Ramora signed. Dark Blessed.

  "Wait, what?" Chara gaped. "What do you mean? What about a Dark Blessed?"

  "Ahem," Esteban said as Ramora released the young woman. "A former student of father’s has turned to the Demon Gods, and been marked by them. Hammandral, I believe. He plans to return and claim this keep as his own."

  Chara stared, wide-eyed, as she considered that information. "And what sort of Gift does a Demon God give?"

  Ramora signed it out as simply as she could. Dark Blessed of Hammandral can cause immense pain with their touch. They can even kill simply by holding onto a person.

  "Oh, well, this sucks!" Chara exclaimed. "How are you supposed to fight somebody you can't get close enough to touch?"

  "That's the least of our worries," Esteban admitted. "Deacon is a powerful sorcerer. Odds are good he’ll try to overwhelm us with his magic rather than allow close combat."

  Chara threw her hands up. "And when were you planning on telling us our lives may be in immediate danger? When he got here?"

  Ramora waved a hand at Esteban.

  "Yes, I'm aware you said the same thing," he grumbled. "Father and I had hoped you would be long gone, and the keep sealed away before Deacon got here. We didn’t want you to have to fight him."

  "Well, thanks," Chara snapped. "But seriously, Esteban, next time, tell the Blessed that the minions of the Demon Gods may be arriving for tea, will you? It's surprising how much that actually helps!"

  Ramora waved a hand at Esteban again, smirking.

  "Yes, I'm aware you said that, too," he muttered. "Anyway, we’re looking for weapons we can use to level the playing field."

  "Let me guess," Chara said, shaking her head as she stepped over to the table, looking at Ramora. "Your idea?"

  She gave a nod and a shrug.

  "Well, at least somebody around here is using their head," she grumbled, giving Esteban an annoyed look. "Thank the Gods for that."

  Behind her, Rakiss ran a hand through his hair as he watched Chara's aura spin everything he’d done away. Sitting down on the floor, he looked askance of the Heavens, wondering why getting one girl to fall in love with one boy was so insanely hard.

  "As I said," Esteban started to reply.

  Chara lifted a hand, cutting him off. "I know what you said, but you forget something. The purpose of the Blessed is to seek out and destroy evil. This guy, Deacon, he's evil. How many people do you think he's hurt? How many Blessed has he killed? Did you even consider that?"

  His ears flat, Esteban shuffled his feet a bit. "Not really, no."

  "Well, she sure as Hells will," Chara told him, jerking a thumb at Ramora, who nodded that her friend was right. She definitely would.

  "Yes, I understand that now," he mewled. "Can we perhaps get back to the weapon search?"

  "Sure," Chara nodded. "What do you have for me?"

  Ramora jerked the box away, signing that she would be safely away from any fighting. Chara jerked it back, signing that she would not. Ramora snatched it back, insisting. Chara hauled it away from her, making it clear she would not.

  Esteban watched the tug of war and silent argument for a moment before taking the box away from them, saying, "We will need everyone to stop Deacon. However, a solid long-range weapon that can be fired safely from the back might be in order, yes?"

  The two women glared at each other for a moment before reluctantly agreeing. The Werecat really hoped they stuck to that. He was not in a hurry to dive back in the middle of a fight between them.

  "Good," he said, sitting the box aside. "In that case, I have the perfect thing for Chara."

  "See?" she snorted at Ramora. "Some people find me useful."

  Some people don't have to listen to you snore, she signed. What's your point?

  "I don't snore!" Chara shot back.

  Keep telling yourself that, Ramora answered with a smirk.

  "Keep it up and I'll stop coming to save your big blonde ass," the other woman groused.

  "If the two of you are done?" Esteban sighed. "Here, try this."

  What he tossed her looked like a steel pipe, attached to a wooden handle. Chara held it up, looked down the pipe, and asked, “What is it?”

  "A weapon from the world of my birth," he said. "It's called a mystic handgun."

  "Okay, so how does it work?"

  "Well, first, you’re holding it the wrong way," he told her.

  Chara turned the weapon in her hand until she gripped the wood. "Okay, smart guy. Now what?"

  "Now, you simply point it, and press the firing rune on the grip with your thumb," he said, indicating it.

  Chara held it up, putting her thumb on the rune. Esteban quickly grabbed it, pushing it down. She gave him an annoyed look.

  "Please, don't point it at people. It's very dangerous," he said.

  "I wasn't going to use it," she replied. "I'm not stupid."

  "I didn't say you were, but these weapons are old and have grown unstable," he explained. "Much of the magic that powers them has faded, and other energies have leaked in. I'm not entirely certain how they will react. If you want to test it, please, do so over here."

  Following his lead, Chara found herself standing before a long, narrow tunnel formed of brick, with a hay bale at the far end. Ramora trailed after them, somewhat curious about the weapon.

  "Here, try it now, but be careful, okay?" Esteban said.

  "Yeah, yeah," Chara said as she swung the wea
pon up with one hand, pointing it at the hay bale. "What's it going to do? Blow up the tower?"

  She pressed the firing rune. Somehow, she wasn't sure how, but she found herself lying on the floor, three feet from where she’d been standing. Her ears were ringing, too, for some reason. Sitting up, she saw the scattered remnants of the hay bale drifting down, the back wall of the tunnel on fire.

  "Whoa," she breathed.

  "I tried to warn you," Esteban said, shaking his head as Ramora peeked around at the destruction the thing had caused, wide-eyed.

  "Yeah, okay," Chara said as she got to her feet. "I wasn't ready. Let me try it again."

  "I'm not sure how many times it will work," he replied. "As I said, much of the magic in them has waned."

  Chara looked at the weapon in her hand for a moment. "You have any more?"

  "A few," he nodded.

  "Then I'm practicing with this one," she said, gripping the weapon with both hands this time and sighting down the barrel before pressing the rune.

  The fireball it belched forth was impressive in size as it raced down the tunnel, blowing the back wall out completely, leaving them a clear view of the chamber beyond.

  "Never mind," Chara said. "I think I got this."

  "Indeed," Esteban whispered.

  Ramora stared at the hole the mystic handgun had made then offered Chara a hesitant smile, asking if the young woman was still angry with her.

  "A lot less than I was," she admitted. "I'm feeling a lot better about everything right now, actually."

  Rakiss groaned as defiance, determination, and self-respect made her aura glitter.

  Chapter Eighteen

  THEY SPENT THE REST of the evening searching the armory, finding a number of items still strong enough to give them an edge should Deacon arrive before Imicot passed. None of them, to Chara's dismay, were more mystic handguns. All the rest were too drained to work, though she still took a second, saying she would find a use for it somehow.