Resurrection

by Nancy Holder

  The ruins of the castle stood stark and unforgiving against the night sky. In front of the crumbling stone and mortar, Nicole looked so out of place. Jer could sense his brother’s honest, true love for Nicole, and it unnerved him. To think that a warlock once so devoted to the Black Arts could feel the emotion of love—there had to be a power at work that Jer could not control, much less comprehend. Would it turn on him?

  Had it taken Holly from him, forever?

  His gut churned. His mind raced. Like Holly, he had made terrible sacrifices, bargaining with pieces of his soul, for the power to protect his covenates. He bore his scars outside and in, but he knew that hers ran as deep. Perhaps the wounds that had caused them had overwhelmed her. He didn’t know. All he did know was that if he was going to die tonight, it would happen because he loved her, and her people, and his own.

  I should never have rejected her offer to be joined in thrall, he thought, clenching his scarred fists as cold wind slapped him. Raindrops pounded his bare head. I threw away my only chance at happiness. Besides, it was stupid to waste that chance to protect our people. Our combined power could have stopped this from ever happening.

  He shook his head to clear away such thoughts. Regrets were for the weak. He looked again at Nicole and marveled at how she had changed. The sorrow on her face for her dead Philippe was terrible to behold. Philippe hadn’t seen the crazy, wild girl who had hung out at their house, hoping to see some big bad black magic. Bad girls like bad boys, and Nicole had innocently thought that the Deveraux were like that. She’d had no idea they were bad men. There was a huge difference.

  Holly had known that. Holly had seen that. And she had turned away.

  Jer took a deep breath. It was time. They were as prepared as they were ever going to be. In his mind he could feel Laurent reaching out for him, trying to find him. His stomach twisted painfully. He reached out and took Kari’s cold hand in his own.

  “Everyone ready?”

  There were murmurs up and down the line.

  “Drop it.”

  Anne-Louise waved her hand in the air, and the barrier that the angels had helped her erect, which shielded them from the eyes of the world, collapsed.

  “By the God, Jer,” Eve breathed. “Look.”

  Jer turned, and saw Merlin, dread sorcerer, an enemy more powerful even than Duc Laurent, astride a white stallion that was decked out in equestrian battle armor. Laurent’s black stallion reared beside Merlin’s horse, fire gutting from its nostrils. As its hooves slammed against the ground, sparks skittered into the night sky.

  Ranged behind them were demonic creatures, and wraiths, and centuries of Deveraux phantoms that had pledged their souls and beating hearts to the destruction of the Cahors. There were thousands of them. Among them Jer saw his own father, Michael, and he felt sick to his soul. Some were nothing more than skeletal shapes; gray flesh clung to others. The light of life danced in the eyes of some; others seemed even deader than Kari. Zombies. Legions of them.

  At the rear, towering strangely over the vast army, sat the heavily veiled Catherine of the Cahors, the woman who had conspired to kill Duc Laurent, his sons, Jean and Paul-Henri, and every other Deveraux who drew breath. She wore black armor chased with silver, and black gauntlets held the reins. The bloodied heads of recent human sacrifices dangled from her saddle. He counted six on one side, seven on the other. In her terrible majesty she resembled the ancient manifestation of the Goddess known as Kali, the Destroyer. Kali wore the skulls of men around her neck, and at her waist.

  Though her face was hidden, he knew that she was staring straight at him, with the deadly accuracy of a laser machine gun aimed directly at his heart. Laurent and Merlin both smiled, and he knew they barely restrained themselves from attacking.

  Our lines are drawn, and they are strange, he thought. Cahors and Deveraux have changed sides, mingled, separated. This battle is about more than our blood feud. What is it that I’m fighting for?

  An image of Holly blossomed in his mind, and his heart skipped three beats. For a moment he thought he was dying. He murmured another protection spell and touched his breastplate. Amulets were fused into the metal and sewn into the simple shirt he wore beneath his catsuit.

  Holly, be well. Live forever, he thought, and found himself making a fist and kissing his extended thumb, as he had seen the Catholic followers of the Goddess do. He thanked Pan that Holly was not there. And yet, if he died today, without seeing her once more…

  …then I will haunt her. Through time and space I will look for her.

  A bolt of lightning zigzagged across the sky and pierced the ground a few feet in front of him. Shouts rose up as trees burst into flame. He braced himself and danced backward, scrutinizing the ground in case a portal opened. His side had heavily warded their territory against such things, but he knew he could make no assumptions about what the other side could and could not do.

  Nothing happened. The rain doused the trees. The next blaze of lightning shot over their heads, charging Jer’s hair with static electricity, but nothing worse than that. His massed army retained their composure, but he could feel their fear, their anxiety. They were wise to be afraid. The balance of power was not in their favor.

  “I’ll be pissed off if you die,” Eli said gruffly. Then he smiled his hard, cold smile. “But I’ll be more pissed off if I die.”

  Eve chuckled. “Deveraux to the end.” Her face was pale, and her voice dropped to a hoarse rasp. “They have more people than we do.”

  “It’s not how many, it’s how powerful,” Jer countered, but she was right. They were so incredibly, vastly outnumbered.

  Then the ground beneath his feet rumbled again, and flames shot from the fissure. Black light poured from it like boiling smoke. Immediately Jer, Eli, and Eve formed fireballs and hurled them in a thick arc of flame.

  The fireballs slammed against the giant black-scaled demonic form, all fangs and talons and spines. It was Sir William Moore, as he was now. Jer himself had watched the creature slash its way out of the human body of Sir William. Now it unfurled its wings and gazed at the trio. Chills skittered down Jer’s back, but he kept his chin high.

  “Sir William,” he said in a booming voice, “I’m Jeraud Deveraux.”

  The demon’s huge mouth split into a slathering grin. Bloody drool looped from his razor-sharp fangs as his wings flapped in the rain. His talons curled, uncurled. Huge eyes gleamed with fiery scarlet light.

  “Sir William!” a voice shouted. It was Laurent. He raised his left hand, covered in a red metal gauntlet. “Well met! We await you, sir!”

  The demon swept a stately bow in the direction of Jer, Eli, and Eve, showing his backside to Laurent. Jer’s lips parted in amazement.

  “I am here. I am on your side, Jeraud,” he hissed, and his voice sent skitters up Jer’s spine. “I will help you destroy your ancestors and their allies. Merlin. I will rip out his backbone.” He drooled and clacked his fangs as if in anticipation of the carnage to come.

  Jer straightened his shoulders, aware that Eli and Eve both had created fireballs, and were waiting for his signal to lob them at the demon. They would need stronger magic than that if Sir William changed sides.

  His gaze ticked to the opposing army. As if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, Catherine lifted her heavy black veils from her face. Jer couldn’t make out her features in the darkness; he had a feeling that was a lucky thing.

  “I hated your father. I hate your family. The Deveraux have plagued the Moores for centuries.” Sir William drew himself up on his muscular legs that resembled those of a warhorse. He towered above Jer, his brother, and his cousin. Sulfur and smoke stained the air.

  “But I hate Merlin more.” The creature’s voice brimmed with loathing, malice. “I know what he is. What he can do to the world. And you won’t like what he does to it.”

  “Then you’ll fight with us,” Jer said.

  The demon lowered his head. “Yes, I will.” His face split apar
t with an enormous, insinuating smile. “Today.”

  “Merci bien,” Jer said.

  “I’ll take on your enemies, but don’t get cocky. I may be more than a man, but I’m still only one warrior.”

  “We’re grateful for your help, Sir William,” Eve said steadily.

  “A Deveraux assassin, grateful,” the demon sneered. He looked hard at Jer. “Gaspar, Balthasar, and Melchior did the world a huge service when they bound Merlin. All is lost, unless you send him back to the Crystal Cave. He will rip your world to pieces. Our world. Unless you defeat him now.”

  “That’s our intention,” Jer said boldly.

  If only we knew how.

  thirteen

  THYME

  Terror fills the darkest hearts

  Tears are shed as we part

  As it was, it again will be

  Only in death are we ever free

  Standing here among the slain

  Tasting blood and fire and pain

  Flesh will tear and hearts will rend

  And now it ends, at last it ends

  In the Forever Time

  There is a moment after death when things can go one of several ways, when souls can mingle and reunite—or be forever parted. Fate throws the bones, and hearts are mended, or shattered. What tips the balance in one’s favor? Is it Mercy, or Grace, or Justice—the names of the three brightest angels?

  Or is it Love, the name of the One True Being?

  The Ruins of Castle Cahors, France

  Jer threw up his arm as he stared at the forces allied against them. There were thousands of demons. If things went as he expected they would, they would focus their attack on Armand.

  He had to trust that the witch priest and his allies could take care of that part. Richard and the witch-warriors summoned to act as his troops would have to take care of his part.

  Jer gave the signal, and his own ghost army flowed forward to do battle with the dead of the other side. That left the flesh-and-blood enemies to deal with.

  It’s time, he thought. All my life, I felt so unnecessary. Useless. This is my highest, best purpose. If I die today, I’ll have lived well.

  He took a moment to send his thanks to…whom? He didn’t know whom he followed any longer. He had stopped worshipping the Horned God long ago. But the Goddess was a stranger to him.

  Thank you, Holly, he thought. Thank you for loving me, and believing in me.

  He wished she were there…and was glad that she wasn’t.

  Wherever you are, be well.

  “Now!” he bellowed, and the shouts of his side rose up around him like a blazing inferno of will.

  The thunder of hoofbeats and heartbeats and chanting; the screams of banshees and phantoms and horrors; the shouts of men. The savage cry of Richard Anderson, echoed by Eli.

  Jer threw up his hand, and a dozen throwing stars rolled off his fingertips and flew at the enemy, cutting through flesh and bone. And in the corner of his eye he could see that he was right, all the demons were heading straight for Armand.

  He held on to Kari’s hand for dear life as he sent wave after wave of deadly magic toward Laurent. Nicole and Eli surged forward together, heading for Merlin.

  We can do this! We can win! Amanda thought as another of Laurent’s foot soldiers exploded in front of her. Beside her Tommy was spinning like a madman, death flashing off his fingertips first as fire and then as daggers of ice.

  They fought for hours; for five seconds; it all happened so fast that time blurred. Wind whipped around her, slapping her hair across her face. It was like a hurricane, a tornado, a kamikaze. It was of magical origin, and it threw her off her feet.

  “Amanda!” Tommy shouted. He was being billowed about, as she was, like two leaves on the wind.

  Duc Laurent stood in the middle of a maelstrom of his own making and twisted his hands faster and faster.

  As Tommy helped her back to her feet, Amanda threw a fireball at Laurent. It didn’t even get close, extinguished by the vortex whirling around him. Tommy sent several ice daggers toward him, but they were pulverized into dust by the winds that were gathering strength.

  Amanda saw Jer rushing toward his ancestor, and she sent some shields to protect him as he ran. He had almost reached Laurent when an earthquake threw everyone on both sides to the ground. The ground rumbled, and the whole world rippled.

  Amanda flipped over as the earth heaved beneath her. Then a hundred feet away it split open and a high-pitched keening sound tumbled forth. Smoke and fire appeared in the crevice, and then a figure ascended.

  The Horned God rose into the sky and roared in rage. He was dressed in gold and green, in his image of Green Man. Majestic, terrifying, he seemed to gather leaves and grass and insects into his robes as he stepped forward. Upon his head he wore a crown of antlers, and from his eyes fire erupted.

  He turned toward Amanda and she scrabbled backward across the rough ground. He stretched forth his hand, and next to her Luna fell to the ground dead.

  Amanda screamed and continued to back up, trying to get away, praying that his eyes wouldn’t fall on her.

  An earsplitting wail ripped the air, and next the Goddess shimmered into existence, wearing black robes tied with silken cords of moonlight. She threw what appeared to be a moonbeam and it landed around the head of the demonic Sir William. She flicked her wrist and the ropelike beam snapped taught and beheaded him.

  “No, you can’t!” Rose cried, throwing herself forward. “That’s not who we are, that’s not how we worship.”

  The Goddess turned and caught Rose by the chin and then calmly broke her neck. As if to mock her own actions, she wore the guises of the Lady Virgin, in white robes and blue, and with a diadem of stars.

  Amanda started to shake uncontrollably. The Goddess had just killed one of her followers. Sir William had been their ally. Nothing could save any of them now if Notre Dame and the Horned God didn’t care who they killed. She touched the amulet around her neck. Merlin was suddenly the least of their worries.

  Then the Horned God and the Goddess set their sights on each other. The Horned God changed His aspect, becoming the patron of the Deveraux, as if to thumb his nose at the treacherous family who had shifted allegiance to his nemesis: His head was that of a goat, twin curled horns spiraling to either side of crescent-shaped eyes. Below the goat’s fringed beard, the fanned hood of a jaguar served as a neck. The torso belonged to a jaguar, and the front legs and paws to some unnamed beast of prey with talons fully half as long as his body. His hind legs and tail were that of a crocodile.

  The Goddess changed too, becoming Kali, the Goddess of Time and Change: mud-colored, four-armed, naked, Her tongue extending to the center of Her chest. She wore nothing but clacking necklaces of human skulls, anklets and bracelets of bones.

  From her tongue and open mouth, flames and fireballs shot toward the Horned God, followed by daggers of ice. Lightning bolts emanated from his eyes, raging around Her, smashing the ground, the trees, the skies.

  Cataclysm. Chaos. Apocalypse.

  The Goddess changed her aspect: Athena, Bast, Durga, Circe, the Virgin, blurring, becoming one, many, legion—

  “Stop! Oh, please, stop!” Amanda screamed as she threw herself behind one of the ancient stones of the castle. It exploded in front of her. She threw her hands up in front of herself and turned her face—

  —just in time to see a fireball whoosh toward Eli’s chest.

  “Look out!” she shrieked.

  Eli jerked sideways just as he heard Amanda’s warning. The fireball only grazed him, which explained why he was still alive. He threw off the smoldering remnants of his shirt and looked down at his chest…at where the protection symbol should have been…which was now just a patch of charred flesh.

  “No!” he screamed.

  It was too late. Eli Deveraux started the scream, but Jean Deveraux finished it.

  “Isabeau!”

  He turned and saw the Cathers witch Nicole, just as her face
changed and the features of his Isabeau took control.

  “Traitor, murdering bitch!” he shouted as he ran to her.

  She did not run, but stood her ground, the proud fierce Cahors daughter at the last.

  His lips found hers, and the familiar curves of her body melted into his. The battle raged on around him, but he did not care. There was only this moment and her and the love and hate that filled him and made him tremble.

  Ma femme. Ma vie. My woman, my life.

  They tumbled to the ground, and their bodies joined.

  Ma mort. My death.

  And then Jean looked at her, his bride, his love, his enemy. He drew his athame and rammed it into her heart just as her blade pierced his. He collapsed on top of her, and their blood ran out of their bodies, mingling in death just as it had during their wedding ceremony. Blood to blood, flesh to flesh.

  “I have fulfilled my vow. I have killed you, witch,” he whispered with his dying breath.

  “And I have killed you, my husband, my love,” she sobbed in response.

  Around them the battle raged. Warriors fell. Phantoms exploded. The earth began to crack apart.

  Nicole died first, and Isabeau was forced to let go. She floated a moment above the body, her spirit waiting. She watched as the light left Jean’s…no, Eli’s eyes. Then his body died and Jean came to her.

  “Isabeau,” Jean whispered. “Nous sommes libres.”

  We are free.

  Free as birds.

  It was over at last. The curse that had bound them to the earth and to each other was gone. And it was time to leave. But Isabeau knew she would not be leaving alone. It wasn’t a curse only that had bound her to Jean. She would go anywhere as long as he was there. She was his and he was hers.

  Whither thou goest…

  …eternally.

  Amanda screamed in horror as she crawled over to the body of her sister. Nicole’s eyes were open, vacant. “You can’t die!” she shrieked, shaking the body. “Niki! You have to live for Owen, for me.”