by Susan Faw
Cayden did not look back. His concern was all ahead. Ziona had a three-day head start on him, but he would find her. Nothing will stop me, short of death.
***
Ziona crept through the bushes, silent as a hare, and froze at the snap of a twig nearby. She listened, cocking her head to one side, slowing her breathing, and lowering her heart rate. After a time, she resumed her stealthy retreat from the edge of the Flesh Clan’s encampment.
Why are they so deep into this side of the Spine? she pondered as she slunk silently back to her cold camp. When she’d left Faylea with Sharisha three years ago to search for the prophesied children, she’d not believed it would take so long to find them. Much had changed since they’d left their home. Ziona had heard rumours about the unrest between the two Primordial factions, but if this was any indication of the severity of the split, it was more like a chasm.
Reaching her camp, she checked on her mount, finding him tied where she had left him, munching happily on the sparse grasses at his feet. She stroked his nose and then rummaged in the saddlebags for some dried fruit for a quick meal.
Taking a bite, she examined her options. Should I stay and observe the camp longer, or should I push on for Faylea? The decision weighed on her mind as she considered the problem. Knowing what the Flesh Clans were up to would be handy information, but she was not sure it outweighed her need to report to the High Priestess in Faylea and inform her order of the return of the Spirit Shield, of the return of a god, albeit in human form. She still marveled at this, that a god now walked amongst them.
And then there was Avery. Cayden would be angry with Ziona for leaving this way. He had wanted to accompany her in the search for his sister, but his place was in Cathair as the current monarch. He could not be traipsing all over the known world like some common courier.
She felt his pulse in the corner of her brain where the bond nestled, protected by blood and bone and tissue, that ethereal essence that was the blended portion of soul they shared. She had tried not to think of the bond and what it meant for them. In very un-Primordial fashion, she had hidden from the truth. In very un-seekerly form, she had avoided confronting the issue. Instead, she’d taken this excuse to flee, to put distance between them and the overwhelming desire to move past a sisterly relationship to something more…adult. As she pondered the situation, the bond surged, and she physically took a step back from the wash of emotion that flooded her. She stepped back again and abruptly halted as she bumped up against something solid…and warm.
Instinct drove her to her knees, and at the same time she tucked and rolled, pulling knives from her boots. Springing to her feet, she froze in mid-throw.
She was completely encircled by Flesh Clan Primordials, each clutching the wickedly curved knives they favoured. Ziona spun on the spot, trying to keep all eight men and woman in sight at once. She half turned, and froze. The pair closest to her horse parted for a tall, straight-backed woman in a burgundy wool dress that hugged her curves. A cape of black silk, trimmed with ermine, topped the dress, the hood framing an austere face, set in a frown. She held up a regal hand, freezing the combatants.
“Well, well, what do we have here?”
The circle closed on Ziona, tightening the ring, narrowing her focus until the only person she could see was the woman standing directly in front of her. Rough hands relieved her of her knives and others grabbed her arms, winding a rope around her wrists and binding them in place in front of her body. She did not resist. It seemed ill-advised, given the fact she was alone and surrounded. The jute ropes bit into her wrists as the man tying them gave a sharp tug.
“A Primordial woman, all alone in the woods. Spirit Clan too. Now tell me, what would possess such a person to wander unattended through heathen-infested forests?” The Flesh Clan warriors surrounding her shifted their feet at her words. “A foolish one, I think.” She drew the finely woven riding gloves off her hands, revealing a large signet ring on the middle finger of her right hand that flashed in the fading light.
Ziona’s heart sank at the sight.
Alcina walked slowly around her, examining her. “You would be the Primordial woman I have heard so much about.” Ziona’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh yes, I know of you. You are the seeker who left to look for the usurper, and it seems you found him before I did.” She laid a lacquered finger up against Ziona’s cheek, turning her face to look directly into her eyes. “You have inconvenienced me greatly.” Her eyes glinted with malice as Ziona’s locked onto hers. “And finally, I have someone who will answer for this crime. You do know that the penalty for treason is death?” She cocked her head to one side, waiting to see what affect her words would have on the woman before her.
“Although you are Primordial, your treacherous actions occurred within my realm. You will be tried as a traitor and hung, as is the penalty for such crimes. Take her away!” She dragged her lacquered nail against Ziona’s cheek as she flung it away, and the nail cut deeply, leaving a stinging, red tear that welled with beads of blood.
The rope tying Ziona’s hands was jerked tight, and she stumbled to keep her balance as the holder of the rope mounted up on his horse. Heeling it into motion, he trotted off toward the camp. Ziona was forced to run or be dragged all the way to wherever they were going. Twice she stumbled in the darkening woods and was roughly pulled to her feet then made to run again. Maintaining her balance was difficult given the uneven terrain, but still she ran as she had been trained to do.
The last rays of the setting sun disappeared just as they arrived at the camp, cooking fires guiding the way to the Flesh Clan encampment just as full dark descended. Eyes followed her as she was dragged and shoved along the pathways to the center of the camp.
They came to a halt in front of a tent clad in skins and reserved for prisoners. The guards pulled aside the flap and shoved Ziona inside. She tripped over the threshold and fell to the floor, catching herself on her bound hands just before her face struck the ground. When she raised her head, a familiar face greeted her.
“Hello, Ziona. Welcome to the combined legion and Flesh Clan camp. Being as you are Primordial, you must already know that they eat their prisoners here.” Darius’s pitiless eyes were as cold as Helga’s dark hearth.
Ziona straightened to her knees, her eyes impaling him with hatred. “Traitor!” she spat. “Cayden trusted you! I trusted you! I hope you are fed to the Charun someday. You are not fit to die a hero’s death in battle.” Darius snarled. He could not prevent the memory of the Charun, the shadow-formed monsters that had attacked Cayden’s escort six months ago, from flashing into his mind. The grizzly aftermath of their rampage through the legion was not easily forgotten. Darius shivered involuntarily. Then, angry that she had witnessed his fear, he back-handed Ziona, with a vicious clout that sent her toppling onto her side. This time she smacked her head on the ground, hard. Darius bent down and pulled her upright by her hair, bending her neck painfully.
“Alcina is the queen, and you are nothing but a dirty Primordial. If you wish to retain those teeth for another couple days, I suggest you shut your mouth.” He shoved her back to the ground and retied her bonds so that her hands now stretched behind her back and fastened them to her bound feet. He then ran the length of rope through an iron loop welded to a stake in the ground. Satisfied she was secure, Darius stood up, gazing down at her prone form. “Maybe I will get a chance to enjoy your charming company before you are executed.” His gaze wandered across her body, leering at her feminine curves. “I’d keep a civil tongue, or I will cut it out in advance of your hanging.”
He left the tent without a backward glance.
Ziona shivered on the cold floor, flexing her fingers to encourage some circulation into her cramping fingers. She closed her eyes, consciously closing off the connection with Cayden, placing a mental wall between them. She did not want him to feel her fear or her pain. She did not want him coming after her. It was her own foolish lack of attention that had gotten her into th
is, and she would have to figure a way out on her own. I will not become bait for a trap for him. I will end my own life before being used in that way. My duty is to protect Cayden, now and always.
Chapter 19
Descent into Hell
ARTIO MATCHED HELGA’S STRIDE, her damp footsteps flashing to steam as the heat of the stone floor evaporated the moisture on contact. Helga led her along a twisting path, lit by glowing fissures in the stone that made their shadows dance wildly on the slick walls as they passed.
A low moan whispered around them, then faded away. Artio’s head swiveled in the direction of the sound, and she sniffed the air. It smelled of sulphur and ashes, acrid in her nostrils. The sound of running water echoed oddly around the chamber, the noise coming from the deep cracks and crevices in the rock. Some glowed red and some glowed blue, but the sulphur smell predominated. She rubbed at her nose then refocused on her sister.
“Why do you persist with using that foul odour? Don’t tell me you are still pretending that this place is roasting the remains of people?”
Helga chuckled as she reached up and pushed back the hood of her cape. “It amuses me. I push the smell out the exhaust ventricles, and the smell of roasting flesh keeps the mortals from coming too close. It feeds their superstitions and discourages the curious from investigating too closely. Of course, a few well-timed disappearances never hurt. This mountain is cursed. Did you not know? Tsk, tsk. You really should have tried harder to escape your starry prison.”
Artio glared at her.
“Tea. I think a nice cup of tea and some of those tasty salmon sandwiches you always favoured are in order. Yes, tea on the promenade. Come.”
Helga took a fork to the right, and the path pitched down into the center of the mountain. Five minutes of walking brought them to the end of the tunnel, which opened abruptly into a cavern flooded with sunlight. At first it appeared that there were multiple suns, but upon closer inspection, the suns were revealed to be parabolic mirrors suspended around the curvature of the opening to the sky.
The cavern was immense, and a riot of tropical colour assaulted Artio’s eyes from every direction. Pink roses climbed the rocky walls, and purple, red, and yellow hibiscuses grew in clumps along the pathways. Date palms heavy with fruit flashed with hyacinth macaws, jumping from cluster to cluster to gorge on the bounty. Their red and green cousins soared around the cavern, alighting on nests wriggling with fledglings. Lovebirds whistled and chirped, and canaries sang joyously from the shrubbery as they passed.
Artio sniffed again, and this time smelled the heady scent of jasmine and honey orchids and the earthy smells of growing things. The air was heavy with mixed perfumes, so strong they made Artio’s senses swim. Helga smiled and gestured for Artio to precede her into the hidden paradise. The path twisted here and there, a meandering route that emptied onto a springy moss floor. A river passed through the center of the cavern. Bright blue, it glowed as though lit from below. Fog floated just above the surface.
Helga led Artio to a wooden table set with tea for two, tucked against the stone wall and giving an unimpeded view of the cavern.
“How do you like my garden? It has been millennia in the making, acquiring the seeds and soils and eggs of unhatched birds. They have no natural predators here, so they live long lives in their volcanic home.” She picked up the pot of tea and poured two cups from the bone china pot into large mugs. “Honey? But, of course, you want honey!” She dropped a dollop of honey into one cup and stirred it with spoon before passing it over to Artio.
Artio picked up the cup and took a drink. It was as good a tea as she had ever tasted. The smell of the salmon sandwiches made her stomach rumble.
“Sandwich?” Helga passed a plate of sandwiches but did not take one herself. She sat back and studied Artio as she wolfed down several, smacking her lips in satisfaction.
Artio wiped a sleeve across her lips, dislodging a few crumbs. “Still not able to taste food?” she sneered, eyeing the lone sandwich remaining on the tray.
“No, nor can I smell the flowers in my garden. Sometimes, I think I can. I feel it tickling the edge of my memory. What I wouldn’t give to smell flowers or taste the tea. I remember I didn’t like honey, but I cannot remember what honey tastes like.” She sighed and put her tea down. “You did not come here to talk of tea and my gardens. What do you want, Artio?”
Artio leaned back in her chair and considered her sister.
“First, I want to know what happened, millennia ago, when I was locked away in the stars. And secondly, I want to know where to find the twins…to kill them.” Her fierce eyes flashed yellow for a moment, the bear rising to the surface. “And thirdly, I want to know why you did nothing to rescue me. Answer all three well, and I might let you live. Answer poorly and your garden will shortly be absent an owner.”
Helga threw back her head and laughed. Her blatant display of unconcern did not fool Artio. The sibling godlings all knew it was possible to die as she had. It was not possible for a mortal to kill a godling—the feat was beyond a mere mortal’s capabilities—but another godling or one of the gods themselves could accomplish the task. The twins killed me, and I will have my revenge! Helga will not stand in my way.
“You were always one to bite first and later wonder if the prey might have told you something useful,” said Helga, holding up her hands to hold Artio back. “I will answer your questions. Yes, I will! But first you must answer some of mine. What do you remember of your banishment?”
Artio frowned, thick brows drawing together in concentration. Her nose wrinkled, while she sifted through the memories that were slowly returning to her.
“It was a cold, clear night. We were experimenting with the moon, trying to harness the latent power of its orbit and bind it to the stones. With the moon’s power and the healing set up in the medicine wheel, we believed we had found the key to lengthening the normal lifespan. We—well, I—wished to prolong my time with the mortals or one particular mortal. How they fascinated us both! Especially the man named Genii. So tall and so dark! Do you remember him?” Artio stood up and began to pace, suddenly annoyed with the tea-time setting, and prowled around the enclosure, restless. Startled birds squawked into flight. “Genii was special, unique amongst humans. Handsome, broad-shouldered, and brooding, I think his dark features set him apart. He could have been descended from the gods. Could have been, but wasn’t. The resident bad boy!” She barked a laugh. “He was always getting into trouble in any town he passed through. I remember him being quite the ladies’ man. I adored him. He had two friends who were always with him.” She frowned, dragging the names from her memory. “I think the blond one was named Julio, and I can’t remember what the weedy one was called. Do you remember them?” Artio glanced over her shoulder at Helga and caught a fleeting look of smugness fade into pinched concern.
Artio frowned, wondering if she had imagined the flashed expression. Helga’s face was studious, as though she was hanging on her every word. Artio stopped pacing and planted her feet, crossing her arms. She would not give Helga further opportunity for evasion.
Helga picked up her cup of tea and took another sip, her cup rattling on the saucer as she returned it to the plate. “I remember him. Genii,” Helga stated flatly. “He was indeed quite beautiful to look at, but in the end a mere mortal, unworthy of our attention.”
“What happened to him?” Artio demanded. “We were trying to harness the power of the moon. We were trying to bring them a sampling of immortality, elongating the span of their lives. Something we have done a thousand times before with lesser creatures.”
Helga tilted her head to one side, clearly considering how much she should divulge to this fierce version of her sister. The bear combination had certainly given her a backbone she had not possessed before. “You have changed since you merged with the bear cub. I do not remember you being this aggressive in the past. In fact, you acted more like the Thunders than your bear heritage. Clearly, your time amongst
the stars has aged you.” She dismissed the thought with a flick of her hand. “What does it matter? It is ancient history at this point. They were mortals and are long gone from this earth.”
Artio didn’t hold back the snarl that curled past her lips. She growled and her nostrils flared as her red-hot temper coursed just below the surface of her skin, heating her blood. Her fingers curled into claws as she fought to stay in control. She would have answers or Helga would live to regret it.
Helga stood up and walked around her sister, examining the changes. “If you must know, they all died when the link to the moon’s energy snapped and rebounded. They were incinerated on the spot, but you would not know this, for the rebounding knocked you senseless. The twins were responsible for the feedback problem as they disrupted the transfer that you had initiated. Then, believing you to be dead, they sent you to the very moon you were harnessing to be kept in limbo forever.”
“Just like that? That’s everything? You stood around and did nothing? We were in this together! These were our boys!” The last words came out in a roar and more brightly coloured birds took to the air and began to circle high above the trees, a swirling mass reminiscent of bats leaving a cave to feed. Artio grabbed the front of Helga’s robes in clenched fists, jerking her to a halt and immediately, darkness fell in the cave and black-hooded beings melted out of the crevices of rock, their forms wreathed in black mist that made it impossible to look directly on them, as though they were not quite in this world. Artio saw them coming and released Helga, who stepped back and straightened her robes, her eyes flashing with anger. The swirling figures crept closer, and Helga halted them with a raised hand.
“Touch me again,” she snarled, “and my Charun will kill you. You are here because I allow it, but my pity only extends so far. Touch me again and it is you who will die, dear Sister, and this time it will be forever.”
