by Susan Faw
I will rule supreme, Brother! The souls of the dead need not be tortured with a return to human mortality. They can serve me. Serve us. I am a patient goddess, and I will have your allegiance. We can be family, once again under my rule. There are enough souls for all of us, as long as you bow to me.
And if you refuse? Well, that is for you to decide what will be your fate. You and Alfreda—Avery, as she likes to be called in this age—hold the fate of the world in your hands, at least as it is currently configured. Without their Spirit Shield, there is no possibility of rebirth. Once your meddling is ended, the souls will truly be mine. I will choose who is reborn, and I will decide for how long. You may serve me and live or be converted into a loyal servant. I can always use more souls for my Charun army.
With one finger, she stroked the glossy feathers of the raven still perched on her arm without seeing it. It bobbed its head and cawed, flapping its wings, then it took off into the air to its roost in the tallest tree, closest to the rim of the opening. She watched it join its companions, the flock that scouted on her command. A shaft of sunlight blazed along the stone rim, announcing the hour, and she turned her back to the opening. The clatter of horses’ hooves on rock sounded over the murmur of the falls. They were here.
The shrubbery parted and in rode two men on horseback. One was young, barely an adult, and the other an elderly man. They rode around the rim of the pool and toward her and then reined their horses at a safe distance.
Cayden swung down from his saddle and handed the reins to the elder man. His gaze fixed on the falls, and, staring straight at her, he called out in a firm voice, “Helga, I know you are there. Part the curtain, and let me enter.” The elder slid out of his saddle and stepped up beside him, his eyes scanning the curtain of mist but seeing nothing.
Helga chuckled and waved her hand. The mist parted, swinging back on both sides like a curtain in truth. It created a dark tunnel of walled water, but the ground underfoot was completely dry. “Welcome, Caerwyn, welcome. It has been a long time.”
Cayden gave his horse a quick pat on the neck and stepped forward into the tunnel, followed by the elder. However, when the elder attempted to step into the tunnel, he met with a solid force that would not allow him entrance.
“Your friend cannot enter. Only the dead or those who have the power over life and death can enter.”
Cayden paused and looked back at the elder. “Sorry. I must go on, alone.”
Elder Hania bowed and stepped back, worry wrinkling his brow. “Be careful, sire.”
Helga chuckled from the shadows. Her voice echoed eerily down the passage. “I will take good care of him, elder. Return to your people. You have no place here amongst the gods.”
Elder Hania gave a start at the sound of her voice. It was a cold voice, a howling moan, which reminded him of open graves and restless spirits. He’d not heard the original welcome to Cayden, and the sound of her voice sent a shiver down his spine. He clenched his teeth together then stepped back with a quick bow before returning to this horse. He mounted quickly, a touch of panic in his movements.
Cayden strode the rest of the way under the falls. With a wet slap, the curtain closed, and the fall resumed its normal flow. Cayden paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the near dark. Helga stood up, filling the doorway to her home.
“So. The king returns. Welcome to Sheol Animus. Welcome to my home.” She stepped aside to allow him to enter, then stepped up beside him. “I know why you are here, Brother. The wizard lives. He is bound to serve me now, as are you. There is no returning to the outside world, except as I command.”
Cayden stiffened at her words, and his hand drifted to the sword hilt at his waist.
Helga laughed, amused. “There will be none of that. We both know that you cannot kill a soul. You may think that I have no soul to kill, and you would be right, so striking me down is impossible with such a weapon. Besides, it is a rude way to greet your sister. We are family. Come, we will have tea and chat about old times and what you have been up to since we last…met.” Her lips twisted into a smile that did not reach her eyes. “We have plenty to talk about, you and I. And when we are through reminiscing, we can chat about these.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the two Soul Fetches. She saw his eyes widen with shock and recognition, then Cayden licked his lips nervously.
Cayden’s mind spun furiously. Doubt and fear twisted his gut. What have I done in coming here? Forgive me, Ziona! Forgive me, Avery! I have failed you both.
***
Denzik and the raft of Kingsmen with him studied the Primordial host trotting along in the wake of the overly tall woman on horseback. That she led the band was clear by the deferential distance formed around her, as though she physically repelled them from touching her somehow.
Denzik scratched at the scruffy beard on his chin, thinking. They were headed in the same direction that they had tracked Avery—to the clearing where she and a companion’s trail ended. They had been slowed by the disintegration of the legion, having run into band after band of half-crazed former soldiers. The first few instances had resulted in fierce battles that had wounded and weakened his men, a few had even died. Finally, they decided they would avoid any further confrontations and had begun a stealthy sneak through the thick forest, avoiding all forms of human contact. They could not avoid the creature contacts, but the creatures seemed to know that they aided Avery or were attempting to and left them alone for the most part. The legion soldiers were not so lucky and were harried out of the forests, which may have explained in part the crazed look in their eyes.
This band of Primordials, however, was neither crazed nor scared of the woods and moved with a purpose to where Avery was holed up. The tall woman bothered Denzik. She did not appear to be fully human. If not human, then what was she? It all smacked of the gods, and Denzik was no fool to stick his head into an immortal wasp’s nest. If she was indeed of the gods, then he could best help Avery by choosing the time and location of the battle with care.
So, he continued to watch, and wait. The sun was setting, and the beginnings of a moon were in evidence on the jagged skyline. It looked to be a full moon. He and his men settled into hollows and into crooks of trees, with a view of the magnificent stone ring and the long valley. He pulled his curved pipe from his shirt pocket and clamped the stem between his teeth, but he did not light it. His thoughts organized themselves better when he had his pipe clenched between his teeth. Something was about to play out, and they had front-row seats. He just hoped it would be a show he wanted to see.
Chapter 45
Focal Point
BLOOD DRIPPED FROM AVERY’S FINGERS as she crawled through the brambles, the sharp points snagging her clothing and biting deep into the flesh of her arms and face. For once, she was grateful that she no longer had hair to tangle in the clinging vines, but that lack also meant that the rune-infused cap of skin covering her skull was shredding in equal measure. She blinked away a trickle of blood that insisted on pooling at the crook of her nose, and drew a sigh of relief on reaching the edge of the clearing. The brambles fully encircled the clearing. There was but one way to approach the clearing undetected. From this angle, she could creep over to the stones, their height and width hiding her approach from watchful eyes.
She hated leaving Achak behind. In truth, she hated being alone back in the woods where she had healed him, but there was no way he could keep up with a broken leg. She also did not want to expose him to what lay ahead. As he was unconscious, he should not be discovered.
The clearing was roughly two hundred paces in width, and about three hundred long. Four tall sentinel rocks ringed the clearing, each massive stone like a grey guardian towering over it. Each was decorated with a series of symbols, which Avery recognized, although some were faded to the point of being barely legible. The etchings themselves were not required, as the magic was set into the stone. It was equally obvious that they had not been used in a millennium. The glen smelled of decay
ing memory and stillborn traditions, abandoned by time and the mortals confined by it.
In the past, this glen had shuddered with power. Originally, this green meadow had been a gift from the heavens to the mortals they loved so dearly. This sacred clearing had once been the portal to the gods.
Now, the clearing was empty except for the stones. Long grasses swayed in the gentle breeze that sifted through the clearing. Buttercups dotted it, and a sense of peace pervaded the air. Avery sniffed the breeze and smiled. Relaxed, she walked up to the closest monolith, examining the carvings. The stones grew out of the soil, as much alive as the plants surrounding them, and indeed the bottom of the monolith was covered with carvings of vegetation. Sacred plants, plants long used in healing and nurturing. Great stalks of tobacco decorated the stone, and she ran her hand along the deep grooves. A waft of pipe smoke drifted to her nostrils, and she smiled at the memory it invoked. She glanced around and noticed that the other stones also carried carvings of plants, thin stalks of sweet grass, leafy sage, and fragrant cedar.
Stacked on top of the sacred plants were deeply carved reliefs of animals, all familiar to her. An eagle soared over the sweet grass; a buffalo chewed contentedly above the tobacco; a she-wolf stalking prey with her cubs above the sage; and a bear scratching at the ground where the cedar grew. Each animal was carved in a position of peace or contentment. Avery ran her hand over the buffalo. The face of the image looked at her, jaw ruminating.
Chiseled above each animal, an elemental was drawn, connecting through to the carvings below. The sun shone down on the buffalo and the tobacco; softly swirling currents of air carried the eagle over the sweet grass and encircled it; gentle rain bathed the wolf and cubs and watered the sage; and dark loamy earth fed the mighty cedar and the bear, scratching into the soil.
As Avery looked closer, she could also see the seasons carved into the four pillars. Spring, summer, winter, and fall were reflected in progression around the circle. Crocuses dotted the meadow of sweet grass; a thunderstorm threatened on the horizon behind the buffalo; the sage was partly covered by fallen leaves; and the earth had a slight crust of snow that contrasted with the russet ground.
The final carvings were spiritual and interpretive. The faces of the gods, those who were the elders in ancient times, stared down from the crest of the stones. A Spirit Guardian perched, overseeing the eagle, surrounded by a halo of carved eagle feathers. The second guardian’s face was laughing and crying, the emotional guardian of the Primordial people. The third face was wise and caring, a consummate reflection of the guardian of wisdom and intellect. The final face was youthful with strong cheeks and a clear gaze, the guardian of the physical.
Avery swiped at the trickle of blood that once again attempted to block her vision, leaving a smear across the bridge of her nose.
This is the spot, the place I remember as a child. Papa used to bring us once a year to renew our vows to the gods.
Avery stepped into the center of the stones, memory guiding her to a spot equidistant to them, and knelt down. It looked the same as every other overgrown section. She grabbed great handfuls of the meadow grasses and pulled, uprooting them, and she pulled out the matted soil pack created by the webbing of roots, peeling back the sod like the skin of an orange.
When she had cleared an area roughly the size of wagon wheel, she stood up and dragged her boot across the partially cleared spot, pushing dirt back with it. Half an hour passed and the sun shifted along its axis, sinking closer to the horizon. Avery glanced up from her work and frowned. She had but an hour till the appointed time, until the rays of the setting sun were aligned as prophesied.
A niggling sense of panic wormed its way into her consciousness and she ran to the side of the clearing to search for a tool to use as a shovel, the box giggling in the inner pocket of her tunic. She cast her eyes over the ground, eyes searching for something to assist her with digging. A twig snapped in the woods and she froze, melting into the grasses to stare at what approached the clearing. One hand curled around the flat stone she had spied just before the sound. The other slid into her coat to clutch the handle of her throwing knife. Her eyes studied the edge of forest encroaching on the chest-high brambles. There was but one path into the site. All other approaches were on hands and knees, as she had entered, if one was to remain unseen.
No one could have followed her. No one would dare try. And if no one followed, that left one possibility. If someone was spying on her, they were already here. They already knew the location of the Sacred Meadow. And the only one who would know this…she shivered at the thought. Avery suddenly felt very, very alone.
Cayden? she whispered in her mind. It did not matter that she knew it was in her head, the habits of a lifetime made her whisper, even there. Are you coming? She waited in silence, eyes still roving over her surroundings, searching for anything out of the ordinary.
Silence greeted her. Her mind remained silent too. Cayden? Her head swiveled. Tamping down her rising fears, she grabbed the stone and headed back to the center of the clearing. What choice did she have? The sun was going to set regardless of whether anyone was watching. It was now or never. Another solstice would not occur until after the doom had fallen. No choice. None whatsoever. Avery gritted her teeth and pushed aside her fear of whatever watched from the trees.
She knelt once again and took the stone in both hands, scooping the loose dirt toward her, moving around in a circle to drag back more and more soil all the time. She worked steadily for twenty minutes, sweat dripping off her forehead and mixing with the blood, stinging through the cuts even as it washed the blood away. She dared not swipe it away with her hands covered in dirt, and endured the stinging sweat.
The stone clunked and scraped against something solid. She paused, then dropped the stone and began to scoop away soil with her bare hands, clearing the area. Gradually, a white disk emerged, which glowed faintly in the waning light. Avery tossed aside the stone and began to scoop out handfuls of dirt, tossing them over the side and brushing the remainder off to the sides, smoothing her hands over the surface.
The disk was about three paces in circumference and made of a smooth stone-like substance that glowed softly in the fading light. The buttery texture was soft to the touch yet hard as steel. The scraping stone had not marked the surface, yet Avery swore she could have marked it with the edge of her fingernail.
Avery snapped her fingers and a flame danced to life. She held it over the disk and swept away the last of the dirt then bent to examine its surface. It was completely smooth and unmarked except for a hollowed-out bowl in the center and eight sectional lines, like small troughs that ran back precisely to where monolithic guardians stood.
The bowl was patterned with dots, some larger, some smaller. As Avery studied them, she realized they were a reflection of the heavens; the planetary bodies and the stars that would be visible at this time of day if the sun’s light had not obscured them from human view.
Avery sighed with satisfaction, pleased that she had found the celestial bowl.
She glanced up to mark the placement of the sun. When she raised her head, it was met with the cool press of a blade at her throat. She sucked in a quick breath and froze.
“Hello, Sister. It is about time we met.” Artio’s blade forced Avery to her feet, and with a casual flick of wrist, she pushed the remainder of Avery’s hood off her head. Their eyes locked for the first time in a millennium, sister to sister.
Avery’s eyes widened in shock at her sister’s bear-like appearance, and Artio’s reaction was similar, if less intense. Artio’s bladed knife dropped, while she studied her sister’s tattooed form. She gripped the curved blade tightly in her right hand as though uncertain whether she was dangerous. The thought flashed through her mind that she should finish her right then and there.
Avery’s eyes ran around the stones, searching for a path to freedom, but the Flesh Clan warriors surrounded them three deep. “Thank you for guiding us to the Celestial
Temple,” Artio growled. “I knew you remembered where it was. You were the one who worshiped Papa, you and…what does he call himself now, Cayden? You both worshiped the ground he walked on!” Artio chuckled as she strode around Avery, looking her up and down. “Of course, Morpheus was a god, but even so, I found your fawning quite revolting. But look at you! My, what a puny human you have become.” Artio’s hand shot out and grabbed Avery by the throat, lifting her up with one hand, so that her feet dangled inches from the ground. Avery gasped, choking, and grabbed Artio’s hands with her own, pulling herself up to relieve the pressure on her throat, to little avail. Her eyes widened in fear, then flashed back to defiance. Artio threw back her head and laughed while Avery writhed in her grip. “I do believe I could snap your neck by simply squeezing, but you fight on! So, there is a remnant of the stubborn little girl in there.” Artio tossed Avery to the side, where she bounced and tumbled through the grasses, coming to rest face down.
Avery sucked in a lung full of air and dirt, her hand rising to touch the bruise already forming around her throat from Artio’s crushing grip. Avery heaved several gulps of air into her lungs and then sat up, only to be met by spears and knives before she could fully sit.
“Let her up, my pets. She has something of mine. A trinket box, promised to me by my beloved.” Avery froze at the words. How does she know? Have I been betrayed?
The spears withdrew incrementally, and Avery sat up, gazing warily at her sister.
“You do not speak. Come now, Alfreda. This is a reunion! You should be rejoicing in our reacquaintance.”
Avery stood up, testing her various wounds. Her head ached and her throat was on fire, but both of those she could deal with. With alarm, she found that her right foot tried to buckle under her. She had not even realized she had twisted it in the fall, but now it was well and truly sprained. Pain flashed as she tested it for weight, and she bit her lip to hold in the moan.
