by Susan Faw
“I do not understand why you do this, Artio. You are Artio?” Artio nodded. “Cayden and I have never caused you any harm. We were your champions always, and especially after your disappearance! What has happened to you?”
Artio snorted and walked closer to her sister, her feral eyes absorbing the setting sun and glowing golden in the refracted light.
“Lies! You try to distract me from my purpose here tonight, but it will not work. Time is of the essence, and you would like to see the sun set on this day, true?” Avery’s eyes widened involuntarily. “Yes, I know of the solstice prophecy, a prophecy that arose from my demise. From our demise, is it not? It promises that on this evening, the circle will be completed once more, and the healing of the stones unleashed. The Flesh Clan priests chatter on about how I will bring back the gods and that they will rule supreme under me.” Avery shook her head but remained silent. She knew there was more to it than simply triggering the stones. “And I also know that my trinket box is key. You will now hand it over to me.” The warriors grabbed Avery’s arms and held her tightly, swords coming to throat again. “Go on. Remove the box from your pocket. My warriors have heard the stories of your cloak and know they will not be able to remove it from your person.” Avery started defiantly back at Artio, not moving a muscle to comply with the order. Her hands clenched into fists, and she had to consciously relax her white-knuckled squeeze. She quivered with suppressed anger.
Artio’s grin widened. “Oh yes, that is the Alfreda I remember. Defiant and stamping her feet to get her way. No worries, I have the perfect incentive for you.” Artio snapped her fingers, and a man was dragged, screaming with pain, down the path and into the meadow. Achak was dumped, bound hand and foot, at her feet. He flopped face-first onto the ground, smacking his head on a rock, breaking his nose and gushing blood. He did not move.
Chapter 46
Daimon
ACHAK’S ARMS BENT to hands tied behind his back. His crumpled face pressed into the dirt, lips askew. His tunic was torn, and the wooden splint Avery had strapped to his leg with such care and attention was nowhere to be found.
Artio stepped forward and grabbed Achak by a fistful of hair, yanking his head back. One eye was swollen shut and his lips were split, blood dripping from his nose to join the blood flowing down his chin to. Artio pulled the obsidian knife from her leg and placed its shining edge against his jugular.
“Now,” she spoke slowly and precisely, enunciating each word that followed, “you will place the box in the celestial bowl. If you do not do as I say, you will still place the bowl in the box, but it will be joined by pieces of flesh we carve out of his body. When we are done with him, we will start on you. If I put enough pieces of you in the basin, the box will be there too. This is your first and only offer, Sister. Shall I start sawing?” Artio lightly dragged the blade against Achak’s skin, and blood blossomed along the cut, coating the blade edge with glimmering droplets.
“Wait!” Avery shouted. “What is your interest in the box? Why do you care about the healing of the world? You abandoned us to care for it. What does it matter to you if the world lives on? Why have you come to stop me?”
“Stop you?” Artio threw back her head and barked a laugh. “What do you think is in that box, Little Sister? I don’t want to stop you. I want to use you. Only you can trigger what I need.” Avery stared at her hard, reaching out with her mind. She could sense the truth in her sister’s statement. That alarmed her more than Artio’s threats that she was determined she use the box. Dread settled into her belly, a roiling cramp of fear sharp as a knife. What has Artio done to the box? Or has someone else tinkered with it? Not for the first time, she wished she knew what had happened after she’d died. But what choice do I have? If I refuse, Achak is dead.
“Enough delay! The sun fades.” Artio’s hand moved, and Achak swayed in her grip.
“Stop!” Avery shouted. Artio’s eyes gleamed. Without another word, Avery limped over to Artio, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing the box. Artio released her hold, and the unconscious Achak slumped back to the ground. Artio took the box from Avery’s hand and gently examined it. Avery’s eyes darted to Achak. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, despite the blood staining his neck.
Artio’s eyes glistened for a moment and then hardened. Avery thought she saw tears, but in an instant they were gone.
Artio handed the box back to Avery. “Place it in the basin, and speak the words.”
Avery took the box and hobbled back to the disk, placing it in the center of basin. She closed her eyes and pulled from deep within her most ancient of memories, words she has spoken long ago, during a ceremony in this very spot. Their father, Morpheus, had been with them that time, holding both girls by a hand, one on either side.
He had thrown back his head and prayed to the gods as the box flashed with a wild blue light. Avery echoed those words, only now understanding their power, sending her prayer to the heavens.
“Blush of blood, barely born,
Sacred spirits eternally sworn,
Flesh of man’s fading form
Magic’s bonding, magic torn.
Torn from time, never mended
Crumbling oaths of faith upended
Abandoned of the gods descended
Shield of spirit, creatures blended
Time eternal, gods forsaken
Reign of man, dominion shaken
Sibling wars, the cause mistaken
Runes align, the world awakens
Strife consumes, unwary foe
Minds controlled, a killing blow
Long forgotten, flaming woe
Time divided, slowing flow
Carry away the cursed one
Bring an end to father’s son
Wild magic’s cast begun
Sacred creed, moon undone.”
With an audible click, the lid popped open, just as the last rays of the sun settled into the clearing. The beams struck each pillar precisely on a guardian that began to glow, then the light travelled internally down through the columns of stone lighting them from within. The stones trembled and from each level, triggered by the guardian, waves of healing shot out from the monoliths and encased all who were within the circle. The beams touched everything and everyone, and every physical injury healed in that instant. Aging ceased and time rewound and flesh mended. But something more than flesh and blood began to heal.
At the same time, whispers of shadow snaked from the trinket box, twisting and gathering into dense black ropes that thickened and rose into the air. The ground shook and the ropes became a coil that expanded and solidified at an alarming rate. The healing waves rebounding around the clearing collided with the smoke, and the twisting forms resolved into bodies, both human and animal.
At first Avery though she recognized them, but as their features grew sharper, more defined, she knew she did not. Grotesquely deformed creations were being mended, healed back into existence by the healing portal. But these creatures were never meant to be. They were the result of an experiment gone wrong, the creation of a sick mind. Banished by the gods, torn apart in defeat and ashes scattered to the netherworld, they were never again to see the world of the living. Yet Avery could not deny the evidence before her eyes. They are here!
Someone has gathered the remains of the Daimons and secured them in the box! And I have released them right over the heart, the source of their strength, Daimon Ford. How could I have forgotten the events of that night?
And now, they were reforming. Not just released, but healed and alive!
Artio threw back her head and roared her pleasure. The Primordials at her side shied back, muttering amongst themselves in confusion and fear. A keening cry rose from the swirling mass, the horrible screech that was the ancient speech of the Daimon hordes. The sound was the last straw, and the warriors raced from the clearing, abandoning Artio and Avery to the dervishes forming in the night. Artio did not even acknowledge the abandonment, so focused was sh
e on the rebirth of her true army. She raised her arms to embrace the daimonic spirits, the firelight dancing across her body, flickering in the depths of her eyes. Her only thought was of the revenge she would wreak on the world. How she would avenge her true love. I have stolen your army from you, Helga! They are mine to command! I will have my revenge at long last!
Avery dropped to her knees and crawled away from the portal, over to the still form of Achak. She ran her hands along his leg, checking the break, but she already knew he would be fully healed. She rolled him over and shook him awake, wincing at the high-pitched squealing that ramped higher and higher behind her, all the while keeping an eye focused on the hellish rebirths. Their non-corporeal bodies blurred into a tornadic swirl as the sun dropped below the horizon.
The energy of the sun’s rays was no longer needed, for now a light glowed from the center of the swirl, blood red and volcanic. The white disk at its center flared a blinding white, and then melted into a blinking morass before her eyes. A rift opened up along the fault lines leading back to the monoliths. Magma pulsed up out of the fiery cracks and bubbled, hissing, into the bowl. The figures drew on the coursing lava and thin fingers of flame trailed up and over their bodies, igniting muscle and bone. Wings unfurled from backs, and demonic faces began to glow, their eyes a burning flame.
“Achak! We must go. Now!” Avery hissed, tugging on his arm. His eyes snapped open, widening in horror at the hellish vision greeting his groggy mind. He scrambled to his feet, swaying, and his foot kicked a glass vial. Avery spied a bottle rolling away, full of potion and quickly snatched it up, amazed at their luck. Aossi’s potion! She popped the lid off, drank half and then passed the other half to Achak. He tipped it back, and they both faded from view. Hands linked, they both bolted for the cover of the brambles, caring not for the fresh scratches and injuries inflicted as they crashed through the underbrush. The earth quaked, and they staggered as they ran. Their one thought was to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the abyss forming in the sacred clearing and the monster rising from its midst.
A great keening rose on an unnatural wind, spawned of the blistering breeches, as the formerly peaceful meadow flashed into flame. The tall grasses were consumed with the ferocity of a grasshopper plague, and onto this crackling inferno stepped a hideous obsidian Daimon of unbelievable size. Twenty feet tall, the shining rocky goliath towered over the burning carpet. Its clawed feet puffed swirls of sparks into the air as it took its first steps out of the circle. In its massive hand, it gripped a flaming sword as tall as Avery. More rock Daimons followed it, spawned of the goliath, but Avery was no longer paying attention.
Avery dragged Achak behind her. “Move faster!” she screamed, launching herself over a log in their path. Achak’s laboured breathing assured her that he was right behind her as they reached the cover of the trees, fleeing from what was surely death.
Artio’s chilly laughter chased them as they fled. “You can run, Little Sister, but there is no place to hide.”
Avery and Achak dropped behind a rock as Artio’s words reached them, pressing their backs against the stone and gulping air. Avery peered around the side of the rock, horrified at the monsters erupting in the clearing. The flames of the meadow reflected off of the varied planes of their obsidian bodies and refracted in all directions, multiplying the crazed dance of demons so that was impossible to track with the eye. She could not count them because her human eyes could not focus on one long enough to register it as an individual. Only the tallest one, with glowing pits in its face where its eyes should have been, gave it away as a sole being, that and the great horns curving from its skull. It was similar to the Daimon from Artio’s demise, and yet unlike the original beast of Daimon Ford. This version was refined, its face hot with an intelligence that flickered in its fiery gaze. This Daimon had been altered; improved, blended.
Avery shuddered and grabbed Achak’s hand once again and started running. As they dashed away, Artio’s words chased them. “We will meet again, Little Sister, on the plains of Daimon Ford. There, you will meet your doom. There, you and Little Brother will face Asag, champion of the underworld, and there, you will die.”
Asag! Avery shuddered. How had the Daimons been summoned? This had all the hallmarks of Helga’s doing, but how had Asag come to be bound to the box? Avery did not pause to challenge Artio’s statement. She knew they would die now, if they stayed any longer.
They ran.
Chapter 47
The Plan
IN A CAMP FAR AWAY from the sacred clearing, Avery sat on a log in front of a small fire, sipping at tea from a large pottery bowl. Across from her sat Denzik and Achak, both men mirroring her actions, letting the silence stretch.
Nelson appeared out of the dark, carrying three large bowls of steaming stew—goat, by the aroma—with potatoes and a wild edible orange root that was native to the area. He set the bowls down in front of them and straightened. “Two Primordial strangers have approached the camp kitchens. They are friends. I think you know the one woman, Avery. Her name is Ziona. The other is an elder. Your father Gaius is with them.”
“My father! Is he all right?” Avery gasped and began to rise to her feet, but Nelson pushed her back down with a firm hand on her shoulder. “Stay and eat. They are bathing and will join you shortly. Eat!” he commanded and then disappeared back into the dark.
“Amazing news! What luck that they have found us! Or is it luck?” Denzik shovelled a mouthful of hot stew past his lips and chewed vigorously at the tough meat. He waved his spoon at Avery. “If you don’t eat your meat, you won’t get any dessert.” His mouth twitched with a smile. “And around here, no one wants to miss dessert.”
Avery pouted but complied, eating the hot stew as quickly as the heat would allow. The warmth of the meal spread through her belly and dispersed the chilly horror that had dogged her ever since their narrow escape from the clearing.
Her connection to Cayden was silent, as though he was no longer in this world. She frowned at the thought, and worry paused her spoon part way to her mouth. “Why doesn’t he answer?” she murmured, unaware she had spoken out loud.
A hand fell on her shoulder, and her father said, “Because he cannot.”
Avery bolted to her feet and flung her arms around him, hugging him, her face buried in his chest. A tear slipped out from between her tightly scrunched lashes as she choked back a sob.
“Avery, I’m OK. There, child, do not cry.” He rubbed her back as he had when she was a child, passing a hand over her bald head. He sighed and hugged her tight, then placed a kiss on the top of her head, a father comforting his only daughter. She was still his child and always would be, regardless of the demands of the gods. After a couple minutes, she pushed back, swiping a hand across her cheek to dry her tears. Avery’s eyes searched him, checking him over, looking for injuries.
Gaius smiled. “See? I am in perfect health. Ziona took care of me.”
“I thought I’d never see you again.” She hugged him tight once more, just as Ziona strolled into the firelight, followed by the fat baker Fabian, balancing a tray of sticky buns on his shoulder.
Sniffs and sighs greeted his arrival as he placed the tray next to the tea and settled himself to a cup of the hot brew. Nelson returned with the remnants of the stew and settled himself down too, filling a cup with the fragrant tea.
Once everyone was assembled, they shared their collective experiences, bringing each other up to speed on the events of the last few weeks.
When silence descended once again, Ziona cleared her throat and stood. “Cayden is there.” She pointed, straight as an arrow toward the summit wreathed in smoke, the underside a red glowing smear. “He went after Mordecai, so Mordecai must be there, also. I can feel him, weakly, like the brush of a breeze on my mind. He is there one minute and gone the next. That”—she pointed at the smoking mountain—“is Helga’s realm. I can only assume he is in Sheol Animus, the underworld.” Her voice hitched a
nd then firmed. “No one returns from the underworld. No one.”
“Nonsense.” This time the voice was Elder Hania’s. All eyes swivelled to his. “You only say that because no one ever has…and because those who go there are usually dead. Do you think he is dead?”
Ziona frowned, examining the feeling in her chest, then shook her head. “No, I do not think he is dead, but we must be realistic.”
Denzik spoke up, “The king is not dead. I can’t believe it. He has a plan, and he has the wizard.”
Gaius smiled weakly. “That wizard is too stubborn to die anytime soon. I also believe they are alive.”
Fabian shoved a sticky bun into everyone’s hands, and they stared at the dripping sweet in bemusement. Fabian waved his through the air and said, “Then we are decided. We carry on with our plans. Nelson, the Kingsmen, and I will return to Cathair to sort out the former legions and regain order. We will return with a bigger, better army. I know that there is a well-trained force of knights waiting to avenge the king’s honour, Ryder will have seen to that training and be chomping at the bit to see some action, especially when he learns of Cayden’s capture.
“Avery, Achak, and Elder Hania will return to the temple of the Primordials and explore ways to fight the Daimon running loose under Artio’s command and see to the uniting of the clans. We must have unity if we are to take on the underworld.” Heads nodded in agreement.
“Ziona, since she can still sense some of Cayden’s essence, will join Gaius and Denzik to go after Cayden and Mordecai. They can figure out a way to assist them in their escape from Sheol Animus. Only freed can they fight for the souls of the world, for the preservation of the souls of the living, and for life as we know it.
