Chapter Seven
It had taken less time than Shiane expected but they found the little house, broken and crumbling, from her Dakkar.
“You saw this place? You couldn’t have seen a palace?” Ulliel joked when they spied it amidst the shadows. Each day they spent there, he complained jovially and yet he also poured his energies into creating a home from the shell of a building. He tidied and mended and even summoned things that they would need. Shiane grew accustomed to seeing him appear at the doorway with some new scrap of furniture or food or unexpected gift. Last week he had surprised her with a rare ball of yarn that Shiane wasted no time in transforming into a warm sweater. He grinned stupidly when she gifted it to him and refused to take it off his back until she’d pulled it off him whilst he slept, so that she could wash it.
Their last day together was no exception. Ulliel stood in the doorway with a sly grin on his face and a pack of dead stoats over his shoulder.
“Supper?” Shiane asked. Her stomach coiled at the thought of filleting the meat.
“No. It is just the skins.”
“How did you get them? I haven’t seen any in years. I thought they were extinct.”
“They are,” he teased with a grin.
“What have you done?” she sighed in mock exasperation.
“Summoned them from the tailor to a fat over-paid friar,” he laughed, “He got dried Ranng flesh in return,” he added.
“When? From when did you summon them?” Shiane asked, trying not to laugh.
“1748, give or take a few decades.” Shiane shook her head. Ulliel’s skills were impressive but deliberately affecting the past was frowned upon.
“What are they for?” she asked instead of rebuking him.
“You. I think I owe you a warm cloak in exchange for my sweater.”
Shiane followed him into the area they had designated the lounge and sat upon the floor. Ulliel buzzed about, drawing muddy patterns upon the wooden boards. At the four cardinal points he placed symbols of each energy type: Fire, air, earth and water. In the centre he placed the skins and Shiane’s old cloak along with a feather, a bowl of water, an old iron nail and a snippet of both his and Shiane’s hair. She hadn’t even felt him cut it.
He took Shiane’s hand and melded their energies. She felt how quickly they harmonised, their frequencies almost singing together. A warmth flowed up her arm from Ulliel’s fingers and spread through her quickly. He began to chant strange words, unknown to all but the Summoner line.
“Frinstal Palento Ishrimia Galthinen.”
Awed, Shiane gazed into the cloudy orb growing in the centre of the markings. It flickered and spun on its axis creating a vortex of energy right in the centre. It was an athenor—an ethereal cooking pot—filled with ingredients. Shiane waited with bated breath to see what Ulliel would create.
The room grew hot, the spinning accelerated, and then suddenly it all stopped and the room fell into an eerie silence.
“That was intense. For a simple Summoning, that was more power than I was expecting. . . Do you think Aletheia . . .?” Ulliel asked, sneaking a quizzical look towards their cocooned babe.
“Helped? It wouldn’t surprise me,” Shiane answered. She hadn’t known what to expect but Ulliel would notice the difference. He cocked his head and placed a hand upon the mound which was so huge now, Ulliel had trouble reaching around her. She watched as Ulliel leaned into the centre of the space and picked up the lump of white fur. He shook it out and inspected it thoroughly.
“Looks good. Should do its job.” He smiled down at Shiane before offering her a hand to get her onto her feet. Ulliel heaved her up and in one fast move he had kissed her forehead and swept the white cloak over her shoulders.
It felt divine.
It was pleasantly warm and light despite the heavy material. It seemed to easily cover Shiane’s hulking form but she also knew it would fit to its owner no matter what size or shape. Between the three of them they had imbued it with enough magic to make it quite a powerful object but one feeling resonated from it, as clearly as if it were whispering the word into Shiane’s ear: Protection. This cloak would protect the wearer from the outlands, no matter how harsh the environment became.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “It is perfect.”
“You are going to leave me aren’t you?” Ulliel asked abruptly. He cast his eyes down to the floor, unwilling to read the truth in Shiane’s face. He wanted her to lie to him but he had been brave enough to bother asking – why ask at all, if not to find out the truth?
“No,” she answered honestly. “No, I will not leave you.” Her words were true and the essence of this truth rang out in the timbre of her words. Ulliel’s relief was measurable in the sag of his shoulders. He seemed to suck in a breath so deeply that Shiane wondered how long he had gone without air.
“I love you, Shiane. You know that don’t you? I love you and our child.” he told her earnestly. She knew it. However, she also knew what was coming. She might not be leaving him but he was certainly about to leave her.
“I love you too, Ulliel. At first I thought you had sought me out to complete the prophecy but the second you looked into my eyes, everything else just disappeared. Even if I wasn’t carrying our child, even if you went away and tried to mate someone else for a male heir, I would still love you.”
“That will never happen,” he insisted severely.
“I know. But I also know it is your responsibility to do so.”
“No. There is only you. Perhaps eventually we will have others . . . more children to join with Aletheia? You never know what the future holds.” Shiane barked a cough and raised a single brow. Ulliel realised his mistake and laughed as he spoke, “Okay, maybe you do.”
Shiane nodded and shuffled over to their fire. The black Summoner’s flames danced in the hearth casting shadows around the witchlights. She pulled a pot of stewing roots off the hook and poured them each a small bowlful. Ulliel took her hand, led her outside into the ever-dark outlands, and sat her carefully down upon a pile of old cushions. He liked being outside and with the warmth of her new cloak, Shiane found she minded it less.
“What will you show me tonight?” she asked.
“How would you like to see the stars?” he returned, his face as alight as a child’s might be on their birthday.
“I should like that very much.” Shiane watched as he summoned a pool of shimmering light over their heads. It wasn’t the real stars—they were lost to the orb, hidden behind the poisoned sky—but it was a facsimile of them, a vision pool suspended in the air.
Shiane thought it fitting that they look at the twinkling lights of the stars, just as they had on their wedding night. It was a perfect circle. Their first night together and their last; their love bracketed by twinkling stars.
Chapter Eight
Shiane hadn’t slept. How could she when they only had these last moments together? She spent every second watching Ulliel, burning his visage into her memory. She wanted to steal the essence of him and keep it locked within herself so that he would stay with her right to the last—and perhaps even beyond.
She had struggled with herself all night. She had desperately wanted to wake him and tell him what was coming but she couldn’t burden him in that way. Plus she needed him to believe the lie she was about to show him, if Aletheia was to remain safe. Shiane knew hiding her daughter, especially from Ulliel, was a terrible thing to do— he would hate her for it—but she feared it was the only chance for Aletheia’s survival.
Shiane felt Ulliel stir. His fingers twitched within hers and he slowly began to stretch his weary muscles. His whiskery beard was longer now. It tickled when he kissed her mouth and then her forehead as was their daily waking custom.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice sharp with concern upon finding her already awake.
“Fine. You looked so peaceful,” she answered quickly. She didn’t want him to worry . . . not yet.
“Hmmm, have you slept?
” He eyed her suspiciously and lifted her fingers to his lips.
“Not much. Aletheia was very active last night,” she lied.
“You should try to rest today then.” She nodded in agreement but she wouldn’t rest today. Aletheia was on her way. The pains had been mild and far apart but Shiane already knew she would have only hours left. Aletheia would arrive, but not before the soldiers did.
“What are you thinking?”
“About you,” she shared. “Deacon is going to cause so much trouble. If he ever asks . . . if he ever finds out about her . . .”
“He won’t. We won’t tell him and even if he does, he will never believe that a girl could inherit as a Summoner. She will be safe,” Ulliel promised.
“I know . . . I know.”
Ulliel lifted himself from the cosy warmth of the mattress and started a small fire in the hearth. He set a pot of water on the hook and left it to warm. Shiane stared at it. It didn’t take long for the steam to rise over the lip of the pot and the water to hiss like the sand snakes. The hissing didn’t cover the sound of the incoming soldiers, it emphasised the menacing quality of the horses hooves as they pounded the dirt. Ulliel scrambled for his clothing, dressing quickly and pulling Shiane from the bed. She wore only a pale green dress but he wrapped the white fur cloak about her shoulders and pulled the hood up.
“Go,” he warned. “Out the back before they arrive. I will get rid of them and catch up to you.”
“It is too late. They will see me,” she responded, noting that her voice was not her own. She couldn’t even mouth her lines convincingly. Her heart was too busy breaking.
“Please, Shiane. I can’t let them get you and if I fight, you might get hurt. We can’t risk it.”
“Listen. They are already here.” And they were. They had dismounted and the only thing that separated them from the soldiers was a dilapidated wall and a creaky door.
The knock came at the door. Each fist-fall pounded deep into Shiane’s gut. From the looks of his face, they affected Ulliel in much the same fashion. He looked pained.
“We seek Ulliel the Summoner. Also known by the names Frederick, Garret and Rohan. The Coven knows you are here. Deacon, the priest of Ellisor, summons you.” The soldier bellowed. His words were slow as if he were reading or reciting the lines. Shiane almost laughed at the ludicrous pantomime unfolding before her. She would have too if it wasn’t so desperately tragic.
“He summons the Summoner?” Ulliel whispered, enraged by Deacon’s gall.
“You had better open the door. They are here for you. They might ignore me and you can return once his business is done.” She hated how she sounded: Selfish and weak. She had to remind herself it was all a part of the ruse.
“Stay quiet.” Ulliel whispered but seemed set to agree with her plan. She knew he would.
Ulliel opened the door and eyed the soldiers.
“Ellisorian guard? Couldn’t Deacon have sent a simple messenger?”
“He wanted to extend to you the honour of a guarded escort,” the soldier replied but the sneer in his words belied the sentiment of them. Ulliel leaned around the guard, looking for a prison wagon but he could see only horses. There were five for each of the guards on the porch and a spare for him. He breathed a sigh of relief. If they couldn’t bring her along then they would likely leave her in peace.
Shiane could tell what Ulliel was thinking when his body relaxed. The first heavily-booted soldier came into the house whilst the others waited outside. The guard’s suspicious eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Shiane standing near the bed and then widened further upon seeing her advanced state of pregnancy.
“We were not warned about you,” the soldier growled viciously. Shiane said nothing but Ulliel rounded on him.
“Why would you be? You were told to collect me were you not?” Ulliel snapped.
“Yes, but the coven made no mention of a . . . wife?”
“I will not be able to attend. My baby is due any day now.” The words were hollow on her tongue. She already knew what the guard would say and the reaction it would evoke.
“Then a guard will remain with you. Perhaps the Summoner will be more . . . accommodating with you in our care.” The word care was said with a wicked intonation and both of them heard the implied threat.
“You will not touch her!” Ulliel shouted at the same time as the Guard grabbed Shiane and pulled her into him, positioning a sharp knife at her throat. The rest of the guards came charging into the small room upon Ulliel’s outburst and grabbed him by the wrists. He wrestled them, his sweater tearing as he pulled it off to rid himself of them. The soldier that held Shiane, pressed the knife into her throat hard enough to draw blood and eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips.
Ulliel stopped struggling but his whole body was filled with a fury that burned red around him. His aura was visible and even these non-magical soldiers could sense the menace rumbling off him. The soldier in charge moved the knife and positioned it over the centre of her womb. Shiane knew she was safe but the motion didn’t stop her stomach clenching in fear. It was one thing to threaten her, but another thing to threaten her child.
“Stop!” Ulliel yelled. He slumped in defeat. “Stop, please. Enough. I will come with you, just leave her alone. She is going nowhere in that condition. She is no threat to you or to Deacon.” The guard gruffly snickered. He hadn’t considered her a threat at all. And that was good.
“Take him. Bind his hands, gag him and get him on that horse,” the guard instructed. Shiane watched as they took Ulliel outside. She counted to ten and let loose an earthshattering scream. The guard, his knife forgotten, tried to step away from Shiane but found himself frozen to the spot instead. His brows furrowed in confusion and a grimace marred his face. Shiane used the distraction of her scream to create a double of herself, a doppelganger who remained in the guards’ arms whilst she slipped to the floor and lay at his feet. She knew he would only see her there when her ruse was over.
The guard felt his hands shake and watched, in shock, as he thrust the knife into the woman’s uterus. He stumbled backward, coming away with the bloody knife clenched in his white-knuckled fist. He had no idea what had just happened or how but when he looked down he witnessed blood. So much blood.
The woman lay in a heap upon the floor.
The guard staggered to the door, looking as though he wanted to vomit, and flung it open to find Ulliel struggling to lose the two hulking soldiers that gripped him. He had already managed to drag them back to the door after hearing Shiane’s scream. His eyes frantically scanned what he could see of the room behind the guard, and caught sight of a crumpled pile of fur upon the floor. His focus shifted to the man in front of him, the knife still bloody in his hand, his armour covered in blood spray.
“SHIANE!!” he wailed. “SHIAAAANE!”
Shiane did not respond. Her tears fell silently as she listened to her husband’s heartbreak. Ulliel fell to his knees and allowed the soldiers to take him wherever it was they wanted to go.
Shiane waited until she could no longer hear the hooves impacting the earth before she stood up. The floor had hurt, but her contractions hurt more. Tears blurred her vision as she worked quickly to ready herself to leave. She folded Ulliel’s sweater and hung it over the bed. She placed his boots near the door and tidied the space. Her bag was still mostly packed but she wanted to make an herbal posset to alleviate the pains.
She worked quickly and silently, forcing herself not to think about the devastation in Ulliel’s shout or the silent way he allowed himself to be dragged away. When she was done, she took one last look around the place that would forever contain her happiness and once more ventured out into the dark.
Chapter Nine
Shiane pulled the fur cloak across her swollen body, hopelessly trying to protect her precious cargo from the bitter winds of the outlands. The torrents relentlessly pummelled her against the stone wall, forcing her to turn her back against its battery. She could sense
the distress emanating from deep within her: Aletheia was afraid. Shiane shuddered uncontrollably from the pain that seemed to be working in tandem with the wind. Her cloak was built to withstand the worst of the weather, keeping her warm and dry, but even the cloak’s magical protection could do little to combat the physical assault of the wind in this place. It was worse here than anywhere else on the orb and she wondered whether it had something to do with Arkaiden being the home of the Machine.
Edging her way closer to the stone wall, she shielded herself as best she could whilst she waited for the beacon. The pains were coming quicker and the herbal posset was having very little effect - she was almost out of time. Glancing once more towards the gate, she tried to discern movement on the watchtower. There was nothing: No guard, no movement, and no light. The city slept.
Shiane pressed the posset closer to her nose and breathed the herbs deeply as another torrent of pain ripped through her. “Just a little longer sweetheart,” she whispered when she had caught her breath once more. “He will be here. I promise.” She was answered by the appearance of a tiny flickering flame in the palm of her hand. She knew Aletheia was trying to help – encouraging her to build a fire and keep warm but doing so would alert others to their presence. Her vision had shown only the man, and she couldn’t risk being caught by any other.
“No little one. We cannot have a fire. It will be fine. He will be here,” Shiane soothed as she tenderly caressed her extended abdomen. A tiny hand pushed back through her flesh in understanding. The flame flickered out and was gone.
It was at least another hour before the faint light of the beacon roused her. It glowed pale green against the white of the walls and was almost swallowed up by the darkness of the outland. She knew he had used the witch-light as a sign of peace: an offering of friendship. Shiane sighed. It was just as she had seen in her vision and she finally allowed herself to feel hope that she would be safe.
After Tomorrow: A CHBB Anthology Page 30
