Deadmen Walking
Page 23
Especially as she angled her talons at him. Instead, she flapped her wings as the sea and storm settled down into an eerie, fog-laden stillness that was far more terrifying than the storm they’d just been in. It was so quiet now, he could hear his heartbeat and the creaking of the ship boards around him. The clanking of winches against wood and the slapping of ropes against the side.
A single cannon ball rolled across the deck.
In one bright flash, the great black owl turned into a woman dressed in a long, flowing ebony gown and a cloak covered with iridescent owl feathers. An ornate red crown held back her black hair from a face that was perfectly sculpted and beautiful beyond description. Features that could easily belong to a goddess. Her dark skin glistened from the drizzle as those red eyes focused on him while she held her cloak back from her body with graceful fingers that were tipped by the same red metal as her crown. Only these formed filigree talons for each of her phalanges, including her thumbs.
Nearing Devyl, she cocked her head in a very fowl-like manner as if she were studying him from one eye only. She reached to cup his chin with her taloned hand. The chains that connected each digit hung down, making her hand appear as a flower. “Well, well. You’re a fair one, aren’t you? Are you my offering?”
Before he could draw in a single breath to respond, Mara manifested beside her and socked her one. “Get your hands off my husband, she-bitch!”
Devyl wasn’t sure who was the most stunned by her unexpected declaration.
And explosion.
Basically, they were all gaping. So much for Mara not being born of violence. That had been a spectacular show of Aesiran anger that he’d have never attributed to a full-blooded Vanir.
Furious over Mara’s actions, Strixa came around to return the blow with her own.
Devyl quickly caught her arm before she could deliver it. “None of that, now. I promise you, you lay hands to my lady and you’ll be meeting a side of the devil you never want to.”
“You think not?” She leaned in to whisper in Devyl’s ear. “I know what you are, and I know who you serve. And you cannot cage me. Neither of you have those powers.”
He smiled at her. “Perhaps not, but there’s no blood here for you to feast upon. No souls for you to claim. Yet you’ve shown us your true form.…”
She gasped as she realized what she’d inadvertently done.
Bound herself to him, as her curse forbade her to ever show her real face to anyone, save her victims. And since she had no victims on this ship, she was now enslaved to him.
Screeching, she tried to change forms to flee. But it didn’t work.
More than that, she wasn’t the first of her kind that Devyl had bound in such a manner. “Mara?”
She manifested his spirit scepter and handed it to him so that the wolf skull at the top of the yard-long staff faced the sky. Crowned in gold and feathers and encrusted with radiant jewels, the scepter had been the most sacred object at Tintagel. For many, many reasons, and not just because his ancestors had embedded it in their battle shields and thrones.
With this totem, generations of Tintagel kings had bound, held, and commanded countless demons, spirits, and ghouls. It was said to be even more powerful than Solomon’s key and seal combined.
And it was deep in the jaws of the skull that the holder of the scepter placed his harthfret on the day ownership passed to him or her.
Something they never spoke of until the heir of the scepter was old enough to understand the repercussions of allowing anyone else to know exactly what the staff was and how powerful a talisman they would inherit. This had been the symbol of the Dumnonii people.
Every generation of his family, from the beginning, had offered their own blood sacrifice to the wand, and with it, they had become one of the most powerful families of the British Isles.
Until Vine had viciously slain him. Thinking his harthfret was a piece of jewelry and not knowing he was strong enough to regenerate without it, she’d stolen his mother’s necklace he’d worn and cast his scepter away, never knowing what it really was. Any more than Mara knew now as she handed it over to him.
But this …
This was the key to his soul and power.
With that in mind, he snatched one of Strixa’s black owl feathers from her cloak and placed it in the brightly colored crown that haloed the skull.
“You are mine until I free you.”
She let loose a venomous hiss of fire, yet because he controlled her, it couldn’t harm him. He held the scepter up to catch the fire and be charged by her anger.
It glowed like a second sun.
Baring her fangs, she raised her arms and shrank away from it as if it burned her. “Do you really think that paltry stick’s magic can protect you?”
“Not really, but I find it to be a most apt bludgeoning weapon should the occasion call for it.” He raked a meaningful sneer down her body. “Shall we test it?”
That succeeded in calming her a bit, as she wasn’t sure whether or not he meant that threat. While he didn’t relish the thought of doing battle with a woman, he wasn’t about to lie down and let another cut his throat. He liked to think that he learned from his experiences, and that was one particular event even he was definitely not eager to repeat.
She curled her lip. “What do you want of me?”
“Calm seas. Cessation of the water sprites, and a few more of your feathers.”
“Feathers?” She drew her brows together into a perfect baffled expression. “Why?”
“For me to know and you to give. Do we have an accord?”
Her gaze slid from him to Santiago’s ship in the distance before a slow smile spread across her face.
“Don’t think it. ’Tis too late for you to seek their blood for your freedom. You’re bound already.” That was the beauty of his people. The ability to control her kind and bind them was instinctive. It was what had allowed Mara to combine her life force to his on the day they met. Unfortunately, she’d been too young and inexperienced with her powers at the time to do it properly.
He wasn’t so foolish.
And the water witch belonged to him now.
Baring her fangs again, she showed him the sight of her true hideous form. “You will regret this.”
“I do most things I choose.” He smiled coldly in her face. “Now give me your word or I’ll bind you to something very uncomfortable for a long, long time.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Care to try me?”
She finally backed down as she lifted up a corner of her cloak and the weather instantly calmed. “I will see you to the bottom of this ocean before all is said and done.”
“And I’ll make sure to take your heart along with me.” He plucked the feathers his spell required and handed them off to Mara.
When Strixa opened her mouth to speak again, he used his powers to transform her back into her black owl form. “How ’bout you remain like this for a bit. Safer for us all, I think.”
She let out a fierce shriek as she flew to land on the ship’s railing so that she could glare at him with her glowing red eyes.
William cleared his throat to get Devyl’s attention. “Beg pardon, Captain. Can’t help wondering if taunting her isn’t a bit foolish? Most especially given our current situation?”
“Of course it is, Mr. Death. Why else would I be about it? Where would be the fun of practicing caution and intelligence? If we’re bound for hell again, let it be with full sail and flagrant disregard of all sanity, I say.”
William let out a nervous laugh as he turned toward the crew. “Who is with me for a mutiny, eh?”
Bart clapped him on the back. “I’d say aye, but the captain scares me too much.”
“Aye to that,” Zumari agreed. “Besides, he’d take too much pleasure in eating our entrails. Methinks he’s the only captain alive—or dead—who craves a mutiny.”
“Would definitely explain some of his more peculiar actions,” Bart muttere
Devyl rolled his eyes at the sorry lot of them. “Sure of that.” His tone carried the full weight of his sarcasm.
“So what’s with the feathers?” Kalder picked one up from the deck to hand it to Devyl. “Not sure why it was worth the risk of attracting the witch’s notice for so paltry a thing.”
Before Devyl could answer, it was Belle who stepped forward and volunteered it. “Why, Mr. Dupree, ye might be able to swim with the fishes, but with what you have in your hand, the rest of us can fly with the birds.”
“Pardon?”
Devyl nodded. “With those … we can cast a spell that will grant us flight. Forget relying on the winds to find your Miss Jack. We’re going airborne to get to her. And this time, they won’t be able to stop us from taking her back.”
17
“He doesn’t love you. You have to know that his kind is incapable of comprehending what you think of as love. It’s beyond their ability.”
Mara ignored Strixa’s words as she went over the map in Du’s room while waiting on him to join her there. “You know nothing about him.”
Still in her owl form, she pinned those creepy red eyes on Mara. “I know his kind. As do you. They only value the goal and their people. You are a pawn to get what he wants. Worse? You’re his enemy.”
“And you are a troublemaker.” Mara picked up Du’s baldric from where he’d left it, draped across his chair. Hand-carved with intricate Celtic scrollwork, it was a piece of exquisite beauty. And a lot heavier than it appeared. Gracious! No wonder the man was so muscular, wearing things that weighed so much. “I won’t allow you to come between us.”
Strixa shook her fowl head. “I’m not the one who will come between you. He doesn’t need my help in that. You two have broken a cardinal rule. Think you you’ll be left alone to live in peace?”
That was honestly what she feared most. But she refused to show it to the creature. “I know what you’re about and it’s not working.”
Yet in spite of her denials, it was, and she suspected the witch knew it as well as she did. Returning the baldric to the chair, Mara swallowed hard. Even if Du’s flying spell worked, they still had a ways to go to get to the islands that made up the Quella.
Antillia shouldn’t be that hard to get past … especially if they weren’t in the water. It was policed by a group of fairymaids who were known to lure sailors to their deaths. They haunted the shoreline caves and rocks where they would call out for help, and when the unwary tried to lend a hand, the fey creatures would drown them. But so long as they didn’t wreck the ship or find themselves forced to land near Antillia, nothing would happen. The fairymaids shouldn’t come near them.
Of course, if they were flying it would put them directly in the path of the dragon clans who called Jesirat al-Tennyn home. In fact, that was what the island’s name translated to—Dragon’s Isle. Those vicious, bloodthirsty clans were highly territorial and wouldn’t take kindly to anyone venturing near their lands. They barely tolerated one another.
Humans were seen as nothing more than snack food.
Then they’d have to get past Satanazes—the demon island that was nestled close enough they’d have to approach it from the sea. Some twenty leagues west of Antillia, it would be directly in their path and would be tricky, as demons always were. A mist covered the island and shielded their presence. Some claimed the mist itself was a demon.
The only ones who knew for certain were the unfortunate victims who’d been eaten or enslaved by the island’s inhabitants. And none of them ever escaped to tell others what happened there.
As for the Meropis island, rumors claimed it was inhabited by flesh-eating, soul-sucking creatures who preyed on any dumb enough to venture there. They were worse than even the demons, and were said to be far more unholy.
Crueler.
Those vanishing islands were directly responsible for many of the legends that made up the Caribbean. The monsters and mysterious disappearances. It would be hypocritical of her to not believe in them, given that her own race could turn into and live as trees.
Still …
She knew how humans could also twist, turn, and expound on reality. So what was told and what actually existed could be radically different. A little truth went a long way in an overactive imagination and the overblown legends people told for attention.
Suddenly, she felt the air behind her stirring. A smile spread across her lips at the rich masculine scent that warmed her an instant before Du wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek to hers.
“Sorry it took so long to get away. Janice took more convincing than I thought to get her to leave for Santiago’s crew. But she’ll be safer there for the time being.”
Closing her eyes, she savored the sensation of being engulfed by him. And a part of her wanted to kick herself at the centuries she’d deprived them of that could have been spent like this. And for what?
Vanity? Stupidity? Stubbornness?
Things that no longer seemed to matter.
“Is anything amiss?”
He glanced to Strixa. “Nay. Not where I’m concerned. What treachery has the she-bitch wrought?”
“Pardon?”
He stepped back. “If she’s anything like Vine, I shudder at what lies, doubts, or half-truths she’s filled your head with in my absence.”
Strixa squawked indignantly at his words.
Mara laughed. “Fear not. I didn’t listen.”
“Good. Because the only one to hear is me.”
But as he leaned against his desk to study the map, her gaze went to his battle-scarred hand that toyed with the hilt of the dagger that held the parchment in place. In spite of her bold words otherwise, doubt played in her head.
Worse? It played in her heart.
Strixa was right. Du was a creature of extreme and utter violence. Love didn’t come easily or naturally to him. It was an alien concept. As foreign to him as generational war was to her. While she knew it existed, she wanted no part of it and didn’t really understand those who partook of it or why they did so.
And in that moment, she didn’t see the loyal pirate captain in front of her. She saw the ancient warlord, covered in blood and dressed in his black armor. Saw his black braids and beard. The arrogance of his swagger as he returned from war and strode through their hall to claim Vine while his bloodlust still colored his cheeks.
Reveling in his war and conquest, he’d been terrifying. His ferocity such that even the trained war hounds had fled, yelping, at his approach.
Indeed, the air around him now, as then, sizzled with his unholy power and raw determination. It reached out like a living, breathing entity to cause the hair on the back of her arms to rise. The mere fact that he could effortlessly hold a witch as powerful as Strixa …
I’m a corymeister. Du’s words went through her head. He was the strongest sorcerer of his kind. No one could touch him when it came to the ability to bend the natural laws.
Mara went ramrod stiff as that brought a new, horrifying thought in its wake. What if her feelings were nothing more than another spell he’d cast? How would she ever know the difference?
Was any of this real?
He glanced up and caught her gaze. “Mara?”
She offered a smile and prayed he couldn’t sense it was false. “Aye, sorry. Was lost in my thoughts. Did you ask something?”
Suspicion clouded his gaze, as if he knew she was lying, but wasn’t quite sure about what.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine. Worried about that coming conflict.”
That seemed to placate him. He glanced toward Strixa. “No fears, my lady. So long as you put your faith where it belongs, all shall be well.”
Mara wanted to believe that. Desperately. Yet she couldn’t shake the ill feeling inside her that warned things were not what they seemed.
; And that Vine had something in store for them that neither of them could predict.
* * *
Thorn cursed as he pulled back with his men before he lost another one to the demonic horde that was pouring through the breach from their realm into that of mankind.
Thankfully, this rupture was in the desert where no human was around to witness it. But it didn’t make the dusk-lit battle any less bloody or intense.
“Gabriel!”
The Seraph general ducked barely before he would have lost his head to a sword stroke. Slightly taller than Michael, Gabriel was a huge bastard himself. In Seraph form, his darker complexion looked almost ashen, but his hair was every bit as white as the others’, as were his wings and weapons. His gold armor was blinding in the dim light—a tactical advantage when battling demons whose eyes were sensitive from living in flame-lit darkness for so long.
And a damn annoyance for Thorn, who was one of them and yet on Gabriel’s side for this conflict. Lifting his hand, he squinted to see past the brightness that sent waves of agony through his skull.
“They’re slipping through to the right,” he called out, warning Gabriel’s soldiers to shore up the area where Thorn’s men were growing thin.
Thorn cursed again as he realized how right Michael had been. This was far worse than he’d imagined. It wasn’t just the Carian Gate that had failed.
Three had gone down.
The Cimmerian forces were stronger now than they’d been in centuries.
Thorn drove his blessed sword through the demon closest to him and took an unnatural pleasure at the sounds of its screaming. Normally, he’d only banish them back to their prisons. But today, he wasn’t feeling merciful.
Today, he wanted blood and soul.
Most of all, he wanted to hear their cries of agony.
“What happened to cause this surge?” he asked Gabriel.
“The Malachai killed his son and absorbed new powers. When he did so, he broke the seals on the gates.”
Growling, Thorn renewed his fight. That would do it. “Who was the mother?”
“A demon whore who wanted to get back into Noir’s good graces. After the Malachai attacked her, she sought to barter the boy and Adarian’s soul for her own freedom. Sad for the child when he tried to kill his father and learned firsthand that Adarian didn’t let his fatherly devotion get in the way of his self-preservation.”
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