The Seven

by Robert J Power

  “You look tired, my friend. Come sit with us and be merry,” Germanus said amiably and stood up to offer Eralorien’s forgotten seat. He stood above Iaculous and carried himself as though Iaculous was nothing more than a scruffy child, but he showed the boy respect despite the younger man’s rudeness. Arielle liked this.

  “Are you okay, my dear?” Iaculous asked in her mind. She recoiled for the invasion, and he winced.

  “I am fine with the company, Iaculous,” she said aloud and felt the heat dissipate.

  “I was wrong,” he said again in her mind, and she saw the blood drain from his face. All fight was lost. He knew his misstep, and he suffered his first hangover from drunkenly wielding the source’s power. He would not be knocking on her door come the dawn to speak of things. He might never again.

  Arielle nodded gently and tugged at Germanus’s sleeve to return to his seat.

  “I am sorry,” Iaculous said aloud and offered a deep bow to both. Though the act looked as though it might tear him apart, he removed a silver coin from his pouch. “Please enjoy a drink on me.”

  For a moment, Arielle wanted to tell him that these things happened. That life was more than just these moments. Though her body might belong to another man tonight, who knew what lay ahead?

  Iaculous left them to their quiet awkwardness at the table. Until he had disappeared completely, she could only stare at her ale and wonder if Iaculous’s appearance was just one step too far to a beautiful merchant eager for a night’s pleasure.

  Germanus watched the weaver disappear upstairs. “So, that is the lover whom you fight with?”

  “He is just suffering the loss of …” Arielle caught herself before she gave anything away. Stunning lover as he might become, she held her tongue as they had taught her.

  “You are no longer seven.”

  She shrugged innocently enough and stole from his glass. Germanus moved closer to her, a subtle manoeuvre by a man intending to bed. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to him in one more sympathetic embrace. He did not linger, however, and he charmed her again.

  The hours passed, and the tavern eventually emptied entirely. Germanus, ever the gentleman, settled the debt, and before she knew it, they were sitting alone in a secluded corner of the inn with only a solitary candle and the dying embers of the tavern fire as their light. She had never felt more snug in her life. She lost all thoughts of Iaculous beneath his eyes and smile. After hours of learning much of each other’s thoughts, hopes, and loves, there only remained the delicate dance of desire.

  “I know I’m just a piece of meat to make your boyfriend jealous,” Germanus said and rubbed her fingers with his own. She couldn’t remember how long they had been holding hands. Perhaps since the barkeep had bid them a good sleep.

  “Who said I would dine upon such things tonight? Perhaps I’ve lost the taste for that,” Arielle countered and dared a biting of the lip.

  There was no one else around. They could do anything they wanted on the floor, in front of the fire, or perhaps even on their table. Imagine turning to her grandchildren and shocking them with illicit tales of their grandparents’ first night of meeting, many years from now.

  “Perhaps you haven’t had the right cook,” Germanus whispered and laughed at his own unoriginality.

  “Oh, wow. Let me remove my clothes for you immediately,” she mocked, and he blushed. This was quite the accomplishment in this light.

  Then he turned serious. “Could I convince you to stay in this town a little longer? Can I convince you of something beyond the morning? I’m not one to trip under a girl’s beauty, but whatever happens, I will not spend the rest of my life wondering if I should have asked,” he said clumsily.

  For a smooth merchant, it was rather endearing to see him so uncomfortable. He felt the connection too. What had started as a simple meeting in a tavern might very well have interesting complications. His meaning was clear: he desired more than a night of passion. Cherrie would argue that all every man ever desired was a night of passion and a little more. Her sister would insist that every man might say everything under the sun to get that night. Was Germanus such a man? Did it really matter? Arielle thought of Silvious’s choice once more. He had taken a leap of faith. Why couldn’t she? Why shouldn’t she?

  “Let us see after tonight, my dear,” she whispered.

  Arielle leaned across, and their lips met passionately. Like Iaculous before, she felt his energy as their tongues touched, and Germanus devoured her with passion. He lifted her from her chair with his strong arms and held her aloft as though she were little more than a doll. He spread her across the table, and she giggled. So did he. Their goblets crashed to the floor and the candle with it. The red glow of the fire behind them remained their only light, and it was perfect.

  “The source sent you to tempt me, didn’t it?” he whispered passionately.

  Arielle wrapped her legs around his waist. “You love the temptation, my dearest Germanus,” she replied and ripped his shirt free of its buttons.

  He could have left, she thought suddenly. He was out the door, and now he was with her.

  He ripped her vest down through the centre and exposed her chest. Arielle froze for just a moment, and then she kissed his clenched fists as they tore the garment away completely.

  “That’s not my true name,” he whispered, and she didn’t care. His real name could be the Venistrian king or the high priest of Dellerin. She only cared for this moment.

  “Tell me, and I will howl it loudly,” she cried and then moaned as he removed his trousers. After a few moments, she felt him pull her own garments free of her body.

  Soulmates were to love and lust in silk and divinity. When they offered each other the divinest of gifts, it was to be in a far better place than atop a stained table of oak in a corner of a tavern a few hours after meeting.

  Germanus stood over her but made no move to seal their passion. She took him in and touched his chest. He was naked but for a silver chain with an encased crystal pendant around his neck. It glowed in the light of the dying fire. She slid her fingers down to his vigorous manhood, and he sighed at her touch.

  “Could love best the presumed evils of this world?” he whispered and held her hand, lest she stop or, better, pull him nearer.

  “Could you love an evil like me?” Arielle giggled and pulled gently.

  “I feel connected to you, though I’m not sure how,” he whispered. He resisted her urging like a desperate drowning man, who, on the precipice of the deep, still attempted to stop himself from pulling his rescuer down into savage, unforgiving rapids.

  “Soon enough, we will be connected,” she teased.

  Arielle desired him more than any man she had ever craved. She loved him. She loved him from the moment they had met. He’d loved her too. She could see it in his eternal eyes, even as he spoke a terrible, terrible thing.

  “I am Mallum.”

  Not like this.

  Her mind spun as though torn and shaken, and all she could taste was love. Bitter, cruel love as sweet as a Ciritis lemon. She formed a fist and almost struck—her mind awash with hatred and duty and a luring need to kill this beautiful man. But she felt a similar lure to love him. Did he enchant her? Was he enchanting this lust to spin her wavering mind? He had almost left. He might have understood her fragility and took what pleasure he could. A monstrous thought. Mallum was a monster, wasn’t he?

  She didn’t strike him. Her rage became heaving lust, and she whipped her legs back behind his rear and trapped him there firmly. Somewhere in her thoughts, where duty spun her measure as a human, she fought hard to hate him. Her instincts begged her kill him, to rip his thurken heart out and mount him as he died in front of her. But she did not kill him. Instead, she looked into his eyes and realised he waited for her to decide.

  “Enter me,” she cried out and kissed him.

  He did as she asked. She screamed louder than she had ever done in her life. Far away, she heard her v
oice and she couldn’t help herself. The building itself shook in her pleasured cry, and she knew Iaculous could hear. She didn’t care. She only cared about his thrusting and her own with him. It was poetic and rhythmic, and she never wanted him to stop.

  Time never mattered. In the dim light of his glowing chain, she saw his beautiful body against hers, and she only wanted this life with him. Arielle lost all thoughts of Heygar’s final mission beneath his love, and she climaxed. Deep within, she felt him near his end. He lifted her from the table as passion overcame him like a beast, and she loved every moment.

  The glow of his chain and the little crystal at its centre pulsed like the rock, and she felt the splitting of her head and the vision of the bald man. She felt Mallum empty himself, and her breath caught in her chest. His hands glowed like the crystal and blinded her. She felt him kiss her naked body, but she was powerless to move. She felt herself float towards him and above him all in the same moment.

  She heard him laugh, and she tried to laugh with him, but tiredness called and with it, an eternal feeling of peace and contentment. All around her, the world shook, and she lost her breath completely. She saw her last breath in a fading white veil of energy as her soul disappeared from her body to nothing. She was not afraid, though she knew she should be.

  Arielle watched him pull away from her corpse, and she saw her eyes were open. Her face was etched with lust and completion. He left her naked upon the wooden table. This time, she cried out, but her voice would not come.

  She floated above her lover, and something far away called at her. It was familiar and warm, like family. She sensed Silvious’s lament, and she floated away from the world she knew until something pulled at her, something unnatural and unwanted.

  Mallum the Evil stood below her with one glowing hand outstretched towards her. She floated back to him, and all fight was hopeless. Closer and closer to his chest she came until, in her last desperate moments, she saw his beautiful eyes one last time as she felt him trap her inside the glowing crystal at his chest and then all went to terrible darkness.

  INTERVAL

  “Ah, now I see what’s happening with this story,” Rhendell said, leaning back against the bed of old books he had manoeuvred into something resembling a support. Somehow, despite his injury, he appeared perfectly comfortable. Every child liked a bedtime story, she supposed.

  Erin wiped her eyes and stretched her neck. She couldn’t remember a time she had been drawn into a book so fiercely. It felt as though an enchantment were cast around her. It was a fine way to while away the worry of waiting for soldiers to storm through the doorway, drag them out into the streets, and face a little bit of execution for sedition.

  “That the character di—”

  “We don’t know if Arielle is dead!” Erin snapped before he could finish the words. She didn’t want Arielle to be dead. It didn’t seem fair. She didn’t like this book, yet she thought it amazing. It was a fine distraction altogether.

  “Okay, well it sounds like he thurked the life out of her.”

  “That’s just lovely,” Erin mocked. She turned the page, hoping to see what became of the innocent and remarkable Arielle.

  “Well, does it start with a new character’s point of view?” Rhendell asked, though his attention was with the window above them.

  “Perhaps.”

  “She’s dead.”

  Erin heard it now too. The unmistakable sound of a dozen acolytes in armour marching through the streets below. She left the book, hid behind the curtain and peered to the ground far below. They were out searching for stragglers with blades and staffs in hands and nasty hoods upon their heads.

  She hated The Dark One’s acolytes dearly, for they were weak-willed weavers who obeyed without question. Their crimes were just as cruel as their master’s and perhaps worse, for their power and reward was paltry.

  She watched them below as they spread out to check the houses of this quarter. She knew it was only a few pulses before they turned their attentions to their sanctuary. She held her breath as they congregated at the front gate.

  The sky had opened a little, and she could see a thin slit of blue. Erin smiled bitterly. At least she had seen the sky one last time. She would fight from this room, she decided. There was only one doorway, and perhaps they had little command of the terrible fire.

  Her head spun, and she realised her exhaustion. She almost stumbled again, but as before, it passed. By the time it did, something fortuitous had occurred. The acolytes dispersed and continued their hunt, leaving theirs as the only house unsearched. They welcomed such luck after such horrors, she thought, seeing them disappear down through countless alleyways and streets.

  “They missed us,” she whispered and undid her ponytail, absently releasing the long brown curls down her back.

  “It’s a big city. They can’t check every house,” Rhendell said. His eyes were glassy, but colour had returned to his face.

  They sat in silence for a time, grateful and somewhat shaken by how near they had come to disaster. Eventually, it was Rhendell who spoke.

  “So, tell me. Who is next after Arielle’s death?” he asked, making himself comfortable once more.

  “They are The Seven. They are capable of many great things. I bet you three whole rations she makes it through,” Erin said.

  “I’ll take that bet. Skip to the end. Find out who lives.”

  “No, I don’t think we should read this book in such a way,” she snapped.

  “Well, can I look? I won’t say a thing,” Rhendell pledged.

  Shrugging, Erin passed the book across with limbs she felt were not her own. She realised that exhaustion was draining her completely, yet she couldn’t imagine sleeping away what might be the last day of her life. As he took hold of the book, he sighed and nodded thoughtfully.

  “No, this is stupid. This is a good way to spend hours. It would be a waste to ruin it. Forget the bet. This book deserves better than childish wagers.” He passed it back as though it contained some dreadful disease atop its faded surface.

  “I really don’t think she’s dead. I feel it in my bones. I think something bigger is going on with this tale,” Erin whispered and found her page.

  “So do I,” Rhendell agreed.

  22

  The Old Man

  Eralorien never slept anymore. Well, that was not entirely accurate. He slept but only when the seeping pain in his body allowed. When the headaches dragged him to oblivion. If he had the skill to cast an enchantment of slumber upon himself, he would. And as for healing his own pain? Well, that was well beyond his skills as a healer.

  There was no cheating the natural order of things. This he knew all too well. At some point around the witching hour, his mind finally wandered and tricked his grasp on this world. He remembered strange visions of lurid yearnings and a thousand wounds, and to his disappointment, he awoke just as fatigued. Moreover, he woke to find himself in a compromising position.

  Tears of exhaustion streamed down his face, and a desire to complete Heygar’s last mission suddenly overcame him. Eralorien gasped and felt a great darkness drawing upon him. Beams creaked around him, followed by the terrible cracking of wood. He roused himself, so he could shake this waking dream from his mind.

  He sat up, the room shook, and he felt old. So very old. He was seventy years old. Some would say he was terrifically old, and he would not disagree. He would not live to eighty.

  “Some things age can't slow, can it?” he whispered to his manhood as it stood to attention. He felt embarrassed and a little ashamed. He had enjoyed the time alone with Cherrie. He always had—even if it was torment. He very much doubted she would feel the same way. He wondered could he sway her eventually.

  “The room shouldn’t be shaking this much,” a little voice in his head whispered. Eralorien silenced it with a grunt as he climbed from his bed.

  Each time he rose, he gave thanks to the source and the demons who guarded the gateway from there to here. H
e knew little of the seven beasts or the seven gods in the source—save that some reckless weavers claimed to have seen their movements. It seemed the less he slept, the more he thought of them. He wondered, on his deathbed, might he leap into the darkness and seek them out himself? Would he show daring for once in his life? Probably not. He liked his soul, ravaged and aged as it was. He didn’t want a fabled demon chomping down upon it.

  The room continued to shake, and Eralorien glanced to his young apprentice asleep among a few cushions and their bags in the room's corner. He had heard Iaculous come in, and he had also heard the hour of weeping once he nestled in for the night. Eralorien should have felt miserable for the pain inflicted upon his young apprentice, but he didn’t. It wasn’t in him. He hadn’t offered warmth to the child in many years, so what point was there in starting when he was finally beaten to a pulp by love? Arielle slipping into the arms of another might be the best thing for the young man.

  In one of his less lucid moments, he had considered waking Iaculous, so his young apprentice could hear the loud moaning rising through the levels of the tavern. He had listened to each passionate outburst as she severed her bond with Iaculous, and Eralorien had enjoyed every moment despite himself.

  Then his mind had wandered to thoughts of her older sister. Oh, how he would have loved to give Cherrie that pleasure. Without warning, desire had come upon him as though he were a youth discovering his manhood for the first time. Shameful and exciting. His hand had slid to his lap, and he had thought of bringing alive sordid fantasies.

  It had been years since he had needed such reliefs, and tragically enough, he had ignored an old friend and fallen asleep mid-movement. How awkward would that conversation have been come the harsh light of day, had he slept through the night and Iaculous woke him in such a state of undress? He was well endowed; it was hard to miss.

  Sorry, Iaculous. I was listening to your future wife get poked impressively by some chance patron, and it was so salacious that I imagined poking her sister in such a way. Now today's lesson will be about enchanting someone to forget unsavoury things … he imagined himself saying and sniggered despite the juvenile embarrassment. Perhaps that was why he sniggered.