Eldritch, p.3
Eldritch, page 3
Perhaps a trick of the light.
I turned back to Aleysia and nuzzled my face in the crook of her neck. “Please wake up. I promise to take you away from this place if you do.”
Veiled in a gray twilight, the trees stood silent, their skeletal forms twisted and gnarled, mantled in a slinking white mist. The scent of death and decay, like freshly turned graves, clogged my throat, as I stepped cautiously through the brush, unfamiliar with my surroundings. Small, black, insectile critters scampered over the ground, the unnerving tick of their skittering legs prickling my skin. The sense of someone stalking me tickled the back of my neck, though I didn’t know who or what it was.
I kept on the pathless trek, which took me deeper into the trees until, at last, a vast tree stood in the distance—one so imposing, I imagined it served some ominous purpose for the forest. On approach, I took note of the tree’s limbs, frowning on realizing they resembled human legs and arms. As I passed a cluster of upturned roots, I saw a child’s face carved in the bark, her small hands reaching upward for whatever it was that couldn’t save her. The details were so vivid, I recalled her from a distant dream. One of a man in armor tossing her over the edge of a cliff.
And this must’ve been her fate.
I glanced around to see more faces and hands reaching out, their expressions anguished and in pain, like something had swallowed them from below.
Closer, I went toward the ominous tree and etched into the bark was the face of a woman, her expression also twisted in pain. I reached out to touch her, and her eyes shot open to black orbs.
“Sole mortiz facje salvirun,” she rasped. Only death can save us.
Terror curled up my spine, my heart pounding in my chest so hard, it ached. I placed my hand there, feeling the beat against my palm.
“Sole mortiz facje salvirun.”
A few steps back, I could see a red glow across the trunk. A pulsing across the surface that thumped in time to my own heartbeat.
“Sole mortiz facje salvirun.”
My foot caught on a thick tree root that had wrapped itself around my ankle, and I tumbled backward, landing hard on my backside. The root wrapped around my other ankle, then crawled up my legs to my shin, and a wave of panic washed over me. Scratching at the thick, clasping appendage did nothing to loosen it. “Get off me! Get off me!” The root climbed higher, up both thighs and around my belly, snaking its way up my back. I clawed to tear it away, but my nails only scratched at the rough surface. “No! Let me go!”
Tendrils of the root wrapped around my neck, and hysterics seized my breath as it tightened at my throat.
Tighter.
Tighter.
I opened my mouth to scream but could summon nothing more than a hoarse rasp.
Please!
My eyes shot open to two black orbs staring down at me. Soulless, black eyes framed by long, dirty locks of blond hair that belonged to my sister.
Her lips moved quickly as words I didn’t recognize spilled out of her at a frantic speed. Pressure at my throat had my eyes watering, and I let out a small cough. My lungs beat inside my chest for one sip of air, and tears filled my eyes as I raised my hands for the blackened fingertips that would turn her to dust at my command.
Please don’t make me do this. Please, Aleysia. Don’t make me do this!
“Kill her, Maevyth,” the voice I recognized as Morsana’s urged. “Kill her now!”
The world faded to a pinprick.
Then blackness.
CHAPTER TWO
ZEVANDER
Past …
Zevander’s father quickly staggered a few steps ahead of him, weaving through the crowd of the busy market. For an older codger with a splintered shank, the senior Rydainn managed just fine on that one crutch of his. The mask concealing the lower part of young Zevander’s face scratched at his skin, but his father insisted that he wear it in public spaces, to avoid suspicion from those who might stare at the boy.
It wasn’t long before they reached Black Salt Tavern, a quiet pub on the outskirts of Costelwick. The elder Lord Rydainn pushed through the heavy wooden door, and it groaned as it opened into the dimly lit tavern, where a little more than a dozen men sat around tables. Having accompanied his mother and sister on visits to Costelwick, it had become natural for the boy to scan his surroundings.
Once inside, his father paused only a moment before setting his sights on an obscure figure sat toward the back and cloaked in shadows. His father hobbled toward them, with Zevander trailing behind, and came to a stop alongside the table.
The stranger, their face concealed by a ragged, oversized hood, didn’t bother to lift their gaze.
“You lied to me,” Lord Rydainn rasped, anger tight in his throat. “A fortnight, I’ve traveled in search of him, only to be met with more of his victims. What kind of chase have you put me on?”
The stranger didn’t bother to respond, didn’t look up from the tankard in front of them, or acknowledge Father at all.
Lord Rydainn slammed his fist against the table, sloshing the stranger’s drink, and still, they didn’t so much as twitch. “I want an answer! My boy gets worse with each passing day!”
With a sharp yank of Zevander’s scruff, the elder Rydainn pulled him into the booth after him, as he took a seat across from the stranger. Even with Zevander sitting head on, the face opposite was hidden in the depths of that hood.
“You’re toying with me. And I want my coin returned,” the boy’s father kept on beside him.
“No.” A raspy voice like that could only belong to a woman much older than Zevander’s father.
“Then, you will tell me where to find Cadavros. I must find him before the king’s men. They will put him to death for his crimes. Tell me, or I will drag you to my home and feed you to my boy and his spiders.”
The stranger chuckled. “I gave you a vision. You failed to follow through.”
“Do you know who I am? My wife? One word to the king, and you’ll be—”
“If you possessed so much power, we wouldn’t be talking now. Would we, Lord Rydainn? Your king has forsaken you. Otherwise, I suspect you’d be at home, enjoying solstice eve with your beloved wife.” The tankard disappeared into the depths of her hood, as she lifted it and slurped a sip. “You can’t go to your king. Not when you’ve betrayed him.”
“I am begging you. Help me. Give me another vision.”
“And if you find him? What then? What would you have him do?”
“Look at him!” Lord Rydainn yanked away the mask on Zevander’s face. “Look how it’s begun to spread!”
The hood angled just high enough that Zevander could make out a single, pale green eye that almost glowed from the dark depths within.
“His curse worsens,” his father said past clenched teeth.
“It isn’t the sablefyre that has robbed your son’s handsome face.”
“What, then? If you know, tell me!”
In Zevander’s periphery, he caught two men approaching the table. Kingsguard, given their polished armor and weaponry. He tugged at his father’s tunic, but the elder Rydainn only swatted him off.
“Are you aware he tried to consume my son as a baby? He attempted to swallow him whole!”
The elder Rydainn’s words would’ve sent a rippling shock through Zevander, if not for the guards who were quickly closing in on them—he’d heard the story of having been thrown into the flames a number of times, but never that part. The boy’s muscles tensed when his father didn’t seem to pay attention to the new arrivals, until they were standing alongside them, and again, Zevander tugged at his father’s tunic.
“Lord Rydainn of Eidolon,” one of the guards announced, and the voices in the tavern quieted, all eyes shifting toward their table.
His father looked the soldier up and down. “What is the meaning of this?”
One hard yank on Zevander’s shoulder threw him from the booth out onto the floor, where his knees smacked against the rotted wood. Rough hands hauled him to his feet, and Zevander wriggled in their grasp, as one of the men held him captive.
“Enough! What is this outrage! I am a former captain of the Hexmen, and I demand an explanation!” His father struggled to scoot himself out of the booth, before shooting to his feet, where he was seized by the other guard.
“You are under arrest by order of the king.” The guard turned his attention toward the strange, cowled woman. “Is this the boy?”
“It is.”
“He is under arrest, as well.”
“Not the boy.” Her wrinkled and mutilated hands flattened on the table. “The boy stays with me.”
“The king has placed the boy under arrest.”
“No!” The cloaked woman growled and shot to her feet, the hood she wore slipping back to reveal the most grotesque deformities Zevander had ever seen, as if plucked from the most terrifying nightmares. Deep scars, far worse than his own, crossed her face over ruined lips. The other eye he hadn’t been able to see in the depths of her hood stared back as an obsidian orb, as if it’d been stained by ink. “He is mine! You swore that he would remain with me!”
“Take it up with the king.” On those parting words, the men dragged both Zevander and his father away from her.
CHAPTER THREE
MAEVYTH
Present day …
Hand to my throat, I jolted upright with a gasp and turned to see Aleysia, still asleep, as if she hadn’t moved a muscle.
A dream? Nothing more than a terrible dream?
Breaths sawed in and out of me, my mind sifting through flashbacks.
“Kill her.” The words wrapped around me like slithering snakes, taking the form of a willowy silhouette in my thoughts. Morsana.
Cold and callous. Cruel.
I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Kill her while she sleeps. It’ll be easier that way.”
I glanced around the room in search of her, trailing my gaze over the same cob walls, with the same damp, earthen stench in my nose. Beside me, Aleysia continued to lay in oblivious slumber. So peaceful. Innocent. “No. I won’t.”
“There is rot inside of her. The only cure is death.”
“You will not touch her. Do you hear me?” I couldn’t tell if I was commanding her, or myself.
The voice didn’t answer.
I waited, watching the shadows, wondering if the Goddess of Death had somehow found herself in this world, outside of Caligorya. The voice remained silent, and still breathing hard, I ran a trembling hand across my brow, before throwing back the blankets and scampering for the door. I needed to physically distance myself from that damned nightmare.
In the other room, Zevander sat at a chair in front of the window, his boots kicked up on the sill. When he turned, catching sight of me, his brows lowered. “Everything all right?”
“Nightmare.” I glanced to Aleysia’s room and back. “She hasn’t stirred in her sleep, at all?”
“Not that I’ve heard.” His gaze lingered on my hands crossed over the front of me, as if he could sense the vibrations of my trembling, and he sat forward, studying me. “You’re certain everything is okay?”
Despite my heart hammering in my chest, I nodded.
He stared a moment longer, then turned back toward the window, beyond which the moon shone high. “Must’ve been some nightmare.”
“It was terrible.” Throat still throbbing, I made my way to the small table, where the pitcher of water sat alongside a tin cup, and poured myself a drink. The hearth’s blazing heat warmed the incessant chill still clinging to my bones. “Have you…” I paused, wanting to ask him—a man trained to kill—if he’d ever heard a small voice compelling him to take someone’s life. If his conscience ever stepped out of character for a moment and demanded he do something atrocious. Putting that question out in the universe felt too much like a confession, though. “Have you seen many of them?” I asked instead. “The creatures outside.”
“They come and go. They seem smart enough to know we’re in here, but they haven’t tried to breach the door. I get a sense they’re nocturnal when it comes to hunting for food.”
His words cast a shiver down my spine. The thought of those things consuming flesh was a vision born from my darkest nightmares. “I’m praying she wakes by morning, so we can leave this place.”
“Maevyth …” He turned in his chair, his expression tight and, unless I was mistaken, grim.
“What is it?”
The moment he shook his head, I knew whatever followed would be a lie. “It’s nothing.”
“No, I absolutely do not believe that, so tell me.” I managed to catch a curse and idiot in all his grumbling. “Tell me.”
“Aleysia won’t make it through the Umbravale. Mortals can’t cross into Aethyria.” The razor-sharp tone of his voice sliced through any misunderstandings I may have had as I silently absorbed his words. Even through the glimmer of regret burning in his eyes, his words spilled like poison.
A staggering shock chilled my blood. “What?” I asked in disbelief, not expecting an answer. Zevander didn’t mince his words, after all. “I knew she couldn’t cross herself, but not even with me? Or you?”
“She cannot cross into Aethyria, at all. The Umbravale won’t allow it.” Still, his voice remained steady, somehow disconnected from the remorse he clearly felt as he ran his hand down his face.
“This can’t be.” I stumbled backward and fell into the seat behind me. “But…I’m mortal.”
“With Aethyrian blood.”
I opened my mouth to argue but failed to find the words. No argument would change the grave reality. “How will we …. We can’t stay here. Our home, the village, everything is destroyed.” My voice cracked at the reminder of Grandfather Bronwick’s cottage burning to the ground.
“I’ve been mulling it over for most of the night.” He turned back toward the window.
“Is there no other solution?”
“If she were bonded? Perhaps. There’s an exchange of blood in that case.” Sighing, he shot me a somber glance. “I don’t imagine we’ll run into many Aethyrians on this side, but still, the risk is too great. She would fall to her death in the great chasm if it failed. Only Aethyrians true of blood and purpose are permitted to cross that boundary.”
True of blood and purpose? “What does that even mean?”
“An exchange of blood wouldn’t make her a true Aethyrian. And if her blood happens to be infected, she’d be rejected. Anything perceived as a threat is not permitted to cross over.”
I exhaled an exasperated breath and covered my face with my hands, a pounding ache battering my head. “I can’t leave her here alone.” Jaw tight, I blinked away the first prickle of tears. “Not with those things. At the same time, the thought of having to stay here terrifies me.” In the relief of having found her, I hadn’t even considered that she might not be able to cross back with us—didn’t imagine that there was a chance she’d be forced to remain in the mortal lands.
“Don’t think about this right now.” He pushed to his feet, swiping up a blanket draped over Elowen’s rocking chair, and strode across the room. After wrapping the blanket around my shoulders, he lowered to his knee, tipping his head as if to catch my gaze. “I’ll chop some wood, and we have enough food to last a few more days. I can hunt for more, if we run out.”
I turned toward the fire in hopes he wouldn’t see the unspoken thoughts trapped behind my eyes. The overwhelming relief I felt by him offering to stay so I wouldn’t be alone with Aleysia and those horrible monsters. “I’m not asking you to do this, Zevander. I’m not asking you to stay when you have family—”
A strong hand gripped my chin in a startling gesture, and I looked up to see him looming over me, one eyebrow cocked. “You’re not asking me to do anything. Now, get some rest. I’ll not allow you to dwell on this tonight. In fact, I curse myself for telling you, at all, but I feared you finding out later might be worse.”
“Assuming she ever wakes.” The dismal words caught in my throat.
“She’ll wake. Enough worrying.”
I’d have asked what he proposed if she didn’t, but I feared his brutal honesty as much as I craved it.
Another glance toward the bedroom brought to mind the visual of Aleysia sitting atop of me, with those terrifying black eyes and speaking in tongues. “I think I might sleep out here, if that’s alright.”
“Of course.” He strode over to the hearth and stoked the flames to a blazing heat that failed to warm the new chill slithering beneath my skin.
Pulling the blanket tighter, I settled myself on the floor, not noticing that Zevander had strode from the room, until he returned with a pillow that he set below my head.
“Thank you.”
Jaw tight, he gave a small nod and pushed to his feet, but I reached out for his arm.
“Will you lie with me? Just until I fall asleep?”
A slight smile curved his lips as his bulky body sank down beside me like a shadowy mountain at my back. “If only the things you asked of me weren’t such a chore,” he said, his palm against my stomach.
While I couldn’t see Aleysia over his broad shoulders, I remained well aware that her bedroom door stood open. I twisted to face him, burying my face in his solid chest and inhaling the faint scent of Elowen’s liquor from earlier. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that his presence was a balm to the chaos in my head. It wasn’t fair of me to expect him to stay, but damn it, I was relieved. “What of your vivicantem?”
“I’ll be fine. Might be a little grumpy. Certainly won’t be able to woo you with my tricks, but…I’ll survive a few more days without it.”
My smile faded. “And if it’s more than a few more days?”
He ran his thumb across my forehead. “Look at you, worrying about what hasn’t yet happened.”
“I like to think ahead.”
