Sorceress Awakening (25 page)

Blackness.

Like a wet and moonless night, darkness
encompassed Lillian’s entire world. A wrenching sense of dislocation. Endless
falling through nothing. A void. No sense of direction. No soothing forest. Not
even ground to stand upon.

Sound returned in waves, fading then
strengthening. The pooka’s snorted challenge. Her own breathing came, raspy and
panicked.

Between one blink and the next, the sun
warmed her skin again.

Lillian lay upon damp ground, the sky
overhead a clear blue with the occasional fluffy cloud. To judge by the color
of the sky, she was still on earth. She sat up and glanced around. The trees
were of a familiar type but instinct said she was elsewhere, Gregory a long way
off.

Thinking of him allowed Gregory into her
mind.
“Lillian! Don’t do this. Use your power and fight them. Escape.”

“I’m sorry, Gregory. I’m remembering.
This is the only way to stop the demons and kill the darkness within me. The
Lady of Battles does not share. When the Riven use their death magic to steal
my power, the Lady will destroy them as I die.”

“Please don’t do this. I’ll find another
way.”

She dragged in a steadying breath, nearly a
sob.
“Oh, Gregory. I can’t be the Lady’s slave, and I won’t let her use me
to enslave you. This is the only way.”

“I just need a little more time.”

“Only the Divine Ones can help me now.
Goodbye, my love.”
Lillian closed her mind to
Gregory and he was gone. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done. He didn’t,
couldn’t understand. Not yet. Perhaps one day he’d forgive her.

She forced thoughts of Gregory from her
mind and looked around.

Wherever she was, she was in another small
clearing with no obvious path or game trail leading in or out. A small stream
was the only landmark. It cut through the glade before disappearing into the
shadowy tree line at the north end of the glade. The demon boy was walking away
from her, toward the stream.

“We have traveled far.”
The pooka sounded fearful.

It couldn’t be a good sign if one of the
monsters was afraid.

Secretly, she was relieved they had
relocated. It would take Gregory longer to hunt her down. And she needed as
much time as possible.

“This way.” The demon boy gestured toward a
stream at the far end of the clearing. Lillian obeyed and the pooka paced her,
his ears pinned and his head high. He shied when they approached the stream.

The stream seemed normal enough upon first
glance, until she noticed the yellowing grass along the bank and the wilted
marsh marigolds, which looked like they were turning to slime. She felt it
then, the weight of mortality. Death in its purest essence flowed along with
the waters of the stream. The sickly sweet odor of disease wafted from the slow
moving water. Other signs of stress marked the route the stream took. The brown
of dead grass flanked the stream in wide swaths. Along the northern edge of the
glade, the evergreens were blackened, their needles dropping when the breeze
plucked them from their branches. It was an eerie sight. Like all the color had
leeched out of the world.

“What could do this?” she asked the pooka.

“You ask me? I haven’t been to the Magic
Realm in many, many centuries. Perhaps you should ask that question of
yourself. It is a working of great magic. Close kin of yours, maybe?”

“Thanks for the help.”

“Always.”

“You’re an ass.”

The demon boy led them deeper into the
woods. More dead trees to her left outlined the meandering path the stream cut
through the forest. After walking for another ten minutes, she spotted a cabin
through the trees. Dire wolves stood as silent sentinels among the trees.

Four of the dark-furred wolves ghosted out
of the underbrush to flank her and the pooka as they made their way to the
cabin. One dire wolf paced so close his fur brushed her arm, but he seemed
unaware of his surroundings. She glanced sideways at him, studying his milky
eyes. If she’d had more time, she would have tried to free him from the demon’s
influence. Now all there’d be time for was a swift death. She hoped.

When they reached the cabin, half the
guards remained outside with the pooka, but the others followed Lillian within.
Inside, the main room was covered in thick carpeting. Two bent-willow chairs
and a sofa with a crocheted throw sat in front of a vast mantle. A fire burned
in the fireplace, chasing away the chill of spring dampness. It was a lovely
cabin, and for a moment she grieved for the ones who had lived here. Surely
they were dead. But they would be avenged as soon as her brother and the pooka
were safely away.

The demon boy continued to the very back of
the cabin to a small bedroom. Within, her brother lay trussed up. He turned
pale when he saw her. A gag prevented him from speaking, but the fear and grief
in his eyes needed no words. Jason blamed himself for her capture.

“It’s all right, Jason. You’re going to
leave with the pooka. He’ll get you to safety.” She knelt on the floor next to
him. He was shaking his head back and forth. Lillian brushed hair off his face.
“It’ll be over soon. Don’t worry for me. This is my fault, and I’ll make it
right. I’ll follow when I can.” She turned back to the creature pretending to
be a child. “Release my brother.”

In case he decided to change his side of
the bargain, she drew the demon blade across her wrist while summoning the
magic of the Spirit Realm. And like the time Gregory had done it, cold filled
the room, causing her breath to fog in the air.

The demon hissed and leapt back. “You
promised no tricks.”

She laughed. “A demon complaining about
deceit—how ironic. Don’t worry. It’s just a precaution. Stick to your side of
the bargain and all will go well. If you don’t . . .” She let her sentence die,
but reached outside to where the pooka waited and whispered her plan into his
mind.

“
Once you and my brother are far enough
away, I’ll see if I can kill everything in a two-kilometer radius.”

“Your brother and the pooka are free to
go.” The demon boy bowed to her, then straightened and took a step back toward
the door. He made no move to bolt, so she turned her attention back to Jason.
There was rebellion in his eyes.

“Please tie my brother to the pooka’s back.
I doubt he’ll go willingly.”

“As you wish.” The boy gestured and two
demons wearing adult bodies picked up Jason and carried him out to the pooka.

The black horse was nervous, but still
waited where she’d left him. He could have fled. He had the power, yet he
stayed.

“Thank you.”

When the pooka approached the cabin’s
porch, she leaned over the railing and laid her hand on his shoulder, sharing
some of her power with him, strengthening him for the return journey.

“Run fast, swifter than death. I’ll give
you as much time as I can. Please try to save my brother.”

“You never planned to return to the Magic
Realm.”

“No. I plan to return to the Spirit
Realm—and somehow I don’t think that is where you want to go.”

“Traitorous dryad.”
He snorted and pawed at the ground, his yellow eyes gleaming with
rage.

“Your loyalty will be rewarded. Tell
Gregory it was my wish that you make the journey with him when he returns to
the Magic Realm.”

“And if the gargoyle doesn’t listen?”

“He’ll honor my last request.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes. Please tell him not to grieve.
I’ll meet him again soon.”

The pooka bobbed his head.

She stayed in the cabin’s doorway, watching
as the demons bundled her brother onto the pooka’s back. A yellow eye rolled
back toward her. She nodded her head and the pooka bolted into motion.

She tracked the pooka long after he was out
of sight. He wasn’t followed, but she continued to stare at the trees where he
and her brother had vanished for long moments. Each minute she stalled the evil
ones bettered the chance her brother had of escaping.

Fear was absent, and a strange thing was
unfolding within her. Each time she’d called on magic, a small portion of her
memories returned. Fragmented and chaotic, they were no help yet. But if the
evil ones took too long to do whatever they planned, better possibilities might
present themselves.

“Bring her,” the demon boy ordered.

Two male dire wolves, white eyes foggy and
unseeing, approached her with their heads down, tails held limply behind them.
She wondered once again what the demon child had done to them to make them
serve. Her magic flared, and a memory surfaced: her gargoyle father looking out
over a battlement, listless, head hanging. She’d been a small child, four or
five, at most, and seeing her father like that had saddened her. He’d been
“disciplined” after he’d tried to escape with her. She remembered her mother
had been upset with the Wardens for resorting to soul-binding magic. Trap a
soul so that it could not gain strength from the Spirit Realm or a living body,
and it would weaken. A weakened soul would in turn weaken a mind, making the
person more biddable. Her mother had called it one of the darkest forms of
magic.

And the same spell had been cast upon the
two dire wolves approaching her. She moved away from the porch, allowing the
big wolves to herd her toward the east side of the cabin. They continued to
guide her until she was blocked on one side by the small creek. Death magic
rose from the water’s surface like fog, seeking and smothering life as it came
in contact with it. She strengthened her shields another notch even though the
magic hadn’t been able to do more than brush along the curve of her shield
before being repelled.

The demon child said nothing as it trailed
along behind Lillian. She maintained a brisk pace, wanting to stay ahead of the
demon. It sidled up next to her, perhaps sensing her unease. Then it tried to
take her hand like a child would. She inched closer to the stream.

The scent of death wafted upon the breeze.
But underlying that stench, there was a sweeter smell. Honeysuckle. And
something else similar to sandalwood. Memories stirred.

A sense of peace, like returning home after
a long life.

Impossible.

She took a deeper breath. Yes, she was
certain. The Lord of the Underworld was near.

But how could that be? He was imprisoned in
his own temple. Both of the Twins were. The duality curse. One sibling couldn’t
walk free while the other was trapped. The Lady of Battles was still
imprisoned. Lillian knew it in her heart—and yet she sensed the Lord of the
Underworld near.

The death magic flowing from the water was
deadly, but now it lacked the stench of evil. Strange. She tried to piece
together the memories that told her why the magic in the water was dangerous
but not evil and they slipped away.

They entered the forest once again. Nothing
living remained. All was dead. She mourned the trees and the wildflowers. Even
the moss was dead.

“It didn’t like our tinkering and lashed
out,” the demon said. “It killed a good half of us before we could get out of
its range.”

“What didn’t like your tinkering?” Whatever
“it” was, if it had killed half of these little monsters, she wanted to help it
kill the other half.

“When we sacrifice you, it will be more
biddable,” the demon called over its shoulder as it skipped ahead. It giggled
and vanished around a bend in the path.

She swallowed against the bile rising in
her throat. Touching the demon was the only way to know for sure if it had
possessed a child or merely shapeshifted to look like one. She didn’t want to
get close enough to find out. Better not to know.

The footing became treacherous as the path
narrowed. Boulders and rocks showed through the eroded soil like the bones of
the earth. With her eyes on the rocky ground, she didn’t see she’d emerged into
a new meadow until she finished climbing up the leaf-littered slope.

She blinked several times and still she
didn’t understand what she saw. Trees lay broken and splintered like a
hurricane had exploded out from the middle of the meadow. Branches and trunks
were tossed haphazardly to form a dam of wooden shrapnel along the outer edge of
the newly and violently cleared meadow. At the center someone had erected a
monolith. She didn’t know what else to call it. It looked like a sword, a
massive twenty-foot sword. A giant’s weapon. By the way the point was embedded
in the rocky soil, it looked like something had stabbed it down into the earth
with a great deal of rage.

Its blade shimmered, eerie in the dim
light. And if she was to approach it and run a finger along its blade, it
looked sharp enough to cut off her hand. She shivered. The death magic was
stronger here at the source.

No, she’d been wrong. This great weapon
didn’t belong to a giant. It belonged to a god. Memories from past lives
unfolded, triggered by the sight of one of the Lord of the Underworld’s four
swords. In the memory, she and Gregory had returned victorious from a battle,
and were bringing a dangerous artifact back to the Lord of the Underworld for
safe keeping. They’d bowed at his hooves and he had towered over them, his
horse’s body topped with a four-armed humanoid torso and a jackal-like head. In
another life, she’d not thought him strange—but now, all she could think was
that he looked to be the love child of Anubis and a centaur. He had horns and a
flowing mane like a gargoyle, and she remembered Gregory had once said all
gargoyles called the god of death their master. If this creature wasn’t
fearsome enough on his own, having to walk between his four massive swords
before kneeling at his feet would have cowed most anything.