Take My Heart...: Dark Ages - Fantasy (Dark Gods & Tainted Souls Book 3) (8 page)

Chapter Seventeen.

Seth stepped from the arena and soon Elizebetha had left his side. He’d not noticed her go but then suddenly she had. He stood alone on the deck and watched as the sky became darker and darker. He began to wander the ship and found himself walking to the figurehead. When he saw her he almost stopped dead. She looked as beautiful as when he’d first seen her. Minsetta, her long black hair flowing down her back and the thin white night dress clinging to her body. The perfect Pellosina, soft curves, sexual but self-aware and strong.

She turned as he approached. “Young master Seth, that was quite a show you put on today. How can one so young know so many languages?” she asked.

He replied, near to as he had when they had first met. “I’m actually an old man I just wear this body for the ease of it”

She laughed. “What an interesting thing to say”

He heard her word and saw her but something was wrong. Her words were hollow and had none of their usual charming warmth, like a bad actress reading lines for a play. Seth reached out with his hand and it passed right through her.

“But I killed you, surely you are dead,” he said.

Seth turned to a sound behind him, and standing there was the old farmer, as he walked towards Seth Minsetta simply disappeared.

“Did you kill her boy? Or did the wolf have to save you? Did you thank him for saving you or did you cry out ‘Stop’ and then cry like a pathetic girl-child who’s favourite horse ran away?”

Seth was stunned, it was true enough but he never felt ashamed of it.

“You should feel ashamed of it and, more importantly, you should tell them you are. You acted exactly like any young boy thinking with his cock instead of thinking of his commitment to the rules that govern his people,” the man said “Now pull yourself together. I’ve done all I can, you’re here and it’s time to disembark.”

“Who are you?” called Seth as the man walked away.

***

“You have to run Angeline, you have to run and hide now,” the old woman spoke frantically to her friend. Seraphina looked back at the woman who spoke to her and shuddered, she looked out from the woman’s eyes unable to speak of her own accord.

They were both elderly Pellosi women, dressed in very rough and tattered robes that were made from rough hessian, the type used to make carrying sacks. On their heads over long flowing white hair sat a small garland of field flowers.

“I can’t. I have to try to use the gift to protect the sisters,” Seraphina said back, the voice someone else’s.

As she spoke her visage wavered like the heat lines above a fire and she transformed from the old woman to that of a young man, dressed in simple country garb. She closed her eyes and changed her friends’ guise as well.

“They won’t know who to take,” she said. “We’ll say the women have left, they are on the road and we’ll lead them away. Go get the others.”

The other woman, now appearing as another young man ran barefoot across the rough wooden floor of the room and soon returned with six more women. They ranged in ages, some didn’t have a garland just the simple robes and scared faces to match,

“Sisters it’s happened they have finally come for us, but our goddess will guard us. I will use her power to hide us in her beauty.” The women ran to the front of the room. There stood an altar. It was roughly carved of wood, on it was two faced woman, one old and haggard the other beautiful. This was the cult of Vitanki, she used her powers to turn an ugly cold world to a blessed one. They lived a simple life and delighted in the small beautiful wonders of it. Seraphina watched the door and she knew who was coming.

Suddenly the door at the end of the room burst open, splinters flying. Two men walked in, with rapiers drawn. Stephan the general and the other Dirst, her cousin. They simply stood on either side of the door, guarding any escape. In she walked like a vision of pride and danger. Seraphina saw herself through the old woman’s eyes and felt the fear run through her body. Long blonde hair tied into a tight ponytail, blue eyes blazing with greed and her thin ladies sword was drawn. She heard her own laugh.

“Oh no gentlemen seems we're too late,” she pointed her sword at the collection of young men. “And who might you all be”

She stepped forward. “We just work here, we tend the farm for the women, they have all fled,” she said to herself.

“Oh no, that’s bad,” Seraphina said.

“Here’s the thing. I know you’re lying and seeing your power in all its glory just makes me want it more, seems our spies were right about you all. Have your high priestess step forward and we’ll just take her, otherwise it’s all of you,” she said.

As she spoke. Seraphina felt the emotions of the woman. These women were her sisters. They had lived together for years, had shared their humble days with each other and now truly did feel a sisterly love for each other. She knew this woman would kill them all if she didn’t give herself up. As she looked she saw the older man, he was placing objects in a small circle on the floor, into which all three of them stepped.

She stepped forward and let the guise fall. Showing them for what they were. Eight scared women in rough robes, to show the only gifts they had were the ones the goddess gave.

She saw herself and knew what was coming next, the girl whispered to her uncle who just nodded.

“That’s good. I’m glad that you have made this easier, the only problem is you’re not the only one with power.”

Next to her Stephan was chanting quickly and within moments there was a small black storm cloud in the room, the women screamed and clung to each other, helplessly crying, the only exit blocked. Within seconds the rift was open, three of the black dogs bounded out of the cold and into the room. She heard her own voice screaming, “Take them all and give me the rest.”

She saw the terror in her sister’s face and tried to use her power to change them to other people but the wild animals cared not who they killed, man or woman, farm boy or priestess. The first beast was on her friend, Jessika in a moment, the woman tried to run for the door but it caught her leg. Vicious teeth ripped through her skin and she collapsed screaming. The beast’s teeth were around her throat in moments of her hitting the ground, it ripped her life away in a bloody heartbeat. A large group of women huddled and cried against the altar, it was splattered with their blood as they died crying out to the goddess, she had no power over matters like this.

Angeline ran to the girl, falling to her knees before her and begged for her to stop but then she felt the teeth sink into her own skin and she screamed lunging back. She saw the huge black form bent over her leg and pull her backwards with a sharp turn of its head. Turning herself quickly to face it. She felt the stale breath of a hot meat and then she felt it rip into her ribcage with claws and with horrible teeth, she tried to scream but it was over, the creature ate as the life left her aged body. Seraphina lay in the woman’s body as the dog kept ripping her now dead body she felt the pain of it and the horror of what she had done that day.

As she closed and opened her eyes the pain stopped. She looked around to see she was back in her uncle’s study. She looked once again through eyes not her own. She looked at a much younger version of herself, over some old book. Oh no, she thought she knew this as well.

She heard herself speak in a male voice. “You’re a terrible student Seraphina. You’re not even paying attention,” she said to herself.

The younger version of herself just smiled back. “I know a faster way,” she said in a voice of a spoiled child.

Inside the man’s mind, Seraphina started to scream and scream.

Chapter Eighteen.

Goldie drew his broadsword and pointed it once again at Farirkar. The big man just smiled at him, he held his long handled double-headed axe in both hands.

“Aren’t you sick of this yet?” Farirkar asked.

“Not yet,” Goldie said and ran in. His shoulder was starting to leak blood but it was feeling a lot better, he healed fairly fast now and was much more than an average swordsman, still this man was a giant and had learned his killing arts the hard way, by actually killing people. Goldie brought his sword down hard at Farirkar who blocked it with the metal handle of his axe. Goldie dodged to the side and narrowly avoided a vicious kick to the groin, Farirkar fought with no rules, spinning but too slowly, Goldie swung his sword through the air at Farirkar’s neck and missed widely.

“That sword is too heavy for you.” The man said with a laugh as Goldie unbalanced and nearly toppled over. Farirkar walked to a nearby pile of weapons and drew out a single-handed mace and a small shield that buckled to the arm. “Try this. I think it’ll suit you”

Goldie buckled the light shield to his arm and held the mace. It felt good in his hand.

“Now why are we doing this again?” asked Farirkar as he swung his huge axe down at Goldie, forcing him to jump and roll smoothly across the hard packed sand. He rolled to his feet and spinning faster, this time, shoved the man hard with his shield in the side. Farirkar grinned as he was pushed slightly by it.

“Cause I’m fucking angry and this is better than drinking,” Goldie said.

He dropped the mace, one mention of drink and he was thirsty now. He’d been beaten by the tireless mercenary for more than an hour since they had made camp. The sun had fallen and the cold of night was starting to creep in. He’d felt it now he’d stopped panting and the sweat that made his shirt cling to him started to cool.

“Why so angry?” Farirkar asked, tossing Goldie a skin that held some red wine.

“You know why, this king, he’s got us on killers duties, you think Quest and his men will come along quietly as we kill twenty of his people, you think our northern lads will like the fact were killing wise women and the third one, he thinks I don’t know what that is but I do. I bloody know and I won’t do it,” he said, taking a big drink of the warm wine and wincing.

“What’s there? Some gambling den, my boys told me. Dogs, pit fights, card games, hey that does sound like you!” He said.

“It’s more than that; it’s the temple of the lucky lady. That’s how they show her love,” Goldie said.

“By cheating each other at cards, drinking, and fighting?” Farirkar laughed.

“Yes, doesn’t it sound perfect?” Goldie said back” We have to get out of this contract, the king has men following us and he’s going to see pretty quickly we're not doing the job,” he said.

“We will if your friends are warning them all. I’d say your right, but we’re not really in a position to take on the king,” Farirkar said.

“How many mercenary armies are there from here? Cravosi? The north, the desert, how many in total? Enough to fight back right?” Goldie said.

“Oh fuck, no, don’t even think it.” Farirkar raised his axe again. “Come on, you’re still clearly angry”

He was angry. His whole life he’d walked the line of the criminal, he never viewed himself as a bad person. Not truly evil just one to press the limit of the laws and what was acceptable, he was a charming rogue like the stolen books he’d read as a runaway to teach himself the art. Still at every turn, there were people trying to get him to do their dirty work. It was always the same. The nobles used other poor people against themselves, they never got their hands dirty themselves but they sure would happily pay for it, if it kept their own soft hands clean.

He’d never been one for gods and worship. His mother was an extremely superstitious Northern slave who was frankly lacking in the brains that the gods gave an ox. She was a slightly more attractive female version of Flint and Stone. His father was a crooked tradesman whose only gods were drinking and trying to get a few gold coins out of any situation. When he’d run from them he’d ended up at the lucky ladies temple.

His first job, actually getting paid to do something was to help keep a small wine stall that sat resting against its outside wall. He was big for a youngster and his gift of counting coins was a blessing for the owner who allowed his patrons to buy in the coins of their homelands. His whole life luck was always with him, every time something went wrong he knew it would work out not quite as bad as it possibly could. Sure he might get beaten but not to death when that drunk had stabbed him, the blade had missed anything vital. If he tripped over in the street it was likely over something of value and women had always liked him a lot more than his looks should have allowed, that was the lucky lady, shining out from their eyes He liked thinking he had someone in the whole world who actually gave a shit about him. She was the only one who ever had and he’d not raise a blade against her now, not for any amount of gold coins and empty promises of a noble.

***

Grimm had ridden through the night. The moon cast a bright light across the landscape and it was easy to guide his horse around the occasional rock or uneven piece of ground. The steed had proven itself and kept up a solid canter for the last few hours, now it was beginning to slow and falter, he could feel his own legs were wet and cold with the sweat coming from the animal. He slowed down to a trot and cast his eyes around him, there were more shapes now, more rocks and small trees. Grimm stopped his horse and slowly dismounted. He could feel the presence of life around him but knew they would give him time to prepare, they would test him and his knowledge.

Grimm let his horse wander away from him into the night, taking only his sword and axe from its side. With the tip of his sword blade, he drew a large circle in the dirt with him in the middle. He hoped as Minsetta had said only northern weapons could pass. As he drew the circle, he thought of home. The trees and snow, the strength needed to live in that place and the beauty of its austerity. He sang songs in his mind of home. When it was done he looked off into the darkness, there was certainly someone there, but all he could see was sand and stones.

“I’m ready,” he said in the desert tongue loudly.

Within a heartbeat, a hand cut arrow painted bright red came flying from the darkness. He flinched back by instinct as it hit the air in front of him and glanced off as if it hit a well-held shield. He laughed to himself, thank fuck he thought. Three more arrows came from the dark and all bounced off the solid air. He heard gruff laughter from the darkness and then he saw them. They appeared from the darkness, the sand and the very stones. He saw some were dressed in clothes painted like the land and were crouching in the dark. Some hid in the shallow sands and others had small branches and twigs across their bodies, there was, at least, twenty, so the whole tribe.

A woman walked in front of him and regarded him, her bow dropped to her side, held in her hand. She was younger than him but, at least, thirty name days. Tall for a woman, dark skin, and dark hair. She wore a leather patch across her eye which had a white circle painted on it. Her clothes matched. Tight leather pants and a sleeveless top that showed her dark arms and firm stomach, it was dark crisscross of symbols in dark scars. She pulled the eye patch aside and looked at him with strong dark eyes, then she smiled, it lit up her face with perfect white teeth and humor.

“Well-crafted word fortress,” she said, or something like that, her tongue was a bit off from what he knew, but then again they’d been here a long time along and probably spoke their own dialect now. How did he know things like this, he thought.

“Thank you,” he said with a little bow, she was clearly the leader. “I’m Grimm and I’ve come to warn you of a great threat,” he said.

“You mean your friend who leads 600 of so red-faced killers to our home with pouches fat with the king’s gold,” she said back.

He was crestfallen. What had he expected though? These were the people that taught the Gatherers their tricks.

“That’s the one,” he said.

She laughed, seeing the look of disappointment on his face.

“Never fear, hero. They serve their purpose in bringing you to us, now we can speak properly,” she stood forward and with her two hands made a fast clawing motion through the air that was his circle. The power tore like paper and with a loud sound, like the wind ripping a canvas sail. She reached into the circle, took his hand and led him out.

“Don’t be afraid, Grimm. You’re one of us, we know it,” she said.

He walked with her dark hand in his across the sand. His boot sinking into it, her gliding on top on soft furred sandals. The others of her tribe leading the way, giving them privacy. In the distance, he could see firelight and the faint outlines of a few small huts and skinny animals tied up to rough wooden railings.

“Are you white eyes’ child, is that why you have the eye patch,” he asked.

“I think you’ll know the answer if you simply search for it within yourself, many before you came to us, the Gatherers, curious children asking all the questions you would,” she said.

Grimm cast his mind back as they walked. He’d not delved too deep into the memories he held. There were too many, hundreds and hundreds of voices it was like trying to pick a whisper from a screaming crowd. He knew a face, Elizebetha’s father, he’d seen a portrait of him in the Keep. Kindly and soft but deep grey eyes that looked like a brewing storm. He focused on the man and saw him sitting in the sand, an old man by his side. He had two eyes that were white and blind, he spoke to the man, a different white eyes.

“You’re not his child but you hold the most power in the clan,” they were a clan, not a tribe. In years past they would bandage a child’s eyes and turn them white and blind but now they just where the patch instead. Why?” he asked.

“Being blinded was supposed to give more power, a greater connection with the unseen or some bullshit, but I’m not sure it ever did, besides it’s awful and pointless. I like being able to see, besides our gods have lessened in their demands of us as ours have of them,” she said.

Grimm had no idea what that meant, there was still so much he didn’t know.

They had reached the small camp. The other members of the clan put down spears, bows, and their long hooked swords and welcomed him by the fire. As they sat he saw people coming from the tents, children, women and all the men too old to fight, there was ,at least, a hundred of them. The small children ran around him like a flock of small birds, they reached out and touched his white skin and ran off laughing as he spoke to them in his version of their tongue.

She laughed at him and shooed them away. Gripping his wrist like a fellow warrior she shook. “I’m Seek,” she held out her hands. “And these are the people your friend is coming to kill.”

“He doesn’t want to clearly, that’s why he sent me,” Grimm said back, taking the offered seat and drink of warmish milk. It was laced with something that tasted like grain alcohol.

“He doesn’t, but his new master does. What do you know of the king and his legion of eagles?” she said.

“Not a lot, they call themselves the Order of the Learned. They hate the gods it seems, they hate powers and rituals, they like rules and order, they are bald as cocks as we’d say back home,” he said.

She laughed. “They are very dangerous, the face you see of them is just the new face, they have been around for hundreds and hundreds of years,” she said.

“Doing what,” He asked.

“Doing what their god tells them to, spreading fear in his name. We have seen his work in this world and the other and your friend the one called. Seth.” She actually laughed. “He has upset his plans so very badly.”

Grimm laughed at himself, it would be like Seth to ruin the plans of a god without knowing it. “In what way?” Grimm asked.

“This is a war Grimm, we left our own lands hundreds of years ago because the worship of the sun was outlawed, our people are all but converted to the Pellosi ways now. We call the sun the many faced bringer, he is the sun and the rain, the flame and the water but as we were weakened so was he. Our legends say he fought a great monster and was in prison, but the Druheim set him free.”

“But the sun was only gone in the land of the dead, not here?” Grimm asked.

“True, the many faced bringer was too strong here in this place, but weak in the land of the moon children, they made him weak and trapped him”

“Why?” Grimm said knowing well the answer.

“The sun brings hope, it brings light and happiness. They want to create darkness and fear, where there is no light there is no hope.”