Chapter
Nineteen
Selyn clutched Dawson’s hand so hard her nails dug into his flesh. “I’ve reached Artigos the Just,” she said. “They’re still a few levels below us, but moving fast. He said they’re all ready to fight. We need to get back up there.”
Dawson nodded. “I hope it’s not too
hard to find the prison cells. We have to free Alton and Ginny.
With any luck, they’ll know where Roland and Taron are.” He glanced
at the ruby sword in his hand. “It’s not actually speaking, but
somehow we’re communicating. Hopefully our blades can lead
us.”
Selyn stuck her head through the portal
for just a second. Then she was back. “Now,” she said. “It’s clear.
Let’s go.” She stepped through the portal and raced up the flight
of stairs.
Dawson ran behind her, though they
paced themselves as best they could. In mere minutes they’d reached
the level where the free folk lived. Dawson stepped through the
portal with Selyn on his heels, expecting a quiet corridor and
finding chaos.
Men and women in white robes raced
along the passageway. Some were scratched and bleeding. All of them
appeared terrified, panic-stricken, and out of control. Dawson
grabbed one man by the arm and forced him to a halt.
“What’s going on here? What’s
happening?”
The Lemurian didn’t even notice that he
spoke to a human. “Demonkind! Demons everywhere.” Eyes wide, he
struggled to break free of Dawson’s grasp.
Dawson glanced at the sword strapped to
the man’s back. “Didn’t you stay to fight? Why haven’t you drawn
your sword?”
The Lemurian looked at him as if he
were absolutely nuts. “Fight demons? No. The soldiers will fight.
I’m not a warrior.”
“Then why do you carry crystal? Pull
your blade, man. Defend your world!”
A woman screamed. Selyn grabbed
Dawson’s arm. “We have to hurry. Forget him.”
Dawson shook his head. “We’re going to
need all the soldiers we can find, or demonkind will win. Draw your
sword, damn you!”
Blinking wildly, the aristocrat drew
his sword. The blade had no more glow than dark glass, and his arm
trembled so badly he almost dropped the thing.
The crystal sparked a brilliant blue,
and then it shattered. The man threw the useless pommel to the
ground, ripped free of Dawson’s grasp, and ran. Dawson stared at
the tiny shards of glass littering the tunnel as a fresh wave of
terrified Lemurians raced by. A soul had once resided in that
blade. He wondered briefly what happened to the brave warrior who
had been paired with a useless coward.
Then Selyn tugged his arm once again,
and he followed her against the tide of Lemurians. He took the lead
after a few steps. Dawson wasn’t sure how he knew where to go, what
turns to take, what portals to pass through, but somehow he led
Selyn with unerring accuracy through the dark passages
circumventing the main living areas of the free folk.
It had to be the sword. Without words,
without any overt communication, it somehow led him through
unfamiliar territory to a dark passage. A passage Dawson was
certain led directly down to the prison cells.
He glanced toward Selyn. She nodded. “I
think this is it. My sword isn’t actually speaking, but how else
could we have both known to come here?”
“Let’s go.” He started off along the
main passage. Selyn grabbed his arm and pointed to another tunnel.
“Wait. This is the way I have to go. I think the swords are this
way.”
“Go, then.” He wrapped his fingers
around the back of her neck and pulled her close, kissed her hard
and fast. “Be careful, Selyn. I can’t lose you. Not when I’ve
finally found you.”
She stared at him for a long moment,
unblinking. “You too, Daws. I love you.”
Then she spun away and raced along the
passage, into the shadows and out of sight.
Dawson watched until she was gone. Then
he tightened his grasp on his ruby sword and ran toward the
flickering light reflecting off the walls at the end of the long,
dark tunnel.
The cries and screams, the banshee
howls, and the thick stench of sulfur faded into the
background.
Eddy wiped the sweat off her forehead
and glanced toward Artigos. They’d fought demonkind throughout the
long night and the older man was breathing hard, leaning on his
glimmering citrine sword, but he had a grin on his face that
practically stretched ear to ear. Gaia was giving him hell about
something, but she was fighting a smile as well, and if Eddy didn’t
know for a fact that the demons outside the door were massing for
another attack, she’d have thought they were all having a gay old
time.
“Here. I brought you some cold
water.”
She glanced up as Dax handed her the
chilled glass, took it without a word, and drank deeply. She
drained the glass and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Thank you. How’s Dad doing? I couldn’t believe it when the damned
creatures drew blood.”
Dax sighed as he took the empty glass
from her. “We’ve known from the beginning that demons are
continuing to evolve. I think we need to be ready for anything at
this point, but your dad is fine. Spirit has him bandaged.” Even
Dax’s smile looked tired. “He’s enjoying the attention. He and
Freedom are in there bonding over their war wounds.”
Eddy nodded, too tired to answer. At
least Freedom’s scratches were small. She’d been afraid he might
hurt himself again, especially since he was finally recovering from
the surgery that had brought Mari home in the first
place.
Eddy lifted the curtain and glanced out
the window. Mari stood outside in the fresh snow with her arms
raised. She and Darius had surrounded the house with salt to slow
the demons, and now she was casting a spell, one that would
hopefully draw away the creatures’ strength.
Darius stood beside her, sword at the
ready. Black soot covered the snow from the many demons he’d
already killed. Eddy, Dax, and Artigos had slaughtered hundreds
more, both inside and out of the house, but there was a bit of a
lull now, and, hopefully, time for Mari to use her developing magic
to weaken the onslaught of demonkind.
Spirit stepped up beside Eddy and
peered out the window. “So many of them. Is there no end? You’ve
killed thousands.”
Eddy slowly shook her head. “There must
be a new portal on the mountain, but damn! I hate this not knowing.
That’s the only explanation. I wish we knew what Alton and Ginny
were doing. I can’t understand why we haven’t heard from anyone. I
was sure Dawson would contact us by now.”
She glanced at Spirit, and felt the
anxiety pouring off of Mari’s mom in waves. When Eddy and Mari had
been little, Spirit’s long hair had been a brilliant red. Now it
hung in long, gray waves down her back.
She wondered if, now that Mari was a
full-blown witch, Spirit’s hair would finally turn snow-white from
worry. She’d blamed the girls for every gray hair when they were
teens.
She was still a beautiful woman,
albeit—right now—a worried mother. Eddy couldn’t blame her. Mari’d
insisted on going outside in the storm with only Darius to protect
her. Now she chanted something Eddy couldn’t hear, standing like an
ancient priestess with her arms raised to the gray predawn sky and
her head thrown back, her blond hair cascading down her back. Snow
swirled around her, clinging to her long-sleeved top and her
flowing skirts. Light from a Coleman lantern turned the big flakes
of snow into glittering gold and silver coins.
Darius lunged forward and slashed his
blade through the falling snow, and another demon flickered and
burst into flame. Mari didn’t even flinch. Her arms stretched
higher, and as Eddy watched, the snow appeared to part overhead and
fall to either side of the witch and her Lemurian
warrior.
It swirled about with dark forms all
around. In spite of Mari’s chant, the sense of evil grew stronger,
the feeling that there was nothing to stop the tide of demons
circling about the house. The salt appeared to be holding as a line
of protection for now, but it felt like such a fragile barrier
against the constant attack of demonkind.
Bumper trotted across the room, stood
on her hind legs, and looked out the window, growling, but Willow
remained silent.
Artigos and Gaia joined Eddy, Dax, and
Spirit at the window.
Artigos gave Spirit a quick hug. “She
is truly a warrior, your daughter. Fearless and of strong will.”
When Spirit nodded, as if unable to speak, Artigos glanced at Eddy
and added softly, “As is my son. I have much to atone for, when
this is over. I pray to the gods he will forgive me.”
Eddy glanced at Alton’s father, a man
she’d wanted to throttle just a few days ago. Much had changed in
just a few hours. From a horrible and cruel man possessed by a
demon, he’d awakened with the mind of a small and trusting child.
He’d not stayed that way for long. His transformation had
continued, until Eddy wondered if this was the man Gaia had fallen
in love with. There was much of Alton in this version of the man
they were getting to know without his demon.
He was proving himself to be charming
and good-natured, with a sharp wit. He’d fought bravely with his
citrine sword, and many demons had died. Though his face bore
bloody scratches from talons and fangs, he’d not wanted to take the
time to see to his wounds.
Eddy couldn’t wait for Alton to meet
this new and improved version of his father. She rested her fingers
on his arm and smiled at him. “I imagine Alton will be more than
willing to forgive, once we’re back in Lemuria. Once demonkind is
finally destroyed. He’s going to be thrilled to have his real
father back.”
Light flickered outside. At first, Eddy
thought the lantern had gone out.
Spirit screamed. Freedom and Ed raced
in from the kitchen. Eddy and Dax lunged for the door with Artigos
right behind.
Dax flung open the door, and the three
of them ran into the storm with swords drawn. There was no sign of
Mari.
“Where the hell did she go?” Eddy
screamed at Dax over the banshee cries and wailing shrieks of
demons.
“She’s here. Quickly! Help us!”
Darius’s strained and breathless voice came from within a seething,
shrieking cloud of demons.
Mari’s chant was barely audible against
the sound of demonkind. The only thing that marked her presence was
the spark of flames from Darius’s sword, and the stench of demons
dying.
Calling on DemonSlayer, Eddy dove into
the fight.
Alton stared at the energy flowing
between them and freedom, and he wanted to rip the impenetrable
bars of light right out of the walls. He glanced helplessly at
Ginny, then toward Taron and Roland. “What if we concentrate our
energy on the controls? Do you think, working together, we can shut
this thing off?”
Ginny leapt to her feet. “We don’t have
to. There’s Dawson!”
“Alton! Ginny? Thank goodness. We’ve
been trying to find you guys. Shit.” Daws skidded to a stop in
front of their cell. “How do I shut this off?”
“Controls are there, just beside the
opening.” Alton gestured toward his right.
Dawson pulled a lever, and the bars
disappeared. “What happened?”
Alton raced out of the open cell and
headed down the passage. “Possessed guards from the slaves’ level.
C’mon. We’ve got more guys locked up.” He flipped the lever holding
Balti and the others inside the next cell. “Any idea where our
swords are?”
“Selyn’s gone after them. She headed
down another passage. Follow me.” Dawson took off
running.
Alton grabbed Ginny’s hand, and the
others followed. He heard the distant sound of shrieks and demonic
cries. “What the nine hells is going on up there?”
Dawson glanced back as he rounded a
corner. “Demons have invaded Lemuria. I have no idea where they’re
coming from, but the people are retreating in panic. One guy drew
his sword after I ordered him to fight, and the damned thing
shattered. It’s chaos up there.”
“Dawson? Hurry. They’re
here.”
Selyn’s voice came from the end of the
passage. Alton’s longer stride took him past Dawson, and he was the
first to reach Selyn. She was dragging the bundled swords out of a
cabinet. The lock was melted, the door bent.
Her sword glowed
brilliantly.
Alton and Ginny grabbed their swords.
The others found theirs, going unerringly to the right ones. It
appeared all of them were linked to their weapons, sentient or
not.
“What now?” Dawson leaned close and
gave Selyn a quick, possessive kiss.
Alton had no control over the grin he
flashed at Ginny. It appeared their veterinarian had made excellent
use of his time. “What of the women? And my grandfather?” Alton
strapped on his scabbard and reached for HellFire.
Selyn answered. “They’re almost here.
They were only a couple of levels behind us, all armed with
crystal. It appears the sentience within the swords has imparted
battle knowledge to all of us.” She grinned. “I actually know how
to use this thing! Did you see what we did to that
lock?”
“I did. Damn.” Alton glanced down the
long passage. “We need to shut that portal once again. I think one
of the council members is opening it. Drago, most likely. Balti
says he’s been spending time in the vortex chamber.”
Roland nodded in agreement as he
checked his scabbard and sword. “Someone’s opening it. I’ve not
been able to keep the blasted thing closed, but I’ve never caught
anyone down there working it.”
Alton nodded. “We’ll deal with the
portal. You and your men see what you can do against the demons
who’ve invaded. If you see men you’re sure of, you might be able to
turn their swords to crystal. Whatever it takes, we’ve got to win
this one.”
“Godspeed.” Roland bowed his head in a
subtle show of respect to Alton. Then he turned toward his
men.
Balti, Ragus, and the other guards
gathered before him. The big guard made eye contact with each one
before turning back to Alton. “We go now, Chancellor, to fight
demonkind. The gods’ strength to all of us.” He raised his sword
high. “For Lemuria,” he shouted.
His men joined in. “For Lemuria.”
Roland turned and winked at Alton, and then, running at full speed,
he led his small band toward the distant cries coming from the
direction of the great plaza.
Alton held Ginny’s hand, but he
addressed Selyn. “Can you reach Artigos? Has he gotten to this
level yet?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m still
trying. I give them about ten more minutes. It’s not easy to move
such a large group along those narrow passages.”
“When he arrives, tell him we’ve been
invaded, that some of the Lemurian guards are actually possessed.
At least six of them at this level. Taron, I want you to shut down
the portal. Your blade will know how. Ginny and I will go after
Maxl and Drago. If it means their deaths, so be it. We cannot allow
demonkind to prevail.”
“Dawson!”
Selyn’s scream echoed off the tunnel
walls as the six possessed Lemurian guards raced into the room with
their black swords drawn. Alton didn’t have time to consider the
meaning of the obsidian blades. He was too busy defending himself
from their attack.
Ginny practically flew at the first of
the men. Her blade clashed with his with the sound of breaking
glass, and yet they remained whole. Sparks flew, and the stench of
sulfur filled the small cavern.
Alton fought back an overwhelming need
to rush to Ginny’s aid. She was a warrior, a powerful fighter, and
it was six to five—they were outnumbered and outsized, battling six
huge, trained guardsmen. He’d be lucky to survive his own
battle.
Taron engaged two of the men, slashing
and stabbing, using his crystal as if it were the sharpest of steel
blades. There was no hesitation in the sword that Alton could see,
no turning away from drawing blood, and Taron buried his blade deep
in the belly of the smaller of the two men he battled.
He barely managed to twist away in time
before the second was on him again, but Alton was fighting for his
life and couldn’t see the final outcome.
He had to concentrate on his own
footwork, his own fight. Had to trust that Ginny was able to hold
her own, that Dawson and Selyn were capable of defending
themselves. He heard Selyn scream, but he couldn’t look. Heard
Dawson’s shout and then a curse, and Ginny’s cry of
triumph.
His own opponent drove him hard,
backing him against the cavern wall, and still Alton fought on,
with neither of them gaining the upper hand. Anger drove Alton,
that this creature should defile his world, should threaten the
peace all Lemurians held dear. He lunged forward, driving with his
blade, slashing through the blue robe of the guardsman, burying his
blade in the man’s chest.
There was no hesitation this time. No
sense that HellFire regretted taking a life or worried about a life
force being used by the demons, and it dawned on Alton, as he felt
the body fall from his blade, that these men were already
dead.
That explained the black obsidian
blades—he’d always thought a blade only turned black when its owner
died. These men were already dead, their Lemurian souls long
gone.
They were nothing more than avatars,
animated by demonkind just as demons had animated the ceramic
figurines on Earth.
Dawson had never, not in his wildest
dreams, imagined that his training with a rapier in college would
ever come in handy, but as he slashed and lunged and thrust with
his ruby blade, he felt the moves coming back as if he’d never left
his training in all the years since his studies at UC
Davis.
He glanced at Selyn and had to force
himself to look away. She was truly a warrior with her flashing
eyes and her look of grim determination. She fought her opponent
with grace and style, and it was obvious the man hadn’t expected a
woman of such beauty to show so much skill.
Taron shouted, and Dawson saw one of
the big Lemurian’s opponents go down. Demonic mist burst from the
fallen guard, and Taron caught it with crystal. The second guard
lunged forward, and Dawson lost them in his peripheral vision. Only
Taron had faced two, and from what little he knew of the man,
Dawson could already hear the tales he and Alton would be telling
when this was over.
Dawson’s opponent was growing
desperate, thrusting awkwardly now, breathing hard, and going for
the kill with more force than skill. Dawson eluded the man’s blade
as he spun on the balls of his feet and twisted away, first to the
right, then to the left.
He suddenly realized he was actually
grinning. He hadn’t had this much fun in years, and he wanted to
shout with the joy of the battle, the knowledge that he fought
beside a woman he loved, that he fought for a world that had been
nothing more than myth and legend.
He, Dawson Buck, small town
veterinarian, was fighting demons with a magical sword in another
dimension. Damn. Aunt Fiona would love this!
He parried a strong blow and went in
for the kill just as Taron’s final opponent went down. The huge
guard Taron had fought was mortally wounded, but he managed a
powerful kick as he fell, catching Dawson behind his left knee. The
force of the blow buckled Dawson’s leg. It folded beneath him just
as his opponent slashed wildly at his chest.
Dawson felt the burn of the obsidian
blade as it pierced his side, heard the scrape of obsidian against
bone, and felt a rush of anger from his sword, that any demon
should have harmed the one who wielded this blade.
Vaguely, he heard Selyn’s scream and
Alton’s curse, but pain engulfed him and weakness drove him to his
knees. His sword leapt from his nerveless fingers and impaled
itself in the one who’d stabbed him.
Dawson stared, fascinated as his
amazing ruby blade just flew out of his hand, all on its own, and
avenged his death. For that was what it was, he realized. His
death.
He gazed into the growing darkness and
saw his Aunt Fiona smile.
The warmth woke her. Or maybe it was
merely the lack of the icy chill that seemed to follow demonkind,
but Isra opened her eyes once again, aware she was definitely
alive.
But for how long? And, for what
purpose? She should have died when Drago threw her against the
wall. She should have died when she was surrounded by the icy stink
of demons—or, at least, she should have lost her soul.
But she lay there—soul intact—on the
dusty floor of the cavern, warmed by the energy vortex and the
swirling lights from portals leading to Abyss and other worlds.
Earth, maybe, and possibly Atlantis? She’d heard of those places,
though she’d never seen any of them.
Nine hells, she’d barely seen her own.
An entire life lived on one level of what her mother always called
the new Lemuria. Exiled by birth, not by choice. Could she actually
claim Lemuria as her own? And if so, would Lemuria ever claim
her?
Just what did she owe Lemuria?
Anything? Or nothing at
all?
But
demonkind is invading, led by one who appears to be stronger than
the other demons—stronger and smarter.
She had information that could help
Artigos the Just and his army of Forgotten Ones and guardsmen. If
she really wanted to help them. But what of Drago? He was Lemurian,
yet he was helping demonkind. It made no sense.
Then she recalled the light of evil in
his eyes, the madness lurking there, and Isra knew she had no
choice. Her mother had fought for Lemuria. She’d given her life for
Lemuria. Isra would not disgrace her mother’s name.
Groaning with the effort of dragging
herself to her feet, of planting her palms against the rough walls
and finally standing only moderately upright, Isra glanced about,
searching once more to see if there were demons here.
The vortex was empty, and she heard no
sound. She was alone, utterly alone. But had she not been alone
since her mother’s death? Her sisters had long avoided
her.
Or, had she avoided them? Blinking
slowly, regaining her focus on the stone walls, Isra gained new
focus on herself.
She saw herself afresh, and the vision
was not a good one.
Damn, she was such a bitch!
Foul-tempered and angry all the time. No wonder the others avoided
her. It wasn’t like she was the only Forgotten One slaving for the
free folk. She and the others truly were sisters, if not of blood,
then sisters through adversity, through hard labor and survival.
She owed her sisters, if no one else. Owed them for putting up with
her for so damned many years.
Even Selyn. She’d been so cruel to
Selyn over the years, but only because Selyn was always hopeful
things would get better. Isra had hated that sense of optimism that
always seemed to color Selyn’s aura with light and love. Hated the
fact the others looked up to Selyn.
It wasn’t Selyn’s fault she was an
optimist. Isra almost laughed at that foolish thought. As if
optimism were a fault, not a blessing. Maybe, just maybe, she could
try a little bit of that attitude out on herself.
Strength flowed throughout her body,
energizing her bruised arms and aching shoulder. Easing the
pounding ache in her head, and steadying her legs as she stood just
a fraction straighter, just a little bit taller. She clenched her
hands into fists and then straightened her fingers, aware of a
newfound sense of power she’d not known before.
Power, finally, to do something good,
something positive. She had to warn them. Somehow, she had to join
her sisters in this fight against demonkind.
With or without a blasted crystal
sword.
A small ache squeezed her heart as she
thought of the crystal she’d hoped to wield. She hadn’t deserved
crystal. Not with that attitude that everyone owed her, that she
had the right to take what she wanted, when she wanted. Someday,
maybe, a crystal sword would be hers. Someday, should she prove
herself worthy.
Isra shoved herself away from the wall,
wobbling inelegantly for a moment before she regained her balance.
Then, eyes focused on the portal that led to Lemuria, she stepped
through the swirling light and into the tunnel beyond.
A flash of light brought her up
short.
A blade lay in the pathway. Shimmering
crystal, lying flat upon the ground. She stopped, transfixed by the
glow that pulsed with life, that called to her. Then she glanced
around, before and behind her, but there was no one else. Not
another soul.
Holding her breath, Isra knelt beside
the blade and slowly, cautiously, passed her hand over the
shimmering crystal. Light flashed, and the damned thing practically
leapt into her hand.
Her fingers tightened around the
jeweled hilt, and the heft and balance were beyond perfect. For
long moments she stared into the crystalline depths with the sense
of somehow bonding to the entity existing within the blade. There
were no words—not from the sword, and certainly not from
her.
Standing again, she held the blade
high, as if already sensing victory. More energy flowed into her
body, along with a sense of wonder that finally, she had been found
worthy of bearing crystal.
Swallowing back a sudden rush of tears,
Isra took a deep and steadying breath. Then she grasped her sword
and marched bravely through the shimmering veil of gold that had so
terrified her mere hours ago.
Hadn’t she sworn to be forgotten no
more? Her crystal sword was proof she was a woman of value, proof
she would be well-remembered by her peers… . This fight against
demonkind had suddenly become very personal. Very personal
indeed.