by C. L. Wilson
Ellysetta wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth, but as she stopped fighting to free herself, the blinding whiteness around her began to dim. Not much, but once again she could make out the faint shadows of her truemate and her quintet standing nearby.
Her head drooped in relief. Her hands remained touching the cool, motionless surface of the pool, but she was afraid to look again, afraid of what else it would show. “You told us there was still hope, yet every future the mirror has shown me so far is evil. I saw Rain murdered—and I was the one wielding the blade.”
Bayas, but you looked into the mirror with fear, and so the mirror reflected the thing you fear most. I looked with a different heart, and I saw other paths…several not so bleak. The Elf’s voice softened with compassion. Hope remains, faint though it may be. Look again, child. But this time, let love, not fear, guide your Song.
If only it were so easy. “I don’t think I know how to stop being afraid. It’s been such a part of me my whole life.”
There are some fears, young Ellysetta, that can never be conquered. Sometimes, all you can do is acknowledge your fear, then act in spite of it. Look again, Ellysetta, but fill your mind with hope.
Hope. The word made her want to weep. When had she ever truly known hope? Her nightmares, her seizures, the fears of demon possession: Evil had haunted her all her life, tainted every happiness with shadow. Most of the few people she’d allowed herself to love had died or been lost because of her: Selianne, Mama, Papa, and the twins. She loved Rain, but all she’d brought him was banishment from the Fading Lands and the threat of certain death.
Somewhere deep inside, some part of her knew their truemate bond would never be complete. Rain would die because of her. Whether battling the Eld or from bond madness, it made no difference. In the end, she would kill him as surely as she killed him in her nightmares. As surely as she had caused the death of Mama and Selianne.
“He’ll die because of me,” she wept.
He will most certainly die if you do nothing. But more than that, all the Light of this world will die as well. Is that what you want, Ellysetta?
“No, of course not!”
Then look in the mirror, child. The gods sent you to fight the Dark, Ellysetta Erimea. Do not fear what you were born to do.
If it were only her life at stake, she could not have made herself look in the mirror again to see what other horrors would be revealed. But hers was not the only life at risk.
She knew the face of evil. She’d seen it in her dreams, and too often, lately, it had worn her own features. It must be stopped. There was no other option. Because, as Rain had once told her, when evil came calling, you couldn’t reason with it. You couldn’t bargain with it or strike terms of peace. You couldn’t hide behind a locked door and hope that it would go away. Evil had no mercy. Evil didn’t value life. It nursed its children on blood and hate. It celebrated death and hailed murder in the name of its Dark God.
She could not fail. No matter the cost to herself. For reasons she would never understand, the gods had apparently chosen her, Ellysetta Baristani, to be the hinge on which the fate of the world turned. And if there was anything in Hawksheart’s mirror that would help her defeat the Shadow threatening all she held dear, she needed to find it.
Ellysetta lifted her head and looked back into the mirror.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
My love, my mate, my shei’tani
My life in this cage of pain, my soul’s other half
I am not free to touch her, to protect her
Though we are one
My love, my child, my daughter
My gift to the world, my gift from the gods
I am not free to hold her, to know her
Though she is the one to save my people
To end my torment
The Torment of Lord Death,
by Shannisorran v’En Celay
“What’s wrong?” Rain frowned at Ellysetta as she rose to her feet and stepped away from the blue phosphorescent glow of the mirror pool. “Have you changed your mind about trying to See your Song in the pool after all?”
She stopped in surprise. “But…I already did.” She looked to Hawksheart, then back at Rain. “We’ve been at it for bells.”
Rain’s brows shot up to his hairline. “Nei, you knelt at the water’s edge, touched the surface for no more than a moment or two, and stood up again.” Behind him, her quintet nodded in agreement.
All eyes turned to Hawksheart.
The Elf spread his hands. “You both are correct. Your truemate and I did, in fact, journey long and far, through a thousand different variations of her Song, though to you, our travels would have passed in the blink of an eye.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The mirror is Elvish magic. Like the Faering Mists, what happens within the mirror exists outside of time. The only difference is that with the mirror, the Seer’s body remains in this world and only the Seer’s soul takes the journey.”
Rain bristled instantly. “You said nothing about Ellysetta’s soul leaving her body when she touched the mirror.” He knew that was what happened when she entered the Well of Souls to save a life. But he also knew she needed to anchor herself before attempting such a thing, and she had not anchored herself before touching the mirror.
“She was in no danger. I was with her.”
Rain kept his gaze pinned on Hawksheart’s face, but he sent a tender weave of Spirit to Ellysetta, warm with love and concern. «Are you all right, shei’tani?» His hand lifted in silent invitation. She put her fingers in his and he pulled her to the protective safety of his side.
«I am fine,» she assured him.
He did not relax until he verified that for himself. His senses stroked hers like a dozen small caresses, probing for signs of distress. When he found none, the tension bristling through him eased a notch. “And did you find what you were looking for, Lord Galad?”
“Many things became clearer,” the Elf king hedged. “Which verses of her Song will come to pass, I cannot say.”
Rain had no patience for Elvish evasions. “What did you see, shei’tani?”
“I…” Ellysetta frowned. “I don’t remember. A moment ago, I thought I did, but now…”
Rain’s temper soared. He turned narrowed eyes on the Elf king. “You stole her memories of what she Saw?”
“If I cannot tell you the future for fear of changing it, I certainly couldn’t let her See it and remember.”
«I hate the scorching Elves,» Gil muttered darkly on the Warriors’ Path. «They may See a million futures, but they’re flaming useless in the present. They never give a straight answer when a misdirection or evasion will do.»
Rain shared Gil’s sentiments wholeheartedly. The Fey could dance the blade’s edge of truth with the best of them, but that didn’t mean they liked having the same done to them. Especially not by some two-legged, pointy-eared tree rat.
When buying apples from an Elf, look carefully for the worms. The caution his father had whispered to him more than once now made perfect sense. His mother had always had a soft spot for her Elvish friends, but his father had never viewed them so kindly. Never trust an Elf, unless you have no choice. And even then don’t trust him much.
Hawksheart spread his hands. “If I could help you more, Tairen Soul, I would, but my hands are tied by the dictates of the Dance. What I Saw in your truemate’s Song confirmed that my interference would upset the balance of what must be.”
“How about I upset the balance of your scorching head by striking it from your neck,” Gil snarled. His hand fell to the hilt of his meicha scimitar.
“But the Elves have helped the Fey before,” Rain reminded Hawksheart. “You fought as our allies in the Mage Wars.”
“And in the Demon Wars before that,” Gaelen added.
“And, the Dance willing, we will fight beside you again before our time in this world is done,” the Elf king assured them. “But for now, my friends, as daunting
as it may be, you must face the Eld without the magic of Elvia to guide or aid you. No matter what the cost, no matter how I’d hoped it would be different, that is how this verse in Ellysetta’s Song must play out.”
Rain wanted to argue, but he knew it would be pointless. An Elf, once decided upon a course, was impossible to budge—especially when it came to the Dance. Hawksheart and every Elf in his kingdom would rush headlong to their deaths if that was what they believed the Dance demanded.
In that respect, though Rain hated to admit it, Elves were rather like the Fey. The only difference was, the Fey devoted their intensity to the protection of their women, not the dictates of some gods-forsaken prophecy.
“So you will not help us,” Rain bit out. “I do not like it, but I do accept it. My shei’tani fulfilled her end of your bargain. Now you fulfill yours. Give her the truth of her past, as you vowed to do. And this time, Elf, we will all stand witness so you cannot erase her memories.”
Hawksheart closed his eyes briefly, then nodded as if bowing to a fate he would rather avoid. “Bayas. The time has indeed come. Please approach the mirror. All of you,” he added with a sigh. “Though I had hoped otherwise, you all must witness what the mirror has to show.”
Together, the Fey approached the glowing blue pool.
Ellysetta started to kneel beside the mirror pool, but Hawksheart stopped her. “Anio, Ellysetta Erimea. This time do not touch the water at all. There is no need, and it could be…problematic.” The Elf king didn’t elucidate. Instead, he closed his eyes, lifted his hands palms up, and began to chant in the fluid, musical tones of the Elven tongue. Once again, the air filled with the intoxicating aroma of the Sentinel’s liferings.
This time, however, the surface of the mirror pool did not remain flat. Instead, a mist of shining droplets rose up from the pool to form a shimmering veil that rose and expanded until it touched the ceiling above and stretched from one curved inner wall of the room to the other so that a great screen of water bisected the chamber.
In a voice resonating with power, Hawksheart said, “Behold the circumstances of your birth, Ellysetta Erimea.”
The surface of the veil darkened and swirled with color as the mirror had done earlier, but this time the brilliant white light of Ellysetta’s power did not turn the room bright as day. The Sentinel’s inner chamber remained lit only by the glow of the pool. The images swirling in the veil came into focus, as crisp and clear as if Ellysetta were looking through glass into a scene unfolding in the room next door.
Flickering sconces cast a pale orange-yellow glow around a windowless chamber burrowed out of black stone. A large desk piled high with books, scrolls, and parchments dominated the chamber. Seated behind it was a man, white-haired yet somehow ageless, clad in purple velvet robes that looked almost black in the firelight. His head was bent, and he was scratching a quill across the pages of what looked like a record book of some kind. The man looked up, and Ellysetta’s heart froze as familiar, icy silver eyes met hers and seared into her soul.
For a moment, she thought it was real—that the mirror truly was a clear glass portal into that dark room and the High Mage of Eld could see her as clearly as she could see him—but then he bent his head back to his book, dipped his quill in ink, and continued to write.
“That is him? The High Mage?” Rain asked quietly.
She nodded, but didn’t pull her eyes off the man in the mirror’s shining veil. Though she’d never seen him clearly in her dreams, she recognized him instantly. The invisible Mage Marks that formed a four-pointed ring over her heart went cold, and her stomach tightened with dread. When a knock sounded at the door, and the Mage called, “Enter,” her heart slammed in her chest and suspicion hardened to icy certainty.
The man she might never have seen, but his voice was etched eternally in her mind, never to be forgotten. This was the High Mage who had tormented her all her life. The man responsible for her mother’s death and all the lives lost on the battlefields of Orest and Teleon.
The man who had stolen the souls and lives of young tairen in the egg and used them for his evil experiments.
Deep within, her tairen begin to growl and rake its claws across her nerves.
Rain’s hand slipped into hers, and his broad, warm fingers curled tight, offering protection and reassurance. «I am with you, shei’tani. And this is just an image from the past. He cannot hurt you.»
He thought she was afraid of the Mage.
Perhaps she should be. But her only real fear was of the hatred bubbling in her veins like fire. If she were wearing her tairen’s true form, her fangs would be dripping venom, ravenous with bloodlust. The urge to kill, to rend and maim—to devour—was so fierce it shook her to her core.
Within the mirror’s veil, the scene Hawksheart had summoned continued to play out. The knock on the door was a servant calling the Mage to some appointment. The white-haired High Mage exited his office to walk down a series of dark corridors tunneled out of black rock. Black metal-clad doors lined both sides of the corridor, and muscular guards gripping evil-looking barbed sel’dor pikes stood watch beside a number of them.
“Those walls look like they contain sel’dor ore,” Gil muttered.
“A cave of some kind?” Bel suggested. “Perhaps burrowed into a sel’dor mine? It would explain why the Fey never sensed the Mages gathering their power.”
“And why the dahl’reisen could never track them back to their lair,” Gaelen agreed.
“Where are the largest sel’dor mines in Eld?” Tajik asked. “If that’s where he is, then those are the first places we should start looking.”
One of the doors opened, and the Mage entered. Inside was an observation room with a window that looked into an adjoining chamber where a young brunette woman lay chained to a flat table. Her eyes were half-closed, and her head lolled on her shoulders in what appeared to be a drugged stupor.
Another door opened on the far side of the room, and four burly guards, their meaty fists clenched around chains, dragged a snarling, naked man into the room by the sel’dor collar clamped around his neck and the manacles that shackled his wrists and ankles. His pale skin shone with a faint luminescence. Dark blond hair hung about his shoulders and face in matted tangles. The moment he caught sight of the woman on the table, his body went still as stone. His head came up sharply, whipping the hair back away from his face to reveal black Azrahn-filled eyes and a scar that tracked from the corner of his mouth to his left ear. His nostrils flared like those of a wolf scenting its prey.
Beside Ellysetta, Gaelen stiffened and drew in a hissing breath.
“You know him?” Rain asked.
“Korren vel Dahn. One of the Brotherhood. Six hundred years ago, I sent him into Eld to find the Mages’ lair, but he never returned.”
“Well, looks like he found it,” Gil muttered.
In the scene unfolding in the mirror’s mist, Korren lunged for the woman on the table. His body had reacted to her presence with unmistakable intent. Ellysetta gasped and turned her eyes away as the dahl’reisen fell upon the barely conscious woman. Rain’s hand tightened on hers, and she felt the disgust and shame roiling through him as he forced himself to watch the creature who had once been an honorable warrior of the Fey commit his unspeakable act.
“May his soul burn in the Seventh Hell for all eternity,” Bel whispered in horror.
“Do not judge him so harshly,” Hawksheart said quietly. “It took two hundred years to break him, and madness can turn even the best of men into beasts. He wasn’t the first and he was far from the last.”
Hawksheart’s soft-spoken words made Rain flinch and tighten his grip on Ellysetta. With her face pressed to his throat, she could feel his recoiling horror as clearly as her own. «You could never do such a thing, shei’tan,» she assured him.
«I could no longer, it’s true,» he answered. «But before your soul called mine? I slaughtered millions without remorse. What would one more foul crime have mattered?»
> «It would have mattered, and you would not have done it.»
His lips touched her brow in a tender caress. «Korren’s deed is done. You can look again.»
Ellysetta turned back in time to see the woman Korren had raped walking with blank-eyed docility behind several servants. Ellysetta scowled at Hawksheart. “Why are you showing us this? That poor creature is not the woman who gave me birth; nor is Korren vel Dahn my sire.” She’d seen the two shadowy figures of her parents in a dream beside the Bay of Flames a month ago, and neither the unconscious woman nor her rapist could have been one of the couple revealed to her.
“Anio, they are not. She and vel Dahn were but two of many unfortunate souls imprisoned by the High Mage of Eld.”
The scene in the veil of water swirled out of focus. When it cleared again, they saw the same woman strapped to a birthing table, her face flushed with recent exertions, while the white-haired High Mage of Eld held her newborn son in his arms and spun a swirl of Azrahn-laced magic that drew faint sparkles of answering magic to the surface of the baby’s eyes.
“We already know he’s been trying to breed a Tairen Soul,” Rain said.
“Look more closely,” Hawksheart advised. The screen shimmered and the woman on the birthing table became a different woman, this one a blond, green-eyed Elf, and the child in the High Mage’s hands became a smaller boy crowned with a shock of thick black hair. A moment later, a black-haired woman with deep blue eyes wept as she reached for her son. That mother and child became another, then another and another.
“Not all of the individuals you see are Fey. He’s been breeding you, yes, but he’s been crossing other magical bloodlines as well. Elvish, Fey, Feraz, Eld.”
“Why?”
“To create something stronger…something deadlier than even you, Worldscorcher.”
Rain’s grip tightened around Ellysetta’s fingers. “Ellysetta?”
“She was his first success, though she did not come from his experimental bloodlines.”
Tension fell over the room. Unguarded thoughts—mostly from Rain but from the others as well—whispered across her mind. Concern edging on fear pressed against her as the warriors digested Hawksheart’s revelations. Rain and Ellysetta were the most powerful creatures they’d ever known. If the Mage had created something even stronger than they…