Alchemist's Kiss (15 page)

“Yes, Mother.” The boy didn't need to stand on his tiptoes to press a quick kiss to the woman's weathered cheek. The small family moved inside and the door closed.

“You were sweet.” Cora said, a smile on her face. She tugged on his hand. “Your mother was lovely.”

“She was, wasn't she?” Icarus moved to the window to stare in at the woman who ladled stew into a bowl for the small girl. “I'd forgotten her voice....”

“Your sister was small.”

“She was only six. A quiet child.” Icarus touched the windowsill, and his eyes locked with the little girl's as she raised her head to look directly at him. The world around them began to whirl, a tornado of light and sound that swept them up and drew them away from Icarus' childhood home.

Icarus blinked hard, driving the grit from his eyes. His stomach turned at the smell of molten iron that always awakened a terrible fear in his gut. He knew the rotten stench of moldering hay and dirt. Sweat trickled over his forehead and into his eyes as the blast of heat from the forge swept over him. A cool, small hand slipped into his.

“Icarus?”

He couldn't pull his eyes from the flames as they leaped into the air. His mouth was dry, the roil of terror climbing into his throat.

“Where are we now?”

“The forge.” He couldn't look down at Cora as she tangled her hand in his shirt, tugging. He was transfixed by the fire and the memories of its burn against his skin. His palm itched as he rubbed his thumb over the rune.  “This is the place it happened.”

“He hurt you here.”

Icarus knew his laugh was half-mad. A strangled sound somewhere between a chuckle and a groan. “I was sleeping soundly in my bed, dreaming as young men do.”

“Icarus, I hear them.”

He nodded. Even the shadows were familiar to him now. These moments were etched into his mind clearly. Outside the forge hut he heard the fall of heavy boots and the scuffling of bare feet. His feet.

The flap on the hut flew up as his father dragged him inside by the collar. He was pale, his blue eyes wide and frightened. Icarus could remember the fear in the boy's mouth and the quaking of his muscles as his father pulled him closer to the flames. They were across the pit from he and Cora, and he could see the self-satisfied smirk on his father's face. The flames that danced in the pit reflected in the wide fierce pools of his father's eyes and Icarus knew the man was the devil. Perhaps as close to one as any on Earth.

“Stand, boy.” Victor dragged young Icarus upright. He shook the boy by the collar of his rough homespun nightshirt. “I thought you wanted to be a wizard.”

“I...I do, sir.”

“Then here is the night that will make you a man.” The smile stretched wide on Victor's face as he lifted the brand high in the air. It glowed red in the dim hut. “Kneel.”

Icarus could remember the bite of the hay on his bare knees, and feel the heat of the flames on his face as his father grabbed his left hand.

“A child's hands,” Victor scoffed, “having never bathed in blood nor labor. A fine canvas for the spell.”

“What...what will happen, Father?”

Victor stared hard at the young boy at his feet. “You'll be powerful, boy. An open wound in the world, pouring aether out for all who need it. A wizard of unparalleled ability. That is what you want, is it not?”

Icarus knew the trepidation in the heart of his younger self. He also knew the burst of excitement that tingled in his heart at his father's words. He, a powerful wizard! As the brand neared his younger self's palm Icarus turned away, pulling Cora with him through the back flap of the hut into the cooler air of the Gwydir night.

Cora's face was pale in the moonlight as a horrific scream broke the silence of the night. She covered her mouth with her hand, tears gathering. Icarus closed his eyes, his heart pounding at the sound and the memory of the pain.

“Icarus.” Cora's hand was soft on his face and he opened his eyes to look at her. “Are you all right?”

His lips trembled, and he thought he might cry for the first time in seventeen years. “I am a monster, Cora. Just like him.”

“No.” She stepped closer, both hands cupping his face. He breathed deep, inhaling her scent to erase the smell of burning flesh from his nose. He buried his right hand deep into the curls at the nape of her neck. “You were an innocent boy, Icarus.”

“You don't understand.” The words were a whisper. He never wanted her to know the darkness that would surely run from his veins if he bled.

“Tell me, then.”

The words clung to his lips. He breathed deep, knowing that she should know the truth. “I like the power. I like the magic. It...excites me.”

He held his breath, waiting for her break away from his hold and turn away. Instead her lips quivered as she held back a smile.

“Is that all?”

“As much as it hurt, the feeling of the aether inside my body was heady. An aphrodisiac that still stirs my blood, even now.”

He felt the hot press of Cora's body against his, and felt the sensual slide of her hips as she swished her skirts. She licked her lips and he was derailed for a moment with the idea that he must follow the path her tongue had taken. He blinked when she laughed. “You're a wizard, Icarus. Magic should excite you. It should make you feel whole. It's part of who you are.”

“I used it to hurt people, Cora.”

“And to save people.” She was improbably closer. If he was a better man he might have considered her indecent, but she was his Cora and she was above reproach. He held back a groan as she rubbed her bodice against him, the soft press of her breasts making his heart speed up.

“You think to distract me from my misery with your feminine wiles?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” She lifted her head to trail a delicate row of kisses over his chin and across the damnable dimple. “Logic doesn't seem to work.”

“I am the most logical man you know.”

Her laugh made her rub against him more, and clenched his fist in her hair, only relaxing when he realized he might be hurting her. She didn't complain as her hands slid from his cheeks to the back of his neck. “Have I succeeded in distracting you sufficiently?”

“No.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I need more.”

“More?”

“Convincing.”

She pressed her lips to his, and he spun out of control, his heart and mind stalled as their tongues tangled and he breathed in the essence of his Cora. When she pulled back he was breathless and her smile was wide.

“I worry about you, Cora.”

The smile slipped into a frown. He rubbed the tip of his finger over the turn of her lip. “It's not healthy to believe so strongly in one man's nobility. I am deathly afraid of proving you wrong.”

He pulled back his finger as she snapped at it with her teeth.

“Then don't.”

“It's not that easy. We both know what I've done. What I am about to do on this very night to the people of this village.”

“Icarus!”

They stepped apart at the sound of Icarus' mother's voice. Cora grabbed his hand and pulled him around the corner of the hut to the street.

“Do you remember this?” she asked.

“No.” He frowned as his mother ran in her nightclothes down the street, her hair streaming loose behind her.

“Leave the boy, Samantha.” Victor's voice was imperious as he stepped from the hut, half dragging the boy with him. Icarus' mother ignored him and took Icarus into her arms, dropping to the ground with him in her lap. Her voice was venomous as she stared up at Victor.

“Monster! Your own son!”

“Who better to carry such a gift? Why else would I lay with a brood mare such as you? I needed a strong boy, and you're of strong stock.”

“You will rot in hell, Victor.” Icarus' mother spat on the ground at Victor's feet as she rocked a nearly unconscious Icarus in her arms.

“Save your mothering, Samantha. When the boy comes to he belongs to me.”

“I'll die first.”

Victor's smile was sly as he turned away. “You just might.”

Icarus watched his mother brush the hair from his forehead. “I don't remember any of this.”

“You were hurt.” Cora wrapped her arms around his and leaned against him. “She loves you.”

“Icarus, my darling son. I am sorry I ever let that man come here.” Icarus' mother whispered to him as she wrapped his hand in a strip of her gown. “I'll never let him hurt you again.” She kissed his forehead and Icarus swore he felt the press of her lips against his forehead even seventeen years later. “I love you.”

Icarus could not make his legs hold him up as guilt washed over him. Cora was by him in an instant, taking his face in her hands.

“I killed her, Cora.” The words were ash as lightning lit up the sky and the storm swept them up again.

***

I blinked hard as the maelstrom of light and sound died away. I still held Icarus' face in my hand, and his eyes went from dazed to clear as I shook him.

“What happened?”

I looked around. We were no longer in the street. It was dark out, a pale moon shining over the same field I'd first seen when I appeared in this world. The crackling of burning wood made me look over my shoulder at a bonfire burning high behind me. “It appears we've moved ahead in time.”

Icarus' face was paler in the moonlight, the dark circles of exhaustion more apparent under his eyes. He appeared gaunt and fragile. I squeezed his chin.

“I know when this is.” His voice was barely a whisper.

I stood and shook out my skirts, but he stayed on his knees, his eyes roving over the field of foxglove. I grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him to his feet. I was becoming scared now, my heart thumping in my chest. I'd hoped that I could help Icarus face his guilt and that we could return to reality quickly. The longer we were here, however, the more it seemed to drain him. His vital essence that usually shown from every pore was gone now, replaced by something dark and broken. Where his guilt had once revitalized him, giving him purpose and pushing him on, now it seemed to be killing him. More and more he was becoming a shell of the Icarus I loved.

“Get up!” I commanded, shaking him again. “Do not give up on me Icarus.”

He raised his face to me, the moonlight caressing the sharp angles. His eyes glittered cobalt with unshed tears. My head snapped up at the sound of screams in the distance.

“This is the night we killed them all.”

“Come on, you galloot.” I kicked at him with my boots, angry to the core of me. He was Icarus Kane, the strongest man I'd ever known. He was more stubborn and harder to kill than a freight train, and there was no way in Hell I was allowing him to lie down and die now. “Get up and fight this. Do not leave me like this.”

“I can't.”

I bent close to his face, ignoring the stink of the dark aether clinging to him. I had to get him to wake up, to shake off the damnable stench of the dark magic before it killed him. “Get up, Icarus Kane, or so help me I will kill you myself.”

He smiled a little then, just a quick lift of his lips, but it was better than his morose self-loathing. He'd always been a little melancholy, but it added to his charm more often than not. It tempered his abominable ego on the best of days. This sad sack that sat before me was
not
the Icarus Kane I loved.

I looked around as two men led a group of townspeople into the clearing. They were tethered by some kind of spell, moving as if in a trance. The men positioned the villagers around the bonfire, and in the light I saw that one of the men was Victor Kane.

“This is it, isn't it, Icarus?”

He nodded, and his eyes locked on the shock of blonde hair at the end of the line of villagers.

“Is that you?”

“Yes.”

I tugged on his arm, and without taking his eyes from his younger self he allowed me to help him to his feet. He leaned on me, and I let him. I wrapped my arm around his waist and watched as Victor and the other man, whom I could only assume was Percival Croft, positioned more villagers around the bonfire.

“What's wrong with them? Why aren't they fighting back?”

“A somnolence spell. They're completely under my father's control.” Icarus shook, his muscles seeming to spasm.

I waited until he stilled. “Icarus, look at yourself.”

The boy moved with stilted movements, his steps stuttering.

“Here, boy!” Percival Croft swatted at young Icarus with his cane, pointing to a row of prisoners who'd moved out of position. He shook his head with disgust as he turned to Victor. “You're sure we need the boy, Victor? Another to run off to the High Coven with a story of blood magic.”

“He won't remember what happened here, Percy.” Victor muttered to himself as he walked the circle painting runes in blood. “I've marked him with the rune, and if his mind remains intact after the spell he'll remember only that he helped us kill an entire village.”

“You've implanted false memories?” Percy tapped his cane on the ground, a dark grin splitting his matted beard. “I say, Victor, maybe you should do the same for my Robert!”