Call of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 1) (31 page)

During a past stint with the local Safety Watch in Lazzonir, Quinn was familiar with the stunner and its functions. He held the weapon in hand and started off on a direct route across the plain back to Undun City.

21st Octember, 307

About halfway back
to the city, Quinn and the guards met the rescue bus. Ty ordered them immediately to the mountain gateway known to lead into the Prophet Haven, ignoring their questions about salvaging the car and belongings. Expressing the urgency of the situation, he ordered the driver to exceed the recommended speeds to make up time.

As the vehicle sped along the paved roads, Ty stood in the narrow aisle of the bus facing the gentleman with whom he had so recently clashed. “Mr. Elgar, unfortunately, I believe we are far too late to catch up with the Prophets before they enter the Storm. If they are the only ones capable of opening the gateway, how do you propose we are going to get her back?”

“As far as I know, the Prophets are the only ones with the ability to open their own gate,” Quinn reasserted. “However, I happen to know a man outside the Storm who can do it.”

“Outside the Storm? Who is this man?”

“He used to be a Prophet. He left.”

Narone actually chortled. “Prophets don't leave their own kind. Sometimes I think you are full of bustle crap.”

“My travels have taught me a lot of facts most people just aren't aware of,” Quinn said, trying not to sound haughty about it. He'd traveled to every Region, scores of towns and villages across the continent, a dozen islands, and along the way he'd met hundreds of people. The one he thought of happened to live in Undun, an older man who spent his time keeping the garden of a simple house on the farthest west edge of the city. In his twenties, Quinn had met the man on a late evening hike. At that time, Quinn had just decided to leave the Believer sect in favor of a less warped methodology. Patrum sat on a boulder as though waiting for the young man to happen by. Recognizing him immediately as a Prophet, Quinn was fascinated to learn that Patrum also left his sect to pursue different beliefs. With the bond struck, Quinn kept up with Patrum mostly through letters. Though unfortunate the circumstances, the time had come to rekindle the face-to-face relationship.

“Number 26 on Boulder Road,” Quinn announced the address.

When they pulled up outside the small house, Quinn hopped out of the bus and hurried through the high-grown hedges that concealed the structure from the roadway, then up to the door. He knocked with a shaking hand, now that the enormity of the situation bullied through his brain and punched up the adrenaline production.

“It must be time.”

Narrowing his focus, Quinn squinted into the dimness in front of him. Vaguely, he could make out a human shape. “You're here,” Quinn said with relief, almost in tears.

“Of course,” said Patrum, holding out a welcoming hand. “I've been expecting you. Come inside. I have a few things we will need to take with us.”

Patrum led Quinn and Ty from the street into his darkened house. Not a single candle lit the inside. Dark curtains draped each window, hiding any movements from those that might be in the street.

“I'm so glad you're still here,” Quinn praised. He paced the floor in the great room, barely able to see the furniture to keep from smacking a shin. “We have to hurry. The Prophets have taken Axandra–uh, the Protectress—probably to the Haven. We need to get there before something horrible happens!”

“Patience, my friend. We have some time. You are very lucky. Had I been with the thieves, I would not have left anyone behind.” Patrum first went to the far side of the room. With a soft scrape, a match burst into a brilliant flame, which the man used to light a lantern. The room brightened with a soft yellow glow.

“You may have left the fold, but you still think like them,” Quinn sneered.

To his credit, Ty's outward emotions remained in check, despite the sudden intensity of distrust that sparked within. “I understand you were once a Prophet. As the commander of the Protectress' personal guard, I implore you for assistance.”

Smiling kindly, Patrum nodded. “I was a Prophet, some time ago. May I ask who you are?” Even as he asked the question, he moved about the house. His next stop was the kitchen, which lay separated from the great room by a single narrow wall, leaving much of the two rooms open to each other. Rattling dishes, he fetched cups and a pot of hot water. From the pantry he pulled three different jars. With all of this he returned to the great room.

“My name is Ty Narone,” replied the Commander.

“You also served Elora,” Patrum assumed.

“Yes, I did, but only for a short time.”

Gesturing to the cups, Patrum urged them to drink. “This tea will help strengthen you and protect you once we're inside.” He poured three cups of steaming water, then blended the herbs from each of the three jars into each cup. Then he served them where they stood.

Quinn blew on the tea to cool it, hoping to avoid scalding his tongue. Ty eyed the drink suspiciously.

“Tell me how you knew to expect us, sir. I am afraid I do not understand your relationship to this matter. Your assistance will be useful getting us inside the Haven, but after that, my men and I will take over the operation.”

“It was many years ago that I knew Elora personally. As a Prophet, I understand the events that are taking place now, and what the Prophets intend for the Protectress. Elora once asked me for help to save her daughter. And I intend to. But the ritual will not take place until Soporus rises tomorrow, when she's at last closest to us.”

“What ritual?” Quinn demanded loudly. “This has something to do with the Goddess, doesn't it.”

Patrum sipped his own cup. The Prophet's demeanor seemed inappropriately subdued, as though they had all the time in the universe to stall before mounting a rescue. “Quinn, they intend to strip the Goddess from her.”

“What! Won't that—” He couldn't bring himself to say the words. The breath left his lungs in a wheeze.

Ty scowled. “What will happen to the Protectress? What about the Goddess?”

Patrum answered the men's questions openly and at length. “This planet was not uninhabited when humans arrived here. The Great Storm is a nest of creatures that feed on the physical and emotional energy of host animals, especially sentient ones. The Prophets fought with the creatures—we call them Stormflies—and somehow managed to make a compromise with them. One human would be sacrificed per generation, a being that could withstand the implantation of one of these creatures and then funnel the necessary energy from the people to the nest, allowing both species to occupy the same space and survive. The Goddess is a creature that has lived within the Protectress as long as the office has existed. The arrangement has suited us well for centuries. Elora was the first woman to resist the siege, to try to end the curse. She wanted life to be better for her child. Because Elora fought and because Ileanne fights now, the truce is broken. The Prophets have every intention of taking the Goddess out of Ileanne and implanting it in a new vessel, one willing to accept the responsibility, and resume the truce with the Stormflies. Once the Goddess resides in the host, she cannot be removed without damaging the host. Nor can the Goddess live outside of host for long,” Patrum explained, his lips turned down in a dour scowl. “Elora's request was that I save her child completely from this fate, but I arrived too late to prevent the Sliver from being delivered. I failed her.”

“Sliver?” Quinn was too upset to drink the bitter-smelling drink. He set the cup down on the small table next to him and wrung his hands together. “You mean the thing the Prophets put in her before she ran away from the Haven. She shared that memory with me when she told me about the Goddess.”

“Yes. When she was six years old, the Prophets implanted the Sliver. It acts like a homing beacon for the Goddess, so that she can find her new host quickly no matter where on the planet the intended host may be. I was supposed to keep Ileanne from receiving it, therefore preventing the Goddess from ever finding her.” The older man sounded ashamed of himself. “The elders decided to perform that ritual earlier than planned.”

“Then you helped the Heir escape from the Haven,” Quinn stated, piecing together the old stories he had heard about the once-missing Heir. He was only a youth when Elora's daughter disappeared without a trace.

Patrum nodded shortly. “Yes, I did. Only she never knew I was there. I made certain she survived the passage out, and I made certain that someone took her in without question. Then I watched her and waited for the time when she would have to remember who she was. I knew the Goddess would find her and bring her back here.”

“But you've lived in Undun for that last fifteen years,” Quinn reminded. “You weren't watching her that whole time.”

“I didn't have to be near her to see her,” said Patrum, tapping a finger to his temple. “She lived a very content life.”

With his elbows leaning heavily against his knees, Quinn rested his head in his hands and tried to think. What were the facts? He knew that a strange creature inhabited Axandra. He knew that it was killing her anyway, robbing her body of the nutrients that kept her alive and wrecking her internal organs. He now knew that the woman's mother understood future events decades ago and gave up her only child in a thwarted effort to save the girl. He knew removal of the parasite was Axandra's ultimate wish, to be free of the thing that was killing her and killed all her mothers before her.

“Where did the Goddess come from?” Quinn asked Patrum, daring to think that the old man would know the answer to this question, too. He looked across the room to that pale, wrinkled face and the head topped with thick grayish-brown hair and stared deeply into the dark brown eyes. “Why have they kept it alive? Why not just finish off the Stormflies and be done with it.”

“A very good question,” Patrum said flatly. “No one quite understands why the one creature is used in this fashion, or how it works. The Prophets believe the Stormflies are strong enough to wipe out the entire human race on this world. What I do know is this: the Great Storm is a tenuous prison for those parasites. Ever since our planet began its pass of Soporus, the Storm has weakened, allowing the entities trapped inside to escape and infect your people. I don't know if this was expected. The elders always kept those secrets to themselves—probably for the best. Your dear Axandra, as you call her, will not be the last host, but she will be the last of her family line.”

Hope quickly drained out of Quinn. A dozen men versus hundreds of Prophets all bent on one thing. He looked in his own mind, attempting to see the future, and saw only failure.

One last thing seemed strange to him. “Why did Elora ask you for help?”

For a man always prepared with knowledgeable answers, Patrum sat temporarily speechless. His mouth hung open slightly as he sought a safe answer to the question. “She and I were friends. I helped her make her transition when she received the Goddess.”

“When was that?” Quinn probed.

“That was twenty-eight years ago,” Patrum replied, seeing no way around the answer.

“Axandra is twenty-seven,” Quinn said flatly, his reason clear.

“Is she?” Patrum responded with mock innocence. He cleared his throat and moved forward in his chair. “The two of you must drink so that we can leave. Without that tea, the Prophets will quickly be onto us and our journey will be for naught.”

Resigning any further questions or protests, Quinn retrieved his cup and drank, his head nodding as everything fell into place. He never believed in predestination before today, but his mind began to embrace the concept that his entire life seemed wrapped into this moment.

Quinn had one goal, to save the woman he loved. He was not alone. Patrum pursued the same goal. Hope returned. The tea made him feel stronger, as though he were invincible.

Rising, Patrum stepped into the next room and returned with an armful of coarse cloaks. “Put these on. They will help with our disguise. I will be able to convince the Prophets that we belong, at least long enough to get close to Ileanne. You must remain quiet and allow me to answer any questions we may be asked. This will not be easy.”

“We understand,” Quinn said after a brief glance to his companion. “Thank you for your help.”

“You're welcome. And thank you,” said Patrum. “It's time to go.”

22nd Octember, 307

Cold. Hard.
These were the sole sensations that returned to her body as her mind rose to consciousness. Axandra kept her eyes closed at first, not daring to know her whereabouts. She remembered the Prophets appearing on the prairie and remembered the noise they used to drown her senses and cause unconsciousness.

The realization arrived that she was in danger.

She began to sense people all around her, hundreds of them. The Prophets. They brought her to the Haven. Their thoughts began to filter in.

Among the thoughts swirled a melting pot of emotion—triumph, sadness, regret, concern, curiosity. Overall, there hovered a sense of relief, as though a long struggle neared its end.

At last Axandra opened her eyes, looking up at the open sky, directly into the crackling, swirling mass of the Great Storm. Inside the Storm, tiny firefly lights flickered and danced.

She lay flat on her back on a stone altar. She had been here before, during the ritual of receiving the Sliver, the beacon that allowed the Goddess to find her. Where would the creature be without her? In the Storm? Lost? Or seeking a new host?

These questions didn't matter. She carried the creature. Soon, the Prophets would reveal the purpose of the Goddess. Axandra feared the outcome did not bode well for her.

Trying to move, to relieve the numbing pain in her limbs, she found herself restrained to the altar without physical bindings. Her captors held her there with the strength of their minds. She could only turn her head to the side to see the gathering. They stood clustered together close by, all eyes upon her.

Why have you brought me here
? she thought-asked them. Her captors' minds grew quiet as they realized she could hear them clearly. Soon all she heard was the sizzling of the stormy mass above the arena. Will someone answer me?

The eyes of the group shifted as someone moved in the periphery of her vision. Straining against the invisible bonds, she tried to follow the figure. Turning her head, she found herself looking at an enormous silver orb, which she recognized from the dig in North Compass.

This explained why the memories of that day had been erased. The Prophets brought the orb here for the Goddess. Like thieves, they pilfered the artifact, and everyone that witnessed its existence paid a dear price.

“Community,” Tyrane, the elder, raised his voice and his arms to gain their attention.

Axandra sensed their focus transfer almost wholly to him. As Tyrane spoke, she felt a vibration begin to permeate her body. She remembered the sensation from the dig, whenever she neared the orb. In her eyes, the colors melted together and poured into her brain. With her vision blurring, her stomach began to churn. The internal buzzing drowned out the old man's voice.

She felt an urge to touch the orb, but she could not extend her arm.

Not yet, Ileanne,
said Tyrane's voice in her mind.

The cat-goddess purred. Axandra found the creature uncaged and pacing the full breadth of her mind. Offering artificial affection, the Goddess rubbed against the walls of her thoughts, opening memories and touching off sensations of sexual excitement and desire, causing her body to respond earnestly. She battled down the reaction, unwilling to be seduced into readiness to accept whatever was coming to her.

The time is coming
, came Tyrane's voice again.

“Our time of true peace comes again,” he announced aloud, smiling triumphantly. “Tonight, we recreate the truce and renew our freedom from their onslaught.”

Time for what?
Axandra asked him. She tried to open her mouth and speak aloud, to draw the attention of the others. They restrained her from any movement. Her jaw locked, and her voice stilled. Legs numb against the cold stone, her joints ached from the chill.

The Goddess needs to perform her duty or every one of us will perish,
Tyrane said firmly.
You broke our truce and threatened humans with extinction. Your services are no longer required.

The buzzing intensified, eliciting a moan of distress. In response, the mental grip tightened.

“When Soporus rises, the Goddess will be free to move to a new host, the one who waits quietly in slumber,” Tyrane continued, his face to the East, where the first light of the sister planet appeared on the horizon.

A new host? Why will you kill me for this creature?
Axandra's mind screamed out. No one reacted. She thought Tyrane must be blocking her thoughts from reaching his followers. She felt in her very center that she could not be freed of this thing without giving up her life, no matter how badly she wanted to be free.

Had you stayed with us, you would have understood your purpose, but you have fought the Goddess and now you must be sacrificed for the greater good of our people.

No!
She struggled, trying to force them to lose their hold on her.
No! You can't release her!
Axandra cried out in her mind with every ounce of her strength, broadcasting her thoughts wide to warm them.
She won't keep her promise!

Many began to lose their focus on her restraint. Their minds scattered from their purpose. As she felt a loosening of her limbs, she knew they heard her. Tyrane could not hold her by himself.

Soporus quickly climbed the sky. The dead world appeared twice as large as the two moons side-by-side and lit the ground in gray light bright enough to read by.

Either you die and the Goddess finds a new host, or we lose this war,
Tyrane revealed to her with resolve.
Your mother was not strong enough to end it, nor are you. I hoped that bringing you home would convince you to continue your purpose. You cannot forsake what needs to endure.

Axandra continued to fight to free herself. Sweat broke on her skin. She grunted as she pulled her arms up from the stone.

What did you do?
Axandra suddenly understood that Tyrane would commit any act to ensure his truce continued. Elora died prematurely at his hand.

He smiled down at her, a sickly sweet curve of his thin lips.
Only what needed done.
“Now.”

By no will of her own, her right arm extended straight from her side, sweeping toward the object next to her. The silvery surface burned her skin even before contact, the temperature too hot to measure. Axandra could not scream or recoil. Every atom in her body quaked until she felt certain she would be pulverized into dust.

Across the arena came a shout. Axandra couldn't believe her ears. Quinn was here, trying to rescue her. But she couldn't answer him.

The metal of the orb began to melt away around Axandra's hand. Where no seams existed, an opening materialized. An interior light glowed, illuminating the body of a young woman. Unmoving, she appeared to be asleep or in a coma. Her breasts rose slowly with controlled respiration.

Axandra's skin boiled where the molten metal poured. Every nerve in her body inflamed, her muscles went rigid. Weakened, she could no longer fight her captors. Struggling for breath and sobbing, she could no longer hear any noise except the rush of blood in her ears or see anything except lightning or feel anything but agony.

The Goddess rose to the surface of her brain, now a violet sphere of light. The color grew bright in her left eye, blinding her vision.

With a jerk, Axandra felt her body lifted into the air. She floated momentarily, no longer weighed down. She felt nothing, not pain, not cold, not even the air around her.

A frail shell lay beneath her as she drifted upward. The skeleton protruded from the skin. The once rosy cheeks looked hollow. The eyes sank in dark circles and stared lifelessly upward. Those eyes looked green again. She had forgotten that her eyes were naturally green.

How very fragile the human form could be. How easy to rob it of its life.

No, you can't take me with you. I won't become a part of you,
Axandra denied the Goddess, pulling herself back down. She endeavored to make her essence heavier and sink back to her body. All she had to do was imagine she was made of lead.

+++

Quinn's shout
gave away their disguises. Realizing there were interlopers in their midst, a group of Prophets turned to them, hands open in their direction. He felt himself grabbed by the arms and trapped, even though they did not touch him. Patrum and Ty froze too, unable to move.

“You fools! He's killing her! She doesn't deserve to die!”

As his voice carried across the arena, Quinn watched helplessly as Axandra's hand touched the silver orb. The surface of the metal glowed hot blue around her fingers, blistering the skin instantly. Smoke and the sick smell of burning flesh assaulted his nostrils.

Roaring, Quinn fought against the trap, pushing with his feet until he could feel himself making headway against them. He strained as though he forced a boulder uphill.

Part of the capsule melted away, opening to reveal hidden treasure. Light contained within the shell illuminated the body of a girl with pale flesh and cropped chestnut brown hair. By the smoothness of her unblemished face, Quinn judged her age as no more than seventeen, but he had no idea how long she'd been confined within the capsule. Her features suggested she belonged to the Protecting family.

Ever the scientist, Quinn hypothesized that the Prophets, through their warped wisdom, created an alternate host body decades ago, in order to prepare for any disaster that might befall the only living Heir to their truce. With only one daughter born each generation, the Prophets understood the need for emergency preparations.

The girl slept a few moments more as the capsule's interior controls altered the environment from stasis to revival. The child's eyes fluttered open, gauged her surroundings and squinted with immediate confusion.

Quinn could not care one iota less about the mystery of the orb now. Axandra was still alive, but he could sense her life force fading. Since his weak abilities no match for the power of those occupying this arena, he briefly wondered how he sensed her so clearly, but this was another mystery for which he did not have time. He needed to get to Axandra, to stop the Prophets from killing her. He pursued this need relentlessly. While the Prophets stood astounded to behold the new arrival, Quinn forced his way through the throng. He could see Axandra just ahead.

A light appeared from Axandra's eye, a small violet radiance that shimmered and swirled as it ascended into the air. The very air seemed to change, to become sweeter and more peaceful. He felt almost euphoric, despite the very real fact that Axandra lay lifeless on the altar.

As he neared her body, the euphoria drained from him. Boney limbs drooped from the edge of the stone platform. No breath moved in her lungs. Her eyes stared, open and empty.

The Prophet elder reached up to cup the entity in his hands, but it pulled away from him, moving back down toward Axandra's body. The entity's shape distorted, shooting violent arcs in every direction. The bulb began to split.

Quinn lost sight of the body and the purple light as the Prophets shifted around him, moving in closer to the altar to witness the result of their ritual murder.

Shoving through again, he next saw the old man with the Goddess enclosed in his hands. The gray haired elder stepped toward the girl in the capsule. By the time the child realized her circumstances, Tyrane would deliver the gift.

“Tyrane, Stop!”

Quinn nearly fell flat hearing Axandra's voice.

Patrum and Ty somehow reached her side—he'd lost track of them in the melee—their hands upon her body to help her sit up. Very much alive, Axandra confronted the elder, but not without anguish on her features. She tucked the severely wounded hand close to her body, blackened and withered. Blood and fluid smeared across the loose gray shift she wore. She gasped with pain, her lips twisted grotesquely and her brow creased deeply between her eyes.

Tyrane turned back to her, eyes narrowed angrily. “You cannot live,” he growled. “The Goddess must live. She will end this struggle you and your mother brought on us. It is your fault the people are sick and dying.”

“She will end it by destroying us!” Axandra screamed. Her body quivered with exhaustion and shock from her injury, yet she stayed upright, facing her captor. “She has no intention of resuming peace!”

“You lie!” Tyrane hurried to finish his act of delivery. “Take this new body, Goddess, to use as your own, to feed your sisters and sustain their existence—”

“No!” Quinn leapt at the old man, tackling him at the knees and knocking him to the hard floor. Limbs flailing, Tyrane released the entity, which flew up into the air as though pitched.

Of its own will, the violet orb sped to the body in the capsule, was absorbed through the left eye, and immediately integrated its physical form with the soft tissue of the brain. The face, a moment ago young and confused, displayed age and experience centuries beyond what any human could hope to achieve. The entity completely usurped the mind of the surrogate.

Placing her bare feet on the stony floor, the new hybrid being appraised the crowd of Prophets staring up at her.

“This body is so young,” the Goddess exclaimed rapturously.

“It isn't going to work, Tyrane,” Axandra called out. “The people won't accept her. You have to stop this. The Stormflies aren't going to wait anymore.”

“It has to work,” the elder insisted. “Our two peoples have lived this way for centuries, benefiting each other, keeping peace.”

“They don't want our peace.” Trying to stand, Axandra slipped her feet to the floor, only to find her emaciated body too weak to support her own weight. Ty held fast onto her arms to keep her up while Patrum circled the altar to assist. Quinn was almost there, his drive to reach her only strengthened by seeing her reanimated.

The host flashed a sardonic smile at the injured human female before her. The violet eyes of possession surveyed Axandra from top to bottom. Her opponent appeared to be in no condition to possess consciousness, let alone stand up.