Lord of the Dark (17 page)

He was aroused. His hardness was acute between the wind his motion created rushing at his wounded wing, the residual sexual heat a lightning strike always inflicted, and the perpetual curse triggered by the merest pressure upon his feathers. Vane was right, he needed time to regenerate his strength, or barring that, he at least needed a means of release.

He rubbed the bulge in his groin in an attempt to cancel the inevitable, but it was no use. The achy fire in his loins would not be denied, and he opened the front of his eel skin and exposed his throbbing penis to the cool midnight air. Groaning, he let the night wind take him, like he had done so many times in the past. He let it caress the fiery flesh of his shaft, stroking the distended veins, bearing down upon the sensitive mushroom tip. The slightest touch of his hand would make him come, but he resisted the urge to seize his swollen penis in his fist and pump himself dry. Surrendering to the elements, he threw back his head and took the night as his lover, for he was Lord of the Dark.

And what a lover Mother Night was, with her thousand eyes winking down from the indigo vault, and the waning moon tinted red in the aftermath of the volcano’s fire. She took him slowly, for he was her liege lord, and she serviced him often, and well. In the arms of Mother Night, he found solace. In her dark embrace, he escaped where the watchers could not harm him, for she was illusion, and in her dark womb he found a glimmer of peace.

The gentle wind that was her breath stroked his face, ruffled his wings, and petted his shaft as he soared through the air until his cock grew harder still, the sensitive head glazed slick with pre-come. He couldn’t help but wonder, since he came to Mother Night so often for comfort, if the watchers would take this carnal fantasy from him too. But they had not interfered in all the eons she had been his lover, for she had no corporeal substance, earning no more notice than he earned relieving himself. The only trouble was, for all the comfort of the night’s dark fantasy, for all the mystery of her passion, she was not lover enough.

Gideon called Rhiannon’s name as the climax came, for hers was the image he saw in the wind, in the clouds massing thickly overhead, cloaking the stars and darkening the moon. Gripping his throbbing penis, he glided on a zephyr above the weather, watching the seed of his loins pulse out of him in a steady stream, watching it slow to spurts that milked him dry, blessed release from the ravages of the watchers’ missiles earlier. It was all part of the curse.

Roaring like a lion, Gideon dove toward the breast of the sea below, through the heavy clouds massing steadily, through the starless darkness toward a little patch of mist that cloaked the rune caster’s isle on the brink of Outer Darkness. She would know what creature had carried Rhiannon through the phallic gates that barred her captors, and he sped through the sky with the velocity of one of the watcher’s missiles and touched down in a fog bank not far from the succubus’s cottage.

All at once he loosed a bitter laugh. For all he knew, the watchers could have taken Rhiannon somewhere else. All he had was the word of disembodied voices whispering across his mind on the edge of consciousness that they had banished her to Outer Darkness. He didn’t even know to whom the enigmatic voices belonged, only that they had served him well in the past and never misled him before. Taking a positive stand, he liked to think that they were of the gods, or gods themselves, for all humankind had guardian angels appointed them at birth to guard and protect as needs must. Even angels had such protectors, himself included. At least he had before his fall from grace, when all privilege had been stripped from him and he was cast out—cursed and alone—his light snuffed out, to serve his eternal sentence in solitary darkness.

Shaking those thoughts loose like a dog sheds water, Gideon plowed through the fog in the direction of the rune caster’s cottage. No creature met him. No occupant of land or sea crossed his path or whispered across his ears pricked for just such a sound—something to tell him he was not alone on the tiny spit of land on the brink of Outer Darkness that time had forgotten.

“Rhiannon…”
he called out in desperation. She was not there. If she was, his extraordinary senses would have detected her scent or picked up her aura. Nonetheless, he called out her name again, but still no answer came. It was a desperate fantasy, and he wasted no more of his breath. His lame wing was beginning to pain him again, exertion having stressed Lord Vane’s mend, and he dared not soothe it and risk lust rearing its ugly head now. He was already aroused again from the rush of wind that played havoc with his wings, driving his traitorous body landward.

He plodded on, causing the ground-creeping fog to flee in little whorls as his feet disbursed it. Then the shape of a thatched roof emerged from the mist, and the cottage underneath it loomed before him, its windows, like blind eyes, blinking vacantly from some mysterious reflected light in the shadows.

Gideon’s heart sank. The rune caster was gone.

R
hiannon curled on her side in the stern of the little punt as it glided down the river. It was a narrow ribbon of dark water, whose satiny breast danced with reflected light, from where, she could not fathom, for all around the land the river sidled through was steeped in shadow. Would it be thus when dawn broke? She had heard tales that the sun never shone upon the land beyond the phallic gates of Outer Darkness. She couldn’t imagine it. The prospect chilled her to the bone.

Between her and the bow, a tall, robed figure manned the pole that moved the punt forward toward a thick, dark fog bank that stretched across the lake. She could not see the ferryman’s face. The deep hood on his garment hung down in front, preventing her from viewing a sight she knew she would not welcome.

There had been a tense moment when the watcher touched down with her at the gate and deposited her in the punt. Neither spoke aloud, but their posture was easy to read. The ferryman did not want to take her without tribute, and Rhiannon had no coin to offer him. All she possessed was the tattered garment the sprites had made. An argument ensued, and Rhiannon was just about to take advantage of it, slip over the side, and swim for shore, when one of the watcher’s lightning bolts cast alongside the little boat made an end to her dreams of escape. The fiery missile hit the breast of the lake in a hissing, spitting rush of angry steam, and the water began to boil. The threat of another missile drove Rhiannon back down into the bilges of the boat, while the watcher renegotiated with the ferryman.

The little punt was moving again now, toward the thick, black fog stretched across the lake ahead. Beyond that point lay Outer Darkness. Once they entered the eerie fog, the watcher could not follow, though the winged creature hovered overhead, his missile at the ready, and would, Rhiannon had no doubt, hover until the very last second.

Rhiannon blinked back tears. What lay beyond that foggy wall of drifting mist ahead too thick to penetrate with the eye? She knew what lay behind; the watchers’ deadly missiles and Gideon. Would he be able to penetrate the eerie fog and follow her? Had he even survived the watchers’ lightning strikes? She had taken comfort from his insistence that the watchers’ missiles couldn’t kill him, but he was bleeding so, and he hadn’t looked conscious when the creatures carried her away. How would he know where to find her if he had survived?

The punt glided into the fog, and Rhiannon could taste her fear; it was like a separate entity, a living, breathing presence in that little boat, alive as she was. The watcher was gone, and she was almost sorry. At lease that creature hadn’t meant to kill her, only to punish Gideon by taking her out of his reach. The gods alone knew what lay on the other side of the fog bank, so thick she feared it would suffocate her.

Brave with the threat of lightning bolts removed, she decided to appeal to the ferryman. “I beg you take me back!” she pleaded. “I’ve been brought here against my will!”

The ferryman made no reply. Scrambling to her knees, she tugged at the end of his robe. His posture clenched, but he did not break his rhythm with the long pole as he punted along. Rhiannon scrabbled closer and tugged harder. This time the boat rocked, challenging the ferryman’s balance. He turned halfway. There was no mistaking the anger in his bearing. He didn’t speak. Yanking his robe out of her hands, he turned back to his chore, and the punt began to move again.

They were still inside the bleak fog bank. Gripping the ferryman’s arm, Rhiannon pulled herself up alongside him. “Please…I beg you,” she sobbed. “Take me back! Don’t leave me here alone…in the dark…”

Again, the ferryman’s posture clenched, but he did not respond as he dug the pole into the sandy bottom and kept his pace.

“
Please!
” Rhiannon cried. “I am nothing to you. The watcher is gone. Let me go. He will never know! Look at me! Why won’t you answer me?”

But the ferryman continued to pole the punt forward, ignoring her pleas.

Not to be thwarted, Rhiannon ranged herself in front of him. No mean task, for the punt was very narrow, and it swayed in the water with her weight displaced. She could not see his face. It was veiled in shadow. Reaching up, for he was very tall, she tore the hood away and froze, a scream trapped in her throat, for there was no one inside it. The cloth she gripped fell away to puddle at her feet in the bilges.

The scream growing in Rhiannon’s throat did escape then. Loud and shrill, it echoed over the breast of dark water that suddenly started to rise, taking the punt under; then it was gone—ferryman, pole and all—and she was floundering in deep, dark water.

Panic gripped her like an iron fist. This was no place to test her lacking swimming skills. She’d even been somewhat uncomfortable bathing in the deep end of Gideon’s pool when she first attempted it. She’d gained more confidence once she realized there were sections of the pool where her feet would touch bottom. That didn’t seem likely here. She could feel the water rushing beneath her feet and she dared not test it and confirm her worst fears. It was cold…so cold, not steamy warm and welcoming like it had been in the pool chamber, and it was in motion, taking her breath away, making her hyperventilate when she tried to scream again. A rush of the frigid water poured into her mouth, choking her instead. The cold, salty flow flooded her airway. Adrenaline surged through her body. Her strength was flagging. The weight of her long, thick hair was dragging her down. She couldn’t catch her breath. She was drowning!

All at once, the fog began to lift, not a moment too soon. Had she drifted beyond it? Frantically, she scanned the drifting mist in search of a direction—a spit of land—a glimpse of shoreline—anything that would give her hope. She was struggling with what she was certain was her last breath when she saw it, a dark silhouette against a darker sky—
land!
But it was too far away to reach by swimming, even for a strong swimmer.

Gingerly, she stretched one leg, feeling for the bottom, praying that something firm would touch her toes, but there was only water, dark and murky black beneath her. With all hope gone, she lost the balance she’d maintained and slipped beneath the surface. Once, twice, she sank, then rallied one last time, screaming Gideon’s name at the top of her hoarse voice before she sank a third time and then came up no more.

Gideon paced back and forth in front of the rune caster’s vacant cottage, troubling the mist with his heavy footfalls, and long wings sweeping the ground. Where was Lavilia? She must know he had need of her counsel. He hated the way she toyed with him, like a cat toys with a mouse. He paid tenfold for whatever information he managed to pry out of her. It had always been thus, and he’d gone along with the game, but not this time, not when Rhiannon’s life was in danger.

He had one question left, and she still had two of his feathers, which she’d promised to return when he needed them. Three opportunities? Possibly. He needed answers now. Lavilia had those answers. She must have known he’d come seeking them. Where had she gone? Or,
had
she gone? She was a shape-shifter after all, and she had been too afraid to face him the last time as well, until the very last.

One had to be very careful how one handled the rune caster. Emboldened by hope that the mistress of illusion was hiding again in plain sight, Gideon chose a direct approach.
“Lavilia!”
he thundered. “I know you’re here. Show yourself! I have no time for your games tonight!”

“
Bravo,
Lord of the Dark!” her disembodied voice echoed. “Your sight is improving. What brings you here this time, eh? Have you come to ask your last question? Well, speak up! You haven’t all night. Time is wasting…”

Gideon spun in all directions, his wings half unfurled, but nothing except the mist met his eyes. “Still afraid to face me then?” he observed. “I wonder why? Are you in league with the watchers? I’ve long thought it.”

“You have no one to blame but yourself for your predicament, Gideon,” she said. “I tried to help you on your last visit, but no, you were in too much of a hurry to listen, and now here you are again. Well, that resolution is no longer available to you. The opportunity has passed. A funny thing about opportunities, once missed they cannot be had back. Now, you must suffer what your impetuous nature has bought you.”

“You make no sense. Show yourself! They have taken Rhiannon into Outer Darkness, and—”

“And you wish to know the way?” she interrupted. “Right through those gates, you know that already.”

Yes, Gideon knew the way, but he wasn’t absolutely certain that is where the watcher had taken her. He only had the whispers of strange voices ghosting across his mind to go on, and he didn’t want to waste his last question upon speculation, hoping her reply would confirm the voices’ banter.

“I know the way,” he said.

“Then why waste time here?”

“Because you are the keeper of that gate,” he said. “Unless the gods decree it, you must admit me. There is grave danger in tampering with Outer Darkness, and you know more than you are telling. You were trying to tell me something more when I left so abruptly last time. I would know what that was.”

“You would pay for useless information with your last question? That is hardly practical, I dare say.”

“Why should I pay for something you offered freely?” Gideon said slyly.

“One day I shall tell you, but this is not that day. Get ye gone! And watch your back. The winged ones know your mind. They put her there, and they will try to prevent you from tampering with their decree. Once you leave this isle of mine, you are under siege until you enter through that gate. Just be sure it’s what you want before you enter. That much I tell you for free.”

“I have no choice.” Gideon said. “The watchers have decided my actions for me. Punishing me is one thing. Punishing Rhiannon is something else entirely, something I cannot allow. I am aware of the danger. I will be careful.”

“You have no idea of the danger in tampering with what lies beyond that gateway, Lord of the Dark. The gods have cursed you, but they have spared you much, for you are not lord of
that
darkness, nor would you want to be. Well? What are you waiting for? The gate is open.
Go!”

Gideon hesitated. Should he ask that final question? What would it be? There were so many questions banging around in his brain. No…he had already squandered one. It was best to wait, but there was one thing she hadn’t made clear, and he couldn’t leave without knowing.

“This is not one of your damnable questions, Lavilia,” he said. “You never clarified the feathers, only that I would have them back when needs must…”

“You have had one back already,” Lavilia said, from deep in the mist. She was slipping away, and Gideon’s posture clenched, his wings expanding wider.

“Do not think to leave before you explain!” he warned her.

“Ours is a special bond, dark one,” she said, her voice sounding back amplified by the fog. It had a ghostly ring to it that turned Gideon’s blood cold. “Impaling me upon that magnificence between your legs has earned you the privilege of
mind melding
. We have always had it, you and I, but you have always been too preoccupied to see it. I do not expect you to understand the mysteries of my magic, but please pay attention! You will know when you are in need of your feathers, just as you knew the first time. All you need do is reach me with your thoughts, and your feathers will come back to you. Do not squander them. You have only two left. Think carefully before you summon me, Lord of the Dark, for one of them is life…and death. That is all you get for free. Now, steel yourself and
go
! And the gods be merciful, my rash young fool…”

Her voice trailed off then, and Gideon dismissed her from his thoughts. Only one thing mattered now, getting past the watchers he was certain massed between the isle and the gateway to Outer Darkness. There was only one way to do it, and that was by employing the element of surprise. He would soar into their midst at great speed in hopes of confusing them long enough to get past their number. Already aroused, the velocity wreaking havoc upon his penis as the wind attacked his feathers would be unbearable of itself, not to mention the tenderness of the wound that needed more time than he could spare it to mend.

Spreading his wings, Gideon leaped into the air and surged up out of the stubborn mist that cloaked the rune caster’s isle into the night sky. Lavilia hadn’t exaggerated. It was a gauntlet, two lines of watchers flanking the way to the phallic stones that marked the Outer Darkness gate. He counted eight, no ten of the winged creatures, snake lightning crackling between their outstretched hands.

Thunderbolts ripped through the sky. Gideon spiraled above them. More lightning speared down, exploding in the crossfire as he sidled in and out among them. There was only one way to enter the dark world. One had to pass between the columns. He could not go over or around them, which meant Gideon had to risk the lightning bolts at close range to achieve it. His cock was on fire, the weight of his motion bearing down upon his wound dizzying. He’d nearly made it halfway dodging the watchers’ missiles when one glanced off his wounded wing, wrenching a cry like nothing human from his parched throat, and he spun off momentarily to regain his strength, trying to draw their fire away from the gate. Several did leave the gauntlet line flying after him. Enraged, Gideon struck them feetfirst, sending them spiraling off out of control. He was clearly beyond caring.