Maylin's Gate (Book 3) (25 page)

Engraved on the altar, the triangular symbol appeared.

The chanting grew faster and the congregation turned their gaze to the altar.

A figure, clad in pure red, emerged from shadows behind the altar. The man eased past the altar with head bowed and face cloaked by shadow. The figure paused in the middle of the sunken marble stage and turned to face the altar.

The chanting grew louder and faster, and the man’s gaze lowered to the stage.

Her breaths came fast and her heart raced while the room’s smothering heat left her head swimming.

The chanting reached a fever-pitch. The walls shook and candles vibrated. As if impervious to the noise, the red-clad figured never moved.

From the shadows, the shaman with the gold and silver sleeves appeared behind the altar. Through thick glasses, the leader gazed at the red robed figure standing before the altar.

A sick ping of dread brewed in her stomach. The red robed man. He couldn’t be Brees. Could he? Why would Brees flee Meranthia and travel to Zen to take part in this ritual? Brees loathed the sorcerers and shaman who fought their never-ending wars. He had defied the emperor himself to travel with her to Ayralen.

The leader gestured to the assembly and the chanting stopped. “Be seated.”

In unison, the assembly sat leaving the room bathed in quiet. For a long moment the leader stared at the figure without speaking.

She held her breath and prayed the assembly wouldn’t hear the hum of her beating wings.

“Praes impolt derium?” the leader said directing a question to the red-robed man.

During her academy years, she studied language construction. But, the shaman's words sounded like gibberish.

The red-robed man nodded and stepped forward. A dim unlit crystal sphere appeared from the figure’s sleeve.

“Letum forockcil,” the leader said and pointed toward the empty socket.

The red-robed figure knelt and placed the dim sphere on the circular indention.

Shifting light of blue, orange, and red filled the unlit crystal.

“Alectum verasis,” the leader said.

The red-robed man stood and stepped back stopping in the triangle’s center. The man reached for the robe’s cinch and loosened the belt.

The leader stepped away from the altar and nodded to a lower-ranked member seated in the second row.

She didn’t dare move an inch. Not now.

With head bowed, the man’s robe fell free. Sweat poured from the man’s muscled naked body.

She couldn’t make out the man’s face and didn’t dare fly lower.

The man’s short brown hair didn’t match the mop-top Brees had before leaving Freehold.

With palm extended, the leader paused before the naked man. The lower-ranking member scurried onto the stage and handed a glowing brand to the leader.

“Bar falout,” the leader said.

The naked man knelt in a prostrate position before the decorated shaman leader.

She fought an urge to cry out.

The leader leaned forward and positioned the brand near the base of the man’s neck. “Veer shalout.” The leader pressed the brand to the man’s flesh.

The man’s body shook and the sound of sizzling flesh carried through the chamber.

The leader leaned against the brand and the sizzling intensified. Curls of black smoke drifted upward carrying the stench of charred flesh.

The naked man screamed and the leader stepped back.

Still screaming, the man’s head and body raised from the floor.

She pushed lower. She had to know.

The man’s neck jerked backward. A mask of pain washed over the man’s face. Brees’s face.

She shrieked.

Every head turned in her direction. Blue light flashed.

“No,” Brees said and leaped upward. The amulet around the shaman’s neck glowed blue.

Arcs of pure electricity surrounded her.

She whirled and found no escape.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Onward

A gurgling hiss carried through the high grass. A distress-filled sound like that of a man struggling for life.

Ronan jerked his head toward the sound. General Demos needed him. He crawled past river grass and cattails until he reached the struggling general.

A light shade of blue colored General Demos’s cheeks. A strange wheezing sound came from the general’s throat.

He didn’t need to understand baerinese anatomy to see the man couldn’t breathe. “Hang on. I’ll help you.”

He wedged his hands under General Demos’s back. Using all the strength he could muster, he tipped the baerinese general upward.

Another wheezing gurgle came from the general’s throat.

He slapped the general’s back.

General Demos let go a hacking cough.

A second slap and water shot from the general’s mouth.

General Demos’s coughed again but it came out strong and steady.

He sat up and glanced skyward.

Blue sky and high puffy clouds taunted him.

How could a dragon Thoth’s size vanish? He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

The grass beside him rustled and General Demos struggled to a seated position. The general’s breathing came in short rapid bursts but sounded clear and strong. “I’ll be fine.”

He gazed over the empty swampland. “I hope you’re right.”

General Demos glanced skyward. “He’s gone?”

“Gone.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

The two sat in silence for several long moments. The chirp of spring crickets and gurgling water filled the silence.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” General Demos said.

“Which?” He glanced at the general. “A portal open to a world beyond ours? Or maybe it was the creature with transparent skin?” He raised an eyebrow. “The faceless man?”

A slight grin spread across General Demos’s face.

A sly smile slid across his face and he chuckled shaking his head. He picked a strand of river grass, broke it in half and ran it between his thumb and index finger.

His thoughts drifted to Rika. He’d not spent so much time away from Rika since…ever. A queasy ache settled in his chest. The last time he felt that pang of loss, his mother had died. He had to unravel this mystery and find Rika. Find Connal. They couldn’t defend Meranthia on their own. The world needed him.

A shadow appeared overhead. General Demos’s enormous frame towered over him blocking the sun. The general’s hand stretched toward him. “Come human. We should go.”

He slipped the grass between his teeth and took the general’s hand.

General Demos pulled him to his feet. The general’s gaze drifted down and back again before meeting his. “Thank you.”

Heat spread through his cheeks and he shifted his gaze. “There’s no need for thanks. We need each other now more than ever.”

“You didn’t need to save me. You could’ve left me to die and nobody would’ve known.”

“The swamp.” He pointed to the mess of gnarled trees in the distance. “I need your help in the swamp.”

A flicker of disappointment touched the general’s eyes. “Perhaps that’s it.” General Demos glanced toward the swamp.

But, that wasn’t it. Despite the general’s actions against Meranthia. Despite everything, he liked General Demos. He enjoyed his companionship, and he hated himself for it.

“How long will it take you to reach the Tree of Life on your puny human legs?”

He rubbed his chin and studied the mangrove ahead. “From what I remember sitting on Thoth’s back, two days hard travel by foot. How fast could you make it?”

Tongue flickering, General Demos grinned. “Less than two days, but I’ll stay by your side… for now.”

He nodded. “Good. Let’s go then.” He pushed aside the tall grass aside and strode ahead. Toward the swamp’s center. Toward the Tree of Life and the madman who might save them all.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The King’s Lady

The soul knight touched the guardian’s leg.

Panic surged through Tara and she pushed backward trying to hide inside the lifeboat. She recognized the guardian. Rika, the king’s lady, would recognize her. They’d come face to face in Porthleven. She’d watched them both destroy her pets before she fled.

She replayed Ronan’s silver soul from her memories and her flesh crawled. A soul filled with endless possibility. A soul powerful enough to bring the world crashing down.

White flows of healing magic drifted from the healer’s hand. The energy converged on the bloody arrow wound in Rika’s leg.

Rika’s body shuddered and the wound closed. Smooth golden skin showed through a pair of ruined leather leggings. “Thank you Caree. Can you see to the young women in the boat? One of them is unconscious.”

“Yes my lady,” the healer said tucking away a lock of golden hair.

The green-souled man stepped into the lifeboat and offered a hand to Caree.

Her pulse hammered and her hands trembled. Without pets, she would not escape. She pulled her knees into her chest and tucked her face between her legs.

The lifeboat bobbed and swayed while the two found their balance. The male guardian knelt beside Jo’s limp body. The man placed two fingers against Jo’s throat and held still.

“She’s alive, but her pulse is weak,” the man said.

Caree knelt beside Jo and white flows of magic wrapped the girl’s body. The healer smiled.

Jo’s body shuddered and the girl’s eyes blinked open.

“Be still child,” Caree said. “You’re safe and among those who can help you.”

Jo’s gaze darted around the lifeboat.

The guardian shifted to the boat’s rear.

She felt the man’s presence looming like a dead man’s weight. She didn’t dare look up.

The guardian touched her arm and she stiffened. “You’re safe now,” the man said. “My name is Connal Deveaux, and I’m here to help.”

“My arm,” she said voice husky. “My arm is broken.”

“I think we can fix that.” Warmth and kindness touched Connal’s voice.

The guardian’s reaction would be far different in another minute.

“Can I see your face?” Connal said. “I want to make sure you’re not hurt.”

“Hurry,” Rika said from the pier. “I see them forming ranks past the harbor.”

The scent of fresh daisies drifted past her nose and the healer knelt beside her. “Let me see your arm child,” Caree said.

She moved her arm and pain flared. Tears came to her eyes. “It hurts.”

“You’ll feel a slight tingle and then the pain will go away. Okay?”

She nodded with her head still tucked behind her legs.

“What’s your name?” Caree said before touching her arm.

A roar of heat flooded her cheeks. Her name? She couldn’t give her name. An unintelligible mumble passed her lips.

“Her name is Rebecca,” Jo said moving in beside her. “But, nobody calls her that. Back home we all call her Becca.” Jo wrapped an arm around her shoulders and snuggled close. “She’s my sister.”

“And your name?” Connal said.

Jo smiled. “Where’s my manners? My name’s Sally. Sally Shepard.”

Relief washed through her and she leaned into Jo. Why would Jo lie for her? She owed her nothing. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she peeked over the top of her soot-stained trousers.

Caree, golden-haired and stunning, smiled with warmth enough to bring on an early spring. The healer’s white soul light flooded the lifeboat and she fought an urge to squint.

Mists of white energy flowed from the healer’s palm.

The pain in her arm disappeared along with the other cuts and scrapes she’d gathered during the escape.

“That’s better,” Caree said and stood.

“We’ve no time to rest,” Connal said. “Becca and Caree can ride atop my back. Sally can ride with Rika.”

Jo’s eyes widened. “We’re going to fly?” A smile spread across the teenager’s face before Jo scrambled from the lifeboat. “I’ve always wanted to ride atop a guardian.”

Connal stepped from the lifeboat and offered a hand to Caree.

The healer stepped onto the pier.

“Are you coming?” Connal peered toward the back of the lifeboat.

She had no choice. Better to die here than let this charade linger any longer. She wiped away the tears streaking her face. Her fingertips came back black with soot. She must appear unrecognizable.

“I promise not to drop you. Hang on tight to Caree and you’ll be fine.”

She stood and crossed the lifeboat’s shifting bottom.

The knight and the guardians reacted with indifference.

Her stomach swirled. They hadn’t recognized her. She leaped onto the pier.

Connal shifted into a war-hawk and she froze.