Cruor’s gaze slid from the elves to Loki to Drake, and he smirked. “I think it’s time we take our personal business somewhere more private, love,” he whispered. He began to chant the words to a transportation spell, but before he could finish, Astriel exploded into action, his tall form blurring as he raced for the Death Mage, his sword simultaneously pulling back in preparation for attack.
Cruor took a quick step back, pulling Raven with him. His free hand, he raised in a defensive movement, and a shield of hardened air formed between them and the prince. Astriel skidded to a halt just short of slamming into the invisible wall. He lowered his sword and narrowed his gaze at the Death Mage.
A deep, booming voice rang out from behind him. It was Loki’s voice, but amplified a hundred-fold. “Potui Sanctum Dilucesco!”
Everyone in the clearing was thrown back violently as the wall of air Cruor had created was hit by an intense wave of energy and a hot blast of pure white light.
Raven and Cruor hit the dirt and fallen leaves several yards away. Once again, the wind was knocked from her lungs. Stars swam in her vision; her head felt swollen on her shoulders; it was getting harder to hold it up.
They rolled to a stop and Cruor rose, brutally yanking her up with him. He was on his feet almost instantly. Raven called for her body to change and it attempted to respond. But Cruor negated the switch, his harsh whispered words rolling across her skin like slightly charged tentacles, diffusing her magic and locking her in her human form.
He quickly began another spell and Raven knew he was once again attempting to transport them somewhere else. She couldn’t let him do that. She absolutely could not allow him to get her alone again. So, despite the fact that they were simply nails and not claws, she turned in his embrace, ignoring the sharp pain it caused in her shoulder, and raked her fingertips across the side of Cruor’s face, digging deep.
Cruor hissed with pain, jerked his face away, and immediately back-handed her for her efforts. He hit her too hard; the surprise of his attack registered in his own blue eyes as she fell. But he held her still, his grip an iron band around her wrist. Her arm jerked and ripped in its socket as her body went limp.
Astriel jumped to his feet and rushed the Death Mage, even as his soldiers raced to do the same. Drake was beside him in an instant.
Raven distantly tasted blood, but it was not the blood she needed. It was her own, and even its taste was fading. Her body felt numb and light. Pain was receding. She closed her eyes, trying with all of her will to keep unconsciousness at bay. Above her, Cruor started chanting once more.
Behind Gray Beard, the shadows parted and Azmith stepped out of the darkness, flanked by two other Blue Robes. Without pause, they began to cast spells. Astriel’s men saw them. They immediately changed direction, now heading directly for the three magic users instead of their leader.
Cruor’s form began to shimmer and fade, taking Raven’s along with it just as Drake and Astriel came within fighting distance of the Death Mage.
“Capesso Maleficus Attineo!” The voice of Haledon’s champion once more rang out through the forest.
Raven moaned when she felt Cruor’s magic ripped away from her. It was a welcome but uncomfortable sensation, jarring and intense. Her form solidified once again, bringing with it a re-focusing of her senses.
And then Drake was wrenching her from Cruor’s grasp as the Death Mage and Astriel paired off on one another.
“Raven, look at me.”
She heard his voice, soft, low and gentle.
“Open your eyes angel, please.” His whisper was desperate.
But it was fading.
Raven, I’m begging you. Wake up! Drink from me. Let me make you strong. Please.
Now his voice was much closer, louder, right beside her. In her head.
She felt his warmth all around her, in such contrast to her chilled body, it nearly burned. He reminded her of a talking, breathing fire; a fire that was holding her in its arms, clutching her tightly to its chest.
Something warm and sweet trickled over her lip and ran across her tongue. She swallowed reflexively, and the world exploded around her. She bucked as a blast of color erupted behind her eyes and the warm, sweet perfection of his blood on her tongue shot down her throat, through her body and into her limbs. Her hands came around his arm, holding his wrist to her lips. Her tongue unwittingly traced the gash he’d made there, and she felt him shiver against her.
With each long draw of his blood, he held her tighter. The powerful liquid raced through her like wildfire, ruthlessly igniting her senses and awakening them to a kind of pleasure she’d only ever known once before.
When she had tasted him the first time. And he had kissed her.
Mine….
She heard his thought slip past the boundaries of her mind and didn’t fight it. She didn’t want to.
The colors that swirled in Raven’s head coalesced and solidified, drawing for her a picture. She swallowed another mouthful of his blood and the picture changed. She saw a massive throne, hewn of one solid, fire-lit ruby, and upon it sat a magnificent man.
Raven knew who it was. His long jet-black hair and red-glowing eyes were unmistakable. The Abaddonian in Raven recognized its liege on sight. This was the Lord of Nisse, the ruler of all of Abaddon.
Beside the throne stood another man, and again, she recognized him easily. It was Drake of Tanith – changed. His tall form was enhanced in his devil shape, his skin dark, his massive bat-like wings folded gracefully at his back, his stark, platinum gaze on fire. His long, sharp fangs rested upon pale lips in a handsome face that made her heart ache.
She knew who he was now. She knew who his father was. Drake was showing her.
He stood there, draped in the dark red and black vestments of his father’s court, and radiated power.
That same ancient power forced itself into Raven, infusing her body with forbidden magic, with strength, and with terrible passion. Her back arched of its own accord as heat forced a moan from her throat. She felt his arms like bands of steel around her body, heard his returning growl of desire as he fed her and she drank and the rest of the world melted around them, became obsolete, and all but disappeared.
Compared to this sensation, all other pleasure must have been like water to wine.
“You haven’t felt anything angel,” Drake whispered, his teeth gently grazing her ear. It was a promise and, right now, it was a terrible, teasing one. It drew from her yet another groan of need.
Drake’s life force was infused with something so archaic, so intrinsically potent, it bordered on divine. And now she knew why.
She opened her eyes and gazed up at him.
His molten mercury gaze held hers, penetrated her core, and scorched her soul.
Why? she asked him. She wanted to know why he always hid what he was. Why he was a bounty hunter. Why he had left his father’s court. Why – everything, but especially, why he did this to her…. Why did she want him so badly?
There was no answer forthcoming. But the heat and power in that gaze told her everything she needed to know. His indomitable blood racing through her veins was answer enough.
They were meant for one another. She, the daughter of Malphas. He, the heir of Nisse.
Drake stared down at the woman in his arms. His blood stained her perfect lips red and had flushed her cheeks pink. Her eyes sparkled beneath the waning sunlight. She gazed up at him in awe, in understanding. And he knew that she knew.
No one had ever taken his blood before. He had never shared it with anyone but Raven. For her, he would shed every drop if he needed to. Always, he would care for her and give her what she needed. Always.
Drake gazed at her and cursed the fate that had brought them together in this manner. If only they had more time. If only they were alone, no elven princes with swords, no Death Mages with apocalyptic designs. If only the cards had decided, just once, to fall in his favor.
Give her the dagger, Tanith.
Drake jerked in surprise at the sudden, strong invasion. A voice was in his head, loud and commanding. The time that had slowed down around the two of them while Raven had fed once again moved at a normal speed. He tore his gaze from hers to glance over his shoulder, and she let go of his arm.
Astriel and Cruor were several yards away. The prince was only now turning to face the Death Mage as Cruor disappeared and reappeared again, having transported a few feet behind him.
Time appeared not to have passed since Drake had slashed his wrist and placed it to Raven’s lips. It truly had slowed. In fact, it had stopped.
Drake shook his head once, disbelieving, but even as he did so, he realized that it was more than possible. Fate had favored them after all, stopping time to allow him to give the woman he loved that which she needed most.
And now that he’d done so, it was rapidly gaining momentum, picking up speed once more. He watched, a part of him still dumbfounded, as the battle once again hustled around him, the swift tempo of their situation lending credence to the desperation of the moment.
Give Raven the dagger. Only the Chosen Soul can kill Cruor.
Tanith looked from Astriel and Cruor to Loki, Raven’s brother. The priest was staring at him with eyes that glowed as brightly as the sun. His body gave off a brilliant radiance and his red hair moved with a warm wind, lending it the appearance of being on fire.
Haledon, Drake thought to himself.
Loki Grey was the Sun God’s avatar. Born again.
Drake stared at the avatar, suddenly torn with indecision. Haledon would know who he was. What he was. He would surely just as soon see Drake dead as do anything to help him.
I care not who you are, Tanith. The world needs Raven now. She is the Chosen Soul. She must do what she was Chosen to do. Give her the Corrigan Dagger!
Give me the dagger, Drake.
Drake’s head snapped around. He gazed down at Raven. She was smiling at him. Her eyes were shining. He stared at her and moved back as she rose from the ground in one graceful movement. He struggled to rise with her. Once they both stood, she continued to smile up at him, her expression calm.
Trust me.
Drake did not hesitate this time. He swallowed and turned the dagger over in his palm. He held it out to her, hilt first. She slowly took it, her fingers grazing the skin of his hand. She never broke eye contact with him.
Across the clearing, Azmith and the other blue robes continued to throw spell after spell at the attacking soldiers. Two of the armored elves had fallen, the damage they’d sustained from the blue robes’ magic too great. The other four continued to rush the mages with their weapons, only to be driven back by erected shields or wards of repulsion. In the short span of time that had passed since the battle’s inception, neither side had truly gained an upper hand, as it was four practiced warriors matched against three weakening mages, but magic was still that much more powerful than might.
However, from behind Haledon’s avatar, the few remaining acolytes of the Sun God’s temples began to chant in unison. One by one, the blue robes’ magical shields started to fall. As a consequence, the elven soldiers rushed forward as one, immediately gaining the advantage as their opponents rather ineffectually conjured weapons from thin air and endeavored to defend themselves with them.
On the other side of the clearing, Astriel lunged at Cruor. The Death Mage was expecting the attack and he ducked to the right, bringing his left hand up in a block that struck the prince’s blade with an uncanny ring of metal against metal. In the next instant, he reached his other hand toward Astriel’s chest, palm facing outward, and hastily spoke the words of a terrible enchantment.
Astriel gritted his teeth, bringing all of his power to the fore to create an immediate and strong barrier between his soul and the man who sought to steal it.
Cruor’s brow furrowed when the prince’s soul did not peel away from his body as had all the others. Astriel glared at him, blue sparks of angry fire lighting his cold azure eyes. He shook his head slowly, admonishingly. “You’ll have to do better than that, Gray Beard.”
The prince took a step forward, preparing to once again attack the Death Mage in the manner for which Astriel was best qualified. Respectively, Cruor took a step back, his expression now wary and uncertain. Astriel continued, his voice daunting yet calm. “I am not one of your weakling students. I am the son of Oberon. Have you forgotten?”
Cruor smiled ingratiatingly. “Not at all, my prince. The royal bearing of your soul will make it all the more delicious when I finally devour it.”
Astriel returned the wicked smile and swung his sword in a circle, bringing it with blurring speed toward his unarmed opponent.
Cruor bellowed another arcane word, and a sword of the same make as Astriel’s appeared in his gloved hand, already poised to block the prince’s attack. But, as if Astriel had known he would take such an action, the prince’s sword suddenly changed direction, moving so fast it was nearly untraceable, and shot beneath the Death Mage’s constructed defense to stab directly toward his midsection.
Cruor could not react in time to deflect such a blow. He merely had enough time to glance downward and watch as Astriel’s shining blade penetrated the magical barrier around him and shot on through to pierce his flesh, sliding deep until the tip of the long sword exited the other side.
Astriel gave it a final shove and brought his body flush with Cruor’s. He then looked the master mage in the eyes and gave the blade an evil twist.
Pain of immense design registered in Cruor’s eyes and Astriel bared his teeth in a nasty grin. “That is for touching her,” he said softly, menace lacing his slow, calm words. He twisted the blade the other way and Cruor gasped at the new agony, sweat erupting on his brow. “And that is for hurting her.”
They remained frozen there for the space of an endless moment. Then Astriel ruthlessly wrenched the blade free and stepped back.
Cruor stumbled, his body impacting with the trunk of a large tree, his hands coming out to steady himself. He stopped and then clutched at his stomach, his gaze locked on Astriel’s as one would watch a dangerous animal.
“You can run me through a thousand times, prince, and it will not kill me.” He gritted the words between clenched teeth.
Astriel cocked his head to one side, his stance easy and deceptively relaxed. “I know. I never meant to kill you, mage. I only wanted to hurt you. And that, I have done. It’s Raven that will kill you.”
At that, Astriel slowly turned, his gaze sliding from Cruor to the black-haired woman who stood facing the Death Mage several yards away. Cruor followed his gaze and leveled it on Raven’s now erect and obviously much more powerful, physically stronger form.
He gazed at her steadily, several emotions chasing each other across his handsome face. She watched him in silence, her own expression unreadable as he lifted off of the tree, his wound healing rapidly before her eyes.
She moved toward him, and he toward her.
Time again slowed, but this time, it slowed for the world, and not solely for the two of them. All of life and death and existence recognized Cruor for who he was. At the same time, they recognized his opposite, The Chosen Soul, and as the two met on their own battlefield, the universe stopped in its dance and turned to watch.
Raven and Cruor came to stand toe to toe. Sound faded, movement ceased. The clearing around them faded into white, vanishing into bright nothingness within seconds, leaving only Raven and the Death Mage, alone together on a plane of flat, frozen emptiness. Snow and ice stretched into the horizon. Nothing moved to mar the perfection of the wintry world. Only a hollow wind blew across the vast expanse.
Cruor stared down at Raven, his hands at his sides, his expression subtly sad. Here, in this world, his deep blue eyes were devoid of the wicked spark they’d held on the Terran realm. There was no cruelty there now.
This was a different time and place and this battle was new.
“I promised you that which no one else, not even Haledon, can guarantee. Why would you so carelessly toss aside your brother’s sworn good fortune?” Cruor asked quietly, his expression genuinely curious and a touch bemused.
Raven smiled gently. “You and I are not the granters of destiny, Cruor. As an empty body and a tired soul, we make poor substitutes for human choice and freedom of will. We are the vessels of fate, nothing more.”
His brow knit. He shook his head. “Is this truly what you want? A continuance of war and violence and a ‘freedom of will’ that sees innocents to their graves?”
Raven laughed softly. It sounded like a wind chime of ice crystals, blown by the breeze of their private realm. “If I give you this soul, Cruor, you will lay all innocents to sleep in beds of death.” She cocked her head to one side and stared deeply into his eyes. Her expression became one of puzzled curiosity. “Why do you continue to dispute a cause that you know I can never join?”
Cruor lowered his head slightly, his gaze intensifying. His jaw set and the cold air around them began to charge. “Because Raven, I know you. I know you as no other ever could. I remember you as you were.” He reached down to gently grasp her right hand.
Now unafraid, Raven did not pull away.
“I knew you the first time your soul took form.” With that, he placed her hand against his chest and closed his eyes.
Raven, too, closed hers.
When she opened them again, it was to find herself standing alone in the center of a wide open field of tall grass. It was night and Kriver’s two moons shone full above. White wildflowers swayed in a gentle breeze. She could smell smoke from a cooking fire and she turned slowly in place to see a small cabin at the base of a mountain in the distance.
She took a step toward it and was suddenly there, standing in the doorway of the log house. The door unlatched and swung slowly inward. Firelight and warmth greeted her as she stepped inside. The man sitting at the table glanced up and smiled warmly. He was so handsome. She knew him well.
He rose from the bench on the opposite side of the table and quickly came around to meet her. He stood tall before her, but bent to gently take her hands in his. He was warm to the touch. She felt safe in their home.
“How do you fare?” he asked.
“Well,” she replied quietly. She was tired, but peaceful. “The babe has been dancing all day, I fear. A boy, I would wager, as he has your energy, not mine.”
The man laughed, his long black hair shimmering in the firelight from the hearth as he shook his head admonishingly. “You are the one who kicks, wife,” he said through a chuckle. “I’ve the bruises on my shins to prove it. The night you sleep without giving me your heel is the night I erect a statue in Haledon’s name.”
She laughed and then gasped as the babe kicked once again. She placed her hand to her swollen stomach and the babe stilled. Then she took her husband’s hand and placed his palm in the same place.
He waited. The babe remained still.
Her husband’s expression became mockingly stern. “Aye, definitely a lad. He is defying his father already.”
She shook her head, smiling. “You must be patient, Cruor. Best start now, while you’ve a chance to practice.”
He grinned and pulled her into a warm embrace. Then he kissed her, and his beard tickled her chin. She chuckled softly and gently pulled away. “When will you shear that wretched little tuft of hair?”
He laughed and leaned in for another kiss. “When it stops tickling you.”
She was about to respond, but the sound was cut short by a knock at the door. Cruor pulled away from her and glanced in its direction. The knock came again, harder this time, a short smart rap that retorted loudly in the once peaceful room.
“Open in the name of your king, mage. I’ve a petition from your sovereign!”
She glanced at her husband, and he at her.
Then, with a frown where a smile had been only moments before, he moved around her and strode to the door. He opened it and she gazed out at three men in uniform, the crest of their king emblazoned on their chests. Soldiers, sent by Lord Moradon. She fought to suppress the shiver that threatened her. The soldiers never brought good news.
“What do you want?” Cruor asked, ever to the point. He was in the king’s service, but as a mage, he commanded enough power to speak as he sought fit. Within reason.
“His lordship requests ten new battle-ready spells by sun-up. We take Kinestaire tomorrow night. You will be in attendance, equipped as my liege has commanded.”
Cruor stared out at the armored man. The mage’s expression was one of shock. And then of anger.
“No mage can fathom ten spells in one night, soldier. You’re mad.” He stepped toward the soldiers, forcing them to retreat from the door. Raven grew concerned and moved up behind her husband. He held one hand back, directed at her, silently insisting that she remain inside, out of the way.
But something drew her forward.
She followed as the four men moved their discussion into the front yard beneath the bright lights of the double full moons.
“And even if I could do it,” Cruor continued, ire causing his voice to raise, “I would not. I’ve other commitments.”
At that, the soldiers turned from Cruor to look at her instead. She placed a hand to her stomach protectively. Dread welled up inside of her. The scene was familiar. Ancient, and almost forgotten, but not entirely so.
The soldiers eyed her in silence for several moments. And then their leader nodded once to himself, as if coming to a decision. He turned, his subordinates following. He mounted his horse, and the other two soldiers mounted their horses after him.
Then the soldier looked down at Cruor and leveled him with an ice-cold glare. “You’ll have the spells by sun-up, mage, or your life is forfeit.” He glanced once again at Raven and his expression hardened. “And to make certain you are not distracted from your true duties….” He hurriedly pulled the dagger from its sheath on his thigh. “I’ll rid you of your other ‘commitments.’” He threw the dagger at Raven.
She watched it flip end over end through the space between them, its blade flashing in the moonlight. Time slowed and she knew what was coming, remembered it, and waited for it.
The blade embedded itself in her stomach in one quick piercing moment. The physical pain she suffered was minimal. As she gazed down at the hilt protruding from her swollen abdomen, she felt her unborn infant kick one last time.
And then it stilled.
Her knees gave out. The world spun around her. In the periphery of her vision, she saw her husband cast a spell. And then another. She heard screams, knew the soldiers were dead.
And then he was holding her in his arms. His fingers gripped her body bruisingly tight. She opened her eyes and gazed up at him. He was crying. She’d never seen him cry.
“I can’t heal you. I can’t heal you!” he screamed as he rocked her back and forth. Her husband had never learned healing magic. Not seeing the need, he had never even tried.
She said nothing. With the last of her waning strength, she reached for his right hand and placed it atop her stomach. Then she closed her eyes.
And opened them to a white-washed world, bitter cold and desolate. She stared up at the man before her. His blue eyes were familiar to her now.
“I didn’t know until I laid eyes on you that first time in the clearing,” he said. “Until then, I had only thought of you as a vessel for the soul I needed. But then I saw you in person….” Cruor had been dumbfounded to find the familiarity there in her dark eyes. He’d sat there astride his horse and gazed at her, disbelieving. It had taken what felt like forever for him to remember why he’d come after her in the first place.
When he’d lifted her onto his horse, he’d been shocked to once more feel her body, at one time known so well by his own, beneath his hard embrace. Though he’d hidden it well, he’d been shaken. When the bounty hunter had attacked them and they’d fallen, all he could think of was protecting her; his body had reacted naturally, shielding her from damage.
And then he’d been angry. Enraged.
He’d been furious that fate had punished him in this final manner, forcing him to destroy the one thing he had ever cared for in order to finish that which he’d sworn he would do long ago.
And then, as he’d turned away from her where she’d been tied to the tree in that clearing, he’d decided that he would not surrender to the pain that destiny had attempted to deal to him. He would take her soul, absorb it within himself, and have his revenge against the world. After all, what better way to become close to his wife once more than to devour her very spirit?
He gazed down at her now and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “I swore vengeance against man. And I had it,” he said, his voice cracking beneath the weight of untold emotion.
She waited several moments, saying nothing. Then she raised her left hand and gently cupped the side of his face. He closed his eyes. Only for a second.
“You’ve lived an immortality of hatred, Cruor. It has turned you as cold as the ice on which we stand. You don’t see that you have become the soldier in this field,” she paused, glancing at the frost-hewn plane around them, “and humanity, the mage.”
He gazed down at her, eyes desperate, lips quivering, and for once did not have an answer.
Raven pulled away from him and placed her hand to her flat stomach.
He looked from her face to her hand, and his entire body stilled.
She closed her eyes and concentrated. She knew in her heart that she had the power she needed to perform this one final piece of magic. It was a nearly impossible task and would have failed for anyone else. But she was Raven Winter Grey, daughter of Lord Malphas, and the Chosen Soul. Drake’s blood flowed strong through her veins, reinforcing her confidence. All doubt fell away, as useless as fear, as she turned her thoughts inward, searching within herself.
She saw the long hall then, a corridor with a thousand multi-colored doors. Each one opened as she moved by, and a being appeared. She passed them without pause, their ethereal shapes acknowledging her and then moving aside. A man named Herald. A little girl named Rhianna. An old woman named Bella. A chipmunk, a middle-aged farmer, an old man, a shark, a little boy, a pink pig, a dapple gray mare…
At the end of the hall lay the last door. It was white, in contrast to the others. The knob shone polished gold. She turned the handle, and the door swung open.
The spirit that greeted her was tiny and perfect. She embraced its warmth, held it to her breast, and rocked it gently in her folded arms as she had never had the chance to do in life.
And then Raven opened her eyes. The white landscape replaced the corridor in her soul. But she’d brought the spirit with her. She held out her hands, cupped together, as if they held something in them.
Cruor gazed down at her as light began to form in her outstretched palms. He watched the light grow and take form, amassing into a small glowing shape that he recognized instantly.
Emotion choked him and he took a step back.
The light pulsed once and faded, leaving a bundled newborn infant in its wake. Raven held the babe gently. The infant peered up at her through large blue-black eyes, his tiny fingers grasping clumsily at the air as he issued forth indistinct gurgling sounds.
Cruor shook his head and stilled.
Raven slowly moved toward him, and this time he did not retreat. “Take him,” she said. She raised her arms and held the babe out to the man who had once, long ago, been her husband.
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Yes you can,” she told him, her voice gentle but firm. She moved closer and raised the infant directly in front of him. “Take him, Cruor. I’ll not give you my soul. Not now, not ever,” she continued, her tone still gentle. “But this soul was never born, was never mine. It merely rested inside of me. This soul, I will give you Cruor, because it was already in part yours.”
She smiled as he at last slowly raised his arms. As if the action was as alien to him as breathing water, he took the babe, his hold somewhat unsteady, and peered down at him.
“And it is the one soul you have truly wanted all along.”
She stepped back from him then and watched as he gazed down at the child in his arms. The baby cooed, and Cruor’s brow furrowed. His eyes turned glassy. He exhaled, and his breath shook with powerful sentiment.
She waited several minutes more, allowing him this time with the child he had never had, with the soul that was meant to be shared with him so long ago.
When it was at last time, Raven waved her hand in the air. Their surroundings shimmered, changed, melted, and reformed. They were again in the clearing, in the forest, spells exploding around them, time once more returning to what it was.
They stood a mere foot apart and Cruor gazed down at her, his empty arms at his sides. “I’m sorry,” he told her softly.
Raven nodded. “I know.” She said nothing else. No further words were necessary.
He did not even blink when she plunged the Corrigan Dagger, hilt-deep, into his abdomen. He made no move to stop her.
Cruor looked down at her several moments more and then tore his gaze away to look at the hilt protruding from his stomach. He closed his eyes and fell to his knees.
The fighting stopped. Spells died down and quieted. As everyone watched, Cruor’s head dropped, and the ground began to rumble beneath their feet. Above them, the clouds started to gather and then to spin. The wind picked up, the leaves on the trees quaked.
Raven looked from Cruor to her brother, currently Haledon’s avatar, who stood watching several yards away. Loki nodded at her slowly, his bright yellow eyes flashing, his body radiating sunlight that illuminated the clearing even as the clouds blocked all light from the sky above.
Loki came forward, calmly stepping over a fissure in the ground as it opened up beneath him and emitted a jet of steam. Another crevice opened up a few yards away, and Astriel and Drake exchanged uncertain glances. But even as several more gaps and cracks forged their way across the leaf-strewn ground, each man held his position.
Haledon’s avatar strode to Cruor’s form and peered down at him. He raised one hand, palm down, over the Death Mage’s bent head.
“Absolvo Solutum.”
His booming voice resounded over the building fury around them. Lightning split the sky and the wind began to roar. Cruor’s form started to glow. A strange kind of mist rose from his stilled body. As they watched, the mist ascended and swirled, caught up in the curl of the maelstrom. Before their eyes, it took shape.
Many shapes.
Small shapes, large shapes, nasty, twisted shapes, and serene beautiful shapes. The forms spun and swirled, caught up in their individual courses. Each either spun up and away into the darkness above them, or was sucked into the ground, between the cracks and crevices that had formed there.
Raven watched in silence as the souls Cruor had stolen were finally released. A few, she knew Haledon would see restored. They belonged to bodies that were not yet meant to die. Those few, such as Summer’s missing brother, would suddenly return with no recollection of where they’d gone or what had happened.
Their families would rejoice, regardless of the loss of time and remembrance.
The rest were sent where they’d been meant to go. Raven knew her father would be receiving a fresh influx of souls to inhabit his icy realm. As would several other of Abaddonian’s Dark Lords.
She lifted her head and watched as one precious, shimmering soul after another rose into the tempest and disappeared and she wondered where the others went. Would they join the gods? Where did Haledon reside?
She glanced down at her brother then as he freed the last of Cruor’s stolen spirits, and then stepped back.
Cruor raised his head slowly, and the storm quieted.
The wind died down, the lightning ceased, and the earth closed up. The clouds parted, thinning away. Nothing rumbled and nothing shook.
Raven gazed at the man in black who knelt at the center of the clearing. He lived yet only because of her gift to him. One soul still resided within his body.
His eyes found hers and held her gaze. A lifetime passed between them in the space of his single, final heartbeat. And then his head dropped a final time and his body began to turn to dust. Before their eyes, his form dissipated at a rapid rate, crumbling to a fine gray ash. When the last of the ash had been lifted on a gentle breeze and taken away, a tiny light remained.
The light sat, pulsing in the spot where Cruor once knelt. It remained for several seconds, small and perfect and precious. Then it rose, as had the other souls before it, and was lifted into a now clear night sky where it disappeared amongst the stars.
The Chosen Soul – Epilogue
Raven gazed up into the blackness of the night sky and watched the spirit of her unborn child vanish into the heavens. She closed her eyes then, and let him go.
When she lowered her head and peered about the clearing, it was to find that the elven prince was watching her closely. As was Drake. Her brother stood at the clearing’s center, his head bowed, his body no longer glowing like the sun. She moved toward him, and he turned to face her.
He was crying.
She paused a few feet away. He smiled at her, dropped the axe that remained in his right hand, and rushed forward. She met him half way; they caught each other in a strong embrace. Neither needed to speak. They were twins. They understood.
As they embraced, a second strange breeze picked up within the darkened clearing. Raven and Loki parted and turned around. Several yards away, the air was separating. It spun, thickened and visible, a grayish foggy mass that roiled and divided as if a hole were being torn in the fabric of space.
Loki instantly dove for his axes. Raven backed up, alarmed. She looked to Drake and Astriel. But Astriel was no longer watching her, and he wasn’t watching the strange vortex either. His eyes were on Drake. Likewise, Drake’s molten silver eyes were on the growing portal, and his expression was grim.
Across the clearing from the bounty hunter, the ork looked on, his face a mask of troubled emotions. He stood over the bodies of the fallen blue robes, their lives now forgotten, his attention riveted on his black-garbed friend.
Raven ignored Loki’s attempt to pull her back when she started toward Drake. She pulled out of her brother’s grasp and took several steps in his direction. As if he sensed her approach, Drake turned away from the spinning hole and faced her. Their gazes locked over the body-strewn battlefield.
She still carried his blood in her veins. She could feel him there, inside of her, filling her with an undeniable heat. His eyes flashed like liquid lightning; he held her gaze a moment more and then slowly turned away from her to face the portal. As he did, Raven heard his words in her head. I’ve no time to explain, he told her. Forgive me.
By now, the yawning gash in space had spread several meters high and several feet wide. Beyond the opening in the air, Raven could make out a grayness like a fog, roiling and cloying, a dense thicket of mist that appeared impenetrable.
Drake peered into that grayness for what seemed a short eternity. And then he moved to stand before it.
“Drake!” Raven called out before she could stop herself.
The bounty hunter turned one last time, pinning her with his mercury gaze. For the second time that night, a lifetime passed between herself and a man she barely knew, but who somehow knew her soul.
And then he stepped through the portal.
“No!” she screamed, rushing forward.
Before she could reach the rapidly diminishing gate, the elven prince had her in his arms, holding her at a safe distance from the closing hole. They watched as it sealed at last, the wind in the clearing dying down once more.
Raven stood utterly still in Astriel’s arms, an odd numbness spreading through her body. After all that had transpired that night, she simply could not comprehend what she had just seen. She couldn’t make sense of it. “Where did he go?” she asked, her voice sounding distant even to her own ears.
“To the Witherlands,” the prince told her.
“Why?”
There was a brief pause before he replied, “A promise.”
Raven swallowed hard. She had a million questions; what were the Witherlands? Why had he left her? What was this promise? But she was standing in a field of bodies. Cruor had just been destroyed. Her brother had become Haledon’s champion, and then his avatar. Prince Astriel had come to her aid. Not much in the world made sense just then. She closed her eyes and the prince slowly released her.
“Why did you send him after me?” she found herself asking as she slowly came around to face the elf prince.
Astriel watched her in silence for a long while. When he finally answered, his tone was profoundly intimate. “I wanted you with me. Safe.”
“You knew,” she said, “about Cruor and about my soul.”
“Yes.”
Why would you want to protect me? she wondered, not understanding. It made no sense to her.
Astriel shook his head. “I can do nothing but protect you. You’ve enchanted me from the start.”
Raven stared up at the prince, feeling dwarfed by his invincible stature. She didn’t retreat; she was no longer the retreating type. But she didn’t attack, either.
“I care for you Raven,” he said as he lifted his hand to cup her face.
His touch was warm and quite unexpectedly comforting. She closed her eyes, her head spinning, her heart aching. She felt utterly torn in that moment. Her heart felt as gaping and open as the portal Drake had stepped through. She had just destroyed the Death Mage, and yet she was consumed by fear. She was afraid for so many things just then – for herself, for her parents, and for the dark prince bounty hunter who had so inexplicably claimed her heart.
The only thing she was not afraid of in that moment was the one thing she should have perhaps feared most, and that was the elf prince himself.
“Come with me to Eidolon and let me protect you,” Astriel told her. “You have no reason to fear anything any longer, Raven. I will see to the safety of those you love. I give you my word.” She felt his promise pour over her, surround her, and knew that it was laced with powerful magic.
Days ago, in another world and another time, she would have fought that magic. She would have fought the prince with everything she possessed. But here and now, at the end of the revelations that had unfurled before her and around her, she simply couldn’t bring herself to fight any more.
There were the remnants of ancient power running through her blood. It was Drake’s magic, Tanith’s dark heritage, a birthright that had saved her life. But heartache was forcing what little remained of it to fade.
Raven didn’t trust Astriel; not by any means. But he had come to her aid against Cruor. And she knew in her heart that what he at least promised was true. Despite everything, he did possess the power to protect her. He could protect her family.
She had no idea what to do next, no idea where Drake had gone, and almost no sense of what was real and what wasn’t. She needed time to heal, to rest, and to figure things out.
If she went with Astriel, he would give her that time.
She could always fight him later. Or die trying.
With one last glance at the space where Drake’s portal had existed moments before, Raven closed her eyes and let the elf prince’s magic take over. She nodded.
It was all Astriel needed.
The End.