Reaper's Bane

The Weight We Carry

Static energy rushes over my skin, setting all the hair on my body on end. The intoxicating thrum of magick washes over me, yanking at the hunger that sits heavy in my chest. My hand raises to fist against my sternum, instinctively trying to shove the hunger back into its cage. The barrier over the dais swells, expanding out and shoving the crowd further back towards the walls, and with it the hunger to consume grows.
Moving on pure instinct, desperate to quell the pain ravaging my insides, I step forward towards the expanding barrier. The pit inside me is achingly empty and all but snarling at me that I need to feed it before it decides to feed upon me.
Before it decides that its entirely worth biting the hand that feeds it for just one taste of the magick being dangled in front of it.
I try to stall my feet, but I haven't allowed myself blood in days and my mental defenses are exhausted, all but nonexistent to the monster that lives inside me, nothing to it now that it's found prey. I try to reason with it, making promises of indulgence once we leave the tower, but it's heard all my empty promises before. We both know I'll only let it have what's necessary to survive, and it refuses to be fooled again. I didn't anticipate the level of power the ceremony is putting off, a grave miscalculation on my part. The power surge from the earlier incantation destabilized me enough that I had allowed it to slip in under my defenses.
And now it was going to get us killed.
My body's stilted movements bring me another step closer to the barrier. I'm fighting with all I am, grasping desperately for control. The barrier is close enough to touch now and the hunger increases at its nearness until it feels like that's all I am, just a feral being with no thought except stopping this pain from tearing me apart.
The monster has decided it's eating regardless of what the consequences will be. A determination that is far outweighing the strength I'm left with after all my recent activities.
Another step won. Or is it lost; I can't remember what I'm fighting for exactly.
A rough screech echoes through my head and I flinch back as though I can escape it. Warm liquid starts running down my face and suddenly I'm touching my bloody nose with hands I don't remember moving.
"Come now Dierdre," it hums inside my head. "You know you want to fill the void. You don't want to have to live with this pain forever, do you? We could feel so good, be so very strong if you would let us have just a sip," It coos in a cajoling tone.
Part of me knows it's just a siren song, empty promises of being rid of the hunger inside me when we both know there is no end to that pain. The void will never fill, and it is always waiting to consume more.
More of me, of the world, of the people I'm supposed to be protecting.
That it's able to speak at all says we're on the brink of catastrophe, it's slipped further under my defenses than I realized. It hasn't spoken for decades, not since I figured out how to lock it away. Not since I figured out the delicate balance of starving it to the brink of exhaustion, balancing the razor edge of keeping it fed enough to not act out of desperation.
Another jerk of my body and I find myself on the other side of the barrier. I collapse to the floor, the magick fizzing over my skin enough of a distraction that my monster releases its iron grip over my body. I can feel it sipping greedily from the power being funneled into the barrier and a groan pushes past my lips at the pure relief that comes with feeding the void.
It's enjoying its meal, and shamefully, so am I.
This is the first true meal that my void has had since I first managed to subdue it decades ago and it will drain every drop of magick in the barrier if I don't stop it.
While it's distracted, gorging itself on the immense power that the royals have funneled into the barrier, I begin working to ensure I can maintain control of my body when it inevitably gets pissed at me. I need to be able to get back to the other side before anyone realizes what's happened, at this point I've been on the wrong side of the barrier for less than a minute and if I can pull this off maybe I can get out of here unscathed. If I'm lucky, and I'm usually not, they won't have any detection spells in place, under the, conceited, belief that no one could slip through a barrier powered by all four of the royal families.
I can only pray to the Gods that the barrier will hold long enough for me to make my escape. And after all they've put me through, they owe me this one.
With practiced ease I shut everything out and delve into the recesses of my mind, heading for the dark corner where the cage is supposed to reside. It's been all but dismantled, the structure caving in on itself. A physical manifestation of the damage the void managed to do to my mental defenses.
This wasn't a spur of the moment escape; it's been planning this for a while. I've obviously been too careless with my defenses, leading to yet another thing to add to my growing list of lessons to learn from. With a sigh I begin the arduous process of reconstructing the cage, making sure to reinforce it along the way to prevent this from happening again anytime soon. Once it's up to my standards I focus on the parasitic presence in my mind.
Slowly, I reel it in letting the feeding frenzy keep it distracted enough to not notice its return to the cage. Once I have it situated, the door still open to not alert it to my scheme, I check to make sure I haven't missed any parts of the monster.
Confident that I have it all back where it belongs, I slam the door shut. The monster goes feral slamming into the sides of the cage growling promises of death and retribution. Every desperate attempt to get out a strike against my defenses, but I nearly drained myself dry creating them and they aren't going anywhere. The attempts only get more frenzied, but I ignore the tantrum knowing full well that it needs me, if I go this thing goes with me, to whatever hell I'm bound for.
Returning to the land of the living I sigh with relief to still see the barrier flickering around me. Pulling myself up from my prone position on the ground I move to step through the barrier. But just before I make my final step to safety, I catch sight of the vortex of power being funneled into the heirs. Purple, silver, green, and orange swirl through the air mixing and splitting apart in a mesmerizing dance. I can almost imagine the pale blue of my line's magick swirling there with them like it's supposed to be. Would it be overpowered by the rich colors of the other lines, or would it be able to stand on its own amidst the swirling mass?
I'm caught in my musing when I realize something about the display is different from just how it looked only a minute prior. I have just a split second of realization, of pure terror, and then that power turn the full brunt of its attention towards me.
One second, I'm staring down ancient magic and the next I'm on my back, a primal scream ripping from my throat. My back bows into an unnatural arch and tears stream down my face to mix with the rivulets of blood leftover from my nose. I've never experienced being ripped apart piece by piece but if I had to guess what that would feel like, I would say it's pretty close to how I feel right now.
As the pain only continues to worsen, I have the stark realization I'm going to die here. I'll have achieved no vengeance for my parents or myself and will have met out none of my wrath on the families whose magic is currently eating away at my body. I survived the massacre of my people just to let them finish the job they started in the end. It's a sobering thought, or it would be if there was room for anything but pain within me.
But then the agony eases, just enough to convince me it's not a figment of a dying mind. I feel buoyed up in the raging storm of power, no longer drowning but still left gasping for air. The magic feels less violent, less likely to rend me limb from limb. Now, it's burrowing into me like maggots. Devouring me slowly as it makes its way beneath my skin.
The deeper it sinks under my skin the closer it comes to the gaping chasm that sits in my chest. And amidst the pain, inspiration sparks. I can consume the magick, leaving the royal families devoid of their generational power. I don't have time to come up with any sort of plan, so I do the only thing I can: I open up to the magick, welcome it inside, and coax it closer to the hole in my chest that is ever so eager to consume it whole. With the floodgates open more magick than I've ever experienced rushes into my body.
For just a moment I'm no longer a person at all, my body and soul more magick than mortal as I'm forced to accept everything that's being forced onto me.
A vicious smile spreads across my face even as my pain filled grunts fill the air. The magick reaches the void and I can feel it begin to grasp onto it. I won't be around long enough to gloat, but damn does it feel good to know I'll get some revenge from beyond the grave. It's not as good as their deaths but at least this way they'll be wishing they were dead.
I'm all prepared to bask in my success until my last moments but then I feel the magick surround the void starts behaving oddly. I don't think I'm even breathing, with the level of shock I've been thrown into, as the magick begins binding the void tightly within me, folding it in on itself until it's a neat little box in my chest. A presence that had previously felt large enough to fill my chest cavity was now reduced to the size of a heart. The hunger was still ever present, but it was drastically reduced.
The Gods cannot be this fucking cruel and my luck absolutely cannot be this terrible.
Turning my attention to the presence in my head I start screaming at where it sits within its open cage, "You Gods damned thing, 5 minutes ago you were begging me to let you eat and now when you have a veritable feast given to you, you do nothing!" It doesn't respond but for the self-satisfied and aggravatingly smug feeling it shoves at me.
I curse the Gods and the fickle thing they placed in my head. It's been a thorn in my side since our acquaintance decades ago, constantly pushing against me determined to consume every trace of magick in sight, and now it chooses to be all subservient and obedient for strangers.
And then, without warning, the pain is gone. Leaving me panting and sweaty on the floor right inside the barrier. The first thing I notice when my mind escapes the echoes of agony, is that I feel changed. It's a feeling I've experienced too many times in my short life and I'm growing sick of it.
There've been more than enough outside forces changing the structure of my being for a lifetime. An ache settles deep in my bones and my throat is sore from the screaming I'm sure I was doing. But there's still considerably less pain than I had anticipated considering I thought I would be dead by now.
My ears are ringing as I push my sore body into a sitting position, having to brace my hands behind me to avoid toppling back to the floor. Forcing my blurry eyes onto the crowd opposite the barrier I'm confronted with looks of horror. As my vision clears further, I can see the rapid way their eyes flick between me and whoever I can sense approaching from behind me.
Groaning I reach into one of the concealed pockets of my dress, grasping for the hilt of my dagger. I feel as though I've been chewed up and spit back out, but I shove the pain to the back of my mind and let my survival instincts take over. No matter how I feel I need to be prepared to defend myself against the threat I feel approaching. My every nerve ending is screaming at me that a predator is coming and as I sit, vulnerable and wounded, on the ground I can't help feeling like easy prey.
The good-for-nothing Gods at least answered my plea for the barrier to stand against my earlier assault, so I don't anticipate Wardens at my back just yet. Pushing through the sharp ache that lances through my limbs, I shove myself into a standing position. The way my body trembles as it supports my weight is portraying a weakness I can't afford, and I work to dispel it. But try as I might I still find myself listing to the side and my legs feel like sprite jelly under my weight. It's still better than being prone on the floor but I have to be honest with myself in that the state I'm in makes being upright only slightly more defensible than being laid out on the floor. I spin to put the dais in front of me and regret it immediately as the quick movement almost ends with me flat on my face. Not exactly the best look for someone trying very hard not to come off as easy prey but not much I can do about it now.
Finally able to see who was approaching me I take in the eight furious men stalking towards me, they look rather upset about the turn of events and my, unfortunate, part in them. Giving my head a little shake to clear the blurriness from my vision I'm surprised when the eight men are suddenly only four.
Gods, my head is fucking pounding.
I have to fight back a self-deprecating sigh when I realize it isn't random guards approaching but the Kings, their own guards hanging back closer to the dais as they watch on curiously.
With every new turn of events, I'm growing more and more certain that I am truly cursed by the Gods.
Once they're within range they move in sync to form a half circle around me, careful to keep the barrier at my back. That strategy is all it takes to relax my tightly clenched muscles, the fact that they believe the barrier will prevent me from escaping means that they don't know what just transpired. My most valuable secret is still hidden which means I can find a way out of this situation if I'm careful. Vicious expressions greet me as I look up to meet their eyes, even the typically jovial expression that resides on Altair's face is replaced with cold, calculating anger. Met with that sight, I have the sudden urge to throw my hands up and scream at them that I don't even want the magick currently swirling around in my chest. That it had decided all on its own that it wanted to join the little party I have going on inside my body. A party that was getting really damn crowded if you ask me. But somehow, I didn't think they would believe me or, quite frankly, care what I had to say to begin with.
Plus, I'm kind of banking on them not knowing I stole the magick to begin with.
"Girl" an oily voice says, dripping with disdain. I look towards the source of the voice and find myself looking at the Veilwood king, Vox. "Explain yourself." He's practically dripping venom as he spits the words at me, like he can't believe he's being forced to deal with someone so beneath him. I coach my expression into one of confusion and move my body into a more stable position that is less outwardly aggressive.
Softening my voice, I let vulnerability seep into my tone as I prepare to give the performance of a lifetime, "I'm sorry your highness, I'm not sure what happened." Forcing my eyes to fill with tears I throw a mournful look their way. "One second I was amidst the crowd and the next I was on the other side of the barrier."
Even knowing I shouldn't be able to lie they didn't look the slightest bit swayed by my story.
Time to up the ante a little bit, Dierdre.
"Please, your majesties I never meant to interrupt the ceremony. I swear it," I dart my eyes between them as I all but beg for their forgiveness, letting my body collapse in on itself as though the weight of disappointing them was manifesting physically on my body. Begging anyone for anything left a bad taste in my mouth, but being reduced to begging the men who murdered my parents made me physically ill. But the game I'm playing is a dangerous one and every second they spend not believing my story is a second, I'm closer to death.
I was kind of banking on them believing me at least somewhat, considering that theoretically the Fae can't lie. Instead, with every word out of my mouth they seem to be growing more and more suspicious. As they know, there are ways to get around the whole 'can't lie' part of our nature but I look like a commoner. Nothing about the way I appear suggests that I have access to the kind of money that is required for an enchantment that rare.
I mean, do I have access to such a rare and valuable enchantment, of course I do. I might look like a commoner but I'm still a royal under it all. But they don't need to know that I can and will be lying to them. It's not as though I could actually afford to purchase an enchantment that expensive with my current finances, but I have a family heirloom to thank for my ability to deceive.
An heirloom that is sitting safely on my left hand, carefully concealed with the strongest glamour I've ever created. Absentmindedly my thumb moves to run over the ring, a bad habit I've developed whenever I'm spinning a lie. I don't get to look at it very often, but I know it's a gorgeous piece of jewelry, one that is highly valuable even without the enchantment attached to it. The gold band spirals around my middle finger, crafted to look like a small leafy vine. Tiny diamonds are interspersed across it, like an early morning dew, but the real focal point is the large oval emerald that sits cradled in the center of the ring. The gem was hand carved to emboss a crescent moon onto its face.
It was my mother's wedding ring, a ring my father made by hand in the hope of earning his mate's love. It represents the family she was leaving behind, the crescent moon her own house's symbol, and the lush, ancient forests that they would preside over together. He had even crafted the powerful enchantment that currently occupies it, the version of the story they always told me was that he wanted to reassure my mother that she would always have freedom if she wished for it. That by giving her this ring my father was granting her the greatest freedom of all, the freedom to lie to him.
But now, I needed to use it to maintain my own freedom. I bite the inside of my cheek, hard enough to draw blood, and let the pain rush through me. It causes the tears gathered in my eyes to spill over in hot rivulets that drip from my quivering chin. Sniffling, I try to look as pathetic as possible before looking up at the Kings with my best puppy-dog eyes. I really put the pressure on Altair and Creed since they're the only ones that might have even a shred of empathy in their bodies.
An effort that proves to be useless as Bael Starweaver steps forward to roughly grab me by the arm. He yanks me towards the dais and as I trip on my own feet trying to keep up with the movement, I can't help but notice that he has carefully maneuvered his hand to prevent our skin from touching.
"Enough fucking around. This bitch has our magick in her and I'm going to make her give it back" He's snarling, spitting with rage as he drags me along.
Well shit, there goes the theory that they didn't know about me taking their magick.
I'm stuck falling over my own feet trying to keep up with his much longer strides, my legs are still trembling beneath me and I'm far from recovered from whatever weird shit happened with the magic but I'm certain that if I fall, he'll just keep dragging me behind him. As he drags me further from any semblance of an escape route my eyes dart around desperately, trying to figure a way out of this giant steaming pile of shit my monster has landed us in. The other Kings have fanned out around us, close enough to keep me in line, but far enough that I wouldn't be able to incapacitate all of them before someone landed a killing blow. Not to mention, I would have their guards on me in seconds should I try anything.
By the time we've reached the stairs that lead up to the dais all I've achieved is worsening my headache and I still haven't come up with a plan that doesn't end in my death. The only semi-viable plan I have is to act complacent until they have me close enough to the heirs that I can take one or two of them out before I'm put down. And even that is so far fetched it's laughable, I might be a skilled assassin, but no one is good enough to go against the entirety of the royal clan at one time.
My eyes well with real tears this time only they're fueled by anger rather than sorrow. I'm not scared to meet my end, every day I've been afforded since the attack on my people is one I shouldn't have been given, but it's still a hard pill to swallow. I'm devastated that I wasn't able to properly avenge my parents, or our people, before my time ran out. I don't even have the comfort of knowing that I'll be able to beg for their forgiveness in the afterlife.
To become the creature that I am meant giving up my soul and therefore my chance at reaching Tir Na Nog. No, when I die, I'm headed straight to the Abyss, to be tormented for all eternity.
Good times ahead, Deirdre. Good times.
The thought of how my cursed existence is going to end brings a laugh bubbling at my lips. I clamp down the insane urge to fall into delirious laughter at this turn of events. I really doubt that my current company would find the same humor in our situation. In fact, they'd probably be highly offended at their captive laughing in their faces and turn it into an excuse to slit my throat.
As we get closer to the top of the stairs, I force my brain into a state of calm detachment and let my tense muscles loosen. This is one of those times where I have to be fully prepared, if I make a mistake here, I won't be alive to add to my list of learning experiences; I'm only going to get one shot at taking down the heirs before they separate my head from my body.
My hands clench and unclench at my sides, and I thank the Gods for small blessings, the Starweaver has chosen to hold me on the side that doesn't contain my dagger. We've had to go single file up the narrow stairwell which gives me just enough cover to slide my free hand into the folds of my skirt. I don't take the dagger out just yet, simply ensure the hilt is in my hand and at the ready.
With every harsh footstep the sound of our progress echoes through the Obsidian Tower. At this point I don't think anyone is even daring to breath lest they draw the wrath of their kings. All except for me, because let's be honest, I've already drawn their wrath. And what's a little hard breathing going to do for their anger that my void didn't already.
I'm panting as hard as I can without it being over the top, trying to keep up the ruse of being a lowly commoner who certainly can't keep up with the pace of our mighty rulers. It's part of the long game of a very short plan but to be fair to myself, I didn't have a whole lot of time to come up with a better one. I mean, the long and short of the plan is to make them underestimate me and then drive a blade through as many of their throats as possible.
So really the plan is just kill them before they kill me.
Simple.
The-killing more than one of them-part of the plan relies on them completely underestimating me, they need to be complacent, absolutely sure the woman stumbling along beside them can't do any more damage than a troublesome pixie.
And then, I'll kill them.
My time is going to be limited so as much as I would like to strike down the Kings, logically I know that my target has to be the men who just took control of the magic. Just four strokes of my blade could render these families vulnerable and perhaps that will be enough for the rebels to finish the job.
Regardless, the time for putting together a plan is over.
My foot finally graces the uppermost platform of the dais and I make a concentrated effort to loosen the tight grip I've adopted around the handle of my blade. I have to be patient now; I've waited this long what's a few more minutes.
A quick glance shows that I've become the center of attention. Choosing to adopt more submissive body language, I curl my body inward and direct my gaze toward the ground. Keeping my head down, I focus on the feet around me to keep track of where the biggest threats are. I'm shoved forcefully towards the center of the dais and as I steady myself on weak legs the royals begin crowding closer.
The Kings are still behind me, blocking off the stairwell as though they think I'll bolt, but their families have grown bold enough to come within touching distance. The numerous faelings appear more curious than hostile, but mob mentality could change that in an instant.
The voices of the royals raise to a fevered pitch as they start arguing back and forth, their voices rising in an effort to be heard over one another, as they debate what to do with me and my interference. They don't want to be seen as weak in front of their people and letting me go unpunished could set the wrong kind of precedent.
Before a decision is made, I see Niria Starweaver storm towards me, her frayed patience finally snapping. The moment her left-hand curls into a fist, I know what to expect-her shoulders are stiff with tension, her weight shifting onto her right leg in preparation to strike. I track every movement, anticipating the blow, and I let her land the blow. I fall to my knees, gasping for air, as I pretend that she's caused damage.
The blow itself was far from lethal, but she had gotten lucky, struck directly on the patch of abraded skin on my stomach. I've had much worse, but it still smarts. I curl forward, my forehead brushing against the smooth ground, and then, I go to war with every instinct screaming for retribution.
You're just a poor peasant girl in an unfortunate situation, not a trained killer-not right now. You can't afford to be reckless and lash out. Right now, you have to be weak, complacent.
A heavy hand closes around the back of my neck, snapping me out of my internal struggle. The stench of sour mead and stale tobacco assaults my nose, making my stomach revolt. Bael's pale hair brushes my cheek as he leans in, his lips pressing against my ear. A shudder of revulsion darts down my spine at the intimate, unwanted contact.
The primal part of my mind screams that I'm in the presence of a predator-and he's playing with his food. I trained the fear response out of my body long ago, but now, I lean into it the feeling.
I recoil from Bael's hold, my breathing coming in ragged, shallow gasps. My hands tremble where they clutch my abused stomach. A cold sweat breaks out across my skin as adrenaline surges through my veins. In a desperate attempt, I try to scramble away, my legs trembling as I claw at the dais, but Bael's grip tightens around my neck, trying to force submission from my body. The pressure on my throat constricts, each breath more of a struggle, until I'm not sure if I'll be able to take another.
"If I have to flay you open to release my magic, I will-and I'll take enormous pleasure in hearing your screams." His breath, hot and rancid, burns against my ear with every poisonous word. A tight knot of panic rises in my throat as a memory-one I thought I had buried-tries to claw itself from the grave at the familiar, unwanted sensation.
I'm safe. I'm in control. I'm not defenseless anymore. I can protect myself.
The words echo in my mind, a mantra I repeat desperately, trying to drown out the rising tide of panic. But Bael's threats- no, his promises-continue to ripple through the air, too close, too intimate. His breath feels like its branding me with every exhale, each inhale stealing a part of me I can't afford to lose.
Just as I feel myself slipping into the dark abyss of panic, Altair's massive form crashes between us, pulling Bael away with brutal force.
"Now is not the time for your antics, Bael."
The exasperation in Altair's voice makes it clear how often he has to reign the other King in. Then, with surprising sharpness, given he just stepped in on my behalf, he orders me into the center of the moon seal where the heirs had stood for the ceremony.
I'm far too shaky to risk standing, the adrenaline still pumping through me, and I need to avoid any movement that could come off as aggressive. I can't risk provoking another attack, it's already going to be hard enough to get their guard down after that display. Swallowing my pride, I slowly crawl across the dais, my right hand pressed against, feigning protection of my injury. In reality, I'm keeping my fingers in constant contact with my blade-Niria's attack has given me the perfect excuse for the movement.
I'm ordered to lie on my back in the blank space between the moon etchings. As I settle into position, adjusting my dress to ensure the hidden pocket is within easy reach, the royals return to their original positions for the ceremony. The heirs take their places mere inches from my prone form, and I feel utterly exposed.
With their attention momentarily off of me, I crane my neck to get a better look at them, but instead I meet the one pair of eyes I hoped wouldn't fall on me.
Seraphina Emberfall.
I see the moment recognition hits her. Her eyebrows shoot up, and her eyes widen in disbelief. Despite all my efforts to avoid her notice, she's recognized me from the fighting ring.
She stares, her head tilting ever so slightly, like an oversized cat, scrutinizing me with that unnerving, curious gaze. It drags down my form, and I stiffen at the way her eyes linger on the spot I've hidden my blade. Her lips twitch, a ghost of a smile forming as our eyes meet again.
Desperation and real fear flood through me. I silently beg, shooting her a pleading look as I mouth the words, Please don't say anything.
But before I can tell if she's about to expose me-revealing me as something far more dangerous than a frightened peasant girl -the chanting begins.
And so, too, does the pain.