Chapter Nine
Garret headed out as silently as he’d arrived. Stephano dismounted and tied his horse loosely enough that if he didn’t return the beast could break free. Listening for any sounds of the slavers, he loosened the cinch a few notches to the horse’s heavy sigh and patted the gelding. He’d earned his weight in gold this trip. Now to ensure the beast didn’t become a casualty.
Ten minutes later, he was on his stomach, overlooking a ridge six feet above the slaver’s heads. They were amateurs. Only one was worth the trouble. The rest were lazy, fat, and even the thought of them breathing near Maeve’s sweet perfection had his rage boiling.
They had a cage of heavy iron, set on two wooden wheels and pulled by a set of nags. It was empty, but the remnants of old blankets and broken pottery made it clear it wasn’t always that way.
He hated them on sight. Such scum didn’t deserve to draw breath. The trees across from him rustled, and he spotted Garret only because the man wanted him to. He was crouched, half-concealed behind an ancient oak.
Stephano’s excitement was almost embarrassing. He loved a fight, the more the merrier. He shoved to his feet and launched off the ridge, killing one man by decapitating him before his companions had fully understood there were arrows pinned to their chests.
Impressed with Garret’s skill, he took another man out, while another received his boot in the face followed by his sword through his gut.
Two men next to him went down with loud thuds. He swung around, catching the man behind him with a fast, low stroke that took out his legs, then rammed his sword through his heart. One man stood stupidly staring at him, egg on his face from where he’d shoved it into his mouth. Stephano cut him down because the world would be a better place without such ugliness in it. The chain of teeth on the man’s neck scattered around his head as he hit the ground.
It was over before he’d even worked up a sweat. Garret dropped down again, and began to retrieve his arrows.
“Not bad. I liked the kick, a bit overdone with the sword up his ribcage, but it worked.”
Stephano snorted. His technique had gotten the job done. None of the slavers were standing, but one was gasping for breath. He had an arrow in the shoulder right in the crook of his neck. It made blood bubbles form at his lips when he breathed. Copious amounts of blood soaked his shirt. The wound would end him soon enough, but he struggled to accept that fact. They all did.
Stephano crouched next to him. The man’s shaved head was at odds with his bushy black beard and thick moustache. Barrel-chested and smelling of pickles, he was revolting. There was more dirt in his hair than on his clothes. His face was relatively clean, all except where blood darkened his black beard, dripping from it like he’d snacked on a blood sandwich.
The other men were as rough-looking. And smelling.
Stephano would have pegged them for scavengers, highway men or robbers, but slavers? He couldn’t imagine them being smart enough to remember to feed the poor souls they managed to capture.
“More will come,” the slaver whispered.
That got his attention. Garret came over, crouched by the body, and wiped an arrow on the front of the man’s filthy shirt. “Is that right? Why’s that?”
“Weight…weight…in gold,” he gasped wetly. Blood gurgled up on his lips, bright red with the last of his life.
“The girl with us?” Garret asked. “She’s worth her weight in gold?”
The man’s eyes glowed feral, almost with something like lust. “More…will come.”
Garret gave a disgusted snort when the man spluttered his last.
The silence after the rattled sound of their breathing was always the eeriest. Stephano rubbed his chest, recalling for the first time in ages, his last gasp. It had been difficult, but he’d died with more dignity. Afterward, he’d felt relief as if all the cares of the world had slipped away as easily as his body. All his struggles had vanished. Until he’d woken, once again in his own body.
“We should head back.” Garret stood. “Leave them here?”
“I’m sure the hell not burying them.” Stephano studied the bodies. He still felt the chill of unease. Instead of dropping, it had intensified. “This wasn’t our real worry. There’s more out there.”
“The hunter ran off.”
“He’s not our concern. He was on a chain, eh?”
Garret pulled another arrow free, then faced him, his expression grim as he scented the air. His eyes glowed amber, reminding Stephano of the one person in this world he didn’t want to see gasping for her last breath.
“Yes. You’re right. He isn’t our problem. There, to the south.” Garret snarled a curse and ripped another arrow free, cleaning it quickly before he shoved it in his quiver. “That’s our problem. I can feel it.”
“Dark Faye?”
“I should have known these men were no threat!” He kicked the nearest body.
Stephano studied the dead men. They were amateurs, clearly unable to cause anyone harm, unless some poor soul was passed out drunk. Anyone would smell them long before they got close enough to do any damage.
“Hold on.” Stephano grabbed Garret’s arm to hold him in place. “Where do you sense them?”
“Back the way we came. They circled around. Probably down the ravine waiting for them.”
Stephano cursed. “They’ll know. Ajax always knows.”
Garret nodded, but didn’t look reassured.
For some reason, Stephano didn’t feel as confident as he sounded, either. “Fast now. Don’t worry about being silent. If they’re in trouble, we’ll know.” He hoped they’d know. He hoped, too, that he’d not find a small, delicate body lying silently on the forest floor.
* * * *
Maeve bit her lip and worried it anxiously. So far she’d not seen anyone in this abandoned city. But there was something not quite right about the endless deserted corridors. A hint of something, not Faye magic, but something…familiar.
She wondered why she thought such a thing, worried that it was this place or worse, that something was drawing her.
Each building she crept through was spectacular, eerie, but stunning. She stood, caught by the beauty far too often. One passage had a low-ceilinged corridor that made her feel trapped then it opened into an enormous amphitheater so large she had to turn in place to see all of it. Carvings of every animal ever created and some she didn’t know existed filled the place, some so real they appeared caught in mid-movement. Mingled among those were beautiful silver etchings she almost missed among the curious statues. But once discovered she was caught again, staring at the silver pictures in awe. Some were so intricate she couldn’t conceive how the artists had crafted such detailed beauty. One was a man holding his hands at his chest in prayer, his head bowed with magnificent peacocks at his shoulders while in front of him were row after row of what she thought must be his people, heads bowed in supplication.
As she continued, more statues caught her by surprise. Some so real she thought they might come to life if she touched them. Some looked as if they were doing ordinary things. One was clearly handing out flowers, another playing with a baby.
She dared to brush her hand along a small child, but when she rounded a corner and faced a statue of a naked couple, she swallowed hard and kept her hands behind her back. The man was so well-endowed, his erection so heavy and arrow-straight that he reminded her of Stephano. The woman he caressed was large-bosomed with long, carved marble hair in spirals of curls. Her head was thrown back in ecstasy at the man’s attention. One of his big hands held her possessively between her thighs.
The erotic scene was startling, even more so because it stood near a hallway that led down room after room of ancient bathing chambers. It was as if they’d left one of the pools. She wondered who had carved such a thing, and why these people had wanted it displayed. But heat flushed her too, because that was the same way Stephano had held her.
Her cheeks were still burning several floors higher. Finally, she exited the building’s still sturdy doorway and entered the coolness of the outside air. Soon it will be dark. I’ll have to find a place to sleep here. She hugged herself at the idea, but couldn’t think of a better place. The city seemed to go on forever. From the top of the building she’d not taken the time to see where the roads led. White cobblestoned streets, choked here and there with weeds, led a winding path down then up in between chalky buildings high enough to shadow the road.
Unsure, she headed uphill, hoping that the road led out of the canyon.
It wasn’t until she stood facing a large temple that she knew she had been heading here. Or herded here. She stopped and glanced up and down the avenue. The street continued on, turning so she had no idea if it did lead out of the city or not. But it was here, facing the ancient temple that she felt the deep unease.
Heavy dark green ivy crowded the roof. White blossoms sprang up between the enormous heart-shaped leaves, but under the eaves the sides were visible. Elaborate friezes were carved along the walls with intricate picture stories in gold, not silver.
On these, she saw what had drawn her. Sirens. There was no mistaking the large eyes and elegant features, or seductive bodies. The times she’d sung at Evie’s rushed back to haunt her. Those men had believed they had enjoyed her embrace, while it wasn’t her at all, but other women, or simply a fantasy. She’d still felt…dirty. Tired. Why were we created? To pleasure others? Is that all there is?
Goosebumps prickled her arms, but she walked to the temple and stopped under the eaves to examine the murals. As she knew they would, each depicted Sirens singing and men laboring to reach them. It wasn’t until the last along the southern wall that she saw a couple had finally found themselves in each other’s arms. Surprised, she studied it more closely.
The man’s face was etched with a stern glower, but his arms were loosely holding the woman as she rested, as if weary, her head on his broad chest. Perhaps his expression was protective, as if he would do anything to protect his Siren. A sword stood out behind his shoulder, a shield rose behind his head, adding to her thoughts. He wore linked chains on armor over a leather girdle. A warrior and a Siren.
The woman wore a flowing gown that fell off one shoulder where he held her to him. His hand was large, so real-looking she glanced at the woman’s hands and found them as perfectly carved. Even her nails were neat and clean, her fingers long and graceful as she delicately gripped one of his wrists with her fingers. Her other hand rested on his thigh, a sexual possessiveness that shimmered in the woman’s eyes as well.
Maeve frowned, moving back to study the friezes one after the other, realizing that each told a story of one Siren, and one man, not hordes of men. Only the first carving showed a crowd of men wanting the Siren. After that, each picture told a turbulent story, for both the man and woman, leading up to either poses similar to the first couple, or with a woman weeping over a man’s still form. Or once, a warrior cradling the dead body of his Siren in his arms. His face was etched with grief so deep she felt tears rise in her eyes at his obvious pain.
What does this mean? Does each Siren have one man who is more? Her thoughts immediately went to Stephano, but she dismissed him. He can’t be like these men. These men had been picked from all the others, or had picked the Siren and fought for her. Stephano will never fight for me to be his. She smiled at the idea, then slowly frowned. Would I fight for him? If he were dying, would I try to save him? The answer was an immediate yes. But it was no more than she would do for any of the men who had been traveling with her. Or was it? The thought of Stephano harmed made her heart race and panicky sensations prickle her skin. She wiped her sweaty palms on her hips and considered that maybe Stephano did mean a teeny bit more to her than any of the other men. Not that I’d let them suffer either.
But did this mean the temple was for Sirens? Built by us? Or is this one more thing I don’t understand? Their way of life had been destroyed, their villages and peoples vanished from this realm and perhaps all others too. There was no one to talk to about what she was, no one to guide her, or her brother for that matter. They’d survived alone, through the pain and grief, and more pain, they endured, but always knowing they were alone. But what if we’re not alone? What if there are more of us?
She walked slowly back to the entrance, curious enough to climb the temple’s broad, sweeping stairs. It was cooler inside. There were more carvings, but not as many friezes. None of the statues were Sirens. Instead there were a few carvings of other creatures, but mostly the temple was oddly arranged with statues of Merfolk, Centaurs, Faye, Dwarves, small Pixies and even the elusive and dangerous Silkies. She spotted witches, with their power glowing from gems used for eyes. In a dark, isolated corner two silhouettes in black marble revealed a Vampire and his Vampires bride. On the opposite side, was a tall, rangy wolf and his woman. She thought it fitting the Lykae were as far from the Vampires as possible. But the two were near enough that she supposed there was some relation between them.
She walked among them, marveling at the detail on each figure. Far at the back, along a wall, as if forgotten in its small alcove, hung a tapestry, ancient and threadbare, its edges frayed but still vivid with color. The splendor of this city must have been like finding this beautiful cloth. Unexpected and dazzling. She stood, awed at the story outlined in the vibrant artistry of the fabric. The time it must have taken to weave such detail… Decades she was certain. She was so engrossed in the tale, she almost dismissed the soft sound behind her, until it repeated.
Startled, she spun, gasping as her gaze fell on an odd mirror along the far wall. She squinted at it, unsure if she was seeing clearly in the dim late afternoon light. Then she saw it again. Something shimmered then receded in the murky depths.
Footsteps, as if someone were walking, but far, far away, echoed around her. She stepped backwards carefully, realizing as she did, that the footsteps weren’t from the direction of the mirror, they were from inside the mirror.
A chill settled over her arms, going deeper and making her flesh feel heavy and unresponsive, as if her limbs were turning to stone.
“My dear sister, well it is you have come.”