Chapter Twenty
Father Bellamy set a small red leather case on one of the benches surrounding the altar and thumbed open the latch. Long, sharp needles, each topped by a small dark crystal, gleamed against ruby silk.
“Hold her still,” he ordered.
Den, Nivane, and Greatfather Tivrest clamped down on Ellysetta’s legs and her right arm.
Father Bellamy pressed a hand hard against her left shoulder.
“Forgive me, daughter. This will hurt, but it is for your own good. Adelis, Bright One, Lord of Light, drive the darkness from this soul.” Chanting the prayer of exorcism, Father Bellamy plunged the first needle into her flesh.
Ellysetta’s back arched, and she screamed against the corked gag.
The needle wasn’t steel or silver. It was sel’dor.
Her flesh went cold around the puncture, and insidious runners of ice infiltrated her body, radiating outward.
The dark crystal atop the needle began to flicker with deep ruby lights.
She felt a terrible pull, as if the needle and the crystal that topped it were trying to draw her very soul from her flesh.
A choked cry came from the side of the room. Mama stood there, clutching Selianne, tears pouring down her face, one fist stuffed against her mouth. “Please, Ellie, please don’t fight them. Trust your soul to the Bright Lord. Please, kitling.”
Anger burst into hot life. Mama had betrayed her. Selianne had betrayed her. Greatfather Tivrest had betrayed her. The people Ellysetta should have been able to trust, the two women she’d loved most, had betrayed her.
A second needle pierced her right shoulder.
She screamed again against the muffling gag.
Her fingers splayed, then convulsed, fingertips pressing hard against unmoving marble and adding the tiny agonies of fingernails cracking and splitting to a far greater pain.
Her soul felt as if it were being ripped apart.
The glacial cold had invaded her entire chest now. She gasped for breath, and her body shook uncontrollably. A dark, gloating sentience brushed across the edges of her mind, and she could have sworn she felt skeletal fingers dragging across the skin over her heart.
At the far end of the altar, Nivane watched her with eyes that, for a brief instant, glowed like twin firepits.
Fathomless black, flickering with frightening red lights.
White teeth flashed in a triumphant smile, and the familiar sibilant voice from her worst nightmares sounded in her mind. Hello, girl.
Stark terror flooded every part of her being.
Her heels shoved hard against the altar slab.
Her tortured body writhed as she tried to scramble away from the exorcist’s unholy eyes and the Shadow Man’s hissing voice.
Hands clamped down, holding her fast. Gloating laughter danced across her skin, vibrating along the ice-cold needles stabbing her flesh.
There was no conscious thought in her reaction. No control. No magic weave. Only stripped-down, bare, primal instinct. Ellysetta’s mental shields shredded, and absolute terror gave voice to a silent, preternatural scream.
?Rain! Shei’tan! Help me!?
Shock stole Rain’s breath.
His heart stopped in mid-beat. Around him, it seemed as if time itself had stopped. Every person in the Council Chamber froze in place, utterly silent, utterly still. For one instant, nothing in the universe existed except a single, desperate, terrified cry.
A soul crying out directly to his.
Her soul.
?Rain! Shei’tan! Help me!?
For one brief instant, she was there, sharing his mind, his thoughts, his entire being.
And then she was gone.
“No.” His hands trembled. His blood froze with fear. “No.”
There was a great round skylight in the ceiling above Dorian’s throne.
Without conscious thought, deaf to the shocked cries of the mortals around him, Rain crossed the chamber in three Air-powered leaps and vaulted over the royals seated on the raised dais.
A burst of strength and magic sent him exploding skyward.
He smashed through the window as Fey and emerged on the other side of the shattered glass as tairen.
Fire scorched the sky as Rain Tairen Soul rocketed towards the Grand Cathedral of Light.
Gaelen stared in dismay at the shifting, shadowy demon-visage of his comrade in arms.
“Esan, my blade brother, how did this happen?”
“Doesss it matter, General?” the demon hissed.
“I ssserve and ssso you die.” A lethal demon blade shot out, slicing hard and fast. Only reflexes honed by centuries of battle allowed Gaelen to dodge the deadly kiss of Esan’s blade.
Behind him, the sounds of battle filled the cathedral nave as Bel and the rest of the quintet engaged their two demons.
Gaelen drew the long, shimmering length of one seyani blade from its scabbard.
The demon laughed. “Sssteel hasss no power over me.”
“Perhaps not.” The blades flashed with sudden brightness as Gaelen spun into the Cha Baruk form called the Song of Death.
“But the five-fold threads I’ve woven around it certainly do.
” Steel whistled through the air and sliced through the demon’s midsection.
The creature cried out, and his insubstantial form wavered.
Gaelen took advantage of Esan’s shock and distraction to slam a five-fold weave into the selkahr crystal. The dark stone exploded in a shower of dust, and the demon portal collapsed. There! At least no other old friends or enemies would come to join the fight.
A hissing screech and a rush of cold air were the only warning he received as the demon swooped towards him. Gaelen spun round and fell back upon one knee, sword and five-fold shields raised to meet the dahl’reisen demon’s attack. Sparks exploded around them as magic and demon swords clashed.
Esan was a Fey from the powerful vel Morian line, and for nearly fifteen hundred years he’d also been a close friend and sparring partner.
He’d been one of the few Fey capable of laying the sharp edge of his blade on Gaelen’s skin.
Alive, that posed little problem. A little torn flesh and a bit of blood never robbed Gaelen of victory in the end.
But now, the sharp edge of Esan’s demon blades held the promise of death more swift and sure than even red Fey’cha.
Gaelen couldn’t afford the luxury of a single mistake.
He met Esan’s split-second lunge with a lightning-fast parry and attack.
With his steel serving as an anchor for his five-fold weaves, Gaelen didn’t have to divide his concentration or expend vast amounts of energy to maintain his weaves.
He could instead concentrate on the swordplay at hand, and at the moment, that was a very good thing.
Esan had never accepted defeat easily. Even as a demon, that much had not changed. Each clash of blades shivered down Gaelen’s arms and rattled his back teeth. Esan was not holding back his blows. This was no friendly sparring match; it was a fight to the death.
Gaelen had to work hard simply to survive each passing chime. He ducked and danced, leaping lightly from altar to floor to pew, spinning from one fluid form of Cha Baruk to another. His swords flashed in ever-moving arcs of beauty and death. Esan countered every blow.
“We must end this, my friend.” Each moment that passed put Ellysetta’s life in greater danger.
“I can free you from this dark service, Esan.” Negotiating with a demon was futile, Gaelen knew.
Yet some stubborn, unrelenting remnant of Fey loyalty made him try.
This corrupt soul that now attacked him had once been a beloved friend and blade brother with a soul as bright as it now was dark.
“Come, my brother; if any hint of Fey still remains in your soul, cease this battle and let me grant you peace.”
The demon snarled and advanced, blades flashing.
Gaelen countered with the whirling strokes of the Ring of Fire, but Esan’s attack was too fierce, too punishing.
It drove him back, and he stumbled over an uneven tile in the floor.
For a split second, Gaelen’s perfect form faltered.
He held his blades too far apart—barely a handspan too much, but that was all the opening the demon needed.
The shadow blade sliced down with lethal accuracy.
And clashed in a shower of sparks against a shining, magic-girded seyani sword.
“Your bladework’s good, but your footwork could use a little practice.” Kieran smirked.
“Cheeky git.” Gaelen drove his five-fold-powered swords deep into the dahl’reisen demon’s heart.
The demon wailed and writhed as beams of magic pierced its darkness, sundering the grip of evil that held Esan’s soul in thrall.
Gaelen poured power into his weaves. The shadowy figure shimmered, its dark, smoky form growing ever more translucent, like mist burning off in the Great Sun’s light.
“Go with peace, my brother. May the gods illuminate a path to guide you back into the Light.” When the last shadowy remnant of the demon faded, Gaelen leaned against a wall, resting his head on the back of his hands, and sucked in several deep, restorative breaths.
“No time for napping, Uncle!” Kieran chided. “We’ve got work to do!”
Gaelen forced himself back to his feet and sprinted after Kieran to join the others, who were once again weaving a five-fold assault on the Solarus door.
“When this is done, puppy, and the Feyreisa is safe behind the Mists, I’m going to teach you respect for your elders.
” He gave his sister’s son a smile dark with promise.
Kieran grinned. “You can try.”
“I never just try.” Tossing back the long strands of his hair, Gaelen frowned at the quintet’s five-fold weave. “That’s not going to work, vel Jelani. Five-fold isn’t enough.” His eyes met and held the Fey general’s. “Six-fold is her only chance. Will you stay your blades?”
Bel’s mouth went grim. “Weaving Azrahn is a banishing offense.”