“Now, now. There’s no need for alarm,” the disembodied voice says. “You’re in my territory now, and I need to know if you’re friend or foe.”
“That depends on who you are.” I’m ready. Primed to defend if I’m attacked. Muscles coiled to spring into action to evade a strike and then cut down the enemy.
“I’m the guardian of Meridia,” the voice says.
And is that a hint of amusement I detect in his tone?
“Only those who are worthy may pass. Are you worthy?”
Hell if I knew. “Look, I need an herb, that’s all. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“Yet you carry blades and your body responds to my voice as if ready for battle.”
“Call me cautious.”
“You will not pass armed.”
Irritation flares in my chest. Who the fuck is this guy to tell me, the queen’s blade, what I can and cannot do?
“I’m here for an herb. Lives depend on it, and I don’t have time for idle conversation or meaningless quests. If you wish to attack me then I will defend.”
I take a step and an invisible force crashes into me, knocking me off my feet and taking me to the ground. My breath remains trapped in my lungs for a split second before whooshing out in a whistling exhalation.
Mother fuck—
A weight settles on my chest, pinning me, and then an upside-down face appears above me. Wispy-white hair, slanted green eyes and a thin slash of a mouth make up the visage. He studies me for a long beat then his eyes grow round. He blinks several times as if unsure of what he’s seeing.
Yes, I have this effect on most demons and daemons. There is no other like me and I’m reminded of that wherever I go.
“Would you like to paint a picture old man?”
“Briathos?” He shakes his head. “No. No, you are not he.”
“Listen old man, if you don’t release me from your infernal magicks this instant, I will make you sorry.”
“And yet you sound so like him…”
Fuck this. I strain against the power holding me captive and it shoves me back to the ground and tightens its grip.
“You have her eyes though,” the man says. “Oh… Oh my.”
The weight on me vanishes and I don’t hesitate to spring to my feet. My daggers are ready to kiss flesh, but the small man is gone.
What the fuck?
“Please put the weapons away, child,” he says.
Like hell. I turn slowly on the spot, scanning the shadows between the trees. “Show yourself.”
“Once your weapons are sheathed.”
“So, you can attack me again?”
“I was merely restraining you, and I could do so again if I wished.”
He has a point. I can slice and dice flesh, but there is no fighting the very air. Slowly, reluctantly, and against my every instinct, I lower my daggers and slide them into their holsters.
The air before me ripples and the minute man materializes. He looks up at me with glistening eyes.
Is he about to cry?
This makes me very uncomfortable, and I take a step back before I can check myself.
“You look so much like him,” the man says again.
What is he talking about? “Look like who?”
He smiles, beatific but also kind of creepy. “Your father of course.”
My father. This miniature daemon knew my sire? There is part of me that wants to walk away. A part that is stubborn and angry and unwilling to know my heritage because what point is a past for a daemon with no future?
But there is another part of me, a hidden part, that surges up now to demand, “How do you know my father?”
“He was my friend.” He grins up at me. “Not at first.” His chuckle is saturated with nostalgia. “We argued at first. We clashed.” He brings his fists together to illustrate. “I was forced to put him to the ground many times, but he came around to my way of thinking. He was a warrior with the heart of a king.” He sighs, his mouth turning down. “He would have been a wise, fair king.”
My heart pounds too hard and my mouth is dry because I feel his words deep inside me. I sense this story coming to life, and I recognize it as my heritage. This is a missing piece of my past, and I squash my instinct to run away.
It’s time. Time I knew this part of myself. “Tell me…”
“Walk with me.” He sets off with his hands clasped behind his back, and I follow. There is no other recourse.
The ground beneath our feet shimmers and a rough track appears, a path of sorts. I open my mouth to ask him what the fuck is going on, but his words cut me off.
“Meridia is a peaceful place,” he says. “The people are a gentle, maternal race who thrive on harmony. When the fallen came to our world, there began a long war. For power. For land. For dominance. Although the fallen offered knowledge and advancement, although they brought with them medicine and celestial healing, not all daemons wished to pledge themselves to a queen. Up until then, daemons lived in factions with land split between them. Crude treaties and harsh punishments for trespass were in place. But Lilith sought to change that. She sought to unify the races and bring a new era of peace and prosperity to the Underealm, one that would bring about change and technological advancement. Many factions were threatened, and so lines were drawn. On one side was Lilith and her fallen, and on the other was Briathos and his rebel daemons.”
“My father was a rebel?”
“Oh yes. Briathos was one of a handful of a warrior race. Powerful and respected. He wanted a free Underealm, not one presided over by a monarchy. He fought Lilith at every turn, and he was quick to rally an army. But armies need supplies. They need food, and in between Lilith’s camp and Briathos’s camp lay Meridia—fertile land with an abundance of crops and cattle.”
I can see where this is going. “They fought to take Meridia.”
“They tried.” He smiles up at me, slightly smug. “But they failed. Meridia is a land blessed by ancient elemental forces, and it would not be claimed. In the end a parlay was suggested and that is when everything changed.”
“They met…”
“Yes, they met, and the attraction was instantaneous. They talked for hours, for days, and then…well… I’m sure you can surmize what happened as you stand here, evidence of that one meeting.”
“But… They were enemies.”
“Who became allies. Briathos learned that Lilith had no intention of stripping daemons of their way of life, that they would be given a choice. And Lilith in turn learned how important the daemon way of life was to them. But not all the rebels were agreeable to an alliance, and Briathos’s lieutenant turned on him. There was an attack on Meridia. Our defences were down due to the parlay, and we weren’t able to erect them fast enough. Many died.” He sighs as if recalling the atrocities. “Your father fought valiantly. He protected Lilith and made sure she was able to escape. He gave his life but not before he’d taken the lives of all the traitors. That night the warrior race was decimated. You, Keon, are the last of your kind, because your father believed in a new Underealm. He believed in Lilith.”
My father gave his life to protect Lilith. Had she loved him? My returned memories of my childhood tell me she loved me at one time. I’m not sure how to feel about any of this.
I’ve been her blade all my life. A possession bound to her word. If she loves me, why do that to me? I recall her fear of losing Samael. I understand it, but why not send me away? Why turn me into a puppet? Is this love?
Fee’s face swims up in my mind’s eye. Her laughter and her gentle voice. Her touch and her mouth on mine. Is that love?
“Keon,” the little man says. “We will help you and give you what you need. For your father’s sacrifice and his noble actions are saviours of Meridia”
He waves his hand and the forest vanishes to be replaced by a village. Sturdy-looking huts made of brick and thatch dot the landscape. Narrow roads wind between the homes and daemons mill about—pale pink and yellow with frills on their heads or colorful plumage. There’s laughter, music and the sound of children at play. In the distance there’s land sown with crops, and cattle roam free, feeding and resting. The air is heavy with a sweet aroma that stirs a strange emotion in my chest, and my eyes grow warm.
No.
A blade does not cry.
“Welcome to Meridia,” the little man says. “Now, tell me. What herb did you need?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Uri
Celestia has been restored and greets me cheerfully as I enter. It looks like she’s been given a personality. The divine brings an abundance of power that’s evident in the very fabric of the Beyond as I navigate the corridors. The light is no longer harsh but warm, like a caress. It seeps into my skin promoting a sense of well-being and calm. I pass several celestials who smile at me with teeth. Genuine smiles that make my heart ache with the need to belong again.
But this is no longer my home.
My home is with Fee.
My purpose is tied to Fee.
I know this. I feel it, and yet I’m still lost.
The grand chambers where the righteous preside are open. Celestials spill in and out in a frenzy of activity, and standing amidst them, dressed casually in beige slacks and a brown tunic, is the divine.
He turns his head and locks gazes with me as I enter, and then he smiles and my heart swells. I falter in my step, stunned by the overwhelming emotion that washes over me.
“My son,” he says. “It’s so good to see you again.”
It’s barely been days, but time can seem longer or shorter here in the Beyond, so I don’t question.
“I need your help.”
His brows flick up. “Again?”
I feel the bite of shame. He saved my life, gave me life, and here I am, asking for more. But this is for Fee, the woman that has my heart, so I maintain eye contact and nod.
“Please. It would help Fee.”
He’s immediately somber. “Tell me what she needs. Anything I can give, I will.” He strides toward me. “Walk with me.”