The Pact, page 26
part #1 of The Dark Roads Series
D'aej snagged her mind and raised an animal howl up to the sky. Rook lunged, throwing off his traveling cloak and drawing a sharp spade of a tribal dagger from his belt to pin her to the ground, holding the edge of it against her throat. She sucked in a terrified gasp and shut her eyes against his cold glare, the eyes of both a man and a demon boring into her own.
"You told me exactly what you intended to do with this power," he growled, low and vicious. "And Lord help me, I allowed you to do it. But I am not going to stand by now and allow you to piss and whine like a mewling calf, cowering from the truth!"
D'aej chose that moment to rake his phantasmic claws across her insides, setting her skin and sinew ablaze. She choked out a cry as wounds split open on her arms and across her collarbones.
Nathara screamed in fright.
Rook pressed harder on Serenity. "I helped you take this bond because I believed you were strong enough to handle even the worst of it. Was I wrong, weaver?"
She couldn't find words. D'aej strangled her—twisting himself around her voice and holding back the desperate denial. He was gaining control. Both hands came up again, forking twisted signs at Rook's face, and it took all the willpower she could manage to force the fingers to tangle up and falter.
"Are you strong enough, Serenity Walker?"
Rook's eyes locked on hers. They shone cold, but underneath she read deep hurt in them. She could see it in the lines of his face, the hard scowl, and the grim set of his jaw. She'd never seen him so desperate, so close to the edge. He hurt, and as hard as he tried to be, he didn't want to hurt her.
"If you can't do this," he whispered, "I will make it quick. I promise."
"No," she begged him. "Please, Rook...help me."
He shook his head. "No. This, I cannot help you with."
Witch, she thought. Slut.
Devil's Whore.
She shut her eyes, frantically wishing the world to fade away from her. If she'd known...if she'd had more time...
"Why me?" she whispered.
Rook said she'd been chosen for this. The darklings wanted her, they had worked together to have her. As she choked on the feeling of D'aej in her throat, in her mind, in her heart, making it harder and harder to draw breath with every second of his tirade for dominance passing by, the single, clear, momentous thought winked into existence like a beacon.
Why did the darklings want me?
Whirling, spitting, seething, the demon rebounded on her, letting go of the body to jump on the mind.
"Why me?" she shouted, feeling sudden control wash over her and the pathways through the body go suddenly bright again with pain. "What did you want with me?"
Power, D'aej hissed, cutting through her brain like a thousand knives. His deep, angry growl came from everywhere at once, making her vision swim and her head go buoyant and delirious. His voice tinged with golden glee, a secret triumph. He'd held on to her for so long, and his plan had worked so well.
We wanted the fire you brought to our runes, fleshling. The way you made them dance, and the pain you twisted into their chains. You were full of rage and grief, and you had the arrogance to believe you deserved vengeance, and you had the greed to take it.
You were so easy to control, Serenity! So easy to twist and turn the way I wanted you! You wanted a reason to be what you are!
I did, a little voice—the voice perhaps belonging to a little twelve-year-old girl sitting by herself in the back of a tavern—muttered sorrowfully. He's right...and I did.
Fleshling, you gave yourself to me. You made yourself a willing slave.
"And you are a demon," she whispered, as the final link in the chain of understanding fell into place. "How can I blame you for taking advantage of it?"
She forced herself up onto her elbows, her throat pressing against the bite of Rook's blade, tempting it to draw blood. She opened her eyes, patient and determined, and met the cold glare of the man who set her free.
"You're right," she whispered, willing the new, tenuous strength he'd given her to keep the demon down a little longer. "It wasn't D'aej who did all of this. It was me. I killed the man who shot Jack. I hurt the people in Tyr Salem. And I... I would have killed you."
She shuddered again. "By the living runes, Rook, I would have killed you, and I would have felt right about it, justified. I love you, and I'd have killed you, still loving you, still believing it all made perfect sense! But D'aej is what makes me strong! He is the power in me, he is everything I am!"
Rook shook his head.
"You were strong before you sold yourself to the otherworld. You were a prodigy long before you ever met me and the darklings who wanted you for a pet. The creature you've bonded yourself to has nothing to do with who or what you are, Serenity. He's only stripping away the power you have to make it his own."
"But I listened to him," she said. "Because I wanted to be stronger. Because...I was afraid to die like...like Jack."
She brought up her hand, lightning quick, closing it over his on the knife's handle and pulling it closer. It cut just barely, cleanly, into the skin of her neck; a trickle of blood ran down to stain the mark of thurisaz between her breasts.
"Destroy the body," she choked. "Kill him. Help me stop this."
Rook held her gaze, his eyes hard and cruel, like a predator falcon. Then he lunged, pushing the knife deeper, and she flinched—but her hand remained steady.
The chaos in her died without warning. D'aej fell instantly silent.
Serenity waited. Rook waited.
But the darkling remained still.
After long moments, her teacher pulled his blade away from her throat.
"You will die," he avowed. "And you will have to answer for your crimes then, Serenity. But it won't be today. And it won't be by my hand."
"Why?" she asked, her voice hoarse and hushed. The cool, wet run of blood already began to ebb, as D'aej, shaking his momentary paralysis, sought to manage the wound. "What did you do all this for, if not to stop me from hurting anyone else?"
"To see if my student was still willing to do what it takes to win," he said grimly.
He slicked off the blade in the grass, and stood, offering his hand to help her up. She took it, dazed.
"We are neither of us blameless," Rook said. "I, too, have been a darkling's slave, and done things in her name I can never make right. I've corrupted my own soul as much as you have. We are exactly what they say we are, Serenity. Whores to the devil."
She rubbed a hand against the place where the blade had bitten her. "When did you know?"
Nathara came to her side, taking her free hand and tugging at it, her eyes plaintive with worry.
"It turns out M'rath'a wasn't as content with the life of a bounty hunter as I thought," Rook explained. "She used me exactly as D'aej used you, to nip and prick away at the lives of those around me, committing little atrocities with my body when I thought I was safely in the folds of sleep. But her true plans—the plans you were also a part of—she kept hidden from me until after we left the mountains, leaving you to wander around alone in the clutches of her kin. I'm not even sure I can tell you how much time passed—how much of a slave I became—before someone stronger came along with the power to set me free from her claws, at least for a time, and let me try to right what I'd done."
She waited for him to say more. But that seemed to be all he had to offer.
"Come," he said. "The sun will rise soon, and I'd rather not have morning travelers coming by to stare at us and know us for what we are. Where are you camped?"
"Beneath the tree," Jonah replied, pointing.
Nathara left Serenity's side to pick up Rook's discarded cloak and shyly wrap it around him, hiding his wild tribal markings from view. Jonah took the mare and muttered gently to her, walking her in the direction of their shelter.
Serenity did not follow.
"Rook," she said in a hush. "What are we going to do?"
He pulled his hood up over his head, and hid his hands in his sleeves. She instantly wished he hadn't. The shadows of the hood enveloped his eyes, and she couldn't feel his gaze. He closed himself off to her in the gesture, hiding the last of the man she loved and slipping back into the nature of a nameless weaver, holding himself aloof.
"We go back to the beginning. Back to our trials and studies," he said, cementing the image between them. "And we find a way to stop them."
She dropped her gaze, looking down at her hands. Once they had been the harmless hands of a simple little tavern-girl, flipping cards and studying fortunes. With D'aej in control of them, they were the hands of a woman who commanded the elements to dance to her will, to crush men and take anything she pleased, all without remorse or reverence.
Could it—could the demons—even be stopped?
"It's not just us," Rook said. "All weavers, everyone who plays with the runes. The darklings mean to use them all. The blight of the Rachalör is spreading further into Geiral. The demon world is devouring more of us every day, because we've let them in. I need you to help me prevent it from going any further."
"But of all weavers, the ones carrying a demon in their bodies are the most tainted," she said. "They know our thoughts, they have our power. They are our power. What can we do to stand in their way?"
"We can fight them, Serenity. I've already begun." He lifted a hand and brushed back the edge of his hood, letting her see his eyes again, the mismatched eyes, one that was his and one belonging to the shadowy spirit inside of him.
"M'rath'a made a bid for full control, tried to make me a lost soul, once she realized her plan was in danger. And she lost. We may never be able to break our contract with them, but we can challenge them. And for a time—however temporary it may be—we can even be masters of our own will again."
He dropped the hood.
"What if I'm too dangerous?" she asked, her voice a low croak as she stared at her delicate fingers. Was it even possible to change what she'd become? Could she ever make it right?
"They called me thurisaz," she choked, wiping away fresh tears. "I'm thurisaz, Rook. Rage...unbridled anger. Destruction."
"Thurisaz means more than that," he said.
And without another word, he turned away from her, following Jonah and Nathara down the hill.
EPILOGUE
I'm your truth, telling lies,
I'm your reason, alibis,
I'm inside, open your eyes...
I'm you.
~ Metallica
Sad but True
In the days of bad dreams, bullets redeem...
And a ghost holds my hand.
Hunted by demons,
I was touched by an angel.
~ Primal Fear
Demons and Angels
Serenity didn't follow Rook. Not immediately.
Instead, she walked away from him. After years of following his trail, now she turned away from it, retreating in the same direction of the night, suddenly very desperate to be...
Elsewhere.
Anywhere.
But not in his camp.
She walked all day. Crossed the golden fields of the heartland, watching the farming men at work, watching the cattle graze. She found a tawny rise in the shining afternoon sunlight and leaned against the smooth trunk of a lone tree, where no one would bother her. Where she could shuffle the cards in peace.
Where she could think.
She stood there, silent and watching, waiting for the demon to make the first move. Long hours passed before either of them spoke.
"You didn't expect I would be willing to die, did you?" she asked.
As the day began to stretch toward night, she watched the setting sun in the west, and she understood for the first time how terrible it was to have another soul with you all the time, crawling over all your thoughts, knowing everything you felt and hoped. If she had ever wished to be truly and entirely alone, it would have been now. But the darkling still rode along with her. He would always be with her, and she would always be chained to him.
I knew you could be incredibly stupid, Serenity, D'aej replied with a bitter hiss. My mistake was in underestimating your stupidity. Killing the both of us serves no purpose, and it wouldn't save your sorry soul, anyway.
She'd known what she'd asked for when she sought the bond. Rook had been right, though. She could never really have known.
Now, how she wished she could disconnect. Not just from D'aej—from the fields. From the sunlight. From Rook.
From everything. She needed—desperately—to be alone.
The darkling still seethed from her rebellion, but for now, he made no bid for control. Things were different, after all. His power over her had slipped. He couldn't just cover up his manipulation, and the minute he tried to take the body, she would refuse him. And she could refuse him. That changed things quite a bit. She wished she could be properly comforted by it...but too much damage had been done already.
The evening breeze slipped past her, its tender fingers sifting through her hair. The smell of dewy grass and calm, sleeping pastures filled her as she took in a deep, patient breath.
Rook said the Rachalör was spreading.
D'aej had deadened her to all these things. He'd wrapped her mind in a cocoon made of his own cold iniquity, to keep her dead to the world she was helping him poison.
Nathara had begun the process of revelations with her off-balance spells, and the memory of the whip's vicious tongue. The little half-wit, a woman who'd had everything stolen from her by the demon trying to take her mind, reawakened the rune-weaver sleeping so peacefully in a demon's possession.
And Rook had finished the job. But it wasn't a gift, knowing again what it meant to smell the lofty scent of heather, or to look on the brightness of the stars, to be awake to the world. It only made her see just how trapped she still was, and would always be.
You might as well have just stayed ignorant, D'aej hissed quietly. We were both better off with your head in the sand. Admit it, you were so much happier with your old life, under me, and this one will only bring you pain.
"I'll bet I was," she muttered gloomily. "But it won't be that way again, D'aej. I am going back to Rook, you know. And he and I... we're going to stop you."
No laughter from the demon. Simmering, waiting rage pooled and flowed, breeding a slow ache in her head.
He doesn't love you anymore, he hissed. Though it was petty, it stung, and worse, she knew it was the truth.
You're never going to mean as much to him as you mean to me, little Serenity.
"It doesn't matter," she said. "And I still love him. And you would have had me kill him."
What makes you think he would not have deserved it? You know nothing about him, or what he intends to do to you...
I am not the only one keeping secrets.
"Nothing Rook could ask of me would be worse than this."
He shifted in her mind, angry but patient. He wouldn't try to reassert his dominance right away. She couldn't read his thoughts as easily as he could read hers, after all—and how long before she learned how to shut him out?—but he didn't bother keeping this one private: he could wait as long as it took for her to weaken again. He could wait, and he too, could learn.
And she would never get away.
This is what I chose, she thought. It's mine to carry. So I will.
Serenity shuffled her cards and looked down at the one she drew, dancing it along her fingers.
"Thurisaz," she muttered, unsurprised. She flipped the card back into the deck, and slipped the deck into her pocket. Perhaps it was time to end her nervous habit.
"This is what I'll hold on to," she swore. "I may never be able to save myself from the things I've done. Maybe my soul will never be mine again. But if I am really a force so terrible you chose me to be your weapon, then I can also be used against you."
You can imagine how threatening that sounds, considering you would have no true power if it weren't for me.
"I'll find a way around that," she said. "If I have to travel across all of Geiral, even if I have to stand in the shadow of the Rachalör again, I will find a way to shatter this bond."
And then you will die. After what you have done to yourself—to your soul—you are not strong enough to defy a demon contract, and to survive without me in you.
"You wanted me, D'aej. Remember?" She straightened, tipping her hat low over her eyes.
"Jack called me a prodigy. Rook called me a gift. And you yourself said I was worth worlds to the one who could control me."
She turned her back to the sunset, hitching her thumbs into her denims and shrugging down low into her duster.
"You don't control me anymore, D'aej. So you'd better hope you and M'rath'a made a mistake in choosing me. Or else, be ready, because your little fleshling is about to bring down the mountains on each and every last one of your lying, miserable kind."
D'aej's smoldering fury spread like wildfire in her brain, vibrant streaks of red, yellow, and orange. You will never escape us, Serenity Walker. We are one, you and I, and not distance, not your beloved tribal, nothing will shatter my hold over you. You can run a hundred thousand miles, to the ends of the earth, little weaver, and I will always be part of you.
She let the demon make his promises, silent as he did. Somehow, none of it mattered. After all, she'd come thousands of miles already, following false hope and shadowy lies.
Now—even with a demon creeping and crawling like a monkey on her back—she had a real reason to keep going.
So what was a hundred thousand more?
The journey continues:
Enter the world of night, in
Into Nostra
The Dark Roads Saga, Book 2
CHAPTER ONE
The hunt was on.
The prey moved fast. Like a weasel it dashed and sprinted through the trees, ducking past creepers and weaving through vines with devilish grace. Serenity, Jonah, and Rook struggled to keep up, but the wilderness conspired to hold them back. The reaching branches of haggard old oaks snatched and tugged at their clothing, while the cackling scorn of the crows above drummed in their ears. The birds' cawing nearly drowned out the sound of their quarry's panting breaths and its quick footfalls on the wet, wormy soil. Every twist and turn through the shadows saw the lost soul closer and closer to slipping away, gibbering senseless curses as its pursuers dashed after it.
