Chương 11: The Shamanic Demoness
"That treacherous brute, where has he gone off to?"
Moving silently again, Rhys circled deeper into the ruins, senses straining for the slightest cue. This place was more perilous than he had guessed, but he feared no myths. Whatever secrets the witch held so close, he would rip them from her lovely throat. She could not hide here forever...
Rhys halted, tasting an alien scent on the air. The coppery sweetness of blood mixed with a deeper musk—desire and fury, yet cold, like sun-warmed marble. No mortal fragrance this. He slid his second dagger loose, waiting with coiled intent.
A breath of wind through the leaves brought words, a woman's voice chanting rhythmic and low. Rhys turned toward the sound and ghosted nearer. Beyond an open chamber door, crimson light flickered, silhouetting a figure swaying and weaving in oddly jerking motions. The scent of blood grew thicker.
Rhys paused just shy of the portal, listening. A female voice, but not Amara's. Some other woman then...likely one of those the scout had glimpsed with her.
"...Bane-den kri un'morga..." the unknown woman chanted. "Si tal'mor draka baneis..."
Rhys felt an uneasy chill claw down his spine. Those sibilant words held menace and a terrible power barely leashed. The source was near...
Steeling himself, Rhys spun through the doorway with his twin daggers bared. But nothing could have prepared him.
Light flared, revealing a woman dancing before a basalt altar, naked limbs streaked with gore. Cradled against her breast she held not some ritual object, but a severed human head. As she turned toward Rhys, blood spilled from the head's slack mouth to drench her pale skin. Dark power throbbed in time with the swimming crimson light.
"Welcome, mortal," the woman purred, full lips curving in a sensual smile. "Your arrival is fortuitous." She held out the grim trophy in both hands as if offering a prize.
"Huh!" Rhys froze despite himself. The head's features were contorted in agony, but beneath the gore he recognized... "Ilya," he was stunned. So this man-eater had reached the traitor first.
The woman's smile only widened as if Rhys had paid her a compliment. "Yes, he provided me ample...energy, before the end." Her tongue flicked out to trace a trickle of blood down her chin. "But do not fret, I have far grander plans for you."
Rhys met her burning stare unflinchingly. "I fear no witch's spells." He readied for her attack, but she merely laughed. The sound held no mirth, only dark hunger.
"Witch? You have no concept of what you face, mortal. But you will learn."
She flung the severed head aside and raised blood-slick arms skyward. The throbbing glow around her pulsed stronger. That terrifying chanting rose again, louder. The very air trembled.
"What in the devilish seas!" Rhys hesitated no longer. He lunged at her unguarded chest, one dagger thrusting for her heart. But his blades met only smoky mist. Before he could react, agony lanced through his limbs as if liquid metal filled his veins. He fell writhing to the tiles, daggers dropping from nerveless fingers. Dark magic clenched him in its jaws.
The woman stood over him, terrible and exultant. "Did you imagine your puny weapons could harm me?" She placed one bare foot upon his chest, regarding him with lurid enjoyment as he choked in paralysis. "I am Lilosis, high servant of She Who Thirsts. And you shall be the whetstone of my ascension."
She crouched closer, grasping Rhys's face in claw-like fingers. "The witch cares for you still, mortal—a weakness I shall use to shatter her. Your torment will draw her to me." Her smile held the promise of unknown horrors. Rhys fought for breath as she crushed him under her will.
Lilosis leaned nearer still, her lips caressing his ear. "Imagine the pleasures we two shall share before the end," she whispered...
Rhys's world dissolved into searing agony and swirling darkness. Screaming soundlessly, he was swallowed by the void, the demoness's lean curves and red lips the last sight burned into his mind.
Far away, Amara awoke shouting, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. Lingering terror gripped her heart before she recognized her unfamiliar surroundings. The dream...no, vision...faded, leaving only jumbled images of Rhys in mortal peril, crazed laughter, rivers of blood...
Shuddering, she rose, struggling to banish the sadistic echoes. But the premonition clung. Something sinister had marked Rhys for prey, and its ripples could swallow her as well.
Quietly, to avoid disturbing her lovers, Amara gathered cloak and boots. She moved out into the mossy ruin, under swirling constellations foreign to her. Distance might grant perspective on the sendings. But the restless night would permit no more sleep.
Finding a bench in a ruined cloister, Amara sank down and closed her eyes. Rhys's handsome face hung in her mind, contorted in wild-eyed agony rather than his usual haughty mastery. However ruthless he might be, no one deserved the anguish she had glimpsed. Amara knew with sudden marrow-deep certainty that their shared fate still bound them, beyond all divisions. Their struggle was not yet ended.
Eyes blazing red flashed through her memory. Something evil had come to these isles, more dangerous than any mortal power. It hungered for her secrets...and Rhys's suffering would bait the trap. Unless she could find some way to intervene across the void...
Amara buried her face in her hands until traitorous tears stopped burning. It could not end like this. There must be some path that could lead them both from darkness. No simple solutions lay open, but she must try.
For the sake of the islands, the Hallow Skull, and for Rhys himself...she must try.
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