Bloodlust (10 page)

"You were busy with Golic." She shrugged, her eyes brimming with tears at the name of her betrothed. "How... how is he? Good I hope. You'll find him a good goliatha, won't you?" Lucia's form dimmed for a long moment.

"Do you want me to tell him anything?"

"I relive our memories every day. Especially by the waterfall."

The misty look in her eyes and the wide, wavering smile left him unable to ask for more specifics.

She wiped some tears. "Do I wish I was still alive? Of course, but I loved to explore, you know that. Just like Darcia. How is our dear cousin? Still sneaking off?"

"Yes." The word snapped out of his mouth. He smacked his lips together into a flat line, the tip of his tusks digging into his upper lip. Darcia running off as Lucia had months ago had been yet another reason why Lukor left Ordisium. Her trail had long grown cold before he had met up with Ivy.

If a barbarian had crossed paths with Darcia and killed her too...

"Which barbarian killed you?" Lukor demanded, his voice raspy and harsh.

"You sound and look like one yourself." She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes to tiny slits.

"Do you want me to avenge your death or not?" he growled. "Why else would you be trapped in this accursed place?"

"Yes, this place is wretched, and yes, I hope to move on once my murder has been avenged..." Her bright aqua eyes dimmed to a dreary blue. "But you must swear to me you will not go after him."

Lukor scoffed.

Before he could defend himself, she continued, "At least not by yourself."

"Do not worry. I have a plan to ensure that he, and all others, will not live much longer."

Her sudden smile vanished almost as soon as it appeared. "I thought I saw you with a barbarian."

"A means to enact that plan. Nothing more. Now, tell me what he looked like. I wish for his death to be particularly brutal."

She lowered her gaze, and her form seemed to dim somewhat. It was hard to tell in the misty Realm. "I never did see his face. He attacked me from behind. I yanked at his clothes and tried to fight him off, but he was far too strong."

The sound of her bitter tears was all that remained, long after her form departed.

Every barbarian would pay. Male, female, child. The entire race would be blighted out of existence. Soon, the elves would be extinct as well, and no more of that vile union of human and elf would ever walk the face of the earth again.

So Lukor swore.

Ivy picked at her fingernails. Her mother had rattled off the names of many of the guards. Although most of them still lived, Ivy had never thought of any of them as a good potential ruler of the barbarian throne. Indeed, any barbarian, including her, probably would never make a good and decent ruler. Too emotional, for one, too reckless and foolhardy and eager for battle. Even now, when she was trying so hard to keep her people from war, her ears ached with want to hear the cries of the fallen, her nose to smell spilled blood, her hand to wield a blade against a foe.

"I'm surprised you have not yet mentioned Angar," Ivy eventually broke in.

Her mother's face turned ashen until Ivy could no longer see it.

"Mother, wait!" Ivy dashed forward, but her mother's form was gone.

A sudden cold breeze from behind had Ivy slowly turning around to see an elf. With long pointed ears, the tips above his head, silver eyes, and a regal air about him, the elf held out his palms. "Ivy, the princess of the barbarians."

"Yes, I am she."

"Barbarian-Princess for not much longer."

"For I will be amongst those here soon?" Or her father? For her to become barbaroness meant he had first died.

"The time for the barbarians will soon come to an end."

As she feared. Those children. She would do anything for them, to give them a safe and happy future. If it 'twere possible for barbarians to experience such an existence.

"Are you a soothteller?" Could she believe his words? Or had he been living within the mist so long he no longer knew what he was saying? Although he did know her by name...

"The time for the barbarians will soon come to an end," he repeated. "And a new race will be spawned in its stead."

A new race? Shoving her curiosity aside, she demanded, "Surely there is something that can be done to save the barbarians. After all, you elves have lasted for so long despite your far fewer numbers."

"True, but we are not driven by emotions, but by reason and the light."

"So, what makes us barbarians will be our undoing."

"Ah, a reasonable statement. I feared none of your race even knew what reason was. Too much of your human side clouds your judgment."

Perhaps her human side accounted for her burning need to save her people.

"Tell me, elf," she demanded, "if a barbarian lives in seclusion and never gives into Bloodlust, would she or he live as long as your race?"

Some elves lived for centuries. That is, if they did not die in battle or chose to sleep eternally. Those elves were said to voluntarily pass on to the Spirit Realm, to join their brethren before them.

"A barbarian cannot live in seclusion. Solitude is not in your nature."

"But if they avoided a death by blade?" she persisted.

He tilted his head to the side. "Theoretically, it might be possible. The oldest a barbarian has reached is forty-three. The eldest a human — one hundred and twenty. The eldest an elf — three hundred and thirty-three. A goliath—"

"Much longer than barbarians, I get the point." Ivy glanced away. When her gaze returned to the elf, he was gone.

"A new race will be spawned in its stead," his invisible body said.

Not if she had any say in the matter. If there was one thing Ivy knew, it was to never aggravate a barbarian. Especially not her.

Ivy took only one step forward when something cold touched her. Even more frigid than the air surrounding her. Her skin burned at the contact. A slight gasp escaped her lips, and she pulled away.

Suddenly, the mist parted and hundreds of souls surrounded her. All of them unfamiliar. All of them sharing hatred in their eyes. Every last one reached out toward her. Although she could not physically feel their blows, her body jostled as if punched, kicked, and bit, bruises and swelling appearing all over her body. Unable to stand, she fell to the ground. She struggled against them, fighting back, but considering she could not touch them, there was nothing she could do to stop the assault.

A hand — this one surprisingly warm — grabbed her and yanked her to her feet. Her eyes so swollen she couldn't see, she stumbled along for what felt like hours. Her feet ached, and she couldn't walk straight. A few times, she almost fell. At first, the souls continued their attack, but the farther they traveled, the less they made contact. Soon, even their insults and hisses vanished, no longer mentally battering her. Despite the relief, her chest grew tight, and she struggled to swallow enough air. Her vision darkened, and she stumbled once more out of the person's grasp.

Her face landed in dirt. She was no longer within the confines of the Spirit Realm.

Now that her mind was somewhat clearer, she gazed at her helper through swollen eyelids. Lukor of course. Her mind had been too addled to recognize him earlier.

"Thank you," she struggled to say through her split lip.

"Come on. Let's go on a little farther before stopping to rest." He held out his hand again.

He had to be jesting. Continue on? In her condition?

"They nearly killed me!" she protested. "Moreover, it's dark. No one will venture this close to the Realm. We'll be safe here."

Lukor yanked on her elbow and forced her to march beside them. Her pride refused to allow him to drag her, so she matched his pace. By the time the moon reached its pinnacle, Lukor thrust her past a holly maple tree to a small pond.

"Go on. Look at yourself."

Ready to collapse, envious of the elves and their ability to pass on at any moment they felt the urge to, she sank into a puddle. After a long moment in which she battled sleep, she leaned across the aqua water.

Her reflection was whole and fresh and perfect.

"I don't understand." She touched her lip, felt its swollenness, the cut. Saw the bruises on her arms and legs, knowing more had to be on her ribs. Her breathing remained hitched. Perhaps her lungs had been punctured.

"They couldn't touch you." The goliath knelt beside her and cupped water. Some trickled through his thick fingers as he held his joined hands to her mouth.

She drank the cool, refreshing water, and a shiver traveled down her body. "But the pain. My lip, my ribs, the bruises..."

"They can't touch you physically," he clarified.

But mentally, they could.

The goliath cupped more water but brought it over her head so many times she didn't bother to keep count. With each pass, she felt some of the pain receding, as if washing away. Finally, her aches diminished enough she dared to believe Lukor was right, and instantly, the rest of her pain melted away.

Unable, or unwilling, to stop touching him, Ivy climbed to her feet while holding his hand and stared at the sky.

"Two and a half days," he said.

That short a time? It had felt like years.

"You should rest."

Ivy shook her head. "I don't think we should stop. Besides, didn't you just say we should press on?"

Lukor shook his head. "You're impossible, you do know that."

"Yes." Ivy swept past him, feeling more and more like her strong self with each step. Over her shoulder, she added, "Thank you."

Never before would she have expected to feel gratitude toward a goliath, let alone express it. But she did mean it. She wore her scars from battles proudly, but the pain from the spirits had been unlike any she'd experienced from an earthly blade.

"Thank you," she repeated in the faintest of whispers.

A barbarian showing appreciation for someone who had not killed someone else? Lukor suppressed a snort but could not help feeling pleased he had humbled her. Maybe even that he had helped her too. But only because he needed her to ensure his plan of dual-race war against the barbarians. No other reason. "Think not of it," he finally said, his tone a little sardonic, with a trace of sincerity.