Born of Oak and Silver (The Caradoc Chronicles) (35 page)

Kamar
ina had changed. I walked down Main Street, unsure of where exactly I should be going. I’m sure it did not matter; Maurelle would most assuredly be coming to me. I entered the pharmacy, a large, two-story, red-brick building with windows that faced the town square and courthouse. Just beside the door I found stacks of newspapers. Some were several days old from the larger cities of the east, but the one of most interest was the one printed just this morning. It was then that I learned that today was the morning of November 22, 1915.

I staggered a bit, thrown entirely by the realization that today was twenty-eight years later than what it had been
only yesterday. I vaguely recall leaving the store and making my way to a restaurant as my mind reeled with the lapse of time. The owner of the dinning establishment led me to a seat near the wall. I sat gratefully down in the wooden chair, taking my heavy pack from my shoulders and settling it on the floor beside me. The food was placed on the table before me and I ate it hungrily, tasting nothing.

I spent the d
ay reluctantly visiting my near—or distant—past. Which, I wasn’t sure. I left the last of the golden flowers floating on the pool of water, which was filled by a spring that still cascaded from the mouth of a stone lion above. They—Bram and my children—had not been disturbed, and continued to rest in peace. The thought gave me comfort.

I went to where our large plantation home had stood. Nothing remained. The fertile fields had been divided, and now they were worked b
y many small farming households. Their meager homes were set up to indicate the ownership of each field. I hoped that the land yielded them better fortune than it had me.

I wandered aimlessly
. There was no one with whom I could visit from before; most of my friends had left, either dead or relocated. I stayed on the outskirts of Kamarina, traversing open fields as the workers paused in their labors to study me curiously. I still carried the sheathed sword and heavily loaded pack upon my back. If not for my clean-cut appearance, I am sure the sight of swords and daggers at my belt would have given them the assumption that I was either a barbarian or murderous hobo. As it was, their ignorance made me a novelty, and they couldn’t help but stare as I passed.

I was grateful whenever the opportunity presented itself to make my way into the forests. It was there that thei
r eyes could no longer linger. I could breathe a bit easier, charging from and feeling the Earth’s strong presence. It was heightened by the lack of man’s labors and industrializations to interfere with her inherent energy. The day was crisp but invigorating, the cold seeming to lift and strengthen my spirits.

Without knowing how it had happened, I found myself once ag
ain near the Silver. The lumberyard was relinquishing the last of its workers for the evening. I stood hidden in the trees, watching as these men, hardened by physical labor, softened to banter with their companions at the prospect of home. It was Monday, and they were all grateful to have the first workday of the new week behind them. I envied them such simple concerns and pleasures.

The sun was now beginning its descent. Despite having eaten so heartily, I felt my stomach rumble in hunger. I ignored it, pushing it aside as I was unable to evade the feeling in my gut that Maure
lle would be coming, and soon.

I entered the lumber
yard; it was silent and still. With what was left of the waning light, I found a place at the back of the toolshed and began to dig. I needed something to occupy myself with, and welcomed the opportunity to use my body, working a shovel by hand.

Once I had made
a hole big and deep enough, I placed the pack and all of its contents inside. I did not want Maurelle or any of her cohorts to get their hands upon our knowledge of them. I regarded it solemnly, not knowing if I would ever return to retrieve them again. I reburied them hurriedly, feeling an unknown haste to hide them. I took care to remove any trace of the soil having been disturbed. Finally, I returned the tools to against the wall where I’d found them. When finished, the toolshed looked as it had when I found it.

I left the shed, carrying the S
word in my hand. I gave off the appearance of inspecting the various implements in each of the several out-buildings with unmasked interest.

I saved the largest of the buildings for last. It was a massive wooden structure, and unlike the mill that had stood in this place earlier, this one was permanent.
It was a single spacious room, sawdust and dirt mingling inseparably upon the packed earthen ground. Inside, it held massive stacks of debranched logs, piled and held in place by enormous chains against the building’s walls. Running the length of the center were large saws.

I breathed deeply of the earthy air, running my hands through my dark
, wavy hair, which was now brindled by gray. As I exhaled, I noticed the vague clouding as my breath condensed in the air. It was quickly growing uncomfortably cold, and I had naught but a thin overcoat with me. I instinctively began to wrap the coat a little tighter about my thin shoulders, rubbing my arms in an effort to warm them.

I studied the windowless room for
a stove to start a fire in. Seeing none, I reluctantly called fire to me. I startled, as in the dim light that accumulated in my hand a pair of ghostly, but darkly vivid, blue eyes peered at me through the shadows. They stared at me contemptuously. There was no glimmer of affection or amusement in them now. Her lovely face was a terrible front of malice as she glared at me, moving like a stalking cat as she came into the full focus of the light, which I made burn all the brighter.

“Daine,” she scoffed
. “I have looked forward to this moment for a very long time.” She wore a long, black skirt of flowing silk that was tied with a sash low on her hips. Her midsection was scandalously bare, allowing for only the slightest of coverings with which she hid her breasts. I allowed my gaze to linger on her abdomen. Her skin was slightly mottled with scars, evidence of the gruesome wound I had given her at our last meeting.

My fire grew
brighter, highlighting the silver that now mottled my dark hair. “You’ve aged,” she said dryly.

I nodded curtly. I had
wanted her to notice. As Bram had surmised, Maurelle routinely underestimated humans because of their physical appearance. To her, one who could not physically age, aging was a sign of weakness. To me, it was a sign of wisdom and strength. Let her underestimate me; it would be the crux of her mistake.

I
dropped my fire to the floor, and raised the Sword toward her with both of my hands. Her head gave an almost imperceptible nod, and then she struck.

A blast of energy came from behind, knocking me off my feet and onto my knees. I rolled swiftly aside as she lunged, a nondescript but deadly looking dagger slashing the air where my neck and shoulders had been only m
illiseconds before. I held the Sword tightly as I brought it up to match the slice of her dagger again. Her strength was shocking, and I felt the Sword being pushed down as her arm forced the dagger toward me.

I spun away. P
erhaps it was I that had underestimated her.

Oh God
, I prayed,
let this not all be in vain.

I moved away
sharply, jumping, diving, and lunging in an effort to avoid her blows. I managed to put one of the fixed saws between us, taking a moment’s pause.

I watched in wonder as she
effortlessly crumpled the steel, bending it impossibly as she stepped beneath the now arched metal frame. I scrambled back, feeling a stack of logs at my back as I lost any further chance of evasion.

She stood inches
from me. I was unprepared when she struck out, a fist landing squarely into my stomach. I doubled over, my eyes swimming, as blood began to tangle with saliva and hang drippingly from my mouth. I could not breathe, let alone right myself. She landed another blow, this one upon my jaw. Shoots of color exploded in my vision as I staggered and slumped against the logs. Weakly I spit teeth and blood from my mouth.

They spattered her clothing, and she looked at me cruelly, triumph glittering in her eyes. The dagger shone brightly in the fire that continued to burn where I had left it.

“Poor, poor Daine. Entirely alone and without a single friend left to aid you. It must be dreadful to have lost everything. Rest assured, your suffering will be over . . . eventually. I intend to have my way with you, insuring you the utmost pain and agony, bringing you to the brink of death over and over again, mangling your body until you are nothing left but living decay. But, hold to the knowledge that, eventually, you will have the end that you begged me for last.” Maurelle bent close to me, her heady scent causing me to feel the need to retch.

I
plunged the iron dagger that had been at my belt up and into her side. A piercing scream echoed through the building, the scent of burning flesh filling the air as she removed the dagger and let it fall metallically to the floor. Her blood literally bubbled and boiled out of the knife wound.

I
drew energy from the Earth, using its strength to heal the wounds that she had so recently inflicted. I grimaced, feeling my organs and tissues knitting neatly back together. I stood, using one of Ayda’s tricks, to launch an inferno of fire up without warning from the floor beneath her feet. The moment I felt the flames beginning to take form upon the earth, I called the wind. The blaze met the wind in an instantaneous combustion, causing the flames to lap at her skin with scorching heat. My hands rose in an effort to shield my eyes and face from the inferno.

I felt my skin prickling behind me. W
ithout knowing how it was that I knew, I turned and met Maurelle’s dagger with the Sword. Our battle escalated, she sifting quickly around me, and I instinctively knowing where she would next reappear. I met every one of her tireless attacks.

Her eyes slanted in annoyance as I continued to elude her. I felt a warning as a massive surge of unknown ene
rgy approached me. I raised the Sword to deflect it. I was knocked sideways as it bounced off the Sword and shot through the farthest wall, blowing a massive hole in the building. Shards of wood exploded into the air, lodging themselves soundly in the ground and walls around us.

She did not wait
; another blast came just as I was finding my feet. The barrage sent me flying through the air, crashing into a stack of logs that was chained against the wall. The chains that held them rattled dangerously as I fell to the floor beneath them, feeling something inside of me crack and break. I was hurt. I knew not how badly, nor did I feel pain. I only knew that I was finding it difficult to move or think clearly.

She again began to stalk, moving unnaturally as she crossed the ground that lay between us
. The fire that I had left at a constant burn began to flicker and threaten to go out. It highlighted her movements as she closed the distance. She was livid.

The Sword lay limply in my hand. I could not move my right hand or arm, and my left
I knew could hardly move. I reached deeper inside of myself, searching whatever was there, whatever was left. Druidry would have no effect on her, neither would the lightning—she would be expecting it. Desperate, I latched onto a set of black runes that pulsed powerfully in my mind and threw them at her.

They glowed
red against her black clothing as they marred her perfect skin. They began to attach themselves. Her steps stumbled. She fell to her knees, her skin beginning to melt away under the affixed runes. Frantically, she futilely fought to peel them away, screaming in pain as their imprints began to blister and ooze with infection.

Still on her knees, she fell forward, her hands catching her before she hit the ground. She seemed to convulse, her eyes looking up to meet my own wide with pain and anger. “You
. . .,” she growled. Her wounds festered and dripped on the ground. The sores began to spread. The smell was horrendous.

With
out warning, she lunged forward. Her dagger landed soundly in my ribs, the knife tip stabbing into the log behind me. I groaned in pain. My lung had been punctured. She laughed horribly as I writhed. I torturously wriggled the blade’s hilt in an effort to dislodge the knife from the wood. I watched, gasping, as the blade finally dislodged. It inched viciously from my body.

I
heaved it at her.

S
he insultingly batted it away as if it were nothing more than a leaf. Having been thus distracted, she was entirely caught off guard when the blade of the Sword sliced cleanly through her wrist, cutting her hand completely away.

T
he hand fell to the ground; Maurelle’s perfect mouth hung agape in abject horror. She clawed recklessly for it, and held it tenderly to her chest. Glittering blood streaked her breast and smeared her face, leaving her pale and gory. A single bloody tear fell from her eye and traced its way down her cheek.

I had collected enough energy from the
Earth to begin to heal, but was still greatly damaged. It was with great pain that I moved toward her, making it barely to my knees as I struggled to hold the Sword firmly in my trembling hand.

“Finish me,” she snarled through gritted teeth.

Her skin was being eaten away by the runes, revealing the bloody and acid-chewed muscles beneath. Her once perfect face now seeped and oozed with sores.