The Inner Circle: Holy Spirit (2 page)

‘
Come no farther,
outlander,’ a young and rather nervous looking an’hadoan
threatened. By the look of him, Gifn doubted the boy had ever even
been outside the Frozen Lands. ‘For what reason have you entered
our cleff?’

‘
Where’s Far-a-mael?’
Gifn stepped back from the blade and turned to face the young
man.

‘
Far-a-mael of the
Eighth Cleff?’ The young man’s jaw dropped.

‘
The one and only,’
Gifn said through gritted teeth, remembering the living torrid that
the old man had put Jil-e-an through.

‘
The man you speak of
is now addressed as War Elder Far-a-mael of the Unified Cleffs,’
the young soldier announced, patriotic glint in his eye.

Gifn raised his eyebrows. It was just
like Far-a-mael to attach himself to such a presumptuous title. ‘I
don’t care what he calls himself. I’m here to see Far-a-mael. And,
son, you’re not going to stop me.’ Gifn placed his hand on the hilt
of his sword. It’d been many years since he’d used it, but Gifn
doubted he’d forgotten how.

‘
I’ll take you to my
superior.’ The young man stepped back nervously.

‘
And who might that
be?’ Gifn enquired. ‘Who might you be, for that matter?’

‘
I’m an an’hidoan,’
the boy said proudly. ‘My name is Wil-u-ke and I’ll be taking you
to see Sy Tim-a-nie.’

‘
Well, we’d better
get a move on.’ Gifn rubbed his forehead tiredly, having never
quite gotten used to Elglair names and titles. ‘I’m not getting any
younger.’

‘
I’m sorry, sir.’ The
an’hidoan’s face was filled with concern. ‘You must be at least a
hundred. We’ll leave right away.’

Gifn sighed but refused to correct the
boy. Elglair were renowned for their longevity, typically living
past their two hundredth birthday. The youth were taught to respect
age as though it was status and as far as Gifn was concerned, the
older they thought him, the better.

As Gifn hurried after the dexterous
young man, weaving in between the tents before him, he soon became
aware of other young an’hidoans keeping a close eye on him. Even
the occasional gil paused to shoot him a rather disapproving
glance, but seeing as though he had Wil-u-ke as an escort, the pair
remained unhindered.

‘
Sy Tim-a-nie.’
Wil-u-ke paused by the canvas flap of a rather impressive looking
tent. ‘May I have audience with you?’

‘
Come in, Wil-u-ke,’
a rather dissonant voice replied.

‘
Stay here.’ Wil-u-ke
pointed a finger at Gifn’s chest. ‘I’m serious. If you step out of
line this close to the War Elder’s tent, there’s no telling what
your punishment will be,’ the young man warned before stepping into
Sy Tim-a-nie’s tent.

Gifn turned in a slow circle, taking in
his immediate surroundings. Most of the tents in this part of the
camp were rather elaborate, but one of them towered above the
others and its length stretched much farther back. Wil-u-ke had
said that they were close to Far-a-mael’s tent. Did Gifn dare seek
out the man on his own?

The tent flap was pulled aside
and Wil-u-ke stepped out, followed by an older man who could only
have been Sy Tim-a-nie. Tim-a-nie’s voice did not match the
physique of the man standing before Gifn, a weasel of a fellow with
a sharp nose. ‘So you’re the outlander who dares to stride into our
cleff unannounced? What business could you possibly have with the
War Elder?’ he finished with a snarl, eyeing Gifn’s modest garb
distastefully.

‘
He took my
daughter,’ Gifn spat. ‘I’ve come to retrieve her.’

‘
Ah, yes . . . the
Eltari girl.’ Tim-a-nie nodded. ‘Of course. I’m terribly sorry, but
this is as far as you may come, outlander. You must return to
whichever rock it is you crawled out from under.’

‘
I’ve travelled for
weeks to get here and you expect me to simply turn around and
leave?’ Gifn raised his arms in disbelief. ‘Not a
chance.’

‘
Leave!’ In an
instant, Tim-a-nie’s sword went from its scabbard to Gifn’s throat.
‘You’ve been denied an audience with the War Elder.’

‘
All right, all
right!’ Gifn’s eyes bulged in alarm and he took a step back. ‘I’ll
go.’

‘
Good.’ Tim-a-nie
smiled mockingly. ‘Wil-u-ke. Would you kindly escort--’

Before the sy’hadoan could say
another word, Gifn pulled his sword free and started swinging. ‘I
want my daughter back!’ he shouted, anger and determination
blinding him to the danger in which he’d put himself.

Sy Tim-a-nie leapt backward and raised
his sword to ward off Gifn’s blow, but he’d caught the man by
surprise and continued striking until finally, by some miracle,
Tim-a-nie lost his grip and the sword fell. Fear glistened in the
man’s eyes as he stood slowly without a weapon, Gifn’s sword
pressed firmly against his throat. A large group of an’hidoans had
gathered to watch the duel and now gaped in disbelief that their
mighty sy’hadoan had been overpowered.

‘
Far-a-mael!’ Gifn
bellowed, his voice echoing sharply against the silence of the
shocked soldiers. ‘Far-a-mael! Come out and face me like a man. We
did everything you asked. We disappeared for the sake of your ego.
Why have you come back now?’ Silence answered Gifn’s taunts. ‘I’ll
kill him!’ Gifn shouted furiously, increasing the pressure of his
sword against Tim-a-nie’s neck. ‘Show yourself, Far-a-mael, or I
swear to Maker, I’ll kill him.’

‘
Now, now,’ the
ancient voice spoke softly and yet it seemed impossible to tell
from which direction it came. ‘There’s no need for such violence,
is there?’ The flap on the elaborate tent twenty strides away slid
open to reveal Far-a-mael’s elderly although strong form. Arms
crossed tightly across his chest, the War Elder appeared to glide
across the ice without any effort whatsoever.

‘
Mister Eltari,’
Far-a-mael murmured, delicately placing a single finger on the
blade of Gifn’s sword. ‘What has driven you to such madness?’ He
put a little pressure on the sword and Gifn found himself lowering
it subordinately.

‘
I need to find my
daughter,’ he almost blubbered, a great tiredness overwhelming him.
Gifn was exhausted to the point that he felt that if he should only
be pushed, he would collapse in defeat.

‘
Oh, hush, hush.’
Far-a-mael patted him sympathetically, as a father might do his
boy. ‘I know you must be tired. You’ve travelled so very far. It
seems unfair that you should be turned away now.’

Finally, someone understood. Gifn
wept openly. All these years, he’d misjudged Far-a-mael. The man
was like a father to him and he just knew that he could trust him
with anything. Far-a-mael took Gifn’s chin in his hand and stared
deep into his eyes with those piercing white pupils. ‘I’m so sorry
to inform you of this news, my old friend, but your daughter is
dead.’

‘
No,’ Gifn moaned and
fell to his knee. ‘No, not Seteal, too. Not my Seteal. Why did you
take her? She was safe with me.’ He sobbed uncontrollably, staring
up at Far-a-mael through tear-filled eyes.

‘
She was not safe.’
Far-a-mael shook his head regretfully. ‘Gifn . . . a legion of
demons had discovered she was Elglair and they were coming for her.
We tried to keep her from them, but it was no use. They were too
strong.’

‘
I don’t believe
you!’ Gifn cried, although inside he felt a powerful urge to accept
every word the man uttered.

‘
Here.’ Far-a-mael
opened a canvas sack that Gifn hadn’t even noticed him carrying
until now. ‘Is this not her dress?’ He removed the stained cloth
and Gifn recognised it immediately as Seteal’s. He likewise
recognised the stains of both human and silt blood spattered across
its surface.

Gifn reached for the dress and held it
like a child would their favourite toy. Seteal’s sweet scent still
lingered beneath the metallic tang of blood. Words escaped Gifn
thereafter. He fell into the snow weeping for what seemed like
eternity. Far-a-mael loomed over him, occasionally rubbing his back
and gazing into his eyes with curiosity. Each time he did, Gifn
felt a reaffirmation that Far-a-mael had spoken the truth. Seteal
was dead. He’d failed Jil-e-an, he’d failed as a father--and worst
of all, he’d failed his daughter.

As the sun began to set, Gifn found the
strength to stand, and when he did Far-a-mael placed a hand heavily
on his shoulder, once more looking into his eyes. ‘The best you can
do now is to go home and mourn your daughter, Gifn. The people of
Elmsville are kindly. They’ll take care of you in your grief.’

‘
Of course . . .
you’re right.’ Gifn sobbed behind red-rimmed eyes. ‘I’ll go home,’
he murmured, turning away dejectedly.

Blind to the prying eyes surrounding
him, Gifn drifted back to the gently sloping ramp and away from the
Sixth Cleff. There was nothing he could do for Seteal anymore.

CHAPTER One

Sometimes Blood is Not

Thicker than Water

Small groups of four to six
an’hadoans moved about in packs, leaving Seteal with no doubt as to
with which task they’d been assigned: finding her. Fastening her
hood a little more securely over her head, Seteal kept her eyes
down and followed El-i-miir along dark alleyways and between frozen
buildings. Ilgrin kept himself to the darkest of shadows, but
everyone present was well aware that
the
demon’s disguise would become useless with the rising
sun.

‘
This way,’ the
Elglair woman hissed over her shoulder. ‘Quietly,’ she warned. ‘We
have to enter the street.’

‘
It’s not safe,’
Seeol the elf owl piped in from his place on Seteal’s
arm.

‘
It’s our only
choice,’ El-i-miir replied dismissively, glancing back the way
they’d come. It was then that Seteal made the mistake of following
the woman’s gaze only to momentarily make eye contact with a
stranger.

‘
Who goes there?’ the
an’hadoan called from the far end of the alleyway.

‘
Run!’ El-i-miir
cried.

‘
Stop!’ the an’hadoan
shouted as the group took off around the corner and into the dimly
lit street.

‘
Over here.’
El-i-miir raced across the road toward a large house built from ice
bricks. The Elglair home had beautiful glass windows embedded in
its surface at various locations and a large door carved from a
single sheet of ice. Without hesitation, the forsaken rei banged on
the door. Before long, it swung open, but the man within turned
away in disbelief. The stranger had a neatly trimmed black
moustache and beard. His eyes were dark and it didn’t look as
though he’d slept in days. Of course, this was no surprise, given
the recent fate of his eldest daughter.

‘
Papa,’ El-i-miir
panted, frantically waving the others inside and slamming the door
behind them. ‘Papa,’ she repeated as her father strode over to the
window and stared out onto the street without once looking at his
daughter.

‘
You shouldn’t have
come here,’ Arl-an-dor intoned as he drew the curtains and turned
around, but his eyes shifted immediately to the figure looming
behind her. His jaw worked repeatedly as he threw out his hands
defensively. ‘Silt,’ he finally choked out. Ilgrin fell to his
knees, his face twisted in agony as Arl-an-dor assaulted his
aura.

‘
Stop it!’ El-i-miir
raced toward her father. ‘I can explain.’

‘
Explain what,
El-i-miir?’ Arl-an-dor’s voice broke. ‘Explain why you’ve brought a
demon into our home when your mother and sisters are sleeping
upstairs? I’m beginning to think the allegations against you were
true,’ he snarled, twitching his hand and driving Ilgrin onto all
fours.

‘
I said stop it.’
El-i-miir raised her hands to form a counter-strike against her
father. Unable to compete with his daughter’s abilities, Arl-an-dor
lowered his hands and moved away. His eyes became vacant and he
took a seat in the chair across the room.

‘
How dare you
affiliate me,’ the man snapped upon regaining his senses, and leapt
to his feet. El-i-miir merely repeated her former actions and again
the man sat submissively.

‘
I should call the
hadoan,’ Arl-an-dor said darkly after El-i-miir had released him.
He rose to his feet, but made no further attack on Ilgrin, who
seemed a little wobbly on his own.

Ilgrin was a demon as far as the
majority of New World were concerned. The insulting term had been
propagated by religious zealots throughout the ages, helped along
by its frequent use in the Holy Tome. Few people believed in the
ancient Scriptures anymore, but silts were still referred to as
demons more often than not. With large, bat-like wings and pallid
white flesh, Ilgrin easily looked the part of a foreboding villain,
but on closer inspection, his large, almond-shaped, purple eyes
were filled with kindness and somehow his lack of fingernails or
toenails made him seem oddly harmless. But perhaps that was the
illusion. With three to four times the strength of a human man,
Seteal wasn’t certain she’d ever be able to trust him completely.
But then, it was unlikely she’d ever trust any man
again.

‘
I’m Ilgrin.’ The
silt went slowly in, removing his cloak. ‘I’m pleased to make your
acquaintance.’