The Goddess of the Underworld: The Chronicles of Arianthem VIII Page 7

  The entertainers finished their exhibition to grand applause. Even Hel deigned a nod of approval, a gesture in importance exceeding the sum total of the boisterous appreciation in the hall. Raine did not respond, and shook her head when Feray offered her a glass of wine. Hel was unmoved by Raine’s disinterest, for what came next would surely shake the Arlanian from her lethargy.

  The shuffling of the crowd at the bottom of the stairs told Raine that it was time for the presentations, an endless parade of sycophants seeking to curry the favor of the Goddess. But oddly, the crowd was parting for a solo figure who was unexpected by all but Hel. Gasps accompanied his presence, and a frenzy of anticipation attended his path through the enormous hall. Despite the carnival atmosphere his arrival provoked, he was greeted with great respect and given ample room to make his way across the hall. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his expression stern and unwavering as Hel looked upon him with amusement.

  Raine examined him. He stood head and shoulders over all near him. He was extraordinarily handsome with shoulder length, wavy dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a broadly muscular body currently filled with tension. His long eyelashes flicked to Raine as he glanced in her direction, then returned his attention to Hel. His frown did not mar his fine-looking features, rather gave him a brooding intensity that increased his allure. Although Raine had never seen this man before, she knew instantly who he was.

  She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the humiliation of having to ask for something that should have been her right. She turned to the Goddess.

  “May I go speak with him?”

  Hel examined her beautiful captive, pleased with the submission in that simple request. She took Raine’s chin in her hand, leaned forward, and gave her the gentlest of kisses. She leaned back, even more pleased at the violet her kiss evoked.

  “You may.”

  Raine stood, straightened her clothing, squared her shoulders, then started down the steps with every pair of eyes in the room upon her. She moved with the lithe, deadly grace that, although always present, seemed to disappear in the shadow of the Goddess. Without Hel’s looming presence, however, that lethality became apparent to many in the hall, causing them to look upon her as if seeing her for the very first time. She seemed less a plaything at the moment than a tightly contained being, a trapped animal that was cornered but could explode at any time.

  Raine stopped before the man, leaving an appropriate distance between them although in truth, she wanted none. She took a deep breath to steady her voice, to wring from it the deep emotion that was threatening to spill forth.

  “I think I like you better in your other form.”

  “As do I,” Fenrir said, “but my sister does not allow it in her realm.”

  Raine struggled to maintain her demeanor. She carefully considered her words, knowing they were heard by all in the room, and most closely monitored by she who sat on the throne.

  “You are well?” Raine asked.

  “I am,” Fenrir said, “but my children miss you.” His voice was controlled, but thick with emotion. “I miss you.”

  Raine could not respond. The ache in her throat was too acute.

  “And how are you?” Fenrir asked.

  “As well as can be expected under the circumstances.”

  The words held a world of meanings, all of which Fenrir understood. It was the diplomatic reply of someone in an impossible situation.

  “Good. I had heard report. But I had to see you with my own eyes.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  Their short conversation seemed at an end, and both stood stiffly apart. Finally, Raine turned as if to leave.

  “Raine—”

  Raine did not even have to look at his face, because his voice held all of their mutual pain. She turned back to him as he pulled her into his arms, embracing her tightly as she buried her face in his chest. The inhabitants of the Underworld gaped in stunned silence as the wolf god clung to the mortal with an anguish that was palpable.

  Although Raine would have stayed in that embrace for hours, even their momentary weakness was dangerous. She pulled back from him and he, too, regained his composure.

  “I hope to see you again,” Raine said.

  “I will do everything I can to return,” Fenrir said, and Raine turned and started back up the steps.

  Hel watched the display of affection with a jaundiced eye. On the one hand, it made her jealous of Raine’s love of Fenrir, a love he so obviously returned. On the other hand, it was nice to have her brother beneath her heel once more. These two emotions seemed to cancel one another out, so she was left with little if any response to the exchange. With the Arlanian safely settled at her side once more, she turned her attention to her brother.

  Fenrir bowed low, his respect as much to keep Raine safe as from any genuine feeling.

  “Thank you for receiving me, your Majesty.”

  “You are always welcome here, my brother.” Hel’s hand drifted over to settle possessively on Raine’s leg. “We look forward to your return.”

  Fenrir bowed once more, then made his way back through the hall, his stormy countenance causing the crowd to give him an even wider berth as he sliced through them. He stopped only at the entrance, to where he leaned down to Garmr, whispering a few words to the snarling beast.

  “If you even think to touch her,” Fenrir said through gritted teeth that were already returning to fangs, “I will rip off your balls and shove them down your throat.”

  His words were heard by none but the watchdog, but all could hear Garmr whimper as he put his tail between his legs, and backed into a corner.

  A hum of speculation followed Fenrir’s exit. The murmurs revolved around his startling arrival, the strange and unexpected bond between him and the mortal, and even of Hel’s acknowledgement of Fenrir by her use of the term “brother.” Proposed theories flew about, all trying to interpret the many-layered meaning of the short visit.

  Raine attempted no such interpretation. She sat there even more numb than before, the brief reunion leaving her raw and dazed. She could not fathom Hel’s intent on a normal day. If possible, the extraordinary event provided her even less insight.

  Hel, however, was rather pleased with how the reunion had unfolded. Although she had said little to her brother, she had communicated to him exactly what she wished him to know.

  Chapter 14

  The Queen made her way across the garden, accompanied by her First General and First Scholar. Their swift approach was observed by Y’arren’s attendants, who disappeared inside the flap of the tent, then reappeared with the elven matriarch. Elyara came out behind her, and Kylan, who had been resting on the cot inside, followed her. Drakar and Idonea sat on a bench not far away from Y’arren’s camp, and they, too, observed the determined approach of the Queen. Their curiosity drew them in and they joined Y’arren in waiting for Queen Halla. Dallan and Skye also appeared at a side gate, jogging to an intercept course with the Queen’s entourage, and falling in behind them.

  “Y’arren,” Halla said, slightly out of breath, “a man appeared at the front gate not long ago, asking to see you, and he is being escorted here now.”

  “A man?” Y’arren asked. “Elven?”

  The Queen looked to her First General, who had been at the gates when the man arrived. Senta shook her head.

  “I don’t think so,” Senta said, “he is a man—,” she stopped, at a loss for words. “—quite unlike any I’ve ever seen. But I felt compelled to allow him entrance.”

  “What does he look like?” Y’arren asked.

  “Huge,” Senta said, “taller than me. He looks enormously strong, long brown hair, brown eyes, strong white teeth, gloomy and menacing.”

  Y’arren contemplated this description, then said only “I see.”

  The group was left with this enigmatic
response, but not for long as the Royal Guard escorted the man through the garden. He drew the attention of all. Ha’kan women were rarely attracted to non-Ha’kan, and the male of any species held no interest to them at all. But as this dark creature stalked through their garden, many privately thought that if they were ever to dip their toe in that pool, this would be the specimen with which to do so.

  As he approached, Y’arren kneeled down, followed by her attendants. Idonea, Drakar, and even Kylan went to a knee, and the Ha’kan, surprised by the display of reverence and uncertain what was happening, also kneeled.

  “That is enough of that,” Fenrir growled uncomfortably.

  Y’arren rose gracefully to her feet. “You will have to forgive us. It is not every day we are afforded a visit from a god.”

  This brought gasps from the Ha’kan.

  “I dislike this form,” Fenrir said, “but I thought it would sooner gain me admission than my preferred visage.”

  “Queen Halla,” Y’arren said, “do you object if Fenrir returns to his natural form?”

  “No,” the Queen said, regaining her composure, “of course not.”

  Fenrir did not hesitate, his appearance wavered, grew smoky, then in an instant, he twisted into a gigantic wolf that stood upright on its hind legs. Skye stared in wonder, recognizing the beast she had seen with Raine on their quest through the forest.

  “Thank you,” Fenrir said. “I can breathe much easier.”

  “And why have you blessed us with your presence, wolf god?” Y’arren asked

  Fenrir brushed distractedly at his silky coat with an enormous paw. “I have been to the Underworld, and I have seen Raine.”

  “Is she all right?” Skye said, stepping forward.

  Fenrir recognized the young Tavinter who had accompanied Raine through the forest, the one who had helped rescue one of his children from poachers.

  “In her words, as well as can be expected under the circumstances.”

  “You spoke to her?” Y’arren said.

  “I did. My sister allowed me to enter her realm.”

  “Your sister?” Gimle began, then caught herself. “That’s right, you are Hel’s brother.”

  “I am,” Fenrir said, as if the fact gave him no pleasure. “We have not spoken in ages, but I swallowed my pride in order to see Raine.”

  Fenrir then described their brief interaction, trying to recall as much detail as possible.

  “She was uninjured?” Y’arren asked.

  “She does not appear to be harmed in any way, and no one, other than my sister, has the opportunity to harm her, for she is never far from Hel’s grasp.”

  “Did you—?” Idonea began, then stopped. She gathered herself. “Did you see any sign of Talan?”

  “I did not see any sign of your mother,” Fenrir said with sympathy, “but I was not allowed beyond the throne room.”

  Kylan frowned and put her arm around Idonea’s shoulders. She ached for the dragon’s children, and she ached for herself.

  “Did you get any sense of Raine’s position?” the Queen asked.

  “I will not lie to you,” Fenrir rumbled, “it is clear that Hel has taken Raine to her bed, and takes enormous pleasure in her as a lover. It is also clear this is against Raine’s will, and she submits because she has no choice.”

  “And because she is Arlanian,” Y’arren said, stating what the wolf god did not wish to.

  “Yes,” Fenrir said, “because she is Arlanian.”

  Y’arren mulled these words, because this had long been Raine’s fear of her fate. Talan had sought for years to prepare her for the possibility, insisting that she feel no guilt or shame if her body responded to the Goddess. Y’arren hoped that the wise words of the dragon had taken hold, or Raine’s helpless position was all the worse.

  Fenrir’s next words only added to Y’arren’s unease.

  “There is something else,” he said, “something about the way Raine is being treated in the Underworld.”

  “Is she abused?” the Queen asked with concern.

  “No,” Fenrir said, “I would almost prefer that were the case. But my sister treats Raine in a way I have never seen her treat anyone, with an inexplicable deference, and an absolute demand that others treat her the same way.”

  Fenrir thought back to the subtle cues he had identified, the little displays of etiquette that most likely meant nothing to Raine, and yet everything to those in Hel’s court.

  “I don’t know what Hel is doing, but I see a great danger in this elevation of Raine, this recognition of her. My sister never does anything without a reason.”

  The group fell into silence, considering the words of the wolf god. It was Idonea who broke the silence.

  “Fenrir,” Idonea said, glancing to Y’arren, who nodded. “I was actually going to seek you out, to request your help. I was wondering if you would deign to speak with me privately?”

  “Of course, dragon’s daughter,” Fenrir said in his low rumble.

  Fenrir loomed even larger in Idonea’s chambers, and she admired his physique in wolf form. Drakar had watched them depart moodily, and perhaps with good cause as Idonea idly wondered what it would be like to have sex with a god. She then had the even more illicit thought of wondering what it would be like to have sex with him in his wolf form, then reflected on whether that was even physically possible. She then shook her head, trying to clear the image of Fenrir mounting her from behind. Her mother’s dalliance with the gods had proved disastrous; she should take a lesson from that.

  Fenrir seemed aware of, if not the totality of her thoughts, at least their general substance. He shifted uncomfortably and brushed his paw against his cheek, a gesture that was so endearing for a god, Idonea’s thoughts went right back to where they had been a minute before. It was darling to see a creature of such power exhibit such a dour bashfulness. And Idonea had long wondered if the wolf god held some feeling for Raine beyond mere friendship.

  Raine. The thought of her endangered friend immediately returned Idonea to focus.

  “Fenrir, can you describe how you met Raine?”

  Raine had described it to Idonea briefly, many years ago, and one aspect of the story had intrigued her.

  “Of course,” Fenrir said. “Not quite three centuries ago, I was trapped by three Sinisters.”

  “Sinisters?” Idonea said in surprise. Now she was intrigued by more than one aspect. “I thought that coven had died out eons ago.”

  “As did I,” Fenrir said. The powerful witches had once terrorized Arianthem, using a combination of spells, enchantments, curses, and alchemy to petrify the common people. They pre-dated many of the races of Arianthem, and even the elves gave these sorceresses a wide berth, fearing the necromancy they practiced with ease.

  “The Sinisters roamed this world with impunity for a thousand years,” Fenrir said, “when the people were vulnerable to superstition and afraid of the dark.”

  “But it wasn’t just superstition, the Sinisters possessed real power.” Idonea said.

  “Oh yes,” Fenrir said, “they were deadly. It was only through the sustained efforts of one race that they were hunted down into extinction.”

  “What race was that?” Idonea asked, already guessing the answer.

  “The Scinterians,” Fenrir said. “Their resistance to magic was higher than any other people, and their physical strength grew from generation-to-generation. It is little-known, but their ceremony, the one in which Raine acquired her markings, grew from their conflict with the Sinisters.”

  “In what way?” Idonea asked, now fascinated with the story for a host of reasons beyond her original query.

  “The ceremony was indeed designed to inflict such pain in a young Scinterian that they need fear nothing else in their life, having already borne the worst. But the blue and gold minerals they used, their
identity and exact combination a closely-guarded secret, served a secondary purpose.”

  “And what purpose was that?”

  “It prevented them from being raised from the dead.”

  Idonea considered his words. “So they were protected from the necromancy.”

  “They did not wish their undead form to battle their brethren.”

  That made sense, Idonea thought. Not only would it be horrible to have your corpse battle your loved ones, but an undead Scinterian would likely make a formidable foe.

  “So a few of these Sinisters survived,” Idonea mused.

  “Yes, and I had warned them against using my children for their nefarious purposes. They did not take kindly to my threats, and trapped me.”

  Now this was the part of the story that had intrigued Idonea, even so many year ago.

  “A magical trap?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I thought that magic did not affect the gods.”

  “Extremely powerful magic can.” Fenrir frowned. “And let’s face it, despite my exalted relatives, I am not the most powerful of the pantheon.”

  “Can you describe the trap?”

  “I remember it like it was yesterday. A pyramid-shaped cage made of red light, four sides coming to a point above my head.”

  “Were there any symbols written by the Sinisters?”

  “Yes, written on the ground and in the light of the cage itself.”

  “Can you remember them, well enough to write down?”

  “I spent months in that cage,” Fenrir growled, “I believe that I can.”

  “Were there any smells that you can remember?”

  “Sulfur,” Fenrir answered, and Idonea nodded, “and something else. A type of burnt wood. I think it might have been juniper.”

  “Good,” Idonea said, “that gives me a lot to start with.”

  Fenrir felt a vague unease about this line of questioning. “Can I ask you what you intend to do with this spell?”

  Idonea was not certain whether or not to share her plan with the wolf god, but Raine trusted him absolutely.