My vision tunneled as white-hot fury rolled through me. I wished to conjure a sword to strike the witch through her rotten heart. This was the beginning of a transference ceremony, to take a soul and force it to enter a new shell. A new body. The witch wanted to take Tanith’s form, and if I hadn’t arrived before it began, Tanith’s soul would be lost to me forever. Already, her body was covered with cuts, and blood leaked out across the altar, a sacrifice to the gods.
My anger burned, and I lifted the flute to my trembling lips, wanting to strike out instead of remaining calm. But the magic would not work if I couldn’t control myself. The first notes shook but steadily grew stronger as I played, first creating a protective barrier around myself. But I wasn’t fast enough. The witch spun, eyes wide, and snarled, her open mouth revealing fang-like teeth, not unlike Barnum’s.
It was clear to see why she wished for a new body. Her hair was knotted and wild, skin pockmarked and covered with blemishes. Whether it was her original body or one she’d worn down, it was impossible to tell. Not only was she a witch who practiced dark magic, she was a body-snatcher—a survivor, perhaps even as old as me.
“Come to save your bride?” she cackled, fingers moving as she formed a ball of black magic out of strands of darkness.
I played louder, trying to control the song while blood roared in my ears. She hurled the ball of darkness against my half-formed barrier. It dissipated under the onslaught, and tendrils of black magic slammed into me, knocking the flute from my mouth and hurling me against the wall. Pain radiated up my spine, followed by an intense burning sensation. With a groan, I stamped my feet and pressed my lips against the flute again, playing despite the pain. She was old, strong, and in her lair. However, I was old too, even if slightly weakened from calling the storm. We were equals.
The notes responded to my coaxing and drifted around me to reform the magical barrier, creating layers to strengthen it as the witch readied her black magic again. This time, I walked forward and her magic shattered against my barrier, clinking like glass against stone. I played faster, my fingers flying up and down the neck of the flute. My notes went down to the floor and lifted the shards of black magic, one by one, and hurled them like darts back at the witch.
She was quick, but not quick enough, and a shrill wail tore out of her throat as her own magic sank beneath her skin. I was good at revenge, and my lips curved up in a cruel smile, breaking the notes, but only for a second as I launched my offense. Using my magic to pick up objects in the room and hurl them at her, I distracted her from creating more balls of magic. All the while, I crept closer to Tanith, and my barrier of magic expanded, filling the room.
The witch clawed at the barrier with her overly long fingernails, causing sparks and smoke to rise. But I’d had just enough time to seal it. My blood boiled hot, making my body tremble as I reached Tanith, who lay slack and unmoving. The witch hadn’t taken the time to tie her up, so sure she had been in her power.
The attraction between Tanith and me was mutual, but beyond that, I hadn’t realized I actually cared for my wife. Falling in love brought both bliss and an earth-shattering pain. I didn’t think I had it in me to love again, especially a mortal who I intended to set free the moment she helped me succeed. I didn’t plan on thinking of her again, except for a faint memory of the taste of her lips.
But now, seeing her laid bare—unconscious and being stolen from me—brought an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. Tanith was mine. How dare the witch attempt to take her away. I protected what was mine, and the witch had triggered more than just my fury. What was happening to Tanith was the same thing that had happened to the magic-thralls. Only, I’d failed in my duty to save them from damnation. But somehow, Tanith was different too. Her blood on the crystal had awakened me, and the vows of our marriage had created deeper bonds than I intended. Stirrings began in my chest, a cutting truth edging through my rage. My ears rang, my blood roared hot in my veins, and my heartbeat doubled. What I felt was more than protectiveness.
I slammed down the treacherous thought before it fully formed and focused on the witch, aware I was about to lose control. She hovered in front of the fire, chanting as magic swelled from her palm, growing into something terrible and tormented. Was she pulling spirits from the other side?
I played one last note, bright and clear, and held it a beat before dropping my trembling hands to my side. A grin of mirth covered the witch’s face. She thought I was giving up. But I couldn’t play anymore, not with the new sensations stirring in my chest and the fury that beat against my head like a drum.
Even since awakening, I’d held everything in—my failure, my helplessness, my hatred, my confusion of coming to back life after so many decades had passed. Everyone from my past was gone. The mortals dead. The Others gone, either by banishment, punishment, or to the beyond where I could not follow. The creatures I called back to myself were from the grave and even if I succeeded, I’d still be alone. Forgotten. Just as if I’d been buried alive. Tanith made me feel less alone, less forgotten. Although she stoked my ire, she also awakened feelings that had long lay dormant, feelings I didn’t realize I had until the witch tried to take her from me.
To prevent myself from accidentally breaking my flute, I tucked it into my belt. I balled up my fists, opened my mouth, and roared.
All my emotions bellowed out of me, a deep bass surging into a higher tenor. The golden barrier between the witch and me flickered for a moment, as if it would go out without the music to sustain it. Then everything in the room flew as a wind storm kicked up.
I roared as the curtains twisted in a circle and the walls shuttered. I roared as the fire fell flat and the witch flew black, arms and legs flailing. Her bottom landed in the pot and she shrieked from the heat. I roared as my magic billowed out, humming, until—just like me—it exploded.
A violent boom shook the very foundations of the tower. Spinning, I lifted Tanith off the altar and ran while the stones crumbled and shattered. I barely made it to the stairs before the ceiling caved in and collapsing rock thundered behind me. I ran as if the devil and a horde of demons were behind me. Ironic. I was called the Devil of Dowler, but the devil wouldn’t call up arcane magic to save his wife.
23Oren
Back in our room, I washed the blood from Tanith’s skin. If she were awake, she’d curse me with her sharp tongue. I’d gladly take anything other than the limpness of her body, as though her spirit were floating far away. I bound her wounds, dressed her in a nightgown, and laid her on my bed. She looked as though she were merely sleeping, her glossy, black curls trailing down her shoulders. I propped her up with pillows and sat down beside her, aware I, too, was weary and filthy from the explosion. Occasional tremors still shook the castle, aftereffects of the collapse of the tower. Likely a pile of rubble to shift through, but nothing that couldn’t wait.
Taking Tanith’s limp hand, I turned it over and felt for her pulse. It was weak, barely there. I pressed her hand between my palms, conflict rising like a bitter seed. My mouth tasted sour, but I had to decide in a matter of moments. If I waited, the ebb of life would flow away and Tanith—and the potential of what we could be—would be lost forever. And she was young. She wanted to live, and my blindness to anything else other than revenge might have cost me something beautiful.
Releasing her, I stormed to my shelves and riffled through the clutter until I found my hunting knife. Placing a cup on the desk, I held my arm out, and without preamble, slit my wrist. Blood gushed out, a deep red, almost black. The cup was half full when I stopped, wrapping my wrist with a bandage. It soaked through, but I’d close the wound later.
Returning to Tanith’s side, I lifted her head. “Tanith, if you can hear me, listen. Drink this to live. It’s medicine, it will heal you.”
Her lips parted as though she heard me, even though her soul was in the balance between life and death. Despite the terrible thing I was doing, it felt like an acknowledgement, a consent to life. She wouldn’t want to die like that, stripped of herself and shamed in the witch's lair. I would give her back her decency, her boldness, her life, and in time, she might forgive me for what I’d done. What I’d given her.
I held the cup to her lips until the last drops of blood were gone. My fingers slipped down the smooth skin of her arm to her pulse and waited. I waited while my blood-soaked bandage dripped on the bed, and at last, I was rewarded.
Her pulse thrummed, stronger, firmer, and the tightness around her body relaxed. The magic was working and my shoulders sagged. I hurled the cup into the fireplace and tossed the knife in too, as though I could hide what I’d done.
“I need a fire.” I called to Pip. Odd how I used the name Tanith had given him. The dragon-like creature appeared, no wagging tail, sensing the air of wrongness in the room.
A ball of fire lit up the wood, and lapped at the stains of blood. I pushed the fire poker into the middle of the flame and waited, the heat warming the cool iron.
The storm I’d called to force the hand of Lord Faren. But changing his mind seemed an elusive goal, the one accursed desire for revenge I returned to again and again.
To break the cycle of morose thoughts, I loosened my bloody bandage, dropped it into the fire, and pressed the hot poker against my wrist. I gritted my teeth against the pain, but it still brought me to my knees as the scent of burning flesh filled the room. All the energy I’d poured into the hailstorm, fighting the witch, and saving Tanith consumed me. A haze of blackness glittered, intoxicating, beckoning me into its depths. With one last gasp of soured air, I gave in to the madness.
24Tanith
