Whispers of Fate: Part 11

Part 11

Nat awoke to the sound of Reddick slamming his head against the metal bars, his cries growing louder each time. “Help me. Help me! HELP ME!”

On the last chant, he hit the bars hard enough for him to collapse to the ground, moaning to himself. “Hungry… I'm so…. Hungry.”

Nat agreed. Her head was light and her vision swam in the dank darkness. Despite the lack of light, her body told her that it was morning and so sleeping further was no option. Sitting up against the wall, her sore body fighting her every step of the way, she stared into the dark. Suddenly, the whole dungeon felt claustrophobic, like the walls themselves were wrapping their hands around her neck, clamping their slimy fingers over her sickly skin.

Desperate for a release, she tried to force a gout of fire from her hand to melt the bars, summon light, or simply to feel anything but pain. Yet, none came. She lowered her hand in defeat. This was her fault, afterall. She was the one that rejected the goddess. No, her energy was just wrong. That was it, she couldn't summon magic because she was too weak to even stand. 

She sighed and cast head back. Either way, escape by supernatural means, seemed hopeless. 

 

“The girl… she is on the move, is she not?”

Kestrel ran his silver blade through a blood stained cloth, the smallest bits of dust that had gathered upon the knife being pushed away. 

“You are to do nothing about it, Phaeron.”

The dark figure standing in the farthest corner of the vampire king’s room growled at the figure sharpening his weapon. 

Kestrel, upon hearing that name which he held before becoming a creature of the night, set down the cloth and turned to cast a side eye to the figure. “You are never to call me that. I killed Phaeron as well as my father. I, King Kestrel, shall do as I please.”

Mol shifted, his chains extending from his sleeves and piling on the floor. “You are just a boy. If you know what is better for you, for us, then you will leave the wolf to her devices. The bangle is of no use to you or anyone. The goddess hath drawn out her power for the Mara waiting below.”

Kestrel stood and sheathed the knife. The god, upon seeing the vampire rise, called out in a thunderous voice. “Be seated!”

Kestrel flinched but ultimately stood his ground. “No. Your chosen king will put an end to the goddess’ plans. You just watch. I don’t need your help. I never needed it.”

With his proclamation, the vampire stormed out of his door, the god in tow. 

Drysi’s heart was pounding in her chest. It was the break of dawn, the vampires were asleep. With the Bangle of The Moon clutched in her sweating palm, she slipped out the door and towards the dungeon. Weaver and Bulbul stood their guard, as always. With the swiftness of an arrow, they were unconscious on the ground, their large bodies clogging the doorway. Stepping over their collapsed forms, she pushed aside the heavy door, the stench of the dungeon filling her nose. The very thought of those cells made her sick. In spite of the smell, she pushed on. If she couldn't get to Natalie, then they were both as good as dead. 

She knew Kestrel put mercury in the prisoner’s bread, she had done it herself many times. Each time, she was thrilled at the sly executions. But, with her friend on the line, she found herself penitent. Perhaps, whenever she died, the gods would consider this as a redemption of sorts for sins that were hardly hers. The thought drove her into the darkness of the prison.

Kestrel saw the whole event. The take down of the guards, the recoiling at the stench and the crouched walk down the stairs. Mol screamed into his ear but he couldn’t hear it. He didn’t want to hear it. Instead of listening, he too crept down the stairs of the dungeon, a few steps behind the wolf which he had cultivated oh so long ago. 

As he did, she suddenly stopped. She whispered into the darkness. “Natalie? Are you there, Natalie?”

There was another young voice that answered back in a groan. “Drysi? What are you doing here?” 

Just as Drysi was about to answer back, there was a hand that wrapped around her mouth. Into her ear, like poison in a well, Kestrel whispered his threats. “Not a word or you are dead.”

“Is everything alright, Drysi?”

The girl tried to scream, to run, to flee, but she found herself frozen in the hands of her abuser. In a last desperate act, Drysi threw her head back into the vampire’s. As he backed away, his nose broken yet not bleeding, she began to run down the hall. Before she could get far, a hand caught her foot sending her to the ground, the bangle clattering across the floor. 

Seeing the small bracelet, which had begun to glow faintly once more, Kestrel leapt to the ground. Before he could take hold of the silver, Drysi landed a square kick on the bangle and it flew into the darkness into one of the cells. Unable to contain his anger any further, Kestrel sprung to his feet, swung his leg, and sent the girl to the ground with all the force of gravity. 

For a moment, she lay there, stunned, her head pounding. Before she could force herself back up, she felt two knees press against her back, much like when Natalie had healed her wounds in the cave so many days ago. 

As she was pinned down, Kestrel raised his knife. “Good night, beast.”

Just as it pierced her skin, the vampire was suddenly flung into the air and into the wall. The beast, having been awakened, took hold of the shaken king, its claws beginning to tear away at his flesh. Coming to his senses quickly, Kestrel began to stab at the thick matted fur, each puncture spreading pale, burnt flesh in its wake.

The beast, crying out in agony, bit down on Kestrel’s still healing shoulder. Transforming into his own wolf, he too bit back. 

Drysi felt her consciousness, while faint, still capable of slight thoughts. She found herself in despair. Both at the pain of being stabbed but also at her harming Kestrel. He had been like a father. He had eaten with her, taught her everything she knew, and even showed her how to harness her power. The tears which fell were not for her, they were for him. 

 Kestrel ripped and tore at the beast. His thoughts were not of remorse, but of blood. The more he tasted, the harder he bit. Nothing mattered now. As long as he was victorious, it didn’t matter who he killed. Perhaps Drysi was feeling bad about killing the little old king. He could not have cared any less. Much like how a queen will shed nary a tear for her fallen pawn, he too will not let himself be humbled by a simple tool, one which proved its usefulness and is now to be discarded with the other bent nails.  

Into Kestrel’s wolven ear, came the yell of the god. “You are disobeying my direct order. How dare you defy me. I gave you your power, I can easily strip it away. That which you maul is far more than you ever will be. You were never my chosen champion.”

Kestrel, having had enough of Mol, screamed back between bites of flesh. “And you were never my god.”

Mol, enraged, dropped his chains, sighing to himself. “Then it shall be seven lashings. Seven lashings for the disappointing son.”

With the flash of metal, the wolf let go of the beast and fell to the ground as the chains carved deep, burning gashes across his back. 

“One for every time you believed yourself to be a god.”

Again, the metal whips lit up the dungeon as they created sparks with the wolf’s fur. 

“Two for the murder of your father.”

“Three for your insolence against the gods.”

Kestrel screamed but Mol heard none of his words. None of them warranted his attention. Instead, he just raised his hand once more.

“Four for the manipulation of my champion.”

“Five for your power which you took for granted.”

The beast watched, its actions halted by the pain in its limbs. It could feel its functions failing yet it kept its eyes open as blood stained the stones.

“Six for the degradation of the will of Mol.”

“And seven… for every moment of time you stole from the gods to sustain your pitiful life. Phaeron, I condemn you to an eternity of penance that you will never be able to repay.”

Upon Mol’s last words, the beast pushed itself off the ground. In one final act, it drove its claws through Kestrel’s stomach. Through all the effort in her body, Drysi was able to force a single word from her mouth and down his throat. “A…MEN!”

With its… with her last burst of strength, she pulled at his body and tore his spine asunder, the halves of the vampire hanging in the air for a moment before they fell to the ground alongside the fallen beast. 

Natalie cried into the darkness as the beast fell, her fury manifesting into a wail of pure agony. Through the tears, came a gentle hand through the bars of the cell. In the soft palm, rested the bangle.

“My Mara, take my hand and finish what we have started. Take my power, take my will, take my strength, and become one with me. If not for you, then for her.”

Begrudgingly, Natalie took the bangle. Slipping it onto her arm, she held it out before her. However, before she casted a single spell, she took the bangle off once more and a shock of lightning ran out of her unadorned fingers. “No.”

Throwing the bangle to the ground, she landed a blow and stamped out the silver band which contorted, twisted, and ultimately broke down the middle. “I don’t need your help. I will do this myself.”

Limping to each cell, she blew off the locks and coaxed the frightened residents out of their dark homes. When the Hall of Mold had been liberated, she walked as fast as she could to the fallen beast which had now become a little girl once more, her small form curled up in the growing pool of blood. 

“Drysi! Drysi, speak to me! Please!”

There was no answer. The inmates gathered around to watch their gardener weep and weep she did. There is no metaphor in this world that could do her pain justice. There was no quantifying her thoughts, let alone her feelings. 

Drysi watched as the witch cried at her body. She never thought once that anyone would miss her if she died, let alone drop tears at her demise. However, Drysi didn’t shed any tears. Instead, her face was a smile unlike any she had ever shown before. She was free. Truly free. No more beast, no more killing. Only the bliss of eternity. 

She looked up as the N’ kune came to her and welcomed her father with a long embrace. It had been so long since she had seen those eyes, her eyes. Not the pale eyes of a wolf, but the true blue of a native Welshman. 

For a moment, she found herself worried how Natalie would fare in this world alone but, as the tall Scotsman put his hand on her shoulder and bent to his knees to look the witch eye to eye, she found herself no longer worried. She knew Natalie would always find someone to help, inspire, to laugh with. As long as she decided to live and to not run away, Drysi knew her friend would be alright. 

With that final thought, she took her father’s hand and together they went on. On and on into the everything beyond death. And Drysi was happy.