Текст книги "Burned"

Автор книги: P. C. Cast

Соавторы: Kristin Cast,P. C. Cast
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter 25

Aphrodite

“Yeah, light’s on, but there’s definitely no one home.” Aphrodite waved her hand in front of Stark’s open but unseeing eyes. Then she had to snatch her hand out of the way as Seoras, ignoring that he came close to cutting her, too, made another knife wound down Stark’s blood-drenched side.

“He already looks like hamburger. Do you have to keep doing that?” Aphrodite asked the Guardian. There was no love lost between her and Stark, but that didn’t mean she was cool with watching him get sliced to pieces.

Seoras appeared not to hear her. He was utterly focused on the boy who lay before him.

“They are bonded by this quest,” Sgiach said. She’d left her throne to stand beside Aphrodite.

“But your Guardian is conscious and present in his own body,” Darius said, studying Seoras.

“Yes. His consciousness is here. It is also so completely attuned with the boy that he can hear his heartbeat—feel his breathing. Seoras knows exactly how close Stark is to physical death. It is on the cusp between life and death that my Guardian must keep him. Too much one way, his soul will return to his body, and he will awaken. Too much the other, his soul will never return at all.”

“How will he know when to end this?” Aphrodite asked, involuntarily flinching as Seoras’s dirk sliced Stark’s flesh again.

“Stark will awaken, or he will die. Either way, it will be Stark’s doing and not my Guardian’s. What Seoras does now enables the boy to make his own choices.” Sgiach spoke to Aphrodite, but her eyes never left Seoras. “You should do the same.”

“Cut him?” Aphrodite frowned at the queen, who smiled, but continued to watch her Guardian.

“You said that you’re a Prophetess of Nyx, did you not?”

“I am her Prophetess.”

“Then consider wielding your gift to help the boy, too.”

“I would if I had one damn clue how to do that.”

“Aphrodite, perhaps you should—” Darius began, taking Aphrodite’s arm and pulling her away from Sgiach, obviously worried that she’d pushed the queen too far.

“No, Warrior. You need not draw her away. One thing you will find about being bound to a strong woman is that often her words will get her into trouble from which you cannot protect her. But they are her own words, and thus her own consequences.” Sgiach finally looked at Aphrodite. “Use some of the strength that makes your words like daggers and seek your own answers. A true Prophetess gets very little guidance in this world, except through her gift; but strength, tempered by wisdom and patience, must teach you how to use it properly.” The queen lifted her hand and gestured elegantly to one of the vampyres in the shadows. “Show the Prophetess and her Guardian to their chamber. Give them refreshment and privacy.” Without another word, Sgiach returned to her throne, her gaze once again focused solely on her Guardian.

Aphrodite pressed her lips together and followed the ginger-haired giant whose tattoos were a series of intricate spirals that appeared to be made of tiny sapphire dots. They retraced their path back to the double staircase and then went up to a hallway where the walls were decorated with jeweled swords that glittered in the torchlight. A smaller, single staircase finally led them up to an arched wooden door, which the warrior opened and gestured for them to enter the room.

“Would you be sure someone gets me right away if Stark changes at all?” Aphrodite asked before he closed the door.

“Aye,” the warrior said in a surprisingly gentle voice before leaving them alone.

Aphrodite turned to Darius. “Do you think my mouth gets me into trouble?”

Her Warrior’s brows went up. “Of course I do.”

She frowned at him. “Okay, look, I’m not kidding.”

“Neither am I.”

“Why? Because I say what I mean?”

“No, my beauty, because you do use your words like a dagger, and a drawn dagger often causes trouble.”

She snorted and sat on the huge, four-poster bed. “If I sound like a dagger, then why the hell do you like me?”

Darius sat beside her and took her hand. “Have you forgotten that a throwing dagger is my favorite weapon?”

Aphrodite met his eyes, feeling suddenly vulnerable despite his gentle tone. “Seriously. I’m a bitch. You shouldn’t like me. I don’t think most people do.”

“The people who know you like you. The real you. And what I feel for you goes beyond liking you. I love you, Aphrodite. I love your strength, your sense of humor, the depth of caring you show your friends. And I love that which was broken inside you and is only now beginning to heal.”

Aphrodite kept meeting his gaze though she was blinking hard to fight back tears. “All that makes me a terrible bitch.”

“All that makes you who you are.” He raised her hand to his lips, kissed it gently, and then said, “It also makes you strong enough to figure out how to help Stark.”

“But I don’t know how!”

“You used your gift to sense Zoey’s absence, as well as Kalona’s. Can you not use the same road you followed before to sense Stark?”

“All I was doing with them was seeing if their souls were inside their bodies or not. We already know Stark’s is gone.”

“Then you shouldn’t have to touch him as you did the other two.”

Aphrodite sighed. “The same road, huh?”

“Yes.”

She looked up at him, gripping his hand tighter. “You really think I can do it?”

“I believe there is little you cannot do once you set your mind to it, my beauty.”

Aphrodite nodded, squeezed his hand before letting go. She unzipped her black leather stiletto boots and scooted back on the bed, resting against the mound of down pillows.

“Protect me while I’m gone?” she asked her Warrior.

“Always,” Darius said.

He moved to stand beside the bed, reminding Aphrodite very much of the way Seoras stood beside his queen’s throne. Pulling strength from the knowledge that her heart and her body would always be safe with Darius, she closed her eyes and willed herself to relax. Then she drew three deep, cleansing breaths and focused her thoughts on her goddess.

Nyx, it’s me. Aphrodite. Your Prophetess. She almost added “at least that’s what everyone’s calling me,” but stopped herself. Taking another deep breath, Aphrodite continued: I’m asking for your help. You already know I’m not real sure how this Prophetess stuff works, so it won’t surprise you to hear that I don’t know how to use the gift you’ve given me to help Stark—but he does need my help. I mean, the guy’s being sliced up in one world and flailing around trying to use poetry and an old guy’s confusing words to help Z, in another. Just between us, sometimes I think Stark’s more muscle and admittedly good hair than brains. Clearly, he needs help, and for Zoey’s sake, I want to give it to him. So, please, Nyx, show me how to help.

Give yourself to me, daughter.

Nyx’s voice in her mind was like the fluttering of a diaphanous silk curtain, transparent, ethereal, and beautiful beyond belief.

Yes! Aphrodite’s response was instantaneous. She opened herself heart, soul, and mind to her Goddess.

And suddenly she was the breeze drifting along the delicate line of Nyx’s voice, soaring up and away.

Behold my realm.

Aphrodite’s spirit flew over Nyx’s Otherworld. It was almost indescribably lovely, with endless variations of green, brilliant flowers that swayed as if to music, and sparkling lakes. Aphrodite thought she caught sight of wild horses and the many-colored flash of peacocks in flight.

And all throughout the realm, spirits flickered in and out of view, dancing, laughing, and loving.

“This is where we go when we die?” Aphrodite asked, awestruck.

Sometimes.

“What sometimes? You mean if we’re good?” Aphrodite had a sinking feeling that if being good was the criterion for getting to this place, she would probably never make it.

The goddess’s laughter was like magic. I am your Goddess, daughter, not your judge. Good is a multifaceted ideal. For instance, behold one facet of good.

Aphrodite’s spirit journey slowed, bringing her to a halt over an amazing-looking grove. She blinked in surprise as she studied it and realized it reminded her of the grove near Sgiach’s castle. As she made the comparison, Aphrodite sank gently down through the canopy of tightly knit leaves to rest just above the thick carpet of moss that covered the ground.

“Listen to me, Zo! You can do it.”

At the sound of Heath’s voice, Aphrodite whirled around to see Zoey, looking so pale she was almost translucent, and Heath. Z was pacing around and around in a circle, looking totally creepy, while Heath stood still, watching her with an incredibly sad expression.

“Zoey! Finally! Okay, listen to me. You gotta pull yourself together and get back to your body.”

Completely ignoring her, Zoey burst into tears, though she didn’t stop pacing. “I can’t, Heath. It’s gone on too long. I can’t bring my soul together. I can’t remember things—I can’t focus—the only thing I know for sure is that I deserve this.”

“Oh, for shit’s sake. ZOEY! Stop bawling and pay attention!”

“You do not deserve this!” Heath stepped close to Zoey and put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to hold still. “And you can do it, Zo. You have to. If you do, we can be together.”

“Great. I’m Christmas Carol-ing like the damn ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and whatever. They can’t hear a fucking word I’m saying!”

Then perhaps, daughter, for a change, you should listen.

Aphrodite stifled her sigh of frustration and did as her Goddess advised, even though she felt like a creeper gawking through someone’s bedroom window.

“You mean it, Heath?” Zoey stared at Heath, seeming for an instant more like herself than the freaky ghostly thing that couldn’t hold still. “You’d really want to stay here?” She smiled tentatively at Heath, her body twitching restlessly under his hands.

He kissed her, and then said, “Babe, wherever you are is where I want to be—forever.”

With a painful groan, Zoey broke out of Heath’s arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she said, pacing and crying again. “I can’t hold still. I can’t rest.”

“That’s why you have to call your soul back together. You can’t be with me if you don’t. Zo, you can’t be anything if you don’t. You’ll just keep moving and moving and losing pieces of yourself until you fade completely away.”

“It was my fault you died; it’s my fault you’re here where you don’t belong. How can you still love me?” She wiped her stringy hair from her face as she began circling around and around Heath—never still—never resting.

“It’s not your fault! Kalona killed me. That’s all there is to it. Anyway, what difference does it make where we are and even if we’re alive or dead, as long as we’re together?”

“You mean it? Really?”

“I love you, Zoey. I have since the first day I met you, and I’ll love you forever. I promise. If you’re whole again, we’ll be together forever.”

“Forever,” Zoey whispered the word. “And you really do forgive me?”

“Babe, there’s nothing to forgive.”

With what was obviously a huge effort, Zoey stopped moving, and said, “Then for you, I’ll try to do it.” She spread her arms and threw her head back. Her pale body began to glow, first with a small, tentative light from within. Zoey started to call out names, and—

Aphrodite was jolted from the vision and lifted out of the grove so quickly her stomach gave a nauseating lurch. “Oh, ugh! Too far, too fast. I may barf.”

A warm wind passed over her, calming her dizziness. When she began to move again, her nausea was gone, but not her confusion.

“Okay, I don’t understand. Z pulls herself together, but she stays here with Heath instead of going back to her body?”

In this version of the future, yes.

Aphrodite hesitated and then, reluctantly, asked, “But is she happy?”

Yes. Zoey and Heath are content together in the Otherworld for eternity.

Aphrodite felt the sadness, heavy and thick, but she had to continue, “Then maybe Z should stay where she is. We’ll miss her. I’ll miss her.” Aphrodite hesitated, quelling an unexpected urge to cry before she continued. “It would definitely suck for Stark, but if this is where she’s meant to be, then Zoey should stay.

What is meant for each person changes with their choices. This is only one version of Zoey’s future, and like many choices that are made in the Otherworld, hers has threads that change the tapestry of the future on earth. If Zoey chooses to stay, behold earth’s new future:

Aphrodite was sucked down into a scene that was all too familiar. She was standing in the middle of the field she’d been in during her last vision. Just as before, she was one with people who were burning—humans, vamps, and fledglings. She reexperienced the pain of the fire, along with the abstract agony that had enveloped her during the original vision. As during the last vision, Aphrodite looked up to see Kalona standing before them all, only this time Zoey wasn’t with him—making out or saying whatever she’d said in the second part of the vision that destroyed him. Instead, Neferet stepped into the scene. She strode past Kalona, staring at the burning people. Then she began tracing intricate patterns in the air around her, and as she did so Darkness bloomed all around her. Spreading from her, it stained the field, extinguishing the fire, but not taking away the pain.

“No, I won’t kill them!” She gestured with one finger, and a cluster of tendrils wrapped around Kalona’s body. “Help me make them mine.”

Kalona absorbed them. Aphrodite concentrated on him and, like a mirage materializing, the tendrils of Darkness that encased the immortal’s body became visible. They writhed, causing the fallen immortal’s skin to twitch and shudder. Kalona gasped, and Aphrodite couldn’t tell if he felt pleasure or pain, but he smiled grimly at Neferet, spread his arms wide to accept Darkness, and said, “As you wish, my Goddess.”

Covered in the tendrils, Kalona moved up so that he stood in front of her, and then the fallen immortal dropped to his knees and bared his neck. Aphrodite watched Neferet bend, lick Kalona’s skin, and with a greedy fierceness that was frightening, she sank her teeth into Kalona and fed from him. The tendrils of Darkness quivered, throbbed, and multiplied.

Utterly grossed out, Aphrodite looked away to see Stevie Rae enter the field.

Stevie Rae?

A dark thing moved beside her, and Aphrodite realized that Stevie Rae was standing next to a Raven Mocker, right next to him—as in so close they appeared together.

WTF?

The Raven Mocker’s wing spread up and out, and then curled around Stevie Rae, as if holding her in an embrace. Stevie Rae sighed and moved even closer to the creature, so that his wing totally enveloped her. Aphrodite was so shocked by the sight that she didn’t see where the Indian kid came from—he was just suddenly there, right in front of the Raven Mocker.

Even through the pain and shock caused by her vision, Aphrodite could appreciate how incredibly gorgeous this new kid was. His body was amazing, and he was mostly naked, so there was a lot of it showing. His hair was thick and long, and as black as the raven feathers that were braided into its length. He was tall and muscular and just super hot in general.

He ignored the Raven Mocker and held his hand out to Stevie Rae, saying, “Accept me, and he’ll go away.”

Stevie Rae stepped out of the creature’s winged embrace, but she didn’t take the kid’s hand. Instead she said, “It’s not that simple.”

Still on his knees in front of Neferet, Kalona yelled, “Rephaim! Do not betray me again, my son!”

The immortal’s words served as a goad to the Raven Mocker. He attacked the Indian kid. The two of them began to battle each other brutally while Stevie Rae stood there, doing nothing except staring at the Raven Mocker and crying brokenly. Through her sobs, Aphrodite could hear her say, “Don’t leave me, Rephaim. Please, please don’t leave me.”

On the distant horizon behind all of them, Aphrodite saw what she thought was a blazing sun rising, but as she squinted against the brightness she realized it wasn’t the sun at all but an enormous white bull climbing over the slaughtered body of a black bull as he tried, and failed, to protect the remnants of what was once the modern world.

Aphrodite was lifted from her vision. Nyx held her in a caressing breeze as her soul trembled. “Oh, Goddess,” she whispered. “No, please no. A choice made by one teenage girl is able to mess up the balance of Light and Darkness in the entire world? How can that even be possible?”

Consider that your choice for goodness opened a path for an entirely new breed of vampyre to exist.

“The red fledglings? But they already existed before I did anything.”

Yes, but the path to regain their humanity was closed until your sacrifice—your choice—opened it. And are you not simply one teenage girl?

“Oh, for crap’s sake. Zoey has to come back.”

Then Heath must move on from my realm of the Otherworld. That is the only way Zoey will choose to return to her body if her soul becomes whole again.

“How do I make sure that happens?”

All you can do is to give them the knowledge, daughter. The choice must rest with Heath and Zoey and Stark.

With a jolt, Aphrodite was pulled back and back. Gasping, she opened her eyes and blinked through pain and the haze of red tears to see Darius bending over her.

“Have you returned to me?”

Aphrodite sat up. She was light-headed, and her head throbbed behind her eyes with a pain she knew too well. She brushed her hair from her face, surprised at how badly her hand was trembling.

“Drink this, my beauty. You must ground yourself after a spirit journey.” He handed her a goblet and helped her hold it to her lips.

Aphrodite gulped the wine, and then said, “Help me get to Stark.”

“But your eyes—you must rest!”

“If I rest, I take a chance that the whole fucking world goes to hell. Literally.”

“Then I will get you to Stark.”

Feeling weak and in way over her head, Aphrodite leaned on her Warrior as they returned to the Fianna Foil, where very little had changed. Sgiach was still watching her Guardian as he slowly and methodically continued to cut Stark.

Aphrodite didn’t waste any time. She went straight to Sgiach.

“I have to talk to Stark. Now.”

Sgiach looked at her, taking in her trembling body and her blood-filled eyes. “You’ve used your gift?”

“Yeah, and I have to tell Stark something, or it’ll be bad. For everyone. Really bad.”

The queen nodded and motioned for Aphrodite to follow her to the Seol ne Gigh.

“You will only have a moment. Speak quickly and clearly to Stark. If you hold him here too long, he will not be able to retrace his path to the Otherworld until he has recovered from today’s journey, and you must understand that recovery could take him weeks.”

“I get it. I have one chance at this. I’m ready,” Aphrodite said.

Sgiach touched her Guardian’s forearm. It was the lightest of caresses, but it caused a rippled reaction throughout Seoras’s body. He paused in the downward stroke of another slice. His gaze remained on Stark, but with a voice like gravel, he said, “Mo bann ri? My queen?”

“Call him back. The Prophetess must speak to him.”

Seoras’s eyes closed as if her words wounded him, but when he opened them he retorted with a low growl, and said only, “Aye, wumman . . . as yie wish.” He placed the hand that wasn’t holding his dirk on Stark’s forehead. “Hear me, boy. Yie must be returning.”

Chapter 26

Stark

Stark staggered backward, instinctively holding up his own broadsword so that it was by accident and instinct that he deflected the killing stroke from the Other, that being who was him and yet wasn’t.

“Why are you doing this?” Stark shouted.

“I already told you. The only way you can get in here is to kill me, and I’m not gonna die.”

The two Warriors circled each other warily. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re me. So if I get in there, how can you die?”

“I’m part of you. The not-so-nice part. Or you’re a part of me, the good part, and I fucking hate even saying that. Don’t act so damn stupid. It’s not like you don’t know about me. Think back to before you pussied out and swore yourself to that goody-goody bitch. We knew each other lots better then.”

Stark stared, seeing the tint of red in the eyes and the harsh set of his own face. The smile was still there, but the cockiness had turned cruel, making his features familiar and alien at the same time.

“You’re the bad in me.”

“Bad? That’s just a matter of which side you’re on, isn’t it? And from the side I’m on right now, I don’t look so damn bad.” Laughing, the Other continued, “ ‘Bad’ is a word that doesn’t come near to describing my potential. Bad is a luxury. My world is filled with things beyond your imagination.”

Stark started to shake his head, wanting to deny what he was hearing, and his concentration faltered. The Other struck again, slicing a thick furrow down his right bicep.

Stark lifted the broadsword defensively, surprised there was an odd burning but no pain in either arm.

“Yeah, doesn’t hurt much, huh? Yet. That’s ’cause the blade’s too fucking sharp to hurt. But check it out—you’re bleeding. A lot. It’s only a matter of time before you can’t keep that sword lifted anymore. Then you’re done for, and I’ll get rid of you once and for all.” The Other continued, “Or maybe we’ll play. How ’bout I have some fun and flay you alive, piece by fucking piece, until you’re nothing more than a bleeding carcass at my feet.”

From his peripheral vision, Stark could see that the heat he was feeling was the warmth of the blood that was pumping steadily from the two wounds. The Other was right. He was going down.

He had to fight—and he had to fight now. If he kept hesitating, kept being purely defensive, he would die.

With an action that was completely instinctual, Stark lunged forward, striking out at his mirror image, at everything, anything that could possibly be an opening in his guard, but the red-eyed version of him blocked each move easily. And then, like a cobra, he struck back, sliding through Stark’s defenses and hacking a long, deep wound in one thigh.

“You can’t beat me. I know all your moves. I’m everything you’re not. That goodness crap has made you weak. That’s why you couldn’t protect Zoey to begin with. Loving her made you weak.”

“No! Loving Zoey is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Yeah, well, it’ll be the last thing you’ve ever done, that’s for—”

Stark was wrenched back into his body. He opened his eyes to see Seoras standing over him, dirk in one hand, the other pressed against his forehead.

“No! I have to go back!” he cried. He felt like his body was on fire. The pain in his sides was unbelievable—the force of it pumped adrenaline through his system. His first instinct was to move! Get away! Fight!

“Nae, boy. Remember yie cannae be movin’,” Seoras said.

Stark’s breath was coming fast and hard as he forced his body to stay still—stay there.

“Get me back,” he told the Guardian. “I have to get back.”

“Stark, listen to me.” Suddenly Aphrodite’s face was there above him. “It’s Heath that’s the key. You have to get to him before you see Zoey. Tell him he has to move on. He has to leave Zoey in the Other-world, or she’ll never come back here.”

“What? Aphrodite?”

She grabbed his arm and brought her face down close to his. He could see the blood in her eyes and was jolted by the realization that she must have just had a vision.

“Trust me. Get to Heath. Make him leave. If you don’t, there’s no one who’ll stop Neferet and Kalona, and it’s over for all of us.”

“If he’s to be returnin’, he must be goin’ the now,” Seoras said.

“Take him back,” Sgiach said.

The bright edges around Stark’s vision began to go gray, and he struggled against being pulled under again.

“Wait! Tell me. How—how do I fight myself?” Stark managed to gasp.

“Ach, ’tis quite simple really. The Warrior within yie must die tae give birth to the Shaman.”

Stark couldn’t tell whether Seoras’s words were a response to his question, or whether they came from his memory, and he had no time to figure it out. In less than a heartbeat, Seoras grabbed his head with a viselike grip and dragged the blade across Stark’s eyelids. In a searing, blinding flash he was once more facing himself as if he’d never been gone. Although disoriented by the pain of the Guardian’s last cut, Stark realized his body was reacting quicker than his mind could comprehend, and he was easily defending himself against the attack of his mirror image. It was as if the line of the last cut had revealed a geometry of strike lines into the heart of the Other that Stark had never known before, and, because he’d not known it, maybe the Other did not know, either. If that was so, he had a chance, but only a slim one.

“I can do this all day. You can’t. Damn, my ass is easy to kick.” The red-eyed Stark laughed arrogantly.

As he laughed, Stark lunged, following a strike line that pain and need had revealed, catching the outside edge of his mirror image’s forearm.

“Fuck me! You actually drew blood. Didn’t think you had it in you!”

“Yeah, well, that’s one of your problems; you’re too damn arrogant.” Stark saw the hesitation that rippled through his mirror image, and a hint of understanding whispered in his mind. He followed that thought as naturally as he’d lifted the broadsword in defense and glimpsed the strike lines all across his body. “No, it’s not that you’re too damn arrogant. It’s me. I’m arrogant.”

His mirror image’s guard wavered. Stark understood completely then, and he pressed on. “I’m selfish, too. That’s how I killed my mentor. I was too selfish to let anyone beat me at anything.”

“No!” the red-eyed Stark yelled. “That’s not you—that’s me.”

Seeing the opening, Stark struck again, slicing into the Other’s side. “You’re wrong, and you know it. You’re what’s bad about me, but you’re still me. The Warrior wouldn’t be able to admit it, but the Shaman in me is beginning to understand it.” As Stark spoke, he drove relentlessly forward, raining blows down on his mirror image. “We’re arrogant. We’re selfish. Sometimes we’re mean. We have a bad fucking temper, and when we get pissed off, we hold a grudge.”

Stark’s words seemed to trigger something in the Other, and he retaliated with a speed almost beyond belief, attacking Stark with a skill and vengeance that was overwhelming. Oh, Goddess, no. Don’t let my mouth have messed this up. As Stark barely defended himself against the onslaught, he realized he was reacting too rationally, too predictably. The only possible way to defeat himself was to do what the Other wouldn’t be expecting,

I have to give him an opening to kill me.

As the Other rained the blows in to break him, Stark knew this was it. He feigned dropping his guard on his left. With unstoppable momentum the Other went for the gap, lunging forward and making himself—for an instant—even more vulnerable than Stark. Stark saw the strike line, the geometry of the true opening, and with ferocity he didn’t know himself capable of, smashed the sword hilt down on the skull of the Other.

Stark’s mirror image fell to his knees. Gasping for breath, he was barely able to hold the broadsword up any longer.

“So now you kill me, get into the Otherworld, and get the girl.”

“No. Now I accept you because no matter how wise I am or how good I manage to become, you’ll always be there inside me.”

Red eyes met brown eyes once more. The Other dropped his sword, and with one swift motion hurled himself forward, driving Stark’s broadsword to its hilt in his chest. In the raw intimacy of the moment the Other exhaled, so close to him that Stark breathed in the last of the Other’s sweet breath.

Stark’s gut clenched. Himself! He’d killed himself! Shaking his head in terrible realization, he cried, “No! I—” Even as he shouted the denial, the red-eyed Stark smiled knowingly, and through bloodstained lips whispered, “I’ll see you again, Warrior, sooner than you think.”

Stark lowered the Other to his knees, simultaneously drawing the great sword from his chest.

Time suspended as the divine light of Nyx’s realm focused on the sword, glinting along its bloody but beautiful length and blinding Stark, exactly like Seoras’s last cut had seared his vision, and miraculously, momentarily, it was as if the ancient Guardian was there beside him and the Other as the three Warriors gazed at the sword.

Seoras spoke without taking his eyes off the hilt. “Aye, it will be the Guardian’s claymore for yie boy, a sword forged in hot wet blood, used only in the defense of honor, wielded by a man who has chosen tae guard an Ace, a bann ri, a queen. Its blade is honed tae a bonnie sharpness that cuts withoot pain, and the Guardian who bears this blade will strike withoot mercy, fear, or favor, against those who would defile our grand lineage.”

Mesmerized, Stark turned the claymore, allowing the jeweled hilt to catch the light as Sgiach’s Guardian continued, “The five crystals, set in as four corners, and the fifth centered with the heart stone, create a constant pulse in tune with the beating heart of its Guardian, if he is a chosen Warrior who guards honor afore life.” Seoras paused, finally looking away from the claymore. “Are yie that Warrior, ma boy? Is it a true Guardian yie will be?”

“I want to be,” Stark said, trying to will the sword to beat in time with his heart.

“Then yie must always act with honor and send the one you’ve defeated on to a better place. If yie can do this as a Guardian and no as a boy . . . if yie are aff the true blood soul and spirit, son, yie will find yer last horror will be the ease by which yie accept and execute this eternal duty.

“But know there is no going back, for this is the law and lot o’ the Guardian pure, nae grudge, malice, prejudice, or vengeance, only yer unflinching faith in honor can be yer reward, nae guarantee of love, happiness, or gain. For after us there is nothing.” In Seoras’s eyes, Stark saw timeless resignation. “Yie will carry this for eternity, for who will guard a Guardian? Now yie know the truth of it. Decide, son.”

Seoras’s image disappeared, and time began again. The Other was on his knees in front of him, staring up at him with eyes that held fear and acceptance.

Death with honor. As Stark thought the words, the claymore’s hilt warmed in his hands with a beat that mirrored the pounding of his heart. He closed his other hand on the hilt, reveling in the feeling.