Cutlass (41 page)

“A just and kind king cannot survive in a world like this,” Datherious wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then lifted his blade. “You strive to separate yourself from us, Barren, but you have been just as ruthless.”

Datherious attacked, and Barren knew instantly that the twin was trying to pin him against one of the columns—he could feel the growing pressure of something behind him. Datherious struck, aiming for Barren’s shoulder, but he moved in time so the blade hit the stone. Barren jumped back, putting space between them, and Datherious laughed.

“Do you feel threatened?”

Datherious didn’t wait for Barren to respond. He advanced upon him, using his blade with full force, trying to disarm him quickly, but doing so left him vulnerable to injury. Barren’s blade slashed his shoulder as soon as it was open. His cousin fell back, but Barren couldn’t allow him to recover. He advanced, following him, fighting him fast and hard until his back was pinned against the column. Then, gripping his sword with all his strength, he struck it against Datherious’s, drawing his dagger from its sheath at his waist. He ran the knife along Datherious’s knees. The twin started to buckle to the floor, but Barren held him against the stone column, sword pushed into his neck.

“No!” he commanded. “You will stand until I say otherwise!” Then he stabbed his smaller blade through Datherious’s shoulder. The twin cried out in pain, and his sword clattered to the ground.

Barren bound Datherious’s wrists together with the rope he kept in his pocket, then he moved to Larkin who stood with her sword at Natherious’s throat. The screams of his brother had been enough to distract him so that Larkin ended up with the upper hand.

“Give me your scarf,” Barren said.

Larkin untied it from her waist and handed it to him. He used it to bind Natherious’s wrists together and then dragged him to his brother’s side. He searched both twins for weapons and tossed what he found out the window to be eaten by the wild forest. Before he left them, he pulled his blade from Datherious’s shoulder, satisfied when a gritty cry escaped is lips.

And now it was time. Barren moved toward the door at the back of the room. It was nestled in the corner—an escape for the one who occupied that throne. In his heart, he knew his mother had sat there. He hadn’t thought of whether or not she was seen as a ruler—but she’d been the strongest. She was the one they’d looked up to. She had died to protect the Orient from Tetherion.

The last thought made him grip the hilt of his sword tighter.

There was nothing special about the door, except that the air that met his face as he approached was cold. While it did not ease the sweat on his brow, it did make his hair stand on ends. He entered the room, Larkin following behind him. They moved down a short hallway. It was dark, and everything seemed to be tinged with red. He couldn’t figure out where the light was coming from until the hall ended and they came to a circular room.

The red light spilled forth from lanterns that were hung from chains about the room at different levels. It cast everything in a muted blood-red color, which Barren found turned his stomach once he saw what occupied the space. A large gold and ruby tomb rested upon a raised pyre. Snaking their way around the base of the tomb were lilies and ivy and they seemed as fresh as the day they had been picked.

Somehow he knew it was his mother who rested in that tomb. It was the feeling about him—the caress of the power that heated his face. Mixing with that power was the coldness of the bloodstone and he hated that he had to feel both things together.

Barren swallowed hard and he glanced at Larkin.

“Go,” she said quietly.

“Can you feel it?” he asked.

She nodded, but she didn’t look at him. Her eyes were transfixed upon the strange altar before them.

It took Barren a moment to move forward. He was going to have to look down upon his mother—a woman he’d never seen in the flesh before. He felt the acid in his stomach churn violently and he wanted to vomit.

He moved up onto the platform where his mother’s tomb rested and noticed glass covered its length. His breath caught as his eyes beheld what lay beneath: a woman barely aged in life much less in death. She was by far the fairest creature he had ever seen and her features radiated power. Her face was sculpted—high cheekbones, full lips. Her hair was golden and rested in waves over her shoulders. She was dressed in white, and her hands lay over her immobile stomach. At the center of her chest, an ornate compass rested at the end of a length of chain.

Barren wasn’t sure why, but he wanted it—it made something in his memory spark; as a child he would grasp the pendant while his father held him. That was it. It had belonged to his father.

Placing his hands on the glass, he pushed, shifting the fragile sheet and pulling it from atop the coffin.

“Barren, what are you doing?”

He ignored Larkin as he managed to lean the glass against the base of the coffin. He reached for the compass without much thought. The object was
cold
to the touch, almost painful, but still so beautiful. The face of the compass displayed the Elvish tree, the directions were inlaid with ruby, and the whole thing was encased in gold. Barren ran his finger over the glass front and shivered: this was a piece of his childhood.

Turning over the compass, he found a raw, red gem lodged in the back of the device. Its edges were jagged and ugly, and it was almost as if the thing pulsed. Suddenly, a shock raced through him and he knew that this was the bloodstone.

His eyes shifted, and his mother’s body came into focus—the frightening image of a dusty corpse. Hollow eyes, fleshless face, and interlaced bony fingers. Barren staggered back, and fell, dropping the compass as he landed. It clinked against the stone floor, bouncing away from him. Barren reached for it, but he froze when a sword jammed itself between his fingers. Shaking with adrenaline, Barren looked up into his brother’s eyes.

“William,” he breathed. His brother was pale, and his shirt was stained with blood.

“What are you doing?”

Larkin drew her sword, but William looked over at her. “This is not your fight.”

“He’s right, Larkin,” Barren said, and he moved to his feet slowly, drawing his sword. “Can I ask why?” Barren had resigned himself to letting his brother live. He thought he would change, and believed he could. Obviously that was not the case.

“Because I cannot let you live,” he said. “Not with her.”

His mouth quivered and Barren glanced back at Larkin. She stood on edge, her features tight with anger. “This should not be the end for you, William.”

“You never know...maybe I’ll win.”

“She’ll hate you...she will never love you.”

“But she will not love you either.”

“Death does not end affection, William.”

William shivered noticeably, and Barren couldn’t tell if it was from his words or the air.

“All I ever wanted was for him to love me like he loved you. And he couldn’t. He saw me as a passionate, angry child. Now, after five years, I have to face the same thing again, only my fiancée finds you a better match than me. I cannot watch it again, I won’t. I—It should have been you all those years ago. Why didn’t I see that it should have been you?”

Again, Barren was reminded of the dream—when William fought Jess with anger and hate—the same hate that took Jess’s life. William never changed, and his wish for acceptance, for power, for greatness, had led him to this.

“I am sorry, William.”

That only seemed to trigger William’s anger, and he attacked—and though this is what Barren had been waiting for since his father’s death. He had none of the exhilaration that he had expected to feel as he fought for revenge. He knew this was wrong in every sense, and it took all his concentration to keep fighting. He watched William as he fought, angry and determined; wanting the fight to end as quickly as it had begun, but the brothers were evenly matched, and strangely in tune with each other’s movements.

“I don’t want to do this,” Barren said as William’s blade clashed against his. He pushed his brother away.

“You spent your entire life preparing for this moment!” said William. “You can fight me this one time. You may never get this chance again.”

For all the hatred Barren had built up, he couldn’t find that anger now. Their blades met and retreated—it was like the ocean and the ship, one fighting to survive against the other’s natural anger. Barren’s sword glided across William’s, and he latched onto the hilt, but just as Barren was about to rip the sword from William’s hands, numbness overtook him and pain slid down his arm. He jerked, dropping his sword. For a moment, he didn’t understand what was happening, and then he recalled Christopher Lee’s words as he stuck him with the hemlock needle, “
The effects will be slow, but once they take hold, they will never let go
.”

Barren slid to the floor; he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. On his knees, he was thrown back against the floor with a harsh kick to his chest. He lay on his back, the cold marble burrowing deep, and he felt like this might be his end. The only image above him was that of his brother holding the sword to his neck.

“This is a very dishonorable way to kill you,” said William. “But I lost all dignity when Christopher betrayed me.”

“What happened, William?” asked Barren slowly. “What made you hate our father?”

William ground his teeth and pointed at Sysara’s coffin. “It was for her. His death was to avenge her.”

“But it wasn’t,” Barren’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “You were jealous.”

“I didn’t want to kill him,” William said quietly, and his mouth quivered. “I didn’t. Did you see me? I was frightened by what I had done. I thought he would fight me. He would have won, Barren! He would have won!”

“He was cursed, William, and you approached him, wishing to fight out of hatred. Father warned you about that.”

William pushed on the blade harder; his breath was harsh and shallow, as if he were suddenly possessed.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Barren’s eyes turned dark.

“Because I want you to understand how easily you disregarded my father for a man who only tortured you. Did you think you would find acceptance once Jess was gone? Did you find it in the false father who took you under his wing? Promised you a wife who does not love you? Did you?”

“You know nothing!”

William reared back, and Barren prepared himself for the blow—he expected this moment to go differently, but he had prepared for both possibilities. He would accept death. As he closed his eyes, he imagined his father before him, smiling, arms open. He was the image of Barren, only older. Barren felt young again as his father embraced him—a child of five, wrapping his arms around his father’s neck and snuggling against his shoulder. This had been his comfort as a child.

A gasp escaped into the air and Barren ripped his eyes open, his pain reached a crescendo, and he could feel again as the numbness seeped out of him. Before him, silver erupted from William’s stomach and disappeared with a jerk. William fell to his knees and then onto his face. Larkin stood wide-eyed behind him, her hands shook from the realization of what she had done. Barren moved quickly, pushing his brother onto his back. William stared back at him, his pupils swelled with the image of death.

“I—I—am sorry,” William huffed, and tears streamed down his face. He took a final fearful breath, his eyes went blank, and his hands became cold in Barren’s. The pirate sat for a moment, still and unsure, staring at his brother. Yes, he had imagined this moment much differently. If there was one thing he had learned, it was that revenge was not sweet, and right now the most dreadful feeling consumed him. His family—his mother, father and brother were gone. His uncle and cousins were traitors. Though he knew he wasn’t alone, he couldn’t shake that very feeling. Barren pressed his brother’s eyes shut, and then he gently placed William’s hand on his stomach.

He stood and turned to Larkin, tears streaked her face. They were quiet and sad.

“I…I…” she tried to speak but she couldn’t find the words. She dropped her sword and her hands went to her mouth. “I couldn’t let him kill you.”

Barren understood her shock more than she knew. She’d only killed one person before, and that was out of self-defense. Now, after weeks of feeling torn at the idea of either of their deaths, Larkin had been the one to commit the deed.

Barren bent to pick up the compass. Securing his fingers around the bloodstone, he pulled it from its snug place. The stone sat in his hand, vibrating with life. Closing his fingers around it, he looked at Larkin again. She started to back away from him, fear clutched her, but he reached for her, taking her wrist, and pulling her into him, embracing her tightly. He kissed her forehead. “Do not apologize for saving my life, Larkin.”

He released her, and bent, pulling a knife from his boot. “We have to end this. Larkin, I cannot promise we will live after. I don’t know anything about what we’re dealing with…but I know that if we are able to destroy this thing so that Tetherion never has its power, even if we die…it will all be worth it in the end. But I cannot ask you to die with me. All I need are a few drops of your blood…you can run away…run far away.”

Larkin stared up at him for a moment, regarding his desperate expression. She reached carefully, pressing her hand to the side of his face. “We’re in this together, Barren, and if I have learned anything about dark magic, it’s that it won’t matter how you use my blood to defeat this thing—either way, it can end my life.”

He nodded, pressing his lips to her palm. Then he turned her hand over and slid his knife across her soft skin. She watched as the blood pooled there. Barren ran the blade along his own hand.

Cupping Larkin’s hand in his, he dropped the bloodstone in the center of her palm. Instantly, the stone absorbed the blood.

“Larkin,” said Barren, and as she looked up, his lips captured hers. He covered the bloodstone with his hand—and just as it had done in Larkin’s hand, the stone absorbed the blood. Light burst forth from between their fingers, consuming them completely, pure and bright. The stone became like a hot coal in their hands, and it was as if it were sucking more and more blood from their bodies, for they weakened quickly.