The Bonds of Blood (15 page)

Angelica shrugged and started walking
around the house. Suddenly, though it seemed to start slowly, the
house began rotating, and the sound of the rusty wheel came back to
Angelica.

“The house is moving?” Angelica
asked.

“
How do you suppose that’s
happening?” Jovian asked. He would have crouched down to look if
the yard was not filled with bones and other macabre
materials.

“I’d rather not find out,” Angelica
said.

They continued their trek, and the
house continued to turn as they moved, so that they constantly saw
only one side of it.

“This is useless,” Jovian
exclaimed.

“I see no way in,” Angelica complained.
“Maybe if we walk fast enough we can gain some ground?”

This did not work, for the faster they
walked, the faster the house turned, moaning out in a whine the
whole time, as if what rotated the house was protesting the rapid
movement as well as the weight of the dilapidated
structure.

Finally Jovian was fed up; he picked up
an arm bone that lay beside him and chucked it at the house. “Turn
around,” he cried out.

“Show us your entrance.”

Suddenly the house sprang to action,
and it rotated without the two of them moving. Before long they
were faced with a wide staircase—steps so large it could support a
giant—that they wondered how they would be able to climb
them.

The stairs were lopsided and again
matched the substance the porch was made of. At the top of each
railing rested large skulls, both supporting blue flames that
glowed eerily in the black night.

Three horses were tethered at the top
of the stairs.

They were the strangest horses that
either had ever seen.

The first was completely red, and it
seemed to shine with an inner light. So bright was the horse that
Jovian could not look completely at it for fear of it damaging his
eyes. Remarkably, even with as radiantly as the horse shined, it
did not illuminate more than a small spot on the porch where it
stood.

Next was a completely white horse. It
was a pleasant horse to look upon, reminding Jovian somehow of
summer fields and golden sunlight, even though it was as white as
the first of the year’s snow.

“Do you suppose that is the Pale
Horse?” Angelica asked, and Jovian shook his head.

“That horse fills me with peace and
serenity, something completely foreign to this land. It is not at
all unpleasant like Aramaiti claims the Pale Horse is.”

Finally Jovian and Angelica both looked
at the last horse, which seemed cold and unfriendly. It was
completely black, like a shadow. They could see no specific feature
of the horse, only the outline of it. The horse was indeed so black
that it blended together, and the outline was all that was left of
him. But when it opened its eyes, a strange white-silver light
radiated from behind the lids.

“Like the moon,” Angelica
whispered.

They did not know how long they stood
staring at those three, massive horses. Eventually the black horse
closed its eyes, and they were broken from the spell.

The stairs were much larger than they
had thought. In fact, they were so large that neither of them could
step up them, and instead had to hoist themselves up with their
hands and climb the stairs. Their efforts were made only harder
since the rotten wood of the stairs was wet from moisture and
decay.

When they reached the top, they took a
moment to rest and catch their breath. When they turned back to the
emaciated dwelling, they saw a door as large as the fence gate
looming before them. It was of a solid, unyielding black material.
It was the same substance the house was made of, yet it was solid
where the rest of the house was tattered.

“There isn’t any door handle,” Angelica
exclaimed, frustrated.

“There is an opening though,” Jovian
said, walking closer to peer into the hole that was level with his
head. As he looked in, he saw the strange, serene blue fire inside
and the bottom of a large black cauldron.

He rose up on tiptoes to get a better
look, but just then the hole snapped shut. It was then he realized
that the opening was really a giant mouth, or at least it was bared
by hideous, unfriendly teeth.

“What now?” Angelica asked.

Jovian’s mind reeled, and slowly the
teeth opened up so that the opening was back, and he could make out
only a little of what laid beyond.

“Quickly,” Jovian uttered as a thought
came to him, “go down there and get a bone, like the arm I threw at
the house. I have an idea.”

Angelica nodded, and though she did not
relish the idea of the mountainous stairs again, she quickly
obeyed, and soon was on the ground pawing around in the black
withered grass for a bone like Jovian sought.

It didn’t take her long to find one,
and soon she was making her way back up the stairs.

“Thank you,” he took the bone and
thrust it into the opening.

The teeth snapped shut around the bone,
but not so powerfully that it broke the arm. Jovian pulled and
found that he was not strong enough alone.

“Angelica,” he said, grunting with
effort. He did not need to complete the thought, for Angelica
quickly added her weight to the bone. Reluctantly the door opened,
and from inside they heard a creaking, wicked voice, high pitched
and very much like the noise of the house rotating, yet somehow
comforting, not at all what they would have expected.

Then a voice boomed: “Who is it that
seeks entry into my home?”

The hour was late when a startling
dream woke Joya Neferis to a lifeless house. She sat up in bed, her
chest heaving as she gulped air in a frantic attempt to calm
herself.

It did not work.

“Joya!” she still heard Amber’s voice
echoing through the recesses of her mind, and she closed her eyes,
resting her face in her palms. Joya groaned heavily as she thought
about the dream and the horrors she saw Amber being put
through.

She reached for her glass of water and
took a long drink, trying to moisten her dry throat. Joya crossed
to the bookshelf, contemplated retrieving the book, but with a
discouraged sigh she walked away from it. The book had not spoken
to her today, and Joya was beginning to wonder if its speaking
before had only been a trick of the mind; perhaps she really was
going crazy as she had initially thought when she first heard the
wicked voice of the book.

She flopped down in her overstuffed
chair unceremoniously flipping her legs over the arm and stared at
the ceiling. Though Joya could not remember the dream, she still
felt haunted by it. As wakefulness crept in on her, Joya was now
sure it had only been her imagination that created the
dream.

Despite her concern over her own mental
state, Joya was sure of one thing, and that was Amber had not left
the house willingly. Some foul plot was afoot.

Try as she might, Joya could
not get the memory and the voice out of her mind from earlier that
day. She could not get the green orbs—eyes Joya now thought they
were—out of her mind, or the eerie message:
Leave it alone.

Suddenly something snapped in her mind,
she had an idea. Joya sat straight up with a startling
realization.

“There’s something in the room, or at
least something about it that voice doesn’t want me to know.” She
stood instantly and grabbed up her robe. Cinching it tight about
her waist, Joya paused, examining the book.

Even if the book had not ever really
spoken to her, she still felt more comfortable with it in her
hands. She decided, after several long minutes, that she would take
it with her anyway. If nothing else it would make Joya feel
protected and give her the courage she needed to face what was in
the room.

Grabbing the book, Joya hugged it to
her chest as a child would a doll, and walked on bare feet out of
her bedroom.

The hall was pitch-black, and Joya
cursed herself for not bringing a candle. There was no turning back
now, however, she was committed.

The air was as still as a tomb and with
every step Joya felt as though she were being followed.

The floorboards creaked, and Joya
tensed, certain she could hear footfalls behind her. A breath fell
on her shoulder, and Joya whipped around, pressing her back to the
wall, her hands tight on the book clutched to her chest.

There were no eyes, but Joya was almost
certain she could see a spot in the hall that was darker than all
the rest.

Joya Neferis,
she scolded herself,
stop
trying to frighten yourself.

Try as she might though, Joya could not
make herself feel better about the feeling of being
followed.

The door to Amber’s room was still
open, and when she looked in Joya was certain there was something
different about the room now. Everything in the room was tinged
yellow, like she was looking at it through old glass.

A cold draft flowed around her bare
feet, and Joya shivered. There was nothing friendly or
compassionate about that draft. It felt like she would imagine the
hands of fate feeling: cold, unfriendly, and completely
consuming.

Joya steeled herself and stepped
inside. Instantly she was no longer herself. Joya strode with a
purpose, and that purpose lay in the bed before her.

Joya raised her hand, and there was
something gripped there that was definitely not the book she had
entered the room with. Her breath came in ragged gasps as the
macabre instrument was held aloft.

It was a hideous blackened hand, like
the hand of a corpse, which she realized it must have been for it
was disembodied and held in a masculine hand (which she assumed
must be hers now). In the grasp of the dead hand was a morbidly
colored candle, and Joya was sure that it was not made as a candle
normally was.

The candle flamed uncharacteristically
like a dagger of fire slicing the night wildly and viciously. The
brightness reflected that of a small torch more than a wispy candle
flame. She looked at the candle and found that deep inside she was
satisfied, even happy.

Joya was seeing her sister’s kidnapping
through the eyes of the kidnapper.

She watched Amber stir on
the bed, and a vicious hatred went through her body.
How could he want her,
a
thought that was not her own filled her mind.
She is insignificant; just look at her. What does she have
that I do not?
Jealousy surged through
Joya.

In her vision, Amber started to open
her eyes, and suddenly she screamed, struggling to sit up. Dimly,
Joya was aware that Amber had not completely taken in the entire
hand poised at the foot of the bed.

Why should she?
Joya thought, this time of her own accord.
She has already seen this in a dream. And why
didn’t any of us hear her screaming?

“What do you want? Why are you here?”
Amber asked, her amber eyes reflecting that evil flame.

“Why is she talking?” Joya felt the man
ask. Something stirred around her neck, like a snake.

Amber tried to press herself farther
back on the bed, but she was already against the headboard. “Who
are you?” she asked.

“No more questions. Get up, we’re
leaving.” The intense, quivering voice came from Joya’s mouth. She
felt the man’s apprehension. He was new to this kind of
thing.

Amber seemed to have lost the will to
fight, and haltingly she stood, as if possessed by another force
altogether. Joya noticed that her eyes were still full of life
though.

She is faking,
a hauntingly beautiful voice came into her
mind.
She is not controlled by the candle.
Do something and do it now.

“What’re you doing?” he asked
frantically as Amber began picking up her room.

“Preparing to go,” she
replied.

She shouldn’t be able to
speak. The flame was supposed to render her speechless. She is
faking; she didn’t look into the flame completely. She knows what
it is you hold, and she knows how to escape its powers. Possess her
… finish her off.