Amber started to laugh, a high-pitched wicked laugh that sounded much like a hyena. “The Mask?” She cawed with laughter, bending closer to the altar. Abruptly she halted her laughter, and stared at them with deadly golden eyes, her lips in a snarl. “I’m the Mask, silly.”
Angelica gasped.
“But Porillon killed all those people.”
“You didn’t expect Arael, the Grigorian King, to do his own dirty work, did you?” she asked, standing straighter. “My time can only be wasted on special causes.”
“And we are a special cause?” Angelica asked.
“Eh, you will do.” Amber gave a half shrug as if it didn’t matter. Only then, in that movement, did Angelica notice the black wings folded neatly behind her back. There was a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis. She listed to the side slightly as the words sank in. Amber had equated herself to Arael. “It’s the medallion I’m after. Once you’re dead it will be mine.”
“Arael?” Jovian asked as if he was just finally catching on, though he didn’t see how that was possible. Amber was standing right there before them; she was only insane from her botched trials. She would see reason, she had to. They would be able to save her, and Grace would make everything right again.
Amber sighed. “Who else did you think would be the Mask? I was the first born, I’m the Daunastu the prophecy speaks of. I trust you all know now that it means ‘firstborn’?” By the look on their faces she could tell they didn’t, and she raised an eyebrow, as if mocking them. “At any rate, it is what it is.”
“What are you talking about?” Angelica asked, not able to understand what was happening. Jovian was sure that Angelica knew precisely what was happening, what had happened. Maybe not how all of this came to be, but she knew that the person standing before them was no longer the sister she had known for the first twenty-one years of their life. “Amber, you’re not making any sense.” As soon as Angelica said it, Jovian knew that she was just as confused by all of this as he was.
“Do I have to explain everything to you?” Amber yelled in exasperation. She looked at them, realizing that they had no idea what she was talking about. With a sigh she waved a hand in their direction, and hopped up on the altar to sit down, showing complete lack of respect for the temple. “Pull up a seat, kids, this could take a while. I suggest putting that sword away, can’t have any fighting while the explanations are happening, can we? Because believe me, these are things you will want to hear.” Jovian tightened his grip on the shin-buto blade in his hand. “Amber is dead,” she said simply.
“Amber,” Angelica moaned in despair a few moments later when the weight of those words sunk in, and though Jovian didn’t say anything, he knew exactly how Angelica felt. Neither of them shed tears for their sister, however. Too many people they loved had died so far; they didn’t have any tears left. No, all they had left was hatred for the person before them that wore their beloved sister’s body.
“Yes, ironically she has been dead for almost your entire journey,” the monster that looked like Amber smiled in joy. “She died on High Summer’s Eve, when I believe you all were in Meedesville. See, when your sister Joya fought the grigori in the hall, she was possessed by a piece of my servant, Samazahd. With Samazahd in place, we were able to track you all the way through the first leg of your journey. That is, we were able to track you until you reached the Ravine of Aaridnay, and Aaridnay tried to off Joya in an attempt to get rid of Samazahd. Aaridnay does not like us grigori much. At any rate, she cleansed your sister of his possession, and she has been free of him since.” Amber said. “It was Samazahd, Angelica, who tried killing you that night, not Joya, and not her wayward wyrd.
“Of course, the night you were in Meedesville Amber came to Joya in her dreams. Samazahd could not stop her; in fact he did not realize what was happening until it was too late. Amber, of course, never told Joya that she was dead, but I’m sure Joya knew in her heart that her most beloved sister had . . . expired.” There was a brief smile that slid over the pristine face of their sister’s body. “Amber went on and on about how she loved you all, how she missed you, and most importantly that she was waiting for the two of you. See, Amber had been in here,” she gestured to her body, “along with me, and she was privy to some thoughts that no one else was. She knew something no one else did also,” Amber leaned forward as if he was revealing a great secret that was only for their ears. “She knew that I was going to kill you both. She knew that you were going to die in my attempt to retrieve that accursed medallion that holds your bitch aunt’s essence.
“But I could not let you all know this too soon,” Amber spread wide her hands as if in explanation, and shrugged her shoulders. “See, I had to continue the ruse that I was Amber still. After all, this body was going through its sorcerous changes, and never before had I had access to such power.”
With a flap of her powerful black wings, Amber’s body, animated by a new force, slid off the altar and began to pace back and forth before them.
“See, Grace had it right, she knew that if a sorcerer was not able to go . . . unconscious for their trials, then…” She held up a finger quickly with a laugh. “Well, then they would go insane. I needed you all to believe that Amber was in fact going insane, when really the insanity was coming, not from the transfer of powers in a foreign way, but instead from me trying to get accustomed to physical life once more. Oh, and of course getting rid of her foul spirit from my vessel. You see, that was a project in itself, and I’m embarrassed to admit that she and I were still struggling for dominance of this body until just before we met in the Foothills of Nependier.” Amber laughed as if this was all a good joke. Angelica and Jovian were unable to see the humor.
“Grace is a good sport, though. She didn’t want to believe that I was really back. She is so afraid of me that she would make up any lie to insist that I couldn’t be. She even went so far as to tell you that you didn’t see a black shuck, Jovian, when it was apparent to all, including that old bitch, that you had.” Amber paused in her pacing and story to share an ironic smile with no one. “I will almost be sad to kill her. She’s such a good crone, unwillingly playing into my hands through her reluctance to see the hard truth; almost one of my best agents, though unfortunately human.
“But now, NOW for the good part,” she gestured grandly to where Porillon had been moments before. “Porillon is nearly innocent in all of this, save for the few attacks on you two that she launched. All of the death on the plantation was me.” Amber giggled. “Your poor father thought he was seeing his long-lost daughter again. He never even expected it when death came so swiftly for him.
“All of the people I’ve killed were close to your family in different ways so, naturally, they had to die. They had to be killed so that your family would know grief, so that they would know pain. There is no pleasure in killing someone quickly; you have to kill them from the inside out, you have to make them long for death, and then give them a reason to fight, make them think they have a chance to make it all right, and then you once more prove them wrong. Once more you let them know they are worthless, that there is no point in living. You children are all at that point now. You three are the only living descendants of Sylvie, and her line will end with you. All I have left to do is kill Joya and her line will be dead for good, no hope for the future, and no hope for your judgmental, worthless Goddess.
“The two youngest pups stand before me, wanting to kill me as you did when I took your sister’s life. You will try valiantly, I’m sure, but know that you have come to your deaths.” Amber wasn’t talking to them any longer. He had turned his attention to the part of them that was Sylvie. She was listening as well, hearing what he said, and knowing the truth of his words. “I killed them when they were in your womb, and I will kill them again. If it hadn’t been for your love of them, the love that split your soul and quickened them once more, they would have already been gone, and I could have done you in personally. Now I guess I will have to make do with a second-rate Sylvie.” Arael smiled at the horror on their faces.
“Did you think that you had killed me? Didn’t you realize when you had done so that I was not dead, that you could not have killed me the way that you did? Didn’t you understand that I would be back? Didn’t you know that your Daunastu, your firstborn, would possess the link that was necessary for me to reawaken? I lived in you, lived in your hate all those years after you killed me. I fed off all the dalua you vanquished and grew stronger until
finally
you got yourself knocked up, and like a good dog you had yourself a nice litter of pups ripe for the plucking. But who better to take than your firstborn? After all, we could not have prophecy being wrong.”
There was a stirring of anger deep inside both of them that they knew was their mother’s. They fought her down, swallowed her anger and tried only to show indifference to this beast. It didn’t work — her anger left, but only because it was beaten back with a greater rage that was all their own.
“Sylvie’s dead,” Jovian said coldly.
“Oh, she will be soon enough, don’t you worry, pet,” Arael said in a cold whisper that filled them both with dread. And with no further warning, Arael’s black wings snapped open, towering high above his head. There was a joint in each wing, and topping that joint was a spike, like a claw. He reached for the sky, fingers clawed like talons, and from his chest black lightning began arcing toward them, striking against the ground, the walls, burning the air and showering them with bits of turquoise knocked loose from the structure around them.
Angelica threw up an orb of purple wyrd around them, protecting them from the lightning even as Jovian lanced out with a wreath of red fire, aiming for Arael’s wings. Their opponent flapped his wings once, and the single flame of Jovian’s rebounded on them, slithering across the floor, rivers of lava running toward their feet.
Lightning and fire danced over the floor. Angelica and Jovian took to the air with powerful flaps of their own wings.
Jovian readied his blade, angling his body down at Arael. He was like a tornado of blade and wyrd, bearing down on the body that had once belonged to his sister.
Arael wasn’t to be had, however, and blasted out at Jovian with a bolt of darklight, launching him back across the room and smashing him into the wall, where Jovian slumped to the fiery floor.
The attack had taken Arael’s eyes off Angelica long enough for her to attack. She wreathed her blade in purelight and hammered her wings hard, launching herself toward Arael. She wrapped her legs around her sister’s waist and lifted the both of them into the air. Her blade sank deep into Arael’s shoulder. Great gouts of black blood slid over their bodies, making them slick where flesh clung to flesh. Angelica slipped, finding it hard to keep her hold. She barely had time to yank her blade out before Arael was breaking free.
As Arael winged away from Angelica, higher up into the temple, he drew from the air a weapon of his own. A black shin-buto.
“Didn’t think I had one of these?” he asked.
“Didn’t really care,” Jovian said, jumping free from the flaming floor, aiming once more for Arael. Angelica crested higher as well, and when they came at Arael again, it was together.
Their blades flamed bright with pure white fire, and they took Arael in the air.
He was like lightning, meeting each of their blows with a parry of his own. Over and over he beat them back, each time reaching higher and higher up into the silver light of the temple.
Angelica let the purelight grow in her palm, and when it was strong enough she launched it at their foe. This time the attack on the black wings worked, and smoke began to kindle among the feathers.
Arael screamed and slashed out at Angelica, his black shin-buto taking her in the side, biting deep.
“Feed!” he said. He kicked Jovian aside, and pushed his blade deeper into Angelica.
Like a worm, the sword worked its way deeper, and she could feel it draining her, drinking deep of her blood. As she was weakened, Arael grew stronger.
But the purelight was working on his wings. Even as the blade fed they were both losing altitude.
Feebly Angelica slashed up at Arael, but he kicked the blade away from her hands and it clattered to the ground.
Jovian angled higher, bringing his flaming sword up. All he needed was one strike, one slice to end the death grip Arael had on Angelica. He let the fire rage harder over the surface of his shin-buto, and when the strike came, Jovian easily sliced one of the magnificent black wings from Arael’s back.
With a scream, Arael spiraled out of the air, smashing against the altar with enough force to rend it in two.
Angelica spread her wings wide, coasting to the floor, where she collapsed in pain. But she pushed through it. She slipped over the blood-soaked ground to where her lapis shin-buto had fallen. With it in hand she felt stronger. She felt the wyrd of the sword slither up her arm, and her side began to mend.
Jovian and Angelica strode closer to Arael, and Arael knew he was going to lose. Angelica and Jovian stood over the form of their sister, confident that Arael would die this day. They raised their blades high, ready to strike. They lanced the power of the purelight down their blades, allowing a well of it to form inside of them.
They felt another force gathering; like a black miasma around Arael he gathered the darklight. Before they had time to react, Arael grabbed their hands and released his power into their bodies.
Angelica and Jovian felt like they were pulling apart. The shin-buto blades dropped from their hands, clattering against the turquoise floor. They reached for one another, feeling the darklight infiltrating their being, feeling it compromise their souls. They twined their fingers together, and shared the link of purelight, letting it build and build until it drowned out who they were, where they stood, and what they were doing.