Chained By Fear: 2 Page 3

  As morning approached, unmarried couples separated from the gathering and went to private places. During these large celebrations there was much love-making. Women went from man to man and men from woman to woman, while the married adults and children remained in the plaza.

  Magena was one of the exceptions. Though unattached, she sat alone at a long table, munching on a roasted ear of corn and drinking black tea. She had eaten a great deal, abating her earlier drunkenness. But her head still swam as she watched the others wander into the darkness. Aponi, one of her younger sisters, had gone off with a stout male warrior admired throughout the village. Aponi was fifteen, old enough to marry, if she so desired.

  Though eighteen, Magena had not yet married. This wasn’t unusual. Many chose not to wed until they were older, preferring to extend the pleasures of sexual promiscuity. But the white princess, as they called her, was not interested. Her heart lay elsewhere, though she could not say where or why.

  The son of the patriarch of the second highest-ranked clan approached Magena. His name was Kuruk, which meant “bear” in her people’s tongue. Though he was the same age as Magena, he already was the largest man in the village, as tall as she and heavily muscled. Not even Takoda could match his physical strength.

  Kuruk had long desired her, and every time Magena refused him, he grew angrier. When he sat down next to her, she tensed. He was very drunk.

  “My pale flower,” he said with stinking breath, “now is the time for you and me to join . . .”

  But Magena didn’t allow him to finish. Instead, she sprang to her feet. “I’ve told you I reject your attentions. There are many in the village who desire you, but I am not among them. I have no interest in you or anyone. Please accept this as my final answer.”

  Kuruk stood awkwardly, knocking the table sideways. Plates of food tumbled onto the ground. This caught the attention of the villagers who had remained in the plaza, including Takoda.

  “You filthy watsquerre (swine),” Kuruk said to Magena. “If you knew me, you would not speak to me . . . like this. You have no idea who I am or what I am about. I’ve come to save you. Without me to protect you, you’ll be slaughtered like all the rest.”

  Takoda became enraged. “What madness is this? Are you katichhei (a rogue)? You’re no better than the Mogols.”

  Kuruk spun toward Takoda. The sudden movement caused him to lose his balance, and he almost fell. When he regained his bearings, his face was twisted with anger. “Occooahawa (old fool)! You call me katichhei? I call you tauh-he (a dog).”

  Even as Kuruk uttered his insulting words, a scream erupted from one of the small huts nearest the palisade. The shaman came out of the darkness, holding his throat. Blood spilled between his fingers and seeped down his forearms. He stumbled into the clearing and fell onto the sandy floor of the plaza. The expression on his mask did not change.

  Takoda was the first to realize their peril.

  “Mogols! Flee . . . everyone! Hide in the mountains.”

  Because of the celebration, most of the villagers were unarmed. Takoda ran toward his hut to get a weapon, but Kuruk stepped in front of him. The larger man pulled a knife from his breechcloth and swept it at Takoda’s stomach in an attempt to disembowel him. But Kuruk’s drunkenness was not feigned, and he missed his mark, losing his balance and falling against Takoda, who grasped Kuruk’s wrist and then drove his knee into Kuruk’s elbow. Magena heard a popping sound as Kuruk collapsed.

  Magena picked up the knife and handed it to her father. “What are we to do?” she shouted.

  “Take your mother and sisters and escape to the mountains. Stay alive! I will find you.”

  There was another scream—and several more. Hundreds of ghostly shapes moved toward the edge of the flickering firelight. It was too late to run.

  The adult males who had remained in the plaza—about fifty in all—joined Takoda, encircling the women and children. Most had no weapons, but a few held war clubs and one a bow and arrow. Meanwhile, the screaming intensified. The invaders moved from hut to hut, butchering anyone they found.

  Aponi is out there, Magena thought. And two of my brothers. She shuddered. But she also felt rage rising inside her, and her flesh began to glow.

  Kuruk regained his feet but grimaced as he held his bent elbow. “Come out,” he shouted at the dark shapes. “Why do you wait? They’re helpless. Kill the chief, and the rest will surrender.”

  “My son, you dishonor me with your treachery,” said Kuruk’s father, who stood next to Takoda. “I disown you! May your spirit wander forever with the cowards.”

  Kuruk spat and turned away. In response, several hundred Mogols entered the clearing. Their faces were adorned with hideous tattoos, and they bore necklaces made from the dried scalps of former victims. They were much larger than the Ropakans—the smallest among them dwarfed even Kuruk—and they carried bows and arrows, war clubs, spears and long blowguns.

  Their leader—the tallest of all—strode over to Kuruk and placed his arm around his thick shoulders. But then another emerged from the darkness, stunning Magena and her father far more than Kuruk’s betrayal.

  “How can you do this to our people?” Takoda said to the newcomer, tears spilling from his eyes. “To our children?”

  Akando, eldest brother of Takoda, did not reply with words. He just smiled, which was more disturbing than anything else he could have done.

  Demon

  4

  Magena’s heart imploded. She turned to Takoda and saw only misery. Rage boiled inside her, growing stronger and more dangerous with each passing moment.

  The Mogol leader was a span taller than Akando. Magena had never seen anyone so heavily muscled. But something about him did not look quite human. His skin was too oily and his teeth too sharp.

  “Porisāda!” Takoda said.

  The word meant man-eater. These Mogols were the most dangerous of their kind. They not only raided other tribes, they cannibalized them. The Ropakans feared the Porisādas more than any creatures that roamed the Mahaggata Mountains, other than the occasional dragon.

  “Akando, my brother . . .” said Takoda, his voice wavering. “Why did you lead these fiends through our gates?”

  Akando continued to smile, but his eyes were dull, and his arms hung limply. With a strange feeling of relief, Magena realized her uncle had not committed this treason voluntarily. Another force was at work that was greater than any Mogol.

  The Porisāda sneered at Takoda. “Be still, old man,” he said in the common tongue. “You lack your brother’s wisdom. For his cooperation he will be greatly rewarded in this lifetime and the next.”

  “As will I,” said Kuruk, still nursing his grotesquely bent elbow.

  “Yes, Kuruk will be rewarded,” the leader said. To Magena, it felt as if he were hungrily eyeing the Ropakan’s thick torso. “He’ll be the first to be rewarded.”

  But Kuruk didn’t recognize his peril. He was too caught up in his own pride. “Akando and I are allowed to choose one among you to be our slave,” he boasted. “I don’t know, or care, who Akando favors, but my choice is clear. Magena is mine!”

  A moment later, Kuruk’s own knife left Takoda’s hand, thrown with a rage that Magena had never before seen in her father. Three finger-lengths of blade dug into the traitor’s chest, piercing his foul heart and ending his life. Immediately after, a single arrow flew from the inner circle, striking one of the cannibals in the thigh.

  The Porisādas rushed forward, launching poisoned darts with their blowguns. Men, women and even the children were slaughtered. Magena’s mother died before her eyes. Some of her sisters and brothers also fell. Either by luck or design, none of the black-feathered darts struck her. But Takoda was pierced many times. Still, he managed to lurch forward and wrap his fingers around the throat of the leader.

  Magena chased after him, but she was too late, watching in horror as the cannibal placed his immense hands on Takoda’s head and squeezed. Her peace-loving father was no
match for such a monster. His skull cracked.

  The sight of Takoda’s gruesome death freed Akando from whatever spell had been cast upon him. He yanked a dagger from the cannibal’s breechcloth and drove it between his ribs. The Porisāda howled but was not mortally wounded. He swept his arm against Akando’s face and knocked the smaller man off his feet. The act of bravery finally shook Magena out of a state of shock. It was time for her to fight. She leapt over her father’s fallen body and pounced upon the leader’s chest, pressing her face so close to his she could smell his rancid breath.

  “Namuci,” she whispered.

  The Porisāda flung Magena away, but his doom was sealed. His head snapped back, and he crumpled to the ground, vomiting blood. Soon after, his writhing stopped.

  Magena loomed over his corpse, the glow of her eyes as bright as the Ripe Corn Moon, which at that moment was setting over the northwestern peaks. She raised her head slowly and scanned the plaza. Akando was dazed but otherwise unhurt. The rest of the Porisādas stood still as statues, watching her with a kind of awe. She continued to study her surroundings, trying to determine the scale of the carnage. What she saw wrenched her heart. Most of her people were dead. Several women and children remained standing, but the darts had slain all of the men, including her brothers and many other relatives. She remembered Takoda once telling her the cannibals used poison to tenderize the flesh of their victims and prevent the bodies from spoiling.

  “I’m sorry, white princess,” she heard Akando saying. “The demon put a spell on me, and I could not resist her biddings. I’m weak and shameful. The Great Spirit will not allow me to join our fallen warriors in their place of glory. Instead, I will wander with Kuruk among the cowards.”

  “Demon?” Magena said, still in a state of shock. “Where?”

  “Here . . . my darling.” An elderly woman emerged from the darkness. Her hair was long and gray, and her eyes glowed magically like Magena’s. But the similarity between their eyes ended there. The old woman’s irises were black instead of blue-gray.

  The Porisādas bowed.

  “You must say the word, again,” Akando said urgently. “Don’t be concerned with us. We’re already lost. Only you can avenge us.”

  “But the others . . .”

  “Would you rather they become slaves—or worse?”

  The demon, meanwhile, had approached within five paces, and she listened to their conversation with amusement. “Do you know who I am?” she said to Magena in fluent Ropakan.

  “You’re a monster and a murderer. But you’ll pay for what you’ve done.”

  “You will make me pay? Child, I am Vedana, mother of all demons.” Then she smirked in a way that Magena found hideous. “Besides, you would hurt your own grandmother?”

  “What?” Magena mumbled.

  “Say the word, before she puts a spell on you!” Akando said.

  Vedana glared at Akando. “Your usefulness is finished.” The demon raised her fists in the air and cracked them together. A crimson tendril of lightning leapt from her hands and struck Akando in the chest. His torso burst into flames.

  “No!” Magena cried, leaping toward her uncle, but she could do nothing but watch him die.

  “Kill them all,” the demon said in the common tongue. “Except for the girl.”

  In a flurry of movement that took only seconds, the cannibals launched more darts. It happened so fast Magena was helpless to protect her people. Soon the rest were dead. The screaming ended almost as quickly as it started.

  Two Porisādas grabbed Magena by the arms, but she barely noticed. Everyone she cared about had perished. Rage consumed her consciousness. “Namuci!” she screamed, with all the strength she could muster. “Naaaamuuuuciiii!”

  “Run, you fools,” Vedana shouted at the Porisādas. “You know naught your peril!”

  But it was too late. An army of efrits had been unleashed. The cannibals screamed, fell and bled. In just a few moments the Porisādas were no more.

  Only two women remained standing, death and destruction surrounding them.

  Vedana and Magena.

  The demon and the sorceress.

  They stared into each other’s eyes, daring the other to make the first move.

  Finally, the demon cackled. “Your powers are impressive, Laylah. But I’ll have to insist that you never do that again. My little babies are like bees. Once they sting, they die. And there are only so many left. They’re too valuable to be used with such recklessness.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Magena said. “And why do you call me Laylah? That is not my name, foul wench.”

  “Come, Laylah,” the demon purred, circling her adversary. “Surely you haven’t forgotten your real name. You were ten years old when your father—my son—was murdered. You were no baby. I’m sure you remember that day as if it were yesterday.”

  “You rave. My father was your son? The filth between his toes was sweeter than you. You are despicable. But your time has ended. I will destroy you.”

  Vedana cackled. “Before you destroy me, wouldn’t you like to know why I’ve gone to all this trouble?” The demon circled ever closer, her movements hypnotic. “Do you think the tiresome squabbles between Mogols and Ropakans interest me?”

  “Monsters need no justification. They take pleasure in torment and suffering. But enough talk. Come no closer!”

  Now just a step away, Vedana stopped and faced Magena. She wore robes made of cloth as translucent as her flesh. Magena could see the demon’s internal organs wriggling like a ball of snakes.

  “Who taught you the word that you used to destroy the Porisādas?” Vedana said.

  Magena didn’t answer. Instead, her fists clenched and unclenched while her golden hair swirled in the breeze.

  “Never mind, you don’t have to tell me. Your brother was such a naughty boy. Can you believe that I had no idea he was visiting you all those nights? Vedana, mother of all demons, fooled by a child. Vedana, who has existed for a thousand centuries, deceiving kings, seducing warriors, defeating wizards, conjurers and necromancers. Yet, this boy was able to trick me. He made me sleep, though I knew it naught, and then flew to see you on the back of a dracool. I would have forbidden it. But would that have stopped him? And then, he had the gall to teach you some of my magic . . .”

  “Why are you here?” Magena said. “Even if I believed your lies, I wouldn’t rush to you with open arms. Look at what you’ve done. These people were my family. My father is dead at my feet.”

  “Your father has been dead for more than eight years,” Vedana said. “And your people—your real people—are now your brother’s slaves. But I’m glad to have piqued your curiosity. Perhaps you’ll listen to me before you destroy me. To answer your question, I’m here because Invictus is as much my enemy as yours.” Then Vedana looked around, suddenly paranoid. Her voice fell to almost a whisper. “Do you know that he searches for you? That he’s obsessed with you? He’s close, Laylah. Very close. Do you wish to become his prisoner? Once he captures you, there will be no escape.”

  “If any of this is true, why didn’t you just come and talk to me about it? Why kill these innocent people?”

  “I care naught for people, innocent or otherwise. Their lives are short and pitiful, swallowed by the vastness of time. If ‘people’ are in my way, I remove them. What does it matter? They will skitter on to their next existences—and the next and the next and the next—always blind, always ignorant. But you’re different, Laylah. Demon blood rages through your veins. With me as your teacher, you might one day become strong enough to face your brother and avenge your real father’s death. There was demon blood in his veins, too. But compared to you and your brother, he was a weakling.”

  Vedana beckoned with her hand. “Will you not come with me? These humans were chattel, doomed to die. Whether today, or a few puny decades from now, what difference? Don’t waste your energy on sadness or regret. You’re the granddaughter of Vedana. You have the poten
tial for greatness. I can teach you how to achieve it.”

  “If achieving greatness means forsaking the ones I love, I’d rather die now and be done with it.”

  The demon cackled again. “That could be arranged. But not yet . . . not just yet.”

  Suddenly Vedana was just a finger-length away, her face a mask of rage. Gray smoke gushed from her swollen nostrils. “Niddaayahi!” the demon said.

  Magena felt darkness press against her consciousness. She lashed out with a blast of power, lifting several bodies into the air, including Takoda’s.

  But Vedana was not harmed. Her cackles filled the valley. Magena struck again and again, but she could not see and could not feel. The foul smoke found its way into her lungs, into her blood, into her heart.

  “I’m sorry, father,” Magena mumbled. “I’ve failed you. I’ve failed everyone.”

  But whether she actually said it—or just dreamed that she said it—was beyond her awareness. She also wasn’t sure to which father she spoke. Perhaps it was both.

  When she woke, Magena was no longer.

  For better or worse, she was Laylah.

  The little girl on the swing.

  In love with the night.

  5

  In her dream Laylah was back in the village where she had lived as a child, and she lay on a woolen bed cover in the small but cozy room she had loved so much. She was ten years old, and her father and mother were alive and happy.

  Laylah could smell roasted pork and baked bread. And she could hear her mother chopping vegetables for a salad that would include parsley, borage and thyme.

  A welcomed visitor told a joke, causing Laylah’s beloved parents to laugh. She recognized Takoda’s voice. The chieftain conversed with Gunther and Stēorra in the Ropakan tongue. Her parents replied in the common tongue. But all understood one another, as if they were old friends enjoying each other’s company. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Laylah knew that Gunther and Stēorra had never met Takoda. But in the dream it seemed plausible.