Author’s Note: Not a lot of notes to add this time. I’m having fun with this plot, but the prose is killing me for some reason. I know exactly what I want to say, yet it just isn’t coming out to my satisfaction. Still, I know better than to rework a single chapter over and over again before finishing the story, so out it goes, Chapter 9. I hope you all enjoy it. Oh, yes, and for those of you familiar with the myth of Hades and Persephone, the similarity is completely intentional. đ
Chapter 9
Nestled within the fold of two mountains fighting for space lay a sheltered valley where enough soil existed for the land to support a forest of trees and a large lake. There might have been magic involved, because just at the entrance to the valley, the temperature changed and the snow ended, revealing grass and moss and the new buds of spring on the trees. After fighting the snow and ceaseless wind, Febe saw the valley as a single slice of paradise in that landscape, and she rushed forward despite her exhaustion, pushing past Marcos.
The ground just beneath her began to tremble as her shoe first crossed from the snow onto the new spring grass. Febe took a hesitant step back and then another. Marcos shouted a warning, and then his arms pulled her against his chest before tossing her back onto the packed snow trail where she fell to her knees, the snow instantly soaking her trouser legs. She jumped to her feet, turning to him to ask why heâd done such a thing, the words never making it past her lips when she saw that he wore an amulet that glowed with a silver-blue fire. She was about to ask what was going on when the ground split apart with a deafening crack, only a few steps away from where sheâd stepped on the grass. Marcos pushed her further back, blocking her with his big body from the growing fissure as the crack speared towards them, now splitting the snow-laden earth.
Febe clung to Marcosâs hard bicep as she peered around him at the gaping chasm that blocked their path. A massive warhorse bearing a robed and hooded rider leapt out of the opening in the ground. Febe wanted to run, but her frozen legs kept her in place, though her entire body trembled with her fear. Her grip on Marcos tightened, and she pressed against him as if he could possibly protect her from the god of the dead.
The time had come for her to face her future husband.
She caught only a glimpse of Morbidonâs features before she pressed her face against Marcosâs arm. This time, the god wasnât wearing a bone mask or even armor, but somehow he looked even more intimidating in a flowing black robe with a cowl casting his upper face into shadow. Of his lower face, the cowl revealed only a strong, square jaw and lips that were tight with disapproval as he turned his attention from her to Marcos.
âYou were to summon me when you retrieved my bride.â His voice had the hollow sound of a tomb door closingâdeep, resonant, echoing, and absolutely terrifying.
Febe shuddered against Marcos, before the meaning of the godâs words sunk in. She gasped and pushed away from him, staring at him in distrust and dismay, almost forgetting the presence of the god of the dead as his magnificent warhorse pawed the frozen ground and snorted clouds of warm breath into the chilly air. âYou serve Morbidon?â
âYou neednât speak my name with such horror, woman!â The godâs voice lashed out at her, brittle with anger.
Febe flinched, shifting further away from the horse, and despite her feeling of being betrayed by Marcos, she returned to his side, sidling behind him as Morbidonâs lips tightened even further until they were nothing but a thin line slashing across his swarthy skin. When she clutched at Marcosâs arm, silvery-blue flames rose from Morbidonâs robes.
âMy Lord, I would have summoned you when weâd had a chance to rest in the valley. It took some time gettingââ
Morbidon slashed an impatient hand through the air, trailing blue flames in its wake. To Febeâs horror, the flesh on his hand was peeling away beneath the burning flames, revealing bone as white as the snow beneath them.
âIâm not interested in your excuses, peasant. I sent you to retrieve my bride, not to seduce her.â Morbidonâs final words were hissed out in what could barely be called a human voice. His now bony hand clenched in front of him and his horse neighed, tossing its head as if it was disturbed by his anger.
Marcos glanced down at Febe, who was trying to hide completely behind him now. His eyes met hers and she saw the sympathy in them. If she wasnât so afraid at the moment of the menacing god, she would have kicked him in the shin just for daring to pretend he had any softer emotion for the person heâd been sent to collect like some prize. She wished more than anything that she had a bunch of traps at that moment to hide behind instead of this untrustworthy man. Perhaps little mouse is an apt nickname for me. She frowned in self-disgust, searching for the courage to face the god without the help of the man whoâd been lying to her.
Marcos gently detached her white fingers from his sleeve, taking her frozen hand in his large, warm grasp so that he could draw her back out to stand at his side instead of behind him. âI have done no such thing. If youâd take notice, your bride is frightened, not in love.â To Febeâs surprise, he leveled a glare upon the monstrous apparition in front of themâthe god of the dead now fully skeletal and burning with blue flames, his tight lips having peeled away to reveal the death rictus of a skull. âItâs no wonder she views you with such fear, for even I tremble in your presence.â
There was a chiding note to Marcosâs tone that Febe couldnât believe heâd dared to add when addressing Morbidon. Marcos hadnât been lying about trembling though. She had felt the tremor of his muscles beneath her grip and even now, his hand around hers wasnât so steady. Yet he faced the god and dared to censure him as if he couldnât be wiped out of existence for the simple act.
This is the kind of courage I need. He faces Morbidon with fear, yet still stands tall!
A long moment of silence fell. Febe didnât dare look in Morbidonâs direction again after seeing the horrifying reaper aflame. She kept her focus tight on the weave of Marcosâs wool tunic, just visible beneath the furs that covered his chest and most of his arms.
The sudden sound of Morbidonâs voice caused Febe to jump, realizing that she had almost gone into a trance waiting for the blade of the reaperâs scythe to fall upon her. âMy bride has given you a chance, yet has not extended me the same courtesy.â The hiss was gone from Morbidonâs tone. It had returned to that deep, arrogant voice that heâd used when heâd pretended to be a mere necromancer in her motherâs court.
Nowâs the time for courage! Though she still didnât feel any, Febe dared a glance at the god and saw to her relief that he was back to flesh and blood beneath the robes, and the fire had died away, though his lips were still merely a thin slash. She wondered if he was even capable of smiling, or if anger or disapproval were his only expressions. âWhy didnât you come for me yourself?â She barely whispered the words as she returned her focus to Marcosâs sleeve. She hadnât intended to say them aloud. The fact that Marcos tightened his grip on her hand in warning didnât make her feel any more confident about the fact that she had dared to utter them.
Another long silence fell as if the god was considering her words, or perhaps he hadnât heard them, which would have been preferable.
Then he spoke, revealing that heâd heard her just fine. âYou ran into my sisterâs arms seeking your escape from me. Would you have preferred I razed her temple simply to retrieve you?â
She shuddered, though his tone had been as calm and reasonable as sheâd ever heard it. âCould you have done that?â She unconsciously sidled back against Marcosâs side, though she didnât note it until after his furs tickled her cheek. When he put a heavy arm around her shoulders to shelter her further, a growl from the god of the dead raised the hair on the back of her neck, but she remained beside Marcos, cursing her own lack of courage. Had she been Eldora, she would have been standing before the god with her chin lifted and a seductive smile on her lips, trying to manipulate the monstrous creature as Eldora had manipulated so many men and women in the past. Instead, she was cowering against another man, one she had no reason to trust, yet she couldnât find the strength to leave his embrace and face Morbidon even as she dared to question him. Her mother would be furious at her behavior. Isa would never have sought shelter in a manâs arms.
Morbidonâs voice was a growl as he answered her. âI could have, but I do not kill without reason. Instead, I sent my servant to return you to me peacefully.â His tone was cold and brittle, and Marcos tensed against her side, his arm pressing her closer to him.
I donât want to be âreturnedâ to you! She wanted to scream the words at Morbidon, but this time, she managed to keep her thoughts behind her lips. He was obviously already aware that she didnât want to marry him. He also obviously didnât care what she wanted. All her protests would do, would be to further anger him. She had to decide whether she should use what little courage she had to face her betrothal and honor her motherâs bargain, or face the monster that wanted to enslave her in matrimony and tell him she would never agree to such a fate.
She recalled Marcosâs words about making a choice. This moment was where she had to make it. If she angered the god by denying him, she had no idea what would happen next, but if she agreed to the marriageâthough the very thought of intimacy with such a creature made her illâthere was hope that she could influence him at some point. Then she might even have the power to usurp her mother and her sisters and free Barselor from the burden of their endless infighting.
Febe was hopeless when it came to men. She had no idea what to do or say to them, but Marcos had already said he would help her. Though now she knew that he had been working for Morbidon and not her sister, his intention had never changed, so technically, he hadnât been betraying her. Sheâd always known that heâd planned on taking her back to marry Morbidon. However, if she were to return to Morbidonâs kingdom with the terrifying god, then she didnât want to be alone amongst the dead. Given Morbidonâs obvious suspicions about her relationship with Marcos, her next request might be risky, but it was the only way she could work up the courage to do what she must. âI will willingly return with you to your kingdom and marry you, but you must grant me one request.â
âAre you making demands of me?â Since Febe didnât dare look at him, she couldnât read his expression, but his tone sounded surprised. Surely he doesnât expect a wife to be as obedient and unobtrusive as his servants? Yet, he was male and a god, so perhaps he expected exactly that.
âIf you want a wife and not a slave, then you will learn to give on occasion instead of always taking.â She trembled, despite the firmness of her tone.
Marcos squeezed her in encouragement. He was watching Morbidon, so perhaps what he saw in the godâs expression was enough to convince him sheâd made the right decision in standing firm.
To her surprise, the god actually sighed. âVery well, make your request.â
âI wonât return with you to the Underworld alone. I need a companion.â She looked up at Marcosâs face, just as he turned his attention from Morbidon to her. His eyes widened when they met hers, and he slightly shook his head. She ignored the warning. âI want Marcos to be that companion.â She risked a glance at Morbidon to see how he was taking the request. Her heartbeat stuttered when she saw blue flames crawling along his robes again.
He was silent for a long time as the wind kicked up around them, whipping tiny flakes of snow into a whirl that left them all untouched. Marcos stood tense against her, though he hadnât dropped his arm and pushed her away when he realized her intent, despite the fact that it might have put him in danger. Heâd still stood with her. He was almost as much a stranger to her as the god they faced, yet she felt comforted by his arm around her and the implicit support it carried with it.
When Morbidon spoke, his tone was reluctant, but the terrible hissing of rage hadnât returned. âVery well. I will allow you thisâŚcompanion, as long as you agree to be a proper wife to me. You must swear that you will never attempt to run away again, or your companion will suffer dearly for it.â
Febe didnât have any doubts about what he meant when he said âproper wife.â She shuddered at the thought of sharing the monsterâs bed and pushed down her gorge at the very idea that he would touch her. Yet, her only other option was to tell him she would never accept him and deal with whatever came of that choice. She didnât think it would be a good alternative. She would have to find the strength to endure, as she had endured all her life in her motherâs castle. âI agree to those termsâŚâ She glanced up at Marcos, swallowing as she realized that she hadnât even bothered to consult him. If he says he doesnât agreeâ
Marcos met her eyes. Then he nodded, the movement so slight that she might not have caught it if she wasnât watching him closely, but the brief squeeze around her shoulders was answer enough. He might not be happy about being put in the position sheâd put him in, but he was in agreement with it.
âThen we are in accord.â At Morbidonâs words, his horse suddenly surged forward, charging right at them.
Marcos shoved her out of the way, but the horse followed her path as she stumbled back. Before she could fall or be crushed beneath pounding hooves, a hard arm swooped out and captured her around the waist, pulling her onto the horseâs back andâto her horrorâsettling her onto Morbidonâs lap as the animal spun around and thundered back towards the chasm.
A brief flash of Marcosâs wide eyes and gaping mouth rushed past her before the horse plunged into a darkness so all-consuming that Febe saw nothing but black, yet she remained uncomfortably aware of the solid arm holding her secure as she traveled with the god of the dead down into the Underworld.
Riveting! Can’t wait for the continued story! đ
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