Torment (Soul Savers Book 6) (11 page)

“This has been my
home for centuries,” a stubborn old wizard complained. He eyed
me with cloudy gray eyes barely visible through the wrinkles in his
skin. “I’m not leaving it!”

“You’re not
safe here,” I said. “I can’t allow you to stay.”

“It should be my
choice. I’d rather die here in my home than be forced to go to
some strange land and die there anyway.”

I let out a sigh. The
crotchety old man had a point. I couldn’t guarantee that Dingo
Bend or anywhere else would be much safer than here in the long run.
But I sure wished I had my mom’s power of persuasion.

“I’ll take
care of this,” Sheree said, and she nodded toward the pier.
“Blossom, Jax, and Owen are back.”

I gave her an
appreciative smile before running over to the trio. Owen had created
a portal to Dingo Bend, and they’d gone through to make sure it
was indeed safe for our people.

“They’re
fine there, but looking forward to having more strength in numbers,”
Blossom said.

So we began ushering
people through the portal, where they’d come out halfway across
the world in the middle of the Australian wilderness. I didn’t
envy them. That place hadn’t exactly been kind to me.

“I don’t
like leaving you,” Ophelia said to me when her time came.
“Someone needs to keep the house. I don’t like leaving my
post.”

“You know the
mansion will be fine, and there will be nobody here for you to take
care of,” I told her as I wrapped my arms around the old
witch’s plump body. “The kids in Dingo Bend need you and
your kitchen skills.”

“You know I’d
take Dorian if they’d let me.”

“I know.” I
gave her a smile and a shrug. “But they won’t. Nobody
wants the risk of danger he’ll bring. That’s okay.
Tristan and I will take care of him, as we should. We
do
want
him around.”

“You keep safe,
my dear.” She returned my hug, planted a kiss on my cheek, and
sucked in a deep breath, lifting her droopy bosom, before stepping
through the portal. A second later, she was gone.

After the elderly and
the young were evacuated, we divvied up the remaining Amadis who
would go on to fight among the regions, and Owen created portals for
them. I stayed to thank each and every one of them—and to say a
prayer for their safety. Maybe someday we’d all be able to
return here.

My gaze swept over what
had once been a lovely village with a main street and an eclectic
collection of homes. I remembered the awe and excitement I’d
felt the first time I’d been here, seeing real-life creatures
that weeks before I’d believed to be fiction. They’d been
going along on their normal, daily business with barely a care in the
world. Watching everyone shop, kids play in the streets, and adults
enjoying a pint together, whether some kind of special brew or blood,
had been a highlight of my life. And now, their homes had been
reduced to smoking wood and stone, and their businesses and
livelihoods were nothing more than piles of litter. Too many lives
who’d once been bustling along that day were now gone.

What would Rina think
if she could see this?

Tears slipped over the
rims of my eyes as I stared at the scene before me, darkening with
twilight as the sun set over the sea in the distance. She probably
could see this through the veil. All of the matriarchs who had once
called this place home were probably watching, their souls filled
with disappointment and grief.

Tristan sidled up next
to me and slid an arm over my shoulder.

“Everybody’s
gone,” he murmured.

I scrubbed my hands
over my gritty cheeks and nodded. “I’m going to get
cleaned up then.”

I flashed to the
mansion and trudged up the stairs to our suite. As soon as I was
inside, I shed my leathers—white from dust now instead of
black—while making my way to the bathroom. After letting the
shower heat up to steaming, I stepped inside, sat on the floor,
curled my knees under my chin, and let the sobs out.

They came from so deep
within, my body physically hurt as they wracked their way out. My
heart broke over and over again as the images of my people’s
faces and their homes flashed in my mind. My stomach clutched and
heaved at the same time. Not even a month had passed since Mom and
Rina died, and there had been so much more death and destruction
since then. Way too much grief for one person to handle.

And there would still
be more. I knew this as much as I knew my own name. No matter how you
tried to dress it up—soldiers in fancy white and gold uniforms
of centuries past pretending like they were gentlemen as they slayed
their enemies, guerilla warriors ambushing their unsuspecting rivals,
or privileged politicians using drones to do their dirty work—war
was ugly. Despicable. Not for the tenderhearted.

Lucas had put me in
this position because he believed I had a dark side—as dark as
him, maybe. He slayed Mom so he could watch me shed any Amadis
pretenses and show him and everyone in the world that darkness within
me. I’d thought at first the Angels had set me up like this for
a similar reason—because I had more of that ruthlessness needed
for war than Rina or Mom did. My stomach was strong enough, my heart
hard enough, and my soul cold enough to do what would need to be done
to bring us to victory.

What had I been
thinking? What had the
Angels
been thinking by saying I was
ready for this? Even seeing troops fighting each other around the
world in Norman wars … even witnessing skirmishes like
Kuckaroo where people died in front of me … war had remained
more of an abstract concept to me than a daily reality. I didn’t
have enough experience with true destruction and defeat until now.
I’d thought battles would fuel me—feed my anger and need
for vengeance, keep me focused on the end goal. I hadn’t known
how it would truly affect me until it became real. So very real.

The violence and
destruction of it all tore me apart. Ravaged me from the inside. I
still felt anger and vengeance. I still focused on the goal of ending
Lucas and the Daemoni. But I also felt even weaker than before. As
though my strength had been sucked out by a vacuum, leaving me empty.
Hopeless. Unable to see how there could ever be light again.

Tristan found me a
little while later in the same fetal position as he stepped into the
shower with me. He picked me up, sat down on the built-in bench with
me in his lap, and held me as the water rained down on us, my tears
still coming just as fast.

“I’ve
failed them all,” I finally said, my voice thick and rough.

“No, you haven’t,
ma lykita
,” he murmured. “You’ve done what
you could. You’ll continue doing all you can. You were right
before. Sheree was right when she said it. War brings casualties.”

“It’s one
thing to say it, and another to have it thrown in your face.” I
wrapped my arms around him and leaned my cheek against his bare
chest. “I hate war. Why is this happening now? Why the war of
all wars when I’m in charge?”

He pushed my sopping
wet hair away from my face and stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You
know the answer to that.”

“Because Lucas
gets a kick out of tormenting his own daughter. It’s all part
of his game.”

“You are the
biggest challenge he’ll ever face, and he knows it. He probably
gets a sick hard-on over it. That much is true.” He leaned in
and brushed his lips over my forehead. “But that’s not
really why this is happening now. He’s not really the one in
control.”

“Then why,
Tristan? Because the only reason I can see right now is that the
future holds failure for us. Is it because it’s time for the
Amadis to end? For all of humanity to become extinct?”

“I don’t
know what God has planned or what the Angels are thinking. But I do
know they believe in you and your ability to handle this.”

“Well, they’re
wrong.”

He pulled back and
looked at me with a lifted brow. “You’re calling God and
the Angels wrong?”

I shrugged. “I
don’t know who it is, but someone up there, in the Otherworld,
has made a really bad call.”

When he tried to argue
with me, tried to convince me how wrong
I
was, I shut him up
the one way I knew how: I covered his mouth with mine. I didn’t
need more arguing and tension tonight. I needed his body wrapped
around mine. I needed love like a dying man in the desert needs
water. I needed
his
love to fill me back up with everything
today’s attack had sucked dry.

Unfortunately, too many
minds occupied this mansion—the only safe place on the
island—who could hear me if I really let go, so I didn’t
get everything I needed. But at least I got some time alone with my
man.

Later, when the mansion
was quiet, I lay in our bed next to Tristan and stared at the sheer
canopy above us. Whenever I closed my eyes, not only did I witness
Mom’s death over and over, but now I also watched the Amadis
village exploding with unseen bombs on repeat. The Daemoni and the
Normans had found a way to breach Owen’s shield. How? It had to
have been the work of the sorcerers, of course, but what exactly had
they done to those first bombs that we hadn’t noticed? That
allowed them to sit back and wait until they could catch us by
surprise again? Lucas and his Daemoni always remained several steps
ahead of us, even Tristan. How would we ever win this war at this
rate?

Unable to lay in bed
pretending to rest and regenerate a moment longer, I slid out of the
blankets and made my way down to the Sacred Archives. I hadn’t
been in there yet since becoming matriarch. I’d been curious to
know if I’d suddenly be able to read all of the books lining
the walls, but not enough to overcome all of the other emotions I’d
been dealing with since Mom’s and Rina’s deaths. The time
had come, though. I could only hope somewhere in there answers could
be found.

Because right now, I
had none.

As always, crossing the
threshold felt like entering a different world—or a different
realm. An unearthly glow lit the room and all of the books on the
shelves lining every wall. The air itself felt lighter and smelled
clean and pure, like sunshine. It left a sweet flavor on my tongue
and the back of my throat when I inhaled. Except …

I licked my lips and
drew in a breath. There was something different this time—a
tinge of bitterness in the air. Was this new or something only
matriarchs could distinguish?

I hadn’t known
why I’d expected the Sacred Archives to be different for the
matriarch than it would be for the daughters after her. I couldn’t
recall Mom or Rina ever telling me this. I’d created the theory
on my own after my first visit here, when I discovered I could barely
read anything in any of the books contained within. The pages of most
of them were filled with swirls and lines, some heavy and others
light, that presumably meant something, but I hadn’t been able
to decipher them then. So I’d concluded it was the language of
the Angels and only the matriarch could interpret it.

With high expectations,
I reached for a random book on the shelf in front of me. My fingers
caressed the smooth, soft pearlescent cover before lifting it away.
The strange symbols marked the inside of the book, but I could
decipher them no more easily than I could during my first visit here
over two years ago, right after my
Ang’dora.

My assumption had been
wrong.

I blew out a breath as
I replaced the book on its shelf and turned in a circle. My hopes for
what I’d find in this room had soared even higher than I
realized, and as disappointment came crashing down, the feeling of
abandonment overwhelmed me.

“Isn’t
there anything I should know? Isn’t there
anything
you
can tell me?” I asked aloud, pleading with the Angels or my
ancestors or whoever might be listening to me. “I’m weak,
and inexperienced, and ignorant about way too much. You’ve
chosen the wrong person. I’m not equipped or prepared to serve
in this way. Please …”

I turned in another
circle, my gaze sweeping over the hundreds of book spines. And then,
finally. A book slid out of its spot completely on its own. It lifted
into the air and floated over to my outstretched hands. I opened it
hurriedly, turning the pages greedily. But they were all blank.

The urge to throw the
book on the ground and stomp on it like a two-year-old nearly
overpowered me. If I didn’t have a special soft spot in my
heart for all books in general, I just might have done so. But right
when I was about to send the worthless thing back to its spot on the
shelf, black marks started appearing on the first page. Swirls and
lines, some heavy and some thin, that looked a little tribal and a
little Celtic at the same time.

“What good is
this if I can’t understand it?” I demanded aloud. My
inner tantrum-throwing child pushed harder against the surface. I
stared at the drawing, beautiful in its own way, and as I did, the
meaning began to clarify in my mind. The swirls and lines spelled my
name: Alexis.

More marks started
showing, as though bleeding through the page, and I plopped to my
butt on the floor while watching them appear. I didn’t know how
long I sat there, possibly hours, but the symbols themselves taught
me how to read them. And I learned this language was personally for
me. Every matriarch had her own, and the books in the Sacred Archives
were filled with messages they’d received from the Angels.
Nobody could read them, not even other matriarchs … unless the
Angels deemed it necessary.

Some books contained
their histories, just like my own book Rina had shown me when I’d
first arrived on the island. It floated down to me, and now, I saw,
was filled with much more than it had been originally—all of my
personal thoughts on my experiences had been added in this language
only I could read. And, of course, all of the events since I’d
first seen the beautiful book. I stared at the last page that had
filled in my history book, hoping to see a glimpse of what would come
next, but nothing more appeared. I sent it back to its place.