Elisabeth Writing

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Malacoz ran through the brush, tireless, his feet pounding on the cold ground and the wind blowing his hair back from his face in a way that made him want to howl in triumph. His quarry was fast, faster than he’d thought she’d be, and he relished the chase, how it emptied his mind except for one thing: to hunt, and to kill. The sound of the prey’s heartbeat was quiet now, and he couldn’t hear her breathing. Some Fey magick perhaps. He paused to take stock of where he was. The trees loomed over him, black skeletons against the grey sky; poisonous mushrooms erupted from the hard packed earth, and he watched as a shiny snake slithered to safety, aware of the true predator here in the forest. If he strained he could just barely hear the beat of another’s heart, quiet and muted. Considering, he gave a long sigh and sat on a decaying log, as if admitting defeat. “You’ve won. I can’t find you. You’re safe… for the night, at least. You could try to fly, you know. But I imagine you realize we’d shoot you down before you could get anywhere. Besides, these skies aren’t conducive to flying. The air is too heavy, it would weigh you down. This isn’t like the place you came from.”

The heartbeat skipped and then slowed, as if its owner was willing herself to remain calm and think logically. He smiled. He loved it when they were intelligent and crafty; it made the chase far more satisfying. Though he was listening carefully, the Fey creature didn’t move from wherever she was hiding. There was not even the slightest rustle of a leaf, not the softest footstep. Cheerfully, as he had nowhere else to be, he took his blade and began to clean his fingernails. “Come now, we both know that to come here means a painful death, especially for your kind. Why did you risk it? What are you looking for – or whom?” Malacoz waited, and still: nothing. Judging the light, he realized that he should truly be heading off soon. While he knew he could take the beasts that lived here, he didn’t feel like getting bruised up for a fight with something that only thought of gorging itself. There were no clever manipulations, no sly words. No, if he was going to fight, he wanted to fight with this Fey thing. Sadly, it seemed she didn’t want to fight with him. It was rare that the Fey, or anything else actually, came here. Certain death came with those kinds of excursions. So what had this Fey wanted badly enough that she’d risked her very life to come here? He, as well as three others, had received the order to Hunt from his King earlier in the day. He’d have had her by now but… oh fine, he’d toyed with the girl a bit too much, letting her have a bit of a head start. How was he to know she’d be a truly worthy opponent? Honestly, it was almost a shame to kill her. He wondered if he could turn her. He’d like to see the black ooze into her clear eyes, the evil seep into her veins. Perhaps that could be his reward, if he handled this well. As it was, he’d have to slip into the grounds. If his King got word of his failure… it wouldn’t go well. Rolling his eyes a bit, annoyed with himself for even thinking of that, worrying about that, he stood up and began to prowl towards home. If he ran, it wouldn’t take long. But he found that he wanted the walk, and the quiet. It never failed to amuse him that the silence here was never peaceful; rather it was pulsing, waiting, heavy. And still, it was better than nothing. In his youth he’d walk for miles without stopping, until his cheap boots were nearly falling apart. Then, he’d been looking for answers. Now, he was looking for a fight. Apparently, though, not from the fey female. Not tonight, at least. He hadn’t given up yet. Perhaps he could find a shallow cave to camp in. He didn’t need blankets, or food. He’d be fine without them, being what he was. It wasn’t like he was a pathetic human any longer, with those sorts of needs. It annoyed him that, since his last visit with that turncoat Lamial, he had begun to have flashes and memories of his old life. It made him broody, and snarly. He’d been whipped on more than one occasion for starting a fight in a meeting. Luckily for him, his King was more amused than put out by it. He didn’t mind the fights. Or the whippings he doled out afterward. 

Malacoz was scoping out a cave system not too far away when he heard the slightest intake of breath, and the flutter of wings. He froze, melting into the shadows, angling his dagger. It was lucky that he knew how to be completely still for hours at a time. It took another half hour or so, but the Fey female finally moved forward. She was a slight thing, with pale blue skin; her shimmering wings looked slippery, and her completely indigo eyes were narrowed in fear and concentration. Apparently the coming night had made her just a bit more careless. He gave her credit for the way she crept along with the soft-footedness of a cat, a part of the forest itself and not separate from it. He let her move, let her get far enough ahead that even with those long, pointed ears she wouldn’t hear him. She wasn’t the only one who knew how to move as if a part of the forest. He watched as ferns and fronds seemed to tug at her, as if asking for her light, and he sneered. What was it about the dying things here, that they constantly sought life? Disgusted, for some reason he couldn’t name, he followed her. His brows rose when he realized where she was going, but he decided to see where she would end up, and what intel he might gather for his King. This didn’t seem like a poor fly in a spider’s web. In fact, he wondered if this little fly might be a spider in disguise. He tracked her for miles, and his brows rose higher as she circled the Lake of Forgetting. He wondered how she’d handle the guards posted outside the prison. Would she shape shift? Murder? Create a diversion? He watched in unabashed interest as she pulled a Council cloak over her head, and hid her hands. She might have been anyone on the Council in that getup. Still, that alone wouldn’t be enough to get her into the caves. The guards blocked her entry, bristling with violence. He didn’t hear what she said to them, but as she gestured and hissed he saw a flash of light. Their faces went slack and then, as one, they stepped to the side.

“Well, well, well. This is more interesting than I thought. The fly is, indeed, a spider.” He chuckled a bit, the sound unused for so long that it felt foreign to him, rasping in his chest. Again, he waited. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. When he approached the guards their faces were still vacant, their eyes unseeing. He waved a hand before them but they didn’t react. Malacoz shrugged, still amused, and slipped between them. He took a moment to look around, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. The damp seemed to cling to his bones. He winced at the Angelite bars on the cells, his head already starting to pound, and wondered how many prisoners had gone insane from those alone. Not only did they incite pain, they would drill into your brain, your very self, until you couldn’t see or feel anything but those goddamn Angelite reverberations. His mouth twisted into a snarl and he took a deep breath, trying to find a tendril of scent that would take him to the Fey female. He caught the scent, a hunter to his bones. She smelled like autumn leaves and rain. She smelled like…

The woods, even heavy with rain and the gloom of the day, were a welcome sight. He often came here to be alone, to ponder the questions of the Universe. After losing his mother, he’d delved into philosophy and religion, trying to understand why she’d been taken, what the purpose of the world was. He didn’t often have free time. Did anyone? But these short walks kept him sane. Or, at least as sane as he could be. When he heard singing, he froze. Was it the Fey, trying to lure him away? He knew he should run and not look back but… Overcome by curiosity, he followed the dulcet tones to a woman. Her feet were bare and swinging back and forth in the cool water of a pool. He’d wanted to turn around but there was something about the sight of her that twisted his heart. Her dark golden hair was loose around her shoulders, and he could see, from his vantage, that her eyes were like rich soil; her beauty made his breath stop. But her clothing looked ragged, and her chapped fingers looked beautifully human. So, perhaps not a Fey woman after all. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. He must have made a sound, for she suddenly stood, looking around herself in fear. ‘Who approaches? Show yourself!’

He’d spun around and pressed his back against a trunk, embarrassed at having been caught. He hoped she would assume no one was there.

She hadn’t, of course, to his delight, and dismay.

Malacoz came back to himself, finding his jaw and fists clenched, a cold sweat on his forehead. He blinked, surprised to find that he was in a cold and dank cell, and not the light grey and dark green of the forest near where he’d once been a boy. A human. The prison seemed darker and heavier than ever before, and he was trembling just the slightest bit. He hated these flashes of a life long gone, of the person he once was. He bared his teeth at the thought of the succubus who had done this to him. That little bitch. If he killed her, would the punishment be worth it? His hands around her throat would feel so goddamn satisfying. His fingers flexed. Her eyes would wheel in her pretty little face, and the blue hue would look absolutely lovely on her as she slowly choked to death. Sensual lips curved in amusement as he nodded to himself. There, that was better.

Feeling far more himself, Malacoz began to follow that rain drenched scent, shoving aside the memories, just as he’d been doing all these weeks. He didn’t need them, he told himself, even as the smell of that crisp sky made something within him open, and breathe. Down and down, twisting and turning, he pursued the Fey woman. As he got closer he began to creep, quiet, trying to stay within the shadows. It got more difficult as a light began to emanate through the corridors. He was drawn to it even as it repelled him. It made him scowl, and his fingers twitched with the need to devour and destroy that light. Still, he hadn’t scraped, clawed and killed his way to the top, at his Master’s right hand, by giving in to his every whim. If he had, he’d have been fed to the beasts long before now. Not that he hadn’t been thrown there once or twice, to have his mettle tested; he still wore those scars proudly. No, now was a time for caution, not action. Malacoz drew more shadows around him and slid along the damp walls, inching ever closer. He began to hear muffled voices; two female, one all too familiar. Lamial. He strained to hear but he only heard snippets, at first. Unwilling to let his presence be known, he froze in the deep darkness and waited.

“…unable to locate it. We tried and lost…”

“…dying… Soon. I’ll make a…”

“No!” The other voice rose in pitch and volume before being shushed by the other. Murmurs, too soft for even his ears to catch, continued to float to him. There was no help for it. He was going to have to get closer. The sounds of his movements were deadened with his magic; the magic of new moons, secrets and blood. He wondered if Lamial would sense him but reassured himself that, as she became more human, her Demon magick would be diminishing. The cell became brighter and warmer as he neared, and something within him burned and screamed at the bright, summer-like feeling. When was the last time he’d tipped his head back and felt the sun on his face? Nearly 700 years?

What did it matter? He asked himself. He’d been veiled in midnight mist, a glutton for flesh and blood; he’d taken power from the lives he’d ended, he’d learned to find pleasure within pain, and he reveled and howled in ebony beauty. Who needed the sun? He had what he needed. Nothing else would suffice. His mouth tasted metallic from the blood on his lips and teeth. He was around the corner from Lamial’s cell now, and he could imagine the rich chocolate of her eyes, no longer black.

Like her eyes, there in the forest, looking up at him with a tremulous and transcendent smile. The eyes and smile that smote his heart, and changed the entire course of his life.

“You can’t risk this any longer.” The Fey female’s voice cut into his thoughts, shredding them to pieces. He found himself trying to gather the scraps of those eyes and smile once more, wanting to gather them to his chest once more. And also wanting to burn them to ash, never to remember them again. He wrenched his mind away from the useless retrospections, and tried to focus on the high, breathy voice of the female before him. “You’ve been forced into that Lake, what, 7 times? When will it be too much? When will you forget what you’re truly here for? Please, let us figure out a way to free you. Don’t put yourself at risk.”

Lamial was silent for long moments, and when she replied, her voice was so cold it sent a shiver of delight up his spine. “You question my ability to resist this magic?”

“No, Mia.” Mia? Pet names now? He snorted. “Never. But… don’t you think…?” The Fey trailed off, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to say more, but questioned the wisdom of it. Her indigo eyes were filled with wariness and – pity. 

Curious to see how Lamial would react to that, he shifted so that he could see her face. Instead of baring her teeth, eyes filled with silver and black flames, Lamial was looking off into the distance, as if she could see through the rock and pain to somewhere that made her gaze both soft and determined. “If I can learn more, even in this shit hole, then this is where I’ll be. I can still contribute to our cause.” Their cause? What fucking cause was that? 

The Fey sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I figured you’d say that. I was only hoping you wouldn’t. But, Mia, you’re worth far more to us – and the cause – alive, rather than dead. Martyrdom doesn’t suit you.”

Lamial snorted. “A martyr? Me? Absolutely not.” 

“You’d be surprised.” The Fey replied drily. “You’re quite the hero over there.”

“I’m not a hero.” Her voice sounded resigned, and unbearably sad. “I know I can do more. And besides… I can’t leave him.”

“Mia. I’ve told you, we’ve tried. There’s no getting to him. We can’t even send a crow messenger. We’ve tried, and none have come back. If he’s survived, there’s no telling what’s happened to him, what they’ve done to him. He won’t be the same. He’ll never be the same. And that’s if – a very miniscule if – we can get him back to safety.”

Lamial drew herself up, authority blazing on her stunning features. “I will never leave him. Never! So stop wasting your breath. I’ll find ways that your crows and faeries would never tread. I’ll save him if it’s the last thing I do.”

The silence was sudden and absolute. And finally, the Fey put her fingers through the bars, curling Lamial’s hand within hers. “I’m sorry.”

She put her hand in the Fey’s and smiled, softly. “I promise I can still be of service, even here. But don’t ask of me what I can’t give. Please.”

The Fey nodded, tears standing in her eyes. She lightened her tone and shrugged. “See, this is why I’ve sworn never to fall in love.”

The tension broke, and the two women laughed. Lamial dropped the Fey’s hand, reluctantly, and curled up tight within her cloak. “You need to leave. Now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because,” Lamial looked up and met Malacoz’s gaze, “we have company.”

Cursing himself for a fool, Malacoz disintegrated the spell around him and leapt towards the Fey. Her large lake eyes widened in fright and she threw a small jewel to the ground that burst into color, smoke and wind. Even as he brushed the sheen of her skin, she was disappearing into the light and air. When he fell onto the cave floor, bruising his jaw and cursing, he saw Lamial laughing gaily and clapping. 

“Now that was an entrance.” Her white teeth gleamed. “Hello, Malacoz.”

“Hello, traitor.”