The lance thrower, p.24
The Nine Births of Carnage (Cross Academy Book 3), page 24
His eyes narrowed. “Wasting precious time?”
“You don’t know,” she said, disbelief taking over her features.
“Know what?”
The room fell silent.
“Someone tell me,” Seganamé ordered.
Number Four stepped forward, appearing as a giant beetle with a red cloak tied to its carapace. His voice sounded more like a clicking noise, Seganamé could barely make out his words. “The Moon Coven was attacked and destroyed two days ago.” He raised his arm, a long horn was attached at the end where a clawed hand would normally be. “One of my spies picked up Lady Elsa Attra. She was the only survivor.”
Seganamé blinked, stunned by the news. Perhaps his detour had been longer than it should’ve.
“That’s not all,” Number Four continued. “The one who broke into the coven was Lord Izzy. The Priest of the Cross.”
Seganamé’s vision blurred, a familiar hatred stirring to life inside of him. He’d believed his anger toward his brother was gone. Had convinced himself their rivalry only existed because he’d been raised to hate him. But as he realized the muddy waters his brother had just thrown them into, the hatred he’d felt for centuries seemed to take a different root.
This anger was fresh. New. Unrelated to the woes of their past.
He’s ruining things. Seganamé’s jaw clenched, the only sign of emotion on his face. “Are you certain it was him?” he asked.
Number Four clicked its horns together. “Of course, I am. My spy took in Elsa, she told him the entire story.” He shifted, shuffling sideways on his six beetle legs. “The Priest came to the coven to get information from them.”
“What information?” Seganamé demanded.
“He wanted to know the location of our hideout. My spy has reported that Elsa Attra admitted to giving him our location.”
Again, the room fell silent.
They were out of time.
If Israel had gone to the Moon witches for information, and had walked away with what he’d wanted, they had days—maybe even hours—before he would arrive in the Womb and deal unspeakable damage.
“We must proceed with the ritual as quickly as possible,” Number Four said gravely. “Elsa was … apologetic over her betrayal. But she assured me, the portal she opened to our lair is days away from the Womb. We have time. But not much.”
“Tell me you killed her for this treachery,” Seganamé’s voice was a dark curse, snuffing out the firelit torches hanging along the walls. Hosenké and Atara glanced around with wide eyes, unnerved as they were plunged into darkness. Number Five very calmly walked over and began lighting the torches again.
The Firstborn stepped forward with a smile on her face, her dainty hand gently touching Seganamé’s arm. “With Elsa in his possession, Number Four has decided to extract other information from her.” She laughed. “We all know he isn’t known for his delicate touch.”
No, he wasn’t. It was Seganamé who dealt with things in a more elegant manner. An assassin to a mercenary, a surgeon to a butcher. Number Four was coarse, demented, crude. He would tear that witch to pieces and then feed her parts to the demons he kept beneath the floorboards of his lab. His cruelty almost made the Thirdborn shiver, but he felt nothing toward the witch if not pleased by the fact that she would die screaming for her loose lips.
“Now,” Number One said, walking her fingers up Seganamé’s arm. “Shall we continue?”
“No.” He pulled away again. “I said I’m not performing.”
“Do you have any idea—”
“There’s another way,” said a voice across the room. It belonged to the only figure not in the ring of Births, holding hands. He stood leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest, a red mask hiding his brutally scarred face.
Seganamé watched the Red Face step toward the circle of Siblings. “There’s another source we can use. One more powerful than sex.” His mask turned toward the Thirdborn. “The woman you took from Avanté Village.”
All at once, the anger Seganamé felt toward his brother’s impending arrival churned into a wicked storm. His blood boiled inside him, rage turning into hellfire beneath his skin. It burned worse than the pain of the Dark Ones. Worse than when he’d fought his brother and lost half his face to his terrible blessings. But the most twisted part of the crushing anger was that he didn’t know why he felt that way.
The Red Face was right, Talon would make a powerful sacrifice. That was the very reason Seganamé had taken her from Avanté Village. Back then, he’d been able to sense her Spiritual Energy almost as strongly as he’d sensed Israel’s. From the wild, sporadic flow of her SE signature, it was obvious she was untrained, ignorant as to how to take advantage of the power trapped inside her.
Seganamé felt that power. Each time he released her bindings and allowed her to pray. Her whispered words felt like acid raining down on him, more intense than the pain of the Spirits who attacked him. But once the rain of fire passed, he felt a shocking coolness.
It was almost soothing. So curiously strange that Seganamé had willingly subjected himself to the torment of her prayers just to learn more about the young woman.
Talon prayed often. From the moment he released her bindings to the second he retied them. Sometimes she would sing—normally in the mornings, like an early worship session. That burned too. And was also followed by the soothing coolness he had come to enjoy.
Like he was being cleansed.
That was the only time he felt any peace, any relief from the horrible pain he’d been enduring. And the moment the bindings went back on, the pain returned. Worse than before. More intense than he’d ever felt it. Like the Dark Ones were angry with him, outraged that he had found a way to block their punishment.
When he’d arrived at the Womb, Seganamé had locked Talon away, spellbound with more rope than usual. It was more for her protection than imprisonment. If any of the Thirdborn’s siblings had sensed Talon’s SE or felt the sting of her prayers, they would have drained her dry. Empowered themselves on her energy before devouring her carcass.
But now the Red Face had brought her up, offered her as a sacrifice. Like she was supposed to be, Seganamé reminded himself. He had taken her to kill her. Had taken her to make the ritual easier to bear. But that’d been before.
When she was just another useless human.
When he’d first taken her, the Thirdborn had no idea how dangerous Talon truly was. That she would be able to worm her way past his carefully crafted barriers, the same way Zuriel had.
Maybe he’s the reason… Seganamé glanced back at KI. He hadn’t killed Atara and Hosenké because they’d meant something to Zuri. Maybe it was difficult to hurt Talon because she meant something to KI—by extension, meaning something to Zuri too. If only at a subconscious level.
That’s why he must be suppressed. Seganamé’s gaze became a glare. The more of KI that remained, the more difficult it was to discern Zuriel’s true emotions.
Did Zuri like Talon? Had he grown fond of her from watching her interactions through KI’s eyes? Or were KI’s emotions still so strong? Still so powerfully prevalent.
It doesn’t matter. The Thirdborn swallowed. Shook his head to clear his thoughts. When his vision refocused, he realized his Siblings were staring at him. Waiting for a response.
The Red Face said, “Talon was her name. She had incredible SE readings. Channeling her would give us the power we need.”
The Firstborn reached for her cloak to cover herself. “Why didn’t you tell us about her before?” she asked Seganamé.
Because I promised her I wouldn’t kill her. But he couldn’t say that. His Siblings would never understand. They would say he’d gone soft. That this entire ordeal had gotten too personal.
The Firstborn would probably make him perform with her just to reinforce the darkness inside him. It had clearly begun to fade.
“I didn’t think we would need the woman,” Seganamé said softly. Now that he’d been put on the spot, he couldn’t back out. Couldn’t think of a legitimate reason not to sacrifice her except that he didn’t want to. And that wasn’t good enough. Not with his murderous brother on his way.
The Red Face shrugged. “Well, we do need her. I’ll go get her.”
A pillar of fire burst from the floor, blocking the exit. An inverted cross formed on Seganamé’s forehead, glowing like a glossy shadow against his pale skin. His voice was little more than a hushed whisper. “You will do no such thing.”
The Nine stared at him, shocked by his outburst.
Number One laughed. “Seganamé, please do not tell me you’d hoped to keep her for yourself?”
He hadn’t planned to keep her at all. But he knew he didn’t want to kill her, and if making the Firstborn believe he’d wanted Talon all for himself could save her from being sacrificed, then he would tell that lie.
Slowly, Seganamé stepped forward, ignoring the biting pain that shot up his legs. “Leave the human woman out of this.”
“Then, will you perform?” Number One was nearly drooling.
Seganamé cringed.
“No,” he said firmly. “You will channel me for the ritual. Feed on my Dark energy.”
Every single Birth stared at him like he was mad.
“Do you know what you’re saying?” Number Four asked in his odd, clicking voice.
He did. And he almost fainted at the very thought of the pain that awaited him.
Being used as the source for a ritual was an honor and a punishment. It meant the other Births would harness your own energy, slowly drain you of the very life force that kept you alive. It wasn’t a pretty process, the same way that having your blood sucked by a vampire wasn’t fun.
Seganamé would feel his Siblings feeding. Would feel their invasive presence in his spirit, taking parts of his soul, scraping away his power to use as their own. They would hurt him to intensify his suffering. The more pain, the more pleasing his sacrifice.
He would be beaten, stabbed with knives, burned with torches. His bones would be broken. His hair yanked from his scalp. They would take nine of his fingers, one for each Birth.
If he weren’t the Thirdborn—the first Trinity of Chaos— Seganamé doubted he’d be able to survive the ritual. But he had done it once before when he’d initiated the three children. He could do it again. He could endure the pain.
“Use me,” Seganamé said once more.
“Thirdborn,” Yadira pled, but he turned on her, his eyes ablaze with rage.
“Do not question me!”
The altar cracked. The wall of fire blocking the doorway ran along the walls. The inverted cross in his forehead glowed white.
“My mind is made up,” he said in a deceptively calm voice. “Allow me an hour to prepare. Then we’ll begin.”
23
Talon
Talon exhaled a sigh as she leaned against the cold concrete. She sat on the alcove of the massive window in her new chambers. Her hands were tied so tightly she wondered if Seganamé had cast a spell over the ropes to make sure she couldn’t wriggle her wrists free.
How much longer? she wondered, gazing out the window. She couldn’t really see much. Outside was filled with nothing but darkness, like it was always nighttime. And whenever she did see a spark of light in the black fog, it looked more like frightening bolts of lightning than the comforting warmth of sunshine.
God—pain tore through her body, clutching her heart in its grip. She hadn’t prayed in days, not since Seganamé shoved her through the door and closed it behind her. He hadn’t come back since that day. Not even to give her food. Mercifully, Talon had no appetite. She’d gotten used to skipping meals since she’d been taken from Avanté Village. Had lost all desire to eat or enjoy food.
The only reason she’d been able to force anything down before was because she’d been determined to keep her strength. To wait and watch for her opportunity to strike out at Seganamé, overpower him (somehow) and make her escape. But her will had extinguished when he’d chased her down in the woods.
He had disrupted her prayers, slapped the ropes back on her wrists, and carried her away like his captive bride. And he hadn’t even broken a sweat.
If she couldn’t harm him then, out in the middle of the woods, how could she possibly overpower the Thirdborn now in his own home? In the Womb.
The thought of where she was made Talon shiver. Inside the birthing place of the Nine. The dark cave where they conducted all their demonic rituals and transferred evil spirits. This is probably where they plotted to attack Avanté Village, Talon thought. The realization almost made her angry but, in truth, she didn’t have the strength or the will to feel angry anymore.
Despair had latched onto her ankles, dragging behind her with each step she took toward the Womb. When she’d arrived, that black creature of sorrow had climbed onto her back and settled on her shoulders. She was heavy with grief. Drowning in her own misery.
Where are You? she wondered, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt a little shock, almost like the ropes weren’t sure who she was talking to. She could have been praying to the universe, throwing good vibes out there and hoping, somehow, that the all-knowing outer space would give her strength.
Talon rolled her eyes.
Just then, the door behind her opened and Seganamé walked inside. His eyes landed on her right away, making her stiffen. He looked angry, his face hard and his gaze sharp. But before Talon could speak, he forced his features into the calm look he normally wore.
It was strange, watching him regain control of himself. Like watching broken glass repair its own fractures.
“Have you come to let me out of my new prison?” Talon asked, rising from her seat on the alcove of the window.
Seganamé looked shocked, then he dropped his gaze, staring at the floor as he murmured, “This isn’t a prison. It’s my bedroom.”
Talon couldn’t stop herself from blushing, embarrassed by the fact that she’d been staying in Seganamé’s bedroom for days, but also shocked that this blank, concrete space was his room at all.
First of all, it looked like a prison cell. There was no bed. No curtains over the windows. Nothing in the room to make anyone think a person lived there.
Talon glanced around. There was a massive wardrobe in the corner, a shelf stuffed with books that she’d refused to touch, afraid they would be filled with curses. There was a desk with no chair that looked thrice as old as Talon, and a massive wax candle that never stopped burning. It sat on a holder in the wall by the door, the only source of light in the entire room.
“I, uh, I didn’t know this was your room.”
Seganamé blinked at her.
“It doesn’t look much like a bedroom,” she mumbled.
He nodded, then silently went to the wardrobe and removed his long red cloak. She startled at his normal attire underneath, a black tunic and black pants. His sleeves were short, so she could see the ink on both his arms. It matched the black polish on his fingernails and the kohl that rimmed his burning eyes.
Talon watched him change in silence, slightly intrigued and wondering why on earth he needed a red cloak with a fur hood now instead of the normal one he always wore. Then she decided she didn’t want to know why. Whatever the reason, it’s probably dark.
Seganamé closed his wardrobe and went to the bookshelf. In the stiff silence, he pulled out a handful of texts and scrolls and moved to the chair-less desk.
“What’s going on?” Talon asked.
He was mumbling to himself, reading the text of an ancient-looking book.
“Seganamé,” she called.
He snapped his head up, but his face was calm. His voice like still water. “I need to concentrate, little one.”
She rubbed her wrists together. “Can’t you at least untie me while I wait?”
For a moment, he just stared at her. “You can’t pray if I do.”
“I won’t—”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“No.” He shook his head, walking toward her. “If the others sense your prayers, they’ll hurt you, Talon.”
She swallowed thickly. It had been days since she’d eaten. Days since she’d slept properly. She could be imagining things, but Talon would swear it sounded like Seganamé was … trying to protect her.
“What’s going on?” she asked again, her voice as soft as a whisper.
“We’re beginning the ritual.”
Her chest ached. That meant KI would be lost. And she would be dead.
Talon took an involuntary step back. “You promised you wouldn’t kill me.”
“I’m going to keep that promise.”
“H-How?”
He looked away. “They’ll use me as their sacrifice instead.”
“You can’t die.” The words spilled from her lips before she could stop them, tugging a deep chuckle from Seganamé.
“Are you afraid of losing me, little one?”
Talon clasped her hands together. “If you die, the other Births will kill me.”
“Of course.” He sighed. Like he was disappointed. “Why on earth would you actually care whether I lived or died?”
She wasn’t sure if he wanted an answer. Wasn’t even sure if he knew he’d spoken aloud. But she told him anyway.
“I do care if you live or die.”
His eyes snapped to her, like two suns blasting her with heat. “What did you say?” he whispered, stepping closer.
Talon didn’t cower, though her heart rattled in her chest. “I know there’s good in you, Seganamé. KI told me of his memories—of Zuriel’s memories. How you took in those orphans. Cared for them. Raised them. And couldn’t bring yourself to sacrifice them.”
A flicker of shock and anger passed over his features, the sight of his emotion only made her braver.
“We talked,” she admitted. “Whenever you went off to find food. Whenever you stopped to meditate. KI and I would talk. And he would tell me of your kindness.” Talon forced herself to look him in the eye. “There is light in you, Seganamé. So I don’t want you to die, if only to give that light a chance to crack through the darkness you’ve cloaked yourself in.”
