espair
of the Marquis
The
hour was late when Death arrived in the bedroom of the young Marquis
Raymond de Villa. Resting upon his bed, pale, with every pulsating
blue vein fully visible, laid the Marquis’s newlywed wife. From
her cracked, pink lips wheezed out strained breaths. The only other
sound as pitiful as her breathing was the sound of the Marquis
weeping by the foot of the bed. Lifting his head from his hands, he
looked over at his dying wife. The flickering candlelight made dark
shadows danced under the bags in his eyes, bags that would normally
belong to a man twice his age. These past two months had drained the
Marquis of his youth over the bemoaning of his ill beloved. Once
handsome not long ago, grief appeared to had robbed him of several
years. His full head of hair, comprised of chestnut ringlets, had
been invaded by streaks of gray, and his face had grown gaunt from
lack of proper sleep and loss of appetite.
“Do
not be saddened, my dear,” said the Marquis’s beloved. “My
passing is of no fault of yours.”
“But
it is, Antonia!” cried the Marquis. “I should have taken better
care of you—I should have paid attention to your condition sooner.”
Antonia
bent her dry lips into a slight smile. “I do not wish for the last
sight of my husband to be one of despair. Dying so young prevents me
from committing grievous sins in the future, so I’m sure God’s
kingdom awaits me after my soul leaves this world.”
The
Marquis caressed Antonia’s face. “You always did have a gift for
finding the good in everything. I’m sure Heaven’s angels will
welcome you with open arms.” The Marquis held his beloved’s
hand, adorned with a diamond wedding ring, brought it to his lips and
kissed it. “I’ll be happy for your sake, I promise.”
“I’m
glad.” Antonia reached to stroke the Marquis’s hair, or at least
tried to, but was interrupted by a sudden fit of coughing that racked
her whole body. Her chest lurched up and down, and in her anguish,
finally surrendered her soul to the clutches of death. Antonia’s
body fell limp, and the Marquis was left to sit and stare at her
beloved for what seemed like an immeasurable stretch of time.
For
an entire week the Marquis cloistered himself within the confines of
his bedroom, keeping all the curtains drawn, shutting the room in
darkness. Daily, servants would leave food by the door, knocking at
four hour intervals three times a day, indicating breakfast, lunch,
and dinner. Upon the request of the Marquis, his meals consisted
only of puddles of gray, lukewarm gruel in featureless pewter bowls.
Only when the hallway outside his room was silent, devoid of any
footsteps or murmur, the Marquis would crack open his door and snatch
up the bowl before anyone could notice.
On
the seventh day of the Marquis lament, he heard a loud knocking on
his door. He opened it just a crack, revealing one eye gleaming from
the palpable gloom. The Marquis’s trespasser was a young servant,
a freckled boy with shoulder-length red hair beaming with a
gap-toothed smile.
“How
dare you disturb me, Vega,” the Marquis said. “Leave me at
once!”
“But,
Your Grace,” Vega began, “you have been sulking in your misery
for a whole week. The world outside continues and it beckons you to
fulfill your duties as Marquis. There are rumors within these halls
and beyond whisper that you are no longer fit for your station.”
“The
world be damned!” The Marquis began to shut the door, but the
servant stuck his foot out quick to block it. The Marquis glared at
the insolent boy with ire so bright that the Vega felt his skin
prickle with reproach. “And you be damned, boy! I should have
left you on the streets where I found you.”
“I
mean you no offense, Your Grace. But if you’re going to grieve
until you reunite with your late wife then you might as well end your
life now. You accomplish nothing by sobbing into your pillow day in
and day out.”
The
Marquis grabbed the boy by his collar and yanked him close with
sudden force. “Hold your tongue! Do you not think I have
considered the option a dozen times over? Do you not think I have
stood on the brink of death just so that I may see my Antonia again?
The very thoughts burrow through my brain like worms in a fetid
apple. I long for death, boy, more so than I ever thought possible,
and it scares me! The one thing in my life that made me happy was
stolen from me before I even had time to fully appreciate her! If
all you’ve come for is to mock and prod me into an early grave then
be gone, serpent!”
The
Marquis shoved the boy back, making him stumble onto his behind.
“Marquis,”
Vega said, getting back on his feet. “What if I told you that
there may be yet a way to bring Antonia back to this world? At what
cost would you bring her back? What say you?”
“I
say you are madder than I am!” The Marquis slammed his bedroom
door shut, ushering in a length of silence to occupy the hallway.
“But
Your Grace,” Vega said after a moment, standing outside the door.
“There’s news of a miracle worker in town. An Abyssinian woman.
They say she has powers, powers to do all manner of things. Surely,
she can bring back your Antonia.” There was a more silence as Vega
stared at the closed door, studying the engraved grapevine motif.
“Your Grace…?”
The
door cracked open again, but this time ever so slightly as to not
reveal any part of the Marquis to his on looking servant.
“See
if this woman’s powers are true,” the Marquis said. “Then bring
her to me. If you speak false, I will have your tongue cut out for
torturing me so.”
The
servant made sure to bow extra low before leaving.
Vega,
dressed in a tattered brown cloak as to not draw any attention from
his clean, tailored servant attire, maneuvered through the raucous
crowds that flowed through the streets like a stream of crude filth.
The clouds of dust and stench of donkey dung stung the servants face,
reminding him all too poignantly as to why he preferred staying in
the Marquis’s palace. Collections of voices shouting with awe and
excitement clued the boy that he was nearing his target. With a
swifter pace he walked, shoving his way through tightly knit people,
disregarding the irked stares he received as a result. More and more
effort had to be put into his trudge as the crowd became even more
condensed. The flowing stream had become a muddy bog of malodorous,
sweating peasants that impeded the boy with every step, and with
every push forward he had to shoulder some unwary townsman out of his
way. The cries of amazement grew louder, but due to his short
stature Vega could only go on a hunch that his target was on the
other side of this thick wall of people.
Sensing
he was near to his objective, he gave one final push to escape the
suffocation and heat of the crowd and stumbled into a clearing in the
town square. He bent over, resting his hands on his knees to try and
catch his breath for a moment before resuming his mission. At
length, he looked up and composed himself, brushing his hair from his
face. In the center of the clearing was the woman he was sent to
find.
She
was tall, having a complexion of mahogany, and draped in a blue
cotton sleeveless dress, showing off her lean, wiry arms. A gold
sash was tightened around her waist, showing off her healthy figure.
With every turn of her head her beaded braids clattered together like
a rain storm in the night. The woman was in the middle of a
performance, twirling her hands in the air as paper birds fluttered
around her, tracing the arcs of the woman’s hands. The throng of
spectators, mesmerized, let out in unison their oohs of amazement.
By the woman’s sandaled feet was a sack, presumably containing the
stranger’s belongings, and a rusted plate, specked with a few
mercy-thrown coins. Occasionally a ting of metal sounded as another
coin landed into the meager pile.
The
woman lifted her hands over her head, and the circling birds rose as
well until they orbited like a living halo above the woman’s head.
With a clap of her hands, the paper birds collided into each other,
and with a spark, they ignited on impact. The crowd gasped as
glowing embers fell over the foreigner like fiery snow. Terrified
gasps gave way to a lull of silence, but from the stillness erupted a
wave of roaring applause.
The
woman took a graceful bow, pointing her hands towards the rusted
plate. The cheering spectators were more than willing now to part
with their hard-earned coin and within moments the rusted plate was
filled with gold. But inevitably, the shower of coin ceased, and
eventually the packed crowd began to slacken and disperse. The
woman, with no little effort, lifted her plate full of earnings and
dumped it all into her satchel.
“Excuse
me!” Vega said, stepping towards the woman.
“The
show has ended, good sir,” the Abyssinian said without looking at
her addresser.
“I’m
aware of that. I’m here on behalf of my master Marquis Raymond de
Villa. He would like to make use of your sorcery. He suffers from
ills that can only be rectified by the aid of the supernatural.”
The
woman slung her satchel over her shoulder, still refusing to look at
young Vega. “My shows are merely tricks, dear sir—Illusions that
fool the senses. I bid you good day.”
The
woman took one step past the servant, but Vega swiftly grabbed ahold
of the stranger’s forearm. The jolt caught her off balance and she
nearly fell over onto her back.
“Your
reputation precedes you, Abyssinian,” Vega said. “I once lived
with charlatans and petty street magicians; I can see what is real
and what is false. There are more than mere illusions behind your
magic. The amount of gold you made today is nothing compared to what
my master can offer you.” His voice was a forceful whisper that
seeped into the woman’s ears. Her eyes widened with intrigue and
her nostrils perked as if she could smell her fortune. She turned to
face Vega for the first time, grinning.
“Well
why did you not mention that particular detail earlier?” the woman
said. “For a second I thought you had confused me for a
charity-working nun.” She put a hand on her chest. “You may
call me Nekayah. Now, we mustn’t delay, take me to your bereaved
master.”
Nekayah’s
head darted about, not so much observing the finely threaded silver
silken tapestries or the glazed oriental pottery, but rather taking
into account the unholy silence that pervaded the grand halls of the
Marquis’s palace. All sound came from her jingling beads and
footsteps. Vega had learned to soften his heels as they hit the
white marble tiles, as to not disturb the Marquis’s silence. The
colossal windows of the palace let in copious amounts of sunlight,
yet there still seemed to be a sickly grayness to the place. The
doors to the Marquis’s bedchamber were closed, as usual, but after
a swift knock of Vega’s knuckles on the polished wood, faint
stirring could be heard from beyond the threshold. After some
length, the door cracked only a sliver to reveal a slit of blackness.
“So
you have returned,” said the Marquis. “I assume this is the
person you spoke of. The sorceress?”
“Indeed,
Your Grace!” Vega beamed his gap-toothed smile. “Her name is
Nekayah and I have seen her work her magic. Her powers will be
perfect to assist you—”
“Speaking
of which,” Nekayah interrupted, “what is it that makes the good
Marquis suffer so? I was dragged off the streets with nigh a single
detail. I make no promises until I know what you task me with.”
Vega’s
grin vanished and he shot piercing glare at the Abyssinian, but the
woman merely crossed her arms, still waiting for her questioned to be
answered. “Have you no manners?!” Vega exclaimed. “I did not
drag you anywhere—”
“No,”
the Marquis said, opening the door further, revealing his gaunt
visage, “she has every right to know the situation.” With
yellow, bloodshot eyes sunken in misery-wrinkled sockets, the
Marquis’s stare was enough to make the sorceress flinch. “My
mother died when I was a boy, my father died only a few years after,
and now, the Fates have taken my last and greatest love away from me.
I ask you that you bring my sweet Antonia, my wife, back from the
dead. I beg you.”
Upon
uttering the request the sorceress turned on her heels and began to
walk away.
“Wait!”
cried the servant. “We promise you gold! Where are you going?”
“The
dead are not to be trifled with,” Nekayah said “Ever!” Once
again she refused to look at her addresser as she spoke. “No gold
is worth committing such blasphemies!”
“Vega,”
said the Marquis calmly, “have the guards kill this woman once she
steps outside the palace.”
Nekayah
stopped and swung her head around to gaze at the Marquis. Her beads
clattered loudly. “I beg your pardon?!”
“Tell
me; is your life worth it? I will let you know that my wife is worth
at least ten Abyssinian witches.”
Nekayah
stood rigid for a few moments, jaw and fists clenched, but inevitably
she smiled and dipped into a curtsy. “It seems you have acquired
yourself a sorceress.”
With
a torch in hand, Vega led the Marquis and Nekayah down a tight
stairwell into the ancestral crypt beneath the palace complex. The
putrid air of the subterranean passage was sour enough to make the
sorceress’s nose burn, and the stone walls that pressed against her
shoulders were coated with a slime of black and blue mold so thick
that one could mistake the corridor for intestines of a dead whale.
Nekayah had to pinch her nose to keep from sneezing, but it helped
little as the woman sprayed Vega’s back again and again with
spittle.
“The
bowels of Tartarus are more habitable than this,” Nekayah said,
wiping her nose on her forearm. “To think, you keep your loved
ones down here.”
At
the bottom of the steps was a large circular chamber, within the
curved wall of the chamber were numerous recesses in which numerous
coffins rested, containing the remains of the Marquis’s family.
Nekayah’s eyes locked onto a freshly placed coffin, one that had
not been blanketed over uncountable decades of all-consuming mildew.
“I’ll assume your wife rests in that one.”
“You
assume correctly, witch,” the Marquis said. “Now how do you plan
to bring her back to me?”
Nekayah
glared at the Marquis. “First, Your Grace, I insist that you
refrain from calling me by such a dreadful moniker. I can only bend
my pride so far, and if you do not respect me then today will be
difficult for the both of us.”
“I’m
sorry for her rudeness, Your Grace,” Vega said, putting his torch
into a holder on the wall.
The
Marquis waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t apologize for her,
Vega. Just help her with the preparations.”
Nekayah
and the Vega pried open the coffin containing the withered green
corpse of Antonia. The servant’s body trembled as he gazed upon
the ghastly remains. But his terrified stare only lasted for a brief
second. A rotten stench of decaying meat wafted from the coffin and
Vega could not prevent himself from stepping back and vomiting.
Nekayah grimaced, pinching her face not at the overwhelming stench,
but at the defilement.
“Help
me, boy!” Nekayah barked. Vega spat out the last globs of yellow
bile before collecting himself. Together they gently lifted
Antonia’s body out of her coffin and slowly stepped towards the
center of the chamber. Antonia’s flesh felt cold and damp, and her
skin felt loose on her bones. With the utmost care they set
Antonia’s corpse on the moist stone floor.
“This
is vile,” Vega said, shaking his head at Antonia’s body. “This
is wrong.”
“This
was your idea.” Nekayah pulled a jug of dark liquid from her
satchel.
Its contents sloshed
loudly, and at once Vega guessed what it was, dropping to his knees.
“Lord, save us.” The boy looked over at the Marquis who was
patiently waiting in the periphery of the torchlight, staring
unblinkingly at the sorceress as she began to draw a circle of blood
around the corpse with her hand. She then began to adorn the rim of
her circle with sigils of an unknown language and after some length,
her macabre scene was complete.
“There
is only one thing left to complete the process,” Nekayah said,
looking over at the Marquis. “But first I must know something for
the sake of my Mistress: Do you love your wife?”
“Do
you intend to mock me, or have you been deaf this entire time?!”
the Marquis said. “With every bit of my being, I do!”
“Do
you want to hold her again, lay your head on her bosom, and embrace
her with the fiery passions that intoxicated you when you first fell
in love? Are you willing to defy God and his arbiters of destiny?
Does your passion boil the blood in your veins?”
“Yes,
yes, a million times yes!” The Marquis’s face, once gaunt and
lifeless, was now livid with warm tears and tensed muscles. “I am
not afraid, sorceress! If I am to be condemned for my love, then so
be it! I’m already in Hell! I have nothing more to lose!”
“There
is always more to lose.” The sorceress pulled a dagger out from
her satchel and unsheathed it to reveal an ivory blade etched with
alien markings like those on the blood circle. With a wave of her
finger Nekayah beckoned the Marquis to come close. The young
nobleman was hesitant, but reassured by the Abyssinian’s gentle
nod. When he came, Nekayah snatched his hand and slid the blade over
his palm. Vega yelped and looked away. Nekayah then held the
Marquis’s hand over the circle, letting droplets of blood rain upon
his beloved’s rotting visage.
“That
was the final ingredient,” the sorceress said.
“Good,”
the Marquis said. “Now, call upon your devils and bring my wife
back!”
Nekayah
grinned. “Devils and demons are fairytales spawned from backless,
over-imaginative dogma and superstition, meant only to frighten the
ignorant, Your Grace. The powers I draw upon are far more real—far
more potent. Now, I urge you to stand back.”
The
Marquis, once again, did as he was told, giving Nekayah a wide
breadth. The sorceress kneeled down before the circle and the corpse
within and began to utter a long string of words that neither of the
two men could decipher. Vega could feel the crypt start to shake—the
very ground was beginning to tremble in unison with the young
servants shuddering heart. Nekayah’s body was suddenly seized by
rapid convulsions, and her arms waved and arced all around while her
head whipped back and forth.
“Our
Father who art in Heaven…” Vega whispered to himself. He sat in
the corner of the chamber, arms wrapped around his legs, tears
overflowing from his eyes. “Hallowed be thy name…”
Thunder
clapped from within the depths of the earth, and Vega cried out
again, starring at the floor. Nekayah’s shadow, which was once a
perfect silhouette of her own body, was now a mass of inky black
tendrils, writhing independently of Nekayah’s movements.
“By
kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven!”
Vega’s words quivered as his blood, iced with incomprehensible
terror, made him tremble at his very core. The voice that came out
of the Abyssinian’s mouth was not her own any longer, having
adopted a guttural tone of several voices speaking as one. Then,
suddenly, reaching the climax of her chant, Nekayah fell forward
onto the ground. Her shadow once again reflected the contour of her
own body, and a heavy stillness had returned to the world.
“You
have failed me,” the Marquis said, stepping closer to examine the
corpse.
“I
can only wish that was the case,” Nekayah said with her original
voice. She picked herself up off the floor and glared at the
Marquis. “Take a closer look and see what have forced me to bring
into this world!”
Antonia’s
corpse twitched like an unholy marionette, each limb moving out of
sync with the others. Her rotted, hollow eye-sockets glowed with
pinpricks of the light of consciousness that was recalled into the
dead vessel. Antonia sat up, making skin and tendons locked in rigor
mortis stretch and tear loudly. Vega swooned. The Marquis reached
out a hand to stroke his beloved’s hair, which had since death
turned from glossy locks of gold into frayed shafts of brittle yellow
weeds.
“What
have you done…?” The Marquis said, shooting a grimace back at
Nekayah. “She’s hideous!”
“I
only did what Your Grace demanded of me,” Nekayah said. She
refused to look the animated corpse or the Marquis, and was instead
staring down at the pitiful servant boy sobbing quietly against the
wall in a puddle of his own waste.
“But
she is—!”
“A
corpse? Well of course, it is! What fantasies did you have stored
in your little head about the outcome of this? I brought her soul
back into this world as you asked! Only God knows the formula to
make the synthesis of spirit and body truly complete!” Still
without looking at the Marquis, she pointed to the corpse. “This
is the best I can do with the body you provided me!”
“Is
that you, Raymond?” Antonia said. Her decayed vocal cords were
only capable of creating the hoarsest of tones. Antonia’s hand
clutched onto the Marquis’s wrist. Her diamond ring sparkled on
her blue, bloated finger. The Marquis recoiled, pulling his arm away
and quickly stepping back from the creature. “Help me! I feel
strange!” The monster wailed like an infant calling for its
mother, and with difficulty, Antonia lifted herself onto stiffened
legs. She teetered about, jerking with unwholesome movements.
“What is wrong? I can’t feel my body! Oh God, help me!”
“Undo
your magic, sorceress,” the Marquis demanded. Eyes wide with fear
and swollen with tears, the young man turned away from his wife,
pulling on his own hair. “I have seen enough!”
As
the Marquis spoke, Nekayah was already moving towards Antonia with
her ivory dagger drawn. With a swift stab to the chest, the ghoul
shrieked and fell limp. The moments that followed were characterized
by more thick, unyielding silence. It was as if the universe herself
had to pause and recollect her thoughts after witnessing what had
just unfolded in her presence. The three still-living humans looked
at the corpse and then looked at one another.
“Is
it safe to say, your grace, that our business is quite done here,”
Nekayah asked, sheathing her ivory dagger.
“Please,
let us be done,” Vega echoed.
“What
if we get a fresher body?” the Marquis asked. “Something that
isn’t so rotted? Will your spell work better in that case—”
Nekayah’s hand struck across the Marquis’s face so hard and fast
that the young man’s entire torso tilted to one side, nearly losing
balance. The Marquis held his throbbing cheek and with glazed eyes
stared at the woman who struck him.
“Fool!”
Nekayah shouted. “I have lost patience with you and your madness!”
With
a swift kick of the Marquis’s boot, Nekayah was sent slamming into
the floor. Her many beads clattered against the hard, wet stones.
The young nobleman then pressed his foot over the woman’s neck. He
revealed a dagger of his own from under the folds of his coat,
pointing its steel blade down at the sorceress. “You did not
answer my question, witch. Will a fresher body do?”
Only
muffled chokes came from the sorceress as she violently tugged on the
man’s boot.
“I
must side with the woman on this, your grace!” Vega said, getting
to his feet. “We tried and we failed! No more of this, I beg
you!”
The
Marquis laughed. “Since when did the opinion of sniveling boy
weigh on the mind of a Marquis? Hmm?” He bent down, putting more
pressure on Nekayah’s neck. Tears were rolling down across her
face now. “Maybe your body would do? You are, in a way, rather
attractive. With your body and Antonia’s personality, I believe I
would be happy enough.”
“But,
your grace…” Nekayah coughed, “think clearly! Who would
perform the spell?”
The
Marquis smiled. “I could still kill you, regardless. A useless
witch is as good as a dead one. So for a second and final time I ask
this: will a fresher body do?”
“Yes!
But who are you going to kill, honestly?”
The
Marquis’s eyes turned to Vega.
Vega
flinched and bowed to avoid eye-contact. “I’ll fetch another
woman for you immediately, your grace.”
While
the servant’s eyes were lowered, the Marquis raised his dagger. “I
do not see it necessary to bring others into this affair. Sneaking
kidnapped women into my palace would not be healthy for my
reputation. Let us just keep all of this between ourselves. And
besides, you have such a fair appearance that I never found
displeasing.” The Marquis stepped towards Vega, taking his foot
off of Nekayah’s neck. The Abyssinian only had a mere second to
warn the poor boy of the dagger overhead. Vega, who had already
begun to realize the Marquis’s intentions, had looked up, but had
no time to avoid the cold steel blade enter the side of his neck.
The sharp pain was quickly numbed as his body lost all feeling and he
collapsed to the floor.
“I
have seen many monsters in my day, but you…” Nekayah began.
“But
nothing, you Abyssinian bitch!” The Marquis whipped his
still-dripping dagger at the woman’s face. Droplets of blood
splattered on her cheeks. “You will see this through to the end.
Now, with this fresh body, bring my wife back, or so help me, Lord, I
will not let you see the sunlight again.”
Nekayah
heaved her shoulders in a heavy sigh, running her fingers through her
jingling braids. The Marquis’s breathing was hard and fast, fueled
by the adrenaline unleashed from taking the life of his closest
servant. Seeing no choice, repainted the circle of blood, placed
Vega’s body in the middle, and asked for the Marquis’s palm.
This time, however, the Marquis held his dagger to the sorcerer’s
neck, making sure Nekayah only drew enough blood necessary to
complete the spell. Once again the walls of the catacombs shook and
mystic’s shadow took on a shapeless form of wriggling tentacles.
After a few moments, the walls ceased to shake and sanity was
restored the world around them.
Vega’s
corpse kicked its limbs out straight and quickly sat upright.
Nekayah stood up and stepped back from animated body, letting the
Marquis observe her work. The Marquis approached assuredly, seeing
Vega’s body move with more grace and coordination than Antonia’s
foul cadaver. This body was indeed a much more suitable vessel for
his wife’s spirit, the Marquis thought.
“Antonia?”
The Marquis asked. “Can you hear me?”
Vega’s
head nodded with subtlety that mirrored any living individual. “Yes,
my dear Raymond, I have missed you.”
The
dagger fell from the Marquis’s slackened hand and the young man
fell to his knees, tightly embracing Vega’s possessed body. The
nobleman’s warm tears drenched the shoulder of Vega’s tunic as
the grown man wept with sobs so visceral that they made his whole
body shudder. “Thank you, sorceress! Thank you—”
Vega’s
hands grabbed ahold of the Marquis’s neck and began constricting
like a vice. The Marquis coughed, trying to pull the animated corpse
off of him as the pricking sensation of fingernails digging to neck
skin deepened, drawing blood. His voice was squeezed down to a
shrieking whisper. “Antonia!”
One
of his hands found the dagger he had dropped on the floor and he
desperately started jabbing it into Vega’s flank, only to prove how
futile his efforts were. The Marquis rolled his eyes to see Nekayah
standing, watching the murder with a distant, unflinching stare.
Staring back into Vega’s eyes, he saw only rage. It was not
Antonia’s spirit that possessed this vessel. He then realized, all
too late, what the witch had done.
Nekayah
noticed the glint in the dying man’s eye and finally spoke. “I
think you finally understand. May this be retribution of a sort for
all three of us.” She said nothing else, and waited patiently for
the Marquis’s eyes to roll into the back of his skull. When the
nobleman ceased tostruggle, Vega let go and turned to face Nekayah.
“Do
you wish to return, or stay with me?” Nekayah asked, ivory dagger
in hand. “I did not wish for you to bear the price for your
master’s sin. That is the only reason why I offer you this
choice.”
Vega
said nothing, but Nekayah could see the burning rage behind those
dead blue eyes. In a flash the cadaver lunged at the Abyssinian,
running straight into Nekayah’s outstretched blade. The body, now
once again devoid of life, rolled onto the floor. The sorceress was
left alone to stare at the three corpses sprawled out before her in
the dancing firelight. She shook her head, knelt down by Antonia and
slipped the diamond ring off her lifeless finger and held it up
closer to the torch; examining its countless glimmering facets.
“I’ll consider this due payment for my trouble.”
