Paradox - Progeny Of Innocence (bk2) (Paradox series) (5 page)

"Yes, you are correct, of course." Abaddon replied. "No need to attract unnecessary attention on my arrival," he smirked. He felt an unexpected delight at the thought of his impending departure. Then Abaddon did something that made Cerberus flinch for the slightest of moments. Abaddon leaned in and embraced him. "I shall see you on my return," he said, letting go of Cerberus, whose face still exposed his utter astonishment at his brother’s display of affection. Never in all his years had Abaddon exhibited such feelings toward him.

"Have a safe journey, my brother," Cerberus said eventually. "And please, pass on my regards to our sister; I am sorry that I have missed her. I would have enjoyed listening to her many stories."

"You can be sure that I will forward your regards to Theria." He gave Cerberus a mocking bow then grinned. "My Lord, I shall bid you farewell, for now." And with that Abaddon turned and was gone, leaving Cerberus standing alone in his private chamber, pondering Abaddon’s uncharacteristic behavior. He gave up, shaking his head. Some things about his brother, Cerberus concluded, would forever remain a mystery to him. He removed his boots and his leather trousers, then stepped into the steaming pool of hot, scented water with a contented sigh, and waited for his wife.

* * *

Lord Cerberus was, in every way imaginable, adored by his people. Had Cerberus not been born to a time when anarchy was at epidemic levels throughout the realm, he would have been a worthy leader of good rather than evil.
Even his yellowish eyes, circled with the bluest blue, and his fair hair could not withstand the evil that had been bred into him.
That he could be wrong, that his inherited bloodline was evil rather than good, had never occurred to him.
What did occur to him, however, what had been instilled in him from the moment he was pulled from his mother’s swollen belly, from the second he drew his very first breath, was that he would be the future leader of the Grigorian people. His people needed him. And for his people he would fight to the death to provide. This was his destiny, his Grigorian birthright.
He was sworn by blood to defend his people, and would do exactly what was expected of him as the first-born son of a Grigorian Lord.

His strong hands gripped Pandora's throat as his mouth came down hard on her eager one. His twisted rope of a beard rested between her breasts. He released one of his hands from her throat and entangled his fingers in her long, fair hair, freed now from its jeweled restraints. Her golden curls cascaded down her back, concealing her semi- nakedness. Her heavily embossed emerald-green gown, pulled down to her waist, exposed her exquisite flesh, pale and silky against his callused, leathery hands. She moaned, not sure if it was his hands pulling her head back forcibly by her hair or the roughness of his hand as it moved impatiently down her naked back, that had her breathlessly gasping in pleasure. She turned her face away from his and forced his head down toward her throat, then further, to her breasts. She felt his muscles flex as his arm tightened around her and he lifted her onto the high bed. A gentle breeze swam in the sheer ivory curtains hanging loosely from the ornate four-poster bed. A sigh escaped Pandora’s lips as his moved down her body. His hands found her dress and began to push it further down her thighs.

There was a heavy knock on the solid timber doors, just moments before they crashed open. "My lady," the messenger said with a bowed head, "Please, I beg you, forgive my intrusion, but I have urgent news. The master, Abaddon, has instructed me to find you and inform you immediately that Lord Cerberus has returned and requests your attendance in his chambers. I beg you, please prepare yourself."

"Get off me," Pandora said as she reluctantly pushed the naked man away.

"Yes, my Lady," he said, lifting his weight from her and bowing his head. "As you desire."

She pulled her gown up slowly to cover her breasts. "Stay put," she ordered, tossing him his garments. "And you," she said angrily to the messenger. "Would an extra five minutes’ wait really have killed you?"

"Apologies, my lady, it is not myself that I am concerned about, but you," the messenger said, bowing again. "Should the Lord find you-"

"Yes, do not go on. Narantu!" Pandora called silencing the man. "Come quickly, child, help me dress..."

A young Mongol girl entered the bedchamber from an adjoining door leading to private servants' quarters. "Yes, my lady," Narantu said as she began to busy herself with the pearl buttons running down the back of Pandora’s velvet bodice. "Do you require your hair up or down, my lady?" Narantu asked picking up jewel-encrusted clasps and pins from the floor.

"No time," Pandora said, pinning her hair back with a gold-leaf clasp. "You can go now, Narantu. You are no longer needed."

"Lilura, come," Pandora called, summoning another to her chamber.

Lilura entered the chamber in an almost ghost-like trance, her face and body obscured by a long, mustard-colored robe.

The two doormen stared at Lilura, as if seeing her for the first time, and backed away from her in terror. The second doorman opened his mouth hesitantly and spoke in a raspy voice tainted with fear. "My Lady, this woman is a witch," he said, "she cannot be trusted. The Master had her thrown in the pit for sorcery. Even her own people repel her from their villages. I implore you, my lady, send her back to the pit before it is too late. No good can come of this…"

Pandora huffed. "Unlike most of you fools around here, I am not frightened, or bound by your brainless superstitions." She turned and faced the woman. "Remove your hood, Lilura," she said, in a commanding tone.

Lilura did not move, did not obey.

"Lilura, you will do as I command, or you will find yourself back down in that filthy pit with the rats. Do I make myself clear? I freed you. I saved your pathetic life, have you forgotten that? I own you now; you are mine, and you will do as I say." Pandora walked over to an ornate writing desk and pulled an old bark and leather-bound book from the top drawer. On the front in gold was an ancient text. Translated into English, the text read, 'Hours'. Inside, pages of ancient Celtic texts, rituals, spells, pictures of symbols and drawings of herbs, berries, roots, and trees filled the worn ivory pages.

Pandora opened the book to a bookmarked page. "According to the last inscription written here in this book-"

"Grimoire," Lilura said, correcting her.

Pandora continued. "Yes, well, book, Grimoire, whatever. It really is all the same to me. Anyway, this Grimoire states that if a mortal saves a witch from certain death, then that said witch becomes the property of that mortal until the debt is repaid. There is more, of course, but that is the essence of it. And well, as I'm the only one that comes close to being mortal around here," she said, closing the Grimoire, "well, that makes you mine." Pandora walked over to Lilura and peered under the hood of Lilura’s robe. "You really ought to do something about that complexion of yours; the pit really hasn’t done you any favors. You’re a witch for God's sake, cast a spell or something and pretty yourself up a little. I prefer to look at pretty things. Now, if we’re on the same page, we will do it my way. Or is it back to the pit with you?"

"How is it that the Grimoire finds itself in your possession? Lilura asked.

Pandora was growing weary of Lilura's persistent talking. "Let us just say that I have my people," Pandora said, placing the Grimoire back in the drawer and locking it with a small key attached to a chain on her wrist. "So," Pandora said, repeating herself. "Are we going to do it my way?"

"Yes my lady, we will do it your way," Lilura murmured, pulling the hood back from her head to expose her face.

The two men gasped in horror and looked away. Her face and hands, the color of gray ash, were covered in ancient orange and black inked symbols. Her eyes, a burnt orange color, reflected death.

"And that is the same," Pandora paused, searching for the correct word, "potion, that you used last time?"

In her tattooed hands, Lilura held a gold-colored pottery bowl filled with a sweet syrupy liquid made from forest herbs, roots, and the congealed blood of ravens. "Yes my lady, the exact same one."

"Excellent," Pandora said, turning toward the two men. "Come," she ordered the taller, stronger doorman. "Drink."

He began to move toward her hesitantly then stopped. "Please, my lady," he began.

"Here, now," Pandora said, raising her voice. "Or you will not only have the witch to contend with, but my husband, Lord Cerberus. How do you think he would react if I told him you forced your way into my chamber and tore the clothes from my back with the intention of doing God only knows what with me?"

"My Lady, I would never-"

Pandora glared at him, tousled her hair with her fingers, and tore a satin bow from the front of her gown. "Do you see where this is going?" she asked.

The man walked forward. "Yes, my lady."

"Thank you," she murmured stroking his broad chest. "We will do this again sometime, but for now be a good boy and drink up," she said, taking the bowl from Lilura’s hands and tilting it to his lips to drink. He choked the liquid down, then wiped his lips. She beckoned the second man who stepped forward immediately, heeding Pandora’s threat. He did not wish the wrath of witch nor Lord, although he could not be sure which he feared the most. Without flinching, he drank the remainder of the liquid from the bowl.

"Do whatever it is you do, Lilura, with all your little witchy magic spells," Pandora said, motioning the woman forward.

Lilura reached up, put her hands on the men’s foreheads and began chanting in a tongue Pandora did not understand, nor did she care to understand. As long as Lilura and her magic did what she wanted it to do, take the memories from these men’s minds, Pandora did not see any good reason to bother herself with the how.

"Per corvis sanguinem, scienti invoco te. Excidunt temporis hujus memoriae tuae. Oboeditote vocem meam. Sicut volo, ita semper fiat. Per corvis sanguinem, scienti invoco te. Excidunt temporis hujus memoriae tuae. Oboeditote vocem meam. Sicut volo, ita semper fiat. Per corvis sanguinem, scienti invoco te. Excidunt temporis hujus memoriae tuae. Oboeditote vocem meam. Sicut volo, ita semper fiat," she chanted in a toneless voice that sent chills down Pandora's spine. A cold breeze picked up and rattled the chandelier hanging above her head. The torches flickered and the fireplace roared with hungry flames. A raven, standing three hands high, landed noisily on the stone windowsill and flapped its wings furiously. A dry, grating kraa, kraa, resonated from its chest as it began to beat its head on the side on the windowsill until blood ran feely from its beak.
Pandora picked up a vase of flowers and prepared to throw it at the bird.

"Do not!" Lilura shouted. "The raven is vital to the casting of this spell." Pandora rolled her eyes and set the vase back down on the desk. The bird watched Pandora for a moment as though memorizing her, then swiftly turned its back and flew noiselessly away. The raven landed outside Pandora's high window on a leafless tree, covered menacingly with hundreds of ravens hunched ready for flight. Kraa, Kraa, Kraa…

The men began to shudder uncontrollably under Lilura’s palms for a moment. Then their eyes rolled back into moist sockets. She snatched her hands away, and the men were suddenly still, their unblinking eyes blank, all thoughts absent.

"They are yours to command, my lady," Lilura said, pulling the hood back over her head and taking the bowl from Pandora’s hands.

"Thank you Lilura, you may go now," Pandora said, dismissing her.

"As you wish," Lilura said, lowering her head and walking from Pandora’s chamber.

"Neither of you have any memory of what has transpired here just now. Do you understand?" she asked.

"Yes my Lady," the men answered in toneless unison.

"Good, now go, go tend to Abaddon, and my Lord husband, or whatever it is you people do." The men nodded and began to leave.

"Wait,” Pandora said, and they halted. She walked toward the taller, stronger man and ran her hand down his bulging arm. She took his callused hand in hers and ran it down her cheek, across her chest, cupping her breast. "Kiss me," she demanded. He leaned down and kissed her hard on the mouth. Then she pushed her lips up against his ear. "You will remember that," she whispered. "Only you will never speak of it to another breathing soul. Unless, of course, it is your wish to die on that particular day." Pandora turned and sauntered away to study herself in the mirror. She smiled conceitedly at her own reflection. "Perfect," she said, praising herself. Cerberus could wait for a little longer, she decided, as she played with a strand of her hair. After all, he had left her without hesitation to go off and fight in his silly war, had he not? "Close the doors behind you," she called over her shoulder to the two men, without shifting her eyes from her own reflection.

"Narantu," Pandora called for the girl again.

Narantu scurried into the room. "Yes, my lady," she answered, more than eager to please.

"I think I will have my hair up for this evening, after all."