Page 2 of Anathema

A tear streaked down her cheek. “Pilazyo. Orosj tye clemuhd,” she whispered. Please. I’m begging your mercy.

Cadavros wordlessly slipped his fingers beneath the baby, and her tears turned hysterical when he gave a tug.

She yanked her child back to her, jerking the young boy to her chest. “Nith! Nith hazjo’li! Je fili meuz!” I will not do this! He is my son!

Zevander’s outcry, as Cadavros pried the boy from his mother’s arms, stirred her instincts. On a whim of madness, Lady Rydainn lurched for the beastly man who carried her son toward the smoldering vein, but a force struck her throat, knocking the breath out of her. Black smoke crawled from her mouth, choking out the words she’d longed to say. Stop! I surrender myself! Her unseen attacker held her there in its invisible grasp, while Cadavros didn’t even spare her a glance.

Lord Rydainn strode toward his suffering wife, but as he neared, his leg snapped beneath him with the gut-twisting sound of splintering bone. His outcry echoed through the surrounding forest, and he fell to the ground, his limb bent wrong at the knee.

Branimir didn’t move, his murky eyes vacant and lost.

In spite of the pressure at her throat and the lack of breath in her lungs, Lady Rydainn called out for her son, reached for him, but to no avail. Needles of terror prickled her spine, as Cadavros held the baby in the crook of one arm while stretching a roughly tessellated hand into the black flame that rose up from the glowing vein. The black ember he captured flickered in his palm, and Zevander’s cries quieted, the child seemingly mesmerized by the sight as the mage held it over him.

Lady Rydainn whimpered and quailed, her knees weak with defeat, and before she could shutter her eyes from the horror, Cadavros shoved his palm against her baby’s mouth, smothering him with the black flame.

Zevander kicked and writhed, his tiny feet dangling helplessly from his captor’s grasp. A potent mix of rage and anguish shook her body, the endless stream of tears creating an irritating blur in her eyes.

Branimir shifted on his feet, all too aware of how ravenously that flame consumed, judging by the way he growled and slapped at his ears. As if he were feeling his younger brother’s pain right then.

The trauma that both of her precious sons were made to suffer tore at her heart with jagged teeth. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she watched the black flames emerge through her son’s skin, licking the night air like the dark tongues of serpents.

Zevander’s struggle ceased, his body limp. The flames died, settling across the baby’s flesh in wicked black swirls.

The darkness had accepted and branded him.

An eternal curse.

Cadavros lifted the baby and drew his noseless face over her son’s naked chest. His mouth opened impossibly wide, and he shoved Zevander’s head inside.

“No! Oh, gods! No!” A scream rattled in futile misery inside her chest, as Lady Rydainn watched in horror while the ghoulish mage attempted to consume her child.

The mage let out a boisterous roar and yanked the child from his mouth. He tipped his head, inspecting the black markings left on her baby’s skin. A deep, guttural sound rolled in his chest, and he snarled, snapping his attention back to the flame. “Quez sa’il!” What is this?

Again, he looked back to the boy, running his finger over one of the markings on his chest. Growling, he struck the infant’s face and tossed him into the flaming fissure.

“No!” The scream that echoed through the forest could’ve roused the old gods from their slumber, as Lady Rydainn shook and cursed their names, demanding they set her free.

Lord Rydainn howled in agony, crawling toward the vein with his horribly mangled leg dragging behind him. “You bastard! You fucking bastard!”

Cadavros roared again, smoke curling from his skin, his body trembling. He reached back into the flame, lifting the boy, who neither screamed nor cried. He didn’t move, at all.

Agony clawed at her heart as she examined her baby from afar. Eyes searching for a single sign of life. The blankets that’d swaddled him had burned away, leaving him completely exposed, his head cocked to the side, eyes still closed.

Was he alive? Oh, gods, let him be alive!

Snarling again, Cadavros held the boy in front of him, looking upon him with the kind of malice that curled her stomach.

“Pilazyo.” She shook with the plea. “Jye suaparcz vitaez.” Spare his life.

Lingering wisps of smoke drifted over the mage’s face, and she caught the glisten of raw flesh across his bark-like skin.

It was then that Lady Rydainn realized: in his attempt to harm her son, he’d somehow suffered pain himself.

The pressure at her throat subsided, and sapped of all will, she crumpled to the ground. When those cloven feet stood before her again, she lifted her gaze to see Cadavros handing back her listless child, carelessly holding him by his arm as if he were nothing but a sack of meat and bones. Feeble arms outstretched, she reached back for him and cradled him against her. A searing heat burned her skin, but she refused to let him go.

“Is he alive?” Lord Rydainn’s voice swelled with misery as he clawed at the ground toward them. “Does he live?”

She ignored him, her anger still too razor-sharp to care about his suffering, as she lifted her son to her face, noting the warm puffs of air coming from his mouth.

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