Page 98 of Jailer to the Death God
With a powerful wingbeat she rises into the air.
Roaring my rage, I leap up, extending my own wings, intending to follow her. But my wings appear for only a moment before they evanesce, and a ripple of horrific weakness shudders through me.
This is not like the night of the hound attack. Vale was fading slowly then, but this time she is standing on the very brink of death, already tipping over the edge. And as she falls, my powers are leaving me.
I cannot follow through the air, nor can I ride a horse without the calming effect of life-light. But I can run after Macha and Vale until my heart gives out. Until my beloved dies, and I vanish back into the darkness from which I was born.
39
I am not unconscious.
I feign it though. It isn’t hard to pretend, because my body is shutting down.
All the systems that work in perfect synchronicity to keep me alive are stuttering, slowing. I’m fairly sure that blade nicked my heart. It’s only a matter of time before my soul detaches from my dying form.
Everything happened so fast. My mind barely had a chance to collate the facts.
The aged man who raised a shaking hand to me, whom I knelt to comfort—the one who stabbed me in the chest—it was Lord Venniroth, but with a body aged to match his hand. Arawn must have dealt that punishment when he left during the night. And he didn’t tell me about it. Probably because he knew I wouldn’t approve.
Macha was waiting to confront us. Infuriated because Arawn banished her. Eager to witness my demise, to ferry me to the Unlife herself.
I force my limbs to remain limp, even though I’m struggling to breathe. It doesn’t help that the goddess reeks of sourness, old metal, and decay.
Soon I’m going to pass out.
I can’t make a move against Macha from this high up. I don’t know how quickly the knife will act on her, and if she disappears and I drop from this height, I’ll smash on the ground below.
No, I have to wait until she dips lower.
Wind blasts my cheeks, chilling my flesh until I can’t help trembling with the cold, despite my efforts to appear unconscious. Thankfully the Pit of Arawn isn’t far from the city, and the journey there is much quicker by air.
Macha wheels over the forest, banking sharply, nearly letting me tumble from her grasp. She dives into the clearing, sweeping low along the tangled black vines, heading for the Pit.
I have to make my move. Now or never.
But one of her arms is across my back and the other is wrapped beneath my knees, pinning my skirts in place. I can’t access the dagger in this position; I need to force her to carry me differently.
I stir, moaning, pretending to wake a little.
“Oh good,” Macha says. “You’re awake. I want you to know what’s happening to you, worm. I can’t throw you into the Pit yet—I can’t be the one who kills you, you see.”
She dumps me onto the hard, twisted mass of black vines and roots that cover the ground. “You have to die first. So you’ll die here, just beside the Pit, and then I’ll kick your body in. And then…” She inhales, long and deep, like she can smell the most satisfying meal. “Then our fun will begin. Well…myfun, your torment. On the bright side, you’ll get to see your dear stepmother and your father again, while I torture them. A little family reunion. It’s really all about family, isn’t it? I’ve always thought—ow!”
She looks down, startled.
The godsblood dagger is sticking into her bloody foot, between the bones. My nerveless fingers slip from the hilt, unable to hold on any longer.
Macha’s eyes flicker red. “How do you have that?” she gasps. “I—”
But she can’t speak any more. Her form is dividing, separating into disparate pieces like a puzzle—and the next second she implodes, all the pieces sucked inward, toward an invisible fixed point in the air, suctioned into that spot and thengone.
The godsblood knife, its tip still embedded in a black root, trembles. Its hilt and blade begin to flake away, carried like dust on the wind until there is nothing left.
Macha is gone. The goddess of war, annihilated by my hand with my mother’s weapon.
Arawn is free.
I will die, but he will survive. I will see him again—we’ll be together in Annwn. It won’t be the same—his incarnation will have ended, and I’ll be a ghost—but it will be something.
