Page 29 of Aofie's Quest
In desperation, I considered my father, the god Dagda. Would he save me from Jezebel? My situation had been dire before, but this was different. I knew about him. Was he watching out for me? Wordlessly I repeated my earlier prayer.Dagda, please see my plight and save me from the wrath of Jezebel.
Jezebel snapped her fingers and barked out a command. “Prepare her!”
The vines around me tightened and sprouted. My mouth went dry as tendrils grew from my bound ankles and thickened as they stretched across the uneven cave floor, dragging my body with them. Grit and dust mixed in my hair, which had come loose from the earlier battle by the riverbank. I wriggled my fingers in an attempt to snare them on a loose stone, but my attempts were useless.
I was dragged to the sacrificial altar, and suddenly Jezebel’s demands for blood made sense. She had the village bring her sacrifices because she was searching for the blood of the gods to set her free. And in her search, she’d spilled as much as possible, draining those poor souls because she hoped to find an heir of the gods, and then I’d accidentally walked right into her lair.
My pulse quickened and my chest rose and fell as I held back sobs. My arms were briefly released but Jezebel’s vice-like grip tightened around my wrists. She yanked them above my head, where the vines wrapped around them and secured my arms to each corner of the altar. The same was done with my legs until I was tied, spread eagled. My breath hitched and waves of dizziness passed over me as I thrashed, growling and baring my teeth at Jezebel as she stood above me, laughing.
My magic flared a violent red and I waited for something, anything, a surge of strength, a blaze of power to free myself. But nothing happened.
“Ah, my sweet pet.” Jezebel’s tone turned singsong and her eyes danced with mischief. “Traditionally you would be dressed in the garb of a virgin instead of these blood-stained rags. But I am loath to give you the slightest bit of freedom, so lie still and let me take what I want. You have made it easy thus far, for your magic is a sure beacon, letting me know where you are at all times. You were the one who called me to the hiding place of the queen and her children. You allowed me to break the Evasion Spell. Ah, calm down. I see murder in your eyes, but remember, I am a goddess and you are naught but a bastard child.”
A cry broke from my throat at her last words. How dare she suggest my mother’s death was my fault! Raising my head, I spit. A glob of drool landed on her arm and dripped down her elbow. Quick as a flash, she backhanded me across my face. White-hot fire slammed my cheek. Gritting my teeth, I narrowed my eyes at her, determined not to show pain. She struck my other cheek with a force that sent my head rocking back against the stone. My vision went fuzzy and my cheeks burned with pain.
My nostrils flared and I wished I were free to kick her again. Next time, I’d ensure she were dead.
“I could kill you,” Jezebel cooed. “But I would face judgment from the gods again and I have my own plans to attend to. Now lie still. I want you to feel this.”
She moved behind my head to my arms. A blade glinted in the light before it cut through the skin of my wrist. I hissed as my wrist throbbed and spots of light danced in my vision. Blood flowed over my hands, trickling down in a steady drip into something. A cup or basin? I waited for more stabbing, more pain, but there was nothing aside from the steady trickling of my blood.
When she moved to my other arm, I panted. The knife broke through my skin and the pain filled me, taking away my anger, grief, and desire for revenge. My heartbeat slowed and my life blood drained away. Closing my eyes against the weariness consuming my body, I uttered one last plea to the gods.Please, I begged.Please deliver me from the wrath of Jezebel.
There was no answer.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
My life tookon new meaning during the time I was a prisoner of Jezebel. She kept me tied to the altar and bled me once a day, reopening my wounds before they could heal. Even though I couldn’t see my wrists, I imagined they were slashed with wounds that ached and bled. Each time she cut me, pain flared up, so fiery that at times I screamed out loud. If anything, she took delight in my cries and dragged the knife through my flesh, slowly, tauntingly, delighting in my misery.
A female gnome tended to my wounds, but she was just as vicious as Jezebel. She brought me water, cold and clear, which I guzzled down, uncaring that much of it spilled over my chin and neck. She also fed me, a strange mixture of mush she’d spoon into my mouth. When I resisted or my stomach twisted in protest, she’d sit on my chest and slap me until I choked and swallowed.
Other than my two daily visitors, the tedious hours drifted by. I counted the days, watching the clouds in the blue sky, which seemed to mock me. At night, alone in the dark, I listened to howls, the flapping of wings, and sometimes an almost imperceptible slurping sound. The air was cool against my skin, but even in my shirt and skirt, I never grew too cold. Partly I assumed it was the passing of spring, and partly because I was sick from Jezebel’s cruelty. The bleakness of night, frightening as it was, was my friend, because it was only then I was truly left alone. I’d lie still, tears leaking out of my eyes, still struggling against the vines that held me tight. One day my torture would end and Jezebel would let me walk free. All I had to do was hold out and wait, but the days seemed endless, and I lost count as my blood was drained and I fainted into obliviation and woke, weaker, the next day.
With nothing to do except lie and wait and think, my thoughts returned to the vision the gods had granted me in the Beluar Woods. I’d followed the river and found my mother, only to have her be killed. Perhaps I should go to the elves, learn how to use my magic and take up the red sword. But why? Who was I fighting for? The kingdom of men had fallen, my mother was dead, and I didn’t know what had happened to Conan Mor. Was he dead too? Which left my half-siblings to rule if they’d succeeded in escaping, which led to my next question: Should I assist my siblings in regaining the throne? Would the gods be angry if I did not complete my quest? But the gods had not bothered to save me from Jezebel. Could I count on their guidance to take back the kingdom from the angel of death? Epona had taught me to focus on being selfless, to think of what would benefit others before thinking of myself. But both Romulus and Takari did not seem to see the value of selflessness. Even though I did not know them well, I suddenly missed them. Why hadn’t I stayed with them? As soon as I was alone, misfortune befell me.
Tears trickled down my cheeks but I forced my thoughts away from the present. Aside from traveling to the elves and learning how to control my magic, I would seek my father, although I had no idea where to start. What purpose did he have for me? I wondered if he appeared to mortals on a sacred hill or mountain. If so, I would ask for word of him. Surely the elves would have knowledge of him.
Epona told me the gods liked it when mortals prayed to them, asking for help, forgiveness, and peace through life’s trials and tribulations. But I had prayed, and the gods did not hear me, which led me to believe my father was not a merciful god. A warning of dislike pulsed through me as I thought of the way he tricked my mother. Gods and goddesses were equally powerful and dangerous, but I had to know why I was born and what plans had been laid out for me. Surely it was not to die at the hands of a vengeful goddess.
* * *
The days passed,and my body ached from abuse. Eventually, Jezebel’s knife could not make me scream, although my wrists burned. My inability to wash left my body aching with grime. My legs tingled from being stretched out and tied for such a lengthy period. I gritted my teeth against pain and nausea each time Jezebel bled me. Often, I wished I’d faint away and only wake when my ordeal was over. But Jezebel seemed to delight in taking her time, until one day she did not come. I waited, unable to quell the hope that bloomed in my chest. If she did not come, did it mean my ordeal was over? Had she drained me of enough blood?
It wasn’t until the following day that the sound of soft footsteps broke my thoughts. I opened my eyes, swallowing hard to steel myself for what was to come. A few minutes later, Jezebel’s sinister face hovered above mine. I hissed in surprise, my nostrils flaring at her demon-like appearance. Her milk-white skin was translucent, allowing me to see the spidery veins of her face with blood flowing through them. Her eyes had turned a darker shade of brown, intense and vivid. It took me a moment to realize the whites of her eyes had disappeared. Her green hair was swept up on her head, her arms bare and, to my relief, her hands empty.
“Aofie Mor, child of the gods.” She snickered and snapped her fingers.
The vines that bound me loosened, then pulled me to a sitting position, my feet hanging over the altar. I cried out as my numb arms and legs came back to life and blood rushed to my extremities. My body trembled with weakness, and I wondered how long it would take me to recover from being bled and malnourished. The vines continued to tug at me until my feet hit the cool ground. They trailed away, leaving me free.
Relief seeped through me, even in my weak condition. It was time. Jezebel would finally let me go free. Taking a deep breath, I raised my head, trying not to cringe as I eyed her again. She stayed a few feet away, her face cracked and distorted. “What did you do?” I whispered, my voice low and hoarse.
She raised her eyebrows at me and a smile curved across her frightening face. A dark glow hung over her skin. “I drank your blood. Infused it with my own power, and oh, it was delicious. I saved some for another time, in case I have a need and you are dead.”
I’d expected her to laugh and bait me with her words, but the calm way she spoke the truth scared me even more. Something dangerous hid beneath the surface. I desperately needed to leave before I found out what it was.
Turning her back to me, she beckoned to the arched doorway. “Bring it here,” she ordered.
The female gnome walked in, carrying a bundle of green. She handed it to Jezebel, then turned and left us alone. Jezebel tossed the bundle to me. Instinctively my hands reached out to grab it and the thin material of a dress slid through my fingers. I glanced at Jezebel in confusion. She was giving me clothes?
