Reading Online Novel

Pursued(53)



Minverna nodded doubtfully. “I suppose…”

“Suppose? Don’t you see? Love is in the air…but so are pain, treachery, and death. Just my kind of weather.” Draven beamed. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Minverna drew herself up. “And now I’d like my reward.”

“Certainly. You’ve earned it.” Draven smiled and nodded at her. “Open your hand.”

Raising her right hand, which had been clenched loosely at her side, Minverna opened her fingers. Lying on her palm was a large rectangular gem as silver as Draven’s strange eyes. She caught her breath at the beauty of it. “A mirror-mere! And such a large one!” It was one of the rarest gems in the universe, harder than a diamond and yet more malleable than gold. She closed her hand greedily around the cool, reflective stone.

Draven laughed. “Quite large enough to keep you in style for the rest of your natural life, my dear Minverna. Are you happy you helped me now?”

She nodded. “I’m quite satisfied with our bargain.”

“I’m so glad.” He nodded. “Unfortunately though, satisfaction is often fleeting.”

“What do you mean?” Minverna frowned.

“Exactly what I said.” The apparition of Draven made a sudden gesture and the mirror-mere jewel suddenly began to elongate in her hand. As Minverna watched, stunned, it doubled in length and one faceted end suddenly became a long, needle sharp blade.

“What…what is it doing?” She tried to drop the mirror-mere, which now looked exactly like a dagger. But she found her fingers wouldn’t unclench from its cool surface. Instead of obeying her and throwing the strange new weapon away, her hand rose and hovered in the air in front of her face. To Minverna’s horror, the tip of the mirror-mere dagger was pointed directly at her right eye. “Stop it!” she sputtered. “Make it stop!”

“Didn’t I tell you it would be a gift you gave to yourself?” Draven’s solid silver eyes had grown as cold and blank as new coins. “Alas it will have to be, as I cannot be with you in person.”

“Wait…stop!” Minverna gasped as the silver dagger began to push itself toward her eye. But her hand and arm refused to obey her.

Draven chuckled coldly. “Don’t fight it, my dear. After all, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience—death always is.”

The dagger suddenly accelerated, slicing forward in a silver blur that ended in darkness. Pain exploded as her eye popped. Minverna shrieked but the sound came out oddly muffled.

“Now, now.” Draven chuckled in her ear and she realized the apparition’s ghostly hand was across her mouth. It felt like something dead and rotted pressing against her lips. “Can’t have them finding you before the job is finished,” he murmured. “Well, do go on.” He gestured with the hand not pressed to her mouth and Minverna felt her hand tighten on the cool handle as it prepared to press forward again. Suddenly a familiar feeling flooded her, the feeling of power she’d been stripped of so recently.

The vision in her one remaining eye went suddenly emerald until everything had a green tinge around it.

Draven, she cried and the voice was not her own.

The chuckling apparition suddenly stopped laughing. “Is that you, Goddess? What do you want? I thought you no longer spoke through this one.”

Even a broken vessel can serve some purpose. I say to you now, Draven of the Hoard, that I know of your desires and you will not succeed.

Draven’s lips curled into a sneer. “You mean you hope I will not succeed. For if I do, there will be no one left to worship you.” He frowned at her. “Besides, have you forgotten the prophesy you yourself placed on me at my creation? That no one—male or female—born of woman could best me?”

I remember that day well. The Goddess’s voice, issuing from Minverna’s mouth, was soft and sad. And how happy I was to have you by my side. We were both happy, my son…until you traded your soul and your wings for damnation and hatred.

“Traded them for freedom, you mean,” Draven scoffed. “Why should I stay with you, always as your second in command, when I could rule my own kingdom?”

A kingdom of darkness and hatred and loathing. A kingdom of evil. The Hoard you have created are no true creatures—they cannot be, for they have no souls.

“They need none,” Draven snapped. “I don’t miss mine at all. It did nothing but fill me with guilt and remorse—it was the instrument you used to control me.”

It is true that those with no souls cannot feel guilt, but they cannot feel love, either. An emotion I give to all my creations in abundance.