Chapter Two

She stopped when she caught sight of Aliasania House, drinking in the sight of it as if she feared it would disappear. It rose, majestic, towering six levels above her head and dipping, unseen, three levels below her feet. It stood out against the wall it nestled against, made of a different stone mined so long ago from deep within the cliffs. Aliasania House gleamed black – unrelieved black – in the fading sunlight.

Cy wanted to run up to it, fling the doors open, weep and laugh. Emotions tangled in her throat.

“What is it, love?”

“I…” She had no words to describe it. She feared something had changed, feared they had forgotten her. Uncertainties began to race and pound inside her head. Her hand, clasped gently in Belndin’s, began to go clammy.

“Don’t fear,” he said, smiling at her. “If nothing else, they’ll love you for being family.”

She tried to find peace in his words but a sick fear rolled in her stomach. Suddenly the black stone wasn’t so inviting but intimidating. She had been gone so long.

Reluctantly, she moved forward. No lights shone from the windows, making Aliasania House seen almost dead – or deadly, a predator taunting her, frightening her. But she moved on.

Belndin murmured soothing words but she didn’t hear them. Her eyes were locked onto the huge doors, creeping ever closer, looking like the eyes of a vicious monster, just waiting for her. The doors, massive pieces of wood worn and lightened by age, seemed to stand out against the darkness like beacons. Beacons luring her, beacons leading her to…

Stop it, she told herself forcefully. This is my home. My home. Nothing can change that.

Her stomach rolled sickeningly in response. Gritting her teeth she marched up the white-pink steps and yanked a door open with unnecessary force, all the while berating herself for fearing her own house.

Blackness met her.

For a long time she stood there, framed in the doorway, trying to convince herself to move beyond and into the room. When cold sweat began to bead on her forehead, she set her mouth in a stubborn line and called up a trickle of Enchanter’s magic to light the room.

Light flashed brilliantly, illuminating all corners and shadowy areas in the cavernous room. In the center stood a huge white-pink column carved with names. Her family.

Her family.

There was no sound in the house, and that scared her. Surely someone was home. Her stomach began to quiver and roll again.

“Love?”

Cy jumped and screamed, whirling around, eyes wide, to face Belndin. Both hands had moved to cover her racing heart. He began to apologize but, recovering, she cut him off.

“I’m just jumpy, I guess. Nervous.” Terrified, she thought. And then, I need to stop thinking like that.

“It’s your family, Cy. They can’t love you any less…and I think they’ll only love you more.”

She smiled to mask her fears. “Of course.”

Determinedly, she moved to a set of doors, made of the same wood as the front doors but darker, unbleached by sunlight. As soon as she had one open she illuminated the room beyond – a towering, two-level library – with gentle light. Her father would be here. He had to be here.

And everything would be alright.

She walked down aisles between towering bookshelves, Belndin following close behind, and wished the shelves didn’t seem so menacing. Wished her father’s favorite nook – a chair in the back corner – wasn’t so far away.

Cy rounded the corner and started for her father’s nook, which was just beyond the next turn. Dread spilled through her and twice she almost stopped, almost turned back, almost ran. But she continued, determined to get over this silly fear and reunite with her family. She turned the final corner, head held high, knowing that nothing could –

She stopped.

Red. Red was everywhere. The walls, the floor. Just red, a dark, deep red that looked like…blood. Her eyes landed on her father’s chair and although she wanted to scream in terror, she could only whimper.

Red, red, red.

“Cy, love, where did you go?” Belndin’s voice came from around the curve, only paces away. She wanted to warn him, run to him, scream but her throat was clogged and her feet wouldn’t move.

“This is a beautiful-” he rounded the corner. “Gods!”

Red, red, red.

And there, in her father’s favorite chair, her father’s mangled body, ripped apart. But she knew, she knew.

Red.

A scream was working its way up her throat. But before she could open her mouth, Belndin was speaking.

“Cy, gods, don’t look, don’t look.”

Her father. Dead. A corpse.

“Cy, gods, don’t look anymore.”

Red, red blood, staining everything. Walls, floor, furniture. A book in tatters on the floor, soaked in blood.

“Gods, Cy, please, please.”

Her father, dead. His severed head set on the top of the chair, sightless eyes open and locked onto her own.

“Cy, gods, please.” He was tugging at her arm now, trying to drag her away, but she couldn’t move.

There was little left of her father other than his head. His chest had been ripped open, his innards spilled and – so it looked to her – chewed on. His arms and legs shredded and the bones gnawed on. She could see gashes – from teeth.

“Cy.” Belndin was frantic, his hands like iron bands on her arm, pulling at her. She finally moved her gaze from the grisly scene before her to his face. Her eyes were frighteningly blank.

“Cy,” he whispered. “Please, gods, come on. We have to get out of here.”

Her eyes drifted back to the book on the floor, to how the blood had begun to congeal on the scattered and shredded pages. She could see the blood drying. She looked back at Belndin, noting emotionlessly that his eyes were dark with fear and panic and his face was streaked with tears.

Her lips trembled open. “My father.”

“Don’t think of that, don’t, please don’t.”

“My family,” she choked out. “My family.”

Although he assured her they were fine, alive, probably grieving somewhere, she knew better. They would never have left her father like that. Never. She knew they were all dead but didn’t want to admit it, not out loud, not to herself.

Then she turned, violently, her movement breaking Belndin’s grasp, and fled through the library.

She had one mission – to find the rest of her family. Instinct told her they had been at home, perhaps preparing for dinner or bed, when the…the…that had happened. She knew she would find each and every one of them like her father, brutally mutilated, their shattered corpses lying in their favorite places.

And she was right.

Wrapped in a thick layer of shock, she took it all in – the blood, the heads, the remains – and locked it away. It was a long time before she realized there was no stench, no scent of dried or drying blood, no smell of death. But by then she didn’t care. She had enough visual memories to remind her of their deaths.

She found everyone she expected. Thirty-two bodies, all broken and ravaged like the first she had found.

But her oldest sister. Her very first sister.

She was missing.

Her footsteps heavy, Cy climbed one last set of stairs. Belndin followed her, trying unsuccessfully to convince her to leave the house, leave the pain and images of gruesome death behind. But she had one more person, one more loved one to find.

Lor.

As if thinking her name could make her appear, Cy repeated it over and over in her head.

And there she was.

There was so little blood. Her body was intact. And her sister’s eyes, her sister’s beautiful eyes, were closed. Cy moved to her, grief tearing through the shock, making tears clog in her throat. Somehow, this image of death, less horrifying than the others, affected her more deeply – or perhaps that was only because she and Lor had been so close.

Lor’s eyelids fluttered, then opened weakly. “Cy,” she breathed.

Cy stared.

“Cy.”

Lor’s words broke through the heavy blanket of shock. Suddenly feeling the grief of so much loss, Cy dropped to her knees beside her sister and cradled the younger girl in her lap, against her chest, careless of the blood. Tears welled and spilled down her face. “Lor.”

“Cy.” Lor was crying too; her green eyes – eyes like Cy’s eyes – shone with pain, emotional and physical. She coughed wetly and rolled her head to the side. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. “Sister.”

“Lor, gods. What…?”

“A demon. A Shadow demon.” Lor’s voice was weak, quiet, but she continued to speak. She was desperate, very desperate. She had to tell, had to explain.

“They were sent. I was chosen to…to pass along a message.”

“You’ll survive,” Cy said. Her grieving mind passed off Lor’s words, heard but forgotten. “You’re young. Strong.”

“You have to know who did this. Who…who wanted this.”

“You can-”

“I don’t have much left, Cy. Gods, but it hurts. I just want it to be over now.” Tears slipped from her eyes. “But they won’t let me die yet, not until I’ve done my duty. Cy, listen.”

“I’m listening.” No she wasn’t. She was screaming inside, crying, railing at the gods. But she remained silent to let her sister speak, explain what was so important to her, and then she could convince her she would be alright.

“Cy. It was Olel, Olel Drois. Yyrenen Sha-an. Belndin Kaiaro. Allen Cali-das. The Shadow. Gods, Cy, the Shadow did this to us...to me.”

“Rest, sister, rest.” Cy began to rock and hum a lullaby, cradling her sister’s upper body against her. The world had ceased to exist as it really was; instead, she had reverted into a delusion. She was rocking her younger sister, rocking her to sleep because she wasn’t feeling well. It was a safe delusion and she clung to it.

“Forgive me, sister, but I can hold on no longer.”

And before Cy could say a word, Lor was gone. The life drained from her eyes in a heartbeat. Everything – the names, the message, the delusion – was forgotten in a wave of sorrow. Drowning in grief, holding her sister’s limp, lifeless for to her, Cy finally began to cry.