Pine Needles (Veil Realms Series) (10 page)

All the plants, limbs, and enmeshed vines blow back out of our way. Without warning Sirius stops dead in his tracks and turns to me. “Selene?”

“Sirius?” My emotions rocketing, is it possible to push something without touching it? Is this normal for their kind? Will I go mad like the others Nevaeh has spoken of? Sirius and I stand in silence and I attempt to make my tone with dispassion.

“I don’t know how…
I—”

“Do it again.”
His command isn’t customarily in how he would behests to others, and I can sense the prospects reaming in his glistening sublime eyes. I hold out a hand, and flicker the leaves back and forth as I exert out and then withdraw, worry festers inside me as I rub my hands. I chew on my lower lip and boldly decide to demonstrate the movement again like a puppeteer for a moment longer. I drop my hands to my breasts feeling my breathing increase I steal an anxious look up to him. “Is this an aftereffect from the conversion?”

“It is another armament Selene, the beings from the other realms bear many and so shall you.” He takes several long strides back from me and my brow furrow
tightly together as I question him, “Sirius, what are you doing?”

“Adjudging your protection, now center yourself, and control our distance.” He maneuvers his massive body around, pacing like an enslav
ed and hungry animal. Locking his sight onto mine he suddenly charges toward me.

Dread and fear siphons all thoughts from my
unfocused mind, as his unflinching warrior form nears. I do the only thinkable thing I know to do. I whisk around and scamper in the other direction. The vines that scatter about have my balance working over-time. Tripping, my body gives way and instinctively I roll close to a tree and toss up my hands. Sirius slams back and counterweights himself within my next rattled breath.

He reaches down and picks me up around my waist as he places me once again on my
two feet he leans closer he admonishes, “You were not meant to run, Selene.”

“I know, you just…” I brush off the dirt from my backside and peer up to him.

“Do you still feel threatened by me?”

“No, it was simply
a reaction. Do you want to try again?” Glancing over to make sure I wouldn’t topple over another conquering root or vine I shuffle back away from him. Not even five feet apart he begins pursuing me, steadying my hands I can sense the pushing influence and I generate enough force to keep him back and Sirius’s momentum instantly ceases.

“Does this satisfy
you?” I ask as an empowering conviction fuels in me. I observe him patrolling before me. Eying and pacing his intangible obstacle he idly rests his hands along his leather bound hips.

Seeming pleased he finally responds, “I
t does.”

I outstretch
my hands to him, and he takes them and tucks me close, his breath heats my skin as he whispers in my ear, “I knew you would be the one.”

Chapter Eleven

Prisoners

One by one the warriors descend
to the underground, a stairwell passes the bounteous limestone walls, and this passage is not adorned with symbols or spectacular designs. Slim and tapered steps dive deeper into the remote darkness. Reassuring myself, I secure my hand tighter on Sirius’s weapon belt.

Nearing an open platform I see
lights shimmy from the flaming torches which are nestled by carved stone benches lining the outside walls. A rotunda is in the center of the room with six large-scaled columns. Sirius guides me through the engraved, golden columns and down a spiraling staircase. 

Entering the second level
, the rooms become more endless, stoned-like beds blanketed with animal hides and deviating furs. Peeking at each room as we walk by I’m awe-struck with the monumental etchings brandishing each wall. The effigies symbolizing beasts and warriors in riotous battle, some of humans and others I could never imagine to truly exist.

The echoe
s of footfalls from our own feet are the only sounds as we approach a majestic hall. Flanked by Sirius on my left, and Rigel on the right of me and unaware that the accompanying warlords are absent, Sirius abruptly turns directing me through a vast embroidering chamber.

Wool type pallets overlay the floor, and golden bowls filled with glowing Quine and water
rest. I take in the room while Sirius removes his weapons casting them down on a grey-stone slab, “Nevaeh will be here soon. She will prepare you for the noctivigous feasting.”          

“Where are you going?”

He stops before he pulls his harness over his head, scanning me with his enigmatic gold hued eyes. “The lower levels… you are safe Selene. I will be with you for the feasting.” He quickly jerks the harness off and strides out of the entrance.

“But Sirius I can not eat…” As if I am talking to a ghost his imperious form vanishes into the ill-defined hall. Stooping downward I pick up a Quine and wander about the room. My conflicting thoughts meander
. I feel apprized by Sirius with his gazing looks and his authentic protection, but I’m not comforted with the idea of eating flesh.

I have no desire
, not yet anyway, to make a banquet out of it. So many things have changed within me. From my uncanny sight, to the way I can defy the laws of gravity. Pacing my bare feet along the wool I glance up to discover Nevaeh amusingly watching me in the doorway.

“Do you have a lot on your mind Selene?” Her soft tone consoles me.

“Yes, actually I do.” Seating myself on the cut stone slab I exchange the bowl of fruit for a wooden bowl containing water. Nevaeh pivots before me and begins washing the dust and grime coating my feet.

Reaching for a damp cloth to wipe my arms, she bends down on her knees and peers at me
. “Tell me, why are you troubled?”

“The Feasting…
it’s not something I’m looking forward to.” Scrubbing my face I idly drop my other hand in my lap, Nevaeh rubs the cloth gently over the mark on my wrist.

“The warlords have brought in more s
laves,” she confides as I drag the make-shift towel down my neck and stop. Her hand embrace over the mark and I see this awaking expression drape across her face.

“You are concerned over the f
easting and what do you think the newcomers troubles are?” Easing back she reclines to her heals, dark oval eyes pour over my face. I nod subtly with an evolving perception as I clearly understand her words.

“Stand, we need to dress you.” Rising I untie the fabric from around my neck while she discards it
. I slip out of the hide-like cloth gathering along my hips. In moments my entire body is a Fresco of gold; Nevaeh skillfully affixes the golden liquid on my cheeks, lips, and along my eyes.

Smearing the remaining resin on my shoulders I observe her activity as if she had done this a hundred times before. “Nevaeh? Are you content doing this?”

“Yes, and no,” she solemnly replies as she curves her body under my raised arms and clamps the last ringlets of gilded chains to the side of the breastplate. Exposing only my stomach I relax my arms, but careful not to interfere with her work.

Crouching she enwraps my waist in pearly silken material and begins sewing a sash of high-polished mini dangling beads.

“I enjoy speaking with you, but I do not enjoy being a slave to the warlords. But I do what I must.” A hushed smile emerges along her graceful full lips. She motions with a hand for me to turn around, arranging my hair through a golden headpiece.

Finishing she takes a step back viewing her dutiful creation
. Content, she offers me the gold bands. Reminded of how Sirius’s bands are aligned I clasp two on my upper arm, and three along my forearm. Exactly like his except mine are smaller. The five glinting gold regalia symbols flicker with a rich hidden luster.

“Why five Nevaeh, why does Sirius wear five bands and the others do not?”

“He is the leader, the dominator over the five realms.” Paying no other thought to her words she jumbles through an offset basket of bangles and anklets.

“Sirius bids you to wear this…” Balancing in the palm of her
open hand another elaborate band, only this one is thicker and more cumbersome. Slowly, I withdraw it attentively away and comment, “It looks like a collar of some type…” The weight of it alone intimidates me, standing I inspect it like a medieval torture device.

“It is, did Sirius not tell you, this is required protection…
you are one of them now Selene, the only way you can die is decapitation.”

“Why now, this has never been required before.”

“He has claimed you Selene, you wear his mark. You will learn many things are different and he will go to great lengths insuring your well being.”

Placing the galling burden down on the planate stone I
cock my head to the side toward Nevaeh as I remark, “Sirius constantly asks me if I fear him. I believe if I decide not to wear this, then it will demonstrate my trust in him. To fear nothing as long as he stands with me.”  

Her proud bay eyes spark at my bravado, leaning over she retrieves the inhospitable neck attire and cumulates her things. Lacing the vine-like handle over her arm she peers at me
as she proudly adds, “The conversion hasn’t changed everything about you, Selene. I can still see your conviction behind those golden eyes of yours.”

In her next breath she calmly strides closer to the entrance,
momentarily distracted I stand motionless. With her ever expectant face she waits for a second or two realizing I’m not moving, she tilts her own head in my direction and calls out, “Coming?”

My lulling thoughts finally form a question as I rush a
fter her through the passageway. “What about my eyes? Say it again.” My feet quickly abandon the brisk pace, and I sprint faster to keep up with her. A hint of a smile meets her eyes as she remains silent.

“Nevaeh?
! What do you mean?”

Never abating her gait she responds with a complete complacent tone, “They res
onate the same color as Sirius’s eyes.”

I have not been the type to overindulge in my appearance so I haven’t even considered what I may look like. The lack of mirrors and preoccupying chaos drops my need to preen myself. We canter into
the labyrinth of catacombs til our path opens to a corridor.

Nearing I recognize the megalithic limestone structure before the entrance of the banquet hall. The meticulous carvings emblaze with the eight torch lit columns. At the far end rests the bone shrouded throne. A spike of dread crawls down my spine.

              Nevaeh rectifies my habiliments brushing strands of my dark hair back over my shoulders and adjusting the golden globules in the headdress. “Do as he commands, and do not under any circumstances create attention to yourself.”

I take a glance back into the thron
e room as male and female slaves deck the marble stone tables with primordial mugs and clay chalices. Viewing the blood stained mosaic flooring. I understand more of the room than before. There are eclectic motifs carved all throughout this grand room. The symbols remind me of the markings on Sirius, the warlords, and the cell guards.

Are the indescribable symbols from different realms?
What is the significance
I wonder, narrowing my gaze at the five stone hands before the throne and I query, “Nevaeh why the hands?”

Standing beside me she fidgets one last time with the driblets of gold threads running along my legs
and she softly answers, “Would you rather they be heads Selene?” Brawny bare-chested guards ship in and out of the throne room carrying wooden platters. Anxious, I take a timid step back leaning my body against the brumal wall with a pique expression.

Her hand grips mine out of sight as she stares forward with a non-expressive demeanor as a few guards pass
us. Silent seconds fade when she scarcely whispers to me, “They are tokens of the five realms to the queen from Sirius.” Our heads both snap in the same direction down the umbral corridor as the contentious warlords endorse their presence.

Slamming others who dare to cross their path, guards and slaves scamper about trying to avoid any and all contact. In the mist of it all
is Sirius who strides through the middle, donning his most pronounced armor. Embroidered in gold and silver, his gold dusted flesh is barely visible.

Rich ebony hair cloaks his vast shoulders, every motion he makes
, his satin-like hair flows effortlessly. Riddled with relief that he does not wear his helmet, I am able to search his eyes to find whether he is pleased to see me as I am of him.

Our gaze holds the other as I begin to speak quickly to Nevaeh, controllin
g my tone. I whisper back to her, “He offers her a limb of servitude, just as a dog would bring his master a bone?”

Nevaeh’s grip tightens almost painfully on my hand, holding the same blank guise she mumbles under her breath, “Do not let Sirius hear you say that.”

Chapter Twelve

Offerings