Stone Rose 15 & 16

[maderr]

Chapter Fifteen

The feeling that more than one person dwelt within him was growing stronger by the minute.

No…it felt more like part of him was firmly locked away and could not get out. Could not? Would not?

It was hard to tell.

What Culebra did know was that he did not want to be here. He wanted to be miles away, safe in his room, curled up in Corinos’s arms.

He also wanted the hand around his arm to let go. “Unhand me,” he said, and jerked away.

“Highness, the way is treacherous and—”

“And you had best be careful of your own feet. I do not require your assistance.” Culebra pulled ahead of Jorge and walked confidently on, memories fluttering in his head much as they had in the Temple of Oblivar.

Once, the Basilisk had carved this place to be his retreat; his own private sanctuary, built where no one else would ever choose to go. All around him was the sort of darkness he lived with every day of his life. It slowed the others down, made them nervous.

At his feet, every now and then he could feel the brush of scales against his ankles. “It will warm soon, beauties,” he soothed, able to feel how much they did not like the cold.

The ground changed as they reached the bottom of the long staircase that led down into the heart of the cavern temple the Basilisk had once called home, had chosen to call his grave. Where the stairs had been rough, to prevent slipping, this entrance hall was as smooth as glass.

Smooth enough that three people slipped and fell hard, crying out in pain and surprise. Culebra smirked. “Watch your step.” He drew back sharply as he felt Jorge get too close. “Do not touch me again, unless I give your permission.”

“Highness, I do not like the way you—”

“I do not like the way you attempted to kill my friend, slaughtered hundreds, and are trying to force me to do something I do not want to do. If you touch me again, you will regret it.” He could still feel the slimy touch of Jorge’s hand on his arm. At this moment, he would give up all the power in the world for a bath – and Corinos to share it with.

“How do we get in boss? What is all this?”

Culebra smirked and stood silent as the group examined the massive stone doors that sealed off the temple. “In all the sanctuaries, the gods created pictures of one another – that their children might know all the gods that created the world, their brothers and sisters. Nine gods created the world…they all are represented here. How do so many hard-bitten, worldly cultists not recognize the Holy Nine?”

“The Dragons of the Three Storms,” Jorge said, and Culebra knew he pointed to the highest images carved deep into the massive doors. Three great dragons writhing in the clouds, playing in the storms, in the sky and sea. “The Sacred Firebird of Pozhar.” On the rightmost door, just below the dragons, a bird with fiery plumage clinging to the branch of a great tree. “The Faerie Queen and Guardians.” All down the left side of the door was carved three figures – a woman of unbelievable beauty, delicate wings on her back; on her right was a Pegasus, strong and loyal. On her left was a Unicorn, proud and faithful.

“I know all those,” a woman said impatiently. “Of course we know the gods.”

Jorge seemed not to hear her, and when the others too said nothing, the woman made an impatient noise and then fell silent.

“Licht,” Jorge said finally, and Culebra heard him move toward the door, knew somehow that Jorge would touch the last image carved into the great doors. Right beneath the firebird was the image of a man, rays of sunlight emanating from behind him. He was simple, understated, nothing like his siblings in all their glory.

Pain lanced through Culebra, so deep and harsh it took his breath away, forced him to reach out to catch and steady himself. “Yes, Licht. First of the gods to be lost.”

Licht who felt too deeply.

“My power will not be abused. Not by you. Not by anyone.”

“I’m not going to abuse it. I’m going to use it to put everything as it should have always been.”

“I will not allow it!”

Culebra shook off the echoing words, feeling cold. He hugged himself and tried to bring his thoughts to focus on the problems at hand.

“So how do we open it?” A man’s voice, almost petulant sounding, asked into the silence. “There’s no keyholes or anything.”

“Keys would be awkward in the dark,” Culebra said calmly.

“There’s plenty of light,” a different man said – then suddenly fell silent, as his own words struck him.

Jorge laughed. “So, Highness, show us how to open the door.”

Culebra sneered. “You profess to want to return me to godhood, you wear the mark of the Rose, call yourself after the Stone Rose of legend…yet you know nothing of the temples which honor the lord you claim to worship?” He turned toward where Jorge seemed to stand. “I will have your true purpose in this before I go a step further.”

“We want to see our Lord restored,” Jorge replied calmly. “To show the world that Piedre, too, has not lost faith in its god.”

“You are a liar,” Culebra said. He could feel something in him snapping, overriding the fear and dread that were heavy in his stomach. Part of him knew…knew what Jorge was trying to do…knew it had been tried before…knew he had to stop it once again.

No matter what that meant.

Touching fingers to the snake coiled loosely around his neck, calming and collecting himself, Culebra breathed out in a long, silent sigh and then stepped forward. He heard boots scuff and slide on the glass-smooth floor as people scrambled to get out of his way, and then he felt the cold, smooth stone of the massive doors. No man would ever be able to move them; only the ancient spell work thrumming deep within the stone would move them.

He let his fingers wander the deep carvings, fingers finding what his mind remembered, fleshing the hazy memories out, then began to seek out the triggers he knew were there though just an hour ago he’d had no idea this entire place existed.

Soft snicks echoed in the entryway as he pressed the hidden triggers, six in all. The echoes deepened, almost booming with their force, as the gigantic doors unlocked and slowly began to open.

Warmth washed over them, dissipating the chill clinging to them. Thick in the air was the scent of roses, and Culebra wrinkled his nose in distaste. He didn’t care if they were the Basilisk’s flower – he did not like that smell.

Behind him, Jorge and the others had not moved. Culebra left them to stand and gawk, striding forward through the doors as they stopped moving, boots clicking as he stepped onto a floor that he knew had been covered with white tiles. The cavern in which he stood was massive, towering far above his head. Most of the ceiling and a portion of the curving walls were covered in the glowing stones that provided light where none would ordinarily be.

The cavern itself was notably absent of ceremonial miscellany. No altars, symbols, nothing of the sort. There were rugs, black and white and gray, in myriad patterns and designs. Places to rest, talk. In the very center of the room was a pit where a fire could be lit –thought it wasn’t required. Spells set when the temple was built kept everything warm. Various passageways scattered along the wall hinted at the rooms that lay beyond. Given the size of the main chamber, and of the Azul Mountains themselves, the actual size of the temple was impossible to gauge.

Culebra turned around as he heard the others enter. “Welcome to the Temple of Lagrima.”

“It does not look much like a temple,” Jorge said.

“How would you know?” Culebra replied. “It is obvious to me you have no idea what a temple looks like.”

“You know nothing about me,” Jorge said. “I have been in many temples, and not a one of them looked like this.”

Culebra pondered that bit of information, and stored it away to make use of later. “It is of no concern to me how many temples you have or have not seen. This is a temple, it is a fine one, and more to the point this is where you wanted me to take you.

“What’s the point, anyway?” the woman with the beautiful but empty voice said. “It’s all pretty, but why down here? Where no one can see?”

A wave of sadness washed over Culebra at the carelessly spoken words. “All of this was created with the hope that someday, someone might see. Instead of a place of joy, it became a grave.”

Only silence met his words, thick and anxious.

Jorge was the one to break the silence, his strange, unpleasant voice filled with impatience. “Where do we go next, Highness?”

“I have done my part, and I will assist you no longer.”

“We’re going to make you a god and this is how you act?”

“I do not want to be a god…nor do I for a moment believe that is what you want to do.”

“Of course it is,” a woman answered sharply. “We’ve worshipped the Basilisk for centuries. The other gods are apparently returning, why shouldn’t ours?”

Culebra sneered “With you as my faithful retainers? No cultist is that humble.”

“We’re not cultists!” A man said sharply.

“No?” Culebra asked. “Then you are merely murderers.”

He heard snarled curses, the sound of a weapon being drawn – then more curses as the action was cut off.

“Enough,” Jorge snarled. “Do not try it.”

“He can’t talk to us like that!”

Culebra remained silent.

“Enough,” Jorge repeated. “Remember those things coiled around him, and keep in mind they could be distracting you from the ones that are hiding. He is all that remains of the Basilisk; angering him will earn you only death.”

Jorge’s boots clicked on the tile floor as he approached Culebra. “Highness…”

“I will say and do as I please,” Culebra said. “The sooner this ends, the better it will be for all of us.”

“Then perhaps you can give us some indication as to where we should be going?”

Culebra shook his head. “Must I do everything for you? Can you not feel it? The gods have long been lost, but some part of you surely must feel the lingering echoes of he who made this land, the people who inhabit it.”

“Highness, my patience with you is wearing thin.”

“Amusingly enough, I never had any patience for you.”

“You are not a god yet, Highness,” Jorge said, voice growing cold. “Do not be too arrogant.”

“I am of royal blood,” Culebra retorted. “Arrogance cannot be helped.”

He thought he heard a laugh, quickly smothered, and it improved his mood slightly to see that not all of Jorge’s men were completely mindless.

Jorge began to snap orders, sending three of his people back to watch the massive doors. The rest he scattered about the room, minus two whom he ordered to stay with him. “Highness, you said the sooner this ended the better. It will end soonest if you show us where to go. You have done so splendidly so far, you may as well continue.”

Only because he had no intention of letting Jorge live, once he determined what the man was really plotting. Killing Jorge should resolve the matter, but he’d feel better knowing what that matter was. Two hundred people lay dead on the mountain because of this man. Culebra wanted to know why.

Deep in his mind, memories stirred, telling him that he already knew.

Not quite, though. The full weight of the memories were sealed with his power

To be forgotten. Lost. No one will abuse my power, no matter what I must do to ensure that. My eyes were not meant for that…

“Very well,” Culebra said with a long-suffering sigh. “This way.” He strode forward, toward a passageway off to his left. It was smaller than the others, and situated so that it fell in shadow, easy to miss unless you looked carefully.

There was precious little light along the passageway, he knew. Even without his memories, the constant sound of stumbling, falling, and cursing would have indicated to him that he could see better than anyone else.

Not that he had ever seen the temple; no, only twice had he ever uncovered his eyes. His brothers had helped him make the temple, had conveyed to him its appearance. After its completion, their visits had been seldom. Only one of his brothers had never minded the deep, dark cavern.

“Darkness consume, Highness!” Jorge snapped. “Where are you taking us?”

Culebra stopped, turned, and wondered if they could see him at all. “To a place that was meant to be forgotten. A place the children of Piedre let be forgotten, because they did not understand what had happened. You told me to guide you, and so I do. If you would prefer we go back…”

“It’s no wonder they had so much trouble finding him,” Jorge groused. “How in the world did they think to look here?”

“They believed in the Basilisk then, wanted badly to find their god even as they wondered if he had betrayed them,” Culebra said, turning around and continuing to walk. “Love for their lord drove them to look in every last crevice. Wouldn’t you keep looking, if you loved someone enough?”

Jorge’s voice was surprisingly fervent as he replied. “I would do anything.”

“Yes,” Culebra said, feeling another’s voice well up inside him. “Anything. Sometimes, though, it is possible to go too far.”

Jorge’s only response was silence, and a sharp curse as he stumbled over something in the dark.

The ground beneath them was rough, uneven, but after several more minutes of walking it began to smooth out. As the sounds of stumbling and cursing lessened and then finally ceased, Culebra realized that light was finally appearing again. He had not remembered if there was light before the end of the tunnel or not…if it had been added afterward.

Finally they reached the end, which he knew from memory but was also apparent by the glass-smooth slickness of the floor. As a matter of fact, the floor, walls and ceiling here were glass – rich, glistening black glass made by his brother Zhar Ptitka. No fire but his would ever burn hot enough to make such glass.

A door was set into it, plain but for the mark of the Basilisk carved into the center – a large, sinuous snake, a rose lying before it.

Culebra shivered, trembled, hugging himself tightly as the power emanating from the sealed room overwhelmed him. He sank slowly to his knees, willing everything that washed over him to go away. He had done it once, must he do it again?

“Don’t,” he whispered softly, words for Jorge, everyone else fading from his mind. “Leave it sealed. Leave it buried.”

“No,” Jorge said, though he did not sound as smug or threatening as usual. “No pain can compare.”

“You are no better, all the pain you’ve inflicted. The blood that stains your hands. Wrongs are not undone by still greater wrongs. It leads only to sorrow.”

Jorge stepped past him, and Culebra slowly forced himself to stand. “You know nothing about sorrow,” Jorge said. “Nothing at all.”

“I died to prevent more sorrow from occurring,” Culebra said in a voice that was most definitely not his own. It carried a tone, a weight, that matched the darkness around them.

Boots turned hard enough to squeak on the glass floor, an odd sound to mix into the severity that otherwise dominated the small space. Around them, Jorge’s followers had fallen into a stark, glaring silence. Culebra could feel the uncertainty, the fear, that was ever growing in them. It was too late, of course – they had all helped in the killings Jorge had ordered. Nothing they could do would repair the wrongs already committed. Lives that were not theirs to take, they had stolen. Even Zhar Ptitka, most merciful of all the gods, would not forgive such a crime as that.

“You failed!” Jorge snarled. “You failed miserably! I have studied all the histories, Basilisk. I know things people have forgotten. You who could have helped, left my people instead to suffer. I will not allow it. I love them too much. We live in terror, in constant fear, trapped in a cycle—”

“From which you somehow broke free?” Culebra interrupted. “Do you really think you are free of his hold? Ridiculous. You are as trapped here as you were there.”

“I am free,” Jorge hissed. “I will free my people, even if I must destroy them all to do it.”

“That is the wrong way to do it,” Culebra replied, knowing it was futile.

“No,” Jorge said stubbornly, and then suddenly his hand closed over Culebra’s wrist.

Culebra silently bid his snakes be still, barely in time to prevent Jorge’s being fatally bitten. No…he would not leave this to his beauties. This ran too deep for that. Jorge was his responsibility. Perhaps, to some degree, Jorge was also his fault.

He went without protest as Jorge yanked him forward, hard, all but throwing him against the door.

“Open it.”

Culebra obeyed, holding his hands up to the sigil carved in the middle of the door and immediately finding the catches that triggered the door. He stepped back as it swung outward, and the scent of roses that spilled out was overwhelming. He clapped a hand over his mouth and nose to block out the worst of the rich, too-sweet smell.

Behind him, no one moved.

He stepped aside and waited for Jorge to move.

Instead, Jorge grabbed his arm and shoved Culebra ahead of him.

“What do you see?” Culebra asked softly, for nowhere in his memory would the full of it reside. This room, when he’d died, had been a simple chamber for meditation, finding peace.

“A stone altar,” Jorge said. “Gray, like smoke. The walls and floor are black. White silk is laid over the altar…and a rose…it is true…”

The rose flashed through Culebra’s mind, the very last thing the Basilisk had seen before he gazed upon his own reflection.

A single, perfect rose carved from stone. Nothing more beautiful, more absolutely perfect, existed anywhere in the world. He could tell from Jorge’s voice, the soft, awed tone, that it was indeed entrancing, enthralling. All who saw it would find it difficult to look away.

Nothing in the world was more beautiful than the black stone rose that lay upon the altar.

All the power of death and destruction resided in that rose.

To claim the great part of the power of the Basilisk, all anyone had to do was destroy the perfect rose.

No one would be capable, least of all one such as Jorge. No one who believed in perfection would ever be capable of destroying it.

“There it is,” Culebra said levelly. “All the power of death and destruction resides there, yours for the taking. Though it’s not enough, I suppose, is it? Only I have the ability to completely and utterly destroy. You want me to destroy your people.”

“To save them,” Jorge said forcefully. “To break them free of the cycle.”

Culebra shook his head, mouth twisted in sadness. “You are not the one to do that.”

“Yes, I am!” Jorge said, and his voice held an edge of desperation.

“My power will not be abused. Not by you. Not by anyone.”

“I’m not going to abuse it. I’m going to use it to put everything as it should have always been.”

“I will not allow it!”

“I thought you were different! That you might understand me! Have I not understood you all this time?”

“That is not the same and you know it.”

“So you will take but not give.”

“…You know that is not true. I will gladly do anything for you – but not that. My powers will not be abused. You are going about this the wrong way. Please…”

“Don’t do it,” Culebra said. “You will not succeed where a god failed.”

“All the gods failed,” Jorge said bitterly. “I have no faith left in them. They are good only for the power they were stupid enough to leave behind.”

Culebra smiled sadly. “Licht loved his children, enough he would do anything for them.” He motioned toward the rose. “If you want the power, then take it. All you need do is destroy the rose.”

He heard Jorge inhale sharply. “Impossible. Why would you want to destroy something like that? It’s…perfect.”

“So you will slaughter hundreds of people but not destroy one pretty piece of stone?” Culebra asked.

Jorge laughed, sounding once more like the despicable man who had first demanded the prince bring them down here. “Ah, Highness, I spared your brother a very costly private war. The Black Rose was up to nothing that would not have ended well. They were, as you have so often said, a cult.”

“That is no excuse. If you are planning on annihilating your entire country then you must be willing to destroy the rose.”

Jorge laughed again. “Do you think I’m stupid, Highness? You stand before me with your eyes bound and tell me the rose will give me the power I seek? No…the gods are foolish, but they are not that foolish. The Basilisk made certain his greatest power stayed where he could fully control it – with him. The rest of your power is here, and you will need it for the full power of your eyes to take effect.”

Behind them, Jorge’s men had remained silent throughout. Now, however, they began to stir. Culebra could feel the anger and fear filling the room, and wondered what would happen to Jorge now.

“Jorge—”

“If you want to live, I suggest you put that sword away. Worse things than you, I have fought against and won. You have come with me this far, I should hate to lose you now.” The tone of his voice was freezing, and Culebra’s heart sank as he listened to the group subside.

Why did no one ever learn?

Culebra turned and snatched the rose from the table, then bolted past Jorge, the others parting for him as he passed, and vanished into the dark tunnel that led back to the main chamber of the temple.

The rose was warm in his hand, as if it were alive. Delicate stone thorns pricked his fingers, blood dripping onto them and down the stem of the rose.

So fragile and delicate, and all he had to do was shatter it.

Except he didn’t want to. He didn’t want the burden again, the weight…the loneliness…

Culebra spilled back into the main chamber and paused, not certain now what he was really doing – only that remaining back in that small space was a bad idea. Behind him he head the others following, but in the dark they would struggle.

“Culebra.”

That voice. Culebra drew a breath, unable to believe what he was hearing. It hadn’t been that long, but it suddenly felt like forever. He tried to speak, to call out, but found he couldn’t. All he could do was wait as feet pounded across the tiled floor, and hold tight as Corinos embraced him.




Chapter Sixteen

Corinos could not believe it. Surely he was sleeping. After everything he’d been through… “Culebra.” He whispered the prince’s name and held him even tighter, wanting nothing more than never to let go of the man in his arms.

“Corinos,” Culebra said his name just as softly, one arm wrapping tightly around his waist.

Finally, reluctantly, Corinos drew back. “Scales and teeth, Highness!” He grabbed Culebra by the shoulders and started shaking him hard. “I am going to lock you in your room for the rest of your life!”

“So long as you’re locked in there with me, Corinos.”

The words stopped him, and Corinos stared for a moment, then with a soft groan lowered his head and covered Culebra’s mouth with his own, half-expecting resistance but meeting none, and every last bit of frustration and pain was suddenly worth it to realize that he was, at last, able to hold Culebra as he’d always wanted.

“You need a shave,” Culebra said with a soft laugh when he finally pulled away and he lifted one hand to touch Corinos’s face.

“I’ve been busy tracking down troublesome princes, Highness.”

“Well, that’s permissible then.”

“Highness…” The momentary levity faded from his voice as Corinos drank in the sight of Culebra in his arms, happy to be in his arms, not struggling with himself over it. Then staring was no longer enough, and Corinos lowered his head to take another kiss, unable to believe that it was all real.

“I’m sorry,” Culebra said eventually. “I’m sorry, Corinos.”

Corinos growled and held him tighter. “Oh, you’re going to be,” he said. “You’re going to be very, very, very sorry by the time I’m done with you.” And didn’t he just love the way Culebra shivered and pressed closer.

He let go of Culebra’s waist to find his other hand, wanting to feel it the way he felt the one on his shoulder…and found it already had something in it. Frowning, suddenly recalled as to where they were and why, Corinos lifted Culebra’s hand and then gasped. “Culebra…what is this?”

Culebra’s mouth twisted in one of the melancholy smiles that had always torn at Corinos’s heart. “The power of a lost god, sealed away for all time – or so was the plan.”

Corinos unconsciously tightened his hand on Culebra’s. “What?”

Culebra never got the chance to reply, as the sound of curses struck them right before people tumbled out of a dark passageway he had not seen until Culebra had come out of it. They looked rather the worse for wear; Culebra had obviously fared better wherever they had gone.

Behind him, silent and still until that moment, Cortez and Fidel drew their swords and stepped forward, flanking Corinos and Culebra.

Earlier they’d taken care of the three posted at the door, the three scattered about the chamber. They’d been debating whether or not to tie them up when he’d turned and saw Culebra.

His gaze landed on the man at the front of the trio. Everything about him spoke of leadership. Corinos grabbed Culebra and shoved him back, out of harm’s way. He gripped his sword and stepped forward. “You must be Jorge.”

The man was as strange looking as Cortez had said. He could easily pass for Piedren if no one looked close, and no doubt Jorge ensured they did not. His eyes, more than anything, gave him away – they were a deep violet, of an intensity and richness Corinos had never seen.

In the light of the glowing stones above and around them, it was impossible to miss that Jorge had no shadow. Never had Corinos heard of such a thing – not in snake, not in a man. “Who are you?” he asked. “I have never known a man to possess violet eyes and lack a shadow.”

On either side of Jorge, his companions started, one even crying out in surprise, as they realized Corinos’s words were true.

It was Culebra who answered, when Jorge remained stubbornly silent. “He has no shadow because he is a child of Licht. All of Licht’s children are so marked; shadows are proof of light. The children of Licht are His shadows. How did you escape Schatten?”

“I was running for my life,” Jorge said, weariness in his voice. “It blocked me from going down…so I ran up into the Haunted Mountains…what you called the Jagged Mountains…I slipped in the snow, always the snow, and fell into a canyon. When I woke, I was in a strange place…not in Schatten…I thought I had somehow managed to escape.”

Corinos frowned. “Schatten? You are from Schatten?” His brows went up as something else clicked into place. “Does that mean Ruisenor is also from Schatten?”

“Ruisenor?” Jorge asked, drawing a sharp breath. The hope that flared in his eyes was painful enough Corinos could barely keep from looking away.

“No—not a person. Ruisenor is…” Corinos trailed off as he realized Jorge wasn’t listening, his eyes instead fastened beyond Corinos.

His face had gone almost white. Corinos wondered if he would pass out, so quickly did Jorge’s dark gold skin drain of color.

Corinos followed his gaze, and watched as Ruisenor slithered past him and toward Jorge.

“No!” Jorge suddenly cried, looking more terrified than Corinos had ever seen someone look. “A…a Sentinel…how…even here…” Jorge abruptly scrambled back, steps clumsy, barely staying upright, startling his companions and sending them scurrying away. His back hit the wall of the cavern hard enough Corinos could hear the crack of his head against stone. “Mercy of the Light, what is a Sentinel doing here?” His fingers dug futilely into the rock behind him.

“A Sentinel?”

Ruisenor slithered across the floor, a sinuous shadow on the white tiles.

“Get away!” Jorge screamed at her, pressing against the wall as if he did not realize he could move elsewhere. “Mercy of the Light, please!” Then he abruptly froze, as Ruisenor drew close, as if all the fight had abruptly been taken from him.

Corinos moved forward, unable to bear seeing anyone suffer so horribly. What was going on? No one should be so terrified.

He moved too late – one moment Ruisenor was only a few steps away, and Corinos swore all he did was blink and suddenly her jaws were fastened to Jorge’s upper arm. All he heard was a hiss, the sound ominous in the cavernous temple.

What truly disturbed him, however, was the way Jorge did not scream. Did not move. He simply sat there, face drained of color, eyes half-closed, head slowly drooping.

“Scales and teeth…” Cortez breathed from where she’d come up alongside Corinos’s right.

Fidel appeared on his left. “I told you that snake was a nightmare.” He lifted his sword as Ruisenor finally let go of Jorge, tensing as the snake slithered toward them…then past. They turned as one to watch Ruisenor as she moved.

Corinos started to protest as she reared up and wrapped herself around Culebra, settling with her head on his shoulder.

“It’s all right,” Culebra said softly, one hand reaching out to pet Ruisenor. His other still clutched the too-beautiful rose. “She did it because he upset me, tried to hurt me…because in my eyes he has done things that are nearly unforgivable.”

“Scales and teeth,” Cortez said. “What is a Sentinel?”

Culebra shook his head. “I do not know…even now, to me Ruisenor is only a snake born of Schatten. She does not share much of her thoughts with me.” He moved forward, Ruisenor slithering off him and back to her shadowy corner, and knelt beside Jorge. Carefully he reached out a hand, finding after a moment Jorge’s injured arm, fingers staining red as he touched the wounds left by Ruisenor’s fangs. “I did not know she could poison; I thought she was the type to strangle her food.”

“She’s a Sentinel,” Jorge said with a sad laugh, not bothering to open his eyes, which had finally fallen completely shut. “They do as they please.”

“What are they?”

“Sentinels…” Jorge still did not open his eyes. “Sentinels are the shadow wyverns of Teufel. They guard his lands, killing all intruders and other potential threats. They stalk the land for hapless prey…yours…she’s only a baby.”

Corinos drew a breath, but kept silent – barely – as Jorge continued to speak.

“It was an adolescent which drove me up the mountain, to fall into the canyon. The young ones, their poison works slow…” He slowly opened his eyes, which were as drained of color as his face – pale lavender now, instead of the deep violet they had been before. “It will take me hours to die. Normally…she would simply eat me…they like their food still living.”

Culebra slowly trailed his fingers up to cup Jorge’s cheek. “What is your real name, child of Schatten?”

“Jurgen. I thought I’d escaped.”

“You did,” Culebra said sadly. “You just chose what he wanted anyway. Teufel knew you would, or arranged it that way. It will take a rare type of individual to defeat the Shadow of Licht.”

Jorge grimaced. “No one can defeat him. No one can even reach him. Like I said – your Sentinel is but a baby.” He gave a half-nod toward Ruisenor. “Close to childhood, but still a baby. Probably only thirty years old, not more than forty. The Great Sentinels…they are full grown, bodies as large as a small cottage, wing-spans three times that… They are at least 200 years old, the Great Sentinels. No one sees them up close and lives. Beyond them, in the center of the City, is the Holy Sentinel. It’s as old as the gods, some of the ancient texts say. To get to Teufel, you must get past the Thirteen Great Sentinels and the Holy Sentinel. It’s impossible.” He closed his eyes again, slumping against the wall, face twisted in pain as Ruisenor’s poison slowly destroyed his body.

“Back away,” Culebra said, turning around to address the rest of the room – including the group that had come with Jorge, all of whom were now awake and being updated by the two who had been conscious to see all that had recently occurred. “All of you. Get well away from me and do not look at me until I say!”

Corinos’s eyes widened. “Culebra…”

“Get away,” Corinos repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“As you wish,” Corinos said, and immediately turned away, motioning for the others to follow him to the other side of the room, as far from Culebra as they could get. “Do not look at him. Not even from the corner of your eye.”

One stray glance was all it would take. To catch any glimpse of Culebra’s eyes was fatal. “Culebra,” he said softly, signaling they were all ready.

Culebra nodded and reached up to unknot and slowly unwind the bandages wrapped around his head.

Corinos drew a sharp breath as he stared one moment longer to catch Culebra’s profile free of the bandages. Always, Culebra wore the wraps – and he only ever changed them when locked away alone in his room in complete darkness. Then he forced himself to look away, to look elsewhere as Culebra did what he had always feared.




“Zhar Ptitka is the most merciful of the gods,” Culebra said softly. “The god of rebirth sees all the past and future possibilities, and from that he manages a sympathy the rest of us cannot always summon. Though the Firebird is staunchly against meddling in the lives of our children, I sense he will make an exception for you, for your life has been manipulated unfairly since your conception – perhaps even well before that. In your next life, do not let despair lead you to such hateful things.”

As he finished speaking, Culebra slowly opened his eyes.

Jorge gasped, as if surprised, and stared wide-eyed back at Culebra.

Then he stilled.

“Corinos. Cortez. Fidel. Leave the room.” Culebra closed his eyes and slowly stood. “Do it now.”

Corinos started to protest, Culebra could sense it, but he heard a grunt instead and would have laughed, knowing from her softly spoken words that Cortez was all but dragging Corinos away. He waited until he heard their steps fade away to nothing, then waited several minutes more.

Then he crossed the room to where eight people waited in tense, unhappy silence. That they did not even attempt a protest spoke well of them – they knew they’d done something wrong, finally. Perhaps there was hope yet.

He held the stone rose tightly in one hand, it was sticky with his drying blood. Holding it put him as close to his power as he could get without surrendering to godhood entirely – he could still walk away, go back home, be nothing more than a cursed prince. So long as the rose was not destroyed.

“Your wrongs are great,” Culebra said levelly. “By all rights, I should open my eyes and be done with you. I think, though, that would be too easy. The Azul Mountains are stained with the blood you spilled. More than two hundred have died by your hands, for your zealotry. How many more have you killed? How many Lady Marcelas have suffered?”

“Traitor,” one man muttered, the words barely audible, flushed with the faintest hints of guilt.

Culebra’s mouth thinned into a grim line. “Even gods make great and terrible mistakes. If a god can earn forgiveness, then so too can our children. So I am going to give you that chance. Forgiveness, however, is a hard road to travel.”

Silence was the only reply, but Culebra could feel their fear, the misery and anxiety that was tormenting them, torturing them with thoughts of what exactly earning forgiveness entailed.

Culebra gripped the rose more tightly than ever, stopping just short of enough force to snap the stem in two. Fresh blood trickled from his fingers as they were pierced anew by the thorns. He held his free hand up, palm toward the assembled group.

They cried out in pain and shock, but almost immediately fell silent again.

He could not see them, but he knew what he had done.

Inked into each of their necks was a collar – a thick band of scales, and in the front a black rose in full bloom. “I am the god of death, and so have the ability to forestay it. This curse I lay upon you, who took lives that were not yours to take. From this day forth you shall not die, nor age a single day, until you find each soul whose life you stole and instead save it. Through however many reincarnations it takes, you will live until you manage to save the lives of those you killed. Only when each murder is thus paid for will you be allowed to reclaim your own lives.” He turned away to retrieve his bandages, disliking vehemently the feel of cool air against his eyelids. “Now go. Leave my temple and do not return until you have earned my forgiveness.”

Culebra listened tensely as they quickly left, scurrying out the main doors and running up the stairs as quickly as their feet and fear of the darkness would let them.

Leaving him alone.

Slowly Culebra sank to the floor, letting the rose fall to lie in his lap, freeing him of the overwhelming feel of the power that was locked within it…leaving him feeling more like himself, though he doubted he would ever feel much like that again.

He hugged himself, willing his trembling to cease, as the Basilisk in him faded enough that he was frightened of his own actions. What had he done?

All he wanted was to go home. Be with Corinos. He didn’t want to kill people and cast curses.

Why, then, had he done it so easily?

Culebra shook his head and forced himself to stand, fingers curling back around the rose, and retrieve the wrappings for his eyes.

Jorge’s body was already cooling, and some part of him could feel the soul already moving on, to Zhar Ptitka’s embrace, to wait until it was ready to be reborn.

He wanted nothing more than to throw away the wretched rose that was making him aware of all this. Setting it down, he picked up the discarded bandages and slowly set to smoothing them out, laying them flat, ensuring that when he began to wind them the result would not be a tangled, uneven mess.

His hand felt heavy, and somehow he’d completely forgotten that it was covered in blood. It was sticky, tacky. Culebra curled the hand into a fist and pressed it to his forehead, fighting for the composure he’d had only seconds before.

Why couldn’t he just be a prince? He’d given up his godhood…he didn’t want to remember why, just thinking of it made him sick. What was it he’d said only moments ago?

Even gods make great and terrible mistakes.

Licht. Himself…and one other…Culebra shuddered, forcing the knowledge away. He didn’t want to know.

He started to reach again for his bandages, then once again remembered his hand, covered in blood. Culebra froze, no longer certain what he should be doing. With his clean hand, he reached out to grasp the ends of the long wrap, but as things stood he could not cover his eyes alone.

That was always the problem, wasn’t it? He could not bear to go back to doing everything alone. No matter who surrounded him, his priests, his brothers scattered over the world…always he was down here in his temple alone.

No one wanted to be close to death; even his most devout worshippers, his most adoring children, had kept a distance. He had friends now…but that would change. Even Corinos…Culebra swallowed, finding it hard to breath, as he thought of the way Corinos would eventually want nothing to do with him.

Hadn’t that been what he’d always feared? That the one person he loved more than life, wanted more than even a chance to see, would eventually realize that loving a god of death was not worth it?

Precious few had been the lovers he’d taken, always hopeful he would find someone amongst the mortals as Tsunami had…someone adoring and loyal as Zhar Ptitka had found…a bond that nothing could break, such as the Faerie Queen shared with her Guardians…a devotion that stopped at nothing, as Teufel had once loved Licht….

No one could love death, not for long. Nor did anyone want to help. Culebra let go of his wrappings, let the rose roll to the floor as he buried his head in his hands.

Only one lover had he thought would last, and that one had turned into a betrayal…had turned into murder…had turned into suicide…

Culebra gripped his head tightly, willing away memories he had not wanted ever to resurface.

He did not want to be the Basilisk!

So caught up in his turmoil was he, Culebra did not realize the others had returned until a hand fell heavily upon his shoulder. He jumped, then buried his face in his hands. “Go away,” he said hoarsely. “I still need to cover my eyes…I don’t want…”

Corinos ignored him, as he always did, and forced Culebra to his feet. “Come, Highness. You need to get cleaned up, you’ve blood all over you…and I will wrap your eyes.” Rough, calloused hands gently cupped his face, and Culebra smelled coffee, a trace of sweet cigar, before Corinos’s mouth covered his.

How had he gone so long without kissing this man? Corinos tasted both bitter and sweet, a mingling of coffee, cigar, a hint of sugar. He was warm, and his arms made Culebra feel as though his worries were far away. He slid his hands up Corinos’s chest, feeling firm muscle beneath the rough fabric of his shirt, then slid his arms around Corinos’s neck, holding him close, wanting it to never end. This was all he wanted. He deepened the kiss, desperate to drive away all the doubts that wanted to take hold and ruin his brief happiness.

“Culebra,” Corinos said when they finally broke apart, his dark sugar voice rough, unsteady. “We should get you cleaned up.”

Culebra nodded, willing to go along with whatever kept his black thoughts at bay for a little longer. They would rest. In the morning…perhaps they could simply close the temple and leave…

“So this is the infamous Stone Rose?” Cortez asked, and Culebra whipped around as he heard her pick it up. “It truly is as beautiful as legend says.”

“Put it down!” Culebra bellowed. “Do not touch that cursed thing!”

Cortez snorted. “I won’t hurt it, Highness.”

“I hope not,” Culebra said. “You would not want the burdens that come with its destruction. Those that I already endure are hard enough. Put it down, Cortez.”

Fingers stroked gently through his hair, and Culebra allowed Corinos to tug him close again. “Culebra,” Corinos said softly. “Do not let it unsettle you so.”

Culebra buried his face against Corinos’s chest, desperate to drive away memories that refused to stay buried. “I do not want to go back to that. I am just a mortal now; why will no one leave me in peace?”

Hands soothed up and down his arm, but the normally warming gesture failed to comfort.

Cortez snorted. “You brood too much, Highness. You also need to learn to relax. No one is making you do anything. Though I will say it’s rather strange you’re so against this…I mean it’s one thing for us to panic at the thought…but you’re already mostly a god. Refusing to be one is sort of like me trying to say I’m not a woman or something – Fidel keep your mouth shut or you’ll be sleeping alone for a very long time. Now is not the time for your dumb jokes.”

“Yes, my darling.”

“I told you to keep your mouth shut.”

Culebra tried to laugh at their banter, but he could not even dredge up a smile. “Do you want to know why I no longer want to be a god? I’ll tell you. I will tell you what not even the other gods know. How I killed myself. After I killed Licht. After he betrayed me – with the help of another god.”