Descent from the Highlands [Spoiler Season]

What strange things people can be taught to fear, Selene mused.

The witch put a swing into her stride, the discordant jangling of glass at her hip growing louder from her motions. Most of the bottles were empty of course, but thinking of the two carefully secured in deerskin at her sides made Selene hum with pleasure. Twenty feet ahead, a serving slave threw themself to the ground, head pressed against the stone brick of the floor. As Selene passed, she tapped one dark nail against the clear glass of her arsenal, a quiet clink amongst the noise of the busy outpost, almost lost among the echoing chanting and sound of reconstruction. The man at her feet whimpered.



“You really are a monster, aren’t you?”



The voice was a raspy whisper, a brush of soot against the cheek. Selene did not turn around, but inclined her head a few degrees and folded her hands carefully in front of her as she walked.



“Odallus, my friend, you wound me. I am but mortal of course. My slaves and I are separated only by opportunity and will. Had they the fortune of my past or the clarity of my vision, perhaps I would be the one scrubbing floors and feeding pigs.”



The smoky air around her chuckled, a vibration that sent a shiver through the hallway. A dark form coalesced by the witch’s side, matching her pace in a hazy mirror of her figure. A pair of dull blue eyes looked lazily ahead, the two women surveying the progress of the slaves. This outpost had been captured a few days earlier from the Wardens, and like many such prizes of war were now being converted into forward positions for the Order. Warden architecture was sturdy and defensible, but much would have to be changed before Selene was satisfied with her new base of operations. A group of women worked to sand a sigil of faith from the walls, a circle of dark blood scrawled around the protesting rune as it sputtered impotent radiance. Another contemplative moment passed before the demon responded.



“No, my dear Selene, you have passed the apex of mortal ambition. Each day that passes I grow more confident that you and your Order are the side to bet on. Lisman and the others can weave their plots, spider strands of blood and power, but you are the little mortal bug that never gets caught, aren’t you? A demon’s intuition is what you have, and a demon’s ambitions. You are our sister, Selene, despite the mortal frame that binds you. And I would see you succeed in your plans.”



The witch smiled. “Flattery is worth nothing to me, Odallus. If you wish to discuss something of importance, wait until we arrive.”



---



The entrance to Selene’s chamber was not grand. Two guards, armed with obsidian glass daggers and wearing darkly-painted deer skulls, bowed at her approach. She brushed aside the curtain, holding it for a moment for her incorporeal guest more for show than to allow entry. The dark interior was lit only by a handful of sputtering tallow candles, placed sparsely around the circular wooden room. An opening in the roof allowed the smoky air to circulate, mingling with the darker air of the Gloaming Woods. Glass jars, of numerous sizes and contents, lined the walls of the large hut, each carefully swaddled in deerskin and labelled. Odallus drifted forwards, tracing the outline of the gray stone circle that described the center of the room.



“So we have agreed, then. A life for a life. The inviolate rule.”



Selene allowed one corner of her mouth to tilt, a smile hidden behind her teeth. Twelve careful paces led her from the edge of the stone circle to its heart, her eyes tracing the nude figure on the slab before her. With one hand, she trailed her fingers down an arm, feeling the pulse of blood beneath the skin, the friction of dried sweat on her palm. Dark sigils twisted themselves across the man’s frame, wrapping around each limb and knotting into a pulsing core above his heart. His eyes watched the witch with rapture as she pulled the knife from its alcove in the stone.



“Odallus.”



At her word, the demon stepped into the circle. The hazy smoke of its form pushed against the boundaries of her magic, stripping away the demon to a dark blot of smog hovering above the head of the altar.



Selene’s smile eclipsed her restraint, a predator’s bite reflecting the dim candles. Her eyes blazed as she spoke one word.



“Mine.”



The demon’s form surged suddenly, dark tendrils lashing out towards Selene, but the knife flashed faster. A ring of cold blue magic encased the witch’s arm, and the shadow twisted away from the harsh light.



“WE HAD A DEAL, SELENE. YOU OVERSTEP YOUR PLACE.”



The dried black runes of the stones below began to hum, writhing like centipedes away from the earth and wrapping around the raging core of shadow. More and more lines of sharp text pulled tighter the noose, until two burning blue embers barely peeked out from a deep red sphere of blood magic. Selene approached the bound demon slowly, pouring more blue light into the shield around her.



“We did, Odallus. But you forgot something, something you yourself mentioned, something that betrayed your true opinion of me.”



Her other hand carefully placed the knife on the altar, the man giving a barely audible whine as the obsidian blade left her fingers. The leather thong of an empty glass bottle popped free, and Selene brought it level with her captive’s indignant eyes.



“I am a demon. And we keep only the deals that serve us.”



The cork came off with a whisper. The burnt red lines of magic twirled with rekindled power and Odallus screamed in incoherent rage as Selene reached out and deftly bottled the demon. Her other hand pushed the cold light of her magic into the glass, and with a final whimper silence returned to the hut. The witch carefully placed the now-dark bottle next to the two other full ones, grinned, and picked up the knife.