Dark Storm (Dark #23)(99)
Author: Christine Feehan

Horrified, Riley turned her face into Dax’s chest.

I’m taking you out of here. Riordan and I can return and …

No! I see what he’s doing. Don’t you? He really does believe I’m Arabejila. Riley understood Mitro now. Arabejila was all good. She couldn’t conceive of this kind of twisted evil. He knew that. He counts on that. Determination stiffened her spine. Mitro had made one huge error.

I don’t see how knowing that is going to help. Mitro can’t possibly know we’re here.

No, not yet, but he created this for Arabejila. To shock her. To hurt her. He believes she couldn’t face such an abomination of nature. He wanted to use the very thing that is such a part of her to hurt her. This is his slap in the face to her, and at the same time, he believes she would be unable to function in the face of such an atrocity.

She probably couldn’t. Not right away. But she’d recover.

Riley’s head went up. She turned to face the twisted vines. His mistake is, Dax, I’m not Arabejila. I’m not all good. Arabejila and the others gave me a gift and a power he has no concept of. I can take back this ground. Consecrate it. He won’t be able to penetrate below this room or use the walls. He’ll have only the ceiling, and you and Riordan can keep him from that.

Dax studied her upturned face, the orange and red flames burning bright. His skin was hot against hers as if the volcano in him was very close to the surface. He slowly nodded his head.

Riley had never been more relieved-or more scared. She knew this was her purpose, her moment. The women in her family had prepared her for this and she felt ready, but confronted with such evil, she had to admit, the prospect was daunting if not downright terrifying.

Dax set her on the floor of the club. The crowd was already going back to their mindless dancing or drinking and doing drugs. No one paid attention to three more people dressed the same. Riordan and Dax didn’t use a shield, which might attract the attention of the shadow of Mitro in Pietra, rather they simply blurred their images a bit, and looked much younger to blend in.

If Mitro returns, Riley, he’ll know you’re here. Hurry and do whatever you’re going to do right now if you’ve made up your mind.

Riley sank to the floor and, refusing to let her nerves get the better of her, plunged her hands into the soil. There was an edge to Dax now. He’d gone from lover to warrior and she had no doubt that at the first sign of Mitro returning, if she wasn’t ready, he’d take her out of there without consulting her. He was lethal, capable of exploding into violence instantly.

The soil cried out to her for aid, thick with the oily sludge of the abomination of the undead. Riley summoned every healing skill given to her by the women who had gone before. They were there, whispering to her, guiding her through the cleansing ceremony. The ground was leeched of every mineral and nutrient. The only way for the plants to survive was the twisted feeding of the mutated taproots Mitro had provided. Even the insects had fled.

Riley closed her eyes and blocked out the chaotic music and the strange buzz as the crowd danced, marionettes performing for the puppet master pulling their strings, living and dying at his whim. She went deep, searching, calling, drawing … Past the terrible stench of the undead’s resting place. The ground was soaked in blood and rotting corpses. Human bones were scattered throughout layers of soil.

For a moment her stomach lurched and she nearly pulled her hands from the soil. This job was impossible. The ground had been turned into a bed of evil. The heartbeat of the earth had been silenced, as if Mitro had managed to reach into the very core and destroy that as well.

I’m right here with you, Dax whispered into her mind. You can do this. Think of it as a cemetery and these people need to be properly laid to rest.

I am with you, the Old One added. Their souls cry out for aid.

My beloved child, Annabel murmured softly. They are caught between. Only you can bring them peace.

The voices of the women who had gone before her added their assurances.

Strength poured into her. It wasn’t an impossible task to heal the earth. She was born for that purpose. She couldn’t allow those Mitro had killed in such a barbaric way to never find rest because of the oily, slimy, disgusting ooze he’d created there in the soil.

Riley had to destroy the malevolent taproots, mutated and rotting with evil. She reached downward, toward the very core of the earth. I call on the power of the molten light, lend me your might for that which needs to be done, I draw forth your energy to wield and destroy that which is evil and is used as a ploy.

Riley stretched her hand downward toward the oldest taproot, channeling the molten light she had drawn from the heart of the earth, using it as she would a laser to cut into the root. Mother Earth I call to you. I seek a gift deep from within your womb. Gift me a stone that I may use it to destroy that which is evil while also releasing these souls, sending them back into a place of peaceful rest.

Riley sank her free hand deep within the rotting, soil bringing forth a jade-green stone that the earth had harvested for her to use in her fight. Chrysoprase, green in color, cool and smooth, a strong stone used to make conscious what is unconscious while lending Riley its vibrational qualities to tranquilize the evil that was fighting her to live. Riley infused the energy of the light deep into the chrysoprase, channeling it into each taproot. I combine thee light and jade-green stone destroy these roots that hold to bone, release these spirits so they may rest, give them peace and clear that which is left.

Riley’s hands began to weave a pattern using the remaining healthy roots one knot at a time. A pattern began to emerge. The pattern had to be tight, unable to be penetrated or broken. Hands that hold divine light twist these vines hold them tight. Riley worked the vines into an intricate series of woven knots and then sank them deep down into the soil. Mother Earth hold this tight. I weave these vines to sustain your might. I gift you back what you have born to hold your shape, to sustain your form. Mother who bore us, mother of might, I weave this gift to sustain your life.

The roots responded to her commands, shooting out hundreds, no thousands of long, thin, very strong secondary roots. From those secondary roots a third and fourth system burst forth. The individual strands began to twist into braids, over and over, spreading through the ground until the mat was a foot thick, two feet thick and building fast, growing in depth, always growing. Fed by the rich loam, driven by Riley’s command, the roots kept spreading, weaving themselves together, an impenetrable jungle of fibrous growth just below the surface and going down hundreds of feet.

Exhausted, Riley swayed. She was dizzy, disoriented and she still had to do the same thing to the walls of the room. She felt Dax’s arms, so strong, offering her shelter. His skin was so hot, burning against her cheek. She turned her head and nuzzled the heat and fire and defined muscles that were so synonymous with him. His fingers massaging her scalp and neck eased some of the tension.