Free Flames of Awakening: Faemoch Cycle Book 1 by Michael Reynolds Page A

what had
happened. The witch had not given up on her torture; his body had given up on
trying. He died.
    Bergar wondered what the next step
would be. Would he see his father or uncle again? What about his mother and
little sister? Where would his soul spend the afterlife? He had feared and
respected the gods. Not a religious fanatic, but reverent nonetheless. But was
that enough? Would he live forever in the rolling fields of Glaochana? Or had
he failed in some way and would now spend forever cursed and tortured by
demons? Where was he? A place of judgment? Or was this his eternity, nothing at
all?
    As if in response to his questioning,
a light shone brightly from far above him. He noticed the clouds parting and
rays of sunshine spilling through. In the distance the white nothingness took
form and colored green. He made out trees and hillsides covered in verdant
grasses. The wilderness grew and opened toward him.
    Satisfied now that he had done well
in his life, the young warrior took a step forward.
    My faithful Bergar, son of Grundar,
son of Hundar. I welcome you. A clear, deep, manly voice came to him from everywhere at
once. You have done we...
    No, a female voice cut in. This one is mine. This was
my ritual and I have rights to the soul.
    He has been faithful to my ways, the man returned.
    Rules are rules though, the sultry female voice said.
    The growing forest and the warm,
welcoming light shrank back and faded, and Bergar's vision was filled with a
roiling black smoke. His eyes watered, and his lungs burned as he inhaled
noxious fumes. The stench of rot was sickening. Every pain that the witch inflicted
on him and more came screaming back. Bergar doubled over and fell to his knees
in excruciating agony.
    Glowing red eyes cut the black fog.
Walking slowly toward him, Bergar could see the smooth flowing curves of a
voluptuous woman. Not a displeasing woman, either, by the sight. Her skin was
ash gray, but not revolting. Her full lips accentuated her perfect face. Her
simple clothing covered just enough to keep to the barest of modesty, but not
so much as to really conceal anything. She walked right up to him, placed a
single finger between his shoulder blades, and pushed his face to the inky
ground.
    "This is the proper
position," she said aloud. "Do you know who I am, mortal?"
    "Carwyn, the Unworthy,"
Bergar referred to her by her derogatory name.
    Her finger nail broke through the
skin of his back and sliced a gaping hole from shoulder to shoulder.
    A guttural scream of pain exploded
from Bergar's mouth.
    "Carwyn, yes. Unworthy...?"
She laughed heartily. Her finger twitched with every heave of her chest as she
laughed.
    Sweat formed on Bergar's brow, and he
shuddered from the pain.
    She finally stopped laughing and
removed her finger from his back, much to Bergar's relief. "Foolish, weak
… thing. I am Carwyn, the Lost Bride. I am Carwyn, the Spurned. Carwyn, the
Cruel, I will even allow. But I am not Carwyn, the Unworthy. These are all but
names. Do you know who I am? What I am?"
    "Y... you are the Queen of the
Unnatural. You bring abominations into the world."
    "Precisely. But what you call
abomination, I merely call change. I am the Mistress of Change." She began
circling him as they talked, smoke coiling around her legs like a serpent on a
branch. "I ensure that the world remains interesting, and when it gets
boring, I correct it."
    "Heh. Interesting? All you do is
cause trouble. Those what follow you fear and hate you like everyone else.
'Cept they got the wrong amounts of fear and hate," the defiant Bergar
snarled at the goddess.
    "Silence will be maintained in
my domain," Carwyn demanded, and his lips were no more. His mouth fused
shut. Bergar was forced to breathe the loathsome air through his nose. The
stench was nearly unbearable.
    "Now, I have interceded because
my witch failed to do what she was told. Really, I am not irritated with her.
Don't misunderstand me. She must be punished for her utter failure,