Saving The Dark Side Book 2: The Harbingers

by Joseph Paradis

  “Marvelous.” The word rolled off the tongue of Decreath’s priest. His voice was deeper, stronger. “A lover as well as a fighter. I’m sorry friend, by the looks of it we have the time for only one more. Megdalina will be done soon.” He glanced at Sorronis’s priest. She waved her arms over the nest, which rattled and glowed a dark raisin color. “Once she gets a whiff of that Passion there won’t be anything left for you. No, we’ll have to push this along.” He strode back to the table, hefting a heavy, rusted saw. “It’s crude, but sometimes the most beautiful solution is the simplest one.”

  “Leave his giblets!” Grotton’s priest bellowed. “I’ll need those if I’m taking him for Domina!”

  Decreath’s priest cast an appraising glance over Cole’s midsection. He smirked, then brought the saw to the side of Cole’s stomach, its ragged teeth catching and pricking.

  It was now or never. The miniscule part of himself that hid in his center had been hard at work, scouring over every aspect of magic that might help in the slightest. Wisdom and Rage were of no use. He was out of time, out of ideas. In a final act of desperation he aligned his Passion with a memory, hoping he could trick himself into working the magic into the priests.

  “Keep walking, Joshy,” Cole whispered.

  Decreath’s priest faltered, confused. Then, his face lit with alarm as lavender light flooded from Cole, filling the entire chamber. Cole’s feet left the ground as tears chased each other down his cheeks, glinting like diamonds. The tears rushed down his chin, flaring in blinding white light before swirling off. The sparkling magic rained over the two priests like a hail of starfire. As soon as the Passion appeared, it vanished, leaving the chamber in flickering torchlight.

  Both priests frowned, clutching their chests. Grotton’s priest looked over his vast belly, taking inventory of his faculties. Giving his stomach a pat, he nodded as the worry fell from his face. His eyes met Decreath’s priest, who was similarly elated.

  “You know, I think there might be some merit to the lover’s art.” Grotton’s priest jumped to his feet, stretching and flexing. “I feel ripe as a Pastori sunrise!”

  Decreath’s priest let out a reassured chuckle. “My word, that was a powerful bit of magic. My thanks, lover-warrior. That was delightful, but don’t think your gift changed your fate. There are more fruits to pluck from your gardens.” He lifted the rusty saw, deadly intent etched upon his face.

  Cole panted, Fear replacing the warm light of his Passion. Had it worked? He was sure it had, but why were they still standing? He groped through his mind, searching for his center. It was gone.

  Baring a savage grin, the Priest of Fear slapped the saw to Cole’s naked skin once more, sending a thousand rusty lightning bolts into Cole’s side. The priest gritted his teeth and pushed, cutting a jagged trench into Cole’s oblique. Cole held his breath, biting so hard that a tooth cracked in his mouth.

  The saw fell to the ground with a wonking clang. Decreath’s priest shuffled sideways, clinging to a hanging body to support himself.

  The paralyzing Fear lifted from Cole’s body and mind. Regaining control of his body, he took a step back and shook the remnants of Fear from him. Gasping, he replenished himself to his center before they could attack again.

  “I…I feel so…famished.” Decreath’s priest slid down the hanging body, panting as though he’d just sprinted a mile. “Why am I shaking so?” His eyes went out of focus as he fell to his back, chest rising and falling in shallow hics.

  Grotton’s priest waddled to his comrade, squatting low and running fat fingers all over him. The back of the fat priest’s neck had as many chins as the front. “What in Grotton’s graces did you do to him? Answer me, worm!”

  Cole grimaced, brushing lavender light over his wounds. His skin shimmered as his Wisdom returned. He glared at the fat man. “Passion. A healing spell used to quicken the body. Helps with sickness. You’re too fat though, so it’ll take longer to kill you.”

  “Healing spell? Then why’s he doing the death rattle?” he said, a slight tremble sneaking into his words. “To hell with it, I’ll rip the knowledge from you when I take you for Domina!”

  Grotton’s priest sprung from the ground and charged with astonishing speed, pulling a fine white blade from his robes. A hanging body snapped free of its bonds, glowing with a dull emerald light as it collided with the priest, sending his hulking mass careening into a vat of the unrefined odium. The barrel split in half, soaking the priest in sticky pink liquid.

  Resisting the urge to free his Rage, Cole called his Wisdom once more. He thanked Deekus under his breath before casting the spell.

  Spitting mad, the priest clambered to his feet, wiping the odium from his eyes. “I’ll have you boy! Let’s see you trick your way out of this!” His hands dripped with magenta light as his blade stretched itself into a long, snaking whip. With Hunger in his eyes, he raised the ribbon blade, ready to strike. The priest set back a foot, which slipped on a puddle of frozen odium that had not been there a moment ago.

  He regained his balance, giving Cole a murderous glare. “Ah, Wisdom. Your magics will see better use in my hands. A puddle of ice though, tut tut. Maybe I shouldn’t take one so stupid for Domina.” He shook his head, odium jiggling down his chins as he cracked his bladed whip.

  Cole rolled the sickle tool in his hand, which was now glowed white hot with the heat he pulled from the floor. Without a word, he tossed the hunk of molten metal to the priest, who tried catching it and dodging it at the same time. The hissing tool struck the odium-soaked gut of the priest, igniting him.

  The fire spread slowly, creeping over the front of the priest in curious fingers. The priest dropped his whip, slapping his chest and stomach, igniting his hands. Panic stretched his features as he waved his hands, fanning the flames into a steady blaze that licked up over his chins. Gasping, he broke into a charge, heading straight for Cole.

  The man was remarkably fast for one so large. With his Wisdom unhindered, Cole lightened himself and darted to the side. The priest blew past, rounding on Cole and charging again. This time his movements were labored and clumsy. He slowed midstride, unaware of the flames that now crackled over his round cheeks. His breathing took on a ragged, desperate pattern, gradually thinning into shallow hics. The Passion had taken its toll at last, multiplying the man’s metabolism by magnitudes. Grotton’s priest teetered on his feet before falling face-first to the ground, sizzling and burning like a massive torch.

  Cole waited for the priest’s breathing to cease altogether before allowing himself a steadying breath. The smell of burning flesh mixed with the other rank odors of the room, bringing hot bile up into Cole’s mouth. Shaking, he rounded on Sorronis’s priest and the grisly scene splayed out before her. The headless bodies covered the bone nest in a morbid embrace. Cole pushed through his revulsion, ignoring his instincts to flee from the temple and run to the farthest reaches of Aeneria. He was grateful that sleep was no longer a part of his life, as the nightmares before him would haunt him to the end of his days.

  Sorronis’s priest rose to her feet, now steady and coherent. She turned, the dreamy smile falling from her as she beheld Cole. She opened her mouth to speak, possibly to beg and bargain for her life.

  Before she could utter a word, Cole plunged his munisica through her chest, feeling her heart and spine give way under his ebony blades. Seething Hatred erupted from the light that faded from her eyes, fueling Cole’s Rage. He knew he shouldn’t, but he clung to her Hatred, leaning on it like an addict tugging on his vice. The Hatred dulled his emotions, dimmed his awareness of the atrocities around him. Taking a final pull, he threw her corpse into the blazing pyre that was Grotton’s priest.

  Cole felt the shroud crawling over his skin. Rage blended with Hatred, hardening him into a potent, single-minded weapon. He looked around the chamber billowing with acrid smoke. Cole Hated this place. He Hated the priests. He even Hated the victims. They were too stupid, too weak to embrace other magics that mig
ht have saved their lives. They deserved their fate.

  Considering how best to destroy the temple, Cole set his eyes upon the headless bodies clinging to the bone nest. Their stomachs kicked and squirmed like a pregnant mother’s. The babies inside had been chosen by the priest, and like the other unliving corpses about the chamber, they could never die. Not unless someone skilled in Passion freed them of Sorronis’s taint.

  Both the Hatred and Rage melted from Cole, leaving him with a sick, unwholesome pit in his stomach. His Passion filled the pit, soothing and erasing the Hatred. There was no place for such evil in his heart.

  Tears streamed from Cole’s eyes as he approached each of the bodies on the nest, casting the necessary Passion to erase their tortured minds. The cadavers and their tiny passengers ceased their thrashing as their suffering could no longer fuel the evil magic. Sobbing, Cole freed the rest of the victims, granting them solace in a true death. After the final victim had been freed, Cole shook the tears from his cheeks and stormed over to the vats of odium, kicking them towards the growing bonfire in the center of the chamber. As he heaved the final barrel, he noticed something very odd behind it.

  A baby, sound and whole, slept in a thick bundle of burlap rags. Its cheeks were flush with life and a shock of ginger hair poked out of its perfect little head.

  Cole scooped the babe into his arms, casting a filtering spell around them both to keep the smog out. The child opened its almond eyes and shook him with the purity of her innocence.

  • • • •

  “Hey! Is there anybody home? Open up! It’s an emergency!” Cole was back in The Sill, standing outside what he hoped was a healer’s house. Cole hammered the door again. Above him, the embedded Passion stone flickered and threatened to fall from its perch. “Open your door or I’m going to break it!”

  An offended shout accompanied a clatter of pans from inside the home. Cole sighed with relief, checking the baby tucked under his arm. She was still fast asleep.

  “Hurry!” Cole hollered. Again he clubbed the door, which now had a series of knuckle-shaped dents.

  “I told you to wait a blasted moment!” cried a wispy male voice.

  The door rippled and the head of an old man popped through its middle, nudging into Cole’s chest. Cole stepped back as a pair of glasses fell to the wicker door mat. A narrow set of shoulders and nearly naked body followed as an old man hobbled out to retrieve the glasses. He was bald and lean and covered from neck to ankle in tattoos. One hand gripped a small towel preserving his modesty.

  Adjusting his spectacles, he blinked rapidly at Cole as though he could only view the world through snapshots. His raspy voice sounded as if his vocal cords were made from sandpaper. “What on Oberon’s backside are you doing, lad? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “I’m sorry sir, it’s an emergency.” Cole gently moved the girl into his view. “Are you a healer?”

  “You’re Chiron’s boy, the human creature aren’t you?” the old man asked. “Go find your Master, lad, he’s the best healer on Aeneria.”

  “Chiron’s not back yet. Please…” he pleaded, holding the girl out for the man to see.

  “What am I supposed to do with that then?” he asked.

  Cole nudged the girl closer. “Please, just take a look at her. I found her in Brimhallow village. The entire town was slaughtered. A priestess of Sorronis had her.”

  At the mention of Sorronis, the old man’s face turned to wrinkled stone. “Get her in here,” he wheezed before disappearing through the door.

  Cole followed. Once inside, he was assaulted by a torrent of perfumes and earthy fragrances. The old man was nowhere to be found. Fluffy furniture occupied the first floor of the home, though none of it looked set up for hosting as nearly every surface was covered in clutter. Dusty books were stacked high on the seat of an armchair, and the dining table was covered in clay pottery. A warm fire of acid green and turquoise flames danced from a basin set in the center of the room while Passion stones of every size lined the walls. With a wheezy groan, the old man trudged up from a staircase in the back of the room. He was garbed in a massive fur gown, despite the stifling temperature of the room. How he didn’t sweat to death in such an outfit was beyond Cole.

  Darting to a tall oak cabinet, the old man threw the doors open, revealing rows upon rows of potions, powders, and countless drawers. He pulled a bottle of clear solution from a lower shelf and squirted it over his hands, briskly rubbing them together as a cloud of steam erupted from his palms.

  Clapping his hands, he rolled his sleeves and gestured towards the tub of dancing flames. “All right then, place her in the fire.”

  “Put her in the fire?!” Cole withdrew the baby and took a step back.

  The old man waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not that kind of fire. Now do as I say or let me get back to my sleep.”

  Frowning, Cole approached the basin, running his fingers through the odd fire. The flames were warm, but not hot. They were tangible, wrapping and supporting Cole’s hand, caressing it. Scabbed cuts on his palms tickled pleasantly as the wounds erased themselves. Reassured, he placed the girl in the fire. The flames converged on her, removing her bundle and revealing a chubby, dreaming baby beneath.

  The old man gave Cole a swift elbow and hovered over the girl, dancing his glowing fingers above her as if playing an invisible piano.

  “What’s your name?” Cole asked, rubbing his ribs.

  “Naythan. Now be quiet.” He wheezed.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you.” Cole clamped his mouth shut.

  Naythan gave a derisive chuckle. “You couldn’t distract me if you tried. Annoying me is what you’re doing. You’ve a voice like a screech hawk, and I’m still miffed about being pulled out of bed.” He poked the girl in the belly button, which blared with a pink shimmer like a jewel. She woke with a kick and a coo. “Pulled me out of bed for nothing, I should say. There’s not a thing wrong with the babe. Where’d you say you got her from?”

  “Brimhallow,” Cole replied. “The Three sacked the town. She was the only survivor.”

  In a fluid, practiced motion Naythan scooped and wrapped the girl with a fresh swath of golden silk. “How’d you get her here?”

  “I ran,” Cole stated.

  Naythan’s eyes inventoried Cole’s bare chest and feet, which were riddled with travel filth and numerous cuts and bruises. He smacked his lips and set the squirming girl on a puffy pillow. “Looks like you ran through hell on the way. Did you meddle with the girl’s mind or was it Sorronis’s witch?”

  “I’m not sure what they did to her, but I sifted through her memories and took just about everything into my own mind.” Cole looked around the room for something to vomit in. The girl only had a couple months’ worth of memories, but they were enough to curdle his stomach.

  Naythan mashed his lips together and gave Cole an inquisitive frown. “I’d say you had no right, that you just committed an act of moral thievery on an innocent, defenseless child. I’d say that you ought to be put to death for it. I’d say those things, but I trust that as a disciple of Chiron you had good reason.”

  Confused, Cole looked the old man square in the eye. “Explain.”

  Sighing, Naythan set a finger on the girl’s brow. “Removing memories is not something you do with a young mind. She wasn’t ready, and you did a poor job. The babe’s developmental progress will be handicapped for the rest of her life. To put a blunt point to it, she will be intellectually retarded, but I trust you knew that as well.”

  The blood drained from Cole’s face. He threw a hand out, grasping the back of a chair to stop the room from spinning. He had no idea. “I, I can put them back! I have to.” Even as he said it, he knew it was impossible. He hadn’t the skill.

  “Boy, look at me.” Naythan poked Cole in the stomach and glared up at him. “I know what Sorronis’s priests are capable of. I know what they do with angels like this one here. She’s better off without those memories. Wh
at she would have become if they festered inside… well, she would have given Sorronis another priestess, that much is certain. You gave her a clean start.”

  Cole bit his lip, looking at the girl through watery eyes. Her pouted lips and winged brows gave her a regal countenance, like a tiny queen. She was asleep again, but what could she be dreaming of? Her only memories would be of several hours of trudging through the woods. Cole hoped that bird song played in her little bean ears. He imagined starlight twinkling behind her silken eyelids. The feather of ginger hair that fell over her brow was the same color as Joshy’s. He tried imagining her growing older. If she ever developed a capacity for Hatred, she would Hate Cole with all her heart. He’d condemned her to a limited life, just like Joshy’s.

  “Will you take her?” Cole asked.

  Naythan coughed, wrestling a choking fit in his wheezy throat. “What, you’re just gonna dump her on me? She’s your bastard-shame, not mine!”

  “I’ll pay you,” Cole said.

  Naythan crossed his arms. “Listen to me, lad, unless you somehow plan to pay me with three cycles worth of time, then I’d say you’re stuck with her. You’ve already taken a night’s sleep from me, I won’t lose another-” His words fell unfinished as every Passion stone in the room blazed to life.

  Cole took his hand from the gratia stone above the doorframe. “Naythan, I’m not asking this of you to shirk my responsibility to this child. I intend to care for her the best I can, when I can. But I am a Warrior of The Sill. If I don’t help in the war then everyone, including her, will suffer a fate we can’t even imagine.” Cole paused, wondering if he should trust the tattooed old hermit. “Aeneria needs me. Everything I’ve got. Part of Varka lives within me and I’m our only hope in defeating The Three.”

  To emphasize his point, Cole let his Rage off its leash. The shroud snapped fully over him as his munisica sprang to life, raising him several inches taller. His bladed hair scratched the ceiling as he brought his black eyes down to Naythan. “I need your help, Naythan. Aeneria needs your help.”