She grabbed the hilt and slowly unsheathed her sword, pacing around her prey like a hungry lioness.
“What’s that old saying? Ah, yes, to kill two birds with one stone.”
Suddenly, the look in her eyes changed and she rammed her sword through Gabriel’s heart.
The wind picked up, bleeding dozens of vibrant colorful streaks, before swallowing them up.
***
The wind died, bringing Michelle and the Cloaked Man back deep into the Sacred Forest—right back where they started.
“Did you guys have a nice trip?” Joy asked, grinning a jester’s smile at Michelle as he leaned on the tree she had last pinned him against.
She ignored him and turned her attention to the Cloaked Man. “What do you hope to get out of this?”
“The same as you—the fall of the gods. And vengeance for those they’ve sinned against.”
She nodded. “Show me the way to my target.”
“Gladly,” said the Cloaked Man. He extended his hand and the trees before him bent back, peeling away to reveal an open path. The bushes along path ignited into flames, lighting her way like hundreds of torches. “But you cannot hope to defeat a god as you are now.”
Michelle scowled. “Watch me.”
“I admire your bravery but the gods command the very elements of nature.” He slid a glowing red arrow out from behind his cloak. “This will even the odds.”
She took the arrow and examined it. “I already have plenty of arrows,” she said, unimpressed.
“This one is special—I assure you. It has my power within it. And it will seal the god’s power once it pierces his flesh.”
Michelle placed the arrow in her quiver. “What is your name, stranger? That I may thank you properly.”
The Cloaked Man peeled back his hood, exposing his skull mask. “I no longer have a name. I am merely an emotion. The same emotion that pumps through your veins.”
She turned from him and headed toward the path.
“And one more thing, Queen of Tuat.”
She glanced back.
“I would hurry. He has your friend, Sharon.”
Joy let out a horrid laugh.
Michelle put on her helmet, fastened Solomon’s golden mask over her face, and sprinted off down the path.
Joy’s laughter died. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be,” said the Cloaked Man.
“But you’ve managed to orchestrate everything perfectly. Just as planned. Assuming you’ve already had your chat with the lizard and the dragon.”
“Of course.”
“Then in a matter of hours, the gods of Tuat will be at each other’s throats,” said Joy. “And when the dust settles… everyone who has awakened their dreaming eye will be dead. Then there will be no one left to challenge your hold on the Undead Bride. Truly an impressive show of manipulation.”
“What are you talking about?” asked the Cloaked Man, glancing his way. “I didn’t manipulate anyone. I merely showed my pawns what they wanted and the pieces moved according to their natures. The board was already set when I arrived. All I had to do was give them a little nudge in the right direction.”
“That just leaves Simon.” The wind swirled around Joy’s feet, lifting him a few inches off the ground.
“I will take care of Simon personally. Now go follow my queen and retrieve my most valuable piece.”
“You never did say why Sharon was so important to you,” Joy pried. “Why all the fuss over some ordinary girl?”
The Cloaked Man’s astral projection faded. “Because, Joy, she is my destination.”
***
Sharon trailed after Sofiel, heading down the path from the cave. “What happened to Simon?”
“He chose a very different path from me,” said Sofiel, her gaze still focused ahead. “But that’s enough talk for today. You should get some sleep. We can pick up where we left off in the morning.”
“Hold on. There’s more you’re not telling me. What about the man in my dreams? The man with the skull mask. He said he was the original Emo-sha.”
Sofiel stopped dead in her tracks and turned to Sharon, hesitating to give an answer.
“What’s an Emo-sha?”
Sofiel gathered herself, inhaling and exhaling a deep breath of air. “The true purpose of a Mirror Guardian is to guide and assist all those on the path to enlightenment. The Emo-shas are forever barred from this journey. They are slaves to their emotions, blinded from the true path.” She wrapped her fingers around her blue crystal. Light poured out from the cracks between her fingers as if she was grasping the very heart of the universe. “By trapping your soul into its crystal form, you gain access to its power through your mind. But this method comes at a high risk. Extreme emotion can dilute the purity and change the color of your soul’s energy—permanently.”
Sharon’s thoughts fell to Joy. You mean like Jeff, the boy who only smiles. “In other words, you get stuck in one emotion, like a skipping record playing the same note over and over again, endlessly.”
Sofiel nodded.
“Joy said his name was some kind of title and he was proud of it too. I can’t imagine someone would willingly want that to happen to them. Then again, I guess that depends on the emotion.” Who wouldn’t want to be happy forever? An eternal high. Maybe that’s the real truth to it. If emotions are like drugs then the Emo-shas are addicts, constantly searching for the next fix, the greater rush. She was starting to understand her enemy. But that understanding led her to another question. “What’s the man from my dream’s title?”
Sofiel stared off into the star-infused night sky. “It has been said it only takes one tragedy to turn a man from a saint to a devil.” The moon was full, basking her with bright moonlight, her long silver hair glistening with a quiet majestic beauty. “Rage had such a tragedy.”
CHAPTER 26
God and the Worm
CHARLOTTE LAID HER HEAD back against her pillow, still riding a wave of euphoria. She rolled over to Eric and wrapped her arms around his waist.
Eric slept peacefully.
She smiled at her lover, taking in his rhythmic breaths, the warm intoxicating scent from his sweat. His two crystals rested upon his bare chest, reflecting dancing moonlight on the bedroom ceiling.
The delicate chirps and chimes of the music box played and the tiny porcelain ballerina spun in tune. The music died and the ballerina stopped. Charlotte twisted the silver key and the music box resumed its song. She placed the music box back on the dresser next to her and her gaze fell to the foot of the bed where Eric’s coat rested.
A piece of paper stuck out of the pocket. She slid it out and unfolded it. Strange symbols graced the face of the odd paper. She glided her fingertips over the grooves and etches of the ritual page.
A faint sound stole her gaze from the page. She grew still and silent, waiting for the sound to return. And it did. The sobbing of a little girl.
Charlotte stuffed the ritual page into her nightgown’s pocket and glanced back at her husband. She hesitated to wake him. He looked so peaceful. She decided against it. She got out of bed, put on her slippers, and stepped out the door to investigate.
***
Charlotte tiptoed down the dark mansion hallway, the crying growing louder with each step. She felt the way forward, gliding her fingers across the wallpaper until she found what she was searching for, a mounted candle. She removed the candle and lit it with a match.
She reached the ballroom balcony.
The crying was even louder now. She was close to the source.
“Hello?” Her breath was visible, escaping her lips in a stream of white. She huddled herself around the tiny candle as she walked. “Ashley, is that you?”
It had to be her little sister, Charlotte was sure of it. Ashley was the only child she remembered seeing at the wedding, the only child she remembered seeing in a long time. The endless winter had taken its toll on the youngest most of all.
She peere
d over the balcony ledge. “Why are you crying? Did you have a bad spill? Are you all right?”
Below there was nothing but black.
She raised the candle over the balcony ledge. Her expression changed as she did—becoming unnaturally still.
Down below, well-dressed bodies sat at the dining table—frozen in place. Their faces shriveled to blackened skeleton grimaces and gasps of silent horror.
Charlotte’s fingers rose over her quivering lips. Her focus moved to a small body in a flower dress. The little girl’s blackened hand still clutching a toy butterfly—Ashley’s butterfly.
She let out a bone-chilling scream and collapsed to the floor.
***
Eric shot up in bed—Charlotte’s scream still ringing in his ears. He grabbed his coat and bolted out the room and down the hallway, stopping at the entrance of the ballroom balcony as he spotted Charlotte on the floor.
She lay motionless but breathing.
Did she pass out?
Oddly, instead of rushing to his wife, Eric just stood there, taking in the cold air. He made calculated steps toward the balcony ledge, stepping over her body and peering down at the grotesque corpses. His expression eerily calm and detached. He had been waiting for this moment.
So, at last, you’ve come…
The cries of a little girl drew his attention to the center of the room. He remained emotionless as he let out a puff of cold breath.
The source, a woman draped in an old weathered wedding dress. The moonlight passed through the woman like she was nothing more than an afterimage... or a ghost. A veil concealed her face, hugging her skintight, revealing facial features more skeletal than flesh.
Eric observed her as if she was a caged animal. “You’re so predictable. I knew you’d come. It’s always the same. When I’m at my happiest you make an appearance, to spread your misery and sorrow.”
The woman in the weathered wedding dress made no gesture in response to Eric’s words. Still, she continued to cry. Endless tears streamed down her veil and onto the floor where they froze to ice.
“But you’re mistaken this time,” he said, glimpsing a peek at the blackened corpses half-heartedly. “I don’t care about them. Never have. They were just the bait to get you here, my undead bride. You see, I’ve had time to think. A lot of time. Time enough to devise a way to kill you.” He snapped his fingers and a red ring ignited on the floor around the Undead Bride.
Red light filled the room. The ring acted like a gravitational force, pulling the Undead Bride to the ground, sending her collapsing under her own weight.
Eric snapped his fingers again.
Dozens of small blue rings flared up on the walls of the ballroom, sending lightning thundering down upon the Undead Bride. The bolts of lightning entangled her in a spider’s web made of strands of blue light.
“Don’t bother struggling,” said Eric. “It’s similar to a dream catcher, only instead of bad dreams it’s been modified to catch you. My personal nightmare. So, relax and take a seat, for I wouldn’t want you to miss my final act of the evening.”
Eric clapped his hands and a small—soccer-ball-sized—red sphere floated into the room and continued over and past his shoulder. “I scoured the seven worlds for any magic and science that might give me the edge. And I promise you. I wasn’t disappointed in what I found.”
The red sphere wore a cute exaggerated kitten’s face as it meowed and purred. It hovered above the Undead Bride, giving birth to a litter of smaller spheres with identical kitten faces. They circled her, positioned themselves, and released red beams of light. The lasers connected, forming a box-grid force field around her. She was pulled to the center of the box and suspended there above the floor. A fly caught in a spider’s trap.
“With the various magical research and technologies I have stolen over the past three centuries, my knowledge has far surpassed any mortal man. I’ve seen the seven worlds change with the march of time. And I’ve changed with them. That boy’s magic is obsolete now. But mine is cutting edge.” Eric pulled a knife from his jacket pocket and ran the blade along his palm, drawing fresh blood. He knelt down and drew a bloody circle on the floor. “He couldn’t kill his sin. He was just a child. But I...” He rose to his feet. “I transcended those limitations long ago. I shed this mortal coil and became something else entirely.” He put on his skull mask. “A god of death.”
The Undead Bride gave no objection.
“I cannot die. I will never die. For death has no hold over me. On the contrary, death answers to me… for I alone am its master.”
She remained silent, dead silent.
“You don’t believe me, do you? Then I’ll just have to show you, won’t I?” He raised his bloody hand over his head and took aim. “Behold, my command over death itself. I will send you back to the depths of hell where you were spawned, monster!”
Suddenly, the screens on the kitty-faced spheres flashed red X’s and the force field died.
Eric froze in place. What? Did they malfunction? Time slowed as his mind raced for an answer. But I’ve never had any problems with them before… No, the timing is too perfect. Then the realization hit him. Sabotage. And the only suspect, the last person who handled the robots… Mr. Glasses!
In a moment of absolute panic, he plunged his hand toward the bloody circle, but it was already too late.
The Undead Bride’s teeth pulled against her veil as she lowered her jaw to speak. But no words came. Only an earth-shattering shriek.
Eric cupped his ears in pain as blood trickled down from them. His balance faltered and he fell to his knees.
The red spheres malfunctioned all at once, their faces going black and cracking the way of egg shells. They dropped to the floor and smashed into a thousand icy pieces.
The Undead Bride levitated off the ground, rising to the ceiling and ripping through the dream catcher. The circles shattered along with the tiles and brick they were painted on. Lightning flashed in with a blinding intensity. Violent wind ripped through the ballroom. All the stain glass windows erupted in unison and sprayed colorful shards everywhere. Sorrowful wails, like a chorus of tortured women, echoed out and filled the air.
Eric gazed up at his sin in sheer horror. The courage and arrogance that had taken him centuries to build broke down, like a dam bursting at the seams the fear came flooding in with unstoppable crashing waves.
“I am a god,” he shouted at the raging storm, at his sin. “You hear me, monster? I will never die. Never!”
What came next chilled him to the bone.
The Undead Bride’s screams formed into words. No, one word. One horrible, evil, vile word. “Worm.” Screamed over and over again as she circled the air, dancing the dance of the possessed. “Worm, worm, worm.”
He tried to quell the uncontrollable trembling of his knees to stand. But he could not will them still. Death was looming above him and even his self-delusions could not help him now. For the first time since that night at Able’s cabin, he was pissing himself with fear. It was as if he was a trainer who had grown accustomed to seeing lions locked behind cages and lost the fear of them to find—to his utter horror—that someone forgot to lock the gate tonight. And the lion was stepping through, lurching for him with hungry cat eyes.
The Undead Bride descended upon him like an owl on a mouse in the wicked moonlight, talons spread open, boney fingers reaching.
He drew his musket and fired.
The iron ball passed through her ghostly figure as if he was shooting his own reflection in a pool of water.
Eric tossed the useless musket aside and grabbed Charlotte, picking her up and hoisting her over his shoulder—dropping the skull mask in the process. He rushed out of the ballroom balcony and down the hallway.
The Undead Bride pursued him.
Reaching his bedroom, he jumped onto his bed and leaped through the window, shattering the glass.
***
Asura led his horse to the stable. He had spent the night
riding, unable to sleep. His thoughts haunted with ghosts of the past. His dreams plagued with phantoms of events yet to be. A shriek echoed throughout the night, drawing his attention. A sickening dread knotted in his stomach like rancid meat as he focused his eyes on the source, his mansion. He mounted his steed and rode off.
***
Eric wobbled to his feet, his head throbbing, and his whole world spinning. He cupped the back of his head. His hand came back wet and warm with dark red blood. Damn it! He cursed his stupidity. Why the hell did I bother to save her? Charlotte’s extra weight had worsened the fall. He had hit the ground back first with her in his arms, cushioning the landing for her. Now he was a sitting duck in a pond full of hungry crocodiles and they were circling. A mere momentary lapse into instinct, he secretly told himself, just a male’s unconscious urge to keep his mate safe. That’s all. Nothing more… But he was supposed to be above instinct, above everything, even death. Yet death was coming and he could feel her cold breath on the nape of his neck.
“Charlotte,” Asura yelled out.
Eric spotted Asura in the distance. He scooped Charlotte into his arms and rushed out to meet him.
Asura rode up to them. His gaze fell to his daughter’s limp body. “Is she?”
“Don’t worry, she’s all right,” Eric replied handing her over to him.
“What the hell happened?”
A woman’s sorrowful wail bellowed in the night’s air.
“So, she’s finally come, the banshee.” Then it hit him. “Where’s my little girl?”
He studied Eric’s face, waiting for an answer. But no answer came. Eric just looked away and Asura got his answer.
Asura dismounted and handed the horse’s reins to Eric. “Take my daughter and go. As far and as fast as she will let you.”
Eric mounted the horse and positioned Charlotte across the withers of the horse’s saddle in front of him. “What about you?”
The Crow Behind the Mirror_Book One of the Mirror Wars Page 27