The Shadow Rises: A Morgan Rook Supernatural Thriller (The Order of Shadows Book 5)

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The Shadow Rises: A Morgan Rook Supernatural Thriller (The Order of Shadows Book 5) Page 12

by Kit Hallows


  “Magic,” I said, and winked as I stepped away, the archway to my back.

  “Seize him. I want him alive!” she cried. Two women with half-shaved heads charged at me, their swords old and jagged, but sharp. Before they could stop me I turned and dove into the dark, flashing portal, and shuddered as the world was snatched away.

  28

  The air shifted and a thunderous din boomed, rattling my back and chest. Blinding white light filled my eyes and then vanished amid a black vacuum that seemed to have no bounds.

  Ghostly trails of light whirled around me, traces from the blinding flash that snatched away the world. There were no gloaming ghasts in this place, there was literally nothing at all. I was falling through a pure vast emptiness at a velocity I had no means to register.

  I felt as if I were coming undone. As if my very atoms were about to fragment under the force of a descent that would surely rip my very being apart and scatter it to the void.

  My scream was snatched from my lips and trailed behind me almost before I’d even released it.

  Crash!

  I threw my hands out before me as I shot through a thin layer of liquid and tumbled into bright light. My feet slipped and gave way below me and I fell to the soft, white, freezing cold ground. My hands and face were soaked, and it took a moment to realize I’d landed in snow. Slowly, I stood as heavy flakes fell around me.

  “Are you okay?” Astrid asked.

  I turned to find her sitting by the side of a stone arch, tending to Samuel. Before I could answer there was a sound like a whip crack and a figure passed through the portal and fell into the snow next to me. It took a moment to realize the woman with the partially shaved head and leather armor had followed me through. She glanced up at me in bemusement as I pulled my sword, then with recognition as she woozily jumped to her feet and lifted her blade. I disarmed her before she could strike and her weapon fell into a drift of snow.

  The portal glimmered as the other warrior appeared. She shot from the archway and fell into the snow, but scrambled up, as if she’d known what to expect. I moved swiftly, swiping her blade from her hand and holding her at bay with my own before she could stoop to retrieve it.

  “Close the portal!” Astrid shouted. “Now!”

  “How?” I asked.

  “I don’t know… the same way you opened it!” Astrid laid Samuel down and pulled daggers from her belt. The two women looked from her to me and fled into the forest.

  I ran to the portal and placed my hand upon it. The traces of magic my other had used to aid us in our escape still fizzled through my palm. The charge was invigorating and I used it, turning my focus toward stilling the portal until it was opaque, black, and lifeless. The archway was vivid in my mind’s eye and slowly the glow of the burning runes dimmed and the light they emitted was swallowed up by the glassy dark facade.

  When I opened my eyes, the portal was as still as stone and looked more like an ancient ruin than the vibrant place of power it had been mere moments ago. I glanced to the trees but the women were gone.

  “We need to get help,” Astrid said, “quickly.” She held Samuel, his head slumped to his chest. His eyes were closed and the gore of his blood-soaked clothes was almost as shocking to me as the paleness of his face.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Judging by the snow I’d guess we’re in the north.”

  “Well, that’s something, at least.” I glanced toward the trees. They looked like silver birches, only taller. I searched them for signs of life as I trudged toward the forest. “Astrid,” I paused as I saw the muddy track and the frozen wheel ruts. “This looks like some sort of road.”

  A howl rumbled through the woods, wolf-like and yet almost electronic in cadence. The air was fresh and clean and carried subtle scents that stirred my senses and reminded me of… home? And yet it was otherworldly and alien and I was feeling every inch like a stranger in a strange land. A stranger sharing a body with another. The thought of my other seemed to summon him, or maybe he’d summoned me. He shoved me hard enough to edge me from my consciousness, and took a breath deeper than the one I’d taken. “Home again, finally” he said, his voice emerging from my lips.

  “Morgan?” It was Astrid.

  My other spun around and pointed the sword of intention toward her. I fought hard, clawing at the edges of his consciousness as I desperately tried to wrestle back control. Astrid stared in confusion as he bore down on her, but it soon turned to upset, fear and anger. She drew a knife. “Stop him, Morgan. Focus!”

  I threw everything I had into prising him out of my mind. He shifted and turned his attention from Astrid to me and we clashed as I struggled to force him out. I pushed hard but he pushed back harder, his strength buoyed by our return to this land. But I’d occupied our body far longer, and slowly but surely I wrestled back control.

  And then the world turned from white to black and…

  … I woke on my back with Astrid’s hair in my face as she leaned in close. “What happened?” I asked.

  “You…” She took a breath. There were conflicting emotions in her gaze; love, dismay, fear. “It was him. Your eyes… they were his. Dark, spiteful, hateful.”

  I felt unsettled and shaken. “You mentioned there might be someone I could go to, a way to deal with him. Maybe even get rid-”

  Astrid placed two fingers upon my lips to silence me. “It’s not safe to discuss this. Just know we have plans.” She stood and helped me to my feet. I glanced back to the path and my hand strayed toward my hilt as I heard something approaching.

  A horse and cart appeared from around a bend in the tree line and I staggered through the snow toward it. A startled boy, no older than twelve, sat up on the bench and gripped the reins tightly in his roughly gloved hands. He was swaddled in a heavy woolen blanket, and the tip of his nose was as red as a cherry. I leaped onto the path and held a hand out as he reined in his horse and reached into the bundle by his side. “I’m armed,” he said, his voice breaking.

  “As are we,” Astrid said as she approached, “but we mean you no harm. Our friend needs help, he’s hurt,” she nodded to Samuel who remained on the rock as unmoving as a statue. “Where’s the nearest town?”

  “That would be Skyrehaven,” the boy said. Fear crept into his eyes as he looked from Astrid to me.

  “We’re further north than I’d thought,” Astrid said. “Can you take us there? We’ll pay you.” She kept her tone light and reasonable, but there was a steely glint in her gaze.

  “I… I suppose you’ll just take my cart and leave me behind if I refuse, so I might as well take some money,” the boy said. His voice carried world-weary resignation.

  “We appreciate your kindness.” Astrid dug into her cloak and pressed a few golden coins into his gloved hand. “Wait here while I fetch our friend.”

  I watched the boy, and the boy watched me until Astrid returned with Samuel, whose head lolled to his chest as he staggered with her across the snow. I helped him into the back of the cart and laid him as comfortably as I could on some worn empty sacks piled next to a few crates of root vegetables encrusted with clumps of frozen soil.

  “Stay with him,” Astrid said, as she climbed into the front and sat beside the boy.

  I squeezed in and wrapped an arm around Samuel to keep him steady. “That’s nice,” he said, with a trace of a smile, “I always knew you had a thing for me.”

  “You bet I do,” I said, as I rolled my eyes. “Now hang in there.”

  The cart trundled away, the horse snorting and frosting the air with its breath as we traveled along the edge of the still forest. Snow gleamed upon the thin bare branches, bright and crystalline as the sun peeked through the clouds, it's red and purple hues painting the sky as it set. In the distance tiny lights began to twinkle along the nook of a hillside, from what I hoped was the town we were heading to.

  “There.” Samuel pointed into the trees. I followed his wavering finger and spotted dark
figures shuffling through the gloom.

  “The restless,” the boy said. “They’re the slow ones. Father says they’re stragglers.”

  “Stragglers?” Astrid asked.

  “A horde swarmed through a few weeks back,” the boy said, “they were heading south but quite a few fell behind. Now they seem to have lost their way. Father says they’ll starve in the snow, and it’s a good thing too. Some of the townsfolk have been hunting them, but there’s still plenty of ‘em skulking around.”

  “Why were they heading south?” Astrid asked.

  “To join the others,” the boy replied, and shivered. “Some say there’s thousands of them gathering, called by the shade.”

  “Stroud?” I asked.

  The boy shrugged, “I don’t know his name. And I don’t want to. You wouldn’t get me to travel south for all the gold in the land. Still,” he said with a low, resigned tone, “we have plenty of our own problems here now, what with all the demons coming through that portal.” He spat over the side of the cart, glanced at the long shadows from the trees and shivered.

  “Demons?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. I’d seen them in my vision, but further details wouldn’t hurt.

  “Yeah. Some stayed, others went east, some west. So now we’re plagued by monsters in every corner of the land, if you count the restless in the south.” His face turned pale. “But I don’t want to gossip about such things, lest they hear and come to fetch me in the night.”

  I looked to the trees as the wolf song rose once more. The boy made a strange hand gesture and cracked the rein. The old horse started to canter and dusk fell fast, making the snowy, wintery woodland scene both beautiful and sinister.

  Finally, the wood receded as we crossed a snowy plain, and I saw a huge stone wall lined with spikes encircling a sea of slanted wooden rooftops and twinkling lights.

  The boy called to his horse, pulled the reins and the cart rolled to a stop outside the gates. An armored guard stood sentry and he looked us over with a grim, troubled gaze. “Why have you brought these strangers to town, boy?” he asked. “You can deliver your crops, but we won’t let them pass.” He glared at Astrid and Samuel with distaste but when he looked at me it was with open hostility. “You’ve the look of a devil behind your mask,” he said, as he made the same hand gesture I'd seen the boy make. “Now be gone before I ring the bell and bring the wrath of Skyrehaven down upon your damned souls,” he said, as he reached for his sword.

  29

  “Our friend needs help, he’s wounded.” Astrid said, as the guard continued to stare, sword in hand. “You claim we look like devils, when ridding the world of devils is our business.”

  “Is it?” He looked doubtful as he glanced from her to Samuel, then to the lad who had brought us. “And what of you, boy?”

  The kid shrugged. “I happened upon them near the Birchhell portal. They stopped my cart in the road and made me bring them here.”

  The guard’s face darkened and his hand tightened on his sword as he turned back to Astrid. “You've come from the portal?”

  “No, I’m from Meadowport. Do you know it?”

  The guard nodded. “My nephew’s from thereabouts. Weird bastard. But even if what you say is true and you’re of this world, he’s not,” he said as he prodded a finger at me.

  “We don't have time to argue with you. You’re right,” I agreed, “I can tell you that, if it’s what you need to hear. Not that it matters. All that matters is our friend; he's hurt and he needs help. Urgently.”

  “We have gold, open the gate and let us in,” Astrid added.

  The guard peered around and gave quick, furtive nod, holding his hand out, impatient for Astrid to slip the coins into his palm. He glanced at the bribe and slipped it into his pocket without a sound. “Welcome to Skyrehaven,” he said, “You best watch yourselves because me and my men ’ll be doing the same. And if you so much as snatch a petal from a flower box, we’ll see you hanged. Do you understand?”

  We nodded earnestly and waited as he slammed a fist into the wooden gate. A moment later it rumbled open onto a wide cobbled road lined with large thatched buildings and narrow lanes illuminated by burning torches.

  I helped Astrid ease Samuel down from the cart and thanked the boy. He gave me a curt nod, shook the reins and steered the horse back along the track.

  “Is there someone we can take our friend to?” Astrid called to the guard as we passed through the gate.

  He glanced Samuel over. “I’d haul him to the slop yard and be done with him if I were you. But if you’ve more coin to spare, bring him to Old Waxford.” He pointed toward a dark narrow lane. “He’s at the end of Crythin Row, it'll be the only place open at this hour and if anything can be done for your man, he’ll know what it is.”

  “Thanks,” I said as we propped Samuel up between us and struggled across the wet, cobbles. Night was setting in, light blazed from most of the windows along the main road and as I looked around I realized the place was far larger than it had first appeared.

  We reached the wooden post that marked Crythin Street and hoisted Samuel back up on our shoulder before heading down the long dark row of shadowy buildings. “There.” Astrid nodded toward a tall, narrow gloomy looking house with a candle flickering in the window. We made our way up the path and thumped on the door. A moment later it was opened by a small girl who couldn’t have been much older than nine. She nodded at us and her blonde pigtails swung down over her red bloodied apron.

  “Good evening,” she said, and then her eyes were drawn to the blood blossoming over Samuel’s leg. She licked her lips. “He’s not looking very well! Not well at all. Perhaps fresh bandages might stop the bleeding.” Her eyes glimmered as she reached out to draw back Samuel’s cloak. “Or maybe I should fetch the saw…”

  “Away, demon child!” boomed a loud, well-spoken man. A moment later he waddled into view flapping his arms like an angry pigeon. He was a large man with fluffy white hair and his stubble shimmered like mica in the candlelight, highlighting his flabby, florid cheeks. Clearly the man was no stranger to indulgence, but he seemed harmless enough. He shooed at the girl with his hand as if she were an irritating fly. She didn’t budge.

  “He’s very bloody,” she whispered, her eyes still fixed upon Samuel.

  “I can see that, thank you.” The man placed his hand on her head and gave her a gentle shove. “Get back to the pots and pans and don’t stop scrubbing until you can see your reflection in them.”

  The girl muttered and stomped off.

  “My name’s Waxford,” he said, “please come inside, and excuse my sluggish manners for not admitting you sooner.” He ushered us to a plushly carpeted waiting room where a warm fire burned in a black iron hearth and a row of rickety stools had been arranged before a pair of thin of mauve curtains. “Apologies for the girl. Charl’s a good lass, but blood and carnage crazes her in ways I’d rather not discuss. Now,” he leaned down on one knee with an almighty wheeze, and placed his head disturbingly close to Samuel’s crotch, “what have we got here?”

  I tried to suppress a grin as Samuel turned to me and muttered something that looked like for fuck’s sake! “Ouch!” he added, as the doctor pulled at the hole in his trousers and examined the wound.

  “Nasty,” Waxford said, “very nasty indeed. But it’s patchable, cleanable and fixable. I think. Now, come with me young man and we’ll get you out of those muddy clothes.” He offered his arm to Samuel, who reluctantly took it.

  “Can we come with him?” Astrid asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Waxford said, “My methods are my own. I operate in solitude or not at all. Go ask the villagers, they’ll tell you. I work wonders but never in the prying company of others. Never!” He shook his head to emphasize the point. “Go home my dears! I’ll send word.”

  “We’re new to Skyrehaven, we've been on the road…” I said.

  Waxford glanced at me. “What an unusual accent you have, very peculiar. Did you suffer a trau
ma in your earlier years?”

  “You could say that.”

  “I thought so. I thought so. But as to the topic of your lodgings, or lack thereof, may I suggest The Dewdrop Inn? My brother Sillawick runs the place, and you won’t find a more adequately appointed Inn for many a mile. As for sustenance, I recommend the soup. Cheese, and onion, potato and honeyspinney, all warm, toasty and fine and…” he paused and shook his head, “delicious. He serves ales too, full bodied, sweet or bitter, and rich enough to tempt a Malravarian priest. Personally I’d spring for the Stupified Crow, I think you’ll find it most pleasing. I’ll send your friend over to meet you just as soon as he’s back on his feet, so to speak.”

  “How long’s this going to take?” Samuel asked. It seemed the warmth of the fire and the mention of beer had revived him.

  “An hour, two at most.” Waxford turned away as the curtains parted like a mauve wave, and the pale face of his diminutive, blood-crazed assistant appeared. “Forget the pans,” Waxford called to her, “I’ll need you washing, mending and pressing just as soon as we get this man out of these abominable clothes. We can’t have mud, blood and filth around that wound. Now away with you Charl, away!”

  “We’ll choke down a drink or two for you while we wait,” Astrid winked at Samuel, as the doctor led him away. He shot back a venomous glare and vanished through the curtains with the doctor chattering by his side.

  We left and made our way back down the darkened row of buildings. Astrid stopped a man and asked for directions to The Dewdrop Inn. We strolled through the streets chatting, and then there it was, a great edifice of stone and thatch with huge windows lit by a warm golden light, a welcoming sanctuary in this cold frozen town. I pushed the doors open to a blast of toasty air and revelry.

  The place was packed; locals and fellow travelers stood cheek to jowl lifting their pints as we searched for an empty table. Astrid slapped my arm firmly with the back of her hand when she spotted one close to the fire. It was tucked behind a long table, crowded with red faced men and women perched around a platter of roasted pig and a moat of vegetables.

 

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