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

by Kit Hallows

  “Who’s there?” My voice was barely a rasp.

  Warroll stepped into the dim light of the fire. “It’s time,” he said, as he offered a hand to help me from the bed. I pushed it aside and pulled myself up to my feet. The room spun and he grabbed my shoulders before I could fall.

  “Time for what? Can I go now?”

  “No, not yet, Morgan. Although in a sense…” he approximated a smile but it didn’t work.

  “Where’s Astrid and Samuel? Can I see them?”

  “They’re here, waiting for you; you can see them when we’re finished. Now, put this on.” He handed me a robe. It provided little warmth but it made me feel a little less exposed and vulnerable, even though I was perfectly mindful that a cut of wool was no protection at all.

  I followed him out of the room and down a flight of stairs I half remembered stumbling up the night before. I had plenty of questions but it was clear Warroll had no desire to answer them, so I just walked, placing one foot after the other on the cold, stone steps.

  Outside, the wind raged, rattling the glass in the ancient window frames, and at one point it seemed as if the entire tower might come tumbling down. But no one we passed seemed to show the slightest scrap of concern. I checked the passages for Astrid or Samuel, but all I saw were priests and when they glanced my way, they looked at me as if I were a man condemned.

  I searched my consciousness for signs of my other and felt him lurking at the edges of my mind, as if he was awaiting something crucial.

  “Here.” Warroll opened a door to a shadowy room lit by the faintly burning light of a single lantern.

  It only took one swallow of the musty air for me to recognize it was the place from the day before. “No,” I said, wrenching my arm from his, “I can’t do it again.”

  “It’s okay, that’s not why we’re here. This procedure is different.” If his words were supposed to console, they had the very opposite effect. “Now, remove your robe and lie down.”

  I glanced to the door and thought of running.

  It swung shut.

  “Please,” Warroll said, “the sooner we start, the better it will be for you.” He guided me to the table I’d laid upon the day before and as I glanced at the table beside it, I saw a long mound of twisted blankets. It took a moment to realize someone was swaddled within them. “Who’s that?”

  I flinched as a sharp pain shot up my arm and glanced down to find a thin line of steely gray light shooting from Warroll’s fingertip into my flesh. It hurt like hell, and then my arm went numb and the sensation spread through my entire body. “What was that?” My words were as slow and lazy as a close summer’s day.

  “Something to take the edge off.” Warroll gestured to the table. “Now please, lie down before you fall.”

  I shuffled along the table, and snatched at the blanket. A dead man lay curled beneath it, pale save for his long black hair and the purple wormy veins running through his marble-like flesh. His face had the harsh, desperate features of a murderer or thief, or both, and a silver scar plunged down from his throat and vanished under the blanket. “What-”

  Warroll shook his head. “No more talk.” His fingers grasped my shoulder and shoved me down, then he grabbed my head and lowered it until I was lying on my back. I felt the frozen stone bite into my skin but I barely noticed it as the spell he’d used to numb me continued to spread through my body. I groggily speculated as to why he hadn’t given me this anesthesia the day before and concluded that the pain I was about to face was going to be even worse, and shuddered.

  The door opened and two robed figures appeared. Both were men, one old, one young. They barely met my eyes as they entered, carrying a long metallic box between them. “What’s that?” I asked, my words heavy and languid.

  “Enough.” Warroll placed his hand upon my forehead and a tingling sensation slowed my thoughts. I could barely turn my head as the box opened and a bright, glowing light shone from inside.

  Then one of the men held me down while the other fitted a tight copper band lined with jagged blue crystals around my head. A leaden sensation shook my thoughts loose and left me emptier still.

  I watched placidly as the men placed a similar crown on the corpse, fastened it into place and linked the two with a coiled tube they pulled from the box.

  My head began to buzz as someone chanted, their words too soft to hear, and then Warroll joined in. Soon their incantations became one thick, languorous chorus. My head swam with their spells, adding to the nausea that still wracked me from the day before.

  I wanted to throw up; to expel the sickness rising within me. My other shifted, stirred and tried to call out, but all I could hear was the ritual chant that seemed to drown out the entire world. Gradually the words put me to sleep. No, not sleep, it was more like sleep paralysis. I was present, yet I wasn’t. I was alive and yet dead.

  “Run!” Warroll whispered, and as he did, the crown grew heavier, the chant louder and then, with no warning I was jolted from my body.

  I looked around for eddies of time, but there was only white snow swirling around me. It took a moment to realize I was in a spirit plane, lost in a spectral blizzard. I knew the sensation of old. I’d astrally traveled in places like this before, but this time it felt like I’d been completely expelled, as if my body had cut the tether and fully released my soul.

  The snow grew thicker. I turned and spotted a red light glowing in the distance. A fire? Whatever it was, I knew I had to get to it and fast. If I didn’t, I’d come apart, I’d be lost, scattered to the astral storm. “Where am I?” I called. No, not called, thought.

  Someone stumbled behind me and I spun around. It was like I was looking at myself as my other emerged from the snow, his brow low, his eyes filled with hatred. He looked past me to the fire. I saw his resolve and ran.

  He ran faster.

  It was a race. I had no idea how I knew it, I just did, and whichever one of us reached the fire first would reenter our body. And the other…

  … another light burst into life, as if in answer. Its flames were sickly green, and I was certain it led to the swaddled corpse laying upon the table. My fate, if I lost the race, would be to live entombed in that dead, cursed body.

  My other shot ahead.

  I put everything, every part of my soul, into closing the distance between us. And then I leaped and brought him down. He turned, head butted me in the face and reached up to gouge my eyes. I broke his grip and forced his hands down before smashing my forehead into his nose. I felt it snap but there was no blood.

  We fought hard. He got the better of me, and then I got the better of him and around and around it went, as the red fire dimmed and the sickly green fire raged.

  Time was running out.

  “It’s not yours!” he cried. “It never was, damn you!” He flung me over and tried to run but I gripped his ankle and brought him down again. And then I climbed up over him and scrambled toward the dwindling light.

  I could feel him at my back, but I leaped and flew through the air, landing in the midst of the flames. The world turned white and I heard a heavy whumph. I could barely see a thing as the astral snow swirled by, but I could see my other. He’d stopped, watching with furious, jealous eyes as he called out, “It was never yours!”

  Maybe Stroud had been right, maybe I was a parasite, a fragment of my other’s soul. An imaginary friend who'd outstayed their welcome. But I’d lived, and I was still alive. I’d made it. I was free.

  The astral snow closed in, obscuring Emeric as he trudged to the green fire, his head down, his shoulders slumped.

  I awoke to an emptiness so profound that it dwarfed the one I’d felt that morning. I was half a man, a soul split in two. The spaces in my body felt too large and my head echoed like a vast abandoned dwelling.

  “He’s made it,” Warroll said. The others stopped chanting and leaned over to examine me.

  “And his other?” the elder asked.

  Warroll nodded to the corpse
as it began to stir. Its eyes grew wide as it sat up, exposing the stitched wound along its chest, then it took a long, deep ragged breath and its throat creaked as it turned to face me. I’d never seen the man before, but I knew the mind that gazed out from those eyes.

  “You…”

  “Now!” Warroll called.

  One of the men seized my other’s head and yanked it back. His partner stepped forward, ceremonial dagger in his hand as he intoned words of power and placed it to my other’s throat. They were going to kill the body and leave my other to die inside it, to wither to nothing but a shadow of a ghost. I knew this and my other knew it too as he glanced from me to the priests.

  Someone emerged from the murk behind them in a coppery flash. It was the woman who'd studied me when I’d first arrived. I tried to call out a warning, but it was too late.

  She swung a rod into the older man’s head, taking him down.

  Warroll and the other priest turned, but before they could react, she bashed the younger man’s skull, toppling him too. Warroll snatched up the fallen dagger and they turned in a slow dance.

  I tried to move, but I was still frozen, as was my other. He watched the scene, bloodlust and anticipation burning in his corpse eyes.

  The woman parried Warroll’s attack and threw a handful of glowing petals that rained down over my other. Their charge faded as they touched his pale skin and he moved slowly and sluggishly as each of the muscles in the cadaver creaked.

  Warroll slashed at the woman and missed her by a hair. She tensed, readying herself for a final attack and then a bell began to ring, its sonorous tone loud and jarring.

  “Move!” the woman cried. She grabbed my other’s arm, pulled him up and led him from the room. They glanced at me as if caught between the desire to murder or escape.

  With a hoarse cry, my other shoved her through the door and then they were gone.

  46

  Footsteps and shouts echoed along the corridor outside but I lay frozen, unable to move. The door flew open and people flooded the room. A harried-looking woman attended the dead priests as Warroll limped from the shadows. He was bleeding heavily, but it didn’t stop him barking orders, and then Haxby appeared with Astrid and Samuel.

  “Are you alright?” Astrid huddled over me.

  I gazed at her, unable to speak.

  “What happened?” Haxby demanded. He glanced down at me and checked my pulse as he dug into his pockets, then scattered a handful of petals over me. As they landed, my body began to warm in places, as if it were thawing. Slowly, I flexed my fingers, and then my hands and as the spell that had kept me locked down faded altogether, I hauled myself to my feet.

  “Where is he?” Samuel asked, clasping my shoulder as fear and dread clouded his eyes.

  “He’s escaped.” I pulled my robe on and stumbled from the room, with Astrid and Samuel close behind.

  Trickles of blood spattered the corridor. Men and women lay bleeding or dead. I ran past the devastation, my muscles sore and aching, my resolve unwavering.

  The pair of double doors ahead of us were wide open and the Hexling that guarded them laid in pieces upon the ground. Clearly the woman who'd managed to free my other wielded powerful magic.

  We rushed out to find ourselves on the bridge and my eyes ran along its span to the forested mainland. I spotted movement in the distance; two figures on a horse. It was my other and the witch who’d freed him.

  Howling wind whipped around us as we turned toward the monastery stables. Another dismembered Hexling lay scattered across the straw and I stumbled past it searching for a horse, but each and every one lay dead, their large brown eyes staring out into oblivion.

  “The Gods are surely sleeping!” Haxby growled as he bustled in with two Hexlings at his side. He glanced from the horses to me and shook his head. “I’m-”

  “How did she find us?” I demanded. I was dizzy and still feeling utterly hollow, with only my anger keeping me upright.

  “I wish I knew.” Haxby held his hands out, palms first. “But-”

  “What did Stroud offer you?” Astrid asked. Her hand strayed into her cloak. The knife she held was small and bent, not one of hers, but it looked sharp enough for her purpose. The Hexlings pulled their swords and advanced.

  “No!” Haxby clapped his hands. They halted. He glanced from me to Samuel and Astrid. “I mean you no harm. We could have slaughtered you in your sleep if we’d had a mind to.”

  “Someone tried,” Samuel said, “but luckily I tend to sleep with one eye open when I’m in the company of morbidly obsessed priests dealing in the dark arts.”

  “It had to have been her,” Haxby said, “the one who freed his other. She was the one who tried to kill you, I’ve no doubt of it.” He glanced at me.

  “Who is she?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I’d never encountered her until a few moments ago.”

  “So she’s been in your monastery and you’ve never seen her?” Samuel scoffed.

  Astrid stared at Haxby, as if reading him, and slowly lowered her knife. “It’s not impossible.” She glanced at the dead horses. “Clearly she has dark gifts.”

  “Quite,” Haxby agreed. “And there’s more than a fair chance she’d scried your intentions long before you arrived.” He gave Samuel a withering glare. “And I told you about sending messages by bird. You simply do not do it, not in the times we’re living in. Anyone with a mind to could have intercepted your inquiry and read of your plans. It was you who led her to our doors.” A shadow passed across his face. “And now I want you to leave.”

  “We need our belongings,” Samuel said.

  “Wait here, I’ll have them brought to you.” Haxby gave Samuel and Astrid a withering glance and didn’t even look my way as he stormed out.

  I waited before stumbling to the doorway, desperate for air and to be free from the scene of devastation and death. The heavy feeling of hollow incompleteness overwhelmed me once more. I’d been called a half man once, and now it seemed it was true.

  “Are you okay?” Astrid asked.

  “No. I’m weak and empty. What little magic I had is gone. I doubt I could fight my way out of a wet paper bag without passing out.”

  “Rubbish,” Samuel said, “you can fight, those skills you wield have nothing to do with magic, and we can lend you some if needs be. At least we know it won’t be dark.”

  “I guess.” It was hard to muster enthusiasm, but clearly a battle was looming whether I was ready for it or not. With Stroud, and with my other if he got in the way. A strange sensation passed through me as I thought of Emeric, it was like a magnetic tug in the core of my being. As I turned in the direction he’d fled, the feeling grew stronger. “I can feel him,” I said, “feel where he went.”

  “How?” Samuel asked.

  I did my best to describe it.

  Astrid's eyes brightened. “Then we can follow him. He’ll lead us right to Stroud.”

  “But how are we going to fight them?” I asked. “I’m next to useless, there’s only two of you, and we’ve heard there’s an army of restless at Stroud’s disposal.” I shook my head. “We can’t do this alone. We need help. Maybe if you get word to the palace-”

  “The king doesn’t give the slightest damn about us.” Samuel said, “He’s safe and warm in his castle. The peasants can fall like flies if it comes to it and why not, there’s always plenty of us at his disposal.”

  “So not a million miles from the blinkered world then,” I said, “but you didn’t mention how we stand a chance against Stroud and his army? Or how we can even slay a shade?”

  “We have a few tricks up our sleeve,” Samuel said. His confident smile, whether true or not, did little to lift my spirits.

  I looked up as a metallic clattering drew toward us. Two Hexlings, carrying the chest with our weapons and other belongings stomped along the bridge. I dashed into the stables, turning my back on the dead horses as I dressed.

  Having my clothes back helped me fee
l a bit more like myself, but the absence of magic inside me was debilitating and the void left by Emeric was still hollow and vast. I reached into my bag to check its contents. There were five charged crystals, all the rest were spent. I grabbed one and drained it. The magic tingled through my veins like a dram of water after three days in the desert, but it did little else to help me.

  “Are you ready?” Astrid asked. I wondered how long she’d been watching. She stepped forward and kissed me lightly on the lips. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, Morgan. But it will pass, you’ll win this fight. We’ll win this fight. Together.” She kissed me again and then nodded for us to leave as my mind churned with the woeful contradictions of love, fear and emptiness.

  I forced myself to stand up straight, to break through my aching darkness. And as I followed her out onto the bridge, I glanced back at the dead horses and filled myself with the resolve to get the job done, or to die trying.

  47

  We followed the tugging pull that still connected me to Emeric and it led us deep into the forest on the far side of the valley. The air was cool there, and rich with the scent of pine, but I felt so inconsolably lost, empty and torn in two, that I could not appreciate its beauty. Astrid and Samuel did their best to lift my spirits and I smiled politely but nothing could reach me. I hoped the relentless emptiness would pass. I should have been ecstatic that my other was gone, along with the festering dark magic that had been purged from my system, but I wasn’t. I felt cowed, weak and tired beyond measure.

  I turned as a clatter and rumble came up from behind us and a carriage rolled up the road. Its driver, a lean man with a broad mustache and pointed beard, tipped his hat to us.

  “A fair morning to you,” Samuel said.

  “A fair morning to you as well.” The driver slowed his horses. “Are you looking for a ride somewhere?”