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

by Kit Hallows

  “The link's been severed,” Astrid said. “It had to have been Stroud. Emeric must have reached him.”

  “So where do we go now?” I asked, as I climbed back onto my horse.

  “Onwards,” Samuel said. “We know he went west so we’ll keep heading that way.”

  We carried on, galloping along the muddy path. Patches of clouds loomed through the trees, dark silver and grey, but there was light ahead, rising from a great clearing with a motley huddle of stone and thatch buildings.

  Oastwater.

  Its inhabitants were even more guarded than the villagers we’d encountered in Tavislock. They had hard, sallow faces and their downcast eyes shot us glances that flitted up and away like starlings. A rough crowd gathered as we passed through the cluster of dwellings and watched us.

  “Is there something you need?” A man asked as we slowed. His wiry wisps of hair swayed like wheat in the breeze.

  “We’re looking for Stroud,” I said. “Do you know where he is?”

  “Stroud?” the man asked.

  “You know him. You fear and serve him. Now I’ll ask again, where the hell is he?”

  The man stared back defiantly then he and the immediate people around him folded their arms across their chests. “We don’t know anyone of that name.”

  “I’m not fucking around,” I said, as I leaped from the horse and strode toward him, fixing his gaze in mine. I was almost on him when I realized that look didn’t work anymore. That there was no dark other behind my stare, and I probably seemed about as threatening as an addict on the verge of a meltdown.

  One of the villagers, a younger, heavyset man, shoved me back. I half stumbled, then surged forward, grabbing him by the throat and throwing him down. I still had that at least.

  His fingers trembled as he reached out to fend me off.

  “Morgan!” Samuel called.

  I stopped and glanced back as he nodded for me to climb on my horse. “Come on,” he said, “there’s no need for this. Really.” His narrowed eyes held a message, even though I had precisely no idea what it was. Puzzled, I mounted the horse and we cantered out of the village with the villagers’ anger searing into our backs.

  “Why did you stop me?” I asked. “Why-”

  “Not now,” Samuel said, “trust me.”

  I did, so I followed without question and as we passed a bend in the path, Samuel dismounted. He checked the muddy road before striding into the undergrowth. “This way,” he said, and he mounted his horse and galloped off into the wilds.

  52

  We stopped while Samuel examined the ground once more. “Care to tell me what’s going on?” I asked, doing my best to contain my irritation, and failing.

  “Didn’t you notice the man that slipped away the moment we reached the village,” Samuel said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more furtive maggot. I expect he’s on his way to inform Stroud of our arrival, so I thought pursuing him might be better than fighting half a village for a truth they’re too terrified to speak of.”

  “Was he on foot?” Astrid asked as she gazed into the trees.

  “No, horseback and he went this way.” Samuel pointed.

  I longed for a crystal to expose the trail, but I trusted Samuel’s instincts better than borrowed magic. We cantered along a muddy, twisted path, and slowly the rot we’d first experienced in the forest returned as the trees grew pale, diseased and absent of birdsong. The creatures prowling through the gloom were gaunt, desperate beasts with starved, ravenous eyes. The air blew fetid and wintry again, but no snow fell. I glanced up through the bare branches to the swirling leaden clouds. It felt a lot like Stroud.

  “Nice,” Astrid said.

  I followed her gaze to a mound of fat red worms churning the charred black soil. The stench of their salty sweat and putrefaction made my gorge rise, and I covered my mouth with my sleeve. Thin black crows watched from the branches, but even though their black beady eyes were as hungry as everything else, they seemed unwilling to feast upon the writhing, wormy meal.

  We continued along the path and it led us from the trees to a great prairie of brown wild grasses and withered ferns. The sky roiled and stirred like a rancid brew and as I scoured the landscape I saw tiny, distant tents and hundreds of figures, standing as still as statues.

  The plain spanned the wide swath between the jagged mountains and the sprawling forest and turned blacker and blacker the closer it got to the encampment. Had it burned, or had the darkness surrounding my father tainted the soil itself? “Looks cozy,” I said.

  “Doesn’t it just,” Samuel agreed. “Well, I think we’ve found our man, or shade.” He nodded back to the forest, “We should find a better vantage point and search for weaknesses but I want to use the trees for cover.”

  We cantered along the outskirts of the forest and the closer we got, the darker the forest became until its trees were little more than dead black trunks riddled with empty, skeletal branches. We stopped and Astrid pulled a spyglass from her pocket and swept it over the charred meadow to the tents billowing in the heavy breeze.

  “He’s there. Want to have a look?” She handed me the glass. It was heavier than the one I’d grown used to and its lens was faceted like a kaleidoscope. But as I trained it on one of the figures, it zoomed in and focused with startling clarity. I saw every blackened pore on the restless woman’s face as she waited outside a tent and through its fluttering flap I spotted men and women swathed in dark robes. They weren’t restless, they were human and a malevolent tinge of magic blurred the air around them. They seemed to be in the midst of an intense discussion as they pored over the scrolls of paper they’d unfurled upon a table.

  I trained the telescope on a horde of restless. They were torpid and still, presumably awaiting instruction as they lingered near a cage imprisoning twenty or more men, women and children.

  The captives were ragged and filthy, their eyes glazed with futility and horror. A few feet away, a stone tablet drenched in blood was laid like an altar and above it a cloudy portal looked out upon a burning plane in some other hellish world.

  I swept the telescope back to the tent and slowed. “There!” My breath seemed to freeze in my lungs as I focused in on Stroud.

  He was faint and I could almost see through him as he paced before a line of robed figures, his head bowed, his hair dark against his white ruffled shirt. Then the sun broke through the clouds and its light drifted inside the tent’s open flap, illuminating him in a ghostly, iridescent sheen. He scowled and began to shout, his piercing green eyes burning bright. He called out, and Emeric appeared, in his reanimated, murderer’s body. He glanced down as our father continued to talk, but suddenly turned, and for a moment it seemed he was looking directly at me.

  “Fuck!” I pulled the telescope away. “I think he saw me.”

  “Stroud?” Samuel asked.

  “No, Emeric.” I handed Astrid the telescope.

  She aimed it toward the distant tents. “He’s not looking this way, but we should take cover while we plan our next move.”

  We retreated into the woods, winding through the bracken until we found a sparse clearing dotted with rotten stumps and a carpet of dry pine needles. Samuel made a small fire in a hollow and Astrid cast a spell to mask its smoke in the same shade of grey as the sky.

  “So what’s the plan?” I asked, “because right now I'm feeling ever so slightly outnumbered.”

  “Slightly,” Samuel agreed as he placed the remains of the rabbits he’d hunted that morning on a makeshift spit. “We'll need to wait it out for a bit, until we can use the shadows to our advantage.”

  “As to the plan,” Astrid pulled a long knife from her cloak, “I’m going to cut Stroud’s throat with this.” The knife’s pommel was easy enough to see, the blade less so. One moment it was there, the next it was almost perfectly transparent.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “A spirit blade,” Samuel said. “It’s not as reliable as the knife your o
ther destroyed the last time we attempted to kill him, but it’s close.”

  “Where'd you get it?” I asked.

  “We bought them in Gallowmorn, with some of the gambling proceeds,” Astrid said.

  “Them?” I asked.

  Astrid pulled a dark sheath from her pocket and slid out the knife. She handed it to me. It was light as air. “This one’s for you,” she said, “the other’s for me.

  “We’re both going to do it?” I asked.

  “No,” Samuel said, “That’s a back up. Astrid will get it done, but if for any reason she fails, then it’s on you. Me, I’m going to be covering you both as best I can.”

  I felt a flush of anger. If anyone was going to kill my father, then it should be me, but the last time I’d attempted it my other had stopped me and everything had gone to hell, so I saw the logic. Plus there was the fact I was sporting less magic than a spent crystal. “How are we going to get to him? There must be hundreds if not thousands of restless out there. Not to mention the dark mages and my other.”

  “Here’s the ingredients for part one,” Samuel said, opening his hand to reveal the red-purple seeds resting in his palm. “Thunderseeds. I believe you’ve already been acquainted with their delicate roar.”

  I nodded, remembering the chaotic night in Temple Park when we’d sought to stop Elsbeth Wyght’s ritual. “I thought you said it was powder?”

  “It was powder,” Samuel grinned, “but I’ve got seeds now, and the din should be spectacular!”’

  “And while he plays with his toys,” Astrid said, reaching into her cloak for a long metal tube, which she carefully handed to me, “you’re going to set some fires. Go for their tents, but be careful… you only need a few drops.”

  “Drops of what?”

  “Liquified witch fire,” Samuel said “As soon as it hits something it ignites, and spreads. A drop or two will burn their tents to the ground unless they summon magic to extinguish it, which won’t be easy.”

  “So,” Astrid said, “while Stroud’s preoccupied with these distractions, I’m going to swoop in and end him, or die trying.”

  I swallowed. “That’s not going to happen. We're not dying here tonight.”

  She grasped me tight and kissed me on the lips. “That’s right,” she said, but as she glanced away, I saw the doubt in her eyes. “None of us.”

  Night fell fast, filling the already gloomy forest with an almost impenetrable darkness. A sliver of moonlight lit the clearing enough for me to see the dismay on Samuel’s face and the resignation in Astrid’s eyes. They were more rattled than I’d ever seen them and that realization terrified the hell out of me.

  “Here.” Astrid touched the side of my face and for a moment I took the gesture as affection, until the thrum of warm, vibrant magic passed through me. Samuel strode over and clasped my shoulder, sharing his energy too. It was lighter than Astrid’s, but no less powerful and I shuddered as their magic combined.

  “Here’s to The Order of Shadows,” Samuel said.

  “Here’s to us,” Astrid agreed. The three of us embraced, and the love I felt for them lit up the frayed, mournful corners of my soul and I vowed there and then that if someone had to die, it wouldn’t be either of them.

  53

  We turned the horses loose. We didn’t need them for what was to come but they wouldn’t leave, instead they stood around chewing what little sustenance they could find as they dolefully stared into the forest’s shadows. I hoped they’d find their way out.

  “Which way?” I asked as we turned to go.

  “You tell us,” Samuel said with an enigmatic smile.

  I gazed at the ground and the magic they’d given me helped me conjure a glowing red trail that revealed the path we’d taken through the trees and bracken. I led the way, and we walked slowly to keep the sound of our passing to a minimum.

  Something howled in the distance, the noise chilling and ominous. I ignored it as I strode on, glad to have Astrid and Samuel at my back.

  We stopped at the forest’s verge, the landscape before us a seemingly endless black stretch but for the distant fires surrounding Stroud’s camp. The restless hadn’t moved, and while it was difficult to make out in the darkness, their numbers seemed to have swelled. “Unless my eyes are mistaken, there’s a lot more restless now,” I said.

  “There are,” Samuel agreed, “many more. But what do we care? We’re the The Order of Shadows, we’re mighty warriors.” He gave a desolate smile, before clapping me and Astrid on the shoulders.

  There were so many things I wanted to say in that moment, but it felt like there was no time. But as I walked away, I realized there might never be another. I turned and grabbed Samuel and hugged him tight before embracing Astrid and kissing her. And then we hurried off, each going our own ways into the looming darkness.

  The wild grass brushed my legs and I walked slowly, my eyes fixed on the tents ahead. The dim glow of the restless’ eyes was eerie, but none of them stirred as I passed and it seemed as if they’d been frozen in time.

  My heart raced as I approached the huge marquee tents and heard the people they’d caged. Some wept, some pleaded, many prayed in tongues I couldn’t understand. But one thing rang clear; none of them sounded like they expected anything less than death.

  I strained to listen for Stroud, or my other, but the voices within the tent before me weren’t theirs. They were low and insidious, urgent and impatient as they discussed the demons in the north. The demons I’d slain, and how the others to the east and west would have to pick up the slack. Their plan, from what I could glean, was to call the remaining demons south, and command them to raze villages as they came, stirring up even more anger toward the palace. The objective; slaughter and divide. And there were more restless on the way, many, many more. Thousands. And once they arrived, the shitshow was really going to kick off.

  My heart hammered as I pulled the flask Samuel had given me from my pocket.

  “How long until all five portals are opened?” The voice was Stroud’s, and its sound caused icy goosebumps to break upon my arms and shoulders.

  “I…” someone muttered. I glanced through the seam in the tent’s wall and saw two shadows, one far less pronounced than the other.

  “How long until the portals open?” Stroud asked again, his voice laced with growing fury.

  “Tomorrow, at nightfall,” a thin, wheezy voice answered.

  “It was supposed to be dawn,” Stroud replied.

  “I know,” a woman agreed, “but some of the captives expired sooner than expected. I suggested drugging-”

  “I know what you suggested,” Stroud replied, “and I told you no, they’re not blinkereds. I want them lucid, it will sharpen their focus.”

  I glanced up at the sky. Where were Samuel’s explosions? I placed a hand on the hilt of the dagger Astrid had given me. I was sorely tempted to slash through the back of the tent and strike now. Stroud couldn’t be more than a few paces away from…

  Boom!

  The sky to the east lit up with a bright, green glow and the sound of the explosion echoed across the open ground and distant mountains.

  Boom!

  Another explosion, this one louder than the last.

  “What in the name of-” the woman cried.

  “Someone’s grown a spine,” Stroud said, and his ghostly silhouette swept out of the tent. I steadied the flask, unscrewed its lid, and poured half a dozen drops of radiant blue liquid on the fabric of the tent. They seemed so innocuous…

  Whoosh!

  The spots of witch fire grew brighter and brighter as they raced across the fabric, enveloping it in a vivid blue inferno. I ran to the next tent and set it ablaze before turning toward the next.

  I stopped as a figure appeared, illuminated by the raging flames, his ragged black hair and scarified face glowing blue.

  Emeric.

  He raised the long sword in his hand as the light of the fires blazed in his murderer’s eyes.

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nbsp; 54

  Emeric gazed to the fire raging behind me, his eyes dispassionate, even as his allies in the tents began to roar and scream. “Where are they?”

  “Who?” I asked, forcing nonchalance.

  “Your ice-cold bitch, and her babbling friend.”

  “Not here,” I said. “It’s just me.”

  “Liar.”

  I nodded, “I may have been exaggerating. Listen,” I dropped my voice as I recalled the memories I’d seen in the clearing, of the terrified little boy he’d once been. “I didn’t come for you. We’re… brothers, of a sort, despite everything you’ve done.”

  “No, we’re not.” Emeric’s lip curled and his dead white hand trembled with fury as he gripped the hilt tighter.

  “We’ve fought together, you helped me destroy Wyght, and I kept you alive. We worked things out as best we could, which is why I don’t want to go against you. I only came for Stroud.”

  “You came to die,” Emeric said, “it’s in your eyes, Morgan. You’re tired, and about as happy in your skin as I was.”

  I was about to respond when another blast roared across the plain and green light danced in the air at the forest edge. The explosions were getting closer.

  “Samuel,” Emeric said, “up to his juvenile antics. If he’s out there,” he nodded to the darkness, “then she’s skulking in the shadows, waiting to spring.” His thin lips drew back, exposing his brittle teeth. “I’ll find them. Once I’ve dealt with you. And when I do-”

  I hurled the flask at him. Bright fiery drops spattered the night air. He knocked it aside with his sword and it spiraled into the dirt. The fiery liquid began to burn, but soon the dark, dead ground swallowed it up.

  “Is that it?” Emeric asked, “enchanted fire and thunderseeds?” He laughed. “Of course you still have your sword, and I know its intentions well. Block, parry, kill!” he mimicked my voice to perfection. “But I have the magic and I’ll fight fire with fire.” He raised his hand and black flames exploded in his palm. He threw it.