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

by Kit Hallows

  “You’re not a part of me. You’re the cowardly corner of Emeric’s mind. The sniveling child who couldn’t grow up and face his duty. I didn’t sire you, you were his invention.”

  “Even if that’s so, I’m still as much a part of him as the darkness you infected him with…” I looked up as the creature’s shadow fell over me. It’s gaze was on Stroud, it knew him, knew he wouldn’t stop the feast.

  I raised my hand, it was dim, fading. I closed my eyes and forced myself to focus. Magic rose through me, but it was too weak…

  “You can’t shield yourself from them,” Stroud said, “they know the human soul well, know how to break its defenses be they flesh or spirit.”

  “I have no need to shield myself,” I said. I pulled myself to my feet as the creature’s paw touched my spirit form, bringing a terrible iciness to the core of my soul.

  I staggered away, the shuffle of its step close behind. The blue-white magic burned in my hand, draining the last of my essence.

  Stroud watched amused from atop a rock until I threw my spell at its base. It hit the boulder hard, blasting it apart, and he fell along with the shards of stone.

  He pulled himself fussily to his feet as I approached, knife raised. He whispered frantically and magic glimmered through him as he formed a protective shield. “I can keep this up; your knife won’t touch me. You revealed your hand too early, Morgan.”

  “The knife’s not for you.” I turned as the creature leaped upon me and stabbed through its chest to its brittle, desiccated heart. It screamed, the sound so terrible it almost broke my resolve. I plunged the knife deeper, and its eyes began to glaze.

  Stroud nodded. “You killed it. Well done. It’s one amongst thousands, and you'll never summon enough power to leave this place.” He looked out into the withered trees as another crept toward us. “See.”

  I grabbed the creature’s scaly, bumpy leg and held it tight, just as I’d held Dauple as he’d died.

  “What are you doing?” Stroud asked, his bemusement tinged with concern.

  I sheathed the knife and slipped it into my spirit coat. Then, using the last of my magic, I reached through the shield and seized Stroud's wrist with my other hand. He tried to free himself, but I held him firm.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded again, panic rising in his voice. “Release me!” He screamed as he tried to pull away.

  I held on with all the strength I had while the edges of the world blurred as a mist swept in and I felt a familiar, icy wind.

  “No!” Stroud cried as he tried to yank himself free.

  I gave him a bittersweet smile. “You worship death, father. Come meet him.”

  57

  The landscape was lost to the billowing mist. I kept my grip on the creature and pursued it as it sank into death. Stroud growled and tried to pull away but our magical battle seemed to have exhausted him, and he was growing weak. Just as I was.

  Thick clouds whirled around us as we fell through limbo, and soon they thinned and revealed the old, familiar blackened stone walls.

  We were in the corridor I’d arrived in with Dauple and the line of black candles still flickered before the statue of the cowled woman bathed in eerie, green light.

  “No!” Stroud yanked himself away. Figures appeared at the end of the passage and when he saw them, his expression turned from horror to fury. He snapped toward me. “Coward!”

  “Says the man who sends Hexling assassins to do his bidding.”

  Stroud’s form flashed blackly as he raced at me. He strode past, but not before an acute flash of pain shot through my very being.

  The first thing I saw was the ghostly, glittering ceremonial knife he’d pulled from his belt. And then, as another wave of agony hit, I peered down to find a silvery tear in my gut. He’d cut me, right through my very soul.

  “Come here,” he said, as he stood in the passage watching, “I’ll finish you.” His voice was solemn, as if my end was inevitable but his barely masked elation withered as further priestly figures gathered. They parted when Temperance appeared, her long raven hair shining in the candlelight as she turned her pale face toward my father. “Rowan Stroud,” she said, “you’ve come back.” She drew her sword.

  “No.” I stumbled between them, my spirit form trembling as the tear seemed to spread. “I want to destroy him. I’ll leave you with whatever’s left.” I matched her cool gaze and tried to suppress my shudder as the wound in my soul throbbed once more.

  “You have little time,” Temperance said to me, “go, find your loved ones. Leave him to us.”

  A violent crackling sound came from behind me and I looked back to find a stream of shadows brimming in Stroud’s hands. The stone behind him turned from black to gray as he drew energy from it.

  I summoned the remaining dregs of power inside me and made a shield as he threw a tendril of shadow magic. The shield absorbed the blow but I still felt like I’d been shocked.

  Stroud closed his eyes, and his form shimmered. He was preparing to leave.

  “No!” Temperance cast her hands toward him. A silent, power struggle waged between them, but slowly Stroud’s spirit form solidified, grounding him in the passage. His lips curled in fury as he glowered at me.

  “You’re mistaking me for Emeric,” I said, forcing myself to stand tall despite my rising agony. “He feared you. I never did.” It was mostly true.

  Stroud threw another blast. It struck me even heavier than the last, and then he threw another that summoned cloudy figures in the corridor before me. Tom, Hellwyn, and Willow. Their faces were drawn, tortured and Willow’s eyes ran with tears as Tom staggered toward me, his throat open and running red. He shook his head. It’s over, he said, his gruff words echoing through my mind. Hellwyn offered me a bittersweet smile. Let go, Morgan. You’ve fought the good fight, now it’s time to move on. Astrid will understand.

  The pain of my wound flashed lava hot and then just as quickly, ice-cold. I had little time. My grip was slipping fast. Willow held out a hand and a burst of white shone in my eyes. They’d come to guide me on… “No!” I swept my hand through the air, dispelling them like smoke.

  I turned back. Stroud was leaning over, bent and broken, his clawed, spectral fingers summoning the last of his magic for one final strike. He meant to end me, to take me with him. I swayed toward him, snatching my blade from its sheath. “You shouldn’t have shown me them. They only served to remind me why I fucking hate you.”

  “I understand your hatred, but I can save you. Restore your soul even. All you have to do is lend me your magic,” his eyes narrowed as they flitted toward Temperance, and he dropped his voice. “Once I’m mended, I can heal you. And I will, I promise. You have my word.”

  “I’d rather die.” I shuddered as a tingling lightness spread through my being, threatening to scatter my shattered spirit among the chilly breeze.

  Stroud stared, before giving a slight nod. “So be it.” He reached into the gloom and as he withdrew, his dagger pulsed with the last of his magic. He used it to hold me at bay as he stepped back into the darkness behind him.

  I staggered after him, my spirit knife illuminating the way. Dissolution rippled through me as I stumbled toward Stroud. His dagger sank into my ribs, bringing a terrible, frosty sensation. I held his gaze as I slashed the spirit knife in an arc, opening a wound across his throat. His eyes widened and he clamped his hands to his neck as he hobbled away. “Why?” he spluttered.

  “I vowed to protect my world and my friends. Now I’ve fulfilled my promise.” I fell against the wall as a crippling shooting pain shot through me.

  “Your world?” Stroud smiled, “you have no world. You have nothing.”

  “You’re wrong. I ended you and that’s everything.” I watched as he slunk back into the great cavern like a wounded dog. I dropped the spirit knife and pursued him, snatching his spectral hands from the wound at his throat. He stabbed me again, fury flashing in his fast dimming eyes.

  A bell rang, th
e toll heavy and solemn. It echoed through the chamber and a towering, colossal form bathed in shadows appeared. It took a slow, pensive step forward and Stroud turned as a pair of huge white eyes opened in the shadowy vault of the ceiling.

  “Don’t look at him,” Temperance said, as she appeared at my side.

  I watched hypnotized as giant jet-black fingers encircled Stroud and lifted him, the spirit blood spilling from his wound like drops of silver rain. I forced myself to look away as I heard his final, mournful scream.

  “You’re coming apart,” Temperance said, her voice surprisingly tender.

  “Please,” I said, “if there’s a way you can help my friends. They’re trapped-”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “But I did as you asked. I kept my-”

  “I can’t help your friends. I cannot leave this place. But you can.”

  “What-” A deep shudder ran through me as she placed a hand to the tear in my abdomen, and then my ribs. Her palm was warm and filled with healing power. She gazed into my eyes and a languorous, deep heat burned through my soul, as it knitted together. I summoned the last of my magic to aid her. Slowly, our energies melded, and a wave of strength passed through me. “Thank you,” I said.

  “You honored your promise, and you don’t belong here, Morgan Rook. Not yet. Now go, and do not return, until its your time. Do you understand?”

  I nodded as a terrible wrenching sound filled the cavern behind me. I had no desire to see my father’s end.

  “Go,” Temperance said.

  I didn’t need telling twice.

  58

  The deathly caverns faded and I caught one last glimpse of Temperance before the mists swirled around and swallowed me whole. It took everything I had to focus on the charred fields where I’d left Astrid and Samuel, abandoned among the dark mages and restless. Two against many.

  A vivid golden form swept past me as the clouds swirled. It took a moment to realize it was a soul, racing down to the underworld I’d just left. Another fell, and then another in a stream of bright glowing beings descending in their droves.

  I barely had time to comprehend the sight before the mists shifted and I found myself lying on the charred field beneath a soft, uncertain dawn.

  Astrid and Samuel were gone. They all were, the Hexlings, the mages and their captives.

  Smoke wafted up from the ashes of the tents and the cages stood empty and still. I gazed across the blackened field, watching as the restless fell. One by one they toppled, their ghostly blue eyes winking out just before they sank to the ground. It was almost as if they’d been switched off, and it seemed Stroud’s demise was the key that finally released them from their cursed half lives.

  As the horde vanished from view, I saw figures in the distance. I could make out the two Hexlings, then Samuel and Astrid. They were following the mages and a horse-drawn cart laden with prisoners.

  A charge thrummed through me. It fed up from the charred ground and filled me from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. It was magic, swelling up from the land. Flowing. I gazed down to find the sword of intention blazing dimly in the blackened grass. I seized it, and ran across the fields littered with the fallen restless.

  The horses whinnied as I neared, and one of the mages glanced back, and they stopped as I closed the distance between us.

  I recognized the woman emerging from the group. It was the witch who'd freed Emeric. She spat on the ground, conjured a fireball and threw it.

  I focused my magic into my coat, strengthening its armor.

  The flames struck my shoulder and scattered. It hurt like hell, but I ignored the pain as I strode through the embers.

  Her fellow mages unleashed volleys of fiery spells. I drew my coat around me, waited for the sizzle and crackle to fade and the barrage of enchanted flames to stop.

  I advanced, my pace slow and measured. I was focused and in no hurry, they were already dead in my eyes, and it seemed by their growing panic they knew it. I’d killed their master, ended the restless, and as I came at them, they saw the vengeful fury burning in my gaze. “Hit me with everything you’ve got,” I called, “I won't show you a scrap of mercy.”

  The witch summoned another spell and by the blistering heat haze surrounding around her, I knew it would be bad.

  I sent a swell of magic to my hand and as she threw it, I caught the blazing hellfire and hurled it back. It struck her torso and she broke apart in a wash of blood, bones and scorched flesh that showered the recoiling mages beside her.

  Another mage hurled a tendril of blue glowing power. I sidestepped, and it whooshed past as I threw my blade. The sword of intention shone like a silver spear as it pierced the mage’s chest, dropping him at once. I yanked my weapon free from his corpse and worked my way through the rest of Stroud’s cult in an air of perfect calm, cutting them down one by one, deflecting their spells and neutralizing their magic. Their powers should have eclipsed mine, but I’d died and come back and I had no fear in that moment, while they had plenty.

  Slowly they fell, their blood soaking the ground as a few others fled across the field. One tried to free the horses, but I cut her down with my sword as I strode toward Astrid and Samuel.

  The magic inside me was waning under a heady ebb of exhaustion, and every ache and pain I’d managed to suppress began to rage. I stumbled toward the Hexling holding Astrid, its hand still clamped over her mouth. I thrust my sword into the creature’s skull, released the hilt and the fiery blade ignited the creature as it toppled over.

  Astrid broke free, wrested the sword from its head and drove it into the throat of the Hexling holding Samuel. He seized the moment, grabbed a thunderseed from his pocket and shoved it into the Hexling’s mouth. I barely had time to cover myself as the creature exploded with a dull, wet thump.

  “That was…” I began, until a surge of adrenaline shot through me stealing my words and thoughts.

  And then the world began to spin and I fell into blackness once more.

  59

  I woke choking as some foul concoction passed my lips and I opened my eyes to see Astrid kneeling over me, clasping a gourd.

  “Sorry, I searched through the mages’ supplies and this was all I could find,” she said.

  My bones creaked in protest as I sat up and rubbed my aching temple. The cuts on my face and hands smarted and I felt like I’d died and had been brought back to life, which was fitting. “How long was I out?”

  “I don’t know? I guess however long it took to find the truspake potion. You’re not used to handling magic, and it wasn’t just your own, you had ours as well as your other’s. It overwhelmed you. And, well you’ve been busy.” A fierce pride shone in her eyes. “We can’t believe Stroud’s finally gone. You did it, Morgan.”

  I glanced up as Samuel helped a painfully thin woman from the cart. She sprang off and joined the others, her face etched with grim relief. Then the disheveled group turned and gazed my way, their stony faces unreadable. “What are they staring at?” I whispered.

  “The man who just saved Penrythe.” Astrid nodded to the restless strewn across the blackened fields. “They won’t forget this. You’re going to become a legend in this world, whether you like it or not.”

  “Yeah, the legend of mad moldy Morgan the thrice mental,” Samuel mused, “I’ll pen the ballad myself, just to make sure they realize how useless you were, and how Astrid and I had to carry you all this way.” He smiled as he reached down and pulled me to my feet. “So, are you going to tell us how you managed to do it? ‘Cause to us common folk, it looked like you died. Or we can just stick with that little detail and I’ll take full credit?”

  I told them of my descent into the underworld and the battle with Stroud.

  “I suppose I’m mildly impressed,” Samuel said, as I finished the tale. “But I’ll have to embellish your story so people don’t fall asleep.” He watched as the freed prisoners trekked across the blackened field. “We should go too.”

/>   “Where?” I asked, as a light rain began to fall.

  “To the nearest tavern, preferably.” Samuel sighed.

  “And then what?”

  “Well, we still need to round up Stroud’s demons,” Astrid said, “and capture the mages that got away, as well as any other followers who survived.”

  “I can’t do that, I have to go back,” I said, “I need to check in with Erland, tell him this is over. And Mrs. Fitz, you know how she worries. Dauple too. You should come with me. We’ll head back to the city, find a pub and hole up for a while. And then…”

  “Then we’ll get some well deserved rest. I’m beyond ready for a hot shower.”

  She glanced up at me, trying not to smile so I pulled her over, kissed her and held her. “How exactly are we going to get back?” I asked.

  “There’s an old portal between here and Gallowmorn,’ Samuel said. “It hasn’t worked since I don’t know when, but you seem to have a gift for opening them.”

  “That was Emeric,” I said.

  “You said he gave you everything he had, as well as everything he’d stolen,” Astrid shrugged. “Let’s go find out what you can do.”

  “Okay,” I said as we set off, the icy rain spattering the back of my neck and hands. “Are we seriously walking to Gallowmorn?”

  “No,” Samuel said, “Oastwater ‘ll do. We can get horses there, maybe even pay for 'em.”

  I paused as I glanced toward the dark forest ahead. The place where I’d seen my parents slaughtered, and where I’d almost ended my life. Then, as Astrid squeezed my hand, I decided it was time to leave those ghosts in the past, right where they belonged.

  For as long as they’d stay there at least.

  60

  The journey from the charred battlefields to the offices of Messrs. Humble, Glass and Underwood Investigative Services was a mercifully brief one. At least once I got the portal open near Gallowmorn, and we navigated the Hinterland's dark twists and turns.