by Kade Cook
“She is gone!” Shane screams at them, alerting the two adversaries to his presence.
They stop their quarreling and turn to face the interruption. The glow of eerie green eyes strikes them down as the large Schaeduwe storms toward them from within the shadows.
“They have taken her, and you did nothing to stop them.”
Cimmerian scans the innards of the prison still hovering above the ground. “No!” he yells out, seeing no sign of his captive within. He lowers his hand and the sizzling Magik within the violet ring dissipates as it is called back to his hand. “I never meant for this.... I did not think...”
“I know you didn’t think, you let them take her.”
Adrinn’s eyes widen, face drawing out flat before filling with a flicker of genuine fear, leaving nothing but a wisp of twisted smoke behind him as he vanishes.
“Open the connection to Erebus,” the young Shadow Walker demands from the Derkaz Elder, standing over him with eyes piercing and feral.
“What? No, I can’t. It is too dangerous.”
“I don’t care how dangerous it is, I am going in. I have to save her.”
“The toxins between worlds are not for the living. You will not survive the shift in dimensions. Even the mystical Magik that your veins hold cannot stand against it for long. You will be destroyed.”
“I don’t care, don’t you get that! It is not about me anymore. I need to save the girl. I made an oath and will stand by it. Now, open the portal. I command you as the guardian of the Silver Mage, do it now!”
A wave of shock thunders through Cimmerian at the words just directed at him. Hearing the official command slip from the young Schaeduwe’s lips, Cimmerian bows his head and does as he is told. With his hands ablaze, a rippling wave of violet Magik rips through the wall that separates the living from the dead, creating an uncharted passageway into Erebus, and allows the Shadow Walker entry, sending him off to complete the final stand as a guardian, to fulfill his duty, and to honour his father’s house in his taken oath.
64
WELCOME TO EREBUS
RUSHING HEADFIRST THROUGH the violet portal, the immediate sting of the otherworld’s toxins take no empathy on Shane. It cares not about his oath or his conviction to his heart’s choice of a mate; it only knows he is unwelcomed and trespassing.
There shall be no mercy today.
Shane bites down on his lips as layers of his skin begin to disintegrate within the hostile world he has entered. He screams out into the void when it reaches too deep, alerting the inhabitants of his arrival. His heart heaves in his chest as his body tries to maintain consciousness in the overflow of pain coursing through him, eyes straining to focus on anything. But he catches it, a movement in front of him. Nearing a level of pain that no mere mortal is able to tolerate consciously, a hand reaches out and pulls him forward, thrusting him toward a swirl of fading coloured hues.
In a moment of recognition, Shane lunges forward and secures his arms around the core of the limp body. He has found her. With nothing more to offer, he calls upon his last measure of defence and pulls her close within his shadow. It will not save her, or him, but it might bide them some time for a miracle.
*.*.*
The air around Cimmerian thunders and swirls counter clockwise, bubbling with prismatic bends as it folds in on itself to announce the arrival of the Elder of Zephyr as the portal opens and frantic bodies rush out of it. Vaeda, Ariah, Ethan, and Kaleb, all are in attendance.
A strong wave of energy emerges to the side of them from the midst of the shadows as Orroryn, Arramus, Tynan, Broghen and Ashen step into view as well.
“Cimmerian, what is going on here? Where is Shane?” Orroryn says, stepping nearer to him.
Cimmerian bundles his hands in front of his blank face, twisting them as they spit strands of violet from within their crevices. He is unable to speak, caught in a trance, and lost in the horrific snowball of events unfolding around him.
“Cimmerian! Where is Shane?” he shouts, grabbing the Derkaz Elder by the shoulders to give him a shake.
The Black Mage pulls his eyes away from the fissure in the ground, and blinks, surprised to find Orroryn face to face with him. He glances around and realizes the entire House of the Covenant of Shadows, minus the Hydor Elder, surround him, closing in and awaiting his answer. He shakes his head and speaks. “Erebus,” he says in a cool calm manner—almost detached from reality.
“What do you mean Erebus?” Vaeda chirps, appearing next to them as confused as much as the rest of them about the answer.
Cimmerian, regaining some of his mind, stops twisting his hands and his eyes focus once more on his peers. “He ordered me to open the portal to Erebus so he could save the girl, Gabrian.” His black eyes dance around the rescue party and then back to the crevice. “They are both inside.”
Tynan, steps forward and grabs the dazed Black Mage, shaking him hard. “Why is Gabrian in there? What have you done?”
“It was an accident...” he stumbles out the words with each jarring pull on his body. “I...”
“There is no time for this, Cimmerian...” Orroryn places himself in between the terrified uncle and Cimmerian. “Open the portal again and leave it open. I am going in after them.”
Ashen and Broghen step closer. “You can’t, it is impossible...no one who has entered Erebus alive has ever returned.”
“There is one.”
“You cannot mean...” Ethan presses his fingers hard against the bridge of his nose. Knowing it is a long shot, he edges closer and lays his hand on his friend’s arm.
“You cannot be certain that you will even find them.” Tynan turns to his Elder. “I will go. Let me go.”
Orroryn smiles at the brave guardian and shakes his head, placing a hand on his arm. “No. I will go. As Elder, they are my responsibility...” The center of Orroryn’s green eyes darken, revealing the storm within. Tynan’s image reflects against the mirror of tears in his eyes as they unleash over them. “And he is my son.”
Tynan grips his hand around his Elder’s bicep and gives it a final squeeze then releases, backing away and nods, knowing there is no way he is going to convince the Elder to let him go instead.
“I can try to cast a temporary shield of Magik around you,” Cimmerian offers, “but it won’t last long. Even the power of my magic is nothing in comparison to the wrath that you are about to face.”
“I know.” Turning to Cimmerian and nodding in agreement, Orroryn welcomes his offer. How exactly Cimmerian is involved in all of this, he is not sure, but it is the least he can do to help. He will deal with the Elder later, after he returns with Shane and Gabrian...if he returns.
Closing his eyes, Cimmerian inhales a deep breath. His hands crackle and sparks shoot from the center of his palms as the Black Magik springs to life on command. Whirling in his hands like the arms of the time keeper, marching on—for time waits for no one—fractals of violet Magik spring forward toward Orroryn’s massive form, spinning around it, and makes his ebony skin glow in an ominous shade of darkness within its casted spell.
Growing impatient, and feeling the pressure of the wasted moments passing him by, Orroryn shouts out his frustration unable to wait any longer. “That is enough, now open the portal.”
“But, the spell...I’m not finished,” Cimmerian chokes out, waking from his moment of incantation.
“It will have to do...open it.”
Shaking himself awake, Cimmerian does as he is asked. The ground tremors as the portal is revealed. The smell of Erebus, the undeniable scent of death, catches in his lungs as the Schaeduwe steps into its grips on a mission of the impossible to save his son.
65
A FRIEND, A FOE, OR SOMETHING IN BETWEEN
ORRORYN’S LUNGS SWELL, wanting to burst in his chest as he enters the thick murky mist. Even with Cimmerian’s spell, the Magik is no match for the other world’s power. He rushes forward, lost, with no idea which direction to go. A wave of panic washes
over him as his vision starts to blur.
He yells out their names into the void but as soon as he does, he regrets it. His throat closes in, searing in pain of what he has done, and begins to cough. Spots dance across his eyes, a warning of what is to come next. He has to hurry.
Stumbling forward, he hears something—the distant muffled voice of a man. Not knowing if it is a trick of the undead or not, he follows it. It is his only lead to a sign of life, he hopes.
Once more the voice sings out but this time he understands what he is saying. “They are over here.”
Narrowing his eyes, Orroryn advances but approaches with caution once he sees the owner of the call. “Adrinn,” he whispers. He stares at him for a moment then looks past the monster. He sees Gabrian and Shane, or what is left of them, huddled in a ball. A light cloaking of shadows covers their bodies.
“What did you do?”
“What did I do?” He shakes his head and turns to glare at the accusing Shadow Walker. “Why is it that everyone thinks I am responsible for everything that goes wrong, everywhere? I am flattered, really I am, but you truly overestimate my level of badness.”
“Listen, you...” Orroryn reaches his hand out, wanting to throttle the monster before him, but grabs at his own throat as the toxins tear at him from the inside and the purple hue of Cimmerian’s Magik flickers, wavering against the sting of toxic underworld Magik.
“Look,” Adrinn interrupts, “there is no time for your uppity Schaeduwe snobbery. Are you here to save them or are you not?” he hisses at him, watching the Magik as it begins to fail.
Orroryn nods his head once.
“Then you must trust me.”
“And why should I do that?”
“Because I am the only one that can save you now.”
Orroryn’s eyes pinch at the edges as the toxins bite at him, burrowing their way into his flesh as the monster’s words gather more validity.
“You only have a limited window,” Adrinn hums, reaching out his hand to Orroryn with his tone softer and eyes pleading with the Elder. “And you must save them, your son and my daughter.”
Orroryn pulls away from the Vampire, eyes flashing from the unexpected confession. Letting his son slip from view for only a moment, he looks upon Adrinn, not wanting to concede with the fiend but what choice does he have knowing the monster speaks the truth.
Breaking into a severe coughing fit, he feels the fabric of Cimmerian’s Magik about to deplete as the purplish haze around him sparks, nearing its end. “Fine, just get us out of here.”
Adrinn’s mouth twitches, his eyes lower, and the mist that cloaks them all shifts as he raises his hands—gathering them all together into a huddled group of souls.
Caught in a whirlwind of death, Orroryn turns his head from side to side, feeling the sting of the toxins taking their toll on his body as the Magik of his fabric rips and he chokes as his final barrier is breached. He can see the silhouetted figures of the Gargons emerge from behind Adrinn’s swirling wall as his skin starts to sting, burning from flesh to bone and he yells out to the madman he has entrusted their lives to. “Hurry, whatever it is that you need to do. Just do it.” He coughs again. Dragging in a deep scorching breath, he continues. “Do it now!”
Adrinn grins and turns away, just for a moment. His eyes open and glow with an eerie fiery orange flare swirling within the edges of his irises. He reaches out from the web of swirling mist and grabs onto something and drags it into their circle. Cloaked in a dark purple aura, and crumpled into a ball, is a woman. “Tell Cimmerian we are even—a daughter for a daughter.”
Orroryn is still, his mouth drawn open but silent as he gathers the meaning of Adrinn’s words.
“Now go. Save them all. Please.”
With a thundering roar, Orroryn’s body is thrown with the fury of a storm, thrust forward, penetrating through the dark mountain of thousands of Gargons so eager for their demise.
But they will have to wait for another day to feast.
Shards of sharp pain pierce through Orroryn’s form. With one last massive rush forward, he plummets weightless for one breath, then his body hits hard against an upward rushing Earth—welcoming them home with a crushing arrival.
Hearing the high-pitch frantic voices of their welcoming party, Orroryn’s lungs gulp in a much-needed breath and picks his hurting body from the ground. Bounding from his fetal position, he pulls himself toward the huddled pile of bodies beside him, scrambling to find life within them. Pulling at the large mangled body of what resembles his son, Orroryn separates Shane—still tightly bound to his fragile retrieve—and lays his head on Shane’s chest. He holds his breath as he listens for sound. It is there but barely. Following the same protocol, he listens to them all.
Nameless voices chatter in the background.
“Are they okay?”
“I don’t know,” Orroryn whispers.
“Are they alive?”
“One is...”
“What about the other?”
“I don’t know,” Orroryn shouts out to them over his shoulder, pulling himself back to Shane’s side, and wraps his arms around him. “I am taking my son into the Veil. Ethan, Kaleb, pray to the Gods for a miracle.” Catching Cimmerian’s drawn out face in his view, he shakes his head, the words of the monster that had saved them all falls from his mouth. “Cimmerian, I have a message for you. He said to tell you that you are even—a daughter for a daughter.”
Not caring if his words were heard or not, he vanishes, leaving the rest of the Elders to pick up the pieces of what is left behind.
Cimmerian steps forward then drops to his knees, digging them into the cold dirt beneath. His eyes blur as he reaches out, hands trembling, and his heart tears in his chest as he fears to touch her, that this is nothing more than a mirage—a trick—one more torturous piece of the game the monster is playing with him still deep within Erebus.
Touching the tangled ebony locks shrouding the delicate face beneath, Cimmerian cries out as he pushes her hair to the side, revealing the face of the girl he has mourned for a quarter century. Slipping his hands beneath her small body, he gathers her against his chest and looks to his peers.
“She’s alive,” he whispers, tears flowing freely down his face.
“Take her to my house,” Ethan offers, closing the distance between himself and the last of the rescued trio.
Cimmerian nods unconsciously and vanishes with his daughter in tow within a thick swirl of black violent wisps of Magik that erupts around him.
Tynan, already kneeling on the ground and holding the tiny fragments of what remains of his niece in his arms, cradles Gabrian to his chest. Trying to stand, shaking at the knees, he looks to the Elders. “She can’t be...” he whispers to them, his plea so heart wrenching that it drowns them all in his sorrow. “Help me, please...I cannot lose her too.”
66
BITTERSWEET ENDINGS
GABRIAN BLINKS HER eyes.
The world around her is so much darker than she remembers it.
She can feel tiny grains of sand slip between her bare toes as she walks upon the edge of the shore. Soft breezes surf through her hair, causing her unfastened ebony tendrils to dance and sway as the waves run in to meet her—whispering their ancient secrets—then rush back into the sea.
Her hands float at her sides and her eyes play hide and seek with the ghost of a sun she cannot see, hidden by a blanket of thick white haze that drifts upon the midnight world all around her, softening its eternal oblivion.
“It is quiet,” she hums, her words soft and unrestrained.
So quiet. At least the screaming has stopped, her memory whispers to her.
She nods and takes in a long breath, filling her lungs with air that smells of summer and life. A flicker of sadness brushes over her heart, reminding her of something she cannot recall.
Something ahead shifts, different shades of grey stir within the mist as figures slip through the layers of their shroud and move closer to
her. Gabrian curls her lips into a smile of greeting. Her fingers slip through the thin veil of vapor in front of her and her touch trails along the cheek of a slender, blonde-haired woman with eyes the colour of amethyst as she draws near.
Gabrian widens her smile, compelled by her alluring beauty. “What is your name?”
The woman offers Gabrian the name Eva through a voice that cannot speak aloud.
“Are you dead?”
The beautiful woman nods and blinks, her eyes brighten to a warm hue of violet.
“Are you Gargon?”
The woman nods again.
Gabrian looks past the beautiful female. She sees others, waiting patiently, their bodies cloaked behind the shroud of the mist, yet she is still able to make out their faces.
More Gargons.
Gabrian’s sight flickers between what her conscious mind recalls and what stands before her. The cold and daunting stares of the soul seekers she once knew are now soft and inviting, like old friends welcoming her home.
Something warm drapes across the top of Gabrian’s hand and she lets her focus drift away from them and down to the touch. Eva’s small delicate fingers are now interwoven in her own. Her hands, Gargon hands, are no longer clawed nor jagged but lovely and delicate, warm beneath her touch.
“Am I dead?” Gabrian pushes the words over her lips in a hushed breath, returning her eyes to lie upon the woman.
Eva’s mouth draws wide to reveal a smile so warm and tender, filled with so much love, that Gabrian’s heart swims within her chest in a flood of adoration, floating in a trance, and willingly caught in euphoria.
It is within the mist of Erebus that Gabrian Shadwell determines two things in this life to be certain:
One: Living and staying alive is hard, very hard.