The Ravens of Death (Tsun-Tsun TzimTzum Book 4)

by Mike Truk

  At that moment, with thirty lethal foes descending upon her, facing the greatest foot soldiers of the enemy, Imogen rose off that gleaming caramel riverbed, black shoes lifting, skirt endlessly rippling around her as she took flight.

  I wanted to scream in savage joy as she flew toward them, feeling the roar of her new sanskara resonating through me, knowing that within her core Manipura had just come to life, spinning its rays of bronze fire, powering her up to meet the foe.

  Up she flew, arms spread wide, scream defiant and exultant, and the number of levenbolts surging out of her doubled.

  I was knocked back by the sheer force of her attack, knocked tumbling through the air as the world beneath me went white.

  In that cataclysm, I could barely make out the thirty legionnaires, their shadowed shapes - could barely hear their thin, attenuated screams.

  Then they were gone.

  Half-blinded by the light show, Shard held before me, I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision. I saw Imogen falling back toward the water which rushed in to fill the declivity she’d created - unconscious or dead, she plummeted back into the Starmilk. The other thirty warriors fell about her, crashing into the surging river, causing the waters to steam with their superheated armor.

  “Imogen!” I screamed.

  But I had time for nothing more. There were still some twenty or thirty of the warriors left. Neveah was a flitting shadow, leaving crimson mist in her wake, but ten or so remained to fight me, and with roars of their own they converged on where I flew.

  Reflex. Reaction. The Vam allowed me to read attacks before they came. I moved with mechanical precision. This stab needed to be deflected, that one could be ignored. Twist around this blow, cut off this head, roll up this man’s arm, cutting his friend in twain in the process. Press your palm to this helm, unleash a levenbolt.

  Neveah was fighting the bull-horned leader. Though I saw their battle in glimpses, it was clear the man was a paragon of martial skill. He wielded his huge ax with terrible speed, and it took blow after blow from Morghothilim without even being scratched.

  I’d have managed to withstand his attacks for but moments before being destroyed, but Neveah was fighting on another level altogether.

  No matter. The Vam encased me, soothing me, keeping me calm and collected. Parry. Cut through this ax haft. Front kick this fucker in the chest, caving in his cuirass. Parry this stab, and extend the parry into a slash that took off a head.

  The combat was a series of flashes, an array of frozen moments that replaced each other, snapshots that together stitched seconds of brutal violence. Blood spattered against my ward, time and again, along with heavy-handed blows which dented, cracked, and nearly broke through - but never did.

  My heart was full of my love for my companions, their love for me. My need to reach Valeria, to make her safe.

  Nothing would stop me. While I might not be hot shit, I needed to get through this for their sake - to justify their love in me, to be there for them.

  That need made my ward nigh impenetrable.

  A lunge neared, which I parried, twisted, rolled about, and flicked away, the huge blade flying out of the legionnaire’s gauntlet just before I stabbed him through the heart.

  His black wings flickered out of existence and he plummeted into the river below.

  I turned, gasping for breath, seeking out another enemy.

  There weren’t any.

  Neveah had slain her bull-horned foe at some cost - her left arm hung by her side, sleeved in blood.

  Below, Imogen was cradled in Brielle’s arms, Little Meow muttering as she pressed a hand to her brow.

  “That it?” I asked, breathless, turning to Neveah. “We done?”

  “No,” said Neveah, turning toward the obelisk. “There’s one more.”

  Following the direction of her gaze, I saw a hunched man emerge from behind the Black Obelisk. His spine was badly twisted, so he stood nearly doubled over, forced to lean on an equally twisted staff. A cowl was pulled forward so I could catch but an impression of his scabrous features - a long nose, an equally long chin, all of it covered in shifting tattoos.

  “Hexenmagus,” I said, thwipping Shard down to the side so the last of the blood flew from its edge.

  “Indeed, Savior!” The man’s voice was rich with amusement, like a ringmaster who’d taken great pride in his latest act. “And at your service! You have fought well, I’ll give you that, but alas, your trials are just beginning.”

  Neveah raised her palm and unleashed a bolt of black fire. It sped at the magus, who waved his staff, causing a green crystal embedded at its top to flare and suck the magical fire into its depths.

  “Now, now, it’s rude to interrupt a monologue. How else to express the many thoughts I’ve had percolating in my heart all this time?”

  “Flank him,” I said, flying down and wide, Neveah heading in the opposite direction.

  The hunched man seemed to sigh, and I saw him shake his head in what looked like disappointment. “Nobody respects the proper way of doing things any longer,” I heard him mutter, and then he brought his staff down hard upon the rock.

  A ward leaped into being, the same green hue as the crystal in his staff, and it was a large one - easily ten yards in diameter, centered on him, its far edge overlapping the Obelisk.

  Black fire began to corrupt his ward, pouring forth like ink dropped into water, consuming his green fire and turning it jet-black.

  Neveah and I timed our assault perfectly. We came in at each end, Shard and Morghothilim flying down to strike at his ward.

  It was like striking steel.

  Shard rebounded with bone-jarring force, and a second later, I slammed into the ward myself.

  The impact nearly knocked me senseless.

  I crashed to the ground, Manipura stuttering out, and lay on my back, able to do little more than prop myself up on my elbows.

  Neveah, I saw to my incredulity, had fared little better.

  “I was about to warn you,” said the magus, tone recriminating. “And save you the indignity. But your kind never listens. I suppose that’s a precondition to stupidity - refusing to listen, to myself or Lilith both - but what can you do? Regardless. The time has come for your instruction.”

  Neveah hadn’t hit the ground, holding onto Manipura, and took another swing with Morghothilim. The huge blade screeched across the black ward, drawing a shower of crimson sparks, but got no farther.

  “That’s an impressive blade,” observed the magus, turning toward her. “A demon, is it? And a powerful one, too. But my dear, no blade can hew through the Black Obelisk itself.”

  I climbed to my feet, heaving for breath. I couldn’t deny I was grateful for a moment to gather myself, to check in with my magic reserves. “The Obelisk sucks in magic,” I said. “It doesn’t give anything forth.”

  “Oh, and now you’re an expert?” The magus pushed back his cowl, and I saw he was bald, his features distended, as if someone had grasped the front of his face and pulled it forth, reshaping his skull to give him the appearance of some great beaked bird. His eyes were embedded more to the sides like a goat, mouth a thin slit. “You’re wrong. The Obelisk is a sinkhole, yes, but that’s when it’s passive. A Hexenmagus of adequate power can shift it into a state of dynamism and tap the reserves it's been accumulating for centuries.”

  His thin lips twisted into a horrific smile, and the tattoos that covered his head swarmed into a configuration that resembled a flayed skull. “And I have more than adequate power.”

  My other companions had reached the shore and emerged from the water, dragging Imogen with them. I shot them a nervous glance, raising a hand so that they stayed back. Lifting Shard, I pressed its point to the black ward, and pushed.

  I sensed… something. A complex resistance - not a perfect resistance, but rather something woven, a fabric so dense I couldn’t find a point of weakness. I leaned into Shard, trying to muscle it through, willing the wicked point to dig in
- but there wasn’t any give.

  “You’ve done well,” said the magus. “I’m suitably impressed. But alas, you have strayed out of your depth, Savior. You no longer contend with children or callow fools like the guardians of Ghogiel or Tagimron. You now face Lilith’s elite. And it's time you learned exactly what that means.”

  Neveah had drawn back from the black ward and hovered with her eyes closed. I’d no idea what she was doing, but trusted it was of utility. But what could I do? My gaze followed the scope of the obelisk, traveled up its massive, pitted frame, and I couldn’t help but feel a deepening sense of dread. What could this Hexenmagus do with so much power at his disposal?

  Brielle stood over the fallen Imogen, her burning blade in hand. “Whatever it is you’re set on doing, get it over with. Your monologuing is as pathetic as anything else we’ve heard thus far.”

  The Hexenmagus’ distorted face settled into a grimace. “Why is it always the most beautiful ones who think they can boss the world around? A prejudice instilled in them from a lifetime of being worshipped, I assume. No matter. Time to set matters straight. Let us begin with a demonstration of my power.”

  I closed my eyes, sinking into my reservoir. Doing this repeatedly was beginning to take a toll on me - I felt frayed, worn out - but I grasped the golden filament again, took a deep breath, and drank deep of the Source’s power.

  Then unleashed it in a concentrated blast right at the black ward.

  I held onto the filament for as long as I could, but it was like being underwater - the need to release, to cease channeling, became rapidly overwhelming, and with a gasp, I let go.

  When I opened my eyes, it was to see with dismay that a series of glowing concentric circles were already fading to black across the ward before me.

  I’d failed to do more than register the location of my attack.

  “Foolish boy,” snapped the Hexenmagus, though he seemed pleased. “Don’t you understand anything? The obelisk will eagerly drink whatever force you attack me with, then recycle it for my usage. Already the scope of that attack is reinforcing the very ward you sought to destroy. What do they teach Saviors, these days?”

  I gritted my teeth. I wanted to throw back a cutting rejoinder, but nothing adequate came to mind.

  “Now,” said the Hexenmagus, raising his bony arms, thick sleeves falling back to around his elbows. “Let the show begin.”

  Black fire poured forth from the obelisk to sink into his staff, which caused the green gem there to glow with an eerie, awful light. Looking at it turned my stomach and filled my mouth with sour spit, so I turned away, realizing just what he was doing.

  The corpses of the Luminous Legion were stirring.

  Along the shore where Neveah had cut them down, they were slowly climbing to their feet. Not rising as living beings might, but rising as if pulled up by invisible strings, their heads lolling on their necks, their shoulders slumped.

  Many bent down to pick up their weapons.

  They weren’t, I realized, being brought to life. Their wounds didn’t heal over. But they were rising all the same.

  From the Starmilk, scores of the legion began to emerge, levitating out of the emerald waters. Blackened, charred, some missing limbs, they arose, weapons in hand.

  Over a hundred of them.

  “Fuck me,” I whispered, rippling my fingers anxiously along Shard’s hilt.

  “Of course, mere targets for your fury would be of little interest,” said the Hexenmagus. “Let us give them a little spice, shall we?”

  Black fires erupted from their eyes, filling their ocular cavities within their helms, running along the length of their weapons.

  “Balefire,” said the Hexenmagus in a conversational tone. “It will cut through most wards quite easily. As for what it will do to flesh - well. It’s not pretty, my friends. Not pretty at all.”

  Neveah came flying around the ward toward me. For a second, I thought she meant to simply fight by my side, but her expression was intent.

  “Noah. There is a way through the ward. I’ve analyzed it with Sahaswara, but only you can do it.”

  “Better tell me quickly, then. Emma! Brielle! Get over here!” I needn’t have shouted. The others were hurrying to join us, the balefire warriors rapidly hemming them in from all sides.

  “The obelisk is connected to the crystal web. The same which channels energy from Bastion and Kether to the rest of the universe. By entering the web, you can find a way back to the obelisk, and destroy it from within.”

  “Hmm?” The Hexenmagus had been listening carefully. “That sounds unlikely.”

  The crystal web, the conduits through which incalculable power flowed from Kether to the universe, the very same which Lilith had blocked in Ghogiel - and in blocking brought about that sphere’s slow dissolution, the fall of ash, the quenching of all life. As the last of the magic flowed through the very ends of the web, reaching all the way to Malkuth, more destruction and death would follow in its wake.

  The web here might still have some power left in it, unlike Ghogiel, but it would be fading rapidly, almost gone.

  Would that make it easier to traverse? Harder? I’d no idea.

  A memory came to me - battling Grausch high in the mountains in Ghogiel, seeking to wrest the crystal he was trying to suborn from his control, and nearly frying my mind in the process.

  Emma and the others reached us. A green ward flew into being, overlapped a moment later by one of crimson. I raised my platinum ward, and Neveah hers, so each was concentrically contained by the other.

  “Meet me in your reservoir,” said Neveah. “I’ll guide you into the crystal web as best I can, and then will return here to help the others.”

  “Uh - Noah?” Emma had backed right into me, arms crossed over her chest as she hugged herself tightly. “Please hurry?”

  One glance was all it took. The black burning legion was nearly upon us.

  There was no time for words. I closed my eyes, sank into my reservoir, and there saw with a shock how low my magical reserves had become. Only perhaps a quarter of my reservoir was still full.

  No time for that.

  Neveah emerged from her sanctum, spirit glowing in its idealized form and flew to my side.

  Now press your hand to the black ward, she said. I’ll guide you into it.

  I wanted to ask how she knew this, how she could be so sure. But there wasn’t time, and in the end, I trusted her completely, so I did as I was bid.

  Not opening my eyes, I took a step forward, and pressed my palm to that burning mass of protective energy.

  Neveah’s eyes blazed with light, and a dozen revolving circles of white light, along whose length revolved runes of power, burst into being about her head.

  I felt a terrible sense of vertigo as the ward began to suck me into itself, as if I was moments from toppling over the side of the world’s tallest building and falling into an abyss. A gravitational pull which I fought instinctively but was helpless against.

  The Black Obelisk was about to drain me to a husk.

  The magic in my reservoir immediately began to froth and churn, spiraling toward the point of contact with the ward, and I knew, intuited deep within my soul, that once my magic was gone, my life force would inexorably follow.

  But Neveah was there, her glowing hand closing over my wrist.

  Just like diving into the manifold, she said, voice calm and rich with confidence. Come with me.

  Then my reservoir was gone - the golden filament, the churning magic. Instead, she and I were flying above a huge web, a vast eternity of burning black fabric whose very weft and weave were plain to the eye. It was impeccably knitted together, but wasn’t a smooth surface.

  The Black Obelisk’s ward.

  It was alive, in some utterly ineffable way, a living construct through whose fabric flowed power. As Neveah clasped my hand and pulled me toward it, my mind tried to understand what it was beholding and failed.

  The ward, the web, the fabr
ic before us was at once sucking the very energy of the world into its core, yet was itself a projection of power. On some level, it was akin to the vortex that might form over a drain hole, but a vortex which was multiplied a thousand times over, extending out into the world to destroy it.

  My mind wasn’t up to the task, so I quit trying to figure out what exactly I was witnessing and instead observed with increasing terror that we were diving right down into it.

  Calm down, said Neveah. I will guide you.

  I wanted to laugh hysterically. I knew that black web of potent magic was draining me dry even as we flew down. That I was already in contact with it, my palm pressed against the ward, but that now my mind was about to batter itself against the ward’s very substance.

  As we drew closer, we seemed to shrink - or perhaps the weft of the ward was that massive? The interlaced strands became ever more pronounced, and it was into one such interstice that Neveah guided me.

  My mind was rebelling, failing over and over again to translate what I was experiencing into intelligible terms. My metaphors were failing me, my attempts to impose understanding about this magical phenomenon lost.

  This was no blanket, no web, no mesh, or ward. It was the very underpinnings of a magical artifact, the guts of the Black Obelisk. While the manifold had presented us with a user interface, the Black Obelisk was never meant to be approached this way.

  We were diving down into the magic itself.

  We hit at a thousand miles an hour, and Neveah executed at that precise moment some manner of mental jiu-jitsu that protected our spirits from being destroyed. White light flared around us protectively - not a ward precisely, but a sort of Sahaswara-based energetic sleeve. We entered the ward, sucked in like gravity pulling us down a near-vertical waterpark slide.

  A million miles away, I felt my physical body retch and vomit.

  Stay with me, said Neveah, still impossibly calm - as if she were leading me by the hand through a crowded living room, and not diving down at blinding speeds through a construct designed to tear the very substance of our souls apart.