Storm Phase Series: Books 1-3

by Hayden, David Alastair

  Without the lights, Turesobei lost track of time. All that seemed to exist, to have ever existed, was pain. Finally, it ended. Fresh air and torchlight returned.

  He couldn’t tell how badly it had affected Iniru. She had passed out during the ordeal. Shoma’s skin was blistered, like she’d been out in direct sunlight all day. Her eyes were red, tears running down her face. Her nose, like his, was running.

  “Shoma?” he said hoarsely.

  “I’m — I’m okay.” One side of her mouth tweaked upward. “Should … should have stayed home.” Her eyes went wide. “Zai?!”

  Zaiporo was crying softly. “I’m —” He moaned.

  “He’ll be okay,” Hakamoro said, coughing. “Just clawed up. The poison blistered the scratches.”

  The Winter Child charged the Warlock and punched him in the hip.

  “You’re horrible!”

  “Me? You are the one causing this, child. Winter over the land? What is wrong with that? Do you not like winter? It is your natural element.”

  “People will die when their crops fail. You won’t fool me.”

  “You underestimate the people of Okoro. Many are strong, and the strong will survive. It is your destiny to open the gate. Fulfill your destiny. Do what you were born to do. Be who you are supposed to be. Open the gate and their suffering ends.”

  “No.”

  The Warlock gestured to the Wolf and the Poisoner. “Do it again. Put a little more sting into it this time.”

  The lights went out. The Wolf noisily stalked up and down the line, growling low, sniffing each potential victim. Tochibi groaned as the claws ripped through his tunic and his flesh. Then the gas descended, as before, but stronger. Iniru woke. After a while, no one screamed anymore. Their lungs didn’t have enough air to scream. The only noises were the creaks of the webs that held them as they writhed in agony, the soft sobs of the Winter Child, and Motekeru’s sick laughter.

  Turesobei tried to meditate — to block it out. He fell into a daze of pain. Was this what Torment was like for the souls of the damned? If so, Motekeru was a demon himself, for he seemed to enjoy it.

  By the time it stopped, Iniru and Tochibi had passed out.

  The Warlock patted the child on the shoulder. “Are you ready yet?”

  She shook her head, hesitantly.

  “See how they suffer? Do you want that?”

  “No.”

  “Then end it.”

  The Winter Child started to cry. “I can’t.”

  “I see that I am going to need to make this a little more personal.”

  Smiling demonically, he paced up and down the line, twice. He stopped at Iniru and muttered a few words. She woke with a gasp. She seemed slightly improved. That’s why she was alive. He was keeping her that way. He did the same with Tochibi. He paced the line once more and stopped at Awasa. A devilish grin spread across his face.

  “Untie this one.”

  The Spider waved a hand, and the webs fell away from Awasa and dissolved. Awasa stumbled free in confusion.

  The Warlock’s eyes lit with purple fire.

  “What are you going to—” She grabbed her head and fell to her knees. “Aargh! Get out of my mind! Get out of my —”

  Turesobei jerked at his bonds. “No! Awasa, remember yourself. Be strong! Fight him.”

  Awasa collapsed in a heap. The Deadly Ones laughed. A few moments later, she stood, her eyes … it was like they were bloodshot, except they were more a deep purple than red. Her skin was blistered a bright red. Dark purple veins stood out along her face and forehead. She kowtowed to the Warlock and kissed his feet.

  The Warlock placed his hand on Awasa’s forehead. “My dear child, whom do you serve?”

  “You, master.”

  “Indeed. See the white-steel sword? Pick it up.”

  “Awasa, remember yourself,” Turesobei said as she came near him. “Think of home. Think … think of why you’re here.”

  She ignored him as she picked up Sumada. Then she cocked her head to the side and stared at him as a bird might. Her eyes had now completely changed color from their natural bright blue to a deep purple, matching those of the Warlock. She blinked several times, then spun on her heel and returned to the wraith.

  “Kill the servant, Tochibi.”

  She marched over to Tochibi and drew the sword free of the scabbard, which she threw to the ground. She hesitated.

  “Kill him now, Awasa.”

  Holding the sword underhanded, Awasa plunged the blade into Tochibi’s stomach.

  Turesobei groaned. No, Awasa, no.

  Tochibi screamed in pain and jerked. She stared at him blankly, holding the sword. Amber light flared from Tochibi’s body. He was magical. White-steel would kill him permanently. His body broke apart in amber flakes that floated away like embers over a bonfire. He disintegrated until nothing was left.

  “Curse you to the deepest pits of Torment!” Aikonshi screamed. “I will make you pay!”

  “Good, my servant,” the Warlock said to Awasa. “Very good. A man of three thousand years … gone forever. I am pleased. Now the dream woman.”

  Motekeru howled in rage and shattered his chains. He stormed toward Awasa, but the Wolf and two of the clones tackled him. Another clone dove in and slashed him with a poisoned blade. The toxin had an immediate effect. They dragged him back to the rock and bound him again. The poison on the blades acted fast, but at least it wore off after an hour or so.

  Awasa stepped over mechanically and plunged the sword into Isashiara. She gasped once. Her body flickered blue, then shimmered amber. She melted into a milky puddled, then disappeared.

  “Well, that dream is over.” The Deadly Twelve laughed. The Warlock bent down to look into the child’s eyes. “Should I kill another?

  The child was on her knees, crying. “Please stop.”

  “Will you open the portal?”

  She shook her head no and kept crying.

  “Have it your way. This time I will let you choose. But not the wizard. He bears Chonda Lu’s kavaru. He dies last.”

  The child cried and shook her head.

  “You will not choose. Hmm. Which one shall I kill this time, then …”

  Awasa pointed the sword at Iniru and spoke in a hollow, distant voice. “That one, master.”

  The Warlock cawed. “Initiative! How delightful. You are better than broken. You have become a creature of hate.”

  Awasa stared at Iniru. “Master, may I please?”

  “Do it.”

  Awasa’s eyes narrowed, and a creepy smile spread across her face. Saliva foamed from the corners of her mouth.

  “Awasa,” said Turesobei, “remember yourself.”

  She cocked her head toward him. “Remember … remember what? I was no one. I am becoming someone now. This is who I should be.”

  “Well, this is ironic,” Iniru said bravely. “I always thought if anything, I’d be killing her.”

  Awasa pressed the point of the sword just under Iniru’s ribcage, aiming for the heart. Awasa breathed rapidly. Her face alight with … something almost like bliss.

  Iniru smiled at Turesobei. “I never stopped loving you. I never will.”

  Awasa drew the sword back, underhanded.

  “Stop! Stop!” the Winter Child cried out. “Stop! I’ll do it. Don’t kill her. Just don’t kill her.”

  The Wolf howled in delight. “We’ve found her weakness. At last.”

  “Of course,” said the Warlock. “The assassin spared you and came to rescue you … so you owe her. How utterly noble. We will spare her.”

  Awasa sneered and stabbed Iniru anyway.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  “No!” Turesobei and the child cried out.

  Iniru twisted, enough that the sword didn’t pierce her heart. Instead it lanced her in the side — another nasty wound, but not deadly. Turesobei sighed with relief. But Awasa wasn’t done. She drew back and stabbed again, the blow aimed at Iniru’s midsection.

 
The point of the sword pierced cloth and pricked through skin before it stopped. The Spider had latched webs onto Awasa’s arm and prevented the killing stroke. A clone stepped in, grabbed Awasa by the waist, and drew her away.

  Awasa spun and slashed wildly with the white-steel sword, cutting the clone. He staggered back, bleeding a purplish ichor. The Warlock’s amulet flickered, and the clone disappeared. It didn’t reappear immediately. At least there was some delay.

  “Cease, thrall! Cease!” the Warlock shouted.

  Awasa, panting, stared at him with hatred.

  “Cease. We have made a deal to spare this one. You will obey me.”

  Awasa fought it, but finally she kowtowed and set the sword down.

  “All of them,” said the Winter Child. “You must let all of them go when I’ve opened the gate for you.”

  The Warlock pointed at Enashoma, Zaiporo, Hakamoro, and Iniru. “We will let these four go. The others must pay an old debt. But if it pleases you, I will promise not to make them suffer anymore. We will kill them quickly. We can even put them in a cell until the time comes, instead of hanging them out here. Will that make you happy?”

  The Winter Child nodded. “I must initiate my powers.” She folded her hands together and started to speak.

  “It’s not worth it!” Iniru cried out, interrupting the child. “I’m not worth it. Let them kill me. Our lives are not worth eternal winter across the land.”

  “I will be Queen of Winter when I open the gate. I can make things better for the land, or I can make them worse. If he tries to break my mind and it doesn’t kill me …” The child nodded toward Awasa. “Worse things could happen. Better to risk releasing the One Hundred and the Eight.”

  She folded her hands together and chanted a prayer in Ancient Zaboko. Turesobei recognized only a few of the words. Kenja stirred within the room and flared within the girl, so strongly that a blue-tinged halo formed around her. Her eyes turned milky-white, as a wizard’s would when using his kenja sight. The aura flared outward, and then swirled back into her body. Her skin took on a subtle glow. She dropped her hands and spoke in a distant, alien voice.

  “I cannot open the Winter Gate until Avida reaches zenith again.” She pointed at the Warlock. “I am the Queen of Winter. You will keep your promise to me.”

  “Is that a threat?” he snarled.

  “It is a threat. I have warned you. A bargain made with the Queen of Winter is a sacred bond. If you betray me, you will regret it. An eternity in the Shadowland is far better than being locked in the coldest depths of Winter.”

  Judging by his face, the Warlock was shaken. Turesobei didn’t blame him. There was a strange power in the child’s voice now. She had unleashed the power of a celestial queen. It was probably limited now, probably not enough to challenge the Twelve. But once the gate to the Ancient Cold and Deep opened ….

  “Of course. I will honor the bargain made with you.”

  The girl stalked off toward her room.

  “You have twenty-seven hours, heir of Chonda Lu,” the Warlock said. “Enjoy what time you have left.”

  “You’re not killing us now?” Aikonshi snapped.

  “At the opening of the gate,” said the Warlock. “We want to make it special.” He turned to the clones. “Take them all out, one at a time, and throw them in the snow to soothe their skin. Get them cleaned up.”

  The Warlock approached Turesobei and whispered to him. “You are going to suffer, no matter what I promised the girl. The others can die swiftly. But not you. You are —”

  “Chonda Lu’s heir, and you have a vendetta. I get it.”

  “Heir? You do not know what you are, do you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It does to me. I will tell you. Would you like that? I will tell you right before I feed on your soul.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  The Warlock watched as two of his clones threw Turesobei, without his armor and shirt, into a bank of snow piled on the ledge. Blood and poison residue stained much of the snow from where the others had washed before him. The clones had tried to remove his kavaru, but had failed. No matter how much they pulled, the chain would not come off his neck. One of the clones pulled out his sword, but the Warlock told them to leave it be.

  Turesobei rolled around. The snow was so cold it hurt, but at least it numbed the itching blisters.

  “When we open the portal, you and your friends will be there to witness it. I want you, Chonda Turesobei, to see our revenge begin.” The Warlock stood over him gloating. “The One Hundred and the Eight will spread violence and devastation across the land. And the prisoners I promised the Winter Child I would spare will be a gift to the One Hundred and the Eight. I doubt they will see fit to honor my oath.”

  Turesobei jumped up and charged the Warlock. A clone intercepted him and knocked him flat. He tried to rise again, but a kick slammed him back down.

  As he lay on his side, he saw the storm sigil reflected in a puddle of melted snow. The Warlock’s words to the Winter Child echoed in his mind. “Be what you were born to be. Fulfill your destiny.”

  Turesobei had been born Chonda Lu’s heir, in some special way he couldn’t understand. But he had also been reborn as Naruwakiru’s heir, as the Storm Dragon. What was stopping him from living up to that destiny instead?

  Turesobei had taken on Naruwakiru’s energies to save everyone he loved from obliteration when he cracked open her jade heart with Sumada. He had made that sacrifice once, and he could do it again. He could bring the dragon from the dream and merge the two halves of himself. As long as he remained conscious within the dragon, he could control it. And he would likely have enough power to stop the Twelve.

  For a moment, he thought to embrace it now. But no. He was hurt, exhausted. Connecting to the sigil was nearly impossible, and if he managed, he would certainly lose control. He couldn’t risk becoming the Storm Dragon now. He could resist becoming Naruwakiru reborn — he had tamed her once, but what if some essence of her still lurked within him?

  Turesobei needed rest first. He had time. He looked up from the reflection of the sigil to the Winter Gate. They planned to release the One Hundred and the Eight, demons imprisoned there long ago. Imprisoned.

  He stared at the Warlock and restrained a satisfied smile. Now he had a plan.

  * * *

  Turesobei and the others, including Lu Bei, were taken to one of the rooms off the main cavern and locked inside. Awasa stood outside, guarding the door along with the Deadly Twelve. She had met his eyes as he went in. The spark that was … her … was gone from them, replaced by something seething … angry … unsettling.

  Everyone huddled together under three moth-ravaged blankets, except for Motekeru, who sat in the corner, silent, unmoving. Turesobei liked him better when he was moving. When motionless, he was more frightening, like all the rage was building up and waiting to explode. The snow baths had left everyone shivering. Weak and injured as they were, frostbite would soon begin to take toes and fingers.

  “I’ll summon a fire. Give me a minute. I don’t have a spell strip.”

  He pictured the runes in his mind, though the images kept fading. He chanted, his words slurring and clipping. He finished and held out his hand to the center of the room. Nothing.

  He fell to his knees. “I can’t do it … too tired.”

  Motekeru seemed to wake from his trance. His blazing eyes drifted across all of them. He turned his head to Turesobei.

  “Come, heir of Chonda Lu.”

  Turesobei staggered over.

  “Hold out your hands. Be not afraid.”

  He held out his hands. Motekeru put his head over them and spat out a globe of fire. Turesobei nearly dropped it, but he trusted Motekeru wouldn’t harm him. He’d handled darkfire before, so he could handle this. He tried to stay focused on not letting it burn him.

  “Put it in the center of room. Use it to power your spell.”

  Turesobei tried again. With the energy alre
ady manifested, the spell was much easier. Still, he almost messed it up, stumbling over words he knew by heart. A small, magical fire roared to life, radiating heat into the room.

  He sat down with a sigh of relief. “It will last … well, longer than we probably will.”

  Aikonshi stared at Motekeru. “You — you gave part of your life force … for us to have warmth.”

  Motekeru said nothing in response.

  “Thank you,” Enashoma said to him.

  He made no reply.

  “Your flame will burn out one day.” Aikonshi shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you did that for us.”

  “Why not? We are only strong in numbers.” More quietly he said, “And what does life matter now?”

  “My friend,” said Hakamoro, “for you are my friend now, thank you for this gift.”

  Everyone gathered around the fire. Hakamoro and Aikonshi helped Iniru and Zaiporo over.

  “So we just sit in here until it’s time to die?” Zaiporo said.

  “They said they would let us go,” Enashoma said.

  “Do you believe them?” Hakamoro replied.

  “No … but I was trying to. It was a nice thought.”

  Turesobei huddled under the blanket with Iniru. He wanted to put his arm around her, but he was afraid he would disturb her injuries, which the Twelve had hastily patched up again.

  “They’re going to take us all out to the gate,” Turesobei said. “They promised the child they wouldn’t kill you, and they won’t, not personally. But they’re going to offer you up to the One Hundred and the Eight and let them do it. A peace offering.”

  “What will happen to Awasa?” Shoma said. “I just can’t believe she could become so … evil like that.”

  “It’s not really her. When he broke her mind, it left only the worst part. That’s not her fault. She couldn’t resist him. She wasn’t strong enough.”

  “He entered my mind,” Shoma said. “He tried to break me. I almost gave in.” She smiled distantly. “But I thought of Grandmother, when she was teaching me origami. She told me that the strongest things were those most delicate in form, because despite the pressures of the world, they stayed true. I kept my mind on that, and he left me.”