The Bowl of Souls: Book 05 - Mother of the Moonrat

by Trevor H. Cooley

  I’m not disagreeing with that. It would be good for us if Fist could do those things, but it’s not likely his magic will be strong if he has any at all. Ogres tend to have a low magical talent. Don’t act like my elemental magic isn’t useful, though. I can heal you and bring up shields against magic attack. Justan gave a mental sigh. I just can’t use it to attack our enemies.

  Why is that? Deathclaw asked.

  I don’t know, it’s just the way my magic is. No one can explain it. I-.

  Deathclaw, can you hear me? The other voice called out again and Deathclaw’s nostrils flared in irritation at the interruption.

  Justan paused. What was that sound? I swear I heard a voice.

  You heard her? Deathclaw asked in surprise.

  Please respond to me, the faint voice said.

  Is that Beth? Justan asked. Did they find you?

  It is her, he admitted. Justan had not been happy that he had chosen not to return to the others, but Deathclaw had other priorities to see to. But they are not here. They are still a ways to the east. She has been trying to speak with me for some time.

  She can reach your mind at that kind of distance?

  She gave me an . . . object, Deathclaw reached up to touch the thin piece of wood on the cord around his neck. Though the night was cool, it felt warm to the touch. He had thought about throwing it away several times, but for some reason he hadn’t. He didn’t know why. She wouldn’t be able to bother him then.

  What kind of object? Justan asked.

  Wood. Deathclaw sent him his memories of the way Beth had broken the piece of wood off her knife and molded it in to the item that hung around his neck.

  Deathclaw, that whistle around your neck is made of Jharro wood, Justan replied. He seemed quite excited. I don’t know how she broke a piece off like that, but that whistle she gave you is very valuable.

  Deathclaw frowned in confusion. Then why would she break it?

  I don’t know. But whatever her reasoning, she must have felt it was important to give it to you. Justan’s next thoughts were very deliberate. I don’t understand how Beth’s powers work, but from what I’ve gathered, she sees the importance of things. She would not have given you a piece of that dagger if she didn’t think it was important that you return to them. You should go.

  Deathclaw glowered. He didn’t wish to return to the others. He didn’t feel at ease with them. I may return at some point, but I have not found Talon yet.

  I see, Justan said and Deathclaw knew that he understood. They shared the desire to see Talon’s existence ended. Justan wanted her dead more than ever since she had killed the wizard Coal. Did you find any sign of her?

  I did. Deathclaw showed Justan what he had found. It had been dangerous with all of the creatures still wandering about, but he had retraced the steps of the fleeing humans and found the site of their terrible battle along the road. Among the melted remains of Ewzad Vriil’s creations he had found the bodies of several fallen humans and finally the spot where Fist had struck Talon down. The scent of her blood had trailed off into the tall grass before disappearing all together.

  I knew it was too much to hope she was dead. Justan sent and Deathclaw knew that back in the Mage School where he lay, the human’s hands were clenched into fists. Do you know where she went?

  No. Her scent had not reappeared and she had left no other trace of her passing. She had gone somewhere to heal, Deathclaw was sure. But after that, he didn’t know what she would do.

  Perhaps she is returning to her master, Justan suggested.

  Perhaps, Deathclaw replied. He hoped not. He didn’t want to be forced to track her that far.

  Beth’s voice interrupted them again. Deathclaw, I know you can hear me. I can feel you listening. Just hold the whistle and respond. To his surprise, after all the time he ignored her, she didn’t sound frustrated, just . . . patient.

  I heard most of what she said that time, Justan sent. Please, do as she asks. I want to see if she can hear me.

  Deathclaw hesitated. He really didn’t want to, but could find no good reason to refuse his pack leader’s request. He gripped the small piece of wood in his hand. I hear you, Beth.

  Good. I was starting to wonder if you actually could, she said, but Deathclaw knew she was lying. She knew full well that he had been ignoring her. And is Sir Edge listening?

  I am, Justan responded. Can you hear me?

  I can, she replied.

  This is amazing, Justan said in excitement. How did you do it? I mean first of all, just communicating with my bonded and then that trick with the Jharro dagger? How is that possible?

  I can listen with the use of my own bonding magic, she replied. It isn’t a permanent bond like those you bonding wizards have, but I have learned to communicate to the spirits of others as long as I am touching them. As far as the Jharro wood ‘trick’, Yntri taught it to me.

  Can you tell me how to do those things? Justan asked.

  It isn’t that simple, I’m afraid. I checked your spirit magic talent when I first met you and I am afraid that as powerful as your bonding magic is, it is limited to your connection with your bonded. As for the use of Jharro wood, perhaps your betrothed can tell you. She is far more talented with Jharro wood than I.

  Oh, said Justan, disappointed.

  And what do you have to be disappointed about? Beth asked, sensing his mood right away. You can’t expect to be powerful in everything. The moment I met you I could see that your bonding talent is extremely strong and even though my own elemental magic is gone, I could see that yours is every bit as strong as your mother’s.

  I suppose you’re right, Justan said, but Deathclaw knew that if anything, the conversation had just made him feel worse. The man had so much raw power, but could control so little of it. Deathclaw couldn’t imagine how he would handle such a burden. His control was all he had.

  Now, I’m sorry, but I really need to speak with Deathclaw, Beth said and the raptoid felt her attention shifted to him. Listen, dear, I know you have another goal you are pursuing, but it is vitally important that you are with us until this siege is over.

  Why am I needed? Deathclaw asked. The giant can speak to his bonding wizard at the Mage School when you need. Your man can scout.

  True as that may be, we need you. I can’t explain it better than to just say that I know it, she insisted. Sometimes I know the way things may happen. Sometimes it’s with a vision, but with you, it’s just a certainty. You may be fine out there alone, but if you’re not with us, we will die.

  How can you know such things to be true? Deathclaw said.

  It’s spirit magic, Justan said. It can do mysterious things.

  Perhaps, Beth said. I’m not sure how this gift fits into the four spirit magic types, but I know it works.

  Deathclaw sulked. He should leave them to worry about their own survival. They could fend for themselves. Hunting Talon was the important thing. Ending her pain was his purpose. It wasn’t his responsibility to keep the others alive.

  But it is, Justan said and Deathclaw realized he had been thinking too loud. He had grown too careless around the human. Justan sensed his irritation. I have narrowed my voice to you alone. Beth shouldn’t be able to hear what I have to say.

  Explain, then, Deathclaw replied.

  Their lives are in your hands now, Justan said. This became your responsibility the moment you learned the results of leaving them. If Hilt and Beth and Charz die because you refused to stay with them, their deaths will be your fault.

  I do not accept that thinking, Deathclaw said. Talon is my responsibility. As long as she lives, she will continue to kill without purpose. Will those deaths not also be my fault?

  I agree that ending Talon is an important mission, but she will have to be dealt with later. Right now watching over Hilt and Beth and Charz is your responsibility, Justan said. Think of them as an extension of our pack. You couldn’t willingly leave any of us to die knowing your presence could save us. Could y
ou?

  Deathclaw growled. I dislike being forced.

  Justan gave a mental shrug. So do I. But that is an unfortunate part of life when you try to do the right thing.

  Deathclaw chafed under his logic. This human concept of right and wrong that Justan believed in seemed to stray often from the law of the pack, but in this case they agreed. One did not leave one’s pack members to die. Not unless the situation was hopeless. Begrudgingly, he increased the volume of his thoughts and said, I have thought on it, Beth. I will come to you.

  Oh, good! Thank you, dear, she said. I will tell the others.

  Wait, Beth, Justan sent. I have some information I think you should know.

  Oh?

  The prophet spoke to some of us today and told us the identity of the mother of the moonrats.

  Her interest was piqued. Please. Tell me.

  While Deathclaw acted as the bridge between their minds, Justan told Beth the story of Mellinda and Stardeon. Though he found it interesting, the telling of the tale took longer than Deathclaw liked. The temporary bond with Beth was too weak to shove complete memories through, so it had to be retold directly.

  As time passed, Deathclaw had to reel in more and more of his senses to focus on the connection. This left him feeling insecure in his hiding place, but eventually he became so enveloped in the story that he let his worries slide.

  John did not see Stardeon again after the day he left with Samson, Justan said, reaching the end of the tale. He left him without any bonding magic and with only his rings to power his magic. More than that John would not say, but we do know that the rings somehow ended up in the Dark Prophet’s hands. Justan said.

  I would venture that Mellinda had something to do with that, Beth said, her thoughts a dark glower.

  That would make sense to me, Justan agreed.

  Somewhere at the edge of his senses Deathclaw heard something. It was faint, but haunting. He ignored it at first, but the sound repeated until it pierced Deathclaw’s concentration. It echoed through his mind, a mournful chittering moan.

  Moonrats! Justan and Beth said at the same time.

  Deathclaw opened his eyes to find the forest floor flooding with pairs of glowing orbs of dim light. Most of the orbs were yellow in color, but scattered among them were pairs glowing a sickly green. As they moved, the moans rose in response to each other. It was a chorus; a chorus of mourning and hate and hunger, three emotions Deathclaw was intimately familiar with.

  He hissed inwardly and dropped his connection with Beth. He had been foolish and overconfident and allowed himself to focus too much on their communication. He had covered his tracks well, but these creatures would smell him out soon enough. He prepared his mind for battle,

  Justan sensed that he was about to cut off their communication. Wait! Let me show you what I know about fighting moonrats. The human slid his memories of fighting the creatures into Deathclaw’s mind. It took only a few seconds, but that slight delay gave the moonrats the chance to catch his scent.

  Hisses and screeches echoed out from the surrounding forest. Dozens of the creatures gathered at the base of the tree, while others made their way through the interlocking tree branches towards him. The information Justan had passed through the bond was useful though. Deathclaw now knew that individual moonrats were weak and that their eyes were their weakest point. Those glowing orbs were the source of the witch’s power over the creature and easy to see in the dark.

  The moonrats climbed from below and crawled through the branches with their many claws. Deathclaw kept completely still until the first one drew near, then his tail barb burst one of its yellow eyes and pierced its brain. The creature convulsed and fell into the milling mass below. As Justan’s memories had predicted, the rest of the creatures tore into the body the moment it struck the ground.

  Deathclaw willed time to slow down around him. He slid down the tree, knocking loose several climbing moonrats and sending them crashing into the others. Six feet before reaching the ground, he leapt away from the trunk and fell among them. He lashed out with claws and tail in calculating fashion, tearing every glowing eye within reach.

  Once he had cleared a space around him, he drew his sword. The night was dark and deep and he knew that Star was at its full strength. Star caused a burning pain when it struck in daylight, but at night it turned flesh to cinders.

  He slashed at the moonrats around him, using the shifting swordwork forms that Justan had taught him. Wherever the blade struck, searing flame erupted from the wounds. The air was pierced with chittering squeals of pain and terror as moonrats ran with pelts ablaze.

  Deathclaw screeched in response to their pain and lay about him with his blade more fiercely than before. The night was soon ablaze with burning moonrats, their wounds bright with glowing coals. The putrid smell of their burning fur and cooking flesh, made his stomach turn, but he kept on with his attack until he saw that his efforts were having little effect. Dozens of moonrats lay dead or dying around him and dozens more fed on their bodies, but there seemed to be no end to the orbs streaking in from the forest’s heart. It was time to move.

  This was unlike any fight he had faced before. Though in some ways it reminded him of battles with packs of dragon spawn, this time he had no pack around to help him. Deathclaw fought alone and not for food. This was for survival.

  He darted forward, dancing through the clusters of creatures, slicing any that came too close with his tail or sword. Their movements seemed slow and predictable to his focused awareness. Each animal that fell distracted several others, yet it wasn’t enough. They swarmed after him with numbers unceasing. On he ran, leaving death and confusion in his wake only to find more in his path.

  The night breeze changed direction and Deathclaw caught another scent. Screeches of hunger joined the voices of the moonrats.

  Trolls.

  But these trolls smelled different than the large trolls he had encountered earlier in the day. Those had reeked of the wizard Vriil’s power and though their scent had an acrid tang to it, that tang had been muted. The smell of these new creatures was dangerous in a way different from those other trolls. They gave off fumes that stung his nostrils with a sharp intensity and caused his eyes to water. He then realized these trolls were flammable.

  They soon came into view, lit by the glow of the moonrats around them, tall gangly creatures that dripped slime as they ran towards him. Their charge was fierce and mindless and every bit as hungry as the moonrats’. In their furor, several of them tripped over the moonrats beneath them. But that only slowed them down momentarily. They scrambled to their feet and kept coming.

  Deathclaw didn’t slow to face them. He knew that would be folly. But the moment one drew close, he lashed out with Star. The reaction was much more intense than with the moonrats. The troll was instantly engulfed in flame. It screeched and crashed to the ground, lighting every moonrat it touched.

  The intensity of the reaction knocked Deathclaw off balance and he nearly fell in surprise. His focused awareness vanished and the battle around him sped up. He lashed about wildly with his sword, forgetting Justan’s teachings. Another troll rose in front of him with claws outstretched and toothy maw gaping open. Star pierced its chest and the troll erupted so quickly that Deathclaw was struck with flaming spatter.

  The troll slime clung to his skin as it burned, searing through his scales, but he couldn’t afford to take the time to beat out the flames. He ignored the pain and kept running. Pain was temporary. His flesh would heal soon enough if he survived.

  The next troll approached and as he raised his sword again, he noticed that Star’s blade had begun to glow red. He lashed out at the screeching beast and the troll erupted as the others had before, but this time, the force of the blast was directed outward in a fan-like pattern away from Deathclaw, lighting several moonrats and another troll on fire.

  This minor distraction gave Deathclaw time to refocus. The world slowed down for him once more. He continued forward,
grateful that the sword’s handle at least was cool in his hand. Each strike he landed with Star caused a more intense reaction than the one before, but he didn’t have time to stop and think about the reasons why.

  Fire blazed through the forest all around him in a long trail leading back to the place where the battle had begun. The winter’s leaves, dried out by the spring breezes, were burning. Yet the moonrat mother drove the attackers on. Often they were aflame before they reached him. He lashed out, combusting one enemy after another and soon his sword blade shone white hot.

  Star’s transformation was a mystery. He had only used the blade at the time of its full power once before. But on the night he had battled Talon, the blade hadn’t reacted like this. If it had, he would have killed her back then. There was no time to dwell on it now.

  Each time Star’s white-hot blade touched an enemy, they were thrown from him as they burst into flaming pieces. He took advantage of its power, clearing the path before him and turning his attackers into burning missiles that should have sent his enemies into disarray.

  Still, the press of creatures grew thicker. They surged forward, many of them nearly dead from the heat before they reached him. The witch had driven even the fear of burning from their minds. His pace slowed and every step forward was hard won. Deathclaw knew that his survival was unlikely. They were going to overcome him with sheer numbers alone.

  The power of the sword blasted them back; immolated them. The night air filled with the screech of dying trolls, the horrible noise punctuated by the sound of moonrat eyes bursting as they boiled from within, each one popping with a sound like an infant cry.

  Deathclaw was not immune to the blaze either. Though the sword directed its power away from him, his scales smoked from the intensity of the fires around him. He found himself thinking of his demise with calm detachment. The feeling was puzzling. As a raptoid he had faced death with an intense instinctual fear. He should have been frantic in his attempts to get away, but he was able to fight on in full control and awareness. What had changed?