Reborn: Age Of Magic - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (The Rise of Magic Book 8)

by CM Raymond

  He gritted his teeth and talked to himself, eyes glazed white and hands dancing over the body of the Skrim. Image-casting for the sake of storytelling had never been his forte—there were many in the temple who were far better than he would ever be—but as this image floated it shifted and turned and morphed, taking on different characteristics as Hadley imagined them into being.

  As he worked his craft, Laurel focused her green eyes on the Skrim. Her lips were moving too, but the words were inaudible. She raised her gaze toward Hadley, who had sweat beading on his brow, and as the image twisted, contorted, and flickered she pushed her energy into the organic body of the Skrim, contorting its temporal form with every pulse of power.

  Laurel’s eyes flicked from the Skrim to Hadley’s image and back again. She sat back onto her heels, exhausted and almost ready to admit defeat, and then she felt it.

  “It’s gone,” she whispered into the silent room. “The Skrim is dead.”

  No one moved a muscle.

  Hannah’s glowing red eyes looked at Ezekiel, whose own eyes glowed a brighter crimson than she’d ever seen them. “Now, Ezekiel! It is time!” she shouted, her words shattering the quiet.

  She watched him.

  Ezekiel leaned into the metal box which had held Lilith—the Oracle—for longer than any of them had walked the face of Irth. The crimson in his eyes pulsed and grew brighter with every passing moment.

  His lips were moving as if he were reciting some ancient poem only known to him and the Kurtherian. No, as if he were praying to gods who were listening, despite the number of galaxies that stood between them and their followers.

  The lights flickered, and the ground under them quaked.

  Every atom in Hannah’s body shook with the power of the Etheric. She couldn’t understand it, not then, not ever, but she knew that if she didn’t release it godsdamn soon the energy would crack through every pore of her being and leave her as nothing but a worthless empty shell of a woman.

  Hannah started to breath in order to focus.

  And then she realized that wasn’t the way.

  She cast off all that she had learned, all that Ezekiel had tried to instill in her. She let go of the mystical arts she had learned in the Heights, cursing their form and function.

  Instead, she thought of William—Will. Her brother.

  She thought of the Boulevard, and all the people who had toiled for nothing more than a few scraps.

  She thought of the rearick in the Heights who had lost their souls to the systems set upon them.

  She thought of the men and women in the Dark Forest whose fear had kept them cloistered.

  She thought about the Madness and Adrien and the Muur and all the other evil, which left without consequence would rise and rule the world.

  In all this, she thought about Parker and Laurel and Gregory and the rest.

  She thought about love.

  Then she looked at her mentor—her friend. She saw the love in his face, his love for Lilith.

  She would not fail him.

  And with that, the force within her increased to the power of infinity. It pushed against her skin—her very being—and threatened to undo her.

  She screamed, for there was nothing else she could do, and then she heard the screams of the others, the people she loved, raised in some ungodly harmony.

  And then Hannah did the final thing.

  She directed the power out of herself in an arc that covered the Skrim and the metal box and the entire room.

  She felt the power leave her, working to meld matter and spirit.

  She opened her eyes, but it was as if they were still closed. Darkness was everywhere. Hope and dismay swirled together, making a confused mess of her consciousness.

  In a tiny corner of her mind she heard a voice.

  A familiar voice.

  It was Ezekiel.

  It’s working, the voice said.

  And then there was nothing.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The fabric of Hadley’s mind snapped like a rubber band that had been pulled impossibly far. Darkness struck him, and although he could not think or see or smell, he knew his body had folded and collapsed to the cold stone. All he could feel was the dampness of the floor on the side of his face. That was all he knew.

  He laid there like that for what felt like an eternity and even more before his life energy started to stir again. The room came back to him, first as a blur and then a little sharper, until he could discern his friends prone on the floor, just as he was.

  His heart was beating quickly, so he took a second to focus, find his center, and its rate slowed.

  Hadley’s eyes turned to Ezekiel. His body was draped over a motionless red figure in the middle of the room.

  He closed one eye, trying against all odds to bring the scene into focus, and as he did he saw it. Saw her.

  The image he had cast, only different. Better.

  “Did it work?” a small voice inquired. He wasn’t sure if it was audible or just in his mind.

  Hadley pivoted his swimming head until he found the source of the voice. Laurel, holding herself up by both arms, pleaded for an answer. He tried to find the words, the answer she was looking for, but he didn’t have it. He looked at Ezekiel again, still motionless over the unmoving creature of Hadley’s design.

  The others stirred. All of them, except for Ezekiel and the beast transformed into the beauty.

  He tried to speak, but his words caught in his throat.

  Then he turned to his captain. His eyes landed on Hannah, and his heart broke and sank and then broke again.

  Her face was ashen, eyes sunk deep, and yet—perhaps for the first time—she looked completely at peace.

  “No, no, no, no,” he screamed into the silence of the room. “Shit, no!”

  The others stirred, their gazes fixed upon Hadley as if he had awakened them from their gentle slumbers.

  His throat grew tight with the knowledge of the inevitable.

  Gone.

  She was gone.

  He looked back at Ezekiel, who stirred as he watched him, and the beast they had created, which was still lying under him. His first inclination was to find a weapon—a blade, anything—that would allow him to take his anger out upon the thing which had required Hannah’s sacrifice. Hadley didn’t care if Lilith was in that beautiful body, his lizard brain wanted blood and vengeance.

  Eyes cutting back to Hannah’s still form, he snapped out of his rage and remembered just how much power was in the room. He dropped to Hannah’s side, then lifted her body and laid it across his lap, arm cradling her head—which was unreasonably heavy. ‘Dead weight,’ they called it.

  “Ezekiel, Laurel, we need you. Hannah needs you right now!” he screamed in the quiet room.

  The two magicians, both damned good at healing, rushed to his side. Ezekiel’s old fingers searched Hannah’s throat for any sign of a pulse, but his eyes dropped. “Nothing.”

  “Do something, damn it,” Hadley screamed again.

  “We got this, Ezekiel,” Laurel urged the old magician, the tremble in her voice indicating that it was more of a question than a statement.

  “She’s too far gone, druid. The magic drained the Etheric energy within her and then moved on to her life source. There’s nothing we can do.

  Laurel ignored him and moved around Ezekiel’s body, finding a place for her tiny palms. With eyes covered in green she began to chant, focusing everything that remained in her on Hannah. But her healing wasn’t enough.

  Hadley froze in place as he watched the druid struggle to do whatever she could for her friend. He watched for what seemed like an eternity.

  “She’s gone,” Ezekiel whispered to himself. His eyes were puffy, but his gaze never rose from Hannah’s face.

  “She can’t be. There must be something we...” Hadley’s words trailed off as his throat constricted and his eyes burned with tears.

  Ezekiel answered the mystic with silence. The only soun
d in the room was Laurel’s gentle weeping.

  And then Hadley’s thoughts moved from his own sadness to Parker. The boy and the girl—the tramps from the Boulevard—were truly separated for the first time in their lives. His heart shattered.

  He looked toward the door, trying to imagine walking out of it to find his friend and give him the news. There were no words that would do Hannah’s death justice.

  “She’s not dead,” a voice said from behind him. “I can save her.”

  Hadley, Ezekiel, and Laurel turned, their eyes growing wide at the sight of the thing that stood before them. Although humanoid, calling her a human would not have done her justice.

  The creature was tall—well over six feet—and had sculpted, perfectly defined muscles. Since she stood naked before them, they could clearly see it was a woman. Her features were a perfect combination of strikingly angular and a hint of softness, but if there were still any doubt, her perfect figure cleared it up. Her body was red, like the Skrim which had unwillingly donated its matter for her sake, and atop it all was a mane of perfectly jet-black hair that had hints of blue as it caught the light from around the room. Just below her hairline two pointed horns jutted, as black and shiny as if carved from the onyx mined in the Heights.

  “Holy shit!” Laurel exhaled as she looked at the figure. “You’re…”

  “Lilith,” she said, and her buttery voice soothed Hadley’s tension—which was odd, considering the circumstances. She held out her arms and twisted and turned them, taking in their form and proportion. “You imagined me well, mystic,” she said, looking at Hadley.

  “Yeah,” Laurel said, “and you gave her freaking giant boobs.”

  She did look like the image that Hadley had cast, only better. Perfect. The power of the Kurtherian had taken the potency of his imagination and turned it up.

  He shook his head. “Yeah, you look great, now let’s knock off the bullshit.” He glanced down at Hannah. “Can you bring her back to us?”

  Lilith nodded and pointed to the long table in the corner of the room. “Put her there.”

  Without pausing, Hadley scooped his arms under Hannah’s body and lifted her lifeless form. Laurel raced ahead of him and cleared the table, smoothing the surface with her hands like a mother preparing a bed for her child.

  Lilith walked to the back of the room, the muscles in her naked red body flexing with each step. She looked down at the corner, which was mostly full of faded boxes. Shoving them out of the way, she searched for the necessary thing—the object that had not been spoken of for a century at least, maybe more. After knocking the waste away, she uncovered a medium sized silver box.

  Hadley could see it from where he stood. It was old--obviously from the old world--but it had a glossy sheen that made it look new. Lilith pulled open a door at the front, and a warm light fell out. She smiled, and her impossibly high cheekbones went even higher.

  “Got it,” she said, reaching into the silver chest. She played around inside it for a second, then pulled out a small black case

  Gripping the case to her chest, she crossed the room. She put it down on the bench and started emptying it, item by item.

  Hadley watched intently. He was uncertain what the hell the Oracle was hatching, so he could only hope that she knew exactly what she was doing. He kept track as she set down a series of small clear flexible tubes, little glass bottles, and catheter with needles already in place.

  “What the hell?” Laurel whispered.

  Finally Lilith reached in with both hands and pulled out an oversized plastic bag filled with a deep red, almost black liquid. She held it out to Hadley. “Take this,” she said, “and do not under any circumstances drop it!”

  “Is this what I think it is?” Hadley asked, his face twisted in confusion.

  Ezekiel confirmed his suspicion. “Blood.”

  “How old is this?” Hadley asked.

  “Older than me,” Ezekiel said. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t as fresh as the day it was drawn.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Laurel said.

  “It’s not normal blood,” Ezekiel answered. “And Lilith is no normal steward.”

  They all watched as Lilith’s fingers moved with quickness and precision. She fastened a tube to the bottom of the bag, and an intravenous catheter to the end of the tube.

  “Hold it higher,” Lilith said to Hadley, not looking up from her work. She rolled up Hannah’s sleeve and slapped the inside of her arm, eyes looking for a vein. When she found it, she plunged the needle through her skin and exhaled. “Now we wait.”

  “For what?” Laurel asked. “I don’t get it. What the fuck is this shit?”

  Lilith squeezed Hannah’s bicep and looked up at the others. “’This shit,’ as you call it, is New Romanov’s most prized possession.” She paused. “Actually, it would be hard to argue that it isn’t the single most important thing in Irth at this point. It was a gift to us for a time like this.”

  Hadley watched Ezekiel’s eyes glimmer as the wizard pondered what was happening. His mind raced, trying to understand.

  Then it hit him. “Is that…”

  Lilith nodded. “Yes. It’s her blood.”

  Laurel’s head still swam in confusion. “Whose? Whose blood?”

  Hadley laughed and grabbed Laurel’s arm. “The Queen Bitch’s. Bethany Anne’s.”

  Her mouth dropped wide open, but no words came out. Finally, she spat them out. “Ho-lee-shit.”

  “’Holy blood’ is more like it,” Hadley said.

  Lilith watched the blood move from the bag into Hannah’s arm. She placed a hand over Hannah’s forehead, waited, and then with a nod she stepped away. “We’ve done all that we can for her. Now we must wait.”

  “Will she be OK?” Laurel asked.

  Lilith shook her head. “No, she won’t be OK. She’ll be perfect, like the Matriarch is perfect.

  “What do we do now?” Hadley asked.

  Lilith looked toward the door and then down at the figure Hadley had imagined for her. “I think it’s time to see what this body can do. I mean, there is a war raging outside these tunnels, isn’t there?”

  ****

  The man to Karl’s right screamed in fear and then fell quiet forever, but the rearick had no time to think about that. He dodged a giant foot, then ran out from underneath the tank. He was screaming orders, trying to get the scattered magic users to attack in unison.

  It was clear that they were completely drained and he couldn’t blame them, but he also couldn’t take down this thing without them.

  In anger Karl swung his hammer, which smashed against the Skrim’s scaly side but did little damage. The thing turned toward him, moving unnaturally fast for a creature of its size. Karl tried to duck, but he was too slow. Its massive paw sent him sprawling.

  He shook his head, then climbed to his feet. Looking around, he saw that what was left of his army was scattered and helpless. Parker and Vitali were drawing the Skrim’s attention away from him while Olaf and Mika were taking on some of the dog-like Skrima, but most of the fighters had fallen back and the few magicians still trying to fight were throwing weak-ass fireballs.

  Karl sighed, then looked up to the sky.

  He wasn’t much for religion. Oh, he believed there were forces greater than he knew, but he had always figured it was better to focus his energy on the things he could build or break with his own hands.

  But here, alone in this field of death, he felt a need to cry out to someone for help.

  He opened his mouth but fumbled over the words to say, then cursed loudly several times. Finally he settled on a simple prayer.

  “I dunno if there’s anyone up there listenin’, but I’ve done me best out here and it wasn’t good enough. So if ye got some sort o’ secret weapon, now would be the time ta let me know.”

  As soon as he finished his thought a loud crack split the air, and he turned wearily. “What fresh hell is this?”

  “Not from hell, K
arl. We’re the answer to your prayers.”

  He looked up and dropped his hammer in awe. Standing before him were Laurel, Hadley, and Ezekiel, with wild, hopeful looks in their eyes.

  But that wasn’t what grabbed Karl’s attention.

  With them was a female, but not just any female. She was big and strong, with red skin and horns like the Skrima, but the rest of her was completely feminine.

  “Wh-what…” he stammered. “What the bloody hell?”

  “It’s kind of hard to explain,” Hadley shouted as he ran to Karl’s side, “but let’s just say that reinforcements are here.” The young man looked around the field. “And just in the nick of time. I’m not a military man, but you’ve really done a shit job out here.”

  Karl was barely listening to the mystic’s words. Instead, he was fully enjoying the tremendous display of power in front of him.

  Laurel had knelt on the dirt, and an army of roots shot out of the ground. The Skrima began dancing, fighting off the bark and wood clawing at them from underground—which left them completely vulnerable to Ezekiel. A small storm cloud formed above his head, and he used his staff to rain down bolts of lightning on the monsters.

  But the female—her attacks were like nothing Karl had ever seen.

  Whereas most magic users attached some sort of form to their power—hand waving or mumbling mumbo jumbo—the red female simply looked and bolts of pure white light shot from her eyes. They tore through the Skrima, thick hides and all.

  And for the first time, Karl saw them retreat in fear.

  Watching his enemy flee, the rearick finally found his voice. “Is that... Is she who I think she is?”

  Hadley smiled. “Sure is. I dreamed her up.”

  “Well done, boy,” Karl said, shaking his head. “Bloody well done.”

  “I agree.”

  Karl looked at Parker, who must have snuck over to him during the commotion. Parker tore his eyes away from Lilith and nodded at Hadley.