I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, but ultimately let it go. He had a point. Souls locked in the deepest pits of Hell had to be incredibly powerful.
“I need you to find out exactly how long I have to decide. And what the consequences are to waiting. What the Biblical Four Horsemen can expect if I don’t hand over these souls.” Because the more I thought about it, I really needed to check with Anubis, first.
“Well, left unchecked, it will drain the Biblical Horsemen to…” he searched for the right word, then snapped his fingers as loud as a gunshot, making me flinch. “What’s that saying? Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” he ventured, quoting the bible.
I grunted grimly, thinking. “But if we’re all Horsemen – which makes zero sense, by the way – why are we forced to cannibalize ourselves?”
Matthias was shaking his head. “Balance. Right now, the Biblical Riders have all the juice, all the toys. Your ragtag orphans have no toys, and the two squads just ran into each other on the playground. You’re similar, but different. A new branch of the family. You’re rivals, in a way. Friendly rivals, perhaps, but on the power spectrum, you’re rivals. And right now, you have three berserkers led by an even more unstable Mask,” he said pointing at my necklace, “and the orphans are staring down the rich kids. You need to throw them a bone. Feed them the souls. It’s not like your Devourer is going to last long, anyway. To be honest, I’m stunned it’s held three souls this powerful for so long without fracturing.” He glanced at the ruby, and his eyes widened in alarm.
Chapter 61
I glanced down, picking up on the horrified look on his face. It was fractured, and a spider’s web of cracks were growing even as we watched. “Well, shit.”
“You better decide fast, Nate…”
“How?” I shouted frantically.
Matthias scanned the room desperately, searching for anything that might help, well, with whatever unholy communion we were making up as we fumbled along. His eyes latched onto the Round Table, and he grunted, turning back to me with an uneasy smile. “Try Knighting them?”
I leaned forward, hissing. “I don’t know their names!”
“Well, give them names. That shouldn’t be too hard. You’re a fucking wizard, right? Merlin did it all the time.”
“I’m not fucking Merlin, you twat!” I snapped, panting with fear. Because I realized that Anubis was about to write me my first official warning for my employee file.
Matthias narrowed his eyes angrily at my insult, then he folded his arms, taking a deep breath, murmuring to himself like he was counting to three. His eyes considered the Devourer, then the coin around my neck. “You’re Hope, right?” I nodded. “So, come up with three other names… Something with balance, something with opposition. Pit them against each other. Maybe that will keep them from the Biblical Riders.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath. Matthias upended the bag gently, and the Masks fell out, rattling like a kicked hornets’ nest, smoking slightly as they singed the surface of the desk. And, as if the Names were being pulled out of me, I spoke, touching each Mask like a handshake, welcoming them to the world.
“Despair,” I murmured, touching the white stone Mask with the tip of my blade. The Mask calmed slightly, pulsing warmer through the blade, and a soul zipped out of the ruby, straight into the open-mouth of the Mask. That one felt very personal, for some reason I couldn’t quite explain.
“Justice,” I said, touching a golden Mask. I felt a cool, tingling shiver through the blade, and felt like I had just popped a mint into my mouth. The golden Mask also sucked down a soul from the ruby, eliciting another crack through the stone.
The stone began to glow brighter, the red smoke thick in the air.
“Absolution,” I said, touching the last green Mask. This one nipped at me playfully through my blade, and gobbled down the last soul.
The ruby crumbled to dust, a pile of lifeless diamond grit.
Despair to oppose and balance Hope.
Absolution to oppose and balance Justice.
I don’t know why, but the Names just felt right as soon as I said them. The Masks sat motionless on the desk, now, as if settling down for a long nap to digest their food – like everyone did after a big Thanksgiving meal. I just hoped it was long enough for me to do… whatever it was that I needed to do.
I was relieved to find that my blade was still intact, along with the feathers. No longer a Devourer, but still a powerful blade. Did that make it an Eyeless, like Talon’s spear? It didn’t have a single nick in it from all my fighting last night. Not a scratch or dent anywhere along the razor-sharp edge.
I frowned, studying the motionless Masks on the desk. “What about my Mask?” I asked, remembering that it was damaged. Was that crack related to this business?
Matthias looked up sharply, as if he’d completely forgotten about it. He held out a hand, asking for it. I tugged it off the chain, letting it shift into an actual Mask rather than a coin. It hummed lightly, but no longer the raging vibration it had been doing lately. As if feeding its siblings had calmed it, slightly. I handed it over, hesitating only for a moment. Matthias hefted it as if weighing it, and then lifted it to his ear as if listening to a secret.
Then he lowered it, glancing down at it in surprise.
He lifted it back to his ear, murmuring unintelligently. Then he listened again.
He lowered it much more slowly this time. “It’s… well, it’s jealous,” he finally said.
I threw my hands into the air. “What the fuck does that mean? It has a Rider! The others don’t!” Of course, I got the petty Mask.
“It means it wants a soul, too. Doesn’t want to be left out. You respected her siblings, she feels slighted. She should have been first.”
I pointed at the shattered Devourer. “I’m fresh out of souls, Matthias. And I am not going down to Hell to get another. Anubis is liable to lock me up for good when he hears I fed his souls to my new pets.”
Matthias handed back the Mask, waving his other hand dismissively. “Just go kill another god. That’s all these were,” he said, indicating the diamond grit. “Old, dead gods.
I blinked at him in disbelief. The Nine Souls… had been fallen gods?
“You’re friends with a bunch of gods, right? Just go ask if one of them will let you kill him. Or her,” he added, thoughtfully. “Hell, a Beast would probably do it, too. Someone with a lot of worship power, or just general power will also suffice.”
I frowned at that, his words ticking something in my mind. “I think Mordred still has one of the Nine Souls…” I said, thinking.
Matthias grunted. “Yeah, I don’t think you have time to take on Mordred again. This needs to happen, pretty soon. Your Mask is dangerously close to cracking. Find a god.”
I shifted in my seat, slightly, not really coming up with a convenient way to bring up that topic in my godly social circle. Maybe host a poker night? Hey guys, anyone want to bet their soul on this hand?
Something was digging into my hip, so I reached into my pocket. My fingers latched onto the glass vial I had used to tempt Mordred into joining me at Fight Night. I’d retrieved it the instant I’d put some clothes on, fearing to leave it out of my sight.
I pulled it out, studying it thoughtfully. The liquid metal swirled and shifted lazily inside.
I glanced over at the Round Table, considering Odin. I doubted he would be willing to hand over his Soul any time soon. “Hey, Matthias. Does it smell like blood in here?” I asked out loud, not knowing why, but remembering Odin had commented on it, saying the Round Table must be dirty. That it needed a cleanse.
Matthias grunted. “I don’t smell anything. Are you bleeding?”
I waved off his concern, tilting the glass vial in my hand absently.
I considered asking Anubis if he had any other Souls lying around, but was pretty sure he was going to filet me for stealing the ones I already had – let alone for feeding them to my new Masks. He’d told me to regrow my ichor, and I co
uld only do that by killing a god. Had that been another hint?
I tilted the vial again, watching the strange symbols floating within the liquid metal.
What had Merlin done to get these runes and symbols to float around inside the liquid metal. He’d made the Round Table, and obviously added that stream of metal for a reason.
I tried to read some of the symbols in the vial, but realized I was just staring at the vial. It was fascinating to watch, like molten metal alphabet soup.
Mordred had hated Merlin, hated how the people worshipped him, loved him.
I narrowed my eyes suddenly, staring down at the vial. At the liquid golden color.
And for the first time ever, I felt like an idiot.
“Motherfucker…” I breathed. “It’s Ichor…” Matthias grunted in disbelief, but I felt him leaning over the desk to get a closer look. My Mask began to purr, and I’d forgotten I’d set it on my lap at some point. The crack down the center was prominent, and I knew one solid blow would shatter it.
Merlin… had spelled his own blood, fusing it to the table. That’s what all the runes and symbols were. They were incantations, and with him having been worshipped by so many people – as much or more than Arthur had ever been worshipped…
Had Merlin, in his own way, become a god of sorts? Mordred had wanted that power for himself, to replace his Nine Souls…
With no other ideas, and preferring not to ask my godly pals to give me their souls, I popped the lid of the vial off, took a deep breath, and poured it on my Mask…
I heard a very surprised gasp from Matthias…
I heard a very satisfied purr from my Mask…
And I heard the sound of racing feet from the hallway behind us. “Nate!” Gunnar shouted, sounding incredulous. “It’s all over the news already. Mordred cancelled the meeting tomorrow. Said he had pressing business out of town and needed to postpone it for three weeks. We fucking did it!”
I felt him approach the table, suddenly noticing I wasn’t alone. “What are you two doing— Holy shit! Why is your Mask doing that?”
I stared down at it in amazement. “I guess we’ll just have to see… Three weeks, you said?” I asked, thinking about Mordred. “That should work. Matthias was just telling me about a vacation spot I really need to check out… But I have a few things to do before I start packing…”
And I began to plan my vacation.
I needed to learn about my past.
I needed to hear my own Manling Tale.
I needed to hear the Legend of Wylde Fae…
Because three weeks wasn’t very far away, and memories could be deadly things.
And I knew a little Fae child named Alice who was just dying to hear some Manling Tales…
Nate Temple will return in LEGEND, late 2018… Turn the page to read the first chapter of UNCHAINED - Book 1 in the Amazon Bestselling Feathers and Fire Series - and find out more about the mysterious Kansas City wizard, Callie Penrose… Or pick up your copy ONLINE.
(Note: Callie appears in the Temple-verse after Nate’s book 6, TINY GODS… Full chronology of all books in the Temple Universe shown on the ‘Books in the Temple Verse’ page at the back of this book.)
TRY: UNCHAINED (FEATHERS AND FIRE #1)
The rain pelted my hair, plastering loose strands of it to my forehead as I panted, eyes darting from tree to tree, terrified of each shifting branch, splash of water, and whistle of wind slipping through the nightscape around us. But… I was somewhat excited, too.
Somewhat.
“Easy, girl. All will be well,” the big man creeping just ahead of me, murmured.
“You said we were going to get ice cream!” I hissed at him, failing to compose myself, but careful to keep my voice low and my eyes alert. “I’m not ready for this!” I had been trained to fight, with my hands, with weapons, and with my magic. But I had never taken an active role in a hunt before. I’d always been the getaway driver for my mentor.
The man grunted, grey eyes scanning the trees as he slipped through the tall grass. “And did we not get ice cream before coming here? Because I think I see some in your hair.”
“You know what I mean, Roland. You tricked me.” I checked the tips of my loose hair, saw nothing, and scowled at his back.
“The Lord does not give us a greater burden than we can shoulder.”
I muttered dark things under my breath, wiping the water from my eyes. Again. My new shirt was going to be ruined. Silk never fared well in the rain. My choice of shoes wasn’t much better. Boots, yes, but distressed, fashionable boots. Not work boots designed for the rain and mud. Definitely not monster hunting boots for our evening excursion through one of Kansas City’s wooded parks. I realized I was forcibly distracting myself, keeping my mind busy with mundane thoughts to avoid my very real anxiety. Because whenever I grew nervous, an imagined nightmare always—
A church looming before me. Rain pouring down. Night sky and a glowing moon overhead. I was all alone. Crying on the cold, stone steps, and infant in a cardboard box—
I forced the nightmare away, breathing heavily. “You know I hate it when you talk like that,” I whispered to him, trying to regain my composure. I wasn’t angry with him, but was growing increasingly uncomfortable with our situation after my brief flashback of fear.
“Doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be said,” he said kindly. “I think we’re close. Be alert. Remember your training. Banish your fears. I am here. And the Lord is here. He always is.”
So, he had noticed my sudden anxiety. “Maybe I should just go back to the car. I know I’ve trained, but I really don’t think—”
A shape of fur, fangs, and claws launched from the shadows towards me, cutting off my words as it snarled, thirsty for my blood.
And my nightmare slipped back into my thoughts like a veiled assassin, a wraith hoping to hold me still for the monster to eat. I froze, unable to move. Twin sticks of power abruptly erupted into being in my clenched fists, but my fear swamped me with that stupid nightmare, the sticks held at my side, useless to save me.
Right before the beast’s claws reached me, it grunted as something batted it from the air, sending it flying sideways. It struck a tree with another grunt and an angry whine of pain.
I fell to my knees right into a puddle, arms shaking, breathing fast.
My sticks crackled in the rain like live cattle prods, except their entire length was the electrical section — at least to anyone other than me. I could hold them without pain.
Magic was a part of me, coursing through my veins whether I wanted it or not, and Roland had spent many years teaching me how to master it. But I had never been able to fully master the nightmare inside me, and in moments of fear, it always won, overriding my training.
The fact that I had resorted to weapons — like the ones he had trained me with — rather than a burst of flame, was startling. It was good in the fact that my body’s reflexes knew enough to call up a defense even without my direct command, but bad in the fact that it was the worst form of defense for the situation presented. I could have very easily done as Roland did, and hurt it from a distance. But I hadn’t. Because of my stupid block.
Roland placed a calloused palm on my shoulder, and I flinched. “Easy, see? I am here.” But he did frown at my choice of weapons, the reprimand silent but loud in my mind. I let out a shaky breath, forcing my fear back down. It was all in my head, but still, it wasn’t easy. Fear could be like that.
I focused on Roland’s implied lesson. Close combat weapons — even magically-powered ones — were for last resorts. I averted my eyes in very real shame. I knew these things. He didn’t even need to tell me them. But when that damned nightmare caught hold of me, all my training went out the window. It haunted me like a shadow, waiting for moments just like this, as if trying to kill me. A form of psychological suicide? But it was why I constantly refused to join Roland on his hunts. He knew about it. And although he was trying to help me overcome that fear, he never pressed too har
d.
Rain continued to sizzle as it struck my batons. I didn’t let them go, using them as a totem to build my confidence back up. I slowly lifted my eyes to nod at him as I climbed back to my feet.
That’s when I saw the second set of eyes in the shadows, right before they flew out of the darkness towards Roland’s back. I threw one of my batons and missed, but that pretty much let Roland know that an unfriendly was behind him. Either that or I had just failed to murder my mentor at point-blank range. He whirled to confront the monster, expecting another aerial assault as he unleashed a ball of fire that splashed over the tree at chest height, washing the trunk in blue flames. But this monster was tricky. It hadn’t planned on tackling Roland, but had merely jumped out of the darkness to get closer, no doubt learning from its fallen comrade, who still lay unmoving against the tree behind me.
His coat shone like midnight clouds with hints of lightning flashing in the depths of thick, wiry fur. The coat of dew dotting his fur reflected the moonlight, giving him a faint sheen as if covered in fresh oil. He was tall, easily hip height at the shoulder, and barrel chested, his rump much leaner than the rest of his body. He — I assumed male from the long, thick mane around his neck — had a very long snout, much longer and wider than any werewolf I had ever seen. Amazingly, and beyond my control, I realized he was beautiful.
But most of the natural world’s lethal hunters were beautiful.
He landed in a wet puddle a pace in front of Roland, juked to the right, and then to the left, racing past the big man, biting into his hamstrings on his way by.
A wash of anger rolled over me at seeing my mentor injured, dousing my fear, and I swung my baton down as hard as I could. It struck the beast in the rump as it tried to dart back to cover — a typical wolf tactic. My blow singed his hair and shattered bone. The creature collapsed into a puddle of mud with a yelp, instinctively snapping his jaws over his shoulder to bite whatever had hit him.
Horseman: A Nate Temple Supernatural Thriller Book 10 (The Temple Chronicles) Page 37