David took aim again, when hands grabbed him from behind and the weight of a body crashed against his back, sending him to fly forward. He dug his elbow into his assailant, who let out a gasp and staggered away, giving David the opportunity to spin around. A young, white-clad woman with a shaved head glared at him, holding up a short sword before her chest. She took a swing at him. David rolled to the side. The sharp blade caught his arm, tearing his coat and biting into his flesh. He let out a yelp and rolled to the other side as the woman plunged the sword at him again.
When she lifted both her arms above her head to thrust the sword at his chest, he leaned backwards. He managed to draw his legs to his chest before kicking her with all his strength. He screamed in pain as his kick caught her gut. She stumbled backwards, giving him the time to extend his arm and fire a deadly shot at her. At such a close range, half her body disappeared, sending smouldering pieces of flesh to fly around him.
The copper smell of blood mixed with the overpowering stench of death. He grimaced in disgust as he wiped blood and guts from his face, trying to fight down the bile rising in his mouth. A wet feeling in his leg told him the stitches had broken and that blood was trickling out. He tried to ignore the burning pain shooting up from the gaping wound. Remembering Thomas, he looked for the man, to find him standing over the priest’s dead body. Somehow, the distraction offered by David had allowed him to overpower his assailant. Thomas ran to David.
“Are you all right?”
David nodded. His gaze darted around, struggling to penetrate the fog for more enemies.
Thomas placed a hand on David’s shoulder. When he withdrew it, it came out red. “You’re wounded.”
David shook his head. “Just a scratch. Come on, we have to help the others.”
Holding on to Thomas, David limped back where they had come from, ignoring the riderless horses galloping their way. They followed the sounds of battle until they stumbled on a group of Antheans surrounded by white-clad priests. A sergeant in the middle of the small group was barking commands from his horse until a spear hit him in the chest. He crashed on the ground and disappeared within the throng of fighters. Swords clanged. Men howled in pain and rage.
“Bows are useless,” Thomas said. “We have to do this the hard way.”
David extended his arm. “I’ll cover you.” He took a measured step back and aimed, when his injured foot slipped on the mud, and an errant shot of blue light flew from his Sheimlek-dar. It exploded against a massive overhanging branch. The wood burst into flames before crashing on four priests about to enter the battle. It crushed two of them and sent the other two to flee screaming, patting down flames from their garments.
“Nice shooting,” Thomas joked and extended his arm.
David grabbed the Major’s hand to stumble to his feet. “Yeah.” He leaned on Thomas, his leg now burning with numbing pain. Strangely enough, he could not feel any pain from his shoulder. “Don’t move.” Using Thomas’ back to hold his arm steady, he took aim at the priests at the fringes of the battle and fired repeated volleys. Caught between the Antheans and the new threat, men and women screamed as blue bolts of light burnt through their bodies and exploded around them. After a few volleys, they scattered and fled. David kept firing at them even as they disappeared into the mist.
His leg contracted with a violent spasm. Wrenching pain burst through his body. He let out a pained cry and dropped on all fours. Thomas’ hand steadied him, stopping him from sprawling to the ground.
“It’s okay, buddy, I’ve got you,” he said and helped him under a tree. “Can you ride?”
David grimaced in pain. “We need to clear the path first.”
Thomas wiped the rain from his forehead. “And find the horses. Plus, we don’t know if they’ll be coming back.”
Around them, blood-curdling cries echoed in the night as the victors tended to the wounded and finished off any assailants left behind. Mercifully, the rain and fog blanketed the worst of the sounds.
David pulled on Thomas’ arm to raise himself to his legs. “Give me a hand.”
Thomas wrapped his arm around David’s shoulders. “What are you doing?”
Holding on to Thomas, David limped to the logs blocking their way. He extended his arm and fired a volley. The explosion splintered the thick trunks and cleared the way, leaving nothing but smouldering stumps.
Thomas grabbed a burning branch and twisted it until it came free in his hand. “Now we have light. And we can push ahead.” He looked at David, a concerned look on his face. “You need to rest.”
David ground his teeth in pain. “What I need is a healer. And I know where to find her.” His leg felt on fire, the burning pain beating through his body, but they had little choice. As Thomas had pointed out, their attackers might come back. “Have the men gather any horses they can find. We need to press on.”
“We can’t,” Thomas said. “We need to bury our dead. Tend to the wounded.”
“We can do that on the way back.” Thomas opened his mouth to protest, but David cut him off. “We lost half our men at the beach. How many more today? Another quarter?”
Thomas’ eyes darkened. “I don’t know. Probably.”
“Don’t you see? If we stay here, there won’t be anyone left to bury the dead. We push ahead, regroup. Help is over that hill. We can do this.”
Thomas said nothing for a long moment. “I’ll tell the men.” He eased David down and spun around, disappearing into the darkness. A little later, he returned with a dozen riders, followed by a score of horses, each with a soldier strapped on their backs. He offered David the reins to a horse.
“Thank you.” David struggled to pull himself to his feet. A soldier ran over to prop him up, offering his broad shoulder for David to lean on.
“Many of the wounded won’t make it through the night,” Thomas said as soon as David had mounted.
David’s head swam. His mind ordered his hand to clasp the reins, but his fingers refused to obey the command. The horse took one step and blinding pain shot through his shoulder. He used his other hand to hold the reins, each step of the horse a burning arrow piercing his body. “Then, we reach the Old Woman before dawn.”
The Marshes
Moirah
Lehmor rubbed his leg and grimaced. Kiwi had left the infirmary a few days ago, but only today had the Old Woman and the healer finally allowed him to leave, too.
Moirah placed a hand over his. It tweaked under her fingers, then held still. “Are you still in pain?”
He avoided her eyes. “No.”
She drew a deep breath, taking in the earthy forest smells. The recent rains had finally stopped, but the winter sun, now low in the horizon, would need days to dry the soaked woods. “I owe you an apology.” She waited for him to speak, but he remained silent. She cursed herself; she knew him better than to expect a response. “I’m sorry for the things I said. For blaming you for what happened.”
He seemed lost in examination of the dripping needles above their heads. “I wish you had stood by me when I needed you,” he then said.
His words cut her, wounded her. She yanked her hand away, instantly regretting it. Yet, she could not bring herself to place it back. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” He raised his eyes to meet hers. “But I did the right thing.”
For a second, she felt like hitting him, punching him. He infuriated her with his pig-headedness, his impossible stubbornness. Without waiting for a response, he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. She froze for a moment, then her lips parted and she lost herself in that kiss. It melted away her anger, her fears, their past. He was the most exasperating, maddening man she had ever met, but he was her husband, and she loved him more than life itself. She placed her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her. They rolled on the moist ground, ignoring the wetness, and she pushed him down, to climb on top of him. Fumbling with his trousers, she climbed on top of him, their lips never parting.
The
y only lasted a few minutes before the much-needed release. She nuzzled her face in his neck, listening to his heartbeat. After a long moment, it slowed down from a frenzied drumming to a steady beat. She ran her fingers through his hair. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear before biting it lightly.
He squeezed her in his arms, pressing her body against his, then she squealed as a drop of water landed on her neck to crawl on her back. She rolled off, laughing, and lowered her skirt as he pulled up his trousers. The sound of approaching hooves cut off their mirth.
“Riders?” Moirah shot Lehmor a surprised glance. Tradition forbade riders on the hill. They rushed over to the path leading up to the cave. Hidden in the thick bushes, they watched a score of fur-clad riders approach. Two men led them. Not First. Despite the heavy coats that resembled those worn by First and Newcomers alike in the North, the riders were clean-shaven. Soldiers. Their posture and weapons betrayed a life of fighting. Injured. Half of them had hastily covered wounds. One of their leaders was barely able to hold on to his horse, his head bobbing on his chest.
As he passed their hiding place, he turned his face towards them, and Moirah let out a surprised cry. “David!” She jumped out of the bush. Lehmor dashed after her. David’s eyes caught on her and a smile lit up his pale face. He tried to pull the reins but lost his balance and nearly tripped over, crying out in pain.
Lehmor jumped to his side and grabbed him before he stooped over. The man riding next to David dismounted and pushed his shoulder under David’s armpit to prop him up. “I’m Major Thomas,” he said with a grunt. “We need your help.”
The Marshes
Lehmor
“Does it hurt?” Lehmor asked, pointing at David’s leg. The healer had placed him in stasis, the strange name describing the eerie state in which a man looked more dead than alive. She had only brought him out of it a few minutes ago.
David shook his head. “Not really.”
The healer hovering around the bed pointed a finger at him. “You were lucky. You’d lost so much blood, it was touch and go for a few days.”
“Are you and Moirah…” David said, then cringed as the healer pushed his leg backwards to make sure it bent all the way.
“We’re good.” Lehmor paused for a moment, unsure how to explain. “Cyrus is here, too.” All three of them had taken turns over David’s bed, waiting for the healer to bring him back to life. He wished he could notify them of David’s recuperation.
David’s eyes flew open. “Cyrus? What’s he doing here?”
Lehmor waved a dismissive hand. “Long story. The question is, what are you doing here?”
David’s eyes darkened. “I heard Malekshei had fallen. When we travelled through the North, I saw it with my own eyes. There’s nothing left for miles but death and ruins.”
Lehmor bowed his head. “My fault,” he whispered.
“Not true,” David protested. He cast a questioning look at the healer, who placed his leg back and nodded before leaving. David swivelled on the bed to let his legs dangle at its edge. Despite the new scar splitting his calf in two, he seemed to be in no pain.
“No?” Lehmor smiled bitterly and explained the ill-fated attack against Pratin that resulted in Abaddon’s death. He left nothing out, including Abaddon’s story of the Bears. When he finished, the weight of his failures felt heavy on his shoulders. They’d only had a single chance to take Pratin out, and he had blown it. I must make things right.
David let out a low whistle. “Damn. How long was I gone?”
“Long enough for the Antheans to leave. Something about a boat.”
“I’d have liked to thank Thomas. They should have stayed. It’s too dangerous out there.”
“So, what are you two going to do about it?” a woman’s voice said behind them.
They turned their heads to see the Old Woman standing at the doorway. She made her way into the room and placed a tender hand on David’s shoulder. “Good to see you again.”
“You too.” David nodded at his leg, grinning. “And thanks. Feels like new.”
“You four have kept us busy,” the Old Woman said, giving the healer a grateful nod. The woman reciprocated before leaving the room. “It’s great that you’ve all managed to escape death so far, but please be more careful in the future.”
“Doubt it,” Lehmor said, and the grin on David’s face disappeared. “We need to go back.”
“Back where?” David seemed confused.
“Pratin,” Lehmor said. The name fell like a bomb in the room, shocking everyone into silence.
The Old Woman shook her head. “A strange way of being careful.”
Lehmor slapped his fist against his hand. “Don’t have a choice. We must strike now. We have your Wolves and my First.”
“Not enough, I’m afraid.” The Old Woman eyed Lehmor with curiosity. “Why the rush? We haven’t heard from the Iotas in a while.”
“Pratin’s creating an army,” Lehmor said. “Every day counts. Soon, it will be too late.”
“All the more reason why we must be better prepared,” David said. “The First can stand against him.”
“Not without weapons,” Lehmor said and glanced at the Old Woman.
“And men,” David insisted. “The North is in ruins. It will take months for the First to gather. How many clones and Fallen survived Malekshei?”
“A few hundred,” Lehmor said. “Maybe.”
David scratched his chin. “And how many more can Pratin create?”
Countless. Lehmor avoided his eyes. “Thousands. Tens of thousands.”
David climbed back on his bed to lie down. “We’re so screwed…”
“That’s why we must attack,” Lehmor said.
“How many guard their city?” David asked, his eyes closed.
Lehmor shook his head. “A thousand? Two thousand?”
David’s eyes flew open. He raised his hand, touching one finger at a time as he spoke. “And you want to attack a fortified city,” – one finger - “guarded by better soldiers,” – second finger – “armed with better weapons?” He touched a third finger. “With what? Maybe a hundred men?” He shook his head in dismay. “We need an army.” His eyes met the Old Woman’s. “And we all know where to find one.”
“No,” she said and took a step back. “I’ve told you before – it’s forbidden.”
“Let them choose!” David cried out. “It’s either that or death for all of us. When Pratin unleashes his clones onto the planet, we’re all dead – your charges included. How long do you think we have?”
Lehmor remembered his conversation with Stripet. “The new clones will be ready by the year’s end.”
“The year’s end?” David exploded. “That’s days from now!”
The Old Woman opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. “I’ll have to discuss it with the others.” She spun around and stormed out of the room.
“You’d better hurry,” David shouted after her. He stretched his leg, fighting through the stiffness. “I’ll get you an army, Lehmor, I promise. They don’t have a choice. It’s time to wake up the Dreamers.”
Lehmor stared at him. He had not heard the legend of the undead ancestors since he was a little boy. He remembered the soft murmur of his aunt’s voice as he fell asleep in her arms and a bitter smile twitched on his lips. He wants to make me an army out of fairy tales!
“There’s an army right under our feet, Lehmor,” David continued, as if reading his thoughts. “When I first asked her to wake them up, she refused. Now she has no choice.” He rotated his injured arm and grimaced. “I once asked her about a prophecy. About the Rapture.”
Memories of childhood stories flooded Lehmor’s mind. The event described the end of days, the time when the ancient enemy would be defeated once and for all. “Rapture,” he whispered in awe. He never thought he would live to see the day, let alone play a part in it. If, of course, David was right.
David rubbed his knee with short, nervous strokes. “Ra
pture,” he repeated. “Looks like this is it.”
The Marshes
David
“We’ll do it,” was all the Old Woman had said. She had offered no explanation, no description of the debate with the Orbs. Whatever they had discussed, they had agreed to go ahead with the Rapture.
She had led him down to an eerie room, deep in the bowels of the hill. He had never been so far away from the surface, and the hot temperature surprised him. Despite the heat, an icy chill curled up his spine. The only furniture in the room was a round table covered with ornate carvings, like countless wrinkles. Chairs made from an unfamiliar, dull grey material spread around it, the backs at an almost horizontal angle. He pricked one of them with his finger. The foamy material embraced his finger and let it sink in, surprising him by its softness.
“What do I do?”
The Old Woman pointed to one of the chairs, her face drawn. Her downturned lips showed her displeasure at the sacrilege they were about to commit.
David lay down on one of the chairs. It rapidly assumed the shape of his body, making him feel as if he were sinking and hovering at the same time. This is nice.
Orbs of light gathered around them, as the Old Woman placed her palms on the table’s edge. It lit up, the many ridges on its surface taking a glowing blue hue. It pulsed faster and faster, drawing David’s eyes to the table’s centre, where the many rivers of light converged into a single point. He fixed his gaze there, mesmerized, then the room disappeared and a myriad of worlds exploded in his head, each stranger than the previous one.
He swam in a planet consisting of a living ocean. The silver waters formed a sentient being, so different to anything he could imagine that it seemed impossible to communicate with. Giant creatures like transparent jelly-fish broke the ocean’s surface to hover above it for a moment. Their bodies pulsed as they pushed through the planet’s thick atmosphere. He gaped at a dancing circle of glowing red spots that sparkled over the creatures’ blue dome-like top, then they dove back under the ocean’s surface, one after another. David could not tell if they were part of the ocean or its children.
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 81