The Witch's Eye

by Steven Montano

  “You see, Lady Riven,” Lynch said with a satisfied smile. “I told you we’d find her.”

  The vampire dame smiled coldly. That undead face was the last thing Danica saw before she lost consciousness.

  TWENTY-THREE

  MARAUDER

  The air pulsed with the sound of arcane engines. Two Southern Claw Bloodhawks and the airship Marauder flew through the chill sky, trailed by their own dark shadows on the choppy waves below.

  Silver and black mist partially obscured the broken isles and floating debris on the water’s surface. The wind smelled of gunpowder and hex currents. Even without a spirit Cross heard the voices of the lost, the tortured cries of souls marooned in the aftermath of battles. The dark waters faded to ice-blue, and eventually turned crystal clear. They saw rocks beneath the sea, as well the ruins of ancient cities and the twisted metal remains of downed airships and Southern Claw war fleets. Uncounted lives had been lost in the constant maritime battles between the Ebon Cities and the Southern Claw. Evidence of the fighting could be seen in the distance: bomb blasts, clouds of gunsmoke, drifts of burning fog filled with red-white explosions. Now and again the vapors would shift and Cross caught sight of distant fliers – reptilians, sleek vampire warships, and twisted sacks of floating meat carried on the foul breeze.

  Cross held Shiv’s hand tight, while her father stood on her other side. The wind seemed to rip right through them. They waited with a sense of dread as the cluster of ships followed the hex lines to the living artifact.

  The Witch’s Eye lay directly ahead. Cross could see its trail, as Shiv shared her arcane vision through their touch. Ankharra stood behind them with a hex stone in hand. The crystal shifted as they flew, pulled towards their destination. If anything happened to the trail, Ankharra’s spirit could act through her implement and find it again.

  Shiv and Cross saw threads of grey-green hex power, a trail of burning energy like scum on the water. He could taste it on the air, an afterburn of dark magic. Cross kept one hand on the forward railing. The mast creaked over their heads, and the wet sea air made him shiver in place.

  Whispers slithered around them. He couldn’t see the spirits, but he knew they were there. He smelled their ancient gravestone odor and felt their ice-cold claws press against his skin.

  They were close. The trail led deep into Rimefang Loch, towards a cluster of islands at the center of the sea. One island in particular loomed larger than the rest, a massive rock formation with a crater at its center, partially obscured by storms of shadow and fog. An outer ring of curved mountains surrounded the island.

  Howling winds pushed at Maurauder. As the ship elevated to put distance between itself and the increasingly larger stones on the water’s surface, Cross saw that the outer islands had once been connected to the larger, and thin trails of rock and vegetation tied everything together in web of stone.

  He felt a presence on the island, the same cold and calculating entity he’d faced in the Bone March. It had dared him to follow, and now it waited for him. When he’d stared into the depths of that glittering orb he’d seen the end of all things.

  Cross knew Shiv felt it, too. There was dread in her eyes, and fear in her heart. Everything about her flowed into him: her emotions, her memories, her dreams. She’d barely known her mother, and she was terrified she’d lose her father, too. Cross felt the warm pulse of her soul and the whispers at the edge of her thoughts. She’d always thought the voices in her head were just her imagination.

  He tried to help her control powers that could overtake the mind of even an experienced mage, let alone that of a child with no experience. Cross wasn’t sure what aid he could actually lend – his blade afforded him no special control over wild ghosts, and all he was really doing was holding Shiv’s hand, talking to her, and helping her identify what they needed to look for, and what they could afford to ignore.

  Maybe that’s enough.

  “Just help her,” Ankharra had told him. “You’ve seen and done things she hasn’t. Your experience will be invaluable.” Ankharra wasn’t sure how linking with Shiv as she tried to interact with the Eye’s energies might affect a mage, so the duty fell to Cross. After all, Shiv trusted him.

  But their bond had an effect he wouldn’t wish on anyone: just as her mind had opened to him, his had opened to her. He tried to push away thoughts of the war, of Blackmarsh and Wormwood, of the horrors in the Bonespire and the Whisperlands.

  He saw Snow, burning on the train. He couldn’t keep that thought away.

  Shiv said nothing. She squeezed his hand tight and looked ahead, watched as the gossamer trails of lost souls stretched to the horizon. The falling sun painted the world red and gold, and its beams fell warm against their skin.

  They came within sight of the isle just as the sun was setting.

  They approached from the east.

  The vampires came from the south.

  It was a full Wing: six warships and two massive sea vessels that looked like armored sharks. They bore straight towards the island.

  There was smoke in the sky, a trace of black like a charcoal smear. Rips of bomb blasts sputtered high in the atmosphere. The Ebon Cities warships rotated their iron cannons. Massive barrels spat hexed shot.

  Cross had been in many battles. He’d never gotten used to how they never actually seemed to begin – one moment the air was still and the ships moved quietly, and in the next everything was a catastrophe of noise and explosions, bodies and blood.

  Razorwings came at them. A pair of Ebon Cities warships changed course to follow the reptile fliers and intercept the Southern Claw vessels.

  “Incoming!” a voice cried out. Cross rushed Shiv and Flint below. Shiv squeezed his hand tight before she moved down the steep stairs and into the depths of the hold. He saw fear in her eyes.

  His heart hammered. The guns on the deck powered up, and the coils on the arcane flame launcher glowed red and billowed crimson steam. One of the officers handed Cross a SIG SG 552. Wara and the other Doj yielded what looked like steam-powered harpoon launchers. The Lith were on board, as well, and readied their bows and blades.

  The Marauder, in spite of its namesake, wasn’t a war vessel but a cargo ship. Even then, it was clearly outfitted to take a beating, as hydraulic lifts shifted cold iron plates to shield the hull and prevent anything from landing on deck too easily. Twin 20mm guns on swivel-mounts rotated into place, as did the flame cannon on the aft end. Cross felt the ship shift beneath them. The vessel wasn’t terribly maneuverable and relied on its hexed shields and firepower to keep it safe, as well as the efforts of its more maneuverable Bloodhawk escorts.

  The sky turned crimson dark. Cross watched the Razorwings and vampire warships grow larger by the second as the shields finished moving into position. View-ports in the steel panels slid open. With the walls raised, the deck had transformed into a narrow and claustrophobic fortress.

  “Cross?” Ankharra yelled. “You can shoot, right?”

  “Yes I can,” he said.

  A rather brutish and unfriendly-looking soldier named Stark showed Cross to his spot, a gunnery port on the front starboard side. The viewport was just wide enough to give him a decent field of fire.

  “Don’t screw up,” was all the words of encouragement Stark offered before moving to his own gunnery port a few paces away. There were six soldiers on each side of the ship. Stark was to Cross’s right, while two Southern Claw soldiers, a Doj warrior and a Lith archer were to his left. He wasn’t sure what good the archer would do against armored fliers and vampire warships, but he wasn’t about to ask.

  Cross readied the SIG, looked through the small panel, and waited. The warships drew closer. Thin lines of smoke followed in their wake. The Razorwings spread and folded their wings, twisted and soared.

  The island grew larger below them. The rest of the vampire Wing continued straight on, and would reach the isle within a few minutes.

  A klaxon sounded. The ship went faster.

&n
bsp; Marauder tilted to starboard. Cross planted his boots as best he could. He was grateful for the uniform they’d provided him, a plain set of black and grey fatigues made from a mesh of cloth and Kevlar, with steel across the chest and vital joints; he’d opted to leave the helmet off, but the armor vest and high-collar still afforded him some measure of protection.

  His hands shook. With as much as he’d been through, so much fighting, so many missions, and after having been to the edge of hell and back, Cross was surprised that still happened to him.

  You’re older now. He didn’t feel older, even if the lines on his skin and the weathering around his eyes told him otherwise. Older, but no wiser.

  Cross heard the first deafening blasts of the 20mm cannons as they shook the deck.

  Please let me survive this, he thought, not even sure who he was praying to. Let me see Shiv and Flint and the rest of my team safe. Let us live, so we can be there waiting for the new day.

  The first staccato bursts struck just outside the starboard shields. The arcane steel repelled the blasts, but the ship rocked violently, and Cross had to grab the railing to keep from falling. Shrapnel ricocheted off the hull. Chains of explosions tore through the sky.

  The Razorwings were on top of them. Cross wanted to grab his spirit and slam the draconic horrors with arcane force, but that was beyond him now. The SIG rocked in his hands as he fired. Gunfire rang in his ears. Needles and necrotic bullets bounced away from the shielded walls with the clang of steel on steel. Monstrous cries pierced the air.

  Another Razorwing appeared. A squad of pale vampires garbed in black armor rode on its back. Flares of gunfire lit like matches in the distance. Cross fired, emptied, reloaded, and fired again.

  Clouds of iron smoke peppered the vast sky. He only saw the fighting through that narrow viewport. Guns hammered back and forth on swivel mounts behind him. Roaring explosive bursts perforated the dusk air.

  A vampire warship came into view. Cross saw Marauder’s armor tear away beneath the thunderous barrage of chain guns.

  The ship buckled. Someone screamed as an explosion rang out. Fire rushed across the deck. Cross dropped to his knees as heat pushed at him and burned his throat.

  The flames stopped short of the gunnery area, but most of the central deck was incinerated, and a massive rent had been torn in the forward hull and shield plating. Cross saw red sky and black smoke. Men slid lifeless across the deck before they were sucked out into open air.

  Klaxons blared and drowned out the panicked cries. Wara’s booming voice issued commands.

  Vampire voices clawed at his mind. He saw others hold their heads in pain and struggle to stay at their posts.

  “Suckheads!” someone shouted.

  A Razorwing swooped around to gain entry to the exposed rip in the shields. Vampires stood gathered on its back, their skin-tight armor the same dark hue as the reptile’s skin. They held sinuous blades and organic bone-weapons, razor whips and coils of iron rope. They meant to board.

  Cross fired at them. He hit a vampire in the head and another in the shoulder, sending it plummeting into the sky. Another vampire turned its rifle towards him, but Cross shot first, and the creature’s bone cannon exploded in its grip and tore its arm to meat as it fell.

  The Razorwing flew out of sight. Cross saw the Bloodhawks engage the warships. Gunfire and short-ranged rockets exploded in mid-air.

  There was fighting on deck. He heard blades and snarls and gunshots. Cross reloaded and raced forward, fearing for a moment the wind would lift him into the sky. The air was thick with fire and smoke. He heard inhuman howls and men’s screams.

  The ship lurched and slid. Marauder was sinking.

  He nearly tripped on a Lith corpse. It was Rogue, the scout. Her head had been torn off.

  The ship was on fire. Crewmen and soldiers were everywhere with buckets and blades, rifles and rope.

  A scream came from below.

  Shiv.

  A vampire with a torn jaw-bone emerged from the smoke. Its pale skin was covered with burns, and its black armor smoked like it had fallen through an inferno. The vampire lifted its double-headed axe and charged at Cross. Cross raised his gun, but the axe smashed it to bits. His hands vibrated from the shock of the blow. Bits of metal lanced into his wrists and forearms. He felt blood on his uniform.

  The vampire snarled. Fangs the size of razor blades drew blood from its sickly tongue as it licked its wicked lips. The black axe radiated cold.

  Soulrazor/Avenger leapt into his grip. The blade spun ahead almost on its own and sliced the axe haft in two. The weapon split, and before the vampire could react Cross buried his blade in its chest. Black blood gushed from the vampire’s heart as the creature fell to its knees.

  Marauder was losing altitude fast. Gunfire and flames roared all around him. Wind and heat battered his body. He ducked low and gathered himself.

  Shiv. Flint.

  He took the stairs two at a time. It was difficult to keep his footing with the ship’s violent motion. Smoke flew across his vision. He descended into shadows.

  Cross heard a cry of pain. He rushed down the blood-soaked hall and pushed his way towards the galley. Vampire commandos had torn down the doors and ripped their prey apart. Entrails and skin were everywhere.

  Dozer was on the ground. His throat had been torn out.

  Cross kept moving. A Southern Claw soldier stumbled out of the galley holding his stomach in. His mouth sputtered blood. Cross pushed past him.

  He saw vampires with curved blades and talons soaked with gore. One held a re-curve bow shaped like a bladed claw. Smoke blasted from the ceiling. He tasted fire and fuel as he came to the messdeck.

  Flint was on the floor, bleeding. Shiv stood over her father and protected him with a fire-axe she’d taken from an emergency station. She shook with fear.

  Cross threw himself forward. Soulrazor/Avenger took the first vampire in the face and splattered its skull across the wall.

  The second vampire raised its bow. Cross dodged sideways, and an arrow raced past him, but the vampire nocked another. Cross dove behind an upturned table, but the explosive shot blasted the wood into splinters. Noise hammered his ears.

  The third arrow pierced his left arm. He screamed as the blade drilled into his flesh, and realized with horror the arrow was attached to a length of wire. The vampire held the line with one hand and unsheathed a serrated sword with the other while it licked its razored fangs in anticipation.

  Cross didn’t struggle, but ran right at the vampire with his sword held high, hoping to catch it off guard. The creature side-stepped away from the off-balanced attack with ease and brought its mirrored weapon up for the kill.

  Flint shouted and drove the fire-axe into the vampire’s back. The cable came free. Shiv pulled her father back.

  Cross’s blade plunged deep, and greasy blood splashed onto his face as the vampire fell.

  “We have to get out of here…” The pain in his arm was blinding. Cross knew he was on the verge of losing consciousness. He snapped the arrow off at the base and screamed.

  “You’re both hurt,” Shiv said. Blood soaked Flint’s side, and he was doubled over.

  “The ship is going down,” Cross said. “We have to escape.”

  “Where are the pods?” Flint asked.

  “This way,” Shiv said. “One of the soldiers showed me.”

  They wound their way through smoking darkness. Another vampire came at them from around the corner, but Cross hacked it down with such speed there was no question the blade controlled his motions. Two quick cuts and the creature crumpled to the floor.

  A blast shook the walls. Wood and steel exploded. Cross picked Shiv up and carried her. Flint stayed right with them, armed with an M4 he took off a dead soldier. Cross found one as well, and they aimed their guns ahead as they raced through exploding shadows.

  Another blast sounded nearby. The ship lurched and fell. The floor dipped. It wasn’t a freefall, but it was close.
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br />   “Hurry!”

  Shiv led them to the escape pod. A vampire leapt out from under a pair of dead soldiers. It snarled and aimed a rotating needle gun at Cross.

  A blade came out of nowhere and sliced the vampire’s head clean from its shoulders. Grail stepped out of the shadows. The masked Lith pointed at the pod entrance, a small steel door with a single window. He drew another curved blade and motioned them to get in.

  Cross had to throw his body against the door, but it finally gave. Cold air exploded from within. The pod was barely the size of a canoe, ovular and tight, with a single pilot’s seat and barely enough space for the others. He ushered Flint inside, who took the controls, and then Shiv. Grail motioned Cross to get in, so he did.

  Fire tore down the corridor. Grail leapt away from the flames and clamored into the pod. Cross shut the hatch and sealed it with a spin of the handle. The inside of the escape pod was nearly pitch-black. They strapped themselves into seats spaced out along the wall. Cross’s arm pulsed with hurt, but already the bleeding had stopped.

  Need me a while longer, eh? he thought to the blade. As expected, it didn’t respond.

  “Ready?!” Flint shouted.

  Thin window-ports slid open, and they saw the burning dusk sky. Cross heard exploding steel and failing turbines.

  Flint yanked the release lever. Cross’s stomach turned inside out as the pod dropped away from Marauder. They spun into open air, where they hung for long and breathless moments until Flint got the pod’s engine to kick in. He piloted them towards the isle, dodging Razorwings and cluster bombs that rocked the ship with such force it seemed they’d fly apart.

  Please, Cross thought. Let us live. So we can be there, waiting for the new day.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  LIGHT

  Their destination loomed before them. Ronan knew it wouldn’t be long now. The vampire warships and sea vessels had almost reached the island.