Danica turned. She couldn’t go back. She had a chance, while the vampires were distracted, and she had to seize it. She might never get another one.
She ran through ember smoke. Witchborn appeared in the sickly mist. Normally ravenous, they stood still and at attention, their eyes suffused by a gold-red glow. Each of the corrupted vampires was as black as pitch and covered in crackling veins. Their ebon claws held beams of bloody light, and the collective web of necrotic fire had turned the sky to a napalm pool.
Danica unsheathed Claw. She didn’t even remember finding the weapon after the crash, but the blade was there, heavy in her grip. Smoking runes on the sword’s face shone in the fading light.
The first Witchborn made no motion as she cut it down. The second Witchborn went just as easily. The third and fourth slowly turned to regard her, but she decapitated them before they could defend themselves. Black blood covered her arms.
She killed a dozen Witchborn in the space of seconds, and kept moving. They slowly pulled away from their reverie as she dodged in and out of their ranks and hacked them to pieces. As each of them fell the dark cloud around it hissed and sank with a sickening gasp.
She knew she wouldn’t have time to deal with them all. She ran for the crater.
The sky went dark as the fires died. She sensed the break in the peaks ahead, the looming gate that led to the depths of the isle.
She passed through an archway of bone, and the air on the other side was frozen. Danica stepped through curtains of shadow, into the heart of night. She knew she would not return.
The edge of the crater sloped down at a sharp angle. Setting foot on that ground was like stepping on ice, and the chill drove straight to her heart. She started her descent.
She hoped Ronan had made it. She’d lost Lara and Kane and Cross, and she didn’t want to lose him, too. Part of her wanted to go back, to fight her way through the vampires and sift through the wreckage until she found him.
No. He’d never want that, and you know it. He risked everything to bring you this far. Don’t let it be in vain.
The whispers in her mind were louder than ever, but it wasn’t the voices of the vampires
You are here by my design, and I shall take you.
but something else. Something darker.
She slid towards the core of the island. Iron mists caged her in. The sounds of battle faded into the distance, and the darkness grew thick.
Blood-and-silver light suffused the nexus of the isle like a candle in a storm. The crater was a field of cinder. Charred bones lay in the ashen drift. It looked as if a dread star had fallen from the sky.
Like the crater near Wolftown, she realized. Where we’d followed Cross to the ruins of Thornn. To the Shadowmere.
Half-shattered obsidian obelisks stood like monuments. Skeletal vampire remains were partially encased in the pillars, their skulls broken open, their bones burned black. Many of them looked like they were still trying to claw their way out.
The source of the light was a curved black arch covered with bloody runes. The structure hummed like a subtle engine. The interior of the arch was filled with a glaze of darkness, a shimmering black surface that bubbled like oil.
It was a gate.
I’ve been here. I’ve seen this before.
A dozen Witchborn knelt before the black gate, their hands held down to their sides, their naked dark skin flecked with sigils that burned like hot coals. The bodies of more of their kind littered the ground. They seemed entranced, held rigid by the site of the portal, and by what floated in the air before them.
The Witch’s Eye. The fist-sized shard of meteoric rock hovered over the gate. The Eye was cast from deep red stone set with black and white veins. It pulsed with sick power that made the air heavy and slow. A second, smaller stone orbited its larger sibling.
Danica quickly realized the Witchborn weren’t watching the Eye. They were watching the six-armed witch.
She was easily seven-feet tall, and wore a tattered black cloak riddled with cuts. Her grey skin was covered with a thin and nearly invisible coat of fur, and her otherwise beautiful face bore massive fangs. Her muscular arms were covered with scars and strange arcane markings that throbbed with the same blood-light haze as those on the Witchborn.
The witch stared at Danica. Her large crimson eyes shone like bleeding stars. She held curved Necroblades in each of her clawed hands.
“You came,” the witch said. Danica knew that voice, the voice from her dreams, the voice she’d heard inside her head when she’d been ripped away from Eric on the other side of the Whisperlands. “Danica,” the woman said. “It’s nice to see you here. Where you’re meant to be.”
Danica’s spirit curled around her steel fist. She held Claw ready.
“I’m here to destroy the Eye,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because if I don’t, it will destroy everything else.”
“Yes,” the witch smiled. “Yes it will. And that’s the point.” She turned and regarded the floating gem. “Funny thing. The vampires of Tanith never imagined they were orchestrating their own doom when they crafted the Eye.” Her voice was deep and alien, and it echoed – for every word she said, Danica heard it again, like her voice actually came from somewhere very far away.
“You want the Witchborn to destroy everything?” Danica stepped closer. Her spirit was ready to attack. “What the hell are you?”
“I am the Black Circle,” the six-armed witch said. “And I am the Shadow Lords. I am born of darkness, and raised from it. I was here and dead and gone long before you even existed, long before any of this existed.” Her eyes narrowed. “I am night. I am truth. I am Maloj. And you will feel my wrath.”
The woman raised her blades. The Witch’s Eye flew forward.
Danica’s spirit shielded her just in time. A lance of burning flame crashed down, and her spirit screamed in agony. His pain shredded through her consciousness like a blade. Heat enveloped her body.
She fell to the ground. Smoke churned from her clothing. Her spirit was so damaged he couldn’t reform.
The Eye hovered close. Shifting light spun away from it. The Witchborn rose and gathered around the six-armed witch as they turned to face Danica.
Danica moved fast. Another blast of solar lightning seared the ground where she’d stood.
The smaller Eye moved away from its larger sibling. Danica spun Claw around in her hand. The two gems orbited her like killer moons.
Something moved on the other side of the gate. Whatever it was pounded against the oily surface and made it ripple. Raw cold emanated from the void.
She ducked beneath a fan of flames. The smaller eye rammed into her back and sent a cold electric shook through her body. She screamed.
Danica focused her mind. Her vision narrowed. She imagined her spirit, remembered what it was like to pull him in, to dominate him. To lock him in the prison of her bloodsteel arm.
She did that now with the harmful energies wracking her body and forced them into her arcane limb, which burned hot against her flesh. She cried out in pain.
Everything was fading. Someone called her name in the distance, but she couldn’t see who it was.
The smaller eye again drew close, ready to destroy her. Danica reached up with her golem arm and released the energies she’d captured. Dark electricity blasted from her palm. The gem sparked, cracked and exploded. Blinding crimson light pushed her to her knees.
“Dani!” the voice called again.
Cross?
“Kill her!” the witch shouted.
Danica struggled to her feet. The gate pulsed. Everything twisted.
The Witch’s Eye screamed towards her like a razored star. Danica’s spirit fused into a solid red shield. Claw turned to ice in her hand.
“Danica!” Cross yelled. “STOP!”
It was too late. The Eye rammed against her shield and scattered her spirit, whose screams echoed into the sky.
At that same instant
she sliced through the Witch’s Eye with Claw, and the gem exploded like bloody glass. Bolts of dark fire tore into her chest. Danica felt her insides ripped apart as she was thrown back. Her screams were distant, drowned in the growls of a black storm.
She landed on her side. She couldn’t move, couldn’t feel anything. She tried to speak, but only a mewling sound came out. Her steel arm was a smoking husk. She tasted blood and metal and saw with horror that her body was covered with burns.
The six-armed witch was laughing.
TWENTY-SIX
TEMPEST
Deafening bomb blasts and caustic bursts violently rocked the pod as they made their descent. Cross glimpsed reptilian wings and blasts of fire through the viewport. The sky was on fire, and Flint had to bring the ship down fast. Heat pressed in from every direction. Shiv screamed when her hand touched the metal wall.
Cross sensed lost souls in the air, angry spirits immolated in night fire, but all he could do was hang on as the pod plummeted out of the sky. Something clipped them, and his skull rattled from the impact. His chest was tight with fear. He yelled to Shiv to hold on, but he doubted she heard him through the din.
They hit ground, and the vehicle flipped. His stomach lurched. Everything spun end over end. Snow and shattered rock screamed through the broken window. Sparks flew up where the craft scraped against stone.
The escape pod groaned to a halt. Everything was suddenly quiet outside. Folded steel pushed in from the damaged exterior, and the air smelled of electrical current. Grim red light spilled in through the shattered viewport.
Cross unstrapped himself and fell forward. The floor was a mess of dented metal and tangled wires, and the crash has bent the walls in tight and made the ruined pod even more claustrophobic. Cross forced his way through a narrow gap to reach Shiv. Her face was covered with grime and sweat. He pulled her harness open and was relieved to see she was ok.
“Let’s go,” he told her. “Come on, honey. We need to go.”
Flint and Grail were both bruised and somewhat bloodied, but otherwise seemed to be all right. The inside of the pod was filled with dark steam, and oil and fuel squirted all over the floor.
Grail kicked the viewport open and squeezed through, then waited with his bow ready while the rest of them followed. They emerged onto a slope of grooved dark stone. The pod had somehow made it through the jagged peaks and landed at the edge of the crater. Combat raged just out of sight.
Cross crouched low and caught his breath. Blood had caked to the side of his face, and his arms and legs were sore. The raw and unhealthy air tasted bitterly cold. The ground was smelted, and they saw the skeletons of ancient creatures.
Something about it all felt familiar.
“What now?” Flint asked.
Cross looked around. The air was thick with ebon vapor, so it was difficult to see anything more than a few yards away. The crater wall descended straight down into darkness.
“There,” Shiv said. “Light.”
Cross saw it. The silver and red glow was faint, barely a flicker in the sea of shadows.
“Stay here,” Cross said. He made sure Soulrazor/Avenger was tightly secured to his back, and checked the SIG. “You’ll be safe with the ship.”
“We’ll be safe with you,” Flint said.
“You and Shiv need to stay here,” Cross said firmly. They both looked like they wanted to argue, but they didn’t. He nodded at Grail, and pointed at Flint and Shiv. The bowman nodded.
Cross started down the slope, careful to watch his footing as he navigated around drifts of dark dust and piles of old bones, the remains of a forgotten age.
“Dani!”
He was too late.
Danica was dying. Foul energies from the Witch’s Eye devoured her arcane spirit even as it bonded to her two-handed Necroblade. She raised the weapon to strike.
He saw the witch, a six-armed woman with glowing red eyes. Six corrupted vampires surrounded her, a grim entourage. Even in that vastly different form he recognized her. He’d know her anywhere.
Azradayne.
This is where she wanted Danica to be.
“Danica! STOP!”
He ran as fast as he could, but he couldn’t reach her in time. He was thirty yards away when Danica shattered the Witch’s Eye. Black power crashed into his chest and threw him back. The wind exploded from his lungs.
He turned onto his side, gasping for breath. Danica was on the ground, her body smoking with dark fumes. Shards of broken crystal hung petrified in the air.
Black blood ran down the front of Azradayne’s soiled dress. Her blades were wet: she’d slit the six Witchborn’s throats all at once. Their skin crusted and peeled away, and the necrotic power held in their bodies twisted into the air like smoke serpents.
The black gate shook. Faces appear in the portal, the visages of long-dead horrors with bared fangs and dark eyes filled with centuries of hate. He sensed the vastness beyond the barrier, the emptiness. Scintilla from a world filled with pain.
Azradayne held her arms to the sky and laughed.
Rage burned inside him. Azradayne had manipulated his life to send Danica down a path that would lead to her transformation, then snatched her away and deposited her in Lorn so she’d eventually end up here. Why the Spider hadn’t just brought Danica to the gate herself was something he doubted he’d ever understand. Maybe the time hadn’t been right, or Danica’s activities in Lorn had triggered further events Azaradayne needed set in motion.
This ends now.
Cross rose to his feet. Soulrazor/Avenger sliced a path through the battery of spirit energies. He charged at Azradayne.
She calmly opened two of her palms, and twin spheres of bleeding light shot towards him with the sound of screaming metal. He held the blade ready and set his feet. The stained meteors burned the air. Cross knew he was about to die.
Something grabbed hold of him, a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. Soothing whispers circled his mind, and a voice breathed life into his body. His flesh warmed. Something held him as if impassioned, a presence that stuck to his skin like a lover’s sweat.
How?
His spirit cracked open the air. A blast like a peel of thunder shook the ground. The meteors exploded against an invisible barrier and sparked around him. Cross tasted brimstone and burning rock.
He called her to him. Normally it would be suicide to do so without implement gauntlets, but somehow he knew he didn’t need them. He could channel her with the sword.
Cross’s spirit burned against his skin. It had been so long since he’d felt her presence he almost forgot himself. His feet seemed to leave the ground. Coils of warmth wound around his body.
Soulrazor/Avenger flashed forward. His spirit soared ahead in a cone of blue-white fire. The forms on the other side of the twisted portal writhed in pain.
“Nooooooooooo!”
Azradayne’s scream tore into his mind. She spat gouts of fire. Cross’s spirit wrapped around his body and kept the scorching missiles at bay, but the force of the bursts still hammered his ribs and stomach. He fell to his knees in pain.
His spirit was expending too much energy keeping him safe. He felt her slipping away.
No. Not again. Not when I just found you.
Danica rose to her feet and blasted Azradayne with a lance of white fire. Somehow she and her spirit had both held on.
Monstrous visages pushed against the gate and stretched it like a grisly film. Dark fluids from the other side spilled through and scorched the ground. The air shook with a deep bass sound like stones being dropped from the sky.
Azradayne turned her attention to Danica. Black power launched from the spider’s eyes and scorched the witch’s shield.
How are we surviving this? Cross wondered. My spirit is gone, long dead. And Danica’s should be.
He struggled to rise, and saw Shiv just beyond the circle of obsidian stones. Her eyes glowed white and her body floated just inches off the ground, as if she were ca
rried on vents of steam. Her hair rippled in the black wind. Flint and Grail were with her, petrified in a wake of power that wasn’t hers.
She’s summoned our spirits, he realized. She’s fighting Azradayne through us.
Cross grit his teeth and gripped the hilt of his blade. His spirit clutched his body like a fist. Muscles burning, he soared forward.
Things writhed on the other side of the gate. The boundary was weakening. He saw the edge of a nightmare world, a charred landscape of writhing souls and twisted mountains of dark flesh. Eyes like stars compressed and bled. He felt the breath of a thousand corpses.
Azradayne turned to face him. His blade sheared through two of her arms. Black blood burned against his face.
With Azradayne down, Cross sensed as Shiv used his and Danica’s spirits to seal the gate. Power flowed from the Kindred through the witch and the once-warlock. Dark fire blazed across his body.
Cross howled in agony. He hung on the knife edge of life. Ice wind scoured his lungs, and his flesh burned with cold.
He distantly sensed Danica at his side. They were both on their knees, held up only by the force of their own spirits, no longer their spirits. They had become conduits to their own power. Once in control, now gates themselves. Magic poured out of their eyes and mouths. Tears of pain ran down his face. He and Danica were the cold inner heart of the flame.
After what seemed an eternity, everything went quiet.
Cross collapsed. He tasted scorched dust and soiled earth. His clothing was torn and black, his skin covered with icy soot. Blood stained his lips. He could barely lift his trembling arms.
It took tremendous effort to rise, and in the end Grail had to help both he and Danica to their feet. The night was thick and dark. Dim light from over the peaks cast just enough of a glow for them to see the ground.
The gate was gone. The archway lay shattered in the dirt.
The Witch's Eye Page 29