by Alan Baxter
Alex respected his old Sifu more than anyone he had ever known, and missed him terribly, so many years dead, but even his sage advice surely never accounted for beasts like these. Huge muscles rippled under their thick, grey skin as they stalked forward. Haydon whimpered pathetically behind Alex. He needed to keep this idiot mage alive. Their only hope of salvation was through him and the ritual he knew. Alex moved backwards, pressed into Haydon’s bulk, forced him back as well.
‘You stay behind me at all times, understand?’
‘What hope do we have against those?’ Haydon asked, voice brittle.
Alex reached back a hand. ‘Give me that short sword.’ He felt cold steel and closed his fingers around it, hefted the weight. It wasn’t a badly made weapon, truth be known. His traditional kung fu training had equipped him with many weapon skills, and this sword felt familiar and comforting in his grip. ‘Use the shield if you can. Stay behind me and stay alive. We’re far from dead yet.’
The beasts had closed to within twenty metres of them and paused, sniffed the air. Their jaws snapped, giant teeth clacking loudly in the suddenly still arena. The roar of the crowd had sunk to a low murmur, like a distant ocean, when Alex had taken hold of the sword. Perhaps they were amazed that he looked ready to fight. They hadn’t seen anything yet. He had hoped to keep his escape from the Autarch’s binding spell a secret for as long as possible, but with these adversaries that option was gone.
‘Stay behind me,’ he said again, as the farald hunched, muscles tightening in their shoulders. ‘Here we go!’ He let his magic build enough to project his voice across the crowd. ‘People of Obsidian,’ he roared. ‘I am not your enemy! I am here to deliver you!’
As the first beast leapt forward, Alex gathered all his considerable magical strength, dropped all his shields, and let his power out. He turned his mind to the earth. Casting his thoughts into the ground of the arena, throwing his arms up like a rock star encouraging the crowd to cheer, he mentally ripped tonnes of packed dirt from the ground and lifted it high into the air. His mind and body flexed and bulged, struggled with the effort, but the thrill of finally fighting adrenalised him with a rush unlike any he had ever known.
The crowd burst into a cacophony of roars and cheers and screams, as the first farald landed two giant front paws into the sudden hole and pitched forward into a pit five metres deep that had not been there when it started to run. It howled and snapped as it dropped face-first out of sight and Alex threw down his arms like a conductor energetically marking the end of a concerto, his sword a ridiculous baton. The cloud of dirt and rock he had held in the air slammed down, packed back into the hole from whence it came, crushing and burying the screaming beast. The sound of crunching bones and the strident cries of the animal’s pain cut short as the earth closed up, looking like nothing more interesting than a freshly tilled paddock. The crowd roared. The Autarch roared louder.
Shocked, the two farald either side of their fallen brother slowed, looked left and right. Alex grabbed Nicholas Haydon and dragged him to one side, shoved him away. Haydon staggered towards the side of the arena, openly sobbing in terror. The crowd noise was deafening and Alex could not tell if it was encouragement or hatred. He had been cast as the demon in this, after all. He chanced a glimpse towards the Autarch’s box and saw the leader of Obsidian and his council, open-mouthed in shock. You like that, Alex thought, before turning his attention back to the enemy. Focus, no distractions.
The remaining two creatures had stopped. They pawed and sniffed at the loose earth where their brother had vanished. Alex knew he would never get away with a stunt like that again. Something told him they would be taking far more careful steps now. He was proven right as they turned to face him again and took slow, deliberate paces forward. He moved to the side, drew them away from where Haydon whimpered and quivered, crouched at the wall of the arena. Some lowen leaned over the edge, yelled insults and abuse, but Haydon was immune to it all.
Alex knew a single blow or bite from one of these things was game over. He had to best them with speed and cunning, but they weren’t lumbering giants. They had the power of muscle and size, but also a sinuous feline grace. He used their new-found caution against them and rushed forward.
The crowd crescendoed into a fervour as he ran at the beasts and, gathering his energy, his magic coursing through the shards of the Darak in his chest, he put all his considerable mundane and arcane strength into his legs and leapt. One creature swiped a clawed paw the size of a tree trunk through the air where he just been and the other twisted its neck, snapped its teeth together, barely missing him, as he somersaulted, twisted in the air and landed astride one beast’s massive shoulders. It bucked and screamed, twisted again to snap back at him. Alex grabbed one thick, leathery ear in his free hand and gripped with strength born of desperation and no small amount of panic. The other farald howled its bloodlust and reared up on its hind legs.
With a flush of dread, Alex realised it was going to attack him on top of its mate. He swung his legs, wrapped his arm around the massively muscled neck and, as the claws of the standing beast raked through the grey flesh where he been sitting, he raised his sword and plunged it into the shining black eye of the creature he held on to.
The animal’s scream of rage and pain was deafening and the world turned around and around as it thrashed its head in agony. Alex couldn’t hold on and was flung aside. His vision spun as he flew through the air and landed with a bone-crunching impact several metres away. He jumped up, wincing against the pain, and turned to see where the furious beasts might be.
The one he had stabbed staggered left and right. Its eye gouted thick, black ichor, its back slick with blood from the wound its fellow had inflicted. It took two uncertain steps and fell onto its side, quivering and panting, tremors like palsy rippling through its body.
The crowd was beside itself, thousands of voices ripping up the air in confusion, fear and, above it all, excitement.
The Autarch’s voice rang out over it all, an edge of panic in his tone. ‘See the power this demon commands! It truly has the strength of the Hollow Lord in it.’
Alex chanced a look up towards the box. The Autarch stood there, pale, his shock quite evident. Haydon still trembled, huddled against the arena wall. ‘Mine is the power of the righteous and freedom!’ Alex roared.
‘Where are they?’ the Autarch yelled, his cool demeanour slipping. ‘Find them!’
And Alex knew his friends were here and this whole charade was purely to flush them out. But Alex was winning. He still needed a way out, he needed something, but all he could do in this moment was fight. The last remaining farald slunk slowly forward, its eyes wary, but its hunger undiminished. With just one to focus on, Alex could take his time, act with less risk. But what then?
Another voice rose above the din. ‘Ye want those people ye call demons, Autarch?’
Alex, one eye on the advancing beast, quickly looked around. The Autarch’s face was red with unconcealed fury. Guard and Priests ran back and forth, pushed their way among the standing, rapturous crowd. Alex grinned. Here they are. He had no idea what they planned to do, but if he could keep this last monster at bay, and away from Haydon, he would find out.
‘Is this man in the arena now really a demon, as ye would have us believe?’ The voice sounded elderly, but strong, vibrant. ‘Ye’ve said yaself so many times that these farald are impervious to the wiles of demons. Ye’ve told us how they feed on demons, immune to them. Yet look at this! Two dead, one scared. This man is no demon! He is a saviour, here to deliver us!’
The Autarch leaned almost out of his box, knuckles white on the railing. ‘Show yourself!’
‘Oh no, Autarch. Ye’ll no see me. Because I am an idea, not a man. I am the voice of the lowen. The true voice of Obsidian!’ The timbre changed, even as the roars of the crowd ebbed and rose. ‘Listen to me, people of Obsidian, and listen well. For this is the most important day we have ever known!’
The b
east closed the gap and Alex, listening with excitement to the disembodied voice that rang through the stadium, focused his attention back upon it. A thought occurred to him. He remembered Welby, all that time ago, playing tricks on the taxi driver, making the poor man take wrong turns against his will. He remembered Silhouette’s lessons about mental manipulation, convincing people they had seen things they had not. He turned his mind to the animal that paced towards him, put his attention to it, tried to sense its simple thoughts, feed it images of calmness and obeisance. He put pictures in its brain of himself as a friend, he exuded trust and safety. The farald slowed. Alex made his way very slowly back around towards Haydon.
He was dimly aware of the Autarch, furious, barking orders as Priests and Guard scurried. He caught the tail end of a frustrated, ‘… and how did he escape my binding!’
The disembodied voice rang out again. ‘Listen to me, people of Obsidian, for I have the truth. There is a world beyond this that is not Ascension. We are not alone here, in Obsidian. We are trapped here, by the Autarch and his hierarchy. They travel freely and regularly between here and this greater world, but keep us imprisoned. We are slaves to their will and there’s no reason we should be. Rise up, Obsidian! They may be powerful, but they are few and we are many! Take back Obsidian!’
Alex used his own power to amplify his voice. He raised his arms and threw the sword aside as the farald stood panting before him, its rage gone, no threat at all. ‘The voice you hear speaks true!’ Alex yelled. ‘The Autarch is not your friend. He is your jailer! Obsidian is yours, not the hierarchy’s. Take back Obsidian!’
Around the stands people leapt up and swarmed over the nearest Priest or Guard. At first just tiny pockets, but quickly others turned, in a frenzy from the excitement of Alex’s battle, from the magic in the air around them, from the Autarch’s clear discomfort and lost composure. Obsidianites turned swiftly from a handful of brave souls to a mass movement of resentment and mobbed any Guard or Priest they saw. Lifetimes of hatred, of struggling in poverty, of oppression, rose up in a wave and broke. The Kin fought hard, shapeshifting, biting and clawing, but the numbers were overwhelming, and their shifting was the final proof they were the real enemy. Many lowen died, but the hierarchy quickly began to lose its control. The entire arena was chaos, uproar, vengeance and the hierarchy were the focus of lowen anger.
As Alex coaxed the feral beast before him forward, he saw the Autarch turn wide-eyed to his council and they ran, disappeared back through the door from where they had emerged. He caught a glimpse of Rowan scurrying with them and a cold wave of hatred washed through him. The farald, now only a few metres from him, stiffened and growled, its breath hot and fetid.
Alex calmed his emotions, sent the thing thoughts of trust and softness again. The creature settled, moved forward and sniffed at him cautiously. He saw a large grey cat drop into the arena and his heart surged with love. Silhouette morphed back into her human shape and pulled Haydon to his feet. ‘This way!’ she called.
Alex grinned. ‘I have a better idea.’
24
Lily and Claude closed more tightly around Narth as the crowds of lowen became ever more active. Claude pulled off the Guard uniform and helmet, kicked them away as lowen bayed for hierarchy blood. Voices were raised in shouts, yells of defiance, some simply incoherent. Among the crowd, some called for calm, tried to implore the populace to not give in to the temptations of the demons. Voices of Priests could be heard, crying out that folk were risking their very souls before Ascension, and those voices quickly degenerated into roars and growls and screams of pain. The howls and cries of agony from dying lowen rang throughout the chaotic mayhem, as wave after wave threw themselves against Guard and Priest, were torn apart and provided fleshy stepping stones for their infuriated brethren to slowly bury the hierarchy under savage beatings.
‘We have to get out of here!’ Claude shouted over the deafening melee.
Narth looked around, brow furrowed in a frown of despair. ‘What have I done?’
‘Ye did what ye had to do, grandfather. The revolution was never going to be without blood.’ Lily’s eyes were soft even as she winced against the cries of pain around her. ‘As it turns out, I think anyone could have done it. This is a people more than ready to revolt.’
‘Who knew it would take so little to trigger such carnage?’ The old man tore his eyes away, stared at his hands.
‘You didn’t see this in your visions? Revolution can boil under the surface for a long time,’ Claude said, ‘contained by a very thin veneer of fear and uncertainty. Tear that skin of fear away, even for a moment, and this becomes unstoppable. It only takes one tiny spark to start a fire. And honestly, what just happened in the pits was more than a tiny spark. We have to go.’
He rose, pulled Narth to his feet. Lily supported the old man’s other arm and they tried to move through the surging crowd.
‘Another one!’ someone yelled, and launched themselves at Claude.
‘No!’ Lily’s voice was high, almost a scream. ‘He’s with us. A friend of the man in the pits. Help us get out.’
The man who had shouted paused, eyes narrowed. His friends gathered either side of him, their bodies shifting against the press of the wild crowd behind them.
‘It’s true!’ Claude shouted, trying to be heard yet keep his appearance calm. ‘The man you just saw defeat those beasts in the pit … is my friend.’ He ground his teeth at the admission that was really very far from true. ‘His name is Alex Caine. We came here from a place called Britain. You think it’s Ascension, but it’s not. It’s a place where literally millions of people live.’
‘Millions?’ The man’s face twisted in scoffing disbelief.
‘Billions, actually.’
‘What’s billions? That’s no even a word!’
‘Please, you have to trust me. I’m not hierarchy. I’m here to help you.’
Narth leaned heavily on Claude’s arm, stretched up to his ear. ‘Do your magic again. Make my voice heard.’
Claude considered the effort, the obvious shine his magic would make now he could no longer maintain a shield. But what difference if they were clearly seen in this mess? The Kin all around had plenty to occupy them and the Autarch and his council had vanished. He closed his eyes, drew his concentration in and began to mutter the words of his magic. His hand slipped into his satchel, gripped an icon of power to boost his arcane energy. ‘Speak.’
Narth stood tall. ‘My fellow lowen!’ His voice boomed through the crowd. People stopped, looked wildly around. Fighting and panic subsided slightly as momentum was interrupted. ‘This man is helping us, just as the man in the pits proved the Autarch’s talk of demons is nothing but lies. We have to reunite these men to overthrow the hierarchy. Help us!’
The dubious man and his friends looked wide-eyed at Narth, flicked their eyes to Claude, to Lily, back to the old man. ‘What magic is this?’ the ringleader asked.
Claude released the spell. ‘I’m here to help you.’
‘Ye see how he aids us?’ Narth said. ‘Please, get us out of here.’
The decision clicked in the man’s eyes and he moved to help them forward. His friends surrounded the small group, others who had heard encircled them and the mass of bodies moved. Claude crouched low among them, his face to the ground, hoping desperately that no one would notice him again. It had been hard enough hiding from the hierarchy. Hiding from everyone would be impossible. He wished for Austere robes.
They moved slowly through the crowd, following as the mob burst out of the arena and swarmed the streets of Obsidian. Lowen ran in a frenzy, a bloodlust unlike anything they had ever known transferring itself from Alex’s battle in the pits to the minds and hearts of every citizen. They searched the streets for Guard and Priests to exact bloody vengeance for lifetimes of condensed rage and sadness.
‘We have to get to Oldtown,’ Claude said. ‘If Silhouette and Alex managed to get out of that carnage, that’s where we meet up.’<
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Narth and Lily spoke to the crowd around them, held back half a dozen as an escort and told the rest to move on, take back their home.
‘We can move more quickly if there are fewer of us,’ Lily said. ‘But ye need to cover up.’ She held up a bloodstained, rough-spun shirt. ‘I pulled this off an unfortunate soul by the gate. Put it on.’ She pointed to a man wearing a hat woven of heavy thread.
The man nodded, handed over the hat. Claude pulled it on, low over his eyes. He smiled his thanks at the man.
‘I’ll go with them,’ Narth said, gesturing to the crowd spreading out. ‘I’ll only slow ye down. See ye on the other side of all this.’
Lily paused. Something dark passed by her eyes before she nodded once, took her grandfather into an embrace. ‘I love ye.’
The old man smiled. ‘I love ye too. Now go!’
Lily turned to Claude. ‘Keep ya face down and move with us.’
The small group surrounded him and they hurried in the direction of Ward One.
Nicholas Haydon stood trembling, holding his shield in front of himself as if it could protect him from everything if he only kept his eyes shut. Silhouette dragged the terrified man to Alex’s side. She looked cautiously into the eyes of the slavering farald for a moment before pulling Alex into a rib crushing embrace.
Alex smiled, kissed her. The heavy breathing of the beast, the shouts and cries from the stands above them, Haydon’s whimpering, all faded for a moment as they reconnected. Alex broke off as he felt the hot, rancid breath of the farald on his neck. ‘I’d better keep my concentration on him.’
Silhouette squinted up at the thing. ‘You’re really controlling it?’
‘Well, just kinda convincing it not to eat us, really.’
‘When you said you had a better idea …’
Alex grinned. ‘Yeah?’
‘Did you mean riding that thing out of here?’