I had to be gone by then.
I focused on the building across the street as I cast a spell of telekinetic force. I hadn’t seen the name of this building on Nicholas’s old maps, but it had been a tall office tower of some kind. Most of the windows had been shattered over the centuries, and now it looked like some a massive rectangular honeycomb of brick and rusting steel. But the structure of the building was still sound, and my telekinetic grip settled around the steel beams of a window three floors off the ground.
And with that telekinetic grip, I pulled myself forward, shooting from the ground and into the air.
My mind screamed with the strain of it, but I held on. Morvilind had taught me a basic telekinesis spell, and Arvalaeon had taught me several massively improved ones, and I had honed my skill with them during the decades in the Eternity Crucible. With the spell, I could move many times my own body weight, but it was still difficult to do over a long period. Lifting your own body weight over your head in a military press is difficult, but with sufficient training, you can do it. Carrying that same barbell over your head as you walk across the room is much harder, and that was what I was attempting to do.
Nonetheless, I did it.
I shot over the heads of the charging undead, and I saw the myothar’s squid-shaped head snap around to follow my ascent. I also saw it start to cast another spell, more blue-white light burning around its tentacles, and I hurtled towards the face of the building. I caught the edge of the frame with my hands and twisted around it, and I found myself in what must have once been an open-plan office of some kind. The ancient carpet crumbled beneath my shoes as I stumbled to a halt, and I saw rusted metal desks standing in rows.
All that metal would conduct electricity quite well.
I cast the spell to resist elemental forces just in time to save my life. The myothar’s next lightning bolt slammed into the metal skeleton of the building and erupted in a spray of sparks, fingers of lightning shooting through the walls and the ceiling. My spell protected me from the lightning, and I kept running.
I needed a plan. I wasn’t getting back to my bicycle, and I needed to reach the Jackson bridge or one of the other intact bridges. First, though, I had to get out of range of the Seal spell. Once I did, I could Cloak in short bursts, run from building to building, and get out of Chicago. The myothar was powerful, but once I was far enough away, I doubted it could find me. Then it was just a matter of evading the undead, and I could get free of the city…
Dozens of gray blurs shot past the windows, and the undead landed in the ruined office, the arc of their leaps carrying them into the building.
“Damn,” I said. “I didn’t know they could do that.”
The undead charged, and I cast a spell, calling a sphere of fire into existence over my hands. I hurled the sphere, and it struck the floor in front of the undead and exploded. There hadn’t been time to gather much power, and the flames did little to the undead.
They did, however, cause the desiccated carpet to start burning.
The fire spread quickly, slowing the undead as they shied away from the flames. In fact, it burst into flames far faster than I would have liked because the whole office started to burn. Having been burned to death at various times over the last century and a half, I had no wish to repeat the experience. I ran faster, heading for what looked like emergency stairs on the far side of the office area.
I ripped open the heavy door, the hinges screaming, and saw concrete stairs descending into the gloom of the stairwell. I also saw the glow of green eyes ascending the stairs as undead rushed up towards me.
Not that way, then.
I shoved away from the door, coughing a little in the smoke that was starting to fill the air, and ran to another row of broken windows. I was facing to the west, towards the river, and below me I saw…Wacker Drive, that was it. I also saw another tall building on the other side of Wacker Drive, between me and the river, and that building looked solid. Certainly, it looked solid enough for a telekinetic grip.
I sprinted for the window and leaped into the open air, Wacker Drive and the sidewalk forty feet below me, and caught the building in a telekinetic grip.
As I did, I used the grip to swing over the street, using the building and my spell as a pivot. Jumping from a high place and using the spell as a pivot was much easier than pulling myself up, and I covered a good distance as I hurtled towards the ground. I hit the sidewalk on the far side of the street, and I dashed south at a full sprint towards the Jackson Boulevard bridge. As I ran, I tried casting the Cloak spell. Nothing happened, but I could still see the glowing lines of the Seal on the ground. I doubted the reach of the Seal would extend to the other side of the river, and if I could get there, I could Cloak and escape.
I just had to get away from the undead.
The damned things were fast, and dozens of them converged on me. For an instant, I thought about trying to block them with a wall of ice, but the street was too wide.
That meant it was time to run for my life.
I sprinted for the bridge, my shoes slapping against the pavement. I tried to avoid the worst of the cracks as best I could. If I fell and hit the ground, I was finished.
I tore around the corner and raced down the middle of the Jackson Boulevard bridge. Halfway across I whirled, calling power to myself, and cast a spell. A mob of undead poured after me, running at full speed, and I flung the most powerful fireball I could manage. It landed amid the charging undead and exploded with enough force that the bridge vibrated beneath my feet. For an instant, I was afraid that the force of the explosion would send the bridge crashing into the river, but it held. A miniature firestorm snarled across the bridge, holding back the undead.
I ran to the far side of the river and tried to Cloak again. It didn’t work, but the suppression effect felt patchier. I had almost reached the edge of the myothar’s Seal. Just a little further and I could Cloak again. A pity Morvilind hadn’t let me take the Nihlus Stone with me when he had sent me off on this miserable little errand. I could have used it to blast my way free of the Seal and then to Cloak.
I turned south as soon as I could once I crossed the river, heading towards the old freeway. That would be the fastest way out of the ruined city. If that was blocked off, I could use my telekinesis spells to jump from building to building. That might be faster, but I also wanted to preserve at least some of my magical strength for when I rejoined Swathe and Vass and Morelli. Showing any sort of weakness in front of men like that would be a bad idea.
I ran alongside a tall brick building that had the look of a warehouse, and then things got worse.
Five of the undead leaped from the rooftop and hurtled towards me. The myothar must have sent them to lay an ambush for me, or it had summoned undead from the other parts of Chicago to lay a trap. Whatever had happened, they had surprised me, and I had barely a second to react.
I didn’t react fast enough.
I got four of the five. I cast the fire sphere spell, blasting one of them in midair as I threw myself backward. I stumbled and rolled across the uneven ground, and I sent the sphere drilling through the skull of the second undead as I regained my feet. The three remaining undead lunged at me. I sent the sphere hurtling through the heads of two more in a straight line, the elemental fire turning their skulls to embers and smoking coals.
I missed the fifth one, and it lunged at me. I dodged, starting another spell, and the thing seized my left forearm. I was casting my spell for telekinetic gauntlets, and I intended to hit the creature and send it flying backward. I expected it to reach for my head or throat.
Instead, it yanked my left hand up to its mouth and bit me.
The damned thing bit me.
It really hurt. I mean, I was used to getting bitten to death, but I hadn’t expected the undead to bite me, and the pain took me off guard. I snarled in fury and finished my spell, my right fist hurtling forward to hit the undead in the forehead. The power of the telekinetic gauntlet ripp
ed the undead free, taking a chunk of my left palm with it, and hurled the creature into the brick wall. It hit with enough force that the creature just sort of…fell apart in a dusty cloud of yellow bone and crumbling flesh.
I stumbled back a step and looked at my left hand. It was a nasty bite, oozing blood, though it didn’t look like the undead creature had gotten any major blood vessels. It still hurt, though, and come to think of it, it was hurting more than it should have. The wound felt like it was burning. Had the creature injected some sort of venom with its bite?
Even as I looked, the skin at the edges of the wound started to turn gray.
Uh-oh.
I had thought the myothar would raise the undead itself. It hadn’t occurred to me that the myothar would make its undead contagious.
The gray skin expanded a little as I looked at it, and the burning feeling in my hand got worse. The regeneration spell that Arvalaeon had taught me would probably heal both the wound and burn out whatever necromantic magic the myothar had pumped into my bloodstream. The problem was that while the regeneration spell would heal my wounds, it absolutely exhausted me, and I would fall unconscious for several hours afterward.
Maybe several days, depending on how powerful the necromantic poison was.
That meant I had to get out of Chicago now. Right now.
I turned and started running as fast as I could, calling magic as I did.
This time I could Cloak, and I Cloaked and kept running.
My memory of the next hour is a bit hazy.
I kept running, and for the first time since I escaped from the Eternity Crucible, I started to feel warm. Unfortunately, I felt warm because I was getting feverish. My blood felt like it was on fire. The gray patch on my hand was getting bigger, and it was getting bigger faster.
Which meant I had to run faster.
When I didn’t Cloak, I went to the rooftops, using my telekinesis spells to pull myself forward. Many of the roofs were intact, but some of them had collapsed, and I leaped from building to building, my coat flying out behind me as I jumped. Magical exhaustion started to set in, my head spinning. I was a lot stronger than I had once been, but everyone has limits, and I was hurtling towards mine at full speed.
But I had plenty of motivation to keep pushing myself because thousands of undead chased me through the streets. If they caught me, the bite on my hand wouldn’t matter.
I kept running, jumping, and Cloaking, my limbs trembling with magical and physical fatigue. The fever got worse. A couple of jumps I didn’t time things quite right, and the undead rushed me. I had to fight them, calling fire and ice and lightning to blast them down, driving the undead back long enough to Cloak and escape once more.
I kept to the line of the freeway, sometimes running along the top of the causeway, sometimes dodging through the rubble beneath it. Soon it was all I could do to keep running, but I kept moving. I couldn’t give up. Russell needed me. I had failed him and everyone else I cared about, but I could do this, at least.
I had to get out.
Then suddenly I saw three men with guns standing in front of me, a van behind them. All three men looked alarmed, likely from the explosions and thunderclaps that I had been spreading through the city. It took a moment for my increasingly feverish brain to recognize Swathe, Vass, and Morelli.
I staggered forward a few steps and looked back.
Hundreds of undead filled the street behind me, staring at me. The nearest one was only three yards away, but they did not pursue.
I had gotten out of the city.
“Behold,” said the nearest undead. “Three is the number of the trials that await you. And once you survive the trials three, the hammer of fire will fall from the sky and burn you to ash. What is the secret to withstand its wrath?”
The undead turned away, resuming their random milling about.
I swallowed and turned back at the Rebels. I was having a hard time standing upright.
“You’re wounded,” said Swathe, pointing his pistol at me.
“Stay back,” I said. “And don’t panic. This is going to look a little weird.”
I wanted to lie down and sleep, but if I did that, I was going to get up again as one of the myothar’s pet undead. Instead, I called all my magical strength, forcing it through the channels of my exhausted mind, and I cast the regeneration spell.
That really hurt.
I screamed as my muscles went rigid, and golden light played up and down my skin. I felt the magic howl through me like a wave of fire, scouring the poison from my blood. The light blazed brighter around the wound in my hand, and the pain screwed up to a higher and higher level, until it felt like my body was going to explode.
Then the light winked out, and I fell to one knee, breathing hard, a deep chill rolling through me.
I lifted my shaking hands and looked at them.
The bite wound was gone, the gray skin had been restored to its normal color, and the feverish heat in my blood had vanished.
Darkness started close around me.
“I know where the tomb is,” I rasped, “but you three had better make sure I live long enough to tell Nicholas.”
And then I passed out on the street.
The last thing I saw was Swathe smirking at me.
Chapter 10: Reasons to Rebel
The regeneration spell that Arvalaeon had taught me could heal nearly anything, but it had side effects.
For one, there was the exhaustion. Whenever I used the spell, I experienced exhaustion proportional to the severity of the injury, and I could remain unconscious for days. That made it risky to use, and if there had been any other choice, I wouldn’t have used it in from of Swathe, Morelli, and Vass.
And then there were the dreams.
They were like fever dreams, but worse. They were nearly like vivid hallucinations, where dreams and reality and delusion twisted together and turned into a waking nightmare.
In this dream, I walked through the ruins of Chicago, the sky burning overhead. Except it was the sky inside the Eternity Crucible, flame-colored and marked with ribbons of twisting energy. I strode through the artificial canyons of the city, but they were miles wide, and the ground was filled with tall stones.
Specifically, tombstones.
Every tombstone had been carved with the name NADIA MORAN, and I walked past thousands of my own gravestones. Well, that made sense, didn’t it? I had died thousands and thousands of times, and so in the fevered logic of the dream, it only seemed proper that I ought to have thousands upon thousands of tombstones to mark my many, many deaths.
I stopped to gaze at one of the tombstones.
NADIA MORAN, the inscription read. SHE DIED AGAIN AND AGAIN. SHE DIED AND WENT TO HELL AND CAME BACK. SHE DIED AND IT BROKE HER.
A grave yawned before me, and I looked into it.
I saw myself lying in the grave, eyes closed, dressed exactly as I was now with black jeans, gray sweater, and black pea coat. My face was sallow and gaunt, my eyes closed. I stared down at my dead self. I knew what death felt like. Staying dead…I wasn’t sure how that felt.
Maybe I had been wrong about the regeneration spell.
Or maybe this was what staying dead was like.
I turned and saw that my dead selves had risen from their graves, thousands of them, all their eyes shining green with necromantic magic. Terror flooded through me, and I turned and fled, and Chicago vanished.
Then I was in the foyer of a mansion, marble gleaming beneath my shoes, chandeliers glittering overhead, quiet music playing in the corners. A strong hand grabbed me and spun me around, and I found myself looking into the handsome face of Nicholas Connor.
He yanked me close and kissed me hard on the lips.
Revulsion flooded through me, and I ripped away with a snarl of fury. As I did, the flesh melted away from his smiling face, revealing the grinning skull that lay beneath it. The skull’s jaws yawned wide, and the blazing fire within it seemed to swallow me and the rest of the w
orld.
Then I was in the hallway of a burning building, and I saw Riordan at the other end of the hallway, looking at me. A surge of regret and guilt went through me, and I started to step towards him. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry, that I was so sorry, that I shouldn’t have broken up with him, that I hadn’t meant the horrible things I had said to him. That I had only been trying to protect him from the broken wreck of a person that I had become because I loved him.
I almost reached him, but tentacles of shadow exploded from the floor and wrapped around him, yanking him from sight. I screamed in rage as I called my power, flinging spheres of lightning in all directions, and the burning hallway vanished around me.
I was back in the ruins of downtown Chicago again.
“You are stronger than I thought.”
The myothar’s voice boomed out of the sky.
“You resisted the gift of my blessing.”
“Blessing?” I shouted up at the sky, looking for the creature. “Is that what you call getting bitten by an animated corpse? What would you call getting punched in the face? A pleasant hello?”
“You would have known peace,” said myothar, “and joy once your will was in my keeping.”
“Yeah, come out where I can see you,” I said, sweeping my eyes over the ruins, “and I’m going find out what fried squid smells like.”
“You will fight to the bitter end,” said the myothar, “and your end shall be bitter indeed, wizard female. Behold! The Dark Ones have marked you. The end comes for you. Lift your eyes and perceive the form of your destruction.”
I looked at the sky, and I saw it.
A hammer.
A massive hammer of flame hung suspended over the city, bigger than the skyscrapers, bigger than Willis Tower.
The hammer fell, its head striking the earth, and the ruins of Chicago shattered, a wall of flame rushing through the city, its touch turning steel and concrete to ashes. My vision blurred, and I saw the fireball rushing to consume all of northern Illinois, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake.
Cloak Games: Tomb Howl Page 13