A Path of Oak and Ash

by M. P. Reeves

  "Now?" Conall whispered.

  "No, follow me." Erik swam around the rocks towards the main entrance to the complex. Another squadron of fell wearing security uniforms were rushing out from beneath the brightly colored banners in an attempted pincer movement. Even hidden between the massive bodies of the sand golems, there was no way Aodhan could dodge all of their bullets and maintain control.

  When Erik leapt forth, the wave came with him. Within the churning water, the fell lost their footing, easy targets pulled out toward sea. Behind him Conall made quick work of the horizontal bodies, his twin daggers a blur as he leapt between his enemies.

  "Don't smile yet." He snapped at Conall as the lad landed beside him in the sand. A steady stream of men in swat gear continued to pour from the building.

  What they had not seen was the dark druid hanging from the balcony above their heads, hiding from the eyes of their spotlights.

  In the midst of the second wave, Quin dropped down. Senneck's Protector split in his hands as he spun, decapitating three men in a single swipe. As he hit the ground, Quin kicked the open door shut, with his free hand he ripped a piece of decorative metal from the doorways trim and lodged it between the levers, before dashing off towards Aodhan. At the far end of the beach the large golems were chewing through fell like ants, throwing them a hundred feet in the air, out to sea, back into the concrete monstrosity. In the center of it all Aodhan still stood with his eyes closed, focusing on controlling the constructs around him.

  A puff of smoke caught in the spotlight from one of the fell lurking above the far entrance, a metallic tube in his hands as something whistled through the air.

  "Down!" Erik shouted, grabbing Conall's arm as the explosion sent them both flying backward in a wave of heat and rubble.

  Hurry, Carrick.

  49

  A cheerful ding announced his arrival into darkness. The hallway lit by a series of led lights embedded into the baseboard, showing one where to walk and little else. Take a right…

  He wasn’t exactly sure why he decided to follow the smoker’s directions. It could have been a trap after all, yet something in his demeanor made him feel oddly trustworthy. Now, as he rounded the corner towards the posh executive office, he felt he had made the right decision. A thick gold nameplate shone under a singular led, his assumed identify proudly embossed into the sign.

  With a deep breath, Carrick reached into his knapsack and pulled out the book. He took another as he squared his shoulders, pushing through the door.

  What waited beyond was a black void of nothingness. The thin framed windows on the far wall let in little moonlight, a long desk barely visible in front of them.

  "Lorcan!" Carrick shouted into the abyss before him. "I'm here. I've got your book. Come out!"

  A door opened to the left of the posh desk, the click of dress shoes echoing in the vast emptiness. Slowly, the space illuminated from the recessed can lights high above their heads.

  "Ahh...the young Slaine finds me. What a lovely surprise." Lorcan appeared as Carrick remembered, a fine black suit, and a cultured face of reputable birth. A poster boy for Wall Street. He paused behind the desk, looking out the floor to ceiling glass windows behind him. "I see you brought friends." One of Aodhan's golems was visible on the beach below, tossing the fell into the sea like toys. A large wave, likely from Conall, swept across the north end of the island, carrying the helicopter on the pad out to sea with it.

  Carrick held up the green leather tome. "Here it is, see? Give me my mother. Now."

  The glow of his umber eyes sent a chill down Carrick's spine as Lorcan smiled. His teeth, unlike his fell minions, were pristine little rows of white enamel. "Darling come on out. We have company."

  A woman sashayed into the light, her long wavy auburn hair cascading down her back. She was wearing a pale blue gown with a high slit in the side, a black leather bustier over the dress that matched her six inch heels. Diamond bracelets decorated her wrists, a wide black lace choker around her neck.

  "Hello sweet child." She smiled at him, her equally white teeth amplified by dark red lipstick.

  "What...what did you do to her?" Carrick demanded, eyeing his mother in utter bewilderment. She had never as much put on lip gloss, now here she was looking like a Goth fashion show reject with enough makeup to audition for the villainess in a vampire movie.

  "Carrick, son of Brannon, allow me to introduce my darling love, Narine." Unbuttoning his suit coat he extended a long arm towards his mother, tipping his head slightly towards her with reverence.

  "How is this possible?" Erik had told him about Lorcan's return, but that was a human soul. Narine was a nymph, how could a soulless creature be raised from the dead and further, injected into his mother's body. Panic washed over him as he wondered what this meant for his mother. Was Maureen Smith still in there?

  "Anything is possible with perseverance." Lorcan swept a hand towards Carrick. "Just look at you, lanky human boy thrown into the ancient realm so far beyond the comprehension of your primitive grey matter. You persevered, thrived even. Now you stand before me, the murderous gleam in your hate-filled eye. Are we truly so different? How could we be? After all, blood is thicker than water."

  Carrick frowned, shifting his feet.

  "Oh? Did your cousin Quin not tell you about his dear father? How he was betrayed and cast out? How his real love was slowly murdered when they had the power to stop it with the flick of a wrist?" His mother wrapped her arms around Lorcan's waist, nuzzling his neck to soothe him. Maureen's actions churned his stomach while Lorcan's words addled his mind. Quin was his...cousin? If Lorcan was his father...

  Suddenly the state of Ash End made sense, the pictures ripped from the wall, Quin's sullen reserved attitude, his initial jealousy of Carrick...it all fell into line with what Lorcan was saying. Why hadn't he told him? Why hadn't Erik? Further, if Quin was his cousin...then was Lorcan...his uncle?

  "Come. Join us. Have the loving parents you've always wanted. I will teach you that which your father never would. Powers that stretch beyond your imagination. You can claim the girl you desire as your princess for a new age. Together we will cast out the hypocrisy of Dre'ien and soil the earth in a new future. One not dependent on the greens, but self-made might."

  "Yes honey, come here. I've missed you so much, my darling baby." Her arms outstretched in anticipation of a hug; welcoming, inviting. She sounded just like his mother, looked just like his mother...

  "I..." Carrick didn't know what to say.

  "You're confusion is expected young Carrick. You have after all only heard part of the story. Only been taught by those that would use you for their purpose." Carrick's brow furrowed, watching Lorcan slowly walk back towards his desk. "Have you ever watched a tree in the breeze? I mean, really watched it. It moves as a whole, yet every single individual piece sways in its own way, quivering and twisting against the current akin to the prairie or the-oh-so-cliché rolling hills. Have you ever noticed? No. Of course not. While massive to say, the tiny ant, the blades of grass in a field are miniscule to you." He smiled wide, waving a hand over the small bonsai tree set atop the desk's marble surface. It instantly shifted, twisting into a gnarled collection of rotting twigs. "Just as these humans are miniscule to me. To us. If a few shrivel and die under foot, there are seven billion more to carry us along."

  "It's not the same." Carrick took a step back, shaking his head. His mother looked upset at his refusal, turning her open arms on Lorcan. He embraced her quickly then pulled away, walking towards Carrick slowly.

  "Isn't it? My dear boy, think about it. Think about your life; walking along the green hills, smiling at the sun without a care to the havoc beneath your feet. Are you accosted for this diabolical act? No. The immobile creatures beneath your tread are beneath you. Just as they are beneath us. It is...as the druids would claim...survival of the fittest. Nature's way." His words dripped with sarcasm. Carrick's mother chuckled darkly in agreement. "Surely you know they mus
t be culled, this world cannot sustain them all."

  "What is it you plan to do?" Beneath his ribs his heart thrashed against its cage, begging Carrick's feet to flee the approaching darkness.

  "Do?" Lorcan laughed. "I do not have to do anything. These foolish mortals do it themselves. Their lust for wealth, for material possessions, for disposable instant gratification does all the work for me. They come to me for aid, for guidance. I simply wish to restore the natural order of things, to reclaim our place in the hierarchy, build a new and better world."

  "Just give him the book honey." Maureen smiled, taking a step towards Carrick. "Then we can put all this nasty business behind us."

  "Mom..." Carrick looked into her eyes, searching beneath the umber irises for any trace of humanity, of any trace of kindness. It is always said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, throughout his life Carrick had always found solace in his mother's. There is no visage on earth so committed to love than a mother's gaze. No Romeo nor Juliet could ever match the level of unconditional affection given. Yet, in Maureen Smith's blood hazed eyes he saw no trace of love. No kindness nor grace. The gentle soul that had loved him since before he entered this world did not speak the kind words that begged him to submit. For now, be it permanent or temporary, she was gone. "I'm sorry."

  Placing his left hand over the book's cover Carrick flicked the lighter.

  50

  What is taking so long? Erik sneered to himself, pulling his blade from the belly of a twitching corpse. There was no end to the fell pouring out of that blasted concrete monstrosity. How Lorcan had managed to convert so many witless-

  Erik ducked, feeling the wind from a spray of bullets that had narrowly missed his head. Turning to his left he saw a freshly corrupted fell, pointing an assault rifle in his direction. Snarling, Erik flicked his palm skyward, his aggressor flew backwards high into the air where Arcedes grabbed him by the gullet, raining droplets of black blood into the sand below.

  Propelled by an unseen force, Conall flew by him tumbling into the sand. His daggers within reach the young druid struggled to stand, his left eye swollen shut. Five men clad in black suits began to circle him, the rot spreading from the hands of the eldest.

  The boy would be dead before he managed to stand.

  It would deplete his strength immensely and likely leave himself vulnerable but by Awen, Erik refused to see yet another one of their young put to ground before him. With a small piece of flint and tinder from the inner pocket of his vest, "Ignis Mihi!" Erik evoked a circlet of flame that incinerated the fell to naught but ash. In its wake the Fenrir dashed to the side of his Fang, allowing Conall to lean on him as he struggled to his feet.

  "Thank you,” Conall said with a wince, "figured I was done for." Further down the beach Aodhan was locked in a battle between two fell with scimitars and little training, the golems stemming the flow of fell from the harbor side entrance with long sweeps of their arms.

  "We still may be." Erik admitted. "I do not know how much longer we can keep this up." While he spoke a half dozen new foes encroached on their position. Erik raised his blade in preparation for their assault, the weight felt in every muscle in his arms.

  "Till the last." Conall spat out through labored breaths. "It's been an honor to know you." Twirling between the men who stabbed at him unsuccessfully. His Fenrir grabbed one by the leg just as Conall dipped his blades in tandem into flesh, catching the one before him in the abdomen, the other in the throat.

  "Likewise, Nel would have been proud of the man you've become."

  So taken aback by his complement that Conall took a bullet to the shoulder. A grazing wound, but one that left him swearing, one of his daggers swirling through the air into the eye of a fall fell with greasy black hair and far too many facial piercings.

  Back to back they stood, surrounded, at least two dozen circled, sneering, waiting for something.

  A lithe form stepped forward from the pack.

  "Enough Erik." A female voice. Thin hands pulled back her hood, freeing waves of thick red hair over her shoulders.

  Erik smirked, "Laira."

  Such a waste. She had been beautiful once, long before the rot took the shine from her skin, before the corruption turned her emerald eyes a muddy amber. It was hard to envision the creature before him as the same girl who once ran through the glen, giggling with Estella, while he climbed trees with Brannon.

  She pulled a long black blade from the scabbard at her back, flicking a switch on the hilt a current of electricity ran down the metal. For a moment, a split second at best, sadness seemed to cross her face, nostalgia mayhap at a life once lived. "Pity you have to die."

  "Pity you already did."

  Her red lips twisted into a snarl as she lunged forth, striking with ferocity she never showed in their youth. Erik became so preoccupied with his footwork in staying away from her thrusts that he had yet to go on the offensive.

  Erik could not delay much longer, his strength was already depleted from the conjured flame. Drawing deep within himself he growled, sending forth a low thrust towards her abdomen at the opportune moment, the blade grazed her flesh, cutting a wide rift across her stomach that dripped black blood that sizzled in the sand beneath their feet. The circling crowd jeered, one throwing a knife into the fray in an attempt to strike Erik. Conall intercepted the throw, doing his best to fend off the crowd with his Fenrir.

  "Bastard!" She screamed, plunging the tip of her electrified sword into his left bicep.

  Erik's teeth chattered as the contact electrocuted him, the scent of his own burning flesh filling his nose. With the sword of his forefather, he fought through the current in his own body and swiped wide, severing her vile weapon in twain. Spinning around he stabbed forward towards her throat. Liara bent backwards, his strike narrowly missing her face, severing strands of her blood red hair. With his arm outstretched, she grabbed his wrist, turning till he lost his grip loosened on the blade, then with a twirl she kicked him with her high heel just below the wrist.

  His blade knocked from his hand, Erik fell backward into the sand as the Liara kicked him in the chest, the tip of her six inch heel puncturing his skin just below his sternum. Not a fatal strike, but enough to momentarily incapacitate. Through his blurred vision he saw her pull a .44 from a holster hidden beneath her long black coat.

  Help you, Arcedes pleaded, diving down towards him.

  Too late, go, be free. Erik thought as the dark hollow of the gun focused on his face. Please. I love you.

  "Goodbye Erik." She pulled back the hammer as he said his final prayer to Awen in his thoughts.

  Then, as one, the fell tipped their heads to the sky and screamed.

  51

  Soaking the Leabhar Fìrinn in gasoline overnight had done wonders. It erupted in a ball of unnatural flame, the color shifting from purple to green to white as sacred pages were reduced to ash.

  An ear piercing inhuman shriek shattered the windows, spraying bits of broken glass all over the wide hall. At first Carrick believed it to be some sort of spirit freeing itself from the confines of the tome, until he saw Lorcan's open mouth. The sound erupting from his mouth echoed outside, hundreds of fell parroting their masters call. Much to his horror Maureen joined in their laments, black streaks running down her cheeks.

  "What have you done?!" Lorcan bellowed, a dark cloud gathering around him, his voice deepening. "I will rip the flesh from your bones and sew it into the dead earth." The ground began to shake, the fractured glass collided in a macabre dance amplifying the acoustics. "I will bind your soul to this plane and let you writhe, watching as the carrion eaters pluck the last ossein clean. Every human, every pathetic advancement they herald as a technological marvel will be reduced to nothing besides the tormented memories of a wraith once named Carrick."

  "Good luck with that." Reaching into his pocket, Carrick pressed the small button on the remote detonator.

  The result was instantaneous. Beyond the broken glass windows mass
ive clouds of smoke and flame erupted from the windows the facility below. Likewise the first half erected rig crumbled into the rising cloud of ash. Carrick only had a moment to enjoy it before the blast wave threw him back out of the posh office into the long hallway, the sound of the explosion deafening his ears as his body bounced across the laminated flooring.

  Ouch. The ringing in his ears decimated his orientation, delaying his attempts to escape. After two attempts to get on his feet his steps were haphazard and clumsy down the executive hallway towards the elevator.

  Carrick smashed the call button before realizing the power was out. The glow in the hallway was coming from the ball of flame being conjured within Lorcan's hands behi-

  He fell to his knees, narrowly missing the ball of blue flame above his head that warped and melted the elevator doors behind him into a gaping maw. Lunging right, Carrick threw himself into the stairwell, flames from another burst singing his cloak as the door swung shut. The explosion had ripped holes into the far end of the stairwell, illuminating what would have otherwise been a pitch black column of concrete.

  Four stories, I'll never make it.

  With a deep breath, Carrick swung himself over the ledge of the railing.

  In his free fall, he saw the dim light above him disappear, tendrils of darkness lurching downward towards him. The metal railings enveloped by the void rusted, twisting into a distorted mass of tangled metal.