The Awakened World Boxed Set

by William Stacey

  She held on for the girl's life, hooking her heels through the child's heels and pushing forward, pinning her tiny shoulders to the ground. Her heartbeat pounded in her skull, but she counted out loud as the girl had done. "One, two, three, four, five..."

  Miss Fortune became desperate and kept trying to buck Angie off. She was unbelievably strong but had no real ground training and no leverage with her heels trapped.

  "Six, seven, eight..." Angie gasped.

  Again, the girl bucked, and this time her hips shoved Angie a foot into the air, but Miss Fortune's shoulders remained locked in place against the ground.

  "Nine, ten," Angie finished.

  A bell rang, and the crowd went silent.

  Angie rolled away from the gasping girl, who now cried, her sobs heart-wrenching. "I don't want to die," Miss Fortune said.

  Angie knelt beside her, pulling the girl's face against her chest. "You're not going to die. I'm not the heel. I'm here to help you."

  "But ... but you're his bride. He's angry with us."

  "No, of course I'm not. I'm here to help you."

  The girl pulled away and wiped an arm over her face. Tears shone on her skin. "What?"

  Angie took the girl's hands and held them. They sat on the dirt facing one another. "Miss Fortune, my name is Angie. You've been sick, but I'm here to help you."

  "How?" The girl's eyes filled with anguish. She shook her head. "Can't. No one can. Only the Horned God—and he won’t!"

  "I can and will," Angie said, squeezing the girl's hands.

  A light the size of her fist glowed behind the girl's head, pulsed with energy.

  IT'S TIME.

  She ignored the light, stared into Miss Fortune's eyes. "I'm not the heel. You're not a jobber. I want you to trust me. Will you trust me?"

  Miss Fortune bit her lip but nodded once quickly.

  "You're going to bond with a shade now, Miss Fortune, what you call a ghost. It's going to help you. Will you let it help you?"

  "I ..." The girl's eyes widened with fear, but Angie squeezed her hands, maintaining eye contact. "Yes," she whispered.

  The glow flowed into the child, blinding Angie.

  IT IS DONE—

  Angie sat back within the teepee, gasping, every muscle tight. Atop the furs, the girl's pale skin glowed with life. Sandman and Silver Katana stared in wonder.

  Miss Fortune opened her eyes, and a smile transformed her face. "You," she said in a hoarse whisper. "You were the baby face after all."

  Although her physical form remained atop her temple, pretending to listen as one of the cultists droned on and on, Itzpapalotl's astral form winged north over a dark desert night.

  This wasn't true sleep—she’d never put herself at risk by sleeping around anyone, especially her servants—but neither was she fully awake. Dragons had long ago mastered the art of astral projection, a necessary skill when leaving one's lair was so dangerous. A dragon could live for thousands of years, sleeping away the centuries in hiding, but when they ventured outside the safety of their lairs, they put themselves at risk of attack by other dragons. All dragons used their astral forms to spy upon their enemies. And while there were no other dragons to threaten her now, in her astral form, she was still much more sensitive to the flows of magic.

  And she needed that sensitivity.

  Her dream of the dark underground lake with the strange golden glow had been a warning. She guessed the underground lake was the once-lair of the feathered coward Quetzalcoatl. The feathered serpent had been a powerful foe, using every bit of his formidable magic to mask his lair’s location. In more than a century, she had never found where he slept but had heard rumors of a vast underground lake—a Black Pool. It vexed her that even now, even after she had ripped his foul head from his serpentine body, he continued to haunt her. It would be just like the clever serpent to set a trap for her after his death.

  But she was also clever.

  She'd find his lair. Now that he was dead, he could no longer mask it with magic. She’d find it—and what lay beneath the water.

  Her astral projection, immaterial, soared through the sparse clouds, her gaze sweeping back and forth over the silver-painted desert. Hard desert, ceaseless scrublands, sparse pine forests, and rounded bare hills sped beneath her. The only clue her Tzitzime cultists had ever been able to find was that his lair was somewhere in the Peninsular Mountain range of Southern California, to the east of the ruins of San Diego. She soared over these mountains now, crisscrossing back and forth, noting and discarding the glowing life forms of animals and humans. Humans were of no real interest—and little more than animals anyway—but the winged coward might have hidden his lair close to one of their settlements—after all, he had loved the vermin so. There would be traces of magic yet, even after his death. She circled their settlements, watching the cluster of their lives glowing like fires. But none had even a hint of magic. She moved farther to the east, growing increasingly irritable.

  What if it had only been another dream, not a true seeing? She flew over the eastern Peninsular Mountains, growing ever more convinced she was wasting her time. Suspicion was so deeply ingrained in dragonkind that even now, when all the others were dead, she still couldn't bring herself to enjoy her triumph. She circled one of the highest peaks, determined now to end this pointless search. There was nothing for her—

  Magic flared below her, not the hidden lair she had been seeking but something she had never expected to see: a shade had just joined with a human life. But only Fey and her Tzitzime cultists knew how to call to the shades. The closest Fey settlement had been Coronado Island, now burning ash. Yet someone had just bonded a shade. She swept down, noting the human settlement, the cluster of tents, a grouping of hundreds of savages, those her servants called Ferals. They were good for nothing but sacrifice. Yet among those unworthies, in one of those tents, magic flared. Satisfaction coursed through her. She had found something after all, not what she sought but something just the same.

  Back atop the temple of Zolin, none of her Tzitzime servants even noticed the sharpening of her pupils that signified her consciousness was once more housed within her beautiful scaled body.

  Her long, forked tongue caressed her front teeth, and she sighed in satisfaction, a fire burning in her core. "Mother Smoke Heart," she hissed, cutting off the cultist who had been prattling on about logistics, "the demon—where is it?"

  Rayan Zar Davi stepped forward, her fingers stroking one of her long silk scarves. "We sent it to Sanwa City, Beautiful Mistress. One of our spies told us the Knight was going to attempt a mission against our forces. With luck, by now—"

  "Bring the demon back—immediately. I have a much greater need for the Death Bat."

  The woman's eyes narrowed for a moment, but she nodded quickly. "As you command, Beautiful Mistress."

  Chapter 35

  The stench of feces was as suffocating as the mountain atop him.

  Tec groaned in pain as someone pulled him from the rubble. A bright light flared before his eyes, and when he tried to cover his face, pain coursed through his body. It felt like a building had fallen atop him, and maybe one had.

  "Alive!" someone yelled. "One's alive."

  They carried him over boulders and rubble, jostling him painfully. Rocks and broken stones lay everywhere. The ground had fallen in, like in a sinkhole. Light from multiple lanterns flared all about, illuminating the rescuers as they combed the rubble. They tied him to a stretcher and then lifted him into the air, hauling him up the sides of a broken stone wall. He wriggled his fingers and toes, relieved to find they still worked. It was dark, and he saw snatches of people rushing about. A man on a horse—a Horse Cop, he remembered the city residents called them—used his mount to force back a growing crowd. Then Tec remembered the demon Sudden Bloodletter, and he tried to rise, knowing that he needed to fight.

  "Lie still," a woman ordered. "You've been in a cave-in."

  "Not a cave-in," he mumbled. The explosives th
ey had brought to use on the dam must have detonated, bringing down the sewer, opening it up to the city's surface. "Others?" he asked weakly, not at all certain he had spoken loud enough for her to hear.

  "Just you," the woman answered. "So far," she added in a tone that sounded more like wishful thinking.

  He passed out.

  When he came to again, someone was repeating his name. He forced his eyes open, squinting at the light. He was in a hospital room, the light coming from a lantern. Wyn Renna sat beside him, repeating his name, her red-rimmed eyes filled with worry.

  "I'm ... I'm okay," he lied. Was he?

  She sighed in relief, looking exhausted. When was the last time she had slept? "You're in the hospital in Sanwa City. We found you half buried in the rubble after the explosion. Can you tell us what happened?"

  "Sudden Bloodletter happened. The demon was waiting for us."

  Just for a moment, he saw the fear flash in her eyes. "Well, it's gone now. Maybe it was killed in the explosion."

  "Doubt it," he mumbled. "Am I ... how am I?"

  "Shaken but alive. I don't know how. The explosion was strong enough to open a hole to the street above and bring down a building. The others are all..."

  "I was in my ... other form." Had he been human, he'd be as dead as his men and women. We didn't even get out of the city. He had failed, and they’d be out of water soon. He took Wyn Renna's hand. "Be careful. The demon can materialize wherever it wishes. Never be away from your guards." Would guards even slow it? Probably not, but what choice did they have?

  "Get some sleep," she said. "We'll need you in the fighting to come."

  She left, and he closed his eyes once more. We're hopelessly outclassed. We can't even fight the demon, let alone a dragon. Angie. Where are you?

  And where had the demon gone?

  Angie followed Sandman out of the tent. The crowd was still there, hundreds strong, watching, but keeping a safe distance from the griffin. Moonwing lay on his belly, his wings folded about him, his eagle head resting on his forearms. When the griffin saw Angie, his head rose, his intelligent eyes watching her.

  Sandman raised his arms to the crowd and proclaimed, "She has done it. The shy bride, the angel, has saved Miss Fortune!"

  The crowd cheered, but it was all too much for Angie. "Stop calling me that. I'm not his bride!" she yelled, doubting any of them could hear her—although technically, maybe she was Lodin’s bride. After all, even if she didn’t remember much of it, there had been a wedding ceremony, and she still wore the giant diamond on her ring finger. She pulled the ring free now and dropped it in the dirt. Bullshit! I’m no one’s bride.

  The only jewelry she wore now was her father’s old watch, and the leather band had been scorched by the flames just like her sword belt. She’d have to replace the band soon or risk losing the heirloom.

  Right now, she needed them all to shut the hell up.

  As if sensing her desire, Moonwing rose on his hind legs, towering above her, spread his wings, and shrieked. The cheering stopped.

  "I'm Angie," she told them. "Just Angie, or Angela."

  They must not have heard her properly, because they began to softly chant "Angel," the word reverberating in the night. She sighed and turned to Sandman. "Well, it's better than bride or Spirit-Taker, I guess." She pointed at the mountain highlighted against the stars. It was impossible to tell at night, but it didn't seem that far. "That's Mount Laguna, isn't it?"

  "Our elders call it that," Sandman answered. "But we’ve always just called it the mountain."

  "Is it close? I need to—"

  The stench of brimstone washed through her, filling her mouth with bitterness. Moonwing shrieked. Just in front of the giant wooden effigy of Lodin, the darkness pulled in on itself, gathered, and became thick, acrid smoke.

  The demon had found her.

  She didn’t know how, but it didn’t matter. "Run!" Angie yelled to the crowd. It would slaughter these people getting to her. "Hurry. Get the hell out of here!"

  No one moved.

  The demon formed from the smoke, a monstrous figure with bat wings and a hideous bat head with a gaping three-jawed maw. Fire trailed from its eyes and nostrils. The crowd screamed in fear and drew back as the demon’s wings snapped out.

  Sudden Bloodletter laughed, a cackle that chilled Angie's soul. "I’ve found you, little mage, as I promised I would. Now I’ll peel back your skin and find what hides within you. Then I’ll devour your soul."

  "Devour this!" Angie cast Shockwave. The fully charged spell hammered at the demon, bowling it over and sending it flying back to smash through the wooden effigy of Lodin, shattering it. As the broken sticks fell, Lodin's spear dropped to the earth, burying its spearhead in the dirt, leaving the staff upright. Her gaze focused on the spear and then the thin side-sword on her hip. With a weapon like that, she might stand a chance, but the demon was between her and it.

  NO. YOU ARE THE WEAPON, the Shade King urged.

  As the demon rose, unhurt, from the rubble, a group of clansmen rushed it with spear and ax.

  "No, don't!" Angie yelled.

  The demon spun in place, blurring like a tornado and using its wingtips to lash out at the clansmen. Its sharp wingtips cut through them like chaff. The air exploded with blood as their bodies fell apart. The demon's spin stopped, and it opened its maw and roared in triumph, fire burning in its throat. Now the crowd screamed and bolted. The demon launched itself into the air, flying for Angie, surprising her with its speed.

  Moonwing's challenging cry answered the demon's roar as the griffin collided with the demon, bringing both falling to the earth with a ground-shaking crash. Demon and griffin fought with claw, fang, and beak, ripping furiously at one another, their cries chilling.

  Moonwing had given her a chance.

  Angie bolted for the spear. She came within paces of their frenzied fight, knowing they might yet crush her without a thought.

  She reached the upright spear and took it up, holding its now-glowing spearhead before her, her breath heaving. It was far too large for her to use properly, but it was all she had.

  Unless…

  Moonwing shrieked in pain as the demon battered him onto the ground, ripping into the griffin's chest with its claws. The griffin lay still, only its rear legs jerking as the demon ceased its onslaught to glare in triumph at Angie.

  "Come, little mage," it taunted, stepping over the dying creature. "I have such torments planned for you. Even now, your city falls, and your friends die screaming."

  "You're going to have to do better than your brother, Gouger of Faces." She trembled with fear, but she forced scorn into her voice. This was the only chance she was going to have. "We ripped him to pieces, and he was the one who died screaming."

  The demon roared, flying into the air and coming down on her with unstoppable force. Bracing the butt of the spear against the ground, she found herself surprisingly steady as the demon descended, aiming the glowing spearhead at its broad chest.

  She might have been too small to fight with such a large weapon, but she was not too small to hold it.

  A moment before Sudden Bloodletter struck, she let go of the spear and cast Shutter, transporting twenty paces away. When the demon hammered into the ground where she had been, it drove the spear through its torso and into one of its wings, pinning the appendage. The demon screamed in rage, spinning about as it sought her.

  Impossibly, it was still alive!

  And she no longer had the spear.

  More clansmen, led by Sandman, attacked. Perhaps they thought the demon badly wounded and helpless. It was neither. The demon ripped into them the moment they came close. It lifted one of the warriors into the air and pulled his body apart and then swung his lower body like a club, smashing the other attackers away, entrails and blood flying. Sandman's shade created a shield, and sparks erupted around the young shaman as the demon clubbed him away.

  All with Lodin's spear embedded through its chest.


  My God, it can't be stopped.

  I TOLD YOU, the Shade King urged, YOU AND I MUST WORK TOGETHER. YOU ARE THE WEAPON, BUT I AM THE HAND THAT WIELDS IT. I HAVE FORGOTTEN MORE OF THE ARCANE ARTS THAN ANY FEY OR HUMAN MAGE HAS EVER KNOWN.

  "It's ... it's too powerful," she gasped, her emotions surging as the demon beat the last of the clansmen into a bloody pulp.

  YOU ARE READY NOW. THE BARRIERS IN YOUR MIND ARE GONE. LET ME SHOW YOU.

  The demon was advancing on her now, one wing still pinned by the spear. "Enough foreplay, little mage. I am ready for you now." Bodies and parts of bodies lay in its wake.

  Angie squared her shoulders and stood tall. She shivered but inhaled deeply. "Okay," she whispered. "Show me what to do."

  YES.

  For the first time ever, they worked as one, a pair.

  She raised her hands and began to weave a net of fire, the Shade King showing her what to do, the mental bond facilitating instant communication, perfect understanding. She was neither spectator nor grasping pupil. She was both Angie and the Shade King. She cast out the net of fire, throwing it over the advancing demon and trapping it. Sudden Bloodletter shrieked, but this time in pain, not anger.

  Angie had already begun another spell, one the Shade King showed her. Her hands moved in circles, trailing fire. A moment later, another of the fire tornadoes she had used to battle Nathan's mages appeared before her, but this one was far larger, at least a hundred feet tall. Wind and heat whipped at her but didn’t harm her. She was impervious to flames. She—the Shade King-Angie—was fire, was wind, was storm.

  With a sudden thrust of her hands, she sent the whirling tempest of fire over the trapped demon, holding it within its funnel. Now the demon's screams were muted by the howling winds, but Angie was only getting started. She began to understand what she was doing, to comprehend the ancient arcane forms she used. She understood now how the mana weaved together so flawlessly to create complex patterns.