Tyrell spoke again, voice softer. “Look within Ronan. You’re not trying hard enough. Stop seeking answers from others when you hold the key. Start answering the questions yourself.”
Not trying hard enough? Answer my own questions? Rage, hot and molten, flowed through him like a dormant volcano that had blown its top. “I’ve tried over and over,” he said raging into the darkness. He reached inside to the place where his magic grew. He pulled with inhuman strength fueled by an impotent rage and a mountain of frustration. Nothing.
He tilted his head upward and glared into the blackness. White hot rage boiled upward and his vision flashed. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled again. Harder this time. If he’d drawn on Elan’s magic, such a channeling would’ve killed him.
Something popped at the base of his skull and his ears rang. He opened his eyes and gasped.
Pinpricks of light from a million souls stretched beneath his feet to forever.
Slack-jawed, he spun in a tight circle. All around him soul threads danced and swam flowing around him like a current. “I see Master Tyrell. It’s beautiful.” Tears streaked his face and he gasped floating among a sea of lost souls.
Soul threads swam between his legs and around his fingers.
“Leave this place,” the spirit shrieked. “I want you out.”
“Master Tyrell?"
“He can’t here you, fool,” the spirit said. “He’s dead like all the others. Beyond your reach.”
“No,” he said. “I’ll not let you take him. Not again.” He probed outward touching a naked soul thread spinning before his eyes.
Energy, pure and sweet, flowed into him like a raging river. He pulled on another thread and his body filled with energy unlike any before.
“No,” the creature screamed. “I fulfilled our bargain.”
He pulled on another thread and another. “I just changed the terms.” He lifted both hands high overhead. White light streamed from his fingertips blazing in the space like a second sun.
“You can’t,” the creature said its voice shaking with rage. “We had a bargain.”
In waves, white energy pulsed pulling in soul after soul growing stronger as it extended.
White light glared bright enough to blind and the world shifted.
He gasped and pain flared in his legs and back. A musty odor filled his nostrils and sweat rolled along his brow.
Heat. Despite the pain in his legs, he laughed.
A ray of sunlight filtered through the cracks in the stonework far overhead. A deep rumbling came from the ground beneath him.
Loose stone rattled overhead. Dust and centuries-old mortar sprinkled his body.
He reached inward. Elan’s magic had left him, but something else stood in its place. Something new.
In the darkness before him, an orange soul thread moved toward him. He probed the shadows and brushed against the entity. General Demos. He smiled.
Strong hands moved beneath his shoulders and legs. “I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner.”
The long slow hiss of General Gregor Demos’s voice purred like music in his ears.
“You’re alive,” he said.
Another rumble came from beneath the ruins and a stone slab shook loose in the distance.
“We have to leave,” General Demos said. “I fear this temple will collapse on top of us. Can I lift you?”
General Demos raised him from the scrabble and pain flared in his lower back. He groaned and glanced up.
The apex stone came free far overhead. Sunlight poured into the crumbling temple and he winced blocking the influx of light with the back of his hand.
“Wait,” he said. Pain throbbed in his lower back and legs. He squinted upward and gazed at General Demos hovering above him.
A deep cut ran along the general’s face and neck.
“You’re wounded,” he said.
“Not bad,” General Demos said.
Another wave of rumbling and more rocks fell some landing a foot away.
“We leave now,” General Demos said.
“I might be able to help us,” he said. “But, I need to borrow some of your energy. May I?”
“Yes, of course,” General Demos said without hesitation. “Hurry.”
He probed outward and touched General Demos’s soul thread. How much could he take without killing the man? He decided a trace amount would do and let the strange energy flow through his body.
Raw strength flooded his arms and legs. A power far different than what he touched from the human soul. Carnal and raw. Pure physical power. He severed the flow and channeled the magic through his back and legs. The pain evaporated replaced by a strength he hadn’t touched in a month. A battle knight’s strength but more. Different.
“Let me help you." He touched the wound running along the general’s face.
Orange light glowed along the wound then faded.
He sent the remaining energy into his legs and back repairing the damage to his body.
General Demos touched the wound. ”It’s healed. How…?”
A deep rumbling came again and the stones shook.
He glanced toward the hole in the temple’s ceiling. “Can you carry us both out of here?”
General Demos wrapped a long arm around his waist and leaped. The two sailed through the dank air and landed with a thud atop the ruined temple.
The morning sun hung low in the eastern sky and any sign of fog had vanished.
He staggered to his feet and turned in a slow circle. Had they spent an entire night inside the ruins?
The outlying temples had crumbled into heaps of stone. A low groan shook the temple beneath their feet.
General Demos yanked his collar and in a blur of motion descended the temple stairs.
With a hard grunt, he rolled into the dry grass.
Crashing rock sent reverberations across the ground.
He leaped to his feet and whirled.
Tons of stone stood in a broken heap leaving the inner temple buried.
His stomach sank. Had he buried Master Tyrell forever? Had he destroyed the trapped souls locked inside the temple?
A gurgling hiss came from behind and he spun.
The faceless man sat atop General Demos’s chest with blade drawn. The creature glanced at him and sent the blade plunging toward the general’s exposed chest.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Black Soul
Ronan shifted his mind.
A halo of orange soul light glowed around General Demos’s flailing body. Black mist coiled over the faceless man.
The blade, plunging toward the general’s chest, froze. The faceless man whirled to face him.
Without thought, he latched onto the inky mist and pulled.
The faceless man slumped and fell from General Demos. The blade tumbled into the high grass.
He gathered the mist and pulled it toward him.
The black mist surged toward him and sank into his skin.
Overwhelming nausea gripped him. He gagged and dropped to his knees still clutching the black mist.
The faceless man shifted and disappeared. A moment later the creature reappeared without moving. The faceless man writhed and shifted in and out of existence.
With a final pull he gathered the last of the mist and fell forward vomiting into the high grass. He pulled in sharp ragged breaths and collapsed rolling onto his back.
The sun stood three fists over the eastern horizon. The high-pitched drone from an army of cicada marked the first time he’d heard or seen wildlife in days.
He inhaled a slow deep breath and his stomach settled.
A figure appeared above him and blocked the sun.
General Demos knelt and offered a hand. “Can you rise?”
“I can try.” He took the general’s hand and the old trooper pulled him to his feet.
Dizziness swept through his head and his muscles groaned with the effort. He placed his hands on his knees and breathed in the clean savanna
air. “I haven’t felt this bad since I had the flu. It took me two weeks and a steady diet of Rika’s chicken soup to recover.”
“Perhaps Lady Rika can make you the soup when we get home?”
Home sounded good. He nodded and stood upright peering across the grass.
A swath of flattened grass offered proof of the fight that had taken place. Empty grass appeared where the faceless man had fallen.
“Where did he go?”
General Demos’s tongue flickered. “I can’t say. The body disappeared.”
How could a corpse vanish into thin air? Was there a corpse? His head hurt too much to think. “We need to go.”
“Are you able to travel?”
The world settled into place. “I think so.”
“Can you…?” General Demos stared at him cock-eyed.
“Can I what?”
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
“No. Ask. Can I what?”
General Demos paused and stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “Are you able to use your…?” The general gestured toward him. “Power. Are you able to use your power to construct a portal?”
He glared at General Demos. “Why don’t you ask me to grow wings and fly while you’re at it? I might have more luck.”
“I’m sorry.” General Demos’s gaze fell away. “I thought…perhaps…never mind.”
“No.” He waved away the general’s awkward apology. “I don’t know what I can do. Maybe I could, but I’m scared to try.”
“What about the other magic. Can you access its power?”
“Elan’s magic?”
General Demos nodded.
“No. It’s gone. I don’t think it’s ever coming back.”
“What of the knights under your command? Can they still access their power?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t say.” He shifted his gaze north across the savanna. “Do you think the sansan will make good on their promise?”
“Will they kill us? I think yes. Their warning was clear.” General Demos peered across the savanna. “Perhaps they’ll listen to reason.”
“We have a long way to go," he said. "Let’s get on with it.” After a final glance at the ruins, he faced home and walked ahead.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Church Fathers
The monk's grip tightened around Tara's arm and the double doors burst open. A monk with snow white hair and matching eyes shoved her forward.
The monk spun and yanked Jo's arm pulling the girl through the open doors. "Move it, whore."
She stumbled and banged against a smooth marble wall. Two more gray-robed monks appeared on her right and left and pulled her away from the wall.
"Please, I've done nothing," Jo said.
"We'll see about that," the white-haired monk said shaking Jo in an iron grip.
"Don't you dare hurt her," she said.
The albino monk glared through snow white eyes. "If you know her, then you must be a whore too."
Behind her eyes, heat simmered and the first curls of black magic crept through her mind. She eyed her journal tucked inside the monk's belt. The journal held information that might cure her and convert people into soul knights. Soul knights who held power enough to push back a horde of desperate baerinese. She had to get the journal back.
Jo's gaze met hers and tears rolled down the girl's cheeks.
The albino monk dragged Jo along the marble hallway deeper into the monastery.
She gritted her teeth and something sharp jabbed her lower back.
"Move," a monk said from behind.
She stumbled forward and followed the albino monk dragging Jo around a corner.
Blue, gold, and white soul threads blazed in the hallway ahead. Two knights, a blue and a gold, guarded a door. White and gold soul threads blazed from the room ahead. More knights approached from further down the hallway.
She couldn't defend against so many knights. Hadn't she killed enough for one lifetime anyway? Humanity would need these knights in the dismal days ahead. She staggered forward and lowered her gaze. The soul knight’s curious stares settled on her like stone weights.
A voice came from the room behind the knights. A woman's voice. The king's lady.
She glanced up and peered through a broad crack in the open door.
Lady Rika stood before a room filled with soul knights, soldiers, and officers.
The king's lady paced before the room speaking words lost in a chorus of mumbles. Lady Rika glanced up and met her gaze. Rika's mouth fell open as recognition dawned.
Her stomach dropped and a rash of goose bumps flared along her arms and legs. Not here. Not now. It couldn't end like this. Had the king's lady recognized her as the witch of Ripool? Or as Becca, the woman she saved from the ship? She should take the journal and run.
"Stop gawking," the monk said from behind.
A monk escorting her stepped between the soul knights and pulled the door shut blocking her view of Lady Rika.
Ahead, the albino monk tossed open a steel door and shoved Jo through.
The second of her escorts pushed her forward toward the room with Jo and the albino monk.
"In you go," one of the monks said.
She stumbled through the doorway into a room barren of furniture. At the room's center, a wooden column ran from floor-to-ceiling.
The albino monk pressed Jo, face-first, against the column. The monk produced a length of knotted rope and secured Jo's wrists around the column.
With bleary tear-stained eyes, Jo tracked her entrance into the room.
"I'll show you what we do to traitors and whores," the albino monk said. "Rodney, hand me the correction rod."
Heavy hands shoved her to floor while the door slammed closed and a deadbolt slid into place.
Jo's body shook and tears fell from the girl's face.
The albino appeared behind Jo carrying a thin wooden pole. Raised bumps covered half the rod. "Where is she?"
The albino whipped Jo's lower back and the girl howled with pain. "I don't know. I swear, I don't know."
Adrenaline coursed through her body and anger flared. "Stop it. Stop it this instant. She's done nothing to you."
The albino raised the rod and pointed at her. "Shut up or you'll be next. Stealing the church's property has earned you one flogging. If you keep this up, you'll not walk out of here under your own power."
The monk reared back the cane and whipped Jo's back again. "Tell me or I'll break your back."
Jo screamed. "I don't know. She wouldn't say. I promise that's the truth."
"Liar." The albino monk unleashed a barrage of reedy cracks on Jo's shoulders, neck, and back.
Her blood boiled and she drew deep on the black magic. She would rather die than watch Jo suffer another blow. "I told you to stop," she said, her voicing taking on a menacing tone.
The albino monk froze mid-swing and gaped in her direction.
Black mist curled from her fingertips and she guided it across the room.
Jo's gaze fell on her pleading. "No. They'll kill you. You can't"
A sharp bang sounded against the locked door.
She withdrew the mist and jerked her head toward the sound.
Another bang. Louder than the first, sent the door bursting inward.
A shaggy white bear, five-feet tall at the shoulders, lumbered through. A pair of white horns speckled with thorny protrusions sprouted from the bear's face. The bear unleashed a menacing growl that reverberated from the marble walls. The bear took two steps toward the albino monk and flashed a set of razor-sharp teeth.
In the bear's wake, a petite woman with raven hair and a golden complexion strode through the doorway.
She turned her gaze to the floor to avoid the guardian's scrutiny.
"I demand you stop this instant," Rika said.
The albino monk stared the king's lady up and down appraising the woman as one would a cellar rat. "This is church business. You've no authority here."
>
"Is that so?" Rika's fingers glided through the ice bears white fur. "Ahab, attack."
The ice bear snarled and bounded forward.
The yellow correction rod tumbled from the albino monk's hands. The monk recoiled backing into the corner. "Get it away."
"Ahab, heel," the king's lady said with authority.
The bear paused and sat on its haunches glaring at the cornered monk.
The king's lady stepped forward bearing a curved steel blade. "No matter the crime this child may have committed, I will not condone this brutality."
The tension in her shoulders eased and she dared a peek at the guardian she'd tried to kill in Porthleven. She gave a silent thanks for her failure and decided she liked Rika Finn.
Rika's blade sliced through the rope holding Jo to the wooden pillar.
Jo pushed away and darted across the room toward her.
Her stomach spun. Was Jo coming for her? Seeking her for comfort? She opened her arms and Jo sank into her embrace.
Like a spring day after a long winter, warmth poured through her body and tears welled in her eyes.
The girl trembled, sobbing in her arms.
She stroked Jo's golden hair and rocked the girl in a tight embrace. "You're okay. I have you now. He won't hurt you again."
Wearing a look of satisfaction, Rika nodded and turned on the albino monk. "Explain."
"The girl is a criminal. She stole church property and fled Prynesse. She also violated the terms of her contractual obligation with the church." The albino monk glared in Jo's direction. "She owes the church many crowns that we will never recover. Now that I've explained, remove yourself so I may finish my interrogation."
"What has the other woman done? The girl's sister." Rika gestured toward her.
"Sister?" The albino monk chuckled. "Is that what she told you? This girl has no sister. She's an only child."
Her stomach sank. They would hang her and she had no one to blame but herself.
Wearing a grim expression, Rika glanced between her and Jo. "Is this true?"
For a fleeting moment, she met the guardian's gaze. She wouldn't lie. Not anymore. She would rather die than live as a monster. "Yes." She dropped her gaze and wrapped her arms around Jo.
The albino monk pointed toward her. "This woman broke into the library and damaged irreplaceable books. She stole a handwritten journal, and Elan knows what else," the albino monk said.
Maylin's Gate (Book 3) Page 36