Ward Against Destruction

by Melanie Card

  But he could last until he’d destroyed this Innecroestri. Then he’d turn himself over to Grandfather. Hopefully, with the soul chain still new, Celia would be able to survive his death and carry on, perhaps with Nazarius.

  That thought burned through him. Rage tightened his throat, and he fought to breathe. She couldn’t carry on with Nazarius. It didn’t matter that it was the logical solution. Even the thought of them carrying on as just friends didn’t ease the fury. He was hers. She couldn’t want anyone else, and he had to make her see that.

  Dark Son’s curses!

  He squeezed the lip of the hull. Something cracked, and a chunk from the top of the boat snapped in his hands.

  “Ward?” Celia asked.

  Shit. He needed to pull it together.

  “Do you see anything on the island yet?” he forced out, pulling his attention from the boat and the seductive flicker of aura and magic from Celia and Nazarius.

  “It’s too dark,” Celia said.

  Clouds had drawn in, covering the sliver of moon, except magic still rippled over the water, and brighter glimmers slid beneath its surface. The island sat dark, a magicless void among the undulating translucent blue of the lake. No, not magicless. Something pulsed, murky and red, half hidden in the shadows of great pines and towering stones. It was as if the magic in the trees and rocks on the island had been devoured, and all that remained lay warped at its heart.

  As they drew closer, a weight added to the darkness, a miasma that clung to Ward’s skin. A dual urge clawed at Ward. The need to flee, to escape the impending danger and to take Celia with him, and the need to go forward and bathe in the sickly power.

  “Do you feel that?” Nazarius asked. He shivered, and his aura rippled around him.

  Craving flooded through Ward. “That’s the feel of evil.”

  “Can one Innecroestri do that? Macerio’s mansion didn’t feel like that,” Celia said, her voice soft and steady, but her fear slid like ice along the soul chain.

  The boat ground against stone just under the water’s surface then bumped against the high lip of the bank. They eased out into knee-deep water. Nazarius tied the boat to a stout shrub, while Celia and Ward inched up the side of the mossy bank.

  The clouds slid away from the moon, bathing the island in soft silvery light. Pines huddled close to each other, obscuring what lay beyond, and a thin mist curled around the branches and trunks. The sense of evil billowed then ebbed, calling and cajoling Ward.

  Nazarius slid into position beside Ward. “See anything?”

  “The trees are too thick,” Celia said.

  Light flickered between the branches. Red and yellow. Blood and magic.

  Ward swallowed. “Someone’s there.”

  “How can you tell?” Nazarius asked.

  “I—” Ward didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell Nazarius the truth, that he could now sense soul magic. If he admitted it, then his situation was real. Which was ridiculous. Of course it was real. Horribly, wrongly real. “Where else would this Innecroestri be?”

  Celia snorted. “Power of the obvious, Tracker.”

  “Sometimes the obvious is not so obvious.” Nazarius frowned. “But you can have the lead, my lady.”

  She flashed her I love danger smile and took the lead. They crept through the trees, Celia first, Ward in the middle, and Nazarius guarding their backs. Wisps of magic flickered around him, but they were pale, inconsistent to the magic that had surrounded him when he’d been in the meadow that afternoon, and the sense of evil continued to grow.

  Movement and light through the branches made Ward freeze, and he grabbed for Celia. She eased forward, pushing a branch down, revealing a clearing. Ward inched close. The white shimmer, the strength of the magic in her aura, caressed his skin as if it were a solid, palpable thing. This was where he belonged. At her side. Forever—

  Focus. They had an Innecroestri to stop.

  It was just so hard to concentrate.

  Mist curled through the clearing. It wound around miniature obelisks, half the height of a man and covered in dark moss. They formed a wide path lit with a dozen torches and paved with large flat stones, leading to a staircase. More mist poured down the stairs, along with curls of red and black miasma, calling to him. At the top of the stairs, four full-sized black obelisks stood visible against the night sky, pulsing a faint, bloody red.

  Nazarius shivered. “What is that?”

  “Not good. That’s what it is,” Celia said.

  A man said something to their right, and they shied back into the cover of the foliage. Light burst from around a copse of trees and a massive stone outcropping…no, not an outcropping, the edge of a building mostly hidden by the leaves and boughs. Two men dressed like pirates and carrying torches marched into sight. They were followed by another pirate—a massive man, bigger than Nazarius, with bulging, muscular arms and legs. Beside him strode a man who looked miniscule in comparison. He wore black robes, or at least Ward thought they were black. It was hard to tell with the undulating red glow of his aura. An aura that had a life of its own, sucking up the red and black mist and swirling it around him.

  The man’s aura flared. The torches flickered in response. The light caught in the eight gold hoops in his ear, and Ward squinted, making sure he hadn’t miscounted—eight.

  “That has to be the Innecroestri,” he said. “With eight Rings of Habil.”

  Celia growled. “Swell.”

  “What does that mean?” Nazarius asked.

  “It means things got complicated. Or rather, more complicated.” Ward shrank back, praying the man didn’t look their way. “The Rings of Habil—his earrings—indicate he has at least eight vesperitti. And that’s just his left ear. Who knows how many rings he has in his right.”

  “Do you see any of the vesperitti?” Nazarius asked.

  Ward scanned the rest of the procession. There were a dozen more pirates, two of which held a girl whose head lolled to the side like she’d been drugged. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, what would indicate someone was a vesperitti or not. All the men had similar, plain white auras, most weak, but two of them had medium-level strengths of soul magic, making their auras brighter. A black cloud billowed through the aura of the closest man. Did that mean he was a vesperitti? Or did it mean something else?

  “I have no idea if any of them are vesperitti or not,” Ward hissed.

  The procession marched up the stairs. Celia glanced at Ward.

  “No.” He could see what she wanted in the ice in her eyes and feel her determination radiate through the soul chain.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

  “You want to get a closer look.”

  Nazarius cleared his throat. “We probably should. We need all the information we can get if we’re going to face this man or send your grandfather after him.”

  “Nazarius and I will go. You stay here,” Ward said to Celia before he could stop the words.

  Nazarius snorted. “Even I realize that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.”

  “I just—if you get hurt—” Ward bit back a growl. This was ridiculous. He didn’t even know where the thoughts had come from. “Right. Sorry. Let’s go.”

  Celia raised a delicate eyebrow. “We’re going to need to talk when we get back.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” Ward eased from the trees and scanned the area, looking for a way up the rise without taking the stairs and being in plain sight of the pirates.

  The rocky ground offered little cover.

  Celia slipped past him, keeping close to the trees and skirting around the open area. Ward hurried after her, with Nazarius close at his heels. Just past the pool of torchlight, a thin trail of forest rose to meet the rise. They slipped up the steep incline and followed it around the trees.

  Ward’s heart stuttered. The open area was so much more than just an open area. It was indeed marked with four obelisks and guarded
by a massive ibagen tree—its gnarled branches and sharp broad leaves hanging over the entire area. It looked too similar to the Tomb of Souls in the Holy City of Veknormai, where Ward had kept Celia from being turned into a shadow walker. White marble tiles covered the ground, the white broken up with a large octagon made from obsidian. Red flickers of magic danced along the line of the octagon. No, that wasn’t just magic, and the octagon wasn’t just obsidian. It was blood. Blood filled grooves cut into the octagon, adding power to whatever was going on.

  Opposite the stairs, the dozen pirates stood outside the octagon, six on either side, while the Innecroestri and the big man stood inside.

  The girl knelt in the center, her arms chained to stone block altars on either side of her, keeping her from rising. Magic danced from the stones, seeped out of them, and trailed in dark channels. It was her blood powering the octagon. Waves of fear radiated from her—even in her drugged stupor. It snapped across her aura and skittered along the blood in the channels.

  Hunger gnawed Ward. The need to cross into the octagon, even just take one step closer, burned through him.

  The Innecroestri dipped a finger in the blood and drew a closed goddess-eye on the girl’s forehead. She whimpered and terror crackled over her. Then the Innecroestri started to chant, his resonant voice booming words in Vys, the ancient language of magical power. The words vibrated through Ward, calling magic to magic, drawing power from the girl, from her blood, and from something dark and deep within the fissure.

  The wind gusted, filled with an ice even though it was high summer.

  “What’s he doing?” Nazarius hissed.

  Ward shuddered. “Sacrificing her.”

  Chapter Ten

  Revulsion oozed through the soul chain into Ward. The ground shuddered. The pirates threw out their arms to keep their balance and glanced around. Mist curled up over the edge of the rise and seeped toward them and the octagon. Red and black essence curled within the pale strands, as if the Innecroestri’s chant summoned it to power his spell.

  A wisp slid up the girl’s leg and drew a whimper. The Innecroestri repeated the chant, louder, with more force.

  More mist slid over the edge of the rise. It oozed past Ward. Cold, too cold. It tugged at something within him and yet felt black and ugly.

  The Innecroestri drew an obsidian knife from the folds of his robes. Red magic pulsed from it. He stepped toward the girl, who wrenched at her chains. Her magic burned as bright as daylight. He grabbed the girl’s chin and drew the blade across her cheek, slowly, her agony searing through her aura.

  She screamed, and blood welled in the cut and dripped over the Innecroestri’s hand. He leaned close and pressed his lips to the cut. She trembled. Even from so far away and in the dark, Ward could see her tremble. He could feel her tremble. It was a nectar aggravating the hunger threatening to consume him.

  The Innecroestri slid the blade across her chest, slicing open her shirt and drawing more blood and another scream.

  The girl panted now, her fear sunbursts exploding through her aura. Another slash. Up her forearm. And another down the other.

  The power building around her pressed against Ward. The Innecroestri was going to kill her. Slowly, agonizingly, building her fear until her soul magic was at its most powerful, and then he was going to release that desperation to power his spell.

  If no one was going to do something, Ward had to. “We have to put an end to this.” He pushed off from the ground to rush up there and stop the spell.

  Celia grabbed his arm and jerked him down. “And do what? We’re outnumbered, we don’t know where the Innecroestri’s vesperitti are, and we don’t know how powerful he is.”

  “He’s killing her.” Everything within Ward screamed to save her.

  “That’s not our mission,” she hissed.

  The girl screamed again, and the Innecroestri repeated his chant. So much power. So much hunger. The man plunged the dagger into the girl’s gut. He yanked it out. Blood splattered across the feet of the enormous pirate standing beside them.

  Ward shuddered. “Nazarius?” He turned to the Tracker. “You’re not going to just let this girl die?”

  The muscles in Nazarius’s jaw twitched. “We can’t fight all those men, not if there’s a risk some of them are vesperitti.”

  The Innecroestri stabbed the girl again. His chant sped up. The magic in her blood, a miniature sun, seared the octagon into Ward’s vision.

  He wrenched out of Celia’s grasp.

  “Ward!” Panic shot through the soul chain.

  The word lanced through him. His muscles quivered, and he stumbled, falling to his knees. He pressed his palms to the ground to push himself back up, but his strength was gone, sucked away through the soul chain.

  Sweat slicked his brow. His trembling grew. His legs bunched underneath him, and he started to inch forward…no, backward. He wanted to go forward, but his body wouldn’t obey. Celia’s determination squeezed his chest. He had to save the girl. Stop whatever terrible spell the Innecroestri was casting.

  “Get back here,” Celia hissed.

  He shifted back another inch, at her command.

  Wrong direction?

  He fought to make his arms work.

  “Ward.”

  Agony burned through his muscles. Blinding, white, like when he’d stretched the soul chain too far, except it wasn’t stretched thin now. Celia wanted him to stay and had commanded him to return to her side. She was going to let the Innecroestri murder the girl.

  Celia grabbed his hand. “There’s nothing we can do,” she said.

  “Yes.” He said the words, but they didn’t make sense. He needed to save the girl—

  No, he needed to obey Celia.

  The girl sagged forward, and the octagon flared blindingly bright. The Innecroestri’s chant changed, his voice a dark rumble, and the ground shook in response. The large pirate strode to the edge of the fissure and stared down.

  Ward’s muscles burned, and he fought to breathe. This was not happening. It didn’t matter Celia and Nazarius were right. He wasn’t supposed to just watch while this girl was tortured to death.

  The mist, now bright with blood magic, writhed around them, and a thread of black seeped from the fissure. It pooled over the rock around the pirate’s feet, shiny, reflecting the magic and mist.

  The Innecroestri barked three harsh words in Vys. Power rang through his voice, and it was taken up in the sky, the air, the very island. It exploded through Ward, and the black something swarmed up the pirate’s legs. The man tensed, panic swept over his face, but the blackness raced over his waist and up his neck.

  He screamed, and the blackness poured down his throat. His eyes widened, and he clawed at the blackness but couldn’t dislodge it. With a moan, he dropped to his knees. The blackness swept over his face and head, encompassing him. It pulsed a sickly bloody red, then melted into his skin, taking the blood magic with it.

  Ward’s chest burned, and he realized he was holding his breath. He drew in air, too cold even at night in the middle of the mountains. The world felt muted, as if wool had been stuffed in his ears and he’d been wrapped in a smothering, frozen blanket. The octagon went dark, dead, no longer alive with magic. So, too, was the girl.

  Ward blinked. A void, a heavy grayness, blanketed the whole area, as if whatever the Innecroestri had done had leached all the magic from the area.

  The pirate who’d been enveloped in the blackness stood and rolled his shoulders back. He looked even more massive than before.

  “What did we just see?” Nazarius asked.

  Murder that should have been stopped. “I don’t know,” Ward forced out. But something about the situation seemed familiar, like he’d read about it somewhere.

  The pirate threw his head back and roared. The sound boomed through the area. He growled and flexed. Black veins pulsed along his arms, his neck, and over his cheeks.

  It was so familiar.

  Cold panic shot throug
h Ward, and realization hit him. “This is Vekalmeer.” The Ancients’ Isle of Darkness. “The reason Dulthyne was built in the first place, and one of the reasons the city had been so appealing to the blood magi, Diestro.”

  “You mean we’re at the Gate to the Dark Son’s Abyss?” Nazarius asked. “But that’s just a myth. It doesn’t really exist.”

  “Myth seems to be an uncertain thing these days.” Ward stared at the fissure. He’d thought the Gate to the Dark Son’s Abyss, and all the evil that lay within it, was a tale to scare necromancers. But now that he really thought about it, if necromancers could open the veil between this world and the next, why not the fissure between this world and the Dark Son’s? “We have to get out of here. This is bigger than just one Innecroestri.”

  “But what happened to the pirate?” Nazarius asked.

  “He’s been imbued with power from the Abyss.” Ward inched away from the edge of the rise.

  Celia followed him. “So a demon? The Innecroestri just made a demon?”

  “Let’s hope not. One Innecroestri I might be able to deal with. A demon? I have no idea.”

  A rock skidded under Ward’s foot and bounded down the hill. A pirate glanced their way and shouted.

  “Well, we better figure something out, fast,” Nazarius said.

  Celia jerked Ward to his feet and yanked him to face the tree line. “I suggest running.”

  Ward scrambled after Celia and Nazarius into the trees. If he’d thought anything that had happened in the last week was bad, this was worse. This was Vekalmeer. The Vekalmeer. And this Innecroestri had a way to crack open a fissure and gain access to all that evil.

  A pirate yelled, and others took up the call. Men crashed through the trees behind them. The light from their torches made the shadows writhe.

  They had to get off the island and back to the village. But would the village still be safe?

  Ward brought his arms up to shield his face and shoved through the thick branches. Nazarius’s footsteps pounded behind him. He could sense the rush of the Tracker’s blood adding to the magic that was in his soul.