The Zi'veyn: The Devoted Trilogy, Book One

by Kim Wedlock

  He glanced around, but once again the guards had been distracted. Or paid off. This was the western gate...

  "Garon, they--"

  "I know." He stared across them all and let his gaze weigh heavily upon each. "Turn around and leave." He spoke clearly, steadily, leaving no room for misunderstanding. "Trust me when I say that this is not a fight you want to have."

  The leader stared sharply back at him, but when he glimpsed the ornate hilt of his blade peaking through his cloak, though the white hammer insignia itself was turned away from him, a rage flashed through his eyes. His gruesome, poisonous smile returned. "What luck, what luck indeed!"

  "He's an inquisitor, Ren," one of the lackeys who held Aria warned him, one with a clear view of the other end of the sword, the sight of which had drained the blood from his face.

  "Yes," the leader replied, "and he thinks he's better than us because of it, so high and mighty. But that means he has more coin -" he glanced towards the two who held Aria, "and he has a pesky sense of responsibility."

  Aria whimpered as the blades pressed more firmly against her skin, just hard enough to draw a single, crimson beadlet.

  Rathen's fire-heart thundered in his chest and sparks began to ignite his blood. He gritted his teeth as his head swam. All he saw was Aria. He didn't notice the sound of footsteps splashing through puddles as Garon darted towards her, or of a sword knocking aside the blows of several daggers as the thugs moved to stop him. He was aware only of her terror, the tears streaming down her cheeks, the sheer desperation in her eyes - it was more than he had ever seen on any face in his lifetime. Not even on men and women who had lay dying on the battlefields.

  The edge of his vision grew cloudy, his head thumped and his ability to comprehend his own thoughts was strained. Even had he finally been given permission to cast a spell and draw the attention of every mage in the city, he wouldn't have been able to complete it. The seals were lost to him. Instead he understood only the panic, the fury, the sheer helplessness that invaded and walled in his mind. He could feel himself slipping beneath it. Succumbing. And this time, he had no desire to fight it.

  Garon could easily fight off the attackers; they were unorganised, thinking only for their own safety, and a few times they had gotten one of their companions injured in their own attempts to defend themselves. But just as Garon didn't truly intend to inflict injury, neither were they trying to hurt him. They were meant only to occupy him, and though he realised this early on, there was little he could do when the four men continued to throw themselves at him like rabid dogs.

  The leader, Ren, had stepped back from the skirmish. It was no wonder he was so much smoother-skinned than the others, if certainly still sickly. He must have made a habit of leaving the dirty work to his lackeys. These men had far less control over their impulses than he seemed to, and were unlikely to stop under injury once the blood haze hit.

  But even as Garon pushed them back, he kept his sights on Ren. He watched him stride leisurely towards the child his two new cohorts had taken hostage, and his smile suggested that he was more than prepared to press on her capture to get what he wanted.

  Garon cursed as he planted his boot firmly in the chest of one man charging towards him, firing him backwards beneath the crunch of breaking ribs. He wasn't going to give him the chance to use her.

  His eyes flicked back towards his assailants. One was down, and the others could be dispatched easily enough. He'd already caused a scene by engaging them so it would make little difference now if he hurt them, and Ren might just lose his nerve if the bulk of his force was taken out.

  He turned his sword and prepared to sweep aside the blade of the oncoming attacker and slam him into the nearest wall with his shoulder, but a young voice suddenly shrieked in panic - and it was not a cry of self-concern.

  Even the attackers faltered, and as Garon glanced towards Aria he found her staring at her father with an entirely new kind of fright. His eyes flicked towards him as he side-stepped an opportunistic attack, and his own heart lurched as he understood.

  Rathen stared back at the two captors, but it was not the primal hatred in his eyes that made his blood run cold - and that of everyone else. It was their colour: they had turned black. Entirely. Even the whites of his eyes were consumed. His skin had also faded to a pure, milky white which only made his eyes more striking. But there was something more about his face that had changed, something that couldn't be placed.

  Maybe it was the pure agony that creased every miserable wrinkle and knotted his jaw so tightly his teeth should have shattered, an agony so clear yet so great he was sure none of them could ever have endured it, if even comprehended it.

  And yet still he stared at the thugs, that torture embraced and focused into daggers fired by his unwavering jet-black gaze, rather than falling at its mercy and letting himself curl up into a weeping ball.

  Everyone within that street fell paralysed beneath the glare: Garon, the thugs, and countless onlookers who hadn't retreated at the start of the fight, no doubt used to such events. Though this, of course, was something new.

  His animalistic stare finally became too much for a few, and a handful screamed and fled. Others around them immediately followed, long having learned to respond to the reactions of those around them in this district, and the thugs, the focus of his deathly and unblinking gaze, released Aria and slowly backed away, somehow able to contain their horror in favour of appearing insignificant.

  "Rathen, get a hold of yourself," Garon demanded, though he knew already that it was too late, and he pulled Aria close to him as she tentatively backed away from her father.

  Guards suddenly appeared from around the corner, lured by the screams and the stampede of fleeing bodies, their blades already drawn. Rathen couldn't have seen them, couldn't even have heard them, and yet he spun around immediately, moving with frighteningly unnatural speed. They came to a stop so abrupt it was as if they'd turned to ice. Three heartbeats later, they turned and fled like the people they were supposed to protect.

  The opiac addicts took their opportunity to flee while he was distracted, but the slightest movement immediately snatched the mage's attention. They'd not moved even an inch as he shot back towards them - and he'd changed further in those few seconds - but he gave them not even a moment to begin their get away.

  He exploded to his feet and bolted towards them, that same inhuman speed powering his chase and ripping screams from their cowardly throats.

  Garon lost all interest in them. He had a new problem on his hands now.

  "Rathen, stop!" He bellowed as he moved to give chase, but Aria pulled him back.

  "No! We have to hide! Nothing will stop him, nothing at all!" Tears of desperation blinded her, streaming over her cheeks, and she seemed unaware of the blood that trickled down her neck.

  Garon shook her off, though more urgently than unkindly. "You hide," he commanded, "now." He broke into a run. "I can't let him rampage!"

  Rathen was in close pursuit as the thieves flew around a corner, but the movement of the inquisitor instantly stole his attention away again, and he turned onto him in a flash. He had no focus, no concentration. He didn't seem even to recognise Garon. He was like a rabid animal, mad and senseless, driven only by wild and unmanageable urges.

  But the transformation the man had undergone in the space of one minute again turned Garon's heart to ice. The once-average man had become a full head taller, as lean as a lifelong soldier and his shoulders substantially broader as they heaved beneath ragged breath; his clothes were torn and his whole form had become perfectly imposing. His face was gaunter, his cheekbones sharper, and he was barely recognisable as the man that had walked beside him five minutes earlier.

  But more alarming were the sharp and jagged finger-length protrusions that pierced through his bone-white skin at his shoulders and beneath his throat, as though spines had erupted from either end of his collar bones. His veins also appeared black at first glance and too easily vi
sible beneath his skin, as though he showed the same signs of opiac use, but they were much darker and too needlessly ornate to be veins. They scrolled like a tattoo or tribal paint, but beneath the skin, as if they had been applied from the inside out or were precise and deep-grey bruising.

  But perhaps the most disturbing detail was the cracking. He'd heard it before and had assumed it to be distant thunder, but as Rathen's monstrous form faltered and new skeletal hooks erupted from his elbows and his ribcage seemed to expand, they came again, the sickening cracks of bones shifting, breaking and reshaping.

  Garon swallowed hard and tightened his grip on his sword, trying either to shake off the smothering sense of primal fear, or refocus it and put it to some kind of use. He'd been lucky, for a moment; every change that took place stalled him and excruciating torment ripped across his beastly face. But as quickly as it occurred, it passed, and Rathen's black eyes refocused upon him.

  He hurtled towards him in a flash.

  Garon's blood thawed in an instant at the guttural cry that accompanied it and he braced himself to spring to the side, left little time to consider any defence, let alone an attack. But while he'd intended to shift aside at the last moment, Rathen moved so quickly that he only just made it. That instant confirmed Garon's assumption: there was no way he could stand against this demon.

  Rathen pulled himself to a sudden stop a short way behind him, then turned and charged again with another horrific growl, and he jumped aside this time with a little more preparation.

  He stopped, turned and charged again, and it was then that Garon truly realised that his attention was entirely upon him. Movement around them could snatch it away again, but no one was about to come out of their homes and present themselves as a distraction - had he been able to spare a moment to glance at the windows he'd have seen countless faces staring out in horror. But perhaps movement of his own would help to keep that attention, should he be wrong.

  The western gate lay behind him, unguarded, and Rathen seemed prepared to chase. He could lure him out of the city, return some kind of safety to the people and reduce the chances of another massacre - if Rathen didn't kill him first.

  He had no time to think. He gritted his teeth and jumped aside once more, but rather than watch to see what Rathen would do next, he turned towards the gate and ran. "Aria," he shouted, "wherever you are, stay there!"

  He didn't get far before he heard rapid footsteps pounding over the wet stones behind him, or ragged, uncontrolled breath from a bestial throat, and was forced to break off of his straight path to avoid any impact.

  Long claws, fingers encased in bony armour, only just missed his ear as they slashed through the air where his head had been less than a second before, and only managed to clip his hair as he ducked in anticipation of the sweep of the other hand.

  He darted to the right, then to the left, somehow managing to avoid the impossibly swift strikes, and he thanked his luck every time.

  And then he fell, tripped by a loose stone, of all things, mere feet away from the gate. He could hear Rathen barely a step behind him, but he hadn't the time even to roll away. He tensed, braced himself, and prepared a backwards attack for when he inevitably fell upon him.

  But it didn't come.

  Another savage howl ripped free in response to a curiously familiar roar of fury, and any questions she surely had she reserved for a more appropriate time.

  "The gate!" Garon shouted as he used the opportunity to leap back to his feet, hoping in the process that he might steal his attention back again. "Get him out of the city!"

  But this time it was Petra who retained his attention, and though she tried to fight and subdue him, evidently seeing something familiar enough about him not to turn and flee, or strike to kill, she wasn't prepared for his speed. She did all she could to hit and to evade, but anything that landed had painfully little effect, and she seemed to resent the need to retreat. But she did it all the same, and without Garon needing to shout the order a second time.

  The inquisitor shoved open the gate while the monster hunted Petra, and they spilled out from the city and into more open land. Now there were places to turn, and with a second body, there was opportunity to confuse him.

  Horses bellowed in a panic some distance behind the inquisitor, and suddenly Rathen's focus shifted again.

  Some fifty feet or more away, Anthis turned pale and froze, staring in terror as the black and white beast bolted towards him, picking up far too much speed on two legs in such unhindered terrain.

  "Anthis, don't move!" Garon shouted over the roars as he and Petra raced behind him. "Keep perfectly still!"

  He obliged only because his brain had stalled, but the horses whose reins he clutched bucked and panicked, and there was no way either of the mage's pursuers could catch his attention again. But they tried anyway, running as fast as they possibly could and still failing to keep up.

  Anthis stumbled back in horror and raised a defensive hand, though such a gesture could never have done anything in the face of this assailant.

  But Rathen suddenly heaved backwards, his momentum abruptly reversed, and Garon jumped to one side to avoid being impaled by the elbow thorns as he landed. Of course, when he did strike the ground, he wasn't even dazed, and leapt back up to charge again as if nothing at all had happened.

  Something whipped through the air from behind Garon and struck Rathen at the ankles, and again his frenzied pursuit was stalled as he stumbled back to the ground. This time, however, he couldn't get back up, and his strength surprised Garon again as his advance persisted, dragging himself along towards the panicking animals that Anthis wrestled to keep a hold of, bolas tangled around his feet, but he gave himself no time to marvel.

  He noted every jagged spike, bony protrusion and piece of unexplainable skeletal armour, then jumped upon him, pressing down with all of his weight to keep him on the ground. Still he managed to haul himself along, but Petra was quickly behind him, having made the same decision at the same moment, and as she added her weight, Garon finally had the opportunity to subdue him. It was only after he made the very precise strike to the carotid artery and Rathen's struggle weakened that he realised the transformation could have supplied some kind of protection against the act.

  Fortunately for all of them, it hadn't, and Rathen soon fell limp.

  A rumble sounded in the distance, so sudden that each of them in their heightened responses braced for another attack. The ground beneath them shuddered and screams rose in the city that now stood a surprising distance behind them, its outer walls shaking, loosening bricks that crumbled as the tremor continued. Birds fled from the nearby trees, the horses renewed their panic and stamped their hooves, and wolves howled mournfully from the depths of the forest.

  It lasted for almost a minute, and when the ground finally ceased its quaking, a heavy silence hung for miles.

  Garon, Petra and Anthis looked at one another with wide, harrowed eyes, and though thousands of questions began to weigh upon two of their tongues, neither found the courage to ask them.

  Garon's heart jumped when he realised that Aria wasn't with them, but as he leapt off of Rathen to turn back to the city in search of her, the first who dared to move, he spotted her small form walking close to the broken wall, peering cautiously towards them.

  He paid no attention to the immense relief he felt at the sight of her safety as he hurried over towards her, and she rushed to him in a flood of similar desperation. She grasped his hand immediately, as tightly as she would have her father's, but her eyes were fixed on his motionless body as she was led cautiously towards him, ignoring the dust that still rose from a portion of the walls behind.

  Petra stepped back as they arrived, her own confusion brushed aside in concern as she watched the child stop silently beside him. The empathy in her brow twisted deeper as Aria stared with little more than a mere touch of worry in her eyes. There was no grief, no confusion, though she surely couldn't comprehend what she was looking u
pon. None of them did.

  But Garon frowned more critically as he stopped beside her. Rathen hadn't moved. The inquisitor's blow should only have subdued him for a moment, giving his mind the opportunity to clear and allow Rathen to reassert himself. But the transformation, as brief as it was, must have come at a greater price than he'd first guessed - but then, the last time this had happened, he had very nearly died...

  He knelt down beside him and brushed his long, black hair from his face. He grunted in satisfaction. Rathen was beginning to revert. He looked a little more like himself again; his bone structure had returned, the sub-dermal pattern had vanished, and the colour no one had ever noticed was returning to his face.

  But there was a lot of blood. It leaked from countless visible wounds, his skin more torn than broken, and it seeped into his tattered clothing. His shoulders, elbows and fingers had suffered the most at first glance, the eruption of sharp bones through his flesh leaving frightful holes as they receded, but when Garon considered the reshaping the rest of his body had undergone, he suspected that what he couldn't see was far worse.

  Suddenly, he found himself at a loss for what to do.

  "What just happened?" Anthis finally managed, the words tumbling out to shatter the steel silence, and yet spoken with a mild tone, his confusion that extensive.

  But before Garon could organise his troubled thoughts to even consider giving an answer, be it the truth or not, the light around them suddenly dimmed, the thundering rain above them ceased, and the soft, muddy ground beneath his knees turned to gnarled roots. Their surroundings had shifted, and they were quite suddenly back in the familiar, concealing terrain of Turunda's forests.

  "Oh, Rathen," a disappointed voice mumbled from beside the inquisitor, and as he blinked, he found a dark-haired woman rolling Rathen very gently onto his back, tutting quietly to herself and shaking her head, her storm of forest brown curls bouncing. "What have you done?"