The Zi'veyn: The Devoted Trilogy, Book One

by Kim Wedlock

His lips formed an even tighter line as he continued to lead them towards where he'd located the spell, which was indeed, as Garon suggested, more organised than the rest.

  "Do you know how?"

  "I'll figure it out."

  "That--"

  "I will figure it out." He stopped short, his eyes narrowing as his magic peered off into the distance between the shadows and criss-crossing trees. "Someone's here..."

  Garon drew up beside him, his usual grip about the hilt of his sheathed sword tightening. "What?"

  "Another mage..." Rathen shook his head, straining his senses further as a furrow of confusion edged in. "And..."

  "...And?"

  "...Two mages." He pushed off through the whipping wind once more, leaving the others to hurry behind his suddenly urgent pace and bite back their questions at what was certainly an incomplete answer. Because, deep down, draped in dread, they knew they didn't wish to know.

  They skidded to a stop behind a mound of rocks, each silencing their awareness of the fact that they could come loose and fly off or turn molten at a moment's notice, and looked impatiently to Rathen, whose expression twisted in concentration.

  "How far is the door?" Garon asked, to which the mage grunted and tossed his head, gesturing over the rocks. "And the mages?" Rathen simply nodded. No one asked him anything else. Instead they forced their own senses to sharpen, straining to hear any voices or footsteps, while Garon dared a skilful peek around the edge, keeping as low to the ground as he could. His voice was low, so quiet as to have been inaudible, but because the others didn't wish to hear it, it was all too clear. "Salus."

  Eyes widened as panic squeezed their intestines. Salus - keliceran, portian, ghost...mage - a brutal, driven man who wanted the Zi'veyn as dearly as they did and was reportedly prepared to do anything at all to get it. And they each strongly suspected that murder was not beyond his reasoning.

  "We'll be fine." But Garon's attempt at reassurance was poor. His jaw was knotted tighter than usual; he was clearly just as alarmed.

  Eyes shifted heavily back onto Rathen, searching him for any sign of his progress as he analysed the spell, but his face was a perfect mask. It was only when he blinked and his gaze finally returned that they felt their heartbeats quicken in hope.

  "I've got what I need," he informed them quietly. "It's a mess of broken spells and intentional distractions - there's even a trap in place over the top, probably the only surviving one of many - but now I've had a chance to pick it apart and follow the threads, I...think I can do it..."

  "Are you sure? You were never a preserver..."

  "I wasn't, but I was taught the basics just like everyone else, and these past few months, I've learned a little more." Shoving away his screaming doubt, he shifted his weight onto his knees to find a little comfort on the harsh terrain, if just to ease his concentration and provide a position he could quickly leap out of. Then he loosened his fingers.

  The others rose to crouches and drew weapons where they were able, ready for what was surely going to draw the two mages' attention.

  He took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing..."

  Erran turned suddenly and stared off to the north. His eyes narrowed through the blackness and confusing streaks of light, searching for the source of the distinctly controlled disturbance in the arcanised air.

  Teagan followed his gaze. "What is it?"

  "Koraaz."

  In an instant, Salus's eyes, closed in concentration, ripped open and burned violently into the distance. "Where?!" But before his tutor could reply, the treacherous earth jolted again and roared like a golem. They grounded themselves, having grown used to the tremors, but this one grew quickly worse, tearing new cracks into the surface.

  Erran gritted his teeth and sought to level or stabilise the ground, but though he cast his spells, the land would not heed the demands. "His spell is affecting the magic..."

  "He's trying to make this place worse!"

  "No." He looked gravely towards the keliceran. "He's trying to open the door."

  His eyes erupted again. "Stop him!" Salus spun away and redoubled his efforts upon the accursed door, trying desperately to work out how to read its construction and just where he was supposed to push his own magic. Fury burned hot enough to sear the air, fed by disappointment and an inescapable foolishness. What had made him believe he could ever complete this task unhindered? Or unaided? He may have possessed magic but he had no idea how to use it, and he'd allowed himself to be distracted by it, and by the elf. And now he was in it up to his ears with no clue where to turn. And Koraaz was here, with Karth no doubt right behind him. And he had just killed the only one who could offer him any kind of guidance.

  His teeth champed so hard they could have shattered. But he couldn't give up. He could never give up. The Order could not have it; they could not be allowed to obliterate Turunda like mages had Halen and Fendale. Turunda would not become this.

  The land trembled again, but though he managed to steady himself for the first quake, he couldn't fight the next. Clumps of stone and soil exploded close by, striking them from the side while water burst from beneath, erupting from the earth in a geyser to fall back to the ground at half of normal speed. They braced against the pummelling, then dove away as previously soaring rocks began dropping so heavily from the sky that not even the immense and snaking winds could alter their paths. Before they could catch their feet again, the shaking landscape began rolling like water, tossing them about as if they stood within an ocean storm.

  Torn from the indecipherable spells of the door, Salus felt the sudden release of magic, and his rage swelled in defeat.

  Five figures appeared immediately in the darkness. He glimpsed no faces, but he knew who they were.

  A great bellow ripped free from his throat, one so loud, so coarse that its power alone was enough to have filled his mouth with blood.

  The air rent open. The land shattered like glass beneath the gaping black void. It crumpled and split, bucking Salus and the others several feet backwards with the force of its blast. They barely touched the ground; each leapt back up, Salus far faster than the rest, and raced immediately towards the ragged oval of darkness.

  Turunda would not fall.

  He would not be beaten.

  All efforts were focused intently on scrambling up the steepening slope. The world was collapsing around them, and they blinded themselves to it desperately for fear of going mad, their eyes fixated instead on what could only be described as a hole in the night. In spite of the lack of wisdom for entering a world made entirely of degrading magic, they barely hesitated as they reached the top of the ledge. It seemed there was just as much to fear outside as within, but at least, inside, no threats were sentient. No threats would hunt them. No threats would actively try to kill them.

  They all but threw themselves in.

  But as Rathen approached to be the third to leap inside, a roar snatched his eye across the rend. Figures appeared, cresting the opposite peak, but only the first secured his attention.

  White skin, black eyes, ferocious teeth and a deathly sunken face.

  An immediate and dreadful understanding stalled his movements as Petra pulled Eyila up and past him, dragging her into the portal without sparing anyone a glance, and the inhuman, sepulchral cry came again to turn his blood to ice.

  Somehow, he moved, launching himself off of the ground and away from his crumbling world, and with a backwards thought, squeezed the doorway closed behind him.

  Chapter 61

  Rathen didn't feel himself land, but the shock of the impact rattling through his bones promised him it had happened, and the chorus of concurring groans similarly assured that, this time, he hadn't landed alone.

  So he wasted no time on a confirming glance, nor for his head to stop spinning, but even despite his urgency, it took a painfully long time to push himself to his feet. He struggled against his body which felt suddenly twice its weight, and after succeeding at a stagger, found it jus
t as difficult to straighten. But in his frenzy, he wasted no thought on that, either.

  He looked around critically while the others pushed themselves up with similar trouble, gathering his bearings in the low, golden light.

  Wherever - or whenever - they'd ended up, it was sundown; the flaming sky was streaked with artistic wisps of cloud, pricked with the faintest stars, and its warmth was reflected and enhanced by the tell-tale buildings of gold, silver and ebon. But they were not a sight of promise.

  No single building stood whole. Most were shattered, fragments of wall, roof and floor piled high on the ground at their side or floating in the air like the rocks that had careened around them only moments before. More worryingly, some structures appeared to have melted, their walls slumping inwards like molten glass.

  He swiftly turned his eyes away to silence the thoughts of 'how', but the perfectly balanced wilds they fell onto instead was no more assuring. Streams and rivers flowed over the land, between overgrown gardens and decrepit buildings, until they rose suddenly into defiant arcs like ribbons curling away from the surface, and continued to meander through the air until whatever remained of their elevating spells caused them to drop abruptly into immature waterfalls.

  And the nearby paths as he drew his gaze back in were just as hopeless. They rolled through the unnatural desolation like a maze, just as fractured, and shards of these, too, had rejected the powerful gravity. But unlike the orbiting debris of buildings, these stones hung suspended as though time had frozen the very moment the paths had exploded.

  And while he could squeeze his eyes shut tightly against them, he could not escape the details which reigned absolute; above, beneath and woven intricately within it all, an ethereal music so light and clear it could have been playing inside his head, and peace, perfect peace. No tug at the edge of his senses, nothing to be fought against. It was infinite. Supreme. And beautiful. So terrifyingly beautiful.

  He felt its influence and the madness it invoked begin to bubble unstoppably within him.

  Rathen spun back to the others as they took in the sights with, he noticed, far less concern than they should have. "We have to hurry," he warned them sharply, speaking faster than his tongue could keep up with and snapping them immediately to attention. "Salus has elven magic - I saw it, he was half-transformed when we got in here and could open this door at any moment - he could be seconds behind us! We have to find the Zi'veyn!"

  For the briefest moment, Garon stared back at him with completely exposed shock. He was quick to cover it, of course, and straightened despite his injuries to set a decisive pace. "Away from the door - quickly!"

  "And then where?" Petra demanded, all but carrying Eyila as she and the others followed close. She looked hopelessly over the decomposing structures that spilled away before them, while a dense forest, no doubt impenetrable, fenced them in. "This place is a mess..."

  No one answered. No one knew. But Rathen took the lead anyway, not permitting his eyes to linger on any one detail for too long, and narrowed his mind to a sliver. Garon shortly grunted in protest behind him, then came the rustle of paper. He cast back an intolerant look to find the inquisitor now laden with two bags and Anthis sorting through scrolls.

  "Now isn't the time," he hissed, but Anthis merely shook his head.

  "Eizariin wouldn't have given them to me if they weren't important. There might be a map or something to point the way - unless you'd rather stumble through this place blindly?"

  Rathen growled, but provided no argument.

  The winding path they'd chosen at random to carry them away from the door began to thin, and jagged black flagstones hung in their way. Rathen knocked one aside, which drifted slowly as if through syrup to settle in the air a foot or so to the right. The others, cautiously and curiously, did the same.

  The path soon opened, the once elegant and ornate parlours giving way to equally neglected gardens, but movement ahead caught their attention and forced them rapidly into the hedges, where they held their breath and peered ever so carefully out from the thornless topiaries.

  "Is it him?" Anthis whispered tightly in alarm, but Rathen shook his head as he watched the distant, slender figures skip and dance around together, notably untroubled by their aberrant surroundings. "...Is it an elf?" No one could decide if he'd sounded more or less panicked by his second assumption, but as another silver figure melted silently out from the greenery not three feet away, each felt their breath and muscles seize. They dared not a sound, not a motion, willing quietly within their minds that she wouldn't turn around.

  But they must not have willed quietly enough.

  She turned directly towards them, and their statuesque stillness was immediately obliterated as they staggered deeper into the leaves and twigs in sudden horror. But she didn't jump, shout, frown, nor even blink in mild surprise. She had no features at all with which to react. Her face was an endless black void. She was not real. It was only in that lull that they realised she was naked, and that her breasts and hips were still so very perfectly formed, as though more care had been taken over those such attributes than anything else. And by the way she giggled, the tinkling sound that floated from somewhere in the abyss where her face should have been, she had probably been devoid of any personality from the beginning.

  She started towards Rathen, the closest, exaggeratedly swaying her hips with every slow and deliberate step, sending him stumbling further backwards into the foliage. Her flighty attention then slipped onto Garon, whose own retreat Petra hastened with a tug. The girl seemed undiscouraged, though it was difficult to tell.

  Another giggle suddenly fluttered out from behind the unkempt topiaries, and as another faceless, silver beauty appeared, the first turned towards her instead and slipped her arms about her narrow waist. The pair didn't turn as they began skipping away, their existing fingertips tracing sensually over one another's bare skin and eliciting from the other gentle and provocative whimpers. All eyes tracked them, disturbed but unwillingly curious. The compelling display may have been successful in luring the men away had the young women been whole and a killer not been on their tail.

  Another appeared as suddenly as the second, startling them again, and chased after the two with a giggle, her rear and curving back just as artfully constructed as the others' fronts. But her bare and slender foot caught something on the ground, and though she landed lightly, she didn't get back up.

  The pair paid the motionless girl no attention, and soon lost interest in captivating their audience, turning and scampering away towards another fickle intrigue in another decaying garden.

  Rathen didn't spare a moment to share in the stunned glances. He returned instantly to the path and hastened along its winding route as his urgency reasserted itself, and the rest were quick to follow for fear of being left behind and out of the mage's protection, for he was certainly their only chance of finding their way through and back out of the haunting place.

  Anthis's attention shortly dropped back to his scrolls, and he soon grunted in thought. "Only elven magic can operate elven spells..." No one dared to turn their eyes away from their surroundings to send him their quizzical or impatient looks. "Which explains why no one has ever managed to make any elven relic work, even when magic has been clearly felt... It's not undetectable damage to the spells - not always, anyway - it's the magic used trying to activate them..."

  "Elven magic..." Petra mused quietly, then turned a thoughtful gaze onto the back of Rathen's head. "Perhaps that's how he was able to affect the magic in the desert ruins..."

  Anthis looked towards Garon, who was watching the mage with concentration, and dropped his voice even lower. "Does he really have elven magic?"

  "So it would seem..."

  Rathen gritted his teeth, but didn't inform them that he could hear them quite clearly, nor that their marvelling was unappreciated. Focused on his irritation, he didn't notice himself walking a little taller.

  More ethereal bodies, both male and female, a
ppeared in the distance as the gardens gave way once more to the glinting onyx city, where they frolicked with one another, enjoying beautifully composed music and the artistic workings of equally bare sculptors. Pavilions stood atop grand and towering pedestals, interconnected by elevated walkways, unreachable by the broken, winding staircases and yet ascended by some who seemed capable of travelling beyond their tangible edges, while a few that stood whole had been taken over by tumbling waters.

  The others' quiet and easy gasps of awe only enhanced Rathen's unrest. The magic of this place was indeed potent, and though they'd not succumbed to the arcane taint at any of the ruins, now it seemed their resistance was beginning to crumble. How they'd managed to withstand the lure that had brought entire settlements like Loggerhead to a hypnotised stand-still continued to amaze him, but here the pull was immeasurably stronger, and he knew in the back of his mind, in a corner he daren't look, that even he should have fallen the very moment they'd plummeted inside. And yet he resisted - or his half-elven magic did.

  Warily, he looked back towards Eyila, and his furrow worsened when he found exactly what he'd expected. While tension continued sparking beneath their feet even as they marvelled, she was the only one not to share in it. She stumbled along at Petra's side, her glazed eyes flitting about and following things no other could see, while a mixture of desperation and entrancement pinched the skin around them. Whatever steeled him against the poisonous lure was absent from her, but aside from escaping the place as soon as possible, he had little idea what they could do for her.

  He looked back to the path, increasingly troubled, and his jaw tightened in further helplessness as it split off suddenly in several directions.

  "Where do we go?" Petra asked as she and the others stumbled to a stop behind him, each looking at the dark slates as though seeing the path for the first time. But Rathen could only shake his head. He turned to assess the area, but there was nothing to lend any hint to a preferred direction, and his bearings, it seemed, had been left on the island. Nothing here had changed - not even the light. Eternal sundown.