Gloom Rising (The Book Wielder Saga 1)

by Sean Davies

  Veronica’s opponent finally lost his magical tug of war with her and ran out of energy. His veins began pulsing violently and his skin started steaming, blood running out of his nose and eyelids, and with a sudden bang he exploded in a burst of bubbling blood and gore. Veronica tossed his telekinetically suspended skeleton to the side of the tunnel uncaringly where it clattered into a pile.

  Distracted by the immensely unpleasant sight of the legendary Blood Boil spell, the two Triumvir Vampires dropped their guard for a fraction of a second. Kavarne once again swung his axe at the Nightclaw’s head, but this time when he dodged he was met by Xavier’s blade which neatly nicked his head from his body. Xavier slid out of the way and Kavarne used the momentum from his feint attack to aim a second attack at the Ironfang. The Vampire Ironfang, who was so preoccupied with attacking Xavier, was caught completely off guard by the manoeuvre. The hit connected perfectly, impacting on her left shoulder and cleaving diagonally down straight through the right side of her hip.

  Devoid of blood the Vampires turned to ash, and it was hard to tell what the other dead Supernaturals had been from their leftovers. Kavarne began throwing the body parts in a pile along with the victims’ trashed motorbikes. Wolf-form Lynette came plodding down the tunnel with an out of breath Alexander trailing behind. Winston exited the van and ran with them to the others.

  “There was an ambush up ahead but Lynette and I took care of them,” Alexander explained. “Gave them a nice dose of my classic trench-buster spell.”

  “Good work,” Xavier replied, cleaning his blade with a bit of cloth.

  Winston could tell from the small clear crystal runes that were set in the middle of the blade that it was Spell-forged steel. They ran from the hilt to the tip of the blade on both sides and would grant it magical qualities like extreme durability or sharpness. It was a relic from before the Shadow Wars when the witch hunters had killed all the human blacksmith’s trained in the art. No one had been left to transfer the knowledge so the remaining Spell-forged items were tremendously rare and valuable.

  Veronica gave Winston a hug and a long kiss. “Glad you’re okay, sweetie.”

  “Thanks, glad you’re okay too!” He had missed her quite a lot throughout the day considering they’d only spent one night together. “That was some amazing blood magic and an impressive fight!”

  She shrugged confidently. “They were amateurs and we’re pros. It was bound to end badly for them.”

  Xavier was already on the phone to Lucius; Winston imagined that a reprisal was already in the works.

  Kavarne had finished his gruesome task of piling the remains, so he transformed back to human and Lynette followed suit. They kissed romantically, completely comfortable with their nakedness. Kavarne was still quite an imposing sight as a human. His body was incredibly muscular and his huge cock slapped about his legs as he casually walked towards the van to get some spare clothes. Lynette also strolled to the van, her firm ass wiggling as she walked, to get her clothes out of the front. They both took their time getting dressed, and no one really took much notice except Veronica. It seemed like the group was quite used to seeing the couple naked.

  “Quite the hot couple, aren’t they?” Veronica asked cheekily.

  “Yeah...” Winston said, unsure of what to say. He felt a little less guilty for checking Lynette out, and he took another glance at her getting dressed.

  “I don’t know who I’d want fuck more,” she said carelessly. “Maybe we could share both?”

  She raised her hand to his temple and sent a quick surge of naughty thoughts into his head. For a few seconds, multiple foursome fantasies flashed through his mind, including Veronica being fucked from behind by Kavarne while her head was buried between Lynette’s legs, while the feisty Werewolf babe was greedily sucking down Winston’s cock all the way to his balls. Veronica sent another thought where Winston was on his back while Lynette was furiously riding his dick and Veronica was sitting on his face, with the two girls fondling and licking Kavarne’s impressive manhood as it sprayed them down with over-exaggerated amounts of cum.

  Winston flinched back and exhaled loudly. Veronica laughed and kissed him passionately, and he wondered if all Supernatural girls were horny and crazy.

  “Got to pass the time somehow – immortality is a long time,” she replied to his thoughts. She smiled a naughty smile and climbed back into the van.

  Alexander was standing next to the pile of remains, wispy green energy throbbing from his fingertips, and soon the bodies and bikes were rotting and rusting until all that was left was dust.

  “Revenge on the cards?” Kavarne asked Xavier after he’d hung up.

  “It’s in the works,” Xavier replied. “Lucius is looking to branch out into their territory anyway. A maintenance crew is on the way to repair the damage to the tunnel, so we should be on our way.”

  Winston walked over to the van and gave Veronica kiss. “See you in Woodsholme.”

  “See you soon, sweetie.” She kissed him back harder until Xavier interrupted to get into the van.

  Winston got back into the front of the van with Alexander, Lynette and Kavarne got back on their bike, and they carried on their journey.

  They came out of the end of the tunnel, which had sustained serious damage but otherwise showed no evidence of what had transpired, and Alexander flicked on the radio. Some alternative rock music came on as they overlooked the forest and farm encircled villages and towns of eastern Rura.

  The music suddenly stopped and a news reporter cut in. “This is an emergency world news report. Autocrat Edgar II has just had seven of his twelve councillors executed by firing squad for allegations of treason and corruption. The Autocrat has commented saying that his actions coupled with the reallocation of his forces to the World Government buildings in Imperia, Industria, and Tropica city are only the beginning, and that his Inquisition will purge the world of evil and corruption once and for all. This has been Katherine Summers for the World Imperian News Service.”

  “That’s not good. The new Autocrat isn’t wasting any time making his mark,” Winston said.

  “We’ll figure something out,” Alexander said optimistically. “I don’t think he realises how deep our culture is dug in."

  “I hope so, or I chose a really bad time to change career,” Winston joked awkwardly.

  As they neared Woodsholme, Winston guided Alexander to his house. They passed by mines, farms, and lumber yards first and then bungalows and quaint houses as they got nearer to the towns and villages. Rura was abundant in lumber and fertile land, and its hills held rich deposits of useful metals and coal. It was evening when they pulled up at Winston’s parents’ house and he prepared himself for the awkward encounter.

  “Your parents that bad?” Alexander asked, noting Winston’s hesitation.

  “They’re not that bad. We’re just two very different types of people.”

  “Remember the hotel manager cover story? Need some help with the dialogue?”

  “Thanks, but they won’t even care,” Winston sighed as he exited the truck.

  Winston’s parents lived in a cosy two bedroom house that was on a road of similar looking houses all divided by tall thick hedges and fences. It had a big well-kept garden at the front with a pathway leading to the front door cutting through the middle, and a driveway and garage at the side for his mum and dad’s car and his own that he’d left at the Hotel Noir. He walked slowly up the front path to the polished wooden door and let himself in.

  “Hi, it’s me,” he shouted.

  He got a joint ‘hello’ back from the living room.

  He made his way through to the living room. The house was few on furnishings but had lots of war memorabilia and Imperian paraphernalia. His parents were sitting in their chairs smoking cigarettes and watching the news on their bulky television as they usually were. They were both plain looking and battle scarred, and they weren’t that old but they already had mor
e grey hairs than coloured. They had a sense of hardness to them, like two unchanging stone statues stuck in their place and in their ways.

  “I got the hotel job,” Winston began, “so I’ll be living in the Capital now.”

  “If that’s what you want to do with your life,” his Dad said uncaringly,

  “You’re always welcome here; you know you could still make a fine MPK.”

  “Thanks,” Winston replied dryly, and walked out the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom.

  His parents barely lifted their gaze from the telly through the whole interchange. They were both Great War veterans and had preached to him about the military and Imperian patriotism since he was old enough to pick up a pistol. He’d listened to more of their old war stories than he could count. He’d rebelled as soon as he was old enough to and never really stopped. As soon as they realised their son wasn’t going to follow in their footsteps they had gone cold on him like his was betraying the nation, only really talking to him to try and show him the error of his ways and get him to enlist in one of the varying roles in the army that had been restructured into the Military Peace Keeping organisation.

  He changed out of his suit and into some comfortable clothes. He picked a plain grey t-shirt and some jeans, and began packing his things. His room was organised so it wasn’t that difficult, but he had to decide what to bring and what to leave. He overlooked his bulky beige computer, big television with a small screen, and some of his older clothes because he’d be able to buy much better quality stuff in the Capital now.

  It didn’t take long for him to finish, and he walked down the stairs with two large bags. He leaned in the living room to say a quick goodbye as he passed. His parents were in the middle of complimenting Edgar II’s decisive actions and never bothered saying bye back.

  The sun had mostly set so Xavier and Veronica were waiting by the side of the van, and Lynette and Kavarne were talking next to the bike. Winston chucked his bags in the back and Veronica rubbed his back sympathetically, sensing his annoyance. It was a short drive to the Open Vein night club at the end of the Woodsholme’s poor excuse for a high street. They parked around back and all headed in together.

  The club was small and slightly battered. The whole place had a gothic feel to it and it was a hot spot for local alternatives, rockers, and of course Supernaturals. It was dimly lit and industrial music was playing faintly through the speakers. The stage, dance floor, tables, and seating booths were empty, and only a couple Shadow Circle gang members were propped up at the long bar that ran along almost one side of the club. Lynette and Kavarne joined them and the rest of the group headed past the bar to the stairs that lead to the VIP area and office.

  The second floor was slightly more luxurious but still quite rundown compared to the Capital’s standards. Tables and chairs were gathered around small pole-dancing platforms. The seating booths were all leather, and the bar was smaller but sold more expensive liquor and would have a supply of drugs to sell to trusted customers.

  Lucius knocked on the door to the office and private rooms, and entered. Gregory, the local Captain of the gang and Winston’s former boss, was sitting behind his desk smoking a cigarette that definitely had some magical herbs mixed in with it. He had scruffy brown hair, unkempt stubble on his round face, and was wearing a brown pinstripe suit without a tie. Behind his desk was a map of the local area and posters of curvaceous nude pinup girls.

  His purple mage eyes widened when he saw Winston. “You made the cut. Well done Winston, welcome to the Circle!”

  “Yeah, I survived the interview,” Winston smiled. “Thanks Greg.”

  “Smoking your own stash?” Xavier asked disapprovingly.

  “Lighten up, Xavier, it’s only a bit of Violet Moss mixed with tobacco. It lifts the spirit nicely, a gentle mellow high.”

  “I didn’t know you could smoke that,” Xavier grumbled. “Do you sell it?”

  “Nah, but I think they’re might be a market for it. Would make a good anti-depressant. My man Winston always brought me a bit of this and that to try.”

  “It’s true. Greg likes to take a hands-on approach to Alchemy,” Winston joked.

  It was, of course, a massive understatement; there wasn’t much of the local Gloom that Gregory hadn’t tried sniffing, smoking, drinking, or eating. When he used to cross over for him, Winston would always try to bring back a bit of everything just to fuel his habit for experimentation.

  “Right.” Gregory stubbed out his ‘cigarette’ and stood up. “Down to business!”

  He lead them through to the private rooms, where a group of scantily dressed dancer girls were putting on their makeup and doing their hair ready for the night ahead, to a large metal door. He unlocked it with a key from his pocket and they followed him through to the gang’s stash.

  The walls were bare breezeblocks and the lighting was yellowy and cheap. A table was in the centre of the room, several cupboard-sized recesses were set around the edges, and it had a sturdy door that lead to a changing room and toilet. Each alcove held and assortment of cases, lockboxes, safes, equipment, and weaponry. Winston knew that there would be large quantities of cash, drugs and alchemical ingredients, and potions held here.

  “What am I after? Nightmare Nettle?” Winston asked Gregory. It almost went without saying; it was the main ingredient in the common as muck hallucinogenic drug, Dreamleaf. It was smoked by young rebels, partying students, and aging war veterans to relieve them of their post-war traumas.

  “Yeah please, and a little something extra to try,” he replied cheekily.

  “I’ll just get ready,” Winston said, and he entered the changing room.

  Inside there were a few lockers containing bits and pieces; a clothing rack, a small flat bench, and a couple of gun lockers. Winston took a medium-sized leather jacket off the rack, and picked up a backpack and a large alchemist carry case the size of a briefcase. He filled the backpack with some gardening tools, thick heavy duty gloves, and from the gun locker he selected a black pump action shotgun and helped himself to several shells. Shotguns were not his favourite but it would be useful against what he’d be facing on this crossing. One of the lockers had an impressive supply of chocolate bars and bottled water so he stocked up on some of those too.

  He made sure that his lighter was easily accessible and went to the toilet while he had the chance. While he was urinating he saw a couple of bleach bottles and thought back to Lewis’ thoughts on the Sanctium formula (or at least the Trinity’s imitation formula) being related to cleaning products or bleach. After he was finished, he took a bottle and added it to the backpack to test the theory if he got the chance.

  Veronica came into the changing room and closed the door behind her. “You be safe in there, mister.”

  “I will,” he said, putting his arms around her waist and kissing her. “I’ll try and be quick.”

  “I’ll be waiting right here, sweetie. I might bounce some ‘alchemy’ ideas around with Greg.”

  Winston laughed and they made their way back to the main room. He got out his book, enlarging it to its proper size, and he opened it on the table.

  “Don’t do anything too reckless,” Xavier said.

  The rest of the group wished him luck and Veronica gave him a saucy wink. He placed his spare hand on the book and the room started spinning. His stomach stirred until with a startling jolt he was back in the Gloom.

  He was standing in a half rotten wooden building loosely resembling an old tavern. Everything was dark and dusty, and there were thick cobwebs here and there with tiny yellow and black spiders scuttling about on them.

  Treading delicately across the creaking wooden floorboards he made his way to the stairs. Even though it was dark he didn’t summon a light; the Freaks here would attack on sight, so staying hidden for as long as possible made sense. One step at a time he made his way to the ground floor. He hated unreliable Gloom stairs, and luckily the lower floor
was unoccupied so he left as stealthily as possible.

  The Gloom outside was like a wooden medieval village enclosed by forest, and the houses were all wooden and were covered in mould, moss, and various fungi. The ground was covered in purple grass that varied in shade. There were green witchfire campfires dotted about with muscular axe-wielding Freaks beside them. Unlike the ones he had encountered in the Capital, these were human looking in form, but they were pallid with black bruise-like marks from decay. Some had moss and fungus growing on them and they had dirty fabric sacks over their heads, although it was hard to tell if the sacks were actually their heads or not. Most only wore patchy fabric trousers, and some were roasting bits of giant forest spider over the fires while chatting to each other or themselves. The only words Winston could discern were vastly unpleasant.

  Luckily the tavern was at the edge of the Freak village so Winston crept directly into the forest, which was equally as dangerous, but in less immediately apparent ways than the village. Winston glanced upwards every now and then to check for giant spiders that liked to ambush from above. Most of the trees looked dead but many still had leaves, and the usual dark purple clouded Gloom sky could be seen in the gaps between the claw like branches and their leaves that varied in shape and colour. Around the base of them, large brightly coloured mushrooms clustered together like huddled lovers. Strange bushy mosses clung to the tree bark, and the occasional creepy crawly darted into cover as he passed by.

  Winston had been here a few times before and was looking for a clearing he had harvested from in the past; it wasn’t long before he had rediscovered the large clearing that was completely filled with Nightmare Nettle. The plants were knee height, thickly packed, and a pleasant shade of light blue. Like their real world counterpart, the ordinary nettle, they were covered in miniscule barbs, except these barbs would cause sickeningly unpleasant hallucinations and in most cases projectile vomiting.

  He kneeled on the ground, putting his bag and alchemist case down and opening them both up. After he’d pulled on his gloves he fished out a pair of gardening snips and began cutting off the leaves, making sure that none came into contact with any of his skin, and placing them into one of the cases compartments. He carried on harvesting until the case was almost full, when suddenly he got the feeling he was being watched, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Lifting his gaze, he looked to the other side of the clearing.