“What do we do?” Senka asked.
He didn’t know what to say. “Try to distract him, avoid my blades,” Walter breathed.
“Can we hurt him?” Grimbald asked, knuckles white against Corpsemaker.
“Don’t think so.” Walter shook his head. Asebor’s form was re-materializing. The mist pulled together like freezing water, reforged into shadows. His wound was gone, patched up anew. “No, it can’t be.”
“But it is,” Asebor rumbled.
Walter felt a worm of hopelessness trying to wriggle its way between the armor of his mind. “No!” he screamed. He charged, Bonesnapper springing up, whirling with trails of light.
In an instant, Asebor’s body shifted. His legs became spiraling tornadoes, throwing bodies, weapons, stones, and dead twigs up and around him. The whipping air around his legs became a black storm cloud at his chest, his arms sizzling and sparking as if they were made of lightning, head glowing in a halo of violet. He thrust his chest out, arms spread wide and doubling in size, air rumbling as if the very ground were about to split in two.
Walter staggered to a stop, jaw hanging open, chains falling lifelessly by his side. “What is this?” he croaked.
“I am the redeemer of lost realms. The ruler of man, for none stands above me. I am infinite. I am time! You will be crushed under my heel, child.” Asebor’s voice roared with a crackle.
The world filled with a blinding light. Walter felt his body go weightless, legs thrashing at nothing. Hang on, he told himself. Don’t let go. He saw his hand gripped around the gleaming handle of Bonesnapper.
An image flashed in his mind of Noah, his old Sid-Ho master. It was a time after training, after being sorely beaten by another student. He had his grizzled, scarred face leveled at him. They sat cross-legged across from each other in the spartan dojo.
When you attack, breathe in calm energy, dash in quick. Do not stall. Constantly attack to crush your enemy, do not give him room to think. No enemy is invincible. No enemy can possibly conceive of what would make him so. Noah said the words, but his lips did not move. He only stared at him with his hard, unblinking, steely eyes.
Walter crashed into the ground with a gasp. The cracking of bones split in his ears. A thread of cloud lazing in the sky snapped into focus, golden and pinked at the edges. He twisted, writhed on the earth, fingers desperately pawing at the dirt. He screamed and screamed, agony wracking his body with knives. Lines of smoke curled up from his skin as his muscles uncontrollably twitched.
Eruptions of color exploded across his vision in blossoms of crimson and amber, throbbing and hammering each with a life of their own. The pain in his arms, legs, torso grew in increasing degrees of intolerability. His heart boomed in his chest, hammered against his ribs, labored to pump the blood through his aching body.
His breath came in short gulps, sucked in clumps of dirt. The ground felt rough against his burning skin, scorched with Asebor’s lightning. The chill wind on his healing skin make him shiver, flesh down his back prickling as the Phoenix mended him.
Get up. Or Die. The Dragon and the Phoenix said in his head. Get up. Or Die. Get up. Or Die.
He willed his body to move. A familiar hued light flashed in the corner of his vision, the world suddenly coming back. How much time had passed? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?
A familiar figure in blood-red robes fell through a blue portal. Tens of fiery discs hissing to life in the air around her, long golden hair pushed back in a gust. It was Nyset. But what was she doing here, he thought dreamily? Nyset. Asebor. He wriggled to his knees, screaming as burned flesh tore open again, blood spiraling around his body in hundreds of trickles.
He tried to speak, to tell her to run but his tongue had gone dry as skin. He pushed the ground away and drew himself up, trying to right the warbling world in his throbbing skull. His muscles shivered with more violence than he thought possible, twitching his guts in convulsive shudders. It felt like his body had been cut by hundreds of blades, the wounds almost invisible now from the Phoenix’s healing, but the pain almost unbearable.
He croaked a sound, saw Asebor’s body crackling bright for another lightning strike. He saw the glint of metal from his arm, Bonesnapper still clutched tight in his fist. He hung on, he thought, almost sobbed at seeing it.
Crush your enemy, do not give him room to think, Noah repeated. He licked his cracked lips and sandy tongue and drove on, forcing his legs into motion.
Asebor’s hand of lightning pulsed in sparkling brilliance. Nyset slashed the air with arcs of whipping fire, cutting through his body and seeming to slow him down the briefest iota.
Stormcaller ignited again, guttering for a second before bursting alight and intimately weaving into Bonesnapper’s links. Walter saw his other companions strewn about the yard, writhing in pain, bodies smoking. They’d been struck by Asebor’s bolts too, he realized, though it seemed like it must have been from fringe portions of his attack, as they were already rising up, rubbing at heads and torsos.
Walter made his legs move, and a portal split the air, opened about five paces before Asebor. He jumped through, chains cutting down in a vicious arc, the portal closing behind him, aimed at Asebor’s turned back. They ripped three ragged lines through him, threw up great spurts of blood. Asebor screamed, arched his back and stumbled onto a leg that had reverted from a spiral of air to swimming shadows.
Asebor twisted around, eyes going wide as almonds, his crackling hand raised. “Why won’t you die?”
Walter struck again at Asebor’s shadowed leg, threw out bits of shadow like shattering armor. Asebor roared with what could only be pain, his sparking hand shifting to shadows, black clouds making up his body dissipating. Walter grinned. He whirled Bonesnapper around, ignored the ragged lines of pain tearing through his arms. He struck again, and again and again, each time Bonesnapper flashed with brilliance as it cut through him, throwing out streaks of violet blood. Asebor fell to his knees, one pleading hand reaching out at him, eyes seeming to dull. Mercy was a virtue he no longer knew.
“On your knees, coward! Die!” Walter screamed, voice cracking from screaming with all he could. Walter found himself liking the color violet, wanting to paint the world with it. He caught Nyset out of the corner of his eye, watching him with eyebrows furrowed and mouth hanging slack. “Stay out of my way!” he growled at her. She inched back, pressed herself against the back wall of the courtyard. No more accidents.
He inhaled sharply through his nose, chest heaving like bellows. After all the struggle, all the misery, he would finally have his vengeance. Walter thrust his arm, Stormcaller catching light and twinkling, the chains of Bonesnapper spiraling together. The curved blades cut across Asebor’s face, slitting across his eyes and wrapping around his head. He dragged on the Chains of the North, cutting ragged lines around Asebor’s face.
“No!” Asebor screamed, head bowed, blood raining down from his dark silhouette of a face. He let out a piercing shriek, his broad back shuddering. Asebor’s chains and cape were limp at his side, trembling as if they too were limbs.
“Yes,” Walter whispered. He walked a few paces closer, legs felt like lead. “Now for your arm. What you’ve taken from me, I will take from you. You are not a god, but a dying beast, no different than your pets.”
Asebor’s body started to shimmer, edges of his form shifting into mist. “No, you don’t!” Walter willed Bonesnapper to wrap tighter around Asebor’s head, the chains quivering from the tension, then jerked them towards himself, dragging off Asebor’s shadowy flesh with it. It tore off like a glove, scraping lines of violet from the form underneath.
Walter’s breath caught at the revealed horror. His head was like a wolf’s, ears standing up, his mouth the size of Walter’s head. It yawned open, the scaled tongue lolling free. “What are you?”
Asebor’s tongue drew in, body dropping down and legs clambering under his hips. He lunged at Walter. He easily sidestepped the monster, his aim off and the giant mouth clamped
on the air.
Walter almost felt a shred of pity for him, but it didn’t carry weight against the force of his memories. “Now, for that arm…” He snapped Bonesnapper around his shoulder, dragged Asebor to the ground, thudding against his giant’s jaw.
Walter saw his friends form a wide girth around him and his rival, watching. He swept his eye over them, swallowed, and gave a savage pull on Bonesnapper. He willed the chains to start sawing. Blood streamed out from Asebor’s shoulder, his scream rending the air. Asebor reached for Bonesnapper with his other hand, his flesh hissing and smoking on its fire. He jerked his hand away and clawed into the dirt. Walter’s chains whipped into the air and with it Asebor’s arm came squelching free. Blood pumped in jets from the ragged wound. Asebor flopped onto his back, “The-the Shadow mother will avenge me. She will take these lands. Take you all into her arms,” Asebor choked. “She will have you back.”
Walter’s brows knitted at a strange tingling on the back of his neck. He pawed at the figure-eight scar there, tingling. The tingling became burning, burning becoming scorching heat, marring his fingertips. “What’s happening?” Walter fell to his knees, the scar growing hot as magma. He moaned in pain. What is this? “No!”
“What is it?” Nyset approached him with cautious steps, eyes and sharp cheekbones gleaming in the sun’s light.
“She comes,” Asebor hissed, blood streaming from his ruined eyes and into his mouth.
Walter looked up as something warped the air between himself and Asebor. A black oval of shadows tore at the day. Through the hovering disc, he saw a world of contorted demons, hundreds of mouths, lashing tendrils, and walls of ruby skulls. “No, no! Not like this!” he screamed. His breath came in rasps, words dashed away from his mind. He took a cringing step back.
An incalculable vortex of wind pushed against his back, dragging him towards the dark portal. “No!” Walter screamed. He sat back, weight on his heels, dragging lines through the soil as he was invariably pulled.
Nyset was hurled from her feet, thrown onto her shoulders, a tumbling blur of red and gold falling towards the portal. Walter stabbed his stump at her, Phoenix flaring bright, stopping her fall for an instant. “Please, please,” Walter begged through teeth clamped down so hard he thought they might shatter. She inched closer and closer, hovering in the torrid air, robes violently flapping.
Then she was gone. And Walter let go. He let out a feral scream, rage and pain and fear living on his face. He leapt for the dark portal, tucked his arms and legs against his body, and was drawn back into the world of endless night.
Chapter 24
Night
“Scars are the signs of a well-lived life. Some scars don’t show on your skin.” -The Diaries of Nyset Camfield
Walter screamed as he fell, limbs flailing, clawing, grasping at nothing. An endless red mirror loomed below him, eye spreading wide. “Ah!” He closed his eye, shut his mouth tight, breath held. He twisted around to get his feet under him, landed with a splash in a bog of blood. His legs sunk into something gravelly, grinding, scraping up to his knees. Hot and sticky blood clung to his face, rolled down his body, burrowed between his boots, and laced his flesh with its horrible touch. He flung blood from his hand, dragged it down his face in streaks of pink, tried to blink away the burning from his eye. The blood was a clumpy mix. Some parts were partially clotted while some had the smooth texture of having just been removed from a body’s veins.
“No, no,” Walter stammered. “It couldn’t be, couldn’t be.” He swallowed and pushed out a rattling breath then peered around. A deep sense of dread weighed on his heart, made it hard to breathe. His legs were fire, thigh muscles twinging with fury.
The blood-red moon shone from the ocean of darkness above, pitted with craters giving it a sadistic demon’s visage. Surrounding the pool of blood were waving valleys of ruby skulls, stretching as far as the pale light would reveal. The lake of blood was filled with bodies in various states of decay. Between them were ancient weapons, priceless, and long forgotten. A claymore stood out from the blood from between a pair of crumbling ribs, its hilt lined with emeralds and gilded in bright silver. Spears crisscrossed like warrior’s graves, metal pitted and speckled with brown blood. Heaps of tangled armor were caked in layers as if it had built up over the years with the rise and fall of the lake, much like a lake in the world of the living.
A groaning figure lay prone, shining bubbles surrounding it. It was a few paces away, Asebor, motionless on his side, half of his body submerged in blood. “Heal me, mother,” he moaned.
Where was she? “Ny? Nyset!” Walter whipped around, up to his knees in blood. “No, no,” he moaned. “So much blood.” He tore his cloak off, heavy with wet, and grabbing onto the edges of his armor. He knelt into the blood, breath frantic, lips forming a disgusted scowl. He dropped onto his hands and knees, hand pressing against the bed of sharp bones below. “Ny!” he screamed, crawling and padding for her. His hand struck something sharp and stinging, cutting his hand and stump with every grating movement.
Something heavy fell into the pool, throwing out ripples and globs. Grimbald rose out of the blood, coughing and choking.
“Grim!” Walter almost wanted to smile. His boots slipped deep into swallowing bones, sucking at his ankles as he pushed onto his feet. He trudged over to him, swinging his arms to drive through the grabbing bones.
“Am I dead? Is this death? Where am I?” Grimbald yelled, his face a scarlet ghost. “Walter?” He held his axe across his chest, arms trembling. “Is that you? What is this place?” His head swiveled around, mouth held open, eyes twitching with horror.
“The Shadow—” Something soft snagged on Walter’s toe, sent him fumbling for balance and falling. He fell on his stump and growled at the blood washing over his back in waves. He choked on a bolus of thickening blood, spat out a curse. He heaved on all fours, regaining his breath, blood coating his lungs in viscous layers. His stomach wrenched, squeezed out a mix of blood and bile. He heaved again. “So much blood.” A thin tendril of red saliva hung from the corner of his mouth, swayed and tore free.
He reached below to push himself up, met Grimbald’s stricken eyes, felt a bit of round flesh below. It felt like a breast, an ass maybe. “Nyset!” His hand clawed at the soaked cloth, dragged her up, red robes matted against her small frame. Her eyes were closed and head hanging limp. “Help! Nyset? Ny!” Walter shook her in his arms, lightly patted his palm against her face.
Grimbald squatted down beside him, his wide jaw dropping open. “Is she? How long have…” He seemed to have trouble making words.
A couple more splashes came, throwing out waving ripples from the expansive pool. One came from behind him, the other off to his right.
“Walter? Is-is that the Mistress?” Senka’s reedy voice came from behind, legs thrashing through blood.
Grimbald slowly rose up, eyes bulging and dropping Corpsemaker with a hiss. He put one arm defensively across his chest and his other hand clamped over his mouth. He made a strange animalistic cry, muffled by his hand.
Walter brought his knee up, carefully laid Nyset’s chest across his thigh, face down. “Grim. Need your help.” Walter shook her again and her limbs lolled like a corpse. He raised a pair of trembling fingers to her neck, swallowed, and pressed them against her hot skin. He exhaled with the smallest measure of relief at her thready pulse. He put his ear to her nose, heard her gurgling breath. Her throat quivered, spasmed. Something unnatural poked at it from the inside. “Grim?” Walter looked up to see he had moved farther away from them, maybe ten paces. His carotid arteries stood like cords from his neck. “Grim. Please, I need you.”
A wet, squelching shuffling came from behind as Senka drew close.
“I—” Grimbald shook his head, started gnawing on his fingers, then sank to his knees. “No,” he said distantly.
“What can I do?” Senka was beside him, biting her plump lower lip. Rivulets of blood curled down her cheeks and around her neck. H
er eyes were wild with life and determined strength. Seeing that made him feel less alone for a moment.
Walter nodded at her. Isa dropped down beside her, sloughed a clump of blood from his porcelain head, peered over his shoulder at Grimbald.
“Grip her under the ribs, hold your hands together and give a hard thrust and squeeze, hurry!” Walter said.
Senka straddled Nyset, wrapped her arms around her ribcage and gave it a soft squeeze. Nothing.
“Harder, much harder,” Walter hissed. He saw then that on the back of Senka’s neck was a strange scar. It was in the shape of a figure eight. It was the same as his, he realized, and felt ice crawling up his spine. Her scar flared bright as if it were burning and Senka screamed in pain, squeezing Nyset’s ribs like bellows.
Nyset’s body heaved with life. She gasped and choked, eyes wide with terror.
“Again!” Walter slid her up, getting her in a downward angle, watching her throat roll with a stretching spasm.
Senka complied, head thrown back in a scream, arms thrusting at Nyset’s stomach.
Grimbald was roaring, hands pressed over the side of his neck. Walter felt it too, the pain impossible to ignore, like being branded with a hot iron. Walter gasped at something protruding and wriggling from Nyset’s mouth. He replaced his stump with his hand on her back, grabbed at the dark shape. There was an angry hissing, whipping body between his crushing fingers. “What? Bastard!”
Senka fell onto her bottom, her hand going to her throat. “By the Dragon what is it? What is this pain?”
Isa’s sword was raised high. He had circled around to Walter’s side, seemingly untouched by his brand’s burning.
Grimbald was a blur in his vision, hunched over on his knees and rocking.
Walter jerked the writhing shape free, sliding it out of Nyset’s gagging throat, at least four feet in length. It was a snake with a cobra’s hood, eyes glowing like coals. He slipped his hand up to its bloody neck as its mouth hissed open, the long fangs seeking flesh. It spat something that hissed on the blood, made it boil and smoke where it landed.
A New Light (The Age of Dawn Book 5) Page 49