She reached the bottom level of the site without making as much as a sound. She measured every step, the front of her foot down first, slowly, feeling the ground. The ankle following with the rest of her weight. She was a ghost amongst ghosts, silent, invisible, but still her heart pounded.
He was here.
He always remained. The one who ran the dig. The one obsessed to the point of living there. He knew what he was looking for. He told no one else, she was certain of that, but there was something there, in the ruins of the House of Balor, that he was after above all else. And today, she thought, he’d found it.
She crouched behind a wooden crate, the shadow cast from the dimming embers in a fire pit providing ample cover as she moved across the cavern floor. She paused there, listening.
Nothing.
She peeked round the side of the box. The familiar archway loomed ahead, the flickering light beyond dancing on the stonework. He was through there, no doubt with his find. She had no idea what it could be, only that the Balorans had invested considerable energy into finding it. She was an infiltrator, not a scholar. The lore-keepers could work out what it was about. For now, she simply had to get it.
She ghosted through the remaining shadows, pressing her body against the dark side of the archway. Peering round, another fire burned brightly in a brazier in the smaller chamber. Empty plates and goblets lay strewn across the floor. A sleeping bag was scrunched up in a ball on the other side.
She saw him then, beyond the flame. Sat at a desk, back to her. His rapid mutterings drifted across the chamber, the language alien to her.
Not that it mattered.
She took a steadying breath before skirting the outside of the room, finding sanctuary in the shadows that gathered round the perimeter. She moved quickly, silent steps taking her to one side of a stalagmite that was easily twice her width.
Here she paused, ready for the final part of her plan. Ideally he would’ve been absent, or even asleep, but weeks of monitoring had told her that wouldn’t be the case. He just didn’t leave, and apparently, he didn’t sleep either. This left only one option, her hand dropping to the small wooden cudgel wrapped in cloth against her hip.
The man whipped round, ancient hands scrabbling for the cane by his side. Black, unblinking eyes stared into the gloom.
‘Who’s there?’
Shit.
***
Sylph returned to wakefulness from a fitful sleep. Blinking away the fatigue, she sat upright, holding a hand to her aching head.
What was that? It was like a dream, yet the images were so clear, so vivid. Even now, moments after waking, when dreams would normally be evaporating back into the subconscious, she could still smell the earth of the site, the sound of the burning fires still crackling in her ears. The terror when the man addressed her.
It hit her from nowhere. This wasn’t a dream of hers. No dream could be so lucid. It was the memories of the mage infiltrator. The traitor. These were the same memories she’d pulled from Sarah’s corpse days earlier.
The clock caught her attention. Ten thirty. Great. Marek would not be pleased. She’d arrived back late the night before, hours after he would’ve retired. He would want a report first thing though on progress on the plan.
Marek’s study was deserted when she arrived there ten minutes later. Not a good sign. That meant he was down in the Receiving hall with no doubt another bunch of acolytes. With a new burden born of dread, Sylph trudged towards the stairwell.
She entered the Receiving hall from a side door. Already a bunch of new reprobates were gathered in the centre, Marek stood before them. She kept to the shadows, not wishing to draw attention to herself.
Marek was halfway through his welcoming speech. She’d heard it before, the same call to the weak minded, promising them that they’d finally found the place they belonged in a world that had shunned them. They lapped it up of course, pretty much all of them feeble in soul, ripe for possession. Months before, when Marek had brought together his first group, they were wild, in disarray. His rallying call had brought them together, and Sylph had been the first in the queue. She’d been lost back then. Aware she was different, but not sure why. Marek had spotted something different within her, no doubt her unique heritage, and she’d been kept aside, away from the process that ripped the souls from the weak and replaced them with the sheol.
But now though, as she watched, as the first few were led off by other possessed, the doubt that she’d struggled to suppress in recent weeks bubbled back to the surface.
It wasn’t the cause that troubled her. Balor’s call was true, and she’d been unable to deny it since she’d discovered her ancestry. When Marek had found her, starving, near mad, his words resonated with her. He knew her pain, he’d been there himself, shunned by his own kind, left to fend for himself. Marek compelled her, and for a time she would’ve followed him to the depths of Hadros.
But now? This? Is this what Balor would’ve wanted? Did he find it honourable to rip the souls from the weak, to implant sheol fiends in the vacant vessels left behind? Marek had assured her of course. Sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. The sheol were as much a victim of Danu’s betrayal as Balor, was that not what he’d said?
For a time, she’d believed him. They needed the warriors against the Brotherhood, and they were effective, despite their losses. Now though, months later, as she watched a young woman, eyes wide with fear, stick thin, drifting into the Conversion chamber, she could only think that this was wrong. Horribly, obscenely wrong.
Chapter 18
Seb woke with a mind that felt awash with treacle. He’d been up until well past midnight studying that damned book in the vague hope that staring at the runes like a madman would suddenly yield an almost mystical clarity. It had failed, and now he was tired and grumpy to boot.
‘Ah, morning, young Seb,’ Caleb said.
Seb grunted and slumped on the bench. He couldn’t be bothered walking to the kitchens so instead took a banana and bread from what Caleb had left. He sat, chewing in silence.
‘You seem troubled, Seb?’ Caleb said as he sat opposite.
‘That damned book. How am I supposed to learn anything if I can’t read?’
Caleb laughed, snorting coffee onto the table. ‘Seb, you only got it yesterday!’
‘I know, I just wanted to make a head start.’
‘I understand your eagerness. But patience is key with learning the Weave, especially for one who has lived his life ignorant of its influence. Now come with me, we have much to get through today.’
They made their way back into the barren room from the day before. Again they sat in the centre. The temperature was still near freezing. Seb was shivering within seconds of entering the room.
‘Here again?’
‘It is the ideal place. To learn the Sentio it is best to have a total absence of all external stimuli. As you become more adept you will be able to call upon your skills in the wider world, but for now, here is where you will learn.’
Caleb reached into his tunic and pulled out a palm-sized object wrapped in cloth. He held it out to Seb.
‘Here, take this.’
Seb took the object and took it out of the cloth. A smooth stone, a pebble really, dropped into his hand. He turned it over. The stone was warm to the touch. He held it close to his face. In the gloom he thought he could see some Runic Script etched along the circumference of the stone, but he couldn’t quite make them out.
‘What is it?’
‘A training foci,’ Caleb said. ‘It’s a device used to amplify the holder’s affinity to the Weave. We don’t as a rule use them anymore. In the past, if not handled correctly, the result could be…inconsistent.’
‘Then why now? With me?’
‘You remember that fast track I told you about?’
‘I do.’
‘This is that. It will accelerate your Weave-mastery. As we’ll be teaching you Sentio and Avatari in parallel we -’
‘Had I not said?’
‘You said it’s two years for each school, and we’d start with Sentio.’
Caleb smiled and shook his head. ‘My mistake. We normally do that. No. With you we’re making an exception.’
Seb recoiled, one eyebrow raised.
‘Now why does that not make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside?’
‘I like you, Seb,’ Caleb said, ignoring the question. ‘You’ve got a sense of humour. Now. We progress.’
Objecting was obviously pointless, and Seb dropped the stone into his pocket.
‘No, not there. Take it out. Hold it in both hands.’
Seb obeyed, resting the pebble in the palm of his hands.
‘In order to use the Weave you first need to learn how to sense. It is the most fundamental skill that any mage must learn on their journey. With this, you will be attuned to the very fabric of reality. You will sense other Observers. You will feel what they feel, think what they think. Distance has no meaning. Some even have the ability to reach across Shards.
‘Close your eyes, Seb. In order to connect to the Weave you must remove your mind of all clutter, all distractions. Think of your body as a vessel. Your mind is an antenna. When it is clear then you will be attuned to the Weave, and with it will come Sentio.’
‘Empty my mind? That simple?’
‘Simple? Try it. See how it goes.’
‘How will I know if it works?’
Caleb smiled. ‘You’ll know.’
Seb closed his eyes. Empty his mind? How hard could that be? Think of nothing. Nothing at all. How does someone do that, then? He conjured up a picture of black, but was that something? It wasn’t nothing, that’s for sure. He dropped the black. He tried to conjure up emptiness, but the harder he tried, the more images popped into his head. Sarah. Sheol. The mansion. Cade. Nothing specific. Hell, he even wondered fleetingly about what food he’d like for lunch, given the choice. What the hell was wrong with him?
He opened his eyes and let out a long sigh.
‘It’s not as straightforward as you thought?’
‘How do you think of nothing? Nothing is nothing? You can’t think of it. I tried emptying my head but the harder I tried the more they popped in.’
‘Don’t be disappointed. People’s minds nowadays are so wired, so tuned in to so many distractions that they are constantly buzzing with chatter. We’ve forgotten how to be simple, how to tune into the most basic things. Close your eyes again, and listen to my voice.’
Seb tipped his head left and right, loosening his muscles. He closed his eyes.
‘This time. Don’t try and not think of anything. All I want you to focus on is your breathing. Focus on the sensation as you draw in breathe. How does it feel to expel the air? Listen to the sound of your breathing. Focus on this, and nothing else.’
And so he did. He breathed in through his nose, noting the coolness as the air rushed in through his nostrils. He felt the fullness of his chest as the air was drawn in. His lips cooled as he exhaled. He did it again. And again.
Sarah. Dying on the floor.
‘Shit!’
His eyes shot open. Caleb stared back at him, half of his face covered in shadow.
‘It’s no good, I can’t do it!’
‘Don’t feel bad if something comes into your mind. It is normal. And expected. Allow it to happen. Accept the thought. Dismiss it, and then try again.’
‘But -’
‘Close your eyes.’
Protesting was futile. Caleb’s tone didn’t leave any room for compromise. He closed his eyes.
The calmness came quicker this time. The sensation of breathing amplified in his mind. His whole being simply focused on the action of drawing and expelling breath. He found a rhythm, a warming calm seeping into his limbs.
Sarah appeared again. Broken. Bloody.
He dismissed it. The image flickered into nothing.
The sensation returned. Quicker. The calm descended like a blanket. Other images came but they danced at the periphery of his awareness. They faded without acknowledgement.
Something flared in the darkness. A warmness grew in his hands. From all around came the sound of thunder, but low, grumbling, as if far, far away. His heart began to thud, the new sensation causing the alien experience to vanish in an instant.
Focus. Breath.
His heart slowed. The beating faded away. The sensation returned, waves of something that lapped over him with each breath.
A flare. A rumble. A bright light seared the darkness. It grew before him, filling the void, a rip of white, tearing wider with every breath. The light exploded filling his entire field of vision.
His sense erupted outwards in a wave. He didn’t see anything, just the whiteness that filled his mind. Yet at the same time he felt others, other minds, all in this same plane of energy. He touched them, picking up nothing aside from the fact that they were there. Their minds bounced back. Phantom echoes. Observers enforcing the Consensus. Then the light fragmented, and he was thrown back into his body like an elastic band snapping.
Seb opened his eyes. The foci glowed blue in his hands, the warmness fading now. He glanced up. Caleb had gone and the brazier had burned low, just faint embers glowing in the gloom.
Where the hell was Caleb? He looked down at his watch, the face luminescing with a faint azure.
Five hours had passed.
Chapter 19
The sheol staggered down the narrow alleyway. It growled as it moved, bouncing from wall to wall, cursing in its own guttural drawl, yet still repeating the same movements.
Cade sat on a park bench. His hood was up, his head tilted down. His hands stuck in his pockets. The sheol drew nearer. He didn’t look. He didn’t need to.
The sheol entered the small park that served as a small oasis of green in the city. It stopped at the exit of the alleyway, sniffing the air like some kind of animal.
Come on. Come on.
Satisfied the way was clear, the sheol - in the form of a young woman - drifted into the park. It collided with a tree in its path and fell flat on the ground. Obviously a new born.
The sheol rolled onto its knees just as two young men entered the park from another alley. They clocked the woman immediately. Egging each other on, they approached, the sheol oblivious to their presence.
Shit. He didn’t need this. Cade rose from the bench and strode towards the men. They froze as he appeared from the shadows, taking a step back before quickly recovering their courage.
‘What the fuck do you want?’ The larger of the two said. Bravery fuelled by alcohol spurred him on, and he took a step closer.
‘Leave here. This woman isn’t for you.’
The man glanced over his shoulder. The sheol was halfway across the park now, zigzagging across the lawn, soaking its legs in mud.
‘Oh, I don’t know, she looks fair game to me,’ he said with a knowing smirk. The man made as if to move past him. Cade gripped his arm, stopping him dead.
‘Leave here. Now.’
It all happened too quickly. He sensed a change behind him. The sheol abruptly turned, her attention drawn toward them. To him. She raced across the park, no longer did she have the gait of a new born deer. Her movements were smooth, agile. Dagger-teeth glinted as she leapt onto the path, yards from where they stood.
‘Get out of here, now!’ Cade said, moving in front of the two men.
They didn’t move. The woman drew nearer. Three seconds, tops.
‘Didn’t you hear me? I said -’
He dared a look behind him. His heart sank. The men were still there, unmoving. They’d taken a step apart. One held a knife, the other a pistol.
What the?
Purely on instinct Cade lashed out with his foot just as the pistol discharged. Pain exploded in his shoulder as his foot connected, sending the pistol flying high and wide into the grass.
The sheol barrelled into the back of him. The wind blasted from h
is lungs as he fell forwards, the fire in his shoulder swelling in intensity. Fortunately the sheol had built up such pace that her momentum carried her straight over her fallen foe. She tumbled over and over, crashing into an unused wishing well.
Cade vaulted to his feet. He pushed the throbbing pain to one side, boxing it away in his mind. He faced off against the other man, who strangely was still a man, not possessed. He barely had time to process this revelation before the man lunged, aiming a clumsy strike at Cade’s neck. Cade caught the man by the wrist and hammered it with his other free hand. A bone broke and the man dropped to his knees, screaming. Cade drove his knee into the man’s face, silencing him instantly.
The sheol was already up. She attacked again, attempting the same direct charge as before. Prepared this time, Cade hurled a silver throwing star that lodged in her throat with a wet thunk. She slid to a halt by his feet, gurgling on her own blood, the transformation back to human as the sheol left her body almost immediate.
‘Looking for something?’
The other man, who had until that moment been flailing in the bushes looking for the lost pistol, looked up. He saw the weapon in Cade’s hand. The warrior had it by the barrel end, the handle facing towards the man.
‘Go on, take it, if you can.’
The man screamed and launched himself forwards. Cade reversed his grip on the pistol, side-stepping the clumsy lunge and cracking the handle down on the man’s head. The fight snapped out of him. Cade didn’t stop there. He gripped the man by the collar and lifted him to his feet. He shoved him against a wall, inches off the ground.
‘Who are you? Why are you working with the sheol?’
The man’s head lolled on his shoulders. His eyes looked everywhere but at Cade.
‘Tell me!’ Cade roared, pulling him back and then smashing him against the wall. The movement knocked some sense back into the man. He looked down at Cade. A smile broke on his face.
‘You cannot win,’ the man said.
With that, the man bit down on something. Immediately he began to convulse. Foam bubbled from his mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head. Cade let go and stepped away. The man shook for a few seconds before falling silent.
Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1) Page 12