Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1)

by Dobing, M. S.

  Sarah emerged onto the tundra. Ahead of her the vast expanse of the Scarros Plains vanished into the distance. The heat was rising already, by noon it would be in the high forties.

  She had to move quickly. There were others out here now more terrifying than the soulless drones at the dig.

  Sarah had taken one step forwards when the coldness struck her, nearly dropping her to her knees.

  ‘Why, this is a plucky one isn’t it?’

  Her mental shield evaporated. The fear she’d so efficiently kept at bay exploded to the fore. She turned her head back and looked up towards the source of the chilling voice.

  Clementine. The Hound. Hunter of souls. He stared down at her, squatted atop a rocky mound that housed the tunnel she’d just emerged from.

  ‘Don’t run, Sarah. You know I don’t like it when they run.’

  Sarah screamed.

  Sylph woke, her own scream mixing with that of the traitor.

  Chapter 28

  ‘Is anyone there?’ Caleb said again, louder this time.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You! You haven’t spoken all morning,’ Caleb said as they drove down the relatively empty M6. It was just after dawn. Already the sun was high in the sky, the August heatwave not relenting. The inside of the van smelled of sweat and oil.

  ‘Sorry, just tired I guess.’ Seb replied. He shifted in his seat, peeling his back off the leather.

  ‘You can have a break you know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You. Pushing it every night. You don’t want to burn yourself out.’

  ‘It isn’t just about me though, is it?’

  ‘You can’t take all of this on your shoulders, Seb. This conflict was going on for many years before you arrived, and will be so long after you’ve gone.’

  ‘I don’t recall the sheol being this much an issue on earth previously?’

  Caleb pulled a face and looked away.

  ‘Sorry, Caleb. I didn’t mean to snap. I will take a break. Promise.’

  Caleb grunted. Conversation over. He acted offended but he’d be talking again in an hour. The conversation was one they’d repeated over and over in recent days. Caleb would chastise him for working too hard, Seb would throw back the burden he carried in response.

  In reality though, and he wouldn’t admit this to anyone, it wasn’t the pattern locked in his head that drove his efforts. It was the thrill – and the challenge – of learning the endless Runic Script that drove him. He woke up seeing those symbols dancing behind his eyelids. He would recant them mentally throughout the day, hardening them to memory. He would fall asleep with Fundamentals in his arms and Script in his dreams.

  This time he’d been thinking of the Script he’d been trying to learn the previous evening. Blurring, or that’s as close a translation he could decipher. He’d seen Cian do it before, when he’d been training with the simulacra outside. When doing it the mage seemed to be in two places at once, such was the speed of the movement. In all honesty it belonged in the realm of Novo, but he’d found it in the Avatari patterns. Not that it mattered. He’d been up until way past lights out trying – and failing – to blur across the chamber.

  ‘We’re here,’ Caleb said, the massive electric gate that marked the entrance to Kollmorgen’s estate looming ahead of them.

  Seb casually sensed out. An echo came back, feeble, almost non-existent. He sat up, his stomach knotting.

  Kollmorgen. In danger.

  ‘Something’s wrong.’

  Caleb brought the van to a halt near the usual side door. The door that now stood ajar. No guard in attendance.

  ‘He’s injured.’

  Seb sensed out again, but his heart was pounding, his effort clumsy. Kollmorgen’s aura flickered, a fading flame clinging to life. No guards. None that he could see. He kicked the door open and stepped out onto the gravel.

  ‘Seb, wait.’

  But he was already out and running. Imbued feet pounded gravel as he raced across to the door. He barged it fully open and fell inside, Caleb shouting something from behind that was lost beneath the sound of his thudding heart.

  He nearly tripped over the body that lay slumped against a doorframe. The guard’s throat had been ripped open. Dark arterial blood had spilled out, coating the carpet. The man’s right hand still clasped the gun that he’d not quite managed to pull from its holster. Seb forced himself to look at the guard’s face.

  ‘Tom.’

  ‘Seb! Don’t go in there!’ Caleb appeared at the door.

  ‘It’s Tom! He’s dead! I need to find Kollmorgen.’

  ‘The sheol!’

  Caleb’s warning died as Seb moved to the next intersection. Dead guards and upturned furniture looked back at him from both sides. ‘They did this. They got to him!’

  An irrational anger flared to life. The drumming pounded in his head as he marched on, his fists clenched white, energy surging to his limbs.

  The open archway to the study came into view. Seb paused, but just for a second. He channelled, readying himself as he turned in.

  The sheol squatted on the arms of Kollmorgen’s favourite arm chair. The old man was sat beneath him, his skin waxy, glistening in sweat. Wide eyes stared upwards, pupils tiny and fixed on the fiend that had just raked a fresh set of cuts across his chest. The sheol stopped mid-slash and turned its black eyes towards Seb.

  ‘Mageling. What an unexpected surprise.’ The sheol pivoted to face him, hunched and bent over like a bird on a perch. ‘Now I will have a true feast.’

  ‘Seb!’

  Seb glanced back into the massive hallway. Caleb had skidded to a halt. He was bent over, hands on his thighs, his breath coming in painful wheezes. He raised a shaking hand that pointed above and over Seb’s shoulders. Seb followed the action, turning towards the wide staircase.

  Shit.

  Sheol. Five of them. Scrambling down the stairway, their distended jaws wide with manic glee. Another two appeared on either side of Caleb, back in the hallway. The air shimmered around the mage as shields rose in an instant.

  A sudden movement at the periphery of his vision caused Seb to pivot. The sheol hopped down from the stricken Kollmorgen and leapt towards Seb. He spun away, both arms raised, deflecting the sheol as it barrelled past him into the corridor, crashing into the wall and causing an antique painting to plummet from its mounting. The sheol recovered quickly though, much quicker than Seb. It growled and leapt forwards, smashing his forehead into Seb’s nose. Pain erupted from the impact, his mouth and nose filling with coppery liquid as he staggered back into the study, collapsing on to the floor next to Kollmorgen’s feet.

  From somewhere else, Caleb shouted. The sheol rose into a crouch, ready to pounce. The partition wall exploded inwards as Caleb charged through, the force he’d projected sending plaster flying in all directions. He blurred past Seb’s side, launching himself into the sheol that was now in mid-leap. The two collided, Caleb’s momentum propelling them into the bookcase, Caleb hoisting the sheol into the air whilst it kicked and thrashed, razor nails raking at Caleb’s exposed forearms.

  Seb struggled to his feet. Through tear-filled eyes he looked right to Caleb then in front of him, where another sheol came careering into the room.

  Seb tried to draw on the Weave, but he couldn’t do it. Come on, dammit! He called the patterns again but his mind wouldn’t focus, the Script dancing away like ashes in the wind. His heart raced, adrenalin flowing through him. He couldn’t get the required calm to channel effectively. It was like his connection was faulty, dropping in and out at random.

  The sheol was only a few feet away now. Two more appeared behind it in the doorway.

  ‘Caleb!’ he shouted.

  Caleb was sat atop the other sheol. He struck down again and again, his hands clasped together, a fleshy club imbued with the Weave. The sheol snarled, raising its arms in a feeble attempt to block the onslaught, but Caleb’s strikes just smashed through, the sheol’s face slowly becoming
a pulp of black blood.

  The sheol by the door edged inside.

  ‘I can’t believe my luck. A feast of Weave-flesh landing right in our grasp,’ the nearest said, one arm, clearly broken, hanging limp at its side.

  ‘Stay away!’ Seb shouted. The sheol hesitated, but Seb’s voice was stronger than he felt. He couldn’t channel. Why? Dammit! What the hell was wrong with him? He scrunched his eyes shut, desperation kicking in, but it was no use. The Weave seemed a mile away, a distant memory.

  ‘He’s afraid,’ a new voice said, from beyond the doorway.

  Seb looked beyond the sheol. Another appeared, taller than the rest. Unlike the others this one still maintained an exterior that was almost human. His eyes though, black as night, betrayed his heritage. The others parted for him in deference. He was some kind of leader, the others stopping their assault for a moment.

  ‘This one. This is the message-bearer!’ the leader-sheol said. It tipped its head to one side, a smug grin on its face. It took a step forwards, the others parting even further, confusion on their faces.

  ‘That means we can’t kill it? What about the other one? The old stringy one, over there?’ one of them said.

  They all looked across in unison. Caleb slowly staggered to his feet. His face was a horror, covered in black blood and matter. The sheol lay dead at his feet, a pulpy mess.

  ‘Caleb,’ Seb whispered.

  Caleb caught his gaze and followed his eyes downwards. His shirt was ripped where sheol claws had gotten through his defences. Already the wounds were turning black. Dark purple veins had sprouted from the site and were spreading across his side.

  ‘Shit,’ Caleb said, raising his head back to face the remaining fiends.

  ‘Oh dear. It looks like you have a slight issue going on there, old man,’ the sheol leader said. He advanced forwards, the others following, fanning out into the room.

  On my signal, you run, and don’t look back. Caleb pulsed into his mind.

  What? No, I’m not leaving you here!

  I’m done. It’s you they want, god knows why but it is.

  I won’t go!

  It was too late. Caleb’s mind was shut off from him. The air crackled as the old man channelled. Seb sensed the runes as they were called.

  ‘Shit.’

  Seb dived to the ground as Caleb unleashed a massive blast of force. The Consensus groaned in Seb’s head, but it did not prevent the Script being called. The blast ripped outwards, launching furniture and sheol alike into the air. The walls blew out, dust and rubble flying as the building began to crumble.

  Moments passed. Seb’s ears rang, the noise high-pitched and painful. He staggered to his feet. A sharp pain dug at his side. He looked down and plucked out a sliver of glass that had sliced into his ribs. Passive runes kicked in straight away, the pain receding to a dull ache.

  A cream cloud of dust filled what was left of the room. The four sheol were slumped on the floor. Caleb was nowhere to be seen, but the bookcase had fallen forwards where he’d stood. Could he be under there? Seb sensed out, his connection to the Weave partially restored. Nothing. He sensed again, a panic seeping into him. There! A flicker of life from under the book case.

  One of the sheol began to stir. It was the youngest one, the one nearest to him. It shook its head and coughed, pulling itself up to its knees. Its head rose. Dazed eyes alighted on Seb.

  ‘You’ll be a fine prize for Marek!’

  The sheol lunged forwards just as Seb struck out with all he had. The flat of his palm, imbued with passive Avatari, smashed into the sheol’s nose, halting it’s progress instantly, the impact rippling back up Seb’s arm where it settled as a dull throb. The sheol dropped to the floor once again, unmoving.

  Already the others were stirring. Seb ran to the bookcase. A dust covered hand stuck out from underneath. He reached down and tried to lift it up. It groaned, but didn’t move. It was made of an ancient wood that weighed a ton. He tried again, his muscles screaming with effort. The bookcase shifted again, lifting an inch off Caleb. Seb gritted his teeth but he just couldn’t do it. His muscles burned, the fire proving too much. He dropped the bookcase down. Caleb groaned.

  Come on Seb. Come on!

  The sheol-leader coughed. His arms reached out, hands pressed against the floor.

  Seb didn’t have much time.

  Seb took a grip again. He closed his eyes, ignoring the growing sounds of movement from nearby. He blew out a slow, shaking breath.

  Breath. Focus. Please.

  The runes appeared in his mind. He called them, channelling the Weave, filling his upper body with the energy of reality. From somewhere, someone shouted. He ignored it, and lifted with all he had.

  The bookcase came up with frightening ease. The Consensus groaned, it pressed on his skull, his mind buzzing. The bookcase crashed against the wall, splintering into pieces.

  Seb opened his eyes. He managed to catch sight of Caleb stirring on the floor just before the sheol-leader leapt at him brandishing a jagged blade. Muscle memory kicked in. Seb pivoted inside his attacker’s reach, using the sheol’s momentum against him. Seb turned his hip, gripping the sheol by the wrist as he flipped him over, throwing him through a set of french doors that led out into the garden.

  ‘Come on old man!’ Seb didn’t pause for breath. The adrenalin coursed through him as he bent down. He hoisted Caleb up, throwing a limp arm over his shoulder. He hurried them out of the open doors, ignoring the groans from behind. The sheol-leader, covered in hundreds of red cuts, was rising as they went past. Seb kicked him hard in the jaw, sending him sprawling out cold onto the gravel. Seb stepped past, ploughing on, dragging Caleb with him. The old man was out cold, a dead weight, yet Seb only had sight for the van that stood, door still open, in front of them.

  They crashed into the side of the vehicle. Caleb collapsed but Seb caught him on the way down. His muscles screamed, his lungs burned, but he did not let up, he would not give up. He hefted Caleb up and threw him onto the passenger seat.

  A cry from behind made him turn. The two remaining sheol were bounding across the gravel towards the van. Behind, another one, teeth bared, scrambled out through the remains of the french doors.

  Dismay rattled through Seb. The distance between the van and the sheol had decreased dramatically. He wasn’t going to make it. He couldn’t jump across Caleb to the driver’s seat, and he didn’t have time to run across the front of the van to get in from the other side without exposing Caleb.

  He had only one option.

  Seb reached for the glove box. The clatter of displaced stone was terrifyingly near now. He pressed the button. The handle of the phosphorous gun dropped into view.

  A growl behind. The spine-tingling sound of razor-teeth behind gnashed together.

  Seb whipped round, gun in hand. The sheol nearest him skidded to a halt, it’s black eyes widening in fear. The other carried on, barrelling into the back of its comrade. Behind, the sheol-leader, arisen again and staggering forwards, slowed to a halt, a puzzled expression slowly turning to panic as Seb levelled the weapon in their direction.

  ‘No! We w-’ The sheol-leader began.

  ‘Burn you bastards,’ Seb replied, pulling the trigger.

  The world exploded into white fire.

  Chapter 29

  ‘This is an insult. This is beyond reckoning!’ Cian paced across the carpet again, repeating the action he’d done for the past hour. He pointed at the closed door, his hand shaking, drool on his lips. ‘If he dies I will hold the Brotherhood responsible. I will have Silas’ head!’

  Seb stared at the ground, his head resting in his hands. He hadn’t changed since he got back, since he’d carried Caleb’s barely breathing form back into the mansion, where he’d finally collapsed on the floor as Cian swept Caleb away. The rest of his memories since then were a haze of panicked shouts and orders being barked. His tunic smelled of burned flesh and dried blood, and for the first hour he’d just wretched, emptying his stomach
into the open drain.

  ‘Master Cian, if you will be calm, we need level heads at a time like this,’ the Magister said then. She was sat on a stone bench opposite the chamber where Caleb was currently receiving urgent ministrations from the Magistry’s healer.

  ‘Calm? Calm?’ Cian bawled. ‘This is one of us! Our kin! We have been attacked by what? Sheol? And where were the Brotherhood, where were our brothers, eh?’

  ‘They would say the same thing,’ Seb said.

  ‘What?’ Cian was in his face then, but Seb didn’t care. He stared at his blood-stained hands. The faded red a mix of Caleb’s and sheol blood. He had taken a life, perhaps several. He didn’t try and rationalise it away by pretending it was a sheol that he had fired at. The person had been a human once, a person with family, friends. Even children. He had taken them away from this world, and he couldn’t take it back.

  Screw the magi.

  ‘Seb, I believe you’d better explain yourself,’ the Magister said, a tenseness to her voice.

  Seb raised his eyes, meeting, and matching, the fire-filled stare from Cian. ‘I said,’ he continued, ‘that they would say the same thing. They’ve been facing this for months, and you’ve not listened. They’ve lost countless brothers, all of them in the name of the oath, and yet you still let them die. Now, it’s our turn, and you blame them? Give me strength.’

  Seb sensed the fist moving before his eyes registered the movement. He brought his forearm up just in time to deflect the attack, Cian hitting the brick next to his head. The strike crackled with energy, cracks exploding out from the impact point.

  Seb didn’t waver. His arm burned from the block. He’d thrown what energy he could into the parry, and it probably saved him from breaking his arm. His heart thumped, partly from fear - Cian was easily capable of ripping his head clean from his shoulders - but also from something else. Part of him was itching to strike back, just to see how long he lasted.

  The moment lingered. The boy and man held their stance. Then the door next to Seb opened and the healer stepped out. The energy in the corridor immediately evaporated as all attention was drawn to the pale, blood spattered man.