Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1)

by Dobing, M. S.

  ‘No,’ he croaked. He raised a hand, but his energy was spent, the limb dropping to the floor, a knuckle scraping on stone.

  ‘I have it. It is there.’

  The fingers probed again. Seb could only whimper in response. His conscious mind had retreated somewhere else, somewhere safe. He cowered there, hiding in the dark.

  The box shook and spun in his mind, invisible hands twisting and turning it. The runes enlarged, becoming clearer, but still no more understandable. The box rattled. Something hit it, but it didn’t yield.

  ‘The magic is strong, too strong for me to unlock at this distance.’

  ‘What can we do, Master?’ Marek said.

  ‘I require a commune, we must combine our strengths.’

  Marek nodded. ‘As you wish, my Master.’

  The portal flickered then vanished. Nothing remaining of its presence besides a thin vertical slit of light that faded within seconds. Seb opened his eyes further as Marek suddenly squatted before him.

  ‘You’re going to wish you’d lost your marbles just then, boy.’

  From his mental retreat, Seb didn’t doubt those words. But as he was hoisted up, his wrists being tied to a wooden pole that had been fixed into the ground, his mind, the part of him that resisted, clung to one thought.

  He had seen it. The Master hadn’t but he had. In his last desperate attempt on the box the Master had smashed it with all his might and then retreated. As he’d left Seb’s mind the box continued to rotate, momentum carrying it around. That was when he saw it.

  A crack. A crack of golden light on the surface.

  Chapter 44

  Sylph waited until it was almost dawn before she made her move. Most of the sheol that came back from the Nexus - those that had survived at least - had retired to recuperate. Some of them wouldn’t make it, the Brotherhood inflicting wounds that wouldn’t facilitate a full recovery. Most though would return, their parasites revived, ready to inflict more damage on this suffering world.

  They weren’t Baloran. Of that much she was certain. It had come to her slowly, but had finally solidified the previous evening. Listening to the Master talking to the prisoner, the mageling, she’d realised then this was no Priest of Balor, no Chosen one. He was a daemon in human form. The enemy.

  And he must be stopped.

  Unfortunately it wasn’t going to be as easy as it would’ve been even the week before. Marek no longer trusted her, doubting her loyalty to their cause. He tried to hide it but it was obvious; he would no longer consult with her, and she’d been exempt from all but the least important missions in recent months. Even the foray into the Nexus, one that surely demanded the most elite they could muster, had been one that she’d been told to stay away from. She was an outcast now, and strangely it didn’t feel so bad. In fact it felt like a weight had been lifted. Even though she knew what it meant for her. How it would end.

  They would make their own move tonight. With the prisoner secured, it was only a matter of time before they acted. They were cutting loose ends, readying for the final move.

  They came moments later. Four of them, armed, making no attempt at stealth. Why would they? Why would they think that Marek’s most loyal servant would suspect something was awry, or instead did they assume she’d just follow blindly, straight into the abyss?

  Let them find out.

  She stood stock still, arms behind her back. The sheol stopped outside her door. They didn’t knock, which would’ve been their normal behaviour. Instead a skeleton key, courtesy of Marek no doubt, rattled in the lock. The bolt slipped back, and the door creaked open.

  ‘It’s rude to just open someone’s door without knocking you know.’

  The four sheol, three men and one woman, stepped into the room. They exchanged uncertain glances as they fanned out, two of them taking a point on either side of her. One of them, the leader judging by his demeanour, not visibly cowed by the presence of their prey stood waiting for them, stopped directly in front of her, making no attempt to hide the cudgel that he clutched in his right hand.

  ‘Sylph, Marek would like to see you.’

  She smiled and tilted her head. So this was how they were going to play it? Bring her out under the pretext of a special meeting with their leader. How did they intend to do it? She wondered. Would they simply bludgeon her to death when she turned away, or would they bring her to heel, possess her, casting her soul to the Void?

  ‘At this time?’ she cooed, ‘What would be so important that I’m required in the middle of the night? Does our illustrious leader not require some rest?’ She turned to the leader, ‘After all the sheol he’s been creating?’

  The sheol opened his mouth to speak. No words came out. His eyes dropped down to her side.

  To the runed dagger in her hand.

  ‘Sylph -’

  The words died in his throat as the dagger struck out, slicing a clean red line across his neck. As he crumpled, choking on his own blood, Sylph slashed out on either side, faster than her opponents could even comprehend. The woman smashed into the wall, skull cracking under the impact. The other was dead before he hit the ground, the dagger’s handle sticking out sideways from his ribs.

  The last sheol staggered back, black eyes wide and unblinking. The climbing axe that they’d held hidden behind their backs clattered as it dropped to the ground.

  ‘It’s funny isn’t it,’ Sylph said, advancing on her stricken foe. ‘I thought the sheol were fearless, pure evil, but I was wrong wasn’t I? Without your masters, without someone to tell you what to do, you’re cowards, all of you.’

  ‘Please, I don’t want to die!’ the sheol babbled. He backed away, tripped over his fallen leader, collapsing on the floor, scrabbling backwards into the corridor.

  ‘Die? Die!’ Sylph said, anger swelling in her now. She picked up the axe from the floor. ‘You died when you sold your soul!’ The axe fell. The man fell silent.

  Sylph stepped out into the corridor and set off for the altar.

  Chapter 45

  Seb didn’t know how long he stood chained to the post at the altar. The candles before him flickered and burned low, but every time he closed his eyes they seemed replenished once again. Was time passing? Was he losing consciousness, missing the sheol as they replaced the candles? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that his mouth was as dry as sand, and his stomach rumbled so much he was sure he could see the skin move.

  At some point someone entered the room. He squinted into the gloom. A shadow moved towards him. As it got near the shadow took the form of a woman. She was pale, her hair black and short. Her eyes though, they weren’t black, and she moved normally, like a human. She moved quickly to the altar and leapt up so that she was standing before him. It was then that he saw the bloodied dagger in her hand.

  ‘If you’re going to do it, just do it.’

  He wasn’t scared anymore. He’d given up any hope of escape. The next best option was that he was killed, so at least the message the Master sought so much died with him.

  ‘You’re a mage.’ the woman said.

  ‘Of sorts. You’re not a sheol.’

  ‘No.’ The woman shifted on her feet. She frowned and touched a hand to her head. ‘Your kind. You hunt the sheol?’

  ‘Some of us do, yes. They are our enemy, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  ‘The message you carry. That they seek. It will serve Marek and the sheol in some way?’

  ‘That’s my understanding. Why?’

  The woman took a step closer. ‘What are your thoughts on Balor?’

  ‘What? What does he -’ the dagger at his throat silenced him instantly.

  ‘Just answer me, mageling.’

  ‘Balor was the brother of Danu. Together they discovered the Weave. In the One War, Balor was lost, unable to live with how the sheol had tricked him. It was Danu who sent us here, so that we might live.’

  Seb recounted the abridged version of the betrayal as best he could remember. Was this some
kind of test? Whatever it was, his words didn’t seem to sit well with the woman. Her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed. He kept himself frozen in place, the cold iron of the dagger resting on his skin.

  ‘It appears I was misled,’ the woman said after what seemed an age.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You won’t.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  The woman stared at him a moment longer, her face a picture of indecision. Something clicked in her mind, a choice made. She slid the dagger back into its sheath.

  ‘Sylph. My name is Sylph.’

  ‘You’re the one that Cade saw. The warrior.’

  ‘I suspect so.’

  ‘But you know the Weave too?’

  ‘Marek taught me personally.’

  ‘Wow. Tough break.’

  The door to the vestibule opened. A score of sheol scurried in, splitting into two groups on either side of the nave. Marek swept in behind them.

  ‘Seb, Sylph, it is good to see the two of you getting acquainted. It saves me on the introductions!’ Marek glided inwards, a mock grin on his face.

  ‘Release me! Now!’ Seb hissed into Sylph’s ear.

  Sylph turned her back to Marek and raised her hand to somewhere behind his neck. Marek stopped and tipped his head to one side.

  ‘Sylph, please tell me my eyes deceive me. You are betraying me? Your own father?’

  ‘You are not my father!’ Sylph shouted, not turning back. Tears streamed down her face and her hands shook as she fumbled with something on the Void Ring.

  ‘Ignore him. Just focus.’

  Sylph leaned closer still, both hands now working on detaching the ring. Seb winced, an involuntary reaction, but then he heard a click, and the universe opened up to him.

  Years later, he would describe that single moment as if he’d been given sight when all before he’d been blind. When he’d first awoken to the Weave, he didn’t really appreciate it. He didn’t understand the gift he’d been given. This time though, after the enforced absence of the past few hours, the unseen force that bound all reality washed through him, a torrent of energy that illuminated every neuron and filled his body with a tingling energy. At once he was linked to everything, tied to the universe in a way only a mage would know.

  He did not intend to let it go again.

  ‘Apprehend them.’ Marek said.

  The sheol surged forward, the first barrelling onto the altar. Sylph ducked a clumsy swipe then dispatched it with her dagger. Another came, and another. Soon, they were swarming round her, the warrior barely keeping pace with the onslaught. Seb tried to move, then realised that he was still bound to the post. He channelled, sending strength to his arms. Power swelled and then waned. The Wave was with him again, but it was erratic, like flexing a muscle that had lay asleep for hours. He focussed, trying to slow his racing heart, the power imbuing his limbs in piecemeal bursts.

  One of the possessed landed before him then. Its jaw half hung from its face, a clean slice from Sylph just falling short of severing its head clean from its shoulders. It drooled blood, not feeling the pain, and then lunged forward with taloned hands.

  Seb threw everything he had into his muscles. Raw strength surged, his arms feeling like they would burst. He pulled with all his might and the bindings around his wrist snapped. His hands flew round and up, catching the sheol by its wrists as it lunged for him. Without thinking, he drove his forehead into the creature’s nose, bone and cartilage crumbling under the imbued strike. It dropped to the ground, dazed. Another sheol leapt at him before he had chance to finish his opponent off. It swung at him, but the Weave flowed now, the movement seeming as if in slow motion to his enhanced senses. He ducked under the attack before driving a focussed jab into the creature’s ribs, breaking bones. The sheol tumbled off the dais, crashing into the stone flags, its head cracking against the floor with a sickening thud.

  ‘Mage, help!’

  He spun round. Sylph was back peddling. Several of the sheol lay dead at her feet, a trail of destruction following her to where she now stood, back against a wall, desperately fending off attack after attack.

  He had to move quickly. Two of the possessed climbed onto the dais. He snapped forwards in an instant, smashing his elbow into an exposed nose. He turned on the other without pause, his previous opponent already collapsing to the floor. He spun and brought up his arm as a staff lashed towards his head. He caught the weapon with one hand, just above where the possessed gripped it and shoved his shoulder into the man’s side as he twisted. The staff came free, the sheol flipping over onto the floor. Seb twisted the grip, took the staff in both hands, and brought it down on the man’s head. He didn’t move any further.

  Seb leapt down and raced towards Sylph. The Weave sung within him, every step seemed so sure, the world in focus, every detail being absorbed, every possible permutation already calculated. Two more came at him, recognising the new threat. They fell within a second of each other, one unconscious, one howling, clutching a shattered elbow.

  Sylph, sensing the shift in battle, went back on the offensive. She finished off her last opponent, a human male who was halfway through a total transformation. Black blood pumped over black scales, the floor growing shiny as the ichor pooled beneath them. Seb caught her eyes then, and there was no mistaking the relief she saw at his presence. They met in the middle of the melee just as the door to the hall exploded open, shards of wood flying everywhere like lethal lances as they dove to the floor. Several sheol were impaled by fragments, falling to the floor and howling at their failing bodies. Marek simply stood, the shards bouncing off the invisible field that protected him.

  The Weave warped and wailed as a familiar presence entered. Tentacle-like probes scanned the room, and Seb silently cursed himself for being so careless. He slammed up his mental shield just as the searching fingers found him. They crashed against his mind, his will holding, but only just. There wouldn’t be a second time.

  ‘Mageling! You will not escape a second time!’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Sylph whispered as they lay flat on the floor amidst a pile of rubble.

  Seb opened one eye. The horned fiend had been compressed and forced into a loosely human form, but it was still grotesquely large. Black scales and skin intertwined under a ragged smock that barely contained the beast underneath. One red eye glared at him, the other half of its face still charred from Cian’s magic.

  ‘He’s a daemon, a powerful one.’ Seb said. He sent out ripples, hoping to distort the fiend’s searching gaze. Other entities were coming now too, more possessed, but also other fiends like this one, their corrupted auras burning his mind.

  ‘We need to get out of here, now,’ he said.

  Sylph nodded towards the shadowy alcove at the side. ‘That way. A passage leads out of here. I barred the other access points to it.’

  Seb nodded. ‘Good. Now how the hell do we get past these?’

  Sylph shoved something across to him. His spirit lifted slightly at the sight of Mik’s satchel.

  ‘They brought it back from the Nexus. I managed to persuade it’s keeper to let it go.’

  ‘Yeah? I can imagine that you’re quite good at that when required.’

  She smiled. ‘I can hold my own. Anything useful there?’

  He rummaged in the satchel, hands alighting on the familiar handle of the flare gun. He whipped it out, checking it was loaded. It was. He looked back at her.

  ‘Close your eyes.’

  Sylph scrunched her eyes shut as Seb stood and pivoted. For a moment his fear nearly overwhelmed him. The room was flooded with sheol from wall to wall. Amongst their number stood several more daemons that had managed to squeeze through the growing cracks between worlds, the Consensus only half forcing them into a more human shape. In the midst of them, stood in the centre, Marek loomed, much smaller than the fiends but yet towering above them in power.

  ‘Ah, our messenger seems intent on causing himself a little mischief before h
e’s despatched,’ Marek said, his gaze then moving to the side and lower, ‘And Sylph, my loyal Baloran, how could you have betrayed your kin like this?’

  There was a time for talking, and there was a time for action. This was the latter. Seb pulled the trigger, aiming it squarely at Marek’s face. The mage smiled and the air shimmered in front of him, but the rest of the possessed could only howl as they recognised the weapon that they feared above all others. Their screams died as the phosphorous projectile exploded, white fire filling the room.

  ‘Go, now!’

  Seb pulled Sylph up and they ran for the door. The howls of more possessed filled the air, and he cast one last look back before he followed Sylph into the corridor. Marek still stood, the invisible shield he’d erected crackling as residue melted back down to the earth.

  Shit.

  They edged into a narrow corridor barely wide enough for one person. Seb tried to turn and pull the other door to but he simply couldn’t turn in the confined space. Hopefully any following daemons would suffer the same constriction and he left it, following Sylph as she raced off into the shadows.

  ‘Where does this lead?’

  ‘To an old storage cellar. There’s a hatch on the outside of the building that opens up in the grounds.’

  Seb smiled. She was smart this one. The thought of what Cian would do with a former apprentice of Marek dampened his thoughts. He shrugged them aside. He had the message; at least he thought he did. Without Sylph that wouldn’t have happened.

  Surely that counted for something?

  ***

  Most of the possessed that had not been killed outright by the mage’s weapon were either badly burned, blinded, or both. Either way they were as useful as fodder now. Marek sent out a faint jolt to all of them, shocking their minds into instant death. He stepped over the charcoaled bodies at the front that had taken the worst of the blast, casually eyeing the narrow passage that the mage and his former apprentice had fled through.