by N M Thorn
“Stop,” ordered Father Collins, touching the page and leaned over the book. “It can’t be… it’s impossible…” His voice trailed off as he stared at the book, his hands shaking.
“What is impossible?” asked Aidan, hairs rising on the back of his neck. “What’s going on?”
The Warden raised his eyes, meeting Aidan’s troubled gaze and frowned. “The page from the Book of Words is missing. It’s impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?” asked Aidan, throwing a quick glance at Father Beaumont, who was as pale as any vampire. The young Warden looked even more troubled than Father Collins.
“It’s impossible because the book you see here doesn’t really exist,” he explained. “It’s nothing but a reflection of the real Book of Words. There are only three books like this in our world. The rest of them are just a reflected manifestation of the original records. One of the true books is located in Chicago, in the Guardians Headquarters. The other one is in Paris, kept at the Wardens Headquarters, and the last book is guarded by the Destiny Council themselves. The physical location of the last book is unknown. My book is linked with the Book of Words that is located in Chicago and the page in this book is missing.”
He closed the book and sat down, leaning heavily against the back of his chair.
“What does it mean, Father?” asked Aidan. The anxiety of both Wardens starting to affect him.
“I don’t have to tell you that there are no coincidences, Mr. McGrath. Every move on the Board of Destiny is well placed and calculated,” said Father Collins quietly. “An unknown powerful mage showed up here, abducted the Fire Salamander and forced him to cross the veil. At the same time, the page in our Book of Words has gone missing. Coincidence? I think not! There was something on this page she didn’t want anyone to find.”
“What do I need to do to recover this page?” asked Aidan calmly.
“You need to go to Chicago at once,” replied Father Collins. He took a piece of paper and quickly wrote a note, offering it to Father Beaumont. “Raoul will accompany you.”
“He will slow me down,” objected Aidan and turned to the young Warden, a guilty smile on his face. “No offense, Father Beaumont.”
“I will slow you down?” huffed Father Beaumont, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, his French accent heavier than ever. “Without me, you will never find the Guardians. God or not, they will never let you cross the threshold of the Guardians Headquarters! You’re arrogant—”
“Father Beaumont, try to remember,” hissed Father Collins. “You are talking to an ancient god! Don’t say something you’ll deeply regret later.”
Aidan raised his hand up, stopping Father Collins and then turned toward Raoul. “I’m sorry, Father Beaumont, you’re right. It was disrespectful of me to talk like that. I came here not as a god, but as a man in need of assistance. So, I would be honored if you would accompany me to the Guardians Headquarters.”
Raoul nodded, hardly meeting Aidan’s eyes, his shoulders square. “We shall leave at once, if you want to save ton ami—your immortal friend, I mean.”
“Father Collins, thank you for your help,” said Aidan. “I’ll keep you posted on everything I learn in Chicago.”
He placed his hand on Raoul’s shoulder and snapped his fingers, teleporting both of them out of the church.
Chapter 6
~ Zane Burns, a.k.a. Gunz ~
Gunz didn’t know how long he was falling.
Complete darkness surrounded him. The blackness was so condensed, it was physically pressing on his eyes and on his nerves. He felt blinded and helpless, unable to break his fall. The darkness drained the hope out of his soul, leaving him in despair and anguish with the realization that he would never see the light of day again. He was doomed to spend eternity surrounded by darkness, blind and alone.
He screamed, a desperate sound that was immediately swallowed by the density of the nothingness that surrounded him. He felt like he was in a soundproof room with soundproof headphones over his ears. Gunz struggled to get in control of his body, to see something, to hear something, to feel anything at all—even if it was pain. At this moment, he would welcome real physical pain. He would welcome anything that would give him proof that he was still alive.
The more he struggled, the weaker he felt. Soon, he had no energy left in him. Gunz sighed and gave up, relinquishing his will to whatever was coming. Slowly he submitted to the fact that there was nothing he could do to control the situation he was in. He had to yield and stop struggling. He closed his eyes and let go.
The feeling of firm ground under his back was completely unexpected. Gunz carefully opened his eyes, expecting to see nothing. It was still dark, but the darkness wasn’t overwhelming, and he could make out some of his surroundings. Above him there was the dark sky. At least he assumed it was the sky. There were no stars or moon and whatever it was above him, looked distant and hollow.
Slowly, Gunz turned his head from left to right. He was lying down on a small clearing, bare ground without any grass. From every direction, he was surrounded by a dark forest. However, describing his surroundings as a forest was a bit of a stretch. Dead, leafless trunks with hardly any branches, were stretching up into the void of the sky, disappearing there. Nothing around him was moving. There wasn’t even the slightest breeze. The silence felt eerie, infused with an unknown danger.
His Salamander senses woke up, screaming that he needed to get up and find his way out of this place. But he felt weak and despondent and he didn’t want to move. He was tired and broken. The thought of the tiniest move was painful and unwelcome. He just wanted to keep lying down. If he was going to die—so be it. Whatever will be, will be. He closed his eyes and remained motionless, submitting to his fate.
A slap in the face made Gunz gasp, and he opened his eyes. Mishka, the wyvern, was hovering above him. The wyvern seemed a little different. The golden glow was gone from his wings and his eyes weren’t shining red. Mishka lowered himself down on Gunz’s chest and slapped him with his wing again.
“Mishka—,” whispered Gunz, hardly able to move his lips. The wyvern slapped him one more time and Gunz’s head jerked to the side, but he had neither strength nor desire to move. “Mishka, stop slapping me… please… I’m awake.”
“He’s awake. Hallelujah!” muttered Mishka, glaring down at him. “So, why are you lying down here, like you’re a little princess in some fairytale castle? Move your fireless ass! You’re going to die if you stay here. Oh wait, you can’t die. Even better—you’re going to get dismembered, piece by piece, while you are alive and awake. Does that sound good to you, boss?”
“Mishka, I can’t,” whispered Gunz. “I’m too drained and frankly, I don’t care…”
“He doesn’t care,” parroted Mishka, and slapped him again. “Fire Almighty! Get your ass up and run! They know you are here, and they are coming for you.”
Gunz groaned as his eyes watered. The last slap somehow seemed to be more annoying than the others. “Mishka, who is coming? And why are you so… persistent. Just leave me be. If you feel you need to run, then go for it. Leave me the hell alone…”
Mishka screamed and attacked Gunz, slapping him mercilessly with both wings and scratching him with his sharp claws.
“Dammit!” yelled Gunz, adding a few more choice words in Russian. “Stop it!” As anger restored some strength in his drained body, he pushed himself up on his elbows. This minuscule effort took out of him whatever the burst of anger provided, and he fell back down, closing his eyes with a soft moan.
Mishka lowered himself down to the ground by Gunz’s head and switched his tactics. “Boss, please don’t close your eyes,” he pleaded peacefully, whispering into his ear. “Look up… look in the sky, boss. Tell me what you see.”
Gunz sighed and opened his eyes, staring into the hollow sky. Somewhere far away, in the darkness, he noticed something darker than the darkness of this endless night. Whatever it was, it was moving down in a spira
l motion, like a giant funnel cloud. It was soundless and sinister. The dark demonic energy washed over him like muddy waters, and he gasped. His mouth fell open as he kept gasping for air, unable to breathe in the sinister energy that polluted everything around him.
“What do you see, Gunz?” asked Mishka softly, for the first time using his nickname.
“Death… I see death,” replied Gunz. He was staring at the approaching horror, not willing to make a move to save himself. “I don’t care… let it take me, Mishka… I give up… I have no will to fight anymore. I’m done. Save yourself. Run…”
“No… no… no…” Mishka seized his shirt with his claws, pulling Gunz up, but he was too heavy. Mishka didn’t let go even after the shirt got ripped. “You do not submit to this place. You do not let it break you. Remember who you are, Gunz!” He stopped pulling and embraced Gunz, wrapping his wings around his shoulders and pressing his hot scaly head against Gunz’s cheek. “You are not human. You are a Great Fire Salamander! Suppress the human soul in you. This place is feeding on your humanity. Relinquish yourself to the Almighty Fire. Don’t yield to this place! Gunz! Get up!”
Gunz screamed, trying to achieve his natural state. There was no fire. Fire as an elemental power was so diminished here that it wasn’t enough for him to revert. He tried to reach his magic and felt its weak presence somewhere deep inside. With the last crumbs of his remaining strength, he raised his arm up and whispered, “Ignius…”
A few weak flames flickered dimly, wrapping around his fingers. Even this insignificant presence of his element made him feel a little better. The indifference and complacency slowly gave up their hold and the instincts of the Fire Salamander replaced them. Gunz let the Fire Salamander take over and forced himself to get up. He stood, swaying. The fire flickered and died, but he was up, on his feet.
“Now, let’s leave this clearing,” said Mishka, gently pulling him toward the dead woods.
Gunz walk toward the woods, slowly forcing himself to move one foot after the other. Once in a while he was checking the sky, just to see the darkness ascending, getting closer by the second. And the closer it was getting, the weaker he felt. Mishka was right—this place was feeding on his humanity like some bloodthirsty vamp.
At the border with the woods, he fell to his knees, breathing laboriously like he ran a few miles, even though he walked just a few steps. He grabbed the thick trunk next to him and forced himself up. For a moment, he just stood, hugging the dead tree, dealing with the dizziness that assailed him.
“You can’t just stand still, Gunz,” said Mishka, gently pulling on his torn shirt. “We need to find a place to hide. Can you walk? Would be nice if you could run, just a little.”
Gunz pushed himself off the tree and took his first step forward when something cold swept by him, grazing his cheek. He gasped, touching his face and felt something warm and sticky under his fingers. He didn’t need to look—it was blood. Gunz glanced over his shoulder and his eyes widened. For the first time, since that mage pushed him through the gates, he felt something other than emptiness. Fear—it made his skin crawl and the small hairs rose on the back of his neck.
A dark, swirling mass was hurtling toward him, like a giant bee swarm from hell. Most of the mass was still far away, but a few shadows separated, speeding forward faster than the rest. They had large dark wings, but Gunz knew that whatever these creatures were, they weren’t birds. Each of them was a size of an eagle. Their bodies were covered in feathers, yet they seemed to be translucent to a degree, like ghosts. They had long, massive beaks and sharp claws. Gunz froze, thinking that if these creatures weren’t ghostly, these beaks could do some serious damage.
One of the ghostly “birds” reached him and without slowing down, flew straight through him. As it passed through his body, he felt a hot pain expanding in his chest, his heart almost stopping. He cried out, clasping his hands to his chest. The monster turned around and launched at him again. Gunz quickly realized that its beak and claws were very much material as the claws easily shredded through his shirt, and its beak tore a piece of flesh out of his chest.
Gunz yelped, trying to seize the creature that attached itself to his chest, but his fingers were sliding through its incorporeal body. The monster’s head was right in front of his face as it was aiming to hit his eyes with its bloodstained beak. For a moment, Gunz stared at the terrible creature, with horror realizing that it had human eyes.
Another creature reached them and also flew through his body. The agonizing pain sent him down to his knees. Mishka shouted something and threw his small body at the monsters. He had no fire, but he was fighting tooth and nail.
“Ignius,” Gunz cried out reaching for his magic. Maybe it was the pain or the fear, or the desperate desire to survive that finally woke up in him, but the fire magic worked. His arms went up in flames, blazing like two torches.
The ghostly monsters screeched and shied away from the fire, cowering back into the shadows of the dead forest. Gunz didn’t wait for them to recover. Gathering whatever strength he had left, he ran forward, followed by the wyvern. The silence of the dead woods was deafening, and he couldn’t hear anything except the blood rushing through his head and his pulse beating desperately in his ears. It was dark, and he couldn’t see where he was going. But he didn’t really care. As long as he was away from the ghostly terror.
As he ran, he glanced over his shoulder. The swirling mass was catching up with him. They were no longer swirling but spread as far as he could see on both sides, soundlessly drifting through the motionless woods. Gunz knew that it was only a matter of time before the deadly flock would reach him and tear him apart.
A few feet ahead, he noticed some tall shrubbery that was blocking his way, but he didn’t stop. His fire was already gone, and he had nothing to protect himself. At full speed, he ran into the shrubbery. Ignoring the sharp thorns, he tore through the bushes, striving to reach the other side. He felt agonizing jolts of pain as the thorns dug into his skin, tearing his clothes to shreds.
Gunz cried out in pain but didn’t stop. As he emerged on the other side of the thorn bushes, his foot caught on something and he tripped. He stumbled a few steps forward when the ground trembled and slowly dissolved under his feet. He fell through, in the last moment grabbing something with his hands.
It was a large branch that was covered in sharp thorns, just like the shrubbery he ran through. The thorns pierced his skin, but he didn’t let go. The branch broke his fall and he stilled, trying to calm down and assess his situation. He was in a swamp and his body was half-submerged into the thick muddy substance. As he moved his legs, he felt a pull. The swamp was sucking him down. And the more he struggled, the faster he was going down. The air above the shrubbery got darker as the menacing swarm of ghostly monsters flew over it.
Mesmerized, he was watching the approach of the deadly monsters, their dark, venomous energy suffocating him. He couldn’t move, and his magic was exhausted. Besides, he felt so drained physically, that he couldn’t fight even if he could move.
“Mishka,” he whispered to his wyvern, “please leave, my friend. I don’t want you to share my fate…”
Gunz looked around but couldn’t see Mishka anywhere. He sighed with relief—at least his little friend was safe.
The swarm attacked him all at once. He couldn’t say what they were doing to him or how many ghostly creatures passed through him. They were clawing at his body, shredding his flesh with their beaks. The nonstop agony tormented him, and he wanted to die, but for whatever reason he couldn’t pass out.
Gunz let go of the branch that was holding him on top of the swamp and stopped struggling. The swamp was slowly pulling him in, but he didn’t care. The only thing he was hoping for was that the monsters couldn’t follow him down into the muddy death.
He was down to his chest and his consciousness finally started to gradually slip away. With surprise he realized that nothing was hurting anymore. The muddy waters of the swamp snu
ggled his body with a cold embrace. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t painful either. The ghostly creatures were gone. The pain was gone. Maybe because this place had such little presence of elemental powers, he could die here. He was fine with death.
As his vision started to blur, he caught sight of a small light moving toward him. He squinted his eyes but couldn’t focus his vision. The light flickered on and off, as he finally passed out.
Chapter 7
~ Zane Burns, a.k.a. Gunz ~
Gunz blinked a few times adjusting his vision, staring straight up at a low wooden ceiling. He felt firm ground under his back, and he knew that he was no longer dying in the swamp, attacked by the ghostly monsters. He carefully turned his head to the side. He was lying down on a narrow hard bed, inside of a small, semi-dark room.
He stirred a little, but as a sharp pain pierced him, Gunz quickly changed his mind and stilled. His whole body felt like a dark abyss filled with liquid agony. Besides the pain, every square inch of skin was itching. It was burning like someone dunked him into the water of a frozen lake. He wanted to scratch, but he couldn’t feel his arms. Actually, he felt like he didn’t have any arms at all.
Gunz gasped and looked to the side where his right arm was supposed to be. It was in place, moved above his head. He tilted his head backward and saw that his hands were tied up to the bed. Gunz tried to pull against his restraints, but quickly gave up this idea as every move produced a considerable amount of pain accompanied by a burning itch.
Carefully he looked down and grunted. He was completely naked. All his clothes were gone, and only a piece of rag was wrapped around his hips. His ankles were also attached to the bed. For a moment, he thought he saw Mishka hovering over him, but when he looked up, there was no one there.
Gunz gently probed the area with his Salamander senses, noticing how weak the Fire Salamander in him was. The energy of Fire was almost nonexistent here. He checked the magic and felt its presence within him. It was burning weakly like a flickering small flame on a dying candle. He moaned softly, feeling broken and helpless.