A sickening thud to his left spun him around and he leapt forward through the darkness. He could just make out the outline of one of the slick tentacles. He thrust his knife forward and down, throwing all of his weight into the blow. The tentacle whipped away before the blade hit home but he felt it jar and rattle in his hand and he knew that at least he had grazed the beast.
An ear-splitting roar confirmed it. But the cry didn’t sound injured in the least bit; it sounded angry. Will remembered the immense pain of the blade scratching his skin and imagined some sliver of it wrestling into whatever consciousness the creature possessed. He fought against a tremble of fear at the roar, but still he reveled in the knowledge that the monster could feel pain.
The volume of the creature’s roar was overwhelming. Will tried to shrink back as he realized that the beast had turned its focus to him. Then he was on his back staring into utter darkness as something batted his feet out from under him. Slick, red tentacles encircled his legs, their grip squeezing and crushing. He couldn’t get away.
Reacting out of instinct, he drew himself forward to his knees and plunged both knives downward to the tentacle that encircled his immobilized legs. The blades sank in, the left sliding into the slick hide nearly to the hilt as it bit into the flesh. The creature roared again, threatening to burst Will’s eardrums once more, but his legs were free.
Will scrambled backward in the cloud of darkness as another tentacle lashed out and slashed across his chest before disappearing back into the darkness. He cried out and covered the wound with his hand as he pushed himself away. Barely finding his balance, he made his way to aching legs and fled back in an effort to disengage and regroup. He heard Madigan’s furious cries somewhere to his left and he ran toward them.
Another red-black tendril shot from the darkness toward his face, faster than he could dodge, but it was deflected in an instant. Stricken, he glanced around and saw his own Shade surrounding him, its darkened wisps shifting and flexing in the gloom. Instinct, he realized, thank the gods for that.
Emboldened by its presence, he abandoned all sense of stealth or tactics. He shouted for Madigan, for Jervin, for anyone near. Muted sounds rushed toward his back in the darkness and he spun, knives braced defensively as his Shade whirled about him.
“Dammit, Will, get back!” Madigan shrieked as he appeared from the haze. Blood covered his face and torso. The noctori in his hands was a fraction of the size it had been when he engaged minutes earlier, no larger than a dagger. “Get the hell back!”
Will needed no more prompting. He took off with all the speed his battered legs could muster and darted past his brother. Mad turned and followed, favoring one leg more than the other as he ran. The screams of the beast behind them were seemingly staying put. The crashing of its limbs amongst the smoldering rubble of the house confirmed it.
“Grandda?” Will said between gasps for breath upon reaching the outskirts of the darkness. His chest burned where the beast had cut him, but the wound seemed only to have been glancing. “Did you see him?”
Madigan shook his head. “No, I couldn’t see a damn thing in there.” He collapsed to a knee and looked back in the direction they came. “I could barely hurt it. Whenever my blade connected it was always a glancing blow. It had me on the defensive almost the entire time and it kept battering the noctori from my hands. The force of that bastard was so intense…” He shook his head, trying to return his breathing to normal. “When it turned its focus I had to fall back. That’s when I saw you.”
“Then Grandda is still in there with it,” Will said, gazing back at the cloud of destruction. Around him, his Shade disappeared involuntarily. He paled and stared at the darkness before him, then pulled himself upright. “I’m going back for him.”
Madigan’s face was grim but he nodded. Wincing, he stood and extended the noctori back to its full length. “I’m with you. We stay together.”
Without another word they made their way back into the darkness. Will knew their grandfather was still alive by the creature’s thrashing and refusal to chase them when they retreated; there could be no other conclusion. Before, separated, they hadn’t been able to affect the course of the battle. But together the three of them could fight it—they just needed to get to their grandfather. Or if he and Mad could distract the beast, then perhaps Jervin could strike a killing blow. They just needed to find him, to fight as a family.
Darkness descended around them once again. Bracing themselves, they raised their weapons and charged in. The creature’s limbs shot out from the shadows and both brothers yelled and raised their weapons. Before they could strike, the fury of the thrashing suddenly subsided, the limbs drawing backward into darkness.
“Issss that all, Keeperrrrr? Your whelpssss are a letdownnnn.”
“You will not engage them, filth,” Jervin said. “You will drown in your own blood first.”
The voices were distant, perhaps twenty yards away. Will turned and made straight for it as Madigan broke into a limping run.
“Your wordssss are ash on the windssss, ancient. You are as brokennnn as your blade.” The beast’s voice gave a rough shudder and Will realized it was laughing. As the volume increased, the surrounding darkness suddenly swept up and away from them and the soft light of dusk burst through in its absence.
The brothers halted as their field of vision cleared. Will stifled a cry at the sight of their grandfather.
Jervin stood facing the immense creature. His left hand was gripping his shoulder, but the arm had been twisted, bent in the wrong direction so that it was pinned against his shoulder blade. Even from so far away, Will could see the white bone of the shattered elbow jutting from the skin. A broken piece of Jervin’s claymore impaled the mangled limb, holding it in place. His right leg had been torn off roughly below the knee and shredded muscle hung around the splintered remains of his shin.
Jervin leaned on the remainder of the claymore as a crutch, swaying lightly, his face gaunt and ghostly white. From his stomach jutted a charred branch of the shattered magnificent cedar tree, still smoldering where it emerged from his back. Within the grotesque ruin of his face, his remaining eye focused on the creature before him.
“Ash is all you shall receive, Senraks Bloodbane,” Jervin said through bubbles of blood. “The strength of my line shall be your demise.”
Harsh laughter again erupted from the beast, but Will couldn’t take his eyes off his grandfather. Tears streamed down his face as he stared at the great man’s broken body. Jervin tore his stare from the creature and met Will’s gaze, sorrow upon his face.
“Keep them safe,” he called out quickly, blood dribbling down his chin. “Get to the tunne—”
His words were overpowered by the shrieking roar of the beast as it surged forward, mouth wide and dripping to devour the remains of their grandfather. With a cry matched in equal fury, Jervin freed himself from the cedar stake and flung himself backward, supporting himself upon the broken claymore.
Blood pouring from his body, Jervin crouched and leapt into the air with a battle cry and met the beast head on. Darkness shattered the light as the creature unleashed its Shade when the two collided. A crash of thunderous fury burst from their joining, driving the brothers to the ground. Darkness swept the area.
There was a tug at Will’s sleeve.
“We have to go, Will,” Madigan’s cracking voice sounded far away. “We have to run.”
Will pushed himself away from the battle raging before him and met his brother’s wide-eyed stare. The edges of Mad’s face blurred and Will found himself nodding, his own voice sounding frail and broken as he spoke.
“We run.”
8
Finding a Path
The final wet drops of Madigan’s lunch splattered from his mouth to the ground, the balance long since lost during the flight from home. Tremors gripped his body, sore from retching. An involuntary purge due to emotional necessity, a rational voice said in his head. He pushed the thought d
own into his empty insides.
He had driven them forward, shouting encouragement to Will whenever his brother began to lag. They made it to a small dock by the river before darkness forced them to stop. Mad attempted to put on a brave face, to remain collected and focused on escaping while all that they knew burnt to ash behind them. Will’s face was ghost white and distant as he held the scraps of his shirt against the wound on his chest. Mad shook his head—perhaps the strong front hadn’t been as effective as he hoped.
His jaw clenched in anger at his trembling stomach, at the ineptitude he felt. He could feel the fury building inside. He tried to remain calm, tried to fight it back. In the face of despair and brutality, he had to keep Will going. Yet, still, the fire inside his empty body roared in anger. He wanted to scream.
And Grandda thought I would have the fortitude to lead men in battle, in death.
He shook his head again and took a deep breath.
Death.
His grandfather’s broken and bloodied form appeared in his mind and his body heaved violently forward again. The battered body. The blood. The exposed bone. That was what death looked like.
Thanks for the final lesson, Grandda.
His diaphragm ached but the next spasm stopped before he pitched forward. He nodded to himself slowly. That was good. Either he was regaining some sense of control or his body was giving up. He wasn’t sure which option he preferred.
Will had dropped to his knees in the sand and was sobbing silently.
Fatigue gripped Mad’s body. His injured ankle throbbed and he was covered in bruises that spiraled along his torso where the creature had coiled around him. He’d thought he was done for, alone and trapped in the darkness, but the thing had screamed and released him. That must have been when Will stabbed it. He saved my life and doesn’t even know it.
The chill of the night sent a shiver down his back and he realized that he was cold. Cold was good. Cold meant he was starting to process things properly again. Cold meant he was coming down off the adrenaline. His body began to hurt. Whatever that blasted monster was, it had done some damage to him.
Not as much as it did to Grandda.
The fury that had been building erupted. He picked up a rock from the base of the pier and hurled it into the river as his core screamed in protest from the sudden movement. As it struck the water he whirled and ran toward the stone of the dry seawall. His noctori became a bastard sword and with a scream he brought it crashing down on the wall.
Stone chips began to fly in the air. Tears streamed down his face as he smashed the blade against the wall, the shock of each stroke numbing his hands. Screaming, he brought the blade down again and again, the night’s deceptive silence shattered by his rage.
“Christ, Mad.” Will’s voice was strained, like those nights he awoke from the nightmares. “We have to keep quiet.”
Mad had obliterated a large section of the wall. His eyes were filled with rage, the dried blood caking his body giving him the look of a madman. He was panting, his nostrils flared from the deep gasps. His eyes bore into his brother and he opened his mouth to unleash an onslaught of anger. Instead, the noctori fell from his grasp, vanishing from sight as he sank to his knees, sobbing.
He felt like a fool, breaking down in front of his brother. He was supposed to be the strong one, the titan of the family, always sure in everything. He was supposed to be a model for Will. Guess I’ve failed there, too.
The tears running down his cheeks were saturating the dried blood and bringing it down his face in red-flecked streams. He tried to wipe it away, to hide the evidence of his pain and shame, but the grime of his clothes only made it worse. He couldn’t stand the sight of his trembling, bloody hands. He buried them in the sand and closed his eyes.
They stayed that way for a time, Madigan with his hands in the gravelly sand and Will kneeling there, supporting himself against a beam. Night had long since fallen and the hour was impossible to determine. Mad stared up at the moonless sky and let his mind go.
A gurgling sound brought him back to reality, half choking sob, half guttural groan. He realized he had been the one who made it. His body had run out of tears and all that was left was pain. He climbed to his feet and again attempted to brush the blood-caked dirt from his hands.
“I’m sorry, Mad,” Will said, his voice barely a whisper.
Madigan looked up, forced determination on his face. “For what?”
“I should have…” Will said, his voice stuttering. “I mean, you just—”
“Shut up, Will,” Mad said, not unkindly. Will looked up, his attempt at a smile nearly breaking Mad’s heart. He nodded in return and walked to the water’s edge, the calm lapping of the water a stark contrast to the earlier horrors.
“Do we keep going?” Will asked.
“Of course.” Madigan didn’t hesitate. He looked in the direction they had come, nausea again threatening to overwhelm him. There was no sign of pursuit, no smoke, no sign of fire, no sign of anything amiss whatsoever. But it was there, even if all traces had been extinguished from existence. The images were burned into his mind, his grandfather’s kind, smiling face forever matched in memory alongside that final image of him broken and bloodied from battle. There was nothing left behind them.
He turned around and found Will rising to his feet, brushing the tears from his own face. “Right,” Will said as he looked at his older brother. “Lead the way.”
Madigan took them to the only place he could think of, and a short while later, the pair arrived at their grandfather’s storage unit. They’d visited a few times, years ago, before venturing out on the occasional camping trip. But now, he knew, Jervin had outfitted it for a different purpose. He’d been preparing for this venture and whatever was in there would give them a clue to the next step.
The facility was quiet in the night but not unaccustomed to activity at odd hours. Usually used by hunters and boat owners in the off season, it was easily accessible from both the river and the highway while also being off the main roads. Thanks to early morning fishermen and the occasional outdoorsman preparing for a long day out in the nearby woods, the facility was used to accommodating its patrons coming and going at all hours.
The parking lot was vacant, and the darkened windows of the warehouse signaled that the brothers were thankfully alone. No matter how easygoing the facility was, Mad knew that two young men stumbling in with torn clothes would raise suspicions. Especially when one was wearing a set of blades like a gun belt while the other was covered in blood. They had no key for the padlock, but the chain link fence was easily scaled and the rusty barbed wire along the top was clipped by a quick flick of Will’s blade.
“Do you remember the unit number?” Will asked when he dropped to the ground inside the complex.
“Thirteen,” Madigan said, his feet hitting the ground beside his brother. “Remember how Grandda always joked that it was lucky and I told him he had his facts mixed up?”
“It seems like you might have been right,” Will said under his breath.
Mad’s lips pursed but he ignored the comment and set off through the small complex. He was doing his best to stay focused and didn’t want to get locked up in grief again. He had to stay strong for his brother. He had to keep them going.
The unit was only a short distance away, near the outer fence with the river to its rear. It was smaller than a garage, with a single entry door as well as a rolling one for larger objects. Madigan stepped forward and punched in the code for the lock. Will looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“Like Grandda said,” Madigan said, “he was going to cook dinner and we were coming here. He gave me the code.”
“Too bad the gate to this place wasn’t coded as well,” Will said in reply.
Madigan nodded and pushed the door open. Stepping forward into the darkness, Mad felt the air warm against his bare arms. It was surprisingly fresh, too, and he felt some tension release from his shoulders. He flipped a light switch an
d illuminated the room, revealing something more akin to a dormitory than the cluttered, stacked boxes he remembered.
The walls were orderly and lined with shelves, each categorized and summarized on a clipboard that hung at the end of each shelf. He opened a rough-cut armoire that revealed simple outerwear meant for travel. Against the far wall were three cots draped in various satchels and knapsacks, their number a harsh reminder. He pushed the thought from his head as Will made for the nearest one, leaving Mad to sort through the room in silence.
* * *
Will cleared the cot of its contents and collapsed onto it, grimacing as the movement aggravated the gash on his chest. He drew his legs onto the small bed and lay back. He ached all over. He knew he should probably have Madigan take a look at the wound on his chest, but he was too distracted to focus on things like that. The cut wasn’t bad, he’d live—something Grandda couldn’t say.
His eyes welled with tears as he thought of his grandfather and the terrifying creature. Senraks, Jervin had called it, Bloodbane. Where had he heard that name before?
He withdrew his grandfather’s key from his pocket. He had torn it off when they were at the riverside and Madigan was raging. Its electric, tingling sensation had been too much to handle and he had needed a release, an escape. Now, it was all tangled in its cording. Untwisting the strands, he focused on the key and tried to block out all other thoughts, thinking of his grandfather’s words when he handed them over—purposefully vague, as always.
Just your minds, boys. Your minds and your spirits.
Sighing, blinking tears away, Will wrapped the cord around his knuckles and held the key in his palm. How the hell are we going to do this?
Shadowborne Page 7