Weaver

by Ingrid Seymour

  But now it was back, which meant he was on the right track, and Sam was not far. He closed his eyes and tried to focus. The others quieted, understanding what he was trying to do.

  His heart gave a twinge as he thought of Sam at the mercy of the evil Sorcerer, but he shut the fear away and focused on that remnant of who he’d been before Danata tore him from his Integral.

  Sam was his guiding force, his beacon in the storm. He’d been lost without her, but now that he was so close, her light—no matter how dim—would lead him back to her.

  His heart lurched to one side. Greg’s eyes sprang open.

  “This way,” he said and headed left, around a hedge as thick and tall as a wall. His eyes might be useless in all the damn shrubbery, but his heart was true, better than any compass ever created.

  Chapter 61

  Sam

  Veridan and that woman had disappeared into the viscous, black cloud, and Sam still couldn’t believe her eyes. Were they gone forever? It seemed too good to be true and didn’t explain why Veridan had bothered to take her from the cell.

  She lay flat on the soft grass, unable to move a muscle. She had physically exhausted herself trying to break free, and it was no use. Instead, she focused her mind on staying calm and calling out to Greg with all her might.

  He was close. He had to be. She felt her instincts trying to alert her. There seemed to still exist a phantom connection between them in spite of all the turmoil. Or was it just hopeful thinking?

  One of her vinculums began glowing again, getting brighter by the second, letting her know he was on his way. So, Sam nurtured this strand as best as she could, all the while hoping she’d be able to weave them back together.

  Frozen as she was, time became immeasurable. Seconds, minutes, or maybe even hours blended together. The only meter was the rhythmic throbbing of the black blob, shifting shape and casting an ominous shadow over her. She watched it warily, afraid it would swallow her as it beckoned for her, pulling at her heart like the cries of a thousand children.

  A sudden sound broke through the quiet garden. Sam’s heart picked up its uneven pace. Her eyes swiveled from side to side as she strained to find the source of the noise.

  “Sam!” Greg stepped from behind a tall rose bush. He spared one cautious glance at the blob, then rushed to her side.

  Relief, like a tidal wave, washed over her. His name jumped to the tip of her tongue, but froze there, unable to break free. He ran a hand down the side of her face, tears sparkling in his blue eyes. His gaze traveled down the length of her body, ensuring she was alright.

  “Thank God I found you!” He took her hand, and his warmth seeped into her, making her feel more alive than she had in weeks.

  Ashby, Perry, Brooke and a strange girl appeared behind him. Sam would have laughed hysterically if she hadn’t been a statue. They were all here. Joy and relief bounced inside her, looking for a way out.

  “What is wrong with her?” Greg asked. “She can’t move.”

  “Immobilizing spell,” Perry said, taking a knee next to Sam. “Hey, there,” he said with a wink. “Looking a bit peaky, are we? I’ll have you back on your feet in no time.”

  Sam so wanted to hug the young Sorcerer as he gripped his amulet and started issuing an incantation. First, her manacles came off and a few seconds later, her limbs began to tingle. It started at her fingers and toes, then her wrists and ankles. She’d just regained sensation around her shoulders when, suddenly, a hole yawned open in the middle of the blob, and Veridan and many others stepped into the garden.

  Everyone turned, stepping protectively in front of her. Sam found herself half frozen and half able to move. Without taking his eyes off the blob spawns, Greg helped Sam stand, then held up a sword.

  She braced herself against his back, trying to keep her balance on barely responsive legs. Peering over his shoulder, she settled her gaze on Veridan. The Sorcerer stood proud against the riling backdrop of the evil, dark miasma. The fear he’d always shown in Greg’s presence, since his first attack at the gas station, seemed to be replaced by an air of haughty confidence. Looking at his companions, it wasn’t hard to imagine why.

  A dozen other Morphids stood with him, all displaying the same superiority. The woman who had been with Veridan before was there too. She stared at them with a natural hostility, as if she were used to being at war and this was just another battle. They wore strange clothes, suited for some sort of cosplay event or a medieval fantasy novel. Seven of them wore long capes clasped at their necks by amulets, much like the ones Veridan and Perry carried. The other five wore garments which fit them like gloves. Tight pants molded to their legs and disappeared into supple, high boots. Leather armor on top of fitted shirts protected their chests. Shiny swords hung from wide belts, turning her insides to water with fear.

  The situation didn’t look good. The strangers had just been birthed by a noxious cloud, for Pete’s sake. And not only that, their expressions were murderous. How lucky for them to find a group of potential victims.

  Veridan’s gaze paused a moment on Greg, then quickly moved to Ashby.

  “I never thought you had murder in you, Ashby,” the Sorcerer said. “I’m impressed.”

  Sam lowered her head, hiding completely behind Greg. She put her hands over her ears, trying to drown out the rhythmic throbbing of the blob. It still called to her, though more desperately than before and threatening to drive her insane.

  Do something Do something Do something!

  Her Morphid instincts screamed, though unlike before, they didn’t seem able to tell her exactly what to do. There was one thing she knew she could do, however, something she’d wanted to do since Danata ripped Sam’s last vinculum.

  “W-what is the meaning of this?” Ashby asked, his voice wavering at first, but quickly growing firm.

  At some level, Sam registered her friends’ predicament, but it felt like little more than a bad movie playing in the background. Her task at hand was more important than anything else. Squinting overhead, Sam located her vinculums. One remained as charred and dead as before, but the one that had linked her to Greg was bright and alive.

  Calling the vinculum to her hands, Sam got to work, weaving the strands with practiced dexterity. She’d done it so many times by now that it’d become second nature. By controlling the luminous energy generated by weaving broken links, she made herself whole again.

  As the last strand snapped into place, Sam’s heart jumped. A jolt of energy traveled down her body, shocking life back into her limbs. Something metal clattered to the ground as Greg let out a gasp and fell to his knees. She followed suit, the jolt too much for her legs.

  “Sam!” Brooke tried to kneel by her side but was warned away by Veridan.

  “Don’t move!”

  Sam stared into Greg’s contorted face. His eyes were clenched shut, and his mouth pressed into a hard line. For a moment, she thought something had gone wrong, but then he let out a sigh of relief, his warm breath blowing on her. His features relaxed, and his eyes sprang open.

  “Sam,” he said in a quiet whisper.

  His eyes glimmered with unshed tears. He lifted a hand to brush her cheek and smiled.

  “Thank you,” he mouthed.

  Left to her own devices, Sam would have gone on lying on the cold ground, staring into Greg’s cerulean gaze, but Veridan wouldn’t have it that way.

  “Take them, too,” the Sorcerer commanded. “The boy is a Keeper. Take special care.”

  “A Keeper,” a female voice said with some surprise. “Haven’t seen one of those in some time.”

  Greg tensed, gave Sam a slow nod, then jumped to his feet, turning to face their enemies in one quick motion.

  Chapter 62

  Greg

  Greg’s chest hummed with power, making him feel as if he could take over the world. He was whole again, part of Sam as it was meant to be. The joy of it all had been so great that it’d dropped him to the ground. Then Sam’s beautiful face h
ad been right in front of him, her honey-colored eyes full of enormous relief and happiness, reflecting his exact emotions.

  But the moment of peace had been short, and now he stood in a crouch, faced with five oddly dressed Morphids. Veridan was one of them, a satisfied smirk twisting his lips.

  Energy coursed through Greg’s veins, the magical power his Keeper abilities granted him whenever Sam was in danger.

  “Are Keepers truly immune to magic? I’ve never fought one,” a snobbish-looking woman asked to no one in particular. She stood next to Veridan, frowning with bored curiosity.

  “Why don’t you ask your chicken-shit friend?” Greg said.

  “Chicken-shit?” the woman echoed.

  “Swords will work better on him,” Veridan said in response.

  But before he even finished his sentence, the woman shot a ball of purple fire straight at Greg’s face. The energy hit true, making Greg’s entire head prickle, tinting everything violet. He blinked away the colors as the magic gathered in his chest. There, it roiled, looking for a way out. With a jerk of his arm, he obliged, releasing the energy into one of the unsuspecting Morphids in front of him.

  The man went rigid and, with a muffled cry, dropped to the ground.

  One down, thirteen to go.

  “Oh, my,” the Sorceress said.

  “Elgin!” One of the men wearing leather armor knelt by the fallen man, checked his vitals, then shot a murderous look at Greg. “You will pay for my brother’s life.” He stood in one fluid motion, drawing a sword and swigging it to kill.

  Greg jumped out of the way, pushing Sam back. She staggered and fell behind a bush. The Warrior—Greg guessed the guy’s caste as his energy felt exactly like Katsu’s—sliced his sword upward, trying to decapitate him.

  Dodging, Greg rolled to the ground and picked up his discarded sword.

  The Warrior came at Greg, backed by others dressed exactly the same. More Warriors? They surrounded him. He cast a quick glance in Sam’s direction. He couldn’t see her, but his instincts told him exactly where she was and, for the moment, she was safe behind the bush.

  With a unified war cry, all four Warriors charged Greg. A shield of his own creation went up around him. Swords clashed against it, sizzling on contact. One sword got through—a magically forged one, for sure—and he parried the blow just before it skewered him through the gut.

  Relentlessly, the Warriors hacked at his shield. At first, few blows got past his defenses, and he was able to easily avoid them. But as the minutes ticked by, Greg grew tired. His shield weakened, and his sword arm began to burn from constantly blocking blows and occasionally attacking.

  Here and there, he caught glimpses of what was happening outside his deadly circle and, from the looks of it, things weren’t much better for Ashby and the others. As he fought, he kept track of Sam behind the bushes and grew increasingly worried as, instead of running to safety, she seemed to be moving closer to Veridan.

  Greg eluded another blow and managed to graze his attacker’s arm in retaliation. The woman cursed and immediately followed with a slash. The attack was fast and vicious, and only Greg’s enhanced Keeper skills allowed him to block it.

  This gave another attacker the chance to move behind him. Greg started to turn, but a sword cut at his back with lightning speed. Fire sliced down his spine. He growled as he felt something warm run down his back.

  He fell to his knees and his attackers stepped up, closing the circle around him.

  Chapter 63

  Perry

  When four Warriors surrounded Greg and started attacking him, Perry barely had time to feel sorry for him before a challenge came his way. Judging by the amulets that held their cloaks in place, Perry had to assume the remaining Morphids were Sorcerers.

  He had never seen them before, so they had to be dissidents. It was the only thing that made sense. All Morphids were required to register with the council, but Perry was sure this lot had not. They had to be rogue. Sorcerers were a rare caste, and there couldn’t be this many outside of Danata’s circle of control.

  Veridan smiled at Perry as he leisurely approached. “And now, I’m finally free to teach you the lesson you deserve.”

  And with that Veridan unleashed a magical attack that only Perry’s younger, faster reflexes allowed him to block. A jet of fire crashed against Perry’s arm as he placed it in front of his face and issued a quick conjuration. Heat blistered his wrist until his defense took full form and was able to completely block the flames.

  He bared his teeth, leaning forward, ignoring the pain and smell of singed hair.

  Ashby, Brooke, and Finley tried to scurry out of the way, but Veridan ordered his henchmen to stop them.

  Perry ducked and rolled out of the way, throwing a paralyzing spell that missed Veridan by a hair’s breadth. The jet of fire turned to ice and nipped at Perry’s ankles as he kept rolling and tried to think of spells to throw at his opponent.

  Then Veridan bent a spell that circled Perry, hit him in the back and pinned him to the ground, immobilizing his entire body. He struggled to reach his amulet, but he might as well have been crucified to the lawn. A pair of polished shoes entered his vision. Even though he couldn’t look up, he didn’t need to. He knew perfectly well who wore them.

  “Finally pinned down like the roach that you are,” Veridan said.

  “Let him go, Veridan,” Ashby commanded, his voice heavy with authority.

  Perry would have frowned if he’d been able to move a muscle. Had Ashby gotten a hold of an assault rifle or something? Because if he hadn’t, he had no business sounding so confident.

  “Quiet!” Veridan ordered.

  Someone chuckled, entertained by the situation.

  Bastards! As soon as I get free, I’ll fry your brains.

  But how would he get free? The amount of magical power he was able to wield without touching his amulet was not enough to break loose. Where was Portos? Why was MORF taking so long to make an appearance? He hated to admit it, but at this point, MORF seemed like their only hope.

  Without a warning, Perry’s hands jerked behind his back where they seemed to turn to rock. He flew upward and floated to join a line of other immobile figures. Ashby, Brooke, and Finley dangled a few feet from the ground, their hands at their backs, too.

  Perry’s eye darted around assessing their situation. They were surrounded by eight or nine Sorcerers while Greg still fought against the armed blokes. But where was Sam? Had she gone to fetch help?

  Veridan looked them up and down, then turned his attention in Greg’s direction just as the warriors around Greg parted, revealing his prone shape on the ground.

  “No, Greg!” Sam popped from behind a bush, ran toward her Integral, and foolishly threw herself at him.

  Seriously?! Perry would have rolled his eyes, if he could have.

  Grand. They were done for, now. Really done for.

  Chapter 64

  Sam

  There was blood everywhere.

  Sam’s hands hovered over Greg’s back, wanting to touch him but afraid to hurt him. There was a gash on his back that went from his right shoulder to his waist. Blood soaked his white shirt in a huge crimson stain that made her heart shrink in fear.

  “Greg!” she whispered, leaning closer to look at his face.

  His eyes sprang open. He tried to move, but winced in pain.

  “You’ll be alright. Don’t move,” she said.

  He had healed before, that day a homeless Morphid had forced poison down his throat at the soup kitchen. His Keeper powers would heal him from this wound, too, wouldn’t they?

  “Well, isn’t that touching?” Veridan said in a more toxic tone than usual.

  Keeping a hand on Greg’s shoulder, Sam looked up at the Sorcerer.

  He grinned, all the fear he had ever shown in Greg’s presence gone. He had needed a gang of armed Morphids to take him down.

  “Coward.” She spat the word.

  A woman stepped next to the
Sorcerer, her eyes surveying the captives. “This was easy.”

  “I told you,” Veridan said as he twisted a hand in Sam’s direction and seized her with his magic.

  An invisible hand wrapped around Sam’s throat, and she rose into the air, kicking her feet to no avail.

  Greg stirred, groaning as he tried to get up, but one of his armed opponents pinned him down by placing a boot on his back.

  “Let me go!” Sam demanded in a weak, strangled voice.

  “Hello, little Weaver,” the woman next to Veridan said.

  There was a certain hunger in her eyes, the same kind that had been in Danata’s gaze every time she’d forced Sam to use her weaving skills with Anima.

  A shudder ran down Sam’s body. And, in that moment, she knew she’d rather die than remain captive to Veridan and these people, whoever they were.

  “Fina, would you mind holding her for me?” Veridan asked, a sickly caring look in his eyes.

  He liked this woman. Sam felt like throwing up at the thought of that spawn of hell caring for anyone in that way.

  The woman, Fina, took over by extending a hand in Sam’s direction and holding her up in the air. The Sorceress cocked her head to one side and examined her as if she were a rare bug.

  The blob throbbed behind Fina, pulsing, making it almost impossible for Sam to concentrate. The voices hadn’t stopped calling for her. Moreover, their shrill cries inside her head had redoubled. Her temples pounded in unison with the black miasma.

  As Veridan walked away, Sam tried to follow him with her gaze, but her eyes kept losing focus, lids closing heavily as the blob insistently beckoned.

  “It seems your Regency didn’t last very long, my dear Ashby,” Veridan said, looking up at Ashby’s floating shape.