Gloom Rising (The Book Wielder Saga 1) (8 page)

Winston’s parents lived in a cosy two bedroom house that was on a road of similar looking houses all divided by tall thick hedges and fences. It had a big well-kept garden at the front with a pathway leading to the front door cutting through the middle, and a driveway and garage at the side for his mum and dad’s car and his own that he’d left at the Hotel Noir. He walked slowly up the front path to the polished wooden door and let himself in.

“Hi, it’s me,” he shouted.

He got a joint ‘hello’ back from the living room.

He made his way through to the living room. The house was few on furnishings but had lots of war memorabilia and Imperian paraphernalia. His parents were sitting in their chairs smoking cigarettes and watching the news on their bulky television as they usually were. They were both plain looking and battle scarred, and they weren’t that old but they already had more grey hairs than coloured. They had a sense of hardness to them, like two unchanging stone statues stuck in their place and in their ways.

“I got the hotel job,” Winston began, “so I’ll be living in the Capital now.”

“If that’s what you want to do with your life,” his Dad said uncaringly,

“You’re always welcome here; you know you could still make a fine MPK.”

“Thanks,” Winston replied dryly, and walked out the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom.

His parents barely lifted their gaze from the telly through the whole interchange. They were both Great War veterans and had preached to him about the military and Imperian patriotism since he was old enough to pick up a pistol. He’d listened to more of their old war stories than he could count. He’d rebelled as soon as he was old enough to and never really stopped. As soon as they realised their son wasn’t going to follow in their footsteps they had gone cold on him like his was betraying the nation, only really talking to him to try and show him the error of his ways and get him to enlist in one of the varying roles in the army that had been restructured into the Military Peace Keeping organisation.

He changed out of his suit and into some comfortable clothes. He picked a plain grey t-shirt and some jeans, and began packing his things. His room was organised so it wasn’t that difficult, but he had to decide what to bring and what to leave. He overlooked his bulky beige computer, big television with a small screen, and some of his older clothes because he’d be able to buy much better quality stuff in the Capital now.

It didn’t take long for him to finish, and he walked down the stairs with two large bags. He leaned in the living room to say a quick goodbye as he passed. His parents were in the middle of complimenting Edgar II’s decisive actions and never bothered saying bye back.

The sun had mostly set so Xavier and Veronica were waiting by the side of the van, and Lynette and Kavarne were talking next to the bike. Winston chucked his bags in the back and Veronica rubbed his back sympathetically, sensing his annoyance. It was a short drive to the Open Vein night club at the end of the Woodsholme’s poor excuse for a high street. They parked around back and all headed in together.

The club was small and slightly battered. The whole place had a gothic feel to it and it was a hot spot for local alternatives, rockers, and of course Supernaturals. It was dimly lit and industrial music was playing faintly through the speakers. The stage, dance floor, tables, and seating booths were empty, and only a couple Shadow Circle gang members were propped up at the long bar that ran along almost one side of the club. Lynette and Kavarne joined them and the rest of the group headed past the bar to the stairs that lead to the VIP area and office.

The second floor was slightly more luxurious but still quite rundown compared to the Capital’s standards. Tables and chairs were gathered around small pole-dancing platforms. The seating booths were all leather, and the bar was smaller but sold more expensive liquor and would have a supply of drugs to sell to trusted customers.

Lucius knocked on the door to the office and private rooms, and entered. Gregory, the local Captain of the gang and Winston’s former boss, was sitting behind his desk smoking a cigarette that definitely had some magical herbs mixed in with it. He had scruffy brown hair, unkempt stubble on his round face, and was wearing a brown pinstripe suit without a tie. Behind his desk was a map of the local area and posters of curvaceous nude pinup girls.

His purple mage eyes widened when he saw Winston. “You made the cut. Well done Winston, welcome to the Circle!”

“Yeah, I survived the interview,” Winston smiled. “Thanks Greg.”

“Smoking your own stash?” Xavier asked disapprovingly.

“Lighten up, Xavier, it’s only a bit of Violet Moss mixed with tobacco. It lifts the spirit nicely, a gentle mellow high.”

“I didn’t know you could smoke that,” Xavier grumbled. “Do you sell it?”

“Nah, but I think they’re might be a market for it. Would make a good anti-depressant. My man Winston always brought me a bit of this and that to try.”

“It’s true. Greg likes to take a hands-on approach to Alchemy,” Winston joked.

It was, of course, a massive understatement; there wasn’t much of the local Gloom that Gregory hadn’t tried sniffing, smoking, drinking, or eating. When he used to cross over for him, Winston would always try to bring back a bit of everything just to fuel his habit for experimentation.

“Right.” Gregory stubbed out his ‘cigarette’ and stood up. “Down to business!”

He lead them through to the private rooms, where a group of scantily dressed dancer girls were putting on their makeup and doing their hair ready for the night ahead, to a large metal door. He unlocked it with a key from his pocket and they followed him through to the gang’s stash.

The walls were bare breezeblocks and the lighting was yellowy and cheap. A table was in the centre of the room, several cupboard-sized recesses were set around the edges, and it had a sturdy door that lead to a changing room and toilet. Each alcove held and assortment of cases, lockboxes, safes, equipment, and weaponry. Winston knew that there would be large quantities of cash, drugs and alchemical ingredients, and potions held here.

“What am I after? Nightmare Nettle?” Winston asked Gregory. It almost went without saying; it was the main ingredient in the common as muck hallucinogenic drug, Dreamleaf. It was smoked by young rebels, partying students, and aging war veterans to relieve them of their post-war traumas.

“Yeah please, and a little something extra to try,” he replied cheekily.

“I’ll just get ready,” Winston said, and he entered the changing room.

Inside there were a few lockers containing bits and pieces; a clothing rack, a small flat bench, and a couple of gun lockers. Winston took a medium-sized leather jacket off the rack, and picked up a backpack and a large alchemist carry case the size of a briefcase. He filled the backpack with some gardening tools, thick heavy duty gloves, and from the gun locker he selected a black pump action shotgun and helped himself to several shells. Shotguns were not his favourite but it would be useful against what he’d be facing on this crossing. One of the lockers had an impressive supply of chocolate bars and bottled water so he stocked up on some of those too.

He made sure that his lighter was easily accessible and went to the toilet while he had the chance. While he was urinating he saw a couple of bleach bottles and thought back to Lewis’ thoughts on the Sanctium formula (or at least the Trinity’s imitation formula) being related to cleaning products or bleach. After he was finished, he took a bottle and added it to the backpack to test the theory if he got the chance.

Veronica came into the changing room and closed the door behind her. “You be safe in there, mister.”

“I will,” he said, putting his arms around her waist and kissing her. “I’ll try and be quick.”

“I’ll be waiting right here, sweetie. I might bounce some ‘alchemy’ ideas around with Greg.”

Winston laughed and they made their way back to the main room. He got out his book, enlarging it to its proper size, and he opened it on the table.

“Don’t do anything too reckless,” Xavier said.

The rest of the group wished him luck and Veronica gave him a saucy wink. He placed his spare hand on the book and the room started spinning. His stomach stirred until with a startling jolt he was back in the Gloom.

He was standing in a half rotten wooden building loosely resembling an old tavern. Everything was dark and dusty, and there were thick cobwebs here and there with tiny yellow and black spiders scuttling about on them.

Treading delicately across the creaking wooden floorboards he made his way to the stairs. Even though it was dark he didn’t summon a light; the Freaks here would attack on sight, so staying hidden for as long as possible made sense. One step at a time he made his way to the ground floor. He hated unreliable Gloom stairs, and luckily the lower floor was unoccupied so he left as stealthily as possible.

The Gloom outside was like a wooden medieval village enclosed by forest, and the houses were all wooden and were covered in mould, moss, and various fungi. The ground was covered in purple grass that varied in shade. There were green witchfire campfires dotted about with muscular axe-wielding Freaks beside them. Unlike the ones he had encountered in the Capital, these were human looking in form, but they were pallid with black bruise-like marks from decay. Some had moss and fungus growing on them and they had dirty fabric sacks over their heads, although it was hard to tell if the sacks were actually their heads or not. Most only wore patchy fabric trousers, and some were roasting bits of giant forest spider over the fires while chatting to each other or themselves. The only words Winston could discern were vastly unpleasant.

Luckily the tavern was at the edge of the Freak village so Winston crept directly into the forest, which was equally as dangerous, but in less immediately apparent ways than the village. Winston glanced upwards every now and then to check for giant spiders that liked to ambush from above. Most of the trees looked dead but many still had leaves, and the usual dark purple clouded Gloom sky could be seen in the gaps between the claw like branches and their leaves that varied in shape and colour. Around the base of them, large brightly coloured mushrooms clustered together like huddled lovers. Strange bushy mosses clung to the tree bark, and the occasional creepy crawly darted into cover as he passed by.

Winston had been here a few times before and was looking for a clearing he had harvested from in the past; it wasn’t long before he had rediscovered the large clearing that was completely filled with Nightmare Nettle. The plants were knee height, thickly packed, and a pleasant shade of light blue. Like their real world counterpart, the ordinary nettle, they were covered in miniscule barbs, except these barbs would cause sickeningly unpleasant hallucinations and in most cases projectile vomiting.

He kneeled on the ground, putting his bag and alchemist case down and opening them both up. After he’d pulled on his gloves he fished out a pair of gardening snips and began cutting off the leaves, making sure that none came into contact with any of his skin, and placing them into one of the cases compartments. He carried on harvesting until the case was almost full, when suddenly he got the feeling he was being watched, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Lifting his gaze, he looked to the other side of the clearing.

A full masquerade mask, divided into four square sections coloured bright pink and black, was staring at him from beneath the shadows of the trees. Winston could just make out the fully armoured, well endowed, female body that it belonged to, but it was hard to see. It was a Demon. He put quickly grabbed his lighter and reached for the shotgun, but the Demon had already receded back into the shadows. Winston stared into the trees, adrenaline pumping, waiting for an attack. But it never came. Paranoid, he looked to the tree tops all around him, but still nothing. He quickly packed up his things and decided to search for ingredients in the opposite direction; he still needed something interesting to bring Gregory. He knew it was dangerous but he wanted to give him something special as a gift, for without his help he wouldn’t have ever made it into the Shadow Circle.

Keeping on guard, shotgun at the ready, he kept making his way through the forest. He searched around for something rare or different but couldn’t see anything significant enough. He felt like he was being too picky but he couldn’t let it go. Feeling drained, he stopped for a moment to eat some chocolate and drink some of his water, making sure to leave some for later just in case. He carried on and eventually the trees started thinning and looking more knurled and twisted. The ground under foot was becoming bare, blackened, and dry, and the air smelled of dying things.

Winston stumbled onto another clearing devoid of any grass or foliage. This one was dominated by a steep solitary hill topped by a despicably evil looking tree; a Deathscythe Tree. Its trunk was thick and black, and its eyes were closed but it still had a malicious looking face with a big wide mouth filled with carved fangs. Slightly above the face, the tree’s long blackened branches sprouted. They looked like thin but muscular arms, and they all ended in long scalpel sharp white scythes. Around it, spreading down the first quarter of the hill, was its thin, broken, and crumbling roots. These ‘Deathroots’ were the main ingredient in the Mage Vitality Corrective potion.

He decided to gather some but felt bad for taking the risk, especially as Xavier had asked him not to. It was too good an opportunity to miss, however, and he was feeling confident. He crept up the hill gently, watching the tree’s closed eyes, and headed towards the nearest exposed roots. He was almost there, reaching out towards them, when the first scythe struck. Luckily, Winston had flinched backwards when he saw the branches move, because the blade slid into the ground where he was standing a split second beforehand. Before that scythe had even been pulled back out of the ground another had swung for his head. Winston moved swiftly backwards and the tree screeched at him, two angry red amber eyes now glaring at him and the sharp wooden teeth chomping angrily. The arms seemed to extend as the attacks continued. Winston tried to retaliate by unloading some shotgun blasts at the tree’s arms and trunk, but to his horror, the swift movement of the scythes deflected them. Continually evading the constant assault, he reached for his lighter and began hurling fireballs at the Deathscythe Tree. The tree swiped and dodged, blocked and deflected. When the fire caught the branches it shook its arms, quickly putting it out, and when Winston aimed for the tree’s face it shielded itself with its scythes and the fire just dispersed harmlessly. The tree started cackling wildly.