Maylin's Gate (Book 3) (50 page)

A profound ache took root inside her and tears welled in her eyes. She wept without holding back. The tears turned into a wail, and she shook unable to control her emotion.

Brees knelt at the chamber’s exit and wrapped her in an embrace. “I’m sorry Danielle. I’m so sorry.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Soul Burn

Blackness, complete and total, surrounded Ronan. Neither sound nor smell touched his senses. No breeze stirred the room’s perfect temperature. Was he dead? The pain that wracked his body moments ago vanished. He moved his fingers and toes without effort or pain. Hadn’t he broken his legs during the fall? He reached for Elan’s magic and found a void, like a hollow gourd, resting at his center. He squeezed his fists tight fighting off a rising wave of panic. “I’ve really done it this time.” The sound of his voice, deep and raw, startled him.

“It’s not as bad as all that,” a voice answered from the darkness.

He recognized the voice and his body surged with adrenaline. “Master Tyrell?” He said voice trembling. He had died.

“Stand up Ronan,” Master Tyrell said.

He pushed himself to his feet and turned in a slow circle.

Darkness left his surroundings shrouded in a field of black.

He blinked and raised his hand an inch from his face. Blackness. “Am I dead?”

“Not yet,” Master Tyrell said. “Not entirely anyway.”

“I don’t understand,” he said. “How can a person be half-dead?”

“You’re between worlds,” Master Tyrell said. “You’re stuck.”

“How can that be?”

“Because of who you are,” Master Tyrell said. “The creature who controls this place tried and failed to take your soul.”

“Where are you?” He said. “How did you end up here?”

“I’m here. I’m trapped the same as you.”

“Why can’t I see you?”

“You’re not trying hard enough,” Tyrell said.

Not trying? He'd traveled around the world searching for answers. “How do I get out of here? I need to leave. I need to save Rika. Without me —”

“Why are you here?” Tyrell’s voice said.

“I came looking for help. I’d hoped the spirit that lives here could remove the sickness keeping me from Elan’s magic.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Tyrell said.

Heat flushed his cheeks and he glared into the darkness. “This may be funny to you, but I can —”

“Relax,” Tyrell said. “You don’t belong here Ronan.”

“How do I leave?”

“If I had the answer, I would’ve moved on long ago. I might ask you the same question.”

“I’m trapped here? Forever?”

“That’s up to you.”

“Up to me? How is any of this up to me?”

“From what I’ve learned, this place acts like a fly trap.”

He sighed. “Please Master Tyrell, I need answers not more questions.”

“I’m trying. Bear with me,” Tyrell said. “The creature who rules this place collects souls. I believe it feeds on them. I’ve seen the dead pass through.”

“What about you? How did you end up here?”

“I don’t know how, but for whatever reason, the creature cannot entirely consume me. I should be grateful.”

“Are there any others here? Trapped souls, I mean.”

“No,” Tyrell said. “None who I’ve encountered.”

“Master Tyrell, you said I was different. That I didn’t belong. Why?”

“Your soul light,” Tyrell said. “It burns with a vividness and clarity I’ve never seen.”

His stomach fluttered and he stepped forward not daring to hope. “You can see soul threads?”

“Yes,” Tyrell said. “Well... I can here.”

He swallowed unsure if he should ask the next question. “And mine? What color is my thread?”

“Your soul shines with a silver so bright as to blind a man,” Tyrell said. “I’m surprised the creature let you get so far. Of course, the temptation must be great. To feed off a soul such as yours would give the spirit tremendous power.”

“How many souls has the spirit trapped here?” He said.

“I’ve no way of knowing,” Tyrell said. “I see them pass through and disappear. The spirit seems to have a far reach.”

“Why is the spirit allowing us to exist here? I mean in whatever temporary place this is.”

“I don’t believe it holds power on this plane,” Tyrell said. “At least, that’s my theory. If the creature could destroy, it most certainly would.”

“I’m sorry Master Tyrell.” His voice trembled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

“Sorry? Don’t be. My sacrifice saved you and the others. It was my choice Ronan. A choice I would make again.”

“I've lost Elan's magic Master Tyrell. I think it's gone forever. I hoped the spirit would remove the sickness infecting my power, but it stole Elan’s magic instead. I have nothing.”

“I see,” Tyrell said. “Then your mission was a success.”

He couldn’t imagine a scenario that would place this outcome in the win column. "I'm not sure I follow."

“The blockage is gone. You’re free.”

“Free for what? I can’t do what I did before. I don’t know how.”

“Don't know how?" Tyrell paused a long moment before speaking. "Ronan, I taught you better than that. Open your eyes and look around you.”

He clenched his jaw and glared into the darkness. “I’ve searched for every answer. Turned over every rock. I’ve nowhere left to go. Souls fuel my magic and nothing living is within a hundred miles of here.”

Tyrell spoke again, voice softer. “Look within Ronan. You’re not trying hard enough. Stop seeking answers from others when you hold the key. Start answering the questions yourself.”

Not trying hard enough? Answer my own questions? Rage, hot and molten, flowed through him like a dormant volcano that had blown its top. “I’ve tried over and over,” he said raging into the darkness. He reached inside to the place where his magic grew. He pulled with inhuman strength fueled by an impotent rage and a mountain of frustration. Nothing.

He tilted his head upward and glared into the blackness. White hot rage boiled upward and his vision flashed. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled again. Harder this time. If he’d drawn on Elan’s magic, such a channeling would’ve killed him.

Something popped at the base of his skull and his ears rang. He opened his eyes and gasped.

Pinpricks of light from a million souls stretched beneath his feet to forever.

Slack-jawed, he spun in a tight circle. All around him soul threads danced and swam flowing around him like a current. “I see Master Tyrell. It’s beautiful.” Tears streaked his face and he gasped floating among a sea of lost souls.

Soul threads swam between his legs and around his fingers.

“Leave this place,” the spirit shrieked. “I want you out.”

“Master Tyrell?"

“He can’t here you, fool,” the spirit said. “He’s dead like all the others. Beyond your reach.”

“No,” he said. “I’ll not let you take him. Not again.” He probed outward touching a naked soul thread spinning before his eyes.

Energy, pure and sweet, flowed into him like a raging river. He pulled on another thread and his body filled with energy unlike any before.

“No,” the creature screamed. “I fulfilled our bargain.”

He pulled on another thread and another. “I just changed the terms.” He lifted both hands high overhead. White light streamed from his fingertips blazing in the space like a second sun.

“You can’t,” the creature said its voice shaking with rage. “We had a bargain.”

In waves, white energy pulsed pulling in soul after soul growing stronger as it extended.

White light glared bright enough to blind and the world shifted.

He gasped and pain flared in his legs and back. A musty odor filled his nostrils and sweat rolled along his brow.

Heat. Despite the pain in his legs, he laughed.

A ray of sunlight filtered through the cracks in the stonework far overhead. A deep rumbling came from the ground beneath him.

Loose stone rattled overhead. Dust and centuries-old mortar sprinkled his body.

He reached inward. Elan’s magic had left him, but something else stood in its place. Something new.

In the darkness before him, an orange soul thread moved toward him. He probed the shadows and brushed against the entity. General Demos. He smiled.

Strong hands moved beneath his shoulders and legs. “I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner.”

The long slow hiss of General Gregor Demos’s voice purred like music in his ears.

“You’re alive,” he said.

Another rumble came from beneath the ruins and a stone slab shook loose in the distance.

“We have to leave,” General Demos said. “I fear this temple will collapse on top of us. Can I lift you?”

General Demos raised him from the scrabble and pain flared in his lower back. He groaned and glanced up.

The apex stone came free far overhead. Sunlight poured into the crumbling temple and he winced blocking the influx of light with the back of his hand.

“Wait,” he said. Pain throbbed in his lower back and legs. He squinted upward and gazed at General Demos hovering above him.

A deep cut ran along the general’s face and neck.

“You’re wounded,” he said.

“Not bad,” General Demos said.

Another wave of rumbling and more rocks fell some landing a foot away.

“We leave now,” General Demos said.

“I might be able to help us,” he said. “But, I need to borrow some of your energy. May I?”

“Yes, of course,” General Demos said without hesitation. “Hurry.”

He probed outward and touched General Demos’s soul thread. How much could he take without killing the man? He decided a trace amount would do and let the strange energy flow through his body.

Raw strength flooded his arms and legs. A power far different than what he touched from the human soul. Carnal and raw. Pure physical power. He severed the flow and channeled the magic through his back and legs. The pain evaporated replaced by a strength he hadn’t touched in a month. A battle knight’s strength but more. Different.

“Let me help you." He touched the wound running along the general’s face.

Orange light glowed along the wound then faded.

He sent the remaining energy into his legs and back repairing the damage to his body.

General Demos touched the wound. ”It’s healed. How…?”

A deep rumbling came again and the stones shook.

He glanced toward the hole in the temple’s ceiling. “Can you carry us both out of here?”

General Demos wrapped a long arm around his waist and leaped. The two sailed through the dank air and landed with a thud atop the ruined temple.

The morning sun hung low in the eastern sky and any sign of fog had vanished.

He staggered to his feet and turned in a slow circle. Had they spent an entire night inside the ruins?

The outlying temples had crumbled into heaps of stone. A low groan shook the temple beneath their feet.

General Demos yanked his collar and in a blur of motion descended the temple stairs.

With a hard grunt, he rolled into the dry grass.

Crashing rock sent reverberations across the ground.

He leaped to his feet and whirled.

Tons of stone stood in a broken heap leaving the inner temple buried.

His stomach sank. Had he buried Master Tyrell forever? Had he destroyed the trapped souls locked inside the temple?

A gurgling hiss came from behind and he spun.

The faceless man sat atop General Demos’s chest with blade drawn. The creature glanced at him and sent the blade plunging toward the general’s exposed chest.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Black Soul

Ronan shifted his mind.

A halo of orange soul light glowed around General Demos’s flailing body. Black mist coiled over the faceless man.

The blade, plunging toward the general’s chest, froze. The faceless man whirled to face him.

Without thought, he latched onto the inky mist and pulled.

The faceless man slumped and fell from General Demos. The blade tumbled into the high grass.

He gathered the mist and pulled it toward him.

The black mist surged toward him and sank into his skin.

Overwhelming nausea gripped him. He gagged and dropped to his knees still clutching the black mist.

The faceless man shifted and disappeared. A moment later the creature reappeared without moving. The faceless man writhed and shifted in and out of existence.

With a final pull he gathered the last of the mist and fell forward vomiting into the high grass. He pulled in sharp ragged breaths and collapsed rolling onto his back.