Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1) (20 page)

Cade let the door shut
behind him. With a walk fuelled by anger he headed back to the dojo.

 It was time for a
workout of his own.

Sarah
stood by the dead priest, his black eyes gone now, replaced by the human eyes
that lurked behind. Dark blood pooled under his head where her cudgel had
cracked his skull.

She swallowed down the
guilt of what she had done. Releasing the priest from possession was a mercy
for the poor man. His soul was free now, free to return to the River.

She didn’t have much
time. The first workers would be on site soon, their guards with them. When
they found the priest dead they would search every member of the dig, and her
sheol disguise, as good as it was, would not hold up to such scrutiny.

She had to act, and act
fast.

With enhanced eyes she
scanned the ancient writings that the priest had jotted down. She didn’t
understand the language; it was an old form of Runic Script that she’d never
been shown before. Still, it didn’t matter. Her mind would not forget. It would
absorb every scrap of information her senses took in. When she returned to the
Magistry they would extract it from her and decide how much this was worth.
Only they had the knowledge to decipher such archaic writings.

She scanned page after
page. Image after image being burned into memory. A nervousness poked at the
edge of her perception, but she kept it at bay, her training serving her well.

She’d just scanned the last
page when she heard the sounds of footsteps up above. The first workers had
arrived.

Time to go.

She dashed into the
narrow tunnels at the rear of the site. The route, carefully plotted and
rehearsed over the previous weeks, led to the open tundra. From there it was a
day’s hard running to the Way. To freedom.

She was many metres into
the tunnels when the first cries of alarm reached her sensitive ears. She
didn’t slow. She kept moving at pace. The exit loomed ahead. The pink glow of
the twin suns welcoming her back to the surface.

Sarah emerged onto the
tundra. Ahead of her the vast expanse of the Scarros Plains vanished into the
distance. The heat was rising already, by noon it would be in the high forties.

She had to move quickly.
There were others out here now more terrifying than the soulless drones at the
dig.

Sarah had taken one step
forwards when the coldness struck her, nearly dropping her to her knees.

‘Why, this is a plucky
one isn’t it?’

Her mental shield
evaporated. The fear she’d so efficiently kept at bay exploded to the fore. She
turned her head back and looked up towards the source of the chilling voice.

Clementine. The Hound.
Hunter of souls. He stared down at her, squatted atop a rocky mound that housed
the tunnel she’d just emerged from.

‘Don’t run, Sarah. You
know I don’t like it when they run.’

Sarah screamed.

Sylph woke, her own scream mixing with
that of the traitor.

‘Is anyone there?’ Caleb said again,
louder this time.

‘Sorry?’

‘You! You haven’t spoken
all morning,’ Caleb said as they drove down the relatively empty M6. It was
just after dawn. Already the sun was high in the sky, the August heatwave not
relenting. The inside of the van smelled of sweat and oil.

‘Sorry, just tired I
guess.’ Seb replied. He shifted in his seat, peeling his back off the leather.

‘You can have a break you
know.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You. Pushing it every
night. You don’t want to burn yourself out.’

‘It isn’t just about me
though, is it?’

‘You can’t take all of
this on your shoulders, Seb. This conflict was going on for many years before
you arrived, and will be so long after you’ve gone.’

‘I don’t recall the sheol
being this much an issue on earth previously?’

Caleb pulled a face and
looked away.

‘Sorry, Caleb. I didn’t
mean to snap. I will take a break. Promise.’

Caleb grunted.
Conversation over. He acted offended but he’d be talking again in an hour. The
conversation was one they’d repeated over and over in recent days. Caleb would
chastise him for working too hard, Seb would throw back the burden he carried
in response.

In reality though, and he
wouldn’t admit this to anyone, it wasn’t the pattern locked in his head that
drove his efforts. It was the thrill – and the challenge – of learning the
endless Runic Script that drove him. He woke up seeing those symbols dancing
behind his eyelids. He would recant them mentally throughout the day, hardening
them to memory. He would fall asleep with Fundamentals in his arms and Script
in his dreams.

This time he’d been
thinking of the Script he’d been trying to learn the previous evening.
Blurring, or that’s as close a translation he could decipher. He’d seen Cian do
it before, when he’d been training with the simulacra outside. When doing it
the mage seemed to be in two places at once, such was the speed of the
movement. In all honesty it belonged in the realm of Novo, but he’d found it in
the Avatari patterns. Not that it mattered. He’d been up until way past lights
out trying – and failing – to blur across the chamber.

‘We’re here,’ Caleb said,
the massive electric gate that marked the entrance to Kollmorgen’s estate looming
ahead of them.

Seb casually
sensed
out. An echo came back, feeble, almost non-existent. He sat up, his stomach
knotting.

Kollmorgen. In danger.

‘Something’s wrong.’

Caleb brought the van to
a halt near the usual side door. The door that now stood ajar. No guard in
attendance.

‘He’s injured.’

Seb
sensed
out
again, but his heart was pounding, his effort clumsy. Kollmorgen’s aura
flickered, a fading flame clinging to life. No guards. None that he could see.
He kicked the door open and stepped out onto the gravel.

‘Seb, wait.’

But he was already out
and running. Imbued feet pounded gravel as he raced across to the door. He
barged it fully open and fell inside, Caleb shouting something from behind that
was lost beneath the sound of his thudding heart.

He nearly tripped over
the body that lay slumped against a doorframe. The guard’s throat had been
ripped open. Dark arterial blood had spilled out, coating the carpet. The man’s
right hand still clasped the gun that he’d not quite managed to pull from its
holster. Seb forced himself to look at the guard’s face.

‘Tom.’

‘Seb! Don’t go in there!’
Caleb appeared at the door.

‘It’s Tom! He’s dead! I
need to find Kollmorgen.’

‘The sheol!’

Caleb’s warning died as Seb
moved to the next intersection. Dead guards and upturned furniture looked back
at him from both sides. ‘They did this. They got to him!’

An irrational anger
flared to life. The drumming pounded in his head as he marched on, his fists
clenched white, energy surging to his limbs.

The open archway to the
study came into view. Seb paused, but just for a second. He
channelled
,
readying himself as he turned in.

The sheol squatted on the
arms of Kollmorgen’s favourite arm chair. The old man was sat beneath him, his
skin waxy, glistening in sweat. Wide eyes stared upwards, pupils tiny and fixed
on the fiend that had just raked a fresh set of cuts across his chest. The
sheol stopped mid-slash and turned its black eyes towards Seb.

‘Mageling. What an
unexpected surprise.’ The sheol pivoted to face him, hunched and bent over like
a bird on a perch. ‘Now I will have a true feast.’

‘Seb!’

Seb glanced back into the
massive hallway. Caleb had skidded to a halt. He was bent over, hands on his
thighs, his breath coming in painful wheezes. He raised a shaking hand that
pointed above and over Seb’s shoulders. Seb followed the action, turning
towards the wide staircase.

Shit.

Sheol. Five of them.
Scrambling down the stairway, their distended jaws wide with manic glee.
Another two appeared on either side of Caleb, back in the hallway. The air
shimmered around the mage as shields rose in an instant.

A sudden movement at the
periphery of his vision caused Seb to pivot. The sheol hopped down from the
stricken Kollmorgen and leapt towards Seb. He spun away, both arms raised,
deflecting the sheol as it barrelled past him into the corridor, crashing into the
wall and causing an antique painting to plummet from its mounting. The sheol
recovered quickly though, much quicker than Seb. It growled and leapt forwards,
smashing his forehead into Seb’s nose. Pain erupted from the impact, his mouth
and nose filling with coppery liquid as he staggered back into the study,
collapsing on to the floor next to Kollmorgen’s feet.

From somewhere else, Caleb
shouted. The sheol rose into a crouch, ready to pounce. The partition wall
exploded inwards as Caleb charged through, the force he’d projected sending
plaster flying in all directions. He blurred past Seb’s side, launching himself
into the sheol that was now in mid-leap. The two collided, Caleb’s momentum
propelling them into the bookcase, Caleb hoisting the sheol into the air whilst
it kicked and thrashed, razor nails raking at Caleb’s exposed forearms.

Seb struggled to his feet.
Through tear-filled eyes he looked right to Caleb then in front of him, where another
sheol came careering into the room.

Seb tried to draw on the
Weave, but he couldn’t do it.
Come on, dammit!
He called the patterns again
but his mind wouldn’t focus, the Script dancing away like ashes in the wind.
His heart raced, adrenalin flowing through him. He couldn’t get the required
calm to channel effectively. It was like his connection was faulty, dropping in
and out at random.

The sheol was only a few feet
away now. Two more appeared behind it in the doorway.

‘Caleb!’ he shouted.

Caleb was sat atop the
other sheol. He struck down again and again, his hands clasped together, a
fleshy club imbued with the Weave. The sheol snarled, raising its arms in a
feeble attempt to block the onslaught, but Caleb’s strikes just smashed
through, the sheol’s face slowly becoming a pulp of black blood.

The sheol by the door
edged inside.

‘I can’t believe my luck.
A feast of Weave-flesh landing right in our grasp,’ the nearest said, one arm,
clearly broken, hanging limp at its side.

‘Stay away!’ Seb shouted.
The sheol hesitated, but Seb’s voice was stronger than he felt. He couldn’t
channel. Why? Dammit! What the hell was wrong with him? He scrunched his eyes
shut, desperation kicking in, but it was no use. The Weave seemed a mile away,
a distant memory.

‘He’s afraid,’ a new
voice said, from beyond the doorway.

Seb looked beyond the sheol.
Another appeared, taller than the rest. Unlike the others this one still
maintained an exterior that was almost human. His eyes though, black as night,
betrayed his heritage. The others parted for him in deference. He was some kind
of leader, the others stopping their assault for a moment.

‘This one. This is the
message-bearer!’ the leader-sheol said. It tipped its head to one side, a smug
grin on its face. It took a step forwards, the others parting even further,
confusion on their faces.

‘That means we can’t kill
it? What about the other one? The old stringy one, over
there?’
one of
them said.

They all looked across in
unison. Caleb slowly staggered to his feet. His face was a horror, covered in
black blood and matter. The sheol lay dead at his feet, a pulpy mess.

‘Caleb,’ Seb whispered.

Caleb caught his gaze and
followed his eyes downwards. His shirt was ripped where sheol claws had gotten
through his defences. Already the wounds were turning black. Dark purple veins
had sprouted from the site and were spreading across his side.

‘Shit,’ Caleb said,
raising his head back to face the remaining fiends.

‘Oh dear. It looks like
you have a slight issue going on there, old man,’ the sheol leader said. He
advanced forwards, the others following, fanning out into the room.

On my signal, you run,
and don’t look back.
Caleb pulsed into his mind.

What? No, I’m not leaving
you here!

I’m done. It’s you they
want, god knows why but it is.

I won’t go!

It was too late. Caleb’s
mind was shut off from him. The air crackled as the old man channelled. Seb
sensed the runes as they were called.

‘Shit.’

Seb dived to the ground
as Caleb unleashed a massive blast of force. The Consensus groaned in Seb’s
head, but it did not prevent the Script being called. The blast ripped
outwards, launching furniture and sheol alike into the air. The walls blew out,
dust and rubble flying as the building began to crumble.

Moments passed. Seb’s
ears rang, the noise high-pitched and painful. He staggered to his feet. A
sharp pain dug at his side. He looked down and plucked out a sliver of glass
that had sliced into his ribs. Passive runes kicked in straight away, the pain
receding to a dull ache.

A cream cloud of dust
filled what was left of the room. The four sheol were slumped on the floor.
Caleb was nowhere to be seen, but the bookcase had fallen forwards where he’d
stood. Could he be under there? Seb
sensed
out, his connection to the
Weave partially restored. Nothing. He
sensed
again, a panic seeping into
him. There! A flicker of life from under the book case.

One of the sheol began to
stir. It was the youngest one, the one nearest to him. It shook its head and
coughed, pulling itself up to its knees. Its head rose. Dazed eyes alighted on
Seb.

‘You’ll be a fine prize
for Marek!’

The sheol lunged forwards
just as Seb struck out with all he had. The flat of his palm, imbued with
passive Avatari, smashed into the sheol’s nose, halting it’s progress
instantly, the impact rippling back up Seb’s arm where it settled as a dull
throb.  The sheol dropped to the floor once again, unmoving.

Already the others were
stirring. Seb ran to the bookcase. A dust covered hand stuck out from
underneath. He reached down and tried to lift it up. It groaned, but didn’t
move. It was made of an ancient wood that weighed a ton. He tried again, his muscles
screaming with effort. The bookcase shifted again, lifting an inch off Caleb.
Seb gritted his teeth but he just couldn’t do it. His muscles burned, the fire
proving too much. He dropped the bookcase down. Caleb groaned.

Come on Seb. Come on!

The sheol-leader coughed.
His arms reached out, hands pressed against the floor.

Seb didn’t have much
time.

Seb took a grip again. He
closed his eyes, ignoring the growing sounds of movement from nearby. He blew
out a slow, shaking breath.

Breath. Focus. Please.

The runes appeared in his
mind. He called them, channelling the Weave, filling his upper body with the
energy of reality. From somewhere, someone shouted. He ignored it, and lifted
with all he had.

The bookcase came up with
frightening ease. The Consensus groaned, it pressed on his skull, his mind
buzzing. The bookcase crashed against the wall, splintering into pieces.

Seb opened his eyes. He
managed to catch sight of Caleb stirring on the floor just before the
sheol-leader leapt at him brandishing a jagged blade. Muscle memory kicked in.
Seb pivoted inside his attacker’s reach, using the sheol’s momentum against
him. Seb turned his hip, gripping the sheol by the wrist as he flipped him
over, throwing him through a set of french doors that led out into the garden.

‘Come on old man!’ Seb
didn’t pause for breath. The adrenalin coursed through him as he bent down. He
hoisted Caleb up, throwing a limp arm over his shoulder. He hurried them out of
the open doors, ignoring the groans from behind. The sheol-leader, covered in
hundreds of red cuts, was rising as they went past. Seb kicked him hard in the
jaw, sending him sprawling out cold onto the gravel. Seb stepped past,
ploughing on, dragging Caleb with him. The old man was out cold, a dead weight,
yet Seb only had sight for the van that stood, door still open, in front of
them.