Authors: Gareth K Pengelly

The Descent to Madness (33 page)

BOOK: The Descent to Madness

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Stone stopped, sizing up the force arrayed against him, unsure of himself with his lack of powers, yet desperate to free his friends, to preserve them from the horrific fate that awaited them, to find out what had happened to Lanah.

The barbarians drew their swords, marching slowly towards him.

“Come on…” Stone growled to the voices that whispered about him. “Kill them! Carve me a path!”

Too many,
they replied.
Our power channels through you and you’re not yet ready.

“I do not care!” he roared into the sky. “Smash them! Rend them! Free my friends, even if it kills me!”

No, Stone. You have a destiny beyond this. We must flee.

“Never!”

He made to charge the foe in a suicide rush, pitting his naked form against thirty well-armed, trained warriors in a desperate bid to leap the stage and free his friends, but his limbs wouldn’t obey him, his legs remaining motionless, rooted to the spot.

“Release me!” he cried, tears of desperation rolling freely down his cheeks.

No. This is not a battle you can win.

“I must!”

You cannot. We must flee.

He stared through the throng of warriors to the diminutive figure of Raine who stood, trembling and afraid, staring back at him from the stage. His heart ached, riling against fate, even as he knew the truth of the whispers’ words.

“But Raine… Rala… Lanah…”

The last word escaped his lips in a pained sigh of loss.

They are beyond your help now, Stone. But flee and you may yet have revenge.

His eyes burned, his heart pounding in abject frustration, noting the impassive, pockmarked face of Raga watching with interest from the box nearest the stage.

“Revenge, you say?”

Indeed.

“Promise me this revenge.”

It is more than promised. It is fated.

He let out a last sob as he watched Raine being dragged away by the chained collar about her neck, shooting him one last tear-stricken look of terror before disappearing from view.

He screwed his eyes shut, tears bursting free from the lashes like rain slipping through the forest canopy. He thought back to the last time he’d seen Lanah, their lips touching as he bade her farewell before venturing on the Journey. Life had seemed so much easier before then; they were just getting to know each other, looking forward to spending the rest of their lives together.

But then they were torn apart by circumstance and where she was now, he didn’t know, couldn’t bear to think about, for he was in no position to do anything.

He roared his frustration, then sank to his knees, head down, defeated.

“…Okay.”

The whispers rejoiced, their mirth and relief filling the air about him, even as the warriors closed in for the kill, but they stopped, frozen to the spot, repulsed by the wave of crackling static and the strange taste of tin that filled the air.

A flash, blinding, as the world bent in on itself.

And Stone was gone.

***

It was the cold that woke him. It was the kind of cold that bit and kept on biting, like a terrier with a rat. It howled at him from across oblivion, shattering the silence and bringing white, harsh light into the peaceful dark, like a diver bursting from the calm, serene depths of the ocean into the violent, foamy broth of its stormy surface. An amorphous and vague sense of self was forced into coalescence, as stinging pain outlined the shape of limbs; arms, hands, legs.

Stone opened his eyes. Pure, brilliant whiteness bleached his retinas, but they adjusted instantly. With his newly discovered arms he pushed himself upright, hands sinking deep into the wetness of the thick, powdery snow and eyes blinking in the harsh and unfamiliar light. A strange, metallic taste filled his mouth. Looking about, he saw that he was in a crisp, sloped snowfield. All about the edges of the clearing, tall, dark, coniferous trees packed densely, rising off in one direction and, in the other, descending into the hidden depths of a wintry valley. Visibility was poor, but his eyes pierced the storm with ease, even as the gusting wind carried sharp flakes of snow that failed to sting his cheeks. His breath misted in front of him in the arctic air and with limbs that should have been stiff from lying in the cold, but weren’t, he hauled himself onto his feet.

A sudden gust of wind whipped him, but failed to stagger him, the icy chill blasting his naked form but causing him no discomfort. The cold was bracing in his lungs and he clasped his arms to his mighty, muscled frame to check for injuries; there were none. Another gust and a flurry of snow; the weather was taking a turn for the worse. He gazed about calmly, no need for shelter, knowing that the elements wouldn’t touch him. Not anymore.

Amidst the howling gale, a whispering rose up, its sound the layered voices of a thousand clamouring souls, each vying for his attention, a cacophony of noise that somehow still conveyed one meaning. The noise was unnatural, wrong, its very existence torturing the air.

North, Stone. North is where we begin your transformation.

He looked North, spying a distant glow above the mountains, a red, ruddiness to the air that spoke of fire and smoke.

“Why North?”

To enact revenge, oh mighty Stone, one must have weapons. And we will get you weapons, Stone. Oh yes! The mightiest weapons this, or any other world, has ever known.

Stone snarled. Revenge, Yes, revenge. The memories of his villagers, Raine, Lanah, the others, seemed faded, robbed of clarity by distance in time and space. But the thirst for revenge still burned.

North Stone, yes, North. We have a weapon to forge. Oh yes, our weapon.

Stone turned and began to walk, naked, through the snow swept mountains.

Heading North.

We have waited so long for our weapon, Stone. So very, very long…