The Burns Defiance

by N M Thorn

  “I can’t explain why or how I put two and two together. It was more intuition than anything else, I think. And I know what you think”—he raised his hand to stop Voron from speaking— “intuition is not enough to draw this kind of conclusion and act upon it. It’s neither here nor there, but I also knew that Novak had Yaroslav and the only way I could get anywhere close to either of them was by fighting in the captive circles. So, I took a chance and let this dumbass, Kogan, enslave me.

  “Anyway, saving Yaroslav was just one of my goals. I wanted to know why Novak was here, in the realm of the living. Morena let a bunch of phantoms out, but only a handful of souls. I was sure she or the Lord of Chaos had some kind of plan in mind and I needed to know what it was.

  “And the first time I came in close contact with him, I knew I was right – Novak was one of those twisted dark souls that escaped the Dark Nav that day. I wasn’t guessing and it was no longer on the level of intuition. He was exuding the energy of the Dark Nav. It was dripping from his every friggin’ pore.”

  Gunz shuddered, wiping the cold sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

  “So, yeah… I let myself get enslaved and I am going to deliver the Apple and the Water of Life to Novak. Voron, you know me… I swear, I’ll find a way to stop him before something unthinkable happens, but we all need to know what he is up to. Since Morena was the one who released him, whatever he is doing now could be related to the Lord of Chaos. This world can’t afford another battle like we had last year… I can’t…” His voice faded off and he swallowed hard. “Anyway, this was the only way I could find out what he was up to. And if I have to suffer in slavery a few more days or even months, so be it.”

  Voron glanced at his daughter and she gave him a curt nod. “I do know you, young Salamander,” said Voron. “Vasilisa, give him what he needs.”

  Vasilisa got up and snapped her fingers, vanishing from the room.

  “Zane, you are right about Novak,” continued Voron. “Chernobog did a lot of work cleaning up the mess Morena created last year. He captured all the phantoms that escaped that night and a few dark souls. But at least three are still missing.”

  “So, what do I need to do to send him back to the Dark Nav?”

  “I’m not sure,” replied Voron with a sigh. “Different dark souls have different curses placed upon them. It’s like a fail-safe switch. In case they escape, the curse attached to them would let Chernobog claim them and return them where they belong. But to activate the switch, we need to know whose soul it is.”

  “Can Chernobog come over and take a peek?” suggested Gunz with a lopsided smirk. “He’s a god, right? How hard could it be?”

  Voron stared at him for a moment before he started laughing. “Very hard, Zane. There are rules and even the gods must follow them. Chernobog can’t claim a dark soul while it is in a living body. To separate the soul from its body, you cannot just kill him like you would kill a mundane. You must activate the curse I told you about and then summon Chernobog.”

  Gunz rubbed his forehead, shaking his head. “Sometimes I hate magic and all these stupid rules. Why can’t it be easy? I kill the evil dude – the dark soul is separated from the body – Chernobog claims the soul. One, two and three – done.”

  “Oh, boy,” mumbled Voron. “Come here, Child of Fire, and raise your shirt. I’m going to place a rune on you that will help Chernobog identify the dark soul we’re dealing with.”

  Gunz cringed, remembering the last time someone placed a rune on him. It wasn’t pleasant. Still, he raised his shirt, exposing his midriff. Voron placed the palm of his hand on his side over his ribs and muttered a short spell. It wasn’t as bad as when Valeria Demidova had forced a rune on him, but all the same, it felt like Voron pressed a hot iron against his ribs. He sucked in a sharp breath, stifling a scream.

  Voron removed his hand and Gunz glanced down expecting to see a glowing red rune, but there was nothing there. The old warrior noticed his bewildered look and smiled.

  “I didn’t think you wanted more scars on your body, so I made it invisible,” he explained. “When you are close enough to touch Novak, you will need to activate it by sending a tiny amount of your fire energy through it. Once the rune is activated, it will register the magical signature of the dark soul and send it to Chernobog.”

  “And then what?” asked Gunz and Yaroslav at the same time. Until now, the vampire had sat silently, listening to the conversation between Voron and Gunz, but the last statement raised a question and he couldn’t help but ask.

  “Once Chernobog identifies the dark soul we are dealing with, he will know how to trigger the curse,” explained Voron. “In the meantime, do everything you can to learn what Novak’s true purpose is. I do not believe that brewing an elixir of immortality is his main goal. Like you said before, there has to be more to all this craziness.”

  Gunz nodded, agreeing with Voron. At least now he had some way to find out who George Novak truly was. And with Chernobog and Voron on his side, he had at least some fighting chance against the necromancer and the Ancient Master of Power who betrayed him. He sighed, thinking of Mrak Delar.

  With a light pop, Vasilisa materialized next to her father. In her hands, she was holding Yaroslav’s bag. She threw it on his lap. The vampire opened the bag, checking its contents and nodded to Gunz. Then he got up and attached the bag to his hip.

  “Thank you,” said Gunz with a light bow in Vasilisa’s direction and turned to Voron. “We must go. Yaroslav’s clock is ticking and I can’t take the chance of being late. Thank you for your help, my friend.” He offered his hand to Voron and the old warrior squeezed it in his.

  “Farewell, Zane. Hope to hear from you soon.” Voron put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder and they both vanished from the room, leaving Gunz and Yaroslav alone.

  Gunz turned to Yaroslav, connecting with the magical energy of the nexus. He cast a spell, conjuring a protective shield around Yaroslav. The vampire bowed his head, shame reflected in his every move.

  “Slavik, I believe you would do the same for me,” said Gunz with a sigh. “Let’s just get through all this silently. What I’m about to do requires a lot of my strength and magic, so don’t make it harder on me. Don’t fight me and don’t argue with me.”

  He waved his hand, opening the fire curtain of the portal and turned to the vampire. With effort, he lifted Yaroslav, carefully placing him over his shoulder and walked through the fire.

  Chapter 25

  ~ Aidan ~

  What is your worst enemy when you’re imprisoned without any means of communication with the outside world? For Aidan it was the endless time he had on his hands. The time he couldn’t accurately measure because in the dark basement of a Los Angeles high-rise there were no windows.

  It was like sitting in a black, hollow void, where he could hardly see anything past the shiny metal bars and every sound was bouncing of the tiled walls and ceiling, repeated a few times until it finally melted into darkness. Someone was keeping this place clean and the light scent of cleaning chemicals lingered in the air.

  The same man delivered his food once a day, but Aidan could never get him involved into a conversation. The man would push the tray with food and a glass of water between the bars and leave. An hour later, he would return, pick up the empty tray and leave until the next day. By counting his visits, Aidan approximated that it had been about thirteen days since he was captured and imprisoned by George Novak.

  The only thing he could do was think and thinking was throwing him into a labyrinth of unexplainable mysteries. What was George Novak up to and who was he? Why would Mrak Delar betray them? Aidan hadn’t seen it coming. No one had. He remembered the pained expression on Zane’s face and cringed.

  No matter what he tried, he couldn’t break through the God’s snare. There was a reason why this spell was called the God’s snare after all. Even the most powerful gods couldn’t break through it. Only a very powerful wizard could cast or remove t
his spell. Well aware of how it worked, he didn’t think he could breach it with his magic and power disabled, but with all the free time on his hands, why not give it a try one more time?

  Aidan sat down on the floor and closed his eyes, focusing on channeling his power. He didn’t want to think about how many times he had already tried and failed. The result was always the same – he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even get in touch with the magical energy that was within him.

  The God’s Snare that Mark Delar had conjured was by far the most powerful one he had ever experienced. The Ancient Master wasn’t a god, but he was an extremely gifted Master of Power and Wizard, and with his knowledge and skills in wielding magic, he was more powerful than some gods.

  Aidan sighed and lay back down, folding his arms under his head. The other thing his captors didn’t care to provide him with was a bed or at least a mattress. He had to sleep on the cold, hard tiled floor. And after thirteen days, he felt sore all over.

  “Hello, Aidan.”

  He heard a cold voice and sat up, wondering what brought Mrak Delar to his cell for the first time in almost two weeks. The Master of Power was standing on the other side of the bars. With his left arm in the pocket of his stylish modern pants, he looked elegant and slightly bored. His face, however, was bearing an arrogant expression bordering with disdain.

  “Master Mrak Delar,” replied Aidan frostily without getting up. “What can I do for you?”

  The corners of Mrak’s lips quirked up a little as he gave Aidan a quick once-over. “Yes, there is something you can do for me,” he confirmed. “But you don’t really need to do anything, per se. I’ll take care of everything. Please, remain seated.”

  Mrak Delar squatted down in front of the bars and touched the floor, channeling his power. The God’s snare lit up with a blinding white light. The Master of Power whispered something in Dragon tongue, combining the God’s snare with a new spell.

  Once he was done, he straightened up and raised his arm, pointing at the ceiling. Muttering another spell, he made a complicated move with his fingers and a rune, glowing with a deep red light, materialized above his head. A moment later, it dissipated.

  As his chest tightened with worry, Aidan observed what Mrak was doing but couldn’t recognize any of his spells. For the first time in his very long life, he felt the icy fingers of fear wrapping around his heart.

  He had no idea what Mrak Delar’s intentions were and within the circle of the God’s snare, he was nothing but a powerless human. Almost. He still couldn’t be killed. But his magic and power were blocked, and he was in a vulnerable position.

  “What are you doing, Mrak?” asked Aidan, his voice hoarse. “What do you want from me?”

  Mrak Delar laughed – a frosty sound that sent chills down Aidan’s spine.

  “Not much, god of the Otherworld,” he replied with a crooked smirk. “I just want you to scream.”

  Mrak Delar slashed his hand through the air and Aidan bent forward, clutching his chest with his hand. He gasped, staring down with shock at the dark red liquid streaming between his fingers, staining his white shirt. He raised his eyes at the man he used to consider his friend, breathing hard.

  “Mrak, why?”

  A dark, pained expression crossed Mrak Delar’s face, but as fast as it was gone, Aidan noticed it.

  “Why, Mrak…”

  “Because I need you to scream,” answered the Master of Power dryly. Mrak pointed at Aidan again whispering another spell and Aidan braced for pain. The soft glow of Mrak’s power reached through the God’s snare and wrapped around Aidan. As the Master of Power continued chanting, the glow formed into a bright hoop, squeezing Aidan in its menacing embrace.

  As Aidan struggled against the hold of Mrak’s magic, he felt a light warmth within, realizing that at least some of his own magic was available to him. In one desperate move, he connected with whatever scraps of magic he could gather, and his eyes lit up with a dim white light.

  Mrak Delar noticed it and his lips drew back in a snarl.

  “Thank you, Aidan. This is exactly what I needed,” he hissed and hit him with another spell, creating a tiny opening in the God’s snare at the same time.

  An excruciating pain twisted Aidan’s body and he dropped to his knees, screaming. Driven by agony that tormented him, the energy of his magic exploded, surrounding him with a protective shield. In a heartbeat, the Master of Power gathered it and redirected it toward the ceiling, quickly closing the opening in the God’s snare and dropping his spell.

  When both the pain and his magic were gone, Aidan collapsed on the floor, drained and agonizingly sore. The wound on his chest was bleeding and the room around him was nauseatingly shaky. With horror, he felt the floor under his back tremble. Somehow, the darkness in the basement got thicker and heavier.

  “Oh, no…” he exhaled as realization dawned on him.

  “Oh, yes.” Mrak Delar laughed, rubbing his hands.

  The ceiling melted into the darkness as a giant black portal opened up, consuming all light. A man in a black trench coat with large black wings behind his back slowly descended from the void. He stepped softly on the floor and waved his hand, closing the void.

  “Angel, run…” moaned Aidan.

  “He can’t,” objected Mrak Delar. “There aren’t too many options when it comes to capturing Death. I believe, even the God’s snare can’t control him. But I happened to know a very effective trap.”

  Angel took a step forward and ran into an invisible wall. Mrak Delar pointed at the ceiling and both Angel and Aidan looked up. The rune, which the Master of Power had created earlier, was glowing in the air above Angel’s head.

  “Do you know what that is, Angel?” asked Mrak Delar with a malicious smirk.

  Angel nodded and bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Aidan,” he said quietly, looking at Aidan over Mrak Delar’s shoulder. “I couldn’t help you.”

  “You evil bastard. You’re back to your old Kendral antics,” hissed Aidan, trying to get up. But as soon as he moved, the wound on his chest started bleeding heavier and he fell back.

  “Evil bastard?” repeated Mrak Delar with a dismissive wave of his hand. “That I am. And I’ll take it as a compliment… Don’t you think the word ‘evil’ should be directly associated with the words ‘smart’ and ‘resourceful’? You, good guys, are so predictable. It’s ridiculous.”

  “What do you mean by predictable?” asked Angel exchanging a bewildered look with Aidan.

  “Do you think I didn’t expect that Zane Burns would summon Svyatobor as soon as he crossed into the Land of Dreams?” asked Mrak Delar with a light shrug. “I was the one who reminded him that he could do it. So, I expected him to summon Svyatobor and tell him about Aidan’s situation. As you can see, he didn’t disappoint me. Like I said – predictable.”

  “But how could you know that I would come?” asked Angel. “It could have been Uri or Svyatobor or all three of us.”

  “Yes, of course,” agreed Mrak Delar. “I expected it. This is why yesterday, I made this whole building inaccessible to anyone with magic or elemental powers, except you, Angel. Even gods can’t get in. Trust me, it wasn’t easy.”

  “It’s true,” confirmed Angel shaking his head. “Neither Svyatobor nor Uri could get in. Only I could.”

  “And you didn’t think it was a trap?” Aidan yelled and coughed, choking on the pain.

  “Of course I did,” growled Angel. “But how many traps do you know that can hold Death? I knew only one and it was a well-hidden knowledge. I have no idea how this wicked jackass learned about it!”

  “I know many things. You’ll be amazed at what I can do,” noted Mrak Delar dryly.

  He approached Angel, holding his arm parallel to the floor and a set of manacles materialized in the palm of his hand. He touched the iron, chanting softly and a few of the same runes appeared on the surface of the manacles in a glowing red circle. Angel winced, involuntarily taking a step back.

  “No
w, now,” muttered Mrak Delar, his black eyes fixed on Angel, “I do not believe for a moment that Death is scared of a Master of Power.” He stopped, lowering his arms and shook his head. “Your hands, please. Your choice is simple. You comply with my demands and no one will get hurt.” He jerked his thumb in Aidan’s direction and the manacles in his hands jingled.

  Aidan caught Angel’s tortured gaze and shook his head no. As quick as this silent communication was, Mrak Delar noticed it. He didn’t say anything, but the magical energy around him spiked up as he slashed his arm through the air. Aidan cried out, pressing his hand to his shoulder, a dark red spot quickly spreading on his white shirt.

  “Stop,” shouted Angel, stretching both arms forward, his fists clenched, “don’t do it, Mrak. I’ll go with you.”

  Mrak Delar approached Angel and shackled him. As the iron touched his skin, Angel sucked air in and swayed.

  “Dizzy?” asked Mrak Delar, sounding concerned. “It should go away in a moment. It’s the rune’s magic.”

  “Don’t you think I know it,” hissed Angel. “Stop pretending that you care.”

  Mrak Delar flinched, his black eyebrows lowering over his blazing eyes. Then an uneven smirk twisted his lips and he waved his hand, removing the rune from the ceiling.

  “You’re right, Grim Horseman, I don’t care.” He seized Angel’s shoulder and pushed him toward the exit. “Now, move it.”

  “The day will come, Ancient Master, when I come for you,” growled Angel, darkness gathering around him. “You are not immortal.”

  “And that’s exactly what I’m trying to fix.”

  The Master of Power laughed, as he unlocked the door and pushed Angel out. But before leaving, he lingered in the doorway for a moment and then turned to Aidan.

  “Aidan,” he said so quietly that Aidan could barely make out his words. “It’s going to be over soon. I’ll let you leave as soon as it’s all over.” Without waiting for Aidan’s response, he walked out and locked the door.