There was a clinking of glass armor as two guards rushed over, drawing swords to Milette’s chest. One of them spoke to Cole from the corner of his mouth. “Say the word and she’ll breathe her last.”
The guard repeated himself, but Cole couldn’t hear it. The Rage was building, growing louder and encompassing his every thought and desire. He wanted to throw Milette through the wall she cowered against. He wanted to plunge his fists through the guards, just because they were there. He wondered how long it would take him to level the entire house, and then see what else he could destroy. The Rage demanded it. A small voice reminded him that he hadn’t the mastery to control himself if the Rage swelled any hotter. But he wanted it to consume him. The power was seductive. With supreme effort, he released it. He felt the pressure ebb from his skull as the Rage fizzled, leaving him trembling and unsatisfied.
“Take her away from me,” he said, voice shaking as he turned away from her. “Anywhere, just go. Her life is her own now.”
“You got it,” the guard said, handing his weapon off to his partner and pulling a curved glass dagger from his belt. “Up you get, lass. You save your wicked magic for when you get outside, unless you know a spell to fix whatever my blade will do to your insides. Up now, there you go.”
Cole ignored Milette’s struggling screams as the guards dragged her out of the hall. He returned to his unit under looks of shock and caution.
“You were right,” Cole sighed, addressing Roth. “I should have killed her. I’m pretty sure I just earned myself a mortal enemy.” Cole felt Valen’s eyes on him and hoped it wasn’t two mortal enemies.
“It’s good to have a few blades out there thirsting for your blood.” Roth looked down at Cole, pride burning in his eyes. “Keeps you from getting complacent. Now, all of you draw your munisica and follow me. We’ve a ship to catch.”
“Don’t you mean we have a bus to catch?” Sitra asked, flexing her claws.
“We’re not taking that tank,” Roth growled.
They followed Roth out of King Auger’s house. The bus driver shoved his pipe back into his jacket and rushed to the front. The blocky engine roared to life, great gouts of black smoke billowing up to the sandy sky. In single file the unit leaped over the bus, shooting through the dark cloud of exhaust gases. As Cole landed on the nearest rooftop, he heard a resounding crunch and an outraged cry from below. Through his familial link, he tried to impress upon Goran that buses were not okay to jump on, but concepts of property damage were of no concern to a mirak.
Keeping to the rooftops, Roth led them to the base of the ascending ramp that would take them up to the undulating sandy clouds. Afraid to lose himself in the magic, Cole throttled his Rage back to the bare minimum, though he then had some difficulty keeping up with the group. When he felt too far behind he instead called upon Wisdom to pull him along in great, floating leaps. To Cole’s relief, Goran stayed with him the whole time, barking and snorting with excitement. It had been a while since the mirak had had a chance to stretch his legs. After what felt like only a few minutes they arrived at the ascending port. The dock workers had yet to receive word of their arrival or demands for a ship and crew. Fortunately the dock captain was old enough to know who Roth was, and guided them over towards a sleek, mahogany vessel with no visible blemishes.
While the captain scrambled his crew together and readied the ship, Roth had the unit walk amongst each of the war ships and charge their gratia stones. As Eliza had predicted they were all Passion stones. Once charged, the ships perked up out of the sand, jumping and bucking like horses. After prepping their fleet, the captain called the unit to their vessel, which was called the Firedancer.
The Firedancer shoved off and they made for the sandy ramp ahead of the other war ships. The ascending ramp was painfully slow, but with the Firedancer’s gratia stone fully charged, the crew was able to persuade it to climb a little faster. Cole took one last look at Morthain before the sheet caps were pulled over the upper deck. King Auger’s house shone like a gleaming beacon lit by brilliant street lights instead of orange tongues of torches. Guilt clawed at Cole’s heart. He couldn’t help but feel as if he had sentenced Milette to a harsh and drawn-out death.
Blackness enveloped the top deck as the Firedancer pierced the surging clouds above the city. Instead of gas candles, tiny lightning marbles sprouted to life all along the deck, making it look as if the woodwork had been covered in blankets of shimmering eyes.
“Can’t this heaping pile go any faster?” Roth called up to the captain.
“I’m afraid that’s all she’s got,” the captain hollered back from the front wheel. “It’s slow going through the sands. Once we get up top we’ll set her to a good clip, don’t you worry.”
A rumbling came from Roth’s chest. “Valen, go charge the gratia stone.”
“The stone is full already, Master Roth,” Valen replied. “It will crack if any more Passion is applied. The ship seems to be running at maximum efficiency.”
The side rail creaked under Roth’s grip. “Something is close. Eliza, can you detect anything?”
Eliza closed her eyes and turned her head about as though trying to identify the source of a sound. “Nothing. Not a soul, other than the crews behind our ship.”
“Maybe it’s just their machines acting up,” Sitra pointed out. “They’re ancient anyway. If Eliza can’t sense anything then there’s nothing out there.”
The ship gave a great shudder, dropping sharply and sending everyone flailing through the air. Cole’s munisica sprang forth out of instinct. He felt one of his bladed feet tear a hole through the sheet cap. He landed roughly on the deck, though unharmed. Sand poured through the tear in the sheet cap, carrying with it a lurid moan that he hoped was just the wind.
“Hold on to something!” the captain bellowed from the upper deck.
A second later the ship pitched backwards, groaning as it climbed nearly straight up. Red lightning flashed in the sandy clouds, silhouetting a gargantuan hand in the murk. It was easily half the size of the Firedancer. Another moan shook the chains on the upper deck.
“Colossus!” Roth boomed.
Crimson lightning flashed again, revealing a mountainous form searching and groping through the sands. The ship lurched faster, speeding up and away from the Colossus. Cole grabbed a loose rope and pulled himself upright, though the ship’s ascent was so steep he was looking straight at the floor. Sand continued to pour through the hole in the sheet cap, swirling in a rasping dervish. A moment later the Firedancer breached the surface of the powdery ocean. Oberon greeted them with a warm bouquet of colors.
“Stand clear of the sheet cap!” cried one of the crew.
The membrane rippled and flew to the rear deck as the Firedancer shot forward with another burst of speed. Cole ran to the side, peering over the railing, half expecting a monstrous hand to come out to grab them.
“Point this thing towards Oberon and give it everything you’ve got!” Roth shouted to the captain.
“You heard him boys and girls!” the captain relayed to his crew. “Get me a strong body on each mast and pull those sails free. Our pretty dancer shan’t be scuffing her hull on the sands tonight! Raise her up now!”
Like trained squirrels, the crew bounded up the netting and released the sails. Other sailors worked pulleys, cranked on ratchets, or barked warnings to stay out of the way. A moment later the activity subsided and the Firedancer picked up yet another burst of speed, this time rising up out of the sand entirely.
“Hard port! Hard port!” the captain hollered across the deck.
Following everyone’s lead, Cole gripped the handrail and the Firedancer banked sharply to the left. Over the side of the ship a humongous arm breached, swiping down and clipping pieces from the stern. The Firedancer wheeled away from Oberon, only to veer again to dodge another crushing hand. Everywhere the Firedancer turned, another arm erupted from the sands. They were surrounded.
“There’s nothing for it!” t
he captain called down to Roth. “I hope your lot has another plan. We can’t keep this up for long.”
“Lead them to the shallows. As close to the hard-pack as you can,” Roth roared. The ship leaned once more, away from the groping hands.
“They are closing on us,” Lileth said with stoic calm. “We should take to the air.”
Cole turned, following her eyes. Rising out of the sands behind them were four massive heads, followed by four sets of shoulders and swaying arms. They were so large that they barely appeared to be moving, but they grew larger with every stride. Their legs broke the surface next, sending great walls of sand cascading in front as they lumbered on. As they neared, Cole could see the thousands of charred bodies that comprised their towering figures. He hoped to whatever gods might be listening that Lexy was not among them.
“We’re over the hard pack now!” the captain shouted.
“Dismount,” Roth barked, leaping off the ship.
The others followed without a word. Cole paused, checking with Goran, making sure his friend was okay. Goran’s eyes were ablaze with deadly intent, his brindle fur standing up and running along his back. He was ready. Cole grasped the handrail and threw his legs over, realizing too late that enough Fear had crept up through his bones to stifle his Wisdom. His stomach leaped up to his throat as air whipped past his ears. A heartbeat before colliding with the hard sand, Cole managed to wrestle his feeble Wisdom into submission and slow his descent with magic. He crashed into the hardened dirt, rolling and thrashing to a halt. Dizzy, he put a hand on his knee and stood. He was hurt, but there was no time to assess his injuries. The giants were nearly on them. Goran landed next to him in an explosion of dirt. Holding his ribs, Cole jogged over to the others. Roth was already giving instructions.
“Those of you who fly, get up there and try to take their eyes,” he ordered, keeping his stony glare on their quickly approaching enemies. “Goran, Cole, and I will do the groundwork. Cole, do you remember what I told you about the Colossus?”
“There’s a priest at its heart. You have to kill him to take it down,” Cole said, thinking this was not the time for a pop quiz.
“And you’d better be fully shrouded before diving in.” Roth looked to all of them. “Their hearts are protected by a nest of hardened bone that will bite through flesh and armor, which means Cole’s the only one who can do it.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Cole stammered. “I hurt myself jumping off the ship and I don’t know if I’ll be able to control the magic. What if the Rage takes over and I hurt one of you? I can’t stop myself once it gets going.”
“We’ll worry about that after,” Roth said. “Right now you’re our best shot, so do whatever it is to get yourself good and angry. The rest of you stay out of Cole’s way and don’t get too close to the-”
“Goran!” Cole cried as his brindle-furred friend darted for the Colossus.
Chapter 7
Madness Dripping
Talin opened his eye, waking to find his wife sleeping next to him. The sight of her was one of his most cherished things in the world. Now however, he wished he could cut out his remaining eye so he’d never have to look at her again. If only he could remove his ears as well so he wouldn’t have to hear her whimper. If he were able, he would kill Pineah now, saving her from the torture before she woke. Kreed decided Talin was to be healed enough to use his full complement of magic, but his mind was tainted and tethered, limited to the doorless prison cell that he shared with Pineah. Kreed’s dark magic prevented him from harming anyone within its confines, including himself.
Talin slid over to Pineah, longing to stroke her face, but held back for Fear of waking her. She had earned some uninterrupted sleep. Instead, he hugged himself and caressed her arms, which had replaced his own. He kissed her fingers, rubbing them over his cheek, her cheek. He looked down at her, sleeping soundly in her cot in momentary solace. He ignored her missing arms and legs, as well as the gap where her cheek had been, focusing instead on her beautiful, whole parts. The surgeon, Florien, had done a neat job at transplanting the pieces, but there was no anesthetic or antibiotics. He seemed to keep those for himself. Talin had watched the surgeries from his own table. Immobile and helpless, he’d begged Pineah to allow him to divulge every secret he knew of The Sill, anything to put an end to the torture. Pineah’s will was as iron however, and she’d refused to let him give anything to the enemy.
She was always stronger than he, though she had not been through what he had. She had not suffered as he had. Her surgeries were quick. Florien never did more than what was necessary, never caused her more harm than he needed to. Talin knew she scorned him, disappointment evident in her eyes when he begged to reveal their secrets. She had not been worked on by the Weeping Man. She didn’t have to feel Decreath’s presence inside her. She had it easy. Talin shook himself, grasping his head. Why did he despise her? Why did he resent her for not having been tortured as badly as he? He was breaking, losing himself. He was going mad.
Talin loved her more than he loved himself. He had loved her from their first lessons together at The Sill. She took his love, as mediocre and inept as it was and loved him right back. She made him more than he deserved to be. Now, Talin was forced to watch his temple desecrated over and over. He was helpless under Kreed’s spells, sedated with Fear as Florien took parts from her and fixed them to him. At first he hated her limbs. It was an abomination, a perverse violation of his family and body. He would rather have his rotting stumps than her limbs knitted to him. They were too small and frail, but sooner or later he knew they would be all he had to remember her by. He Hated how her limbs started working as well as his own.
After the surgeries, his munisica, her munisica, exploded with useless Rage as the guards came back again and again. The animals threw themselves at her, not bothering to take turns. They seemed to adore Talin’s screams, thrusting all the harder. Talin eventually learned to scream without making a sound. With each passing moment he felt parts of himself die many times over. Parts of him that he would never get back. Fortunately, Kreed was so pleased with his new eyes that he allowed Talin to use his Passion to heal Pineah. Talin was weakest with healing magics, but he was able to take her pain away, pulling it into himself instead. Compared to what he’d been through, her agony was only mildly irritating, easily tolerated. He tried using Wisdom to take her memories of what the guards had done to her, but Kreed’s taint prevented him from manipulating her mind.
Talin watched her silently, kissing his fingers, her fingers. Tears somehow fell from his empty eye socket. The music of her breathing was suddenly interrupted by a loud pop. Talin wheeled around, dreading the return of the guards. His heart sank. It was not the guards, but Kreed. The Underkin was at his side.
Before Kreed could speak, Talin dropped to the floor, crawling on his knees to Kreed’s feet. “Father Kreed! Please end this! Kill her, I’ll do it myself. I’ll give you anything! I know the secrets of your enemies, their strategies, their battle plans. I can tell you what they know about you, and what they don’t! I can help you win this war! All of it is yours, just let me kill her and I’ll reveal everything.” Talin’s begging broke down into incoherent sobbing.
Kreed bent down, placing an arm around Talin’s shoulders. His white suit was as pristine as ever. “Hush now Talin, you mustn’t get too hasty. It’s unbecoming for a warrior such as yourself. You haven’t even asked sweet Pineah for permission to take such liberties with her life. Don’t you think she ought to have a say?”
Talin looked up, seeing his and Pineah’s eyes looking back through Kreed’s face. “Please Father Kreed, let me do it. Let me do it while she still sleeps.”
“Perhaps, in time,” Kreed said, reaching down with a tender grip and picking up Talin’s new hand as though plucking a flower from a garden. “The transplants are taking quite well. Florien has truly outdone himself. What do you think, Habbad?”
The Underkin’s sunken eyes fell lazily upon Talin. �
��Very good, Father Kreed.”
“Very good indeed!” Kreed gushed. “But how does it feel? Do you have full sensation in your new hands and feet? What about your cheek?”
Talin pulled his sleeves back, eager to show Kreed, eager to please him. “They work perfectly, Father Kreed. I can even call forth the munisica. They are yours, I am yours, let me use them for you.”
“In time, my boy. Though when your training is complete I doubt you’ll have need for such crude tools.” Kreed squinted and gave Talin a wry smile. “I admit I didn’t expect you to make such strides in your training, not at just a few weeks in. Habbad here took a couple cycles to come around, yet here you are, a model student. A prodigy even! A month ago you wouldn’t have dreamed of harming sweet Pineah. But look at you now, crawling on hands and knees and begging me to let you slit her throat!” Kreed giggled, clapping his fingertips together. “Not even I could bring myself to put a hair out of place on her pretty head. You are changing before my very eyes, or your eyes I should say.” Talin averted his gaze. He could no longer bear the weight of Pineah’s eye from behind Kreed’s lashes.
Kreed seemed to notice his faltering. He clucked his tongue. “Your progress is steady, but you’re held back by something, something that’s no fault of your own of course. You’re not entirely cured of that nasty little virus of yours. It still clings to your heart, weakening and diluting the best parts of you.”
Talin gripped Kreed’s leg. “What is it, Father Kreed, please tell me!”
Kreed paused, seemingly taken aback by Talin’s genuine devotion. His eyes softened as he bit down on his lip, rubbing Talin’s back.
“Why, it’s your hope of course.” Kreed looked down at him with his stolen eyes, one green and one brown. “Your hope is still holding you back. It’s preventing you from becoming something greater. Something, divine. I can still see it in your eye, when you look at her.” Kreed nodded towards Pineah’s sleeping form. “You still have hope for her. You have given up hope for yourself, and for that I cannot tell you how proud I am. I want you to kill her too, I yearn for it more than words can describe, but you must do it for the right reasons.” Kreed’s fingers flew to his mouth, and he suddenly looked as if he were about to cry.
Saving The Dark Side Book 2: The Harbingers Page 13
