Borne Rising

by Matthew Callahan

  I always preferred the darkness.

  He let it take him.

  24

  A Rumble of Thunder

  The fires raged. Everywhere Madigan looked, flames were rising and roaring, their heat forcing him to use his Shade as a shield. It did little to help. He coughed and sputtered as he stumbled about in the smoke. The Shade could only do so much and, apparently, acting as a filter was beyond its capabilities. That was the least of his concerns, though; the world around him was an inferno. Jesus, Will, what have you done?

  His body screamed in pain. He was almost certain that his left wrist was broken again and that was on top of the cascade of burns that covered his back and the bruises from the rolling van. His head was pounding and his vision was blurry. He prayed that it was a result of the smoke and not from a damn concussion. Every goddam part of him hurt. Battling Senraks, he’d been going on pure adrenaline and reactive instinct. That was gone now. He was spent. Exhausted.

  But he had to find Will.

  He didn’t have time to revel in the blood beast’s death. He didn’t have time to wonder about Ileta or worry about the blast of lightning that disabled the van and sent it tumbling. He couldn’t afford to worry that Valmont was probably watching his every move and waiting for the opportunity to strike. No, he had one goal right now: save his little brother. Wherever the hell he is in this goddam mess.

  Whatever Will had become, whether he was some crazed Lightborne fanatic who called himself Noctis or whether it was all just some damn act, none of it mattered. He was in trouble. Madigan didn’t know what he’d seen, what it was that Will had done, but he knew he’d never seen him do anything like it before. That whirlwind of fire and lightning had been more than he’d ever imagined. There had been something else in it, too, something dark and twisted. And he had watched it rip Senraks apart, bit by bit.

  Madigan himself had only barely gotten clear; the power obviously hadn’t discriminated. He was only alive because he guarded himself while he ran and pushed himself to run harder than he could ever remember. He’d gotten clear, but that had only been the start.

  Like Senraks, obliterated by the torrential flames, so too had gone everything in the area. The trailer was mangled and melted, its contents alight. The surrounding earth was scorched and barren. And every tree within sight was a blazing fire. He skirted away when he heard a terrifying crack and saw a large, scorched fir fall. Dammit, Will. Where the hell are you?

  Madigan had never seen an actual forest fire. He’d seen pictures, of course, and the occasional video, but they didn’t do the reality justice. The heat was a physical force bearing down on him. The air was too thin, too hot, too dry. With every attempt to inhale he felt scorching air singeing his lungs. He held his Shade so tight around him it was almost a second skin, an armor against the heat, but even its cooling serenity was tested.

  And Will is somewhere in this. Exposed.

  Mad threw himself to the ground when a sudden cloud of hot smoke rolled toward him. He landed hard on the injured wrist and cried out in a flurry of curses. The ground was too warm, but it was better than whatever that decay had been. What the hell did Valmont do? His thoughts drifted to Ileta, lost somewhere between Valmont’s decay and Will’s fire. He struggled to his feet and glanced back the way they had come. She made it out. She has to have made it out.

  She wasn’t the only one in the area, though. Morella had at least been in the opposite direction of Valmont. Mad glanced up to the trees atop the levee where they had left her. Like everything else, they were ablaze. But she would have had more room at her back to run.

  He shook his head to clear it, wincing at the throbbing pain. It didn’t matter. No, what mattered was Will. He was somewhere in this hell. Madigan had seen him go down before the smoke billowed and obstructed his sight. Somewhere in this direction. Fighting back the pain and heat and smoke, he ran for his brother.

  He found the limp body at the base of the old house.

  Madigan cried out and collapsed at Will’s side, unable to fathom the amount of dried, caked blood that surrounded the pale figure. With delicate, trembling hands he reached out to touch the form, as if fearing that it would crumble into dust at the slightest bit of pressure. Will was solid though. Solid and warm. Head bowed, hot tears streaming down his face, Madigan sat amongst the swirling smoke and flame.

  Wait . . . was that . . .? Madigan felt it again. He scrambled closer to the body and—yes!—it wasn’t a trick of his mind. Will’s chest was rising and falling in slow, stuttered breaths. He’s alive. Damn the gods, the bastard is still alive. Mad shouted at Will, looking for any kind of response. None came. But the kid was alive. For now. We need to get out of here.

  Pushing through his exhaustion and pain, Madigan wrapped his arms around his brother and lifted. His wrist screamed at the weight and his head swam. But he refused to allow it to stop him. “I’ve got you, kid.” His voice was dry and scratchy, burnt by the air.

  Will felt light in his arms, lighter than he had any right to be. His clothes were ripped and torn. There was a steady trickle of blood coming from his right thigh. The jeans there were slashed wide open and his entire leg was dark with stained blood. What the hell did you do to yourself?

  Everything cracked and burned around them. Mad squinted against the smoke and scanned the area. There was no easy way out and no way to tell how far the fire had spread. The gravel drive that led to the road was the lone gap in a blazing corridor. The fire would take them before they got anywhere near the road if he took that path. His eyes darted to the levee. It was curled with flames as well, but he knew how deep those flames went; the trees were only so thick.

  “Come on, kid. We can do this.”

  He could feel his skin blistering as he grew nearer to the steep incline. He kept his back to it, keeping his Shade in as much of a protective cone as he could to drive the heat from his back. The smoke and vapor that made it through was still agonizing. His wrist gave out and both he and Will tumbled to the ground. His brother didn’t stir. Grimacing, Madigan stood. He dragged Will. Still the temperature increased. The smoke became too dense to breathe and, even if he could, the air was too hot to inhale. Wrapping his Shade about them as densely as he could, Madigan turned his back to the trees and pulled Will into the flames.

  All sense of direction vanished. Eyes closed, Mad stumbled over scorched earth and smoldering foliage. The trees tore at him with fiery, brittle branches. His lungs ached and burned from the short, frantic bursts of air he forced himself to take. He backpedaled foot after foot, unable to lift his head from facing the ground. For one terrifying moment, he feared that he might be walking in a circle or only deeper into the trees. He began to falter.

  The ground declined slightly. Relief washed through him. He twisted, turning his brother from the path they had come and toward the levee’s slope. At the base of it was the momentary safety he sought. Coughing violently, he sidestepped and stumbled down the levee and into the small slough just beyond.

  The water’s first swirl around his ankles sent a chill through him. They weren’t safe yet, but there was at least some reprieve from the heat. Something to cool them. The air was still thick with smoke but less than moments before. Madigan dropped into the cold water and bit back the sharp inhale of shock; his lungs hurt too bad and he couldn’t afford the fit of coughing it was sure to bring.

  He turned back to his brother. Will was mostly submerged just off the bank, his body in the creek but face just out of it. Madigan fumbled his way back to him and assessed the damage. Jesus, Will. If the burns and blood loss didn’t kill him, with all those wounds the potential for infection from the slough was staggering.

  He shook his head and cupped his brother’s face. Will’s body temperature was still high, but the water was helping. He was still breathing, though the breaths were shallow. Madigan forced himself to think. He covered Will in his Shade to help cool him. But gods, you’re a damn mess, kid. Will needed help and he needed it f
ast.

  Mad’s stomach twisted. He only had one idea on how to fix it. One idea that he disliked very much.

  “I love you, but you’re a damn bastard, kid.”

  He reached for Will’s blood fangs. He gripped the longer of the two blades in his hand. It was a good weight, heavy in a strong, solid way. He had never held them before, he realized, had never even thought to ask. Just like I never offered for Will to try the noctori. He shook his head against the thoughts and focused. There was no time to waste wondering about what ifs or could have beens.

  “This had better work.” Drawing a deep breath to try to control his racing heart, Madigan wedged the blade between his legs. He placed his good hand against the edge of the knife and drew down.

  He doubled over and fell sideways into the shallows of the water. His body recoiled against the maddening fury of flames that coursed through his veins. A distant part of his mind knew that it was only the toxins of the fang, but that did nothing to calm the raging fear and pain that gripped him. It took every ounce of control not to loosen his hand.

  Will needs help. He clung to that thought like a man clings to a life raft. His world spun and swam and burned, but still he forced himself to hold on, to allow the fang to drain the life from him.

  He held the blade for hours, it seemed, although he knew it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. He forced himself to focus, to control the pain and use it to fuel him. He drew his Shade close and felt its strange, restorative cool enwrap him. It barely even dimmed the pain. Finally, he could take it no longer and forced the blade from his marred hand.

  He couldn’t release it easily, the immobile fingers of his hand wrapped tightly around the blade like Will had shot his electricity through them. When he finally managed to slide the knife away from his blood-soaked palm, he lay, his body in spasms. His hands were curled in front of him, the left useless from the broken wrist, the right trembling from the brutal gash. He forced himself up onto his elbows, pushing himself back toward his brother. He scanned Will’s face, frantic with worry. Come on, kid. This magic shit can’t only work when you’re conscious.

  “Mad?” Will’s voice was weak, but he was awake.

  “Don’t talk.” Speaking made Mad realize how dry his throat had become. Those fangs are damn potent. “Use your knives, heal yourself.”

  There was a moment of silence before Will started to rise. He looked less pale, less ashen than only moments before. His eyes fell to Madigan’s bloody hand and they widened. “Did you . . . ?”

  Madigan nodded. “No time to think about it now, kid, thank me later. We’ve gotta move.”

  “But your hand—”

  “Up, Will. We’re getting out of here.” The heat was beginning to bear down on him again, and from the look on Will’s face, he was feeling it too. He shook the discomfort away and crouched down to offer his brother a shoulder to hold on to. Will felt light, frail even. Goddam, Will, what did you do to yourself?

  They edged along the water, keeping as much distance between them and the surrounding blaze as they could. Madigan did everything he could to block some of the heat with his Shade, but he was exhausted. Battling Senraks, Will zapping his goddam leg, and now the damn blood fangs, everything was taking its toll. “Not quite the reunion I envisioned,” he muttered.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t have come.” Will coughed dryly. “Morella even—” He froze, eyes widening. He clutched at Madigan’s shoulder frantically. “Jesus, Mad, where is she? Have you seen her?”

  “She got clear of the blaze, I saw her,” he lied. “Maybe she and Ileta are together.” And if not, I’ve got an idea of where to find Ileta, at least.

  If anything, it appeared as though his attempt to reassure Will did the opposite. His brother’s face twisted in anger and he set off with renewed vigor. “We’ve got to find her. She isn’t safe.”

  “Neither are we.”

  They struggled through the boggy shallows, fighting the heat and the mud. Madigan had to shield his eyes when he looked at the blaze. It’s spreading. Goddam, it’s spreading. There was nothing either of them could do to stop it, nothing to contain the inferno. This whole area is going to go up.

  They made it to a small grouping of trees that were not yet ablaze. They raced up the embankment. On the other side of the levee was a wide flood plain. Madigan looked back the way they had come, looked at the clouds of billowing black smoke. He thought of the surrounding area, the distant neighbors and nearby groves of trees.

  “The authorities are going to be out.” He shook his head. “They’re gonna think some damn kids were playing with fire and destroyed everything.”

  “They’d be right.” Will’s voice was hard and foreign. “We’ll be gone before they get anywhere near us though.”

  “Home, though, it’s really gone this time.”

  “Home was gone a long time ago, Mad.” Will’s voice was dark, filled with anger and sadness. “This world hasn’t ever been the home we wanted.”

  Madigan glanced at his brother, concerned by what he saw. Despite being weakened, Will had his blades out and was scanning the area. His clothes were bloody and wet and shredded. His close-cropped hair and the stubble on his face gave him a harsh edge. His thin face and sunken eyes only added to the grim visage. He looked savage, feral even.

  “Will—”

  “Quiet,” his brother snapped. “Valmont is still out there somewhere.”

  Madigan set his jaw and tried to flex his right hand. His breath caught at the pain. “How the hell did he get here? How did he know where and when to find us?”

  “How, indeed.” Will didn’t meet his eye and Madigan suddenly felt very cautious. He knows something. Or, at least, he thinks he knows something.

  There was a flash of movement at the corner of his eye. Both brothers whirled. The lightning that crackled in the air around Will dissipated almost instantly and his harsh demeanor visibly softened. Morella was racing toward them, apparently unhurt although her clothes were singed. Without a word, Will ran to meet her and threw his arms around her.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Will shouted back at Madigan. He grabbed Morella’s hand and the pair took off running without so much as a glance at him.

  Madigan furrowed his brow. What happened to being on edge about Valmont?

  He followed, surprised at how quickly Will was able to move despite his injuries. His own body was aching. He wrapped his Shade around his slashed hand and swelling wrist, letting it soothe and calm the pain. He winced as it tightened around the injuries, but it would help. He glanced back over his shoulder at the towers of smoke. Just gotta get through this. There’ll be time to deal with everything later. This isn’t like the Shale. This time, we stick together.

  Thinking of the Shale, he turned back to Will and Morella. How things have changed. His brother was practically a stranger to him. And on top of that, it seemed like Morella’s influence over Will had only grown. From what he’d seen, she appeared to be almost a compulsion for Will. A need.

  Whatever had happened to Will, Mad didn’t like it.

  So that our minds may always be our own. What happened to yours, Will?

  25

  Baiting the Trap

  Will was on edge, racing with hackles raised. Valmont was still nowhere to be seen. Neither was the traitorous Ileta. Not a traitor. She can’t betray what I always knew she was. He held Morella’s hand tight. His brother trailed a short distance behind them, cradling his hands in front of him. Keeping watch, Will expected; that was always his way.

  They had to veer off the main drag when emergency services began to arrive. The flashing lights, the noise and commotion, seemed so unnecessary. Just let the place burn. Let this whole damn world burn.

  Burn it all.

  He shook the thought out of his head. What am I saying?

  Morella squeezed his hand and they slowed their pace.

  “I just need a quick breather,” she said. “What happened? Why isn’t that Vequian
following us?”

  She looked exhausted, covered in soot and grime, and Will realized that she didn’t know about Valmont. She only knows that Senraks was there, nothing beyond that. A flash of cold nerves pinched his shoulder blades.

  “Senraks is dead,” Madigan said with a scowl. He was shaking, Will could see. He looked weak. “Will killed it.”

  She whirled to stare at Madigan. A look of sheer confusion and panic flickered across her face. “You’re certain?”

  “What the hell do you think started this whole fiery mess?”

  Morella turned back to Will and her eyes narrowed. “Then what are we running from?”

  “Valmont,” he said softly, delicately, as though merely speaking the name aloud would summon the man.

  Morella’s face didn’t move through the emotions that Will expected. She stared at him hard, her mouth twisted in that dark smirk he knew so well and understood so little. “So, he did move to this realm. We were right.” She turned and glared at Madigan. “He’s hunting you, Shadowborne.”

  Madigan didn’t react to her venomous tone. “Is he now?” He spread his tattered, Shade-wrapped arms wide and shouted at the sky. “I’m right here, you goddam bastard!”

  “Mad!” Will darted forward and grabbed his brother’s shirt and yanked at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “She’s wrong,” he said flatly. “He isn’t hunting me. He’s waiting for something. Planning something. He won’t make his move anytime soon.”

  Will released his brother. “Your brain is cracked, you know that?”

  Madigan sneered. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

  The two brothers glared at each other. “See what?” Will finally said.

  “He’s maneuvering us. Herding us. Driving us to do what he wants, where he wants.”