The Heart of a Necromancer
Page 22
Riley smirked just as Morgana cried out, looking down the alley.
She went running.
"What the f—?!" Jason exclaimed, then looked at whatever the young woman was running toward.
There were two men down there in the alley and two gargoyles, now being joined by a third that had gotten past them when they killed the last one. Both men were tall, strong, and bearded. One of them was using a short sword and trying to fight off two of the monsters, who were flanking him from either side. Jason could barely see what was going on because of the mist. Just as he looked, he saw the second man running up to help the first, then the second man was suddenly backhanded by one of the gargoyles and went sprawling to the ground.
The gargoyle that had just arrived swooped in, joining the fray. It pounced onto the second man—smashing him into the dirt road of the alley—as the two gargoyles tore the first man to pieces. It happened so fast. In one moment, the first man was trying to defend himself with the sword. In the next, the sword was smacked out of his grip with the flick of a tail, and both beasts had grabbed him. Jason heard the man's bellowing scream as one of his arms was pulled from the socket. When the poor guy went down, his other arm was pulled off an instant later, and the wicked creature went to work, hunched over him in the deep fog...
Morgana was sprinting toward the bloody fight.
"Martin! No!" Morgana screamed. Jason was surprised to see her suddenly holding a brilliant sword in her right hand! The blade was almost blinding in his night vision, and when he quickly closed his right eye to look with his left, he saw that her weapon was made of some sort of reddish gold metal with a long blade that shined with a warm light like the rising sun.
"Holy shit!" Jason exclaimed. "Come on!"
The three Reality Rifters left the corpse of their third-slain gargoyle and ran after Morgana. As they did, the monster that was pinning the second man to the ground suddenly vaulted into the air, carrying the man with him by his upper arms. The man hollered and struggled, then the gargoyle was twenty feet off of the ground and flying away just a moment later.
Riley stopped to aim and fired a burst. The shots cracked through the air and sparks flew from the gargoyle's back.
"Wait!" Jason cried. "You'll make it drop that guy!"
Riley growled and lowered his muzzle, then ran on to catch up to Morgana.
The three of them rushed up to a crazy scene. The dead man's body parts were scattered and Morgana now stood before the two monsters. One was already trying to circle around behind her, flexing its red-splashed claws, but the girl was apparently wise to it and continued backing and circling to avoid being flanked. The sword in her hand was brilliant and glowed as if by magic.
Jason raised his rifle, but he couldn't fire. Morgana was in the way.
One of the monsters leapt in at her with great speed; the long, red claws of its right hand swiping in to cut her down. The young woman dodged to the side and swung her sword to intercept the blow, lopping off the beast's arm at the bicep. The stone arm and claws fell to the dirt road with a thud. The monster opened its mouth wide as if howling in pain, but made no sound.
Jason gasped. Her sword! he thought. Oh my god, her sword cut right through it!
"Come on, you bastard!" Morgana shouted. The beast lashed out at her with its nimble tail. She parried with the blade, but didn't cut its tail off. Both gargoyles leered at her, watching for weakness, swaying and searching for an opening...
"Get out of the way, Morgana!" Jason shouted. "Let us shoot!"
Without looking at the three of them, the woman complied, suddenly ditching the battle and sprinting away to the side.
All three Reality Rifters opened fire. Jason shot at the gargoyle that still had both arms. Taking careful aim, he put shot after shot into its head/neck area as well, as its pelvis to avoid accidentally hitting the heart. They killed the two monsters like a firing squad, blowing off stony body pieces and creating dust explosions of rocky shoulders, legs, and heads, sending shards of stone flying all over.
By the time the two gargoyles had slumped to the ground and the firing stopped, Jason noticed that the brilliant shine from Morgana's sword was gone. He looked back to see her hands empty.
Riley immediately went to work, going for the first heart. Gliath pushed several more slugs into the mag tube of his Versa Max from a bandoleer.
"What the hell was that?" Jason exclaimed, looking at Morgana as he pulled out another AK magazine. While Gliath covered them with his shotgun, he started topping off his current mag with the rounds from his partially-emptied first one. "What was that sword? Where'd it go?"
"I'll show you later," she said, holding a hand over her mouth as she looked at the dismembered body. Her eyes were painted with pain and fear.
"Friend of yours?" Jason asked.
Morgana's tear-filled eyes met his own. She stared at Jason for a moment then shook her head and looked away to stand alone with her grief.
It was terrible, bloody work to remove the hearts from the three dead gargoyles, but Riley kept at it for love of money. Jason eventually felt bad, just standing around while Riley was doing such horrible work.
Though it pained him terribly to say it, he eventually asked, "Riley, do you want me to do one of those?"
Riley smirked, his face speckled with blood. "Thanks for offering, Jason, but I don't mind doing the grunt work. I'm the warrior. You do the rifting. Besides—I have cybernetically enhanced strength. I don't know if you could crack these frukers."
"Okay."
Over the rest of the night, they managed to hunt down three more gargoyles. Morgana had suggested that they try to kill any that attack the prisoners that still hung on crosses at the Crossroads, but she couldn't let herself be seen there.
"You mean those people stay out there unprotected at night while the gargoyles are attacking?!" Jason asked, honestly shocked.
"Yes," she replied. "Estren does that on purpose to cull them. Only the ones that the gargoyles leave alone are considered worthy for the sacrifice to the Golden Lady on the full moon."
"That's fruked up," Riley said.
"So you were out there last night on that cross yourself?"
"Yes," Morgana replied. "Thankfully, the beasts didn't attack the Crossroads that night."
"Holy shit," Jason muttered.
After collecting a total of eight golem hearts, they turned in when Morgana encouraged them to, about two hours before dawn. She didn't want to be out on the street when the sun came up.
Upon walking through the double doors into the dark dining hall once more, Jason felt totally exhausted. What a freaking day. They went to the Market in the morning, dealt with the Jason 1241 tragedy after that, then came here and hunted gargoyles all night. He could only imagine how tired Riley must be, being the hammer man for eight gargoyles.
"Where have you been?!" the high voice of Lillian suddenly rang out from the darkness.
On the way back, Jason had decided to give his brain a rest from the image intensifier, and had it turned off. He turned it on again now and saw the sleight blonde woman sitting in the darkness at the table, staring at the four of them. Her tight, blonde curls were white in his night vision.
Morgana scoffed. "Where do you think, Lillian?" she replied flatly. "Out with the warriors from the stars. They killed eight gargoyles."
The older woman glowered from the table, lighting a candle, brilliant in Jason's night vision. "How dare you take her with you?!" she snapped at Jason and the others. "She is on house arrest and is very close to being taken and executed by Magister Estren! She's also just a young woman—she could be killed!"
Riley smirked and scoffed.
"I have killed several gargoyles on my own, Lillian," Morgana replied. "You know that."
"You shouldn't go looking for trouble, Morgana!"
"Save it," the exhausted young woman replied, then looked at Jason, Riley, and Gliath. "Come with me. I'll show you to some rooms where you can sleep."
"Where can I find a bathtub?" Riley asked as he and Gliath followed as well. "In the room?"
"I'll have Lillian draw you a bath."
Jason followed, curious about sleeping in a medieval bed. He was thoroughly spent, and his mind was frazzled with all of the intense emotions he'd been through that day. He reached down to his hand and turned off his night vision, then watched Morgana's hips sway back and forth as she led them up the stairs.
He would welcome sleep.
Chapter 16
Morgana closed the door.
Finally alone, she stepped away from Owen's old room, leaned against the stone wall, and released a long sigh.
She felt like crying. She wanted to burst like a barn catching on fire and burning down everything around her: herself, her family home, the whole village of New Bozeman with its tall, safe walls that provided no safety at all from the flying monsters. She wanted to burn down the church and those damned crosses in front of it and see everyone there drown in a sea of blood.
What the hell was she still doing here?!
That Jason guy talked Estren into letting her off of the cross. What a fucking stroke of luck. And yet, she was still here, still trying to fight. Still trying to save a village that—at this point—didn't really want to be saved. How many rebels were even still alive? More of them died tonight. The Palmer family down the street—now dead and gone—were kind of on the fence about the rebellion. They didn't like the Communion, but they had also never attended a rebel meeting after the very first one. Now, Mrs. Palmer and their poor baby were dead, and Mr. Palmer was God knows where; probably taken. She'd also seen Martin killed and Abraham taken tonight, and they were some of the strongest members of the resistance. What were those guys even doing outside in the alley?! Morgana supposed that the Chosen had put them there, just like they did with the Platts.
The Soloster family, for generations, had run and taken care of New Bozeman. Morgana's grandfather had built this house; he'd built those outer walls.
Now the walls were a prison.
What could she possibly still be fighting for? Why on Earth would she choose to stay in this village that wanted nothing more than to kill her?
Morgana sighed.
Lillian needed her.
How many rebels were even still alive? How many would even show up if she called a meeting again?
Morgana looked down at her hands. They were calloused. Several years ago they were smooth, and she was engaged. Ever since Owen's betrayal and the attack that night that took her father and her fiancé, Bryant, things were never good again.
She looked at the plain silver band of her secret smuggler's ring. Just like Dawnbringer, that ring used to belong to her father. It was amazing that she'd kept it a secret up until now.
Maybe Morgana could still have a good life somewhere; somewhere far, far away from New Bozeman, this graveyard of a town...
Morgana looked down the bedroom hall. She'd put Jason in Owen's old room. Riley and Gliath were fine staying together in Damien's old room. She was astounded by the beast-man; she'd never seen one of those before. Gliath was so wild and quiet with a dangerous energy—a monster himself in his black-furred half-feline form.
Their weapons were beyond amazing. The other warriors from the stars had similar devices, but theirs shot beams of red fire without much of a sound. Those 'guns' as Jason had called them held the power of thunderclaps, and it was as if Riley's gleaming weapon shot out angry wasps that cracked sharply like the loudest whip.
What sort of worlds had they seen? What manner of place did they call home?
Turning to her room, Morgana padded away. Dawn was still over the horizon. She had a little time to kill.
Once she was in her room—the same room she had lived in as a child—Morgana walked across her thick rug over to her bed and sat, looking out of her window. Through the wrought-iron bars, she saw that the sky was still black and just starting to change to deep, inky blue in the eastern sky. She'd always loved how her window faced the dawn. She watched the sun rise and the mist fade almost every morning.
There was a sudden, faint scream. Someone was being attacked far away in the village. It sounded like a man, hollering loud and desperate, as scared as a mindless animal in the claws of a predator. He screamed and pleaded for his life, though Morgana couldn't understand the words. She knew that he was being attacked—perhaps tortured—by one or two of the monsters, but she didn't hear any growls or snarls or even any dark laughter. The gargoyles never made a sound. It was as if their faces only pretended to be faces.
As the distant scream continued, Morgana clutched at her head, trying to block the dreadful sound from her ears with her hands. Her fingers dug through her hair and she clamped down, desperate to get the screaming out of her mind!
After a while, she found that she was crying.
Who was the screaming man? He was one of her people, but was he one of the brainwashed followers of the Golden Lady's Communion who hated her now? Or was he one of her few remaining resistance fighters? Was the man trapped in the streets, blocked out of his home by the Chosen, who stood and watched as the poor soul was torn to pieces outside his front door?
Morgana cried, trying to keep the visions of Mrs. Palmer and her mutilated baby out of her head. She tried to block out the memory of seeing good Martin having his arms ripped off by the beasts, or strong Abraham being carried off into the night to an unknown, tortuous death.
Eventually exhausted, the young woman stopped crying and let her hands fall away.
The screaming had stopped, thank God.
Morgana looked down at the smuggler's ring on her finger. She turned her hand over and over. In a space between space, she felt at the hilt of Dawnbringer. She knew that the weapon was there, waiting for her to pull into this world and bring to bear, deadly and amazing and shining in the darkness.
She could kill Estren.
She knew that she could ... if she could get close enough past his damned guards. But Estren was very cautious and very flighty. She saw how he kept his distance from the warriors from the stars when he'd brought them to the Crossroads. That blubbery shithead never makes himself vulnerable.
Even if she did kill the bastard, though, would it make much difference? She'd have to kill the entire army of the Chosen and the seven Virgin Oracles to give New Bozeman any chance to return to life. If any Virgin Oracles survived, they'd just choose a new speaker—a new Magister. What she really needed was a small army herself. That's why she needed the resistance. That's why she needed manpower. She could lead the charge against the Communion, and she could take Estren's head with her father's sword, but she needed good, strong men to fight off the Chosen, and the Virgin Oracles needed to be slain.
Morgana's resistance was almost broken. Perhaps there were none left waiting for her even now.
Losing Martin and Abraham was a terrible blow. They could fight.
Maybe it was time to move on after all. If the rebels were all dead and gone, and the people still loyal to her family—now gone—had been the only thing remaining of the heart of New Bozeman, then what the hell was she fighting for...?
But the warriors from the stars, she thought. They were a small army unto themselves. She'd already thought of it with the last warriors from the stars, but she never had a chance to try and recruit them for the cause. Those black-armored warriors had never returned after killing the necromancer ... if the necromancer was truly dead. Jason and his warriors did say that the necromancer was dead. They wouldn't have any reason to lie about that.
She needed their help.
Hell—Jason, Riley, and Gliath the beast-man may be able to slay the Chosen all by themselves, then she could take care of Estren.
Morgana stood and walked over to an area of her room with a small decorative table that used to hold a dollhouse on it many years ago. Now, a small chest sat the
re on top of a purple tablecloth.
She opened the chest and pulled out the wrapped-up contents, returning to her bed. Laying the package out on her blanket, Morgana unrolled her collection of relics. The girl picked them up and looked at them closely, one by one.
Her 'relics' were among Morgana's most precious possessions. She'd found them over the years in the vast valley to the north and west of New Bozeman. While the valley looked like a wide-open wild space full of grasses and sparse trees, there was a lot more to the area than met the eye. Sometimes, she'd go for a long walk—miles—through the valley. If she took her time, she'd notice strange areas were the earth and grass had ruts or strange shapes in them, as if formed by the skeletons of a civilization long ago, now gone. There were other points of interests, too, like small caves shaped like perfect cubes, or ancient petrified trees and tree branches covered in rust, moss, and lichens; branches far too straight and consistent to be natural.
She looked at the upper half of a strange bottle that she'd some years ago preserved in ice, much like the "Welcome to Bozeman" sign on the south wall near the gate was when her family found it a hundred years ago. The bottle was perfectly formed, clear and springy, and made of a strange substance that looked like dull glass but bent instead of breaking. It was torn or cut away on the bottom, but what remained showed a perfect flange and spiraling lines near the mouth like nothing she'd ever seen before, other than her green bottle.
Morgana carefully placed the clear springy bottle down and picked up the green bottle. This one was made of glass, and Morgana was surprised to find such a relic intact. People in the village could make glass, of course. Her people had glass windows, cups, and bottles of their own. But none of them could have crafted this. The bottle was a beautiful, deep green like a that of a gemstone, and its mouth held the same subtle, perfectly-spiraling lines as the clear bottle. The bottom of the green bottle had fine grooves carved into the glass—perhaps to help keep it from slipping—and there was a large engraved word on the side in a decorative script that Morgana couldn't interpret.