Mother of Heretics: Bastards of the Gods Dark Fantasy (Enthraller Book 2)

by T. A. Miles

  Serawe rose up to put her mouth onto his, but he put his left hand on her throat to stop her. His right hand still held his blade, though before he could consider using it, she threw him from her with strength that should not have surprised him.

  He was flung faster than he was far and he managed to put a hand down onto the ground as it rose to meet him, springing himself into a more controlled flight. He somersaulted in the air and put himself onto his feet. Serawe crawled across the floor at him, holding her body up with all four limbs bent at unnatural angles. She lurched oddly and her gait angled almost drunkenly before she reached him.

  He recalled Vlas in that instant. Witnessing the telltale signs of Megrim, he silently thanked his fellow priest, but lingered no longer than that. Serawe only had sight and sense for him currently and it was better that it stayed that way. He trusted that if Vlas could have assisted more than he was, he would have by now. If his fellow priest could continue to perform concise and effective attacks, however few, they might find a way through this.

  Korsten drew his weapon back into his hand and took the moment Serawe was disoriented to again cast Release. She would be equally dangerous outside of her vessel, but he knew better than to hope to endure a purely physical confrontation longer than an archdemon.

  The spell struck her, knocking her swiftly onto her side. To Korsten’s surprise, her mouth fell open and the demon’s smoldering liquid form spilled out. To his horror, it began to take shape immediately. The beast turned promptly back around before it had fully risen from the blood, swiftly dragging its grotesque form back to the body.

  It was in evidence that Serawe was very attached to that form. For its strength...for its stamina...for its beauty...

  Whatever the reason, Korsten couldn’t allow it. He closed his eyes, evicted his inhibitions for the moment, and summoned the attention of the Vadryn who had taken to devouring the coagulated blood hanging from the ceiling.

  Take it, he invited them, directing his and their senses to the blood-dressed body lying still motionless on the floor. He regretted the decision immediately and felt a part of him numb to what lay beneath the morbid and vicious surface of all of this.

  The bodies of many descended, like boulders tumbling with the raining blood. Serawe rose fully to greet the others with scarcely tangible fist and claw. Many of them were thrown to one side or the other, strewn as if they were the ones of less substance. Some of their vessels were broken, and the demons within released. Serawe continued to fight them off, to keep them away from the form she’d long ago claimed as her own.

  Korsten had a fleeting instant of wondering who the woman had been, and then he saw her pounced upon by demons, who began shredding and devouring immediately.

  Serawe wailed with a voice that was now better felt than heard, and in her selfish lament for what was not hers, Korsten felt his own throat clench, and had to swallow the urge to weep for whoever that woman may once have been.

  He let the demons fight each other. He watched the greater beast demonstrating its ancient strength and power, gradually defeating each of them and drawing them into its own essential being. He waited until there was only Serawe and a few others, and then he pushed his presence against theirs, drawing quickly back again to ensure that their attention followed.

  “I’ll bring you to me now, priest,” Serawe hissed.

  “No,” Korsten said. “You’ll come to me. All of you.”

  He cast his Song out to them, with his voice and his emotions—the part of his soul that remained visible to them and that they could touch—and connected as he had before. He dove into their dark existence, further than he had yet, into their tumultuous emotional condition, into their chaotic consciousness...into their dreams of conquest over humans and into their nightmares...of weakness and of oblivion.

  “I will take you,” Korsten said to them sedately, almost soothingly. “To the body you fear the most and that you cannot possess.”

  Spellbound, the demons came—even Serawe, though there was a glimpse of suspicion in her. It was too late, though. Korsten filled her especially with the seductive promise of his soul. And in those carefully articulated moments, he gestured with both hands, and it was done.

  Vlas had never seen anything the like of what he’d just witnessed in the caves. He’d never come so near to an archdemon, one surrounded by blood to empower it beyond exhaustion...one in the presence of a horde of others who responded not to it, but to a priest. He had never witnessed Song, but only heard of it. Even recognizing that Korsten bore red prominently—something few of them did—he would not have suspected that talent had even lain dormant within him, let alone come to Ambience. Surely, it must have been so pronounced for him to have the sway that he’d had over not only the lesser Vadryn, but Serawe as well. That sway held Vlas after the fact. He’d never seen…never felt anything like it.

  And now they were all gone, taken as they’d arrived—by Reach—but to where? Vlas couldn’t even guess where they’d arrived from to begin with.

  Let him be safe, he hoped of Korsten, who he scarcely knew but could only respect in light of such a demonstration. He let himself recall Korsten’s unusual skill with Reach and trusted that his consecutive casting over whatever distances were not overly taxing. He would be back, Vlas decided, and looked around him.

  The well remained, but without its mistress, it would no longer be utilized as it had been. The red of her stolen power was strewn all over, and yet sat in standing puddles within the underground chamber’s natural basins. It would draw others in time. That wasn’t even to mention the evidence that Serawe and her ranks had been performing a function for the war. This place would have to be closed off to any who might seek to find the archdemon, or take over where she had left off.

  There appeared no other accesses to the well save for the large mouth he had entered through with the others. Sealing that off seemed the most logical course of action to take. He had only to wait for Imris and Vaelyx, presuming they hadn’t been overpowered by any of Serawe’s followers. They would have to be dealt with as well. Leaving them to roam in their diseased state would surely spread the poison they carried. He imagined that Merran and Korsten both would take an interest in that when it became convenient. And now he wondered where Merran was again, and where Korsten had gone.

  He walked through the steadily dripping blood Serawe had transferred to the ceiling, past a crusted fragment of one of the demon vessels and over to the remains of the body Serawe had possessed. The corpse was a reminder of the tragedy of this war and refreshed Vlas’ determination to help the people of Edrinor see it through by making them aware and convincing them to take action. It was the role he and Cayri had taken for many years now, and he did not envy the hunters their task.

  The echo of footsteps brought his attention to the mouth of the cave. Imris came to the lip of the entry...with Vaelyx? He looked for the man when he failed to arrive at once and felt relieved to see him finish out exhausted steps to stand just behind Imris. The young constable carried a pack on her shoulder and he almost smiled at both of them. They had done well. He told them as much when he’d walked across the well to meet them.

  Vaelyx shrugged with his eyebrows and had a weak look of amusement and worry on his aged features.

  Imris translated. “Ghouls were following. We found another route and blocked it with fire for now.”

  “Excellent work,” Vlas praised again, including both of them in his gaze.

  Imris lowered the pack from her shoulder and crouched down to reveal its contents. There were small vessels that looked to be constructed of leather and metal within it, along with twine and sacks of powder. The components made some sense at a glance; Vlas could begin to reason how this might work, but ultimately, he would need more time than they could afford.

  “Do either of you know how to properly use this?”

  “I can figure i
t out,” Imris said while Vaelyx offered an expression of ‘that will have to do’ and nodded.

  Vlas took that to mean that Vaelyx knew at least a little of how the fire tactics worked and that together he and Imris could accomplish what they needed to.

  “We have no route back,” Vaelyx reminded them.

  “I’ll get us out,” Vlas promised.

  Vaelyx accepted that with a nod, though the look on his face seemed not to trust entirely. Regardless, he said nothing more and he and Imris set about making use of the materials before them.

  Twenty-Five

  Within the section of caves where the Vadryn had been temporarily detained, Merran considered how vain it would be to retrace their steps. There was no outlet that they could reach the way they had come. Magic was going to be required, which meant that Merran had to recover enough energy to transport the three of them, or Ersana had to access one of the coven’s portals. Surely, there were more in a place as vast as the caves, which had clearly been a place of ritual and use of magic for years.

  “Is there a better route we can take?” Merran asked her. “One that leads out more directly or that will take us to another portal?”

  “All of these entryways are portals going to one place or another,” Ersana replied. She calmly pointed to the archway with emblems. Many of the carvings were disrupted or obscured by green growth that had not been there when he and Korsten examined them previously. “Mother doesn’t want us to leave,” Ersana continued.

  Merran looked at her, then at Dacia. “Is there a better route?” He asked Ersana again.

  “The caves are a mystery to all of us, except for Mother,” she answered. “My passage here was always direct, and not frequent. We have not used the inner chambers of this place for many years, respecting the sanctuary of our Mother.”

  “Providing privacy to your betrayer,” Merran corrected and while Ersana’s expression seemed both depressed and defiant as she tried to insinuate herself between what she had long believed and what she’d witnessed, he didn’t allow the subject to take hold of the conversation. “You’ve utilized the exterior chambers?” He asked.

  Ersana nodded. “Yes.”

  Merran considered the distance, and what he recalled of the first chamber he and Korsten had entered earlier that night. It would be easier than attempting to Reach the distance to Irslan’s home. Eventually he gave a nod of his own and said, “I will take us there.”

  Ersana accepted that, reaching for Dacia’s hand. The girl provided it immediately, her dark eyes taking in all that they could of an environment she clearly did not recognize, in spite of having seen it not long before, filled with demons.

  Merran stepped closer to the pair. Ersana lifted a hand to his shoulder this time and closed her eyes in a meditative fashion. For a woman who had introduced herself to them as purely obstinate and with contempt for their station, she took guidance well. But Indhovan’s coven was not their enemy; the crone was. Unfortunately for Ersana’s faith, it was an enemy they shared.

  Drawing in a breath to level himself and summon what of his strength he hadn’t spent, Merran focused on retracing his steps mentally. In his mind, he traveled with Korsten and if he’d had his gift, perhaps he would have gone to him directly. He didn’t have that—he knew no other priest who did—and by the time his memory brought him back to the first chamber of the caves, he’d let go of the fact that Korsten was elsewhere and focused on the two who were with him, who he meant to bring with him to safer ground.

  The necessary hand gestures were made and the portal formed. It glided toward the three of them in the same instant the crone’s extensive limbs broke through the walls, followed by her deep and persistent laughter. The time she’d spent on the Summoning, collecting enough magic and prolonging her existence had deranged her in a way Merran had yet to witness. Not to this extreme. Her current state was as dealing with one of the ancient Vadryn, intoxicated by the power they’d stolen and fermented.

  The Reach gate passed over them and brought the upper chamber at the start of the caves around them. They stood in the center of multiple, well-lit tiers. The crone had been left behind for the moment.

  Ersana knew her directions immediately and guided her daughter toward the archway that would lead to the tunnel behind the waterfall. Merran stayed behind for a moment, feeling a pressure in his mind, as if something were pending. It seemed more as if it were ongoing, but hidden from full notice. He listened, detecting the sound of water from he falls, but also something else. It was like the pressure he felt inside, but it had a sound now...a low droning noise.

  In the periphery of his senses, Ersana and Dacia had stopped to look back at him. Doubtless, one or both of the women perceived it as well. Merran looked at the elder of them, making eye contact that jolted them both to action.

  “Go!” He urged the mother and daughter.

  The floor bowed and was torn like a bursting seam by the rise of an arm of wood that could as easily have been a serpent. Merran lowered to steady himself against the disruption, but was knocked forward by another rupture in the floor, created by a second limb.

  Debris showered around him. He rolled onto his back and cast Barrier to shield himself from some of it. He felt a few bits of rock against his lower legs especially, but nothing damaging. He sat up and moved backward, away from the arms of the crone as she manifested her grotesque form through the rift she’d made in the floor. Her face had grown wider, spread across a tangled pillar of growth that was green where the growing persisted.

  “We’re not done here,” she said in a voice that barely separated itself from the moaning of the air and water passing through her sanctuary.

  It seemed almost a labor for the Ancient to speak, perhaps even to move, but when she did the force was overpowering...like the wave she’d summoned, a confrontation Merran felt would be on the city very soon. He hoped that Ersana had the sense to take her daughter and what they’d learned out of the chamber. Someone had to alert Indhovan and Merran doubted he would be in a position to. He had little hope of defeating or even containing the crone.

  Merran dropped his Barrier, a little too soon. Sharp pebbles scraped across his cheek and forehead. He ignored the sting of their assault and rose to his feet, casting Fire with each hand.

  The crone laughed at him, though her face began to contort with rage the longer he stared back at her, letting the spell build in his hands. Fortunately, she was still raising herself to the surface with significant effort owed to her weight and perhaps her own weakened state in the wake of the Summoning.

  It would come down to whoever mustered the last of their strength first, then. Merran determined in that moment that it would be him, if it required all that he had left in him. He would leave the wave to the others. May the gods see Korsten back from wherever he had gone in time to assist.

  The flames danced around his hands, swelling in size and density, smoke rising in erratic tendrils toward the ceiling. The air surrounding him wavered, distorting his view of the crone, who shouted something unintelligible as she shifted to throw some of her weight at him.

  He heard a whisper in his mind—Nature is with you. The light shines around you. Use it! —and he obeyed it purely on instinct that was sharpened by panic. He needed more strength and in that instant, he was told where to get it...and did so. The light which traveled into the caves, channeled through the walls by the crystals which cast it onto the rock’s silvery veins, created a web of energy that could be felt. It was a raw source of magic, as potent as the blood lilies or as blood itself. He’d been soaking in it since he arrived in the caves, as the crone had been. She had years to his hours, but he had the advantage of being a vessel in motion to her idle storage and solitary focus.

  The crone bellowed as she raised one massive limb and brought it down, into a stream of Fire. The flames engulfed her arm as it was coming down, reaching past t
o the main body. The fire began to gorge itself immediately and the crone fell.

  Like a tower toppling to its foundation, her gigantic form crashed against the floor, breaking off portions of it.

  Merran was sent to the ground by the shudder she sent radiating through the rock. The surface beneath him continued to break and he quickly rolled to get to his feet, but his feet very quickly had no purchase. He caught hold of the lip with one hand.

  One of the crone’s narrower tendrils caught hold of his other hand, coiling around it as she fell and pulling. The crushing was so immense as her weight dragged that it forced a shout from him—one of pain and of frustration as he lost his grip with the other hand.

  As the crone burned, she quickly fell away from him. Her immense form fell into water, in pieces.

  Merran saw a great burst of water and steam rise to meet him. It split around him in the instant his body crumpled against an unseen force. It was not as painful as it should have been, or he was numb to the impact. He could not feel his hand at all and found himself too exhausted to comprehend much else. He lay uncomfortably curled against whatever had interrupted his fall, tensing only slightly when it began to drift upward. A sensation of potentially rolling off it sent minor waves of tension through his body, but beyond that, he felt cold and weak.

  He may have briefly lost consciousness at some point. He couldn’t say when he rolled onto his back, but looking up, he saw Ersana hovering over the broken floor above. She was deep in concentration, so he let her be...and closed his eyes.

  Korsten had never been so aware of the movement between spaces during a Reach as he was while transporting himself and the Vadryn from the well. Even getting there from the intensity of the crone’s presence and the confrontation among so many parties had been fleeting and largely unnoticed from one destination to the next. But now Korsten felt adrift, caught in the relentless grip of storm winds, transferred among the clouds with no ability to end his flight. The sensation of a vortex continued to drag him and throw him aloft for an immeasurable span. He felt breathless and helpless, and then he gradually began to sink.