Red Rain (The Circle Book 3)

by Lee Isserow

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  Red Rain

  A Circle Novel

  By

  Lee Isserow

  Copyright © 2017 Lee Isserow

  All rights reserved.

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  Other books in The Circle

  Shadowmancer

  The Knowledge

  Other books in The Freelancer series

  The Spirit Box

  The Roving Death

  The Prince of Darkness

  Spirited Words

  Snake's Kin

  1

  The world of man

  PARADISE ISLAND, BAHAMAS

  In decades previous, the island that had been named 'paradise' suited the nomenclature that had been bestowed upon it. It was once a majesty for the eyes, a monument to humanity's co-opting of nature for their own ends. Although more recently, it had become a place of tacky splendour. It still had pristine beaches of the most golden sands, but alas it had succumbed to the Vegas-ification that was afflicting many of the nearby resorts.

  Located just off the coast of New Providence, it had once stood adjacent and yet alone, a true island. But man is not one to allow such jewels to go unexploited, and money had flooded in. It became the home to a resort and casino, and with that development, two bridges bolted it on to the mainland. It was as if the new owners were fearful that it might drift away in the night, and wished to crudely stitch it to the country for fear of losing their investment to a cruel tide, and their wealthy summering patrons to the ravaging seas

  This night, however, the guests were not best pleased with their stay at the resort. As the sun set, the hues of orange and pink swiftly became obscured by a mass of dark, foreboding clouds that sewed themselves together in the skies above. The weather forecast had not warned of such a thing, clear skies were projected for the remainder of the week, and yet as the darkness came, it seemed almost certain that rain would fall upon their holiday parade.

  The darker it got, the more the clouds brewed. But it was not the furtive conspiring of moisture or air pressure that drew them forth. It was something in the air that could not be quantified, not by science at least. And as the first drops of rain fell, plummeting down at great haste, their freedom coincided with movement under the surface of the sea that washed up upon the shore.

  As the rain landed, exploding like a myriad depth charges upon the ocean's surf, something dark ushered itself out of the water. It had no legs on which to stand, pushing itself onto the beach with slick tentacles, ten or fifteen of them, each indistinguishable from the other, for they were as black as night, blacker even, as if its skin absorbed the light, devouring it as it would devour so much, once it had gained strength.

  It heaved itself forward, out from its oceanic home, into the world of man for the very first time, looking out upon this place it had emerged, with eyes that swirled with a vortex of yellow and green. The rain was a welcome sensation, a memory of its watery home pouring across its skin, as if the heavens were enabling and aiding its transition to the land. And that transition was not easy. . .

  The creature had never walked before, its myriad swirling and slithering limbs used only for propulsion through the currents of the deep. Despite being thick and muscular, the tentacles had never held any weight upon them, not truly, and thus it struggled to hold its body aloft upon them. It fell several times, collapsed onto the sand over and over again as it worked out how to stand, and then to walk, as if it had only just emerged from the womb.

  This journey of discovery was halted when it realised its lungs were aching, it had yet to breathe in this place, having spent its life absorbing oxygen through the water itself using miniscule gills secreted around its body.

  As it took its first breath, using its mouths rather than the gills, it collapsed once again. The experience was overwhelming, so much oxygen rushing through its system. It felt dizzy, rolled around on the sands as it tried to shake off the feeling.

  But the next breath was slightly less disorienting, the one after that even less so. The more it breathed, the more it adapted to the situation. It shifted its weight once again, pushed itself upwards on the tentacles that were to be its legs, and held its body aloft. Adaptation was key, and it was a born with that in mind, it was designed to adapt.

  Movement was the next obstacle it would have to overcome. It had not seen how the species of the land moved, but it had observed crustaceans at times, and sought to imitate their movements. Few of them had as many limbs as it did, but they did hold certain limbs aloft whilst they walked, and it copied that motion, leaving just four tentacles to act as legs. It fell again, and swiped at the sand, losing patience with the process of learning such a simple and infuriating thing.

  A whisper embraced it. Encouraged it to try again.

  The muscle mass of its form was incorrect for the world of man. It needed to change, to keep its body up and move in any one direction. Under its shiny skin, it pulled muscle from the tentacles that were in the air, and redistributed it to the ones that it stood upon, stretching the flesh, making them big and fat. Once its legs were fully formed, it practised shifting weight from one to the other, moving one forward, then the next, then the third, then the fourth. It was not a practical way in which to move, so slowly, a step at a time, and it attempted a new method, moving right front leg and back left leg simultaneously. That worked better, and although it was still shaky on these vestigial legs, it soon moved quickly across the beach.

  Once it had conquered breathing and movement, it adjusted its gaze, a myriad eyes looking out upon this place, the world above, fabled as a place that he and his brethren would never get to venture in their lifetime. That had changed. The status quo had changed. . . They no longer lived in exile, and they were now free to explore this place that was once forbidden.

  The monstrous child staggered off the beach, cautious to hide from the light of the great walled temple to the god of commercialism that lay ahead of it. The time would come when it would storm those gates, but that time was not now, not yet. It needed to continue to learn of this place, to understand it, before it could even dream of conquering it in its master's name.

  It found itself a sewer grate, and pulled it from the road, stuffing itself into the slim gap, contorting its body to hide out of the sight of those that resided in the world of man. It would wait until the time was right to re-emerge, and it had all the time in the world,. There was no rush to take this place for itself, for it was not just this place that needed to be taken. There were many places that were so similar to this, where nature had been perverted by the whims of the primates that had claimed the above-land as their own, and crushed all who dared object to their ownership.

  But when the time was right, that too would change. One status quo had already become undone, and the others would also be toppled and crushed and torn asunder in the name of that which lives beneath the ocean. For soon, there would be nothing that stood in its master's way to take this place, this world of man, for itself.

  2

  The stupidest strategy I've ever heard

  GRAND ISLAND, NEBRASKA

  The name of the city that Tali was watching through the scrying pool was, as far as she was concerned, a gross misuse of the term 'island'. For one thing, Nebraska was land-locked, right in the dead centre of America. The closest it came to water was the Platte River which, if she recalled correctly, slunk and snaked along the country through Colorado, and was officially the most polluted body of water in the state. On top of that, it was certainly not 'grand', or at least not grand in the sense of grandiose. It was most c
ertainly big, but everything in America was big, so it was hard to quantify as an adjective. Technically, she thought, anything in America could have had the modifier of 'grand' attached to it, from hats to sandwiches, fear of people with more melanin in their skin, or love of Jesus. It was all grand, all big. Of course, whether any of those things needed to be quite so 'grand' was another thing entirely. . . And it was a thought she definitely didn't need to concern herself with whilst in the middle of an operation.

  “You're going to want to take a left,” she instructed, looking at the scene of the disturbance from above through the scrying pool.

  “Really don't need directions,” Raven scoffed in her ear. “Do you know how bloody flat everything is here? Can see for miles, and it's all grey and brown with speckles of green. . . hard to miss this bugger.”

  Tali sighed to herself. She was glad that Raven was back to her old self and less homicidal, but in truth, she never really liked Raven's old self all that much. . .

  “I have to agree,” Shana said in her periphery. “I am not usually one to say such things, for they are often appreciated in most cases. . . but for this, well, we certainly do not need direction on this one.”

  Tali threw her fingers in the air and cast across her eyes to see through Shana's point of view on the street in Nebraska.

  *

  It was an understatement to say that her directions were unnecessary. The land was so flat, even the large two and three floor houses looked small in comparison to the vast distances that could be seen in any one direction. The funfair stood to their right, a mass of people in various states of panic. Some were crying, others were just staring wide-eyed. And ahead of the two magickians, a quarter mile down a ribbon of road that lay between dusty pavement and exhausted grass that was struggling to stay green, was a ferris wheel walking down the street.

  Its steps were staggered, drunken almost, as it used its lateral struts as legs, wavering back and forth with the elegance of a toddler, looking as though it could collapse at any moment. In several of the carriages, parents held on to their terrified children, as their cries rang out across the street. The lights around its grand wheel intermittently glowed and sparked to life, blinking to an asymmetrical beat as magick flowed across the giant structure, forcing it to move with to the command of the magickian that was responsible for the anthropomorphism of the inanimate fair ride.

  Raven and Shana walked towards it. The steps it was taking were so awkward and unsteady that it was not moving particularly quickly, to the point that by simply adopting a swift stride, they soon caught up with it. As they approached, it became clear that the wheel itself was not rotating. In the carriage at the peak stood a man that swung back and forth wildly, a bottle of whisky in one hand, his other operating the magick that was responsible for the movement of the legs.

  Tali watched through Shana's eyes as Raven's hands skimmed the air, casting to take the guy down in the midst of being responsible for a spectacularly public perversion of reality. Shana slapped the casting away.

  “There is no need to hurt him. . .” she barked.

  “Really? Because all them people back there could have got hurt just 'cos this guy wanted to play Transformers. . .”

  “What of the innocent people on the ride? If he becomes unconscious and is no longer in control of it, the whole thing could come crashing down. . .”

  Raven growled and rolled her eyes. “Fine. . .” she huffed. “How do you want to bloody play it?”

  “We ask nicely. . .”

  “That is the stupidest strategy I've ever heard.”

  Shana led the way and picked up pace, walking around in front of the ferris wheel. She threw a casting out and put a barrier up to stop the magickian stepping the ride any further forward.

  “Get out the way!” he shouted, in a barely intelligible slur.

  “I will not!” Shana insisted. “This is an unnecessary action on your part.”

  Raven rolled her eyes. “You're being a dick!” she shouted.

  “I'm being a dick?! You. . . And. . . Faith. . .” his eyes welled with tears, and the bottle fell from his grasp, plummeting to the ground below, where it exploded into a glittering rain of amber shards. “He didn't prepare me for. . . None of you did. . . It's not fair!” The tears began to shed, and with them, the ferris wheel began to shake back and forth, as if this interruption was interfering with his control over the structure.

  “Tali, what the hell is going on?” Raven asked.

  *

  Tali pulled out of Shana's point of view and shifted the scrying pool to get a better look at the magickian at the top of the wheel. She recognised him, Darius Gunther, he had been with the Circle for as long as she could remember. . . no reason for him to suddenly hit the bottle.

  She called up the history of his operations, nothing recent of note. . . apart from the battle at the Atlantic. . . A pit dug itself in her gut, as she recalled him being on the front lines, being one of too many that were hit by their gigantic foe's tendrils, his ribs caved in, flung into the ocean where he drowned slowly. . . unable to fight back, let alone move or swim. He, like all the others who died that day, had their deaths undone. Their passing from this world into the next was unwritten from reality, and they woke upon the banks of the reclaimed land in the ocean, as if they had never died at all.

  There had been a handful of follow-up counselling sessions for each of those that had been through such a horrendous experience. . .but given that so many had been impacted by seeing an Old One with their own eyes, not to mention having to attempt to fight back the damn thing, let alone the deaths and rebirths that had occurred. A few hours of talking about it was hardly going to make a dent in the psychic trauma they had encountered.

  Tali swallowed over a lump in her throat. “Don't hurt him,” she instructed. “He. . . he just needs to talk. . . about what happened in the Atlantic. . .”

  *

  Raven sighed and rolled her eyes indignantly, she had not been at the battle, and stepped away, gesturing for Shana to take the lead.

  “Name?” Shana whispered.

  “Darius.”

  “Darius!” she shouted.

  He shot up at the sound of his name, and the whole ferris wheel shook with his shock.

  “I am sorry for what befell you, at the Atlantic. . .”

  He glared at her, and the great wheel began to rotate, sending him down in a loop towards her.

  “What the gosh-darn hell do you know 'bout it?”

  “I was there, on the front lines.”

  “Did y'die?”

  Shana bit her lip. As much as she could understand the feeling of seeing such an old and powerful thing, death and rebirth on the battlefield was not something she was familiar with. But she had one experience of near-death, one she never discussed with anyone, not even Tali. She swallowed hard, and could already feel her eyes prickle with tears.

  “I did not. . . on the battlefield. . .”

  “Well then what d'ya know about it? Y'don't know nothing! Y'don't know what it's like, the emptiness of it all, the darkness, and then―”

  “It comes to you, the light. Wraps its arms around you, and it is so warm, so inviting. Nothing could compare to it, not an adult experience. It is like the first embrace of a mother upon its child, so loving, a reassurance vibrating through every second of its hold. The knowledge, the certainty that it is never going to leave, that it is love in and of itself, pure and true, unadulterated and whole.

  “Nothing else in the Natural World can compare to it, there is no physical love that can even begin to come close to it. It ushers you with such care, such kindness, it is beauty and it is hope. . . and then in an instant, it is gone. . . and you are returned to life. . .

  “And life is cruel and hard, cold and fearful. You were ripped from the arms of perfection and dumped in the wastelands of despair. . . And if there is nobody to usher you through that, to help you get over the sense of loss, I can certainly see why you wou
ld end up drunk and desperately trying to make it feel as though you have control, over your destiny. . . or over a ferris wheel. . .”

  Darius stared at her, the tears that fell down his cheeks reflected in Shana's own. He nodded, and tugged the bar on the carriage, stepping down from the ferris wheel.

  It began to topple, the street filling with the screams of those trapped inside it. Raven cast to grab it, Shana assisting, as they tugged one of the legs out of the way, and laid it down gently on the street.

  Darius staggered towards Shana, and she embraced him, trying her best not to gag at the stench of whisky that hovered around him. She looked over to Raven and tried to ignore the eye rolls and disappointment on her face. It seemed as though Raven really wanted to cause some destruction, and was thoroughly annoyed that it was not an option on this operation.

  She was meant to be better. . . not meant to have that angry and violent streak that had caused her to fly off the handle months previous. They were still in damage control from that incursion upon the Natural World. And as they called Tali for a door, Shana couldn't help but wonder if some damage was too deep-seated to perhaps ever be truly repaired. . .

  3

  The grand ritual

  EPICENTRE, THE CIRCLE

  Shana helped Darius through the door, and stayed with him until the councillors were ready to take him off for extensive therapy. Whilst she waited, Raven returned the weapons she had taken out, muttering to herself about how she didn't get a chance to have some fun.

  As Shana watched him leave, she assured him one last time that she would be available any time, day or night, if he ever wanted to talk. As the councillors' castings began to take effect, siphoning the drunk out of him, he thanked her. But there was something in his eyes that didn't read as gratitude. Shana couldn't help wonder if he would try to escape, and find the bottle again. . . or worse, try to take his own life and be returned to the warm, eternal embrace of death.