On Wings of Chaos (Revenant Wyrd Book 5)

by Travis Simmons

  Sara looked up at them, wonder in her eyes.

  “It also gave us its new name,” Jovian told her. “It is now called Wyrders’ Boon.”

  “Wyrders’ Boon,” Sara mouthed the name, as if testing it out on her tongue. She reached for the orb, but Annbell restrained her hand.

  “Remember what Mag told you she saw last time?” Annbell cautioned.

  “But that was last time,” Sara said, pulling her hand away from Annbell. “Can’t you feel the power coming from it now?”

  Annbell rolled her shoulders. She nodded her head, indicating that she could, in fact, feel the new power within the orb.

  Sara slipped her fingers over the orb, like she was touching the skin of a dear lover. Clasping the top of the orb tight, she slid the box closer to herself and reached out with her other hand.

  When her other hand touched the surface, her back arched, her mouth opened in a silent scream, and light poured forth from the orb, spilling up her arms and traveling through her veins. Her skin shone with the light of her veins through her skin, like a spider web of crimson light. A moan escaped her lips, and when it stopped, she tilted her head back and opened her eyes. Her eyes glowed white with the power of the orb.

  There was a pulse in the air from the orb, striking them all in their wyrd, unsteadying their feet and making them stumble. Annbell gripped the edge of the desk, and then righted herself. Jovian and Angelica sank into the chairs across the desk from Sara.

  They watched as the light of the orb formed into the familiar shape of the egrigor. Its small frame crouched on the desk before Sara. It reached out oddly large hands, and cradled her head in its palms, even as she was holding the orb. Its long fingers nearly circled her head.

  It leaned forward, pressing its head to hers, and then it was gone, merged with Sara.

  As Jovian watched, Sara’s hair became fuller, shinier. Her skin filled out, muscles reforming from their wasted state. The wrinkled skin all over her body became pliant and supple once more. The paleness she had shown before touching the orb was replaced with a healthy blush of skin.

  The light slowly faded from her eyes, receded from her veins and ebbed back down her arms and into the orb. When the transfer was complete, the orb dimmed, and Sara came back to herself with a gasp.

  She reached shaky hands toward her face, tentatively touching her cheek. Her hand snapped back as if burned. When Sara realized that her skin was whole once more, she flattened both hands to her face, and rubbed them over her youthful skin.

  She smiled, tears dancing in her eyes.

  “Annbell,” she said in a breathy whisper. “Get me a cane.”

  “Why not use your wyrd?” Annbell asked.

  “I’ve felt my wyrd all my life, but have taken for granted the flesh and blood that comprise me. I want to feel the burn of my muscles once more.”

  Even as Angelica and Jovian bested Wyrders’ Bane, there grew a dark light in the center of the dwarf encampment. From the ramparts, Russel watched the dark light grow, like a bubble in the center of the dwarves. And then, with a sound that was more felt than heard, it exploded, raining earth and rock all around the tents and gatherings of dwarves.

  Dwarves and trolls alike who were too close to the explosion were tossed into the air, to fall broken and bloodied on the ground, never to rise again.

  “What in the Otherworld?” an archer named Tami whispered at his side. “Some attack that went afoul?”

  Russel shook his head. He didn’t know, but he would take whatever attack helped them out. He just hoped it wasn’t something they were experimenting with that might bore a hole in the wall.

  It had taken Joya a long afternoon of arguing with Shelara to get the gear she needed. In the end the ooslebed realized there was no dissuading her Guardian, and had gone to the armory to retrieve the chainmail and the sword. Joya was never any good with a sword, but as the dwarves and trolls had made their approach on the wall, been pushed back and were now regrouping, planning their next attack, Joya didn’t imagine she would really need the weapon at all.

  It’s more ceremony, she thought. And just in case.

  Shelara hadn’t agreed to let Joya go alone, and she mostly blew the Realm Guardian’s cover by tagging along beside her like some minion of darkness. She scouted the area around them, pushing people back if she thought they ventured too close, and acting all the pompous guard.

  Joya rolled her shoulders under the chainmail shirt. She hated the thing, the fabric heavy on her body, making her sweat underneath, the noise it made, and how it made her look, little better than a boy in men’s clothing.

  She had come a long way from her petticoats, large bustles and corsets. Now she wore armor, a sword she had never been good at using, and a helm that flattened her hair. It was strange, after all she had gone through, that presentation was so important to her, but Joya clung to it like one might cleave to water in these dark days of the keep, because it was the only thing that remained of her life at the plantation.

  “Mag said the avalanche didn’t bury all the barracks,” Shelara told her. Joya grunted. “When the wyrders fell to the power of the stone, the first wave of dwarves scurried up the wall, but there were a couple houses of soldiers already armed. They met the threat and pushed them back.”

  “So what happens now?” Joya asked. “Isn’t war supposed to be more . . . bloody?”

  “Well, right now it seems the dwarves realize their problem, and that is the heavily guarded ramparts. Even without the wyrders they were pushed back. That wall is a great defense. Now they need to think of another way of penetrating it.”

  Joya looked up at the wall. It was tall, even taller than she had realized when she first came through it. Now that she was looking at it with the eyes of war, Joya could see how a barred and armed wall like this one could stop any threat. She turned to the left, toward a set of stairs that led up to the top of the parapet.

  Above, crows circled, calling out in their shrieking voices. An ill omen.

  She could see the gathering of soldiers on the top of the ramparts before she crested the stairs. They were standing, staring out at the dwarven armies amassed below. But there was something strange. Not wanting to be noticed for who she was, despite her dark elf shadow, Joya didn’t ask the huddled group of soldiers what they were looking at. Instead she observed for herself.

  There was a dark circle burned out in the snow, and still it smoldered. Where the darkness was, there was no sign that any army had ever occupied that space. The tents that had once stood there lay littered around the area, bloodstained and torn, like rags caught in a flurry of blades.

  Joya heard the call of the crows overhead again, but she ignored them. She leaned closer, peering out at the darkness at something she thought she saw . . . and yes, that’s what it was. From the burned hole, rivers of blackness leaked out among the dwarven army. Where it slithered, smoke bloomed to the surface of the earth and whispered into the air. If it touched a tent, the tent slowly crumbled to dust.

  Trolls and dwarves moved away from it, but in time the rivers of malaise burned themselves out.

  “That’s strange,” Joya said. “I wonder what it was?”

  “Who can say for sure?” Shelara said.

  The call of the crows drifted closer, and Joya looked up, frowning. Those shapes were too large to be crows. She must have seen them farther up than she had thought.

  Too late, Joya realized her folly. The black wings above didn’t belong to crows. They didn’t even belong to birds.

  The first figure streaked out of the sky, landing on the ramparts before her. It was an angel . . . a fallen.

  “Host,” it hissed, baring sharpened teeth. The giant black wings folded behind the bald angel. She stalked closer to Joya, and Joya retreated until her back pressed against the half wall behind her. The fallen reached out, her long fingers tipped in black nails.

  Behind her in the courtyard Joya heard three more thuds, and didn’t need to look to see that
the other winged creatures, the other fallen, had landed.

  She raised her sword, but the fallen batted it out of the way. It clattered to the floor of the ramparts and skittered away. Shelara leapt at the fallen, but she, too, was batted to the side. The dark elf flipped over the side of the wall, holding tight with fingertips for a scant moment before she fell to the snow of the courtyard. Joya couldn’t look, but she didn’t hear the ooslebed stand again.

  The fallen held out her hand, and black wyrd formed in her palm. Joya had just a moment to throw a pink shield up around her before the lightning struck her with enough force to blast her off the wall and back into the courtyard.

  A tingle raced along Cianna’s skin. Something wasn’t right.

  “What is it?” Devenstar asked. He had awoken only minutes ago, and had just barely struggled to a sitting position on his cot.

  “Something is wrong. Stay!” she commanded as he made to stand. She set the ointment she had been spreading on his wounds on the bedstand, and in moments she was racing up the stairs to the entrance hall.

  Here the feeling was stronger. She could smell the death in the air, and something else. Four something elses, to be exact. She flew toward the door and pushed it open.

  Chaos was everywhere. It was bedlam in the courtyard. People ran here and there, and black wyrd arched around the courtyard. People screamed, and rivers of blood ran through the snow.

  In the center of the activity Cianna saw a small soldier laying on the ground, their helm fallen off, and a spill of ebony hair pooled under their head.

  “Joya,” Cianna whispered, knowing without knowing how that it was her cousin. And a rephaim standing over her.

  It had happened before Mag could gather her senses. The angel landed on the ramparts, slapped away the sword, tossed aside the dark elf, and blasted the wyrder off the wall. As the prone figure landed in the courtyard, the fallen had jumped off the wall and landed before her. She could see that now, with the helm off, it was certainly a her.

  The doors to the keep opened, and there stood Cianna.

  But there were three other fallen down there cutting the soldiers to shreds. In horror, Mag watched the battle. She readied herself; gathering her green wyrd, she lashed out. Arcs of green lightning burned the air, flying true to one of the fallen, but it sparked off the angel’s skin and did little more than create a light show.

  The fallen looked up at her, gathered his wyrd, and lashed out at her with a tendril of black wyrd. She had a moment to hope that it wasn’t chaos wyrd, and threw up a shield. But the wyrd wrapped around her like a lasso, and the fallen yanked with all his might. Mag felt herself pulled from her perch at the top of the wall. In seconds she was speeding toward the earth.

  Moments before she impacted, Mag had the presence of mind to blast out with a burst of wyrd, pushing herself further away from the earth and her concussion with it. Like a gale force wind the wyrd fluttered her back, levitating for a second, fighting against the pull of the fallen. Mag landed on soft feet. The fallen released her and gathered more wyrd to himself, but Mag was faster.

  Quicker than she had thought possible, Mag was loosing green fireballs, one after the next, straight at the angel, stepping closer with each hurl. The angel huddled down in a ball under the threat of Mag’s wyrd. But as she got closer to him, she realized that he wasn’t huddled down to protect himself, but to gather his wyrd for attack.

  He threw open his wings, arched his back, and yelled. His wyrd blasted out of him, throwing Mag backwards. Her head connected with the wall in a sickening crack, and she fell in a puff of white into the snowbank beneath her.

  Joya opened her eyes. Her head swam sickeningly, but there was an urgency in her stomach, telling her to stand, to defend herself. She just wanted to lay there, look up at the clear blue sky and feel the cool breeze on her face. She took a deep breath, wondering why she was outside, lying down, and apparently just waking up. Then the coppery smell of blood reached her nose and she remembered.

  Joya sat up moments before the fallen attacked again. Lightning lanced the air, and Joya had no time to protect herself. A breath before the lightning struck her, a gray field of some misty substance gathered before her. Inside, power swirled and danced. There was something to this wyrd before her, but she didn’t have time to investigate. Joya hastily strengthened her shields and retreated. She backed up, taking in her surroundings.

  She saw a blond fallen stalking toward the wall, gathering in its hands a massive ball of wyrd. It hurled it even as Joya lashed out at him with a ball of her own pink wyrd. She struck the fallen true, and he tumbled sideways into the sword of a scared soldier who happened to be in the right place at the right time.

  Joya hadn’t been fast enough. The black ball of wyrd struck the wall, and exploded. Stone and mortar rained down around them.

  “Retreat!” she heard someone yell behind her, and recognized the voice as Cianna. Joya backed up, but she just couldn’t leave all these people here. Mag had been there somewhere, and Shelara was still lying next to the wall. She didn’t know if the ooslebed was still alive, but she couldn’t leave her, and Joya knew what this meant. The wall had been breached; the dwarves could make it inside.

  The gray mist that had been protecting her shuddered and then dissolved before her eyes. Joya stood her ground. The fallen stalked closer. Joya pumped more wyrd into her shield and resolved herself to either die there protecting those within, or kill this fallen.

  The fallen called its wyrd, but Joya didn’t wait. She lashed out with her own pure, unfiltered wyrd. The torrent she called sizzled and burned the air, cutting a black swathe across the ground and striking at the fallen. It launched its own wyrd at her, but Joya’s attack was making a mark. She felt emboldened, strengthened by her purpose of protecting the keep and those that resided in it.

  The fallen’s wyrd started leaking through her defenses, and she took a moment to strengthen her shields, her wyrded attack falling silent even as the angel’s black wyrd surrounded her in a burning ring of midnight fire.

  Joya played on it. She motioned with her hands, gathered the black wyrd to her. As it formed into her hands, it changed from black to pink. She pumped more of her wyrd into it until the color of her energy spilled out onto the ground, claiming the ring of dark fire as her own, changing it pink, and sprouting up like a wall of fiery protection around her.

  And then she blasted out with all of her might, throwing all of the wyrded fire that she could at the fallen. Through the waves of heat she watched the fallen try to take flight, and she thought one of the darkest things she could.

  Hard for birds to fly with clipped wings. Her face twisted with the effort, but she put all of her body behind the motion. She pushed with her mind and curled her fingers up. The pink fire obeyed, lashing up and igniting the wings of the fallen. The angel let out a scream like nothing Joya had ever heard before, and the clouds themselves seemed to tremble, but it worked.

  In a ball of pink fire the angel fell back to the courtyard, smoldering and injured greater than Joya could have imagined. Now it was Joya who had the power. She stalked toward the fallen, gathering a sword from a soldier’s dead grip as she came.

  “So you want to reach the Ever After?” Joya asked, coming to a halt before the fallen. The angel’s wings were burned to nothing more than bone, and still the pink fire clung to her, fueled by the angel’s wyrd. “Then let me send you there.”

  Joya swung the sword above her head and put all of her strength into the downward arch, burying it deep in the angel’s skull.

  The fallen crumbled to the ground, twitching as her life seeped in crimson rivers from her body.

  Cianna didn’t know which way to turn. There was Mag, smashing into the wall, and then Joya stirring to wake. She had a moment to cast a barrier of wythes up in front of her cousin before another fallen attacked the wall.

  Joya blasted out with her wyrd, knocking the angel into the sword of a soldier who had been standing there like a
statue, wanting to strike the angel, but pissing his pants in fear at the prospect of what might happen if he did. The decision had been taken from him, and moments later he was shaking the injured form of the angel off his sword. But the fallen wasn’t dead.

  “Retreat!” she yelled, but no one seemed to be able to hear or answer her. A portion of the wall was down, and soon the dwarves would be on them.

  Cianna saw the soldier who had inadvertently injured the angel backing away toward a barracks, but the angel was faster. With a beat of his wings, the fallen was on the soldier, burying his teeth in the man’s neck. There was a gurgle of a scream, and blood squirted out of the man’s neck, painting his chest in ruby red.

  The fallen fed.

  It was from death that the rephaim got his power, and it was in death that Cianna got hers. She felt the soul of the soldier slipping away. Her eyes shifted, and now she saw a world lit up by wyrd, by death.

  Spirits stood all around the courtyard, lost, their deaths having come so swiftly that they didn’t even realize they were dead. But there was something here they could still do for her.

  Cianna drew on them, pulling their silvery wyrd to herself like a weapon. She fashioned it into a sword and dashed at the rephaim, now crouched on the ground, feasting the soldier’s neck.

  She jumped at the angel’s back, burying the blade of souls deep within him. She pumped her necromancy into the souls, expanding them and feeding them all the anger she could. These are the ones that killed you! she thought. Make them pay.

  The sword exploded, throwing her backwards from the rephaim. She landed in a painful heap on the ground.

  The necromancy blew outward in a sphere, held its position for a moment in a swirling orb of death, and then retreated to the body of the rephaim. He stood, shook himself off like a wet dog, and turned to Cianna, his face painted with blood. He smiled.

  “Thanks for the boost,” he cooed at her. He took a step closer, his body rippling with muscles under the black toga he wore. “And from the lady necromancer herself. Care to join us?” He held out a hand to her, but she could feel the souls inside of him.