Eve of Destruction

by C. E. Stalbaum

  “Nothing to worry about, little lady,” the man assured her with a twisted grin. “We ain’t here to bag you. Your friend here, on the other hand…” He finished loading the weapon and pointed it at Danev. The illusionist sat clutching his leg, wincing against the pain and staring straight at the barrels in front of him.

  “I’d look away if I were you,” one of the other men said as he shifted his own aim towards Danev.

  He fired.

  ***

  The two magi atop the train never stood a chance. They were competent weavers, certainly, and if not for her immortality, Shaedra might have actually paused before charging at two of them full bore. But even if she hadn’t managed to remember the reversal spell that reflected their own magic back at then, it wasn’t as if they could hurt her anyway. Neither could the Talami woman, no matter how many bullets she fired.

  Shaedra watched as the explosion consumed the two magi, the flames and electricity reducing their bodies to twitching piles of ash. But somehow, despite the intensity of the blast, the Talami woman managed to flip away at the last moment and vault back down into the open-sided boxcar. It was an impressive feat of agility, to say the least, though Shaedra could hear the woman’s pained scream even above the screeching rails. And more than that, she could feel the Talami’s pain echoing through the Fane.

  It was like blood spilling in the water, and Shaedra couldn’t resist the frenzy. They were only a few kilometers outside Cadotheia, but already her Vakari senses could feel the difference. As the train whipped across the grassy plains, she could once again sense the throbbing energy of life all around her—and the hunger inside her stirred.

  She clenched her teeth together and leapt from the train again. With her magic she twisted the invisible force of gravity to control her own momentum, and a split second later she landed atop the boxcar that still glowed from the fiery explosion just moments before. From here Shaedra could hear her prey whimpering, and it pushed her over the edge—it was time to finish this.

  She swung down into the boxcar and eyed the yohisha. The woman was short but athletic, a compact little bundle of muscle who might have been fearsome under a different set of circumstances. But now she was little more than a sniveling ball clutching desperately at her wounded arm.

  “You’re lucky I’m hungry,” Shaedra said. “It’s much cleaner.”

  The Talami smiled and abruptly swung her pistol to bear. She fired, and the shot tore cleanly through Shaedra’s left arm.

  And it hurt.

  Shaedra stumbled. She always felt a little pain when she was shot, but normally it was dull and listless—more like the memory of pain than the real thing. This time it burned. It was like someone had doused her arm in liquid iron, and she dropped her saber and clutched desperately at her wound.

  “Wha…?”

  “You don’t get up from this one, bitch,” the yohisha sneered, and fired again.

  Shaedra turned reflexively, and the shot pierced her left shoulder. She shrieked and tumbled backwards against the boxcar’s rear wall. The pain was excruciating, but even as her vision clouded and her mind raced to understand what was happening, she felt something even more surprising.

  Fear.

  She was never afraid. Fear was a response from those with something to lose, and she had lost everything long ago. She had no righteous cause, no driving purpose, no grand crusade that got her out of bed every morning. For a time raw vengeance had sustained her, but eventually even that had atrophied. Her loyalties to anyone, even a man who had helped her many times like Maltus, were ice thin. She was an empty shell, a bitter husk of what had once been a vibrant woman, a powerful mage, a human being…

  But the terror was real, and it froze her blood even as she collapsed helplessly to the ground. She raised her chin and met the eyes of her killer.

  The yohisha had dragged herself to her feet, and her satisfied grin widened. She leveled her gun down at the helpless mass beneath her and pulled the trigger—

  The train lurched violently as a terrible screech cut through the air, and suddenly the small woman was violently flung from her feet. She smashed into the metal wall above the Vakari and then tumbled to the ground, her pistol clattering away and eventually skittering up and out of the train altogether.

  Shaedra grimaced against the pain and the churning in her stomach. The conductor must have finally figured out what was going on and slammed on the brakes. Unfortunately, that probably meant something had happened inside the train to tip him off. She just had to hope the Eclipsean was up to the challenge of whatever thugs Chaval had put onboard.

  But for now, fate had once again given her another chance. A part of her wanted to refuse, to just leave the wound be and bleed out. It would be a merciful end, really, considering all that she’d done. And it would finally mean she could escape from the hunger.

  Instead she reached out with her good arm and clutched the yohisha by the throat. A minute earlier it would have been easy to snap such a soft and fragile neck, but now she found herself barely able to keep her fingers clasped around it.

  It was enough. Shaedra broke the Fane, using the woman’s life energy to tear a path into it and drink its energy. The air hissed and popped as she Defiled, but soon a soft blue glow bathed her palm, and she wove a healing spell into her wounds.

  It didn’t work. She growled when the pain refused to subside, but knew she shouldn’t have expected otherwise. If her Vakari healing ability wasn’t up to the challenge, no spell was going to work, either—at least, not one that healed directly. She tightened her grip around the Talami’s throat even as the smaller woman struggled to break free, and this time she drew power for a much simpler spell.

  A burst of flame flashed from her hand and seared her arm and shoulder. Shaedra screamed, and in that moment of agony the yohisha managed to kick herself free. Her yellowish skin was deathly pale and her arm sagged like a useless stump, but the biggest transformation had come in the woman’s dark eyes—they gaped in horror at the writhing monster in front of her.

  Without waiting for the train to slow any more, the yohisha dove out of the boxcar. But by that point Shaedra was barely even paying attention. Now she really had really had dipped her arm in molten iron, and she couldn’t even feel her hunger through the pain. But despite the searing agony, her wounds had been cauterized. She would live, even if she didn’t deserve it.

  Shaedra closed her eyes and waited for the train to stop.

  ***

  Eve screamed as a crimson streak spread across Danev’s flawless white coat. He barely even twitched when the shots hit him; he just slumped over, eyes gazing emptily at the ceiling.

  “I said you didn’t have to worry, love,” the Dusty leader sneered. “At least it isn’t you, eh?”

  The men behind him chuckled. They were numb to death, numb to pain. Their companion had been shot right next to them and they’d thoughtlessly shoved his corpse aside. They were cold, heartless men robbed of their humanity by the suffering all around them, and like most others in their position, they didn’t even know it. They couldn’t see how they were working for the very man who had destroyed them, the one who had taken simple farming villages and turned them into ashen cities where wealthy men lived like kings and the poor struggled worse than ever. All they could see was the temporary power they’d been given, the steel tool of death in their hands that had wrought a great but terrible equality across the land. Now even the simplest torbo was lethal. Even the humblest brigand could sew chaos and misery with the squeeze of a finger.

  Someone had to stop them. And it might as well be her.

  Eve brought herself to her feet. One of Maltus’s spells, once an undecipherable mess of stray formulae and theorems, crystalized in her mind. And now it was time to unleash its wrath.

  She opened her palms, and they immediately burst into flames. The smoke-filled air popped and hissed as three fiery rings coalesced around her, each swirling dangerously like an immolated hoop daring a
circus beast to leap through it. She was vaguely aware of the other passengers screaming at the display of magic, but she wasn’t paying attention to them. She was focused on the now horrified faces of the three Dusties standing in front of her. They could have been the same ones that killed her mother; they could have been the same men that had ruined her life.

  She would never find out, because they would never get the chance to tell her.

  The rings leapt from her body, and the Dusties screamed. The acrid stench of scorched flesh filled the car as the rings lashed from one body to the next, literally burning the men alive. The writhing flames hungrily charred several nearby crates and superheated the metal in the benches until they glowed a bright red. The outer box-car wall liquefied and peeled open, and a burst of cool air whipped in and sizzled as it tried to douse the insatiable pyre.

  Eve shivered as the power coursed through her. She had never felt so alive, so in control, as that moment. For the first time in her life she was no longer a student; she was a master, and the Fane was her loyal servant. But even more importantly, she was no longer a victim. Her fate was hers alone to make, and she didn’t need to rely on anyone or anything.

  This was power. And she liked it.

  “Eve!”

  She turned and blinked. The wind had nearly extinguished the flames by now, and it swirled up to chill the sweat on her face. The bench across from her was little more than a steaming pile of slag, and the nearby crates had been reduced to ash. The other passengers in the train had fallen deathly silent, and they trembled as they looked upon her—just as if they were staring into the face of death itself.

  She glanced down and noticed Danev’s body was gone. All that remained was a trail of blood. She shook her head and swiveled her gaze about…

  “Eve,” Zach repeated. He stood in the adjoining doorway. Aram was next to him, crouching over Danev’s body even as the illusionist stared up at her in shock. His leg was still bloody, but otherwise he seemed fine.

  “What?” Eve breathed the question more than spoke it, and suddenly her throat went dry. She realized belatedly that she wasn’t even touching the ground—she was hovering almost a full meter off the floor, suspended by an invisible force like an angry goddess…

  The strength left her limbs, and she collapsed in a crumpled ball. Zach was there in a heartbeat to scoop her up and whisper soothing words into her ear, but she wasn’t paying attention to them. Her eyes were locked upon the charred remains of the men she’d annhilated.

  “It’s all right,” he assured her, squeezing tightly at her shoulders. “It’s all right.”

  “No,” she whispered. “It isn’t.”

  The rails screeched as the conductor threw on the breaks, and Zach gripped her tightly as they bounced against the seats. Her eyes never left the bodies. They had been men, once. Evil men, perhaps, but living, breathing creatures regardless—and she had killed them. She had severed them from the Fane and cast them into the Void. She had sinned against the Goddess.

  And worst of all, she had felt good doing it.

  “You had to defend yourself,” Zach said, though his voice was hollow. “You didn’t have a choice.”

  Eve glanced down to her hands, to the palms that had so easily wrought death and destruction just seconds earlier. She didn’t understand what she had done. She didn’t understand how it was even possible. She had never been taught that spell, and yet…

  “What am I?” she asked in a hushed whisper. The wind froze the tears flowing down her cheeks. “What am I?”

  He didn’t answer. They sat there huddled in silence, the only sound the screeching of the rails—and the chilling whisper in her mind, repeating the same word over and over.

  Avenshal.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Glenn Maltus let out a long, slow breath as the sending stone floated back down into its sheath. For almost two decades he’d been dreading this day, and numerous times over the years he’d managed to convince himself that it never would come. Tara could have made a mistake, after all—she could have misinterpreted her visions. Or perhaps she’d taught Eve well enough to change the future, and the crisis had already been averted.

  He wasn’t sure if he’d ever really believed those self-serving rationalizations, but after today, they seemed less likely than ever.

  It had finally happened. Eve had unleashed her power. She had woven enough energy to claim lives, a supposedly impossible feat for a mage who had yet to take the Oath Rituals. Even with access to the spellbook he’d given her, no krata should have been able to learn its techniques in so short a time. He had given it to her as a test, one he’d prayed she wouldn’t pass.

  The Enclave would demand blood. More than likely, they would order Maltus to eliminate her…and if they didn’t trust him, they would have one of their other assets take care of her. He doubted that anything he could do or say at this point would convince them otherwise.

  Thankfully, it would probably be at least a day before the Council got news of the attack. According to Shaedra, the train had stopped several hours out of Cadotheia, which would put them squarely in the western heartlands—essentially, the middle of nowhere. It would buy him some time to get her somewhere safe and then figure out what in Edeh’s name they were going to do.

  Maltus stood from his chair and glanced towards the bags laid out at the steps by the door. Jean was out shopping and would hopefully be back soon, and they were already packed and ready to go. They would depart the station just after dawn, but until then there wasn’t much he could do besides—

  He froze as the unmistakable summons of the Dreamscape tugged at the corner of his mind. It was like a mental alarm, a faint brush against his consciousness that told him when the Council wished to speak with him. He could ignore it, of course. He could later claim he was in the middle of something and couldn’t be disturbed.

  But he knew it didn’t matter. There was only one reason they would want to speak with him right this instant, and his stomach immediately sank.

  They knew. Somehow, despite the fact the attack had occurred in a remote location far from their prying eyes, the Enclave already knew. They must have had another agent nearby; perhaps he or she had been on the train the entire time. Maltus grimaced. He should have learned long ago not to underestimate the strength or scope of the Council’s reach.

  Regardless of how they knew, ignoring them would not only be pointless, but potentially dangerous as well. He needed to stall, to buy Eve as much time as he possibly could…

  Maltus walked back over to his desk and sat down. He reached out to the Fane and wove the Dreamscape spell. A moment later his avatar was striding through the forbidding, shadowy mists of the dream realm, and the Magister’s Council materialized before him. The same bitter scowl was repeated over and over on each of their faces as he stopped in front of their half circle.

  “Magister Maltus,” Grand Magistrix Veldara said. “You know why you’ve been summoned before us.”

  It was a statement more than a question, but he answered anyway. “I do.”

  She tilted her head slightly. “There was great concern in this Council as to whether or not you would reply. It is good to see my faith in you was not misplaced.”

  “I hope not.”

  “We gave you time to find DeShane’s journal, and, just as I expected, it held no answers for us,” Wilhelm said coldly. “Now, despite all your protestations, the Avenshal has revealed herself. The prophecy has come true, and the Fane already cries out in agony.”

  Maltus felt his cheek twitch. He hadn’t expected them to waste much time with pleasantries, but apparently Wilhelm was perfectly willing to bypass them all together and launch an all-out assault. Once again Maltus knew they’d already spoken about this without him—and probably already reached a decision. Calling him here before this circle was little more than a formality.

  But he had served them for a long time, and he knew they rarely found uniform agreement in anything. He mig
ht still have a slim chance…

  “The journal is incomplete, but it has provided some insights,” Maltus said. “With time and study, it is still possible that—”

  “We no longer have time, thanks to you,” Wilhelm snapped. “You have delayed us for months with your excuses, and now we are forced into a single course of action.”

  “An action which you preferred all along,” Organis muttered.

  Wilhelm shot an icy glare at the other man. “Even you don’t have the audacity to sit here and deny what has happened. The daughter of the Prophetess has sundered the Fane, and lives have been lost.”

  “Of course not,” Organis muttered, folding his arms across his chest.

  “Wait, what are you talking about?” Maltus asked, a sudden hope sparking to life in the back of his mind. “Eve did not Defile.”

  Wilhelm turned back to face him. “Our agent was very clear on the matter.”

  “Your agent was wrong,” Maltus told him. So they did have an agent somewhere on the train. He made a mental note to warn Shaedra about that later. “She defended herself from an attack by Chaval’s Dusties, but she did not Defile.”

  Talkas frowned and leaned forward. “You are basing this on testimony from your Vakari? You know more than anyone how unreliable she is.”

  “I also know that she understands Defiling magic better than anyone,” Maltus countered. “If she didn’t sense it, then it didn’t happen. Unless your agent has that same talent, then I will side with Shaedra on this matter.”

  It was a statement designed as much to get information as it was to persuade them. If they did have another Vakari close by, then Shaedra would need to know that as soon as possible to prepare…

  “If we assume that your information is correct, that still means the girl wove power far beyond her means,” Veldara said.