by Lee Isserow
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Shadowmancer
A Circle Novel
By
Lee Isserow
Copyright © 2017 Lee Isserow
All rights reserved.
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Other books in The Circle
The Knowledge
Red Rain
The Freelancer series
The Spirit Box
The Roving Death
The Prince of Darkness
Spirited Words
Snake's Kin
1
A throne of flesh and bone
CORTENOVA, ITALY
Under the light of the moon, the commune of Cortenova might easily have been mistaken for a rustic village from some bygone era. Its silhouette against the night sky was like something out of a fairy tale, in the mountains yet surrounded by mountains, and from afar might appear as though it were comprised of picture-book thatched cottages and wooden cabins. If the street lighting had been functioning, that spell would have been instantly broken. But there had been no electricity in Cortenova for close to a week. Not since a new visitor arrived in town. Not that he was actually new by any measure. He was in fact older than the commune itself, let alone the treeline that surrounded it. So he was not new, and technically, he was not a visitor either. He had lived there, many years previous, when even the land formations were different from their current iteration.
It had changed, this place. So much had changed. Not just the picturesque locale, but those that inhabited it. The sapiens had bred exponentially since his last sojourn in this realm, and had lost a large amount of the hair they once had all over their bodies. They lived surrounded by the resplendence of nature and yet deemed it appropriate to pollute it, tear it apart at the molecular level, just to expedite their travel, and feed themselves, and access entertainment and so on. As soon as he laid his eyes (figuratively, for he had no eyes) on the way the once-former primitives of this land had treated the glory of what once was, the world built by the creators that he had inhabited for so very long, so very long ago, he knew action must be taken. But he was only able to take certain actions, a rule of law holding him in check, in balance. And so, rather than wreak vengeance upon the land in the name of the gods that had long since laid their heads to rest, he descended upon the village.
When the village had been purged he took refuge further up the mountain, in a villa that had been constructed, lived in, and abandoned during his absence. He liked it, even though it was decaying, derelict for decades or longer. He had no taste for sapien architecture, but there was something about the building, perhaps the amalgamation of styles and influences, or maybe it was the rotting that he liked, the ailing brickwork and heavily peeling red paint that once coated the entire facade. It might well have been the death, for there was so much death that had occurred there, a violent and tragic aura permeated the very stone of the villa. But deep down, he knew what it was that drew him there, and he dare not speak its name out loud, let alone allow it to crawl across his thoughts.
He sat in what was once a grand ballroom, on a throne of flesh and bone that was still wet to the touch. Life still lingering as best it could to the parts and pieces of the dead, as it always did. He liked it here, in this place. Did not like the restrictions his return held. But he would bide his time, as he had done for millennia. After all, he thought, what is the point in immortality if one does not have patience?
2
Close to invisible
The woodland had never been so quiet. Any creatures that once resided there, whether legged or winged, had been caught, killed, skinned and eaten. Their remains now sat scattered in the once derelict mansion that lay at the centre of the clearing just beyond the treeline. Three voices whispered through the thick overgrowth. Three voices that were the same voice, and yet not the same voice. Three voices that came not from lips there and then, but through the ether from another place that was well hidden from man or magick alike.
Beryn Comstock watched from the confines of his office. His eyes were awash with a milky white cloud, vision of his present locale replaced by the point of view of his lead operative, as light washed across the forest for barely a second, sending long, hard shadows dancing around for a blink of an eye. He was hunched over his desk, brow furrowed, squinting with concentration and consternation as the mission began.
When the darkness returned to the trees, five figures stood amongst the shadows. They might well have been shadows themselves, clad in black material that was tight on their bodies, clinging to their musculature and curves. Three of them muttered words under their breath, whilst the other two each lifted a hand into the air, tracing out a symbol with forefinger first, then switching to little finger to seal the sigil. The enchantments to their tactical clothing activated, making them close to invisible to the naked eye.
Without a word exchanged among them, they walked towards the edge of the treeline and looked out at the villa that lay across the unkempt grass. Backlit by the moon, it somehow looked grander and more ominous that it did in the daylight images they had seen of it in the briefing.
A female voice whispered through their heads. 'Barrier up ahead, three feet.'
Despite each of the five of the shadows being more than adept in various magicks, none of them could see the barrier they were being warned of.
Titus Zen was the only one to speak up. After all, it was his mission, his team. But as the notion of his words made their way from thought through neural pathways to synapses that intended to vibrate his vocal chords, a temporary bewitchment intervened. No sound emanated, not any sound audible to those in the vicinity at least. His words were taken from his throat and spoken directly into the minds of the rest of his team and those back in the Epicentre monitoring the operation. 'Can't see a damn thing, Tali. Tell that lazy bastard Three to do his damn job...'
'I heard that,' whispered three voices that were once voice. They began to mutter a forgotten language under their breaths, a chant that lilted high and then low, as if the words were travelling on a rocky, tuneful ocean.
The team on the ground continued to monitor the villa as they waited for the chant to take effect. Within moments, light began to swim on the air around the villa, as if being refracted on a watery surface. A dome began to appear, mostly translucent but for occasional undulating glimmers of prismatic and pearlescent abstractions of moonlight.
'Ready?' Titus asked. The rest of the team nodded in the affirmative. They were more than ready. This was a cakewalk, a quick, precise incursion. Cut through the barrier, get across the grounds, into the building, deal and seal the nefarious bastard that had taken over the town, and back in time for last orders at the pub.
Comstock sucked at his teeth as he watched through Titus's eyes. The other four members of the team walked silently over to the barrier. Their feet met with autumnal detritus discarded by trees, but the enchantments gobbled up the sounds of their footfall, every cracked twig and crunched leaf. They went in formation, two standing four feet apart, two crouching beneath them. They put their hands up, flat with fingers outstretched, barely an inch from the iridescent surface of the barrier.
Enochian words sung through their heads in whispers 'Odo A Como', literally translating to open the opening, said over and over. A ripple formed in the space between the four of them, then another. The waves from the focal point becoming wilder, a rocky tide that burst open from the centre. At first the break in the barrier was only inches wide, but as the opalescent tide continued to gain strength it got larger, until it was large enough for all six foot t
hree of Titus to slip though.
He glanced at his four other team members, and smiled as he walked towards the gap in the barrier.
'Be ready to follow me through.'
It didn't need to be said, they were all ready. The breach in the barrier was only going to last seconds after they lifted their hands and ceased their chanting. A swift movement was required, a stride that turned into a leap through the hole, landing into a roll on the ground, over their shoulder and back up to their feet. They watched as Titus walked towards the gap with steady, purposeful steps. One foot across, the second to join it, their incursion just moments away.
The barrier under their fingers rippled. A new tide on its surface, a force that threw them from their positions, clamping down on the breach they had made in its undulating spectral surface. They shook off the rush of energy that knocked them across the forest floor, and looked up at where they had just been assembled. Titus was still standing there, motionless.
Words of concern zigzagged back and forth between them as they rose to their feet and cautiously walked towards him. He was not replying, something was wrong. One of them laid a hand on their leader's shoulder. His body, or at least half of it, fell back and collapsed to the floor with an audible crunch of leaves and twigs; the tactical gear had been torn, its enchantment broken. Titus Zen, their once proud and highly decorated lead operative had, as they would say in times gone by, been cleft in twain.
'Emergency evac!' one of the agents shouted through to Talika. 'He was expecting us, waiting for the breach!'
'Three, you heard them!' Talika shouted back. 'Tel-evac in ten seconds.'
'Fifteen.' replied the three voices that were once voice, with an indignant tone.
Fifteen seconds would, it turned out, be too long. In barely the time it took to send the message out, the barrier lifted from the ground, and swallowed the four surviving agents up, shrouding them from the possibility of an evacuation.
The milky cloud dissipated from Beryn Comstock's eyes. He tore out of his chair and stormed to the door, shouting out across the Epicentre to Talika. “What the bloody hell just happened?”
“We're still working it out, sir!” she shouted back.
Trapped inside the barrier, with the two halves of their colleague, the four agents had given up with their comms.
“It's no use, nothing's getting through this damn barrier...” said Dana Singh. She knew someone had to step up as leader after Zen's demise, and felt herself fit for the role. “But we're inside, so the mission goes on. We don't stop 'til we've dealed and sealed.”
“But this is what he wants!” said one of the others. “He basically opened up the damn door to us...”
“He may want it, but he don't know what we've got packing...” she said, reaching to her hip with a closed fist. Her first and forefinger curled outwards, each working independently at tracing symbols against her thigh. As the sigil was completed, a shimmer of light rippled from her waist along the length of her leg. Gossamer strands of light arced back and forth to weave a scabbard, a slim golden hilt sat glimmering in its mouth. She pulled the sword from its sheath and held it ahead of her. A silver sheen illuminated the dark ground in front of them, there being no use for stealth, now their presence was known.
The others were less sure of her gung-ho style of leadership, but given that they were trapped within the barrier, there was nothing close to good reason to argue. They set about conjuring their own weapons forth; another sword, a five foot long staff etched with runes for defence and offence, and a set of enchanted knuckle dusters. The latter had never been approved of by their former team leader. They had been under Zen's command for close to three years, and he had a preference for the old school fantasy tropes in his choice of weapons. Now he was gone there was no longer a glare of disapproval at the conjuring of the knuckle dusters, plus, Raven Shaffec-Argo liked their gimmick; the propensity to burst into flames, and in-turn, immolate those that were on the wrong side of her fists.
A whisper made its way round the group, as Singh enchanted their senses, priming them for better vision, better hearing, and overall faster reactions. She led them across the unkempt lawn towards the villa itself. The facade was a shadow of its former glory. Once known as The Red House, the colour that gave it the nomenclature was only present in fragments of paint that clung for dear life to the crumbling plaster. They walked with trepidation up old, weathered stone steps, past plants and trees long left to overgrow wild at their own whim. Up ahead, across a small courtyard, was the entrance, a grand archway of brickwork that was part of some renovation, art deco in design, with geometrically linear trapeziums framing the door.
At Singh's command, they halted in front of it. She held up her palm towards it, and muttered under her breath as she checked for wards. There were none, on either the door or the villa. A chill came over her, a fear that she wouldn't allow herself to share with those under her assumed command. This was all too easy. Swallowing her concerns over a lump in her throat, she pushed the thick wooden door. It screamed as it swung on its hinges, a haunting moan that felt like it echoed not just through the mansion itself, but for miles around.
“Well, if they didn't know we were here before, they probably do now...” Raven said, slamming her fists together. Sparks erupted from the glyphs on the knuckle dusters, and a roaring flame came to life across their surface.
Singh glared at Raven as her fists smouldered in the cold night's air. “Real subtle...” she huffed, before leading the way across the threshold. As they each crossed into the house, they found themselves consumed by darkness. Even the flames on Raven's fists cast no light. Something moved in the darkness that encompassed them. Bony white claws, that came for them, burrowing warm, wet holes in their flesh.
They tried to fight, but the darkness was thick and strong, held them frozen in place. They tried to scream as their skin was penetrated and meat torn from the bone, but the darkness clogged their mouths and let no sounds out.
The doors of the Villa de Vecchi slammed shut with its four trespassers locked inside. The visitor to Cortenova watched with muted glee as his minions did his bidding, slicing and dicing the intruders to his precise specifications. This was his favourite part. And he was going to savour every moment of it.
3
Extraordinary measures
EPICENTRE, THE CIRCLE
Beryn Comstock was standing over Talika's shoulder as she tried every method she could think of to re-establish communication with the team. He was not at all pleased at her lack of success.
“Where the bloody hell are they?!” he shouted, directly into her ear.
She raised her brow with a slow, deep inhalation, choosing to bite her tongue, rather than tell her superior exactly how unhelpful he was being. Fortunately, someone else decided to speak up before she had to combine carefully chosen words that may or may not have resulted in her being fired.
“I bloody told you!” a voice declared from the other side of the room, abruptly punctuated by a slam of a door. Large, heavy boots stomped towards Tali's station as Isaiah Faith stalked across the Epicentre with the intention of ripping his direct superior a new one. “What did I say, Comstock? That barrier wasn't just some pound shop evocation.”
“Zen wasn't some bloody toddler out on his first run, he knew what he was doing.”
“But he wasn't prepared for this bastard, was he? Not in the bloody slightest. All that ego, no foresight.”
“Nobody could have foreseen any of this!” Comstock spat back.
“Actually,” Talika piped up, regretting it instantly, “Three... kinda saw it coming. Report's on your desk.” She quickly turned back to her workstation, and tried to pretend she hadn't said a single word, just wanting the fiery glares between Beryn and Isaiah to burn her alive right then and there.
“I read the report,” Faith said, putting a reassuring hand on Tali's shoulder momentarily. “It said the barrier shouldn't be breached, and an incursion was best attempted b
y extraordinary measures.”
“It was Zen's operation, he made the call. You want to use extraordinary measures, you head up the next infiltration... I believe I know just the man to provide your extraordinary measures...”
4
Some unwritten law
LONDON, ENGLAND
The Circle Line train grunted into the station, and breathed a heavy, exhausted sigh as it struggled with the heft of tugging each of its many doors open. Passengers marched off in haste, seeming all too relieved to be escaping the cattle car jaws of the steel and aluminium beast. Despite the mass exodus, the carriages were all still close to overflowing, condensation dripping down the windows, a barely visible ripple of heat wafting out of the open doors.
Jules Nichols stood on the platform, weighing up the odds. He could wait for the next train, or the the one after that, it wasn't like he was in a hurry to get home. The job interviews that sucked up most of his day had been close to a waste of time, as all of them had been since they decided to settle back in England. He huffed, knowing all too well that every train would be packed for the next hour or so. Against his better judgement, he stepped on board, forcing his way in-between an overweight goth with body odour issues, and a tiny Asian woman who was insisting on reading a broadsheet newspaper with it open as wide as her arms would allow. This was not an unfamiliar experience on the Tube. Passengers seemed to do all they could to keep their distance from their fellow Londoners. Eye contact was forbidden by some unwritten law, and Jules had discovered that shooting off a polite smile let alone trying to initiate conversation was deemed the worst commuter crime of all.
