A Rising Storm (Tainted Blood Book 4)

by Jeff Gunzel

  “In danger from what? From who?” Bella asked, also scrambling to get dressed.

  Rishima stopped what she was doing and stared at her, her eyes vacant as if not knowing how to respond. “I’m not sure you will believe me,” she said, genuinely not sure how to answer Bella’s question. Shaking it off, she grabbed her sword belt from the corner and strapped it on. “Should I fail to return, it is imperative that you—”

  Bella steadied Rishima’s wrist, causing her to look back up and meet her eyes. “We will not have this discussion again,” she said, a deadly serious edge to her voice. “You will not leave me behind while you rush headlong into danger.”

  “You don’t know what’s out there,” Rishima squeaked, teary-eyed, clearly unsettled by whatever vision she saw. Normally so confident, so commanding, it was strange seeing her like this.

  “Then we shall face it together.” Bella kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’ll not hear another word. Come, we shall waste no more time.”

  Just then, Viola and Salina came bursting into the room. “What is going on?” Viola said, pointing back. “Why is everybody running?” Salina began to speak, but suddenly her body went stiff, eyes frosting over as she received the same message as all the other spiritists.

  “Do not waste another second. Go!” Rishima said, gesturing to Salina, who quickly ran from the room without question. It was clear that Salina now knew everything that was going on. “But not you!” she said sharply when Viola tried to follow. “You’re staying here with as many guards as I can spare.”

  “But I don’t understa—”

  “No buts,” Rishima said, a bit softer this time. “There is no time to explain, but I cannot put you at risk. For now, that is all you need to know.” With that, she and Bella whipped past her to go join in the chaotic scramble out in the hall.

  Outside the tower, spiritists were running across the platform and leaping onto their mounts. Black ravens took flight, screeching their warning to the enemy. Haran was not that far away, but every second counted. Wings pumped, driving against the thin air to propel their riders into battle. The spiritists were coming; the humans just needed to hold on a little longer.

  “Please, come with us,” Viola heard shortly after wandering into the hall. She turned to see six spiritists standing behind her. My, they certainly could move quietly when they wanted to. “Our orders are to watch over you until the Moon Mistress returns.” With a sweeping gesture, he stepped aside. With a nod, Viola walked down the hall as the six spiritists closed in around her, moving in step as she did. It was as if they were expecting her to be attacked right here in the tower.

  “Can someone please explain to me what is going on?” Viola asked. Already expecting no response, she was hardly disappointed when no one answered her. But she still couldn’t help feeling like a prisoner, even though they were only following orders. They led her to a small room, tiny even by the tower’s standards, with no windows and only one door. The lone piece of furniture was a rather comfortable-looking couch. There she sat, alone with her thoughts, waiting. All six waited outside, leaving the door open so at least it didn’t feel like a jail cell.

  Unable to do much other than sit here like a helpless maiden waiting to be rescued, Viola put her feet up and stretched out on the couch. Resting her head on her wrists, she closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to sweep her away. She pictured the mountain range, its endless lightning storm bombarding the mountain peaks. Violent, frightening, and beautiful all at the same time. In her mind’s eye she could see the village of Haran. People were being dragged from their homes, children torn in half after their blood was drained from their bodies.

  She could see them... She could see those monsters killing villagers at will. Red eyes... White hair... They were—

  She gasped, eyes jetting open as her chest heaved. A dream? A vision? No, it was still there. Wide awake, eyes open, she could still see the carnage unfolding before her. But this violent scene was not some random dream-like vision. It was a single view through a person’s eyes. Someone else’s eyes!

  Viola!

  The echoing voice shook through her head, rattling her brain as if being struck by a club. She threw her hands up over her ears, trying to block out the booming voice within.

  Viola!

  She clenched her teeth and kicked her feet, feeling like her head was going to explode. But despite its booming, distorted nature, the voice was still familiar somehow. The visions she was seeing, they were coming from the same source as this voice.

  I know your weakness, Viola. Despite their utter distain of your kind, you still care for these weaklings. You still can’t see that these pink flesh bags aren’t meant to survive. Your predictable concern for their well-being is sickening. Know that it will be your downfall.

  She knew that voice. And even if she hadn’t recognized it, she could feel his rancid taint floating around in her head. It was his vision she was seeing, looking directly through his eyes. She could still see the violence even while he was moving away from the battle. In his clutches was a young girl, his hand wrapped over her mouth. Watching through his eyes, she saw him lift one of her hands and snap her index finger like a dry leaf. She tried to scream, her voice smothered by his palm.

  “No!” Viola cried, unable to wash away the vision that had taken over her sight.

  Do you wish to save her? His line of sight moved back to the village which was now even farther away. Do you wish to save all of them? In a slow, taunting fashion, he snapped another of the girl’s fingers with a drawn-out, rattling crack. Then come to me. I and what’s left of this little bitch will be waiting for you. The vision cut off in a flash.

  Panting, sweating, Viola knew there was no real choice here. And by the gods, she saw them! Lerwicks, killing the humans and feeding on them like bats. Without hesitation or giving it any rational thought, she bolted from the room. Ignoring the shouts for her to stop, she raced down the hall and through the tower. They couldn’t have caught her on any day, but right now she was moving like the wind. Adrenaline and fear drove her on, but there was something else as well. Hate... Pure, savage, animalistic hate.

  Bursting through the outer door, she streaked straight for one of the waiting ravens. Leaping up onto its back, she snapped the reins with a roar. Lightning flashed, followed by the rare crash of thunder. Into the air she soared, her raven screeching its war cry.

  “I know you can feel me. Well, I feel you too! You blame me for all that has happened to you so you vow to hunt me, to hurt others just to get to me? For that you will pay the ultimate price. You are arrogant enough to think you are hunting me? Once again you are wrong, demon, for it is I who is hunting you! It ends tonight!”

  Chapter 15

  Soldiers gripped their shields, arms trembling against the crushing pressure as wave after wave crashed against their iron wall. Undisciplined, but quite tenacious in their own right, the lerwicks were proving to be even more formidable than they feared. Savage hate had a way of making up for a lack of battle skill.

  Compressed against the humans’ shields, while trying to push their way through with sheer force, the ground beneath them began to vibrate. The trembling grew more intense, causing both the humans and lerwicks to begin losing their footing. Glowing cracks in the sand radiated outward beneath the lerwicks’ feet in what appeared to be some sort of earthquake. Suddenly, the cracks ripped open, the ground swallowing up several lerwicks before they could dart away. Lerwicks could drift for a time in their funnel forms, but they couldn’t actually fly. Down they fell into the open pit, their shrieks a fading echo as they disappeared into the blackness.

  Diovok stood nearby, twirling his staff above his head. With a looping motion he slammed it down, sending a rolling wave of power that ringed outward like a magnetic force. As if caught in a wind storm, his flowing red robes rippled and flapped. An eerie orange light radiated up from the wide-open cavern, illuminating the darkness like a doorway to hell. In a burst of ho
t flames, a giant hand rose up from the pit. Humans and lerwicks alike scattered, not knowing what to make of such an awesome sight.

  With a simple gesture, Diovok did little more than point a finger and the hand went streaking across the dirt. With part of it still submerged, the wrist portion dug a constant trench beneath it wherever it went. When Diovok closed his fist and made a slashing gesture, the steaming hand flew up like a whale at sea, then came crashing down on a pack of lerwicks. Blood and innards popped beneath the palm like grapes. Streaking towards another group, it rose up again and smashed them as well. The lerwicks were fast and elusive, but the magical hand was shockingly quick as well. And due to its sheer size, it was able to cover a large surface area with each thundering strike.

  The hand smashed down a final time, crushing more lerwicks before bursting in an explosion of flashing black and silver. Nails, spikes, and shreds of black shrapnel ripped and tore at any lerwicks nearby. Sent scattering in pain, some were completely blinded with nails sunk deep in their eye sockets. Luckier ones hobbled away with more superficial wounds. But the main objective had been accomplished. With the lerwicks scattering about in chaos, their front line was in complete disarray. For the first time the humans had them on the defensive.

  “Rank three take aim!” Liam ordered. Crossbows clacked and clicked as the back row leveled their weapons. “Loose!” The final volley streaked through the air, several lucky shots taking down confused lerwicks who ran right into the path of their bolts. Liam lowered his staff, pointing straight on with a steely glare. “Charge,” he commanded, knowing they must take advantage of their confusion in order to have any chance. It really was do or die now. Ignoring their fear, defying their doubt, the soldiers rushed in with weapons drawn.

  “Flank them!” Owen shouted to Thatra. She nodded and took off running, circling around the charging soldiers from the right. Now that the invaders were scattered and mostly unorganized, she could expect most of her engagements to be one on one. Owen bolted up the left side with the same intent, looking to take out any stragglers that crossed his path. Even in single combat the lerwicks were still plenty dangerous, but if they were to reform and attack as an organized unit, the fight could very well be over. The humans had to keep the pressure on to keep them off balance.

  Seeing the horned girl circling in from behind, three lerwicks turned to engage her. Having better range than Thatra, they got off first as flesh blades came streaking towards her. Fluid as water, the skilled warrior slapped the first two aside as if they were brittle sticks. Seeming to teleport, she closed the gap between them in a flash, her elbow smashing one in the throat. She easily ducked another strike, her large blade flashing back to counter as if it were weightless. The next two screeched, both grabbing at the gushing wounds on their legs.

  Although the lerwick weapons were foreign to Thatra and unlike anything she had ever trained for, the skill from her years of swordsmanship transitioned perfectly for these foes. A blade was a blade, and her reflexes were far beyond any of these creatures’. Two more raced up to face off against her, but when their eyes inadvertently flickered over her left shoulder, she instinctively spun back.

  Too late...

  White-hot pain tore through her shoulder as she was impaled from behind. With a flesh blade driven completely through the back of her shoulder, Thatra dropped to one knee. Her breathing slowed, everything slowed as air sifted up through her nose and out her mouth. Her eyes open but distant, she focused on someplace else entirely, her lungs filling with air before deflating in a slow, steady rhythm. Pain is but an illusion, her inner voice reminded. Pain is just a part of the mind, and the mind can be controlled. Pain is a tool. Use it. Embrace it. Control it.

  When her eyes snapped back into focus, everything looked the same, as if no more than a second had passed. With a growl, she gripped the flesh blade protruding from the front of her shoulder. The arms flexed as she pulled, muscles bulging with tension. It slid from the wound, slick and dark with her blood. The lerwick stared in disbelief. She should be screaming, begging for her life. Why was she not screaming? How was her body even functioning after such a grievous wound?

  The lerwick’s eyes bulged, wetness seeping from its gut as it found itself nose to nose with the warrior. How had this human moved that fast? With that wound, how had she moved at all? Thatra slid her blade from his stomach, refusing to break eye contact as he sank to the ground. She would watch him die, witness his last breath just as he had hoped to witness hers.

  Eyes closing, his lungs expelled a final breath. She whirled about, sword in hand with one arm drooping. Even with one arm she was still plenty dangerous, and more than willing to prove it to any who stood in her path. The surrounding lerwicks backed away, not certain what to make of this being. But their hesitation only provided another opening for the warrior. She charged, sword flashing in search of more blood.

  * * *

  Owen worked the left flank, his heavy sword strikes nearly cleaving lerwicks in half. His alloy-coated blade did not have the same reaction on them as it did with full-blooded laberaths, but it killed just the same. Quickly establishing himself as a serious threat, he drew more and more attention as he cut them down. Already they could tell he was a freak among these humans, an unusual combination of power and speed possessed by no other human they had ever seen. He needed to be taken out quickly before he could do any more damage.

  As more pulled out of the central battle to help with the troublesome human, they began to surround him, closing in from all sides. Closer they came, flesh blades stabbing in wildly from all different angles. The hunter shifted and dodged, his massive body darting around with the agility of a man half his size. Sword spinning about at a feverish clip, he consistently deflected strikes that should have torn him in half. Closer they came, trying to overwhelm him. Closer...

  He let go of his blade and dropped to one knee, arms crossing his chest, his hands slapping each shoulder twice. A cascade of needle-like spikes burst from the midsection of his battle suit. Surrounding lerwicks shrieked, falling back as their faces were peppered by the zipping projectiles. Clawing desperately at their pierced eyes, their cheeks and necks now looked like pincushions.

  Wasting no time, Owen grabbed his sword and burst into a flurry of movement, cutting them down like dry shrubs. Not much honor in slaughtering the helpless, perhaps, but he was outnumbered as it was and needed to take advantage of every dirty trick he knew. His blade danced, further darkening with blood after each successive kill. But when he slashed down to take out the last one, his blade was intercepted. Clanging against the flesh blade, he spun back, now face to face with his latest foe.

  “I should have known it be you behind all of this,” the hunter growled, flipping his sword back and forth between hands as he circled his new opponent. “We should have killed you when we had the chance.”

  “But you didn’t,” Jarlen sneered. It was odd how calm he appeared given the battle raging all around him. The screams of the dying, the clash of steel, yet it was as if he thought he were invincible, able to ignore the violence only to keep his eyes locked on Owen. “But that particular failure is nothing to be ashamed of.” He swept a hand in the air and glanced about just as two more men fell dead behind him. “This city couldn’t kill me even after years of trying. What could a puny mortal such as yourself have possible done?”

  “You think yourself a god, do ye?” Owen growled, lifting a cord wrapped around his neck. He blew into the small reed pipe and let it drop back down beneath his shirt. It seemed to make no sound at all. “Well, it be no god I see standing before me. All I see is a traitor. You think that taking the lives of innocent people will somehow build ye a reputation in this realm? Perhaps someday they’ll sing the praises of the mighty Jarlen, slayer of women and children? Only a madman could believe such a thing. You’ll be remembered as a tyrant and nothing more.”

  “How you pitiful humans remember me is of little concern,” Jarlen said. His eyes were c
old, soulless, unlike any monster Owen had ever encountered. “But it doesn’t matter. How could I have expected a mere human to recognize his true place in this world? Your race does not pose any threat to us, it is merely in the way. Even if you refuse to see what is right in front of you, evolution is not a thing that can be stopped. It is inevitable. After today, the lerwicks will be recognized as the dominant species that they always were. Today, as you put it, we are gods.”

  Owen threw his head back and laughed, a cackling, toothless wheeze. “Humans have existed in this world longer than any other race. Don’t preach to me about evolution. The lerwicks are infants on the evolutionary scale, children still trying to find their place in this world. Hundreds of demons have met their end by my hands, and each of them felt the same way as you do. They thought they were special somehow. They believed they were meant to rule this realm and that humans should just step aside. I’ve heard your story a hundred times,” he whirled his blade above his head with a sweeping whoosh, “and it always ends the same way.”

  Jarlen growled, his anger on display for the first time. “So they say. Your reputation precedes you, mighty hunter. The grand mortal who has never known defeat.” In a rare show of respect, Jarlen dipped his head. “It will be an honor to kill you on the battlefield.” As if shot from a catapult, he burst forward with breathtaking speed.

  * * *

  Viola soared through the air, her screeching raven daring her enemies to show themselves. Endless bursts of lightning illuminated the sky, the flickering light show both dazzling and violent. Below, she could see the town of Haran. Bloody bodies lay on the street, and folk were running for their lives. But the spiritists were there as well, giving the rebel lerwicks all they could handle. Ravens swept over the town, their riders casting frosted white spheres down at their enemies. After bursting against the ground, misty funnels with ghostly faces trapped within ripped through the ranks of lerwicks. The living entities whirled through the town, tearing and twisting each new foe they encountered.