Or burn her.
Maybe crush her.
Perhaps all three.
She’d only decide at the time.
When one lived for thousands of years, the little surprises became like spice.
"What of Sudden Bloodletter?" the dragon asked. She enjoyed the Death Bat's work.
Rayan Zar Davi hesitated, her mouth open. "He ... it ... grows expensive in sacrifices, Beautiful Mistress. But there's no need for the demon. Within weeks, we shall—"
"Do it—send the demon. Have it test their defenses. If chance permits, perhaps it can capture the elven woman for us."
"I ... yes, Beautiful Mistress," Rayan Zar Davi said, her eyes cast down. "I will see to it personally."
"Good, good, continue, Mother Smoke Heart. I am pleased we did not cut out your heart after all."
Rayan Zar Davi continued to speak of the fighting, the losses, and the many prisoners taken, but the dragon wasn't really listening. Instead, she pondered the meaning of her dream and that dark, smooth lake.
And whatever had glowed in its depths.
Tec led his team through the narrow, dark, fetid sewers of Sanwa City. Thirty men and women, volunteers from both the Home Guard and the Norteno military, followed him, all, including Tec, wearing coveralls, boots, and face masks scrounged from the city's dwindling supplies. In one hand, Tec carried a shuttered lantern, its dim glow providing more than enough light for his were-jaguar eyes; in the other, he carried a sub-gun. The last time he had moved through these sewers, he had done so in total darkness, following the weak glow from the lantern Mads Johansen and his servant Joker had carried as they led Angie and Erin out of the city. At the time, he had made the trek without the need for a face mask or coveralls, trusting the healing power of the water from the Black Pool, but now he had no water bottles, nor would they have healed him if he had, not now that his master Quetzalcoatl was dead.
At the thought of his dead master, a weight settled on his heart, but he shoved his grief away. There was no time for sorrow. His duty gave him purpose. He would defend Sanwa City and keep Wyn Renna from the Tzitzime and Itzpapalotl. Then he'd find a way to return to the Hollows for Angie.
In his heart, he knew he’d do none of those things.
The Aztalan army had attacked three days ago. Wyn Renna had ordered a covering-force battle, using a light screen of mobile warriors on horseback to slow the Aztalan advance. Tec had been Wyn Renna's commander on the ground, leading the increasingly desperate Home Guard and Norteno soldiers. For two days, they had fought a series of ambushes, drawing the Aztalan soldiers into prepositioned kill zones before pulling back, never becoming decisively engaged. They had killed hundreds, maybe even a thousand or more of the enemy, but they had lost too many of their own soldiers, men and women they couldn't replace.
Despite the bloody losses, the Aztalan military had driven them back to the city. On the evening of the second day of battle, Tec had led the weary survivors back through the city gates. Now the Aztalans laid siege to the city, surrounding it. The enemy had maintained near-constant sniper fire against the defenders, stopping them from interfering as they dammed the small river that provided the city’s only water source. Without that water, the city would fall. It was already suffering. Even here, in the sewer, the filthy water now reached only their ankles.
Someone had to do something about that dam, and Tec had volunteered. It was almost four a.m. now, when most of the enemy would be least alert because of their circadian rhythm—their body temperature low, their melatonin levels highest. Those who weren't sound asleep would be fighting to stay awake. After having fought countless secret wars against the dragon's enemies, Tec understood the best moment to strike. His plan was to bring his raiding party in secret out of the city and to the nearby dam. They had explosives, more than enough to do the job. Then they'd escape back into the city. The enemy would just dam it again, but it would buy them some days at least.
Maybe.
In truth, only a miracle could save them, and he had no more of those.
At least there were no indications the enemy knew of the sewer outlet, and it was well hidden by the terrain. On the other hand, he and the elves had played this game once before when they’d destroyed the Aztalan howitzers. Rayan Zar Davi was no fool; she’d be expecting another surprise attack.
Tec knew he might be leading these brave men and women to their deaths, but thirst would defeat them long before the enemy breached the wall. That dam had to go.
He stopped, his senses on edge. After more than a hundred years in service to the great dragon, he had honed his intuition and learned to trust it.
Something was wrong.
The tunnel ahead was dark and silent. The garbage and filth floated in place, undisturbed. He hadn't heard or seen anything, but his gut clenched all the same. The others froze behind him, and he remained motionless for long, stress-filled minutes, the only sound the steady hiss of air flowing into their masks. Nothing moved, but the tunnel ahead seemed to grow … darker somehow. When the darkness coalesced, his chest tightened with fear.
"Demon!" he screamed to the others as the monstrous form of Sudden Bloodletter appeared before them, its bat wings filling the tunnel.
Tec dropped to a knee and opened fire, a long burst of subsonic ammunition that ricocheted from the demon's scaled torso. Those behind him shot over his head, the roar of gunfire deafening, the muzzle blasts like strobe lights. The demon surged forward.
Tec dropped his useless sub-gun and let the beast free. His clothing ripped away as his body transformed and became a massive black were-jaguar. He roared and leaped, but the demon beat him aside with one blow, slamming his body against the wall. Tec slumped, his vision blurred, and the demon roared in triumph.
Men and women screamed and died, the terror on their masked faces lit by muzzle flashes. Tec shook his jaguar head, rose unsteadily to clawed feet, and tensed to attack once more, knowing this time he'd die.
An explosion filled the sewer with flame and smoke.
Chapter 34
Hundreds of Ferals, men and women, even children, surrounded Angie, staring at her and Moonwing. Sandman edged closer to Angie but froze when Moonwing's head turned toward him, watching him carefully. With a single strike from his beak, Moonwing could rip the man's head from his shoulders.
Angie trailed her fingers over Moonwing's foreleg in what she hoped was a soothing manner. "It's okay," she whispered. "This one is a friend ... I think."
The griffin's posture remained no less threatening.
Sandman looked to Angie with an expression akin to desperation. "Angie. Please. You said you could help. My sister dies."
The crowd continued to stare, murmuring among themselves. Her face began to heat. Angie nodded. "First, clothing. Then I help."
Sandman stripped, removing his tattered jeans and sleeveless green vest, handing both to her, as unconcerned over his nudity as a nymph. But Angie wasn’t a nymph, and she gratefully pulled his clothing on, relieved to cover herself once more. She held her palm against the two small puncture wounds on her throat, but the bleeding had already slowed, and the wounds were beginning to clot. If Aernyx had bitten through her carotid artery…
"Okay, show me what’s wrong with your sister."
Sandman led her through the crowd, and Moonwing followed. The people hurriedly parted, almost falling over themselves to get out of the way of the griffin. He brought her to one of the teepees and held the flap open for her. "Hurry, please."
Angie turned to Moonwing, ran her fingers over his chest feathers. "Wait here. Don't eat anyone."
The griffin cocked his head, turned about in circles, and then dropped down heavily onto the ground and began to groom his feathers.
Angie slipped inside the tent. A single candle burned, and the air stank of sweat, urine, and vomit. A teenage girl, no more than thirteen or fourteen, lay atop furs, her eyes closed, her chest barely rising and falling. She wore a threadbare sky-blue T-shirt, the c
loth plastered to her skin with sweat, and cut-off blue jeans that should have been thrown away long before A-Day. An elderly woman in furs, with hair so gray it shone like silver, knelt beside the girl. The woman, though obviously in her late fifties or early sixties, looked as strong as Erin, her exposed shoulders, biceps, and forearms corded with muscle. The woman held a damp cloth against the girl’s sweaty forehead, and even in the dim lighting, Angie saw how pale the girl’s skin was.
"My only sister, Miss Fortune," Sandman said. "This is our aunt, Silver Katana. How does—"
"The same," the woman answered. "But her breathing grows weaker."
Angie knelt before the teen, and the older woman gave her some space. Angie placed the back of her hand against the girl's forehead: her skin burned. Angie pried open one of the girl's eyelids, seeing that the pupil was not only dilated but glowing softly with arcane energy. She released the girl’s eyelid and sat back, feeling helpless. She had seen this before at Char’s school. There was nothing Angie could do.
"It's ... it's her magic," Sandman said. "The Horned God brought it to life within her, as he did with me and the others, Sergeant Thump and the Grim Strangler. The magic ... it's poisoning her, isn't it?"
Angie bit her upper lip and nodded. "We call it Toxic Mana Shock Syndrome. Before the Concord, it killed dozens, maybe hundreds of magic-sensitive people, people that used magic without a shade—what you call a ‘ghost’—to negate the corrosion of magic use. How long has this been going on?"
"Weeks. The Horned God speaks to us in our dreams, told us that we had to serve him. He ordered us to build the wooden likeness, said that if we prayed to it, he'd hear."
She snorted, once again regretting her decision to let Lodin live. Whatever was going on with the effigy was more Fey magic. "He's a Fey—although to be honest, I’m not sure what kind of Fey. His name is Lodin. Don't call him the Horned God. He'd like that too much."
"He opened a pathway to his Blood Sky Heaven for me, Sergeant Thump, and the Grim Strangler, but not my sister, Miss Fortune. He said she was too young yet to be of service. He taught us how to use the magic, how to mask our presence when hunting or fight like an angered heel. Then he bonded us with a ghost, taught us how to craft hexed weapons, and bade us memorize a painting of you, his ‘shy bride’ he called you, claiming you were a god like him. When we were done, he sent us back to find you for him."
"That day you ambushed us along the stream, how did you know we'd—I’d—be coming that way?"
"He told me in a dream."
That's disturbing. He was tracking me from the Hollows somehow, maybe his Stones of Nevernight. She didn't have time for that now. "You weren't in heaven, blood sky or otherwise, you were in an alternate realm called the Hollows. It's where the Fey come from." He gave her a bewildered look, so she let it go, focusing on the girl. "Your sister was born with the innate ability to wield mana, but she must have been using too much or too soon."
"The Horned God—Lodin—he chose her as one of his faithful, said he had awakened the magic in her soul, as he did to us."
Her anger surged. Whatever that golden dick had done to this child, he hadn't finished, because she was dying. "But he never bonded her with a shade … a ghost. Do you know why not?"
"He grew angry with me when I failed to capture you—very angry. We've prayed to his wooden likeness, but for weeks now, he's ignored our pleas."
Weeks, she thought. How long was I in the Hollows? Sometimes time flowed differently around the Fey, sped up or slowed down. What had happened to Tec and the others in the time she was gone? Is he still alive?
"My adopted mother, a Fey, told me some humans used magic and didn't die, but I never saw it. Every time I saw a human use mana without a shade, they became sick, just like your sister. Without the Fey to bond them with a shade, they all died."
"Please, bond her with a ghost, a shade, as you said you could. Don't let her die for my failure."
She bit her lip. We’ve got to get her to Ephix. Despite what Angie had told Sandman, no human could bond a shade with a mage. No, that's not true, she suddenly remembered. Nathan had; he’d bragged of it. He’d said the Tzitzime taught him.
But she wasn't Nathan.
Can Moonwing carry us both to Fresno? Can griffins even do that, carry riders?
ANGELA. The Shade King’s voice was soft for a change, almost conversational. In all the excitement, she had forgotten about it. I CAN SHOW YOU HOW TO CALL ONE OF MY KIND. IF THE CHILD ACCEPTS THE BOND, SHE WILL NOT DIE.
Really? How?
WE MUST DRAW ONE OF MY KIND. THEN OFFER IT A PATH TO MAGIC THROUGH THE CHILD.
But what if there are no shades close by?
THERE ARE ALWAYS SHADES, ANGELA. WE EXIST FOREVER BUT ALWAYS IN CONSTANT HUNGER, NEVER ABLE TO TOUCH THE MAGIC WE LOST IN THE TRANSFORMATION, NOT WITHOUT A HOST. THE URGE TO ONCE MORE WIELD MAGIC DRIVES MY KIND TO BOND WITHOUT THE WILL OF THE MAGE, AS I DID WITH YOU.
I know. That's how the legends of demonic possession started. She was aware the others were staring at her, waiting for her, but how could they know she was holding a conversation within her mind with an ancient entity?
EXACTLY SO, BUT SOMETIMES A COMPROMISE IS REACHED, AS HAPPENED BETWEEN YOU AND I, AND BOTH SHADE AND MAGE SURVIVE SUCH A HARSH BONDING. BUT THIS CHILD IS TOO SICK FOR THAT. SHE MUST ACCEPT THE BOND FIRST. I CAN CALL FORTH ONE OF MY OWN, BUT YOU MUST REACH INTO HER MIND AND CONVINCE HER.
That's it? That's all? She was trying to be sarcastic, but the distinction must have been lost on the Shade King.
IS IT NOT ENOUGH? A MOUNTAIN IS ONLY A MOUNTAIN, AN OCEAN ONLY AN OCEAN, BUT TO AN ANT, EACH IS WITHOUT END.
She didn't even try to work that out. Do it. Call a shade, and I'll try to help.
The air over the sleeping girl shimmered, transforming into a sphere of energy the size of a fist. Sandman and Silver Katana gasped, drawing back.
DONE, answered the Shade King. THERE ARE NEVER ENOUGH MAGES FOR US ALL. NOW YOU MUST CONVINCE HER TO ACCEPT THE BONDING.
How?
PLACE YOUR HANDS ON THE SIDES OF HER HEAD, CLOSE YOUR EYES, AND I WILL DO THE REST.
Angie inhaled deeply, her pulse racing, and leaned forward, gently holding the girl's too-hot forehead. She closed her eyes—
And found herself standing in bright daylight in a forest surrounded by pine trees. A stream gurgled nearby, the air crisp and cold. Behind her, Mount Laguna rose above the trees. Angie turned in place, seeing that now she wore furs and hide clothing, yet, bizarrely, over her shoulders she wore a shiny black satin cape with fringes.
"Are you the heel?" a young girl asked from behind Angie. "Is this my blow-off?"
Angie spun to see Miss Fortune, no longer pale, no longer sweating. She was pretty, with big hazel eyes. "What's a blow-off?" Angie asked, stalling for time.
"You don't look like a heel. You look like a baby face, but I'm the baby face. I've always been the baby face."
"I ... I don't understand."
"It's not fair. I'm too young to die. I feel like a jobber."
Angie took a step closer, but the girl drew back, assumed a fighting posture. "I won't throw it. I won't," the girl said, her voice breaking.
Angie froze, held her hands open before her, and spoke softly, calmly. "I'm not here to fight you, Miss Fortune. Your brother asked me to help."
The girl's eyes softened. "Sandman?" She shook her head. "He's fallen into disfavor with the Horned God because—" Her eyes widened. "You! You're his shy bride, the one he wants."
Angie shook her head. "I'm not—"
The girl launched herself forward into a somersault, pushing off the ground with her hands to strike Angie in the stomach with both feet. It should have been impossible, but she hit Angie with enough force to knock the air from her lungs and send her flying back to smash onto the ground. While Angie lay on her back, gasping for air, the girl threw herself through the air.
Char's martial training had focused on Renaissance sword fighting, but tha
t didn't mean that was all she had taught. There had been many hours of unarmed combat training as well. Angie raised her knee, catching the girl in the sternum as she landed atop her. Miss Fortune gasped in pain and fell to the side, rolling into a ball. Angie swung her legs and executed a kip-up, jumping back to her feet in a fighting stance, her weight evenly distributed.
The girl, not that badly hurt, executed a backflip, landing on her feet, glaring at Angie. "You are the heel!" She bolted forward and caught Angie in the neck with her outstretched arm, knocking her down once more.
Stars exploded in Angie's vision, and she was certain she heard a crowd roar in delight. Before she could react, the girl fell upon her, driving her small knee into Angie's gut with more force than should have been possible for someone of her build. Miss Fortune lay atop Angie, pinning her shoulders. Somehow, it felt like it was a man as large as Casey atop her, suffocating her with far too much weight.
YOU'RE IN HER MIND, the Shade King urged. NOTHING IS REAL. IF YOU CAN IMAGINE IT, YOU CAN ACHIEVE IT.
"One, two, three, four," the girl screamed.
Angie bucked her hips, achieving nothing.
"Five, six, seven, eight," the girl continued.
IF YOU LOSE, SHE DIES.
Desperation drove Angie as she gripped one of Miss Fortune's arms and shoved it against the girl's own neck, choking her with it. The girl's face turned red in surprise, but Angie punched her in the kidneys. As the girl tried to draw back, Angie struck her in the ear with her palm. Then, in the space she had just created, Angie snaked her elbow underneath the girl's hips and executed a step-over escape, using her left thigh to block the girl's right foot while using her right foot to lift the girl's knee.
In one quick move, she threw the girl onto her back and mounted her, still holding the girl's own arm tight against her throat, choking her. Without oxygen, there was no strength—dream world or not. She pulled the girl against her, increasing the leverage on her throat. The girl's face turned bright crimson, and fear flashed through her eyes. Angie heard the crowd again, but this time, it was booing her.
The Awakened World Boxed Set Page 84
