Dread of Spirit: Rise of the Mage - Book One

by Jason Bilicic

  “That,” the vampire said slowly, wringing his hands as he did, “or they can strike me with their staves.” He sighed. “Or catch me in a rune…or drive an iron spike into my gut. Lots of ways.”

  “That all sounds like it takes skill or planning. Like the runes? Can they just wave their hands and do it or…”

  “No. They must draw them on something. It does take time, I’ve heard.”

  “So then they must outfight you, which I’m guessing is hard to do?” Kelc asked, his words tumbling quickly out of him. Shy, he thought, we’re coming.

  “There is something about them, an aura or a magic, or…something that slows me quite a bit. I’m still a handful for them, but I’m much slower.” He looked at Kelc. “They do have a god that aids them.”

  “Even here?” Kelc asked. “Symea has long overcome such things.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “And if these priests had more to worry about than just you?” Kelc looked at the vampire and nodded once. “Don’t they typically try to outnumber you just to capture one of your…kind?”

  “Yes.

  “Let’s go then,” Kelc snapped. “Maybe we’ll find out why they’re able to be here for this long. Why you’re able to be here.”

  Micah started walking but Kelc leapt into a quick jog. “Can you feel them?” he asked as he ran.

  “Yes,” Micah answered, falling in beside him. “Anyone with sensitivity could after they threw out as much spirit as they did. You could if you tried, I’m sure.”

  Kelc slid into his spirit sense as his body mechanically pushed onward through the snow. Just as Micah told him, he could feel them. He could feel everything. As if the world had been dusted with light, showing him every detail, he could sense the priests, or rather the path through their own blanket of spirit, the marks they left in spirit. It looked to Kelc as if they traveled across a flawless desert and left footprints on the ground, smudges on everything they touched, obvious signs of their passing.

  “Find them?” Micah asked knowingly.

  “Yeah,” Kelc grunted. “Why would anyone use such an attack as they did, if it leaves them so vulnerable afterward?”

  “It is undetectable to normal folks and incapacitating to almost all creatures of spirit.” Micah stumbled as he spoke but recovered instantly, cursing the deep snow.

  “It didn’t stun me,” Kelc said, his breath beginning to fail, “or you.”

  “You,” Micah said, “I cannot explain in any way. Me? I knew it was coming. I sensed them.” Kelc cocked his head as the vampire’s lie riffled through the blanket of spirit. “Okay,” Micah corrected, seeing the gesture. “I smelled them. It let me protect myself.”

  “Smelled them,” Kelc echoed as he let his spirit senses relax so he could concentrate on running. It had been quite a while since he’d run or sparred seriously, or anything that required such stamina. “What runs…through your veins?”

  “Huh?”

  “Inside of you…not blood.”

  “Ah,” Micah acknowledged him. “I’ve been told…” The vampire snapped his mouth shut, considering his words and who questioned him. “It’s called lyatum, Lyatum’Matra by…my kind. A human scientist once named it ether, since we can change into a lyatum cloud to travel or escape confinement and he said it was like a chemical called ether. Many humans call it that. It’s our essence. A gas like air, but instead it’s…”

  “Death,” Kelc gusted. “Undeath.” He slowed to a walk, slowing Micah with him. “It forces your body…to keep working…keeps it from rotting though it’s dead.”

  “I’ve been told that my kind are not completely dead.” Micah breathed evenly, the exertion of running meaningless to him. “An ancient among my people said that our…affliction takes us over but does not completely kill our flesh.” He frowned, breathing through his nose. “Not completely.”

  Kelc had felt no living tissue in Micah’s body, but he saw no point in arguing. He pulled air as he walked, willing his own body to recover enough to return to a faster pursuit. The Thannonites, seven of them, filed away from him less than half a league away with Shaia in tow.

  Shy. He needed to free her before any of these priests had time to do anything to her. “What sort of men worship this Gul Thannon?” Kelc imagined they were sort of like Symeans: fearful of spirits, seeking them out to protect others.

  “Power-hungry torturers. Thannon seeks to take over the world by unleashing the worst in mankind, binding spirits to rage and destruction. I think he feeds on fear.” Micah grimaced after he fell silent. “For my people, who still exercise reason and freedom, being taken by Thannon is the worst of fates.”

  “And for my sister?” The vampire looked away as if he heard nothing, his legs battering through the snow. “Tell me!”

  “It won’t go well for her. You needn’t hear the details.” Micah looked back at Kelc. “We must save her quickly or she will suffer. Thannonites see little value in women.”

  Kelc’s eyes turned purple and he reached forward to find the priests. They still walked in a line, though they appeared to have slowed as well, as they were a mere quarter league out in front of he and Micah.

  With less residual spirit from the spell the priests had used, it became harder to see them. “Hells. Can you feel where they are regardless of their surroundings?”

  “Unless they shield themselves, yes. And they can. That’s how they catch my kind, making themselves invisible to us.” A mirthless smile visited Micah’s lips for a moment. “But in this case, after traveling in the wild as long as these men have, I can track them on scent alone. Your sister, too, I can follow. The wash she uses on her hair sticks out on a snowy day. They can’t disappear on us this time.”

  “Good.” Kelc released his spirit sense. He sped up again, returning to a quick jog. “Let’s catch up with them then.”

  “Are you going to tell me how we’re going to defeat seven priests of Gul Thannon or are we just going to charge in and hope for the best?” The vampire’s eyes flashed as he considered attacking the men. “What is the plan?”

  “Save Shy.”

  “And how do you plan to do it?”

  “Don’t know,” Kelc breathed, the words leaving in a white plume amongst the falling snow. “I don’t know.”

  The priests each had a scar running down the left side of their faces, a tight pink line that looked to have resulted from a knife wound that ran from the corner of their eye to the turn in their jaw.

  They wore black. Cloaks, tunics, pants, boots, girdles, armor…even their backpacks: all black. And their souls, Shaia thought, are also black.

  Fanatical, righteous and angry, these men considered no consequence for what they did. Instead, they reveled in the indecency of their existence and railed against any that they deemed to live in disagreement with their corrupt view of things.

  They all worshipped a god, Gul Thannon. That much Shaia had gathered. What that god stood for or what aim these men sought in Gul Thannon’s name? That she could neither see nor imagine.

  “Keep your scornful looks to yourself, slut!” Pain exploded up the side of her head as the mailed hand of a nearby priest smashed into Shy’s cheek. She stumbled, her balance easily disturbed with her hands shackled and a heavy chain leading forward to the man that half led, half dragged her. “If you learn to control your emotions, we may only use you for a night or two.” He pushed his face close to her, his tangled beard and moustache mashed to her smooth white skin. “If you can’t, we’ll ride you until you starve to death.” He thrust his chin forward, digging it into her neck. “That takes weeks.”

  Shaia cried out at the pain, but lowered her eyes, trying to ignore the man even as he reached out and roughly squeezed her breasts with his right hand. She pulled away, a quick twist of her body, but the priest only laughed.

  “She is a rich find indeed.” A few of the others responded with a laugh, a dutiful bark of mirth on a freezing cold miserable day. He looked at Shaia, lifting her
chin with his rough hand. “Very rich. It has been a season since last any of us has had a woman. And even then,” he said, smiling, his foul chalky teeth showing, “she didn’t look like you.” For the briefest moment his foul breath filled her nostrils.

  Shaia couldn’t stop herself from crying. She desperately wanted to be strong, to disregard these men and let them know through her carriage that nothing they could do would affect her. But it wasn’t true.

  Terror claimed her. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe, as if her heart swelled as it pounded within her chest, crushing her lungs. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, leaving frozen lines behind them. Already, several of the priests had slowed down to walk near her, their dirty hands taking measure of her by squeezing her breasts, buttocks…everything. And there was nothing for it.

  She had felt the power of the attack they unleashed on the plains, and felt it hit Kelc. It rushed into her, overwhelmed her as though it were her own. The intensity of it had come to her through the threads of spirit she attached to him. She felt him die.

  And Micah as well. His essence, tied to her by only a few threads, ended as soon as the circle of spirit exploded from the Thannonites. No Kelc. No Micah. No one.

  Alone. The word racked her, driving more tears and causing her to sob uncontrollably. Alone with these horrid men. Her legs wobbled beneath her an instant before her knees buckled, dropping her to the ground, her hands reflexively rising to her face before the man with the other end of the chain jerked it, yanking her hands out before her.

  “Up!” barked the nearby priest, kicking her in the side, but she couldn’t. She slumped further, the pain imploring her to curl into a defensive posture though she couldn’t. Her chin fell.

  The large man snapped a kick into her chin and her head snapped back. Shaia felt the bones in her neck separate. A white light filled her vision, followed by total darkness. The bones collapsed back together even as she fell forward, landing hard in the snow, her limp body sliding forward, pulled by the priest still tugging on the chains fastened to her wrists.

  Blood stained the white as she slid forward, a cut in her chin burning as it grated against the icy snow. Shackles cut into her wrists, the iron edges digging into her like dull knives as the pressure on them did not relent.

  Shaia sobbed as she could, what little air she could get bursting back out of her, devastated. Hopeless.

  “You greeching weak whore!” someone shouted as he took hold of her hair and yanked her upright, drawing a painful squawk from Shaia. He then put one arm under her breasts and grasped the back of her travel pants and hefted her to her feet. “Stay up or I’ll cut your ears off. Hells-damned witch!” The man had greasy blonde hair and unfeeling eyes, pale blue stones that judged her from beneath unkempt sandy brows.

  As she managed to gain some semblance of balance, he fell in behind her and brought his boot up hard between her legs.

  Her chest seized from the pain, spiking out of her pelvis as she stumbled forward, her sobbing interrupted by an injury so acute she could do nothing but deal with it. “Eh,” she grunted, fighting to stay on her feet, unable to breathe, unable to think.

  “Remember that!” roared the priest. “I’ll follow it up later with something even more memorable. I bet it takes your breath away just the same.” He squeezed her backside so hard he likely left marks, but Shaia didn’t notice.

  She couldn’t hear the empty laughs of the men. Shaia could barely make sense of what she saw. Her senses seemed broken, faded out before the voracity of what she felt. There was only pain. Let it kill me, she thought. Let me die. Please.

  “No,” snapped another priest other than the two nearest her, a scrawny bald man with a pinched face, suddenly appearing before her through the haze of pain. “You’ll not die yet, girl. Not until the time is right.” He took hold of the chain and wrenched her forward, into his arms. He pressed his lips to hers, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth.

  “Kerrig! Will! Grub! Leave her be or I’ll give you over to the deads! You’re all slowing us down and we’ve found nothing!” The man stood taller than the others and his voice tore through the air like splintering bone. His eyes, dull pools of black, looked to see only death. He waved a blade at the other three, the steel as black as night. “She’ll be sport enough when we stop, but until then, keep her moving or I’ll shackle the lot of you and leave you to suffer her fate! And I’ll deliver it myself.” His mouth dropped open in irritation, showing teeth filed to points. “Don’t think I won’t.”

  The three jumped away from Shaia as if she’d erupted in flame. “Okay, Kyn,” one of them mumbled, leaving Shaia to fall back into her haze of misery. “Sorry,” the smallest man whimpered to the larger man.

  But he heard none of it. Already turned away from his fellow priests, he continued bowling through the snow, blade in hand. “Greeching fool place to put the whole damned flow!” he seethed.

  Shaia slowly recovered her breath and began spitting out whatever was in her mouth. She could only guess at what the bits of material could be but a glance at the disgusting priest that had kissed her suggested it was skin off of his chapped lips. Her stomach turned over and she spat out whatever rose.

  She gasped to get a lung of air as she continued stumbling and retching. The pain from her groin reduced considerably after a short while, though it seemed to return at times as if a certain spot, when aggravated, could still pierce her entire gut.

  “See?” Kyn announced, stopping and spinning.

  Shaia took relief in stopping though she left her chin down, afraid to look at any of the priests.

  “Something is out there,” said the tall priest, “and it’s nasty. More of those skeesh-eating warriors. Vanguard. Whatever made this land so angry at the gods?” He laughed, an awful sound that mocked life itself. “Can you feel it, Herron?”

  The brunette nodded. “But it feels unlike the vampire we were after.” He raised his nose as if sniffing at the air despite the heavy snow landing on his exposed face. “Hells if I can tell you what that is. Maybe this land has been lying to everyone. Maybe they have spirits running over every hillside.”

  “There’s spirits because the flow runs right under it now, fool. Every greeching one of them feels it should stand up and live as it would in Reman.” Kyn rocked from side to side, his lightless eyes narrowing. “A pox on Gimeon and his greeching crusade to keep the essence from the gods. Had Thannon thought before he destroyed the greeching forest, we’d not have this damned power struggle. Fool.”

  The other priests looked away, obviously uncomfortable to hear any among them call doubt upon their god.

  “It’s no man,” Herron said. “It’s…Nemian. Everything resonates around it as if it could pick up the whole flow.” The man shook his head abruptly. “No,” he said sharply, wiping wetness from his cheeks. “The flow hates this creature, whatever it is. It is not Nemian. It is…” He stopped, blinking hard.

  “It’s what? We’re freezing our asses here, nitwit!” Kyn started toward the smaller man, sword rising, but the brown-haired priest looked right into the black orbs of his leader.

  “It is a demon, Kyn.” Shaia stole a glance at Herron, who looked genuinely worried. “Just like you.”

  The tall priest looked off over Herron’s head, peering into the blizzard-shrouded west. “A demon,” he breathed.

  A smile tugged at his lips.

  “What is he?” Kelc asked, looking at Micah. “You can sense them. I know it. I can feel your senses reaching their camp. And there are those among them that are not men.”

  “Two of them…”

  “Are like you. I know. But that last one, the big one. What is he? He radiates spirit. A tendril of his power snaked back to me almost faster than thought. He stopped and spun as if he would appear right here and cut me in half.” Kelc swallowed. “He is trouble.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Look fellow, these are priests of a god that co
mmands the dead. They hunt my kind… successfully.” Micah glared at Kelc. “They are powerful. That’s why it stunned me that anyone from this land could give them such battle. But none of the priests that initially pursued me were like that one. He’s not human, I don’t think. Not anymore.”

  “Well, we need to act. They are beating her, Micah. My sister! They are torturing her already. I felt them… touching her. Once they stop…” Kelc clenched his fists. “They will not have her.”

  Micah shook his head, unable to figure a way to accomplish what he felt was a foolhardy and needless mission. He looked away from Kelc for a time, before finally looking back at the young man.

  “Look, there may be a way to do this. To…” The vampire stopped. “We can’t really fight them. But what if we just got her beyond their reach?” He shook his head. “They’d feel it all coming. Two of them are just like me.”

  “Does that help them or blind them to someone like you?” Kelc asked, trying to remain calm. “Do vampires attack one another in Reman?”

  Were it not for the snowfall, he and Micah would be able to see the line of Thannonites only a few hundred paces away. Considering the thought, Kelc looked to the sky as if he could somehow discern whether or not the storm might suddenly abate, betraying him and Micah to Shaia’s captors.

  “I don’t know,” Micah answered, incredulous. “I’ve never fought another dead. I’ve never even tried to... do anything to another dead. There’s enough bastards like these priests around. We needn’t fight each other.”

  “So…” Kelc wished he could see his sister. He had felt, if only for a brief moment, her pain. It radiated out of her. But then the big priest suddenly reached out to him and he’d been forced to release his spirit sense. “Are you willing to at least try? The two vampires… deads… are no threat to me. I can freeze them in place and likely rip them to nothingness. In fact…” Kelc bit at his bottom lip. “I might be able to rip their spirit out of them and use that force to attack the others.”