“Your sentence will be carried out now.”
Above his head, Jista stepped forward, placing a booted foot a half step to the side of each of his ears. Before Kelc could react, the tall man’s hands rose, clutching a long black rod of iron, the tip sharpened to a point. With a yell of exertion, he drove the metal shaft downward, piercing Kelc’s chest.
An audible crack accompanied the explosion of pain as the rod contacted, broke and drove one of Kelc’s ribs into his lung. The metal then continued through his body, ripping along the side of his heart, tearing the muscular flesh that pumped hot blood. A second crack announced the rod’s exit through his back, driving another bony rib from its place.
“Ehn!” The wheezing cry jumped from Kelc’s mouth as his entire body clenched with pain. He ripped at the ground, his eyes looming in their sockets as the iron drank his spirit and let his lifeblood leak away into the hungry dirt.
To his right, Tasher edged forward, raising the axe, his jaw set.
“Cah!” Kelc lunged at him, desperate for spirit, desperate to kill the foul creature that herded him to this freezing ceremonious death. His fingernails dragged along the deputy’s boot tops leaving deep scuffs, but finding no flesh. Tasher jumped back from the sudden attack, lowering the axe somewhat.
“Hells, Tasher, do it!” Jista barked instantly.
Tasher jumped forward again and again Kelc reached to him, his left side now paralyzed, his breath failing, his effort uncoordinated and driven by madness. His fingers hit the deputy mid-thigh as he raised the axe a few knuckles to powerfully hack at Kelc’s neck.
His finger nails scrubbed along the hardened leather of Tasher’s armor before Kelc felt spirit there, his mother’s spirit. A bare thread of her essence wound out of Tasher, even as the deputy’s predatory nature throttled it and easily cut it off. But not before it momentarily leant strength to her son’s attack.
His fingers now bit into the side of Tasher’s leg, digging into his flesh, having cut into the armor or his boot, Kelc no longer knew. His fingernails split backward painfully as they sank in, but that mattered little. In a space of time faster than a single thought, he felt Tasher’s essence, the lyatum, and could deal with it in a way that his shackles and the rod in his chest could not stop.
The deputy’s arms stopped, mid-swing, as if he struck invisible stone with the executioner’s axe. His mouth stretched open and his head rocked back as foreign spirit invaded his body.
“Tasher!” Kreg barked while Jista yelled, “Do it!” Both the warden and the tall deputy ripped their scimitars clear of their sheaths, the steel singing in the winter air.
Kreggen stepped up next to Kelc, his sword arcing through the air to finish his brother, searching for some mercy in this horrible event.
Jista simply stood at the ready as if enemies could come from anywhere, his head on a swivel.
Tasher’s right eye changed to a dim purple as Kelc inhabited him, and he suddenly lurched forward mechanically, but inhumanly fast, thrusting the head of the axe into the path of Kreggen’s sword. The weapons smacked together with a metallic din so forceful that the scimitar tumbled from Kreg’s grip.
“Jista!” Kreg immediately shouted and the tall deputy leapt to attack.
“Nah!” Kelc screeched past the leather bit in his mouth, one hand gripping Tasher’s leg. And even as he did, Tasher echoed it, yelling while he again drove the axe downward, the purple leaving his eyes.
“No!” The air vibrated with energy.
Lightning fast. Kelc’s hand snapped up to catch the haft of the axe just below the blade, the downward force of Tasher’s effort ramming his elbow into the frozen ground. One of the bones in his arm cracked noisily as it caught between the weapon and the ground, but his arm held, halting the axe.
The filed razor edge of the broad axe blade still cut deeply into his neck, slicing easily into the soft flesh. Blood gushed forth instantly, bursting from the carotid and jugular, filling the air with the bitter reek of iron.
Even as Tasher withdrew the axe to strike again, it seemed as if Kelc again flailed his mauled arm, striking at the ex-warden.
“Hells!” Kreggen spat as he ripped a dagger from his belt and leapt towards Tasher, desperate to end his brother’s life more quickly. Jista intercepted him, apparently trying to calm him.
“No, it’s done…”
“Greeching imbecile!” Tasher hissed as he reached forward and caught Jista under his chin and jerked straight back, hauling the tall man from his feet, dumping him on the ground. “Let him!”
A palpable force pulsed through the air again, so intense it stole the breath of the combatants, slowing them for the briefest time.
Jista rolled back to his feet but fell dumbly on his rear, his mouth agape, stunned. “Kreggen!” he barked, but it was too late.
The low thrum of steel crossbow cables arrived with the bolts they propelled and three of the missiles slammed into Kreggen, spinning him to the ground.
“Ot!” The warden clamped a hand on two of the three bolts, shocked and in pain, scarlet welling up through the punctures in his body. “Jista!” he wheezed.
Jista looked back at the Vanguard soldiers, closing his eyes so that they would not see the purple fire they held.
“Suen heel!” he yelled, standing the soldiers down with an ancient Symean command, one that they had agreed upon ahead of time.
Tasher hacked Kelc’s head from his unmoving body with a second swing, this one unopposed, before stepping back from the boy. His eyes shone wild as he looked first at Kreggen where he lay on the ground dying and then Hull Jista, where he sat, the deputy’s eyes staring down at Kelc’s dead body. Tasher’s normally nervous demeanor now spoke of outright paranoia. He glanced at the Vanguard soldiers where they reloaded their crossbows and shook his head. His eyebrows came together as if he worked on a riddle, his hands gripping his axe tightly, the weapon ready before him.
Jista ripped a scimitar free of his belt, obviously wary of Tasher as he scrambled along the ground to Kreggen. “Kreg! Hold on! Hold on!” The purple of his eyes shone obviously to Tasher.
“You!” the deputy roared and pounced on Jista, but the deputies both knew battle. Jista’s scimitar leapt into the oncoming axe and redirected the attack, deflecting it to the ground next to the tall warrior, the heavy blade biting deep into the frozen dirt.
Jista jabbed his sword quickly, finding Tasher’s belly, driving him off of the giant axe, but no blood trailed the curved steel as it slid back out of the deputy’s body. “Staul hein!” Jista roared as he surged to his feet, his blade slicing across Tasher’s arm as he jerked a blade of his own free of his belt, followed by a second.
Again the crossbows sounded and four bolts caught Tasher, knocking him from his feet. Jista leapt over him and drilled his sword down through him, finding the icy ground beneath the deputy, but Tasher only growled, a feral sound that sent shivers through his enemy while Jista’s eyes flashed purple and he leant unnatural strength to the blade, ramming it into Oerhe until the hilt crushed into Tasher’s ribs.
“Witch!” He slashed out at Jista’s legs, gashing the plates there before his second scimitar jabbed straight up, slipping under the taller man’s helm and slicing his cheek, the fine blade riding the bone roughly as he drew it back out.
Jista fell back without his sword, grasping desperately at his face. Blood sheeted down his face, adding bright crimson to his chest.
Tasher struggled to rip free of the icy earth, Jista’s scimitar firmly holding him. He roared his displeasure and arched his body, disregarding the blade, trying to force it to break free of the ground.
Jista dropped his blood-coated hands and spun to Kelc’s body where he jerked the pointed black iron rod from him with one mighty pull and turned back to Tasher, who managed to slide the scimitar a few knuckles up out of the ground.
Jista gave out the length of the rod and swung it like a four-reach steel staff, plowing it into Tasher. The man still possessed enough skill to get his
blades up in front of the attack. The iron crashed into the curved blades and swept them from Tasher’s hands. One tumbled straight to the ground and another somersaulted through the air, falling into icy snow. Jista immediately wound the rod around him for another swing. This one bashed into Tasher’s head. The pinned man’s skull bounced back with a dull clunk and he dropped to the turf, Jista’s sword still helping to hold him there.
More crossbow bolts thudded into Tasher’s body where he lay as Jista howled in fury, the rod in both hands.
Tasher screeched like an animal, writhing as the taller deputy came.
The rod took Tasher in his right eye and erupted from the back of his skull, driving his head to the ground and fixing it there.
Blue sparks flared lazily from the rod and black vapor oozed out from the wound only to get immediately pulled back as if an invisible whirlpool sucked it away into the depths of Oerhe.
Tasher’s body thrashed where it lay, his arms and legs pounding the frozen ground while his mouth repeatedly opened and closed, working silently.
Jista stumbled back from the dying man and let himself fall to the ground next to Kreggen, artlessly leaning against the man, avoiding the Vanguard bolts that still stood out from his torso.
Behind him, the soldiers could not see his eyes glaze over and shift fully to purple as he worked, reaching into the warden, letting his spirit stream through the dying man, doing only enough to keep him from giving in to his wounds, to keep him from embracing death.
“Jista!” one of the Vanguards barked. “Hells and fire! That was not what I was told to expect.”
Jista’s eyes dropped back to their native color before he turned slowly to look at the professional soldier.
“Me either. But it is done, though I will try to save this one.” He patted Kreggen on the leg. “It turns out we were wrong about him. He is honest and has no ability with the practice as did his brother and father before him. You can take their sorry hides and…”
“No,” the soldier answered. “We were told to kill who you told us to kill and that was all. We’ve done it and from what I’ve seen with my own eyes, it was a worthy foe. My men and I will not serve as gravediggers and caretakers for such scum. We leave you here to do…whatever else must be done.”
The deputy did not respond immediately, instead taking a moment to dig through his thoughts. “So be it,” Jista finally said, exasperated. “Then go now. I tire of your whining and bellyaching.” He felt as if he sounded like an argumentative boy.
“You used to be a true soldier, Hull, a Vanguard soldier.” The man sneered though Jista now looked at the ground before him. “I think living out here with these rustic witches has softened you. The man I knew would have gone through this battle and jumped to his feet, eager to move on and these folks be damned! Let the ravens gnaw them. You’ve lost the instinct that makes a man Symean and grown sentiment for what? These witches and demon-possessed deads? They should have kept you in Skurgaard or Chinggen Mor! Now you’re pathetic,” he snapped, stopping suddenly to compose himself. “Now…you are…” He sighed as he shook his head and gestured to his men. “Let’s go. Leave this fool to think. Maybe he’ll see who these folks are without us around him…gain some insight.”
The soldiers turned slowly and moved off to their camp to pack it up and leave. As soon as they were busy with their tasks, Jista reached back and with one forceful pull, jerked a crossbow bolt from Kreggen. He winced, his teeth gritted as he felt the weapon ripping the warden’s flesh further. Twice more he extracted the steel capped shafts from the warden.
He then looked to the Vanguard camp, but already the men had collapsed their tents and rolled them tight. Even as he watched, the soldiers packed their things and began their march, roughly northeast toward Chinggen Mor.
“Farewell,” Jista whispered, eager to see them leave, knowing they would dislike what was about to happen. “And this greeching armor,” he added, needing desperately to get it off of his flesh, where it pulled at his soul despite the cloth between it and his skin. Finally, the soldiers were but dots in the distance.
Jista sucked in a breath as he shed the armored plates that covered his body, tossing them to the ground artlessly before jerking the mail shirt beneath up over his head. This, too, he threw to the snowy ground. Beneath it, wherever the metal had ridden his skin, it blazed red as if burned.
He breathed evenly, deeply, preparing himself for what came next, knowing how much effort it would require. “Okay,” he mumbled to himself. Once ready, he reached back and rested one hand on Kreggen, covering a bloody wound, pressing his palm to the ruined flesh and sticky blood.
Once again, his eyes changed, the dark irises giving way to spirit and turning a brilliant shade of purple.
“Uh!” he yelped as he woke, the tip of a scimitar just before his eyes. Behind it, Kreggen stood, tottering on unsure legs, still wearing armor covered in the very blood whose loss now weakened him.
“What is the meaning of all of this, Jista?” Kreggen’s voice still possessed the strength that his body didn’t. “Your men fired on me and then Tasher.” Jista scooted out from under the sword until he could sit up, though Kreggen kept the razor edge two knuckles before his opponent’s eyes.
“Kreg, settle down.”
“Do not address me common, deputy, or I will cut you down right now.” Kreggen faltered and caught himself as he adjusted his stance, his blade remaining in place. “Make sense of this, now!”
“Warden,” Jista said carefully, “when he was a Vanguard troop, Hull Jista was selected to investigate claims that dark practitioners had taken over the territory around Haddon’s Mill. Some even claimed that the warden himself worshipped some foreign god and practiced the art.” Jista pulled a deep breath. “He came north from Skurgaard and joined the warden’s service, through a council order, and despite the warden’s objection. Slowly, it became evident that the claims were correct. Those that lived in the area practiced the dark arts and the lawmen, Alkern Tasher and Dell Pyter, had given over to some dark power. So Jista arranged for them to challenge me, thinking I could destroy them…”
“You used my brother to draw Tasher and Pyter out? You killed him just to find out what you already knew?”
“Jista couldn’t fight them, Kreg!” Kreggen pressed the sword into his deputy’s throat. Blood oozed from beneath the blade and snaked along Jista’s skin. “Warden! Look. I am not Hull Jista any longer.”
Kreggen fell back, shaking his head, his Symean mind neither able to hear nor reconcile what he heard. His blade began to fall but then snapped back up as Kreggen gritted his teeth.
“Kreg, it’s me…”
“No!” he yelled. “Say no more, deputy! Say nothing!” Kreggen trembled, his sword before him. “I am sworn to protect this land from such vile magics, sworn to remain pure of them! Do not tempt me, Jista!”
“Warden,” began Jista. “Kreg.”
“Deputy Jista, I relieve you of your position and rank. Return to whatever commander sent you. You have removed the dark art from my territory successfully and should be commended.” Kreggen’s face leached white and his left eye twitched.
Finally, within Jista’s body, Kelc understood. Kreggen remained a Symean, a traumatized dutiful Symean. He’d accepted Kelc’s death once already and seen an end to the witchcraft darkening his sworn protectorate. He would accept no more. He could not. He had only duty to keep him sane and if his brain accepted that Hull Jista’s body now housed a possessive spirit, he’d once again be forced to perform his duty, a duty that had pushed him to the very brink of insanity.
“Very well, Warden. I will require a few artifacts in order to verify my accomplishment. My…The boy’s skiver.” Kelc climbed to his feet. “And I will need to take his head to prove his death.”
Kreggen stood unmoving for some time before slowly nodding. Kelc wanted to wrap his arms around his brother and offer him some comfort. But that might shatter the illusion that Kreg struggled to main
tain.
Kelc could feel the black dagger and walked straight to it, pulling it from one of Kreggen’s bags. He could feel the spirit within and upon touching it, could feel several other free spirits near at hand.
He turned from his brother and closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses. As soon as he found the spirits, he fell to his knees, the act eliciting no response from his brother.
Kelc, came his name from the specter of his mother, I can feel you there. I felt you dying and could help only as I did.
Mother, Kelc thought as tears dropped from Jista’s closed eyes. You helped a great deal. Had you not aided me I’d have never managed my way into Tasher’s flesh.
Perhaps, came the response. I want you to take my spirit, Kelc. One day, you can give me some purpose like that which I should have performed in life.
The Gen Jod, Kelc thought. Warmth arrived in him as he thought it, moving through his entire body, bringing a weak smile to his lips.
You remember.
Of course, he thought, nearly speaking the words aloud. Of course.
Kelc, your spirit is rare and powerful. When you took hold of Jista’s throat and claimed his body, even I doubted you, but you did it.
I was desperate, Kelc thought. Tasher was jerking me back into my own flesh even as he planned to hack the body to pieces.
Yes, responded his mother. And despite such an evil, you saved yourself and your brother. And cost the world only Jista, who planned on killing all of you with his soldiers.
Kreg, Kelc sent to his mother. I failed to save him, Mother.
He will recover, Youngest, but you must let him believe what he must for now. It will come to him for the rest of his life until he accepts it. And accept it he will. He needs you, Youngest. He’ll realize it in time.
“I hope so,” Kelc whispered. Behind him, Kreggen watched intently now.
He will. The response arrived in his mind. Now claim my spirit and flee this land. Leave these others. They will watch over Kreggen for a time, make sure he arrives safely in Chinggen Mor.
Dread of Spirit: Rise of the Mage - Book One Page 41
