Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1)

by Dobing, M. S.

  ***

  The figure stood, watching silently from his vantage point on a nearby roof as the emergency services converged upon the young man that lay collapsed on the floor in the church doorway. He absently noted the shimmering mist that fled out of the back of the building, the daemon’s mission failed. Turning back to the frenzy at the church, he cast out his limited sense, frowning at what he received.

  ‘What is it?’ Another man, clad in the same black attire, appeared at his side.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe nothing.’ He glanced up at the night, feeling the stirring of reality. It wasn’t a good time to hang around. He nodded downwards, his men obeying without question. With one last look at the church, at the human survivor with the strange aura, Cade turned, and leapt off the building.

  Chapter 2

  Sylph bit back a curse as the van hit another speed bump that cracked her head against the roof of the cramped vehicle. The others smirked but didn’t dare comment. They knew better than that.

  ‘How long?’ she said.

  Luchar checked his watch. ‘Five minutes.’

  She nodded and began checking the weapons hidden about her person for the fifth time.

  ‘You going to tell us then?’

  She stopped what she was doing and levelled her gaze at the speaker. Uroc, the biggest of the group, six foot five of muscle, stared back at her. Dumb eyes on a dumb face.

  ‘Tell you what, Uroc?’ She noticed and ignored Luchar’s attempts to silence the brute. She placed a hand on the commander’s arm, silencing him in an instant.

  ‘What we’re doin’ ‘ere, that’s what.’

  ‘You’re here at the will of Master Marek, surely that’s enough?’ she said, her voice laced with steel.

  ‘That lunatic? That makes me feel so much better.’

  The van fell into a tense silence. The only noise the clatter as the vehicle trundled up the narrow road that led to their destination.

  She had to act. Luchar was their commander, but he wouldn’t bat an eyelid should one of his men get the wrong idea. She died bravely, Master, would be his report, after dumping her body in a layby somewhere. This was the problem with hired help. It was a no win. Either the mindless brutes of the sheol or paid thugs from the street. Neither was up to Balor’s standards.

  ‘I suggest, Uroc, that you get your mouth in order. Balor doesn’t react kindly to those who disrespect his chosen.’

  ‘Screw Balor! Screw your cause! I’m here for the money, nothing else. What’s the deal with this Marek, anyway? Who the hell does he think he is? And what the hell is he doing with all those poor bast -’

  Uroc’s head snapped back as his nose exploded against his face. His eyes watered, wide with surprise as blood poured from the pulpy mess. Sylph stood before him, the torch she’d used to strike him held in one hand above his head.

  ‘What the hell have you do -’

  She struck him again, and again. His head cracked back against the inside of the van, bouncing back into another hit. A third and a fourth followed, until all the lights went out. Sylph sat back down and wiped the blood off the torch with a rag, ignoring the eyes that burned into her. When the impromptu weapon was clean, and the sick feeling in her gut had subsided, she raised her head and looked each of the team in the eye.

  ‘Uroc is guilty of blasphemy against the Lord Balor and has paid the price for that.’

  Silence. Some of them openly brimmed with fury, but thankfully none dared act. Not yet anyway.

  ‘Luchar, you will be my eyes and ears on the outside. Give me ten minutes. If I’m not out by then you have permission to go back to Haven. Clear?’

  ‘Crystal.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, already doubting they’d wait ten seconds after she left the van.

  The van began to slow. The slat dividing the front with the passengers slid back and Moss peered through.

  ‘We’re here - what the hell!’

  ‘Uroc has had a bit of an accident, Moss,’ Sylph said, ‘He may need medical attention, if it’s not too late already.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Moss stammered, a mix of confusion and fear on his face.

  The van stopped. Paul jumped out of the passenger side and trudged round the back of the vehicle. The lock clicked and the rear door slid open. Sylph hopped out. A welcome breeze washed over her, removing the cloying scent of sweat that had filled the van.

  ‘Test, Luchar,’ she said.

  Luchar, ever the professional, placed the earpiece in his ear. ‘One two, one two.’

  ‘I hear you.’

  She checked her gear one last time. Ideally she would’ve taken more; the small blades strapped against her wrists the only protection she could conceal in the loose outfit she wore. She checked the iron rods sewn into her sleeves, a last deterrent if a feral sheol made it through. She shook her head. It would have to do. Luchar leaned over and passed her the small rucksack that contained the essential items should things go belly up. He held the grip as she took hold, forcing her to look at him.

  ‘What is it you’re going to do, Sylph? Dead people don’t talk.’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’ She snapped the bag off him and slung it over her back. ‘Remember,’ she said.

  ‘Ten minutes.’

  ‘No more.’

  They nodded at each other, and for a moment Sylph felt a twinge of guilt at the way she’d acted. Luchar was a good soldier, a loyal vassal. If he stayed strong perhaps he wouldn’t even get possessed. Balor knows that they needed stable warriors as well as the mindless rabble that Marek seemed intent on employing. At the end of the day though Luchar was merely a foot soldier, an expendable in the war. She gave him a curt nod, glanced one last time at the hostile faces in the rest of the group before setting off across the car park.

  Chapter 3

  This was the life. Freedom. A chance to stretch her legs under an open sky. Sure, she was on a mission, one of utmost importance, but she was on her own for the first time in what felt like years, and it felt wonderful. She closed her eyes, mentally checking that her defences were up, hiding her from the prying eyes of the Magistry or their allies. Satisfied, she looked up, ready for duty.

  Marek’s warnings rang loud in her mind as she approached the target, what the people of this Shard called a morgue. She had let him down once already, letting the traitor deceive her and escape with Balor’s secrets. She’d deceived them all, Marek included. But she was Sylph’s responsibility. Marek was understanding, but he was not weak. There wouldn’t be a third chance.

  For Balor.

  As the distance to the building decreased, she sensed out, sending subtle waves through the building, letting them echo through the infrastructure before bouncing back to her. She smiled to herself as the images returned, hours of training paying off. Aside from the police officer at the entrance there were just three others in the building. All of them were fatigued, their minds dim. The officer at the front was more alert than the rest, his mind, at least on a subconscious level, scanning the area for threats. Not that it mattered. He was no match for her.

  She slowed as she walked up the path to the building. Luchar had favoured a more direct approach, overwhelming the building with force, slaying those who got in their way. Luchar was wrong, though, youthful eagerness and the desire to prove himself in front of his peers clouding his judgement. She had no time for the natives either, but they were still sentients, their right to life no less than the Balorans. No, she wouldn’t take a life unless she absolutely had to. To hell with what the others thought.

  Business time. She sauntered up the path, exaggerating the swing of her hips, giving the police officer a coy glance as she approached. She was attractive to the native males. Another weapon in her arsenal. No point letting any advantage go to waste.

  The police officer’s mind awoke as she came within a few feet of him. Good looks and a sexy walk weren’t going to wash on this one so easily. His eyes didn’t betray any alarm, but his mind was fully
alert, his aura flaring as he stood to attention.

  She pushed out, a subtle jab with the Weave, breaking his focus as she slowed to a stop in front of him.

  ‘Hey, I’m just going in to collect some documents, left them here earlier,’ she said, putting on as demure a voice as she could manage without gagging.

  The mental jab had disorientated him, just a little, enough to cause him to lose focus. It was an unconscious thing in most sentients, their bodies wired to autopilot for certain actions. It was in these moments, when their minds were blank, that they were most susceptible to influence.

  ‘Sure, sure,’ he said. His mind fluttered, trying to regain some composure. ‘Where’s your ID?’

  It was an automatic response, and she flashed a blank card at him, jabbing again at the same time. He looked down. Looked up again. She tensed, a moment of indecision flashing across his face. She felt for one of her blades hidden in her sleeve, the weapon pressed reassuringly against her forearm. After a pause the police officer grunted, returning back to his semi-conscious state. She brushed past, letting out a relieved breath.

  She entered into a small lobby. The air smelled of disinfectant. The walls were duck-egg blue. Cheap pictures, their images faded with time, hung all around, no doubt someone’s attempt to put some life into this drab place.

  The attendant behind the desk looked up in surprise as she approached. Before the woman could speak, Sylph pushed hard, her will overriding that of the woman in a heartbeat. There was only a modicum of resistance, with one Observer it was easy, the Consensus weak. It was only when multiple Observers were involved that her powers were truly dimmed. If she played it right that situation wouldn’t arise.

  ‘The woman. Identified by the name Sarah. Homicide from the Roseacre Road killing. Where is she?’ Sylph said.

  ‘Downstairs, Room 2.’ The woman replied, her eyes blank, staring forwards.

  Sylph walked past, letting a fugue settle on the woman. She wouldn’t come round for a few minutes, and would have no memory of what had transpired.

  Sylph sensed again as she pushed open the double doors. Of the two remaining sentients in the building, one was upstairs, barely awake too, judging by the faint echo she received. The other was ahead of her, down the stairs, in the direction she was heading in.

  She exited the stairwell and found herself in a long corridor with three doors on either side. She approached the door marked ”2”, noting that the remaining sentient was in this very room. Her curiosity pricked slightly as she approached. Now she was closer she could sense the person was awake and alert, using her will would be trickier on this one. She opened the door at pace.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’

  The man, dressed in a white lab coat, stood up from a computer terminal as Sylph entered the room.

  He was too alert already, too anxious. She had a good contact with the Weave right then but it wasn’t sufficient to suppress the man’s own reality. She had one option, a desperate action with little chance of success.

  ‘Sorry, wrong room,’ she turned about. She would hide, wait this one out. It was already late, experience telling her that even the most committed on this realm had to go home some time.

  ‘Stop right there,’ the man said.

  She stopped and slowly turned. Calm. Focus.

  ‘Who are you? Tell me now, or I’m calling security.’

  Small in height, thin of frame. He wouldn’t be any challenge. She could take him without having to resort to her blades if she was quick enough.

  ‘You won’t call anyone.’

  Sylph took a step forward. She channelled; a subtle burst that would give her a split-second head start should she have to act.

  ‘What the hell? You some kind of junkie? You don’t scare me you crazy bitch.’

  He did something then that caught her off guard. She’d assumed that he’d try and run past her in an attempt to rouse the alarm. What she didn’t anticipate was that he’d smash the button on the wall that sent a siren blaring in the night.

  Shit.

  Sylph lunged forwards. The man had a brief second to recognise the movement before she was on him. One hand struck his throat, crushing his windpipe. Before he even had chance to register the blow a second strike hit him on the side of the temple, striking the vagus nerve. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

  ‘Shit!’

  She pressed the alarm again, relieved when it fell silent. She stopped for a second, sensing out. It wasn’t good. The police officer was moving through the building at pace.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ Luchar’s voice hissed in her earpiece, making her wince.

  ‘Just be ready. I’m almost done,’ she replied.

  ‘Just hurry, you’ve stirred up a fricking hornet’s nest!’

  She muted him. She didn’t need his shit right then. She needed focus, clarity.

  Footsteps clattered outside the room. She moved to the door in a blur, power focused into her muscles and senses. The door opened and the police officer dashed inside, weapon drawn, some kind of stun gun.

  ‘Steve? You okay? Steph saw something on the cam-’

  The police officer saw her and spun on instinct, bringing the weapon to bear. She ducked as the weapon discharged, sending an electrified dart smacking harmlessly into the wall. She came inside his arm and struck the fleshy inside with the back of her hand, the iron-lined sleeves producing a sickening crack as the officer’s wrist broke, sending the weapon clattering to the ground. Before the man could even scream she drove her knee into his stomach. He doubled over. She channelled her strength and hurled him headfirst into the wall with a dull thud, cracking plaster. He collapsed into a heap on the floor.

  Sylph hovered over the unconscious officer for a few heartbeats, watching as his unconscious aura settled into a dull blue. Satisfied that nothing could hijack this body, she turned back, ignoring the shrieks in her mind from the hovering sheol, the wraiths drawn by the sudden explosion of fear in the air.

  ‘No, not here you don’t,’ she said out loud. ‘Go back to the void where you came from.’

  She sensed towards the lockers containing the held bodies. All but one returned a faint residue of the Weave, indicative of an imbued. Of the traitor. She yanked the locker open, drawing out the stretcher that contained a body wrapped in a zipped up bag. She turned on her earpiece as she unzipped the bag. She needed to know what was happening upstairs.

  ‘...police are arriving!’

  She shrugged off the growing urgency, what she had to do next required concentration.

  ‘Hold them, I need five minutes.’

  ‘Shit, Sylph, we don’t need this!’

  ‘Five minutes!’

  ‘Shit!’

  ***

  Luchar looked at the rest of the team. All had heard the exchange with Sylph.

  ‘You heard her, give her five minutes. Any longer and we’re gone. Understood?’

  The men exchanged knowing looks then nodded back at him. They kicked open the van doors and found themselves bathed in a plethora of red and blue lights.

  ***

  Sylph unzipped the bag, revealing the traitor’s ghostly face, forever locked in a thousand yard stare. The medical staff had done well on her body. She seemed serene, almost at peace.

  I hope wherever you are, you’re suffering, Traitor.

  Something crashed to the floor upstairs as more law enforcement officials entered the building. She didn’t have much time. Putting bitter memories of Sarah and her betrayal aside, she stood over the body, and gently, ever so gently, placed her thumbs against each open eye. She closed her own eyes then, focusing on the sensation of her chest rising up and down in slow, measured breaths. She drew on the Weave, easing the subtle energy into her, careful not to overflow her own capabilities. The procedure was tricky, and she’d only done it once before, when Marek had shown her, yet she had to succeed on this occasion, the price of failure was too great.

  Shouts from above.
Voices coming closer. Gunshots from somewhere outside. Luchar was doing his bit at least.

  Her senses tingled, electricity rippling through her, making her hairs stand on end. Her eyeballs twitched underneath the lids. Her muscles tensed like iron cords. The sensation rippled and multiplied, wave after wave of Weave-energy, building more and more each time.

  ‘Down here! Someone came this way!’

  Time was almost up. She unleashed the pent up energy within her, directing it through her arms into her hands, into the vessel that had once been her friend.

  At first there was nothing. A wall of blackness, infinitely tall and wide. The cells of Sarah’s body had been decaying for hours now, the ability to maintain and hold her own reality long gone. Yet, due to her Imbued nature, some vestigial energies would remain. A ghost in the shell. A shade of what she’d been. It was this that Sylph sought now, the last memories of a friend turned enemy.

  ‘Got a contact on the basement floor. One heat signature in the second room on the left.’

  She focused, channelling her energies into a dense wedge. Then, with an exertion that nearly floored her, she pushed.

  She was in.

  ‘In here, in here! Get ready to breach!’ Feet clattered outside. Weapon safety’s being removed.

  Images rose to her like ashes dancing above a fire. She glanced and discarded each in an instant, scanning hundreds of fleeting memories in the time it took her heart to beat just once.

  The door kicked open. People entered the room, fanning out.

  She had it. A face. A boy. Clever bitch! She took a mental image of the boy’s face, memorising every detail, the clarity equal to any camera.

  ‘Put your hands on your head. Drop to your knees. Do it. Do it now!’

  Sylph opened her eyes.

  ***

  Luchar cursed and floored the accelerator. Behind him Paul held the thrashing Moss, the younger man screaming in agony.

  ‘Fuck! They shot me!’