Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1)

by Dobing, M. S.

  It was late afternoon as she finally saw the familiar sight of Ledhill, the familiar sight of home going some way to remove the unease that had grown on her since she left the farm house. No doubt the police had arrived there by now, and the husband and wife would’ve given them a vivid description of the woman who broke into their house and threatened their lives.

  Why hadn’t she killed them?

  The question came again, as it had done on several occasions already on the trip back. Marek would be beyond pissed. The mission was the priority, he would say, anything, or anyone else, was expendable.

  Yeah? Well, she didn’t agree. She’d made it back, the mission was a success, of sorts. It didn’t always have to end in bloodshed.

  She turned down a side street and parked the car in the forecourt of Hayway’s Garage. Keith waddled out of his office as she got out and ambled towards her across the concrete.

  ‘Looks like you’re famous, Sylph.’

  ‘Shut it. Dispose of this,’ she said, tossing him the keys.

  ‘Master Marek will not be pleased,’ Keith said, smirking in that way that always invited a punch.

  ‘I’m sure he will be satisfied when he sees what I have for him.’ She nodded down, looking at the stained hooded fleece that stretched over Keith’s belly. ‘Give me that. Now.’

  ‘What? It’s sub-zero out here and the heater’s on the blink!’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve got more than enough insulation to ward off the cold,’ she said, before adding, her eyes hardening, ‘Unless you want me to remove that for you as well?’

  Keith shook his head, his jowls wobbling in a way that made her stomach heave. He tossed it over, Sylph catching it with her good arm. The other had stopped bleeding now, the healing effects finally taking hold. She threw the fleece over her. The garment stunk, but it would do. There was no point getting caught now, so near to home. She pulled up the hood and stalked out of the garage.

  Chapter 11

  Luchar glanced up briefly as Sylph walked into the dining hall before looking down again.

  ‘You made it then?’ he said. He had one of his heavy boots on the table, giving it a polish.

  ‘Just about.’ She grabbed a bread roll from a half-empty basket on one of the counters before sitting at the edge of the table. ‘You make it out okay?’

  ‘A few got in the way.’ He glanced up at her, sniffing the air. ‘You look like shit. And you smell the same.’

  ‘I missed you too.’ She looked around at the empty hall. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Evening prayer?’ Luchar said, raising a chastising eyebrow.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Marek’s pissed with you, you know.’

  Here we go.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You left three alive in that farmhouse. Plus a cop at the morgue.’

  ‘So?’

  Luchar slid his boot back on and stood up. ‘Don’t play clever, Sylph. I don’t know what your problem is but you messed up. You risk the mission when you leave loose ends.’

  ‘They were innocent,’ she said, and meant it.

  ‘No one’s innocent.’

  Luchar turned and left her alone. Screw him. They didn’t all have to be blind automatons. Balor worshipped individuality, independent thought. Well, time to get it over with. She devoured half the roll, leaving the rest on the side. She sank a pint of water before leaving by the stairwell that led to Marek’s office. Her arm still ached, and she did stink, but the Master would not wait.

  ***

  ‘Come in, child.’

  Sylph pushed open the large iron door and stepped into Marek’s study. The warmth hit her like a wave. A large log fire burned in the hearth. Marek stood there, one hand resting on the mantle. His white eyes stared into the fire. Most people thought he was blind, but even if he was, the other powers he possessed more than negated that impairment. Sylph wasn’t sure either way. It wouldn’t have surprised her if it was all part of the masquerade, exposing weakness where there was none. When he turned and looked directly at her it did nothing to dispel that suspicion.

  ‘Come, come, my dear.’ He beckoned her in, motioning to the other armchair near the fire. Sylph obeyed, welcoming the chance to finally sit down.

  ‘You are injured,’ he said, a concerned frown on his face.

  ‘It’ll heal.’

  ‘Perhaps, but you are clumsy. We don’t want you to scar.’

  He waved a hand. A burning itch crawled all over the scabby, mangled flesh on her forearms. As she watched the skin reformed and moulded, the damaged tissue vanished, young skin replacing old. At the same time the aches in her limbs evaporated away, a weight lifting from her. As the itch subsided, Marek nodded. Satisfied.

  ‘Thank you, Master,’ she said.

  ‘Gratitude is not necessary. Now, it sounds like you had an eventful couple of days. Tell me, child. Were you successful?’

  She nodded. ‘I managed to retrieve the memories from the traitor.’

  ‘Excellent work. Did you happen to see what she saw?’

  Was there an edge to his voice? She shook her head. ‘No, Master.’

  ‘Good, very good. It would be a shame if you were somehow tainted by her experiences.’

  A silence hung in the air, the veiled threat clear between them.

  ‘I follow your orders, Master. I am loyal to the mission.’

  ‘Of course you are. I had no doubt.’ He moved over to her, drifting like a ghost. He held out two slender, pale hands. ‘Come, child. Let me remove the burden of your mission from you.’

  She swallowed hard and leaned forwards. She knew this was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier.

  Cold hands pressed against her temple. She closed her eyes.

  ‘Relax, child. Lower your defences. This won’t hurt.’

  She did as instructed, lowering the mental shields that she kept up on a near-permanent basis. The process began in an instant. Icy tentacles burrowed into her mind, the cold descending in random slivers that spread throughout her body, numbing her limbs so that they felt almost distant, disconnected.

  An image flashed before her, a brief scene, vivid and full of detail. It vanished as quickly as it came.

  ‘That’s it, we’re done.’

  She looked up at the smiling Marek. The tentacles receded from her. Warmth returned to her body as her mind became hers again. Mental barriers rose in an instant.

  ‘Thank you, Master. Did you get all you needed?’

  She shoved the image out of mind.

  ‘I believe so. There are a lot of memories in there that aren’t your own. It will take time to filter out what I need.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Master, I didn’t have much time. I -’

  Marek held up a silencing hand. ‘It wasn’t a rebuke, Sylph. I’m aware of the constraints you were under. Now, take your leave, child. You have served the Lord many times over in the past few days. Take some time off. Meditate. We will resume your training in a few days.’

  Sylph stood and nodded. ‘Thank you, Master.’

  She went to the door.

  ‘Sylph?’

  Her hand was resting on the cold handle as she turned back.

  ‘Yes, Master?’

  ‘You made a mistake leaving survivors. In the future, kill them.’

  She left without a word.

  ***

  Marek watched the door close. When Sylph’s aura faded out of sight he turned and picked up the phone. The recipient answered almost straight away.

  ‘I have retrieved the last memories of the infiltrator.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It is confirmed. You were right. The boy now has the pattern. She passed it to him before she died.’

  ‘How much did she get?’

  ‘Everything.’

  A pause followed. ‘Understood. I’ll be in touch.’

  Chapter 12

  Seb sat at the edge of his bed, watching the door, willing the knock to come. The clock read 7:56, fo
ur minutes before he was due to be summoned and three hours after he’d woken up with his heart fluttering. He’d sat at the window overlooking the lawn, watching the sun crest the horizon and bathe the grounds in a warming pink haze.

  Last night he’d returned to the quarters with his head throbbing. By all rights he should have simply walked out of this mad house, if they’d let him. The thought had crossed his mind several times already.

  Yet why was he still here?

  The Weave. Shards. Magi. How could any of this stuff exist in the real world? It beggared belief. It couldn’t be real, but yet his memories didn’t lie. He’d seen those things, those sheol. Those black eyes. Those poison-tipped talons. And then there was Cade and the Brotherhood. Sure, the yellow eyes could be contacts, but everything else? The super speed? The shadow melding thing? No way. Just no way.

  When the door had shut behind him last night he’d decided one thing. If he was there in the morning after a night to think about it he would stay. Maybe they were insane, just some crazy cult with a Matrix fetish, but deep down he knew that wasn’t the case. No, if he was there when the sun came up he would give them a crack. It’s not like he had anywhere else to go, anyway.

  Well, the sun was up, and here he was.

  The knock came just as he was drifting away to someplace else. He snapped to, jumping from the bed. He opened it to reveal Don, the guy that had dropped him off the night before.

  ‘You’re awake, good,’ Don said. He held out a folded up tunic and pants like the ones he wore. ‘Come with me.’

  Moments later Seb followed Don down the corridor to the same flight of stairs he knew led to the main hallway. Rather than exiting into the garden this time they turned left, emerging out into a wide hallway that ran the length of the front of the mansion. Massive windows appeared at regular intervals streaming warming rays into the corridor.

  No one else joined them as they moved along the hallway, which puzzled him, but he did not comment. They followed the hallway down to the end where another set of double doors loomed. For a moment Seb thought they were heading out into the gardens, but at the last moment they veered right, heading down a narrow corridor that ended in a rusted, iron door. Don stopped and turned back to him.

  ‘This is where I leave you.’

  ‘What is this place?’ Seb said, looking over the door. At one time it looked like some kind of ornate markings or designs had been etched into the metal, but a combination of time and lack of maintenance had led to the surface simply looking weathered, with random half-symbols and images appearing here and there without any specific meaning.

  ‘This is where you will study,’ Don said. Was that a tone of sadness in his voice?

  ‘In here? Are there other students inside?’

  Don sighed and shifted on his feet. He glanced over Seb’s shoulder, apparently checking that they were definitely alone.

  ‘There are no other students, at least not in here.’

  ‘What? Where are they?’

  ‘There are only six other acolytes currently based at Skelwith. As you are without a Family they are forbidden from interacting with you and vice versa. As the only Adept on site today it was left to me to deal with the outcast.’

  ‘What? What outcast?’ Then it hit him. ‘I see.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, kid,’ Don said. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘Listen, the magi, they’re a people of tradition. It’s more important than anything to them. You, you’re not from a Family, so you literally have no status amongst them.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ Seb said, something hot building behind his eyes, ‘I’m just here for that thing in my head?’

  Don shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, I am. I just…I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Great. Just great.’ He nodded at the door. ‘So what’s in there? A set of chains and a bowl of gruel?’

  ‘Someone like you.’

  Don edged past him and nearly ran down the corridor. Seb stood, dumbfounded. Stunned didn’t cut it. There was an itch on his skin, his stomach crunching in painful spasms. He didn’t cry. He wouldn’t cry. He hadn’t done that since he was a boy, before, well, just before. Instead, he pushed the door open, revealing a set of irregular stone steps that dropped down into darkness. As he stepped into the gloom he did what he’d always done in his life when he’d received his latest knock back. He took the insult, the shame that had been dumped on him, and channelled it. Somewhere, deep inside, where hurt and sadness would normally dwell, a small, hot flicker of anger blossomed.

  He weathered the treacherous descent for what felt like several minutes. On more than one occasion his feet slipped from under him. By the time the stairway levelled out into a wide corridor he was nursing several bruises and a cut brow. A narrow channel of water ran down the middle of the passage. Slimy moss covered the curved walls on either sides. Water dripped to the floor from several points in the ceiling, the sound echoing throughout the tunnel. He pressed on ahead, not afraid, but eager to get to the source of the glow that emanated from around a bend up ahead.

  The distance to the light source was further than he’d realised and it took a few more seconds of walking before the tunnel opened up into a massive, oval chamber. The channel terminated in the middle, the water trickling through a metal grille into somewhere far below. High above, in the centre of the chamber, he could make out a similar grill through which shafts of sunlight shone, illuminating the room.

  Seb took a step into the chamber, almost slipping on a step that was overgrown with lichen. Around the sides of the room was an assortment of boxes, sheets, racks and other odds and sods. It seemed more like a dumping ground of waste rather than a storage room for anything specific.

  What the hell was this place?

  A clattering from the shadows made him start. An old man came stumbling out of an alcove, his arms full of rolled up scrolls. One scroll tumbled out of his grasp as he lurched towards the table near the centre. Seb lunged for it, yanking it out of the chilly pool of water.

  ‘Ah, shit! That’s going to set me back another day now!’ The man said, snatching the soggy parchment from Seb.

  ‘I’m sorry, I -’

  ‘Why, did you drop it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why are you sorry?’

  ‘Erm, for your inconvenience?’ Seb said eventually, quite unsure how this conversation was going to play out.

  ‘Boy, life’s too short to worry about other people’s inconveniences,’ the man said, rolling the parchment out flat onto a dry section of table, batting a candlestick out of the way to make room. Seb dived to one side as other scrolls threatened to roll off onto the floor. He caught them and placed them on a stack of wooden crates that seemed relatively free of damp.

  ‘So, you’re the outcast they told me about eh?’ the man said, stepping back and appraising Seb with narrow eyes.

  Seb blinked and swallowed down the heat that rose in his throat. Why the hell was he even stood here and taking this shit? The old man obviously picked up on his sudden tension.

  ‘Now, now, we need to get that out of you sharpish.’

  ‘Get what?’

  ‘The attitude. You won’t last five minutes with that massive log on your shoulder weighing you down!’

  Seb spun away and flopped into a dust-covered armchair that was only half-covered in junk.

  ‘Oi, stand up,’ the man said. His eyes were fixed on Seb, his jaw set. Seb sighed and looked away.

  ‘Up. Now.’

  Something in the man’s voice gripped Seb’s mind, demanding attention. Without even thinking, the idea of resistance somewhere far away, he rose to his feet.

  ‘Now, I’m guessing you’ve heard rumours about why you’re here?’

  ‘Sure have. Teach me some stuff then when I’ve learned enough you’ll be able to rip this secret message I’ve got out of my head and probably cast me aside, use served.’

  The man clapped his hands together. ‘Goo
d, glad that’s out of the way. For a minute I thought it was going to be awkward!’

  What the hell? Was this guy for real? ‘Are you serious? Is this funny to you?’

  The man came closer. He smelled of must and garlic. His skin was weathered, like hard leather. His eyes shone a piercing blue that bored right through him.

  ‘No, not funny, not really. You want to know something, boy? I’m exactly the same as you. I was an outcast. Still am in fact. I’d been kicked out of my Family for reasons I won’t go into. My stay here was only temporary, apparently. That was forty years ago. But you know what I did?’

  ‘Hid down here?’

  The man laughed. Several teeth were missing. ‘Not quite, although sometimes it feels like I did. No, boy. I made myself useful. You think this place just runs itself with those lazy bastards upstairs? No, of course not. There are many things that need doing that they don’t want to get their hands dirty with. I made myself useful by picking those up until I got to the point where they couldn’t get rid of me. And soon, you will be the same.’

  The man grunted and nodded to himself. Seb stood for a moment, wondering if the man knew he hadn’t actually spoken for a few seconds. When he couldn’t take it any longer he opened his mouth -

  ‘What’s your name?’ the man said, cutting him off just as the words were forming in his head.

  ‘Erm, Seb. Seb. It’s Seb,’ he stammered.

  ‘You sure, Seb? You want to think about it for a bit longer?’

  He laughed at that. ‘No, Seb’s right.’

  ‘Your parents lazy, Seb? They only give you one name?’

  He sniggered again. He liked this guy. ‘Seb Wilkinson.’

  ‘Wilkinson, eh?’ the man said, nodding as he scratched the end of his beard. ‘And your folks, what happened to them?’

  Seb shrugged. ‘No idea, I’ve been in foster care all my life, they could be dead for all I know.’

  ‘Okay,’ the man said. Unusual that, most people seemed keen to press on when confronted with this fact, trying their own brand of amateur psychology as to why Seb, this obviously lost soul, ended up the way he had. This man was different though, accepting his answers at face value, not judging, at least not visibly. Seb found himself warming to him already.