Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1)

by Dobing, M. S.

  ‘With me, boy!’

  ‘What was that?’ Seb said.

  ‘No idea. Talk later. For now, we run.’

  Don and the surviving Brothers had made it to the crypt. Two of the warriors lay dead behind them, mutilated beyond recognition. It was a relief when he saw Cade, drenched in blood but alive, slumped against the stone door. Reuben stood by him, comparatively unscathed. Mik raced just ahead of Cian, nearing the door. Behind, the ground shook as the giant fiend, flanked by hundreds of the sheol, cracked the ancient flags as it closed the gap between them.

  ‘Don, Seb, to me. Lend me your strength.’ Cian skidded to a halt and turned back. The air in front of the onrushing sheol shimmered as he erected a wall of force. Seb immediately channelled, lending what reserves he had to the warrior.

  ‘Mik – the stone, now.’

  Seb heard the mage reach for his backpack. Someone behind him muttered an expletive.

  ‘Shit. No way.’

  ‘What?’ Cian hissed. He stared forwards, teeth gritted.

  ‘The backpack. I don’t have it.’

  ‘What? How the hell?’ Reuben said.

  ‘I don’t know alright! It must’ve come off back there.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘By the dais, when that sheol got in my face.’

  The first of the sheol smashed into the barrier. It flared as circles of energy rippled outwards from the impact. The first rows of sheol were instantly incinerated. The second row tried to stop but was forced forwards by the combined weight of those behind. They fell screaming onto the barrier. The remainder slowed to a stop, howling and snarling, but not moving. Seb looked across. He’d felt the massive drain on the shield as the sheol hit. His head pounded. His legs were jelly. God knew what Cian must be feeling. The giant warrior was on one knee now. Sweat poured down his face. His body shook. Tendons jutted out of his neck. The shield was holding, but it wouldn’t survive another onslaught. The magi knew that. It was a matter of time before the sheol realised.

  ‘Where the hell is it, Mik?’

  Seb shook the sweat from his brow. He wiped a blood-stained hand across his eyes. He channelled, focussing Avatari. The blurred mass of sheol sharpened into a clarity he didn’t know existed. Through countless legs and arms he peered, the world slowing, his senses taken to new levels.

  It was then that he saw it. The backpack lay a few feet beyond the sheol. One of the straps peeked out from under a blackened pile of bones.

  There! Under that mass! He pulsed.

  Cian. When I get there. Focus the shield on me. I only need one second. Mik pulsed back to the group.

  Mik, wait!

  It was too late. Mik raced off from the group. The sheol shrieked with glee, not quite believing that someone would just throw themselves at their mercy. A handful of them forgot the shield even existed and dove forwards, burning to a crisp as they hit the barrier.

  Mik raced towards the perimeter. His staff swung in circles above his head as he moved, leaving a trail of blue energy behind him. When he was within feet of the barrier’s edge he threw the staff, the weapon a spinning circle of death that burned into those sheol gathered around the backpack. At the same time he pulsed his last words in this realm.

  Now!

  Cian narrowed the shield, extending it at the point where Mik dived out of its protection. Seb felt the Weave crackle as the perimeter burned those caught in its new structure. Mik dove for the backpack. He shoved one hand inside and whipped out the glowing emerald gem.

  ‘Come back! Come back, dammit!’ Seb said.

  Mik scrabbled to his feet just as the giant daemon turned its attention towards him. He clutched the satchel under both arms as he dashed away back into the shrinking sphere.

  Come on. I…can’t…hold it! Cian pulsed.

  Mik had a good few feet on the shield’s edge when the daemon saw him, and the item he carried. Seb felt the sudden change in its demeanour.

  No! They cannot escape!

  Mindlessly, the sheol dove against the barrier. Scores burned in an instant. The shield flickered, fell, and then reformed. Seb shot a look at Cian. The giant had dropped to both knees. His arms hung by his sides and his jaw dangled listlessly.

  Mik was halfway back. The daemon howled in fury, frustration boiling over. It swept a handful of sheol out of the way, and then, with its red eyes focussed on the fleeing mage, smashed its blade two-handed down onto the shield.

  It was as if the world had screamed.

  The shield exploded in a searing flash of light. The nearest row of sheol were vaporised at the speed of thought.

  The daemon staggered back but did not fall. A dense, acrid smoke wrapped round its body. All the scales on its left side had been charred. One eye had melted, leaving a smoking socket, and yet still it did not fall. It took one step forward and encountered no resistance. Its scorched lips curled into a wicked grin. It took a step forward, towards the motionless Mik, who lay on the floor, smoke seeping from his tunic.

  ‘Cian!’ Seb yelled.

  The giant warrior was spent. He slumped to the floor, Don only catching him before his head cracked against the stone. The mage looked up at Seb through eyes dead with fatigue.

  ‘Shit! What now! This wasn’t supposed to happen!’

  Reuben screamed and shot back into the chamber, his surviving guards following with him. Cade shuffled over, cradling his wounded arm.

  ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘No,’ Seb lied. He knew what he had to do. There was no time for discussion now. Cade simply nodded and slipped a blood-soaked sword into his free hand.

  ‘Then we fight to the end.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Seb didn’t hesitate any further. He channelled, rich energy flooding his limbs. His legs felt on fire, and he leapt forwards, barely touching the ground as he closed the distance to Mik in seconds, Cade’s shouts of protest a distant echo. He skidded to a halt, ignoring the encroaching sheol and tumbling over the broken body of a fiend, landing next to the backpack. There! The green stone glittered on the floor, specks of light twinkling in the shadows. He didn’t look at Mik. The smell of scorched flesh told him all he needed to know about the mage’s sacrifice.

  Something growled from nearby. He shot a look over his shoulder. The sheol were yards away, some of them coming to their senses after the explosion. A handful turned towards him and howled. Shit! He had to act fast. He grabbed the stone and stumbled upright. The majority of the stunned sheol were recovering now and were moving towards him, a terrifying mass of teeth and claw.

  A chill thought struck him. They weren’t going to make it. The others were yards away, immobile due to the unconscious Cian. If he ran back with the stone then there wouldn’t be any time.

  There was only one option.

  The growls came again, nearer this time. He spun about. The sheol were circling him, closing ranks, cutting him off. Strangely though they didn’t attack. They simply surrounded him, preventing his escape.

  Seb didn’t think about his next action. The thought came to him, unbidden, and he acted upon it. He took the stone and held it high above his head. He and Cade caught each other’s eyes. The thought, Seb’s intention, flashed between them in that instant.

  No!

  Seb hurled the stone, guided by his own Avatari, it smashed into the ground five feet from the group. The portal exploded into a fiery, white brilliance.

  ‘Seb!’ Cade shouted, ducking and then impaling a sheol that crossed his path as he rushed out towards him.

  ‘Go!’

  The daemons converged on him, the mass obscuring all light. He heard the portal flash - they’d made it!

  A surge of relief washed through him as he closed his eyes. He willed a shield that wouldn’t come, and waited for the end.

  Chapter 43

  His smell was the first of his senses to wake up. A sickening stench of burned flesh filled his nostrils. He sat up, retching onto a damp stone floor.

  He blinked once. Twi
ce. Darkness. Total darkness. His heart raced, something akin to panic pricked his mind.

  He felt one hand with another. Great, at least he was still in once piece. His muscles ached. His back felt like he’d been pummelled by a cricket bat, but he was alive, and thankfully, relatively uninjured.

  A small flicker, barely a pinprick of light, caught his gaze.

  His gaze.

  He could see. But see what? He dropped to his knees, scurrying over to the light. He realised now that he wasn’t blind, but the room was almost impossibly black. The light, he saw, was coming from a crack underneath a door. He could just about make it out now, an iron structure covered in bolts and bars. A square panel was about head height on the door, some kind of peephole no doubt. He stood, regretting it instantly, his calves aching.

  He sensed.

  Nothing.

  No, not nothing. He didn’t sense, there was nothing there.

  Now he panicked.

  He tried again, straining, clawing at the Weave, but his efforts were futile, grasping nothing but the void.

  He’d been disconnected.

  Calm down. He moved away from the door, only stopping when his back met resistance in the form of a rough, stone wall that dug into his spine.

  Movement. From outside the door.

  Seb took a fighting stance, what Cade called the receiver, and stood ready. Yet without a weapon and the comfort of the Weave he suddenly felt very vulnerable, the growing confidence of recent months washed away in a blink.

  Two sets of footsteps stopped outside the door. Fingers fumbled. A panel slid back. A square of light illuminated the room and Seb was forced to raise his hand to protect himself from the glare.

  Two men stepped in, their eyes the oil-colour of the possessed. They grinned, bearing needle-thin teeth.

  ‘We’ve been waiting for you for a long time,’ one of them said, the one on the left. His friend didn’t respond, he simply chuckled and danced from one foot to another.

  ‘Where am I?’ He tried to put something akin to authority into his voice but the effect fell on deaf ears.

  ‘Hey, it’s got some guts this one, hasn’t it?’ the sheol said again, his companion practically giddy with excitement now. ‘Perhaps we should just rip its throat out here and now, to shut its endless bleating? What do you say?’

  For a moment Seb thought that the other possessed was about to lunge at him. He probably would’ve if it wasn’t for the voice that spoke then, stilling the two of them in an instant.

  ‘You will do no such thing.’

  The man, taller than the possessed, swept in through the doorway, ducking as he came in. He towered about all of them, nearly matching Cian in height. He gazed down at Seb, a mix of curiosity and amusement crossing his face.

  ‘You’re not possessed,’ Seb said, noticing the absence of blackness in the man’s eyes.

  The man laughed, ‘Possessed? Is that what you call it?’ He nodded to himself as if musing on some internal monologue. ‘I suppose that’s a fair assessment. But yes, you are correct, I am not, as you say, possessed.’

  It hit him like a sledgehammer.

  ‘Marek.’ It wasn’t a question.

  Marek smiled. ‘I see my reputation precedes me. I should be flattered.’

  ‘Why have you brought me here? Why am I not dead in the Nexus?’

  ‘Would you rather be?’ Marek said, head dipping and white eyes suddenly wide. ‘It can be arranged, and no doubt will occur. Unfortunately we need you, or rather, your head.’

  ‘I won’t give it to you.’

  Even as he said the words he realised how futile they sounded. Marek knew it too, the knowing smile on his face letting Seb know exactly how serious he took that statement. Seb was lost, Weaveless. God knew where he was. For the first time in months, he felt like crying.

  ‘Ah, there, there, little mageling,’ Marek said, reading his thoughts, ‘No need for tears. I promise you that when the time comes your death will be quick, if not totally painless.’ Marek turned to the sheol, who had until that point remained to the side, eyes focused on something interesting on the floor. ‘Bring him. We need to get this started.’

  ‘Get what started?’ Seb said as the possessed took a painful grip of each arm.

  Marek smiled, the expression alien and terrifying at once. ‘Why, we’re going to rip out your mind of course.’

  They dragged Seb into a narrow corridor that was too slim for the three of them to walk side by side. One took the rear, the other stood next to him, holding his arm. They moved forwards, the light from the oil-lanterns easing his eyes back into usefulness. The orbs that had pocked his eyes when the panel was slid back had almost vanished, his vision nearly back to normal.

  As he walked, he tried to focus on himself, not drawing on the Weave, but the mindfulness exercises he’d been taught at Skelwith. He wrapped layers around his fear, slowing his heart, suppressing the adrenalin that pumped through his veins. He turned his attention outside, sight, sound and scent. He needed to learn as much about his environment as possible. There was no opportunity now, but he was sure one would come. To do what, he didn’t know, but come it would.

  Low grumbles drifted down from somewhere above in regular patterns. The rumbles grew in pitch before tailing off quickly as something passed overhead.

  A road. A busy road.

  A puddle loomed ahead, water dripping into it from the ceiling. He looked up and saw the grille there, the rain seeping through. As he watched someone walked over it. Then another.

  ‘Enough staring!’ The sheol behind him clipped him hard round the ear, fire exploding on the right side of his face.

  The corridor widened and curved hard to the left. It ended at another set of doors. These were wooden, not iron, like the one from the cell. The first sheol took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. It creaked open, revealing a further corridor that belonged to an entirely different building altogether.

  They stepped out from the damp stone onto a thick red carpet, Seb’s feet sinking into the pile as he walked. The corridor was immaculate, what he’d imagined Skelwith to have been like in its heyday. Sparkling chandeliers hung from the ceiling, gold-painted wood panelling lined the walls, interspersed with paintings of people and places Seb didn’t recognise.

  They moved on down the corridor, the possessed now flanking him on either side. He risked a sense again but found nothing. He felt it then, something cold, metallic, very thin, and it was wrapped around his neck.

  ‘A Void Ring.’ Marek said, once again reading his thoughts like he’d spoken aloud. ‘It’s used to suppress Weave-abilities.’

  ‘Am I that much of a threat?’

  ‘Don’t deceive yourself, yours is a candle to a star, insignificant. But at the same time we cannot risk you attempting to contact your friends, those who so eagerly abandoned you at the Nexus.’

  Another door loomed, this one flanked with human vassals dressed in suits and holding automatic weapons.

  Marek pushed past him and walked through the double doors, the barrier seemingly opening in his wake. Seb shook his head and followed, encouraged by jabs to his ribs from his escort.

  They emerged into a separate hall, this now much vaster than the corridors they’d just left. The interior resembled some kind of church. Braziers burned in the shadows, casting a dim glow to the room. The air smelled of charcoal and something else, something unpleasant that he couldn’t remember, or his mind wouldn’t let him.

  He followed Marek to an altar at the far side of the hall, the platform raised above the pews. The stone floor was darker here than elsewhere, some kind of liquid dried onto the surface.

  ‘Kneel,’ something struck the back of his knee and he crumpled. He cracked the back of his head against the floor and the world began to swim. He bit his tongue during the fall and blood filled his mouth.

  ‘My lord, we have him, we have the message-bearer.’ Marek’s voice echoed throughout the chamber.

  Seb rolle
d himself onto his side and pushed himself upright. The world span and white splodges peppered his vision. He held his position, focusing on a brazier nearest the altar. The room steadied, the light faded. From somewhere, a voice spoke.

  ‘Marek, I was beginning to fear you had failed me.’

  Seb twisted his head, fear trying to stay his eyes but something compelling him. Marek stood before him, covered in robes of red and black. His slender, almost skeletal hands were raised high above his head, the sleeves sliding down to his elbows. Beyond Marek the air shimmered, a form coalescing from swirls of energy inside a large oval portal. The figure that formed was opaque, humanoid in shape but lacking in detail.

  ‘My apologies, my Master, it took us longer to lure the cowards out of their hole than we thought.’

  ‘And, were you successful? Do you have it?’ the figure that Marek referred to as Master said, its voice drawn out as if being called across a chasm.

  Marek turned to Seb then, his white eyes twinkling with barely disguised glee. He waved a fragile hand in Seb’s direction, it taking immense willpower on Seb’s part to resist snapping it at the wrist in that instant.

  ‘Behold, the message-bearer.’

  The Master stooped, coming closer into the portal. Wide, oval eyes, ash-grey in colour, peered out at Seb. Icy tendrils touched his mind, the chill sending a ripple of nausea that shook his gut. He tried to will something, anything, but he was hopelessly exposed. His vision exploded into a myriad of images and thoughts, the Master tearing through his mind with ease. He tried to think of other things, throwing his own thoughts in the Master’s way, trying to hide the locked message that lurked inside.

  ‘Do not resist, it will only increase your pain,’ the voice was seductive, almost alluring. He drifted for a moment, his mind slipping. The icy fingers jabbed again, smashing through his flailing defences. The pain seared the backs of his eyes, sending him rolling backwards, clawing at his skin, screaming as the invisible tendrils bubbled through his nerves.

  A box appeared in his mind’s eye. Golden runes danced across its surface. On some instinctive level he knew this contained the message Sarah had so carefully hidden inside him.