“Undermyre has already chosen its champion,” Cephora said with a gesture to Madigan, catching him by surprise. What? He and Will shared an uneasy glance. “The machinations of the Crow have already set about laying the foundation for his coming.”
Din’Dael glanced at Madigan and snickered. “Again your foolish Crow places his faith in darkness?” He spat. “The old man’s mind is feeble.”
“Your imprisonment has done wonders for your own,” Cephora replied.
The air crackled with sparks as the two squared off. After a moment, din’Dael laughed and his face changed completely to a soft, handsome smile. “You’re as pleasant as ever, Cephora. Very well, in the morning I shall leave you and this rabble to fend for yourselves, barking at the Crow’s commands as you have done for so long. But”—he turned his attention to the remainder of the group—“should any of you wish to join me, you would be most welcome.”
“First, the death of Senraks, the blood beast,” Will said immediately.
Jero din’Dael raised an eyebrow. “One of those pesky little things? Consider it done.”
And with that, he collapsed to the ground right where he stood, crossed his hands behind his head, and was immediately asleep. The other four stood staring at the madman in their midst, the smoldering wreckage behind them and the horrific crack in the sky a constant reminder of his capabilities. Madigan shuddered. No one should wield so much power.
Morella broke away from the group and set about scribbling in her journal. Cephora strode down the hill toward the wreckage of the prison without a word. Mad and Will were left alone with the sleeping figure. He beckoned his brother forward and the pair stepped away, out of earshot of Morella or din’Dael, should he awaken.
“What do you think?” Madigan asked once they had settled a short distance away.
“I think I’m tired and sore,” Will said. “And far too thirsty.”
“About din’Dael, Will.”
“I know,” Will sighed. “I think he’s insane—”
“That much seems apparent.”
“But I need him, Mad.”
Madigan closed his eyes. The way that Will said it, he needed him, he knew what that meant. He composed himself and raised an eyebrow to Will. “Go on.”
“Whatever he did to me.” It was apparent that Will was struggling for words. “I feel different, Mad. I feel hollow. But at the same time I feel lighter, like I could fly if I wanted to. But it isn’t a good feeling, it’s…angry.”
Madigan nodded. “When din’Dael was speaking, it was like I’d been holding my breath. The air was searing and dry again, like it was in the prison.” He paused and looked up at the crack in the sky. “We should never have come here, never gone near him.”
“I need to undo whatever he did to me,” Will said, pleading.
“Will.” Madigan paused. How the hell do I say it? “Whatever din’Dael did may have increased your power, but it was already there.”
Will gave him a wary eye and shifted uncomfortably, glancing around. “What are you saying?”
“Whatever happened to your ability to control your Shade, I don’t know.” Madigan ran his hands through his hair and rubbed his temples. “But he didn’t make you into something you weren’t already. I’ve seen you wield lightning before, Will. I’ve seen you do things I can’t explain. Maybe Grandda was wrong, maybe you’re not Shadowborne…”
“What, you think I’m actually Lightborne?” Will said, his voice pitched with incredulity. “Mad, we both know that my Shade awakened years ago! Only Shadowborne have Shades!”
“But they don’t control fire and lightning! They don’t burn people to a crisp!”
Mad knew he had said too much, too harshly. Will tensed up and he saw the fear on his brother’s face—the fear and the weight of the dead, slaughtered by his hand.
“Look, I don’t know,” he said, backpedaling. “Maybe you’re something different. Maybe you could have gone either way and din’Dael pushed you over the edge. All I know is that our plan has gone off the rails and—”
“And din’Dael seems to be at the heart of whatever is coming next,” Will said flatly.
Madigan paused, looking at his brother. No, that’s not where I was going, actually, but… But he was right, of course. Senraks and the Necrothanians, the Relics of Antiquity, Jero din’Dael, all seemed to be spiraling around him however he looked to the future. And yet…
He was silent then, the plan forming in his head as he tried to reconcile the new factors with what he already knew. He sighed. I’m sorry, kid.
“What are your thoughts?” Will asked. Without even having to say the words, his brother’s voice told him that Will would go with whatever Mad said.
“You’re not going to like them.”
Will scoffed and shook his head, glancing back toward Morella and idly fingering the hidden key around his neck. “Since when has that ever stopped you from seeing them through? Spit it out, Mad.”
“We split up.”
“What?” It was clearly not what Will had been expecting.
Madigan gave him a level look. “Something big is about to start, Will,” he said, shaking his head in thought. “Or maybe it’s already started and everything is only now just coming together. But regardless, Jero din’Dael is going to raise an army to find Valmont. I know you and I disagree about him being alive, but either way, there’s going to be a madman at the head of a large force. Plus, he said that along the way he intends to turn up some of those Relics you and Morella seem so interested in. You stay with him. You learn what he’s planning, fix whatever he did to you. You fight from the inside.”
“And what are you going to be doing?” Will said softly.
Madigan snickered. “Something neither Grandda nor I ever planned. I’m going to go with Cephora and find the Halls of Shadow and learn everything I can. Even if it’s fallen into ruin, there’s got to be something there that can help us. But no matter what, I have to try to find a way to check din’Dael’s power, if I can.”
Will was quiet for some time. “You’re serious?” he said finally.
“Stay with him, Will. Ask Morella to join you.”
“Morella hates him. She’ll never stay.”
“Don’t make her decisions for her,” Madigan said, thinking back to the way Morella had looked when din’Dael spoke. “Talk to her.”
He watched Will take it all in. Mad hated the idea of splitting up, but it made sense for Will to keep tabs on din’Dael. And, despite his excitement at discovering his Shade, it stung that somehow their roles had been reversed. Now, he was the one going to attempt becoming a Blade of Shadow while Will would be the one building an army.
As if his thoughts mirrored his brother’s exactly, realization dawned on Will’s face. “But Mad, Grandda said that the Halls takes years! We’ll be separated that entire time. Anything could happen and—”
“I know,” Mad said. “But like Cephora said, Umbriferum fell. There may be nothing there anymore and it may take no time at all.”
“Or it’ll take even more. You’re the only family I’ve got left,” Will said, refusing to look away from his brother. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Madigan chuckled and laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “That goes for the both of us, kid. I don’t like it any more than you do. But we knew when we started that at some point we would split up. It just isn’t quite the way we imagined it.”
“None of this has been,” Will said as he stared at his hands, flexing his fingers.
“No, it hasn’t.” Madigan shook his head. “Watch din’Dael, Will. Learn his strengths and his weaknesses just in case. If something happens, I know you, you’ll find a way to stop him. You’re still my ace.”
It took him a moment but eventually Will nodded. “As you say, Mad. I’ll watch him.”
“Good.”
The conversation lapsed for a time. When it resumed, neither talked about the day’s events, the horrors of the prison. Ins
tead they focused on brotherly banter, casual connection and easy conversation underlined with the knowledge that it was soon to come to an end. After a little while, the pair fell into silence. Night was waning, and the stars littered the strangely broken sky above, a beautiful, terrible mirror to the desolate destruction that surrounded them on the ground.
They broke from each other and moved back toward their strange party and laid out their bedrolls, understandably desperate for sleep. But once sleep finally came, for each of them their dreams held only the sight of twisted dead and the smell of their broken, burning flesh.
31
Manifest Destiny
A deafening clap of nearby thunder jarred Will from his restless sleep. He shot to his feet, kicking off his blankets. The air was heavy and cold and smelled of damp earth, a strange contrast to the dry burning of the previous day. His ears were ringing. Still so thirsty, he thought. Mad and Cephora were shifting in their groggy, unexpected waking. Jero din’Dael had not stirred. Morella was nowhere to be seen.
“So, you’re the ones who have been seeking me out.”
Will’s hackles rose and he spun around to face the source of the cruel, lilting voice. The man’s features were high and angular. His hair was long, a strange mixture of blond and brown that hung down his face. He was adorned simply in black trousers and a long, black coat. A scarf was wrapped around his neck. A sword was strapped to his hip. Shadows spun around him, twisting and dancing against the starry night.
Dorian Valmont.
Will’s voice caught in his throat as he struggled to shout. The terrible man gestured toward him and shadowy tendrils lashed out, striking Will in the chest and sending him flying backward. He tripped over an immobile figure and fell, crashing to the ground. The figure, din’Dael, murmured in the throes of sleep but did not awaken.
By then, Madigan had fully woken at the sound of his brother’s body hitting the ground. He leapt to his feet, the noctori blazing alive in his hands, his Shade sweeping the area. Cephora was kneeling, her palm against the ground, eyes closed as her lips moved in silence.
Valmont snickered at the noctori and the swirling tendrils of his body shot forward again, this time toward the blade. Will watched as Madigan side-stepped out of the way and carved the blade in an upward arc. The blade should have caught Valmont and passed clean through, but as the dark man’s shadows careened with the blade, the noctori winked from existence. Madigan rapidly made to form another but nothing sprung from his hands. He looked on in shock.
Valmont’s head cocked to the side. “You play at dangerous games with dangerous people, brothers Thorne.”
Madigan’s Shade surrounded him and Will scrambled to his feet, the air surrounding him alive with electricity. White lightning danced along the surface of his skin. Cephora’s eyes opened and stared at him in shock, her mouth twisting downward in horror. His secret was out.
“How quaint,” Valmont said with a sneer as the two brothers stepped forward to face him. As lightning cracked around Will’s body, he drew the blood fangs and leveled one at the dark figure.
Cephora reached forward and grasped the back of Madigan’s belt and shouted, “Din’Dael!”
Will briefly turned his eyes to her only to see the ground suddenly open up beneath her and Madigan. Before he could move, they disappeared, swallowed by the earth—the startled expression of confusion the last thing Will saw upon his brother’s face before he vanished completely.
Valmont stared at the spot they had been and pursed his lips in annoyance.
Shock swept over Will. Fear cut through his rage. Din’Dael had not moved and Morella, thankfully, was gone. Still, he was alone with Valmont.
“Will?” The cry came from a short distance away. Morella. Valmont’s position blocked her from Will’s sight. “Will!”
There was another crack of thunder and a bolt of white lightning shot past Will’s ear as a rough, dirty arm encircled his waist. Valmont stepped aside, easily avoiding the bolt and, in the brilliant flare, Will saw that the land stretching behind the dark man was alive with the movement of a shadowy horde of men.
No, not men, not anymore, Will realized in horror. They were too ragged, too steeped in decay, too dead. An army of the dead.
“Ah, Jero din’Dael.” Valmont smiled. “It has been too long.”
Lightning split the sky. Valmont’s brow furrowed and Will could barely breathe within din’Dael’s strong grasp. Jero din’Dael’s voice was level and low as he spoke. “You will die soon, Dorian. But not this day.”
The sky shattered into brilliant, terrifying fire. The scattered white pieces of the rent heavens cascaded down, engulfing din’Dael and Will in their raging fury. Before his world filled with fire, the last thing Will saw was Valmont’s smile as he turned toward the horde. The last thing he heard was Morella screaming his name in the night.
Will opened his eyes, his mind a groggy mess. His mouth seemed to be filled with cobwebs. He coughed. He was lying on a blanket, the distant sun barely peering over the horizon. A dream, nothing more.
He rolled over to his side, eyes fluttering closed again with the intent of returning to slumber, when the scuff of feet along sand caught his attention. Blinking against the brightening sky, he opened his eyes again and stared directly into the face of din’Dael. He was crouched, his head dipped low to bring him nearly at eye level, watching Will intently. The prison rags were gone, though where he had found the clothes he now wore Will could not say. A sword, larger than the claymore he had wielded at the Shale Prison was strapped to his back. His face broke into a wide grin beneath his scraggly beard and he rose to his feet.
“Good, very good. You’re still alive.”
Alive? Startled, Will shot to his feet and scanned his surroundings. The hilltop seemed somehow different, taller. The wreckage of the prison had disappeared, somehow, and the desert floor was smooth again as though the land itself had consumed the remnants. An eagle screeched off in the distance and Will looked at the sky. The crack seemed larger.
Will spun around completely. They were alone. Wherever he looked, there was no sign of the others, no supplies whatsoever, only Jero and himself. “Gods, it wasn’t a dream?”
Din’Dael’s head cocked to the side. “You play at dangerous games with dangerous people, William Davis,” he said in an eerily accurate imitation of Valmont. “Every day that you wake up alive is a surprise.”
Will’s voice caught in his throat. “What the hell happened, din’Dael?”
“Please, call me Jero.”
“Jero.” Will pushed, fighting back waves of panic. “Where is everyone?”
“Gone.”
Will froze. “What?”
“They say the end is coming soon.” Din’Dael’s grin was manic as he looked at the sky. The eagle screeched again, growing closer. “They don’t realize it is already here.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Will said, pleading with the strange man. He looked around again. The desert was different. The prison hadn’t been swallowed by the earth, it had never been there. They were in an entirely different place. And he was right, they were entirely alone. “Where are they?”
“Probably in the same place we left them,” Jero said as though the answer were as obvious as asking whether water was wet.
“No.” Will’s heart was racing. “No, no.”
“You seem troubled.” Jero stared at the young man, his mouth twisted in confusion.
Will turned on him. “What have you done?”
He held up a gloved hand to the sky. “I’ve set things in motion.”
A sudden movement from above caught Will’s eye. A dark shape soared through the sky, swooping in low and fast. It whirled and plummeted straight toward them before coming to a sudden stop upon din’Dael’s outstretched hand. The eagle gave a deafening scream and spread its wings, its astonishing wingspan stretching almost ten feet. Jero threw back his head and roared with glee in a strange unison with the bird’s cries.
“Dahla…” His voice was reverent. “This is the Dahla, William Davis. This is the bird of peace. We are ready to begin.”
“Jero, what is going on?” Will shouted.
“Peace over the corpses of my fallen enemies,” he continued, ignoring Will’s outburst. “Death and destruction to all. Valmont will die. The bastard Necrothanians will die. Radiance will once again rise as Shadow falls. There is no time to waste.”
Jero din’Dael’s left glove began to glow an emerald green. The surrounding air seemed to become dull and hazy as din’Dael raised his hand to eye level, forming a crescent between his thumb and index finger. Jero’s eyes narrowed as he twisted the crescent shape and spun in a slow circle. He stopped halfway as the dim air suddenly grew clear and vivid, a vast array of colors suddenly shooting past his outstretched fingers. As his hand formed into a brilliant green fist, a wild grin spread across his features.
Some kind of emerald, Morella said, Will realized, din’Dael’s relic…
The huge bird shrieked again and shot into the air. Jero lowered his hand and took off running in the direction the creature flew, feet racing along the sand and jagged stone faster than Will’s eyes could follow. He hesitated and scanned his surroundings one last time, faint hope flickering into despair even as he wished it to brighten.
There was nothing, no one he knew. Madigan was gone. Morella was gone. Cephora was gone. All that remained was the madman, Jero din’Dael, running through the desert with a great eagle soaring nearby.
Will was alone.
He checked his meager supplies and made sure his blood fangs were secure. He checked his canteen and found that it was empty. With a pained sigh, he turned his attention toward the retreating figure of din’Dael.
A beautiful voice filled his mind, echoing as it had all that time ago.
Come, it said.
Heart heavy, chest heaving, William Davis set off in pursuit.
Shadowborne Page 35
