Fury Rising (Fury Unbound Book 1) (14 page)

“So rather than a corporatocracy…”

“Exactly. A magikosocracy.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word before.”

“Rule by magical forces.” He pressed his thumbs together, staring at his hands. “I need to talk to the Cast about this, Kae. I’ll abide by what Lightning Strikes orders, but I have a really bad feeling that we’re sitting on the tip of an iceberg and we’re about ready to see the rest of the glacier rise up out of the water. The Cast has to know.”

His words resonated too close to the bone. I shivered, staring at the crater again. I was about to say something when the decontamination crew pulled in. Pulling my jacket tighter around my shoulders, I stood and headed over toward them, hoping that we were exaggerating the danger. But somewhere, deep inside, I knew we weren’t.

Chapter 9

The decontamination went easier than I thought. We were run through a series of magical scanners. Sure enough, there were dozens of astrigators latched onto both Jason and me. After being sprayed down, dusted with powders, and given crystal elixirs to drink, we walked through the scanners again. Three rounds of this, and we were finally clear of the parasites. Meanwhile, they decontaminated Jason’s car and drove it around to where we were waiting on the edge of the town. By that time, the D-Com unit had surrounded Bend with a magical barricade. I could see the wavering force field, and the worried looks of the townsfolk staring at us as we waited outside by the main unit.

“This is like some scene out of a movie.” I stared at the line of vans that barricaded the freeway, rerouting people to go around the town. The vans were all marked with a brilliant fork of lightning—gold surrounded by a blue aura, and the words, “LIGHTING STRIKES: Official Vehicle” on the sides. Members of Lightning Strikes were scanning the area for astrigators who had managed to escape before the net was installed, and they were all carrying stunners—weapons that could disable or destroy.

As the team member handed Jason the keys, he said, “Please don’t attempt to return through Bend. A detour has been erected to guide you back to the freeway.” He abruptly moved away.

As we ducked into the car, I exhaled a long sigh of relief. “I don’t know why, but there was a part of me afraid we’d never make it out.”

“Me too, to be honest. That wasn’t an experience I care to repeat.” Jason’s jaw was set. He looked almost angry.

“When we get back to Seattle, I need you to drop me off at the Bogs. I still have to go after the Abomination.” I glanced at my phone. It was almost ten. “I’d rather go home and sleep, but Hecate wants me to take care of it tonight.”

He shook his head. “You aren’t going into the Bogs on your own. I’m coming with you.”

I frowned. “You don’t have to, Jason. You’ve had one hell of a day.” I didn’t want to bring up Eileen’s death, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he must be feeling like crap.

“Don’t argue.” He used the same tone he had on me when I was a teen, and he wanted me to cut out the crap and just do what he told me.

“Yes, sir.” I snickered, but then waxed serious again. “All right, but when we get near, you do as I say. Aboms are my specialty and I don’t want you putting yourself on the line as a target. I can’t afford to worry about you when I’m trying to focus on it. Queet will be there to help me.”

“Deal,” he said, and sped up as we headed back to Seattle.

The Bogs were on the southwest side of the city, bordered by the Sandspit to the east, and the Junk Yard to the north. At one time, the entire area had been an industrial area. Rusted heaps of slag metal were the only indication of the trains and light rail and trucks that had come through on a daily basis. The Bogs were chill swampland, marshy stretches laden with quicksand and nettles and poison oak and ivy, thistles and stinkweed. The foliage was thick, and during winter, a heavy layer of snow made the going even more dangerous.

Twice in the past fifty years, the Regent of Seattle had sent in cleaning crews to try to harness the tangle, but both times, the crews vanished, never to be seen again. After the second time, they gave up and left the Bogs to fester and bubble.

A dozen winding trails led through the area, all of them clearly marked. Unfortunately, the markers occasionally shifted positions, but nobody ever figured out how and security cameras never picked up anybody actually moving them. They just seemed to magically change places. But the Bog-Keepers had been through within the past couple of days, according to the trail notes at the entrance, and so everything should be in order.

Above each of the twelve gates marking the entrance to one of the trails was a readerboard with a warning in bright red lights:
Enter the trail at your own risk. Search and rescue teams will not be dispatched.
The boards also warned of various other dangers found in the Bogs—mostly wildlife of various sorts and UnderCult creatures that had escaped from their enslavers.

“Makes it looks like a regular walk in the park, doesn’t it?” I was trying for lighthearted, but my voice fell flat.

Jason glanced at me as we stood at the gate leading to the trail. “I haven’t been in the Bogs in years.”

“I haven’t ever been here, to be honest. But that’s going to change now.” I closed my eyes and brought up my Trace. Suddenly, a light flared and I could see the blip showing movement deep in the tangle.

“It’s still here. I’m not sure whether I should be relieved or depressed. There,” I said, opening my eyes and pointing to Trail 7. “It’s down that trail.”

“Let’s get moving. Stick to the path, watch every step. I have a light, but that doesn’t mean the going will be any easier.” He moved to the front. I felt that I should volunteer, but also realized that Jason was better prepared to navigate.

“You lead, but when I say stop, you stop. I found its Trace.” I kept watch to our back and sides, sword out and right hand poised near my thigh, ready to unleash
my whip at the first sign of it being needed.
“Queet, are you with us?”

“I’m here,” came Queet’s faint reply. “I’ll follow.”

A veil of stars dotted the chill night sky as we slowly passed through the gate. Everywhere, we could hear the rustling of plants. Whistles and grunts emanated from all around us—night birds singing, animals whispering through the thick undergrowth, Wandering Ivy hungry for dinner. The trail wound through a grove of cypress and yew trees that rose out of the boggy soil. The scent of green and fetid water intermingled in an icy, cloying mix.

What few lamplights there were along the dirt and flagstone path had mostly shorted out.

“The Bog-Keepers don’t come through very often—too many have gone missing. If you read the news, you’ll see every now and then reports of another one vanishing. Whether the quicksand takes them, or it’s something else, I doubt if anybody knows.”

“What about the bodies?” I stuck close behind him. We were walking single file for safety’s sake.

“You saw the signs. No search and rescue teams, and no recovery teams either. I’m pretty sure the missing become food for the animals and bog-creatures.” Jason shook his head. “Just like the Junk Yard and the Sandspit, the Bogs live by their own rule. Seattle does well to leave it alone.”

“The soul of this place is dark and hungry.” Every city, every stretch of wood, had its own sentience. Some slept, some rested easy, others were volatile. But every city and town, every forest and desert, and bog and marsh had a soul of sorts.

We were near a curve in the road, which curved to the left after a large stand of yew. I closed my eyes, checking the Trace. There…around the corner, I could sense the Abom. Sheathing my sword, I reached down to my thigh and gently slapped my hand against my thigh. The whip uncoiled into my fingers, lighting up with a pale ethereal fire. I had a better chance of taking the creature on with it rather than a blade, given the close quarters we were in.

“Be cautious. The Abom is near.”

Jason edged to the side, his hands working runes in the air. He was prepping a spell, though I wasn’t sure what. Not much that a magus his level could cast would work against an Abom.

At that moment, a screech echoed as the Abom came racing around the corner. It hadn’t had a chance to take on a human vehicle yet, and instead of coming in on the astral, it had chosen to jump a bog-creature. The squat, gray being had leathery skin and its narrow eyes tilted up at the sides, a faint orange glow coming from within the sockets.

“Queet, stats?” My voice echoed, causing the birds to fall silent.

“No ordinary Abom. The soul-hole is blocked. You’ll have to destroy the vehicle to stop it.”

Taking it to the Crossroads wouldn’t work, given the soul-hole was blocked, and I wasn’t near a crossroad anyway.

I raised my whip, but the Abom took one look at me and did a one-eighty, heading back the way it had come. I loped after it, around the bend, managing to skid to a halt just before I fell into a marshy patch that stretched across the path. The Abom was on the other side.

I gauged the width of the bog. A good ten feet, at least. If I took a running jump, I
might
make it, but I couldn’t be sure and I had no desire to land in a patch of quicksand. I glanced up at a branch overhanging the bog from a tree on the other side.

Bringing my whip up, I cracked it overhead to wrap around the branch. In one smooth motion, I swung across the bog, landing on the other side in front of the Abom, who lurched backward. I gave my whip a solid yank and it glided off the tree branch. As the creature launched itself toward me, I jumped to the side. It skidded at the edge of the bog, and I raised my foot and booted it firmly in the ass, knocking it into the quicksand.

The Abom let out a guttural cry, but managed to drag itself out without any problem. I backed away.

Quickly, the Abom opened its mouth and a spray of something pungent came spewing toward me. I darted back another step but not quickly enough to dodge the liquid and a few drops landed on my left hand. The pain was instant and fierce as the caustic acid began eating into my skin. Crap, the bog-creature had an acidic spit, and the Abom had made use of it.

I wiped my hand against my jacket, but whatever the compound was, it wasn’t coming off. Blisters began to fester over one of the metacarpal bones, and two oozing holes the size of peas bubbled and frothed.

“Fuck, how the hell do you even have a mouth with that sort of saliva? It’s a wonder his jaw doesn’t rot off.” My hand aching, I extended my whip to the side, then slashed forward to wrap around the demon’s ankle. It let out a low growl as I gave a swift tug, bringing it to the ground.

With my left hand I drew my dagger, dropping to my knees beside the Abom. I drove it deep into where I hoped the bog-creature’s heart was. As the silver etchings on the blade met flesh, I heard a loud
pop
and the body fell silent. The Abom took flight into the astral and vanished.

I glanced at my hand again—the acid seemed to have stopped eating away at my skin, but the pain was still excruciating, and I could see blood and muscle and the faintest hints of bone beneath where the skin had burned away.

“Damn it, I’m going to need medical attention for this.” I stood up, activating my Trace. There was no sign of the Abom—either it had returned to Pandoriam, or it had vanished into some realm I couldn’t follow. I let out a long sigh. I turned back to see if Jason was waiting on the other side of the bog.

“Jason—are you—” But I didn’t even get the words out before he blurred, then shifted into a majestic red-tailed hawk. He easily glided over the bog to land beside me. Another moment, and he shimmered back into his human form. I had once asked him what happened to his clothes when he shifted and he simply stared at me, grinned, and said,
“You do know I’m a magus?”
And that had been the end of that discussion.

“You’re hurt.” He stared at my hand. “Did you kill the Abom?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t able to catch the soul-hole—it had it blocked somehow—but I destroyed the host’s body.” I was about to call it a night when a noise from the tangle ahead alerted me. The blip on my Trace screen reappeared. “Crap—it’s still here. Incoming.”