Legacy of a Dreamer (23 page)

Without further comment, Mathias pulled them into the Shade, but any false sense of security she thought this side of reality would offer was squashed immediately. Chantal could see the enemy surrounding them from a different angle—flat lines, darkened death, and destruction in the form of nothing but thick, rancid smelling smoke.

“Don’t let go,” Mathias said. She gripped her blade and him, and prepared to begin the fight of her life.

Chantal couldn’t tell where they were or where they were going. The faded world around them whizzed by with blurring speed, as they tried to outrun a snarling legion of Shadows quick on their heels. The pair worked as a team, their steel blades gleaming in an otherwise dull expanse of gray matter. She caught glimpses of Damon trying desperately to catch them, but he failed at each attempt. Mathias just seemed to move, pulling her along for the long and treacherous ride.

   
“She’s getting away,” another male voice said, and she glanced back to see that another Kajola soldier had joined the hunt.

“He’s weakening,” Damon said. “We’ll take him down.”

“You fool,” another, more slithery sounding voice said. “How could you let her go?”

Chantal gripped onto Mathias tighter.

“We’ve got company,” she said.

“I know.”

“What’s the plan?” she asked, gritting her teeth against the throbbing pain in her left wrist. Mathias hadn’t loosened his grip, and she was sure at least one bone was broken. Mathias didn’t answer, and she glanced up at his solemn, blood-stained face. She figured he was avoiding her question because he didn’t have an answer. With the realization of their situation, she swallowed hard to return the bile threatening to escape back into the pit of her stomach. Running seemed to be their only choice, and she knew by the blood still pouring from Mathias’s countless wounds, it wouldn’t be an option for very long.

“We’ve got your back,” a warm voice said from beside her, and she turned to see that Conlan, the Irish friend of Lydia’s, had joined them. He took her right flank, and although she knew he wouldn’t budge, she wished he’d go to Mathias’s side. He was in the worst shape.

“Where?” Mathias said without looking toward his comrade, and Conlan seemed to understand.

“Greece,” Conlan shouted. “There’s a hallowed temple just up on the cliffs of Santorini.”

“We’ll be trapped,” Mathias said.

“Brother,” Conlan replied, sounding assured and steady. “Help is coming.”

Chantal could see Mathias visibly relax, and for the first time since they’d been hiding in the falling down church, she had hope again. Time passed differently in the Shade. It seemed they’d been running for hours, although it could be the screaming injuries she’d suffered that kept her in continuous agony, making her want to rest when she needed to flee.

Her outlook brightened again when she saw Andreu join them, shouting encouragement to Mathias and protecting his flank. All four of them beat down the Shadows, yet they continued to come, seeming to reshape and regenerate quickly. Like Hydra, cut one down, two grew back in its place. Perhaps the Shade was the source to countless myths and legends. Maybe the Brothers Grimm created their tales after seeing the creatures haunting this desolate place.

There was a sloshing sound, and Chantal could see a large body of water, like an ocean, resting below a high cliff. The sound of high tide slamming against the rocks below had been the only thing of the real world she’d ever heard able to penetrate the white noise of the Shade. Glancing upward, Chantal could see the mountain ahead, and her wrist seemed to ache all the more at the thought of climbing it with two hands.

“Take the Oracle,” Andreu said to Conlan, and before she could protest, she felt large hands clamp down onto her upper arms and she was ripped from Mathias’s grip. Conlan swung her onto his back, Andreu guarded a weakening Mathias, and the four of them scaled the mountain in record speed.

They materialized outside the Shade just on the borders of a columned temple, its stone archaic and crumbled from age and the elements. The warriors surrounded her, each forming a small circle of protection. Shuffling toward the temple as a unit, they kept her centered and guarded at every moment.

The hallowed ground lay just beyond, but they found their way blocked by an impenetrable wall of darkness, creatures pouring out of every shadow. Each took the shape of Gorgan, ancient Grecian monsters that had the lower body of a large snake, and the upper body of a bare human woman. Their hands consisted of only three fingers, each tipped with six inch, curved talons perfect for ripping and slicing. Their faces were more reptilian than human. Eyes glowing yellow in the dark, and their mouths filled with razor-sharp fangs dripping a gelatinous poison. Instead of hair, their heads were covered by a countless horde of wriggling, hissing snakes.
 

“Push through!” Andreu said, and the warriors fought with resilience and purpose. Chantal had thought that fighting in the Shade had been the greater challenge, because it had been harder to strike at an opponent that couldn’t be defined. This made her rethink her assessment.

These creatures had a variety of weapons at their disposal, and they capitalized on every one. The powerful tale swung at deadly speeds, sending Conlan to the ground in a groaning heap of flesh. If he’d been human, Chantal knew the blow would’ve severed his spine, but he was on his feet mere moments later.

The enemy was countless, but the men pushed through, keeping her encased in a small triangle of protection. Five more warriors appear out of the Shade, two already in battle. The creatures snarled at the newcomers and began to flank them, trying to keep them from reaching the sanctified temple. These warriors were skilled and vicious, having had centuries to hone their talent. They mowed through the creatures as if they hardly offered a challenge, a feat not even her wounded Mathias could’ve done.

“Who called the Mors?” Conlan whispered to Andreu, who shrugged in response. The newcomers quickly joined their group, adding another layer to her guard. The men didn’t greet each other liked she’d witnessed in the past, which she found interesting. As one, they climbed the temple steps toward the inner circle, and Chantal felt that slight change in atmospheric pressure once they were safely inside. She let out of breath of air, and then turned to Mathias to check his wounds.

“You okay?” She dropped her sword onto the ground and let her good hand flutter about him, not sure where to touch. His wounds looked like they’d begun healing, but they were so numerous it was hard to tell.

“Fine,” he managed to say. “Did he harm you?” He studied her intently.

“I’m fine.” She tried to sound cheerful. “A couple of bumps and bruises. I’m more worried about you.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Mathias said, giving her a warm smile, then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She winced when her left arm was squeezed between them. It had not gone unnoticed by Mathias, but before he could react, all attention turned to the warrior standing nearby.

“Can we save that for later?” a gruff voice said. Chantal pulled away just enough to see one of the Mors staring at their display with disgust.

“Thank you for coming when you did,” Mathias said in a less than hospitable tone.

“Well, it weren’t for you,” another one replied, his thick southern accent reminding Chantal of a dirty western cowboy, mouth full of chaw trying to have a conversation.

“This here lady was setting off a beacon fur da whole durn worl’ ta see.”

“You should’ve kept her out of the Shade,” a more civil voice said. The dark-haired male stood before his group of five with the arrogance and command of a leader. Unlike the torn and tattered garb his partners were clothed in, he wore a long-sleeved dress shirt with a velvet vest over it, gleaming gold buttons trailing down its center. His hair was combed with immaculate care, and his dark pants and shoes completed the outfit, giving him a regal and gentle aura that seemed at odds with his warrior nature.

The man had been staring at Mathias with flat disregard, as if his mere presence sickened him. She thought that was odd, since his underlings seemed like the pickings at the bottom of the barrel. As if he could sense her appraising him, he turned his searing gaze on her.

“You are the daughter of Quintus.”

Chantal nodded, feeling unsure in this man’s presence. She almost felt like she couldn’t determine where this group’s loyalty was placed.
 

“Where’s your daddy been hidin’ you, girlie?” the dirty cowboy said, coming closer to get a better look at her. Chantal flinched, and Mathias took take a step in front of her.

“Wyatt,” the leader said in a smooth yet commanding tone. Wyatt stopped dead in his tracks, but didn’t turn his interested glare away from her just yet. In fact, all five of the Mors stared at her as if she were a piece of meat.

“I’d like to meet with Titus,” the leader said, his gaze going back to Mathias. “It’s time we have a sit down, I think.”

“We need ta get our comeuppance,” Wyatt said, but stopped when his leader held up a hand.

“This is hardly the time or place, gentlemen.” Andreu came in and joined with Mathias in shielding her from view.

“True.” The leader nodded. “But soon.” Andreu nodded his head in agreement, and Chantal thought he seemed a little forlorn. Another tidbit to file away.

“I’d like to speak to him, too.” The group whirled around to see Damon step into the circle of hallowed ground, followed by a dozen Kajola soldiers. “My Master has an offer on the table, and he’s been a tricky bastard to get a hold of. Perhaps he’d be more willing if I took that little bundle off your hands.” He pointed to Chantal, pure hatred on his face.

“You’d have to kill me first,” Mathias said, and reached behind him to assure himself Chantal was still close. She placed her hand on his blood-soaked back for reassurance.
 

Damon smiled.

“You love her,” he said, laughing outright when Mathias didn’t deny it. His comrades join in, their shooting peels of morbid laughter sending jolts of fear and anger down her back. “This couldn’t be more perfect.”

“I will end you,” Mathias said, the truth of his words the only thing keeping the small sliver of hope inside of her. He’d had kept her safe for this long, whether she knew it or not. He’d keep her safe now.

“Good,” Damon said. “I die, you die . . . I’ll enjoy it, no matter the outcome.”

A gleaming sword went sailing through the air, sheathing itself right into the gut of a Kajola soldier. Everyone turned to see where it had come from, and Chantal noticed Wyatt standing just a few yards away with a look of impatient bloodlust on his face. When he saw everyone watching, he shrugged.

“Well, day wouldn’ shut da hell up! Thought I’d get dis turkey dancin’ on my own.”

And with that, utter chaos broke out.

Mathias pushed Chantal toward Conlan, and her new defender wrapped his arm around her, taking her out of the fight. She struggled against his hold, wanting to reach her abandoned blade on the ground.

   
“I can help,” she said. “I can fight.”

“No,” Conlan said. “With one good hand, you’re better to stay put.”

“Then give me another weapon,” she said in spite of the pain. Conlan looked at her for a moment, contemplative. “It’s better to have me armed than to leave me defenseless. What if something happens to you?”

Conlan nodded and handed her one of his curved short blades from a belt at his side. Chantal gripped it in her good hand with renewed vigor and intent.

“Don’t look so excited,” Conlan chuckled, and then returned his attention to the skirmish. Andreu and each Mor were fighting two Kajola at once, swords moving a blurring speed. Mathias had squared off with Damon, both locked in the depths of heated battle.

Chantal looked for a means of escape. Blackness surrounded the edges of the temple, making it difficult for her to judge exactly where they were. Although the Shadows could not cross the barrier, they stood at the edges prowling. She saw faces appear in the gloom, distorted and disjointed figures writhing and snarling, raring to get in.