Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1) (23 page)

Sylph woke with a start, her mind echoing
with the traitor’s screams. Sweat-soaked hair stuck to her back, her mouth dry
like sand.

She stepped out of bed
and went to the open window. She savoured the sensation of cool air on her skin
as she looked up at the moon that was only two days from its fullest. As she
gazed, her mind drifted to the coming battle, the one that had been in planning
for weeks.

The betrayers of Balor had
fallen for Marek’s plan, exactly how he said they would. They were going into
the Way, seeking an answer they would never find. They would die down there.
All of them. Bar the one who carried the message that Marek desired so much.

She should’ve been happy.
Ecstatic in fact. But instead she felt only numb. It was almost too easy. How
had Marek manipulated them so? He was exiled from the Magistry, his abilities
not able to penetrate the defences that had existed since they came to this
realm. There was something else, something he hadn’t revealed to her. He knew
she was suspicious. No longer was she invited to the briefings he gave to the
other vassals. They avoided her, even Luchar, her reputation for asking too
many questions marking her as a troublemaker.

None of that bothered
her. The vassals were merely pawns, fresh recruits to the cause. It was Marek
and his practical disowning of her that hurt so much. She had been his first,
his most loyal follower. It was she who’d nurtured him back to health when he’d
nearly died at the hands of the giant mage. She was his prodigy, his adopted
daughter. He preached the ways of Balor with such passion that she knew she’d
finally found someone who she could follow, who would bring back the fallen
lord and bring justice against those who’d betrayed him.

But would Balor approve
of what they were doing now? The sheol? The sheol that he fought so hard to
defeat? Marek had convinced her for a time. Necessity ruled, that’s what he’d
said, the sheol being as much a victim as the Balorans. But now the sheol had
possessed hundreds. They ran amok amongst the realm. Marek said he was in control
but he wasn’t. Too many were slipping through, possessing the weak minded without
even needing the benefits of the possession process.

Would Balor approve?

No.

He would be disgusted. It
was against all he stood for. She knew that now. With Marek leaving her to her
own devices the spell had been broken, the chains of blind obedience no longer
binding her.

And then there were the
dreams. The dreams of the traitor. But she wasn’t a traitor, was she? At first
Sylph was certain she was seeing the theft of some great artefact from the tomb
of Balor, seeing it through the eyes of the thief, the one they were hunting.
But as the dreams unfolded, revealing more to her, she saw that Sarah wasn’t
stealing from the Balorans at all. She was stealing from the sheol, the same
sheol that had desecrated the burial site of her Lord.

The same sheol that Marek
now stood in allegiance with.

Marek
dismissed Sylph’s anxious bleating from his mind as he pushed upon the heavy
oak doors that led into the nave. Candles flickered in the gloom as he marched
down the aisle towards the altar. Vassals and sheol alike scurried out of his
path, vanishing into the shadows.

He stopped at the altar. The summoning
stones he’d set out hours earlier remained in place, forming a pentagon before
him. Dark blood, dried now, painted the altar in lines, joining the stones. The
Weave energy was almost tangible, following the blood-lines, forming a cylinder
of power that rose from the floor, invisible to all but he.

The summoning was a risk, there was no
other way of looking at it. But he had to ensure that the plan that he’d so
painstakingly put together went as decreed. He couldn’t afford to fail now. All
the pieces were in place, he just needed a little more insurance.

‘Leave me,’ he said, his Weave-amplified
voice echoing round the nave like a thunderstorm. The room emptied in seconds.

Marek turned his attention back to the
altar. He brought up his mental shield, shutting out Sylph. The girl was
clumsy, her skills inconsistent. Her doubts broadcast from her like a
lighthouse. Of course she put on a loyal face when in his presence, but in
reality she was lost to him.

Which was exactly what he was relying on.

With one last flex of tired muscles, Marek
dropped to his knees and began the summoning process.

The past few weeks had fallen into an easy
rhythm. As deliveries had been cancelled due to the attack on Caleb, Seb had
more time on his hands that he could deal with. The core of the day was spent
learning on his own in the training chamber, the focus split between Sense and
Self. In the mornings he focussed on Sentio. His sensing had become honed over
the weeks; before he could get only vague echoes from around the mansion, now
he could discern individuals from the fog. He still couldn’t read minds, but
every now and again he picked up the edges of an emotion, usually when the
target was particular angry or happy. Cian made a good target; the giant
warrior seemed perpetually mad.

The afternoons now were
spent on Avatari. He would race around the grounds, lapping the other acolytes
at least once. They still didn’t speak to him, but every now and again he
received a simple nod of acknowledgement. It was progress, of a sort.

He would often train in
the melee combat rituals Cade had taught him in the later hours. He brought the
training dummy out onto the lawn, where he could practice under the setting
sun. It made for a much more comfortable experience than mixing it up in the
damp confines of the Drain.

In recent weeks he’d even
attracted a follower. One of the younger acolytes, a boy called Harry, had
taken to watching him from the edge of the lawn. They never spoke, but Harry
was there every day, without fail.

The evenings were his own.
Without Caleb keeping a beady eye on him he devoured tome after tome from the library.
Once he’d learned to skim through the fluff that seemed to bloat the massive
books, he found the history of the Magi and the Brotherhood beyond fascinating.
He lost many a night learning about the One War, the Great Crossing and the
sacrifices that were made on all sides. It fascinated him, but at the same time
it caused him sadness. If Woden and the others could see what had become of the
mighty magi now they would surely turn in their graves, or wherever they were.

It was coming up late October
when Cade next made an appearance at the mansion. The sky had a permanent grey
veneer to it, the trees were bare, exposing the ever watchful sentinels, and
there was a biting chill in the air. Not that Seb experienced this, his Avatari
now at such levels that he could regulate both heat and cold to more
comfortable levels as required.

Seb was in the garden,
reading
The Battle of Asyphia - A Hundred Night War
when Cade found him.

‘It’s been a long time,’
Cade said, casually scrutinizing the massive stone warrior that loomed above
them.

‘Aye, it has,’ Seb closed
the book and placed it in the satchel that sat next to him. He looked at Cade
and frowned.

‘You’ve got another
scar.  Two, actually.’

Cade nodded. ‘It’s brutal
out there. We’re losing brothers as fast as we can recruit them.’

‘The sheol are still
running amok?’

‘The press are either calling
it mass hysteria or just a general breakdown in moral order. People are going
mad, doing crazy shit. Sometimes we stop them, other times it just looks like
the work of a lunatic.’

Seb shook his head. ‘I
can’t believe how bad it’s got.’

The two men sat in
silence for a time. The wind blew, whistling through the bare branches. Dark
clouds began to muster over the trees, obscuring the low-hanging sun.

‘It’s going to rain.’ Seb
observed.

‘It’s been raining for a
while.’

‘There’s a reason you’re
here, isn’t there?’

Cade laughed. ‘Did your sense
tell you that?’

‘No, you’re just shit at
small talk.’

‘Fair point. Okay, here
it is. My father has finally organised the expedition.’

Seb sat forward. A floaty
sensation had filled his gut. ‘We’re going? We’re really going?’

‘We are. Tomorrow. You up
to it?’

A mixture of fear and
excitement fluttered together in Seb’s chest. He managed to give a shaky nod in
response.

‘You scared?’ Cade said,
a knowing smirk on his face.

‘No,’ he lied.

‘You will be.’

‘Are you sure you’re up to this, Seb?’
Caleb said, trying, but failing, to rise from his armchair by the fire. The
recovery from the attack at Kollmorgen’s had been steady but slow. The wound,
aided by the doctor’s magic, had healed quickly, nothing showing on Caleb but
an angry red welt on his shoulder. The attack had damaged more than flesh
though, Seb could tell. The spark had gone from Caleb’s eyes, the twinkle of
life that drove him now absent. He had an air of being continually afraid, even
skittish. He never left the Drain. In fact he never left the chair in front of
the fire.

‘I’m more than up to this,
old man,’ Seb said, placing a well-meaning hand on Caleb’s shoulder. Caleb
tensed at the touch, but didn’t flinch away. Progress, Seb thought. A month ago
he’d shiver away, as if human contact triggered some kind of repressed traumatic
memory.

‘I don’t know why they
have to send you, anyway. You’re still an acolyte, you shouldn’t be out in the
field before you’re ready.’

Seb gave a tired smile. ‘I’m
more prepared than any acolyte. You know that, and they know that. Besides, I
have no choice,’ he said, tapping the side of his head.

‘Why is it that you’re so
much more prepared?’

Seb paused and looked
back. Caleb stared at him, his eyes suddenly clear, intent. The question threw
him off guard.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, ever since your Weave-walk
something’s been different about you.’

‘Has it?’ he said, his
voice a pitch louder than he intended. He rushed around now, gathering the
barest equipment required for the journey. ‘Is it cold in a Way, do you know?
Should I take an overcoat?’

‘What happened?’

‘Caleb, I don’t know -’

‘What happened?’

Seb sighed and turned.
For a moment he felt like he could just blurt out the whole experience, recount
the tale of the serpentine figure and the tower in the middle of nowhere. For
many weeks the experience had been a blur, but in recent days his memory had
returned in fragments. Even now it still made little sense, and for a moment,
he had every intention of telling Caleb about it, but when he looked up and saw
the dark, penetrating stare from the old man’s eyes, something cold touched his
heart, and he felt his mouth clam up. He slung the rucksack over one shoulder.

‘Another time.’

Seb hurried out of the
Drain, leaving Caleb staring in silence at his back.

It was no great surprise that Cian was
going along for the ride. The giant warrior stood outside the mansion, clothed in
black overalls, as Seb stepped outside. His six foot staff was strapped to his
back, the training guards removed from either end. The weapon crackled with
Weave-energy. Don and another mage Seb didn’t recognise
stood with him. They were dressed all in black aside from the silver sash on
their arms.

Elites.

‘Took your time,’ Cian
said, getting into the huge Land Rover that had seemingly appeared overnight.
Nice to be upgraded, Seb thought to himself as he trudged to the open vehicle.
Cian got inside, leaving a bulging holdall on the ground. Seb picked it up and
chucked it in the back. The two other magi followed, one driving, one as a passenger.

‘You already know Don,’
Cian said.

Don grinned back.

‘You’ve been promoted.’
Seb said.

‘Last month.’

‘Well done.’

Don nodded to his left.
‘This is Mik.’

‘I don’t recognise you.’

Cian spoke before Mik
could respond. ‘Mik is an elite, although sadly not from the Magistry. I had to
call in some favours.’

‘It’s not like we were
doing anything, anyway, is it Mik?’ Don said, driving the car out onto the main
road.

‘No, nothing. I’m sure
the Prime Minister will find some other imbued bodyguard to take my place, as I’m
sure the Vice-President will do for you.’

‘Seriously?’ Seb said,
eyes darting between the two men.

‘They’re taking the piss,’
Cian growled.

‘Yeah, that’s right,
sorry,’ Don said.

‘Me too,’ Mik said. ‘It’s
just the Defence Secretary.’

Both of the men laughed.
Cian grimaced. Seb decided he liked both of them already.

***

The journey took longer than Seb had
anticipated. For some reason he thought that the Way would be somewhere nearby
that they’d just trundle up to, but two hours in to the trip told him that
wouldn’t be the case. He attempted small talk early on, but Cian was in a more
obtuse mood than always and killed the atmosphere with just a glare.

Although Don and Mik were
lesser ranks than Cian, they didn’t share the need for silence. They talked
infrequently, but it was obvious they were friends of many years. They spoke in
hushed tones, discussing the common talk amongst all the Aware nowadays.

‘What’s it like out
there?’ Seb said at one point, a lull in conversation allowing him to break in.

Mikael looked at Don,
seemingly for permission. Don gave a quick nod, and Mikael turned back.

‘Bad. More than bad. The
Consensus seems to be breaking down all around us. At first, weeks ago, it was
still there, although weaker. Now though it’s like it has just evaporated. The sheol
roam free, possessing at will it seems.’

‘You think Marek is
responsible for it?’ Seb said.

Mikael frowned. ‘Who?’

‘Sorry, no one,’ he
stammered.

‘It’s okay, I’m taking
the piss. You don’t need to play dumb with us. Cian has briefed us. Part of the
favours he called in required our discretion.

‘And yes, for what it’s
worth, I’m sure it’s down to Marek. I never liked him from the beginning.’

‘Can you tell me about
him?’ Seb said, suddenly realising that no one at the mansion has discussed it
at all with him.

‘What’s to tell? He was
an elite, like me, but better. He didn’t come from a Family, not one that
existed anymore anyway. He had self-taught from an early age, using the books
he took from his home before it was destroyed. The Magistry found him, took him
in.’

‘Then what happened? Why
did he turn?’

‘We’re here.’ Cian said,
stopping Mik before he could respond.

The car had turned off
the A road minutes before, and had for the past few moments been trundling down
a track that was almost an insult to the term. The trees began to thin now as
they arrived at their destination.

‘Whoa.’

Seb had never been this
close to an aircraft before. Hell, he’d never been to an airport before. Now he
stood at the end of a short runway, looking at a jet that looked like it had
come straight from the factory.

‘Come on, get your stuff
over to Jack, he’ll get it on board.’

As they got out and
stretched tired legs, a middle-aged man with little hair and a five day stubble-growth
scurried over. He snatched the heavy bag from Seb, plucked up two more and
vanished somewhere behind the craft.

‘Looks like our friends
are here,’ Don said, glancing behind them.

There were five Brothers
in all, two that Seb recognised. One good, and one far from it. Cade nodded as
he approached, Reuben simply glowered.

‘Reuben,’ Cian said, a
taut nod all he would give by way of greeting. Reuben returned the gesture,
eyes on Seb.

‘Ah my brother’s little
charity case. How fares things little whelp, ran out of books to read yet?’

‘Plenty to go at, thanks.
How about you, ran out of victims to turn into pulp?’

Reuben’s eyes flared,
more from the sheer audacity of the response than any genuine anger. Seb didn’t
want to press the point though, he put his head down and hurried past, Don
chuckling as he went.