Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1) (3 page)

‘What about Sylph?’ Paul
said.

‘She can take care of
herself.’ Luchar said, swallowing down the sick feeling in his stomach. Marek
would not be pleased, regardless of the fact they were only following orders.

‘We’re not waiting for
her?’

Luchar whipped the van
round a bend at high speed as another car crossed their path. The three men in
the back slammed against the door. Paul grunted. Moss screamed.

Just make it back.

 ‘Stay still! Don’t move!’

Sylph obeyed the order,
remaining as still as stone. The nearest police officer circled to one side,
aiming a firearm at her head. She sensed another one coming up behind her,
reaching for one of her wrists above her head. Behind him were two more, both
on edge, both with weapons trained on her. She sensed something else too, a feral
sheol, very close, Drawn to death and violence like sharks to blood.

She had no choice now.
She waited until the officer’s fingers alighted upon her wrist, and acted.

Using the Weave in full
force was not an option; their Consensus would not allow a sudden change in
reality, so she used it subtly, as she’d been trained to. She channelled it to
her arms and legs, increasing strength and speed. She funnelled it to her mind,
enhancing synaptic function to the point that time slowed down compared to
those around her.

She gripped the officer’s
wrist, twisting it hard, breaking bone, forcing him back as he howled in pain.
Without looking, she lashed out sideways with her other hand, the one that held
the knife in a reverse grip in her sleeve. The weapon flew like a dart,
embedding itself to the hilt in the other officer’s neck. The man sagged to his
knees choking on his own blood.

The other two officers
raised their weapons, their minds sending instructions to their muscles to pull
the trigger, but they were slow, so slow, compared to her. She ripped the
pistol from the still falling officer’s holster, flicking off the safety and
bringing it to bear in one smooth action. She snapped off two shots, each
hitting their targets. The men were dead before they hit the ground.

She rounded on the one
remaining officer. He kneeled before her, clutching his broken arm. He stared
at her through his visor, tear-filled eyes begging for mercy.

‘Please, don’t,’ he said.

A shriek. A screech of
nightmares. It howled in her ears, making her wince. The wraith coalesced
behind the man, black eyes glinting across the Void.

She aimed the gun at the
man.

‘No. Please, no!’

‘I’m sorry. I truly am.’
Her hand shook. The pistol wobbled.

Confusion flashed across
his eyes. Then the change began, the sheol diving into a mind paralysed by fear.
His veins bulged as his hands raked against his helmet, nails breaking,
smearing the visor in blood. The man’s eyes scrunched shut as he let out a howl
that was part human, part daemon. His eye reopened. Pools of black stared back
at her.

‘Back you go,’ she said,
and fired.

She shoved the pistol
into the back of her pants and retrieved her knife from its last known location
in the other officer’s throat. She wiped it on his shirt before shoving it back
into the sheath on her arm. She took a quick scan of the room, feeling no
satisfaction in the kills, trying to seek assurance in the fact that the fate
she’d given them was much better than the alternative.

Without a second look,
her purpose served, Sylph left the mortuary, heading for home.

Consciousness came slowly to Seb, in random
fits and starts. It started with vague noises and half-formed words. Not quite
understandable, but there nonetheless. He heard the words
condition
and
chances
several times. They never sounded positive.

One day, he opened his
eyes. Only fleetingly. Unconsciousness wasn’t quite ready to let him go just
yet. A white room. A bed with metal bars at the end. Something large and grey
by his side. A mask covered his mouth, pumping his chest with a cold and
metallic-tasting gas.

He drifted back into
unconsciousness.

Over time, the periods of
wakefulness became more frequent. His memory returned, allowing him to add
context to the sight before him. The room was in a hospital. Something large,
scary and no doubt keeping him alive was hooked into his body at various entry
points. The machine bleeped and whirred with reassuring frequency.

The memory of that night
was never far from his mind. The girl – Sarah, was that her name? That thing.
That terrifying horror that killed her and gutted him. How he’d survived was beyond
him. Had someone called the police? Someone on the road it must’ve been,
although that was a surprise in itself. The people of that neighbourhood hated
authority in all its guises, the police being the top of the pile. Still, whatever
had happened, he owed someone his life, he was grateful for that.

One morning, apparently
seven days after he was brought in, he awoke to find the mask had gone. The
machine was still there, but most of the sensors and tubes were now detached. A
drip hung high to his left, trickling god-knows-what chemicals into his body.
He tried to sit up, but yelped and winced when he felt the stabbing pain in his
side. He looked down at the thick bandage that covered his abdomen. The
dressing had clearly been dressed that day, but already a faint patch of claret
was staining the underneath.

‘Good, you’re awake.’

He looked up. A
middle-aged Asian doctor was hovering at the edge of his head. His eyes peered
over the tablet he held in his right hand.

‘Am I in the Vic?’ Seb
said. Easing himself upright.

‘Good, at least your
memory is intact,’ the doctor said with a professional smile. ‘You had quite a
rough ride there.’

‘Will I live?’

The doctor smiled again,
an obviously well-practiced manoeuvre designed to put patients at ease. Seb
found it was working and he didn’t complain. 

‘I’d hope so, barring a
meteorite striking the hospital from the heavens. You’ve received a deep wound
to your side, but luckily it passed right through without hitting anything too
valuable, purely tissue damage.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, and
meant it. ‘Thanks, Doctor?’

‘Khan. And you’re
welcome. There’s too much of these kinds of attacks going on in our streets. I’m
just glad I’m able to help, not everyone is as lucky as you were.’

Doctor Khan smiled again,
but the warmth had left his face. He seemed to remember himself after a moment.
He keyed something into the tablet.

‘Now you’re awake, I was
wondering if we could get some details from you. You had no ID on you, and we
haven’t been able to inform a next of kin.’

It was then that Seb
noticed the two figures just outside the door. Great. Police.

Doctor Khan noticed his
change in mood. He glanced at the door before stepping in front of the door,
obscuring Seb’s view of the two figures.

‘The police,’ he said.
They have their own questions for you.’ He looked down at him. ‘When
you’re
ready.’

Seb nodded. ‘What do you
need to know?’

‘Let’s start with your
name, shall we?’

‘Seb.’

‘Seb?’

He paused. Doctor Khan
looked again.

‘Seb Wilkinson.’

‘Age?’

‘Twenty.’

‘Address?’

‘No fixed abode.’

‘Nowhere? Not a hostel or
shelter?’

‘Nope,’ he said, before
adding, ‘I like the streets.’

Doctor Khan nodded, that
sad smile making another appearance.

‘Is there someone we can
notify that you’re here?’

‘No. No one.’

Seb gave him his best
no
further comment
look. Doctor Khan seemed to get the message. He closed the
cover on the tablet.

‘That’s all I need for
now. But listen, Seb,’ he said, lowering the tablet and resting his hands at
the edge of the bed.
Here it comes.
‘I don’t want to preach. Everyone
has the right to live their life the way they want, but there are people you
know, people who can listen, who can help. You don’t have to do this alone.’

It was the same speech he’d
heard time and again. He didn’t get angry anymore, what was the point? At least
Khan seemed sincere rather than some of the box-ticking do-gooders he’d met so
many times before. He gave him his best, most thankful smile, ‘Thanks,
appreciate that,’ he said.

Khan sighed, not
convinced. ‘Okay, Seb, a nurse will come to change your dressing shortly.’ He
looked back at the door. ‘How do you feel about the police coming in? I can
send them on their way if you want, until you’re ready?’

‘Thanks, Doctor, but send
them in, I’ll get it over with.’

‘As long as you’re sure?’

‘I am.’

Doctor Khan opened the
door and nodded to the officers outside. The two men stepped in. The first one,
a tall man – although not as tall as that
thing
– spoke first.

‘Hello…’ He looked down
at his own tablet. ‘…Seb. I’m Detective Inspector Woodbridge, this is Detective
Sergeant Darnton,’ he said, nodding to the younger man behind him.

‘Hello, officers,’ Seb said.

‘I guess you know why we’re
here. Care to tell us about it?’

He told them pretty much
everything. There was no point in holding back. He’d seen movies where people
held back the truth, fearing that it made them look crazy, but that wasn’t real
life. He knew what he saw. He wasn’t going to try and explain it away with
rationalities. That was their job.

He told them of the
thing. The fiend. He told them how it oozed out of the shadows from nowhere. He
told them of the black eyes, the terrifying, distended jaw. He told them of the
blade that Sarah stuck in its chest. The one it plucked out like it was nothing
more than a toothpick. He told them all of it. He had to. Not for him. He didn’t
matter, he knew that. He was just another statistic in this town. He did it for
her. For Sarah. He didn’t know her from Adam, but somehow he just knew that she
wasn’t just another stray that had fallen through the cracks. She’d died
protecting him and she deserved whatever he could give her.

The whole tale took
barely ten minutes, but it felt like five times that. When he’d finished he
collapsed back into the bed. His back was awash with sweat and a slight tremble
had taken his hands.

The officers, to their
credit, listened. They asked the right questions at the right time, nodded and
murmured at logical pauses. They didn’t crack a joke, raise an eyebrow or
challenge his testimony. They qualified his description of the thing, right
down to the dagger-teeth and massive oval eyes. They took it all down, noting
it on their little pads.

‘Thank you for this
information, you’ve told us a great deal.’

Darnton slid the tablet
back into his jacket. The officers exchanged a troubled look.

 ‘What is it?’ Seb said.

Darnton looked at his
superior. Woodbridge nodded. Approval granted.

‘Seb,’ Darnton continued,
‘other things have been happening, things that don’t make sense at this time.
Most of these we don’t need to speak to you about, but one thing you should be
aware of is that yesterday evening the mortuary where Sarah’s body is being
held was broken into.’

‘What? Why is that
relevant?’

‘We would say it probably
isn’t, aside from the fact that whoever broke in seemed to have an interest in
Sarah’s corpse.

Darnton shook his head,
reading the expression that crossed Seb’s face. ‘No, not like that, but she was
disturbed nonetheless. I know you don’t have any prior associations with Sarah,
but we feel it is best that a guard is placed by your room, just to be sure.’

Seb nodded. Nothing he’d
heard made sense, and why should it? He was just the unlucky sod who happened
to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet why did he feel uneasy? There
was something else, something he’d forgotten in his recollection that nagged at
the back of his mind.

‘Something the matter?’

‘No. No, sorry, just
taking it in.’

Woodbridge nodded,
seemingly satisfied. He gave Darnton a we’re-getting-out-of-here look before
turning back.

‘That will be all for
now, Mr Wilkinson. We may have some follow on questions, if that’s ok?’

‘It’s not like I’ll be
jogging a marathon anytime soon,’ he said, putting on his best insincere smile.

Woodbridge glanced at the
growing blood patch. ‘Quite,’ he said, before turning towards the door, Darnton
in tow.

Seb stared after them for
a while, watching their silhouettes vanish out of sight beyond the window. Another
shadow replaced them. Uniformed. His guard, he assumed. The officer took up
position outside his room as the detectives’ footsteps echoed down the
corridor, fading away into silence. A chill took him, and he pulled the sheets
up, although he knew it wasn’t related to the temperature. The sun was setting,
casting long shadows in the room. Previously, he’d welcomed the night. It was
his domain, his sanctuary. All that had changed now though. With the night,
this first night of awareness since he woke, he was acutely aware that it was
out there, that thing of nightmares. He wondered if he would ever sleep again.