Death's Mantle: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Revelations Book 1) (17 page)

Hunger exploded through him, unrelenting and all consuming. The world around him faded, distilling into one aching cry. He needed to feed. He had to devour… everything.

Sabastin slapped him, and Ian staggered backward. His grip tightened on the sword, knuckles white with the effort. “I know why Jormungand gave you
that
sword. The spirit inside seeks to devour everything, and your mantle seeks to do the same. If you can learn to work with it, well, you’ll be strong enough to stop Mors.” He turned, pointing to the screens. “That’s what the computers say. It seems they don’t want you on the sidelines after all.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ian asked as sweat beaded on his forehead. The sword felt like it was burning a hole into him. He tore his eyes from the weapon and stared at Sabastin. “What do you mean the spirit within the sword is communing with my mantle? What mantle?”

“You are one of the four horsemen. Famine to be exact. That’s why you’re always so hungry, but no matter how much you consume, you’ll never be satisfied. Even if you sucked the entire planet dry, it would not satiate you. You are like the personification of the hungering dark, the unyielding, unrelenting winter that devours all life.” Sabastin reached out and touched the katana’s edge with one scarred finger. “That sword is Haijiku. It was crafted by one of the most powerful of my people long ago. I had thought it lost, but my foolish daughter managed to recover it. Now, it has been given to you by her captor, and you need to learn to control it before it destroys you.”

Ian dropped the weapon, and it clanged to the floor. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “What if I leave it here?”

“It would be wise for you to give up power, Fames. Your mantle makes it so you will never be satisfied. You will always want more, but in this case, the computers are telling me Mors has already located Loki’s resting place. You must stop him from unlocking that vault. You must buy time for Bellum to reach Jormungand.”

“What are you on about? Loki? Who is Loki and…” he trailed off as he stared at the sword. He could feel it watching him, like the steadfast stare of a slowly circling hawk.

“Loki, the Norse god. Don’t they teach you people history on Earth?” Sabastin asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“We call that mythology,” Ian replied, and without realizing it, he knelt down next to Haijiku.

“A difference without a distinction.” Sabastin shrugged. “You need to stop Loki because he’s been buried in a hole with acid dripping on his face for a couple thousand years. When he gets out, let’s just say his vengeance won’t be honey and cream.”

Sabastin’s words faded into the background as Ian reached out and wrapped one hand around the hilt of Haijiku. Butterflies seemed to flap across the surface of the black blade with frenetic energy.

“Have you ever eaten a god?” the spirit within Haijiku asked, and its voice was like a thousand flapping bats.

“No,” Ian replied, his voice strangely distant sounding to his ears.

“If you help me, we can eat the world serpent himself.” A fading grin appeared in the back of his mind, searing into him and making spots dance across his eyes. “Then we’ll eat Loki too.” The grin widened, filling up the entirety of him. “We shall save the day.”

“Okay…” Ian said, and the blade throbbed in his hand like a living thing. Its satisfaction cooed across his brain before receding down into the depths of his soul.

Ian swallowed and looked up at Sabastin, but could not read the expression on the man’s face. Without saying anything, Sabastin hit something on one of the keyboards, and a large portal opened itself in front of Ian, rippling like a giant golden rain puddle.

“You’re probably used to being the outcast. Even though you try and keep your friends and family together, they always seem to slip through your fingers.” Sabastin shook his head. “Your path is in some ways, the most difficult. You will always crave more, will always crave to have everything, but unfortunately, you’ll never have enough.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Ian asked, staring at the man as the truth of his words hit him like an anvil to the face. All his life, he’d struggled to be part of a group, to find friends and be happy, and always, always he just wasn’t enough to keep anyone orbiting his little world. Hell, he failed at orbiting other people’s worlds. Was that because he was Famine? If so, that was bullshit.

“I see thoughts running through your head, Fames. It’s an unfair mantle you wield, however, it makes you uniquely suited for your next task.”

“Why is that?” Ian asked, wondering what it could possibly be.

“If you step through that portal, you will go to where your friend Mors is. You must stop him before he locates the statue of Loki. If he finds it, he will try to release Loki because he is trying to stop everything himself, but he cannot. That’s his fatal flaw. It’s basically the opposite of yours, and because of that, I think only you can stop him because of the two of you, only you are used to being truly alone. He is not.”

“So my loneliness is a strength?” Ian asked, raising an eyebrow at the old man. “That’s a new one.”

“Everything is a strength if you view it correctly, Fames. Now go, your destiny awaits,” Sabastin paused, swallowing. “There’s just one more thing, I ask of you.”

“What?” Ian asked, exhaling through his nose. What more could this guy possibly want from him. Already he was asking him to do the impossible…

“When you confront Jormungand during the final battle, please don’t kill my daughter.” Sabastin looked at him, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. It was enough to make Ian’s icy heart wrench.

Ian said nothing as he reached out toward the golden rift in the space between them. It warbled there, like a glistening blob of liquid gold.

“Please.” Sabastin looked away as a tear dribbled down his cheek and spattered on the cold floor. “She is all I have left.”

Ian stared at the man for a long time. He knew what it was like to lose family, and the thought of not trying to save this man’s daughter made him ache in a place deep inside him where the memory of his mother lived. Besides, he’d just killed his childhood friend. It was something he’d never be able to forgive himself for, but maybe, just maybe saving this girl would be ease his guilt, if only a little. Saving this man’s daughter wouldn’t bring Jesse back, but it would be a step toward redemption, albeit a very small one.

“Okay, I will stop Mors and save your daughter. I promise,” Ian said, and with that, he stepped through the portal.

Ian 01:12

Every cell in Ian’s body felt like it had been invaded, torn apart, and reattached by several disgruntled elves with rusty tools. He fell to the ground, retching violently, and while he didn’t remember eating anything, his body didn’t seem to care very much. His guts twisted up into a hard, clenched mass, leaving him unable to do more than lay there heaving.

Ian was standing in the middle of a city. But from the look of it, the portal had taken him into the middle of a war zone. Fire seethed in wreckage around him, slowly consuming buildings and shops all around him. It looked like a tank had bulldozed its way through a city block. As he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, he stumbled along the path of destruction, nausea still swimming in his gut. Off in the distance, he heard screams. He ran toward them, but when he arrived at the scene, Malcom held a woman by the throat with one hand as he gestured with the nuclear green hammer in his other hand.

“Malcom, you need to stop this,” Ian yelled, his fingers reaching down and brushing across the pommel of his katana. Hunger rose inside him, filling his vision with red and making him stumble. He jerked his hand away and held it out before him, staring at his fingers. Though they looked normal, he could still feel his skin tingling from their brief contact with Haijiku.

Malcom tossed the woman into a group of spectators. They scrambled about, pulling the woman into their ranks as they huddled beneath the archway of an enormous stone building. The bodies of several would be heroes, their skin tinged a sickly green, littered the ground in front of Malcom. Malcom kicked one absently.

“Oh, on the contrary.” Malcom walked toward him, eyes feverish and angry. His grip tightened on the hammer, the muscles in his forearm tensing. “This is exactly what I am supposed to do. I am death.” He waved his hammer around him, gesturing. The sky above them crackled, lighting exploding across the sky. “We were told we need to kill a god.” His lips twisted into a horrible snarl. “Who better than I? Why should we go stop the snake? Why really? We can end this here and now. Ian, we can take on Loki and avert this whole thing now…” He held his hand out, palm up. “Together.”

“Look, we can’t do that. Jormungand has to be stopped first, no matter what. It makes more sense for all of us to go after him together. We can take on Loki afterward, together. He’s still sealed away. We don’t need to fight him right now.” Ian swallowed as he took a step backward, trying to clear his head, but all he heard was the sword saying, “Let the fool unleash Loki. When the god breaks him, we can feast upon them both.”

“No! This time we’re doing things my way!” Malcom’s face hardened into a mask of anger as he waved his hand, and for a split second, the crowd’s eyes grew glossy. They all turned toward Ian and shouted at him.

“Murderer!”

“Killer!”

Malcom shook his head. “I wish it could be different,” he said, exhaling slowly. “But I knew it couldn’t be. The path of death is mine to walk. Alone.” He turned and walked away as the crowd surged toward Ian, hurling themselves bodily at him.

“What the hell is going on?” Ian cried as he dodged an elderly lady swinging her walker at his head.

“I’ve used my powers not just to make them think you did all of this, Ian, but to make them want to kill you,” Malcom said over his shoulder as he tapped his hammer to his forehead and saluted. “Now stay out of my way.”

Ian shut his eyes and gripped the hilt of Haijiku. Time slowed around him as the temperature dropped. First a degree, then ten, then fifty. He opened his eyes as the insatiable, unending hunger of winter surged around him in an unyielding gale, filling the winds with snow and flinging everything away from him. People and debris tumbled away like matchsticks as he took a crackling step toward Malcom.

“I won’t let you do this, Malcom.” Ian pulled Haijiku free from the sheath, and the dark blade swelled in the light. Frosty butterflies flitted along its edge as he pointed the weapon at his friend.

“Why? Because a doddering old man told you to stop me?” Malcom turned, shaking his head sadly. “How silly…”

Before Ian could reply, Malcom slammed his knee into Ian’s gut. The breath whooshed out him as a single thought splintered his mind. How had Malcom crossed so much distance so quickly?

Light flared from Malcom’s hammer as he grabbed Ian by the throat, his huge hand cutting off Ian’s air supply with ease.

“I don’t want to hurt you. We’re friends.” Malcom flung Ian backward, and he landed hard on his back, his vision swimming. “But I can’t let you stop me.” Malcom’s eyes burned like fire as he lifted the hammer into the air. The sky darkened and thunder rumbled through the foreboding grey clouds. “This is the right way. My way.”

Rain fell. The first drops were like ice on Ian’s skin, and as he lay there, lightning flashed across the heavens, spilling fractured light across the horizon.

“Yeah well, I’ve never really been good about listening to people,” Ian said, crawling to his feet and staggering forward.

“Come on…” Malcom said, and his confidence fractured just a touch. “Please, don’t make me stop you…”

“Then stop,” Ian replied, reaching out and touching his friend’s shoulder. “Just stop.”

“I…” Malcom turned away. “I can’t.” He spun, his hammer lashing out through the air.

Haijiku moved with a will of its own. It brought Ian’s hand up, catching the huge hammer on the flat of the blade. The force of it flung Ian backward. He slammed into the huge glass window of a pawnshop offering to buy all things gold and silver. Ian hit the ground in a rain of glass, his head cracking against the laminate tile within. He lay there, trying to force himself to breathe as Haijiku writhed in his hand.

“Enough talk,” it cooed in his brain. “That time is over…”

“He’s my friend,” Ian wheezed. “I can’t…”

Malcom’s hammer burst through the window, knocking away the shards of glass still clinging to the frame before he stepped though. He patted the hammer against his palm, each strike sending a flurry of green sparks leaping into the air.

“I’m not going to kill you, but I can’t let you stop me…” Malcom’s feet crunched on the broken glass as he approached.

The scene slowed down, and Ian felt someone next to him, supporting him. Shadow stretched along his arm and down his fingers, forcing his hand closed around the hilt of Haijiku. Power surged through him as he raised his arm, angling the blade in front of himself. His lips curled into a smile as the heat surrounding them filled the blade. Wisps of frost flittered through the air like tiny, translucent butterflies.

The shadow whispered in his ear, breath like a winter’s storm, and he repeated the words, calling upon a power that was not his own, not really. “A long time ago, before man and beast, there was the cold and the dark.” Ian’s voice came out in a burst of white fog. “It waited, and in its waiting, it hungered.” Ice spread outward around him, rippling over the tile like spilled water.

Malcom stopped, his hammer falling to his side as he stared, wide-eyed. “Ian, what are you doing?”

“We have hungered for so long, Malcom.” The rain outside turned to ice as darkness fell, covering the land. Ian narrowed his eyes and got to his feet. Rime covered his clothes and laced his hair as he reached out toward Malcom with his free hand. “You have forgotten our hunger, death. You have forgotten you are merely a byproduct of our power. You have forgotten, but now you will remember.”

Butterflies with wings like snowflakes rose from the ground. Moths with bodies of hail grew from the falling sleet and filled the air. They flittered through the wind, swirling about like a hurricane of rain and ice. They converged in a single, unending mass and crashed into Malcom, knocking him backward through the front window in a flurry of sleet and snow.