Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1) (2 page)

Movement behind him. He
glanced back. The thing’s leg jerked again. One foot drew back, a knee rising,
leather scraping on the floor.

No way! No bloody way!

It sat upright, the blade
still stuck in its chest.

‘Seb!’

Trembling, he forced his
gaze away from the thing. He found her eyes again. Cold hands rose and gripped
the sides of his face.

‘See,’ she whispered.

A searing light lanced
through his mind. His brain burned as energy
poured
from her, a pure
white blast of light that enveloped him completely.

As quickly as it started,
it was over. He found himself sat on his backside, a jolt in his palms as he
hit the floor. His head throbbed. White stars danced in his vision. He glanced
down. Sarah stared past him, at peace.

From somewhere distant a
siren shrieked, the increase in pitch telling him that help was coming. Never
before had he been so relieved to hear the sound of officialdom. He staggered
to his feet, unsure of what Sarah had done, but acutely aware that he once
again had control of his limbs. He turned and froze.

In the aisle, the thing
took hold of the blade in its chest, and with a slick, smooth manoeuvre that
made Seb’s stomach lurch, pulled it out without so much as a flinch. It wafted
the blade under its nose, seemingly lost in the intricacy of the design.

Seb didn’t need a second
chance. He darted from the altar and vaulted over the upturned pews to the
right of the fiend, where it still appeared rapt by the weapon in its grasp.

The door loomed before
him. He cracked his knee on a pew and fell sprawling to the ground, his bottom
teeth slicing into his top lip. Blood filled his mouth. He scrambled to his
feet and threw himself against the door.

It didn’t yield. His
shoulder throbbed.

Behind him, he felt,
rather than heard, the creature as its attention returned to him. Daring a look
behind, he saw as it glanced at Sarah then back at him. Confusion passed across
its face.

‘What did she do?’ it
hissed, the sound nearly pinning him to the wall.

Move Seb! Move!
He kicked the door again. Nothing. Then it hit him. The pew! He squatted, took
the pew by the base where it was still wedged by the font, and hurled it to one
side.

Movement behind him. A
gap being closed.

The door opened to an
explosion of blue flashing lights. A cacophony of commanding voices ordered him
to do something, but they sounded far away, muffled.

He stepped out into the
light, into freedom.

The pain that seared his
back at that moment was unlike nothing he’d ever felt. A bone-cold presence
pressed against him, that smell of death on his neck.

‘Give me what is mine!’
the voice muttered.

He looked down at his
hip, where the tip of the blade now protruded. A growing spread of blood
bloomed on his shirt. His knees began to give way.

‘Step out of the church!’

The voice pierced the
fugue, his conscious mind returning for one last hurrah.

It was a last, desperate
action. The fiend pulled him backwards, into the church. The end was nigh, and
part of him yearned for the release from this horror, but something, some last
reserve he didn’t know he had, did not give in so easily. Energy coursed
through him, fight or flight, one last act of defiance before succumbing to the
void.

Seb bent forwards, the
blade slicing upwards further into his side. Fiery pain screamed. He tumbled
forwards and fell into the light. He hit the ground and rolled onto his back.
He saw the thing then, half merged with the shadows in the doorway. Its face
fixed in a look of pure rage, its teeth bared, jaw distended.  Then footsteps
behind him. Shouts of alarm. Authority. The thing shrieked, but did not follow.
It melted back into the shadows, the shriek burning his ears as the world faded
into darkness.

***

The figure stood, watching silently from
his vantage point on a nearby roof as the emergency services converged upon the
young man that lay collapsed on the floor in the church doorway. He absently
noted the shimmering mist that fled out of the back of the building, the
daemon’s mission failed. Turning back to the frenzy at the church, he cast out
his limited
sense
, frowning at what he received.

‘What is it?’ Another
man, clad in the same black attire, appeared at his side.

‘I don’t know. Maybe
nothing.’ He glanced up at the night, feeling the stirring of reality. It
wasn’t a good time to hang around. He nodded downwards, his men obeying without
question. With one last look at the church, at the human survivor with the
strange aura, Cade turned, and leapt off the building.

Sylph bit back a curse as the van hit
another speed bump that cracked her head against the roof of the cramped
vehicle. The others smirked but didn’t dare comment. They knew better than
that.

‘How long?’ she said.

Luchar checked his watch.
‘Five minutes.’

She nodded and began checking
the weapons hidden about her person for the fifth time.

‘You going to tell us
then?’

She stopped what she was
doing and levelled her gaze at the speaker. Uroc, the biggest of the group, six
foot five of muscle, stared back at her. Dumb eyes on a dumb face.

‘Tell you what, Uroc?’
She noticed and ignored Luchar’s attempts to silence the brute. She placed a
hand on the commander’s arm, silencing him in an instant.

‘What we’re doin’ ‘ere,
that’s what.’

‘You’re here at the will
of Master Marek, surely that’s enough?’ she said, her voice laced with steel.

‘That lunatic? That makes
me feel so much better.’

The van fell into a tense
silence. The only noise the clatter as the vehicle trundled up the narrow road
that led to their destination.

She had to act. Luchar
was their commander, but he wouldn’t bat an eyelid should one of his men get
the wrong idea.
She died bravely, Master
, would be his report, after
dumping her body in a layby somewhere. This was the problem with hired help. It
was a no win. Either the mindless brutes of the sheol or paid thugs from the
street. Neither was up to Balor’s standards.

‘I suggest, Uroc, that
you get your mouth in order. Balor doesn’t react kindly to those who disrespect
his chosen.’

‘Screw Balor! Screw your
cause!
I’m here for the money, nothing else. What’s the deal with this Marek,
anyway? Who the hell does he think he is? And what the hell is he doing with
all those poor bast -’

Uroc’s head snapped back
as his nose exploded against his face. His eyes watered, wide with surprise as
blood poured from the pulpy mess. Sylph stood before him, the torch she’d used
to strike him held in one hand above his head.

‘What the hell have you
do -’

She struck him again, and
again. His head cracked back against the inside of the van, bouncing back into
another hit. A third and a fourth followed, until all the lights went out.
Sylph sat back down and wiped the blood off the torch with a rag, ignoring the
eyes that burned into her. When the impromptu weapon was clean, and the sick
feeling in her gut had subsided, she raised her head and looked each of the
team in the eye.

‘Uroc is guilty of
blasphemy against the Lord Balor and has paid the price for that.’

Silence. Some of them
openly brimmed with fury, but thankfully none dared act. Not yet anyway.

‘Luchar, you will be my
eyes and ears on the outside. Give me ten minutes. If I’m not out by then you
have permission to go back to Haven. Clear?’

‘Crystal.’

‘Good,’ she said, already
doubting they’d wait ten seconds after she left the van.

The van began to slow.
The slat dividing the front with the passengers slid back and Moss peered
through.

‘We’re here - what the
hell!’

‘Uroc has had a bit of an
accident, Moss,’ Sylph said, ‘He may need medical attention, if it’s not too
late already.’

‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Moss
stammered, a mix of confusion and fear on his face.

The van stopped. Paul
jumped out of the passenger side and trudged round the back of the vehicle. The
lock clicked and the rear door slid open. Sylph hopped out. A welcome breeze
washed over her, removing the cloying scent of sweat that had filled the van.

‘Test, Luchar,’ she said.

Luchar, ever the
professional, placed the earpiece in his ear. ‘One two, one two.’

‘I hear you.’

She checked her gear one
last time. Ideally she would’ve taken more; the small blades strapped against
her wrists the only protection she could conceal in the loose outfit she wore.
She checked the iron rods sewn into her sleeves, a last deterrent if a feral sheol
made it through. She shook her head. It would have to do. Luchar leaned over
and passed her the small rucksack that contained the essential items should
things go belly up. He held the grip as she took hold, forcing her to look at
him.

‘What is it you’re going
to do, Sylph? Dead people don’t talk.’

‘You wouldn’t
understand.’ She snapped the bag off him and slung it over her back.
‘Remember,’ she said.

‘Ten minutes.’

‘No more.’

They nodded at each
other, and for a moment Sylph felt a twinge of guilt at the way she’d acted.
Luchar was a good soldier, a loyal vassal. If he stayed strong perhaps he
wouldn’t even get possessed. Balor knows that they needed stable warriors as
well as the mindless rabble that Marek seemed intent on employing. At the end
of the day though Luchar was merely a foot soldier, an expendable in the war.
She gave him a curt nod, glanced one last time at the hostile faces in the rest
of the group before setting off across the car park.

This was the life. Freedom. A chance to
stretch her legs under an open sky. Sure, she was on a mission, one of utmost
importance, but she was on her own for the first time in what felt like years,
and it felt wonderful. She closed her eyes, mentally checking that her defences
were up, hiding her from the prying eyes of the Magistry or their allies. Satisfied,
she looked up, ready for duty.

Marek’s warnings rang
loud in her mind as she approached the target, what the people of this Shard
called a morgue. She had let him down once already, letting the traitor deceive
her and escape with Balor’s secrets. She’d deceived them all, Marek included.
But she was Sylph’s responsibility. Marek was understanding, but he was not
weak. There wouldn’t be a third chance.

For Balor.

As the distance to the
building decreased, she
sensed
out, sending subtle waves through the
building, letting them echo through the infrastructure before bouncing back to
her. She smiled to herself as the images returned, hours of training paying
off. Aside from the police officer at the entrance there were just three others
in the building. All of them were fatigued, their minds dim. The officer at the
front was more alert than the rest, his mind, at least on a subconscious level,
scanning the area for threats. Not that it mattered. He was no match for her.

She slowed as she walked
up the path to the building. Luchar had favoured a more direct approach,
overwhelming the building with force, slaying those who got in their way.
Luchar was wrong, though, youthful eagerness and the desire to prove himself in
front of his peers clouding his judgement. She had no time for the natives
either, but they were still sentients, their right to life no less than the Balorans.
No, she wouldn’t take a life unless she absolutely had to. To hell with what
the others thought.

Business time. She
sauntered up the path, exaggerating the swing of her hips, giving the police
officer a coy glance as she approached. She was attractive to the native males.
Another weapon in her arsenal. No point letting any advantage go to waste.

The police officer’s mind
awoke as she came within a few feet of him. Good looks and a sexy walk weren’t
going to wash on this one so easily. His eyes didn’t betray any alarm, but his
mind was fully alert, his aura flaring as he stood to attention.

She
pushed
out, a
subtle jab with the Weave, breaking his focus as she slowed to a stop in front
of him.

‘Hey, I’m just going in to
collect some documents, left them here earlier,’ she said, putting on as demure
a voice as she could manage without gagging.

The mental jab had
disorientated him, just a little, enough to cause him to lose focus. It was an unconscious
thing in most sentients, their bodies wired to autopilot for certain actions.
It was in these moments, when their minds were blank, that they were most
susceptible to influence.

‘Sure, sure,’ he said.
His mind fluttered, trying to regain some composure. ‘Where’s your ID?’

It was an automatic
response, and she flashed a blank card at him, jabbing again at the same time. He
looked down. Looked up again. She tensed, a moment of indecision flashing across
his face. She felt for one of her blades hidden in her sleeve, the weapon
pressed reassuringly against her forearm. After a pause the police officer
grunted, returning back to his semi-conscious state. She brushed past, letting
out a relieved breath.

She entered into a small
lobby. The air smelled of disinfectant. The walls were duck-egg blue. Cheap
pictures, their images faded with time, hung all around, no doubt someone’s
attempt to put some life into this drab place.

The attendant behind the
desk looked up in surprise as she approached. Before the woman could speak,
Sylph
pushed
hard, her will overriding that of the woman in a heartbeat.
There was only a modicum of resistance, with one Observer it was easy, the
Consensus weak. It was only when multiple Observers were involved that her
powers were truly dimmed. If she played it right that situation wouldn’t arise.

‘The woman. Identified by
the name Sarah. Homicide from the Roseacre Road killing. Where is she?’ Sylph
said.

‘Downstairs, Room 2.’ The
woman replied, her eyes blank, staring forwards.

Sylph walked past,
letting a fugue settle on the woman. She wouldn’t come round for a few minutes,
and would have no memory of what had transpired.

Sylph
sensed
again
as she pushed open the double doors. Of the two remaining sentients in the
building, one was upstairs, barely awake too, judging by the faint echo she
received. The other was ahead of her, down the stairs, in the direction she was
heading in.

She exited the stairwell
and found herself in a long corridor with three doors on either side. She
approached the door marked ”2”, noting that the remaining sentient was in this
very room. Her curiosity pricked slightly as she approached. Now she was closer
she could sense the person was awake and alert, using her will would be
trickier on this one. She opened the door at pace.

‘Who the hell are you?’

The man, dressed in a white
lab coat, stood up from a computer terminal as Sylph entered the room.

He was too alert already,
too anxious. She had a good contact with the Weave right then but it wasn’t
sufficient to suppress the man’s own reality. She had one option, a desperate
action with little chance of success.

‘Sorry, wrong room,’ she
turned about. She would hide, wait this one out. It was already late, experience
telling her that even the most committed on this realm had to go home some
time.

‘Stop right there,’ the
man said.

She stopped and slowly
turned.
Calm. Focus.

‘Who are you? Tell me
now, or I’m calling security.’

Small in height, thin of
frame. He wouldn’t be any challenge. She could take him without having to
resort to her blades if she was quick enough.

‘You won’t call anyone.’

Sylph took a step
forward. She channelled; a subtle burst that would give her a split-second head
start should she have to act.

‘What the hell? You some
kind of junkie? You don’t scare me you crazy bitch.’

He did something then
that caught her off guard. She’d assumed that he’d try and run past her in an
attempt to rouse the alarm. What she didn’t anticipate was that he’d smash the button
on the wall that sent a siren blaring in the night.

Shit.

Sylph lunged forwards.
The man had a brief second to recognise the movement before she was on him. One
hand struck his throat, crushing his windpipe. Before he even had chance to
register the blow a second strike hit him on the side of the temple, striking
the vagus nerve. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

‘Shit!’

She pressed the alarm
again, relieved when it fell silent. She stopped for a second,
sensing
out.
It wasn’t good. The police officer was moving through the building at pace.

‘What the hell is going
on?’ Luchar’s voice hissed in her earpiece, making her wince.

‘Just be ready. I’m
almost done,’ she replied.

‘Just hurry, you’ve
stirred up a fricking hornet’s nest!’

She muted him. She didn’t
need his shit right then. She needed focus, clarity.

Footsteps clattered
outside the room. She moved to the door in a blur, power focused into her
muscles and senses. The door opened and the police officer dashed inside,
weapon drawn, some kind of stun gun.

‘Steve? You okay? Steph
saw something on the cam-’

The police officer saw
her and spun on instinct, bringing the weapon to bear. She ducked as the weapon
discharged, sending an electrified dart smacking harmlessly into the wall. She
came inside his arm and struck the fleshy inside with the back of her hand, the
iron-lined sleeves producing a sickening crack as the officer’s wrist broke,
sending the weapon clattering to the ground. Before the man could even scream
she drove her knee into his stomach. He doubled over. She channelled her
strength and hurled him headfirst into the wall with a dull thud, cracking
plaster. He collapsed into a heap on the floor.

Sylph hovered over the
unconscious officer for a few heartbeats, watching as his unconscious aura
settled into a dull blue. Satisfied that nothing could hijack this body, she
turned back, ignoring the shrieks in her mind from the hovering sheol, the
wraiths drawn by the sudden explosion of fear in the air.

‘No, not here you don’t,’
she said out loud. ‘Go back to the void where you came from.’

She
sensed
towards
the lockers containing the held bodies. All but one returned a faint residue of
the Weave, indicative of an imbued. Of the traitor. She yanked the locker open,
drawing out the stretcher that contained a body wrapped in a zipped up bag. She
turned on her earpiece as she unzipped the bag. She needed to know what was
happening upstairs.

‘...police are arriving!’

She shrugged off the
growing urgency, what she had to do next required concentration.

‘Hold them, I need five
minutes.’

‘Shit, Sylph, we don’t
need this!’

‘Five minutes!’

‘Shit!’

***

Luchar looked at the rest of the team. All
had heard the exchange with Sylph.

‘You heard her, give her
five minutes. Any longer and we’re gone. Understood?’

The men exchanged knowing
looks then nodded back at him. They kicked open the van doors and found
themselves bathed in a plethora of red and blue lights.

***

Sylph unzipped the bag, revealing the
traitor’s ghostly face, forever locked in a thousand yard stare. The medical
staff had done well on her body. She seemed serene, almost at peace.

I hope wherever you are,
you’re suffering, Traitor.

Something crashed to the
floor upstairs as more law enforcement officials entered the building. She didn’t
have much time. Putting bitter memories of Sarah and her betrayal aside, she
stood over the body, and gently, ever so gently, placed her thumbs against each
open eye. She closed her own eyes then, focusing on the sensation of her chest
rising up and down in slow, measured breaths. She drew on the Weave, easing the
subtle energy into her, careful not to overflow her own capabilities. The
procedure was tricky, and she’d only done it once before, when Marek had shown
her, yet she had to succeed on this occasion, the price of failure was too
great.

Shouts from above. Voices
coming closer. Gunshots from somewhere outside. Luchar was doing his bit at
least.

Her senses tingled,
electricity rippling through her, making her hairs stand on end. Her eyeballs
twitched underneath the lids. Her muscles tensed like iron cords. The sensation
rippled and multiplied, wave after wave of Weave-energy, building more and more
each time.

‘Down here! Someone came
this way!’

Time was almost up. She
unleashed the pent up energy within her, directing it through her arms into her
hands, into the vessel that had once been her friend.

At first there was
nothing. A wall of blackness, infinitely tall and wide. The cells of Sarah’s
body had been decaying for hours now, the ability to maintain and hold her own
reality long gone. Yet, due to her Imbued nature, some vestigial energies would
remain. A ghost in the shell. A shade of what she’d been. It was this that
Sylph sought now, the last memories of a friend turned enemy.

‘Got a contact on the
basement floor. One heat signature in the second room on the left.’

She focused, channelling
her energies into a dense wedge. Then, with an exertion that nearly floored
her, she
pushed
.

She was in.

‘In here, in here! Get
ready to breach!’ Feet clattered outside. Weapon safety’s being removed.

Images rose to her like
ashes dancing above a fire. She glanced and discarded each in an instant,
scanning hundreds of fleeting memories in the time it took her heart to beat just
once.

The door kicked open.
People entered the room, fanning out.

She had it. A face. A
boy.
Clever bitch
! She took a mental image of the boy’s face, memorising
every detail, the clarity equal to any camera.

‘Put your hands on your
head. Drop to your knees. Do it. Do it now!’

Sylph opened her eyes.

***

Luchar cursed and floored the accelerator.
Behind him Paul held the thrashing Moss, the younger man screaming in agony.

‘Fuck! They shot me!’

‘Calm down you stupid shit,
you’re not going to die, okay?’ Paul said, pinning Moss down and ripping open the
flailing man’s shirt.

‘It still fucking hurts.
Damn I wanna go back, I wanna stick that bastard for what he did.’

‘Shut up, both of you! We’re
out of here. We’ve drawn too much attention to ourselves already.’ Luchar said,
eyeing the rear view mirror. They’d left survivors at the scene. At least eight
dead. The response would be immediate. They had to get off-site before
reinforcements arrived.