Ravensoul

Chapter 39

The instrument in the hand of a Garonin grazed Hirad’s silhouette. Weakness flooded him and he dropped. The enemy advanced on him. He scrambled backwards, soul energy deserting him. The dead had scattered in front of the soldier. The instrument was a pale ball held in the palm of the hand. It had a neck like a gourd which ended in a needle-sharp point. The point was thrust at him again. He managed to roll aside. He came up against another silhouette, and this one did not flee.

Legs straddled his body and hands lashed out. The Garonin withered and crumpled.

‘I did it when I was alive and I’m still doing it now I’m dead,’ said Sirendor.

‘What?’

‘Saving your thick hide, that’s what.’

‘And you’re still moaning about it,’ said Hirad. He flowed to an upright position and felt the strength begin to return. ‘Best if you don’t let one of those things touch you.’

‘Valuable safety tip. Thanks, Hirad.’

Up ahead, Sol and Thraun were fighting their way towards a breach in the corridor. Auum’s Tai rushed into the flanks of a group of four Garonin who had dropped through a second breach. More helpless dead were drained of mana. More souls failed as they were pierced.

‘Let’s go,’ said Hirad. ‘It would be nice if some of you others decided to fight.’

‘Same as it ever was,’ said Sirendor. ‘Is it just me, or is this passageway starting to angle upwards.’

The pair of them flashed past the ranks of the dead, now broken into smaller groups. Some of them were trying to fight back but something was missing. Hirad ignored them. Sirendor was right. The passage had an incline to it now. Gentle here but it curved up ever more steeply.

‘Up to the top of the world,’ said Hirad.

A broad flash of light bathed the corridor. Hirad gazed to his left. The afterglow of an explosion lingered for a while in the midst of the void then was snatched away. Sha-Kaan’s mind touched his again.

‘You are close,’ he said. ‘The enemy is weakening.’

‘It doesn’t look much like it,’ said Hirad.

The corridor was full of Garonin. Right behind Sol, another breach had been forged in the base of the path. Garonin surged up. Dead fell in their hundreds under the onslaught. Sirendor raced ahead, planting his feet into the chest of an enemy, swivelling and driving right through the Garonin’s body.

‘That I must try,’ said Hirad.

The shade of the barbarian launched himself head first at his nearest enemy. The Garonin saw him coming, his hands came up, weapons in hand. Hirad was going too fast to avoid him. Sirendor washed past his vision. The Garonin stared at the stumps of his wrists. Hirad plummeted through his chest, feeling the faintest resistance and a glimmer of heat.

On the other side, he turned, feeling cold and a measure of sympathy that surprised him.

‘No souls,’ he breathed. ‘They’ve got no souls.’

‘Down!’ called a voice.

Hirad ducked. He felt something pass over him. He swung round, saw Garonin armour large in his vision and the arm of a dead woman sinking up to her elbow in the soldier’s body. She shouted her triumph.

‘We can fight,’ she said. ‘We can fight them.’

The word spread. Hirad flew about, heading for Sol.

‘They have no defence against you but your own fear,’ he said. ‘Go at them.’

Sol had his hands on a tear and was closing it. Garonin turned to stop him. The dead simply engulfed them. Elsewhere, knots of Garonin soldiers paused and Hirad could see the uncertainty in them. Outside, there was another wide flash of light, another machine destroyed by the Kaan dragons. Fire played over the corridor. Claws dragged along the wall right by Hirad. Garonin were swept away.

Inside, the dead surged. Garonin stabbed out, bleeding the energy from as many as they could. But for every two that fell, an enemy was downed. Unencumbered, Sol flew for the next tear. The tide had turned. Garonin were trying to escape back out to the void.

‘Hold them here,’ shouted Hirad. ‘The Kaan need respite.’

Sol nodded. Thraun moved ahead of him. Auum came to the shapechanger’s side. The shadows of the warriors struck out high and low. Garonin soldiers fell back. Auum crushed the waist of one in a killing embrace. Thraun’s fists punched holes in another’s chest. Ghaal crashed in to take the head from another.

The enemy began to panic.

‘We have them,’ called Hirad. ‘Keep it going.’

The broken groups of dead moved to reform. Garonin were cut off in their midst. Sol landed at the next breach, the last breach. He laid his hand on it, fused it shut in moments. The noise of the gales was gone. The pull of the void shut off. Silence but for the dying cries of the last Garonin. The soulless sent to nowhere.

The dead were crying victory. They packed together and moved on up the incline. Far ahead, a pale glow was evident. Hirad nodded his satisfaction. The Raven and the elves came together.

‘Everyone all right?’ he asked.

‘Never better,’ said Ilkar. ‘Besides being dead, that is.’

‘Hardly a surprise,’ said Hirad. ‘I didn’t see you making holes in the Garonin.’

‘Fighting never was my thing, Coldheart, you know that. And magic doesn’t seem to work in here. Thought I’d be better used keeping the dead moving in the right direction.’

‘Will they be back?’ asked Sol.

‘They will not,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘Not here in the void.’

Hirad sensed him very close. He looked about him. There, by the right-hand wall, the Great Kaan was cruising alongside them. He had burns the length of his body and perilously close to one of those huge glorious eyes. His wings looked in tatters.

‘You look a complete mess,’ said Hirad.

‘At least I still live,’ rumbled the dragon, a warmth filling the corridor.

‘Still crap at jokes though, aren’t you?’

‘I had a fine tutor in that regard,’ said Sha-Kaan.

‘Still good at insulting you, though, isn’t he, Hirad?’ said Ilkar.

‘What’s next?’ asked Sol.

‘The Kaan must go to rest. We will watch Balaia when we can. The enemy still move in Beshara and we must look to defend our lands even now. They are not beaten anywhere. Do not relax.’

‘And will you find us when we reach our new home?’ asked Hirad.

‘When Jonas reaches there, I will find him,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘As I will now. The healing streams are stronger within a Klene than out here.’

‘Tell him how we’re doing, won’t you?’ said Sol.

‘I will. And I will speak with your wife, Sol, if I can. Don’t speak now; I know it is difficult. I know what you would wish to say to her.’

Sol’s sudden grief washed through them all. Hirad felt it as keenly as if it were his own.

‘Thank you, Great Kaan,’ said Sol.

‘This is goodbye,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘Where you go now, I cannot follow.’

Hirad nodded and smiled. Though none of them could see his smile, they would be able to feel it.

‘Your touch has been joy, old friend,’ he said.

‘For me also.’

‘Farewell,’ said Hirad.

‘Always believe,’ said Sha-Kaan.

And he was gone.

Sol bowed his head. He hadn’t thought to feel grief. Perhaps there was something in what Ilkar said about the path between life and death. If that was the case, he just wanted it to be done. He gazed back the way they had come and immediately felt comfort from the closeness of The Raven.

‘No way back, big man,’ said Hirad. ‘Only way is on.’

‘I know, it’s just…’ Sol sighed. ‘So much time I was away from her. And she never ever failed in her love for me. I never told her how much that meant.’

‘You don’t think so?’ said Hirad. ‘You told her every day you were with her. You didn’t need words to say it, Unknown. You should have seen the way she looked at you even when she was angry.’

‘Not always,’ said Sol.

‘Always,’ said Hirad.

‘I wonder how fa-’

Sol stopped in his tracks. He was standing in a wide, open, featureless place. Around him, below and above, all he could sense was a pale ivory colour. Slowly, distantly, dark specks appeared in his vision. He was here. Ulandeneth. He looked all around him and felt the crushing weight of defeat on his shoulders.

He was alone.

It was never too late to learn. Sharyr had returned to the dimensional research chambers to study what he could about the doorway through which only the dead could travel. The pale light still shone from the doorway and he could see nothing through it. Like staring into sand.

Dropping into the mana spectrum briefly, he studied the mana lattice that framed it. Densyr had created a network of fine lines that anchored in space. None of them did any more than touch the very edges of the doorway yet the frame was utterly rigid. He pushed at it with his mind. The force that returned through the spectrum was enough to sit him on his backside.

‘Wow,’ he said.

He brushed his hands together, stood up and had another look into the light. Garonin soldiers were clustered against the doorway. Sharyr shouted a warning but there was no one else to hear it. He backed away, still staring. Something wasn’t right about this. The Garonin had their hands against the entrance. They brought curious-looking instruments to bear on it. One in particular had a blade that revolved at high speed. It was clear that this piece of equipment was being pushed against the doorway but was having no effect.

Sharyr smiled. ‘Can’t get out, can you?’

His smile was short-lived. They might not be able to get out, but since they had got in somehow, what was the state of any allies within? It didn’t bode well at all. Sharyr moved forward again to stand beneath the opening. He pressed his fingertips against it, just able to reach it if he stood on the tips of his toes.

They could see him. He saw weapons brought to bear. He didn’t move, confident in what he believed. White tears splashed against the entrance, dispersing harmlessly. Sharyr laughed and beckoned them on with both hands. Fists thumped soundlessly and uselessly against the doorway.

The Garonin withdrew a pace. One looked over his shoulder. Three of them threw themselves back against the doorway, clawing and scrabbling. Abruptly, the doorway vibrated and Sharyr feared his goading would be his undoing. He watched helplessly as the frame buckled, held for a moment and folded in on itself. He saw a last desperate Garonin fist hammering on the opening before it winked out of existence leaving nothing but the faint whiff of burnt mana.

‘What was all that about?’ he whispered.

Sharyr hurried back to Dystran’s quarters to report all he had seen to Lord Densyr.

‘How can it end here like this?’ whispered Sol, fear gripping him.

He felt as if he was shaking but his shadow form revealed nothing. Ulandeneth was empty. The black flecks moved in the distance but perhaps they were a trick of his eyes this time.

‘Where do I go? What do I do?’

So much he had yet to learn. So many assumptions he had made. About those who would stand by him to help him. Those who would show him the way. All gone now. He truly was alone.

‘Where are you!’ he shouted. ‘Hirad! Raven! Where are you?’

Where are you?

A door. He needed a door. But there was none. He needed a sign, something to set him off in the right direction. All his life the path had been before him. The solution had always presented itself. He had always known when to talk or to fight or to run.

‘But you’re not alive now, are you? And none of the rules apply.’

Sol stood where he had appeared. He turned another slow circle. For all its vastness, the place bore down on him, closed around him, sought to smother him. He dropped to his haunches to feel the ground beneath his feet but his hands transmitted nothing to him. Neither did they sink in.

‘There is substance here.’

In his mind time passed terribly quickly. Only he could help the living and the dead and he had no idea where to start. He forced his mind back over what he knew. Ulandeneth was a place where he had been. Where he had fought and lived and from where he had escaped. It was the place, so Auum and Sha-Kaan had it, that held the doorways to all other places.

It was a place where will and belief held sway over the rules of the living lands.

‘You have to believe,’ he said to himself, his voice swallowed up by the immensity of the space around him. ‘But in what?’

The capacity to succeed and the victory of the righteous were just too huge, too imprecise. Not beliefs he could hold on his own. Not yet anyway.

‘So, let us start at the beginning.’

Sol stood tall. He held his arms out from his body and in front of him as if he was about to orate. He jutted his chin and spoke loudly and clearly to whoever, whatever, would listen.

‘I am Sol. I am The Unknown Warrior. I am Raven.’

The simplicity of his conviction flowed through him. He felt energy surging through the shadow. He felt warmth. His fingers began to tingle. He stared at them. Flesh burst through the shadow like he was picking his hands out of black oil. Sol saw the swirls on the tips of his fingers, the hard skin of his palms and every nick and scar that had never quite faded.

The skin flowed down over his wrists, across his forearms and round his elbows. He watched it form his shoulders, pick out the lattice of old scars on his chest and his legs. He felt it creep around the back of his shaven head. He felt a breeze on him. A glorious, beautiful, cool breeze.

‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’

Sol was aware of other changes in the atmosphere of Ulandeneth. His nose twitched and in that there was joy. His sense of smell had returned and with it he found an acrid, burned odour in his nostrils. His ears picked up distant sound yet though he narrowed his eyes there was nothing to see. Wait. Forms in the mist, if such it was. Unrecognisable but moving all around him.

‘I am Sol,’ he repeated and he smiled, feeling the familiar pull of muscles in his face. ‘And I never walk outside naked.’

Clothing began to form on his body. Shirt, trousers, trail boots. The ring he wore that Diera had given him seven years ago was there on the middle finger of his right hand. A delicate piece, depicting a raven in flight.

‘Almost there.’

Sol tried to remember his thoughts when last he was here. Then as a living being. Some of them eluded him. He remembered he had travelled home but now he could not think how. He supposed that was right and just. He remembered that he had been without a weapon when he arrived then too.

‘That I can do something about. I am The Unknown Warrior. Sword of The Raven.’

Across his back he felt the comforting weight of his scabbard and in it his two-handed blade. Interesting. Not a weapon he would use now. His hip wasn’t… But then of course that had been when he was alive. He laughed. Around his waist came his belt and everything that hung from it. Daggers, flint and steel.

‘Now all I need is a place to go.’

Sol took a pace forward and six Garonin stood before him. He backed up and looked behind him. No one there. He turned back. Light flowed around the armour of the Garonin. Their hands rested by their sides. None appeared to be carrying the white tear weapon but something that looked like a blade hung from each waist. Sol snapped his sword from his back and held it before him.

‘I believe,’ he said.

In front of him the blade felt momentarily light and it all but fell from his grasp. He reformed his grip, taking careful note of how it felt, how the steel shone sharp and how even the nicks along its edge were part of its perfection. It rested balanced in his hands.

‘Good. Right. I may go down here and now, but some of you fuckers are coming with me.’