Revenant Page 4

  Jack listened in stunned silence to Raven’s voice. His vision was blurry, but he could make out the young girl in the firelight beside him. Her hair was long and fell about her face in untamed curls. His eyes traced her face, then he understood; she was blind. He looked around the room, he noticed his rifle was gone, but seeing no danger he lay back in front of the fire. He felt something strange well up inside, then with some surprise he remembered a distant word describing this feeling.

  Trust.

  Jack lay back closing his eyes, his life was in the girl’s hands. He smiled at the absurdity of it. No doubt he would wake up back in his familiar nightmare once more. He drifted off into a troubled sleep.

  Raven heard his breathing deepen and knew he slept. Her work had just begun, she knelt beside him and started weaving her words through and around his broken body.

  Chapter 6: Neesa

  Levant looked at the woman. “Who are you? Why are you following me?”

  The woman’s face cracked into a smile. “He speaks! At last! Now there’s progress. I know you Revenant, I was sent to find and guide you to the fight, to the edge; that’s where life is. If you fight on the edge, on the precipice, the line between life and death blurs. You might just get your life back,” she cackled with glee.

  “Stop talking in riddles. Speak plainly or feel my blade.” Levant had lost patience with his tormentor, he produced his sword and brought it to her neck. “Once more, who are you and why are you following me?”

  The woman looked at the blade, eyes gleaming. She tried to form words but her blackened teeth moved in silence. He lessened the pressure of his blade. She gasped and took a breath. “I’m the way back to your memory. I’m Neesa, I’m practiced in the arts of necromancy. You’ll bring light to the darkness of this world; or darkness to the light depending on your view. You and I will bring change to the war’s impasse, we’ll roll the east back from the west. The old order will fall away like autumn leaves, we’ll bring hope and life to the Erthe. The ancient energy will once more course through her fields and rivers, and it will be our doing.”

  Levant spat. “A fine speech. Neesa, the necromancer. Well that’s a start. Explain how I survived a mordstreich then. I can still feel my skull caving in from the pommel strike. There’s no returning from such a blow.”

  Neesa leaned forwards, the point of his sword drew blood from her neck, she did not notice. She hissed. “You were chosen, out of all those at Kreshe, it was you. The rest were a sacrifice; to bring you back. To cross into the death realm and to return in the same heartbeat brings with it great gifts. You’ve passed over and come back. We’ve to find your gifts and harness them. The dark light will return and thrive again; I and my sisters will nurture the change. It was me, I chose you, I brought you back. We are bound by that knowledge, that fate.”

  “Keep away from me mad woman, lest I strike you down, your words are like a snake, no beginning, no end. Useless, just words.” Levant withdrew his sword but kept it raised, menacingly between them.

  Neesa’s expression betrayed nothing, she let out a low hiss and nodded. “Agreed my brother, my words are just words, I understand your reticence. Forget my words then, I will show you pictures instead. Wait, watch…”

  Levant was turning to leave but stopped when he saw the moonstone Neesa produced from her tunic. He was curious, something about the stone was familiar.

  Neesa spoke in whispers, her hand moved over the stone, she held it up to him. “Look, Levant, look into its depths. It will speak to you. It does not talk in riddles…look, look.” She stopped speaking, transfixed by the stone herself.

  How does she know my chosen name? Levant asked himself. Harm is in the air, his instincts railed.

  Still, it would only take a moment, his eyes were drawn to the moonstone, he looked into its depths. At first he saw nothing, then he saw streets and houses. Empty, silent. No one walked those streets. He was drawn in, felt his feet walking the very cobbles. His breathing quickened.

  The street steepened and went uphill, houses crowding in on both sides. He came to an opening at the end of the street and walked into a square, again empty. He saw a keep towering above. A tingle of excitement came from within, his heart quickened. Memory flickered below the surface; an elusive itch begging to be scratched.

  A dog barked in the distance, drops of rain splattered the ground. Levant and Neesa remained unaware, their attention focussed on the moonstone’s depths.

  Levant gazed at the keep and recognised its lines, its placement, he knew a great river lay on the far side. He knew the town stood behind stone walls and nestled, snug as a flea in the bend of the river. He knew his grandfather and his father before him had founded this place, forged it from the land, taken it from the wild. It was in his blood, this was his birthplace, his home.

  Its name eluded him… then with a shiver his memory returned; Elverium.

  He was Jarl of Elverium.

  Then, a floodgate opened, his memory returned in a rush. He staggered, falling to his knees, his hands went to his head. Rain hammered down. The spell was broken, Neesa stepped back, staring at him, she put the moonstone away and waited.

  Levant remembered his true name; Thomas Ravenfist, of Clan Ravenfist.

  He had been known as Ser Thomas at the king’s court, Thomas to his friends. His daughters’ faces and his wife’s loving face came to him, beseeching him not to ride to battle. He had no choice, he had to answer the king’s call, he and two hundred clansmen had ridden east to join the imperial host at the fields of Kreshe.

  Then he remembered why, the undead; they were multiplying in the north, summoned from the grave. They were attacking villages in the dark provinces, they had even made it to the northern walls of the capital itself. It was the work of the eastern necromancers. That was what they had been told, what they believed. The ten year war had taken a bitter turn, hostilities had deepened. No one was safe.

  The moonstone told a different story. He did not fully understand what he had seen but he knew the Sworn were involved. The Sworn; the king’s loyal sect of priests, the king’s spiritual shield, firm and strong in the face of darkness. But the moonstone had shown the Sworn wielding the dark magic; he knew necromancy when he saw it.

  They were plotting against the king and his court, in league with the eastern bastards. His village had been overrun, destroyed by undead. His people, fled or killed. He could not go back to the life he knew. His thoughts returned to his wife and daughters.

  “Where are they?” he looked at Neesa.

  “I too looked into the stone, I was witness to your spirit walk. I saw things you may not have seen. Your wife Liriana and your two girls are safe, they’ve escaped to the coast and are secure behind Leerma’s walls.” She paused to let her words sink in.

  “The Sworn are behind the treachery, betrayal lies at the heart of the king’s empire. We need to fight darkness with darkness. The only way to confront the undead is with undead. You are Revenant, Draugr, you are the key to this war. You can walk amongst them as you are undead, you are not affected by their necromancy, you can reach deep into the heart of their stronghold, unmolested. You can find the Sworn priests there. You can rip their throats out and end this.” Neesa fell silent.

  Levant swore and looked up at the sky. He had found his memory and with it a multitude of problems. His thoughts raced. “And if I refuse? What’s in it for you? How can I trust you? This might be some elaborate trap.”

  Neesa shrugged her shoulders. “You can’t trust me, but you can trust your heart. I think you know the moonstone has shown you the truth. You can walk away, the choice is yours. What do I get out of it? Well, let’s just say the Sworn have upset the balance with their meddling, my sisters and I want to restore the balance. We have our own work to do… we do not concern ourselves with kings, politics, the affairs of men. These things mean nothing to us.”

  Levant needed to think. He looked down and saw the road, he started to walk. The rain fell. Neesa f
ollowed at a distance, he ignored her. He realised his lips were moving, he heard his voice and recognised his father’s words. Words they used to recite on hunting trips, when he was a boy.

  Let me face the darkness, let me face my fear. I am never alone for my ancestors lie within, a heartbeat away. My enemies’ blood beckons my blade, their strength will soon be mine. And if the gods will it, I shall see my hearth tonight, if they decree my death, no matter, for it will be time to take a place at my family’s table in the hall of the gods, to feast, to drink and to love.

  The words brought comfort to Thomas, they reminded him of his father, a bear of a man. What would he have made of all this? What would he have done? Then Thomas saw the answer, it was there all along. He would fight for his family, he would fight to take his life back, he would fight the Sworn, rip their throats out so they could not utter any more of their profane magic. He turned around to face the woman.

  Neesa was gone.

  Chapter 7: The Box

  “I found it in the labyrinth.” Sabine had broken her own rule; she had shared her find with a stranger.

  Forcan squinted at the box on the table. Sabine had retrieved it from her pack and was examining it. It was rectangular, intricate. Marks were etched on its surface, they resembled runes but she did not have rune lore. The power of runes was well known; you could lose your spirit to rune wielders, she shuddered. “What do you think Forcan? Have you come across anything like this before?”

  Forcan shook his head. “No, but…”

  Sabine looked at him. A log spat in the fire, Whisper jumped up from the floor and barked.

  “Fool dog,” Forcan mumbled.

  “But?” Sabine asked.

  Forcan met her gaze. “Well, when I was a lad, we used to hunt near the Rain Pools outside Sarenossa…”

  “That’s many leagues from here; beyond the realm.”

  “Aye, that it is. But it weren’t always beyond the realm. Years ago it was an important trading centre, before the war. Everything passed through Sarenossa, it was the heart of the region.”

  Forcan stopped, Sabine could see he was reliving a memory. She waited, he started to speak.

  “We used to go out to the Rain Pools at night, to the islands. A group of us, young lads, foolish we were. Our parents thought we were tucked up in bed.” He laughed and rummaged in his pockets. He took out a pipe and a pouch of tobacco. She watched as he slowly prepared and packed the pipe. Whisper had settled in front of the fire again, as if nothing had happened. It was going to be a long night. She forced herself to relax and poured herself some ale.

  Forcan lit his pipe and blew the aromatic smoke across the room. Whisper’s nose twitched, his tail wagging lazily on the floor, the warmth of the fire had worked its magic. Forcan took the box in his free hand and examined it closely. “Aye, I have come across this script. Way out on an island in the Rain Pools. We found a place there, a ruin. The walls were hard, I mean hard, with metal bones embedded in them. They were thick and in places melted. We found a shaft within the ruins, we had rope, and being boys we dared each other to go down the shaft and explore.” He paused briefly the memory of that night coming back.

  “Yaren went first, I went second. I don’t know what we imagined we’d find. Great treasure, riches, who knows? Well we reached the bottom of the shaft and came to a set of metal doors. They were open, we had firebrands for light, so we continued. The place was vast, with many rooms. Strange tables and thrones everywhere. Faded script, like on this box, was on the walls, it made my skin crawl. Yaren wanted to leave but I persuaded him to continue. The others would wait for us on the surface, we had a pact as boys do.

  “So on we went, down. There were stairs, they seemed endless. We must’ve explored another two or three levels after that but found more of the same; there was a big room with a glass wall and a huge table and another of those thrones we’d seen before. We didn’t find treasure, we were disappointed. One thing puzzled us, there was no sign of people, no bones, no remains, yet someone built that place for a reason a long time ago.”

  Sabine took the box in her hands. “So what’s this doing in the labyrinth under New Haven? Was it there before the banshees or did they bring it there? What’s the link with the labyrinth, the old city and the Rain Pools? It’ll all come to no good, everything to do with the ancients is tainted, at least that’s what priests teach. I was hoping to get a few gold for it in the market. The dealers are always looking for something unusual.” She stopped, the room was quiet save for the crackle of the fire and the sound of the wind in the trees outside. The box reflected the firelight on its polished surface, if only it could speak to her.

  An idea formed in her head.

  She would return to the city and tell Raven. She had unfinished business, their client was waiting for the scroll she had failed to take from the library. She would go back, better prepared this time, she would complete the job and get the scroll. She would return to the labyrinth with the box, this time she would bring light and explore the area properly.

  Knowledge was power, if she could learn from the labyrinth, learn its past and secrets maybe she could unlock the box. She was convinced it was a key to great riches. She returned the box to her pack and came back to the table. Forcan’s eyes were closed, his breathing had deepened. Sleep beckoned her too.

  Sabine took a spare blanket from the corner bed and lay down next to Whisper in front of the fire. The day caught up with her, she was asleep in minutes.

  ~

  Something stirred in the labyrinth beneath New Haven. The box’s theft had gone according to plan. Finally, it was back, out in the world; it had taken a long time to engineer its release. Fortune had smiled on them, they had been trapped down here for too long.

  The thief’s presence in the library had taken them by surprise, they had worked quickly to create the illusion of dogs to drive her down, underground into their domain. It had cost them some of their power, but it had worked, that was all that mattered. The box was out, returned to the surface, it would work its magic, events would unfold.

  It was time.

  Time for them to break free, to return and reclaim what was rightfully theirs.

  Chapter 8: Mnemosyne

  Jack’s fevered dream unfolded.

  He was back in New York City. The subway, his initial months, after the terrorist bioweapon strike, had been spent underground; the only safe place with all the madness on the surface. He only went up when he had to and that was not often. He was operating on a pilot light, in shock, his life devastated, gone.

  His military training took over. It was remarkable how the survival skills returned, like an old friend. He remembered Afghanistan and Iraq, the things he had seen there. The things he had done… ghosts plagued him, people, places. He had thought it was all history, but those faces lived deep inside him, they were part of him, their lives had crossed his, leaving deep scars.

  He found a hiding place in a subway station on the lower east side. A hole in the ceiling led to a room he could call his own, he used a ladder to access the space, pulling it up after him. He spent days up there, he heard things crawl and scuttle in the darkness below. When he ventured forth he moved fast and silently, becoming one with the darkness.

  He found night vision goggles on one of his surface forays but preferred a red-filtered torch to preserve his night vision. The walls of the subway were covered with artwork and murals, he recalled reading about an underground art installation in an abandoned station just like this one.

  Gradually, he forgot the old world and descended into his new reality. Days and nights were indistinguishable, life was filled with hunger, thirst and fear. All fresh food was long perished, the new gold was tinned and preserved food to be found above ground in supermarkets and warehouses, local supplies were dwindling, he had to go further afield now.

  Water was less of a problem, it still rained, he knew where to replenish his supplies. He walked through his dream and found himself bac
k in the hotel room where he had killed the sniper. The memory of that day was clear. He had been stalking the stag most of the afternoon and finally had a line of sight on the beast, in perfect position, down wind. A long shot but just within range of his hunting bow. Just before he took the shot the stag jerked, its throat disappearing in a fountain of blood. A rifle retort echoed along the city street canyons.

  The stag was still alive, the shot, not clean. Jack’s eyes searched the buildings and saw a muzzle flash with the second shot. The stag’s heart exploded, the bullet ending its life. Silence descended, Jack was already on the move. He flanked the sniper’s position and entered the building from the rear. He found a stairwell and climbed to the tenth floor, he moved to the front of the building and began searching, room by room.

  He found the sniper holed up in an office, he had not changed his position… careless. Always move, always change position, Jack thought mechanically as he crept up on the man. He shot him in the back with the hunting bow, a clean kill, through the heart, silent. He took the shooter’s M24 and ammunition. The rifle served him well in the months that followed.

  Jack’s dream skipped and fluttered. Pain ripped to the surface, he gasped with its severity, he had suffered pain before, he knew pain. He opened his mind and allowed it in. He dreamed himself back underground allowing the pain to chase him through the subway, always one step ahead of its teeth.

  He found the ladder and lifted it to his hiding space, climbed up and in, hauling the ladder after him. It worked, the pain snapped its fangs below his safe room but could not reach him; like escaping the torturer’s pain in Iraq.

  Choose a safe space to retreat and lock the door; survive.

  ~

  Raven was concerned.