Chaos Unleashed (16 page)

“You speak about things you cannot possibly understand,” Jerrod told her.

“Don’t pretend you’re some all-knowing oracle,” Scythe shot back. “It’s obvious you’re stumbling around as blind as the rest of us!”

Keegan was glad to see some of the fight had come back to Scythe, but he didn’t want his companions to keep arguing.

“If the vision returns, I can explore it more thoroughly,” Keegan offered. “Maybe even track it back to its source and find out what felt so strange about it.”

“No!” Jerrod barked, surprising them both with the sharpness of his outburst.

“The history of the Order recounts several such attempts in our past,” he explained. “A number of powerful Seers—many of them among the greatest prophets ever to dwell within the Monastery walls—have tried to seek out the source of their visions.

“Through meditation and mental exercises, they learned to induce their dreams on purpose, then tried to strip away the projected images to reveal what lay beneath.

“None were ever successful. They all became lost forever in the Burning Sea, their identity swallowed up by the flaming ocean of Chaos. What remained was nothing but an empty shell of flesh and blood—a mindless husk that lived on for days until it withered away from hunger and thirst.”

“Of course,” Scythe said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Why did I think anything about dreams or visions could actually be useful?”

“Promise me, Keegan,” Jerrod said, grabbing the young mage by his shoulders. “If the vision returns, do not do anything foolish.”

“I’m not going to throw my life away,” he answered.

Jerrod stared into his eyes for several seconds, then nodded.

“A Blood Moon hangs in the sky above us,” the monk added. “There are difficult and dangerous times ahead. Whatever your vision means—whether it is a call from Cassandra, a trick from Daemron, or something else entirely—will be revealed soon enough.”

“There are still a few hours until morning,” Scythe grumbled. “You two get some sleep and I’ll take the next watch.”

When Jerrod hesitated, she added, “You still need to rest, even if it’s only a few hours a night. Maybe it’ll help get back some of that special Sight you’ve lost.”

Keegan braced himself for an angry retort, but the monk only nodded. He hadn’t realized how much Jerrod was still struggling since the return of his normal vision, but it clearly hadn’t escaped Scythe’s notice.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe sleep will help him.

The two men bedded down while Scythe got up and began to walk the camp’s perimeter, Daemron’s blade clutched firmly in her grasp.

Scythe circled the camp with quick, forceful steps. The calm she’d felt in the aftermath of her fight with the Inquisitors was gone, replaced by a restless frustration she couldn’t seem to shake.

She was angry at herself for arguing with Jerrod. She’d vowed to honor Norr’s memory by following the monk and his prophecy without question. She’d promised herself she would see it through to the end, no matter what. And for a while, she’d been able to hold her tongue.

But lately she’d been snapping at him more and more. The cold, emotionless calm she’d worn like a shield ever since Norr had fallen was getting harder to keep up, and she couldn’t stop challenging Jerrod every time he said something that sounded foolish or even insane.

You can’t honor my memory by becoming something you’re not.

The voice in her head was Norr’s, but she knew it wasn’t real. Her mind was just calling up memories of him to try to cope with his absence.

That doesn’t mean I’m wrong. You can’t shut yourself off to emotion, Scythe. That’s not who you are.

That was becoming clearer with each passing day. Unfortunately, as the numbing, single-minded resolve fell away other emotions rushed in to fill the void. The pain of losing Norr was still fresh, and if she thought about him too long, unwelcome tears would well up.

You don’t have to go through this alone.

She knew Keegan was also struggling with Norr’s death; Norr had been his friend.

It’s not just that. He’s also struggling with how to help you cope with my loss.

Once again, Norr’s voice was right. She could see it in the awkward, uncertain glances the young wizard gave her. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t know how. Not that there was anything he could do or say to make her feel better anyway.

You don’t know that. You haven’t given him much of a chance.

Maybe I don’t want to,
Scythe thought, arguing with her own subconscious.
It will just make everything more complicated.

The young wizard’s feelings for her had been obvious enough though he’d never done anything to act on them while Norr was around. And, to be honest, Scythe had felt a similar attraction to him, too. As Jerrod had said: They were both touched by Chaos. They shared something others couldn’t possibly understand.

She would never have acted on it, of course—she loved Norr with all her being. And now that he was gone, the spark between her and Keegan had been snuffed out by her grief. Her near-catatonic state had been a way for her to try to avoid dealing with Norr’s loss. But it wasn’t just that—it had also helped push Keegan away. The last thing she wanted right now was for him to think she was interested in him in that way.

But he still cares about you as a friend. Quit shutting him out.

She brushed Norr’s words aside; there was a reason she was shutting him out. Jerrod had warned them of a Blood Moon hidden in the night clouds. As far as Scythe was concerned, there was only one explanation: Their quest was going to end soon, one way or another. And she had a strong feeling it would end with blood and death. She knew she was ready to face whatever was to come. But she wasn’t so sure about Keegan. Any feelings he might have for her could make it even more difficult for him.

Or maybe the opposite is true,
Norr’s voice chimed in.
He’s not as strong as you. He’ll need your help and support before this is all over.

“Maybe you’re right,” Scythe whispered. “You were usually right about this kind of thing. But I’m not ready yet.”

Much to her dismay, the voice in her head didn’t answer. Norr wasn’t really there; it was just some small part of her—the part that wanted to make her into a better person—drawing on his memory.

“I miss you,” she whispered as she continued to stalk the perimeter of the camp, wiping a tear away from her eye. “I always will.”

Keegan had no trouble falling back to sleep again—his body was still recovering from the toll of the many miles they’d traveled that day. He knew he was holding Jerrod and Scythe back on their journey to Callastan, so he tried not to complain or show his fatigue. And though Jerrod always seemed to be watching him, by the time they stopped each night he was utterly exhausted.

Even so, once the conscious world slipped away he was surprised to find himself back on the deserted island, standing by the Keystone.

This has never happened before. I’ve had recurring visions, but they come to me night after night. I’ve never had the same vision on the same night!

He could hear the water lapping at the shore in the distance behind him, but his attention was focused on the black obelisk.

Why am I seeing this again? And why doesn’t this vision feel like the others?

He approached the Keystone, as he had before. But instead of reaching out to it, he simply stared. Strange shapes seemed to dance beneath the obsidian surface. Slowly, Keegan circled the obelisk, carefully studying the twisting, writhing shadows.

There’s something deeper here. Something beneath what I can see.

He hadn’t forgotten Jerrod’s warning: Some of the most powerful Seers in the Order’s history had perished trying to find the true source of their visions.

But were any of them touched by Chaos and born under the Blood Moon? Were any of them prophesied as saviors of the entire world? Were any of them able to call upon the power of Daemron’s Ring?

In his dream, the Talisman hung from a thin chain around his neck—just as it did in the real world.

Scythe is right. What good are dreams and visions if they’re nothing but images and scenes we don’t really understand?

Still staring at the Keystone, he reached up and wrapped the fingers of his good hand around the Ring. On a subconscious level, he sensed his sleeping body respond the same way in the real world.

I didn’t notice the Keystone in my other visions. It has to be the key.

Wearing the Ring in real life was dangerous; the Chaos that flooded into him was always nearly impossible to control. But doing so now, in a dream, might let him draw power from the Talisman without the risk of backlash.

He let go of the Ring and fumbled with the clasp of his chain until it came free. Then he placed the Talisman on his finger.

The Keystone suddenly changed from black obsidian to translucent glass, revealing the shifting shapes to be the churning blue flames of the Chaos Sea.

Keegan shuddered, remembering the time Scythe had nearly killed him with an overdose of Chaos root. His mind had been lost in the fires of creation for many days.

But eventually I found my way back. Why can’t I do it again?

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, letting his body fall toward the Keystone. The glass surface shimmered and fell away as he toppled downward, falling through the window and into the swirling Chaos below.

Heat enveloped him, the flames wrapping themselves around his body as he plunged into the depths of the Burning Sea. But his mind remained tethered to the Keystone in his dream—a lifeline he could use to find his way back.

For an instant he teetered on the edge of panic as the flames dragged him down deeper and deeper, but he fought it back with the mental discipline of a true Chaos mage. He’d used the Ring several times; the surge of power when he opened himself up to the infinite ocean of Chaos no longer overwhelmed him.

I am in control. Tethered to the Keystone. My lifeline keeps me safe.

He lost all sense of time as he continued to sink. Around him the heat grew more intense, but he felt no pain. And then the blue flames fell away and disappeared.

He found himself standing on a barren, gray plain beneath an ashen sky, staring at an army of disfigured Chaos Spawn, his tail twitching slightly.

This isn’t my body!

He was no longer a too-thin young man with a missing hand. He stood eight feet tall, on thick legs atop a pair of hooves. The red, scaly skin of his massive arms and chest rippled with muscle, and he felt the weight of giant horns on his head. A pair of enormous wings sprouted from his back, thick and leathery.

He sensed another consciousness brush up against him, something so alien and ancient it caused his mind momentarily to recoil in horror.

Daemron senses the intruder; like an insect crawling along the skin at the base of his skull—a mortal mind, reaching across the Burning Sea to touch his realm.

How is that possible?

Then he senses the spark of the divine, a tiny ember inside the mortal shell, and he knows this particular mortal is one of his Children, born from the ritual two decades ago.

Orath was right; they’ve grown far stronger than I thought possible.

Looking out over his assembled armies, he is careful not to react to the unwelcome visitor. There are rebel spies among his legions, watching him for signs of weakness and vulnerability. He does not want them to know how powerful their enemies have become.

And he does not want the mortal to escape.

Keegan had recovered from his initial shock though he was still awed by what had happened.

I’m inside the mind of a God!

He could feel the unfathomable strength and power flowing through the Slayer—a deep reserve of pure Chaos far greater than anything he’d felt even when using the Ring.

How can we defeat an enemy like this?
Keegan wondered.

A sudden terror gripped him, and he knew it was too dangerous to stay. Reaching for the invisible tether linking him to the Keystone in his vision, he frantically began to pull himself back before he was discovered.

Daemron senses the invader’s flight, and a low growl rises from his throat. He lashes out at the retreating mind with his own, trying to snatch it in his mental grasp. But the trap is sprung an instant too late.

He can feel the mortal’s panicked retreat, fleeing into the obscuring flames of the Burning Sea.

You are not free yet,
he thinks, quickly gathering Chaos.

He lets the power build for several seconds, then lashes out with a single burst, sending his rage shooting into the depths of the Burning Sea and along the path left by a mortal foolish enough to think he could escape the vengeance of a God.

The image of Daemron and his army vanished, swallowed up by the blue flames of the Burning Sea as he climbed back up toward the Keystone.

Across the gulf of time and space he heard a bestial scream, deafening in its fury despite the distance. In response, he felt a ripple in the Chaos that surrounded him. Then the ripple became a wave that picked him up and spun him around.

Another wave hit him a second later, and then another, battering him and tossing him about. Disoriented, it was all he could do to cling to his lifeline as the Burning Sea was racked with a Chaos storm unleashed by the anger of a God.

Above him, he could sense the Keystone drawing closer as he continued to climb.

Almost there! Almost there!

The waves continued to hammer away at him, and he cried out in fear and pain. A second later he breached the surface of the Burning Sea, dangling from his tether above the raging maelstrom of Chaos, the Keystone just above him.

One final wave surged up from the fiery depths, reaching for him like a grasping claw. It hit him with enough force to snap his mental lifeline, and his mind plunged back down into the abyss.