Summoned Chaos (2 page)

The youth spun around. “It’s our job to make decisions in the field, right? Well, you told them the rift is getting worse and recommended we close it. Doesn’t it bother you that they’re questioning your authority as team lead?”

“That’s not the point. The Council has final authority on the matter. An Elder gave the order, so we obey it.”

“The Council isn’t out here, man,” the kid said, rolling his eyes. “We are. A bunch of desk-jockeys don’t know the situation better than—”

The roar that echoed off the distant trees drowned out the rest of the kid’s sentence. Everyone flinched and reached for their weapon. We all looked at one another, then turned to the rift.

“What the hell is
that?
” Alistair asked, his eyes wide as a leathery arm reached through the rift. It gripped the ethereal edges, then tore the portal open. Our reality exploded like an artillery round and a shockwave flung us onto our backs. I gasped for air as I struggled to rise, but paused when the intruder shoved itself fully onto our plane of existence.

Over ten feet tall, the beast had dozens of green “feet” that extended up a long, thick stalk. The flailing vines were covered in leaves and spines. The head, which was the only way to describe it, had five large pink petals surrounding a central node that contained red eyes and a mouth filled with long, sharp thorns.

“You have
got
to be kidding,” I said, my palms sweaty despite the frigid air coming from the rift.

The gigantic flower cocked its head, then bellowed as it charged.

“Spread out!” Arbent shouted, leaping out of the way as the creature snapped its leafy arms in our direction. Everyone dove for the ground as a handful of spines slammed into the trunk of a solitary oak nearby. The tree shuddered and the bark around the green shafts shriveled and died.

Arbent was the first to recover. “Helga and Alistair, take up flanking fire on the right. Mick, you’re with me on the left. Marcus, time to disobey orders. Seal the rift while the rest of us take this thing down!” He slipped off his backpack and tossed it to me.

“You got it, boss!” I replied, catching the bag, but he was yelling at the kid who seemed to be struggling to launch a decent spell. Leaving Arbent to babysit, I ducked beneath a spine-covered arm and sprinted towards the rift.

The cold flowing out of the oval was startling, but I pushed it from my mind as I dove into Arbent’s pack. In addition to food bars and first-aid kits, the main pouch was stuffed with all sorts of goodies designed to close the gap. After countless trials and errors, the Wizards and Witches at R&D determined that the only way to close a door to our reality was with elementals unique to our plane of existence. Their field tests showed that raw, organic items worked best. As such, each rift team was required to carry as much “earthly” material as they could. Arbent’s bag was packed with spring water, rocks, dirt and a few items I didn’t recognize.

Unfortunately, our rift was more powerful than anything the R&D kids had theorized. It was anyone’s guess as to how well our trinkets would hold up against something so large and unstable.

There was only one way to find out.

I grabbed the first thing I could get my hands on—a large chunk of iron ore. Gripping it, I focused my Skill, willing some of my power to infuse the rock. Having learned my lesson during my first rift closure, I was careful not to dump too much too quickly. Instead, I eased my Skill into it until it nearly vibrated with power. Satisfied, I heaved it towards the pulsating oval.

The chunk of ore spun through the air, then exploded in a shower of sparks as it crossed through the rift’s opening. The intensity of blue around the edges faded slightly while something on the other side wailed in pain.

On our plane of reality, the murderous flower howled as well, then spun its grotesque head toward me. One of its petals was singed and it was missing part of a leafy arm. Yet despite its injuries, it showed no signs of slowing down. The eyes narrowed and it bared its thorns. Venom dripped from the tips as the beast bellowed at me.

My knees turned to jelly. Common sense screamed for me to flee, but I was grounded by the reality that the only thing standing between our world and this rampaging creature was the small sack of goodies.

And the idiot holding them.

Operating more on instinct than anything else, I removed the top to a small bottle of spring water, added my Skill, and flung the contents onto the simmering rift. The tear constricted with a screech that was echoed once again by our attacker.

I reached into the bag a third time, but was forced to dive out of the way as one of the leathery arms flipped a handful of spines at me. They narrowly missed, but one imbedded into the pack. It quivered as white venom leaked all over the canvas.

The arm came at me again. I jerked the bag upward intercepting two more spines. The impact jarred my teeth and I stumbled sideways, away from the rift. I tripped, landing hard on my butt. Thankfully the ground was soft.

Before I could recover, the creature charged. I rolled, expecting to be crushed beneath a root-foot, but the flower never even gave me a second glance. Instead, it thundered past me, trailing burning leaves and white sap. It screamed as another spell hit it, then vanished through the rift.

“Get that thing closed, now!” Arbent boomed as he and Helga struggled to douse the fires from their spells. The flames were spreading quickly, having already consumed one of the massive hay bales nearby.

“I’ll help!” Alistair shouted, racing to my side. He hauled me to my feet and we both turned to the rift. The cold pumping out of it stung my face and hands. In the distance of the other world, the hazy image of another flower, one much larger than our previous attacker, began to take shape.

We stared in horror. The creature that had torn up our reality was just a baby. This was its Mama.

And she was pissed.

I handed the kid a stack of earthly crap. “Speak the words, then toss these at the rift.”

He nodded and we both formed the spell, then hurled our objects at the opening. Mine exploded on contact in a shower of sparks that pulled the edges together a few inches. Alistair’s, however, barely fizzled.

“Come on!” I snapped. “The element has to be infused with Skill for it to work.”

“I’m
trying
.” Frustration marred his fresh face.

Anger and panic swelled inside me. “Well, try more successfully.”

We threw object after object at the rift, filling the air with the scent of burning ozone. Despite our efforts, Mama was bearing down on us faster than we were closing the portal.

What we needed was an atomic bomb of an element. Something so unique to our plane that it did not, or could not, exist elsewhere. Something...human.

I drew my sword and slid the blade across my forearm before I could talk myself out of it. As my blood dripped to the ground, I held my arm over the metal. My life force splattered on the steel causing the strange etchings that ran up and down the blade to glow. Several more droplets and the sword exploded with scarlet light, humming with power.

Remembering what had happened to the cows, I approached the rift cautiously.

“Please don’t turn me into hamburger meat,” I muttered as the arctic winds washed over me. I took a breath, then stabbed my bloody sword into the center of the deadly window.

Electricity rocketed up my arms as my Skill rushed into the portal. The edges of the rift raced toward my blade while thin tendrils of energy wrapped around it like boa constrictors. The connection flooded me with otherworldly strength.

A presence appeared in the rift. It was nothing more than a shadow that faded quickly when I turned my senses on it.

“Anytime now!” Helga shouted.

As much as I wanted to chase after the strange presence, there were more important matters to attend to.

I eased my sword toward the right edge, dragging the energy with it. There was a flash as the two points connected and the humming lessened.

“A little help here,” I said to Alistair as I stitched together another portion of the rift. He pricked himself with a knife and wiped the blood over the large end of his staff.

Using our weapons like a paintbrushes, we swept them across the rift again and again, weaving energies like mystical sutures. Several of Alistair’s attempts failed to stick, so I doubled my efforts to make up the difference.

As if we needed additional motivation, the Mama Flower appeared through the haze of the other reality and charged. I waved my sword several times in a mad dash to create as many connections as possible. Realizing there was no way to close every hole in time, I grabbed Alistair and hurled the two of us to the side a heartbeat before the beast connected with the rift. Reality bowed toward us as our magical stitches strained to contain the beast.

Thankfully, they held.

Unfortunately, the connections weren’t enough to stop everything from transitioning into our reality. As Alistair and I attacked the rift once more, spines flew through the openings like bullets from a machine gun. I manipulated the air in front of me into the shape of a wedge, deflecting most of the smaller spines. Next to me, Alistair did the same, but he cried out as one punched through his spell and embedded into his shoulder. The color drained from his face and he crumpled to the ground.

I reached for him, realizing too late that I’d lost my concentration on the spell. Something slammed into my chest, lifting me off my feet. I landed hard on my back, dropping my sword on impact.

I struggled to find both my breath and my sword. I lay on my back, fighting for air as the enormous beast furiously clawed at the rift. One of the stitches popped and a leathery arm reached through the opening. It arced toward me with lightning speed, but recoiled as Arbent stepped in front of me and drove his bloody staff into the center of the opening. The explosion of light was blinding as he dragged his staff to make a connection between the edges.

Helga appeared at his side, shoving her equally empowered staff into a gap as well. On the far side, the cries of the enormous flower faded as the duo slowly sutured the doorway together for good. The moment the rift closed, Arbent was by my side.

“You’ve been hit. Stay still.”

“I’m fine,” I wheezed, yanking the spine out of the Kevlar vest underneath my ripped jacket. There would be some bruising, but it was insignificant compared to the alternative.

I struggled upright. “Alistair?”

“He’s in rough shape,” Mick said from a dozen yards away as he worked furiously to keep the kid alive. The wound was a deep purple and weeping yellow pus. Alistair was motionless.

I wanted to do something for him, even if it was nothing more than offering words of comfort. But try as I might, I couldn’t find my voice around the lump in my throat. Alistair was a cocky, underpowered tool, but he’d stepped up when it counted.

Maybe we’d all misjudged him.

Maybe he’d die never knowing he’d proved us wrong.

Desperate to maintain my composure in front of the team, I tore my gaze away from the kid and surveyed the scene of the battle instead. Severed flower limbs and singed petals littered the field while the venomous, white sap slowly ruined the ground it touched. Flames had all but consumed the nearby bales of hay, filling the skies above with smoke. In the distance, the farmer cursed at us like a sailor.

And every member of my team was bloodied in some way.

The only success from the incident was the closure of the rift, which was healing nicely. Then again, we’d specifically been ordered to keep it open, so it was only a partial victory.

“Oh man,” I said, staring at the destruction. “The Council is going to be pissed.”

Chapter Two

A Good Time at the Old HQ

Pissed was an understatement.

“You deliberately disobeyed orders,” the ancient woman declared in an accusatory tone. “
My
orders, in fact. Why?”

I took a sip of water, hoping the cool liquid would soothe the frustration that was knotting up my innards. Or, at the very least, lessen the pounding in my head.

It didn’t.

“Warlock Shifter,” someone else interjected. “Please answer Elder Rancin’s question.”

I set the glass down, then gazed up at the men and women on the raised dais. Each represented a sect of the Skilled community. I recognized Wizard Pell from Research, as well as three Healers from the medical branch. The rest of the inquiry board was comprised of a Hunter I’d never even heard of and half a dozen familiar faces from my own specialty—Combat.

The pair of Elders at the center, however, represented the worst sect of all. The one filled with professional buzz-kills.

Diplomacy.

I didn’t care much for the Elders. Whereas most of the Skilled saw the men and women with ultimate power and control of the Council as demi-gods, I saw arrogance. Yes, the Elders were the elite when it came to power and knowledge, but they didn’t get their hands dirty or bloody. They ran the Skilled from the comfort of their cushy offices and huge mansions, completely detached from the struggles of day-to-day life

Of all the Elders, Rancin was easily my least favorite. Cold and haughty, her only redeeming quality was the fact that she’d spearheaded the Reformation Treaty between the Skilled and the Normals twenty years ago.

My dislike of her was compounded by the fact that she’d been riding me since the day I’d walked through the doors of HQ seven months ago. Most of the Elders didn’t give me the time of day—no doubt too busy ruling with absolute power—but Rancin treated me as if I’d kicked a box of puppies or something. And nothing I did, not even successfully closing a damn rift or defending my friends and teammates, seemed to make a difference.

“We disobeyed the order because we had no other choice,” I finally replied, struggling to keep my voice calm.

Rancin waved a hand dismissively. “You’ve already said that.”

I bristled at her flippant tone. “Well, apparently you didn’t hear me because that’s the third time you’ve asked me that stupid question.”

Elder Rancin darkened. “Watch your tone, young man. You are already treading on thin ice and the fact that a weak Warlock like Alistair Monroe was injured does not help your case. That child’s limitation,” she added, glaring at the entire inquiry board, “is something that I demanded we talk about before an event like this happened.”

The Elder next to her, an easygoing man named Watkins, who didn’t fit the mold of anal-retentive Elder jerk, placed a hand on her arm.

“Not now, Linda,” he said in a low voice. Then to me, “Our apologies, Warlock Shifter. It’s late and everyone is tired. But surely you can appreciate the severity of the situation. You were given explicit instructions not to tamper with the rift in question, yet you did.”

I rubbed a hand over my face, hoping to wipe away the weariness. “We were attacked. By something that decided to chew up our plane of existence. Seeing as how the purpose of our team was to, you know,
not
allow that to happen, it seemed like the right call.”

“This board certainly appreciates the severity of the situation,” Watkins replied, weariness showing on his own face. “But what if you were the aggressors in this scenario? According to your statement, the creature that crossed into our plane was an infant. What if it was simply lost and scared?”

Dammit. Good point.

“Doesn’t make it any less deadly,” I retorted. “It’s not like we had the option of negotiating with it. It crossed over and attacked. My team was barely able to chase it back through the rift. Then its mother arrived and she was pretty clear with her intentions.”

Watkins offered a weak, but genuine smile. “Marcus, please try to see this from our perspective. We know nothing about these rifts except that they are a threat to everyone—Skilled and Normal. We need to study them in order to protect humanity as a whole. By denying our researchers access to that rift, you jeopardized more than just the lives of the next team sent to close one.”

“Not to mention,” Rancin added, “these are rifts that you had a hand in creating.”

“I simply had a hand in closing them.” Anger joined the weariness in my bones. “The nut-jobs who attacked my family created the rifts.”

And someone here was protecting them
, I wanted to say.

The attack had been fairly straightforward. A bunch of Doomsday morons referring themselves the Agents of Quaos assaulted the Homestead in search of Hexcalibur. A legendary sword of curses, it had been under lock and key in the family vault. It might have stayed there for good had I not been manipulated by the Quaos leader, a young man calling himself The Conduit, into giving him exactly what he wanted. He used Hexcalibur to tear open the fabric of our reality, creating the rifts, and he may have succeeded in bringing about a global war had I not driven the sword through his chest. With his death, the rifts closed.

At least, temporarily.

In the aftermath of the attack, Dad and I realized that only the upper echelon of the Council knew the contents of the vault. That meant any of the Elders or senior Councilmembers was suspect. Dad convinced me to act as his spy, keeping tabs on the Council under the guise of serving as an analyst for the rift repair teams. Sadly, my investigations hadn’t uncovered a single lead. Which meant the culprit was still at large.

Maybe even on this inquiry board.

“The semantics do not discount the fact that you
were
involved,” Rancin said. “And now one of your teammates is hospitalized. That is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

Frustration and exhaustion clawed at my shoulders. I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table. The wood was old, but polished to a shine. Various nicks appeared in the surface which made me wonder how many weary defendants had sat in judgment over the years.

I stared at the table. “How many?”

Watkins cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”

I looked up once more, glaring at the board. “How many people have died trying to close these rifts?”

Confused faces stared back at me.

“I’m not sure, exactly,” Elder Rancin replied, shifting through a stack of papers before her.

“Five,” I said. “Warlocks Mankin and Jessup, Mage Smith, Healer Stolvik and Witch Heron. Additionally, there’s a man named Mercer from my family’s security detail and several of his comrades, all of whom were killed during the attack at the Homestead. And that’s not counting the Agents of Quaos who died trying to open those rifts in the first place.”

“The attack at your family’s home is not the point of this—” Rancin started, but I held up my hand.

“The
point
, Elder, is that all of those names are etched in my brain because their blood is on my hands. I know very well what my part is in the creation of these things, so don’t try for one
second
to shovel more guilt on me than I’ve already put on myself. I live every day with the knowledge of those deaths. Deaths which you, apparently, can’t be bothered to remember.”

There was ice in my voice and I hoped everyone, especially Rancin, felt it. I barreled on before anyone could react. “But blaming my team for what happened is outright stupidity and you all know it. We reported the energy readings, warned the Council of the dangers, and were then placed on hold because, as you just stated, Elder Rancin, you wanted to study the phenomenon. That order delayed us long enough for a creature to enter our world and attack our team. That order put one of my own, a kid who showed more courage than any of us expected, in the hospital. That order went against the sole purpose of our team’s mission. You ask me, you share as much of the blame for their injuries as any of us. More, in fact.”

Rancin turned a shade of red I’d only ever seen in a box of crayons.

“Careful Marcus,” Pell warned, but I ignored him. I’d gathered too much steam to stop now.

“None of you were there,” I said, my voice rising, “but I was. More importantly, Arbent was. As our leader, he made a tough call. You can play this Monday-morning-quarterback crap all you want, but you know that he did the right thing. And if you’re going to rake us over the coals for supporting him, then each and every one of you can go straight to Hell!”

The board stared in stunned silence as I stood and marched down the center aisle of the chambers.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Elder Rancin demanded, finally finding her voice. “This panel is not finished with you!”

I paused at the double doors. “Well, I’m finished with you. Obviously you all have made up your minds, so this is just a waste of time. And to answer your question,” I added, kicking the meeting room doors open, then stepping into the hallway, “I’m going to get a drink.”

* * *

“Marcus Shifter, are you an idiot?” Quinn asked.

Sitting on the hard, wooden bench, I rubbed my temples with one hand, trying to soothe the headache that thumped behind my eyes. A side effect from using too much Skill, it had been bearing down on me with a vengeance and hit its full stride when I stormed out of my inquiry board. It was doubly painful when coupled with the ache in my left hand. I stopped rubbing my temples and stared at the small scars on my palm.

“Probably,” I said into the phone.

Man, I wished she was there. Or my folks. Someone I could lean on.

“You finally start making headway with the Council and then you tell them to go to Hell? You don’t say that to Elders, Marcus, and you certainly don’t storm out on them.”

I flexed my palm. The dull ache slowly faded.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Quinn sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I can think of a few things.” I wanted it to sound flirtatious, but I was so tired that it simply came out half-hearted.

She
tisked
in annoyance. “Seriously, Marcus, going against orders is one thing, but verbally attacking the Elders is another.”

“Sometimes a nobody like me needs to stand up to their autocratic sense of leadership.”

“Or it might be a quick end to a short career.”

That stung. “My father is better at this political garbage than I am.”

“That excuse may have worked when you were a freelancer,” she countered, “but you’re working for the Delwinn Council now. You need to learn how to maneuver within those walls.”

I glanced through the window on the far side of the hall, watching as the moonlight danced on the rosebush outside. Located in the heart of Washington, D.C., the “new” headquarters of the Delwinn Council was more industrial and less aesthetic than our previous location. Granted, burying ourselves deep in the old woods of England had been an act of self-preservation, but the reformation of the Skilled and Normal societies two decades earlier removed the need for us to operate in secret. The majority of the Elders felt that setting up shop in D.C. would benefit our people in the long run—we could help shape future policies hand-in-hand with some of the most powerful Normal leaders. So despite the complaints of many, the Council left its ancestral home in order to plant roots in the heart of the most bureaucratic city in the world.

Having lived my whole life in the States, I’d only seen pictures of the old headquarters building, but the images were stunning. Large trees towered over the modest, brick castle while rows of wildflowers and vegetables lined the walk to the enormous front doors.

Staring at the stark, white light bleeding into the hallway, I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d lost a piece of ourselves with transition.

But whether or not the Council had become more bureaucratic with the move didn’t negate the fact that if I wanted to stay employed with them, I’d need to learn how to play by their rules.

“You’re right,” I said, feeling defeated. “I just hate it.”

“Well buck up and grow a pair,” Quinn replied. “Life is tough and sometimes you have to do something you don’t enjoy because the long-term payoff is worth it. You may not like the Council, but you have a rare opportunity to develop some powerful contacts. Besides, no one ever died from being nice to people every once in a while.”

“I’m always nice.”

“To your loved ones, yes. To the bureaucrats at HQ, no. You’re a terrible actor and a worse liar. Your disdain is easy to read.”

I frowned. “They haven’t exactly bent over backward to make me feel welcomed.”

Today or when I’d returned from my self-imposed exile.

Years ago I was as cocky as I was powerful. In my quest to prove I was worthy of the Shifter name, I’d accidentally summoned a Hellcat that killed a lot of my loved ones. In the wake of the devastation, I’d walked away from my training and the Skilled community as a whole, opting to live like a Normal. No magic, no short-cuts. But when I finally decided to stop running from my problems and return to my people several years ago, there was no ticker-tape parade welcome. Whether it was because they felt betrayed or because I’d turned my back on the traditions they held so dear, the Council, and many of my peers, turned their backs on me as well.