Before the Crow Read online

  “He sets his monster against us, just as he did the others,” Teague growled, and his men stood grim and ready, their swords held out before them.

  Roman felt it a heartbeat before it happened, like his body was split down the middle. The Ifrit’s form glowed bright, as its skin cracked and loosed forth some of the heat constrained within, then, from the dark depths of its body, unfurled two massive, shadowy wings. The wings opened up and spanned from wall to wall, effectively blocking Roman from everyone else.

  A horrible roar split the air, anger piercing his body as one of Teague’s men came forward. The man’s sword slashed hard against the Ifrit’s hardened flesh. But then he flew off to the side and crashed into a chest of drawers against the wall. Another soldier cut in right after his fellow went down, but the Ifrit’s clawed hand swept him off of his feet.

  “No!” Roman screamed, and scrambled to his feet, but the Ifrit turned on him. He stared into the creature’s horrible ashen face. Its eyes glowed with simmering fire. Roman felt something familiar within that fire, like he was looking into his own warped and twisted reflection.

  Pain stabbed into Roman, followed by the Ifrit’s angry bellow. The creature spun about, pulling free from the two swords that had pierced its body. The Ifrit hissed, its breath scorching the air as it scooped up the two men and leapt outside, disappearing through the hole in the wall.

  Roman scrambled forward, dragging himself over the wreckage of the ruined room. He scooped the shattered chair aside and found something soft. His fingers bunched up in fabric, and then hair. Roman spun about and heaved the broken bed out of the way, exposing Dennah’s still form. He grabbed her under the arms and pulled her up. Dennah stirred and fought him, her eyes wide with fear. Teague appeared over his shoulder.

  “Call off your beast!” he shouted, lifting his sword.

  A dark form flashed through the opening in the side of the house. Roman heard Dennah cry out, and everything seemed to fall away as he was enveloped by the creature’s billowing wings. The shadow wrapped around him like a thick fabric, cocooning and swaddling him in its smothering folds.

  Roman could sense Teague beyond the darkness. He could feel the man’s anger, confusion, and fear. He could also feel the Ifrit’s volatile will pressing against his own. The Ifrit repelled, retreating as swords flashed in from multiple sides. They cut into dark flesh, piercing flame and shadow. Roman experienced each cut vividly, as if they pierced his own skin.

  In the next moment the Ifrit seized one of the men. Roman fought and pushed forward, desperate to be free, but the Ifrit’s will was strong. Another blade cut in and Roman felt the Ifrit slam the man against the ground, before tossing him across the room like a rag doll. Roman pushed forward again, straining against the folds of the creature, only this time, he took control…this time he refused to waiver.

  The fabric of shadow split before him, parting like a night to its dawn. He spun free into the light and stumbled to a knee, looking from one pile of rubble to another. He saw Dennah, tucked into a far corner, Teague standing before her.

  Roman didn’t have to turn to know the Ifrit was behind him, he felt it. Rubble stirred at his feet, and one of Teague’s men crawled forth, pulling himself out from beneath the shattered chest. A surge of intense angst passed through Roman, and his hands clenched at his sides.

  The soldiers raised their blades towards him, their faces ashen and streaked with blood and tears. Roman turned as the Ifrit bounded forward, smashing and splintering wood underfoot, but he jumped forward, putting his body between the creature and the injured soldier.

  The monster hissed and tried to sweep him aside with a clawed hand, but Roman refused to back down. He pushed back as the massive fingers wrapped around him, its black and putrid flesh filling his nose with caustic, burning vapors. He fought against the anger and rage flooding into him in that moment. He refused to give in and see anyone else hurt. He needed to be strong. He needed to take control.

  With a frustrated growl, the Ifrit wrapped both hands around him and tried to pick Roman up. And yet, for all its strength, the hulking monster appeared powerless. When every fiber of his being told him the creature could easily cast him aside, to maul him and break his body, another part of him, that strength that he uncovered in the barn, believed a different truth.

  Roman looked to Dennah, and took a small measure of strength as he turned back towards the monster. With more confidence than he had felt in a long time, Roman peeled the monster’s fingers away from him one by one and then pushed its massive hand free. The Ifrit became incensed and pounded the ground with its fist, crushing the remnants of the bed in a shower of splinters and linen.

  “You will not harm them,” Roman whispered into the storm, but the thought bounced around in his mind as forcibly as if he had screamed it. Somewhere deep inside, someplace dark, he felt the Ifrit comprehend his words, and it responded with pure rage.

  Black jaws parted as the Ifrit came forward, a horrible and gut-wrenching sound spilling forth. Roman felt the creature’s will washing over him, both from outside, and within. He directed all of his focus inward, onto that deep, turbulent spot inside, where the creature’s horrible voice echoed loudest. In that place, where the painful and troublesome knot had resided for so long, Roman found a measure of control. The Ifrit loomed over him, its strength and spirit like a mountain bearing down.

  Roman refused to back down, to shy away, or lend the beast strength with his fear. He leapt forward and grabbed ahold of the simmering creature by its thick wrists, and pushed. He pushed as hard as he could, and with a growl of his own, started to heave the creature back.

  The brittle flesh cracked and broke under his grasp, allowing the foul smelling fire trapped inside to spill onto his hands and wrists. With an ear splitting bellow, the Ifrit wrenched its claws free and moved to sweep Roman aside, but he ducked low and surged back up strong, propelling the creature away from Dennah and the others. Timbers cracked and floorboards split under the weight as the Ifrit slid backwards, its claws rending the plaster and wood from the walls.

  “Stop!” Roman straightened as the Ifrit resisted, the single, powerful word freezing the beast in its tracks. His mother’s words bounced around in his mind, forming as a gentle song, buzzing longingly in his ears. His insides raged, and on command, his fingers started to tingle. A thought struck in a rush, as if he had known it all along, and for a time, forgotten it. The Ifrit was only real because he had allowed it to be. That somehow, through whatever power death had unleased, he had given the creature flesh and made it real.

  “What is given can be taken away,” Roman growled.

  He could tell by the light in the creature’s eyes that it understood. Roman pushed his hand out toward the creature. The swirling power inside of him grew very hot, then suddenly frigid cold. The air before him shimmered for a moment, and his hands wavered. His vision dimmed but flared bright again as a thin, green trail broke the air between himself and the creature.

  Through the chaos of the storm, the ragged shouts and breathing of those behind him, and his own fractured thoughts, Roman was bathed in the Ifrit’s obsessive desires. It sought souls to burn and crush, to build a new Kingdom of ash and fire.

  He used his hatred for the Ifrit’s brutal nature against it. When it pushed against him again, he was ready. The power surged from deep inside, pulling the Ifrit towards him like an invisible rope. This time, Roman didn’t fight against it, instead, he gave in. His hands shook and the air rippled violently.

  The Ifrit bellowed in surprise and rocked back, the wave of energy breaking its blackened flesh apart as it sent a shower of ash scattering into the air. Roman felt his knees go weak and his body was wracked with pain, as if his own flesh shattered and tore.

  The surge welled again and again, pushing and pulling violence and pain. The spectral trail flashed in the air as Roman’s thoughts snapped together in a single, powerful desire.

  Be gone, he screamed, his thoughts and voice
ringing out with such force that the Ifrit’s body was blasted apart in a cloud of embers and ash. The storm raged in through the hole in the side of the house, whipping up soot and snow in a disorienting vortex of black and white. A bright light flashed through the swirling cloud. It twisted and moved…a flexing, shifting entity of living flame.

  Roman felt a twinge grip him, twisting at his heart as he struggled with the cold realization. His surprise mixed with panic as the strange green trail surged brighter before him. The shifting fire spirit, the Ifrit, in its most basic and volatile form, surged in the air. Roman lifted his hands before him, shutting his eyes reflexively, but the light burned clean through, just as it had before, when he was engulfed by the darkness of death’s smothering embrace.

  The fire surged before and all around him, and then there was only darkness. The heat broiled within him for a labored heartbeat, and then it withdrew deep inside, where it sat, like a sour, festering pit.

  Roman wiped at his face and staggered forward a step. He held his arms out before him as he turned. The heat was already dissipating, but steam rolled off of his body.

  He turned to Dennah, a hand pressed against his belly, and the painful lump radiating deep inside. He caught a glimpse of his friend, pressed against the wall, a blade resting threateningly against her collarbone. He saw only a flash of silver as the pummel of a sword swung in, and everything went dark.

  Chapter 4

  The prisoner inside

  With the keen edge of a blade poised against his throat, Julian expected his end to come from a single and decisive strike. To finally fall into a black nothingness where his pain, and longings, would finally end. But when the warrior shied away, letting the blade of his sword dip ever so slightly towards the ground, it presented only a host of new questions and doubts.

  The pain that nearly split his skull in two brought on the voice. It was quiet at first, barely an echo amidst his chaotic thoughts. Yet it grew louder and more definitive as the moments turned over.

  Julian found that it made little sense in those early moments, as if their thoughts were made of different substances entirely. However, as the throbbing pressure in his head grew in intensity, it became horrifyingly clear.

  The warriors bound Julian’s hands and feet and deposited him at the base of a large and gnarled tree. He could feel the tree’s knots and stubby branches jab into his back. The blindfold was torn and ajar, but still obscured most of his vision, so Julian was left with only his ears to discern what would happen next.

  He could hear the warriors moving around and speaking quietly. For a time, Julian tried to discern who the men were, and what their motivations might be.

  Are they outlaws? Or maybe scouts working for one of the provincial lords?

  Their voices were husky and deep, their tongue oddly guttural, made up of broken, unintelligible words that sounded like gibberish. Yet when he focused in on their whispers, the pain in his head grew and his right eye started to burn.

  They speak of you, of us… the small voice intoned. It echoed around in his mind, cutting through and scattering his frantic theories.

  “How do you know that?” Julian mumbled in response.

  They can hear you. Speak not with your tongue. I can hear your thoughts clear enough, the voice responded, this time a little louder, and with a hint of irritation.

  How do you know what they are talking about? Julian proposed quietly. It felt more than a little awkward.

  His question was greeted by only silence. The camp grew still around him, forcing him to focus more intently on every gust of wind or snapping twig.

  Fear and doubt festered, and only the bitter bite of the mountain wind and the snow’s seeping cold kept him from completely losing his nerves. Once again his eye started to burn and the telltale weight pressed upon his mind.

  They are watching you…studying you, the voice chimed in from the silence. Julian struggled not to jump. He took a deep breath, steadying his frayed nerves, and then another.

  Why are they studying me? What do they want with…us? Julian thought in response. Silence returned and his anger rose, spurred on by fear.

  They are trying to decide what you are, and what to do with you, the voice replied simply, after an almost intolerable silence.

  Julian’s thoughts immediately returned to the dark chamber underground. His finger’s tingled and the hair on his arms stood on end as he remembered the strange power coursing through his body. He focused on the ropes binding his hands and ankles together. In response, the voice cut in.

  Yes, you felt my power. But it won’t work…we are too weak.

  Julian digested that news and felt the weariness that weighed him down. He threw a barrage of thoughts through his mind.

  What were the creatures in the pool? How do you know who these warriors are?

  He could feel the pressure dissipating in his mind even as he bombarded it with questions, and like a serpent coiling in on itself to rest, he sensed the presence go dormant.

  Julian felt the questions swirling around inside, multiplying and compounding with each passing moment. He was having conversations with a voice in his head. Surely he couldn’t trust it. Did that mean that he couldn’t trust himself?

  Beneath all of his doubts and fears he felt the rhythmic pulse of Tanea’s heartbeat, the lone, shining beacon of light amidst the sea of darkness churning inside him.

  Julian was cast back towards Craymore. He jerked back and forth as vivid images flashed through his mind. He was soaring above the trees like a bird, his feet just out of reach of the tallest snow covered branches. The landscape passed by in a blur of green and white, but then with sheer force of will he stopped.

  Julian felt his body hovering in the air. The prickly tree branches, jabbing him in the back, were gone, replaced by the blustery swirl of Mt. Bahlman’s buffeting winds. He felt the coiling presence inside unraveling frantically as it forced its tendrils back into his mind.

  The air became thick around him, as if it was gaining substance, and becoming more reality than dream. He used his hands and feet to keep his body from falling, like he was treading water, but the effort grew more taxing with every passing heartbeat.

  They moved into a cloud of yellowish vapor. The dead looking husk of malformed trolls stuck out of the murky soup beneath him. Then they were free of the fog and Julian looked upon Craymore once again. He felt the rope bite into his wrists and ankles as his body jerked and twitched, but he was fully into the vision and would not deny himself.

  He floated over the lower city, the appearance of its sprawling buildings and it’s much needed familiarity only fueling his desperation. The city bustled with activity, like nothing had changed. People filled the streets, moving about on their daily tasks with no knowledge of the danger beneath their feet.

  Julian floated over the massive wall of the Old City. His feet barely cleared the ramparts as archers marched their steady rounds back and forth. They continued on as their eyes brushed over him, and as much as he wanted them to, some part of him knew that they could not see him.

  Julian felt the voice ringing out in his head, but he willed it to be quiet. It coiled around his mind and squeezed. He could feel its fear and confusion, but also its weariness. Julian felt it because it was quickly becoming his own, as if his body was shriveling and breaking down around him.

  He was floating through Bringenhald Square as his heart fluttered. The voice screeched and begged him to stop, but he was too close, he couldn’t stop. The gardens sprawled out around him in every direction. The fountains and decorative trees, many of which still clung to gilded leaves were all cast in a glittering encasement of snow and cascading icicles.

  He was floating toward the large building at the back of the square, he knew what it was, and his determination grew. Julian felt the dark presence of the Nymradic thrashing against his mind, but he could also feel Tanea’s heart beating as strongly as he had ever felt it before. The two forces wrestled against eac
h other, clashing inside of him as he floated inside the building.

  The sanctuary was dark and quiet. He passed a small throng of people grouped around the massive statue. A young man shifted on a bench next to the door behind him, his head lolling from boredom.

  Julian felt the pull grow stronger and he moved forward more quickly. He swung around a corner and through an arched doorway.

  He accelerated down a hallway and a heavy, banded door appeared. Julian wanted to flinch, to retract and protect himself, but then he passed clean through the solid wood, just like a ghost. Julian stopped suddenly, the dueling, swirling forces within his body threatening to tear him in two.

  He became aware of hands gripping him, pulling on him and sawing at the ropes, but he reached out, willing his body to move forward just a little bit further.

  Tanea knelt before him. Her hair was neatly braided and pinned back, and her tunic was clean. She appeared just as he remembered…unchanged from the last time they met, where she begged him to run away with her.

  Her head was bowed and she appeared to be in deep thought, or prayer. A single tear slipped from her closed eyes and rolled down her cheek, before falling from her chin to the floor.

  “Tanea!” Julian yelled, stretching forward, desperate to hold her again. To feel something real, something pure.

  His fingers cut through the air, just out of reach. His shouts died away as his voice was swallowed up by the charged mountain air. His surroundings shifted and changed. The light fluttered and the stout walls of the chapterhouse grew fuzzy, before snapping back to clarity once again.

  Tanea twitched and her head snapped up, as if she heard a noise. Julian could feel his momentum shift. The force that had previously pulled him forward, towards her, was now pushing him back, and away. His fingers cut through the space between them frantically, clawing at the air and just out of reach of Tanea’s arm.