Void Emissary: The Book of the Void Part 1 Page 4

  He felt a small sensation from behind him. He whirled around to see another corpse, a female one, that had its face and chest picked clean. The eyes were gone except those orbs of viscous black in the sockets. An intense, malevolent energy was in them that Pieter felt in a palpable sense. It moved towards him in an ungainly, shuddering walk. He took a step forward and cut off the thing’s head. The head fell, and the body crumpled into nothing. Once the head hit the ground, the top half of some strange slug-like being oozed and wiggled its way from her skull before shriveling up. He looked to the neck and saw the other half of the creature trying to squirm its way out of the corpse.

  “What in the Hells are these things?” He crushed both halves with his boot heel. The thing shriveled and broke into powder when he touched it with his heel.

  He looked around, noticing that several more of the corpses were starting to rise up. He then felt more than heard a similar keening in the background starting to rise. It grew louder and louder until it was echoing in his skull. He tried to push it from his mind, yet it clung to him, shredding at the discipline and calm center that he had worked at for years. The Void bucked and shuddered, threatening to break free from Pieter’s mental control. His hands trembled for a moment. He felt fever begin to prick him. A cold sweat started to run down his neck and bead on his forehead. It chilled him. There was a sudden feeling of power that was just out of reach. He licked his lips, feeling the temptation of the Rift.

  The things were moving closer, there were ten of the corpses shuffling closer and closer. He wasn’t sure how to deal with these things. He cut down one, and two more rose up. Yet, the woman corpse he had decapitated was still. The man’s one-armed body was crawling towards him, one arm reaching out to claw at the snow, gouging furrows to move its bulk towards him. It and nine others moved closer and closer while the keening grew louder and louder. It cut deeper and deeper into his skull, into the calm that surrounded the Void inside of him. He gritted his teeth and surged forward, allowing the anger and rage to fuel his movements for a few moments.

  Anger leads to the Rift, to a well of power and despair. Never let it touch you. It rang false in his head. The feeling of the Rift, even the small taste of it was intoxicating. He felt a red mist starting to cloud his vision.

  The red mist is a final warning. The words weren't his. They were from Master Saheed. He could almost feel the cold anger of his mentor and teacher staring at him. He pushed at the Rift hard, pushing the power and corruption away. He blinked back tears from the sudden cold that invaded him again. He found himself covered in the black ooze that had dripped from the corpses. Twelve patches of dust where the strange foot-long slug creatures showed where they had been cut away from the corpses they had been riding. The corpses of twelve men and women in various states of decay were hacked to pieces around him. He felt a sweeping nausea clutch at his throat. The bile caused his mouth to water, and then he was on his knees, violently vomiting the drink and the small pastries he had had beforehand with Samuel in the ballroom.

  Pieter looked around the carnage that he had caused to the dead bodies, his stomach empty, yet still wanting to purge itself. He took a calming breath, wiped away the bile from his mouth, and stood. He had no idea how much time he had wasted here in the village, yet he had to return to the party and complete his mission. He pushed his thoughts aside. He had to finish up a job. It would be easier than cutting at the dead and those slug things. He filed away the information about those things and would inform his Master about them when he returned to Mars and the Embassy.

  He set a quick pace for himself, allowing a small bit of the Void to enhance his speed to get to the castle in less time than it took to get to the village of Emthal. He sensed that something was wrong when he drew closer to the manor house. Something skittered across his consciousness when he was close. A smell that was all too familiar crept onto him as he raced towards the manor.

  Blood.

  There were no sounds coming from the ballroom. With the Void filling his senses, he should be able to hear it. Yet, there was nothing. Only a rich, thick smell. A smell like the one at his own feet. Except, many, many times the stench of death.

  “Sodding hells!”

  Pieter rushed towards the ballroom entrance and saw the dark red of blood on the glass doors. He pushed through the door, seeing a body of some fat noble from the Yven Vassal Family blocking the door, his stomach ripped open, and the peach cloth of his house colors dyed a darker hue. Inside, it was a charnel house. When he entered, new noxious smells hit him. The smell of roasted flesh and the acrid stench of burnt hair. Looking around, seeing the charred bodies here and there, some with swords in hand, many more with weapons peacebound and a hand gripping the hilt of the useless weapon.

  “What happened here?” Pieter shouted out.

  “I was going to ask you the same question,” the voice of Samuel asked from behind Pieter.

  Pieter rounded on his brother. “Samuel, what happened? Where were you?”

  “I was seeing to my duties, brother. You?” Samuel’s face was locked in a scowl. The armless man took stock of the room. “What have you done?”

  “I didn’t do this. I was waylaid by some thieves who—”

  “Thieves waylaid you?” Samuel’s scowl deepened. “How many were there?”

  Pieter stopped, and looked closer at Samuel. His yellow healer-stole was out of place, which wasn’t like Samuel. He looked a little closer, his eyes enhanced by the Void. He could see small splatters of blood on the yellow stole. “What business kept you, brother?”

  “Do not think you can deceive or confuse me, Pieter,” Samuel said.

  “Then where were you?”

  “Some one was hurt and needed help. Stop dodging the questions. What did you do?” Samuel moved closer to Pieter. Pieter sensed the Void embraced by Samuel.

  “I didn’t do this,” Pieter said.

  “Then, who did?” Samuel asked, his voice chilling.

  “Where is Tellish?” Pieter asked.

  “He is not your concern. I am!”

  Samuel lunged forward, and Pieter saw twin tendrils of light emerge from where Samuel’s shoulders were. They took on the appearance of arms and hands much like the ones Pieter remembered, strong and thick hands. One of them shot forward to grab ahold of Pieter.

  Pieter ducked and let the hand sail over him. He rolled to the side, unaware of the gore he rolled in for a moment. He looked at his brother, Void-made hands clenched in rage. “Samuel, what’s going on?”

  “You have become poisoned by your own Rift,” Samuel said. His hands curled into fists and he aimed them at Pieter. “Do not make me do this. I don’t want to hurt you Pieter. Please. Surrender.”

  Pieter touched the hilt of his sword, and Samuel growled, “Pieter, do not—”

  Without a word, Pieter unbuckled it from his belt and flipped the thin sword outward, hilt-first towards Samuel. “I will not fight you, Brother.”

  “I am grateful for that,” Samuel said.

  A moment later, the sword was ripped from Pieter’s hand and Tellish was there, his own thick metal-bound sword crashing down to crack Pieter at the joining of the shoulder and the neck. He fell hard. Yet Pieter still held the Void, and he felt the pain as a distant memory. He stood up and looked at both the Cerberus and at the Healer. “Is this how I am to be treated? As some kind of—”

  He threw himself to the side as Tellish struck out again, trying to catch him in the head. Pieter’s movement sent him sprawling into three advisors of the Larish syndicate, their throats slit open, and he slid on the blood. He pushed himself away from the bodies and flipped onto his back, kicking outward as Tellish roared and lunged forward. With the Void enhancing his strength, Pieter lifted the Cerberi and flung him over and past the three men of the Syndicate and into a thick mass of bodies that looked as though they had been burned by some flame which still licked at their fat-soaked clothes.

  Pieter stood up, his hands up to create a shie
ld of the Void as Samuel struck out with a lash of green flame that struck hard. The shield protected Pieter better than he thought, though the heat still seeped in to the point where he felt his brow grow wet. Even embracing the Void, his body reacted to the intense fire. He pushed forward with his inner Void. Samuel wasn’t ready for his fire to lance back at him, he ducked clumsily to the side as the flame washed over where he was.

  With the two down for the moment, Pieter ran towards the doors of the ballroom, his hand jerking back to will his witchwood sword to him. He felt it land in his hands as he left the ballroom, with the screaming of Samuel echoing behind him. “You will not get away with this, Rifter!”

  Rifter. That was what Samuel had called him. Pieter was struck by the strangeness of what had happened. The ballroom, full of dead. The strangeness of Samuel and Tellish. He knew Tellish hated him for what he had done to the Cerberi, yet, to attack in such a manner. That was not what the Cerberi did. They were guardians of the Healers and Travelers. They never attacked—

  He stopped the line of thinking. Unless they are fighting one of the Rift. A Rifter. “Does he truly think I am a Rifter? Does Samuel truly think that I could do such a thing?” Pieter struggled to catch his breath. He had run from the Thalis compound into the woods. Past where he had fought the men in homespun and black rags. He headed away from the village, towards the city of Thal. He settled against a tree, bracing against it to try to stop his shoulder from hurting. He was not a gifted Healer. He had studied the rudiments of it and did his best. Yet Tellish had struck hard and the only reason Pieter was still standing was because of the Void he embraced. Yet, to hold it for as long as he did was dangerous.

  The Void was his friend and ally, yet to rely on it for as long as he did wasn't something an Emissary did. None, not even travelers held the Void as long to do their travels. To embrace it and stay cocooned in the protection and silence of the Void was to invite a dangerous foe, one’s own subconscious. The Rift. The Emissary taught how to fight and purge it, yet there was always a sliver of it left. Even after the Test. One could never bring themselves into perfect harmony. Near-perfection was what the Emissaries strove for. Anything that was considered perfect wasn't right. There was nothing living that could be perfect.

  Pieter shook off his existential thoughts when he heard something in the distance and the pain flared in his shoulder. The baying of hounds. These were not the normal type of hounds. Sodding hells! He had forgotten, or chose to forget, that the Thalis family was a breeder of the wraith-hound, hounds bred to seek out those who embraced the Void. He pushed himself to his feet, gritting his teeth as he tried to let go of the Void.

  He felt his world spin and his good arm grabbed a low-hanging branch before he blacked out from he pain. He grabbed at the Void again to take away the pain. A little longer, only a little longer. I can get to the port if I go all night.

  He pushed out into the night. The baying of the wraith hounds behind him spurred his movements.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Burning Sail teemed with a full third of the crew of the Osprey and a dozen other merchant ships docking above in the Skyquay. Though it was on the ground, most of those who enjoyed a good mead or home-cooked meal came to the Sail. Kyp, Guy, Flynn, and Duro had come to drink and get something to eat that wasn’t cooked by Alisent. Though Alisent was a decent cook on the Osprey, they wanted something other than salted beets and cod.

  While Kyp finished up the bowl of fish stew, he caught Guy playing with a strange amulet. “What is that?”

  Guy looked at the medallion and smiled, then tucked it way in his tunic. “Something that I would be punished for if the captain ever saw it.”

  Duro looked at Guy. “What do you mean?”

  “It is a token of a bygone religion,” Flynn said with a smirk.

  Guy looked at Flynn. “Oi, do I criticize how you throw the lines?”

  “Often,” Flynn said with a wink. He then set down a tankard in front of Guy. “Peace friend. Yet, even here on Thal it isn’t a good place to be showing that around.”

  “It got away from me,” Guy said, taking the tankard and taking a healthy pull.

  “Right, and the Martyr is fucking the Virgin as we speak,” Flynn said.

  Kyp smiled at his crewmen. His family. He then took a small pull of his own watered ale, wishing they would allow him more than just the watered stuff now and then. “I am a full crewman, ain’t I?”

  “Aye, but when you have the coin, you can buy what you want,” Guy said. “Until then, you have to drink what we give ya.” He then reached out and tussled Kyp’s hair.

  Kyp hated when Guy did that. But, then again, Guy was the closest thing he had to a brother. The four, Flynn, Kyp, Duro, and Guy, had served on the Osprey for most of Kyp’s memory. When he was still toddling around with his mum, he would fetch food trays and bring small things to the crew. Though, few people liked to have a woman on board, even one with a baby, although they enjoyed having the tyke around. At least that was the way Kyp remembered it. He took another sip and listened to the gleeman play her lute, accompanied by her partner with a harp. It was quiet music, the type that didn't belong in a place with rough aeronauts, but he shrugged. They did know how to play “The Farmer’s Daughter,” so he sat back and listened to his fellow crew banter back and forth.

  “What you think the captain’s got up his sleeve for this here planet?” Duro asked.

  Flynn shrugged. “No idea squid boy, captain is kinda tight-lipped about such things. He don't tell the area things—”

  “Shut your gob Flynn, you talk to him all the time.”

  “About my job numbskull. That is what I do, I talk to the captain and tell you all what to do.”

  “Yeah, but you must have some—”

  “Leave it Guy. Ain't nothing I know you don't. Well, when it comes to the captain and why we are here.”

  Guy looked at Flynn. “What you trying to say?”

  “Things you don't know could fill the Imperium College Library. And probably do.” He hefted his tankard and took a drink, looking over the lip at Guy.

  Guy glared at Flynn, the lineman’s right hand flinging the spiral hilt of his goat-foot dagger. “Careful what you say there, Flynn.”

  “Gentlemen, please,” a nervous voice came from the other side of the table. Kyp looked up to see the thin lanky form of Gherald, the boatswain. “There is no need for this kind of rancor. Have another drink, on me.” He set down a stack of black iron-trade coins. “Enjoy, please.”

  Guy eyed the boatswain. “Why you being nice to us, Gher?”

  “It is Gherald. And, I wish to make sure my fellow crewmen are taken care of. They are the only family I have.”

  Kyp didn't like what the scaly Ganymite was doing. He never had. The thin Ganymite eyed Kyp and gave him a smile, one than was full of teeth that stood out very white in dark red gums. “And, you, young man. Do enjoy some food. At my expense, of course.” His mechanical eye stared at Kyp, giving the youth a queasy feeling.

  The boatswain turned before Guy or Kyp could refuse him. He walked off, much like a stork, except clad in black trappings that made Kyp shiver thinking he was some sort of death stork that stalked the ship.

  “He’s an odd one,” Guy said.

  “You don't know the half of it,” Flynn said. “He likes to make sure that the crew is fed and well drunk. Then, he likes to get into fights and demand help from his ‘family’ since in his culture, feeding you once makes you part of his clan.”

  “Where is he from?”

  Guy shrugged. “Don't know. It is what he says and he keeps the liquor flowing and the food coming. If we have to get bounced around a bit by the civil militia for causing a ruckus once and again, I’m fine with it.”

  Flynn looked at his fellow linesman. “You have a soft-boiled head, you know that Guy?”

  “Shut your gob, Flynn.” Guy stood and smashed down his cup so hard it cracked. “I’ve had enough of your—”

  Flyn
n held his hands up. “Peace, cuz. Peace.”

  Guy glared at Flynn, looked around and shouted at a bar wench to come and give him another ale. When she delivered, he took it down and ordered another. He then tossed all five of the trade coins to her. “And keep it coming.”

  “And, some food, when you have a moment,” Flynn whispered to her as she passed. She smiled and bobbed her head and went on her way.

  “Such grace for a—”

  Kyp kicked Guy under the table and gave him a warning glance. “Shhh, why do you antagonize him?”

  “He’s family,” Guy said before ruffling Kyp’s hair again, a bit rougher than last time. “It is what I do.”

  Kyp was about to say something when a lank man in black burst into the common room of the inn. He was panting, and his black hair was plastered on his face. “Help,” he croaked before falling onto the ground.

  Kyp looked at the man and felt a strange connection to him, though he wasn’t sure how. He was out of his seat and coming to his side before Guy or Flynn could grab him. He drew closer and saw the rest of the inn pulling away, leaving Kyp and the unconscious man in a wide circle. Kyp knelt beside him, touching his neck. It was blazing hot. “He has a fever,” he said. He looked around and everyone’s eyes grew wide as he touched him.

  “What? Why are you all staring?”

  “Kyp, get away from him,” Guy hissed. He moved a bit closer, breaking the circle, yet didn't draw nearer. “He’s an Emissary,”

  “And?” Kyp asked. He then looked down and saw the witchwood sword and realized the coat was of the unusual cut that the Void Emissary wore. “He’s hurt. He’s—”