Resurrection (Book Three of the Soul Forge series)

“Do you ever shut up?” Vel muttered through gritted teeth, scowling at Bennigan’s towering form. “All you’ve done since we got here is talk.”

“I have to do something to distract me from the awful sound your bones are making,” Bennigan shrugged.

“I mean you could leave.”

“And do what? Neither of us can read Angelic or demonic.” He gestured to Clover standing beside him. “Without you to translate, time in the library is a waste.”

“If you have to stay then shut up,” the demon snapped. Fennix located another badly set bone and re-broke it with a snap. Vel’s head tipped forwards against the pain ricocheting through the entire limb and down his spine. In the sudden absence of distracting chatter, the silence only seemed to intensify the pain. “On second thoughts, talk away,” he groaned.

“Almost done,” the old healer stated, snapping another bone like a twig. “It’s a shame I can’t splint them.”

“Would splinting mean less snapping?” Vel gritted.

“Yes. Unfortunately, we are dealing with a wing, not a finger. Splinting is not an option.”

“Yippee.” He braced himself against more breaks and turned his thoughts to Elda and Ember. Without his magic, the bonds he had with them rang hollow. It was uncomfortable, and alongside the absence of power and the abrupt loss of his ability to fly, it was downright unbearable.

“Done,” Fennix announced eventually. “You should soak this immediately in a salve bath. But do not move the wing.”

“And how do I walk to my bath without moving it?” Vel frowned.

“With great care, obviously.”

“I can’t hold it up, Fennix. It’s going to drag behind me.”

The healer frowned, then snapped his fingers at Bennigan. “You! Hold this.”

“You want me to carry his wing?” Bennigan asked.

“No, you’re going to take measurements so I can crochet a personalised sling for it,” the old Healer replied, acid dripping from his words. “Of course you’re going to carry it!”

Vel bared his teeth. “If you lay one hand on me, you will lose it.”

“Vel, you need help,” Clover sighed. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Fuck this.” The Soul Forge gritted his teeth and tensed his shoulder blades, pushing past the pain shredding his muscles. Fennix folded his arms across his ancient chest, one grey brow quirking up towards his thinning hair.

The wing felt like an anvil on his back, its weight straining the injured flesh, muscle and bone, but it moved. Just an inch at first, then another, and another, until it was stretched out to its full extension. Vel closed his eyes, remembering being gutted by Cynthia and not being able to scream. This was nothing. He could handle this pain.

“Keep it steady,” Fennix instructed, the anger gone from his tone. His wizened hands traced the feathers gently, making sure each delicate bone was still in the right place before gently folding it inwards so it was tucked against Vel’s back. “Can you hold it there?” The demon nodded. “Go, before you can’t hold it any longer. The salve bath should help but you must completely submerge the wing.”

An hour later, Vel retreated to rest and Sypher was dried and unbandaged, managing to keep his damaged wing tucked close to his shoulder blade without the need for supports. It hurt, but the ache had lessened from a deafening cacophony to a dull roar thanks to the salve.

“You managing to concentrate alright?” Bennigan asked, cocking an eyebrow at the Soul Forge hunched over a pile of books.

“I’m managing just fine, thank you.”

“You’re more polite now.”

“I know.” In the back of his mind, Vel grumbled something about the book keeper making eyes at his wife.

“Did I offend you earlier?”

“You offended Vel,” Clover snorted. “Sypher’s more level-headed.”

“Who’s Sypher?”

“I am,” the Angel replied.

Bennigan blinked. “But you’re Vel.”

“And Sypher.” He closed the book he was reading and set it aside, reaching for the next one on the stack. “My soul is split in two. I’m the Angelic side. Vel is the demonic side. We exist as two separate consciousnesses in one body. He took offence to you flirting with Elda when you first met.”

The giant book keeper frowned. “I backed off when she told me she was married.”

“Demons don’t do logic, Benny,” Clover chuckled. “They’re territorial.”

“And you continued to flirt with her once you arrived,” Sypher added mildly, flicking through the pages and finding nothing of use.

“It’s harmless flirting,” Bennigan flashed a smug grin, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.

Vel surged forwards and bared his teeth, snapping the book shut. “And if it continues, you’ll return to Valdren in a box.”

Bennigan grinned. “Unless she decides she likes me more.”

Clover almost dropped his book. “Do you want to die?”

“Naw, I’m just teasing. You should learn to take a joke, Vel.”

“I don’t joke about Elda,” he warned, a snarl creeping into his voice. The book keeper swallowed, his eyes flickering to Vel’s double fangs. “Back off, unless you’d like to find out how territorial I can be.”

“Point taken.”

Clover looked between the two of them, settling on Bennigan with a deep ridge between his sandy brows. “You’re insane. You know that, right?”

“I just like testing boundaries,” Bennigan grinned, his jovial demeanour returning immediately.

“Stop testing mine,” Vel grumbled, retreating enough to let Sypher share the space again. Some of his anger sapped away, replaced by the calm reasoning of the Angel soul. He let out a slow breath and reached for a black, leather journal bound with twine.

It felt familiar in his hands. He turned the first page and stopped. In the corner was an Angelic symbol - a signature - that he never expected to see in this lifetime. Malakai’s name.

“You okay?” Clover asked.

“This journal.” He spoke directly to Bennigan. “Is this the one Elda picked up in your bookstore?”

“Looks like it.”

“It was written by Malakai,” he murmured, running a finger over the ink. “Before he became whatever the fuck he is now.”

The pair moved closer to peer at it, waiting for him to peruse the pages and enlighten them. The text started in Angelic, but as the pages progressed, the neatly penned Angelic script morphed into sharp, jagged runes. The Soul Forge could see the descent into madness scribbled into every word on the page. It left an odd weight in his chest, watching his once intelligent, compassionate, kind brother take a backslide into utter insanity. Eventually, no Angelic language remained, and the book became a collection of disjointed ramblings.

In the centre was a hand-drawn image of the monolith in Shade, and the surrounding pages focussed on the runes carved into its surface.

When Malakai left Iliria before its fall, he’d made his way into Shade. It had been a barren, rocky wasteland before he arrived, home to a few demons, but no more dangerous than any other part of Valerus. He’d stumbled upon the ruins of an ancient city, and within them he found the monolith.

From what could be gleaned from the journal, the proximity had driven Malakai mad, beginning with the first touch of his fingertips to the stone and ending in the complete corruption of both the Angel and the monolith.

He changed the structure so completely that it began to syphon power from the land around it. The monolith redirected that powere into him, twisting him into the creature Valerus dubbed the Demon Lord.

The consequences of such a perversion of magic took the form of deep ravines filled with roiling lava cracking open the province of Shade like veins. From them spilled hordes of twisted creatures. Creatures Malakai realised he could control if he used the right runes.

The rest of the pages went on to describe all the different ways he’d managed to manipulate the ancient magic and its language, until the Soul Forge sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening. He read the last paragraph on his current page, then read it again. On the third pass, a prickle of unease skittered down his spine.

“We have to get to Mulvenny,” he muttered.

“You can’t go anywhere in your current state,” Clover argued.

“If we don’t go now, they’re all dead.” The Soul Forge stood, both halves of his consciousness in complete agreement. “I know where the bodies are going.”

“Bodies?” Bennigan asked.

“The bodies of the people in Bratus vanished. The bodies in Mulvenny have done the same. I know why, and if we don’t go now we might be too late. Are you coming with me, or am I going alone?”

Clover and the book keeper shared a look. “Of course we’re coming with you,” they said together.

“But you can’t even run with that wing, let alone fly on the back of a dragon,” Clover pointed out. “Let me bind it for you now that the salve has sorted out the fine bones.”

“Fine,” Sypher muttered, “but be quick.” Clover nodded and stepped back into the shadows, reappearing a minute later with a roll of bandages in his hands. The Soul Forge stood still while Clover wound the bandages over his tailored tunic, setting the wing securely against his back.

The moment he finished, Sypher was running. Every footfall was agony, but he didn’t slow his pace until he was out of the castle and skidding to a halt in front of Ember cleaning her claws in the courtyard.

Nirehni, you should not be running.

“The situation calls for it,” he replied, stopping a nearby soldier to take his standard issue sword from its sheath. The soldier opened his mouth to protest, but one look from Sypher silenced him. “Elda and the others are in danger.”

The dragon shot him a reproachful look. You can’t fly like this.

“I’m not leaving them to die. Don’t make me take a horse there, Ember,” he pleaded.

Her large black head tilted. Fine, she huffed. But if you never fly on your own again, you have only yourself to blame.

“I’d cut my wings off if it meant keeping Elda alive.” He climbed up her back with practiced ease, settling in the hollow between the spines at the base of her neck. Clover stole the sword of a second soldier and seated himself behind Sypher. Ember wrapped one large, taloned paw around Bennigan and took off, ignoring his startled yell.

Enlighten me, Nirehni. Why are we winging our way across Valerus when you are half dead?

“I’m not half dead,” he replied. “And the bodies we thought were gone aren’t actually gone. They were hiding.”

Hiding? she echoed.

“Yes. Elda and the others have walked into a village teeming with the undead. If Malakai’s journal is correct, one bite, even a scratch will kill them, and their bodies will be bound by the rune controlling the dead.”

You mean they will become like the rest? Even Cain?

“Yes.”

Ember let out a roar that rattled the skies and beat her massive wings, pushing herself to her top speed in a few powerful strokes. Air heaved in and out of her lungs, but she didn’t let up even when steam started to rise from her scales. Heat radiated from her, warming her passengers in the brutal wind.

The gale ripped at Sypher’s uninjured wing, trying to fling it outwards like a sail, and he was glad he’d allowed Clover to bind the damaged one. Had it been loose, it would have been damaged beyond any hope of repair.

The smell of death rose up in a wave so thick that Ember’s flight faltered. She changed course so she was upwind of the stench and descended in a wide circle, surveying the dead village below.

Nirehni, she said, her voice shaky in his mind. They are everywhere.