Flight of the Raven Pt. 02

I forced myself to stagger upright, still in a world of pain. I had to get John. We had to go. Now.

I heard Cathy shout something behind me, I had no idea what. I just kept going, picking up speed as I stumbled down the aisle. Eventually I reached the door and gracelessly slid out the bus, landing in a pile on the concrete of the car park.

John looked up from his task and stared in shook and bewilderment at my prone form.

Fighting through the pain I managed to hold on to enough of my mind to articulate one word. "Hurry."

I saw John hastily close the tank's lid and run towards me. The jerry-can was still sloshing about, the sound attesting to its half-full state.

At least he believed me I thought with relief as my vision started to fail. Soon John appeared only as an indistinct, gloomy blur.

"Get him inside, quickly." Was that John I wondered? It sounded like John

I felt arms wrap around me and heard the voice of Tony beside my ear. "I've got you buddy, hang in there Luke."

I would have laughed at the situation if I wasn't in so much agony. I couldn't believe that Tony was carrying me all on his own. I must have been nearly twice his weight. Of course, the world re established its laws of physics when I heard another voice in my ear. "It's okay Luke, You're going to be all right. I promise." That explained things. It wasn't just Tony carrying me but Cathy too.

Everything was right once more. Well, except for the eclipse, the demons and the infernal torment that was mercilessly corroding my sanity.

I was haphazardly carried back to my window seat -- only bumping into a couple of things along the way.

A solid effort I thought as I began to drift off, despite the still intense pain, my head resting on something soft and warm that smelled of peaches. I realised it was Cathy's blouse and smiled, glancing out the window as the sound of the bus roaring to life started putting me to sleep.

Of course, what I saw beyond the glass managed to put an immediate halt on my sleeping plans.

A pair of glowing, red eyes were glaring at me through the window. The pale light from the crimson orbs dimly illuminating the rest of the creatures face: grey, decaying skin, mouldy, rotten teeth, straw-like hair that was crawling with various insects, but the most startling feature was the shape of the head. It was human. It was like looking at a decaying human corpse that just so happened to have red, glowing, baleful eyes.

The face was only there for an instant, but I shuddered regardless, feeling waves of terror course through me at the sight.

As the bus pulled away from the school I slipped once more into the line between waking and sleeping. The twilight between the two realms. I couldn't believe what I had seen. I needed to say it. They needed to know.

"Zombie..." I murmured almost incoherently. Hoping someone would hear me.

I couldn't stay to find out. The pain was too much. My brain was shutting down. I could feel every sense turning off, one by one.

The last feeling I had was of the soft fabric beneath my head, gently cushioning me as I drifted away.

Chapter 5 -- A Mother's Love

Sophie sighed tiredly as she put down her pen. Writing the letter had taken far longer than she thought it would. Not to mention the pain it had caused her to relive those times, but Luke might need her knowledge and if that meant dredging up distressing memories -- then so be it.

She walked from the kitchen, up the stairs and into her own bedroom. Briefly glancing at the clock by her bed informed Sophie that it was now 11 o'clock; she couldn't believe how long she'd been writing for.

There had been a lot to say she realised, not for the first time.

Searching through the drawers beside her bed she eventually found what she was looking for: a small pot of red sealing wax that had been tucked behind various odds and ends she'd picked up over the years.

Sophie placed the letter in a plain envelope with 'Luke' already inscribed on the front and proceeded to heat the wax with a lighter.

She almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. She'd once used this same wax to seal letters to incredibly important people: politicians, influential businessmen, inquisition officers, even royalty -- and now? Now, she was using a disposable, bright-yellow, plastic lighter that had set her back 99 pence to melt the wax. The wax which she would then use to seal a hastily scrawled letter of her life and leave under the bed for her son to find.

How the mighty have fallen Sophie chuckled to herself as she placed the sealed envelope in the large trunk under her bed.

Her humour was short-lived however as she thought of the circumstances that had forced her into writing the letter in the first place.

She just couldn't believe 10,000 years had passed since the last eclipse. All the books she'd studied made it feel like such an ancient event, which it was, but she'd never fully appreciated that the next eclipse would be in her lifetime.

Sophie lay on her bed with her knees to her chest and her head in her hands and did what she promised herself she wouldn't do. She broke down in tears. She cried about her relationship with her son, the distance she'd always kept between them. She bawled about her mistakes and failures in life, she wailed like a baby at the coming eclipse, knowing in her heart that this would be the one. The one they would fail to stop.

Most of all Sophie grieved for her son, she knew the hardships he would face, the struggles, the uncertainty, the pain. She prayed that he would be okay, that he would survive the coming darkness and that he would forgive her. Oh, how she hoped he would one day forgive her.

Sophie used her training to collect herself after she'd had her moment of weakness. She wiped her wet eyes and promised herself that she'd be strong from now on. She would have to be.

She couldn't believe how foolish she'd been. She had spent 18 years running with her son from city to city. New schools, houses, jobs, she'd even used false names to find work, although she had never let Luke find out. He had to go through enough as it was, but after all this, all this care and careful preparation, they'd still found her.

Shuddering, she once again extended her senses and confirmed the presence of six cultists across the street. Sophie was beside herself with worry. They had arrived an hour after Luke left for school, thankfully. She dreaded to think what they would do to her boy if they had found him too.

She knew she couldn't run and so she'd spent her time writing the letter to Luke. Now that was done, and everything that may be of use was secured away and hidden from all but him.

Now she could only wait, she had donned her combat outfit earlier in the morning and had her sword, Light-Bringer, strapped securely to her back. Truth be told, Sophie was getting bored.

Of course, the boredom stretched only for a few seconds before it was replaced by fear as she sensed the cultists moving in.

She checked off everything in her head, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything. She hadn't. Luke would be as prepared as she could make him with the tools at her disposal.

Sophie walked stoically down the stairs into the kitchen, accepting the fate that was before her, before everyone. She sat on a cheap wooden chair and faced the door. Her eyes blazing with the righteous anger of a mother protecting her child. She would have to kill four. No matter what happened she needed to kill at least four. Inquisitors of her strength required two or more powerful psychics to control and she knew Michael would have ordered her brought to him alive, not dead.

If she couldn't kill four then there would be nothing stopping one from remaining to wait for Luke, she couldn't allow that to happen. She smiled devilishly as the men outside reached the door -- she wouldn't allow that to happen.

The door imploded inwards in an explosion of force and fire. Show-offs.

Sophie drew her blade and in the same motion threw it through the gaping hole where the door used to be. As the lead cultist crossed the threshold he swiftly raised his own sword to block the hurtling blade, bracing the sword with his hand.

Sophie could sense the shield around him, it was one of the strongest she'd ever encountered and reminded her of a thick bubble of perspex. Even if he failed to block her blade the shield would probably still deflect it.

Fuck that, she thought with a sneer of contempt as she readied herself to unleash her power.

As the blade reached the cultist's sword Sophie abruptly threw a wave of telekinetic force at the man's arms, forcing them down and opening up a path that would make him a pin cushion -- except this particular pin was bigger than the cushion...

She was a little irked at the unworried attitude the man still exuded as the sword sliced into his shield, carving its way through the air until suddenly halting, inches from his chest, motionless, suspended in flight like some cheap magic trick.

Sophie smiled a little smile, more than matching the one plastered on the cultists face as she released one of the runes painstakingly inscribed on her sword. Water gushed from the tip and flooded through the small hole in the shield her weapon had created, quickly filling up the sphere.

She smirked with grim amusement as she saw the man's smile fade to be replaced by a look of terror. He couldn't release the shield without allowing the sword to gut him, but likewise he couldn't keep the shield without the water drowning him. Caught between a rock and a hard place had never been such an apt description Sophie thought with a chuckle as the man desperately looked about, searching for an escape.

There was none. He didn't even have the courage to end it quickly by the sword, such was his fear of death. The sphere filled from top to bottom with clear, sparkling water and he began to drown.

Unfortunately for Sophie there were still five more cultists to deal with and as the drowning man's life slowly slipped from him so too did his shield, until with a bright flash both the shield and his soul were gone, the water crashing down and gushing across the hallway.

With a clang Light-Bringer dropped to the floor and the remaining cultists walked past the body now cluttering her hallway. Even in death he was a nuisance Sophie thought darkly as she watched the five men walk down the hall, eyes alert after witnessing her performance.

They entered the kitchen and surrounded her -- unspeaking -- standing as still and silent as death itself.

Sophie smiled, despite the circumstances she found herself in. Running was all well and good, but it had been eighteen long years since she'd felt the thrill of battle -- there was nothing quite like it.

She had an instant of peace where she savoured the air with an impossibly long breath, knowing full-well it could be her last -- until the assault started.

To an observer the scene would have looked quite comical, five men were surrounding one woman, all of them quiet and yet everyone's face showing a great strain, as if they were each trying to lift some huge weight.

In reality the five cultists were throwing all their mental powers at Sophie in a bid to destroy her defences and take control of her mind -- ending the fight with no further losses.

Unfortunately for the cultists -- Sophie was in the mood for blood and nothing was going to get in her way.

With a mental roar she released all the pain she'd bottled up inside. Eighteen years of having to hide, to run, to worry, everything he'd put her through and everything he'd put Luke through. She used all the hate she had for him: vast oceans of malice, and violently unleashed it all -- the cultists never had a chance.

One died before he could withdraw, his mind obliterated by the strength of her will and his body slumping to the floor in a graceless heap.

The others were more fortunate. They'd sensed the wave of raw power she'd released and had managed to leave her mind before they too became victims of her roiling emotions.

However, Sophie had made one fatal error. She had gone against her own advice. The advice she'd drilled into Luke ever since he was a little boy: always use your head.

She hadn't. Being so caught up in her emotions had weakened the restraint on her powers and she'd unwittingly created a psionic blast more powerful than any she'd ever used before. Much, much stronger than was necessary.

She had ignored the limits even magic held: you cannot create without destroying. The basic principle in the conservation of energy. She'd created too much and now it was time to destroy. The problem with that of course was where the energy had come from: herself.

Sophie dropped to her knees in agony. Her mind a maelstrom of tormenting visions from the past, each more horrifying than the last. She'd been trained to use painful experiences in her life to block out the agony of the transfer -- luckily she was never short of those.

The technique to lessen the torment of the transfer was not an exact science. It involved using one pain to dull another. Obviously, this had its drawbacks. Sophie clenched her eyes shut as another wave of images assaulted her, forcing her to expel the remaining air in her lungs.

Sophie shuddered to think how close she had come to completely losing control and the dire straits that would have left her in. Despite remembering her training she was still in danger of allowing the pain to sweep her away in its destructive waters, such was its intensity.

After a few seconds the agony of the transfer was manageable enough for her to open her eyes and look around. She wished she hadn't. Lying on the white tiles of her kitchen floor was a body, a headless body. The corpse was covered in blood. The force of the psionic blast had caused the head to explode, showering the room in crimson gore and bits of grey muck that Sophie thought was brain. At least, she hoped it was.

Groggily looking around her kitchen Sophie desperately tried to get her bearings and stop her head from pounding. She was still on her knees and tried, unsuccessfully, to stand. As she fought through the pain her ears popped and voices immediately lanced through her, causing her to stiffen with concentration as she attempted to retain enough awareness to listen.

What she heard caused her redouble her efforts.

"--Call for assistance." finished a formal, toneless cultist.

"Are you mad?" Countered a shrill, reedy voice. "The Lord will skin us alive and let his pets have us if we fail."

"But I've never seen power like that! We need help Kesin, regardless of the Lord's displeasure." Argued a voice choked with fear.

A strange silence settled upon the room causing Sophie to hold her breath in fear, hoping the pounding of her heart wouldn't give her away.

"Enough." announced a deep, booming rumble. "Kesin is right. We have no choice but to continue. Besides," The rumble proclaimed off-handedly, "look at her."

Sophie shut her eyes and stayed dead-still, she could feel their gazes and hoped they hadn't seen her moving.

"See?" The rumble asked after a few seconds. "She's used too much energy -- I'd wager she can't even stand."

Sophie reddened with indignation, even though the cultist was correct. She'd never felt so helpless.

"You're right Bran. Ha, I can't believe one woman's caused so much trouble." The thin, reedy voice answered in relief.

That must be Kesin, although she wasn't sure how that knowledge could help her. Not In the state she was in. Every muscle, every joint, every bone stung, throbbed and ached respectively. Sophie could barely think through the pain.

"Prepare yourselves." The rumble -- Bran -- spoke. "We go in once more, carefully this time, and be ready to flee her mind at a moments notice. We don't want to end up like Corbin."

Sophie heard grunts in affirmation and stiffened with fear. She couldn't erect a defence, she was in too much agony to concentrate. She wouldn't be able to stop them. No one had successfully invaded her mind since she was an initiate, and now four cultists were going to try. Sophie let out an involuntary whimper and her eyes opened wide in fear.

The blast hit her like a solid wall. A mental probe that lanced into her skull and physically threw her body backwards to the floor. She could feel its tendrils creeping into every memory, every experience, every thought as it searched for her core. The part of her brain that defined her. That controlled her.

Sophie screamed as the probe seeped into her brain, deeper and deeper through her subconscious. The added pain from the invasion seized up her limbs and held her, paralysed, on the floor.

She desperately tried to think, she was losing herself to them, her sense of identity was becoming foggy. There was something Sophie needed to do, but she just didn't know what it was.

Struggling to remain conscious was all she could do, it was all the fight she had left. Her own name was just a blur to her, the last thing she could remember. Even that was fading, soon she wouldn't know who she was and she found herself less and less troubled by the thought.

Luke. Her Luke. Her son. A surge of electricity rushed through her, banishing the fog enveloping her memories. Sophie knew what she had to do, but that didn't make it any easier. The cultists were still searching for her core, and they were getting closer -- she didn't have much time.

With the last remnants of her flagging strength Sophie fought through the fog surrounding her spirit and desperately released the last of her power.

The remaining cultists pulled back with unnatural speed and braced themselves against a psionic blast like the last time, but are left confused when no such energy is released.

"Wha--" A cultist is cut short when Sophie's sword comes flying from its place in the hall, impaling him through the back with such force that both sword and man continue until they collide against the kitchen wall.

A smile was plastered on Sophie's face even as she began to lose consciousness. Her defences had crumbled completely and she was more exposed than any other time in her entire life, and yet, she couldn't get the vision of the cultist pinned to the wall by her sword, feebly struggling to breath while his lungs fill with blood, out of her head. The sight gave her hope, after all, she only had one more cultist to kill.

Her mind filled with darkness as the remaining cultists once more encircled her, deadly intent in their eyes. She tried to stay awake as their probe once more invaded her mind, but it was like trying to keep the wind at bay. It found more and more cracks in her armour forcing her deeper and deeper into slumber despite her struggles. Until, mercifully, her head lolled, her eyes closed and her thoughts ceased.

The last thing she remembered were two uttered words. "found it." Then she was falling through darkness. Complete, unyielding emptiness.

Chapter 6 -- Hate, Lust and Drugs, a Concoction for Disaster

"But why not Bran? Look at that body! Besides, the Lord only ordered us to bring her to him alive, he won't even know if we have a little fun with her beforehand anyway." Fang's grating voice pierced through Bran's ears like razor wire, causing him to stiffen in annoyance.

Fang was a short, thin, grimy man with dirty, long-brown hair, brown, beady eyes and the personality of a weasel with a score to settle.

Bran towered over Fang in both size and stature. He was a six foot ten block of muscle with short, militaristic black hair, two days worth of stubble, piercing blue eyes and pale skin, criss-crossed with a multitude of scars.

He used this physical advantage to stare down at the much shorter cultist, glaring at him until Fang could no longer meet his gaze.