Creature of the void, p.1
Creature of the Void, page 1
Creature of the Void
Wend Raven
Copyright © 2024 Wend Raven
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover art by: Brian Flores
Cover design by: Amber Mabe
Printed in the United States of America
For Andrew
For never telling me to keep my head out of the clouds, and always being my safe place to land.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
RESPITE
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
RESPITE
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
RESPITE
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
RESPITE
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
RESPITE
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
EPILOGUE
Acknowledgements
PROLOGUE
Chiara stroked the ginger-colored cow fondly, thanking her for another full bucket of milk. Her life magic hadn’t been enough to get her into University or find her a healer’s apprenticeship, but she liked to think her magic had something to do with her little cow producing the best milk in the village, and in turn, the best cheese. At least that’s what Aldwin had told her when he’d asked her to marry him two seasons ago. She smiled, imagining her new husband’s reaction when she told him they’d been chosen to supply the cheese platter for the Archmage’s upcoming dinner party. This could be the beginning of change for them, she thought, as she lugged the sloshing bucket of milk outside, swinging the door to the thatched lean-to closed with her foot. With what the Archmage had offered to pay, she might even be able to afford a second cow. With a second cow, they might be able to afford another mouth to feed within the next few seasons. Yes, Aldwin was going to be excited when she told him.
She shuffled faster, trying not to spill a drop of the precious liquid as she made her way into their small, stone cottage nestled into a clearing just south of the village. Aldwin’s sooty boots were on the stoop, so he must already be home from the forge.
“Aldwin, dearest!” she called as she pushed down the door latch with her elbow, swinging it open with her shoulder. “Could you help me with the milk?”
Aldwin didn’t answer. He must already be in the bath she’d prepared. A jar of crocuses sat on their small table, though, that hadn’t been there before she went out to milk the cow. The sweet scent filled the tiny room as if it had been a palace full of roses.
Chiara smiled, heaving the heavy bucket up onto the counter and wiping her hands on her apron.
“I have news!” she called, pushing aside the curtain that divided the two rooms of the cottage.
She stopped, and her arms fell to her sides, her mind trying to make sense of the scene before her.
The small room was dark, lit only by a single candle. The bath was filled, steam still rising from the top where he had warmed the water, but Aldwin lay on the bed, face down, the lower half of his body sagging onto the floor. His shirt lay on the floor beside him, as if he had fallen onto the bed while undressing for his bath. Was he so tired that he had decided to forgo the bath and gone to sleep? Had he fainted? Was he ill?
Chiara’s pulse quickened with alarm as she knelt by her husband on the stone floor.
“Aldwin,” she shook his shoulder. “Aldwin! Wake up!”
She repeated his name, she didn’t know how many times, each time growing more frantic as she pushed at his shoulder to roll him over. Aldwin was easily twice her size, thick with muscles from years as the blacksmith’s apprentice.
Finally, using her feet to push against the floor, Chiara was able to turn Aldwin onto his back.
The cry that left her mouth stole every bit of air from Chiara’s lungs.
Aldwin’s eyes were open and lifeless, his chest ash-gray and stained with dark, ugly patterns swirling out from an inky black spot at his sternum. Chiara reeled back instinctively, stumbling over her skirts and onto the floor as tears flooded her eyes.
She’d never seen an injury like this one. Was it a burn? Some type of plague? Should she have even touched his body?
Another wave of emotion surged over Chiara as she crawled on her hands and knees back toward her husband. How could she be so selfish? She might still be able to save him.
Chiara threw her hands on Aldwin’s chest, channeling every ounce of magic she held within herself into his motionless body.
“Come back, Aldwin,” she screamed as she pounded shaking hands against his chest. “You can’t leave me so soon!”
But Chiara was not a healer. She couldn’t even heal a simple cold. There was nothing she could do to bring Aldwin back. She fell on his chest, the icy coldness of his skin replacing his constant warmth that she had grown accustomed to in their short time together.
A crash drew Chiara slowly from the depth of her sorrows, and she lifted her head from Aldwin’s body.
“Who’s there?” Chiara called out.
Perhaps Father had dropped by with leftover bread from his bakery.
“I’m in here! Please, I need a healer!”
No one answered, and another crash sounded from the outer room, the hollow thud of wood against stone. Liquid seeped under the curtain dividing the rooms and traveled through cracks in the stone floor. Her precious milk, wasted and spilled on the dirty ground. Whoever had entered their house had not come to help.
Something rustled the curtain, and Chiara caught her breath, straining her eyes to make out the shape that slid into the bedroom with quick, jerky movements. Too large to be a rat, too small to be a dog, it moved like a spider toward her in the darkness. Chiara sat motionless, breathless, every inch of her trembling. The creature moved toward her as if it sensed her presence.
Slowly, heart pounding in her chest, she reached toward the small bucket at the foot of the bed, not taking her eyes off the dark, creeping shape only steps away. It seemed to have too many limbs, or maybe they were just too long for its body. What was this thing? How had it gotten in the house?
The creature scuttled toward Chiara, suddenly moving faster, and she lost her nerve, lunging for the bucket and hurling it at the dark shape as she stood protectively over Aldwin’s body.
“Shoo! Get out of here!” she cried.
The creature lurched back with a screech that sent gooseflesh racing up Chiara’s arms. It shook itself, rising even higher onto its unnaturally long legs. Letting out a second angry screech, the creature burst into flames.
Chiara screamed, stumbled backward as she tripped over Aldwin and fell onto the bed. This was something evil, something unnatural. And if she couldn’t escape, Chiara was going to die.
The curtain between the rooms caught first, the flames rapidly spreading to the dry thatch of the roof as the creature advanced on Chiara. She had to get out, now. But that would mean leaving Aldwin behind.
Gathering all her willpower, Chiara leapt from the bed, intending to dash toward the water still standing in the wash tub.
The creature whirled with amazing speed, seeming almost to anticipate her moves before she made them. With a hideous spitting noise, balls of fire spewed from its mouth, igniting the bedsheets, the rafters, and catching Chiara’s skirt as she dove toward the water. The creature was faster, though, knocking into the tub and spilling its contents out onto the stone floor with a hiss as
She could see it more clearly now, in the fiery red glow of her burning cottage. A darkness that seemed deeper than any moonless night, a nightmare come to life. No, Chiara had never dreamed anything this hideous. This terrifying. This real. It had no eyes, just the vague suggestion of a face on a neck-less head, a hungry mouth gaping as it burned with fire from within.
Tears filled Chiara’s eyes as she realized there was no true escape from this unearthly darkness. She took one last glance at Aldwin’s body, then closed her eyes. Her last thoughts before the rafters caved in and she joined Aldwin in eternal sleep was a deep sense of injustice at what had been stolen from her, and an overwhelming realization that no one would even hear her scream.
CHAPTER ONE
ORIMUND
The clash at Ophydian’s crossing was nothing short of a bloodbath. At least, it would have been if the creatures Orimund and his team fought against were the type to have blood running through their veins. In truth, they had no blood, no veins, and no heart. Only emptiness and hunger.
Above you!
The noise of the surrounding battle almost drowned out Imber's message as it crashed through the cacophony of voices and emotions coursing through Orimund's mental bond with his team. Glancing up, Orimund registered the dark shape descending on the bridge with startling speed, and focused all six magics into a steady ball of light in his hands. The charge had only a moment to form before he hurled it toward the malicious darkness, praying to the Stars that it would be enough. The approaching voidbeast had taken the form of a disfigured approximation of a crow, with a wingspan broader than a carriage and a beak and talons of sharpened ice. The ball of light struck the abomination’s chest and a horrific ripping sound filled the air. Orimund shielded his eyes as the ice-appendages burst into shards and the body of the birdlike creature melted into darkness.
Hearing a sudden rush of water behind him, Orimund spun to see two villagers lifted into the air by murky, liquid fingers. One captive screamed and fought against the watery hand that swung him toward the edge of the bridge as the fistfuls of fire he desperately fired at the beast instantly fizzled into harmless vapor. The other villager, a young woman Orimund knew to be an earth mage, flailed helplessly in a second watery fist as it retreated beneath the bridge with the woman in its grasp. Channeling Catí’s power, Orimund turned the remaining hand to ice, simultaneously combining earth and inergamorphic energy to hurl a chunk of the stone bridge’s low wall through the now-frozen wrist. The fist, with the man still in its icy clutches, crashed to the bridge. Orimund was relieved to see the villager stand and ran toward the gathered wagons, relatively unharmed.
They’re hiding under the water! We have to get off this bridge!
This came from Regus, sounding frustrated and exhausted. Could a thought sound exhausted? Orimund had no time to ponder this as a section of the bridge leading toward Staterrus ripped free of its supporting pillars and began taking a new shape. Veins of oily blackness spread between the stones as they scraped against one another, shifting and forming into the crude shape of a giant with mismatched arms and legs. The rocky beast soon loomed three stories high, its legs anchored firmly in the bridge's structure beneath.
We have to go back, Sorrel insisted as horses reared and backed into their carts, pushing them dangerously near the edge of the bridge.
Villagers cried out in terror as Orimund’s team struggled to maintain the tenuous safety net they had formed around the group of refugees.
We cannot! This is the only way across. If we don’t get across this bridge, we might as well have doomed them to be devoured. Timorous’s thoughts were thready but decisive.
If the old archmage thought they stood a chance, Orimund refused to give up. The man hadn’t lived to be nearly a hundred and twenty by making foolhardy decisions, after all.
This won’t be difficult if we work together, Orimund thought, sending images of his plan out to his team as he raced toward the edge of the bridge nearest the rock-weilding voidbeast.
A rainbow of magic burst to life as his team set to work. Red, brown, and yellow streamed toward the monster’s legs as Sorrel, Regus, and Imber hurled molten rocks in an attempt to distract and weaken the voidbeast. A surge of water, midnight blue,rose to fill the gap in the bridge between the refugees and the safety of the opposite shore, hardening to ice. A warmth of green nurtured the vines that grew along the crumbling bridge, creeping over the slippery ice until it was safe for the horses to cross. A purple haze stroked the edges of Orimund’s mind as Timorous soothed the panic of the refugees and of the horses threatening to plunge the group and their belongings into the deep, rushing river. Orimund focused on the growing light in his palms as he ran toward the rocky voidbeast. He was nearly in range. He only needed to dispel the voidbeast powering the rock formation, and then the group could make their escape. He could see the glow of Staterrus in the distance above the trees.
Safety.
The rock-beast swung a massive pillar-arm toward the bridge. The city guard leading the procession of wagons didn’t even have time to cry out before being crushed beneath the stony fist.
No!
Orimund flung his hands out toward the voidbeast. This had to end, now.
But the powerful beam of light he expected to stream from his open palms sputtered and went out like a spent candle.
Horses reeled backward as the voidbeast lifted its rocky hand once more, preparing for another strike at the same time Orimund felt the life mage’s consciousness disappear from his mind.
She’s fainted!
Orimund turned to see Imber rushing across the wet stone to where the life mage’s body lay motionless.
Get her up! Orimund insisted, turning his attention back to the stone monstrosity as it smashed another fist through Catí’s ice bridge. We don’t stand a chance if I can’t use the light beam!
Pulling as much as he dared from Imber’s power, Orimund focused his will on the stone arm that plunged toward the wagon nearest the gap in the bridge. The appendage froze mid-strike, held back by inergamorphic power, and the villagers scrambled to wheel the wagon out of range.
Orimund felt pain through his connection with Imber and turned to see her kneeling on the ground, her head in her hands. This was too much for her. He had to let go. He wouldn’t risk Imber for these people. He couldn’t—
No, Imber argued. Don’t stop until they’re safe!
Catí had arrived by her side, splashing icy water on the fallen life mage, who still refused to rouse.
Orimund growled in frustration, slamming a foot onto the bridge while channeling Regus’s power. A crack spread from where his boot met stone, snaking along the bridge until it met the leg of the rock-beast, whose attention was wholly focused on regaining control of its immobile arm. Rocks split and crumbled, and the beast swayed to one side, crashing against the bridge and demolishing their makeshift magical repairs. Channeling Sorrel’s flames, Orimund summoned a ring of fire that spun around the beast’s remaining leg. The flame turned from red to orange, orange to white, white to blue as it swirled faster around the rock.
You can’t melt it like that, Sorrel warned, but Orimund tuned her out, drawing from Catí’s strength to pull a wave of frigid water high enough to crash against the super-heated stone.
Rock cracked and shattered, and the stone-encrusted voidbeast dropped into the water with a mighty splash.
Nevermind, thought Sorrel.
But Orimund was too agitated to be smug in his victory. The night had grown too quiet. They had already dispelled several voidbeasts over the course of the battle, but he knew at least one remained beneath the bridge.
Running to Imber’s side, Orimund dropped to his knees, ignoring the bruising pain as he placed a hand on Imber’s forehead, tilting her face up into the light of the few remaining torches. Tears streaked her cheeks, and she refused to meet his eyes.
“We’re not doing this again,” he said, letting his hand fall to her dampened cheek. “You’re being too reckless. You have to cut me off when it’s too much. Break away. Do whatever it takes. I can’t—” The words stuck in his throat, and he swallowed hard, dropping his hand. “I won’t lose another—”
“She's awake!” Sorrel cried from where she knelt next to the fallen life mage.
