Chapter 258: 258
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The spirits do not come for us this time, but I highly doubt it is for any other reason than they are allowing us through. For while that illusion Azrael cast was entirely convincing, the spirits are not mindless idiots that latch onto the first thing they come across. They were once like me, mortal and weak, and merely the product of people who have perished after being subjected to the cruelties of the world. Their minds, though of mortal calibre, are still sharp, as are their memories. Some might have even experienced life under the merciless hand of the tyrant who rides next to me himself, and thus neither are unaccustomed to his trickery, nor are sympathetic to his ways.
From what I have seen as they have taken chunks of Azrael's spirit, and the way Ingrid commands them like legions of an army, I would consider it safe to say that they are far more mentally capable than Azrael gives them credit for. But he doesn't need to know that.
They will want him dead, in some way or another. But not yet.
"Can you smell it?" he whispers from behind me as he lifts his nose to the air, his body pressing closer to mine as we decadent into that reeking fog of disaster. With each pace further inwards, my breath becomes heavier, my lungs thick and stuck with the potent vapour of mist and death. Soon the trees around us turn to nothing more than branching silhouettes, the figures of men and women and beast and bird all moulding into one enormous nightmare. If this is truly where the soul lives, then the people of Faey have every reason to fear her power- but that does not mean they necessarily have the rights.
"Smell what?" I ask, tipping my head back slightly to face him. Under the darkness, all I can see is a wide, looming grin plaster over his features, beaming at me like that scar slashed in a wide arc across his chest.
"The fear," he croaks with glee, red eyes glinting now. "The despair, the death. This place reeks of it. She will be here, Serena my pet, she will be here."
Gulping down any signs of mortal emotions, I turn back to the path ahead. It is at times like this where I am grateful for the golden band that is snapped around my wrist, stemming my heartbeat from his ears. For right now, it is thundering like a trapped animal in a cage.
As for the smell- that too becomes apparent. The lingering stench of rot and decay from a long expired woodland, the smell of leaf mould and bark, accompanied with that familiar bone chilling cold that creeps down my spine. But there is another smell too, a worse one whose source presses into my back, hands gripped tightly around the reins of a horse. Blood, and musk, a scent I have since come to despise.
"It does reek," I say simply, for no further words need to be said.
Just as I am thinking this whole scenario can't get any creepier, all at once the horse rears us beneath us as though it has hit an invisible wall. It nickers and bucks, its red eyes wild with terror before catapulting us off, sending us tumbling to the ground.
"Ow," I groan as I hit the groan shoulder on with enough force to send anyone other than a vampire ending up with a few broken bones. It is times like these where I find myself grateful for Soren's decision to turn me- not that he had much of an option. Groaning and spitting out dirt, I watch through silted eyes as the mare races back in the direction we came from, leaving a trail of dust and leafy debris in its wake.
I suppose we will be walking back, then.
Meanwhile Azrael arises a few metres off from me, rubbing his wrist, but remains largely unharmed. It would seem he took the brunt of the horse's force, colliding with the bottom of a tree which has since toppled from the impact. Perhaps if he had been mortal the fall would have killed him. A shame.
"Fucking horse," he almost shouts with rage, wiping off his pristine hunting gear before turning to me. Clicking his fingers expectantly, he motions me forward. "I need your flames, Serena. I can't see a damn thing with this gloom around us."
Nodding my head eagerly, I oblige his wishes, conjuring twin balls of glowing golden light into the darkness. It is not that I particularly enjoy obliging to Azrael's wishes, in fact I don't like it at all, but when stuck in a forest of unknown creatures and a supposed glamour over your head there are very few options to do otherwise.
Shooting one flame out into the dense darkness in front of us and keeping the other firmly in my hand, I sidle up close to Azrael, letting little pretend quivers of fear shake through my body. With a sly glance downwards, he curls his hand around me, settling it over my waist as he draws me close to him.
"Stick close to me, Serena, I will ensure your protection. And do not be afraid. I will not let her hurt you," he assures, wiping a loose strand of hair from my face in a manner that is strangely affectionate. With big, doe eyes, I look up at the tall white haired vampire beside me, trying to ignore that detestable hungry light that shines in his eyes. His hand curls tighter around my waist.
"You are far braver than I ever was," I jest lightly, still maintaining a trembling stance.
"But I have lived many lives, Serena. I have seen things that you wouldn't even imagine in your dizziest daydreams," he says, but there is no humour in his voice, just a cold, bland seriousness. Clearly, he has no time for jokes- not when the soul of death is so close at hand he can practically taste her.
"Do you think she knows we are here?" I ask lowly, casting my hand out before me to let the flames between my fingers penetrate the gloom. But it does little to illuminate our surroundings, only bringing to light the looming shadows of the trees, and the amber eyes that pierce through the dark like knives.
Azrael's answer is immediate.
"Yes. I have no doubt she does. Asocrates told us once that she had visions of important events in the future. I am certain that this is one she has pre ordained."
"Yes, I forgot about that," I lie, knowing very well that she both knows we are here, and has visions such as these. After all, I have met the lady herself- and she certainly lives up to her tall tales.
A long, wavering howl resounds through the forest, echoing through the dead, porous trees that quiver against the sound like leaves on a river. There is simply no telling what the hollow forest holds for us, whether right outside the perimeters of our vision lurk beasts of old and monsters that have not seen the light of day for thousands of years.
No one dares venture into this place- that much I have gathered from its perpetual state of decay. And now I am starting to figure out why.
Another howl and Azrael's hand tightens instinctively around my waist. Perhaps he boasts that he has no fear of the soul, that he is certain his strength will be largely enough to overcome the soul of death, but in reality, it is far from that. The way he holds himself- upright and squared, as though preparing for a fight, is a posture I have seen in animals many times over. The tell tale signs of terror and uncertainty play at his form, in the crimson swirls of his eyes and the dull glints of his sharpened teeth.
Azrael has no basis, no idea as to what his powers might do against this creature, against Ingrid. Perhaps they will have no effect at all, the way Azrael's power have no influence on Soren, whose personal strength of mind outplay's Azrael's.
And even if Soren's book on the five souls gave him an inkling of what is expected of the souls power, it would be a vast overestimation to assume that he knows everything about her from that book alone. Although the souls have an incredible power far above the limits of regular Faey folk, it is also largely down to the individual to harness that power.
After all, it took Soren several hundred years of bloodshed and murder and ruthless training to stand in the position that he does now. Whereas on the other hand, Azrael, who acquired the soul by force, only has a fraction of the true power that Soren boasts, and relies largely on trickery and deception to claim his victories. But even so, the feat alone is quite impressive.
"Can you see anything?" I whisper to Azrael through the side of my mouth, earning myself a sharp gesture to be quiet. Silently, he points a bony finger down the pathway to where a blue-white light permeates the mist. It darts through the shadows for a moment, just out of reach of my lingering golden flame, before finally, at last, the light begins to grow...
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The spirits do not come for us this time, but I highly doubt it is for any other reason than they are allowing us through. For while that illusion Azrael cast was entirely convincing, the spirits are not mindless idiots that latch onto the first thing they come across. They were once like me, mortal and weak, and merely the product of people who have perished after being subjected to the cruelties of the world. Their minds, though of mortal calibre, are still sharp, as are their memories. Some might have even experienced life under the merciless hand of the tyrant who rides next to me himself, and thus neither are unaccustomed to his trickery, nor are sympathetic to his ways.
From what I have seen as they have taken chunks of Azrael's spirit, and the way Ingrid commands them like legions of an army, I would consider it safe to say that they are far more mentally capable than Azrael gives them credit for. But he doesn't need to know that.
They will want him dead, in some way or another. But not yet.
"Can you smell it?" he whispers from behind me as he lifts his nose to the air, his body pressing closer to mine as we decadent into that reeking fog of disaster. With each pace further inwards, my breath becomes heavier, my lungs thick and stuck with the potent vapour of mist and death. Soon the trees around us turn to nothing more than branching silhouettes, the figures of men and women and beast and bird all moulding into one enormous nightmare. If this is truly where the soul lives, then the people of Faey have every reason to fear her power- but that does not mean they necessarily have the rights.
"Smell what?" I ask, tipping my head back slightly to face him. Under the darkness, all I can see is a wide, looming grin plaster over his features, beaming at me like that scar slashed in a wide arc across his chest.
"The fear," he croaks with glee, red eyes glinting now. "The despair, the death. This place reeks of it. She will be here, Serena my pet, she will be here."
Gulping down any signs of mortal emotions, I turn back to the path ahead. It is at times like this where I am grateful for the golden band that is snapped around my wrist, stemming my heartbeat from his ears. For right now, it is thundering like a trapped animal in a cage.
As for the smell- that too becomes apparent. The lingering stench of rot and decay from a long expired woodland, the smell of leaf mould and bark, accompanied with that familiar bone chilling cold that creeps down my spine. But there is another smell too, a worse one whose source presses into my back, hands gripped tightly around the reins of a horse. Blood, and musk, a scent I have since come to despise.
"It does reek," I say simply, for no further words need to be said.
Just as I am thinking this whole scenario can't get any creepier, all at once the horse rears us beneath us as though it has hit an invisible wall. It nickers and bucks, its red eyes wild with terror before catapulting us off, sending us tumbling to the ground.
"Ow," I groan as I hit the groan shoulder on with enough force to send anyone other than a vampire ending up with a few broken bones. It is times like these where I find myself grateful for Soren's decision to turn me- not that he had much of an option. Groaning and spitting out dirt, I watch through silted eyes as the mare races back in the direction we came from, leaving a trail of dust and leafy debris in its wake.
I suppose we will be walking back, then.
Meanwhile Azrael arises a few metres off from me, rubbing his wrist, but remains largely unharmed. It would seem he took the brunt of the horse's force, colliding with the bottom of a tree which has since toppled from the impact. Perhaps if he had been mortal the fall would have killed him. A shame.
"Fucking horse," he almost shouts with rage, wiping off his pristine hunting gear before turning to me. Clicking his fingers expectantly, he motions me forward. "I need your flames, Serena. I can't see a damn thing with this gloom around us."
Nodding my head eagerly, I oblige his wishes, conjuring twin balls of glowing golden light into the darkness. It is not that I particularly enjoy obliging to Azrael's wishes, in fact I don't like it at all, but when stuck in a forest of unknown creatures and a supposed glamour over your head there are very few options to do otherwise.
Shooting one flame out into the dense darkness in front of us and keeping the other firmly in my hand, I sidle up close to Azrael, letting little pretend quivers of fear shake through my body. With a sly glance downwards, he curls his hand around me, settling it over my waist as he draws me close to him.
"Stick close to me, Serena, I will ensure your protection. And do not be afraid. I will not let her hurt you," he assures, wiping a loose strand of hair from my face in a manner that is strangely affectionate. With big, doe eyes, I look up at the tall white haired vampire beside me, trying to ignore that detestable hungry light that shines in his eyes. His hand curls tighter around my waist.
"You are far braver than I ever was," I jest lightly, still maintaining a trembling stance.
"But I have lived many lives, Serena. I have seen things that you wouldn't even imagine in your dizziest daydreams," he says, but there is no humour in his voice, just a cold, bland seriousness. Clearly, he has no time for jokes- not when the soul of death is so close at hand he can practically taste her.
"Do you think she knows we are here?" I ask lowly, casting my hand out before me to let the flames between my fingers penetrate the gloom. But it does little to illuminate our surroundings, only bringing to light the looming shadows of the trees, and the amber eyes that pierce through the dark like knives.
Azrael's answer is immediate.
"Yes. I have no doubt she does. Asocrates told us once that she had visions of important events in the future. I am certain that this is one she has pre ordained."
"Yes, I forgot about that," I lie, knowing very well that she both knows we are here, and has visions such as these. After all, I have met the lady herself- and she certainly lives up to her tall tales.
A long, wavering howl resounds through the forest, echoing through the dead, porous trees that quiver against the sound like leaves on a river. There is simply no telling what the hollow forest holds for us, whether right outside the perimeters of our vision lurk beasts of old and monsters that have not seen the light of day for thousands of years.
No one dares venture into this place- that much I have gathered from its perpetual state of decay. And now I am starting to figure out why.
Another howl and Azrael's hand tightens instinctively around my waist. Perhaps he boasts that he has no fear of the soul, that he is certain his strength will be largely enough to overcome the soul of death, but in reality, it is far from that. The way he holds himself- upright and squared, as though preparing for a fight, is a posture I have seen in animals many times over. The tell tale signs of terror and uncertainty play at his form, in the crimson swirls of his eyes and the dull glints of his sharpened teeth.
Azrael has no basis, no idea as to what his powers might do against this creature, against Ingrid. Perhaps they will have no effect at all, the way Azrael's power have no influence on Soren, whose personal strength of mind outplay's Azrael's.
And even if Soren's book on the five souls gave him an inkling of what is expected of the souls power, it would be a vast overestimation to assume that he knows everything about her from that book alone. Although the souls have an incredible power far above the limits of regular Faey folk, it is also largely down to the individual to harness that power.
After all, it took Soren several hundred years of bloodshed and murder and ruthless training to stand in the position that he does now. Whereas on the other hand, Azrael, who acquired the soul by force, only has a fraction of the true power that Soren boasts, and relies largely on trickery and deception to claim his victories. But even so, the feat alone is quite impressive.
"Can you see anything?" I whisper to Azrael through the side of my mouth, earning myself a sharp gesture to be quiet. Silently, he points a bony finger down the pathway to where a blue-white light permeates the mist. It darts through the shadows for a moment, just out of reach of my lingering golden flame, before finally, at last, the light begins to grow...
The spirits do not come for us this time, but I highly doubt it is for any other reason than they are allowing us through. For while that illusion Azrael cast was entirely convincing, the spirits are not mindless idiots that latch onto the first thing they come across. They were once like me, mortal and weak, and merely the product of people who have perished after being subjected to the cruelties of the world. Their minds, though of mortal calibre, are still sharp, as are their memories. Some might have even experienced life under the merciless hand of the tyrant who rides next to me himself, and thus neither are unaccustomed to his trickery, nor are sympathetic to his ways.From what I have seen as they have taken chunks of Azrael's spirit, and the way Ingrid commands them like legions of an army, I would consider it safe to say that they are far more mentally capable than Azrael gives them credit for. But he doesn't need to know that. They will want him dead, in some way or another. But not yet."Can you smell it?" he whispers from behind me as he lifts his nose to the air, his body pressing closer to mine as we decadent into that reeking fog of disaster. With each pace further inwards, my breath becomes heavier, my lungs thick and stuck with the potent vapour of mist and death. Soon the trees around us turn to nothing more than branching silhouettes, the figures of men and women and beast and bird all moulding into one enormous nightmare. If this is truly where the soul lives, then the people of Faey have every reason to fear her power- but that does not mean they necessarily have the rights."Smell what?" I ask, tipping my head back slightly to face him. Under the darkness, all I can see is a wide, looming grin plaster over his features, beaming at me like that scar slashed in a wide arc across his chest."The fear," he croaks with glee, red eyes glinting now. "The despair, the death. This place reeks of it. She will be here, Serena my pet, she will be here."Gulping down any signs of mortal emotions, I turn back to the path ahead. It is at times like this where I am grateful for the golden band that is snapped around my wrist, stemming my heartbeat from his ears. For right now, it is thundering like a trapped animal in a cage. As for the smell- that too becomes apparent. The lingering stench of rot and decay from a long expired woodland, the smell of leaf mould and bark, accompanied with that familiar bone chilling cold that creeps down my spine. But there is another smell too, a worse one whose source presses into my back, hands gripped tightly around the reins of a horse. Blood, and musk, a scent I have since come to despise."It does reek," I say simply, for no further words need to be said.Just as I am thinking this whole scenario can't get any creepier, all at once the horse rears us beneath us as though it has hit an invisible wall. It nickers and bucks, its red eyes wild with terror before catapulting us off, sending us tumbling to the ground. "Ow," I groan as I hit the groan shoulder on with enough force to send anyone other than a vampire ending up with a few broken bones. It is times like these where I find myself grateful for Soren's decision to turn me- not that he had much of an option. Groaning and spitting out dirt, I watch through silted eyes as the mare races back in the direction we came from, leaving a trail of dust and leafy debris in its wake.I suppose we will be walking back, then.Meanwhile Azrael arises a few metres off from me, rubbing his wrist, but remains largely unharmed. It would seem he took the brunt of the horse's force, colliding with the bottom of a tree which has since toppled from the impact. Perhaps if he had been mortal the fall would have killed him. A shame."Fucking horse," he almost shouts with rage, wiping off his pristine hunting gear before turning to me. Clicking his fingers expectantly, he motions me forward. "I need your flames, Serena. I can't see a damn thing with this gloom around us."Nodding my head eagerly, I oblige his wishes, conjuring twin balls of glowing golden light into the darkness. It is not that I particularly enjoy obliging to Azrael's wishes, in fact I don't like it at all, but when stuck in a forest of unknown creatures and a supposed glamour over your head there are very few options to do otherwise. Shooting one flame out into the dense darkness in front of us and keeping the other firmly in my hand, I sidle up close to Azrael, letting little pretend quivers of fear shake through my body. With a sly glance downwards, he curls his hand around me, settling it over my waist as he draws me close to him."Stick close to me, Serena, I will ensure your protection. And do not be afraid. I will not let her hurt you," he assures, wiping a loose strand of hair from my face in a manner that is strangely affectionate. With big, doe eyes, I look up at the tall white haired vampire beside me, trying to ignore that detestable hungry light that shines in his eyes. His hand curls tighter around my waist."You are far braver than I ever was," I jest lightly, still maintaining a trembling stance."But I have lived many lives, Serena. I have seen things that you wouldn't even imagine in your dizziest daydreams," he says, but there is no humour in his voice, just a cold, bland seriousness. Clearly, he has no time for jokes- not when the soul of death is so close at hand he can practically taste her."Do you think she knows we are here?" I ask lowly, casting my hand out before me to let the flames between my fingers penetrate the gloom. But it does little to illuminate our surroundings, only bringing to light the looming shadows of the trees, and the amber eyes that pierce through the dark like knives.Azrael's answer is immediate."Yes. I have no doubt she does. Asocrates told us once that she had visions of important events in the future. I am certain that this is one she has pre ordained.""Yes, I forgot about that," I lie, knowing very well that she both knows we are here, and has visions such as these. After all, I have met the lady herself- and she certainly lives up to her tall tales.A long, wavering howl resounds through the forest, echoing through the dead, porous trees that quiver against the sound like leaves on a river. There is simply no telling what the hollow forest holds for us, whether right outside the perimeters of our vision lurk beasts of old and monsters that have not seen the light of day for thousands of years.No one dares venture into this place- that much I have gathered from its perpetual state of decay. And now I am starting to figure out why.Another howl and Azrael's hand tightens instinctively around my waist. Perhaps he boasts that he has no fear of the soul, that he is certain his strength will be largely enough to overcome the soul of death, but in reality, it is far from that. The way he holds himself- upright and squared, as though preparing for a fight, is a posture I have seen in animals many times over. The tell tale signs of terror and uncertainty play at his form, in the crimson swirls of his eyes and the dull glints of his sharpened teeth.Azrael has no basis, no idea as to what his powers might do against this creature, against Ingrid. Perhaps they will have no effect at all, the way Azrael's power have no influence on Soren, whose personal strength of mind outplay's Azrael's. And even if Soren's book on the five souls gave him an inkling of what is expected of the souls power, it would be a vast overestimation to assume that he knows everything about her from that book alone. Although the souls have an incredible power far above the limits of regular Faey folk, it is also largely down to the individual to harness that power.After all, it took Soren several hundred years of bloodshed and murder and ruthless training to stand in the position that he does now. Whereas on the other hand, Azrael, who acquired the soul by force, only has a fraction of the true power that Soren boasts, and relies largely on trickery and deception to claim his victories. But even so, the feat alone is quite impressive. "Can you see anything?" I whisper to Azrael through the side of my mouth, earning myself a sharp gesture to be quiet. Silently, he points a bony finger down the pathway to where a blue-white light permeates the mist. It darts through the shadows for a moment, just out of reach of my lingering golden flame, before finally, at last, the light begins to grow...
