Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) (49 page)

She soon saw other tiny points of light in the blackness around her and knew them to be portals to other eyes, other minds open to the call of the mother of the moonrats. Jhonate became aware of movements in the darkness, hundreds of tendrils somehow darker than the nothingness around her. They moved quickly, darting through the ether, piercing through the tiny points of light in rapid succession. The mother of the moonrats was busy communicating with her army. This distraction was why she had gotten this far.

Jhonate soared towards the source of these tendrils, an amorphous black mass in the center of the darkness. The tendrils shot by faster and closer together the nearer she came to her goal. She darted and dodged nimbly around them knowing that if one of the tendrils even touched her, she would be found out.

Soon the tendrils were so thick in the air that it became difficult to proceed. She searched until she found a calmer area in the center mass. Once close, she extended her grey staff. The tip narrowed itself to a fine point and she thrust it inside the black.

A barrage of thoughts and images filled her mind. The mother of the moonrats was old, very old, ancient. Her mind was full of memories and it took Jhonate a moment to focus her search. A blur of thought processes flew past her, individual conversations, no, orders. The shape of the army emerged in her mind, she saw their numbers and formations. It was bad. Very bad.

Quickly she sifted through thoughts digging deep into the mother of the moonrat’s mind looking for something, anything that might be of help. Finally she saw it, a secret so well protected so well guarded, that the moment she touched upon it, all other movement stopped.

“YOU!”

Jhonate withdrew her staff and darted back the way she had come, following the thin silver wire. A swarm of tentacles pursued her, reaching, grasping. She soared and banked and slashed about with her staff, now sharp as any sword. Each tentacle she cut hissed in the ether.

“HOW DARE YOU COME HERE?”

The roar was thunderous and Jhonate realized how precarious her situation was. She was within the mind of a creature so old, so experienced that if she was captured, her soul would be overwhelmed and torn asunder. Jhonate would be gone, her mind an empty shell, her thoughts replaced by the commands of the mother of the moonrats.

“YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE!”

If she had true ears in this place they would have been bleeding from the intensity of the roar. She whirled her staff around, severing hundreds of tendrils, but some of them made it through her defenses and touched her. Each time there was a searing pain as if a bit of flesh had been ripped from her body. Bit by bit, her armor melted away, pulled into the darkness. She battled for what felt like hours, flitting around, always following that silvery trail. Her wings were in tatters. Her skin throbbed. Finally she saw the window she was searching for. Jhonate flew towards it with every bit of her strength. Tendrils grabbed her staff, pulling it away from her. More tendrils wrapped around her legs, tugging, yanking, melting her flesh. They pulled at her and she surged ahead, throwing all her strength into one last lunge. There was a tearing sensation and she shot forward.

Jhonate burst through the window and into the comforting light of her own mind. She shouted for joy, but her triumph was short lived. The window to the moonrat mother’s mind was still open. Tendrils poured in, gripping the light around them. More and more tendrils came through the portal. They swarmed and rippled and twisted together.

A shape emerged from the tangled mass, black and shining and feminine and beautiful and horrible all at once. A face formed, full lips, a dainty nose. The eyes that opened in the center of that perfect face glowed red, the red of living blood.

Jhonate tried to stand, but she could not. Her small form was naked and bloodied, her legs ended in ragged stumps where the tendrils had torn her feet from her. She told herself that this was not real. It was a mental representation of her body. She was in her own mind. She was in charge. 

“I think not,”
the black figure said. Jhonate gasped in surprise.

“Oh, so you think you accomplished something with your little trip inside me, do you, dear? Now that I am here, your mind is no longer yours.”

“You are wrong,” Jhonate said. Her feet had grown back as instructed. She stood and faced the creature. Clothes reappeared on her body. “I am not so weak as you think.”

“So you grew a couple feet? You think that a few years of training make you equal to me?”
She snarled and thrust out an arm. Long black fingers shot from her hand and wrapped tightly around Jhonate, holding her in place.
“Shall we see what you found out on your little trip?”

The moonrat mother reached her other arm into the whiteness. Jhonate could feel the creature rooting through her memories. As she had been trained, Jhonate moved the important thoughts out of the reach of the grasping arm.  The small success increased her confidence. She spat onto the fingers binding her. Her spittle sizzled, melting through one of them. The moonrat mother’s eyes narrowed and another black finger grew out to replace the damaged one.

“You did not like it, did you? Having me inside your mind,” Jhonate said. “How many centuries has it been since you felt invaded?”

 She chuckled.
“You know nothing of me, girl. My idle thoughts could fill your mind a thousand times over. What little you saw was insignificant.”

“Then why are you so worried?” The black fingers kept searching in her head, leaving a slimy residue behind, but she continued to shift those important memories aside. She had fought too hard to have them taken away now. She flexed her mind, and armor appeared back over the clothes on her body.

“So you insist on keeping those thoughts from me?”
The black figure withdrew her arm from Jhonate’s mind and moved forward until her face was inches from Jhonate’s own.
“It is futile. I will have them.”

“Why are you so proud?” Jhonate glared into the creatures red eyes. “For all your power, you are trapped. Enslaved. I saw that much.”

“Trapped?”
A peal of horrible laughter ripped forth from her throat.
“Trapped? You caught but a tiny glimpse of my vastness. My eyes are everywhere. I have long ago escaped the bonds of a human mind.”

“So what I discovered was real. You were human once. What warped you into this thing before me?”

The face contorted into a snarl. The bands around Jhonate squeezed. It became harder to think. The armor began to melt away again.

“I marked you for death a mere year ago.”
the creature said.
“And now I have you. When you are dead, it will not matter what you learned.”

“And yet I live,” Jhonate responded, struggling to remain conscious. There was something she had learned, something important. What was it? What?

“Not for long.”

There was a crunch somewhere inside her. Jhonate’s thoughts faded. The whiteness surrounding them dimmed. What was it? What had she learned? Something important had resided in the center of the creature’s mind . . .

“I know your name,” Jhonate said. The perfect face was filled with terror. “You are Melinda.”

A howl of rage filled the air. The bonds tightened again,

“Release me,” Jhonate commanded.

The creature stepped back and Jhonate was free.

“You will have no power over me!”

The creature named Mellinda swelled. More and more blackness flooded through the window. Before Jhonate could issue another command, hundreds of black arms shot forth into the whiteness. The hands grasped, searching for the name. Jhonate tried to hide it, but there were too many. She was not fast enough. The hands seized the memory and tore it away.

“Now your commands are nothing!”
The mother surged towards Jhonate’s small form.

Suddenly, an enormous gray arm came from nowhere, or possibly from everywhere at once, and seized the creature in its fist. The black tendrils withered. The beautiful face began to dissolve.  

“Let me go, soulless one! Let me-!”

The voice cut off. Jhonate’s white world dissipated. She heard concerned voices and felt the chill mountain air on her face. She opened her eyes, but her vision was dimmed. A rough hand ripped the orange moonrat eye from her grasp.

Jhonate’s eyes cleared. Tamboor the Fearless, his glistening body still steaming in the winter air, brought the eye up to his face.

“Thank you, Tamboor the Fearless. She did not get it all,” Jhonate said. “She did not get everything.”

Jhonate felt hands trying to help her up and shook them off. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing her nerves to relax. Her head ached and her mind reeled from the mother of the moonrat’s last attack. She had torn such an important discovery from her grasp. What had it been? Jhonate remembered feeling such a sense of triumph before . . . but whatever she had lost, the creature had failed. She hadn’t gotten everything.

Jhonate stood. One important fact loomed large in her mind. She turned and looked at Faldon and Locksher’s concerned faces.

“We are too late. Ewzad Vriil’s army has begun the attack on the academy.”

Tamboor growled and squeezed his taught fist. Muscles bulged in his forearm and with a pop, orange ichor squirted from his hand. Tamboor threw the remnants of the eye to the ground.

Justan exited the lodge, his belly filled with a hearty breakfast. He stepped into the street and took a deep breath of the crisp morning air, inhaling the scent of the pines in the forest mixed with the smell of hay and manure from the stables and the faint whiff of smoke already coming from the smithy. He stretched, feeling each individual muscle in his back tighten in a satisfying manner. His senses were sharper now, his body more aware. It was an exhilarating way to begin the day.

He walked towards the stables, but stopped before entering. He turned to look up past the log walls of Coal’s Keep and into the trees beyond. In the highest boughs of one tree he caught the briefest glint of eyes watching.

As he did every day, Justan greeted his new bonded.
Good morning, Deathclaw, will you please let me fix that headache?
The raptoids head still throbbed. The pain hadn’t faded like Master Coal had said it would. Justan had no idea how Deathclaw functioned as well as he did. Justan had to mute the sensation to avoid getting sympathy headaches of his own. As usual, all he received was an irritated hiss in response. Deathclaw did not like that Justan always knew where he was.
Very well then. Will you be joining us again today
?

Deathclaw hissed again. Still, Justan knew that he would follow.

Fist and Gwyrtha were waiting in the stables. Justan smiled. “Ready to work?” 

“Yes!” Fist said. “Miss Nala said that she would be making meat pies this morning. I hope she also makes fruit pies.”

“So do I,” Justan said.

Gwyrtha nudged him.
Ride
.

Justan grinned and scratched her behind the ears. “Let’s go then.” 

He mounted up and they left the keep, Fist walking beside them. Justan sensed Deathclaw nearby, shadowing them in the trees. The raptoid tried his best to remain undetected, staying downwind and keeping to the shadows, but he couldn’t hide from the bond.

He follows,
Gwyrtha said. Evidently he couldn’t hide from her either.

“Yes he does, Gwyrtha,” Justan said, patting the side of her neck. “It’s okay.”

On a hunch, he decided to widen his connection to Deathclaw’s side of the bond. The pain of the raptoid’s headache leaked through, but it wasn’t intolerable. Now Deathclaw would hear their conversation despite the distance. A brief sound in the forest beyond told Justan that Deathclaw had been startled by the sensation.

Fist glanced in the trees. “Why does he watch us?”

“He is curious,” Justan answered. “He can sense the bond, but he does not understand it.”

“Tell him then,” the ogre said.

“It’s not that easy. I’ve tried. But he doesn’t like it when I contact him directly.”