Page 49 of The Truth

“And what is that?”

“Stronger.” Fane allowed the elemental strands to ignite in his mind, the threads flowing through and within him. He drew a breath and pushed.

Amatkai let out a grunt, his muscles tensing, his eyes glimmering.

“If you could not foresee your own demise, then what use are you to me?” Fane shook his head. “I am bitterly disappointed.”

“Allow me to rectify that.” A burst of power erupted from Amatkai, sending both Fane and Castor sprawling backwards.

Fane caught himself, managing to stay on his feet, but he was too late to react. Amatkai wrapped Castor in threads of Air and smashed him against the wall before pulling him back into the open air between Fane and the druid.

The lightning was already arcing from Fane’s fingertips when Amatkai’s clawed hand carved into Castor’s gut and burst out his back. With a simple twist, he pushed Castor’s body into the path of the lightning, the man’s flesh catching fire in an instant.

Fane released his hold on the Spark, staggering forwards as he watched Castor scream in pain.

Amatkai lifted his arm, dragging Castor into the air once more. The man flicked his wrist, and Castor slid free, crumbling on the ground, lifeless, blood flowing freely from the gaping wound in his back.

Fane opened himself to the Spark again as Amatkai marched towards him.

“Trotke bin kas. Huartan og hnokle. Seiðr vol hoskyrt.” Runes ignited on the walls of the chamber with Amatkai’s words, glowing with a blue light.

The air pulled from Fane’s lungs, every fibre of his body feeling weaker, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. He tried to draw from the Spark, but where once he had found his home in the Spark’s warmth, now he felt nothing at all, as though a piece of him had been hollowed out.

“What are you without your Spark, Fane Mortem?”

Fane looked up at the approaching Amatkai and threw himself to his feet, wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword, and charged.

He swung for the man’s arm, but Amatkai evaded it with ease, landing a monstrous punch to Fane’s exposed ribs. Fane collapsed to one knee, then dragged himself upright again. He had never imagined he would die in a sewer, but if it was his time, he would do so on his feet.

As he readied himself, Amatkai started laughing.

“What?” Fane snapped, glancing down at the bodies around them. “You find some perverse pleasure in death?”

“No,” Amatkai said, puffing out his lower lip. “It is just a sweet thing to see such ignorance in a man who treasures logic so. You still do not know what I am, do you? All your endless hours in books, chasing stories and tales. And yet, you do not see it.”

“Whatever you are, druids bleed like any man. And I will find your blood before you best me.”

“That’s the problem.” As Amatkai spoke, his muscles seemed to swell and thicken, his bones growing longer before Fane’s eyes. Within heartbeats, the man was nine feet tall, and his pupils had stretched into long black slits. He opened his mouth to reveal long fangs. “I’m not a man.”

Fane tried reaching out to the Spark one last time. When he felt nothing, he dropped his sword, letting it clatter against the ground.

“Hmmmm…” Amatkai tilted his head to the side as though appraising Fane like a piece of jewellery. “You are what I had hoped you would be. This is the right path.”

“You’re a Seerdruid.”

“I have the power of the Pathfinders, indeed. And this is the path.”

“What is all this?” Fane opened his arms, gesturing at the bodies and the runes marked into the wall. “Why?”

“Because this was the path,” Amatkai said, looking at Fane as though he’d asked the most ridiculous question that had ever existed. “And because you, Fane, are a living Nexus. An anchor in the winding paths of time. A rock around which the river flows. You have a destiny, Fane Mortem. And it is grand. You want to see The Order broken down, want to see change in this world. I offer you the chance to enact that change. I offer you the chance to have your eyes opened.”

“My eyes are already open.”

“In the way a child believes the same. When you leave this place, Fane, you must travel to where the Naiwell Woods meet the foothills of Mar Dorul. Promise me this, and I will show you the path.”

“And what if I don’t.”

“You will.” Amatkai smiled. He reached out a hand but stopped just short of touching Fane’s forearm. “What you are about to see will come at a cost. You must know that. It will not be pleasant – you will not find joy where we go.”