CHAPTER 8

At first, the attack on Catriona's village seemed just another unfortunate site of these cosmic battles. Daelen appeared, as he always did, in the middle of a violent storm, bringing thunder, rain and lightning flashes that seemed to be shaped in the image of a great tiger. But there was something different about this attack: this time Kullos appeared to have an ally, which was unheard of. An ally who seemed intent on razing their quiet little village to the ground, as if in revenge for some terrible affront or unknowable offence they had caused. The village was not entirely alone in the face of this supernatural force. The Champion of the Gods, the faithful companion of Daelen StormTiger, was with them. He was called Ossian Miach Kaidool, but Tempestrians tended to call him 'Michael' as they could never pronounce his real name correctly. Trust me, gentle reader, it is not as simple as it appears on the page. There were complex inflexions to be observed and several of the common mistakes apparently translated into something highly insulting in his language. So frankly, he'd rather they just stick to 'Michael.' Standing at seven feet, with dried, translucent skin stretched like parchment over a horned skull, he was somewhat disconcerting to look at. Still, he was quite an amiable chap. Just as long as one did not mispronounce his name and he wasn't suffering from one of his bouts of depression, which were pretty understandable considering he was Fated to die at the end of every Final Battle. And there had been many Final Battles. Such death was not permanent – Daelen would always Resurrect him at a later time, but he could only do that when there was dire need. On that fateful day, Michael was forced to leave Daelen's side, and try to defend the village, while the shadow warrior assailed Kullos with powerful blasts from his beam cannon and drew their great battle away from the area. The being attacking the village, gentle reader, was difficult to see – a phrase I use quite literally. He certainly wasn't hiding, nor was it merely a case of camouflage. He wasn't invisible as such, but more like a 'void-creature.' When one looked at his position, one didn't really see him, so much as see the absence of him. As if there were a humanoidshaped hole in the fabric of reality in the place he was standing. Michael had never seen anything like it before. Or should that be, he had 'never not-seen nothing' like it before? Whatever. Let's just go with 'void-creature.' Michael brought his powers to bear on this individual, but it remained unaffected. He summoned swarms of deadly insects, but they were swallowed by the void. He tried 'A Murder of Ravens in Fugue' bringing forth a dozen undead ravens from the Gates of Hell. Heralds of Death, they would inspire fear in those they attacked, but their calls seemed to echo and fade as if the void-creature were simply much too far away for their song to carry. Abandoning such tactics, he decided to go for a more direct approach, launching himself at the void-creature with his great Warhammer made of hardened, unbreakable petrified wood, which would imprison those it struck in the same material. The void-creature was fast – almost shadow warrior fast, but the centuries of training with Daelen paid off, and he finally hit his target. For a moment, the void-creature was cocooned, and it seemed the battle was won, but a moment later, the wood began to vibrate and quake until it shook itself apart, throwing Michael clear. Michael rushed at the void-creature with his golden Sword of Maruk, imbued with the power of the gods, but the void-creature opened a pocket dimension, from which he produced a great cannon and aimed it at Michael. Time slowed as Michael looked on in horror: From his readings, it seemed like a version of what Daelen and Kullos used, only even more powerful. Except it couldn't be. The idea of a more powerful beam cannon was plausible enough in itself since the cannon drew power entirely from the shadow warrior who used it. In fact, the warrior was the real weapon – the cannon merely aided focus. A more powerful cannon really meant a more powerful shadow warrior. Just one problem: There were no more shadow warriors. Maybe not anywhere, but certainly in this realm, there were but three: Kullos, plus Daelen and his dark clone. But if this attack was indeed what it appeared to be, then Michael could not survive. Michael could always sense when he was Fated to die, and this was not one of those occasions. The gods had created him with the knowledge that if ever he died when it wasn't Time, he could never be Resurrected. He would die, permanently. Forever. In a last, desperate attempt to make his existence count for something, he channelled every last drop of power from his very being through his sword to strike at the void-creature. As he did so, three figures appeared between them. Again, Michael couldn't see them very well, but in a different way to the void-creature. They seemed to be shrouded by magic. All he could make out through his haze of pain was that they seemed to have a more feminine silhouette, and each seemed to radiate a particular colour: one white, one black and one red. They had woven some kind of magical net between them, which had a lensing effect on both energy beams, magnifying Michael's and diffracting the cannon blast. The result of this Intervention was threefold: First, Michael was thrown to the ground in agony, but still alive – barely. Second, the voidcreature was stunned long enough for the three newcomers to go on the offensive with what appeared to be a combination of all three flavours of mortal magic: wizard, cleric and druid. How mere mortal magic could be effective, Michael could not understand, but it was. The third effect of this Intervention, however, was that the portion of the diffracted cannon blast that had missed Michael slammed into the village around them. The young Catriona Redfletching was at the extreme edge of the explosion and was thrown clear. Others were not so fortunate. Cat dragged herself to her feet and cried out in tearful horror as her father, who had been only slightly closer to the blast, disintegrated into nothingness before her eyes. Also witness to the horrific scene was Velena who had been hunting away from the village at the time of the attack. Cat sensed her mother before she saw her, and when she turned to look at her, she felt like her spirit had been ripped from her body. She knew well the look on her mother's face – it meant only one thing: the battle frenzy was upon her. Catriona's fears were confirmed as Velena dropped the carcass of the stag she had slain for their dinner and reached for her weapons. "Mum! No!" Cat screamed, desperately, tears coursing like rivers down her cheeks. "You can't fight them, they're too powerful!" But she could see it in her mother's eyes: at that moment, she didn't even recognise her own daughter. Catriona tried to physically stop her, but Velena threw her aside like she was nothing to her. That hurt Cat far more than the rock that struck her head as she landed on her back. "Please!" she begged. "Please, Mum, I—I can't lose you, too!" Velena ignored her pleas and rushed, heedless into battle, shooting arrows futilely at the void-creature. "Mum," Cat whispered, her world fading as her concussion took its toll, and she lapsed into unconsciousness, "I…love…"