Beyond the Gyre by Suzanne Francis

Author:Suzanne Francis [Francis, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Romance, Magical Realism
ISBN: 9781843193913
Publisher: Mushroom eBooks
Published: 2008-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Plane

Lut and Fyn hunted amongst the remains of ten astaren[20]. Their guardians, the Uri’el, shrieked and shrieked their distress. Fyn stepped over the spongy remains of a skull, and signaled Lut to follow. He did, keeping his eyes on Fyn’s back — not looking down. The sight of the ruptured visage would likely make him vomit again. Lut clutched his abdomen with his free hand, trying not to picture the head, not to smell the vile scent of decay. But his imagination did the work far better than his eyes, and he doubled over in a fit of nausea. Fyn did not look back.

They left the shrieks behind, and Fyn stopped, waiting for Lut to catch up. “All right, lad?”

Lut nodded bleakly, though in truth he felt anything but. He took a deep breath to calm his queasiness and wiped the sour taste from his lips with his sleeve.

“Well, now you have seen what we must measure ourselves against. Keep your sword at the ready. We may find the Angellus or their minions at any time.”

“Fyn?” said Lut, with trepidation. “What will we do then?”

“Fight,” said Gunnar’s cousin briefly. “They can be beaten, if you meet only two or three. Otherwise, run.” He glanced at Lut, and saw his pallor. “Is your injury giving you trouble? There is no shame in saying so. We can go back to Asaruthe.”

Lut looked at his splinted arm and set his jaw grimly. “No, Sir. I want to stay here with you.”

Fyn signaled for quiet, and dropped behind a dusty grey boulder. “Look you there,” he whispered, pointing the tip of his sword to another cluster of Uri’el in the distance.

Dark figures moved amongst them. Lut closed his eyes in horror as he saw a voulge swing with lethal precision. The sound of the blade hitting the astarene’s head was ghastly beyond belief. The shadowed figure then bent and rooted in the remains of the face.

“That is how they steal the anafireon,” Fyn whispered.

“But... But surely, those men are of the Firaithi? Are they the enemy?” Lut asked in surprise, seeing their dark skin. “I thought we were hunting for fire-spewing black creatures shaped like young trees. That is what the Angellus look like, do they not?”

“Yes, but these folk are also the minions of Maggrai. And Maggrai is Lord of all the evil in this world, including the Angellus. Now let us go and put a stop to their game.” He strode forth from their hiding place, with his sword at his side. Lut followed more slowly, loath to begin a battle with Katkin and Huw’s kindred.

Fyn moved amongst the Firaithi, who fought back sluggishly with their voulges. One slash found its mark, leaving a deep cut on his forearm. Fyn gave a cry that drove Lut’s leaden feet forward into the fray. He swung his sword left and right, feeling both awkward and somehow ruthless. The Firaithi men he fought against were emaciated and cruelly fatigued.

“Why are you doing this?” he cried to one, who swung his voulge weakly in response.

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