Dark Challenge. Christine Feehan. Dark Series – book 5

Above the bird, dark storm clouds began to gather. They were large and ominous, filled to overflowing with water and energy. The arcing of lightning lit the sky, followed quickly by the rumble of thunder, as if heralding the opening to the great battle. Not fire, Julian urged quickly.

I am not completely without sense. These creatures are honed in fire. Fire will only increase their power. Darius sounded as calm as ever, without expression of any kind.

Within the bird’s body, Julian found himself smiling despite the danger surrounding them. Darius was a warrior. He had total and complete confidence in his own abilities. Julian found himself believing that confidence was well-founded.

Lighting flashed from cloud to cloud, long whips of fiery energy. Thunder crashed directly overhead, slamming the earth with a roar of sound, shaking the ground with tremendous vibrations. The black shadow figures seemed to flinch at the sound, their strange shapes contorting, lengthening, so that they appeared to be thin caricatures of humans clothed in long, hooded robes, empty, staring sockets where their eyes should have been, the slashes of their mouths gaping open and moaning low and incessantly. The robed figures stretched their tree-branch arms outward and began to form a loose circle around Darius.

Still the leader did not look toward them. His pace did not falter, nor did he appear to hear the awful groans escaping from the ghouls pursuing him. Once he shook his head slightly so that his long ebony hair fell around his shoulders loosely, giving him even more the appearance of an ancient warrior. He looked what he was—a dangerous fighter, his face harsh and merciless. There was no pity in his black eyes, no compassion for those fashioned by the undead.

The shadow figures began to murmur softly, an ancient chant as they circled toward the left, the ring loose and flowing as they appeared to float above the charred earth.

Julian felt his heart slam hard in his chest. A binding from the depths of darkness. Could Darius possibly know a counterspell? It was difficult not to become too absorbed in what was happening below him, not to rush to aid. Julian’s task was to watch those two bodies, to ensure that no harm came to them. He circled lazily above Barack and Syndil, watching the earth for signs of disturbance. His mind was still merged partially with Desari, that he might know the battle they waged with Syndil for her freedom from the undead’s trap. The vampire was patient, pulling at Syndil relentlessly, bending his will to one purpose only. His best chance was to draw Syndil’s spirit away from Desari and Barack, that he might triumph.

Desari was a formidable opponent, her beautiful voice casting a safety net of silver and gold for Syndil’s spirit to wrap itself in. The tone was so pure that the undead, without soul, wholly evil as he was, found the voice diminishing his immense skills. He was unclean, and the purity of the notes was a gentle but powerful reminder of the foul, vile path he had deliberately chosen for himself. He saw himself as clearly as if Desari were holding a mirror to his face. The long centuries showed on his face, his skin rotten and decayed, peeling from his skull in long strips. Worms crawled through his body, and the vileness of his existence was laid bare for him to see. Poison blood, taken from dying humans and Carpathians alike, dripped like acid along his skin, pitting what once had been smooth flesh; it seeped from his flame-red eyes and oozed along the talons that were his fingernails. His fetid breath was a visible hue of green and yellow, and his hideous voice was a hiss of grating sounds in such stark contrast to the purity of Desari’s beautiful voice that he pressed both hands over his ears and screamed in agony. As he did so, he lost, for one small moment, his hold on Syndil.

Immediately, as if he had been waiting for just such a reaction, Barack’s grip on Syndil became more firm, his spirit so completely merged with hers that he felt her horror of the attack. It encompassed her mind, filled her with self-loathing. She believed she had somehow drawn the evil to her, that she was endangering the rest of her family by staying with them.