Read Online The Witch's Eye by Steven Montano, Barry Currey - Free Book Online
Authors: Steven Montano, Barry Currey
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boy live, yet again. He didn’t understand why.
Un til now.
Ronan wandered Voth Ra’morg’s streets through the dead of night. The burned stench of bodies and the caw of carrion birds filled the air. Night smoke curled off the ground, and thick stars burned in the dead sky. Everything felt cold, empty and vast. Standing in that forlorn city, Ronan felt as alone as he ever had in his life.
I let you live , he thought. Not once, but twice, because I wanted to believe we held some kind of kinship. You and me. Brothers.
Killing you would have been like killing myself.
He looked back at the warehouse where Maur and Jade and the survivors waited. He wanted to get Maur to safety. That kinship he’d once felt for the blonde boy had spilled over to the team, the only people he cared about.
I ’m not ready to die yet.
Reluctantly, Ronan walked back to the warehouse.
FOUR
ASCENT
The Rift glowed red in the dawn light. Grease ice and broken slate crumbled beneath Cross’s grip as he climbed. The ledges and walkways were connected by a shambling web of stone stairs and ancient steel cables that seemed to moor the canyon walls together like drifting ships. Scores of caves marked the way, their outer orbits cratered and flaking.
Cross had climbed for nearly a day after he’d dispatched the savage women. He’d found scraps of leather armor, a second blade, and an old Colt .45 that was barely in working condition. Bits of frozen meat and edible leaves had given him some sustenance, though he remained wary of the water in the canteen he’d found, as the liquid smelled like sulfur and salt.
The walk up the steep path went by in a haze. There was no question he’d been drugged, and the aftereffects of whatever narcotic they’d forced into his system still lingered. There were times when the vertigo and dizziness were too much, and he had to stop and steady himself. Sometimes he felt like he was moving even when he stood perfectly still.
The Rift was impossibly deep. If he fell, he’d die against the jagged blood rock walls well before he ever reached the bottom, if indeed there was a bottom. All he saw was a flat and dismal void filled with iron smoke and shadows the color of deep water. Looking down into that gulf was like gazing into a night sky, and there were times when Cross flattened himself against the wall and almost felt like he was lying on his back, trapped on a plane between opposing nowheres.
You won’t get anywhere like this. You have to keep moving.
Thick clouds covered the sky . The air pressed down on him as he made his ascent. Pockets of blue mist shifted across the void below, and the longer he looked into it, the deeper it became.
His muscles ached with fatigue, but he pressed on, careful not to push himself too hard, but unwilling to stop. He was afraid if he did he’d never be able to start moving again, that his body would betray him and he’d hang there at the edge of oblivion, frozen to the wall like an aged and forgotten bat.
He thought of Danica. He thought of Snow. There was no telling how m uch time he’d lost in that cave as a slave to those feral women.
He climbed through curtains of curled green and black smoke. Crumbling limestone fell into his hair and on his skin. He became an ash silhouette.
Cross avoided the caves wherever possible. He didn’t want to risk running into more of the Carrion Rift’s denizens. The most horrid things – the tentacled beasts, the shadow nightmares, the twisted mutations they talked about in the stories – must have dwelt deeper down, but he still didn’t want to take any chances.
Growls and dissonant echoes floated on the dank and lifeless wind. Day-burning stars shone through rips in the smoke overhead. Patches of ice appeared underfoot. He followed a path that had
Un til now.
Ronan wandered Voth Ra’morg’s streets through the dead of night. The burned stench of bodies and the caw of carrion birds filled the air. Night smoke curled off the ground, and thick stars burned in the dead sky. Everything felt cold, empty and vast. Standing in that forlorn city, Ronan felt as alone as he ever had in his life.
I let you live , he thought. Not once, but twice, because I wanted to believe we held some kind of kinship. You and me. Brothers.
Killing you would have been like killing myself.
He looked back at the warehouse where Maur and Jade and the survivors waited. He wanted to get Maur to safety. That kinship he’d once felt for the blonde boy had spilled over to the team, the only people he cared about.
I ’m not ready to die yet.
Reluctantly, Ronan walked back to the warehouse.
FOUR
ASCENT
The Rift glowed red in the dawn light. Grease ice and broken slate crumbled beneath Cross’s grip as he climbed. The ledges and walkways were connected by a shambling web of stone stairs and ancient steel cables that seemed to moor the canyon walls together like drifting ships. Scores of caves marked the way, their outer orbits cratered and flaking.
Cross had climbed for nearly a day after he’d dispatched the savage women. He’d found scraps of leather armor, a second blade, and an old Colt .45 that was barely in working condition. Bits of frozen meat and edible leaves had given him some sustenance, though he remained wary of the water in the canteen he’d found, as the liquid smelled like sulfur and salt.
The walk up the steep path went by in a haze. There was no question he’d been drugged, and the aftereffects of whatever narcotic they’d forced into his system still lingered. There were times when the vertigo and dizziness were too much, and he had to stop and steady himself. Sometimes he felt like he was moving even when he stood perfectly still.
The Rift was impossibly deep. If he fell, he’d die against the jagged blood rock walls well before he ever reached the bottom, if indeed there was a bottom. All he saw was a flat and dismal void filled with iron smoke and shadows the color of deep water. Looking down into that gulf was like gazing into a night sky, and there were times when Cross flattened himself against the wall and almost felt like he was lying on his back, trapped on a plane between opposing nowheres.
You won’t get anywhere like this. You have to keep moving.
Thick clouds covered the sky . The air pressed down on him as he made his ascent. Pockets of blue mist shifted across the void below, and the longer he looked into it, the deeper it became.
His muscles ached with fatigue, but he pressed on, careful not to push himself too hard, but unwilling to stop. He was afraid if he did he’d never be able to start moving again, that his body would betray him and he’d hang there at the edge of oblivion, frozen to the wall like an aged and forgotten bat.
He thought of Danica. He thought of Snow. There was no telling how m uch time he’d lost in that cave as a slave to those feral women.
He climbed through curtains of curled green and black smoke. Crumbling limestone fell into his hair and on his skin. He became an ash silhouette.
Cross avoided the caves wherever possible. He didn’t want to risk running into more of the Carrion Rift’s denizens. The most horrid things – the tentacled beasts, the shadow nightmares, the twisted mutations they talked about in the stories – must have dwelt deeper down, but he still didn’t want to take any chances.
Growls and dissonant echoes floated on the dank and lifeless wind. Day-burning stars shone through rips in the smoke overhead. Patches of ice appeared underfoot. He followed a path that had
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