The Wolf's Call - Anthony Ryan Page 0,141

of my distress for he crouched in front of me, hand extended towards the stone.

“Stop that!” the Mestra-Dirhmar snapped as I felt Varij begin to summon his gift. The priest’s voice possessed such a note of accustomed command that Varij hesitated, though his arm remained raised.

“You might be able to crumble stone, boy,” the priest said, “but you won’t even scratch this. For countless years many have tried, but it resists all injury.” When Varij still failed to lower his arm the priest gave a disgusted snort and shrugged. “Very well,” he said, standing back. “Feel free to try, just don’t expect to survive the experience. They’ll surely appreciate a meal like you.”

Varij turned to me, confusion and indecision on his face. I shook my head and he nodded, lowering his arm and assisting Eresa in helping me to my feet. The nausea had lessened a little, allowing me to make a faltering step towards the stone.

“Then what is it?” I demanded of the priest. I recall now just how much I wanted him to be lying, for this all to be yet more deceit. Everything I knew, everything I felt, railed against this old man’s words. Kehlbrand has always cherished me, he has given me a family, a mission . . . All my inner protestations slipped away as I looked into the eyes of the Mestra-Dirhmar and knew him to be speaking only truth.

“It is a lock,” he told me, “on a very old and rotten door, one your brother intends to break to pieces and unleash what waits behind.”

“What . . .” I staggered again as a fresh wave of sickness swept through me. “What waits? What are the Unseen?”

“Endless hunger and depthless malice. We fed them, all these years, we gathered the Divine Blood into the priesthood and we fed them, thinking it would keep them sated. It drains us, bleeds our gifts from us and turns us into these wasted souls you see now. Sometimes I wonder if we were the ones being lied to, a lie we told ourselves. We imagined the Unseen would be satisfied with morsels when, beyond their prison, there was a whole world to eat. Some years ago something changed, their hunger grew. It was as if they had woken from a torpor. However much we fed them it wasn’t enough. They always wanted more than we could give, our gifts diminishing with every feeding so that when your brother failed to meet his appointed end, we had not the power to oppose him. More than that, we could feel them reaching out, into the realm where the shadows of lost souls linger, and there they found servants. Somehow, what lurks beyond the door found a way to engineer its release.”

As he spoke his voice grew dull, the words still audible but faint, as if heard from far away. My gaze was locked on the stone now, eyes tracking continually over its red-gold veins. The pulses of power were more frequent, beating in time with my heart and birthing an upswell of sickness each time. It was the pain that saved me, cutting through the fog clouding my mind to reveal the sight of my hand, lowering slowly towards the stone.

Gasping, I snatched it back and began to turn away, but the priest, despite his age and the sticklike emaciation of his form, possessed enough strength and swiftness to reach out and snare my wrist. I tried to pull it free but another series of pulses from the stone sent me to my knees, retching in agony.

“Eresa!” I rasped, turning to find both Varij and Eresa standing immobile, faces slack and void of consciousness.

“Withered it may be,” the priest said, pulling me closer, breath rank on my face, “but my gift lingers, child. I have just enough left to give them one last meal.”

I snatched the dagger from my belt and sought to drive it between the stark bones of his chest, but the sickness made it a feeble attempt. The blade scored his skin down to the ribs before he batted it away with an angry grunt.

“Your gift is great,” he said, dragging me towards the stone. “Perhaps great enough to sate them for years.”

I fought him as best I could, scratching at his eyes, trying to thrash as his bony arm encircled my waist, but I felt like an infant struggling in the grip of an adult.

“Know that I take no pleasure in this,” he said, his hand

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