The Inner Circle: Holy Spirit Read online



  BOOK TWO

  THE INNER CIRCLE

  HOLY SPIRIT

  CAEL MCINTOSH

  Copyright © 2015 Cael McIntosh

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 0646938150

  ISBN-13: 978-0-646-93815-8

  DEDICATION

  For the broken.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue: Someone Missing

  1Sometimes Blood is Not Thicker than Water

  2Tears

  3The Curse

  4The High Elder

  5Distant Horizon

  6It Begins

  7Upon the Wind

  8The End is Nigh

  9Demons

  10Unexpectation

  11Your People

  12Sa’Tanist

  13Betrayal

  14Rain

  15The Clouds Are Caving In

  16Wept For

  17Tension

  18The Devil’s Crown

  19Far-a-mael’s War

  20The Inner Monster

  21Home

  22A Turn for the Worst

  23The Sufferers

  24Black Powder Bombs

  25Hel Fire

  26Mother

  27A Formidable Foe

  28In the Dead of Night

  29He Gathering Winds

  30Disruption

  31Disunity

  32Murderer

  33The Disquiet Spirit

   

 

  PROLOGUE

  SOMEONE MISSING

  His fingers ached due to a temperature lower than that which he’d felt in many years. Snowflakes gently gathered and clung to his short beard and dark hair. His back was sore from countless days riding atop a horse and yet still he persevered.

  What made an ordinary countryman travel half the length of the world leaving both his home and business to crumble? Gifn Eltari loved his daughter.

  Across the empty expanse of smooth ice towered the immense frozen cliffs that were home to the secretive cleff societies of the Elglair. The cleff that Gifn had fixed firmly in his sights was known as the Sixth and he’d travelled a hazardous journey to reach the place. He’d ridden on little more than faith and a few offhand tips from strangers in foreign cities that had happened upon the party he now perused so vehemently.

  Gifn had travelled from Elmsville to Sitnic and on into Riverend, where he’d been tipped off in regards to his daughter’s destination. The man warned that Gifn’s daughter had boarded a riverboat destined to cut through the heart of Cold Wood. Gifn dared not to take that route, instead travelling all the way from Sat Elmore to Sat Effin and finally into Sat Elam. It was there that he discovered rumours of an Elglair woman having passed through the city with a young companion. Up until reaching Sat Elmore, Gifn could’ve only been a matter of days behind the travellers, but having had to take the long journey north of the city he could only imagine how far behind he’d fallen.

  The scenery surrounding him would’ve been beautiful to the hardest of hearts, but for Gifn the ancient place held memories naught but grim. The great cliffs drew up painful recollections of the price his wife had had to pay to be him.

  Jil-e-an--or, as she’d later came to be called, Jillian--had very rarely spoken of her home in the Eighth Cleff. In many ways, Gifn had been aware of her desire to return, even just one last time. But that was impossible. It was forbidden that any Elglair should marry an outlander. Even association was frowned upon. Chapped lips smiled grimly as Gifn drove his horse ever closer to the waiting city. Jil-e-an had been a strong woman and she’d chosen a life of her own desire. If only she could’ve lived it a little longer.

  When the newly married couple had chosen Elmsville--a quiet little town in Gor Narvon--as a place to settle down, they’d done so under the impression that there, they would be safe. The place was as far away from the Frozen Lands as one could get while maintaining a healthy distance from Old World. At the time, it was commonly believed that not a single whisp had made it so far north as Elmsville in well over a hundred years. It’d been a cruel twist of fate that one should reach their town with the intent of killing Jil-e-an.

  Jil-e-an had died without making a sound. It was the screaming of his infant daughter that had woken Gifn. At the sound of her piercing cry, he’d thrown the blankets aside and hurried out into the hallway. There he’d found Jil-e-an’s lifeless body, collapsed outside their daughter’s bedroom. All that was left to tell of her demise was the final slithers of black mist penetrating her flesh.

  When the screaming came to a stop, Seteal went for many days without uttering a sound at all. She didn’t cry for food. She didn’t laugh or respond to any of the games she’d once enjoyed. It was as though she’d felt her mother’s death.

  A shiver ran down Gifn’s spine. She very probably had.

  Seteal had been a quiet, somewhat complacent child, waiting until her teenage years before developing a hot-headed and often rude disposition. Gifn had never told his daughter of her heritage. He knew her too well. If Seteal had discovered the truth, she’d have likely packed a bag and travelled to the Frozen Lands of her own volition. As a half-caste, there she would find only rejection and ridicule. True to Jil-e-an’s wishes, Gifn had successfully kept the secret--up until so many weeks ago when the Elglair came knocking.

  Even now, Gifn was unable to fathom why they’d come for Seteal. Jil-e-an had said that they never would. Not only was Seteal a shame to the Elglair, but by their standards, she was the child of an illegitimate marriage. If the Elglair chose any action at all, Jil-e-an felt sure that they’d more likely avoid Elmsville than enter into it.

  ‘Whoa there.’ Gifn called his horse to a stop several strides before a steep decline, where the ground sank to form an immense basin valley. Never having been to the Sixth Cleff, he’d made sure to be cautious approaching it. The Elglair were known for their trickery and the basin was very likely a defence mechanism against invasion. Climbing steadily from his saddle, Gidn made his way over to the edge. The cleff was composed of the ice-carved structures one would expect in the Frozen Lands, but upon closer inspection, it became evident that all was not well in the Elglair city.

  At the centre of the cleff was a pile of partially melted rubble so large that Gifn could only guess at the size of the structure that’d previously stood there. Great pools of water had formed where the ground had caved in. It was very difficult to melt Elglair-manufactured ice and Gifn couldn’t help but wonder what might’ve happened to destroy it. Other buildings in the city had been decimated, too, but none more so than the one at its centre.

  On the eastern side of the basin, a hidoan of thousands had been gathered, but plenty more of the Elglair soldiers milled about in the central parts of the cleff. Tents of varying sizes filled the area to the east. It was there that Gifn realised he’d find the man he sought.

  After about twenty minutes of searching for an entrance into the basin, Gifn came upon a sloping pathway that led down to the eastern side. Realising that his horse was nervous about descending the dangerous terrain, Gifn tied the animal to an ice tree and continued on alone. Eventually the pathway levelled out and he found himself walking cautiously amongst Elglair homes. Men and women going about their business turned to stare at him, their white pupils locking on him in astonishment.

  A small boy pulled at his mother’s arm. ‘What’s wrong with his eyes?’ The woman responded only by dragging her son in the opposite direction. Gifn shook his head in disbelief.

  Eventually the roads thinned out and Gifn found himself travelling across open planes as he approached the eastern military operation. Small tents filled the space on the outskirts of the gathering, but as
he got closer, he noticed more prestigious abodes at the centre. As he slid past the first row of tents, he began to wonder how long it would take before he was noticed and questioned.

  Gifn wasn’t left wondering very long. The cold blade of a long sword touched the flesh of his neck and he froze immediately.

  ‘Come no farther, outlander,’ a young and rather nervous looking an’hadoan threatened. By the look of him, Gifn doubted the boy had ever even been outside the Frozen Lands. ‘For what reason have you entered our cleff?’

  ‘Where’s Far-a-mael?’ Gifn stepped back from the blade and turned to face the young man.

  ‘Far-a-mael of the Eighth Cleff?’ The young man’s jaw dropped.

  ‘The one and only,’ Gifn said through gritted teeth, remembering the living torrid that the old man had put Jil-e-an through.

  ‘The man you speak of is now addressed as War Elder Far-a-mael of the Unified Cleffs,’ the young soldier announced, patriotic glint in his eye.

  Gifn raised his eyebrows. It was just like Far-a-mael to attach himself to such a presumptuous title. ‘I don’t care what he calls himself. I’m here to see Far-a-mael. And, son, you’re not going to stop me.’ Gifn placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. It’d been many years since he’d used it, but Gifn doubted he’d forgotten how.

  ‘I’ll take you to my superior.’ The young man stepped back nervously.

  ‘And who might that be?’ Gifn enquired. ‘Who might you be, for that matter?’

  ‘I’m an an’hidoan,’ the boy said proudly. ‘My name is Wil-u-ke and I’ll be taking you to see Sy Tim-a-nie.’

  ‘Well, we’d better get a move on.’ Gifn rubbed his forehead tiredly, having never quite gotten used to Elglair names and titles. ‘I’m not getting any younger.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ The an’hidoan’s face was filled with concern. ‘You must be at least a hundred. We’ll leave right away.’

  Gifn sighed but refused to correct the boy. Elglair were renowned for their longevity, typically living past their two hundredth birthday. The youth were taught to respect age as though it was status and as far as Gifn was concerned, the older they thought him, the better.

  As Gifn hurried after the dexterous young man, weaving in between the tents before him, he soon became aware of other young an’hidoans keeping a close eye on him. Even the occasional gil paused to shoot him a rather disapproving glance, but seeing as though he had Wil-u-ke as an escort, the pair remained unhindered.

  ‘Sy Tim-a-nie.’ Wil-u-ke paused by the canvas flap of a rather impressive looking tent. ‘May I have audience with you?’

  ‘Come in, Wil-u-ke,’ a rather dissonant voice replied.

  ‘Stay here.’ Wil-u-ke pointed a finger at Gifn’s chest. ‘I’m serious. If you step out of line this close to the War Elder’s tent, there’s no telling what your punishment will be,’ the young man warned before stepping into Sy Tim-a-nie’s tent.

  Gifn turned in a slow circle, taking in his immediate surroundings. Most of the tents in this part of the camp were rather elaborate, but one of them towered above the others and its length stretched much farther back. Wil-u-ke had said that they were close to Far-a-mael’s tent. Did Gifn dare seek out the man on his own?

  The tent flap was pulled aside and Wil-u-ke stepped out, followed by an older man who could only have been Sy Tim-a-nie. Tim-a-nie’s voice did not match the physique of the man standing before Gifn, a weasel of a fellow with a sharp nose. ‘So you’re the outlander who dares to stride into our cleff unannounced? What business could you possibly have with the War Elder?’ he finished with a snarl, eyeing Gifn’s modest garb distastefully.

  ‘He took my daughter,’ Gifn spat. ‘I’ve come to retrieve her.’

  ‘Ah, yes . . . the Eltari girl.’ Tim-a-nie nodded. ‘Of course. I’m terribly sorry, but this is as far as you may come, outlander. You must return to whichever rock it is you crawled out from under.’

  ‘I’ve travelled for weeks to get here and you expect me to simply turn around and leave?’ Gifn raised his arms in disbelief. ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘Leave!’ In an instant, Tim-a-nie’s sword went from its scabbard to Gifn’s throat. ‘You’ve been denied an audience with the War Elder.’

  ‘All right, all right!’ Gifn’s eyes bulged in alarm and he took a step back. ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘Good.’ Tim-a-nie smiled mockingly. ‘Wil-u-ke. Would you kindly escort--’

  Before the sy’hadoan could say another word, Gifn pulled his sword free and started swinging. ‘I want my daughter back!’ he shouted, anger and determination blinding him to the danger in which he’d put himself.

  Sy Tim-a-nie leapt backward and raised his sword to ward off Gifn’s blow, but he’d caught the man by surprise and continued striking until finally, by some miracle, Tim-a-nie lost his grip and the sword fell. Fear glistened in the man’s eyes as he stood slowly without a weapon, Gifn’s sword pressed firmly against his throat. A large group of an’hidoans had gathered to watch the duel and now gaped in disbelief that their mighty sy’hadoan had been overpowered.

  ‘Far-a-mael!’ Gifn bellowed, his voice echoing sharply against the silence of the shocked soldiers. ‘Far-a-mael! Come out and face me like a man. We did everything you asked. We disappeared for the sake of your ego. Why have you come back now?’ Silence answered Gifn’s taunts. ‘I’ll kill him!’ Gifn shouted furiously, increasing the pressure of his sword against Tim-a-nie’s neck. ‘Show yourself, Far-a-mael, or I swear to Maker, I’ll kill him.’

  ‘Now, now,’ the ancient voice spoke softly and yet it seemed impossible to tell from which direction it came. ‘There’s no need for such violence, is there?’ The flap on the elaborate tent twenty strides away slid open to reveal Far-a-mael’s elderly although strong form. Arms crossed tightly across his chest, the War Elder appeared to glide across the ice without any effort whatsoever.

  ‘Mister Eltari,’ Far-a-mael murmured, delicately placing a single finger on the blade of Gifn’s sword. ‘What has driven you to such madness?’ He put a little pressure on the sword and Gifn found himself lowering it subordinately.

  ‘I need to find my daughter,’ he almost blubbered, a great tiredness overwhelming him. Gifn was exhausted to the point that he felt that if he should only be pushed, he would collapse in defeat.

  ‘Oh, hush, hush.’ Far-a-mael patted him sympathetically, as a father might do his boy. ‘I know you must be tired. You’ve travelled so very far. It seems unfair that you should be turned away now.’

  Finally, someone understood. Gifn wept openly. All these years, he’d misjudged Far-a-mael. The man was like a father to him and he just knew that he could trust him with anything. Far-a-mael took Gifn’s chin in his hand and stared deep into his eyes with those piercing white pupils. ‘I’m so sorry to inform you of this news, my old friend, but your daughter is dead.’

  ‘No,’ Gifn moaned and fell to his knee. ‘No, not Seteal, too. Not my Seteal. Why did you take her? She was safe with me.’ He sobbed uncontrollably, staring up at Far-a-mael through tear-filled eyes.

  ‘She was not safe.’ Far-a-mael shook his head regretfully. ‘Gifn . . . a legion of demons had discovered she was Elglair and they were coming for her. We tried to keep her from them, but it was no use. They were too strong.’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’ Gifn cried, although inside he felt a powerful urge to accept every word the man uttered.

  ‘Here.’ Far-a-mael opened a canvas sack that Gifn hadn’t even noticed him carrying until now. ‘Is this not her dress?’ He removed the stained cloth and Gifn recognised it immediately as Seteal’s. He likewise recognised the stains of both human and silt blood spattered across its surface.

  Gifn reached for the dress and held it like a child would their favourite toy. Seteal’s sweet scent still lingered beneath the metallic tang of blood. Words escaped Gifn thereafter. He fell into the snow weeping for what seemed like eternity. Far-a-mael loomed over him, occasionally rubbing his back and gazing into his e
yes with curiosity. Each time he did, Gifn felt a reaffirmation that Far-a-mael had spoken the truth. Seteal was dead. He’d failed Jil-e-an, he’d failed as a father--and worst of all, he’d failed his daughter.

  As the sun began to set, Gifn found the strength to stand, and when he did Far-a-mael placed a hand heavily on his shoulder, once more looking into his eyes. ‘The best you can do now is to go home and mourn your daughter, Gifn. The people of Elmsville are kindly. They’ll take care of you in your grief.’

  ‘Of course . . . you’re right.’ Gifn sobbed behind red-rimmed eyes. ‘I’ll go home,’ he murmured, turning away dejectedly.

  Blind to the prying eyes surrounding him, Gifn drifted back to the gently sloping ramp and away from the Sixth Cleff. There was nothing he could do for Seteal anymore.

  CHAPTER ONE

  SOMETIMES BLOOD IS NOT THICKER THAN WATER

  Small groups of four to six an’hadoans moved about in packs, leaving Seteal with no doubt as to with which task they’d been assigned: finding her. Fastening her hood a little more securely over her head, Seteal kept her eyes down and followed El-i-miir along dark alleyways and between frozen buildings. Ilgrin kept himself to the darkest of shadows, but everyone present was well aware that the demon’s disguise would become useless with the rising sun.

  ‘This way,’ the Elglair woman hissed over her shoulder. ‘Quietly,’ she warned. ‘We have to enter the street.’

  ‘It’s not safe,’ Seeol the elf owl piped in from his place on Seteal’s arm.

  ‘It’s our only choice,’ El-i-miir replied dismissively, glancing back the way they’d come. It was then that Seteal made the mistake of following the woman’s gaze only to momentarily make eye contact with a stranger.

  ‘Who goes there?’ the an’hadoan called from the far end of the alleyway.