Gathering Storm (The Salvation of Tempestria Book 2) - Gary Stringer (read e book TXT) 📗

As Catriona reached, at long last, the uppermost level – for it did have one, after all – the air grew increasingly stagnant, and that made flying difficult, so she alighted on the balcony and shifted back again. Despite the stillness of the atmosphere, impossibly, there was dust dancing in the non-existent winds. Torn tapestries clung to the walls, though the scenes depicted on them were long faded. Reaching a metal door, she paused, sniffing at the air, almost tasting the remnants of age-old magic still present there in that dusty crypt. Cat stopped for a moment and looked at the door, wondering what might lay beyond. Pushing a button at the side, as Daelen had told her, caused the metal door to open by itself. A moment later, she was stepping beyond to end the speculation and find out.

*****

What my mother saw in that chamber was beyond her ability to describe, and so, if you’ll forgive me, gentle reader, I shall use my own words, rather than my mother’s impressions.

One might expect a crypt or tomb to be dark and foreboding, with stone archways and thick pillars supporting high domed ceilings, filled with candles and cobwebs. And in many ways, so it was, but set against the walls were control panels with buttons and flashing lights. Bleeps sounded a very slow, rhythmic heartbeat, matching the progress of oscillating lines on screens. In short, gentle reader, it was high technology on a world where the word had not yet been used in that context. To my mother at the time, it was magic – just magic unlike any she had even imagined, much less experienced. She immediately had a million questions and probably a million more that she didn’t have the words to frame into sentences.

*****

But Catriona didn’t have time to stop and stare. Daelen needed her. Secretly, she found she rather liked that idea. A being from a realm far beyond the gods for whom, it was reasonable to assume, rooms such as this crypt were commonplace, needing the help of a simple half-Faery druid girl. Her overriding thought, however, even above that, was the firm belief that one day, the people of Tempestria would also have commonplace rooms like this. One day, the magic in this place might be contained in something no larger than her staff. Perhaps, even, one day, Tempestrian children would play with toys that were more sophisticated than this, and this Crypt would stand as a museum of knowledge and skills long since surpassed by newer and more wonderous invention.

On a dais in the centre of the room, was Ossian Miach Kaidool, Champion of the Gods, asleep in all of his bony glory…

In all of his bony naked glory, it turned out, as Catriona stepped closer.

Daelen had called this a ‘Regeneration Casket’ and told her that all she needed to do, was wave her hand over something called a ‘hand sensor’ on a ‘control panel,’ which would recognise that part of his essence that she now carried within her, awakening Michael from ‘stasis.’

The words were strange, but looking at the bank of tiny dancing lights before her now, there was one area upon which there was inscribed the outline of a hand. It seemed to Catriona that whatever fancy language one might use, it was clearly saying, ‘Place Hand Here.’

Doing so, she closed her eyes and prayed, “I call forth both heaven and hell, all that is holy and all that is demonic; I call forth the Powers of Magias, Blessed Alycia and the Great Maker that Created all. I plead that you breathe life back into this great warrior’s body. I know that I ask for both heaven and hell to be moved, but please Great Ancient Powers, do this, that he might help us save this precious world.”

Catriona couldn’t see or hear anything outside, but she imagined that the sky began to grow eerily black. The howling of a wolf could be heard over the growing howling of the winds. Surely, the whole world quaked as if to swallow its people down into its depths.

In reality, though, gentle reader, this was nothing more than my mother’s overactive imagination at work. Indeed, the task had been completed before she even stopped speaking.

The ancient warrior sat up and quite startled Catriona, saying, “A simple ‘Wake up, Michael’ would have sufficed.”

“Really?” Cat sounded disappointed. “Seemed a bit anti-climactic to me, although I do have a…friend…who always says I have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Did you make up that whole speech on the spot?” Michael asked.

Cat nodded while trying desperately to keep her eyes firmly fixed on his face and not anywhere…lower down.

“Then your friend is right. It was very impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“The second thing that strikes me about you is that you are not Daelen StormTiger.”

“It’s the long hair, isn’t it?” she joked. “That’s what gave me away. It’s happened before. Seriously, I’m Catriona Redfletching, you can call me Cat. I’m here on Daelen’s behalf. He needs you to tip the fight in his favour.”

“Just for a change,” Michael nodded, wearily. Catriona turned her back as he rose and stepped free of his coffin-like bed. (Or bed-like coffin, if you prefer.) “Which one is it this time?”

“Both, really,” Cat replied, “although Aden’s the more immediate danger.”

“Who?”

“Sorry, I mean the dark clone. That’s what he calls himself now: Aden-El, Aden for short. My fault. I suggested anagrams.”

“And he went with Aden-El?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Cat could hear him getting dressed, so she continued to stare at the entryway.

“So why did Daelen send you and also, how?”

“Why? Short version: his alarm clock broke, someone changed the time, and he overslept. So now he doesn’t know when either Kullos or ‘Aden’ are going to be around. How? Again, short version: he put a piece of his essence inside me so I could get past the security.”

Michael touched her shoulder, gently but firmly, and spun her around to face him. Thankfully, he was