Eight of Hearts: The Rift Blade - Book 1

Chapter 18

Jonas worried that their progress was too slow. They were hampered by poor visibility and the occasional zombie, but it was the things that didn't attack them that made their trek a cautious one. Those same eerie tendrils of shadow would appear at random, bent at odd angles and accompanied by a strange hissing sound. But they would just as suddenly dissipate into mist whenever they came near.

And so Jonas focused all his attention on taking out the zombies. True to his word, Holmes had indeed carved his strange runes on the blade of the rapier. With every stab, with every strike, the zombies would burst into flames and vanish into dust. Each ignition lit up the darkness, momentarily pushing back the fog before fading back into the murky gray once more.

For his part, Isaac acted completely normal--at least for Isaac. He ran circles around the group, swatting zombies away as though they weighed nothing. He seemed particularly intent on catching the tendrils off guard, as he would occasionally leap ahead with an excited shout and vanish into the fog, only to reemerge with a disappointed look at the loss of his quarry. If it weren't for his bright-red backpack, Jonas would have had trouble keeping an eye on him.

Holmes continued to lead everyone forward, and with each step Jonas became aware of how he knew where to go. He could feel something: the strange power that fueled the mist was palpable, and it grew stronger the further they went. But the mist itself grew thicker too, until they had to use touch to make sure they didn't lose each other.

"I like most soups, but this soup tastes like soap!" Isaac complained. "Soapy-soup! Soupy-soap!"

"If you were to keep your mouth shut, you wouldn't have to taste it," Holmes said.

The shadow of what might have been a rat skittered over Jonas's foot, disappearing from his senses as quickly as it had appeared. He stumbled back as the Ripper's red half-face suddenly loomed out of the shadows, inches from his own. He lashed out instinctively with his rapier, but the face exploded into black particles of shadow at his strike, dissipating back into the darkness.

Watson gripped his shoulder to steady him. "Careful now," he whispered, "don't attack every phantom you see. Save your strength only for the real threats."

"How do I know it's real?"

"Deduction," Holmes said sharply, cutting into the conversation. "The caster is using most of his focus to create this fog, and the illusions that fill it. Necromancy is the only magic being used that is actually dangerous, so unless he has allies, the undead will be the primary danger until we find him."

"You see, our target has struck before, so his methods are known," Watson continued, keeping his voice hushed despite Holmes disregard for silence, "although we've never heard of him working on this scale before. He is an illusionist, who bolsters his magic with the undead to make it harder for his victims to determine illusion from reality. To think he was behind the Ripper all along..."

"Well, they aren't that much of a threat if even Isaac can handle them," Jonas said as Isaac swatted another zombie away.

The boy turned to Jonas and tapped the end of his cricket bat as he gave a wink.

"Ah..." Jonas could barely make out a few runes inscribed on the bat, though it was too dark to make out what they were. That answered the question of Isaac's unusual strength.

"They are not the threat we are watching for," Watson said.

As if on cue, Holmes held his arm out, stopping the group in their tracks. Jonas opened his mouth to ask what he saw, but then he noticed the fog was actually thinning again. He was able to make out a break in the houses ahead on the left. There, in the old crumbling street loomed a massive shape. The misty air clung heavily to it, binding to it, expanding it. The air gradually cleared until the shadow took full shape.