Tales of the Unquiet Gods by David Pascoe Page B

Anne's core. Chelle might still danced, but she'd always danced. The thing that ruled Under Hill didn't own her. Not yet, at least.
    Not ever.
    Chelle passed over the downed creature and landed, spinning away in a blurring series of pirouettes that made Anne's head spin in sympathy, as the last unman rose from the obsidian, its smoky cloak distorting its form. And Anne stalked forward to meet it.
    The light around Anne's hands flared again, hardening as she drove a fist into the center of the wavering mass. The occulting shadowy mirage fled before her blow, revealing pale skin over lean flesh. The strike thudded into the unman, accompanied by a puff of evaporating darkness.
    The thing's face, nose grotesquely flattened by its impact with the stone altar, twisted into a grimace of mixed pain and effort. A claw whipped out of the wavering cloak, and Anne wasn't quick enough to dodge. The raking blow landed on her shoulder, rocking her to the side. It was accompanied by the now-familiar golden flash, and the unman howled in frustration and pain. Anne rolled with the blow, and slammed another radiant blow into the thing's side, dispersing more of its protective umbra.
    For desperate moments, they traded strikes, dodging and weaving. Each time Anne hit the unman, a bit more of its cloaking darkness dissipated. Every blow she took rocked her with unnatural strength, but the flaring light kept its wicked claws out of her flesh. Around them, Chelle spun and leapt.
    Despite the cool darkness of Under Hill, sweat plastered Anne's hair to her her head and made tracks down her spine and between her breasts. Her chest heaved, sucking air into tired lungs. The repeated blows should have been bone breaking, but her unseen protector robbed them of force. She could still feel the bruises, however, and they were starting to take a toll.
    Finally, the Anne slipped sideways, snapping a short kick at unman's leg. It stumbled forward, and she pivoted, driving her knee into its lower back with all the strength of her powerful legs.
    The unman fell to its knees and reared back, its spine arching as it shrieked in consuming agony. Anne drove her fist downward, striking at the point where the thing's collarbones met its sternum. The snap of bone echoed in the suddenly still air.
    Anne rode the blow down, striking through the target as she'd been taught, but thrusting the unman all the way prone to the obsidian stone surface. She pinned it to the volcanic glass, and the fight - and its horrific facsimile of life - went out of it. Pallid lids fluttered down over those soulless metal eyes and the cruel lines and hard planes relaxed, giving Anne a brief glimpse of what the unman might have been before submitting itself to the will that had given it shape.
    Anne stood and blinked her eyes as the battle fury drained from her. She could feel every blow the vile trio had landed. She wanted to sleep for a week.
    "Annie?" Trepidatious disquiet suffused Chelle's voice. Confusion and no small amount of fear lurked in her sister's beautiful eyes. Deep circles smudged purple under those eyes, and her oval face was all hard planes, reminding Anne strongly of Ryan. Chelle stood at the edge of the obsidian floor looking small and worn.
    Anne looked down at herself, stunned to see the golden luminescence crawling over her body. It seemed to describe planes and solids, making it look as though she wore a suit of transparent amber armor. It was beautiful, and more than a little disturbing.
    Anne opened her mouth to reply when a piercing keen shook the club. It was as though Anne had a tornado siren planted between her ears. The howling shriek was a physical force, and she was vaguely aware of falling to her knees, and of Chelle and the everyone else in her field of vision doing the same. For a moment, Anne thought her vision was blurring, but then she realized that the blocks upon which she knelt were actually shaking.
    "Chelley," she screamed, as the room started to come