Plague of Death

by D. L. Armillei

  Van held her position, waiting for the intruder to make a move.

  It couldn’t be the Quasher, either. The wolf-like shadow beast only appeared in the Living World. The Elementals had magically bound the Quasher from being able to enter Salus Valde which included the portal to Providence Island. And if it were the Quasher, the shadow beast didn’t hide. It attacked. Unstoppable in its quest to destroy Van’s light. She shivered.

  But it could be something else—some new creature.

  A figure wearing a black cloak peered from behind the statue.

  Van glimpsed a skeletal face under its hood—hollowed out eyes, severe cheekbones, and stitches crisscrossing its mouth.

  It glided toward Van.

  She gasped, terrified. Death-personified had come for her.

  Van’s warrior training kicked in, and she braced for a fight.

  A rustling noise emanated from the trees behind Van.

  Death’s gaze shifted, landing on Paley, who had meandered into the park clearing. It took off in a flash, heading straight for her, its abnormally long phalanges clamped tightly around a scythe.

  “Paley!” Van screamed. She charged at the cloaked figure.

  Paley froze, looking spooked.

  Van tore across the field, her sneakers ripping into the grass, leaving divots.

  “Paley, stay back,” Van cried. She leaped and landed in the path of Death.

  It stopped short.

  “You’ll have to get through me first,” Van said with false bravado. She raised trembling hands and crouched into a combat stance.

  The figure used its bony fingers to twirl the scythe in figure eights, passing the weapon from hand to hand.

  Wait a minute. Van knew that routine.

  The creature got sloppy, and the scythe began to wobble. The figure started convulsing—no, wait—laughing!

  The cloaked figure dropped the scythe to the ground.

  “This is too hard with these finger-boned gloves,” the figure pulled off its hands and removed its skeleton mask. “Too funny. You should’ve seen your face,” Pernilla said, laughing.

  “You jackass. That wasn’t funny.”

  “Oh, it’s funny.” Pernilla used her knuckles to wipe tears of laughter from her eyes.

  “We all think you’re taking this training thing too far,” Brux said, entering the conversation. He had been hiding behind one of the other statues.

  “You were in on it?” Van said. She couldn’t stand the butterflies fluttering in her stomach whenever Brux entered her line of sight.

  “You were never in danger,” Brux said.

  Thankfully, after he opened his mouth, the butterflies always flew away.

  “No, but Pernilla was.” She glared at her nemesis.

  Pernilla slipped out of the cloak. “We wanted to show you how ridiculous you’re being,” she said, making sure they drove the point home. “You call for a training session every Saturday morning. The school year is over. Time to take it down a notch.”

  Van couldn’t understand why her classmates weren’t interested in pushing their limits, to be the best version of themselves, which meant training hard. Maybe if her peers knew her true identity, they would. As it stood, Paley and Brux were her only classmates aware of Van’s Anchoress status.

  “We need to train harder. Be faster, be better, and be ready—in case Uxa assigns us to a miss—summer project,” Van said.

  Pernilla didn’t have a high enough clearance to be given information about their previous mission. No one did, except Uxa, the other Elders, Uxa’s first assistant, Tussel Fynn, and any member on the teams that went on the mission and survived—Brux, Paley, herself, and, perhaps, Daisy.

  Pernilla’s light-blue eyes dazzled against her naturally tanned skin, inherited from her partly Native American ancestry. “If you paid attention at the Placement Ceremony, you’d know my permanent placement. I’m going to be a real Grigori. Accelerated. Instead of starting in the fall, I’m starting tomorrow. Uxa already assigned me to work with her on a summer project.”

  Van managed a deadpan expression. “When do you turn eighteen?”

  “None of your business.” Pernilla tossed her thick, light-brown hair over her shoulder.

  “September first,” Brux said catching on.

  “Dammit,” Van muttered.

  “Makes sense that Uxa’s already formed the team,” Brux said.

  Paley flipped her hair. “I better be on it.”

  Uxa needed teens to do her bidding in the Living World due to Manik’s law. A millennium ago, the Elementals worked with the Balish King Manik to place a magical boundary around Salus Valde. Lodian adults were forbidden to cross this line, to leave Salus Valde. To this day, the Balish occupied and controlled almost all other regions in the Living World. However, the Elementals refused to use their magic to bind the law unless the restriction didn’t include children or the Anchoress.

  “You don’t have to be so secretive anymore.” Pernilla raised her chin. “Uxa told me everything, yesterday. I know all about the terrigen-generated demons in the Earth World. I assume that was your ‘summer project’ last year. Well, this year I’m going too. I’ll probably be on your team.”

  “Oh hell, no.” Paley’s eyes shifted toward Van for confirmation.

  “You two need to get over it,” Pernilla said. “Ken dumped you a year ago, Van—for me. Grow up.”

  “I don’t care about your childish infatuation with Ken.” Van’s concern had nothing to do with their personal history. It had to with Pernilla’s abrasive personality. She was the type that always tried to make waves. Although she excelled as an athlete, including winning the Jaychund Games this year and last, Pernilla wouldn’t do well-being part of Van’s team.

  Paley’s face slackened in surprise over Van’s calm response. She stared dubiously at her friend.

  Van said to Pernilla, “All it proves is that you’re stupid and weak and need to train harder.”

  Paley nodded in solidarity, satisfied with Van’s latest response.

  Pernilla’s nostrils flared. “Everyone thinks you’re such a good little girl, but I know the real you. Deep down you’re rotten, evil—”

  “I’ve no time for drama.” Van raised her palm to stop her. “All I care about is protecting my people—protecting terrigens, defending Salus—Providence Island.”

  Pernilla hadn’t mentioned the Living World yet, and, therefore, most likely assumed the summer project would take place in the field, in the Earth World.

  “If you want to train with a rotten, evil teacher, you’re welcome to stay.” Van glanced around the park. “We can all use extra help.”

  A handful of her classmates meandered onto the field. She didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation, so she stopped talking.

  Brooke, Davy, Wade, Adrian, and Deacon were all in the reservation program, the program incorrectly believed by the townies to be special classes designed to help “slow” children. The classes were actually a secret way for the Elder’s to test the vichor kids. Those with athletic and academic aptitude were placed on track to become Grigori. Van expected this group to show up for her extra-help training class.

  Maren, Pernilla’s best friend, arrived last.

  With reinforcements, Pernilla gained resolve. “I’ll stay.” She said, nose in the air. “I could use some additional training—despite having an incompetent teacher.”

  Maren wasn’t even in the reservation program. As a graduated senior, Maren had been assigned her permanent placement in retail as an assistant manager at the downtown clothing store called Ropa Moda. Maren was also a terrigen. As long as the Grigori secretly continued to patrol the Earth World she’d never need this type of training. But, for the sake of beginning the class, Van didn’t throw a fit and ask her to leave.

  After everyone reached the group, Van said, “Looks like no else is coming today. Let’s get started.” She began the sequence to Koga-clava, a form of combat training that integrated rhythm
ic gymnastic techniques with weapon-based martial arts.

  Van began with the standard warmup she had learned in class. She liked how similar the movements were to yoga, like yoga in motion or Tai Chi—soft, fluid.

  She silently turned to the side, bending her knees as she stretched her arms forward. The class followed.

  Although these movements seemed gentle, slow-paced, and non-competitive, there were spiritual and health benefits to this practice such as enhancing the mind-body connection and helping to integrate and clear stuck, problematic emotions. Van considered these weak advantages. Her interest in the routine focused on how it increased strength, flexibility, body awareness, and mental concentration.

  Although she considered these “easy” moves, beads of sweat glistened on her student’s foreheads.

  The routine came effortlessly to Van, ingrained into her being. This allowed her mind to wander. She wondered who else Uxa would place on their team and what the team’s assignment would be this summer. She hoped it involved finding Daisy.

  Her attention shifted to Brux. His mental well-being concerned her. He must be torn apart not knowing if his sister was dead or alive. Van’s eyes swept over his body. Confidence radiated in his moves, which were near-perfect.

  Brux effortlessly followed Van's lead, flexing the muscles in his legs and arms. She noticed the tight stretch of his cotton t-shirt across his chest, the pull of his pants over his thighs as he infused the cat foot pose and the dual arm rotation. His soft blond hair rustled in the light breeze—dammit, that annoying warm feeling swirled in her chest again. She pushed it away and refocused on teaching the class.

  “There is only right and wrong,” Van said in a loud, confident voice as she continued the motions of Koga-clava. “Good and bad. Light and dark. Anything in between is a distraction.”

  Van’s number one rule of being a warrior—don’t fall in love.

  Chapter 5

  They didn’t have any knives, staffs, swords, sticks, batons, axes, or nunchucks to practice outside the classroom, so Van decided her sessions would focus on Koga-clava, today grappling techniques.

  “Martial arts isn’t all about kicking, and punching,” Van said as she laid down. The ground felt cold on her back. “Grappling techniques can be used to control or defeat your opponent.”

  She began with the shrimp move. She rolled from side to side, using her feet to push her body while rocking her arms. Van could feel the strain on her muscles and the pain as she pushed her body along the ground, scraping her back.

  Next, the side shrimp, a tough move, but great for building the core and abdominal muscles.

  Van noticed wet spots forming in her student’s armpits.

  She led the class into the forward roll, and then the backward roll. Next, the crab walk. She finished with the fallback and stand technique.

  Van brushed the grass and dirt off her backside, breathing heavily from exertion, and placed her feet together. She stood straight, the class did the same. She put in her hands in prayer position and bowed. “We are all part of the same team. We are one.”

  Her students followed, all of them were panting and sweat-stained.

  “We’ll be paring up and practicing hand-to-hand combat and submission techniques,” Van said, loving the feeling of sweat dripping down her back. “Clinch holds and ground fighting. First, let’s take a short break.”

  “Break?” Pernilla stomped toward Van. “I’m not even sweating yet.” She brushed past Van, slamming shoulders. “Weakling,” she muttered.

  “Great class, Van,” other’s said as they relaxed and grabbed their water bottles.

  “She’s such a tool.” Paley wiped the sweat dripping on her forehead. “You’re an awesome teacher. Your moves are perfect, like everything you do.” She bent her elbows and began stretching her triceps.

  “I’m far from perfect.” Van kept her eyes on Pernilla, who started stretching with Maren. “I need to talk to her.”

  Paley released her arms and gawked at Van. “Ew. Why?”

  “I’m not looking to be her friend or anything,” Van quickly added. “It’s just—I’ve wanted to ask her something for a while now.”

  Pernilla would always be a turd. But Van’s responsibility to protect her people made gathering intel a priority. Informed warriors made good leaders. Since Pernilla attended most of Van’s non-mandatory, ad hoc training classes, Pernilla might talk to Van out of a sense of reciprocity. Encouraged by this hope, Van approached her nemesis.

  “Hey, Pernilla. Just wondering what made you—uh—how did your parents and Uxa decide to place you in the reservation program this year, you know, your senior year?”

  Pernilla’s intense stare made Van wary. She didn’t know what to prep for—a long story or a punch in the face.

  “Still stupid, I see.” Pernilla sneered as she stretched her arm by the elbow.

  Punch in the face, it is.

  “I got placed in the R.P. because I’m a superior athlete and can kick your ass all day long.” Pernilla switched arms, continuing her stretch.

  “I guess Uxa wanted someone smart in the class,” Maren said, holding a runner’s stretch.

  “That explains why you’re not there.” Van winced. Dammit! She’d let her emotions take over. Failing to get information from Pernilla meant failing as a warrior. Unacceptable.

  Van released her ego, and said, “Sorry.”

  “Sorry! Sorry!” Maren and Pernilla cruelly mimicked Van as they walked away and then burst out laughing.

  “Wow. That idea really tanked.” Paley appeared next to Van, chewing her cuticles.

  Van shrugged.

  Brux joined them, and having overheard Van’s attempt at civil conversation with Pernilla, he said, “Pernilla got the call. That’s why she got placed in the reservation program.”

  The call! That was what Van wanted to know.

  “It’s when a terrigen gets a sudden, intense awareness of the Living World,” Brux continued. “A feeling they’re in the wrong place, and it keeps getting stronger. It’s an inner ‘calling’ that they’re meant for a different life, a better life. This realization comes from the development of ichor in their blood.”

  “That magical ingredient giving you a higher vibrational signature than terrigens like me.” Paley cast her eyes downward.

  Brux nodded sadly at Paley. “It raises the terrigen’s vibration to the same frequencies as vichors. They become vichors once they recharge in the Living World, or I guess the first time would be called ‘charged.’ If they don’t, then they’ll get sicker and sicker until they die.”

  Van already knew about ichor first hand. She had been sick as a child and labeled as a “slow learner.” But her issues came from having ichor in her blood, which made it difficult for her to live in the low vibration of the Earth World, even Providence Island. Ichor made her exhausted, unable to concentrate, and caused trouble with her breathing, which in turn caused problems with her learning and completing school work.

  She needed to travel to the higher vibration of the Living World to restore her health by recharging. That was why “slow learners” were placed in the special program, courses held on the reservation in addition to their regular classes at Canterbury Bells. Unbeknown to the kids, the elevator they entered to get to class was a portal that opened onto the third floor in Lodestar Station, the building that housed the Transportation Center and Grigori headquarters located in Salus Valde, Living World.

  “That’s why Pernilla was sick last year!” Paley said.

  Brux turned to Van. “Pernilla’s a vichor now. She belongs in Salus Valde like you and me.”

  “And the rest of the kids in the R.P.” Paley’s tone implied she felt left out.

  “How come I never got the call?” Van asked.

  “You were born with ichor,” Brux said. “Pernilla developed it.”

  “It seems pretty unusual at her age.” Van squinted at Pernilla.

  She knew the Elders secretly monitored al
l the kids through their class assignments at Canterbury Bells—grades pre-school through high school—to see if they developed ichor. Unfortunately, they waited for kids to become sick before re-testing their blood. The Elder’s career track placements for the students weren’t only about filling needed-island-skills, they were about identifying potential recruits to become demon fighting Grigori.

  “We either develop ichor before the age of eighteen or not at all,” Brux said.

  “I haven’t been feeling well,” Paley said, looking fine. “Maybe I have the call?”

  “You’re only sixteen.” Brux broke into a huge smile. “There’s still time.”

  Van scrunched her brow. “Why aren’t bunches of mainlanders pulled to the island by the call?”

  “They have a different experience,” Brux said. “Once the terrigen adapts to their higher vibrational frequencies, a doorway to the Living World opens for that one person, called a random doorway. They’re drawn to the door like a magnet, and it allows them a one-way transport into the Living World. After they walk through, it immediately closes and never re-opens. It can drop them anywhere, not only Salus Valde.”

  “Like where?” Paley asked. “How does it know where they belong?”

  Brux shrugged. “The doorway knows to exit the person in their correct place. Once they’re in the Living World, they’re picked up by the local tribe and integrated into their culture.”

  “Doesn’t anyone on the mainland search for these missing people?” Van asked.

  “They’re accounted for as missing persons, lost children, old childhood friends you never hear from again. Some terrigens fight the feeling and deny the call by not walking through the door. If this refusal endures into adulthood, their energy becomes depleted, and they die at an early age.”

  “So Pernilla went through a random doorway to Salus Valde?” Van asked.

  Brux shook his head. “Pernilla lives on Providence Island, so her call intuitively pulled her toward the closest doorway to the Living World, the portal. Our island is a quasi-world—partly in the Earth World, partly in Living World, the rules here are different.” Brux ran his fingers through his hair.