by Steve Vera
“I’m done.”
“That has the ring of familiarity to it. In fact, I’d wager that you said the very thing to whoever your ex-wife was. As Jack would say, ‘you can dish it but can’t take it, eh, Walkins’?” She took a step forward. “Allow me to illuminate you as to just how well I know your type, Skip. You cheated because your wife just didn’t understand, did she? Couldn’t understand because you never shared, but this other woman—”
Skip’s hands tightened into fists. “Enough, Cirena—”
Before she could retort, a sudden breeze sprang up through the woods, carrying the subtle but now-familiar scent of magic—sweet and metallic laced with rain on a hot rock and ozone. Unmistakable.
Instead of dissipating, the wind grew stronger, swirling around them with whispers. It sent the hairs on his neck at full attention. Cirena cocked her head and listened, dismissing their argument. He uncrinkled his forehead.
“What’s up?”
Cirena responded with glowing eyes. She tilted her head back, parted her lips and right there in front of Skip, whispered to a wind that refused to die. Her spidery syllables flittered past his ears and rushed back into the forest. When she was done, he could feel her cold eyes settle back on him. He ignored them, flicked them off his collar like crumbs.
He knew her type too. Miserable and cold.
She spoke. “They found them.”
Chapter 14
Three apparitions approached, hazy and indistinct, like heat coming off a road.
“Donovan?” Amanda asked in a small voice, her body a storm of pain and shifting fears—from river monsters to poltergeists.
“I’m here,” he said quietly from behind her. She heard the distinct sound of his rifle being ratcheted.
“What are they?” She winced and sucked in through her teeth as her calf spasmed in agony.
Donovan stepped into view on her side, wiped his blood splashed knife on his formerly black fatigues and sheathed it. “Who the fuck knows with this world?” he muttered.
She glanced at his rifle and then at the approaching spirits. “Is that even going to work against them?” Her breaths were shallow and rapid.
Donovan put the rifle to his eye and aimed. “We’re about to find out.”
In silence, the two of them watched the spirits advance. As they got closer, she thought she could hear the tread of a boot-sole on grass and the crunch of gravel.
At thirty feet the three silhouettes shimmered and like a mirage come to life, three knights in blue shining armor caped with blue cloaks stepped out of the daylight.
Three Shardyn.
“Gavin?” she dared to whisper. The relief that gushed through her by the simple utterance of his name was so momentous that for a moment she was incapacitated, capable only of hyperventilation and tears.
That ended the moment she tried to stand.
“Amanda!” he cried, his beautiful, wonderful, shining face contorted with concern and elation, blended with a note of horror. Within a second he was holding her, the scent of his skin and the fragrance of the leather and steel of his armor filling her nostrils while she disintegrated into hysterics.
At the outskirts of her awareness she felt fingers brush her calf, yelped in pain and heard a gasp and murmur. Then her back was being probed, her face and arms and legs with light but soothing fingertips, even while she was still in his embrace.
“Close your eyes, baby,” he whispered.
Okay, Gavin, I’ll close my eyes. Please make everything better...please make everything better...
She felt a hum around her whole body, heard a ringing in her ears and then was besieged by ecstasy. It poured through her arteries like honey, spread to every capillary and cell in her body, intoxicating her with bliss. When her skin began to itch and her flesh began to writhe she gasped, unprepared. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling into the back of her skull. Her teeth vibrated in her gums.
And then it stopped. The pain was gone. She untucked her head from Gavin’s shoulder, stared at him wide-eyed and then grabbed him. “You healed me!” she gushed, nearly knocking him over. “You healed me!” She squeezed him tighter, crushing him. She took comfort in the hard metal plate that pressed against her breasts, the feel of his muscular, armored arms around her, his fingers in her hair. Everything was going to be all right now. Everything was going to be okay.
“Who’s your friend, Amanda?” Tarsidion rumbled quietly in that buttery baritone of his.
His words pierced through her euphoria like a pine needle in her foot. She peeked out from Gavin’s cloak.
Donovan had not put his gun down. His eyes were smoky orange, making him look supernatural. “Amanda,” he said, his rasp all the more striking in contrast to Tarsidion’s bass. “Stand to my left and two steps behind.”
The moisture that had just begun making its way back into her mouth vanished.
Gavin tensed in her arms, and Tarsidion scowled so deeply the angles of his face could have sliced the air. Noah remained expressionless, her eyes a windless pond. Three hands strayed to the hilts of blades.
“Now would be an appropriate time to introduce yourself,” Gavin said evenly.
“I’m the one you owe your lives to,” Donovan responded, eyes burning like coals in the center of his face. “And she is in my service. Amanda, do not make me repeat myself.”
Tension poured into the air like liquid steel in a mold and her elation dissolved into a dripping puddle of dismay. The temptation to abandon her promise was like a punch in the gut, a physical contortion of her insides. All she had to do was walk over to Gavin’s side right now and he would defend her with his life. All of them would. Donovan might be the most dangerous person she’d ever even heard of, but Gavin was a Shardyn Knight. They all were. They could fry Donovan’s ass like a T-bone.
Just two steps would do it.
She looked at Gavin, at Donovan and then slumped her shoulders. Her damp hair dangled past her cheeks. With a heart encased in mud, she turned and took her place by Donovan’s side—on his left, two small steps behind. The bewildered shock on Gavin’s face just about broke her heart. “He made me swear,” she said miserably.
“To what?” Tarsidion demanded, fingers still on his hilt.
“It was either that or die.”
Gavin looked around at the river-creature corpses strewn around them and then returned his attention to Donovan, who stood erect and unconcerned like a gunslinger at high noon. Gavin’s face hardened and settled into an unfamiliar expression, dangerous and poised, gears grinding behind frosted eyes. He was another person.
“I don’t know who you imagine yourself to be,” Gavin began in a low, measured voice. His eyes glinted like a wet knife. “But I’m going to tell you this once. Whatever you were before this moment is irrelevant. Nothing in your life, dreams or imagination could have prepared you for the world you have now entered. You might think you know,” Gavin said with a shake of his head and an ironic smile, “but this is Theia, our territory, our turf. It doesn’t take much to die here.”
“Are you threatening me?” Donovan asked.
“Consider this a simple exchange of information between two people. The laws of cause and effect are very much alive here, so...cause carefully.”
A sudden breeze sprung up around them, and Amanda heard a voice in the wind, a whisper in another language that sent chills right through her belly button.
It died as abruptly as it had come.
Noah tilted her head back, moved her lips in some cryptic chant and suddenly her eyes were ablaze with ethereal light. There was a swirl of wind, heavy with a fresh batch of whispers and with a flick of her hand, the breeze shot away back to the forest.
On any other day that would have been grounds for a dropped jaw and a flurr
y of questions. Donovan was unimpressed. He observed like a marble sculpture.
“Would you put the gun away, Donovan?” Amanda asked. “We’re all on the same side.”
“Are we?” he asked. “Remove your hands from your hilts.”
Neither Tarsidion nor Noah did a thing until Gavin nodded. Slowly, their hands came away, but somehow, they still seemed armed. Once they did, Donovan slung his rifle over his shoulder in a single mechanical movement. He never took his eyes off of them.
“Are you the one who released Asmodeous?” Gavin asked in a voice so quiet and devoid of expression that Amanda held her breath.
Donovan regarded the four Shardyn arrayed around him with battle-anesthetized detachment. “I go first.”
“I don’t think so. Our game, our rules,” Gavin said.
Donovan raised his hand and pointed his index finger at Gavin’s face. “You owe me your life. All of you do. Your very presence here was bestowed to you by me. I stopped Asmodeous from eating Amanda alive. Without me—” he panned his head and locked stares with each of them, “—you would all be dead.”
Oh my God, this can’t be happening. With one fell statement Donovan silenced them all and cast a pall of grimness over the sunshine of the spring morning.
“Very well, Donovan,” Gavin said with dead eyes. “What is it you want?”
“Information. I have questions.”
“I’m sure you do. You’re on a whole new world now, Donovan, a new game—you’ve just gone from playing tee-ball to the World Series.”
“And if you’re not careful, you could die,” Tarsidion added.
Donovan’s eyes changed from orange to red. Gavin held up his hand to Tarsidion.
“The woman who is in your service is my fiancée.”
“She’s mine,” Donovan responded coolly. “She belongs to me until her life-debt is paid.”
“A life-debt is not ownership,” Gavin said. His words seemed to push through his teeth.
“Amanda, what was my response to you when you asked me to define the precise nature of our association, what it meant to be in my service?”
Amanda watched the exchange in listless anger and sighed before answering. “You said, ‘think of me as your emperor.’”
There was a subtle sagging of Gavin’s shoulders, a slight, disbelieving shake of Tarsidion’s head. Noah remained silent, mirroring Donovan. Almost...curious.
“I have her word, and I know how much that means to your kind. Yes?”
“Know this, Donovan,” Gavin responded. “If I even think you mean her ill will, there won’t be a thing you can say or do or a place you can run on this world to stop me from ending you. On that you have my word.”
“Come, stranger,” Noah interjected, “perhaps we can help each other. Let’s properly get acquainted and if you want to part ways after that, then you’re welcome to do so.”
That brought a look from Gavin, but he held his tongue.
Donovan stared them down—a pillar of salt that revealed nothing, save stoic dispassion.
“Or perhaps you wish to wander aimlessly in a world you know nothing about?” Tarsidion rumbled.
Donovan glanced at the mocha-colored, green-eyed leviathan, was silent a moment longer, then turned to Amanda. His eyes were Caribbean turquoise. “Sunglasses,” he commanded and held out his hand.
Caught off guard, she instinctively patted her breast pocket, her front pockets and then finally glanced at the blood-soaked spot she’d been forced to lay on during the fight. There they were, red-tinted Ray Ban Aviators, splattered in green blood. With a lick of her lips and a shake of her head, Amanda went to them on a leg that no longer screamed, reached down with a back that no longer tore and picked them up. Green blood coated her fingers. It stunk like a rotting cabbage leaf.
When she handed them to Donovan, he accepted them without a word, reached into the breast pocket of his tactical shirt and took out a moist, oil-stained cloth. He held up his shades, inspected them, cleaned them, inspected again and then pocketed the cloth. Amanda’s breaths came quick and shallow. What if he refused?
“Very well,” he finally said and slid the red lenses onto his face. “Let’s see if you people have anything interesting to say.”
* * *
Skip couldn’t say he was surprised to see Donovan. Something had told him he’d meet up with the young lad again, but Skip was surprised to see Amanda. Like Jack, he’d only known her for a day, but it was the longest single day in the history of the universe. The young Trinity student turned abducted Drynn-hostage was huffing hard, hands on hips after coming to a stop.
“Long time no see,” Skip called as if seeing her in the toothpaste aisle at Target. “Earth get too boring?”
“You know me, what’s life without a little mortal danger?” she responded tiredly.
“Everett Walkins,” Donovan said, trampling on their conversation. “I thought you were dead.”
“Nope. But I appreciate you leaving me to die. I’ll make it up to you.”
Donovan shrugged. “You were warned. Cause and consequence.”
“Yeah, well, you’re an asshole.”
“Why don’t we all take a seat,” Gavin said, cutting through their banter with a low but decisive tone. He pointed at the trees around them, flashed his eyes and the forest burst into life. A flat, large, circular stone stirred within them and like a flying saucer levitated a foot in the air. It scraped through the underbrush and settled behind Amanda’s ankles with a gentle thud. She sat gratefully. Cirena and Noah took their places behind Gavin, flashed their eyes and two nests of slender branches and saplings rose up beneath them and coalesced into twisted, wicker-like chairs, complete with diagonal strips of bark serving as their backs. They sat.
Deeper still, beyond the ravine, was the sound of splintering wood. A second later an old tree stump ripped itself out of the ground in a shower of dirt and broken roots. Skip watched the now-disembodied stump glide toward Donovan and settle in front of him. Gavin motioned for him to sit.
“I’ll stand,” Donovan said, unimpressed. He stood calmly in front of them, one palm resting on one of the two .45s strapped to his thighs, the other hand behind his back. There was also a nine holstered under his pit but by far his most impressive piece of hardware was slung across his back—one beautiful, bad-ass German DSR-1 sniper system. It seemed Mr. Shades was a fellow sharpshooter.
And of course...Donovan was wearing red sunglasses.
Standing in stark contrast four feet across was Gavin. They were roughly the same height—one blond, one dark-haired—and though Gavin had been blessed with high cheekbones and easy-on-the-eyes good looks, they were positively dwarfed by Donovan’s nauseating splendor. Donovan by far was the best-looking human being Skip had ever seen, movie stars included. It was a little eerie. Unreal.
Still, Gavin’s full Shardyn ensemble could not be diminished. His cloak hung over his shoulders like a cape over armor that glinted like wet sapphires in the sun—part warrior monk, park Knight of the Round Table.
For a second it looked like it was going to be staring contest. Neither one of them spoke and neither one of them moved. From Gavin’s left Tarsidion loomed, arms crossed, while Noah and Cirena sat behind on their conjured sapling chairs. Watching. It turned the temporary campsite into a courtroom of a sort, making the moment feel somehow official.
Momentous.
Skip leaned forward and watched.
“You may ask the first question,” Gavin said, finally breaking the silence. His left hand rested casually on the hilt of his Quaranai.
Donovan turned to Amanda. “Hold this,” he ordered her and unslung his rifle.
She stood and obeyed, accepting the outstretched sniper rifle carefully.
That’s kinda weird.
Once free
of his weapon, Donovan unbuttoned his tactical jacket and then continued to the black shirt beneath. When he got to the T-shirt he paused and looked directly at Gavin. “Tell me what this is,” he rasped and pulled up his wife-beater.
A ripple went through the four.
“Damn, Donovan, what the hell you been eating?” Skip asked.
There were two things to gawk at. First and foremost, there was something buried in his chest; some sort of metal weaved through his skin like a serpent around a ship, part exposed, part submerged in his flesh. Secondly, Donovan’s body was a work of art; he had a perfectly symmetrical ten-pack lasered into his torso, while two slats of granite which served as pectoral muscles stared out at them. Absolutely nauseating.
“Is this how you crossed the Black Veil?” Gavin asked in a calm voice that shared nothing.
“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours. I will know if you’re lying.”
With a tight nod and a darkening of his eyes, Gavin refocused on the metal. So did Tarsidion and a second later, Cirena and Noah joined them.
“Noah?” Gavin asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. If I had to guess I’d say it was a Melding.”
Everyone looked at her, Donovan included.
“A Melding is a fusion of different elements ordinarily not seen together, yet working in accord. It’s—” She passed her hand over the silvery-green metal without actually touching it, and when she did, strands of gossamer symbols etched in her palm reacted, glowing like embers in a breeze. She snatched her hand away as if she’d been burned. Her next words made no sense—probably their native language—but rattled off her tongue like a jackhammer. She took the edge of her cloak and rubbed her hand, shaking it out while regarding Donovan.
“Explain,” Donovan demanded. “What kind of elements?”
Noah ignored him, attention on Gavin. Her hand twitched toward her sword.
“What. Sort. Of elements?” Donovan said in a rasp that seemed too low to be heard, yet resonated as clearly as a bullhorn.
Tarsidion leaned down and brought his face two inches from Donovan’s. His long, sable hair fell past his neck. He sniffed. “Yes,” he rumbled. “I can smell the stench of their work, no matter how faint.” His eyes narrowed and his nostrils crinkled. “But I smell something even more foul if that is possible.” Tarsidion leaned even closer and sniffed deeper. “Drynn.” He kept his face right in Donovan’s, daring the smaller man to do something. Skip loved it.