by Mason Dakota
“Tell me the story.”
“I would even say you were a little…hangry…and needing a snack.”
“Tell…me…the…story.”
She smiled, puckered her lips, and blew me a kiss. “Relax. I’ll play nice and even make it short.” Obviously testing my patience, she took a long sip of water.
When she was done she smacked her lips—I cringed in frustration but guarded my tongue—and then she spoke. “I worked the past year as a bounty hunter on the east coast, doing what I do best.”
“Continuing to act like a brat?”
“Well, aren’t you sweet today. I made a good name for myself in that short amount of time, had good money coming in from catching criminals to hunting down stolen property.”
“And as humble as ever, I see.”
“That’s a lot coming from the Outcast Emissary. You sure seem to be doing rather well for yourself.”
“You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”
“Hard not to when you’re in the news so much now.”
Her eyes told a different story, and it was to that story I winked and said, “I missed you, too.”
She blushed and continued. “So…yeah business was doing pretty well on the coast.”
“That’s not what I heard. I heard you were responsible for single-handedly finding that serial killer, Jerome Machiva, that the police spent years searching for. I heard it took you only a few days to nail him down. And it embarrassed the hell out of the police there.”
She blushed again, dipped her head to hide her smile.
This is like riding a bike between us.
“Now who’s been keeping up with whom?”
Again, I winked.
“The police have too much red tape over there which is preventing them from doing their jobs. I don’t have the same restrictions, which makes my job easier and more profitable,” she said.
“And more dangerous.”
She nodded. “After that I got all the high level cases on the east coast. So when the lights go out in Chicago, sending not only the entire city into a crisis but also striking a high economic blow to the rest of the Empire and putting its security in jeopardy, you best believe it catches the Emperor’s attention. He has plans to restore Chicago…or so he says. I hope it’s true. He told me that the city needs…closure. He believes that starts with apprehending Shaman.”
“So knowing you’re one of the best at what you do, having a reputation for catching your targets alive and bringing them in, and being from Chicago and familiar with all its hiding spots, he just calls your number up and offers you a job?”
She shrugged. “Pretty much.”
“Why Shaman? Why…me? Why not Ziavir? He’s the one really responsible—he admitted his guilt on television!” Heat rose in my chest as my anger built. Evelyn wasn’t to blame. She merely stood in my path as an easy target on which to pour out my anger at the injustice I had suffered. I swallowed and downed more of my water, forcing my anger further down, and tried to think rationally before I said something I would regret.
“That’s what I asked him. Probably almost got myself killed with the look he gave me—as if my questioning his request insulted him in some way. He’s an arrogant prick. He claims Ziavir has already been dealt with—that he was already in custody for his crimes.”
“Ziavir’s been arrested?” Shock was an understatement to how I felt.
Evelyn nodded and said, “According to the Emperor? Yeah. Apparently he turned himself in less than a month after disappearing from Chicago.”
She paused for a moment to sip her drink and said, “I’m so sorry for not being here during that time. I can’t imagine what it was like to have that psychopath here.”
I could only nod. Evelyn knew all my secrets, from my identity as the Shaman to my past with Ziavir. She knew my hurts, my rage, my ambitions.
“So what did the Emperor say when you told him no?” I asked.
“Actually…I told him yes.”
Suddenly I wished I hadn’t left that knife on the other side of the room. Slowly I lifted my head and set my water bottle on the coffee table and said, “So after everything…this is where we stand now?”
“We both know that if I didn’t say yes he would only hire someone else, someone who will shoot first instead of showing you some mercy, or worse, someone who would find out that Chicago’s Outcast Emissary is also the masked vigilante that everyone believes was working with Ziavir. How well do you think that would go?”
“You expect me to believe that this is you trying to save me…by agreeing to hunt me down and bring me before the Emperor so that he can have me executed?”
“Yes. Exactly!” she shouted.
“Forgive me for not being more grateful that my ex-fiancé intends to escort me to my execution. Tell me, how much did he offer to pay you? I’m sure it was a tempting amount. I know for the bargain hunter you are, you won’t take part in anything unless you think you’re getting a good deal. So tell me, how much am I going for these days?”
“Will you just shut up already? I’m trying to save you!”
“I don’t need saving. I’m doing pretty well avoiding those who want me dead. Unless you haven’t heard, even Chicago’s new Mayor—ironically someone I put in office—has put her own bounty on my head. And then just tonight I avoided another attempt on my life by the Sabols. I would say I’m doing all right protecting myself, which means you don’t scare me, either. But I would love to hear how you intend to save me?”
She took a deep breath, appearing to gather her strength to say, “By begging you once more to give up this masked crusade.”
Her words punched me in the gut. “You know I can’t do that,” I whispered.
Her eyes teared up. “That’s exactly what you said a year ago when I asked you. I didn’t want to marry the masked man who would get himself killed in some childhood fantasy. But you wouldn’t give up that mask for me. Fine. But now I’m asking you to give up that mask for yourself!”
I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t. I couldn’t even look at her. I could only shake my head. She jumped to her feet and shouted, “Please, don’t let this be the reason why you die! Take it off! Burn it! Give it to someone else—anyone! Just please not you!”
“There’s no one else,” I whispered.
There was a long silence and I wondered if she might have left until she said, “Not even Gabriel, the first Shaman?”
“You would have me frame Gabriel to save myself?”
“If it meant saving you…”
At that, a single tear broke free and slid down her cheek. I saw something in someone I hadn’t seen in a very long time. I saw someone who loved me unconditionally, despite all the flaws I had or the hurt I had caused her. I had forced her to leave Chicago, choosing my selfish dreams and ambitions over her…and yet while she might not openly admit it, that love was still there.
I just wasn’t sure if it was still possible for me to feel that way for someone again. I was broken.
I shook my head. “Gabriel’s…gone.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth about Gabriel, about how a man we both loved and cared for and felt the same in return had betrayed us and the rest of Chicago. She didn’t ask for an explanation.
“Then if you can’t pass it on to someone else, I guess that only leaves you with one choice. If you weren’t willing to give it up for us…then please be willing to give it up to save your own life.”
Despite the wisdom of her plea, I could not simply walk away from my role as Shaman. The city needed saving, maybe now more than ever. The mob ran Chicago. Innocents were being caught in the crossfire between the anarchist Sabols and the vengeful Justicars. And now, according to Lorre, someone had created a virus capable of infecting Nobles and sparking the next great plague. Chicago was lawless and no one sought peace and justice. Chicago had become the Wild West…and it needed a cowboy like Shaman out there to defend its helpless.
“I…can’t.” I whis
pered.
“It’s just a mask. You can continue this crusade as the Outcast Emissary, making real change there through politics. Or if this nightly crusade really means that much then assume a new name and identity with a new mask. You don’t have to be the Shaman anymore.”
But who am I without Shaman?
“I can’t. Not now. There’s just so much more I’ve got to do. You know what this mask means to me, Eve. How can you ask this of me?” I asked.
“It’s just a piece of cloth!” She shouted.
Tears rolled down her face. I saw her broken heart and anger in her eyes, and I knew I was far too stubborn to give in. We both knew that. She came here with hope, maybe thinking our separation would have changed my stubbornness. I didn’t blame her for the way she felt. It was both deserved and honest.
But this wasn’t just a mask. It was something so much more to me—sentient in fact. All my hopes and dreams and ambitions for a better life, for what Chicago could be, for a restoration of wrongs, my entire faith in something bigger than myself, filled that mask. Time and time again I failed that mask, but it had yet to fail me in return. It was my god. I just couldn’t let it go, couldn’t walk away from it just because my life was at risk. The Emperor of the world’s largest and most powerful empire might want Shaman executed as some means of healing for Chicago, and he would likely get just that.
But until then I just couldn’t let the mask go.
So I shook my head and whispered, “It’s not just a piece of cloth. Not to me.”
Evelyn stood there watching me as the tears fell from her eyes. She gave me the same heartbroken look she gave me a year before when I chose the life of Shaman over her.
Seeing that there was no changing my course, that I was determined to put my own life at jeopardy, and that there was nothing she could do to stop me, she wiped at her eyes and grabbed her coat as she said, “The Emperor gave me one week. That leaves me with four more days.” I didn’t need to hear what would happen if she failed to bring in the Shaman. She would be fired, and as an Outcast, possibly executed for her failure.
Both our lives were on the line.
After that the Emperor would only send in someone else, someone far deadlier and more lethal who would likely tear Chicago apart looking for me. For the sake of possibly countless innocent lives as collateral damage, either my life or Evelyn’s would end.
What is this mask really worth?
I felt more than saw her move toward the door. She hesitated in opening it and turned to say, “I won’t hunt after Griffon. I won’t hunt after the man I…believe to be a good one, nor will I get in the way of our friends or the places I know you rest and lay your head at night. But each night you put on that mask and head out that door, I’ll be out there, too. I’m not hunting Griffon…I’m hunting a good man’s prison.”
After that she opened the door and left me standing in my apartment.
I didn’t sleep much that night.
Ten
Dust rained from the ceiling with every blast against the Palace walls. Soldiers in royal imperial armor rushed all around Ziavir. They barked orders and found open windows from which to fire at the enemy surrounding the Palace.
Another blast hit the Palace. Ziavir dove out of the way as a chandelier crashed to the floor. Shards of crystallized glass shot everywhere and bounced off the armor of all those fighting nearby. Ziavir scuttled to his feet and continued sprinting for the Emperor’s quarters.
He turned the final corner and was greeted by a host of armed soldiers who steered blaster rifles in his direction. He slid and fell just as one of the guards fired. The hairs on his skin stood when the electrifying current zipped over his head and created a human-sized hole in the wall behind him.
“Hold your fire! Hold your fire! I’m a friendly,” shouted Ziavir as he wildly waved his arms.
“Lord Procurator? Is that you?” called out one of the men.
Ziavir didn’t blame them for shooting first. After all, he was the one who gave them instructions to shoot at anyone who came around that corner. When the enemy was dressed just like you, it was better to shoot first and ask for forgiveness later, especially when the life of the Emperor was at stake.
“Ziavir Yiros? Ziavir, come quickly!’ shouted a man from the pack.
The man emerged from the doorway the soldiers guarded. He stood a few inches taller than everyone and nearly broader despite not wearing battle armor. His hair and beard were golden and reached his shoulders. His blue eyes held ice and his jaw was a perfect square. Emperor Bretton was an impressive man, gifted in strength and beauty even by a Noble’s standard. The man was built like a warrior, but his hands offered the gentle touch of a healer.
Emperor Bretton rushed past his guards, despite Ziavir’s protesting look and the calls from his guards, to get to Ziavir’s side.
“Sir, you shouldn’t be out here. It isn’t safe,” Ziavir protested, though he still allowed Emperor Bretton to hoist him up.
“Nonsense, nowhere is safe at a time like this. And this isn’t a time for formalities so don’t even think about following them now. Come inside, I need your help with something,” the Emperor said. He led Ziavir pass the guards and toward his private quarters.
“Adam’s men have breached the courtyard. They outnumber us.”
“Then we must hurry!”
“I must say, sir, I expected this from Damien Waters and his barbarians, but never from one of your own generals.”
“Sometimes our greatest threats are found from within, not outside. Inside, quickly. There’s something we must discuss,” said the Emperor as he shoved Ziavir forward through the door.
The room was a large office space for the Emperor. It was filled with all sorts of expensive fabrics and countless trinkets the Emperor collected from every country and culture he liked to visit. This was the most sacred place in the whole Palace, for it was here where history happened, where the policies and procedures that governed the entire Empire and its population of Outcasts and Nobles were set into motion. Few were ever allowed into that room, and only when invited by the Emperor, so it was a shock to see one of the cleaning staff, an Outcast, sitting on one of the couches.
The woman was dressed in the cleaning uniform of all the staff. She held in her hands one of the pocket handkerchiefs Ziavir knew came from Emperor Bretton, and she played around with it in her trembling hands, as if she hoped it would distract her enough from the battle raging around her. Her eyes darted all over the place and with each blast that hit the wall she fought to hide a gasp of shock.
“Sir?” Ziavir asked. He was confused. It was one thing to be pulled off the battlefield when the future of the Empire depended upon it. It was another thing to see one of the cleaning staff—an Outcast nonetheless—in the most prestigious room at the Palace instead of with the rest of the staff in the basement.
“I’m sure you’ve met Angelia before, Ziavir. She works the laundry here at the Palace,” said Emperor Bretton. He introduced Angelia with such ease and respect that Ziavir wondered if Bretton had suddenly forgotten about the battle.
“Um, no…sir. I don’t know her.”
Emperor Bretton clamped a hand on Ziavir’s shoulder. “One day, we must have a talk about getting to know everyone who works for you. She’s the reason why I have brought you here.”
“I’m not following, sir.”
“This is important, Ziavir. So important that the future of the empire rests upon it. I need you to smuggle Miss Angelia out of the Palace and safely away from here.”
Ziavir looked from the shy woman on the couch back to the Emperor. He couldn’t stop himself from scoffing. “Sir, you can’t be serious.”
“I am very serious, Ziavir.”
“Sir, not to be disrespectful, but your men are busy defending against a coup on your life and throne. And you want me to abandon my sworn responsibility to serve you to smuggle out this woman who is—”
“Right now the most important woman
in the Empire,” interrupted Emperor Bretton, “probably the Empire’s history.” He spoke with such confidence it startled Ziavir. He looked from Angelia, whose cheeks blushed as she shied away from eye contact, back to the Emperor again.
“Who is she?”
“Your mission to protect.”
“But who is she. What makes her so valuable?”
Emperor Bretton grimaced. “For your safety, I cannot reveal that. Nobody can know until the time is right.”
“But you’ll risk my safety to ask this of me.”
“What I ask is if I have your loyalty.”
Ziavir ducked his head, ashamed. “You know you do.”
“Do I have your trust?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did you not swear an oath to my bloodline and to me?”
Ironic when you have no heir, Ziavir thought.
“Yes, sir.”
Emperor Bretton grabbed Ziavir’s shoulders so that Ziavir was forced to look his emperor in the eyes. Outside another blast struck the forcefield and the building shook.
“Ziavir, I need you to do this for me. There’s no one else I can trust. She must be protected. Take her somewhere safe, somewhere she can get a new identity and a new life. Our future rests with her and by extension with you. I have never given you a direr command than this in all your years of service. I’m not just asking as your emperor. I’m asking as your friend.”
Tears formed in Emperor Bretton’s eyes. It broke Ziavir’s heart to see such emotion. Ziavir nodded and said, “Yes, sir. I’ll get her somewhere safe.”
“Good, lad. Where will you take her? Do you have someone who can help you?”
Ziavir nodded. “Chicago. Alexandra Carline can help us.”
“The young lady you’ve been sweet on and telling me all about?” This time it was Ziavir who blushed. It was silly, he knew, to have such childish love for anyone. But there were butterflies in his stomach, even at a time like this, when he thought of Alexandra.
“Good. Take Angelia to Miss Carline. Get her a new identity and make sure she is safe. We can hold Adam for as long as we can to insure your escape, but if we fail—Adam will hunt down all those close to me. That would include you. I want you to be safe. Promise me though, you’ll do whatever it takes to keep Angelia secure.”