by Toni Kerr
“Tristan!” Donovan knelt on the ground in front of him. “We destroyed that band. You are no longer being held in captivity. You’re completely safe now.”
“This is captivity. You promised!”
“Listen to me.” Donovan pulled Tristan to his knees and gave him a good shake. “There is no band. You must learn how to defend yourself or they’ll capture you again. Only this time, they won’t bother trying to hold you, they’ll just kill you. And you won’t die so easily, will you? Is that what you want?”
“It hurts too much.”
“What hurts? The poison is gone, you’re healing incredibly fast, and there is no band. Aside from a lack of body fat and muscle mass, there is absolutely no reason you can’t do this.”
“Everything hurts.”
“There are no restrictions on your mind. There is no band. You have to get past this.”
Tristan clutched his bad arm and shook uncontrollably.
“You may think I’m being cruel and unreasonable, but I will not let you be ignorant. You need to know what powers those stones gave you before you leave this room, so people you care about don’t get hurt by unpredictable accidents. Can you agree with that much?”
Tristan nodded, forcing his muscles to stop shaking.
“I’m sorry you were captured. I feel...responsible.”
Tristan frowned at the statement. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“If you had been properly trained in the first place...but we thought slow and gentle would be more comfortable. More effective.”
“But I’m not part of the Makai...”
“This isn’t about the Makai.” Donovan paced. “I want you safe, but I can’t always be with you.”
Tristan opened and shut his mouth, too stunned to speak.
“I never want to see you in chains again. Is that clear?”
Tristan nodded, frowning harder.
“The only way to make that possible is to make you strong. I want you to be able to protect Landon and Victor if they need it, or any of the young children in the valley if they are attacked. Can you understand that?”
Tristan nodded, then shook his head. “They’re way stronger than me. They all are.”
“No, Tristan. The emerald alone made you stronger than any of us. I might not have wanted to encourage your strengths before, but now...now I trust you’ll do the right thing with whatever powers you’ve been given.”
“You didn’t trust me before?”
“We saw the recordings.”
Tristan drew a blank. “Recordings?”
“It’s not that I want revenge for what they did, but I never want to see you held against your will. You were extremely loyal to all of us in dire circumstances.”
“I don’t remember anything like that.”
“You’re a good kid. I don’t want your hands tied, mentally or physically. I want you to have whatever skills you need to defend anything you feel is worth defending.”
“So...if you have so much faith in me, why can’t I do this later?”
“Because you’ve rested long enough. Much has happened since you were taken, and there is much to come. We’ll need your help with Lazaro, he has your map.”
“What?” That got his attention. Tristan got to his feet, using the walking stick to keep himself upright. “How can that be?”
“Charley was drugging your food supply on Lazaro’s behalf.”
“Little Charley? But I thought—”
“His father was one of the men in Ireland. We caught Charley with the drawing and he told us everything.”
“He talks?”
“He was also responsible for Stanley’s death, though he claims it was an accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Lazaro said he was with you, mentally, when you were taken.”
“He was.”
“He offered to tell us where you were in exchange for Charley and the drawing.”
Dread stiffened every muscle. “You didn’t.”
“We copied it first, then yes. We did.”
Tristan’s heart raced. “And did he tell you where I was?”
“A van. Streetlights through tinted windows. It wasn’t enough.”
“You know, it’s actually okay if he has it. It wasn’t complete and I don’t even know what decodes it. I can’t imagine he’d figure it out.”
“He’s discovered a location and four of his men have died trying to get at whatever it is. A gem, presumably.”
“That can’t be.” Tristan glanced around the fake clearing for signs of Molajah. Where was the man? He tried to recall the last conversation...obviously the ‘shift’ they were worried about didn’t happen. What else did he say?
“Pay attention, Tristan. This training is important. We can’t sit around any longer.”
Tristan nodded, still unsure.
“I have no issues about killing people when I have to, but not everyone deserves it. I can’t have you involved if you’re going to kill everyone by accident. Do you understand?”
Tristan nodded again. Molajah was probably furious about the map getting out into the public. He had to get it back. No matter how sick and tired he felt.
“You are not responsible for the actions of others, but you are responsible for your own.” Donovan turned away. “When things go wrong, or not as planned...forever is a very long time to carry guilt.”
“I know.”
“Damn it, Tristan. You don’t know. The guilt you feel over the people in Ireland.... If they weren’t trying to kill you, they didn’t die. If they were, they did. I can’t think of a better way to make such a decision.”
“Charley wouldn’t think so.”
“Charley’s parentage is not your fault. We have work to do.”
“Okay.” Tristan ignored the surrounding trees, their hollow leaves gently fluttering in a breeze. His attacker was still frozen like a wax statue. “You’ll explain what I’m supposed to do?”
“Attacks are very slow in beginning lessons. The better you do, the quicker they get. The room adjusts itself in accordance to your strength and weaknesses.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Nothing will ever compare to what you’ve already gone through.”
That didn’t help.
“We’ve been training in this room for centuries.”
“How is that possible? The technology alone….”
“I believe it is biological.” For the first time, Donovan seemed at a loss for words. “I’m quite fond of whatever it is, and I’d go so far as to call it one of my closest companions.”
Tristan studied the trees. “So you just told the room to do this, and it did?”
“The room will not push you beyond your abilities, but it will push you. I wouldn’t be asking you to do this if I didn’t think you could.”
Tristan nodded warily, ignoring the barstool.
“Proceed.”
The man finished his step and Tristan mentally swatted his swinging arm. He flickered out of existence and reappeared on the other side of the circle.
“Wait. What just happened?”
“You succeeded. You move on.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s progressive.”
Tristan nodded with a little more confidence. “Okay. I can do this.”
Within half an hour, the pale-green shield of the emerald surrounded him, redirecting every attack back on the attacker without a thought from himself. If anything, it was good to know that he didn’t need the emerald physically with him to construct the deflecting shield.
He could almost relax and glanced at Donovan, who had his own attackers to deal with.
“We’re in team mode,” Donovan answered, before Tristan could ask.
“I’ve had enough.”
“This is where we learn something.”
Donovan flew in circles with a sword in each hand, taking down multiple attackers at once. There’d be piles of bodies if they weren’t disappearing on contact.
“Not yet.”
The colors changed. Trees transformed into transparent gray obstacles. Donovan seemed to be the only source of color—a greenish blue.
“Accommodating.”
Donovan’s final attacker vanished and he straightened. Sweat drenched his face, soaked his white dress shirt. “Explain.”
“Accommodating,” the woman’s voice said again.
Donovan circled with his swords raised, ready for the next attack. A dark shadow swept over the dry leaves. Trees swayed in the sudden gust of wind. He and Tristan turned skyward.
“Stop the training,” Donovan ordered, lowering his swords.
“Denied,” replied the voice.
“What are you?” asked Tristan, barely recognizing Donovan. Even the bone structure seemed different—human, but not quite. Why didn’t Molajah trust the man?
“Tristan—”
A roaring wind knocked them both to the ground as something swooped overhead.
Pure fear induced a fresh adrenaline rush. Tristan gripped the walking stick tighter and tried to recalculate the emerald shield. His heart pounded; the harder he thought about the shield, the more he couldn’t breathe.
“I can’t see what it is—” Tristan rubbed at his eyes and tried blinking away the distorted shapes. Maybe it wasn’t his eyes that changed, but the room itself.
“Pay attention, Tristan!”
He watched in horror as a dark shape with monstrously sharp claws tackled Donovan, yanking him off his feet. He stabbed one of his swords into the inner palm of a clawed foot and crashed into the top of a tree, breaking several branches as he plummeted to the ground.
“Stop the training!” Donovan shouted.
“Unable to comply.”
“Engage extreme safety parameters—”
“Unable to comply.”
Tristan held up his good arm to block the beast when it dove for him. Its black eyes slanted downward and its nostrils flared. Long, serrated teeth spiked outward. Giant whiskers snapped like whips around a body of interlocking, camouflaging scales.
His eyes grew wide as the monster winked out of existence, just before it would have careened into him. It appeared again, like a missile aimed at Donovan.
Donovan staggered to his feet in time to be smashed by a massive tail, straight against another tree. “Get out of the circle, Tristan.”
A yellow liquid gurgled from the side of Donovan’s head, and from each puncture wound in his stomach and thigh. Tristan scanned the clearing for something that resembled a circle and came back to the green form of Donovan.
“I don’t see the circle. I see—” He couldn’t be sure it was blood.
Blistering pain shot through his stomach and up his neck. The creature landed on four legs in front of him. The ground shook as huge claws sent chunks of earth flying in all directions.
And wings! Massive leatherish wings folded in on themselves, hanging like a cloak over an armored back, extending halfway down the powerful tail.
“Donovan!” The beast moved like a snake on the prowl. “What do I do?”
Donovan threw one of his swords at the head of the creature, drawing its attention away from Tristan. It opened his fanged mouth with a roar, twisting its impossibly long neck to snap at Donovan.
Donovan had no chance, caught in the jaws of gaping teeth. The second sword fell from his grip as the monster flung him away like a rag doll, clearing the rounded treetops.
The giant beast of a dragon turned back toward Tristan, taking purposeful strides toward him with ears like sails pinned to the back of his head.
Tristan retreated, tripping on something unseen. He didn’t dare turn and run, scooting back on his elbows. If there was a circle, surely he could escape if he kept backing away.
The monster roared a hot wind of fury, with Donovan’s blood still glistening on his teeth. “I’m not playing!”
The beast leaped forward, spreading its wings, raising its head to strike and reaching with its claws.
Simple survival.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Tristan caught the dragon with clawed feet of his own and used the momentum to catapult the creature into the trees.
They snapped on impact; Tristan rolled to his feet in time to slash between scales before the animal could strike again.
It recoiled and spun with a roar of rage.
Tristan stared at the dragon, eye to eye. His left arm throbbed; he kept it curled into his chest, claws stabbing into the palm of his own hand.
At this realization, he flexed the fingers, not recognizing the claws glistening with dark blood. Even his armored skin was unrecognizable.
He sat back on his haunches and examined his right hand, finding the sitting position impossible to maintain.
The dragon beast lunged, tackling Tristan to the ground with a heavy crash.
He shoved with his feet before the jaws could clamp down on his neck and the beast flew backwards, impaling itself on the pointed stumps of broken trees.
It turned to dust and settled to the ground like falling ash.
Tristan limped to the spot on three limbs, sniffing the area for signs of life.
Nothing felt right in this place. Not the trees, the sky. Everything felt terribly, terribly wrong.
37
- POINT OF NO RETURN -
TRISTAN STEPPED CAREFULLY through the crushed trees. They seemed to shift with him unnaturally. A haunted forest with only an illusion of distance. A cage.
Whatever it was, he would find his way out.
His wings unfolded stiffly as he stretched toward the sky. He beat at the air to get above the tree line, an instinctual motion, only to land on his chest with the effort. His left arm crumpled with the jarring weight, sending a noticeable jolt of pain up through his shoulder.
Something in the forest moved. The scent of an unknown predator lingered in the air.
Tristan got to his feet, keeping his bad limb tucked in protectively, and stalked the wooded area in search of the threat.
He wrapped his claws around the trunk of a lifeless tree and yanked it out of the ground, tossing it aside. The dirt did not smell as it should, but the predator’s scent grew stronger, emanating from somewhere nearby.
He pursued the odor until he came upon a tiny creature— severely injured and barely breathing. Tristan lowered his head and stilled. The little creature didn’t move.
A trap. Bait.
Before Tristan could back away, the creature’s hands shot fire into his eyes, scorching his nostrils and singeing his gums. He reared back, tearing through the false trees half blinded, snapping trunks in half as he plowed through them. His wings naturally extended for balance, snagging on every heartless branch.
Some sort of barrier kept him running in a tight circle, continually scraping the skin of his right wing against some sort of camouflage. The path soon became a track of bloodied spikes with broken trees scraping his belly, stabbing into his tender feet.
He cut toward the central clearing with a faster pace, desperate for enough speed to get off the ground. Only then could he escape these invisible walls and find a deep cave, or craft one, and tend to his wounds.
The tiny creature wasn’t playing defenseless anymore. It stood in the center of the clearing, shouting something unintelligible.
Tristan charged, sacrificing his bad arm for more speed, extending his battered wings for lift. He leaped toward the sky with every ounce of strength as fire from the creature seared his open wounds.
Tristan screamed...roared was more like it. But in two flaps of his wings, he’d be free and clear of this madness. His nose slammed against an invisible surface as hard as stone, nearly breaking his neck.
He plummeted to the ground, catching a few spikes to his side on impact.
No time to recover his senses; he whirled to his feet and made another lap on the track, increasing his speed, extending his wings.
The tiny green creature in the center aimed his arms upward; the air seemed to condense around him, absorbing his forward motion.
He broke through with sheer force of will and used what was left of his momentum to leap above the trees, crashing hard against the sky—an infuriating solid mass of something undetectable. His left arm would no longer hold any weight when he righted himself to try again.
Nothing would prevent him from breaking through.
He circled with the track a third time, ignoring the odd little man in the center, and sprang into the sky. This time, he put his nose down and hit with the armored plate of his forehead.
The crack reverberated through every bone.
He glared upward, confused by the jagged fissure dissecting the sky, and couldn’t recall crashing to the ground.
The little creature stood a breath away.
Tristan curled in on himself and used his long tail to swat the stubborn, fire-making thing out of his way. One or two more forceful hits was all it would take to break free.
Accommodating nicely with the three-legged gate, his wings spread out wide, just before the leap, and he drove his good shoulder into the broken sky.
It didn’t work, but it was progress.
Tristan ran the loop with nowhere else to go, keeping his lame arm tucked in, limping heavily on the other. Several times he skidded on shifting logs, landing hard on his chest, unable to keep his weight evenly distributed from front to back.
His wings were simply too heavy to keep off the ground, they snagged and tore on every sharp spike. He couldn’t get them to bend inward and his own blood seemed to be coating every bit of forest.
The little creature made his way back to the center of the clearing on two legs, holding his hands upward again.
Tristan watched warily, calculating his chances at breaking through whatever kept him contained in this hellish location. One more hit might be enough.
But the longer they sized each other up, the more sluggish he felt. The little creature was up to something.
A small explosion came from a dense spot of forest.
The green man turned and Tristan bolted in the opposite direction. By the time he was forced to circle back, additional creatures had appeared from the flames, cutting through the bloodied track on a course for the creature in the center.