“Is that how you refer to a loving wife and children—a mate and offspring? It’s no surprise you murdered my children. You’ve given up.”
The Taoiseach had a family?
“I haven’t given up!” he shouts. “It was taken from me. That damn whore of yours took it many seasons ago. Sure, I’ve made some repairs, but I’ll never have the luxury of family.”
“I have no sympathy for you,” the Taoiseach interjects.
“Your sons were arrogant. They always put themselves above the rest. They had it coming.”
“As they should. I would expect any man with purpose, passion, and even a pinch of dignity to put himself above filth like you. You’re a murderer of the innocent, among everything else lacking in a man with value. You disgust me,” the Taoiseach responds with his unwavering control of emotions. He has a way of not revealing any of his weaknesses. “Moving on. How do you intend on sharing my so-called ‘secrets’ with the realm?” he asks.
“The only way I can. By killing you and opening the door.”
There is a pause, and then I hear the thud of a glass being placed on the desk and a jingle of cubes within it. A glass of scotch, I presume. This man is discussing the murder of his family, yet Harris sounds so calm about it. Why not end his life like he’s done with so many others?
“You’re a fool. There isn’t a soul that knows how to gain access to my athenaeum, let alone the knowledge of how to kill me. You have your hands full, Carib.”
Susy’s shits! Harris just admitted he can die. He is just a man. I stepped onto this balcony figuring I was taking my last breaths. But he’s just a man. Knife in the heart, then straight to the head. But not yet. Not until this Carib character leaves. I wonder who he is that the Taoiseach entertains his threats? Ellia might be familiar with his name. And what athenaeum is he referring to? A place where he holds all his secrets?
“That may be so, but all the innocent blood that will inevitably be spilt will be on your hands, Harris. You are the cause of this, and you can end it easily by opening the door and letting out the knowledge of the ages. Or you can keep your secrets and let thousands of innocents die. We will be marching into your realm and at your city gates before winter. You have your warning.”
“And so, history repeats itself,” he mutters to himself before responding to Carib more defiantly. “Ultimatums don’t suit me,” the Taoiseach stresses. His chair screeches on the hardwood.
I raise myself just high enough to peer through the window, and the Taoiseach casually walks around his desk toward the dark figure. This Carib fellow is dead. The Taoiseach is more powerful than any man. I’ve felt his talent and his strength. It’s inhuman.
Facing him, the Taoiseach places his left hand on the side of Carib’s right shoulder, casually, as a good friend would do. Then his right wraps around Carib’s neck. Carib doesn’t flinch.
“I’m immune to your talents, Harris. I’ve uncovered some of your secrets by dabbling in what you’ve deemed ‘taboo.’ You may be able to prevent all the citizens of your realm from doing so, but thankfully, I was banished from your realm and your rules. In a way, I should thank you for banishing me because I discovered so much without the hand of your guard watching my every move. And I must admit, it’s a rather intelligent way to maintain your rule of the realm, by preventing all others from discovering their true potential. But it won’t be that way for long. Your time has come to an end.”
Carib grabs the Taoiseach’s wrist and pulls it away from his neck with ease. It’s difficult to see in the dimly lit room, but it doesn’t look like it even left a mark. The Taoiseach’s touch of death didn’t faze this man. No pain, no scars, and not a hint of intimidation. I lower myself beneath the window and press tightly against it, my knees to my chest. I take a deep, yet silent breath. An equal in strength and talent? To the Taoiseach? A chill sweeps through the warm evening air.
Harris must be hiding extremely valuable information if this man has already figured out how to make himself invincible to the Taoiseach’s touch. And he believes the Taoiseach has more to offer?
“I see you have brought your talents a long way,” Harris continues. I hold still to listen. “You know, what you have done is irreversible. You are even less of a man now than when Ellia removed your manhood. It is no way to live.”
“That may be, but I am invincible.”
“Invincible?” the Taoiseach repeats. “Nobody is invincible. You may have discovered you’re an Immortal, but nobody is invincible. There is so much you don’t understand.”
Irreversible? Invincible? Immortal? They’re real?
“Exactly, and that is why I plan on marching my army to your front door. We all have the right to know.”
“You’re too arrogant to deserve what you’re asking for, Carib. However, come to my front door if you must. Sacrifices are nothing new to me. But you must know, you will be destroyed if you do. We have nothing more to discuss. Now, please excuse yourself.”
“You have your warning, Harris. Make the right choice,” the man says over his shoulder as he struts in my direction.
Dammit. I thought he would leave like a normal man, out the chamber door. Why is he retreating toward the sundeck?
I crouch low and hold tight to the wall as I have been. There’s hardly a shadow to conceal me with Cerise claiming the sky. He may still walk past me.
An unexpected scream sounds out. Something from a dreadful beast. A mixture between a growl and the piercing screech of a large raptor. Then, I see it. A raptor flying toward the manor, diving straight toward the sundeck.
The sun’s light swathes the dawning sky with drowsy blue hues. The silhouette of the bird soars toward me. But this is no normal raptor. This bird has four legs outstretched as it comes in for a landing. And instead of talons, paws of a wolf. The beast lands on the deck with the elegance of any raptor. Its wings stretch nearly the entire length of the deck before folding in. Its paws are as large as my head, and it doesn’t have a beak, feathers, or a bird’s skull. This beast was a wolf. Now a wolf with the wings of a raptor. I’ve never seen such a thing. I freeze, crouched low underneath the window on the deck. The winged beast seems to have no interest in me. It sits like a dog and patiently waits.
In my terror, I neglect the man called Carib.
He opens the door, walks by me, glances down, and mounts the beast as it crouches low. He adjusts himself in the saddle and grabs the reigns before calling out to Harris one more time. “Harris, you have a visitor.” He points a deathly pale finger at me and smiles.
As he does so, I see something impossible. All his features change. His red tattoos fade. His brow raises high into his forehead. His cheekbones lift, and his complexion goes dark. Then, just as quick as it changed, it morphs back into the original pale man. He heels the beast, and its wings unfurl, sending a gust of wind my way, and it leaps from the sundeck.
I have seen this before. I thought I remembered everything from that night four seasons ago, but seeing his face change before my eyes, it floods me with buried memories. Carib is the one who stormed our home. He saw me peeking through the baluster and his face…it was Harris Martelli’s face, then it flashed into a pale, distorted figure and back again. Just as it did now. I remember. Harris wasn’t there the night of our parents’ deaths. It was Carib. Carib is a shapeshifter. A Mimic. The worst of characters played out on the silver screen. And that is exactly where he belongs—on the silver screen. Not standing before my tyrant, threatening him.
“Why do you do this, Jaymes?” the Taoiseach asks. I keep quiet, assuming it’s rhetorical. “Yes, I have secrets I withhold from all the realm. Secrets that will only destroy what we have achieved, and that is why they are mine and mine only.” He pauses momentarily, pondering whatever decision he is about to make. “You know there will be consequences for this.”
I find my voice and rise from hiding to step into his chamber. Harris is sitting back in his chair again. “Yes, but did you see him? Did you see
his face?”
“Yes, and unfortunately, so did you,” he replies.
“His face changed! He was one man, then another in the blink of an eye. And he—”
“Jaymes, forget what you saw,” the Taoiseach interrupts.
“Taoiseach, sir, he changed into…into you, sir. What does it mean?” I ask genuinely, probably for the first time ever.
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Tigershit! I heard what he said. You’re planning a massacre with him. You don’t even care about the people of this realm. You say you withhold your secrets because it will destroy the realm, but you are going to allow this?”
“Your language is offensive! Talk to me with respect, or don’t talk at all.”
“My apologies, Taoiseach, sir.” I pause a moment to gather my calm. “Taoiseach, sir, I’m not concerned about what your secrets are, but I do hope…” I must forget that word, hope. But that is what it is, hope. “I do hope you can make the right choice to defend your realm. And one other thing. I expect, when you see fit, you will give me the answers I desire. Are you the man who murdered my parents or was it the man I just saw flee from this sundeck?”
“Jaymes, just as he is doing, you meddle with what you don’t understand. Hope is not something I believe in. When I was young like you, maybe, but not anymore. I have long outgrown it. Hope is something only the weak possess and the fearful desire. Hope is meaningless to me. I make choices and with those choices come the consequences I tolerate. You see me as the evil tyrant lord who is brutal and unwavering, but that is not me. I make hard choices to keep the calamity at bay. And yes, some indirectly involve malicious acts—murder, rape, sabotage, and the list continues—but none of them have malicious intent.” Harris rises from his desk and edges closer to me. He finds a casual seat on the front of his desk before getting too close.
I exhale, unaware I was so tense.
“Those malicious acts,” Harris continues, “are mere vassals and byproducts of a much larger, grander picture. The men and women of our world have great power at their fingertips, and they must know there is an even greater power above them to keep them in line. Susy has the attention of many, and somehow, I didn’t ask for it, but I became that greater power for the rest. And so, because of the hope of others that have brought me to this point, I have accepted my duty, and I am managing it as I see fit. I have been around for a long time, Jaymes, and I have knowledge you are not worthy of. I carry with me the knowledge I expected you would be worthy of someday, but your lack of patience and immature nature continue to control you. I tolerated the espionage up to this point because it was harmless, but this time…” Harris slams his fist on his desk and shakes his head with disappointment. I stagger backward. “This time will be your undoing. Blind ambition can be a good thing, you know, if you have loyalty and trust in your authorities. I thought you were on the verge of overcoming your natural inability to trust, but today you prove my judgment wrong.”
Harris rises and steps closer. The desire to run prods at me, but I hold my ground. Ellia didn’t train me to run from my fears. She trained me to face them head-on. I inhale and puff up my chest as he moves closer. He stops when within an arm’s reach.
“You know, Jaymes, there is something about you that raises my tolerance to another level. And because of that I will give you until dawn to remove yourself from my manor and my city. If we ever meet again, don’t expect the same mercy. I ought to end your life now with the knowledge you have. But you have caught me in a moment of weakness. Now, get out of my sight.”
His arm snaps up, pointing to his patio. I flinch the slightest and don’t hesitate to follow orders.
When I step outside, I release the breath I’ve been holding. Banished? This couldn’t be. I can’t be banished. I’m not going back into hiding. I’ve been there for too long. It’s not a life worth living. I look over my shoulder. Only the whites of his eyes are visible in his dark chamber. They watch me intently.
So, this is how the Taoiseach rules his realm. He sacrifices anyone who gets too close and uncovers too much. But he didn’t kill Carib because he couldn’t. Harris is only a man.
A knife in the heart, then straight to the head for the kill.
Have I lost faith? Am I giving up? Am I failing the inhabitants of Azure? Or is it a blessing I am fleeing? Or maybe this is the epitome of faith. Walking away from my selfish design, sacrificing what I know and facing the unknown.
47 Stone
H e can sense my emotion. Harris knows I am broken, weak, worthless. All I have is my fury. Fury fueled by hatred. Hatred that Master Stormwood outed me for being a Graft, hatred for being a Graft or whatever it is I am, hatred for Goose parting ways and not joining me in this impossible extraction, hatred for Ellia kidnapping Jay and making us come here, hatred for Ellia taking advantage of me, hatred for Astor for not giving me a chance to explain before disappearing, hatred for Harris being the root of all my problems, hatred for all my weaknesses, and hatred for…Jaymes. Hatred for Jaymes and her horrible decision to willingly become the Taoiseach’s pawn.
“Argh!” A bellow of fury frantically escapes me as I charge Master Stormwood. My raging fist swings at his head, and he easily dodges it, smacking me in the back of the head lightly in return—one of his I am better than you, and you are weak hits. It is more of a tap than a real blow. He taunts me as he always does, trying to draw out the rage. It’s already here.
I flip around with a swift backhand of my own, but he is quick. He grabs it and twists me around, locking my arm behind me with his other forearm. “You must find yourself. Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. Then he lets go.
I follow up with an elbow into his gut. Cheap shot, but I don’t know how else to best him. I create distance between us. The last time I connected with a blow was a mistake. And it was infinitesimal at best. I’m not a fighter. I don’t know how to beat him. I don’t know why he wants me to beat him. And I don’t know how to find myself. What does that mean?
“Why?” I yell. “Why must I find myself?” I charge him again with several fists, one after the other, precision in every swing. He dismisses all of them. I follow up with a leg to his side, but he catches it and drops me to the ground.
“Because you are weak until you do,” he replies calmly. He lets go.
I hop to my feet and stare him down. We dance in circles. I am weak. I know I’m weak. I’ve always been weak. That’s who I am. Why does he choose to pick on the weak one? There are so many others in this class watching him taunt me. Why can’t they find themselves? Why not choose one of them to taunt? He’s just a damned bully.
“I’m weak!” I admit. Another blast of fury shrouds me, and I charge.
This time when he deflects my attack, he winces. It leaves an open window to a small blow that plants right on his nose. It sends him stumbling back. I follow my attack, my fury not letting me do anything else, and land more blows to his face and his gut. He stands wobbly. I sweep my leg around and connect with the back of his knees, buckling them and dropping him. I kick him in the face on his way to the ground, forcing his body backward in a way it shouldn’t bend and causing his knees to snap as they sit underneath his broken body.
I take a deep breath, realizing Master Stormwood is not going to retaliate. He’s not going to bounce back and knock me on my ass. He is broken. I look around to my classmates. They are all wide-eyed, mouths agape and silent. My eyes fixate on the broken body below me. His bare chest is littered with black imprints. As is his face. It spreads. The rot grows slowly. It consumes his flesh.
“What have I done?” I mutter.
I react impulsively, not knowing what to do. I drop to my knees and straighten out his body, disregarding any pain it might cause him. His colorful locks are spreading over the dirt like poisonous asps fleeing their den. His body is limp, but his eyes still have life. He’s not dead.
I wipe frantically at his chest, trying to remove the spreading rot feeding on his flesh. Of cour
se it doesn’t work. I scratch at it, trying to remove the flesh. That doesn’t work either. It only tears into the loose rot, digging big, gaping claw marks into his chest. What have I done? What have I done? Only Dihkai are capable of degeneration. This isn’t who I am.
I look up to my classmates for advice. Panic has replaced the fury within me. Most are standing agape, and others are fleeing the scene. They’re afraid. They know I’m a Lahyf, and they’ve witnessed the rot escape my hands. They’re all witness to a Graft murdering his master. I am the reason they fear Grafts. I am… I am… I am a Graft. My overdue execution will be just.
I place my hand upon his chest in a hopeless attempt to recede the rot. I close my eyes and focus all my energy into his beating heart. There is too much rot to focus anywhere else.
Thum-thump… thum-thump… thum-thump…
A deep but soft voice speaks out, “You will continue to be weak until you find yourself. You must know who you are…Stone McLarin. Stop hiding.”
The energy I poured into Master Stormwood leaves me fatigued. I press a hand onto the hard sand beneath me to keep my balance. The world spins around me, and I sit on my cheeks. Then fall backward and close my eyes.
“We are done here,” the Master of Combat’s voice proclaims.
I open my eyes, and Master Stormwood is above me, along with Grimry, Jareth, and several of my other classmates. I cannot detect what they are feeling. They all stand over me with blank stares. Where am I? I sit up, placing my palms to the ground. Rough, gritty dirt fills around my fingers. I lie in the middle of the combat circle.
“What happened?” I ask.
“You are no longer fit to take part in my course. You must leave.”
The master says nothing more. He stands above me, waiting for my exit. The rot I forced on him has receded. Did I imagine it? I rise, no help from anyone. I look around, and everyone glares at me, saying not a word. I shrug my shoulders and make way for the thornwood perimeter. My classmates stumble, backing on their heels as I pass by.
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 60