Ibenus (Valducan series)

by Seth Skorkowsky

  "And you," the German said with a slight bow.

  "And this," Turgen said, stepping closer, "must be Victoria Martin, Allan's new student." He extended his slender hand. "I am Alexander Turgen. Welcome to our home."

  "Thank you," she said.

  "I sincerely apologize that I was not here on your arrival. I assume Allan has offered you some refreshment?"

  "He has."

  He smiled in that warm grandfatherly way of his, but Allan noticed the fine, wary edge hiding in the old man's eyes. "Very good." Turgen stepped aside, allowing Gerhard access. "This is Gerhard, another guest, only just introduced to our fold." He waited until they had shaken hands before offering Gerhard a chair. "Allan, I was wondering if you could share the story of how you first became a hunter."

  "Of course." Allan ran a hand along Ibenus' smooth grip until Turgen had lowered himself into one of the leather wingbacks, then he drew the khopesh from her sheath. If the old man was asking for this story now, it meant that the new recruit wasn't sold on joining the Order, yet. He sat down cradling Ibenus across his lap. "My great-great-grandfather, Gordon Havlock, was a treasure hunter. Fancied himself an Egyptologist, but…" He shook his head. "Bit of a scoundrel, really.

  "While on expedition in Thebes he discovered a small temple. Couple mummies, gold, artifacts. There, at the edges of their torchlight, resting on a pedestal before a statue of a hawk-headed god, was Ibenus." Allan patted the bronze blade. "So his team divided the treasure up, carried it all back to England, and made a fortune selling it to collectors and museums. He held on to some choice pieces for himself, Ibenus among them.

  "When I was a kid, we used to visit my father's uncle every summer. He kept Ibenus in private museum and, as long as I could remember, I was fascinated with her. Whenever we'd arrive, the first thing I'd do was go and look at her." He shook his head, grinning. "They used to pretty much drag me away when it was time to leave."

  Gerhard gave an understanding nod, but discomfort still seemed to linger in the tight corners of his lips, like a boy caught stealing cookies.

  "Then when I was twelve, I fiddled the lock on Ibenus' case open. That feeling…" Allan's fingers gripped the sword, "getting to touch her for the first time." He released a low breath, the memory tingling through his veins. "It was love." Allan glanced to Victoria, watching him intently, a question forming on her lips. A strange pang of guilt prodded his stomach but he couldn't say why. Why should he feel guilt?

  "My uncle caught me, of course," Allan continued. "I was swinging her around, pretending I was some warrior. It's a wonder I didn't break anything. Got in a lot of trouble for that one. I thought he'd send me home for sure, but…" He shook his head. "That was the last time I was allowed in there, though. Then when I was finishing secondary school, my uncle passed away. The estate was divided up and he willed me Ibenus as well as tuition to University of Liverpool. That was about the time the dreams began."

  Gerhard cocked his head. "Dreams?"

  "Yeah. I'd always had dreams about Ibenus as long as I could remember. Nothing too specific. Usually she was the goal, something I was searching for. They became more common after I first touched her. But now I was holding her in them. Fighting on some ancient battlefield or exploring a dungeon. See, I wasn't ready for her yet. I was too young. But then, once she was mine, they became nightly and full of monsters."

  Gerhard leaned closer, eyes intent. "Tell me about them."

  "The most common one, I was in a desert, dressed as Lawrence of Arabia or something. There was this wall of sand swirling around me, like I was in the eye of a storm. The wind was howling and monsters were coming out of the wall, or bursting up from the dunes, attacking me, coming for her. And no matter how many I killed, two more emerged, all of them different. Every one."

  "I was on a city street," Gerhard said. "There was a glowing fog and the monsters were coming out of the windows and sewers."

  Allan smiled. "Wake up sweating?"

  The German nodded.

  Allan raised a finger. "That's the call. Ibenus was telling me I was ready. I just didn't know for what. Then, when I was twenty, I heard about some farmers in Greasby, claimed a giant black dog was killing their sheep. Called it the Beast of Wirral. After a couple of months, a girl was found dead, torn apart by some animals. Tabloids pegged it on the Beast but no one actually believed in it."

  "But you did," Victoria said, her voice a whisper.

  "Yeah." He swallowed. "I didn't know why it struck me so hard, but I started obsessing about it. I'd head down there nightly, Ibenus tucked into a battered DJ case. I'd filled it with foam, cutout this shape of her in it so she could fit, like some television hit man." He chuckled. "Two weeks I did that, creeping around farms at night, crawling through fences. What started as this sort of game had completely taken over." Allan met Gerhard's eyes, his smile falling into cold sincerity. "Then one night I found it."

  If the German was moved by the dramatic flair, he didn't show it. "What was it?"

  "Hellhound," Allan answered. "Imagine a shaggy black dog, but huge, big enough to ride. At first I couldn't tell what it was. Just this shape in the shadows. Then I saw these two red eyes glowing like coals. It was that moment I realized it wasn't some fanciful game I was playing. It was real, and it was charging at me, teeth bared. It leapt at me. I stumbled backwards and brought up Ibenus, like I could somehow block it, then, whoosh, I'm a full meter away from where I fell, and was standing."

  Gerhard's brows furrowed. "I don't…understand."

  "Ibenus grants me the gift to teleport a short distance when I swing her. Just a meter, meter and a half, but it’s enough."

  "Teleport?" Gerhard looked over at Turgen, skepticism filming the German's eyes.

  The corners of Turgen's lips tightened into a smile.

  "You didn't tell him?" Allan asked.

  "It hadn't come up yet." He lifted a hand toward Allan, giving permission to share.

  "The bond with a holy weapon is a bond to an angel," Allan said. "As that bond strengthens, we are gifted access to that angel's unique powers. Umatri's gift…" Allan started, searching for the best words, "she moves, like a serpent."

  "He," Turgen corrected.

  "Apologies," Allan said, cursing his forgetfulness. "They used to call him the Steel Adder. Because he moves," Allan undulated his hand back and forth, "like a snake."

  Gerhard sat back, his mouth a flat line, eyes fixed on Allan's slithering hand. He swallowed and gazed down at the keris in his lap.

  That got through, Allan thought.

  "In my dream," Gerhard said, "he moved like that."

  Allan grinned. "At least he's warned you. Ibenus gave me no warning. Just poof. The hellhound snarled and wheeled toward me. I swing again. Poof. Suddenly I'm on the opposite side of it and Ibenus buries into its flank. Then it howls this unbelievable wail, echoing out across the moors. My muscles just turn to jelly at that noise and I stagger back, miracle I kept hold of the sword. Beast turns, about to lunge again. I swing, poof, I close the distance and bury the blade," Allan brought the side of his hand up in a karate chop motion into his forehead, "right into its skull." He lowered his hand, returning it to Ibenus. "In your dreams, did the monsters burn when you killed them?"

  Gerhard shook his head. "They…evaporated into mist."

  "Then let me tell you the next thing I wasn't ready for. Bright blue fire spewed out from the monster's wounds and enveloped it. Beautiful, really, but bloody terrifying when you aren't expecting it. But demon fire isn't like normal fire. It's not actually burning, but its soul is. Looks like a hologram or a bad special effect, you know. Superimposed."

  The German gave a puzzled grimace, as if unfamiliar with the term, but he didn't speak.

  "About that time the leather grip tape I'd wrapped around Ibenus' handle swelled and split open as the original wood grip, long decayed, grew back good as new. Weird. So there I am, standing by this blue fire, covered in sweat
, then I see that the monster is changing, transforming into a woman dead at my feet."

  Allan sighed, the image of her cloven face tightening his chest. For some reason hers was the only one that still got to him. "I panicked." He glanced at Victoria. Sympathy lurked beneath her fascinated intensity. He licked his lips. "Thought I might have gone mad. Maybe just murdered some random naked woman, thinking she's a monster, but that fire is still burning. I briefly considered burying her, hiding the body, but…I just got the hell out of there. Swore I'd never do anything like that ever again. Went home and tried to pretend it'd never happened."

  He shook his head, eyeing the empty coffee cup. "But you see, Ibenus had me. She chose me because she knew me, knew I wouldn't resist. My eyes had been opened to this world I never knew about. Started noticing things, little things I'd not given any thought to before. Couple of my mates visited a massage parlor in Chinatown. Said they had a great time, if you catch my meaning. One of them, my friend Rob, he's going on and on about this one girl. Said it was amazing but he's also real sickly after that. Said it was stomach bug or the like, but couldn't wait to go back and see this girl again. Once I'd have just chalked it up as another bloke that fell for a prostitute, but I can't stop this uneasy feeling about it. Week later he's feeling his old self, goes and pays her another visit. Comes back, he's pale, tired, and still raving about her. Then that feeling come back, worse now. All I can think is succubus."

  Allan sighed. "So just a month after I swore I'd never do anything crazy again, I go to Chinatown with Ibenus, bent on killing the succubus that's feeding on my friend. Luckily for me, the Order had gotten to her first. But they'd waited around, having heard of the body found in Greasby killed with a sword about the same time the beast sightings stopped. They found me and took me in. And here I am."

  "Thank you, Allan." Turgen shifted in his seat and squeezed his knee. "Gerhard, I imagine you would like to freshen up, and be alone with Umatri. We have time to discuss this later. Chaya, would you mind showing Mister Entz to his room, please?"

  "Of course."

  "It was good to meet you," Gerhard said, rising.

  "And you." A sudden apprehensive weight settled in Allan's chest as Chaya led Gerhard out, his suitcase rolling behind, the wheels rattling on the inlaid hall tiles. The entire drive from France, he knew this was coming, and now it was here. It was time for Turgen's interview.

  Turgen smiled at Victoria, disarming in its absolute warmth. "So, Miss Martin, tell me about yourself."

  "What do you wish to know?" she asked.

  "Parents. Tell me about your family."

  She shrugged. "Not much to tell. My mother lives in Nottingham selling real-estate. My brother, Charlie, is in the Air Force, stationed in Cypress last I heard. We never connected much."

  "No father?" Turgen asked.

  "None to speak of." She shook her head. "Haven't heard from him since I was fifteen."

  The old man kneaded the side of his knee and squeezed. His face gave no indication how bad it must be hurting him. "So, brother in the RAF and you became a police officer. A detective, I understand."

  "Yes. Detective Sergeant."

  "How was your performance?"

  "Not very good."

  Turgen's thick brows arched in a look of mild surprise. "No?"

  "I was only recently promoted when I got sacked. It was said that my inability to handle the stress of the position was what led to my…breakdown," she said with a bitterly amused edge.

  "When you saw a monster?" he asked.

  "When it killed my friend."

  Turgen swallowed. "I'm very sorry to hear about that. I'd read Allan's report of that night. Tragic. We try to be sure that no witnesses are in the vicinity before revealing ourselves." His eyes flashed to Allan. "We failed you."

  Allan's jaw tightened. The old man accepting the blame with him was worse than having it all on Allan where it rightly deserved.

  Victoria didn't say anything.

  "And after that terrible event you managed to track us down," Turgen continued. "I must agree with Sir Allan that you are a more skilled detective than your superiors believed. I can only imagine that we will benefit from such talent. Both in helping us locate demons as well as better hiding our own tracks."

  "Thank you," she said.

  "You've had a long night and must be exhausted. We can continue this another time."

  That's it? Allan thought, fighting to hide his surprise. He'd expected a grilling.

  Turgen touched the silver grip of his cane leaning against his chair. "I can assure that you'll be asked a thousand questions by everyone wanting to meet the new girl, but we have plenty of time for that. Despite this morning's excitement, two recruits at the same time is almost unheard of." He moved, as if to stand, but stopped. "One more thing I must ask."

  Here it comes. Allan had known better than to think it was going to be this easy.

  "Yes?" Victoria asked.

  "Do you have any allergies or illnesses that we need to be aware of?"

  "No."

  "Any phobias?"

  She shook her head.

  "Very good." He pushed himself up and Allan rose as well. "I will see you at dinner this evening. Allan, once you've shown Miss Martin to her room please meet me in my office for debriefing."

  "Of course," Allan said, the long-forgotten childhood dread of being summoned before the head teacher suddenly returning. Master Turgen never requested private audience immediately after a hunt. He turned to Victoria. "Shall we?"

  Victoria stood and followed him out into the hall. "So these were all knights?" she asked, scanning the paintings. "Like you?"

  "They were."

  "Is there one of you up there?"

  He shook his head. "Not yet."

  "You know, I remember the Beast of Wirral." Thunder rolled outside, rattling the windows.

  "You do?"

  She nodded. "I hadn't heard of it until the second body was found, Iris…something."

  "Reeder," Allan said, turning into the staircase leading up to the second floor. Like that bloodied face, framed in blue fire, he'd never forget the name of the first person he'd killed. The first he'd set free.

  "That's it. So was that true?"

  Allan stopped. Turned on the stairs. "What part?"

  "All of it. Or was that only for Gerhard's benefit?"

  "It was true. Every word."

  Her tired, red-rimmed eyes studied him, searching. "That must have been terrifying."

  "Everyone's first encounter is. It gets easier, just never easy."

  "They say that about a lot of things."

  "It's true, though." Allan continued up to the second floor. "Your next time you'll be trained, equipped, and so will those with you." He led her down a hall, lined with dark wood doors, their silver handles each encrusted with stones. "This is you," he said, opening one.

  She followed him into a long bedroom the color of parchment, its sea gray curtains open. Through the rain-streaked windows, the trees danced in the wind. She touched her suitcase resting atop the bed. "Thank you for bringing this up."

  "No problem at all," Allan said, choosing to ignore that Luc and Sam had carried it up in order to scour it. "Let me know of anything you need." He jammed a thumb to the right. "I'm next door. Washroom is down the hall to the left. Chaya and Sam sort of claimed it as the women's loo."

  "Something tells me that they're not going to like me using it either," she said. "Didn't exactly start in the right foot."

  Allan shrugged. "Not really. But they'll get used to you."

  She cocked her brow. "You don't know women very well, do you?"

  He chuckled. "My best friend Matt pointed a gun at my face when we first met. So did you."

  "You sound like you need a better way of meeting people."

  "Seems to work for me. We live a very unconventional life. Holding grudges doesn't serve any purpose. Not when we're risking
our lives doing what we do. They'll get over it."

  She smiled wanly, as if not wishing to argue the point. "Turgen doesn't trust me, either."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "I can tell."

  Allan closed the door. "Master Turgen is just being cautious." He pulled the chair out from the desk and sat down, adjusting Ibenus so she slid beneath the chair's arm.

  She took a seat on the bed, her knees nearly touching his.

  "A few years back we took in a recruit, thinking she was a knight. She betrayed us. Several knights were killed, many holy weapons were destroyed, our records compromised. She even set fire to our home."

  "What happened to her?"

  "She offered herself to a demon goddess. Tiamat. We killed it, but we're still limping from what she did. Master Turgen took Anya's betrayal very personally. His own student and holy sword was destroyed by it."

  "So why do you trust me, then?" she asked, looking straight into his eyes.

  "Because," he said, meeting her gaze. "What you did was because of what you went through. It wasn't malice. You wanted answers. You tracked us down despite any fear of what you'd find. If I didn't take you in just you'd keep going. Your eyes are open and you're a warrior. I know what that's like. The least I could do is give you the tools."

  Victoria studied him, searching his face, then she looked away. "Thank you."

  "Now," he said, fighting the urge to put a hand on her knee, "rest up. Tomorrow I'll begin training you how to hunt and you get to teach me how to be a detective."

  #

  That knot of dread had swollen into a leaden ball by the time Allan reached Turgen's office door. Just stand your ground. It's your decision, not his, he mentally repeated like a mantra.

  He paused before the dark wooden door. Luc's deep voice rumbled on the opposite side, the words muted. Damn it. He'd hoped he could have spoken to Turgen first. It's your decision, not his. Allan sucked a breath, holding that fleeting confidence, and knocked.

  "Come in," Turgen called.

  He opened the door on silent hinges. Master Turgen sat behind his desk, one hand on the polished top, the other at his chin. An eclectic assortment of antiques lined the walls and shelves, reminding Allan of his great uncle's museum. A trio of flintlock pistols hung on the wall behind the old man, each decorated in ascending degrees of ornament. In the corner, a blackened gorget and helmet stood on a carved stand, enameled with intricate symbols, though not as elaborately as Sir Eberlein's armor downstairs. Luc peered back at Allan over his shoulder.