Barely able to deal with his own grief, my dad had spent most of my life trying to protect me from this world of death and danger, only to have me end up in the middle of it.
He wasn't thrilled.
"But don't you think what's happening right now is exactly what the prophecy was talking about?" I asked. "The prophecy is already right. The magic is corrupting. The bindings are the foundation of everything we do. What's the point of Berserkers if the bindings won't work any longer?"
"But why Thuanar?" asked Rhys. "Why now?"
No one spoke for a minute while we pondered Rhys' question.
Finally Dad spoke. "I do have a theory," he said. He yawned and looked up at the ceiling. Clearly he was exhausted. We all were. Being in a timezone on the opposite side of the world takes its toll, even on Berserkers.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Whose blood was binding Thuanar?" he asked.
"Mine," I said.
"Was it?" Dad asked.
Rhys raised an eyebrow. A very cute look on him. "No, it wasn't," he said. "It was Aata's blood."
"And now he's gone," said Dad. "And that power of binding was passed on to you."
"So? Isn't that the same thing that happens every time a Berserker dies without breaking a seal?" I asked.
"True, to a point. But most of the time the power of binding isn't passed on to someone who is already a Berserker twice over."
"And a Binder," Shing added.
"So the binding is corrupting because it is all concentrating in me and that's somehow weakening the seals?"
"It's just a theory," Dad said. "We don't know anything for sure."
Great. As if I didn't have enough to feel guilty about with everyone dying around me. Why did I always have the weird powers?
"What conclusions has the Council made about Thuanar’s binding?" Shing asked.
"They're naturally concerned and very confused," Dad said. "They want to find the new Berserker and Binder as quickly as possible."
When Aata had died, we had notified the Binder Council about it. What we neglected to tell them was that I now had Aata's powers. And Eric's. And Mallika's. And several others’.
"Do you think they suspect?" Rhys asked. He gently caressed the back of my hand with his thumb. I looked up into his eyes. Those blue eyes that somehow always captivated me. I could spend a long time just gazing into them. And truth be told, over the past few months I had.
"Maybe," Dad said, letting out a breath. "Probably in fact. They want us to come to headquarters to discuss what's been happening."
Rhys' hand tightened on mine. "You aren't actually considering going?" he asked.
Dad looked away and said nothing.
"Scottie, one of the Binders is trying to kill her," said Rhys, his voice rising. "We can't let Madison anywhere near them."
"Do you think I don't know that?" Dad asked. "I don't like the idea of her being near Binders any better than you do. But you know the Council as well as I do. If we don't go to them, they will certainly come to us. And once they come to us, I think we'll find they have excuses to stay and keep us under watch."
"Yes," said Shing. "We have seen this done before."
"So you really think we can't trust any of them?" I asked. I knew there was distrust between the Berserkers and the Binders of the Council, but both Mallika and Kara had been good. I had trusted them.
"I trust my Binder, Julie," said Shing.
Which when translated from Shing-speak meant that he didn't trust the other Binders. I was finally starting to understand him. It was as important to listen to what he didn't say as to what he did.
"I just don't know," said Rhys. "We know that at least one of the Binders wants you dead. Who that is and why they want you dead is anyone's guess. So, until I have proof that exonerates a specific Binder, I'm going to assume that they're all in on it."
"But now that Thuanar’s binding is breaking, don't we need to tell them what's happening?" I asked. "I have to try and fix it. We can't really keep my having multiple powers a secret anymore. Besides, we were going to tell them anyway once we bound Margil."
Dad sighed. "If you can fix it."
I hadn't thought about that. How would I re-bind Thuanar? He was completely insubstantial. How would I place my blood on his head if I couldn’t touch him?
Did it really matter at this point?
"We have to try," I said. If the seal's breaking, then I have to go there to try and repair it.”
"I agree," said Rhys. "It will be much easier to rebind Thuanar when we have him trapped, rather than spending three months hunting him down."
"I'm certainly not suggesting that we don't try," Dad said. "We have to try. I'm just afraid that if the seals are breaking, then it means that the powers have corrupted enough that no one can bind him."
We sat in silence for a moment. Dad's concern was a genuine possibility. What if I couldn't rebind Thuanar? What would happen to the world if all five Havocs broke their bindings and were free?
What if Verenix, the Havoc so powerful it took the blood of seven Berserkers to contain, were to break free? The world as we know it could literally cease to exist. Not exactly a cheery thought.
"I think we need to talk with the Binders," I said.
Rhys opened his mouth to begin what I was sure would be a extraordinarily passionate objection. I held up my hand and to my surprise he took a deep breath and said nothing.
"This is bigger than any political struggles between the Berserkers and Binders," I said. "This is the fate of the world hanging in the balance. Yes, I know there are Binders who want me dead. Well, at least a Binder. I hope it's just one." I smiled, but got no reaction from any of them. "But if we are going to figure this out and keep the world safe from the Havocs, we're going to have to work together with them. There's no way around it. We need to be united in this."
"But at what cost?" asked Dad.
"It's the fate of the world," I said. "Is any price too high?"
After another hour of debating I managed to convince Dad and Shing that I was right.
Rhys, however, was a different story. He made it very clear that he didn't trust the Binders and was convinced I shouldn't go anywhere near them until we figured out exactly which Binder had sent the Azark to kill me.
Surprisingly, in the end it was Shing who convinced him.
"We have talked about the danger involved, and I believe we all are in agreement that taking Madison to see the Binders is dangerous," Shing said. I was stunned. That was way more direct than Shing usually was.
Go Shing!
"That point needs no more discussion. We also agree that having Binder help would be useful in trying to understand what is happening. Again, we need not continue to discuss this fact.
"What this comes down to is choice. Madison is aware of the danger. We have discussed it at length. She is also aware of the need. With an understanding of both of those pieces of knowledge, she chooses to put the needs of the world above her own personal safety. Is that not the purpose of being a Berserker? Are we not the power that keeps the world safe from the Havocs? Would we not all do the same if we were in her position? Who are we to deny Madison this choice? Not Madison the girl we all want to protect, but Madison the Berserker. Madison the Binder. She has made her choice and we must respect it."
Rhys scowled for a moment. "I don't like it," he said. He let out a big sigh and his face softened. "But you're right. I have no right to stop her."
I wanted to kiss him, but since my Dad was in the room I gave Rhys a hug instead. It had not been easy to get him to accept my feelings for Rhys, so I wasn't going to flaunt them in front of him.
At least, not yet.
It was probably a good call to skip the kiss, because after only a few seconds of hugging Dad loudly cleared his throat, and gave me a look that very eloquently said 'Break it up before I get the hose.’
I reluctantly let go of Rhys. But not because of the implied threat. I was ninety-nine
percent sure Dad would never do something like that.
But there was no point in deliberately provoking him.
"Then we're all in agreement," Dad said, and yawned. "Let's all get some sleep. Tomorrow we see the Council."
Chapter 3
Plastic Girl and the Barbie Mansion
We caught a flight to Hawaii the next day. Buying last minute first class tickets was ridiculously expensive, but with the Berserker money that wasn't a problem.
And I actually had money now. A lot. More than most – if not all – of the Hollywood A-listers. More than most of the east coast old money blue-bloods.
Each Berserker had a trust fund set up so that if a Berserker died, the money in that account could be transferred to the next Berserker. I wasn't sure how all the accounting worked or who was managing the investments, but whoever it was did a phenomenal job.
I now had one of those ultra-exclusive black American express cards that could buy me whatever I wanted. I also had the phone number of a dedicated concierge who would basically do my bidding for any shopping or wacky request I might have. That was actually how we got the last minute tickets to Hawaii. I called my concierge, and she made it happen.
Dad wasn't thrilled that I had access to all of this now. He was worried about me becoming a spoiled brat once I could have anything and everything money could buy. That was why he had kept us in a modest home and pretended to have a real job despite the fact that he still had enough money from his time as a Berserker to live a life of luxury.
I didn't think having money would change me. But everyone says that, right? Then they win the lottery and within a few years they end up a bankrupt alcoholic who lives under a bridge with guys who have names like “Lefty” and “One-eyed Pete.”
But it didn't seem like it had changed the Berserkers I knew. Certainly not Rhys or Shing. Neither of them were arrogant or self-centered. Maybe the fact that the money came with the responsibility of keeping the world safe helped them stay grounded.
Our flight was scheduled to arrive in Honolulu mid-morning so we all did our best to sleep through the flight. Traveling around the world has a way of messing with your sleep patterns, so I had difficulty at first. None of the others had any problems and within an hour of take-off were all soundly asleep.
I watched a movie by myself until I was finally able to relax enough to fall asleep. Sleeping in first class was way different than sleeping in coach. The seats extended to lie flat so I had my own personal bed, complete with blankets, pillows, earplugs, and a sleep mask.
In a way it kind of made me nervous to have the mask and earplugs in. With my sight and hearing cut off, someone could sneak up on me and attack me while I was completely unaware. Not that I thought there would be assassins on the plane, but the thought still made me uncomfortable.
I knew I was being ridiculous, and I knew that I would need to sleep before going to see the Binder Council, so I forced myself to relax and eventually drifted off to sleep.
I had the strangest dream. It was much more vivid than normal. Usually my dreams were random flashes of scenes that strangely transitioned from one to the next. This one seemed very intact...
I was in what appeared to be the throne room of a large castle made of white marble. I had seen pictures of real castles before and this looked nothing like them. It was like something out of a fantasy book or a video game. It looked too perfect and pristine to be real. Real castle life was kind of gross and dirty. This was anything but.
Large windows high above let in a pure white light that fell on the elaborately woven tapestries that hung on the walls. On a raised dais on the far side of the room was a man in armor sitting in an oversized throne. I immediately recognized him as the man I had seen in visions before, with blonde hair hanging down so it covered one eye. Two black birds sat perched on either shoulder and appeared to be whispering into his ear.
From the opposite side of the room, massive doors swung open as a large redheaded man forcefully pushed his way through. He wore a metal glove on one hand that held a short-handled hammer with an oversized head.
“This time he goes too far!” the redheaded man said. He stomped across the room to stand directly before the man on the throne.
If he had expected a reaction from the one-eyed man, he was mistaken. From atop the throne he made not a single movement, and fixed the red haired man with a piercing gaze from his one visible eye.
After a moment’s hesitation, the red haired man dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Father,” he said.
The act of submission seemed to mollify the one-eyed man and he gestured for the redheaded man to arise.
“I assume you refer to your brother?”
The redhead man nodded emphatically. “He walks paths most dangerous, Father. I fear for the safety of us all.”
The one-eyed man opened his mouth to reply, and the vision exploded around me like a thousand shards of glass.
...I was back in the airplane. I ripped off my sleeping mask and squinted at the bright light filtering in through the windows. I heard mumbling around me, and I removed my earplugs to hear the captain announce that we would be starting our descent shortly. I had slept through most of the flight.
I rubbed my eyes and fumbled with my seat, raising it once again to a seated position. What was that dream? It was so clear. Usually when I woke up my dreams fell apart when I tried to examine them, dissolving into incoherent flashes of feeling or emotions tied to still images.
This dream was different. It stood out from the others and didn’t seem to fade. It stayed with me, somehow more solid and real than a typical dream.
In the seat next to me, Rhys stretched and sat up. His slightly rumpled shirt and his perfectly disheveled hair somehow made him look even more attractive. Seriously, what look couldn’t he pull off?
I on the other hand – although I didn’t have a mirror to verify – was pretty sure my hair looked like I had styled it during a tornado with my eyes closed.
“Did you get some sleep?” he asked and gave me that smile that made my knees weak and my heart race.
I raised an eyebrow and gestured to my crazy hair. It was pretty obvious.
Rhys reached over and caressed my cheek. “I like it,” he said. “It looks good on you.”
I rolled my eyes. “You are such a liar,” I said, but I couldn’t help smiling back.
***
We got off the plane and picked up our bags. A man wearing a suit was standing outside of baggage claim holding a sign that said “M. Montgomery”.
“That would be our ride,” said my dad.
Rhys, Shing, my dad, and I followed the man outside. When we walked out of the airport doors, I ran smack into a wall of humidity. The temperature wasn’t all that high, but the humidity was overwhelming. It made what should have been a pleasant temperature feel like I was trapped in the world’s largest sauna.
First impression of Hawaii – not that great.
When Rhys saw the look on my face he smiled and took my hand. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Once we get someplace where you can feel a breeze, it gets better.”
The man led us to a waiting limo he had parked curbside, just outside the baggage claim. Was that even legal? There was an airport security person forcing others to keep moving, but for some reason he ignored our limo.
None of the others seemed in the least bit surprised at the star treatment. I, however, was still getting used to the lifestyle of the rich and famous.
The driver let us into the car – thank goodness the air-conditioning was on – and put our bags away. We pulled out of the airport, and I began to see why people liked Hawaii.
We drove along the coast with the blue ocean on one side and lush green mountains on the other. I had to admit that the view was gorgeous. Palm trees swayed in the ocean breeze and everything looked so vibrant and colorful even through the limo’s tinted windows.
While we drove, I got the crash course in who’s-who of the Binde
rs and Berserkers. At least the ones I hadn’t yet met. I did my best to take it all in and remember the details that they shared, but after a while the details started to blend together. I could have turned on my pre-zerk for help with the memorization, but despite the sleep on the plane I was still tired from a long time-zone-hopping flight, and I felt too exhausted to do it without some sort of danger to trigger the adrenaline.
Eventually we pulled off the highway and started heading inland toward the mountains. After driving up a twisty and poorly paved road, the limo pulled into a parking lot in front of a modest house. The driver turned off the engine and let us out of the limo.
The air was still humid, but here I could feel a breeze. Rhys was right, it did take the sting off of the humidity, but it was still hotter than I liked. I was a true Pacific Northwest heat wimp.
A man walked out of the house wearing cargo pants, aviator sunglasses, and a dark t-shirt showing off muscular arms beneath what appeared to be a thick bullet-proof vest. He was in his mid thirties, carried a large rifle cradled in his arms, and looked like the kind of guy who knew how to use it. He had to be either ex-military or ex-law enforcement.
“This is private property,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. It was so rough his voice almost sounded fake, like some weird Christian-Bale-as-Batman affectation. Either that or he spent a great deal of time gargling rocks. “Identify yourselves.”
Rhys rolled his eyes. “You know exactly who we are, Austin.”
He shrugged and gestured at Rhys and Shing with the barrel of his rifle. “I know you two,” he said and then gestured at me and my dad. “But I don’t know them.” He kept the gun pointed at us.
Bonds That Break (The Havoc Chronicles Book 3) Page 3