The Fountain of Truth (Tales of the Dark Fae Book 1)

by Hadley Weaver

  "As you wish. But first, I suggest we go somewhere more private, like your room."

  They proceeded in silence, the stranger in the front, Dorian one step behind him. The man walked like he knew the way and Dorian wasn't surprised, even when he took the stairs to the second floor and stopped exactly in front of his room, waiting for the owner to open the door.

  "Hardly a place you'd call home," the man said when they were inside, without even trying to mask the disgust at the sight of Dorian's living space.

  "Sorry, Pottery Barn was closed and Martha Steward is on vacation. I'll try to make it more hospitable next time you visit. Now, speak."

  The man looked around for a place to sit down but eventually curled his nose and decided to stand.

  "We want you to find someone for us," he finally spoke, then paused and stared at Dorian.

  "Does this someone have a name?"

  "Most likely he does, but that's for you to find out."

  "Alright… Do you have a picture?"

  "No."

  "Then how am I supposed to track him down?"

  "You have to find a way."

  Dorian clenched his fists behind his back, struggling not to show his anger because it was mostly directed at himself. What was he thinking, believing that a complete stranger would give him something he himself had searched for the world over his entire life and never found?

  "Alright, mate. This is a waste of time. Clearly, the loony bin needs some additional security measures."

  "Giving up so easily?" the man said smiling. "Maybe your greatest wish is not so great after all."

  "Listen, you lunatic!" Dorian grabbed the stranger by the collar. "You know nothing about me so why don't you return to Crazy Town before I shred you to bits and FedEx your remains there."

  The stranger smiled and grabbed Dorian's arm, twisting it outwards in an unnatural position and making him crumble with pain. Then he took him by the neck and threw him across the room with such force that when his body hit the back wall the bricks dislodged and fell to the ground on top of him. Dorian got up, trying to regain his balance, and threw himself at the stranger but the latter moved out of the way just in time to avoid him. He did that again and again, but somehow the man was able to dodge his every move, as if he could anticipate it.

  "You're wondering how I can do that," the stranger said, smiling, while Dorian was catching his breath.

  "What are you?"

  "Let's just say that I'm someone you'd want to have as an ally rather than an adversary."

  "I don't do allies."

  "You do now, because in order to complete this task you'll need the assistance of a particular individual."

  "I never said I'd take this deal."

  "Actually, you did, the moment you showed up to our meeting."

  Dorian stood still for a few seconds, staring at the man in front of him. That was exactly what he was thinking about. The stranger had voiced his exact thoughts. You're a mind reader, he thought, waiting to see the man's reaction.

  "Impressive ability, wouldn't you agree? It gives me the chance to truly… connect with people."

  "Sure, if you can call violating their most inner thoughts connecting. Now, this sidekick I'm supposedly going to need in order to do this. Who is he and where do I find him?"

  "His name is Rhi Ahn, son of King Lu Ahn, former ruler of the Kingdom of a Hundred Rivers. He is currently imprisoned somewhere in the Sahara desert."

  "Let me see if I got this right. You want me to break the son of a traitor king out of a prison in the middle of the biggest desert on the planet in order to find someone I know absolutely nothing about."

  "Precisely."

  "Splendid. How about I get you the stars and the moon while I'm at it? Who the bloody hell is this person anyway? A member of the Council of Seven?"

  "A Traveler."

  Dorian sneered. "Traveler, as in someone who can cross over to the other side and bring people back from the dead? That sort of Traveler?"

  "Yes."

  Dorian looked at him for a few seconds, then burst into laughter. "Boy, I don't know where you got your information but if you paid for it you should ask for a refund because, I'll have you know, Travelers are a myth. They're not real, they're stuff of legends that parents tell children to put them to sleep."

  "Oh, not only are they real, but they live amongst you."

  "Of course they do. Alright. Assuming these Travelers really do exist, how am I supposed to find you one?"

  "All in due time. For now, focus on finding your new… what was it you called him? Sidekick? Once you've done that, I'll let you know what your next step is."

  "Splendid. Then I'd better start packing."

  The stranger turned around and headed for the door, leaving Dorian standing in the middle of the room.

  "Hey, I didn't get your name."

  "That's because I didn't tell you." The man opened the door but just as he was about to step over the threshold he stopped and turned around to face Dorian. "Oh, I almost forgot. A present, courtesy of my employers, which I'm sure you'll appreciate, if you're strong enough to survive."

  He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and took out a small silver box, each side engraved with strange symbols that Dorian didn't recognize, very similar to the ones he'd noticed on the cane the night before.

  "Thanks, but that's not necessary. You know what they say about gifts…"

  Before Dorian could continue the man opened the box, took out a small scarab with pitch-black legs and a pulsing silver body. He threw it in Dorian's direction, then disappeared.

  Dorian tried to avoid it but the creature was faster and when it hit him, burning through his shirt and piercing his skin with its thin, needle-like legs, he felt such pain that everything around him turned dark. He realized he'd lost his eyesight when he collapsed to the ground and hit his head against the cold cement floor.

  He tried to stay conscious but his head was pounding and soon the will to remain awake was replaced by the tempting idea of the peace he would find if he was dead. Constantly in and out of consciousness, he realized he'd lost track of time and he couldn't tell how long it had been since the stranger had left his room. He wasn't even sure whether or not that meeting had been real or just a product of his imagination. His mind was wandering, erratic thoughts running wild, yet there was one that remained constant—he wished he was dead.

  Hang in there, a soft voice said in the distance. We're almost at the hospital.

  No, not the hospital. Not the hospital, he thought. Just let me die.

  The thought of making that wish come true crossed his mind countless times but he couldn't act on it because he couldn't move. It seemed that when the scarab attached itself to his chest, right on top of his heart, it released some kind of poison through the small puncture wounds left by his tiny feet, poison that was now spreading through his veins. He was paralyzed and yet every inch of his body was pulsing under the pressure of an excruciating pain.

  Please don't die, the soft voice implored. It was soothing and he tried to hold on to it as he waited—either for the torment to end or for death to come.

  After what seemed like an eternity, as he was lying there on the cold floor, he began to feel his arms and legs again, as the pain started to migrate towards his chest. Unfortunately, the intensity of that pain, previously spread throughout his body, also converged towards his heart, and Dorian soon felt an iron claw clenched around it, threatening to tear it out of his chest. He lifted his sleeves and looked at his burning forearms. Every little vein looked like a thin glass straw, transporting molten lava towards his heart. As the poison traveled upwards, it left behind pink trails, like slightly discolored healed scars.

  When the fire finally reached his heart, Dorian felt like his chest was going to explode. His entire life he'd tried to stay alive to get his revenge for his parents' deaths, but that will that had kept him going even in his darkest moments, when failure and desperation pushed him t
o give up, was quickly starting to seem like a caprice compared to the burning desire for death's release.

  He tried to get up but his arms and legs were made of warm clay that crumbled under his weight. After a few failed attempts he finally managed to crawl into one of the two armchairs facing the only window in the room. The sole source of light penetrating the darkness inside were two thin sunrays sneaking in from behind the heavy curtains covering the window.

  Dorian unbuttoned his shirt and looked at his chest. It was all covered in the same discolored lines that he had on his forearms and he got the feeling that his entire body looked the same. He looked at his chest. To the left, on top of his heart, the lines converged, forming some sort of star, like a sun, with a strange symbol in the middle, very similar to those he'd seen on the box that the stranger had taken out of his pocket right before he unleashed all that torment upon him and then left him there to die. He never should have trusted him. He'd let a complete stranger fool him with the promise of revenge and now he was going to die for nothing.

  There was no point in fighting it. The pain was too great for him to be able to move a muscle, and the only thing he could do was to surrender to that all-consuming anguish and just give up. So he closed his eyes and tried to remember a happy moment in his life, but he soon realized he hadn't had that many. The only time he had been truly happy was during the first three years of his life, before his parents were killed and he was snatched from his home by a madman who wanted to make him a true warrior and thought that the only way to do that was to torture him, starve him and rid him of any kind of emotion. He went back to the image of his parents, laughing, holding him, protecting him from the world, and he thought that it was a good last memory to have before he died.

  When he opened his eyes he was blinded by a light so bright that he thought he was in heaven, but it didn't make any sense because someone like him, someone who had done so many horrible things, couldn't even dream of going there.

  He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the bright light and looked around to see where he was. Much to his surprise, he was still in his motel room, but even more surprising was the presence of a stranger, the same one who had approached him at the bar, and who was now sitting quietly in the armchair across from him. It took him a few seconds to realize that he wasn't dead, and, as soon as he did, Dorian jumped out of his seat, trying to avoid the blade that was coming at him. He was still a bit drowsy but his survival instincts were still there and to him survival meant not letting iron come into contact with his skin. He felt a sharp, burning pain in his abdomen. He looked down and saw a deep gash running across his stomach. He pressed his palms against the wound to stop the blood that flooded out of it, but after a few moments the pain subsided and the wound was already starting to close.

  "You can relax now. Iron won't kill you anymore," the stranger said on a calm tone. "Neither will cold iron if you remove it in time."

  "What the…?"

  Dorian looked at his hands as if they belonged to someone else, then lifted his sleeves and checked his arms. There wasn't a single burn mark on them. Even the discolored scars left behind by the poison were gone. He slowly stepped out of the shadow towards the beam of light piercing through the window and looked at his chest. As with his forearms, it was clear of any markings, all but one on top of his heart. The lines defining the beautiful sun with a strange character in the middle were now black, making it resemble a freshly-drawn tattoo, and Dorian passed his fingers over it to see if the ink wore off. It didn't.

  "How is this possible?" he finally asked, turning towards the stranger, who, up until that moment, waited patiently for Dorian to take it all in.

  "To be honest, I'm a bit surprised myself. I was hoping you'd survive the process, naturally, but I had doubts. Color me impressed." He tilted his head to the side and smiled for a second, then his face returned to its natural impassive state. "Well, now that you're alright, we can finally proceed with our plan."

  He got up and reached inside his coat.

  "That better not be another bug because I swear to God you're not getting out of here alive."

  "Relax." He took out a yellow folder and handed it to Dorian. "Here you'll find all there is to know about the Traveler, as well as instructions on how to find him, including details about Rhi Ahn. I suggest you memorize everything fast."

  Dorian didn't respond, his eyes on the folder he was browsing. As he was reading, the lines began to disappear, letter by letter, word by word and, by the time he was done, all that he was holding in his hand was a bunch of blank pages. The stranger wasn't joking when he said Dorian had to memorize everything fast.

  "This operation has to remain a secret at all costs. No one besides you and your new partner must know about it. Do you understand?"

  Dorian didn't answer. His mind was overwhelmed by all the strange things that had happened to him in the past 24 hours.

  "Do you understand?" the man repeated, this time on a menacing tone.

  "All right already. Total secrecy, or else. Got it."

  "Good." He turned around and headed towards the door. He stepped out and closed the door behind him, leaving Dorian staring at the blank yellow folder.

  Against her better judgment, Iris had chosen to drive Dorian to the Millers' summer house instead of the hospital. She was already on the way to the Forest Hills Medical Center when Dorian regained consciousness briefly, enough to ask her not to take him to the hospital. She was still debating when his phone rang. She had no idea who Raven was but she answered anyway and discovered that he was the boy she'd seen earlier in the woods fighting the hellhounds alongside the Elwoods. He too insisted that she bring Dorian to the house and eventually she conceded.

  As soon as she pulled into the Millers' driveway, Raven rushed towards the car. He opened the door, unlocked the seatbelt and carefully rolled Dorian over his shoulder. Iris followed him inside. On the way up the stairs she prayed for Dorian to make it.

  "Fill the tub with cold water," she heard Raven say from one of the bedrooms on the first floor. He'd laid Dorian on the bed and was ripping his shirt off. "He's burning up. We need to bring his temperature down."

  Iris ran into the bathroom and turned the tub faucet at maximum capacity. When she went back into the room, Dorian was on his stomach. The wound in his right shoulder was dark and bleeding. Purple veins extended all the way to his neck, left shoulder and lower back.

  "Is that normal?" she asked.

  "No. Not for him. How did this happen?" Raven picked up Dorian and carried him into the bathroom. He lowered him gently into the tub and turned him on the side, so that he could work on the wound. Then he put his hand into the tub and, a few moments later, the water turned into small ice crystals. "Keep his head up."

  Iris slipped her hands under Dorian's head. In contrast with the icy water he really felt like he was on fire. Tears welled up in her eyes as she told Raven what had happened while he kept popping in and out of the bathroom, each time carrying different jars. He seemed like he knew what he was doing, although every time he touched the wound, Dorian jerked, and Iris along with him.

  Raven lifted his eyes and fixed her for a few moments. "You're genuinely worried about him."

  Iris didn't say anything. How was she going to explain to him the pull, and the compulsion, and the feeling that if he died she died. It sounded crazy even thinking about it.

  She looked at Dorian. "Is he going to make it?"

  Raven applied a dark green ointment on the wound. "I hope so. Although, if he does, he's going to be really pissed that he was saved by a girl. Especially the Elwood's doll."

  "I'm nobody's doll."

  Raven raised his eyes to look at her. "I believe you." He put down the ointment and picked up a pair of strange-looking tweezers. "Okay, Iris. I need you to hold him down."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "There's no exit wound, which means the bullet's still in his shoulder. I need to take it out, otherwise he
won't heal."

  When Raven inserted the tweezers in the wound, Dorian screamed and jerked so hard that Iris had to conjure all her remaining strength to keep him from pushing her backwards. The floor was slippery from all the blood-stained water that had spilled while he was writhing in pain and she nearly lost her grip on him when her knee ran from under her. She started crying, overwhelmed by the guilt at the thought that she was the reason for all his pain. The agonizing screams lasted long after Raven pulled out the piece of metal, studying it like it was something out of that world.

  "You say the sheriff did this?"

  "Yes, but it was an accident. He was shooting at a wolf. Why? What is it?"

  "Cold iron."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means the sheriff wasn't hunting wolves. He was hunting Fae."

  Aeryn was lying in bed, seemingly asleep, but her face was covered in small beads of sweat and her eyes were moving rapidly under the closed eyelids. Lorelai was tapping her grandmother's forehead with a wet cold towel.

  "The fight took a lot out of her. Even with the sphere, it'll be a while before her energy is restored. Not that it matters now. In fact, it might be better for her to be unconscious when the Council gets here."

  Connor was sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed, his elbows propped on his knees, staring at their grandmother. "We'll get through this, Lorelai. We'll find another way."

  "It's over. We lost. Let the Council come and fix this."

  "And kill us all?"

  "Look at her, Connor! She can't even keep her eyes open. Do you really think she'll be able to stand another fight like the one last night?"

  His sister was right. He knew that in his mind. And yet, his heart pulled him in the opposite direction. He'd never felt as conflicted as he did in that moment. "What about Iris and the people in this town?"

  "The people in this town mean nothing to us. As for Iris, don't even get me started. She's the reason we're in this mess."

  "She saved our lives back there."

  "No. She only postponed our deaths."