by Amy Freeman
“Where are you going? You can’t leave!”
Under a furrowed brow Trin asked, “Why not?”
“You have to make them stop!”
Trin laughed out loud.
“I’m serious!” she said.
He pulled away from the curb as Sam continued to gawk at him. “Okay,” he said. Slowing the truck in front of the mayhem, he rolled down his window, and leaned out, patting the outside of the truck door. “Hey, Chris.”
His intoxicated friend shifted toward the familiar sound.
Gesturing toward the slide Trin said, “This probably isn’t your best idea.”
Chris released a thunderous yawp as both fists shot into the air.
Trin saluted. “Right—as you were.” He turned to Sam, pursed lips suppressing a grin, sarcasm igniting in his eyes. Sam erupted in laughter, shoving his shoulder. He put his foot on the gas and pulled away from the house.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
T hroughout the next week, Trin and Sam spent every moment possible together. The coming weekend was packed and nearly impossible to plan for. Sam’s first set of performances were lined up and Trin would be leaving the state for a meet. On top of the impossible task of finding a way to keep Sam protected in his absence they had appearances to keep up and would be expected to attend a birthday party for Griffin, Vig’s drummer.
Trin had ramped up Sam’s training in Spetnaz, meditation, and channeling her own gifts that seemed to be surfacing continually; all of them lost abilities that confounded everyone—astounding to witness. He pushed her hard. Ashbel would find her now. It was only a matter of time.
She had just finished rehearsing a pas de deux when Trin arrived to pick her up, catching the tail end of what looked more like a muted love scene than a ballet. He maintained his silence, trying to focus on her amazing talent rather than the fact that this guy was getting more action than he was.
He had walked her to the dressing room and was waiting for her upstairs. She showered and dressed and was putting her things in her dance bag when she heard a noise coming from the shower area.
She glanced up. “Hello?” She thought she was the only one there today. She stood, waiting for a response. Nothing. She picked up her pointe shoes, wrapped together in ribbon and put them in her bag. Another sound—same area of the dressing room. Her head shot up. “Hello?” She pulled her bag over her shoulder and took a step toward the showers.
A distant gasp.
A ping of terror shot up her spine. All instincts compelled her to abandon the dressing room, but instead she found herself moving toward the showers. Panic oozed as she continued forward against her will, each locker passing behind her as she fought each step, closer, closer to the menacing sound. She remembered today she wasn’t alone. Trin was just upstairs and down the hall. She screamed out to him in a mental plea.
Trin!
Up on the next floor Trin bolted to his feet. Sam?
Sam took another forced step as Trin sprinted toward the dressing room one floor above her. The unseen force pulled. White tile and shower heads filled her with fear as they came into view, rounding the corner into the nightmare. Too late. A hideous shriek—complete darkness.
Scuffling, shouts and cries, and the dusty hardness of the earth under her hands. Outside now, her face inches from the ground with dirt and rock shards rough beneath her bare palms. As disorientation passed, furious cries of terror and gunfire exploded all around her. Many feet about her shuffling, running—feet that should have trampled her, but somehow didn’t.
Just inches from her face a man collided with a crack against the hardened earth followed by a spray of blood—a bayonet jammed into his chest as a soldier hunched over the top of him ripped it out of the man’s heart. The man coughed, sputtering bubbles of blood from his lips as he turned dying eyes to hers. Anguished cries filled her throat, pushing back, examining her shoulders and chest for his blood. She wiped her face, checking her hands. Nothing.
Her eyes darted to the assailant, sending her into Ashbel’s deadened gaze. Lurching backward, she cried out. His lethal stare stung her, intensity burning. Breaking the stare he turned to leave—no longer Ashbel, but an unknown soldier running from his first efficient kill, completely unaware of Sam.
Trembling, Sam forced herself to her feet. Soldiers fighting, shooting, scuffling, passed her on all sides, wounding and killing each other in savage hand to hand combat. Dressed in antiquated foreign military clothing, it was nothing she recognized.
Foreign words punctured the environment. She ran like a hologram through the crowded mayhem to the side of the street and huddled in a doorway. Men shouted, screamed, so many dropping lifeless to the ground.
Without warning, the horrific scene spun out and another began. On the ground wedged between two soldiers she lay in wait. Ear-splitting pops rang out as shots fired by an advancing attack zinged passed her. The soldiers around her shot back, holding off the enemy with fearless vigor but eventually began taking hits. Sporadic blood spray coupled with agonizing screams, and gunfire so loud she could barely make out a language. Overcome by the opposition, the faces of the soldiers became visible—young women, all of them, maybe even younger than she was, fighting in a ferocious battle, terrified but giving all they had and dropping like flies.
Dizzy with horror, Sam wiped liquid from her face—tears. She clawed at the ground, scrambling to escape but not before catching a glimpse of an enemy soldier advancing toward her. Ashbel, underneath an enemy helmet, carrying a gun, eyes honed in on her, and then back again. Another unnamed soldier.
The scene spun out, launching into yet another blood bath. A middle-aged black man, bloodied, thrashing about in the grasp of many white hands, pulling a noose over his head and around his neck, irrational hatred fueling every punch, each vicious blow while the hysterical cries of a mother shrieking, an ungodly sound as her child was forcibly taken. Cries of entire families sliced at Sam’s heart, heaving in desperate sobs as she watched husbands and fathers being shot, imprisoned and tortured, women being raped and killed. Sam fell to her knees, her own feral screams adding to the hysterical shrieks, cries and pleading, nothing she could do, the rage, the anguish, her very sanity challenged as she fought to save each victim, lashing right through them, having no affect at all, and everywhere she looked, Ashbel, in fleeting glimpses; his deadened eyes burrowing into hers and then disappearing.
The singular agonizing sobs were her own as she realized the scene had shifted again. Heaving, shuddering, she begged for deliverance, eyes closed, hands covering her face as wracking despair threatened to overcome her.
Silence. Stifling her cries, she listened. Time passed. Her heart pounding, ragged breath broken and choppy. Someone stood with her in the quiet. Unable to withstand more, she held her hands to her eyes, unwilling to look. No sound. No movement. But not alone. She gathered her strength, removing her hands from her eyes and lifted her head.
Still, expressionless, the demon stood. Enshrouded in black, a gaping hood covering his head; height exceeded that of a natural man. His head fell to one side, studying her through probing eyes of contorted beauty, ghostly horrifying.
A blistering charge volleyed through her, stinging her bruised soul. Jaw clenched, she lifted her head, fighting tears, squaring her shoulders.
The black hood shifted as he dropped his head to the other side, soulless eyes glinting. Another charge, blackened sorrow consuming her as a stronger attack shuddered through her. Doubling over she heaved, breaking into sobs, her heart weeping with despair so black she thought she would die. The emptiness was more than she could bear.
He gazed upon her with something akin to pity. Barely conscious, she raised her eyes to his. Their eyes connected. A sinister voice sounded in her mind. Russian, but somehow she understood. You cannot run. I have your soul. It is all I need.
With a sudden flicker in the environment, Chernobog’s image rippled as if a disturbed reflection in a pond. His eyes flashing with bitter
ness, a disfigured voice uttered a command. Tell Trinton...
Distracted from the crippling pain, Sam was taken aback. The voice seemed familiar but she could not place it. The demon’s lips curled up into a grin, a guttural cackle parting from deep within him. It bubbled out over his lips as Sam’s psyche prepared to protect her in a way she never would have thought possible.
Trin reached the stairs, flying down them. “Sam!” he shouted aloud, racing for the door. He didn’t care if the entire dance department was naked inside. He was going in. He threw his hand out to grab the handle when he was knocked off his feet, hitting the floor. Someone was on top of him. His natural instinct to defend himself flew into high gear until he realized it was Sam.
Confounded, he forced himself to function. He struggled upright, dragging her limp body over to the wall. “Sam!” He sat her up, running his hands through her hair. Her eyes fluttered open, stunned, disoriented, frantic. He cupped her face in his hands. “Sam, what just happened?”
Sam looked at him in a panic, searching for something to focus on and found his angelic eyes. “Get me out of here,” she said, grabbing his arms, fighting to stand.
“What happened?” he repeated. He stood, pulling her up with him.
She looked around, still confused but determined to leave. “How did I get here?” she asked. “Did you bring me out here?”
“No,” he insisted. “You came out of nowhere.”
Sam looked back toward the dressing room, eyes wild, terrified. She began pulling Trin as fast as she could toward the exit. “We have to leave.”
Trin didn’t argue. Taking her hand, they raced out of the building, into the parking lot toward his truck. Once they arrived, Sam didn’t wait for him to open her door. He dashed to the driver’s side and got in. Pulling the door shut, he turned toward her to ask again what had happened.
“Go Trin! Hurry!”
He started up the engine, put the truck in reverse, pulled out of the parking lot, and headed out onto South Campus Drive, toward her place.
She sat in the passenger seat, unmoving, a dead stare through the windshield. Trin strained to read her energy, knowing she wouldn’t talk. Through her terror Trin could see her working, decoding what she had experienced. He drove in silence. He was convinced Sam had just teleported. This was not a lost ability; only one other person in Veduny history had ever done this.
Trin pulled into her parking lot and shut off the ignition. He looked down at the steering wheel and then glanced at Sam. “What can I do?”
“It’s there,” she said. She looked up at him, “the information we need, somewhere inside all of that horror and sorrow and despair.” Her eyes filled with tears. She gazed at the floor and whispered, “There is so much pain in this world.”
Trin remained silent, crushed, helpless. “Maybe you should tell me what you saw and we can try and decipher it together,” he suggested.
Sam wiped her eyes. “That’s a good idea.” She exhaled, securing her focus. “Okay,” she began. “I hit the ground. I was outside.”
Trin took her hand. “Don’t leave anything out. What you might think is insignificant may mean something to me.”
She nodded. “I saw a war,” she said. “I’m almost certain. I was right in the center of a full blown battle. But I wasn’t there physically, like people should have been stepping and tripping all over me and they weren’t.”
“Do you know where you were?”
Sam sat for a moment. “I think I heard some German,” she said. “I don’t know. There were other languages in there too.”
Trin nodded. “Did you notice what they were wearing? Any identifying marks or badges?”
“Not that I can remember,” she said. “The uniforms were older, like from the past.” She looked down at the floor. “I need to get a hold of that,” she said. “I start to panic. I miss stuff.”
“You’ll get the hang of it. You’re doing the best you can.” He shifted toward her in his seat. “Okay, so we have a battle in the past with Germany and some other countries,” Trin said. “Maybe World War Two?”
“Maybe,” she replied.
“What else did you see?”
A distant expression colored Sam’s face. “I watched a man die.”
Trin remained silent.
“He was killed by another soldier right in front of me.” She looked up at Trin. “The man who killed him, he had Ashbel’s face.”
Trin’s features twisted in confusion.
“It wasn’t him,” she clarified. “The soldier’s face changed to Ashbel’s for just a moment and then changed back. That happened throughout the entire vision.
Trin sat back, his keen mind filing each bizarre detail. “What next?”
“I ran to the side of the street and fell apart,” she replied. “Then the scene changed.”
“Okay.”
Sam breathed out, glancing away. “This one was in the past as well,” she said. “It was another battle, but they were all young women, like my age, maybe younger. It was horrible. They were all dying.”
Trin sat pondering. “Sounds like Stalingrad.”
“What’s Stalingrad?”
Trin sat up a bit. “It was a battle near the end of World War Two. Hitler was trying to take the city of what was then Stalingrad,” he said. “In one instance, when they were short on men, young women went out to fight instead.” He looked through the windshield. “It was one of the bloodiest battles in history,” he said. “But they fought well and the Russians were the victors.” He turned toward Sam. “I wonder why all these war visions.”
“The next one wasn’t war,” she said. She paused, glancing at the floor again, anguished. “Persecution in our country, or maybe somewhere in Africa,” she said. “I don’t know, it could even be today, just not here. I have a feeling it was a past event.” She paused again collecting her strength. “Men, women, and children, all African-American.” She lowered her gaze to the floor, fighting a lump in her throat. “It was the worst one.”
“How many more were there?” Trin asked.
“Just one,” she replied.
Trin waited.
“He was there...Chernobog,” she looked up. “He spoke.”
Trin froze, a glint of inscrutable emotion flickering through his neon irises. She looked through the windshield. “He spoke Russian, but I understood him.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me I couldn’t run, that he had my soul and that was all he needed.”
Trin tightened his grip. “That’s a lie, Sam,” he insisted. “He’s trying to break you down.”
Sam stared forward in distant consideration. “There was something else.” She looked back to Trin. “He said one last thing before it ended.”
“What?”
“He said ‘tell Trinton’.”
Trin sat back. “He called me by name?”
Sam nodded.
“Tell me what?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess maybe he already has me, that you’ve lost...” She trailed off and shook her head. “There is something more there,” she said. “It was really strange. His image sort of rippled right before he said it and I swear his voice changed.” She looked away again. “Then he started grinning this horrible grin and that’s when I came to you, however that happened.”
Trin sat up in his seat. “His voice changed how?”
Sam shook her head. “It just sounded different,” she replied. “I can’t explain it.”
“Try.”
Sam exhaled, looking down. “His form rippled and his eyes got really bright. Then he said it and...that horrible grin...”
“His eyes changed?”
Sam shook her head. “They didn’t really change. They just got brighter...like yours did when you healed your arm.”
“That’s Veduny,” he said. Trin sat back, contemplating everything Sam had just witnessed but none of it added up to anything that made any sense. “He’s got Veduny powe
r all around him,” he said. He leaned forward. “It’s got to be from Ashbel. We have to find him. We have to know what he’s doing. I mean, it’s pretty obvious he’s looking for you, almost like he’s Chernobog’s bounty hunter. But what’s in it for him?” Trin looked at her. “Can you remember anything else...any little detail you might have missed?”
Sam shook her head. “I avoided details. I’m trying not to”
Trin ran a hand through her hair. “You’re doing fine,” he said. “You haven’t had your whole life to get used to this like all the others.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her mouth. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes. “We will figure this out.”
She barely heard his words. He kissed her again and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, doing his best to reassure her while, hard as he tried, he couldn’t reassure himself.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Mikhail sat at a table in the massive archives, deep beneath the Ivanova temple. High stone walls stretched upward, meeting at a dimly lit ceiling casting light on endless rows of solid, metal shelving, each one containing books on Russian history, topography, and natural resources. But unlike other libraries this hallowed room also contained books on mystical properties of the elements, unproven theories already proven by the Veduny, physics and sciences the rest of the world had never seen before, universal laws not yet discovered or understood by modern scientists, pure knowledge the world hadn’t been prepared to accept, until now. Ready or not, the world needed it.
He had been reading for hours, his heightened mind devouring each text at an accelerated rate, skimming Veduny history, journals, records, everything and anything kept by his tribe in order to make sense of the random bits of information skirting his efforts. But he had found nothing.
He had consulted with Vitaly again a few times since their initial meeting. Vitaly was preparing his soldiers, their most powerful men and women, in preparation for what they were not sure.