by Clayton Wood
Beyond he found a large room, perhaps thirty feet square, with a cathedral-style ceiling made of more bare wooden beams. The room appeared to be a combination of a kitchen and dining room, with a few round tables in the center surrounded by short wooden chairs. At the far end of the room was an older-appearing man standing by a large stove, stirring something in a pan with a long wooden spoon. The delicious aroma of stewed meat reached Kyle's nostrils, and his stomach growled almost painfully. It was only then that he realized that he hadn't eaten in well over a day. The man by the stove turned about.
“Ah, there you are!” he exclaimed, taking the pot off of the stove and carrying it to one of the tables in the center of the room. He set it down carefully, then motioned for Kyle to come forward and sit on one of the chairs by the table. “You must be starving,” the man added. “You're in luck, I just finished your stew.”
Kyle hesitated, staring at the old man. He was perhaps seventy, with long salt-and-pepper hair, and a neatly-trimmed mustache and beard. He was remarkably handsome for his age, with twinkling gray eyes and an infectious smile. Kyle felt his unease drain away almost immediately, and he obeyed the man's request, walking up and sitting down on the offered chair. The old man grinned, setting down a large bowl in front of Kyle, and spooning a generous helping of steaming-hot stew into it. Kyle's mouth watered almost to the point of drooling, and his stomach growled again, so loud that the old man had to have heard it.
“My name,” the man stated, taking off the apron he'd been wearing and placing it neatly on the back of his own chair, then sitting down opposite Kyle, “...is Marcus.” He extended a hand, and Kyle took it. Marcus clasped Kyle's hand in both of his own, then let go, spooning some of the stew from the pot to his own bowl. “Dig in,” he stated, promptly following his own advice.
“I'm Kyle,” Kyle replied, taking a spoonful of stew and bringing it to his lips. It was steaming ferociously, and Kyle blew on it a few times before sipping. The stew was hearty, meaty, juicy, and mouth-wateringly perfect. He had never tasted anything quite like it.
“I know,” Marcus replied merrily, sipping his own stew. His gray eyes narrowed, and he rolled the stew in his mouth for a long moment, then nodded approvingly. “I think my little experiment was a success,” he stated happily. Then he watched as Kyle slurped his own strew greedily, shoving steaming spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. “Try the ambrosia.”
“Huh?” Kyle asked. Marcus gestured toward a cup by Kyle's bowl, filled with a pale green liquid. Kyle hesitated, then raised the cup to his lips, sipping the fluid cautiously. It was cool, slightly sweet, and instantly soothing to his burning mouth...all in all, a perfect complement to the stew. Kyle gulped it down greedily, then put the cup down with a satisfied sigh.
“Good, isn't it?” Marcus asked. Kyle nodded, spooning more stew into his mouth. It wasn't long before he'd finished the entire bowl, swallowing another gulp of the ambrosia, then sitting back in his chair with a contented sigh. With his hunger and thirst quenched, he felt a buzzing pleasantness come over him.
“Thank you,” Kyle said, nodding at Marcus. The old man grinned.
“Forgive Darius for forgetting to feed you,” he requested. “I suspect he has no need of sustenance anymore, and sometimes forgets that others still do.” He regarded Kyle silently for a moment, sipping on his own glass of ambrosia, then leaning back in his own chair, like Kyle. “How are you feeling, Kyle?” he asked.
“Good,” Kyle responded automatically. Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“You've been through a lot, I'm sure,” he said. “So young, but already nearly killed by an Ulfar, attacked by assassins, kidnapped by a sadist, stood up to a god...in addition to whatever Darius put you through since then.” He chuckled at Kyle's surprised look. “Darius told me all about your adventures.”
“It's been interesting,” Kyle admitted. Marcus smiled.
“You're made of stern stuff, Kyle,” he said approvingly. “You're a credit to your family.”
“Thanks,” Kyle mumbled, his cheeks flushing. He immediately thought of his mom and dad, back on Earth. They'd probably already had the funeral, having given up on finding him weeks ago. He felt immediately depressed at the thought, and pined for home. Would Darius ever bring him back? And if he did, what then? He'd be behind in school, and probably need to stay back. And he'd end up missing Kalibar and Ariana as much as he missed his parents now. Kyle lowered his gaze, letting out a long sigh.
“You miss your family,” Marcus observed, rubbing his beard with one hand. Kyle nodded mutely, afraid that if he said anything, his voice might crack. “An unfortunate necessity,” Marcus stated with a sigh of his own. “Darius's methods may seem...remarkably cruel,” he added, “...but I assure you, he has nothing but your best interests at heart.”
“Yeah, right,” Kyle grumbled. “I don't think he has a heart.” Marcus laughed.
“Trust me, my friend,” he replied, his gray eyes twinkling. Kyle shrugged.
“But I don't even know who you are.”
“Ah, but you do,” Marcus corrected. “You just don't remember.”
“Huh?”
“Kalibar told you about me,” Marcus offered. Then he chuckled as Kyle gave him a blank stare. Kyle squirmed as Marcus continued to look at him, no doubt waiting for him to remember.
“Sorry,” Kyle mumbled, breaking the silence. He was pretty sure he'd never heard of – or seen – the man before.
“He did only mention me once,” Marcus mused. “Personally, I've found that memory is something that can be vastly improved, with a bit of practice,” he added, not unkindly. “It's all about knowing what information is important, and what isn't.” He took another swig of his ambrosia, then folded his arms across his chest, peering at Kyle. “I do suspect you've missed quite a few clues along the way.”
Kyle lowered his gaze to the tabletop, feeling, once again, deficient. Marcus chuckled.
“Don't take it personally,” he replied good-naturedly. “Paying attention is hard...living passively is easy.” He leaned forward again. “Would you like to know who I am?”
“Yeah.”
“Very well,” Marcus stated, leaning back. “I,” he declared, “...was Darius's previous employer.”
Chapter 18
Ariana opened her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest.
The ceiling above was hidden in darkness, the large window by her bedside magically darkened to block out the starlight. She yawned, stretching her arms out wide, wondering what time it was. It felt like she'd just fallen asleep.
She lay there for a moment, vaguely recalling the dream she'd just been woken from, yet another nightmare. She'd been trapped in a burning house, someone familiar calling out her name. Her mother.
She sighed, closing her eyes. She knew she would have a hard time sleeping after such a nightmare. She always did. She thought about getting out of bed, maybe to get something to eat. Nothing made her sleepier than a full belly; Jenkins had become quite accustomed to Ariana's night-time snacks. All she had to do was activate the magical communication orb on her nightstand, and he would come. It made her wonder just how much sleep the butler got each night, having to cater to so many at odd hours. She hated to inconvenience the man, but Jenkins never complained.
She turned to her side, staring at the orb on her nightstand. Her stomach growled.
She sighed, sending a pulse of magic to the communication orb, then swinging her legs over the side of the bed, sitting upright at the edge. She stretched again, yawning a second time, then hopped onto the floor, walking toward her bedroom door. Kalibar's suite had plenty of tables to eat at, but her bedroom did not; she didn't want to get her bed dirty and force Jenkins to have it cleaned in the morning. She reached for the doorknob, twisting it and opening the door.
A tall man stood in front of her.
Ariana screamed, backpedaling quickly, then feeling the back of her legs strike the bed behind her. She stared at the man in front of her, magic twist
ing automatically in her mind, a gravity shield bursting to life around her.
“Relax, child,” the man said. He stepped forward then, toward her. Ariana realized that the man was dressed in the blue shirt and black pants typical of the Tower's butlers. Even in the relative darkness of the room, she could tell that it was only Jenkins.
“Oh, sorry,” Ariana mumbled, feeling her cheeks flush. She stepped forward from the bed. Jenkins smiled weakly.
“I didn't mean to frighten you,” the butler replied. “I was about to open the door when you did.”
“Of course,” Ariana replied. She paused then, staring at Jenkins. The man's face was pale, and drawn. He looked strikingly unwell.
“What can I do for you?” he inquired. “A late night snack again for your nightmares?”
“Um, yes please,” Ariana requested.
“The usual?”
Ariana nodded, and Jenkins bowed slightly.
“I'll have Greg bring you a tray,” he stated. Then he turned about, walking out of the room and closing the door behind him. Ariana watched the butler go, feeling her heart slowing at last. There was something...off about the man, although she couldn't put a finger on why.
She sat down on her bed, taking a deep breath in, then letting it out. Her stomach growled again, more insistently this time, and she realized she was starving. She'd hardly eaten since Kyle's abduction, picking at her meals, leaving most of the food on the plate. Luckily, she didn't have to wait long; before she knew it, there was a knock on the door. She opened it up.
“Good evening, Ariana,” the man beyond said. It was Greg, Jenkin's assistant butler. Ariana smiled, glancing at the tray of food in the butler's hands. The silver dome covering the food could hardly contain the delicious aromas within, and Ariana's mouth watered instantly upon smelling them. Greg gestured for Ariana to follow him into Kalibar's main suite; they walked up to one of the many glass-topped tables there, and the butler placed the tray on top of it. Then he turned about, facing Ariana.
“Do you require anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Ariana replied. She sat down on the white couch facing the table, and Greg raised the silver dome from the platter, revealing a wondrously bronzed portion of duck. Ariana rubbed her hands together, then she unrolled her silverware from the rolled-up napkin at her right, ready to dig in. She took out a fork, and a spoon, then frowned, glancing about her plate. Her knife was missing.
Suddenly the couch jerked backwards, sliding out from underneath her. She cried out, silverware flying as she fell onto her back on the hard granite below. Her head slammed into the unforgiving stone, stars exploding in the periphery of her vision. Her entire body felt as if it were underwater, everything moving in slow motion.
She looked up, dazed, and saw Greg standing over her, a long, serrated knife clutched in his hands high above his head, the cruel point aiming down at her heart. His face was twisted, his teeth bared like an Ulfar's.
He thrust the knife downward.
Ariana wove without thinking, creating a gravity sphere to her left. It pulled her to the side at the last minute, the blade missing her right shoulder by a fraction of an inch. The knife bounced off of the granite floor, slipping out of Greg's hands. Ariana created another gravity sphere to her left, sliding further across the ground, then creating one above her. She was pulled upward, onto her feet.
She ran toward the front door.
Greg cursed behind her. She felt a sudden vibration in her skull, felt the air crackling around her. She created another gravity sphere, this one to her right, and pulled herself violently to the side.
A bolt of electricity slammed into the door, missing her by mere inches.
Ariana felt her shoulder slam into a column, knocking the breath out of her. She pulled herself together, ducking behind the column, putting it between her and Greg.
“Well done,” the butler congratulated. She heard his footsteps echoing as he walked toward her. “But playtime's over.”
Ariana created a gravity shield around herself, then bolted out from behind the stone column, running toward the door – the entrance to Kalibar's suite. If she could just make it into the hallway...
Suddenly she tripped over something, falling onto her hands and knees on the unforgiving floor. She felt something pop in her left wrist, a terrible pain lancing up her forearm. She cried out, her left arm crumpling under her, and slammed the side of her head on the floor. She groaned, rolling onto her right side, clutching her throbbing wrist. It looked all wrong, bent at a crazy angle.
Then she realized what she'd tripped over.
Two Battle-Weavers, their faces staring lifelessly back at her, blood on the floor around them. She was lying in a pool of it, the dark red liquid seeping into her clothes. It was cold and wet, and slick against her skin.
Ariana felt her stomach churn, and she stifled the urge to throw up. She heard footsteps approaching, and looked up, seeing Greg some ten feet away, walking toward her slowly. The butler had a grim smile on his face.
Ariana rose from the ground, pushing herself up onto her knees with her good hand, then rising to her feet. She felt the room spin for a moment, feeling her grip on consciousness slipping. She backed away from Greg, resisting the urge to bolt toward the door again, knowing that he would expect such a move. He was clearly toying with her, the smile never leaving his face as he took another step toward her.
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded.
“Just following orders,” he replied. The steak knife on the ground – some twenty feet away – flew upward, zipping into Greg's right hand. He cocked it back. “Nothing personal,” he added apologetically.
Then he threw the knife right at her.
Ariana reacted instinctively, countless hours of practice kicking in. A powerful pulling sphere appeared in front of her and to the right. The knife entered the field, curving rightward mere feet from where Ariana stood. She poured as much magic into her magic stream as she could, the knife arcing around and reversing direction. Ariana cut off the magic stream, abolishing the gravity sphere. The knife flew away from her with incredible speed...and right at Greg.
It bounced harmlessly off of his gravity shield.
“Nice try,” he said, the knife clattering on the floor to one side. Ariana's gravity shield vanished suddenly, and then she felt an overwhelming force pulling her to the ground. Her legs crumpled underneath her, and she screamed as she landed on her left wrist, agony shooting through her arm. The force continued, pushing her down onto her back. She tried to create her own gravity field to reverse Greg's, but it was no use...the man was simply too powerful.
He walked up to her, his shiny shoes clicking on the cool granite floor. He stood over her for a long moment, then dropped slowly to one knee, draping his forearm casually over his leg.
“A shame you weren't loyal to the Master,” Greg murmured, glancing at her misshapen wrist, and then staring into her eyes. “He wants to speak with you.” His pupils widened suddenly, his eyes unfocusing for a split second. Then they snapped back into focus.
He smiled warmly.
“Ariana,” a deep voice bellowed from Greg's mouth. Ariana's heart skipped a beat; she knew that voice.
Xanos.
“No,” she whimpered, feeling all hope leave her. She tried to get up, to crawl away, but she still couldn't move. “No!”
“What a fine Death Weaver you could have been,” Xanos murmured, his voice sending chills down Ariana's spine. “You and Kyle both.”
Ariana's eyes widened.
“Where's Kyle?” she demanded. “What did you do to him?”
“The same thing I must do to you,” Xanos replied. The knife rose up from the floor again, flying into his hand. He didn't even look at it, his eyes never leaving hers. Ariana felt a crushing hopelessness come over her, even more powerful than the force pinning her to the floor. Her worst fears had been realized.
Kyle was dead.
She felt the force immobil
izing her intensify, her arms flying out to her sides. She howled in pain, her left wrist pressing hard against the granite beneath her. Tears came to her eyes, pulled across the sides of her face by the gravity field. She gasped to take a breath in, her head beginning to swim.
Xanos knelt over her silently, the blade in his hand flashing in the dim light of the magical lanterns overhead. Then he brought the tip of the blade down to the center of her chest, under the rib cage.
And pushed.
Ariana tried to scream as the sharp point sliced through her clothes, digging into her skin, but only a pathetic mewling sound came out. She struggled to move, tried to scramble away, but it was hopeless. Xanos pressed harder, and the blade slid deeper into the skin, a sharp pain spreading through her chest as he did so. She glanced down, seeing a red circle expanding on her shirt around the knife. The tip dug deeper still, now completely embedded in her flesh.
She whimpered, unable to turn away, her eyes wide with terror.
Xanos paused for a moment, staring into her eyes wordlessly. Then he adjusted his grip on the knife's handle, and leaned into it.
Ariana felt a horrible pain shoot through her chest and up her left shoulder, and squeezed her eyes shut, opening her mouth to scream.
There was a thump, and then the sound of metal clattering on stone. The force pinning her to the ground vanished.
She paused, then opened her eyes.
Her shirt was slick and wet against her chest, the bloodstain large, but no longer growing. The pain in her chest was subsiding. She glanced about, and saw something round on the ground beside her, to her right. She frowned, reaching out to it, rolling it closer.
It was a head.
She cried out, leaping to her feet, staring down at the head. She realized then that there was something else on the ground...Greg's body, a few feet away, a blackened stump at its neck. The man had been decapitated, the stump of his neck charred black.