by T. A. White
“That’s disappointing.” Lucius twirled one of his rings again. “Still, a deal is a deal. Our secret benefactor asked us to smuggle artifacts out of the tunnels.”
Made sense. Rob the place before anybody has a chance to take control of the tunnels.
“What’s more interesting, is we were paid double to smuggle different artifacts back in.”
Lucius eyes glinted and his lips curled into a satisfied smile as Tate sat forward.
“I thought that might catch your attention. Worth the price, no?”
It was. This news changed many things.
Lucius leaned forward. “Then perhaps this time tell me the truth of what was in that room.”
Dewdrop and Tate didn’t look at each other.
Tate opened mouth and shut it when Lucius lifted one hand and pointed at her.
“No lies. I can tell when someone is lying to me.”
She released a deep breath. “There were artifacts. Many displayed on walls or shelves like it was a weapon room. There was also a boy.” Tate clamped down on further words.
Lucius stroked his chin in thought, a frown tugging at his forehead. “That’s it?”
Tate nodded.
“Very well. You got what you came for. It’s time for you to leave.” To Blade, he said, “Show them to the intersection. They can find their way from there.”
Sounded good to Tate. She stood and stepped forward.
“Wait, we told you what you wanted to know.” Dewdrop sounded angry.
“Yes, but you lied first and the information you have is not that interesting. I will let you live, but it will be up to you to find your way out.”
He gestured towards Blade.
“Come on, Dewdrop. We’ll be fine.”
Dewdrop’s eyes were wide as he glanced at her, but he stood reluctantly and followed as she trailed behind Blade. It was a long walk before they reached an intersection of tunnels that had six different tunnels branching off it.
“This is it.” Blade stopped and gestured for them to continue. “You can choose any path but the one that leads back here. Good luck.”
They stepped into the intersection and observed their choices.
“You still think that we’ll be fine?” Dewdrop asked, eyeing the tunnels around them with a dour expression.
“You’re always such a pessimist. One of these has to lead back to the surface.”
“I prefer to think of it as being a realist.”
“That’s just another word for joy killer.”
“I like the phrase joy distributors instead.”
Tate paused in her observation of the tunnels and scrunched her nose in thought. “What does that even mean?”
He shrugged his bony shoulders. “We distribute joy in measurable doses once everybody is safe with no immediate threat of death or dismemberment.”
“So you’re the Black Order for joy.”
Dewdrop thought for a minute. “More like the Joy Order.”
“You realize that’s ridiculous, right?”
“Now who’s being the joy killer?”
She rolled her eyes. “I think we should take that tunnel.” She pointed to the one in the middle.
“Why that one?”
“Why not?”
“Of course, why not? It’s not like this decision could doom us or anything.”
She slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Glad you’re on board.”
She headed toward that tunnel, doing a visual inspection for traps. Seeing none she stepped in and waited. Nothing happened. Worked for her.
“You realize I’m going to blame you if anything goes wrong,” he called after her.
She waved a hand in acknowledgement without turning around and set out. He grumbled as he followed.
Tate stopped.
“Why are you stopping?”
“Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” he asked, looking around.
“That.” There was a high pitched buzzing that seemed to be growing louder.
He tilted his head as if doing so would allow him to capture the sound Tate said she heard.
“No, I’m not getting anything.”
“But it’s so loud.”
The volume increased, sending shafts of shooting pain into Tate’s head. Dewdrop cried out next to her, the sound drowned out by the buzzing. Tate clutched at her ears, losing her balance. Her brain was going to burst.
Dewdrop fell to his knees next to her. His head clutched in his hands. He screamed, his voice adding to the sound wracking her body. He staggered to his feet, blood seeping out of one ear, and then stumbled away, running back down the tunnels in the direction they’d just come from.
Two figures ran after him.
Tate clung to consciousness.
A pair of shoes appeared in front of her. It was a monumental effort to look up. It cost her as she felt herself fading into darkness.
Brown Eyes looked down at her.
“Well, hello there. It’s so good to see you again.”
Her eyes closed and the darkness rose up to swallow her.
Chapter Nineteen
The jolting of a wagon catapulted her out of sleep. Her head pounded with all of the fury of an enraged mother with a pregnant, unwed daughter. She groaned. How much did she have to drink last night?
The wagon hit another pot hole, sending fire to a spot behind her right eyeball. And why was she in a wagon?
“Ah, you’re awake,” a cheery voice said.
Wait, she knew that voice. She heard it sometimes in her nightmares.
Her eyes cracked open. That was a bad idea. Light made everything worse.
“You’re probably experiencing light sensitivity,” that insufferable voice said. “It’s a side effect of the berserker. It can scramble things up there for a little while.”
That was putting it mildly. She felt like she’d just finished a three month bender that should have left her six feet below the ground. Everything hurt. Even her hair.
“What did you do to me?” she moaned.
“I’ve already told you. Confusion and disorientation must be a side effect. I’ll have to speak with the designer again.” The voice sounded airy and dismissive. “As I’ve told you before, you’re experiencing side effects from the sonic berserker. I’m told it should pass fairly quickly.”
Tate didn’t think this was the type of thing to pass. She forced herself to sit up from where she was slumped against the seat. Contrary to what she’d originally thought, she wasn’t in a wagon but a carriage.
She cracked one eye open and moaned, swallowing the nausea that accompanied the onslaught of light. She could do this. Even if her insides were threatening to become her outsides.
It was several minutes before she could make sense of what she was seeing. To get the light to make orderly images that her mind could interpret.
Brown Eyes sat across from her, his head cocked as he watched her process her surroundings. She’d thought that part had been a hallucination. No such luck.
“Where’s Dewdrop?”
“Ah, your little friend.” Brown Eyes seemed all too pleased with the question. “There was a bit of a mishap.”
“What sort of mishap?” she asked through numb lips.
If he’d done anything to harm her friend, she’d kill him.
“He proved much more resistant to the berserker than we’d expected. He tried to run and had to be dealt with.”
Dealt with. Dealt with. The words repeated over and over in Tate’s mind as Brown Eyes chattered on.
“It’s quite fascinating really. I’ve theorized his Banshee traits make him naturally resistant to sound. They would almost have to be to withstand their natural abilities. Yes, their architect’s design is quite ingenious.”
Tate snapped. She lunged forward, getting one hand around his neck before the world shook itself apart.
She came to in an uncomfortable position on the floor, her legs and arms twisted in
opposite directions. There was a crick in her back and neck.
Brown Eyes leaned over her, his shoulder length hair spilling towards Tate. “Are you back with me?”
She blinked slowly at him. Her mind seemed to be floating, disconnected from her body.
“I wouldn’t try that again.” He held up an arm with an intricate maze tattooed onto it. “I’m told that in the short term, the effect of this fades. However, repeated exposure can lead to brain damage, blindness, even death. I learned from our last encounter not to underestimate you.”
Tate tried to summon Ilith, counting on the dragon’s sheer destructive power. She reached, but the dragon wasn’t there. She could barely feel her in the corner of her mind, curled up into a ball that radiated pain.
“If you’re trying to summon the dragon, I wouldn’t bother. This neat little spell is designed with them in mind. Whatever pain you’re feeling, she’ll feel in triplicate. If she was to manifest, it would mean almost immediate death.”
Tate gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t cry. She was alone and in pain, but there was a way out of this. There was always a way out. She just had to find it. Wait for her opportunity and make him pay for Dewdrop.
“What do you want?” Good, she needed to get him talking. Find out what motivated him to see what she had to work with.
Brown eyes pursed his lips in thought. “Many things. The death of my enemies, the destruction of this farce of an empire, the rise of my gods.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Tate tried to sit up, not enjoying lying at his feet like something weak and easily destroyed. Her head threatened to split open. She settled back down. She would rest, gather her strength. Yes, that seemed like the best idea. She’d rest.
“You’re going to give me all that my heart desires.”
“Am I now?” He was crazy. Delusional from the sound of it.
“Yes.”
“I have news for you, but I’m not doing shit for you. Maybe next time you shouldn’t kill a person’s friend when you want something from them.”
“I think you will.”
“Oh yeah, why’s that?”
He leaned forward, his brown eyes kind. “Because you have other friends. You care. It’s a weakness but a useful one.”
Tate struggled to sit up and was again forced back down by the pain in her body. It was less than the last time she’d tried.
“Why me? Why not someone else?”
“To begin with, you fit my particular set of requirements, and believe it or not, you have a stake in all this.” He parted one of the curtains, looking out the carriage window.
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s because I know the secret.” The last he said in a sing song voice.
“What secret?”
Tate fought against a wave of hopelessness. No one knew where she was. Jost wouldn’t even miss her for a day or two when she failed to report back. Night wouldn’t be looking for her since he assumed she was with Dewdrop and Jost. And Dewdrop. A pit opened up in her stomach. If Brown Eyes was to be believed, he was dead and wouldn’t be helping anyone ever again. She was alone with someone who was seriously unstable and had already shown an ability to kill.
“The secret of who you are.”
“I know who I am.”
“Do you, Tatum Allegra Winters?”
Tate forced herself up, ignoring the nausea and the way her body felt like it was about to pull apart. Panting she glared at him. “How do you know that name?”
He gave her a charming smile that did nothing to dim the craziness behind his eyes. “The same way I know a lot of things about you.”
Tate couldn’t help it. Her past was a mystery that continued to haunt. She was pulled in despite knowing she should ignore him.
“What things?”
He sat back, and tilted his chin down to give her a sidelong look. The coyness was at odds with his threatening manner of earlier. “Should I tell you or leave you to discover it on your own? So many choices.”
Tate curled her lip. “I bet you don’t know anything.”
“Oh.” His smile widened. He was itching to tell his secrets. Almost bouncing in his seat like a child.
Tate waited, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist for long.
“I know you’re not what you appear to be. A young girl just made into a Dragon-Ridden. Harmless and lost in a world beyond reckoning.” His expression turned perceptive. “When we both know, you and your dragon are older than almost anybody else in this world. You’re the reason they call it Dragon-Ridden.”
Tate’s jaw tightened as he sat back satisfied. She’d suspected as much. If she was like Night, one of the sleepers, it would mean she predated much of the modern world. The cylinder and set of tunnels she’d woken up in would suggest as much.
“Big secret. Tell me something I didn’t already know.”
He burst out laughing. It was the titter she’d heard when the Red Lady had hunted her through the catacombs. It had haunted her dreams for months.
“You do not disappoint,” he said. “I did a little digging after our last encounter. That spell should have yanked the dragon right from your flesh. It didn’t, why?”
Tate glared at him. She didn’t care why.
“I’ll tell you. It’s because you’re not like the rest of us. You are, shall we say, unique. A one of a kind existence that defies explanation.”
Tate waited for him to continue, but he trailed off, his focus turning inward.
He blinked, coming back to the present. “Where were we? Ah, right. You are one of the Saviors. An upstart meddler who set this world on its current path of insanity.”
His smile chilled Tate down to her bones, speaking of a kind cruelty and horrible things done in the name of good intentions.
Tate stared at him, nonplussed. This was a revelation she had not seen coming. Though, she probably should have given the crazy radiating off him. She’d thought he might actually know something. Not this, whatever this was.
“You don’t believe me.” His smile was sly. “That’s alright. It doesn’t change what is. Your very existence will help me achieve all of my goals.”
“How?”
“Both the Creators and Saviors were remarkable, capable of works that defy our understanding. The kind that could carry their civilization from world to world. Great feats of magic that make our paltry attempts seem like child’s play. The one thing they both had in common was a desire to see only their own kind benefit from those efforts.” Enthusiasm underscored his voice. He almost seemed like one of Tate’s teachers, passionate about the subject matter. His gaze turned to her. “That’s where you come in. You see, you're able to interact with both a construction built by a Savior and a spell derived from the Creators' branch of magic.
“That doesn’t seem that relevant,” Tate said.
She leaned back as he reached out and stroked her hair.
“Oh, but it is. In all of our history, we haven’t seen anybody even approaching the abilities that you display. It’s like every piece of history they left is keyed to you. You’re the missing link that can unlock and restore things to the way they were.”
“I won’t help you.” Even if he hadn’t hurt Dewdrop, she wouldn’t have helped him.
His smile was slow and sincere. “That’s the beauty of all this. I don’t need your cooperation. Your presence will be enough.”
She didn’t like the sound of that.
"How can I be a Savior and yet still be able to affect a creation of the Creators'?"
He shrugged. “Who knows? It works and that is all that I care about. For now. There will be plenty of time to discover more later, but if I had to guess it’s because you’re one of their creations. Their finest, I’d wager. A masterpiece of unparalleled beauty.”
“What does that mean?”
He sprang forward, his hand a collar around her throat pressing her back against the seat. Her heart leapt. “You were supposed to be their
greatest creation. Their shining beacon to battle back the light.” He examined her closely. “Do you know the survival rate when a human melds with a dragon?”
Tate didn’t. That had been one of the things Ryu refused to discuss with her.
“Less than one in ten. So few can make the transition and it’s impossible to predict. A father might make it and yet his son dies at the first touch of the dragon’s mind. Age, family, mental strength, physical strength. No patterns emerge.”
He let go and took his seat again. Tate cradled her throat. The sides of it were sore where he had gripped her.
“Yet the dragon and human are more powerful than any other of their creations. Capable of beating back an Army by itself. What do you do when you can’t reliably get new stock to build your dragon army?”
Tate’s hand dropped as a terrible realization dawned. “You breed it.”
He touched his nose and pointed at her. “Always the smart one. It’s why they chose you. The best of the best. The brightest, the strongest, the most likely to survive. You and Ilith would have been prime breeding stock, ensuring that their greatest creation lived on.”
That was an ugly thought. Breeding stock, as if they were animals to be used to create better lines.
“Their only flaw in the design is that it took two souls and meshed them into one container. I imagine, they would have eventually gotten to the point where the dragon and human were so intertwined that they became one being. Pity that you were side lined before their plans could come to fruition.”
Tate forced herself to ask the question. “How do you know all this?”
She wanted to know where he was getting his information. Whether it was the ramblings of someone unstable or if it was part of a greater conspiracy. He’d used the plural pronoun ‘we’ several times now. Was it indicative of a larger group, or was the ‘we’ part of his imagination?
He studied her. There was intelligence behind his eyes. It made it difficult to discount all his ravings as that of a lunatic. Some of them had a strong basis in possibility, echoing thoughts Tate had entertained in the deepest part of night.
“Have you met the temple guardians yet?” he asked.
The question confused her. It took a moment to guess what he meant.