“All we know for certain is that this isn't a normal child,” Quint says. “It's almost pure energy. Pure power. Energy and power the Ba’Chul leeches from its vessel. And when this – seed – reaches the zenith of its power, the Ba’Chul will then perform the Rites.”
“And what happens then?” Ella asks.
“According to the lore, if the Rites are performed, the child ceases to be,” Quint says. “Like I said, it's pure energy and power. All of that is absorbed by the Ba’Chul during the Rites.”
“What if the Ba’Chul is destroyed before the Rites?” Glyn asks. “What happens to the – seed?”
Quint shakes his head. “We don't know,” he says. “It's never happened before. According to the accounts I read, the Dragonborn have only ever been able to interrupt the Rites. There's never been a pre-emptive strike because the true signs are usually only caught too late. And in those cases, both the seed and the Ba’Chul were both destroyed.”
There's a silence around the table as the import of what he is telling us begins to sink in. We have a chance to do what's never been done before – stop a Ba’Chul before the Rites begin. But at what cost?
“What about the vessel?” I ask. “What happens to her?”
All eyes turn to me, most of them curious. It's not my place to be in there in the first place – it's even less my place to speak during the meeting. But, I really don't care – I deserve my place among them, whether they want to recognize it or not.
And I need answers. Whenever somebody mentions the vessel, all I can think of is Kaitlyn. I felt the power growing within her and though I didn't understand it at the time, now I get it. Spending time with Kaitlyn impacted me way more than I ever thought it could.
I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Kaitlyn is the vessel and she carries the seed of the Ba’Chul within her. And the Ba’Chul, of course, is the white-haired man from the club. But does knowing that give us an advantage? Will it help me protect her? Will it help me save her?
“In all recorded instances, the vessel is killed,” he says. “Once the Ba’Chul begins leeching the power of its seed from the vessel, it – takes everything from it. Based on the accounts of our predecessors, the vessel will be little more than a dried husk once the Rites are completed.”
“How do you know?” I ask. “You said the Rites have never been –”
“Our predecessors – the ones who wrote the first-hand accounts – have seen the bodies,” he explains. “Even though the Rites were interrupted the bodies are mostly dried up. Desiccated. By the time the Rites are completed, they'll likely be little more than dust and mummified remains.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut and leave me short of breath. I see Kaitlyn's face running through my mind and feel my heart break to think of her ending up that way. I can't – I won't – let her meet that fate. I'm going to protect her. I'm going to save her.
“What if I told you I know who both the Ba’Chul and the vessel are,” I say. “Will we be able to stop the Rites and save her?”
Eyebrows are raised all around the table as the Rangers and Scouts look at me a little more closely – and a little more curiously. Quint looks back at me, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“That's why I asked you to join us, Wyn,” he says. “I know you know who they are.”
Everybody around the table looks from me to Quint, to back again. Only Deyro never stops looking at me, a small, knowing smirk upon his face.
“The challenge we're facing though,” Quint continues. “We're going to have to fight a war on two fronts – here and Chondelai. The only way to break the power of the Ba’Chul – forever – is to shatter the Deathstone.”
“That can't be too difficult,” Glyn says. “We only have to find it.”
“It's in the keep of the Shadow Clan,” Quint says. “And we've finally found the location of the keep. There is a bigger problem though. In addition to shattering the Deathstone, if we want to stop the Ba’Chul from ever rising again, the Dragon Doors need to be closed. Permanently.”
The silence in the room is profound and carries a tangible weight to it. We all know what that means. Sealing the Doors means anybody left in the world of man will be cut off from Chondelai. Forever. It means never being able to go home again.
“Knowing that the Ba’Chul is here in the world of man,” Quint says, his voice growing softer. “The Council has decided that's what they're going to do. Seal the Doors. And they're ordering us all to return. They say if the Ba’Chul is defeated permanently, our mission is complete and that we're needed to wipe out the rest of the Shadow Clan at home.”
“What about our lives here?” Deyro asks.
“The Council is allowing us to bring our partners with us,” he says.
There was low muttering and whispering around the table as everybody absorbed the bomb Quint had just dropped on us all.
“I know this isn't the most – ideal – situation,” Quint says.
“Yeah, to say the least,” Deyro snaps. “We've built our lives here because we believed in the mission –”
“And that mission won't be over just because the Ba’Chul has been defeated,” Glyn cuts him off. “There are still dark creatures in this world who are a threat to humanity. And our mission is to defend humanity.”
Through it all, I watch the Rangers lodging their arguments with Quint. And he simply stands there and lets them all speak. The only person I notice who hasn't said a word is Zarik – and it makes me curious. Once everybody has had their say, Quint holds up his hands to reclaim order and silence everybody.
“I understand your reluctance,” he says. “Believe me, I get it. Which is why I won't be going back. I'm staying.”
There are a few gasps and muttered surprises around the table.
“Are you kidding?” Glyn asks.
Quint smirks. “Once the Doors are sealed, what can they do to me?”
As a Warden, Quint is a by the book guy. He's not one to flout or break the rules. Hearing him say he will openly defy the Council and remain in the world of man is shocking. And sends a powerful message to all of us.
“I cannot tell any of you what to do,” he says. “It is your decision to make. And whatever you choose to do, be it stay or return to Chondelai, I will support you one hundred percent.”
“I'm staying,” Deyro says. “I'm not going to leave Alexis.”
“Because I'd kick your ass,” she says, giving him a smile.
“We're staying,” Vanessa says, holding on to Glyn's hand. He gives Quint a nod.
Zarik looks up at Quint and I know what he's going to say before he even says it. And I see the same expression on Ella's face.
“We've been together a while,” Zarik says.
Quint nods. “That we have,” he says. “It's been a good run.”
“I'll make sure the Deathstone is done,” Zarik says.
“I know you will.”
Ella gives Quint a smile. “You'll never know how thankful I am – for everything.”
Quint inclines his head to her. “It's been my honor and my privilege.”
“Okay,” Quint says, standing up, everybody following suit. “I guess that settles it. Pass the word around and let's get to work. I have a feeling we're about to get very, very busy.”
Chapter Thirteen
Kaitlyn
I'm hunkered down over the toilet, my stomach constricting painfully, trying to throw up when there's nothing even left in my belly. The taste of bile in my throat is thick and my head is spinning. I woke up this morning with a sick, greasy feeling in my stomach. As I lay there, it felt like there was something squirming and twisting around in side of me.
And then came the nausea.
I felt a wave of nausea more powerful than anything I'd ever felt before. I almost didn't make it to the bathroom before I lost everything in my stomach. And here I've been for the last half an hour, dry heaving my guts out.
“Maybe you're pregnant,�
� Ashley says from the doorway, trying to lighten the mood.
“Shut up,” I groan. “You're not helping.”
She kneels down beside me, brushing the hair back from my sweat coated forehead.
“I'm sorry, babe,” she says. “I was just trying to make you laugh.”
“I know,” I gasp. “I'm just a little grumpy.”
“Understandable.”
She helps me to my feet and guides me back into the bedroom, laying me down on the bed. I hear the sink running in the bathroom and a moment later, Ashley comes out and lays a cool compress on my forehead. She sits down on the edge of the bed and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Can I get you anything, babe?” she asks. “I have to get to an audition, but I'll come right back home after that and take care of you.”
I shake my head. “If I put anything on my stomach, I feel like it's going to come right back up again.”
She purses her lips and gives me a sympathetic look. “Okay. But I'm going to bring some 7-Up and chicken noodle soup home for you,” she says. “And then we're going to spend the day on a hardcore Netflix binge.”
I give her a weak smile. “You're the best,” I croak. “I don't deserve you.”
She shrugs. “No, probably not,” she replies with a smile. “But, you're stuck with me anyway.”
“Love you,” I say. “Good luck.”
Ashley kisses me on the forehead and heads out. I hear the front door close behind her and then I'm left alone in my misery. I groan, roll over, and let the warm, comforting darkness of sleep pull me under.
I wake in a room so dark and silent, it's like being in a sensory deprivation tank. I turn in a circle, looking for some source of light or anything – just something that will tell me I'm alive and not just floating in the middle of space.
A sound drifts to me from out of the darkness. There is something moving furtively around me. It's an eerie, whispering sound – like a wet snake slithering through grass. It all feels so surreal and disconcerting to me.
“Hello?” I call out.
The darkness swallows my voice whole – it's like speaking into a vacuum. And then the silence descends upon me again. But just as before, that wet, whispering sound surrounds me again.
“Who's out there?” I call.
“You belong to me. You are my vessel.”
The voice is harsh and raspy, coarse and guttural – and seems to be coming from all around me. I turn in a circle, looking for the source of the voice, when I feel something brush past my leg. I let out a squeal of surprise and fear and back away from it. But the darkness is so absolute that I have no idea where I'm going. For all I know, I could be backing toward a thousand-foot drop.
So, I stop moving.
Ahead of me, I see two small points of light. I start to take a step forward and then freeze in place when I see them for what they are – eyes. Golden, shimmering eyes are staring at me from the dark. They ring a bell in the back of my mind – they look familiar for some odd reason. But my mind is so hazy, I don't know why.
A halo of light lances down from above and reveals the man standing in the darkness before me and I have to stifle a scream. Nyro, in a dark suit, black shirt, and tie the color of blood, stands within the halo of light, his white hair shimmering brightly. And those eyes – those golden eyes – boring straight into me.
“I have given you the great honor of being my vessel.”
I hear Nyro's voice in my head, but never see his mouth moving. It's like he's communicating with me telepathically or something. He just stands there, his body rigid, his eyes locked onto me.
“I – I don't know what that means,” I say.
“You carry my seed,” he says without opening his mouth. “You will aid me in becoming.”
I shake my head, still not understanding. “Becoming what?”
“You bear the seed that will help me ascend.”
“Ascend to what?” I ask, my confusion only deepening.
“In becoming more than I am,” he says.
“What are you?” I ask. “What are you becoming?”
“You are not to see the Dragonborn again.”
I cock my head and look at him. “The Dragonborn? What is that?”
“You will never see him again,” he says. “Or face my wrath.”
“I don't know what you're talking about –”
“You have been warned.”
His eyes seem to glow brighter for a moment and his gaze grows more intense. Confusion wraps its thick tendrils around me. I have no idea what he's talking about. I don't understand. Vessel? Dragonborn? What does any of that mean?
He closes his eyes and the halo of light goes out, plunging me back into absolute darkness. I turn in a circle, looking for a way out. I've never been more confused or more terrified in my life. I have no idea what Nyro was talking about.
I turn and let out a scream when I find myself standing face to face with him, his glowing, golden eyes locked on to mine. His face remains in shadowy murk, but I can see enough to know that he's not pleased. He looks wrathful. Vengeful. He looks like somebody who can kill me and not lose a moment's sleep over it.
He puts his hand against my cheek, stroking it. His fingers are cold and his touch leaves me feeling greasy. Dirty. Nyro grabs my chin hard and forces my head up, forces me to look into those glowing, gold orbs.
“You have been cautioned,” he says. “Do not see the Dragonborn again.”
He pushes me backward and I feel like the sensation of freefalling comes over me. My stomach is in my throat and my head is spinning as I fall, fall, fall...
... and wake up on my couch screaming. I sit up quickly, my heart thundering in my chest and the adrenaline coursing through me. I look around the empty living room, not sure how I'd gotten there. My breath is coming out in short, ragged bursts and I feel like I'm on the verge of hyperventilating.
I close my eyes and concentrate on taking slow, deep, deliberate breaths. That dark, greasy feeling still roils around in my belly and I feel like I'm going to throw up again. But after a few moments of deep breathing, I feel myself start to relax. The grip of nausea loosens and my head begins to clear.
“It was a dream,” I say aloud. “Nothing but a dream. Get a grip on yourself, Kaitlyn.”
I'm just about back in control of myself again when a hard, heavy knock at the door echoes through my apartment. I cry out and feel my pulse jump off the charts again.
“Kaitlyn,” I hear a muffled voice through the door. “Are you okay?”
The doorknob rattles and I fear that the next noise I'm going to hear is whoever is on the other side of that door come crashing through it – which would make my landlord none too pleased.
“C – coming,” I call, my voice hoarse. “I'm coming. Hold on a moment.”
I look down at myself and grimace. Yoga pants and an old, battered t-shirt from my old high school. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and my grimace only deepens. I'm pale – the point of looking sickly. And my hair has fallen out of the ponytail I'd pulled it back into earlier and stuck out in a million different directions.
The knocking on my door renews. “Kaitlyn?” the voice calls again.
I don't have time to make myself presentable, so I go to the door and open it. My eyes widen in surprise – and mortification – when I see Wyn standing in the hallway. He's got a look of concern on his face as he stares back at me.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “I heard you scream.”
I shake my head. “I'm fine,” I say. “An idiot really. I fell asleep on the couch and had a bad dream. That's all.”
He eyes me for a moment, his lips compressed into a tight line. “May I come in?”
I consider my appearance again and think about making him wait in the hall until I can make myself look halfway decent. But hell, he's already seen me at my worst, so I shrug and stand aside, letting him into my place.
Wyn steps through the door and looks around, hi
s eyes darting everywhere, surveying the place. I can tell that it's not out of curiosity to see how I live. The tightness around his eyes and mouth tell me that he's looking for threats. I close the door and lock it, stepping into the living room.
“I swear to you, there's nobody here but me,” I say. “I'm sick, fell asleep on the couch, and had a bad dream. That's it. I promise you. I appreciate your concern though. What are you doing here?”
“Would you believe me if I said I was just in the neighborhood?”
Wyn seems to relax a little bit as he turns to me, a small smile on his face. The fog in my head continues to clear and as I look at him, a question occurs to me.
“How do you even know where I live?” I ask.
He shrugs, his smile widening. “I'm resourceful.”
“Clearly,” I say. “I wish you would have called. I look like hell.”
“I can't say you'll be walking any red carpets anytime today.”
I give him the finger, but can't help but laugh. Wyn turns to me and his smile and the expression on his face change. It's hard to explain, but it's different and yet somehow no less warm or genuine.
“Honestly, you still look absolutely stunning to me,” he says, his voice soft.
I look away from him, feeling the heat rushing to my cheeks. From most guys, that line would have sounded corny. Insincere. But coming from Wyn, it sounds absolutely genuine. We share an awkward moment of silence before he clears his throat.
“You're not feeling well, huh?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I feel like death warmed over,” I say. “I can't keep anything down today.”
“Huh,” he says.
Wyn walks over to me, that look of concern back on his face again.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
My laugh is a little wry. “I barely know you,” I say and then after a moment, add, “but for some reason, yeah I do.”
“Good,” he says. “Okay then, I need you to relax.”
“Why? What are you going to do to me?”
“That's not relaxing.”
“And you're still not answering my question.”
“This is where that whole trust thing comes into play,” he says.
I let out a breath and grin. “Fine,” I say. “Work your magic.”
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