Fire and Fantasy: a Limited Edition Collection of Epic and Urban Fantasy

by CK Dawn

  “I need it to stop a war, but it isn’t all I care about,” Lucienne said. “I won’t leave you behind.”

  Vladimir gazed at her. “You like me, Lucia, very much.” His eyes flowed with such tenderness that Lucienne craved to be in his arms, sharing his warmth like bathing in sunlight in her garden.

  She reached for his hand and dragged him to run with her. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Blazek, but we stick together.”

  With renewed spirit, they put more space between them and the monks. “Their age has finally caught up with them.” Vladimir laughed.

  Lucienne laughed, too. Then they both stopped. Vladimir started cursing the monks and his own bad luck. Ten yards ahead of them lay a chasm nearly thirty feet wide. Vladimir stole a glance at Lucienne. She got the meaning. The men’s world record for distance jump was over twenty-nine feet. Vladimir could manage that distance, but could she?

  Lucienne scanned the other side for something solid the grappling hook could hold onto, but all she saw was dried grass and small rocks. “At least there’s no hunting party on the other end,” she said drily, shoving her hand into her robe and pulling out the scroll holder. “Promise me you’ll get this to my grandfather.”

  Vladimir’s hand gripped hers, stopping her. “Give it to him yourself!”

  “I can’t jump that distance, you know that. This scroll is more than my life,” she said. “Take it and go.”

  “Nothing is more than your life. Nothing will ever be more than your life!” Vladimir’s callused hand tilted up Lucienne’s chin as he gazed down at her—one of the rare occasions that the careless Vladimir looked so livid. A dark storm gathered in his eyes, tainting them shadow green. “If you ever say the scroll is more than your life again, I swear I’ll burn it!”

  “What happened to being practical? What about leaving me without a doubt when the situation calls?”

  “I changed my mind,” he said roughly. “I realized the world is more fun with you in it.”

  “Fine. We’ll jump together.”

  “I’ll jump first and hold the hook. You catch the end of the rope.” He traced her cheek with his thumb. “I’ll never let you fall.”

  Her lips parted, catching a breath. What if she didn’t catch it? Raw fear fluttered her stomach and climbed to her throat like the ugly wings of a bat. But she didn’t let the fear show in her eyes. “Let’s do it,” she said.

  Clasping their hands, then releasing them, Vladimir and Lucienne sprang back toward the army of the warriors. They’d need enough of a runway to make the jump. Her whip and his sanjiegun sliced the air, ready to punish anyone who didn’t give them the room they needed. Vladimir had transformed into the god of war, about to abandon all mercy.

  The warriors held their ground, swords and spears raised. But Vladimir and Lucienne didn’t come back to fight. When they reached the spot that promised plenty of running distance, they turned.

  “Wait! We need to talk,” one of the monks called.

  Vladimir halted.

  Lucienne arched an eyebrow. “Now they demand to talk? And you’re listening?”

  “I’m good at talking. I’ll talk our way out of this—” Vladimir gestured at the chasm ahead, “—instead of risking that.”

  The assembly of monks advanced toward Lucienne and Vladimir from three sides, raising their spears to form an impenetrable wall.

  “Stop!” Vladimir shouted in Tibetan, and Lucienne snapped her whip in the air. “You want to talk, then talk. One more step, we’re out of here.”

  The monk leader raised a hand. The warriors stopped.

  As Lucienne appraised the leader, who looked more like a scholar than a warrior, Vladimir whispered to her, “Don’t be fooled by his appearance. He’s a Khampa, the fiercest warrior race.”

  “Who are you?” the Khampa asked, eyes travelling between Lucienne and Vladimir.

  “Lama, the boy sounds familiar,” said an older monk at the Khampa’s side.

  Vladimir snorted. But when he spoke again, his voice went a few notches deeper. “Ha ha, very humorous. Surely we must have been well acquainted in a past life, so let’s get along in this life, as well.”

  “Why are you chasing us?” Lucienne held her steady gaze on the leader.

  “Why did you run?” The Lama looked amused.

  “Anyone with a head on his neck would run if an army chased him,” Vladimir said. “Do you find the logic amusing, Lama? Or do you regard the sight of a vast horde of the Dalai Lama’s army going after two kids more entertaining? I thought you followed the Buddha’s teaching. What happened to ‘no violence’?”

  The amusement left the Lama’s eyes. He shifted to English. “Use peaceful means where they are appropriate—but where they are not appropriate—do not hesitate to resort to more forceful means.”

  “He quoted Thupten Gyatso, the twelfth Dalai Lama,” Lucienne told Vladimir.

  The leader studied Lucienne.

  “Is the translation accurate?” Vladimir asked.

  “Which one of you opened the crypt?” the leader asked.

  Vladimir narrowed his eyes on the Lama. “Why does that matter?”

  The Lama’s eyes shone. “Prophecy says someday The One will come for the holy scroll and lead us into the new age. When that happens, the Buddha’s light will radiate in the dark.”

  “That’s nice,” Vladimir said. “Let us pass. Time is essential to spread the Buddha’s teachings and shed the light.”

  The warrior army didn’t move.

  The Lama smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Another prophet said, ‘When The One uses the holy scroll for his personal gains, he’ll sweep away the old world and its traditions like maelstrom sweeping the remaining autumn leaves. His power will increase, but the world will sink into the third dark age.’”

  “That fast?” Vladimir said. “I didn’t know we’d already passed two dark ones.”

  The Lama ignored Vladimir’s mock. “In order to decide if The One is the Light or the Darkness, we’ll ask both of you to stay with us for a few days, until we sort it out.”

  “What if we’re the Dark?” Vladimir asked.

  “The evil must be purged. But if The One is the Light, you will have our unfaltering allegiance,” the Lama said. “If there’s no darkness in your heart, you need not fear us.”

  “How do you decide if The One is the Light or what?” Vladimir asked.

  “We have our means,” the Lama said.

  “Who gives you the right to judge?” Lucienne hissed.

  “We’re the army of the Light. We exist to preserve the Light in the world.”

  “Monsters always believe they’re the saviors of the world,” Lucienne replied.

  “We’re not monsters. We’re Buddha’s followers,” the Lama said.

  “Problem is, there are two of us. And you think whoever opened the chamber is The One,” Vladimir said. “What about the non-One? Will you promise to let her go if The One stays with you?”

  The Lama hesitated for a second. “If The One agrees to stay, we’ll let his friend go.”

  “This is a bad bargain,” Lucienne told Vladimir in Russian.

  But Vladimir had already cried out in Tibetan. “I am The One. Let my sidekick go. I’ll do whatever you want, after I see her leave on that aircraft we brought.”

  “Don’t call me a sidekick under any circumstance,” Lucienne said. Stepping forward, she fixed her stare on the Lama. “Open the path and let us go.”

  The Lama staggered back, his face distorting. When he collected himself, his eyes fell on Lucienne. “You’re The One. You have the power of persuasion.” A ghost of a smile touched his eyes this time. “I suggest you not use it again. This power consumed your energy when you drew on it.”

  Lucienne’s face paled. The distance between her and the Lama had weakened her power, but the Khampa leader must have learned to resist mind compulsion. She respected him for that, but appreciated it much less that he laid bare one of her secrets in fron
t of Vladimir. He would see her in a different light—he’d regard her as a freak if he knew about her paranormal abilities.

  “You’re hallucinating, Lama,” she said coldly.

  Vladimir immediately stepped before her to shield her. “You think you’re quite smart, don’t you, Khampa?” He snickered. “But you have no idea who really opened the vault. You knew an ancient item was at the Samye, and you were dying to have it, but you were clueless as to where the saint hid it, until we spelled it out for you. Until we set off the alarm.”

  A dangerous light entered the Lama’s eyes. “The scroll is the holy sentinel of Tibet. Hand it back, and we’ll let both of you go.”

  “He’s lying,” Lucienne said. Even if the Khampa kept his promise, she had no plans to give him the scroll. “He’d never let us go.”

  “The scroll doesn’t belong to you,” Vladimir said to the leader in Tibetan. “It’s been waiting for the rightful guardian for centuries, as the prophecy said, so I came to claim it. Now get out of our way before things get ugly.”

  “Not until you leave the scroll, boy. Look around you. Even a fly can’t get out,” the Lama said. “We’ll get it one way or another. If you give it back willingly, you’ll be treated as our honored guests. You have my word.”

  “He’ll force us to crack the message on the scroll if he captures us,” Lucienne said. Without a warning, she pulled the beads off her braids and hurled them toward the Khampa and his warriors. He deflected the two whizzing beads hurtling toward him, but several monks around him weren’t as fortunate. They swayed and dropped to the ground in heaps, unconscious.

  “Acupoints Meridian?” The Khampa leader looked shocked.

  Lucienne smiled faintly. When she was ten, Kian enlisted a hermit who called himself Nameless to coach her. Master Nameless observed her for three months and tested her countless times before deciding she was worthy of learning the lost Meridian art that so few on earth still grasped.

  “Thirty-six acupoints are lethal. They can stop the subject’s blood from flowing and damage his organs. Another seventy-two points can cause severe injuries to the subjects’ nerve plexus,” said the Lama.

  “He’s quoting again. Man,” Vladimir sighed.

  “Who taught you the ancient Meridian?” the Lama asked.

  “You’re only lucky I haven’t aimed to kill,” Lucienne said, then threw Vladimir a look.

  Vladimir produced a deck of cards and hurled them toward the monks on the sidelines. The cards had no Meridian powers, but the monks didn’t know that. They drove the monks several steps back, buying Vladimir and Lucienne extra time.

  Turning on their heels, Vladimir and Lucienne broke into a dead run toward the chasm, accelerating at the midpoint of the runway.

  “Stop! You won’t make it,” the Lama shouted.

  Vladimir reached the chasm first. Without hesitation, he lifted his legs in the air, his muscles tensing.

  Lucienne watched him leap across the chasm like a graceful panther as she ran after him. His feet hit the ground on the other side, leaving the edge of the abyss a few inches behind him. Lucienne smiled as pride swelled in her chest. Vladimir spun around and tossed the end of the bat hook toward her with a grin. It was a perfect timing.

  Lucienne leapt high in the air, her fingers reaching for the end of the rope. One more inch, and she’d have it, and she’d run off into the sunset with Vladimir. But her fingers slipped and the rope dropped.

  Three

  “No!” Prince Vladimir screamed her name.

  A lightning stab of pain seared her torso, shooting up to her skull. The pain deadened her strength for a second, and the second had cost her. The rope bounced back toward Vladimir.

  A burning sensation exploded inside her. The impact propelled her toward the sharp wall on the other side. Lucienne twisted to avoid crashing onto the rocks. There was now no possibility of grabbing a crevice to stop her fall.

  The last thing she remembered seeing was a kaleidoscope of horror, disbelief, and pain on Vladimir’s face. She had never seen him so helpless. She opened her mouth to tell him something, but she had already forgotten what it was.

  She fought to go up, her hands flying skyward. Then she realized it was a lost cause—death, gravity, and time favored no one. She plunged toward the deep cave beneath.

  Vladimir’s furious cry tore through her hazy mind. There was a snap in her shoulder. More pain shot through her. Out of nowhere, a hand caught her wrist. Lucienne tilted her head, looking up in disbelief—Vladimir’s face suspended above hers. He had dove after her.

  “Gotcha!” He choked in a sob.

  But she kept plummeting. “Who’s got you?” she asked, seeing the triangle hook in his other hand. In a blur, the hook sailed up and attached itself to the ground above.

  It all happened in a flash. She was falling, and then she was safe. He gambled his life for hers, and it turned a miracle.

  “Lucia, darling.” Vladimir laughed.

  Lucienne smiled back. “You’re quite impressed with yourself.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?” he asked.

  “What now?”

  Vladimir was strong, but even he couldn’t climb up with one hand while carrying the weight of two. If she wasn’t wounded so badly, she could climb. She cursed herself for choosing this bat hook instead of an automatic one.

  “Can you climb first?” Vladimir asked.

  Agony expanded in every fiber of her being, and every breath hurt like hell, but Lucienne raised her free hand to reach Vladimir’s arm. When her hand stretched a few inches overhead, the pain ruptured inside her. She couldn’t help but scream.

  She heard Vladimir call her name. Pain filled his panicked voice.

  A hot stream gushed out of her wound, and her back felt cold, wet, and scorching, all at once. Her thick robe stuck to her skin. If she continued to climb at this rate, she’d bleed to death before she got to the top, if she didn’t pass out.

  She dropped her hand in defeat. “I’m sorry. I . . . I can’t.”

  “How badly are you wounded?” Vladimir asked.

  “A bullet hit my chest.”

  “I can’t believe the monks were using guns on us,” Vladimir cursed profusely, and then an agonized realization sunk into his voice. “Oh God! You’re bleeding to—” He couldn’t utter the word ‘death.’

  Lucienne struggled to pull the scroll from inside her robe and lift it toward Vladimir’s hand. “Listen, Vlad, there’s no hope for me. We both know that. Now be a good sport. Take this and let me go.”

  “I’ll never let you go!” Vladimir roared in fury.

  Urgent shouts rose from above. Footsteps rolled toward them as the Lama yelled at the warrior monks.

  “The Lama didn’t order the shot,” Vladimir interpreted. “He’s trying to sort out which son of a bitch shot you.” He cranked his head and shouted. “We surrender! Hurry up if you want your scroll!”

  Lucienne choked a miserable laugh.

  “You’ll be all right. Hang in there,” Vladimir begged. “We’ll live to see another day, and I’ll get your scroll back.” He shouted again, “Lama, you want your damned scroll or not? If we fall, we’ll destroy it!”

  “Vlad,” Lucienne’s voice grew weaker. Her strength was bleeding away. “Our hook is on the other side.”

  By the time the monks finally brought them to the surface, she’d be dead because of blood loss. Time was running out, and from Vladimir’s tormented look, she knew he knew it, too.

  “Get ready, Lucia,” Vladimir said. “I’ll toss you up to the ground toward the monk’s side. It will hurt. You might break a rib or two, but you’ll live. You must live!”

  Vladimir started swinging her. Lucienne gritted her teeth at the pain. The hook from the ground began to move. “Stop!” Lucienne screamed. Vladimir might succeed in swinging her up to safety, but the hook would surely give, and he would fall. “I’ll not reach the top without you. I’ll jump back after you,” she said, “If you truly care about me,
you let me go now and save yourself.” She twisted her hand, attempting to break free. His grip only tightened.

  “Stop! Listen to me!” he yelled.

  The hook skittered toward the edge again. In less than a minute, it would give way and they would both fall.

  “I’m sorry, Lucia,” Vladimir said in a tender voice. “I love you and always will.”

  And with that, he swung her up.

  Four

  Lucienne’s heart pounded hard in her chest at Vladimir’s profession of love—though the timing couldn’t be worse—and the joy swelling inside her knocked down the horrendous pain for a moment. Using every ounce of her strength, Lucienne brought her other arm up. She caught Vladimir’s hand that was gripping her wrist.

  Jed would be disappointed if he knew how she was handling her survival—she wouldn’t sacrifice Vladimir. She was the new Siren. He had finally found an heir. He’d be enormously angry. Her mind skirted to Kian. He would be devastated and probably would never recover from the blow of her death. And her nanny would cry endlessly. But Lucienne had made her choice.

  “You aren’t getting rid of me, Vladimir Blazek,” she said.

  Her declaration was drowned out by thunder. The monks above screamed in Tibetan, running away from the chasm. A second later, Lucienne realized that the thunder was from a helicopter. Then ear-piercing gunshots rained hellfire from above.

  The bat hook made one last jerk and slipped toward the chasm.

  Lucienne felt the fall again. She wanted to say something to Vladimir, something remarkable to overshadow her hollow death, but words escaped her. She only managed to whisper, “Vlad.”

  Her whisper was lost in the sounds of a military helicopter flying above them. It was an AH-64D Apache Longbow. Tears streaked down her face when she saw Kian McQuillen’s remarkable silhouette.

  With his feet fastened to the landing skid of the attack helicopter, Kian dove. His left hand caught the claws of the bat hook that slipped toward the chasm.

  The helicopter climbed up and banked off the chasm.