The Spirit Watcher

by Cory Barclay

  “We have been,” Lig said in a low, tired voice.

  What are you looking for?

  “Your wolf friend.”

  Fuscia?

  Lig nodded.

  Pua Kila had decided to ignore her companion’s mutterings.

  Why?

  “Long story. The short story is because Master Constantin asked her to, in return for him watching over her people.”

  The Nawao are staying with the Lees? I thought they were hunted down by the blackguards after the wedding.

  “You’ve missed quite a lot in your absence, wafer-man. But you can’t pop in my head and expect answers whenever you feel like it. Shh.” He put a finger over his lips to enunciate the “shh,” and Pua Kila gave him another strange look.

  One more question. How’s Annabel?

  Steve could tell Lig wanted to lie and say “fine.” He could tell because he could practically read Lig’s thoughts as they were forming. It was a strange feeling, learning the thought process of a different person and understanding how their mind worked. In this case, it was a very different mind than Steve’s.

  So, Lig didn’t lie. “I don’t know,” he said. “She is staying with the Reynoldses.”

  Steve flashed with anger, sending a spike of red pain through Lig’s mind.

  “Ow,” the brownie said.

  Sorry.

  They continued on in quiet for a time, until Steve could hear running water in the distance. Pua Kila held up a fist and stopped the procession. She gingerly parted a few tree branches and peered through. A smile formed on her face and without a word she nodded to Lig.

  Lig ambled up beside her, went on his tiptoes, and gazed through the hole.

  Steve could see a hill in the distance with a shallow cave carved out of it. A small waterfall spilled over the summit of the hill and the opening of the cave. A wolf was perched on a fallen tree trunk next to the waterfall, sipping water from the pond.

  Without anymore hesitation, Pua Kila pushed past the trees and came into the clearing.

  The wolf’s head jumped and turned to Pua Kila like a deer in the headlights.

  Pua Kila raised her hands in surrender. “Sacred animal of the woods, I am not here to harm you. I am Nawao, a sacred animal of the woods as well.”

  The wolf backpedaled as Pua Kila walked toward it. Then it went low on its haunches, sticking its head down aggressively.

  At seeing the wolf’s stance, Pua Kila stopped walking. Her hands were still held in the sky.

  “I have come on behalf of Annabel Lee, noble one.”

  The wolf whimpered and relaxed. The mention of Annabel Lee was instantly recognized.

  That’s her.

  Lig opened his mouth to chastise Steve, but decided the moment was too important to ruin with words. He didn’t want to scare away the wolf. He crept out of the woods with his hands on his stomach, the epitome of non-aggression. The wolf’s yellow eyes flashed over to him.

  “He is a friend, noble one, and a friend of Annabel’s,” Pua Kila assured the wolf. “Fuscia, we need your help. For Charles.”

  At the mention of Charles, Fuscia whined. It was a low, soft howl, but Steve could feel the pain and sadness within it.

  Pua Kila took another step forward. This time, Fuscia was not so flighty. The wolf hopped off the tree trunk, splashed through the pond, and came before Pua Kila. She nestled her head against the Nawao’s legs.

  Pua Kila smiled and petted the wolf.

  Were you followed? a voice asked in Lig’s head. It was a female voice, and when Lig looked at the wolf with a startled expression, Fuscia stared back at him.

  No, Steve said, somehow using Lig’s body as a conduit to communicate with the wolf-woman.

  It was not smart for you to come here, Fuscia replied in Lig’s mind.

  “Why not?” Lig asked.

  Pua Kila furrowed her brow and turned to the brownie. “Excuse me?”

  Scratching the back of his neck, Lig said, “I don’t know how to explain this. She is talking to me—well, not me, but she’s talking to the other person in my head.”

  Pua Kila said, “The one you’ve been muttering to this whole time?” She didn’t seem too surprised.

  Lig nodded. “It’s Steve Remington.”

  Pua Kila’s eyes lit up. “Koa Steve!”

  I have secluded myself so the evil ones cannot find me. If people followed you, my hideaway is doomed, and so is the Watcher’s home, Fuscia said through Lig.

  The Watcher? Steve asked, confused.

  Lig looked past the wolf and his heart lurched. Through the thin waterfall, he could make out a shape on the other side—a humanoid standing at the mouth of the cave.

  Jesus Christ! Steve cried out when he noticed the person in the waterfall.

  “Who is that?” Lig asked, his eyes growing huge.

  Pua Kila followed his eyes and stifled a gasp. She instinctively reached behind her, where she kept her quarterstaff on her back.

  Fuscia growled at her and Pua Kila pulled her hand away, without making any sudden movements.

  The Spirit Watcher, as I just said, Fuscia informed them.

  “W-What . . . does it want?” Lig asked.

  She wants nothing, brownie. She simply . . . watches.

  Lig gulped.

  Tell me of your woes, then be on your way, Fuscia said.

  “Fuscia wants to know what we want,” Lig said to Pua Kila.

  The Nawao woman nodded. “Constantin and Mariana Lee wish to know the whereabouts of their son. Lady Mariana holds out hope he’s alive, Lord Constantin is more skeptical, and Lig says he knows Charles is dead. So, you see, we have a predicament.”

  The brownie is correct. Fuscia lowered her head and whimpered again. Lig reached out and ran a hand over her coarse fur, rubbing behind an ear.

  “She says . . . I’m right,” Lig said. It was not lost on him how self-righteous that came out, or sounded.

  Pua Kila narrowed her eyes. “How can I be sure she is actually speaking to you? What if this is all a ruse you’ve set—”

  Fuscia snapped her head up and bared her sharp teeth, growling at the Nawao woman.

  Pua Kila had the presence of mind to raise her hands and take a step back. “Very well. Never mind.”

  Is there anything else? Fuscia asked.

  “Is there anything else?” Lig asked.

  “Yes,” Pua Kila began. “The Lees wish to know the whereabouts of their son—alive or dead.”

  That . . . is simple, Fuscia said. The wolf nudged her nose back toward the cave, waterfall, and mysterious woman. The evil ones carried his body here, from their house. I followed them. They buried him in the cave. I have stood watch since that day, and shortly after, the Watcher came.

  Lig relayed the message to Pua Kila.

  Through the entire conversation, Steve hadn’t torn his eyes away from the waterfall. He stared at the Spirit Watcher, through the mesmerizing, rippling water, and wondered who she could be.

  Why is she here? he asked.

  I do not know, Fuscia said. She has only told me that important events are imminent. She says she must be here to witness them.

  Steve pondered that, but said no more.

  Pua Kila was not privy to the internal conversation they were having. She said, “Excuse me for being indelicate, but if the evil ones—the Reynoldses—were trying to dispose of Charles Lee’s body, why would they bury him? He could be discovered that way. Why would they not just burn him?”

  Perhaps it is against their moral code, Fuscia said, as twisted as their compass might be.

  Lig repeated what Fuscia was saying in his mind. He had a strange inkling that, were it not for Steve also occupying his mind, he would be deaf to Fuscia’s words.

  Pua Kila nodded. “Very well. Thank you, noble one.” She hesitated with what she had to say next. After shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she sighed. “I’m afraid we must . . . exhume the body. Constantin and Mariana Lee demand to see their son.
Then they will take action.”

  Fuscia growled at the Nawao woman.

  Please, Fuscia, Steve said. He didn’t even know what Constantin and Mariana were planning. He thought it might have something to do with helping Annabel, and that’s all he cared about.

  “If it is any consolation,” Pua Kila added, “this discovery will help bring about the end of the evil ones. You will have your vengeance.”

  No, you will exact revenge for me. It’s not the same, Fuscia replied.

  The end result will be the same, Steve assured her.

  A long, tense pause followed.

  Fine, Fuscia said, but I will go with you. Anywhere my Charles goes, I go. Then I will see the faces of my enemy and exact my own vengeance.

  “One condition,” Lig said to Pua Kila. “She goes with us.”

  “Very well,” Pua Kila said.

  They all headed toward the waterfall. Lig was a bit more hesitant than the wolf and the Nawao.

  When they got close, the shape of the Spirit Watcher became more pronounced. The corners of Steve’s vision started to dull and then blacken.

  Steve felt he was losing his connection to Lig.

  H-How?

  Before he lost everything, he said, Lig, I’ve come here for a reason. Before I . . . before I go, I have an urgent message for you to relay to Annabel next time you see her.

  As the trio came to the side of the waterfall, Steve spoke in Lig’s mind. He told the brownie the importance of the message. At the waterfall, the Watcher turned to them. She wore a white dress, much like Annabel wore, but with a thick black veil covering her face completely.

  Steve could see strands of blonde hair sticking out from under the veil.

  The Watcher said nothing and hardly moved. Her masked face turned to Pua Kila. Even the fearless Nawao queen seemed unnerved for a moment. Then the Watcher glanced at Fuscia.

  Finally, the Watcher turned her shapeless black veil on Lig.

  Steve felt a strange sensation as he saw the sculpted outline of the face underneath the veil. The sensation overpowered him and he felt himself losing control.

  The Watcher pointed a thin finger at Lig, her long nail almost touching his face.

  The pointed finger seemed to spear right through Lig and tear into Steve’s soul.

  He fought, but then cried out in Lig’s mind and his reality twisted.

  Everything went black.

  CHAPTER TEN

  That morning, Overseer Malachite called an emergency meeting of the Brethren Council. Constantin Lee frowned as he read the letter in his study, then shooed the messenger away. He had been ready to go to bed before the messenger arrived. But the letter was marked with the seal of the Overseer. So, he would have to stay up.

  With all that was going on, Constantin feared an ambush. His daughter had been married to the Reynolds’ despicable son. Pua Kila and Lig had been sent to find his lost son. This was the first invitation the Council had sent for him and his wife since joining the ranks of the Brethren. He didn’t feel excited, as he thought he might have. Instead, he felt worried he’d made a terrible mistake in “allying” his family with the Reynoldses.

  As these thoughts plagued his mind, he looked up at the stained-glass window on the far side of the room. The sun beamed pink and green and blue light onto the hardwood floor. He made sure his entire body was far from the sunny patch, lest he meet a fiery end.

  H stood from his chair, folded the letter, and placed it in a pocket inside his tunic. He went to retrieve his best overcoat, hooded cloak, gloves, and umbrella. It would take at least three hours to ride the 75 miles to Malachite’s Northern Soreltris estate. He knew he and Mariana would need to get moving soon.

  He felt naked leaving his house empty. Usually, at the very least, Lig was there to watch over things while he and Mariana were away or asleep. But there was nothing to be done.

  He left the library and made his way up the stairs, glancing into Annabel’s empty bedroom as he walked by. Sadness and longing filled him as he peeked inside the room, left as though she would appear at any minute. The black curtains were drawn, her velvet purple bed sheet disheveled and unmade. But alas, she was with Tiberius Reynolds, as requested by the boy’s parents. In Constantin’s mind, she was a hostage, kept away from the Lees to get them to do the Reynolds’ bidding.

  The marriage proposal had been years in the making. Now that it had happened, Constantin regretted it. He was cold, but he wasn’t heartless. Well, he was heartless, in a sense, but he felt sympathetic to his daughter’s dilemma.

  He shut the door and exited, eager to rid the dismal thoughts from his mind. He came to his and Mariana’s bedroom and cracked open the door. Mariana was lying on their bed, sleeping on her back. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she looked like a dead body.

  He went to the bed and knelt, gently shaking his wife’s shoulder. The black-haired beauty pouted her colorless lips and opened her gray eyes. “What is it, husband?”

  “A messenger has come, my love. Overseer Malachite has requested an emergency Council meeting at his estate.”

  “So?”

  “We have been requested.”

  Still sleepy, it took a moment for Mariana to register what that meant. When she did, she said, “We’re Council members now?”

  Constantin smiled tentatively. “Two of the most powerful people in Soreltris, my love.”

  Mariana lifted her head and stared at the black bed sheets. “If we lose our daughter, it won’t matter.”

  A pain stabbed Constantin where his dead heart might be. What was this feeling? Remorse. Sadness. He couldn’t shake the emotions and they quickly morphed into anger.

  With a snarl, he said, “Get up, Mariana, we must go. We need to make a good first impression with the Council.”

  “What does he want?” Mariana asked, ignoring Constantin’s miniature outburst. She was used to his short temper. Like most men she’d known over the centuries, he tended to regard females as emotional and irrational. But he was the one who had meltdowns over littlest disagreements and grievances. If she voiced her opinion on the matter, her words would fall on deaf ears. So she said nothing.

  For many decades, the Brethren of Soreltris understood this. Women ran the show, peacefully. The Soreltris political system had been a matriarchal oligarchy. The most powerful women from each noble family made up the Council.

  But the men brooded, as should have been expected. They knew the history from Terrus—a world run by men, as long as humans had been in existence. Why should Mythicus be any different?

  The men made a play for power as soon as Overseeress Garnet was found dead under mysterious circumstances. Clearly, her office and title should have passed to her sister, January Amos. But January had taken to Terrus. Then the title should have gone to Garnet’s daughter. But the Council didn’t want a wild card like Garnet’s daughter to rule. They didn’t know her and they couldn’t find her. Good riddance. And they surely didn’t want a woman like January, who had already abandoned Mythicus in favor of Terrus. They’d rather have a human rule than a traitor.

  Thus, the Council had been persuaded to allow Garnet’s lover to rule as regent. This one time, the women had gone along with the men’s suggestion. They did not understand that their immediately diminished power would likely never return to its former glory.

  Shortly after Richard Remington became regent, he gave more power to the men in the Council. He was soon elected Overseer. Richard Remington became Overseer Malachite, and the rest was history.

  Mariana thought the Overseer was weak-willed and unfit to lead. He was a frail human—not frail as a human, but frail because he was human. Already there was dissension: this wasn’t what the Council had agreed upon. Richard Remington was supposed to be temporary, until a better leader was found.

  Mariana rose from her bed. She was not tired, because the dead don’t get sleepy. They rest to regenerate their bodies and blood. But their minds always remain sharp. Constantin and
Mariana had genius-level intellects. But that could not save them from the baffling leadership of Overseer Malachite.

  “Let’s go see what he wants, I suppose,” Mariana told her husband, clearly none too pleased about the ordeal. It didn’t matter if it was their first introduction into the Council. Her baby was still a captive in a stranger’s house.

  She was ashamed at ever allowing the marriage to take place. She would never forgive herself for it, or her husband, whose idea it had been. But it was done. Now she had to fight for her daughter.

  The two vampires left their household on two separate horses. They were covered from head to heel in dark clothes, similar to burkhas. They rode perfectly—they’d been doing it for hundreds of years. Each one held an umbrella, in case the sun got through his or her clothes. They reached the I-5 Freeway, the main thoroughfare in Central Soreltris, and headed north. They made quite a sight for onlookers.

  Everyone on the road steered clear from the couple: two black figures with their faces covered by black veils, and umbrellas over their heads. Only their gray eyes were visible from the road, and no one dared look at them for too long before they galloped past.

  CONSTANTIN AND MARIANA arrived at Overseer Malachite’s estate before midday. They’d ridden their horses nearly to death, but they’d made it. Dismounting and handing their reins to the stableman, they looked up at the looming structure ahead.

  It was a castle built on a hillside overlooking a beach to the west. On Terrus, the castle was located in Laguna Hills, an affluent city near Laguna Canyon and Laguna Beach. Here, it had been the base of operations for the Brethren Overseers for decades.

  They crested the hill and came to the outermost gate, where two blackguards stood ready and armed. Constantin produced his letter with the Overseer’s seal. One of the blackguards glanced at the letter, nodded to the other, and the gate opened. The vampires passed through without so much as a single word exchanged.

  It was a quarter-mile walk from the gate to the courtyard of the castle. Large birch trees lined the walkway on either side, protecting the vampires from the sun, allowing them to uncover their faces. As they neared the courtyard, they could see the convention was beginning. A group of people sat at a long table on a veranda, outside the eastern wing of the castle. Luckily for Constantin and Mariana, the veranda was located on the shady side of the castle. The sun was completely blocked from sight.