Blue Abyss: Timewalker Chronicles, Book 3 (The Timewalker Chronicles)

by Michele Callahan

  Worse, he’d fail. He’d lose his soul forever, devoured by the evil lurking within him. He’d made his blood oath to the Queen and accepted her Remnant soul in the hopes that he’d find the Dark One while on Earth. Only the Darkwalker Lord could remove the Triscani’s parasitic stain from his soul. He hoped the male would provide him with a soul stone so that the evil spirits crouching inside him might be withdrawn and trapped.

  Now both his brother’s attack on his ship and Gerrick’s secret mission had derailed his plans. Gerrick believed the Lost King was on Earth. If there was the smallest sliver of hope that the Lost King was here, Raiden couldn’t stop looking.

  The Marked mates were already gone from Itara. The Timewalkers and Darkwalkers with them. Vanished. Raiden wouldn’t allow two civilizations to completely perish. Gerrick had given him another job to do. But this task wasn’t for duty or for his homeworld. It wasn’t for that bitch Queen. This was for Gerrick. He’d made a deathbed promise, a vow of honor, to the one true friend he’d ever had.

  Death wasn’t an option.

  He had a plan, a terrible, desperate plan.

  Stasis. The ship’s energy cells had been damaged by Ryu’s explosives. They were failing. The ship would shut down completely in a few days’ time and he had no way to get out. He was too deep underwater to swim for the surface and he could float for days, hundreds of kilometers from land, bleeding and weak. Shark food.

  He would shut down everything but the emergency beacon and one stasis capsule. He calculated that would buy him two Earth years on life support, give or take a few days.

  His family would come looking for him. Someone from Itara would come looking for him. Someone would find him.

  Surely, someone would find him.

  He didn’t have a choice. If they didn’t find him alive? Well, they’d find him eventually, and he intended to make damn sure the traitor would be held accountable. Even dead, he would make his brother pay.

  With his still functioning right arm, he lifted the data crystal off his bed. The tiny crystal contained his identification, ship logs, and mission information, including the name the Dark One used on Earth. Thank the gods some unknown instinct had kept him from divulging that name to his evil twin. This copy of the ship’s data log documented the battle, his crash, the deaths of his men, and all of Ryu’s machinations for his people to see. Proof. Even if he didn’t make it, once his family retrieved the data, justice would be served and his men would be avenged. Raiden’s human king could seek the Queen’s justice, death by Angel’s Fire. His great nephew was not Immortal, but the human king on Itara held much political power. The Itarans, the true Immortals, numbered fewer than ten thousand. The human population neared a billion.

  If his king demanded justice, he would get it. The Queen would not want to deal with human riots or a war on her home world, not when the death of a single, half-blood traitor would stop it.

  Despite the bone-grinding pain of his left shoulder wound, he winced as the microbots that held the crystal together burrowed under the skin just behind his ear. They found his skull and attached themselves to the bone with microscopic drill hooks. No one was getting that data crystal off him without the proper codes, even if they removed his head. The bots could function for centuries, first off his body heat, then by breaking down his tissue. Decomposition would supply them with all the power they’d need.

  Done. He hid Gerrick’s precious soul stone in his quarters and then used the walls for support as he forced his legs to carry him to the stasis chamber. He’d thrown everything he had at the Triscani ship that attacked them in Earth’s low orbit, but the scaly bastards had taken them by surprise. He’d lost the battle and run the ship out of power during the fight. He had to shut everything down. Everything.

  He passed the healer’s room and swore an oath to avenge his men…even if he had to come back as a phantom to see it done.

  Raiden gritted his teeth and swallowed the rage and pain threatening to choke him. Emotion was a luxury he couldn’t afford right now. When Ryu was dead, when the Triscani sabotaging this planet were all dead, when he’d kept his promise to Gerrick and delivered the stone to the Dark One, then he would grieve. Until then, his friends would be the fire in his gut that kept him moving, that kept him alive, that kept him fighting.

  The empty bed in the stasis chamber looked cold, hard, and uninviting, but Raiden lay down with nothing but hope and his precious knives for company. He ordered the ship to shut down all systems but two, this chamber and the beacon. Someone would find him. They had to. He couldn’t afford to think otherwise.

  Yes, they’d find him. Then he’d be freed. He’d heal. He’d keep his vow to Gerrick, and he’d hunt the bastard betrayers down one by one.

  The clear cover lowered and sealed him inside with a popping noise. The beat of his heart slowed to a barely perceptible rhythm. Thoughts became like slow-moving slugs in his mind and cold numbness flooded his system. The injection ports tunneled beneath his collar bone to pump necessary chemicals and nutrients into his body as he slept, their normally sharp bite no more than a mild nuisance to his senses. The lights in the room outside his chamber flickered off. Raiden lay in complete darkness, fighting the pull of oblivion, knowing this might be his final moment, his final decision.

  Two Earthen years.

  Someone would find him…or he’d die.

  So be it.

  Chapter One

  Present Day.

  Challenger Bank, Northern Tip of the Bermuda Triangle, fifty meters below the water’s surface…

  Something urged her on, called to her…something she couldn’t explain and had given up fighting. Lust? Love? A dark dream? A two-year double date with bat-shit crazy and stone-cold obsession?

  Did it matter anymore, what she called him? She didn’t know his name. Might never know his name.

  Marina Lucia Jean-Mennette squinted through the dive mask to check her gauges. Fifty-one meters deep, plenty of oxygen. Diluent tank full. Computer working perfectly. Scrubber working. Gas mix perfect. Backup, open circuit tank checked, full, and strapped to her side in case she needed it…in case anyone needed it. She had plenty of time to explore. And she would use every minute of air she could scrape together because she’d finally tracked him down…

  He was down here, somewhere, the lost warrior that haunted her dreams. He was down here with the monsters, and she had to find him.

  Mari swam the distance to the cave wall in seconds and reached out with her gloved fingertips to trace the outline of a symbol she’d seen a hundred times.

  Madre de Dios. Her mother’s favorite saying hummed through her head over and over until she’d swear she could actually hear her mother’s panicked voice. She’d found this place. Finally. Her dreams come to life. Heart racing, her stomach threatened to heave-ho the protein bar and yogurt she’d had for breakfast.

  She waved off her dive partner, just a few feet behind her in the prior cave. He hadn’t turned the corner yet, hadn’t seen the man-made walls of this cave, or the strange markings etched into the smooth limestone.

  Warned off, he waited, asking her with his fingers if she was okay.

  She gave the okay signal, and held up her hand for him to stay outside the cave. Lucky for her, he didn’t argue this time. He’d give her five minutes, maybe ten, before he tied off his extra tanks and came looking for her. Problem with these older military guys was what she called the Hero Complex.

  She was small, five foot five with shoes on, and looked like a fresh-faced, innocent college kid. He was pushing fifty with more than two decades of hero time under his belt. Drove the guys crazy to see her risking her life on these deep cave dives. But he had two extra tanks stapped to his sides and would have more trouble squeezing through the opening to this offshoot. She packed light for a reason, and she’d earned their respect on close to a hundred dives. Less gear meant she couldn’t stay down as long, but she could fit into the tight spaces that he couldn’t. And this wasn’t the
first time she’d left him behind.

  It was dangerous, and he’d yell at her later, like an angry beast, but he’d wait for her for as long as he could.

  Okay, Mari. This is what you’ve been waiting for. Get on with it. Go get him! Little mental pep talk over, she laid more line as she swam, more certain than ever that she’d need it to find her way out. Two more divers waited above at safey points, packing extra tanks and emergency equipment. The fifth man on her crew, not much more than a kid, was a native of the islands and knew the water and currents like the back of his hand. He’d grown up on these waters, and she trusted him to get her where her gut told her she needed to go.

  Which was here. Right here.

  The rock wall should’ve been cold to the touch. Strangely, it radiated warmth through her dive glove and the heat invaded her palm where it hovered above the strange symbol. She slid her hand slowly along the jagged surface of the cave wall until her index finger reached the softly glowing symbol. It was level and glossy beneath her glove’s tip, slick as oil in a baking pan. A pulsing orange light radiated from the symbol. It grew brighter every second, lured her like a moth to a flame.

  Make that a moth and a bug zapper.

  Every logical bone in her body, every suspicious instinct she had, urged her to swim away. She wasn’t ready. She needed help. A chisel maybe? A big gun? Hell, an armed S.E.A.L. team and a couple fire-throwing wizards from Harry Potter.

  No. No! I will not leave without answers. Because if he was down here, they would be too. The monsters.

  What now? God, what was she supposed to do now? She wasn’t a bad-ass superhero. She didn’t have any weapons or Special Forces training. All she had was her dive gear, a camera, a few knives, a black market SPP-1M pistol strapped to her leg, and a stubborn streak that had defeated both her parents, five psychiatrists and three school counselors. Both the pistol and her dive crew had cost a fortune. But she’d pay any price for peace of mind. The man at the other end of her spool line, in the adjoining, normal cave, was a stone-cold ex-S.E.A.L. that she’d begged, stalked, and pursued relentlessly until he’d given in and agreed to help her.

  He’d brought two experienced divers with him to complete her crew. She needed their help. Only a suicidal idiot would dive without a team. The Navy boys agreed to work for her, but wanted to know what she was after. She lied, of course. Made up a tale about scientific grant money, climate change, and fossil hunting. Thankfully, money solved a lot of problems and a lot of money answered a lot of questions. She paid them extremely well to feed their adrenaline addiction. Having them around gave her peace of mind, made sure the nightmares would never be made real.

  In every dream she’d died completely unarmed and alone.

  Like hell. She tugged on the spool line so her dive partner would know that she wasn’t coming out. He was around the corner in under a minute, scowling at her through his dive mask.

  He pointed up and out, back they way they had come, then moved his index finger back and forth between the two of them, followed by his hand moving like a talking mouth.

  So, he wanted to discuss first? No. She wanted to go now. What were they going to do any differently? They were both armed, both experienced divers. Nothing would change, and these boys would probably call it in to someone in the military or try to talk her out of it. Or both. She shook her head and pointed deeper into the cave. She was going, with or without him.

  Her S.E.A.L buddy nodded and she watched, amused, as he did a weapons check before giving her a thumbs up. He was ready to rock and roll, to find out what was down here.

  She hesitated, at war with herself, gaze glued to the now glowing symbol mere inches from her face. Danger, Will Robinson, danger! Don’t touch the pretty alien stuff.

  Oh, yeah. She could hear just hear Servo and Crow on Mystery Science Theater 3000, the shadows of their heads bobbing with glee while making fun of her dumb move.

  Screw it. So, she was acting like an idiot heroine in a stupid “Z” movie. She couldn’t leave without taking the chance. She couldn’t leave until she knew for sure. If she’d finally found him, she couldn’t leave him in the hands of the monsters. Not for one more minute of one more day. Not for one more nightmare. Not without knowing exactly what two years of searching and hundreds of bad dreams had led her to discover. She needed answers. She needed the truth.

  Mari patted her leg, her waist, her shoulder and opposite thigh. Gun, knife, knife, knife…check.

  She swam through a man-made entryway into a dimly lit space that contained two closed doors, one directly ahead and one to her left. The entrance she’d used slid closed behind them, sealing them both inside like minnows trapped in a snow globe. Her weightlessness lasted less than a minute, then her feet hit solid rock as all the water drained from the landing area. Eighty pounds of gear threatened to sling her backward or buckle her legs, so she let the water settle her into a seated position and stared at her now useless flippers. Her dive partner sank down beside her. Breaking the seal on her face mask, she tasted the air, but found nothing suspicious. It smelled about as close to an above-ground coastal cave as a dentist’s office would. She smelled a bit of salt, humidity, and strange chemicals she couldn’t quite identify, but not much else.

  She shrugged out of the Inpiration xpd rebreather and back-up tank, unbuckled her BCD and harness before letting all of her gear slide easily off her back. She settled them carefully behind her, automatically checking to make sure the valves closed and her emergency escape plan, to swim the hell out of here later, would be viable. The flippers, mask and glvoes were next. When she was down to her dive suit, she checked her thighs for her pistol and one knife, grabbed her flashlight and her spare knife before standing to inspect the two closed doors.

  “Now what?” She was talking to herself, but her dive partner stood beside her and shrugged.

  “This is your party, Mari. Lead the way.” Her dive partner looked around, clearly at a loss. “I didn’t think we’d ever find a place like this.”

  Mari smirked at him. “You guys just thought I was crazy.”

  He smiled back, his gaze lit with adrenaline and excitement for a new adventure. “Maybe. But now you can do your woman thing and say, ‘I told you so.’”

  She turned away from him, happy to have the company, and studied the doors. Each had a diamond-like crystal at their center identical to the one she’d seen in her dreams. And thanks to those dreams, she knew exactly how to open them.

  She stepped to her left and cut across the pad of her ring finger with her dive knife. Once she had a few drops, she smeared her blood over the crystal placed in the center of the door.

  “Damn door. That hurt.” The crystal turned from clear to orange. Mari held her knife before her, unsure what to expect as the door slid open on silent tracks.

  Darkness greeted her. Nerves making her shake, Mari swung the beam of her light into the room before stepping inside.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “I think it’s a stasis pod. I’ve dreamt about this. Stay here. Watch that other door. I’m not sure what’s in there.” Her dive partner stood, guarding the entryway as she walked straight into dreamland. There, tucked against the wall, just like in her visions, Sleeping Beauty lay beneath some sort of glass or crystal chamber. She could just make out his silver-and-black hair, the masculine lines of a face too perfect to be real. Cut jaw. High cheekbones. Lush lips. Jet-black eyebrows. Heaven help her overactive hormones, he looked like a smoking-hot rock star, only more…magically attractive, like some little pixie had sprinkled her with lust dust.

  Possible? Probably not. She didn’t see a Tink-sized fairy flying around in a sparkling red bustier. Too bad. That almost would’ve been easier to deal with than the crippling attraction that drew her to his side. She knew if he opened his eyes they’d be smoke gray and intense. And she knew that the crystal pulsing at the top of the strange coffin-shaped enclosure was all that kept him alive. />
  Why was he here? And why didn’t someone wake him up? Both were answers her dreams had never supplied. She took a minute to study the smooth sides of the metallic base and the strange pulsing crystal. She ran the palms of both hands around the corners, along the surface, searching for hidden latches or controls. There were no markings, no words, no freaking instructions of any kind. And so, he slept on. Just like in her dreams.

  “But you’re not just a dream.” She rested her forehead against the glass and sighed, two years of exhaustion weighed her limbs down all at once. Her knees buckled, but she held herself up by draping her arms over the top of his pseudo-casket. She’d found him. Finally. After two long, horrible, frightening years of searching.

  Had he been down here that long? The twisting in her stomach answered that question. Yes. He had. The thought squeezed her chest until each heart beat was a pulsing, living pain.

  Enough.

  She had to stay positive. Had to keep her head on straight. After hundreds of dreams, she was here, he was real, and she had air to breathe and time to figure out how to wake him. On the plus side, he hadn’t been here one hundred years like the Sleeping Beauty fairy tale, and, even better news, she wasn’t completely insane after all. Even she had begun to doubt. Her so-called friends had called her delusional, even schizophrenic. Seeing things that didn’t exist. Hearing things no one else could hear. And dreaming each night about dark creatures that sucked her soul dry and left nothing behind but ash. God help her if those things were real, too.

  But at least she wasn’t crazy. Right?

  “Okay, handsome. How do I get you out of here?” She stared at his face through the clear cover. Somehow, she needed to wake him and get them both back to the surface. And pray, pray to every god that had ever existed, that the man who woke wouldn’t be evil.

  Unfortunately, she had no idea how to wake him up. It didn’t matter. She had to figure it out. How or why she knew this, she couldn’t say. She just knew. Her instincts had gotten her this far. He’d been calling her for two years now. Sometimes seductive, sometimes frightening, he was an irresistible enigma that haunted her nearly every night. To discover he was real and leave him here to rot for two more? She might as well check herself into the nearest psych hospital right now. She’d order the damn straight jacket herself.