Night's Fall (Night's Champion Book 2)

by Richard Parry

“Yeah,” said John, “but I left the big guy for you.” He started to laugh, but it turned into a sob, shoulders shaking. “Val? Val, my Sky is dead. She’s dead, Val.”

  Val didn’t know what to say. What do you say, when someone dies because you were an asshole? “I—”

  “No,” said John.

  “What?”

  “No,” said John. “I don’t … listen. I don’t want you to fucking say it’s your fault, do you hear me? What I want you to say is that you will, and by God I hope you came here with a plan, fucking kill that fucking motherfucker. I — I can’t. He’s a little out of my league. But I want to. Val? When I was a kid, I never thought I’d want to kill someone. Sure, get in a fight or two, that’s just guys having fun. But kill a man? I want that now, and I can’t.”

  “Right,” said Val. “I figured, Danny—”

  “Seen the cage?”

  “Saw the cage,” admitted Val. “Doesn’t look good.”

  “She passed out a little while ago,” said John. “I guess it’s silver.”

  “It’s silver,” said Val. “It’s not the best place for one of us.”

  “One of you?” said John. “I thought you’d given it up.”

  Val looked around. Saw the empty place at John’s side where Sky should have been. Saw Carlisle, lying unconscious. Saw Rex, an old man with too much heart, lying on the ground. Saw his—

  Pack mate.

  —Danny, caged, down under the unbearable weight of all that silver. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t think this is a thing I should be giving up. I think too many people get caught—”

  “No,” said John.

  “What?”

  “You’re doing it again,” said John, something gentle in his voice. “Look, I’m tired. I’m busted up. I am hoping, really hoping, that this is it, because then I can see Sky again. I can be with her. But, here’s the thing. Someone laid a trap for you. A briefcase full of sin. And you fell into it. Maybe you didn’t want to Hulk out on everyone, maybe you got fleas, I really don’t know. You don’t talk about it. But you help people, Val. Help yourself. Stop blaming yourself, for chrissakes, and get angry.”

  “Okay,” said Val. “One question.”

  “Shoot,” said John, then coughed.

  “Who do you need killed?”

  “Why,” said a voice, smooth as honey, “I’m sure you know. Me, Valentine. He wants you to kill me.”

  Val pushed himself to his feet, unsteady. He held Carlisle’s gun tight. He hadn’t seen the man at first because he’d been standing so still, but there, near the far end of the room, was a man in an expensive jacket, but dirty like he slept at the dump. “You’re Talin?”

  “Yes,” said Talin Moray. “And I’ve been waiting so very long for you to get here.”

  “Since we’re sharing,” said Val, “how’d you find me?”

  “I followed the trail,” said Talin. “The trail of stories. Videos on YouTube. Impossible tales of a single man lifting a truck, or an explosion caught on camera with a single survivor running to the trees. Pieced together, they told of a man wasting his life.”

  Val blinked. “Come again?”

  “The Night,” said Talin, “is not to be used helping the weak. It is to be used to become mighty.”

  “Cool story bro,” said Val. “Second question. How much do you remember?”

  “Remember?” said Talin.

  “About us,” said Val. He tapped Carlisle’s gun against the side of his head. “Where we came from.”

  “A little,” said Talin. His eyes narrowed. “More, when I get the last of it from you. I’ve sundered your Shield. Your Sword is sheathed. Your Good Right Arm is broken. The Guide is without purpose. The very Sky has fallen. You are the Knight, and I will make you yield.”

  “Yeah, about that,” said Val. “I know you don’t remember, so I’m going to make it easy. For you to have it all, you’ve got to kill me. Like, yourself. With your hands. You can’t throw me to your wolves. If you do, I’ll return. I’ll be leading the fucking pack.”

  “Easy enough,” said Talin. He took a step forward.

  “Yeah, about that,” said Val, again. “I think you’re also missing some other important pieces.”

  “The Sacrifice?” said Talin. “The Prophet? I am the Prophet, and I have made my Sacrifices.”

  “I don’t,” said Val, “think you know what ‘sacrifice’ means. Will you wait here? I’ve got to talk to someone.” He hefted Carlisle’s gun, considering it for a moment. Big play for a half-remembered recollection of something that came a long time ago. Still, you’re out of options. You’ve got one play left to make. Then he put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  His body toppled to the floor to the chime of elevator doors opening.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  The elevator ride was long. Not long like it’s-a-couple-of-minutes long, but long like it’s-stopping-at-every-floor long. And it wasn’t stopping, at all, at any floors. The elevator slid up through the long dark of Trump Tower, smooth, silent. But, like, taking its time.

  “This elevator is taking a real long time,” said Just James. “Is it getting paid by the hour?”

  “I think,” said Adalia, “that we’ll get to where we need to, when we need to be there.”

  “I think,” said Gabriel, “that we’ll be too late.” He was looking at his feet, then casting glances at her through those beautiful lashes.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” said Adalia.

  “I’m not looking at you,” said Just James.

  “Who, me?” said Gabriel.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” said Adalia.

  “Fine,” said Gabriel.

  “Okay,” said Just James.

  “God,” said Adalia. She sighed. “I was talking to Gabriel.”

  “You just said that,” said Just James. “I wish I could see him.”

  “I don’t,” said Gabriel.

  “Stop changing the subject,” said Adalia. “You’re—”

  The elevator stopped, the doors opening with a soft chime. They slipped open with a whisper onto a scene of horror. Adalia’s hand went to her mouth as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. There was Mom, in a silver cage, and down on the floor was Uncle John, and there, over there was Carlisle, so pale, so very pale. She could see Rex, and, and, and—

  Oh, no.

  —Val. She rushed from the elevator to crouch down at his side. There … wasn’t much left of his face, but she knew it was him. Knew it, because he was gone, just like Sky was gone. She rose slowly and turned to the one person left standing tall in the room. Talin.

  “Hello, little one,” he said. He was flexing one of his hands. He turned his attention to her. “You have arrived too late. As you can see.”

  Adalia wiped a tear from her cheek. “I arrived just when I was needed most.”

  “Adalia?” Her mom’s voice was weak, so very weak. Adalia turned to face her. Her Mom was trying to stand. “No. No. Run!”

  Adalia shook her head, hair whispering about her. “No, Mom. I’m done with running.”

  Her mom tried to get to her. She tried, Adalia could see it, but she was so weak. Danny grabbed the bars of her cage, screaming as the silver burned her, then fell back, panting.

  “Kid,” said Melissa. Adalia turned to face her friend.

  “Hello, Melissa.” Adalia gave her a small smile. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

  “Melissa?” Danny’s voice was a whisper, a croak. Desperate. “Melissa? You need to get her out of here. Do you hear me? Get her out.”

  “So touching,” said Talin. “So flawed. The Shield is sundered.”

  Carlisle was looking about for something, her eyes scanning the floor around her, then roaming the room until they came to rest on her gun, still held by Val. She swallowed. “Kid?”

  “I’m sorry this happened to any of you,” said Adalia. Just James was moving towards her, a look of awe, or fear, or just plain o
l’ stunned on his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t wake up sooner.”

  “Adalia,” said Gabriel. “Adalia, you should go. Talin is, he’s evil.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, he is evil.” She looked at Val, then at her mom, then at Carlisle. “It’s what we fight, isn’t it? The evil in the world.”

  “No, no, no,” said Danny. “No, baby. You don’t fight. You run. Far away. Leave the city. God. Why did you come here?”

  “Kid,” said Melissa. “Kid, help me up. We can … we can run,” she said, but her voice just kind of ran out at the end, the lie evident for all to see. Melissa wasn’t running anywhere.

  Just James was bending over to pick something up. Adalia ignored him, walking to Melissa. She stood just out of arm’s reach. “I can’t run, don’t you see?”

  “You’ve got to,” said Melissa. She was so pale, so white, she looked dead already. “You can’t … I can’t help you. I can’t, kid. I’m done.”

  “I know,” said Adalia. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Melissa,” said Danny. “Please. Get up. You’ve got to try. She’s my baby, my baby girl, and—”

  “I know,” said Melissa. She tried to stand, but didn’t get much further than sitting upright before she fell back. “I—”

  “You both need to listen,” said Adalia. “I came here. I brought the living and the dead with me. You have done so much for me. Both of you. For so many, many years. I see it. I feel it, with my heart. I see what you’ve all done, but the cost, it is too much. The Shield was sundered. The Sword sheathed, the Good Right Arm broken. The Guide lies blind, the Reluctant Wanderer died long ago before his body was taken by a witch, a deceiver. All that remains is the Prophet, and her Sacrifice. Do you see? Now, well, now it’s my turn. To do the saving.” But she knew it was a lie. It wasn’t her that was going to do the saving. She wasn’t the Sacrifice.

  “How do you know?” Melissa’s voice was barely a whisper. “How do you know all of this?”

  “The Universe speaks to me,” said Adalia. “I know everything. Like Facebook.”

  “You know nothing,” said Talin. “And you will pay for it.”

  “Chill out, Ahab,” said Just James. He was holding what he’d picked up from the ground — Carlisle’s gun. The metal was stained and sticky with blood.

  “He can’t stop Talin with that,” said Gabriel.

  “He’s not meant to,” said Adalia, her voice a whisper. She wiped away another tear, then turned her back on Melissa. She went to stand next to Just James. She reached out, held his hand. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “Yeah,” he said. He looked at his feet, those Sketchers he’d taken. “Can you tell me — where the dead go, when they die — is it beautiful?”

  “You don’t have to do this,” said Adalia. She looked down at their hands, then back at Just James. “I don’t want you to do this.”

  “Is it like you?” Just James was looking at her, but she thought he was really trying to look into her heart.

  “It is like the dawn,” said Adalia, “and the night, and the feeling you get just before you sleep, and just as you wake. It is warm, and soft, and harsh, and rough, and everything and nothing at the same time. It is terrible, and wonderful. You will stand at the Cliffs of the Damned, Just James, and you will want for nothing, until the stars go out and the sun gutters low, and the end of days is on us. You will forget this world and all that is in it.”

  “No,” said Talin. “No.”

  “I’m not really good at anything,” said Just James. “I’m not really good for anything. My step dad says so. My mom doesn’t argue. But I know one thing. I know it’ll never be okay here. Not unless I do what I was made to do.”

  “What’s going on?” said Gabriel. “What do you—”

  “Please don’t,” said Adalia. She’d known this was coming, could see that Just James had known too. Known with the certainty of a young man who’d fallen in love with a girl he didn’t know. Fallen in love because the Universe needed him to. Fallen, so he could fall again as the Sacrifice. She was crying freely now. “We can … we can make another trade. It will be okay if you don’t.”

  Just James gave her a sad smile. “No, it won’t. You know it won’t.” He leaned forward, kissing her on the lips. She leaned into it, stumbled when he broke away. “I love you, Adalia Kendrick, and I won’t ever forget you. No matter where I am. Your Universe can’t take that from me.”

  He lifted the Eagle to his lips, and pulled the trigger. Adalia screamed, and screamed, and screamed as the Universe opened above her, the majesty and terrible, faceless, impossible purpose of it rolling down on her. She was pulled away from Just James as his body fell, something lifting her up as it burned the tears from her face.

  When she spoke, it was with the voice of a thousand, million suns. “The Sacrifice has been made. Talin Moray, I would like to make a trade.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  “This was not where I thought I’d be,” said Val, getting up from the forest floor. Fallen leaves crunched under him, and he felt a warm breeze tug at his shirt. He checked his hands — yep, still there — and then let them rise to his face. That was still there too, which defied belief.

  Super. He must be dead.

  You are only as dead as you want to be.

  “Ah,” said Val, turning to face the creature. He’d never seen it. Sure, John had told him about it, Carlisle had even given a few clues away after she’d thrown back more drinks than was good for her. He’d seen Danny change, knew her in all her forms. But his own creature? Nope. “Together again, huh?”

  You make light of things that can end our Pack.

  “I make light of things that are so serious because you’ve got to laugh or cry,” said Val. He brushed off his pants. “You’re, well, you’re on the outside now. How’s that work?”

  This is our home.

  “Cryptic as always,” said Val. He nodded. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else.”

  This is my home.

  “Better,” said Val. He looked around, the tall trees stretched far above. The sunlight spotted the ground around him, and a stray beam caught his face. It was warm, and light, and felt good. “This where you go when you’re not killing everyone in sight?”

  The creature looked at him with those beautiful, terrible eyes. It blinked, but didn’t move, the sunlight dappling against it through the trees. It was hard to make out when still. There had to be a few hundred people who died because they missed it, just because it was sitting still. It said nothing. Did nothing.

  Val held up a hand. No remorse, huh? “Look. You and I both know how it works. I remember, see?” He tapped the side of his head. “This isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”

  Nothing like this has ever happened.

  “You know that’s not true. You’re always so … literal.”

  You are always so … tiny.

  “Touché,” said Val. “Doesn’t matter. You can’t touch me in here.” He touched his chest, hand over his heart. “You can only touch me here.”

  You let yourself care about all the tiny things. You were made to feel pain.

  Val walked around. No matter where he went, the sunlight followed him, warming him. “I thought you were nocturnal?”

  All living creatures love the touch of our sun.

  “When we’re together,” said Val, “you make me do horrible things.”

  I keep our Pack alive.

  “Sure, by doing horrible things,” said Val. “Can I tell you a story?”

  I know all the world’s stories.

  Val blinked. “Can I tell it anyway?”

  If you feel you must.

  “Right,” said Val. He tapped the side of his head again. “I’m starting to remember. I remember that you’ve been pretty much everywhere except right here. America. You’ve been in Russia, England, Greece … hell, Persia, back when that was a thing. And before then, before we had names for the familie
s we were a part of.”

  The names men give to their fallen kingdoms hold no value to Pack.

  “Got it,” said Val. “Thing is, there’s this story I want to tell. A bit of a local flavor.”

  The creature leaned forward on two strong arms, muscles rippling. You would tell me a story from your new world? What could such a young world have to teach me?

  “It’s not been called America for long, sure.” Val shrugged. “But it’s a lot older than that. Do you want to hear the story?”

  The thing turned around, looking into the shade of the trees. Assent, or indifference?

  Let’s go with assent. “There’s this old Cherokee. He’s at a campfire with his grandson.”

  Is the fire important?

  Val sighed, rubbing his face. “Don’t tell me you have a sense of humor. It’s been a long day. Can you … can you let me finish?”

  I only want to understand.

  “The old Cherokee,” said Val, “sits down next to his grandson. I don’t know, maybe the kid’s been in trouble, maybe he’s been drinking, maybe he’s got into girls in an overly enthusiastic way. Point is, he needs a life lesson.”

  A lesson you wish to teach me.

  “The Cherokee, he sits down and he said, ‘Grandson. There is a battle between two wolves in us all. One is evil. It is anger and jealousy. It knows only greed and resentment, and the inferiority that comes from a life of lies and ego. The other, well, it’s good. It is joy. It’s peace. It knows how to love. It gives hope to its Pack. It is humble, and kind. It tells the truth, and it does what is right even though it is hard.’”

  You tell of a battle as if you know fighting.

  “I’ve done my share,” said Val. “You were there.”

  In your battle between two wolves, these two creatures of good and evil, which one wins?

  “I’m glad you asked,” said Val, “because that’s what the grandson asked. He looks up at his grandfather, and he says, ‘Grandfather? Which of these wolves wins?’” Val looked at his feet for a moment. Took a second to breathe in the gentle quiet of the forest. “The answer’s simple, of course.”

  I see no answer.