The Quest (Psionic Pentalogy Book 4)

by Adrian Howell

I shrugged. That frightened little child had died so long ago I hardly remembered what he looked like.

  “I’m beginning to regret teaching you to fight,” said Terry, looking away.

  “If it’s any consolation, Terry, I’m not all that grateful.”

  Terry gave a hollow little laugh.

  I asked her quietly, “Will you go to war with me, Terry Henderson? Will you help me finish this? Help me rid the world of its last master controller?”

  Terry looked back into my eyes and slowly nodded. “I will.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  I saw Terry glance past me at Alia, who was still sitting on my bed. Alia must have said something telepathically to her, because Terry suddenly looked at me uncomfortably and said, “I’m going to go get you some fruits or something so you can eat here, Adrian. You’ll need your strength.”

  As Terry hastily let herself out, I turned to my sister. Alia had gotten down from my bed and was staring up at me, her eyes brimming with anger, horror and betrayal. I had expected no less from her, as it would not have been Alia otherwise. After all, this was the girl who was torn to tears over her own hesitation to help a man who had once tortured her.

  “Spit it out, Alia,” I said, sighing heavily.

  Alia looked down at her feet. “You don’t want to hear what I have to say about this, Addy.”

  Lightly stroking her hair, I whispered, “Now where have I heard that before?”

  “Addy, I know you kill people. I’ve watched you do it, and I’ve helped you do it. But this is different. This is your sister.”

  “That’s right,” I said evenly. “You heard the Historian. My sister is Queen Divine.”

  Alia stamped her feet angrily. “This is wrong, Adrian! You know it’s wrong!”

  “What would you have me do, Alia?” I asked, doing my best to maintain my calm. “Catherine is a master controller. I can’t rescue her from that.”

  “If I was a master controller, would you kill me?”

  “Ask me when you become one,” I said gruffly.

  Alia hid her face in her hands, sobbing. “Terry’s right. You really have changed.”

  I knelt in front of her and carefully pried her hands away from her tear-stained face. “Look at me, Alia,” I said gently. “I know that this is wrong. But do you really want to leave Cindy with the Angels? Do you want to live the rest of your life in hiding, moving from town to town and wondering when you’ll be attacked in the middle of the night? Tell me, Alia, what would you have me do?”

  Putting her arms around me and pressing her face onto my chest, Alia whispered shakily into my mind, “I don’t want to lose my unicorn, Addy. I love him too much.”

  “He loves you too,” I whispered back, holding her tightly. I tried hard to blink back my tears, but my voice cracked as I said, “I just don’t know what else to do anymore, Alia. Do you?”

  Alia shook her head, but said no more.

  For a long time, we just held on to each other, the both of us crying like two little children lost in a deep, dark forest. And why not? The Historian had turned my already convoluted world upside down, and now I had to hunt down and kill my own fourteen-year-old sister. Over the years, Alia had watched me slowly turn into a killer, and in a sick way, we had both gotten used to it. But what would it be like to take my own blood? Could I really blast a hole through Cat’s head as easily as I had done to Mr. Simms? Alia had it right: This was utterly wrong. It was unfair and unwarranted and unreasonable, and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it. Crying would solve nothing, but Alia knew, as did I, that tears were soap and water for the spirit. We were probably loud enough to be heard in the common room, but I didn’t care. There was no shame in being hurt and confused.

  Once our tears ran dry, I carefully led Alia back to my bed and sat beside her, hugging her from the side as I said quietly, “I don’t like what I do, Alia. I don’t like hurting people. I don’t expect you to either.”

  “I’m sorry I was so mean, Addy,” Alia mumbled into my mind. “I know you don’t want to kill your sister. But I still think it’s wrong.”

  I patted her back as I said, “I’m glad that you do. At least one of us is still normal. You don’t have to be a part of this if you don’t want to.”

  Alia scoffed. “Where would I go?”

  “I could deliver you to the mountain camp, or wherever Mrs. Harding is staying now,” I suggested. “Candace could take care of you, or you might be able to stay with Patrick’s family, with Laila.”

  “I almost wish I could do that, Addy. But I can’t. If you have to go, then I have to go too.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. This isn’t your fight.”

  Alia shook her head. “I want Cindy back. I want to live in a world without nightmares. I’m tired of running away. This is my fight.” She looked up at me and forced a smile. “Besides, how many times have you been shot?”

  “Four bullets, one blast,” I replied automatically.

  “You’re going to need a healer. Gretel always goes with Hansel.”

  “I can hardly argue with that,” I said with a chuckle. Then I looked into her eyes and said seriously, “There’s no happily ever after where we’re going, Alia. Chances are we won’t survive this.”

  Alia nodded solemnly. “I’m okay with that, Addy.”

  “Then you’re in,” I said evenly. “You’re a greater Knight than I’ll ever be, and you’ve certainly earned the right many times over. Let’s go tell Terry.”

  Exiting my bedroom, we found the common room empty. A large decorative fruit platter had been left on one of the tables, and though I wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, I took a bite out of an apple.

  “Master Howell?” Havel called from behind me, making me jump a little in surprise. “Mistress Gifford,” he continued, nodding to Alia, “the others are in the dining room. Lunch is almost finished, but if you like, you may join them for dessert.”

  I glanced at Alia, but she shook her head. “We’re fine,” I said.

  “Very well,” said Havel, turning to leave. “Please call if you need anything.”

  “Actually, Havel, could I ask you something?”

  Havel turned back toward me, asking, “You wish to know why I live here?”

  I nodded.

  “There isn’t much to tell,” said Havel. “I was in my early thirties when I arrived here seeking asylum. You see, my great-grandmother was a master controller.”

  “Guardians or Angels?” I asked.

  “Neither,” replied Havel. “Hers was a small group of psionics and common townsfolk in a farming community in Wales, or so I heard. I never met my great-grandmother, but that didn’t stop a number of people from trying to hunt me down for, um… breeding purposes.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. Once more people found out what I was, I would have to be careful too.

  Havel continued, “I found my way here, and the Historian graciously allowed me to stay. I have served him ever since. In fact, for one reason or another, all of the servants here are asylum seekers. If you ask it of him, the Historian will most likely allow you to remain here too.”

  “Live down here for the rest of my life?” I asked, shaking my head. “That might not be so bad under the circumstances, but I have to go do something horrible first. If I’m still alive when it’s over, I’ll think about it.”

  Havel nodded, and then asked, “Are you certain you won’t join your companions for ice cream and cake?”

  I looked at Alia again. Her eyes were still red, as no doubt were mine. I smiled and said, “I think we could both use some ice cream and cake.”

  The Historian’s servants had a knack for timing and, sure enough, when Alia and I arrived in the dining room, the table had just been set with dessert.

  “What’s the verdict?” asked Terry as Alia and I sat down.

  “Against better judgment,” I replied, taking a slice of dark chocolate cake, “Alia will be joining us again.”r />
  “So will they,” said Terry, nodding toward James and Ed Regis.

  James I could understand. He was a born and bred Guardian Knight, and after he had taken a bullet to help get Terry and Alia safely to the Historian, I could hardly deny him the right to choose his own doom.

  The Wolf was another matter entirely.

  “I’m sorry, Ed Regis,” I said, “but I lied to you when I said that you could have the Angel master alive. Even if it had been Randal Divine, we would never have let you take him into custody.”

  Ed Regis merely smiled, saying, “I know that.”

  “You already have more than enough information to deliver to your Wolf unit to regain their trust,” I pointed out. “I can’t stop you from telling them about Catherine. Once we get back to civilization, you can use what you learned here to get your life back and go hunt the Angel queen with your own people. You don’t have to come with us.”

  Still smiling, Ed Regis shook his head. “Assuming that we actually get through the Angels and return to civilization alive, I can guarantee that the Wolves will never take me back.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “All you have to do is prove that you haven’t been converted, which should be pretty easy since you’ll be spilling the secrets of the only master controller left.”

  “But I have been converted, Adrian,” Ed Regis said seriously. “By you, and by Alia, and by Terry and James and Merlin. I could never go back to hunting psionics for a living. Your sister will be my last.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t have to do this, Ed Regis. You don’t have to turn Guardian for us.”

  “No more than you have to hunt your sister,” Ed Regis replied evenly. “Besides, you’re going to need people experienced in this kind of thing. Don’t forget what I am.”

  “Terry?” I said, hoping she might talk some sense into the Wolf.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” Terry reminded me. “We can’t tell the Guardians or anyone else the truth about Randal Divine and Catherine. We can’t afford to let anyone find out what you are, so it’s just the five of us now.”

  “We’re all in this together, Adrian,” put in James. “It’s not just between you and your sister.”

  “Alright, Ed Regis,” I said slowly, “if everyone is in agreement, I suppose we could use a good soldier.”

  “You won’t regret it,” said Ed Regis, and to my own surprise I found myself believing him.

  Alia had noticed it first during our time together, but now even I could no longer recognize the man who had once tortured me with control bands. Ed Regis was one of us, as trustworthy and reliable as I could hope for in any man. As I looked around the table at the four people who now shared my darkest secret, I realized that I could ask for no better companions on this most terrible mission we were about to start.

  I said to them, “Just do me a favor, all of you, and stop calling Catherine Divine my sister, because she’s not. Not anymore.” I didn’t know if that would help me very much in dealing with the idea of killing Cat, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

  They nodded understandingly, and we finished our dessert.

  “Master Howell,” said Havel as we stood from the table, “the Historian wishes to speak with you again.”

  “Right now?” I asked. “I thought he meant in a few days, before we left this place.”

  “He wishes to speak with you alone this time, but I am to escort all of you to the waiting room.”

  We looked at each other. Terry and James shrugged. Whatever the Historian wanted with me, I would find out soon enough.

  Havel quietly escorted us back to the waiting room, where he asked the rest of my team to wait with him. Ushering me into the Historian’s office, Havel shut the doors behind me.

  The Historian was sitting in his armchair at the end of the low table. I quietly sat down on the sofa and faced him.

  “Welcome back, Adrian,” the Historian said good-naturedly, showing his missing front teeth as he smiled. “I can see a little sugar did you good.”

  I wondered why he didn’t speak telepathically like Alia always did when she was alone with me, but then I heard the Historian’s voice in my head say, “I am quite capable of speaking telepathically, Adrian. Even to crowds when needs demand.” Then he continued with his mouth, “But I like to speak aloud.”

  “So do I,” I replied evenly, hoping that he would take the hint and stop reading my mind.

  “You are wondering why I have asked you back here,” said the Historian. “It is for several reasons. First, I wish to apologize for what happened to your family as a result of me giving Ralph Henderson your surname. Know that I never bore you ill will, Adrian. I deal in information. I do not write the history.”

  Nothing personal, I thought wryly. I get it.

  If the Historian heard my thoughts, he didn’t show it. Instead, he said calmly, “I had offered to let you stay in this mountain for a few more days only because I had expected you to take much longer to come to your inevitable decision, or conclusion if that is what you prefer to call it. But even I sometimes misread people. Since your mind is already made up, there is little reason to keep you from departing this very day.”

  I could think of several reasons. We had no equipment, no food or water, and no strategy for breaking through the Angels waiting for us outside. I imagined that by now there were enough Seraphim out there for them to all hold hands and make a big circle around the Historian’s mountain.

  “You need not worry about the Angels, Adrian,” said the Historian. “It is my intention to allow you safe passage through them and back to your part of the world.”

  I stared at him incredulously. “You’re going to help us?”

  “Know that I would never have supplied the Guardians with your family name had they not been so desperate, but things are worse than ever now. This is the least reparation I can make to you for my mistake.”

  “But I thought…”

  “That I am neutral?” the Historian asked in an amused tone. “Just as many people incorrectly believe me to be some kind of oracle, many assume that I have taken a vow of neutrality. I have not. Such a vow would be impossible to keep. As you should know by now from your own failed attempts, there is no such thing as neutral. Existence alone negates the possibility. I merely dislike meddling in the natural course of events as long as some semblance of equilibrium is maintained.”

  “But it’s not!” I argued, forgetting my manners again. “And your information changes the course of this war all the time!”

  “I am well aware of the self-contradictory nature of my lifestyle!” the Historian snapped back. Then he shrugged, saying in a quieter tone, “That is what eccentric is supposed to mean. Believe me, if I used my powers, I would do much more damage than I would with my knowledge. I will not fight for you, Adrian. For you or the Guardians or the Angels or anyone else. Just this once, however, I will help you slip through the blockade.”

  “Thank you,” I said stiffly.

  “But I want something in return.”

  I looked at him apprehensively. “What?”

  “That you will see your mission to its bitter end or perish in the attempt.”

  “I was planning on doing that anyway,” I said evenly.

  The Historian smiled diabolically. “But now you must promise me, Adrian, and there is no breaking a promise with the Historian.”

  “So Terry told me,” I said. Then I asked carefully, “But why are you so interested in this, Mr. Historian?”

  The Historian frowned. “Do not try to hide your thoughts with words,” he chided. “You are wondering whether I was telling the truth when I told you that I do not know Catherine’s whereabouts.”

  Nodding, I said, “You told me that you were tracking all five master bloodlines carefully, and that the only one you lost was mine. That means you knew about the Harrow family all along. You knew who the Angels’ second master controller was back when the Guardians were looking for her. You knew that it w
as Angelina Harrow. You probably even knew exactly where she was living.”

  “I did know,” the Historian confirmed in a casual tone, “but I was disinclined to provide the Guardians with that information at the time because the balance of power had not yet tilted so far as to merit such direct hints. I was hoping for the Guardians to solve that mystery on their own.” The Historian grinned widely, adding, “And in the end, thanks in great part to you, they did.”

  The only part I had played in the Guardians discovering the identity of the Angels’ second master was that of being shot, caught, tortured and blinded by the God-slayers. The Historian didn’t need to make it sound like an accomplishment. I scowled at him.

  “It is true that I denied the Guardians information,” admitted the Historian, “but you are talking about a time when the balance of power still seemed recoverable. That was then and this is now.”

  “You really don’t know?” I asked.

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  “Fine,” I said. “But please answer my word question too. Why are you interested in this? What are you after?”

  “Equilibrium, Adrian,” replied the Historian. “I have watched this pointless conflict for seven centuries, which is a long time, even for me. Before the schism, the Guardian Angels were the bringers of peace and understanding for humanity. Now they are so busy killing each other that they are no different from power-hungry humans.” The Historian paused once, sighing quietly before asking me, “Do you know how many psionics there are in the world today?”

  I shook my head.

  “Just over a quarter of a million,” the Historian informed me. “Mostly found in Europe, Western Asia and now the New World. Two hundred and fifty thousand psionics, Adrian. Does that sound like very many to you?”

  “Well, sure,” I said unthinkingly.

  “There are more then seven billion people on this planet,” countered the Historian. “Seven billion people, and neither the Guardians nor the Angels of today will follow the old code. They cannot be permitted to rule humanity. You will kill the Angel master and restore the anarchy that will keep these wayward psionics in their place.”

  I asked, “If you’re not sworn to neutrality, why don’t you do something about it yourself?”