by Montana Ash
The Order had made their way to Australia at the request of the International Domain Council just one year before the bloodbath. Chades had always been a part of their society and were a constant threat to wardens but their numbers had been steadily increasing, their attacks becoming more vicious and no one had known why. Their numbers seemed to be highest in the southern continent and they were congregating along the coast line here. His first year here had been a blur of fighting and hunting and fruitless investigations. Nobody could figure out where the chades were coming from or how they were gaining their strength. But more and more wardens were converting or being drained. Then one day fifty years ago, when hundreds of wardens and paladins from all over the world had gathered to discuss the crisis, the chades attacked en masse.
The foul creatures had pounced like starving, rabid dogs, ripping and shredding everything in their paths with poison-tipped claws. The world had narrowed into one black storm, as the writhing mass of dark shapes cut through seasoned warriors as if they were nothing. Wardens had been sucked dry, their vitality drained in a heartbeat into the empty voids of what used to be human mouths before they had become abominations. The earth had groaned, the wind had cried, water had bubbled and fire had roared as the elements tried to answer the warden's call for aid.
During the pandemonium, he and his Order had fought back to back, always keeping Flint between them, but the noble idiot just had to play the hero and move from their protective circle. He was struck down in an instant. His Order had broken formation in pain and vengeance and began striking out at anything that moved. Ryker had watched in horror as one by one his paladins fell under the weight of the chades. Ryker took a nasty slice to his face and had believed it was enough to kill him at the time. It was certainly what he wanted given that Flint had died in his arms, blood foaming through his lips and eyes glazed with agony.
He had become a whirlwind of violence, unleashing his fury onto the chades, as one by one, they began to fall in turn. He didn’t even realise when the massacre ended, but the silence had finally drawn his attention. When he tore his eyes from his fallen family and looked around, he thought his heart would stop on the spot. There was no way the wretched muscle could continue to beat when confronted with such gore. Hundreds of his brethren lay dead on the ground, stares fixed forever in sightless horror. The wizened husks of hundreds of wardens littered the blood soaked ground. And yet, there Ryker was, the sole beating heart in a field of silence.
By the time he had finished his tale, the sun had begun to set and the ocean was awash in reds, oranges and pinks. He was totally exhausted but in a good way, he acknowledged. Although he felt lighter and even relieved to finally purge himself of his past, he was terrified to face Max. He didn’t think he would be able to bear the look of disgust and shame on her face when she came to the realisation that he was a disgrace to his DNA, his lineage and his name. A paladin did not outlive his warden. It was the highest dishonour in their society. Unable to look at her and unable to question her, he simply continued to sit in silence for another few minutes, the only sounds the occasional caw of a seagull and the advance and retreat of the waves on the sand.
“You know what I think?” Max’s voice actually startled him and he turned to her more in reflex than anything else. But she continued on before he could form any sort of response, “I think you have served your warden, your paladins and your domain well. I think you have fought and bled and sacrificed for the Earth. I think the Great Mother seeks to reward those who serve faithfully, those who toil tirelessly for her cause.”
Ryker was shocked to his marrow. Seemed his fear of seeing disgust on Max’s face was senseless for she was responding formally, her words a soothing balm on his tattered soul. He wasn’t sure where she had heard about the Great Mother, but she couldn’t have given him a better compliment. He opened his mouth to respond, but for some reason only a croak came out. Shit, was he crying?
Max smiled gently in understanding and cupped his scarred cheek with soft hands, “I would grant your reward on the Mother’s behalf.”
Before he could formulate a response to that the warden raised herself up gracefully and straddled his lap, that pert bottom of hers nestling against his cock. She then raised both hands only to surround his face with her palms. Heat began to radiate from her skin and he felt a pleasant tingle spread throughout his body. His life flashed before his eyes, there was nothing else it could be. Wardens, paladins and chades he had met careened through his head at the speed of the light; he could hear screams as his Order was slaughtered all around him, feel the hot stickiness of his warden’s blood on his hands as he died, and feel the coldness seeping into his soul as he disgraced his knighthood. Perhaps she was killing him, he thought, perhaps that was her great reward. But almost immediately, the pain and terror and rage was replaced with a feeling of hope and healing and warmth. There was compassion and forgiveness and Ryker knew he was somehow touching an entity of great power and compassion. Was this the Great Mother? The creator of them all? Was Max somehow acting as a conduit in order to offer the priceless reward of healing and forgiveness?
He found himself ensnared in Max’s gaze as he allowed her to touch that cold, dark place inside of him. Once again, her eyes became like living opals, flashing fire with blues and greens and pinks against an almost white canvas. The warmth from her palm travelled from his ruined cheek and spread throughout his body. He couldn’t quite contain his small shudder as it streaked over his dick, resulting in a semi he hoped she wouldn’t notice – talk about inappropriate. Max’s lips twitched and her eyes sparked almost teasingly one last time before fading back to their normal shade. Dropping her hands, she took a deep breath and inspected his face before announcing ambiguously;
“Damn, I’m good!” She then proceeded to go sheet white and face plant straight into his arms.
TWENTY-SIX
Max woke to a live heavy metal concert inside her skull, complete with drums, bass and pyrotechnics. She moaned, placing her hands over her ears in an attempt to stop her brain from leaking out of them. What had she done last night to warrant such a nasty hangover? She couldn’t quite recall which meant she must have gotten stuck into the tequila again. Tequila was the devil’s work and she had made a pact with all that was holy never to touch the poison water again after the whole donkey-and-the-train incident! Clearly she had relapsed big time.
“Devil’s work?”
“Poison water?”
“Donkey-and-the-train incident?” The questions came from all around her, each sounding more incredulous than the last.
“Hush! Hush, spawn-of-diablo-water-voices! Be gone!” Max muttered, not even bothering to open her eyes to the loud-mouthed hangover intruders. How did they even know what she was thinking? Obviously they were also a part of the tequila conspiracy.
“Ah, yeah. We’re not a part of any devil water conspiracy, Max. You’re talking out loud … again.”
Now that amused voice did sound vaguely familiar. Where had she heard that voice before? Because thinking hurt too much, Max decided to bravely open her eyes in order to figure out this strange post-tequila puzzle. Immediately regretting the action, she squealed in insult as the light in the room attempted to fry her optic nerves.
“Ye Gods! My eyes! My eyes! It burns us!” She yelled dramatically and quickly covered them with her hands. Unfortunately, that now left her poor innocent ears unprotected and completely vulnerable to whatever sadist was in the room with her as he lent down and said loudly;
“Max, would you snap out of it?! You’re acting like a delinquent!”
“Ye Gods! My ears! My ears! It burns us!” She screamed this time, only to hear a series of muffled laughs and one huge sigh.
“She’s obviously going to be fine.”
Obviously going to be fine? What did that sadistic jerk know? Satan had used his terrible powers and lured her with the bad water again and – Max cut off her somewhat insane inner ramblings as the events of
the last few hours came rushing back to her. She had tapped into her seemingly endless pool of vitality and used it to right the wrong dealt to Ryker when he had lost his family. It wasn’t fair that he had to look into his mirror every day and see nothing but dishonour. It had been so long since she had used her powers to such an extreme that she had forgotten the consequences though. Especially as she had also used them not long before when she had her little tantrum. It was just too much energy expenditure with not enough intake.
“Has she passed out again? She’s not moving anymore.” Max was now able to identify the sadist’s voice. It belonged to Darius. Figuring she couldn’t stay laying on her back with her hands over her eyes forever, she decided to bite the bullet and try the whole seeing thing again. She was laying on the lounge in the living room and there were six giants looming over her. She sighed. They were all so pretty.
Axel started to laugh hysterically which Max found to be a little inappropriate given the circumstances. “What are you laughing at Chuckles?”
“You’re still talking out loud. You said we were pretty. Well, sadly I am no longer the pretty boy of the gang.” He chuckled. “Ryker gets that title now.”
Max scrunched up her nose, “Huh?” She pushed herself up and bit back a groan as every muscle protested. “Did I have another seizure?”
“No. You just passed out. You probably used up the one dose of vitality from Diana. You need another hit.” Cali explained, settling next to her. “Go ahead.”
This time Max didn’t even hesitate, she tugged on the blue threads and felt a lovely coolness seep into her bones, soothing and relaxing. This whole vitality thing was sweet! A movement to her right drew her attention and she almost passed out again. Now she knew what Axel had been referring to. Ryker stood in front of her, tall and strong … and whole. His fallen angel face was unmarred, his tan skin smooth and scar free. Although a part of her mourned the loss of the sexy scar, another part of her rejoiced that he no longer had to look in the mirror every day and be reminded of the worst day of his life.
“How did you do it?” Ryker asked, awe lacing his voice as he touched his face.
Max shrugged, feeling uncomfortable from the gratitude wafting her way. She didn’t really understand where the words or the urge to heal Ryker had come from. She just knew she had felt an urgent burning need to relieve the paladin’s grief and had followed her gut. It wasn’t the first time she had felt another … presence and not the first time she had healed like that but knowing she was already an oddball, she went with a simpler answer;
“Life heals.”
“She’s right. As a Life Warden, she has dominion over the human body.” Diana said. “I saw Verity use his powers to heal countless times over the centuries.”
Max frowned, “Centuries? What do you mean centuries?” She turned to Darius – the walking encyclopaedia. “What does she mean centuries?”
“Ah, well. Wardens can practically live forever because they are continually regenerating with vitality. And a paladin’s lifespan matches that of their warden if they are bound to them. I’m over a thousand years old.”
Max laughed, looked around the room and laughed again. No way. “No way! I don’t believe what your shovelling there Darius, no matter how convincing you sound when you use your Raden voice.”
“My Raden voice?”
“Yeah. When you get all serious, your voice gets lower like this.” She dropped her voice a few octaves in a piss-poor imitation of him. “You sound like Raden from Mortal Combat.”
Those that understood her pop culture reference laughed – Cali, Diana, and Lark – but Darius just looked worried. “Don’t worry, it’s totally hot.” She winked and watched him blush.
“How old are you?” Ryker asked, still touching his right cheek like he couldn’t believe the scar was gone. She bet he would spend the night preening in front of the mirror, not that she could blame him.
“I’m forty … something.”
“Forty-something? How do you explain your young appearance?” Darius taunted.
Max smirked, “Clean living.”
Lark leaned over and unexpectedly, inexplicitly kissed her on the cheek. “Come on lovely. Let’s get some food into you.”
“Food?” Max perked right up and happily followed the tight butts into the kitchen.
Once they were seated and munching on oven-cooked pizza, Ryker spoke up, “I think it’s time you tell us a little bit more about yourself, don’t you?”
She paused, ham pizza half way to her mouth, “Why?”
Ryker focused his chocolate eyes on her. “You helped me in ways I don’t think I fully understand yet. I think it’s time we did the same for you. Besides, I just spilled my guts. Time to reciprocate, huh?”
Of course he had to ruin it with that mouth of his. “So this is quid, pro, quo?”
“Not at all. Don’t get prickly on us.”
She was not prickly!
“We want to help you Max. Information is knowledge. You’re an author, you must believe that doctrine.” Lark said, appealing to her logic and ego. The man knew her well.
She took an overly large bite out of her pizza in order to buy some time. She knew they were right. But could she trust them, like really trust them?
“You can trust us.” Ryker assured her as if reading her thoughts.
She sighed, “What do you want to know?”
“Where are you from?”
“Where have you been living?”
“When did your seizures start?”
“Who taught you to fight?”
The questions came fast and furious and Max realised how desperately curious they all were. Clearly they had been masking their need to question her. In order to ensure she could create a shield? Control her powers? Give her information? She started to feel a little guilty for her earlier harsh thoughts. They really had been providing for her since she arrived. Taking a deep breath she began where any good story did; at the beginning.
“I don’t know who my parents are or where I’m from. My first memory is waking up in a park in Sydney about twenty-five years ago. I was fifteen, maybe sixteen and I was wearing plain black clothing. I didn’t have any shoes or money or any identification. I didn’t know my name or where I was. I wandered around aimlessly for days, watching and listening and trying to understand the world around me. I could talk but it took me a long time to figure out what everything meant. I was just one of hundreds of nameless, faceless people roaming the streets. Some people were kind – gave me food and showed me to shelters. Some people were not – preying on the vulnerable. I felt sick most of the time, tired and weak with constant headaches and muscle twitches. I noticed that I always felt better when I was out in the open, so I stayed in the parks as much as I could. By the time a police officer was able to round me up and send me to child services for the first time, I had found my first friend. He was a ragged little mongrel stray.
“He was skinny, ugly and cranky but he would follow me everywhere and was eternally loyal. When the police took me away they took him away too. I couldn’t read or write but I could copy so when they asked me my name I copied down the only three letters that I knew … M.A.X. They were the letters on my little friend’s collar.” Pausing in her story, she dared to look around the room. Naturally, she had the undivided attention of its occupants. Their expressions were rapt but also held a common theme of disbelief and pity. The disbelief she could handle, the pity? Not so much, so she forged ahead;
“I was in and out of group and foster homes and moved from school to school only to eventually find myself back on the streets a couple of years later. I managed to go to a local TAFE to get my high school certificate but I was too restless, was too sick and had too much barely restrained energy to stay in one place too long. I began to realise I could do things other people couldn’t, like feel their emotions and understand animals. Nobody believed me of course and my powers were so unpredictable I could never prove it. It was the lac
k of control that had me learning meditation and martial arts from my sensei, Daiki in Japan. I’m a fourth dan black belt amongst other things. Turns out I needed it, for creatures of nightmares began dogging my every step twenty years ago and attempting to suck out my very soul it seemed. I’ve managed to write and draw a bit over the years, enough to keep me from starving and a roof over my head but I haven’t been able to stay in the one place for more than a couple of months at a time. I’ve never met anyone else like me before and never seen another paladin before you guys either.” Max finished her tale in a quiet voice, “I thought I was all alone.”
The stillness in the room was stifling and Max couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact. Did they believe her? Did they think there was something wrong with her? Did they think she was lying? She felt her pulse speed up and her breath began to puff out in pants. She was going to have a panic attack, going to hyperventilate right there in the kitchen!
“You named yourself after your dog?”
Max whipped her head around to Axel, only to find him balancing his chair on its two back legs like he didn’t have a care in the world. He was smiling and his blue eyes held their usual cocky mirth, “You know Indiana Jones did the same thing right?”
Max felt the breath leave her body in a rush as she laughed a little hysterically, “I didn’t know that at the time. I didn’t even know it spelt Max.” The unnatural stillness had dissipated thanks to Axel and the others took it as permission to ask questions.
“You don’t remember anything? As in nothing?” Darius asked gently but intently.
She shook her head. “Not a thing. I’ve tried hypnosis and regression therapy but it’s like there’s nothing to remember, like I wasn’t there until I woke up in that park.”