by H B Lyne
'Eyes, relax,' she said, placing a hand on his arm. 'It's not even eight in the morning.'
The rest of the pack got up and they ate a sleepy breakfast together. Eyes had picked up baked goods on his way over and Stalker tucked into a stack of croissants.
When they were all refreshed and ready, they bundled into Eyes' car and set off for the coast. They crossed the river and drove through St. Catherine's and the suburbs beyond, passing right out of Caerton and onto the scenic coast road to the west. They hardly spoke and Stalker knew she wasn't the only one filled with apprehension. They were seeking out a shifter who had been exiled under suspicion of committing the worst crime possible for their kind, that of allying with the most dangerous demons with the intention of bringing about the end of the world. She didn't know what they would find, what kind of shifter he would be. But she felt in her gut that he was dangerous, regardless of whether or not he was guilty of the crimes of which he was accused.
Eyes clearly knew exactly where he was going, he drove with purpose and no hesitation. Stalker watched out of the window, staring at the tumultuous sea as it crashed against the cliffs further along the coast. She saw the house when they were about a mile away. It stood high on a cliff, stark white against a crop of fir trees. The road twisted and turned as it followed the shore and then wound its way up the steep hill, through dense forest.
They had lost sight of the house and Eyes slowed down to look for a driveway. He nearly drove right past it, it was tucked away on a blind bend on the right, just a narrow dirt track that you wouldn't notice if you weren't looking for it. Eyes slammed on the brakes and turned sharply into the drive.
'Are you sure this is right?' Stalker asked. It didn't look like a driveway befitting the magnificent house on the clifftop. Eyes drove slowly, the car jostled about on the rough track. Eventually the trees thinned and the track levelled out a little. They turned a corner and emerged from the woods, there before them stood the huge house, and just beyond it was the steep cliff down to the sea.
Eyes drove up to the house and parked the car. No one moved, they all sat and stared up at the house. It was the biggest home Stalker had ever seen up close. It was built from white stone and had sweeping stone steps leading up to a balcony and the main entrance. To one side was a circular conservatory with huge windows facing out over the sea, and the house rose two storeys above that.
Eventually Eyes opened his door and stepped out of the car, and the others followed. He gave them all a look of fierce determination and led them up the steps to the front door. It was solid oak and next to it was an old fashioned bell on a rope. He rang it and Stalker held her breath, waiting for an answer.
A minute later the door slowly opened and before them stood a man of medium height and build, with very neatly cut white hair and an immaculate silver beard. He was wearing a dark blue silk robe tied at the waist, and white hair curled from his bare chest. Stalker felt the power radiating off the shifter. She had been in the presence of powerful elders before, and felt immediately subservient to them, but this shifter rivalled some of the most powerful fae and demons that Stalker had encountered, like the Lord-of-Storms-and-Rain, who was basically the god, Thor.
Her breath caught in her throat and she felt the strong desire to run back to the car. It seemed the others felt much the same and they had all taken a step back when this shifter had opened the door.
'Can I help you?' His voice was steady and deep with a genuine edge of curiosity.
'We're looking for Father Ash,' Eyes said. Stalker could tell he was trying hard to sound confident.
'Well, you've found him. It's not often I find five young shifters on my doorstep early on a Saturday morning. Won't you come in?' He held the door wide for them and stood back to admit them.
Stalker grabbed Weaver's hand and held her back. This didn't feel right at all. Weaver glanced at her and squeezed her hand to reassure her, and they followed the others inside. The entrance lobby was huge, with a marble floor and a grand staircase leading up before splitting in two directions and circling back around. Father Ash led them into a drawing room to the right and offered them tea.
'No thank you,' Eyes said quickly, speaking for all of them. Stalker swallowed hard, her nerves a knot in the pit of her stomach. It was probably wise not to accept any food or drink from Father Ash. She looked around at her surroundings. The room was spacious, with three huge, white sofas and several spindle-legged coffee tables. The walls were adorned with huge, framed paintings. The Lightning Lords sat down, taking up two of the sofas, and Stalker glanced at each of them in an effort to judge their thoughts. Everyone was nervous and she knew that Father Ash would be able to tell, as no one was hiding it particularly well. 'Thank you for inviting us into your home,' Eyes said. 'I apologise for the unannounced visit.'
'Not at all,' Father Ash said, waving a hand dismissively. He sat down in the centre of the third sofa and leaned forward on his knees. 'As I don't know you, I must assume that this is not a social call. Who are you and what can I do for you?'
He was so polite and well-spoken, his manner was easy and amiable. Stalker began to relax a little. She realised that she had been expecting someone rather different, someone cold and hard, battle-worn and bitter. He seemed to be none of those things.
'We are the Lightning Lords of St. Mark's and we need to find the Scroll Archive. We were led to believe you might know its location,' Eyes said. He spoke a little quickly, another sign of his nervousness. Father Ash sat up straight and drew a deep breath. He watched Eyes shrewdly for a moment and Stalker watched him. She tried to reach out with her senses and do what Shadow's Step had taught her, to look into someone's soul and find the thing that was most true to them in that moment. She knew they couldn't trust him, no matter how friendly he might seem, and one day it might be useful to understand him better. But she couldn't see inside him at all. It was as if there was a solid brick wall behind his eyes, blocking access to his inner most being.
His eyes flickered over to her and locked with hers. She knew at once that he had sensed her attempt to read him, but there was no hint of malice in his face, no warning to stop, just a simple acknowledgement. She looked away, embarrassed.
'The Lightning Lords? What happened to the Blue Moon?' the powerful elder asked. Stalker felt a stab to her chest for just a moment. All of the shifters in Caerton knew what had happened without them having to tell anyone. For some reason, she was surprised that this powerful shifter didn't know, but she realised how foolish that was, given that he was living in exile.
'They were killed by the Phoenix Guard of the Furies,' Eyes said, his voice steady and detached, which impressed Stalker greatly. She didn't think she could speak like that of them yet.
'I see,' Father Ash replied. He looked at each of them briefly, reading their reactions. Stalker saw his cheek twitch slightly, the tiniest hint of emotion, but she couldn't tell what it was. 'Flames-First-Guardian is gone, then?'
'He is,' Wind Talker replied, coolly. There was a long, heavy silence.
'I do know where the Scroll Archive is,' Father Ash said suddenly. 'Why do you want access to it?'
'It's not for us, exactly. The city's remaining Scroll Keepers don't know where it is and they would like to. We are simply trying to help them.' It was Wind Talker who spoke and Stalker glanced over at him and Eyes on the other sofa. Eyes didn't seem to object to Wind Talker speaking up.
'Isn't that generous of you.' It wasn't a question. Father Ash looked at Wind Talker with scepticism written on his face. 'Is there nothing in it for you?'
'Perhaps,' Wind Talker went on. 'Perhaps all of Caerton's shifters would benefit from the information stored in there.'
'Perhaps,' Father Ash said with a knowing smile. 'I will share its location only with a Scroll Keeper, and only if you youngsters will do something for me.'
'What would that be?' Eyes asked, his voice edged with caution.
'You want something that is missing, well so do I. Find
me the skull of a member of the Spiral Hand that I executed ten years ago.'
Stalker held back a gasp. She felt Weaver tense up beside her. Claws rubbed a hand over his face and Wind Talker and Eyes exchanged disbelieving glances.
'That seems an unfair exchange, with all due respect,' Eyes said after a moment. 'How on earth are we to find a ten-year-old skull?'
'How you do it is your business,' Father Ash said, his eyes twinkling slightly. 'That is my price.'
'What was their name?' Wind Talker asked.
'Spirals-of-Bright-Agony,' Father Ash replied with a flash of a predatory smile.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Stalker and Weaver looked at each other discreetly. Stalker felt the hairs on her neck standing up and nerves fluttering in her stomach. She didn't think it would be wise to alert Father Ash to the fact that the name was alarmingly familiar, so she kept her cool. Eyes and Wind Talker also exchanged nervous looks. Claws looked none the wiser, he hadn't yet been introduced to the haunted painting at Grove Street.
'Right,' Eyes said at last. 'Well, leave it with us. Do you have a number that we could contact you on if we find the skull?'
'Of course,' Father Ash said with a smile. He moved smoothly over to a beautiful old bureau and returned a moment later with a small card, which he handed to Eyes. Eyes stood up as he took the card and the rest of them did likewise. Stalker was relieved to be leaving. As polite and friendly as Father Ash seemed, the situation was far from comfortable.
He showed them to the door and parting pleasantries were exchanged. The Lightning Lords climbed quickly into the car and Stalker looked out of the rear window to see Father Ash watching them go from the door.
'Do you think he knows?' she said suddenly, as they turned onto the main road.
'Knows what?' Claws asked.
'That Flames kept a part of Spirals-of-Bright-Agony in a painting in his attic,' Wind Talker replied.
'What?' Claws snapped.
'Maybe he disposed of the remains too,' Wind Talker suggested, voicing something that Stalker was just beginning to wonder herself.
'That is pure speculation,' Weaver said. 'We really don't know that for sure. Just because he had a painting with that shifter's madness trapped inside it, doesn't mean he had the corpse too.'
'No, I know,' Eyes replied. 'But it's the best lead we've got on what would otherwise be us looking for a specific skull in an unmarked graveyard of thousands of corpses.'
'I don't believe in coincidences,' Wind Talker said. 'I don't think he realised that we may have already come across something of the shifter, but he wants us on a quest, he quite possibly wants to lead us to an important discovery of our own.'
'Why?' Stalker asked, puzzled by this.
'I think he likes us and wants to teach us something.' Wind Talker shrugged.
Stalker considered the possibility. It sounded reasonable, it sounded like the sort of thing an elder of their kind might do. It sounded like an initiation task. But what might he be trying to initiate them into? The Spiral Hand?
They got back to the house and Wind Talker retrieved the painting from the attic. The five of them stood around the box, none of them willing to open it.
'Will it have, sort of, recharged?' Stalker asked, voicing the concern they shared.
'What are you talking about?' Claws asked, a deep frown creasing his brow.
'Open it,' Wind Talker said, pushing the box across the kitchen table towards Claws. Stalker watched Wind Talker carefully, trying to read him. She wondered what he was thinking and why he was leading Claws into this. She readied herself, knowing she might have to shift form to contain Claws if the painting did to him what it had done to Wind Talker.
Claws cautiously flipped the box open, exposing the dizzying painting. Stalker tried not to look at it, fixing her eyes on Claws. His face strained into a painful expression and his arms went totally rigid, his fists clenched hard. A low whimper clawed its way out of his throat and he began to tremble. Stalker quickly closed the box and got ready to grab hold of him; she noticed the others twitching nervously as well as they waited to see what would happen.
Just as she thought she was going to have to intervene, Claws took a slow, deep breath and the trembling subsided. His stubborn refusal to give in to the beast within had served him well, and he was able to retain control. He blinked a few times and pressed his fingers to his temples.
'What the fuck was that and why do I feel like I'm coming off some very intense drugs?'
Stalker laughed and gave him a gentle shove.
'That was The-Madness-of-Spirals-of-Bright-Agony. You have now been formally introduced.'
'Huh,' Wind Talker grunted. He opened the box again and peeked inside with one eye closed. Nothing happened and he opened it all the way so they could all look at it again.
'You know, we might be able to use it to defend the house,' Weaver suggested. 'We could rig it so that it falls down in front of people who open the front door and it'll send them running.'
'Bit of a problem for any innocent bystanders outside though,' Eyes said with a smirk.
'I'm joking,' Weaver said with a smile, and Stalker couldn't help but chuckle.
'I'm amazed that you held yourself together,' Wind Talker said, eyeing Claws up carefully.
'He didn't do so well,' Stalker said conspiratorially and Claws let out a snort of laughter.
'Okay,' Eyes said, his tone very business-like. 'So, we have this. Where do we even begin looking for the body?'
'How about Crescent Park?' Stalker suggested hesitantly. 'I mean, if that's where our kind usually perform burials then maybe there are other remains there too.'
'No,' Weaver shook her head. 'The Blue Moon aren't really buried there, they were transported to another realm from there, using the place's unique quality. The idea is that no one knows where their bodies ended up so no one can find them on purpose.'
'That wouldn't happen with an executed enemy,' Wind Talker said quietly. 'Bones have power, the Scroll Keepers understand that better than anyone. That's why Father Ash wants the skull. The body will be buried somewhere safe, somewhere where the hunters who caught him could keep an eye on it, protect it.' His voice dipped away at the end and almost as one, the five of them turned to stare out of the kitchen window.
'No,' Weaver whispered, her voice full of disbelief. 'It can't be.'
'It can't be that easy. Can it?' Stalker said, glancing around at the others.
'Let's find out.' Eyes strode to the door and they filed out into the back garden. The perfectly neat and well-tended square of earth in the centre of the garden was wet from the steady rainfall they had had. 'Which side of the veil?'
'Hepethia,' Wind Talker said, with certainty.
They crossed over, a real sense of urgency fuelling them. Stalker's heart was racing, though she wasn't sure how much of her anxiety was coming from her pack mates and how much originated with her.
Stalker began digging up the soaked soil with her bare hands and Wind Talker got down to help her. She became almost frenzied as she dug, hoping to find nothing, desperate to not have a dead body buried in their garden, and yet yearning for something in their lives to be simple and achievable. Her fingers scraped against wood suddenly and she stopped and looked at Wind Talker. They only paused for a moment before continuing with even more urgency.
'It's a coffin,' Wind Talker said quietly.
The others moved closer as Stalker scraped the soil away and revealed more of the wooden box. It reminded her of her initiation into Odin's Warriors, and a shudder went through her at the possibility that whoever was inside it had been buried alive.
As she and Wind Talker ripped up the lid her fears were put to rest, the poor fellow had clearly been decapitated before he was buried. His skull was resting in the middle of his chest.
Bones were all that were left. Stalker carefully picked up the skull and lifted it from the grave. There was a faint sigh all around them and she looked up in alarm. She
felt the veil ripple slightly.
'What was that?' she asked, panic filling her. She scrambled up out of the grave and looked around anxiously. Everyone else was doing the same.
'I don't know,' Wind Talker whispered. Stalker usually counted on him and Weaver to know the answers to these things, but Weaver looked just as blank.
'Did we just release something?' Stalker asked.
'Maybe,' Weaver said quietly. 'But maybe that's not a bad thing.'
'Do we all think that this is the right skull?' Stalker asked, holding it up to examine it.
'I think so,' Eyes said. Everyone else agreed.
'Well, let's get this grave covered up again, shall we?' Stalker suggested. Everyone helped to refill the grave. The urgency was gone and Stalker moved slowly, suddenly exhausted, her limbs aching.
'Let's not let Father Ash know about this just yet,' Eyes said, his voice filled with caution.
'No,' Wind Talker said. 'We don't want to let him know it was quite so easy.'
Stalker rolled her eyes in disbelief. It was all about politics, so much game playing and she had no patience for it. If she had her way, they would get the skull straight back to Father Ash that afternoon and crack on with finding the Scroll Archive. Did they really have time to spare for these games? But there was no arguing with these two once they had set their minds on something.
Stalker showered before she had to go to work that afternoon. She hated to have to go back to her human life after the morning's events, but she needed the money and she wanted to keep that connection to her humanity. Even her vial of still waters didn't help much that afternoon. She felt anxious and was filled with adrenaline, which she tried to use to her advantage in teaching her more advanced students some more aggressive moves.
When she finished work, she didn't want to go straight back to the house. She had to run off some steam first, so she shifted into her fox form and ran the borders of the territory. She had hoped to see Pursuit-of-Midnight-Solitude, but she didn't feel her calling to her at all and had to content herself with a normal patrol. It was a clear night and bitterly cold. The stars pierced the slight haze but there was no moon. Stalker felt Artemis watching her, even with no visible eye in the sky. This was her moon, she felt stronger, faster, quieter and more connected to everything.