“Well, what are you waiting for,” she snapped, whirling around to glare at Sabastin. “Turn it on!”
Sabastin nodded, already at the controls. By the time she’d stepped off the steps, the machine was humming and whirring. The sound filled her with relief as she stalked across the room and poked Ian in the chest with her index finger.
“Why did you do that to him? Are you really that pathetic? Do you mean to take everything away from me?” She screamed in his face, but he remained calm and impassive. Soon, an awkward silence filled the air between them.
“Everyone has sins tying them down but to keep harping on about them is pointless. Truth be told, I didn’t want to fight Malcom, but he was being stupid.” Ian’s words were sharp and angry. “If I hadn’t stopped him, we’d probably all be dead.” He glanced passed her and fixed his icy blue eyes on Sabastin. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” Sabastin said, and Kim spun around, her hands clenched into fists as she stared at the older man.
“Well, he’d better recover, or I’ll kill you myself.” Kim turned her back on Sabastin in what she knew was childish rebuke. Almost instantly, she felt heat rise up her cheeks, and she shook her head. “Sorry…”
“It’s fine,” Sabastin said, walking up to her and putting his hand on her shoulder. “But, perhaps your time would be better spent stopping Jormungand before he reaches full power and kills your friends.” Sabastin’s words turned her cold as he moved to the control terminal in front of the three huge monitors. He typed something into the console, and the air in the middle of the room rent itself apart, leaving a glowing, green gash hanging there.
Ian shrugged when she looked at him and stepped into the portal. She sighed, shaking her head, before following him inside. For a moment, it felt like her body had been torn to shreds and reassembled. Her vision blurred into a mass of colors that stabbed into her brain like a rusty butter knife before snapping back into place.
Kim looked around quickly. She was in the middle of a war zone, or to be more accurate, the remnants of a war zone. Absently, she kicked a rock across the deserted plains. It skittered across the red earth, throwing up a cloud of dust.
“Ian, where are you?” she asked as she spun in a slow circle, looking for him.
“Behind you.”
She hadn’t realized it before, but as she turned and looked at him, her mouth dropped open. His face was a mass of sprawling cuts, and his skin was blotchy with painful looking bruises. Had he gotten all this in the fight with Mal? And why would they fight? Would Mal really go off and do something stupid? Sadly, as the thought entered her brain, she knew the answer. If Mal thought he was right, he wouldn’t hesitate to go off on his own…
“Why didn’t you say anything?” growled Kim irritably.
“You didn’t ask.” Ian smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Kim punched him. There was no way around it. Ian deserved to be hit. Kim wasn’t an overly spiteful person, but there were times in one’s life when someone needed to be hit. And unfortunately for Ian, she reasoned, he had needed to be hit.
“Don’t do that again. I don’t like it,” he replied, glancing at the spot where she’d punched him. The fingers of his right hand drifted down and ran over the pommel of his sword, and his eyes went cold and dark.
“Serves you right,” smarted Kim, turning from him. “So where do we go?”
“I’m not sure,” Ian said with a shrug. “Sabastin was supposed to send us to Amy. She’s got to be around here somewhere.”
Kim closed her eyes and concentrated, straining her ears for sounds, but the only thing she heard was the wind whistling over the scarred earth around them. She began walking, eyes still shut. She must have gone farther than she realized because when she stopped and opened her eyes, Ian was standing several meters behind her, staring.
She stopped and glared at him as he jogged over to her, a silly grin on his face.
“What’s so interesting?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Or are you just admiring the view?”
“What?” Ian said, confusion evident on his face. “I wasn’t…”
She shook her head and looked away as a horrible thought struck her. In the distance, red dust swirled into the air. “I shouldn’t be here. Not with you.”
“I’m sorry,” Ian said in the same way he had a million times before, but somehow, no matter how many times he said the words they just made her feel hollow and cold.
Tears began to leak down her cheeks, and she tried to wipe them away with the back of her hand. Ian stared at her for a minute before leaning forward and hugging her tightly. Kim tried to push away, but Ian held her tightly against his chest. After a few moments, Kim managed to pull herself away from him.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Kim yelled, her eyes teeming pots of fury.
“You looked like you needed a hug,” he replied calmly, and she hated him for it. Whenever he dealt with her it was always behind a wall of calm. Why couldn’t he just get angry and scream at her… just once…
She slugged him square in the face, and he stumbled backward, clutching his nose. Without warning, he lunged forward and tackled her to the ground. They wrestled with each other in the dirt until both were breathing hard. When they finally skidded to a halt, Ian was laying on top of her with both of her arms pinned on either side of her head.
“You need to stop, Kim,” he said, voice low and angry beneath the surface. “Before something happens that you don’t want to happen.”
“Bring back memories?” she asked and her voice was hard and full of fury.
He slapped her. His eyes filled with uncharacteristic rage, so cold and complete, it made her blood turn to ice. A look of horror overtook him, and he shook himself like a great beast before releasing her. Ian stood, his body shaking, and turned his back on her.
“Sorry,” he repeated and though his voice was calmer, there was an undercurrent of fury running through it. The wind began to whip through his near-white hair as he stood there seething.
Kim got to her feet, but she didn’t say anything. He glanced upward at the sky and sucked in a breath that seemed to shake his entire body.
“Stop trying to mess with my head. I’m not going to deal with your games anymore. I don’t remember what happened. I don’t remember even being at the party. Stop blaming me!” He turned around and stared at her. His eyes were deep wells of fury, each layer succeeded by a deeper hurt.
“I’d never drank before,” she said quietly.
“I care.”
Kim didn’t give any indication she’d heard what he said. She couldn’t. If she did, she might not be able to hold herself together. She darted off into the distance, sprinting away from him as fast as her legs could carry her. Ian chased after her, and as he did, she grew more and more frustrated with him.
She stopped, spinning around and facing him with tears welling in her eyes. She shook her head before looking at the ground as a horrible thought surfaced in her brain. She didn’t really regret sleeping with him, at least, not for the reasons everyone suspected.
“Ian… I know…” she murmured, her voice cracking midway. “But it doesn’t make it easier.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, letting loose an explosion of breath. “I am, really.”
“I know,” she said, tears dripping down her cheeks. “It would be easier if I could hate you for it, but every time I try… well, I just blame myself.”
“Kim, I was supposed to be your friend. But at that party, I wasn’t.” He shook his head. “I’m being honest when I say I don’t remember us getting together, but I saw the pictures.” He swallowed. “You didn’t have to go through it alone. I could have helped.”
“That’s the problem,” she replied, shaking her head as her fingers trailed over her stomach. “It isn’t that I regret sleeping with you per se… it’s because, well, I was stupid that night.” His eyes followed her hand and his eyes opened in horror. “We shoul
d have used protection, but we didn’t, and well…”
“No…” he whispered, and this time, it was he who couldn’t meet her eyes.
Malcom 01:06
Malcom’s mind spun violently. He could have sworn he was dead. In the background, he heard voices, gruff and nasty voices. He struggled to tell the voices exactly what he thought of them but found it difficult to speak. He moved a bit and found himself floating in what felt like warm gelatin.
Something exploded around him, sucking him in like a whirlpool. He hit the ground hard, reflexively digging his fingers into the plush, green carpet beneath him, fearful he would fall off the very earth itself.
Hesitantly, he stood and looked around the room. A small orange couch stared back at him, but more peculiar was the bright yellow bird perched on top of it. It ruffled its feathers, peering at him with dark beady eyes.
All at once it took off, its lithe body cutting through the air as it soared up the stairs. Malcom chased after it. He didn’t know why, but he had a near overpowering urge to follow. The staircase creaked under his weight, and as he looked up, the sky burst into bright white orange. Where had the ceiling gone?
The bird flew onward through the light and still Malcom followed. The light began to bear down on him, and he struggled to resist it. Soon it grew too strong to fight and pushed him to the floor beneath its brilliance.
He hadn’t noticed it before, but the bird had disappeared. The realization filled him with a profound emptiness unlike anything he had ever felt before. Malcom began to cry, tears streaming down his cheeks, unending, unyielding.
When he opened his eyes, he was in his room, but it was different. It looked more like how it did when he was ten years old. Dust, clothes, and various toys covered nearly every square inch of floor space. Cautiously, he made his way to his window and stared out.
Beyond his window was nothingness, nothing but white for miles and miles, an endless ocean of white. Absently, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and found a crumpled one-dollar bill.
The word ‘lucky’ was written in bright pink marker across the center. He weighed it in his hand. This was the same dollar his father had given him so many years ago. It was his lucky dollar. He sighed in relief and clutched the bill to his heart.
Malcom turned around and nearly fell to the floor in amazement. Before him stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was clothed in a long flowing white gown with a single golden band around her waist. Her ebony hair was streaked with purple and red and filled with flowers every color of the rainbow, almost as if a miniature garden had been planted there. She smiled at him, her blood red lips curling into a sly grin.
He could barely look at her, it seemed as though her skin was so bright he couldn’t focus on it directly. Finally, he looked toward the floor and stared at his shoes.
“Um where am I?” he ventured. No response. She walked up to him, and he shied away. Soon, he was backed against the wall with nowhere to go. Her smile was calm, almost soothing, but he felt unworthy of her presence.
“Please don’t…” his words squeaked out like mouse whispers. She reached forward and placed a single solitary fingertip against his forehead. Inexplicably, he was drawn closer to her, until their lips were almost touching. They stayed like that for several moments before she leaned into him and exhaled. Her breath filled him up, expanding his lungs to the point of bursting as he stood there, locked in her embrace. He closed his eyes, heat swimming through his body and energizing him.
When Malcom opened his eyes she was gone. Standing in front of him was a teenage boy about his age with shaggy locks of golden hair covering one eye, hiding it from view. He was bound in chains, his muscles straining against them, though it didn’t seem to be doing a lot of good. When the boy spied Malcom, he relaxed, and the straining chains fell loosely against his skin.
“So she succeeded in bringing you here,” the teen said, shaking his head, his golden mop of hair whirling around his head. He took a deep breath. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m supposed to be cryptic about it, but you can call me Caleb.” He shrugged. “I need you to free me before I dissolve completely.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Malcom asked, taking a step backward. “I don’t even know where I am.”
“You’re in your mind. I asked my friend to bridge me to someone who could get through the veil, if only for a moment.” The chains around him pulsed with blue light and fell away. He stretched, rubbing his wrists. “I know they aren’t really gone and this is all in my mind, well in your mind, but it sure feels good anyway.”
Caleb moved through the room toward the large wooden closet door. He thrust it open and screams filled the air. Inside the closet was a warzone. A burned out husk of a city filled his visions. Flames eviscerated the buildings within view, chewing into them and spewed smoke as black as pitch into the sky. Corpses littered the ground, civilian and soldiers alike. Off in the distance, lightning crackled through the air.
What was this place, and why was Caleb taking him into it? It definitely didn’t seem like it was a safe place to go, but then again, Caleb had said this was in his mind, right? Surely he couldn’t get hurt here.
Caleb glanced back at Malcom and gestured for him to follow. He stepped into the closet, and Malcom followed behind him. His room faded away behind him, leaving him surrounded by people fighting, bleeding, and dying as fires raged across the land, dousing the world in ash.
“What is this place?” Malcom asked, and Caleb shook his head.
“This is the future of Los Angeles if you don’t stop it.” Caleb swept his hand across the land. “This is Ragnarok if Loki gets free. You must stop him.” Caleb looked like he was about to say more, but before he could, thousands of arrows pierced him at once.
Malcom screamed in spite of himself, torn between the urge to run to the fallen teen and hide from the rain of arrows. Some hero he was. He should have charged right in, but something in the back of his mind told him that’d be a bad idea. Still, he hoped that was his mantle talking and not, well, fear.
Brilliant blue arrows continued to strike Caleb, falling from the sky like energetic bolts of lightning. Caleb fell to one knee, blue blood pouring from his body, and the scenery around him started to fade. He gritted his teeth, determination setting his jaw in a hard line. The scene around them froze in place, leaving their surroundings looking like a half melted painting.
“I don’t have a lot of time,” he said. “They are pulling me back in the bottle…” he shook his head. “Who would have thought the lord of space and time had an expiration date.” He waved his hand. The arrows vanished along with their wounds, and the scene around them snapped back into motion. Caleb looked up, pale and drained.
“Are you okay?” Malcom asked, taking Caleb’s arm, supporting him over his shoulder as they stood, gazing out at the destruction. In the distance, a huge dragon, all bone and sinew lumbered across the battlefield, sweeping aside armies of monstrous creatures as they leapt upon him, forcing him to the earth beneath an endless mass of bodies.
“No,” Caleb replied, gesturing with his free hand. A man dressed in lavish purples and yellows appeared before them lounging in a wooden rocking chair beneath a purple umbrella with an amber drink in his hand. He was a giant of a man, not seeming to descend from the same lineage as normal men. “This is Loki. I’d like you to note how he is sitting back, chilling, while the world burns.” Caleb pushed himself away as blood began to leak from his lips. “I’d like you to remember he causes all of this. And you tried to release him.”
“You’re dying!” Malcom called as Caleb fell to his knees, chains wrapping around him and binding him to the earth.
“What is death but another chain to be broken? Do not fear your death. What the caterpillar calls death, we call a butterfly.” As soon as the words left Caleb’s mouth, the scenery faded, leaving Malcom staring out through a haze of mur
ky raspberry jam.
He flailed his body, kicking frantically at the tube containing him as he tore the mask from his face. He surged upward, pushing off the grated bottom with his bare feet. He broke the surface a moment later and grabbed onto the lip of the vessel, sucking in great gasps of air.
Sabastin stood before him, one foot on the bottom step leading up toward him. Where was he? How was he with Sabastin?
“You’ve awakened at last, Mors,” Sabastin said, helping him out of the tank. The air was cold on his skin as he stood naked in the center of the room, slime dripping off his body and splattering on the ground.
“Yeah, I guess.” Malcom shook his head. “I had the weirdest dream. “I saw this guy named Caleb…”
“You saw Caleb?” Sabastin asked, reaching out and grabbing Malcom by the shoulders and nearly shaking him. “What did he tell you?”
“Basically? That he’s captured and we’re screwed.”
Sabastin swore in a language Malcom didn’t understand. Then, without saying a word, Sabastin made his way over to the big screens on the walls and hollered at them in the same language. Nothing happened. At least Malcom didn’t think anything happened because the monitors remained empty and dark.
“Sabastin, where is Kim?” He shook his head as jumbled memories hit him. He vaguely remembered fighting Polyphemus but that seemed so long ago. Everything after was sort of a blur.
“She went with Fames to find Bellum and take on Jormungand…” Sabastin shook his head. “But I’m not sure they’ll succeed without you, Mors.”
“Why is that?” Malcom asked as a bad feeling twisted in his stomach.
Sabastin pointed at the hammer sitting beside the tank. “Ian said you were wielding that hammer.”
Malcom shrugged. “Yeah, I took it from Polyphemus.” He shook his head. “So what?”
“You were wielding Mjolnir. It’s very name means to pulverize into dust,” Sabastin said as though naming the weapon made his words make more sense. When Malcom didn’t respond, Sabastin added, “Thor’s hammer.”
Death's Mantle: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Revelations Book 1) Page 15