Silver Serpent

by Michael DeAngelo

  As soon as he felt the grip on his hair subside, Gerard set to work. He heaved the man up over his shoulder, and sent him flying into the tank of water. The woman—the water over her head by then—opened her eyes again. They went wide when she saw the huge crack that the killer’s body had made in it.

  While Antonio shook out of his daze, the constable reached down, and untied the straps that kept his legs fastened to the chair. The killer leapt to his feet, then, despite his age, and in a bout of rage, he swung out at Gerard. His fist landed on the man’s jaw, and the constable nearly tipped backward over the chair. He managed to steady his legs though, and when another punch came from the other direction, he didn’t budge.

  It was only when Antonio dared to swing again that he realized how difficult besting Gerard would be. His knuckles flew out, and collided against the constable’s jaw, but it didn’t meet the resistance of bone or even flesh. Instead, his fist pushed through, and water cast out from the man’s face—indeed, it seemed his face had become water.

  Antonio jerked upright, and stepped back, in awe of what Gerard was. At once, the tanned tones of the constable’s flesh turned a cool blue. Even his eyes turned a liquid white as he stared down the fellow who promised to kill him.

  “Now Mister Purdell, let’s be reasonable,” the killer said.

  “Who is this Purdell?” Gerard asked. His voice sounded garbled and strange, like it was disguised beneath the violent rush of a waterfall. He reached out, and grabbed Antonio around the throat, smashing him up against the glass tank. “You’re dealing with Riptide now,” he snarled.

  Before Antonio could offer up another protest, he was hoisted off the ground, caught in the terrible grasp of that otherworldly man. He couldn’t catch a breath as Gerard squeezed harder, and no amount of resistance could free him.

  The woman held onto her breath, hoping against all odds that she could survive. The water in her eyes obstructed her vision, but she could see that man who planned on killing her rise further into the air, past that long crack in the glass.

  Gerard lifted his free hand, and held it before Antonio. The choking man looked down through tear-stricken eyes, struggling to wheeze in any air before everything went dark.

  He was given a reprieve, then. The killer was still held upright, but Gerard’s grip weakened. Antonio gasped—and inhaled the first liter of a torrent of water. Riptide’s arm burst forth like a geyser, drowning the man faster than the woman in the glass cage. In moments, Antonio’s body went limp, and the liberated constable tossed him aside like refuse.

  The woman in the glass tank shuddered as she resisted the urge to breathe. She knew that time was running out, and that water would be running through her lungs in a matter of moments.

  As she took in that breath, and it was air that she inhaled, a feeling of elation overwhelmed her. She heard the water dispense from the back of the tank, and heard her savior approach.

  “Thank you,” she gasped as he reached out to unfasten the straps that kept her bound. “Thank you so much.”

  He didn’t say anything as he moved from her wrists to her ankles. Once she was free of that awful seat, he stood her up and pressed her closer to the glass. Without hesitation, he clutched the chair and heaved upward, ripping it apart where it was bolted into the ground. It flew from the tank, and landed in tatters behind them.

  That woman breathed a sigh of relief, and covered her body with her liberated arms.

  She couldn’t have expected Gerard to grasp her by her hair and bring her closer. His embrace was powerful, and he pressed his lips against hers. For a moment, everything seemed to stop as she worked through what was transpiring.

  It wasn’t a romantic gesture, though, she knew. When he pushed harder against her, until she was pressed up against the glass, he moved his hands down to her wrists, wrenching them from the places she was hiding. No, this was carnal and wild.

  She tried to push back, but Gerard didn’t budge. That unfortunate woman turned to the side, and gasped for another breath of air.

  “Stop,” she pleaded. “Please stop!”

  Those were not the words that the constable heard, though.

  “Take me, Riptide. Do whatever you want with me. Consume me in your water. Sate your hunger.”

  He did as instructed, dragging his teeth against her neck.

  While the woman winced in pain, she saw the water begin to rise once more.

  *****

  The lad couldn’t deny his fatigue. His mind wandered back and forth through the events of that evening as they passed farther beyond the twilight. He stifled a yawn as he recalled walking back out of the castle, into the courtyard. The light from a guard’s lantern just missed him, and he wondered how he could explain escaping from his home at that late hour—and in that attire, no less.

  When he passed beneath the arch of the wall that shielded his home, he heard the hissing click of a tongue behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Watcher perched atop the bend of the wall.

  “You blend in just about anywhere in that form, don’t you?” the prince asked.

  “It comes in handy,” Rowan said in that monstrous voice. “What about you? What’s with all the red?”

  Kelvin looked at himself and shrugged. “This comes in handy when I don’t have access to the green outfit. I figured we didn’t have time to go to Silver Serpent’s hideout—this would do.” By reflex, he tapped on some other parts of his ensemble to verify they were all still there.

  The Watcher leapt from the archway and landed in the street with a thud. Once there, he brought up those stone wings, covering his body. When he whipped them out again, they were cast off like crumbling gravel. The man beneath was left behind while the monster disintegrated around him. Rowan wore a roguish grin and waved the prince on.

  Together, the pair traveled for some time, and Kelvin wondered how close he was to the pier the Naiad’s Gift was moored at. He gazed in the direction of the sea and reflected on whether the Lockspark—and Marin—had ever arrived.

  When Rowan stopped before a derelict warehouse, the prince wasn’t even aware they had reached their destination.

  “What are we waiting for?” Kelvin asked. “The sooner we get to your hideout, the sooner we can see whether this member of the Brotherhood is to be trusted.”

  “Then we won’t have to wait long,” the other fellow bade. “We’re here.”

  The young man in red peered at the building, seeing how far into disrepair it had sunk. Cracks lined the foundation, and vines crept around the corners of the walls. Kelvin wasn’t certain the entrance could bear the weight above it if the door was opened.

  “Scala worms, you said,” he mused. “Are we sure there aren’t any still in there?”

  Rowan grinned. “If there are, I suppose they may have already eaten the defector from the Brotherhood. I’m not sure if we’d be able to consider that a victory of some sort. What are you worried about, though? I’m the creature made of stone.”

  Kelvin stifled a chortle. “When you want to be. Let’s get on with it.”

  The former builder opened the door, listening to the creak of the wood and the protest of the building around them. He swept his arm to the side to allow the prince to pass, but he saw that prominent eyebrow rise even behind the black domino mask. He nodded and led the way.

  Emptied of all its contents, the single large room amplified their footsteps, sending echoes to each corner of the warehouse. Both of the men walked on the balls of their feet, but they could not muffle the sound. Yet, in spite of that, it seemed too quiet in the building. Kelvin reached up and grasped his bow, swinging it over his shoulder.

  Rowan sensed his unease and held out his hand, shaking his head.

  As soon as he attempted to dissuade his companion from allowing his anxiety to move him, he found a reason to allow it to run wild. A hefty hammer swung around the nearest loadbearing pillar, and it was by reflex alone he caught the handle in his hand before the mallet struck h
im in his face.

  The man who whirled around with that weapon teetered off balance, losing hold of the hammer and tumbling to the floor. He stifled a growl and rolled away, wincing as he came to a stop.

  “I thought I told you to take it easy,” Rowan said.

  As the injured fellow climbed to his feet, he braced against the pillar he leapt out from. “Brielle didn’t think the Brotherhood would be able to track us down when we tried to flee the city, but they found us. I’m not taking any chances anymore.”

  Behind the red mask, Kelvin’s eyes widened when he noticed who Rowan had rescued. He brought his hand forward, ready to reach over his shoulder and snatch an arrow from his quiver at a moment’s notice.

  Thoro noticed the trepidation the costumed vigilante exuded, and he stepped away from the pillar, favoring his injured leg. “Go on then. Put an arrow right through me. It’s more than I deserve, and it’ll put me out of my misery.”

  “It’s not your job to determine his guilt or what justice should be doled out to him,” Rowan reminded. “Thoro, you said you wanted to talk to the Silver Serpent or her companion. He’s here, so let’s talk.”

  The excommunicated member of the Brotherhood clenched his jaw shut before limping back to the pillar. As he braced himself upon it, he groaned, closing his eyes. “It’s just as well. You’re a horrible shot.” Before the disguised prince could react to that offense, Thoro growled and offered a nod. “All this started that night when I first saw you, you know? If it was just the Silver Serpent that night, maybe things would have been different. But we wouldn’t have learned what a monster the man pulling the strings is right now.

  “I take it by now you know what the Arcanax Compendium is,” he went on. “It’s what Jerrod Bodan was after the night we ambushed your silver-clad champion. We didn’t know it at the time, though. We didn’t even know fighting her was on the agenda. He sent us to that part of Argos just to be a distraction. But the Arcanax Compendium was always what he was after. I don’t know how he knew about it, and I don’t know how he knew how to use it, but use it he did, and we all know what happened afterward. That wave of color in the sky stretched far into the city, and it made heroes and monsters of ordinary people.

  “But what if that was just the beginning?” Thoro asked. “All the moves Jerrod has been making these past few weeks? It’s to try and amplify the power of the relic. He’s going to use it again, and this time, he wants to see if he can change everyone in Argos.”

  “But why?” Rowan asked.

  “Who cares why?” Kelvin pressed. “The question is how he intends to do it.”

  Thoro furrowed his brow. “The why is important,” he insisted. “He wants to strengthen the Brotherhood with powered individuals like himself. If you and the Silver Serpent have been struggling with us already, imagine what it would be like if I could shoot flames from my fingertips or scream until your ears bleed.”

  “The Banshee,” Kelvin recalled.

  The former member of the Brotherhood nodded. “That’s the how. He thinks he’ll be able to use her power to strengthen the depths of the book’s reach. If he’s right, it’ll change every single person in the city. It’ll give powers the likes of which we’ve never seen, both awesome and frightening. He’ll force her into using her voice to spread the power of the compendium across Argos.”

  “And what are you proposing?” the prince asked.

  “We have to retrieve the Arcanax Compendium before he has a chance to use it again,” Thoro declared. “It’s in the hands of the leaders of the Brotherhood now, but by dawn, he’ll have it at the lookout point at the northeast end of the city.”

  Rowan looked to the man in red. “If he’s right, we have to do something.”

  “I’m still not sure sending him to the prison in the barracks isn’t our best course of action,” Kelvin replied. “This same man nearly killed the Silver Serpent, and he ambushed me. He’s the reason Ciara—the Banshee—was captured by the Brotherhood in the first place.”

  “And is it too late for redemption?” the Watcher asked. “You were willing to let me prove myself when all I saw was a monster. Rather than see the monster in him, why not give him a chance to make amends? As I said, I saw the brutal attack his former cohorts perpetrated on him. It was no act, of that I am sure.”

  “Even if I were to trust you, what would we do? How could we manage to retrieve the artifact without invoking the wrath of the Brotherhood?”

  Thoro flashed a grin filled with determination. “We get back at Jerrod the same way he used me that night you and I first met. One of us distracts him while the other goes into the hideout to steal the compendium.”

  “You mean one of us is bait.”

  “If you’re lucky, it doesn’t have to be that way,” Thoro said. “One well-aimed arrow through the window of his home could end all this before it begins.”

  “I’m not like you,” Kelvin snarled. “I’m not a killer.”

  “Then you’re a fool,” the former member of the Brotherhood said. “This world is full of killers, and policy and bureaucracy do nothing to stop it. How many people have died because of Jerrod’s lust for power? How many will yet if we don’t stop him?”

  “Enough,” Rowan snapped. “If you’re correct, we don’t have much time before this plan of Jerrod’s unfolds. If we stop him here and now, though, we can finish this argument later. However we manage a victory, we have to take it, for the sake of this city. Is that something we can all agree on?”

  Both men looked at each other with incensed gazes. After a moment, Thoro nodded, and Kelvin clicked his tongue.

  “Good,” the Watcher declared. “Now, Thoro, let me know where Jerrod lives. Luckily, I’ve seen the man myself, so I don’t have to take any guesses or anyone’s word for it. If he truly is where Thoro believes he’ll be, we’ll have our shot before us. If we can distract him long enough for us to snatch the Arcanax Compendium, we’ll have scored an immense blow against the greatest criminals in this city.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Thoro said. He limped toward the opposite side of the building from where his cohorts entered.

  Arching an eyebrow, Kelvin stepped forward. “How do you plan on getting in and out of your old hideout with an injury like that?”

  Thoro sneered. “I’ve learned some tricks from my enemies. I’ve got one last one up my sleeve.” He didn’t wait any longer to disappear from the warehouse and into the open air of the harbor, where an evening breeze pressed past the waves.

  “And you really think someone like that can be trusted?” the prince asked.

  Rowan shrugged. “We could always let your mentor decide.”

  *****

  When he walked out of that building, he could hear the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore. His mind felt hollow, as though he had woken from a long dream—a terrible nightmare, if he was being honest with himself—and he couldn’t tell what was real and what was false.

  Gerard shook his head, then. There was no way that he could have murdered that man. It was impossible. How could he have produced water from his hands like that? And to move around to the poor woman on the other side of that glass...

  What had started as an innocent vision of heroism devolved into something sinister that left dark spots in his memory. Still, Gerard didn’t dare to turn around and venture back into that building.

  He placed his hand against his brow, and squeezed his temples. The constable felt less substantial than before, like water spread out across a canal that was too wide.

  Every step away from that building seemed to be made without logic or rationalization. He might has well have been walking in circles.

  Gerard stopped, then, leaning against the wall of the closest building. It was quiet in that part of the city. He breathed deep, and knew just from the scents in the air that he was in the harbor district.

  Once more, he felt the pull of those images in the back of his mind. Time was no longer a construct he could rely
on, and his memories were in tatters. He saw the bodies of the two people he was sure he shared the room with in that derelict warehouse, but moments later he saw them moving about like images on glass.

  “What is real and what isn’t?” he groaned.

  Even his voice sounded foreign and distant. There was something inside of him that was affecting him so, he was sure of it. That was it, certainly. He had been drugged. He couldn’t remember how he made his way to the harbor district after all. Someone must have brought him from…

  He remembered Schaeffer, back at the coroner’s office. The old fellow lay dead when he found him, and at once nothing felt more real. That was not some distant memory, but a truth that was bare before him.

  Gerard pushed off of that wall, and proceeded into the street. Sleeping off whatever ailed him was sure to set his mind right. At that late hour, though, shadows seemed to be cast off from every lick of flame in every lantern.

  He heard the rowdiness of a nearby tavern erupt into the nearest alley. The weary constable ventured a glance up at the light that spilled out of the open door, and he saw a heavenly creature taking her leave of the place.

  “Be careful going home, Starla,” a voice called out. “They still haven’t caught that killer.”

  The bar wench that left the tavern spun in a cheery pirouette, and offered a smile. “I’ll be alright, Hannah. I know my way around men.”

  The older woman who gave the warning laughed before she disappeared within the establishment once more. That alluring woman who took her leave of the place entered the street, unaware of the maddened fellow in the shadows on the opposite side of the road.

  Still, that didn’t stop the man’s heart from thumping in his chest. The darkness seemed to cloud his mind again, as a familiar voice took root in his skull.

  “Come chase me, Riptide,” she said. “If you catch me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Gerard found that he could not deny her. A devilish smile crept to his face as he stepped into the street to give pursuit.