Death Marked

by Sloan, Justin

  “It’s… a long story.”

  “Give us the main points.”

  “Right....” Rohan looked for Corinne, but didn’t see her. “Basically, I was working with him on a job in Russia and—”

  “You went to Turkmenistan, da?”

  “Well, yes.”

  The man smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “You’re our man. You and Lev, big help to us.”

  Rohan shifted in his seat, confused. “How so?”

  “Our cousin, Mahkmuhd, didn’t tell you?” The man shook his head and then said something in Russian to the driver. “Little Nozima. She isn’t well these days, and Mahkmuhd… he was working to fix that.”

  “A cure for death,” Corinne said, startling Rohan. He felt a shiver rush through him.

  “Don’t worry," Corinne said, "I just entered your body again. It’s like a refueling station. I feel so invigorated.”

  "You okay?" the driver asked, glancing at Rohan in the rearview mirror. "You cold?"

  Rohan rubbed his hands together and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. "About Nozima."

  “If we can help, you let us know. We’ll get you to Russia, don’t you worry,” the man in the back seat said.

  “But first,” the driver said, “we have to make sure you’re well fed.”

  Rohan felt his hunger surge back—he’d almost forgotten how hungry he was. He leaned forward in anticipation, his mouth watering.

  Streets zigzagged and large buildings sped past. It was almost like they were back in America. Samarkand grew small, with its bright lights and endless stretches of buildings slowly vanishing in the distance as they made the grueling ride through Uzbekistan.

  Instead of well-kept streets, out here they drove along bumpy, windy, mountain roads that made Rohan nauseous. The homes, which had covered every inch of the street, were less frequent now, replaced by rock and sky. As the road wound through the mountain, goats were everywhere instead of people. Occasionally an eagle screeched through the sky, and Rohan would crane his head out the window to catch a glimpse. Even though it was cold outside, he enjoyed it compared to the ungodly heat in the car from all the men sitting cramped next to each other. To make matters worse, Mahkmuhd’s cousins wouldn’t stop talking. It was like being in a two-hour cab ride with two Mahkmuhds.

  All the while, Corinne sat next to him, glowing. When they arrived at the house, a small, tidy building with white paint chipped along the corners of the walls, they found a few women serving a feast. Round breads, bowls of pilaf, melons sliced and laid out by color, and all sorts of foods that Rohan didn't recognize lined a decorated table linen on the floor, cushions spread around for them to sit on.

  “This is too much,” Rohan said.

  “Nonsense,” the big man said. “Eat, eat!”

  The meal was every bit as enjoyable as Rohan had hoped it would be. Chicken with roasted garlic, lamb with a mint sauce, and dates and figs. He ate two full plates of Olivier salad: boiled potatoes, dill pickles, peas and chicken, topped with carrot slices.

  “Come,” the driver said when he saw he had eaten his fill. “Meet Nozima. Come, come.”

  Rohan glanced at Corinne, who hovered over the floor in a sitting position. She nodded at him.

  “Here,” the driver said, pointing him to a side door.

  Rohan entered to find a young girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen, wrapped in blankets. She lay on a bed, and the moonlight cast a pale glow on her face.

  “What’s wrong with her?” he asked. The driver gestured that he didn’t know how to explain, and Rohan sat down beside the sick girl.

  The girl turned to him, eyes half-open, but when she saw him they opened wide. “You have it… you have a special power. I sense it.”

  Rohan looked around nervously, but the driver who’d shown him in just sat in the corner, hands folded, watching him with a slight smile.

  “You must have me mistaken,” Rohan said when he turned back to the girl. “I don't have any powers.”

  “No, you have the power. You’ll see soon enough.”

  Rohan stared into her hopeful eyes. She had the look of someone who knew that her end was near.

  Rohan nodded, then leaned forward, smiling gently.

  “Rest, child,” he said, doing his best to sound comforting. “Everything is as it should be, and you are greatly loved by your friends and family.”

  She smiled up at him as Corrine appeared at his side.

  “That was very kind of you,” Corinne said. She leaned in toward the girl and whispered something in her ear as she ran her hand across the girl’s forehead. Her hand glowed over the girl's face.

  With a soft moan, the girl closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  Corinne looked to Rohan with a nod, and then vanished.

  “Thank you,” the driver said. “You bring her rest.”

  They stood for a moment, watching the girl sleep peacefully.

  "Come, friend. It’s time we got you where you need to be.”

  ***

  Back on the grueling roads, Rohan's queasiness returned. He sensed Corinne nearby, but she was staying hidden, maybe even resting inside him, he wasn’t sure. Mahkmuhd’s cousins kept talking or cracking jokes that he couldn’t understand, and he did his best to smile and play along.

  The border crossing, first through Kazakhstan and then, many hours later, into Russia, was surprisingly painless.

  “The border’s too big,” the driver explained when Rohan asked about it. “Even Russia can’t monitor every inch of it.”

  Rohan smiled and nodded, then munched on some more of the samsa they had brought for the journey. Only another few hours, and they’d be there. He groaned, leaning back in his seat and massaging his thighs. Soon, he decided to close his eyes for a minute.

  A slamming of doors snapped Rohan out of his sleep. He rubbed his eyes and was surprised to see the bar where he’d first met Mahkmuhd.

  He stepped out of the car. The sun hadn’t risen beyond the mountains yet. Crickets filled the air with a low hum, and the field around the bar had peaceful stillness to it.

  The bar door opened, casting a long line of light across the grass between the car and the bar. A man’s silhouette appeared, and moments later Rohan was at the doorway, shaking hands with Mahkmuhd as if they were best friends reunited at long last.

  “Come, come,” Mahkmuhd said, leading Rohan to a table.

  The bar was empty but for them. Mahkmuhd gave Rohan an odd smile, and Rohan found himself wishing he weren’t alone.

  “So,” Mahkmuhd said, pouring himself a drink.

  “Vodka?” Rohan asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Mahkmuhd laughed, showing him the bottle. “The finest water.”

  Mahkmuhd turned to his two men, now standing in the doorway like guards, and they spoke to each other in Uzbek. Their words got louder and faster—they seemed to be arguing—until suddenly Mahkmuhd downed his water and leaned forward, assessing Rohan.

  “My cousins tell me Lev and Altemus were not with you,” Mahkmuhd said. “This is disturbing news. What happened to them?”

  Rohan’s heart beat in his ears as the image of Altemus stabbing Lev flashed before his eyes. He couldn’t tell Mahkmuhd. Would he believe him? It was possible the man knew this would happen. But, Rohan was willing to bet that wasn’t the case.

  “I have bad news,” Rohan said with a glance toward the men at the door. “Things went bad in Turkmenistan, and, well… Lev didn’t make it.”

  “So I hear.” Mahkmuhd’s eyes narrowed, then he pulled out his phone and showed it to Rohan. “That’s your picture, yes?”

  Rohan stared in shock. It was a screenshot of the news. A split screen photo of The Grand Hotel on fire and the Door to Hell. Rohan's face was in the lower right corner.

  “It seems you’re a wanted man, these days.” Mahkmuhd put the phone away and pulled out a pistol. He set it on the table, hand still on it, aimed at Rohan. “Now, tell me truthfully. How did Lev die?”
>
  “It was Altemus. He—”

  “See, the problem is,” Mahkmuhd interrupted, “I ran into Altemus a few days ago. He told me he was on his way back to the temple. And very, very curiously, he told me a story of you turning on the two of them. Seeing as I’ve known Altemus about one day longer than I’ve known you, we’ve got a trust problem, Mr. Evans."

  The sudden formality took Rohan off guard. He glanced at the cousins, his mind spinning. He had no idea how he was going to survive this.

  He looked at Corinne, trying to speak with his eyes.

  But she understood him. “Get ready,” Corinne said, then she entered Rohan.

  Rohan felt a surge of energy rush through him. A warmth tingled his fingertips and light circled his limbs, lifting him off the ground.

  “What in the…?” Mahkmuhd stood and stepped away from the table, knocking the pistol to the floor.

  “It worked.” Rohan smiled as Corinne lowered him back to the ground. “See, Mahkmuhd? We opened up a portal to the dead, and I have a spirit with me.”

  Mahkmuhd shook his head as if trying to wake from a dream. “It… It’s a miracle.”

  “Altemus turned on us. He sacrificed Lev, and tried to kill me too. If he’s going back to the temple, he's going to kill others."

  Mahkmuhd's hardened demeanor softened as he said, “You definitely think he’d kill again?”

  “I’m sure of it,” Rohan replied.

  Mahkmuhd’s face went pale. “You’d better hurry.” He picked up the pistol and held it out. “You’ll need this, and the car. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it. But something crazy’s going on here, and you need to stop him.”

  The two men stepped aside, and soon Rohan and Corinne were speeding up the road to the mountains.

  The sun was coming over the hills now, throwing a pale orange light across the windy mountain roads before them. Billowing clouds of pink and red filled the sky behind them. He hadn’t thought he’d be back here so soon, especially not speeding back to the monks who’d tried to kill him, or the man who had tried to sacrifice him as part of a ritual to open a portal to the afterlife.

  Rohan gripped the steering wheel tightly.

  Soon he was going to stop Altemus, and he felt he might finally have a chance of making things right.

  Chapter 10: Training Time

  Rohan and Corinne stood on a rocky outcrop overlooking the temple. The wind had picked up, and the snow blew gently across the valley. The spires of the temple glinted against the rocks.

  Rohan tried to ignore the wind’s sting as he stared at the spires. Just a few days ago, he, Altemus, and Lev had stood on this same outcrop.

  He had been delusional. Thought he could bring Senna back. Fallen prey to Altemus’s agenda.

  Though he could only see the spires of the temple, he remembered the steep descent into the valley, the climb up the parapets—the combat. He remembered Senna, how he had done all of this for her. Imagining her beautiful face, he rallied his strength and prepared himself for the ascent again.

  “Altemus is there,” Rohan said. “I can feel it.”

  Corinne folded her arms. “You won’t be able to face him.”

  “I faced him last time,” Rohan said. “And I did just fine, thanks.”

  “He’s going to be stronger,” Corinne said.

  Rohan tapped the pistol on his belt. “Trust me, I won’t hesitate. It’s personal now.”

  They started down the rocky ledge, Corrine floating easily. Rohan squinted through the blowing snow. Even though it was freezing, he pushed on without bothering to tighten his jacket. He could only think of Altemus and stopping him, and of avenging Senna.

  As they neared the temple, Rohan glanced around nervously. He expected someone to be patrolling the area, so he scaled the parapet carefully, his hand hovering over the pistol on his holster.

  But there was no one.

  He took a few crouching steps, then stepped on something—a body. Cold and stiff. The face’s eyes were fixed open and sunken into their sockets.

  It had been there for several days.

  He held his nose to protect himself from the stench and set his sights on the courtyard below.

  Bodies.

  Everywhere.

  The floor was littered with bodies lying face up, their entrails hanging loose and eyes open toward the gray sky.

  Corinne flashed in front of Rohan and stopped him from moving forward. There was a look of worry in her eyes. “Wait. There’s… a presence.”

  Rohan drew his gun and wheeled around. “Is it Altemus?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Quiet settled between them, and then it filled again with the buzzing of the flies and distant snow tumbling down a mountain.

  Rohan stood on the edge of the parapet and looked down at the stone walkway leading up to the temple. Suddenly, the edge of the parapet crumbled and he lost his footing. He leaned away from the edge and tried to jump back, but he fell feet-first, Corinne’s scream following.

  A hand grabbed him by the arm. Rohan felt himself dangling as his body crashed against the side of the parapet. Looking up, he saw a dark-skinned Middle Eastern man with a long beard hanging onto him. The man groaned as he pulled Rohan up. His gray beard was bloodied, and he had a deep cut on his forehead.

  “That was close,” the old man said, then glanced toward Corinne. “You don’t belong here.”

  Rohan and Corinne looked at each other.

  “Wait—you can see me?” Corinne asked.

  “Of course I can see you,” the old man said. “I’m a Kahin—just like you, young man.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Rohan asked.

  “There is much you don’t understand. I will explain, but first, let’s get away from the flies.”

  “Why are all these people dead?” Corinne asked.

  “They were murdered by a man who’s given up his own soul. A man named Altemus. Come now, let us go.”

  The old man led Rohan and Corinne into the heart of the temple. The scent of burnt candles and incense lingered in spite of the heavy stench of death. Blood streaked the floor, and Rohan could tell many people had died here—the bodies that were outside.

  The old man ushered them through a thick steel door, down a long spiral staircase, and through another reinforced door which he locked behind them, shrouding them in darkness. He lit several candles, and the room flickered into view. It was filled with shelves and display cases of artifacts. There were many different bones and skulls—several resembling the one Altemus had stolen—and other things that Rohan couldn’t identify.

  Corinne drifted around the room, studying its contents.

  “This room is protected by a silencing spell,” the man said. “We can talk in peace.”

  “Who are you?” Rohan asked.

  “My name is Ahmed, although I should be asking you the same question. I was a temple elder, and this is my temple.”

  Suddenly, Rohan recognized the man’s face. When he had robbed the temple, this old man had begged him to spare his life, before Lev struck him on the head with a pistol. He recalled the fear in the old man’s eyes.

  “I remember you now,” Rohan said.

  “You caused this,” Ahmed said. He took off his robe, revealing a ripped shirt and dark pants. He was missing a front tooth, and his skin was pale. “After you took the skull, we didn’t know what to do. The rest of the temple elders and I contemplated suicide.”

  “Because of a skull?” Rohan asked.

  “It’s not just a skull!” Ahmed snapped. “It is the cornerstone of our religion.”

  The old man picked up another skull with markings on it. “This is the skull of Alexa, a woman who defied death by bringing her lover back from the dead over two hundred years ago. What a woman she was! We revere her, and her skull is the most important facet of our religion. We drew our power from the skull. We even revived corpses over the years, though the Russian government tried to
suppress our efforts. It’s why we live in the mountains—society won’t accept us. They don’t believe in our power.”

  “So you’re telling me you can revive bodies?” Rohan asked.

  “I myself cannot. But many years ago, members of our religion were able to. Of course, that was only because they had the skull. Without it, that power cannot be tapped.”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Corinne said. She had been floating around the room silently as the old man spoke, regarding the artifacts on the wall. “The items here have a spiritual signature.”

  Rohan relaxed. Nice to know that he wasn’t going crazy.

  “I see something different in you,” the old man said, scrutinizing Rohan.

  The old man’s gaze made him uncomfortable. “What do you mean?”

  “When you raided the temple, you were no better than a common thug. But now, you have a spiritual signature as well. Traveling with a spirit has unlocked your true potential as a Kahin. Funny how things change so quickly. There is much truth to our teachings.”

  “I’m no Kahin,” Rohan said. “I don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

  “A Kahin communicates with the dead.”

  “Just like you can communicate with me, Rohan,” Corinne said. She looked at Ahmed sadly. “But that’s not all he can do.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be,” Ahmed said. “Of course, I can cast a few spells that have been handed down, but this is a spiritual place. It’s full of energy, and almost anyone could cast a spell if they knew how to do it. Once I step outside these walls, I’m just a man who can see spirits.”

  Rohan shook his head. “This is getting really weird.”

  “There are Kahins all over the world, living in secret. I have met many of them myself. But none of them have the manifestation of power that I see in you.”

  “Listen,” Rohan said, “I’m not a Kahin, and I don’t want to be. I just want to bring my fiancée back.”

  “Which, by definition, is what a Kahin does.”

  Rohan was silent.