Wind Demon Triology: Book II: Evil Wind

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  "Hello, Kamerone,” she said. “If you are viewing this, it means you have reached your destination and for that I am thankful. As much as I will miss you, I am happy that you will be with your lady soon."

  Cree felt those words to the very depths of his heart.

  "And since you are viewing this, it also means the pathway into my part of the megaverse has been closed. The wormhole has been collapsed and there will be no way for any of your enemies to come after you ever again."

  That news brought relief to the Prime Reaper.

  "There was so much I wanted to say to you while you were here,” Kym said, “but we never had the time. Perhaps that was good for the longer you stayed on my world, the harder it would have been for me to let you leave."

  He sensed a deep sadness in the Chrystallusian woman and did not need to hear her say the words to know she loved him deeply and perhaps always would. He felt a modicum of guilt that softened his facial expression.

  "Well, that is beside the issue at hand. There are more important things to be discussed than the ill-fated feelings of a silly woman. I must tell you about the Transference,” she said, her smile disappearing. “You need to have this information before you and Bridget are together again."

  Fear shivered down Cree's spine.

  "You know now the Morrígú curse was a lie, a cover up for what Jarl and Sejm did to your mother and her sisters, for having infected those women with the parasite as soon as they conceived. You know that you and the bloodkin you have safely with you on that StarRaider were biogenetically engineered. That is something you can never change. You are what you are and you have been since birth."

  Cree ran his hands down the pant legs of his jumpsuit, realizing he was trembling more from what might be revealed than the agony ripping at him.

  "Aye, my Reaper,” Kym said. “You are what you are but such is not the case with Jaelin."

  Though the pain was singeing a hole through his temples, Cree sat up straighter, instinctively knowing the Prophetess-Mother was about to say something that could totally destroy him.

  "As you well know the sperm with which you impregnated Bridget was rife with Reaper spore. All Reaper sperm is so infected but none of it—not one single swimmer as the Terran's call them—contains even one fledgling.” She smiled. “You can not make a Reaper from sperm, Kamerone. You make a Reaper with a fledgling and unless you perform Transference upon your son, Jaelin, he will never be a Reaper."

  Cree's eyes widened.

  "He will surely have your speed and agility, your strength, and intelligence for those things are part of your genetic makeup that he will have inherited. He will look like you, but he will not be like you."

  Putting a shaky hand to his lips, Cree felt the tears easing down his cheeks.

  "Be happy, my sweet Reaper,” Kym said. “Be happy and be safe.” Her lips trembled. “May the Wind be always at your back, Kamerone Cree."

  Then the computer screen went black again.

  He sat there for the longest time absorbing the information Kym had given him. He couldn't move and he no longer felt the pain tearing at his temples. Unaware that small streams of black blood were trickling from his ears, dripping over the hand he had pressed over his mouth, he stared unseeingly at the blank computer screen. When the door to his quarters shushed open, he didn't even notice.

  "Cree?” Tylan asked gently. Getting no answer, he went to stand behind the Prime Reaper. “Are you all right?"

  "No,” Cree said and started to slump forward.

  Tylan moved quickly and grabbed his friend, pulling him back. He looked down, saw the blood, and shouted for help.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Sitting behind her desk pouring over the quarterly reports Beryla whooped when the small transmitting device she wore as a charm on the gold bracelet on her right arm chimed. She rushed for her pocketbook in the drawer next to her desk and jerked it open, fumbling for the vid-com receiver that looked like an old-fashioned cell phone. She punched her personal code in and nearly melted when she saw her husband's face on the screen.

  "Lares!” she cried. “You're home!"

  "Indeed I am, wench,” Taborn agreed. “You are needed on our ship."

  The happiness flitting through Beryla diminished a bit. “What's wrong? Who's hurt?” Her hand tightened on the vid-com receiver. “Oh, Lares! Is he with you? Is he all right? Is he...?"

  "We accomplished what we set out to do, woman, and he is, indeed, with us, but he is very ill. He needs you and your team as quickly as possible.” His dark eyes narrowed. “Where is his lady?"

  Beryla nearly groaned. “Oh, my god!” she said. “She is in the hills of South Dakota. She and Jaelin..."

  "That is the best news I've heard lately,” Lares cut her off. “I have no idea where those hills are but Bridget is not to know her man is home yet. Do you understand?"

  Another portion of Beryla's happiness slipped away. “Why? How badly is he hurt?"

  He ignored her questions. “We are reading your signals as being all close together. I do not know how that can be but I am grateful for it beyond measure. Gather your team in one central location then activate the vid-com,” her husband said. “We will bring you up."

  "Do I need to bring...?” Before she could ask anything else Lares was gone.

  She stood there for a moment longer—too stunned to react—then sprang into action, punching in the extension numbers for Aurora, Amala, Tina, and Ivonne.

  Twenty minutes later, Caitlin was standing in the transporter room of the Ailith waiting for Dr. Dean and her assistants to materialize. As soon as they did, she rushed forward—recognizing Dr. Dean from her husband's description—and put out a hand. “Beryla? I'm Caitlin. Everything is ready for us in sick bay."

  Beryla shook Caitlin's hand quickly then released it. “How is he?"

  "Several of the neurotransmitter implants have migrated and begun pressing on the cranial nerves. Number three in the frontal cortex is nowhere near its original position according to the biomaps. Because of that migration, his migraines have been extremely severe,” she said as she led Beryla and the other four women to the elevator. She punched the button to bring it back down to them then turned to give Beryla a steady look. “I have his original biomaps from when the M-Rs were implanted and I've taken new magnetic resonances to map where they are now. A second implant in the frontal lobe has shifted and Cree is also experiencing quadriparesis, weakness in all four limbs.

  "I know what quadriparesis is, Caitlin,” Beryla said as the elevator doors opened and the six of them entered the cage.

  "I'm sorry,” Caitlin said. “I know you do. It's just that when I saw the mess those bastards had made of his brain...."

  "I know,” Beryla said and laid a hand on Caitlin's arm. “Much to my unpardonable shame I was one of those bastards."

  "Aye, but you didn't put those fucking implants in his head,” Tina declared.

  The elevator stopped and the doors slid back. Caitlin exited ahead of the other women and turned left toward the operatory where Cree was being prepped.

  "There are lesions in the occipital lobe,” Caitlin said.

  "Any bleeding associated with those?” Beryla asked.

  Caitlin nodded. “Aye and he's had a couple of resulting seizures.” She stopped at the entrance to the operating suite and turned to give Beryla a hard look. “From what Dorrie tells me...."

  "She's here, too?” Aurora asked. “Is she okay?"

  "Aye,” Caitlin said with a wave of her hand. “From what she tells me, when you had him in the Be-Mod unit, you were very careful not to touch the implants."

  "We certainly were careful not to dislodge them although we were assured that was highly unlikely,” Beryla said.

  "Did you know what material composed those implants?"

  "I know they were platinum wires inside thick glass tubes,” Beryla said. “We were told they could deactivate, but that it would be dangerous to try to remove them. Obviously th
at is a risk we must take. Why do you ask?"

  "Khiershon, Cree's eldest son, is my mate. He questioned me as to why the parasite wasn't healing his father as it should. I explained that the parasite has no way to either destroy or disable the implants because of the material from which they were made. Apparently Dr. Jarl took that into consideration before inserting the implants."

  "That man's name makes by blood boil,” Ivonne said with a hiss.

  "Kam once remarked to me that Lord Tray Onar had used some kind of probe on him to manipulate the number three receptor,” Beryla remarked.

  "For what purpose?” Caitlin asked.

  "To torture him,” Beryla answered. “He did a number on Kam before our menfolk were able to get him out the hands of the Multitude."

  "That's more than likely when the probes began to shift,” Ivonne commented. “Onar wouldn't have taken any care in how he moved the implants since Cree was to be executed."

  "It's a wonder one of the implants didn't shatter,” Aurora said.

  "I imagine its damned strong glass and glass is the one substance the parasite can't dissolve with its acid,” Beryla stated. “Once we remove the implants, it can set about healing the lesions and whatever it needs to do to make Cree healthy again."

  "It is the parasite continually healing the lesions that are already forming that has aggravated the situation. The more the parasite moves around the area infected by the implant's migration, the more pain it inadvertently causes,” Caitlin said. “Thankfully Khiershon was able to explain that to his father so Cree could communicate with his revenant queen and ask her to allow us to do our job."

  "Otherwise, she would have been attacking the instruments we will use to extract the implants,” Beryla said. “That had not occurred to me."

  "Thankfully it occurred to Khiershon,” Caitlin said and opened the door for Beryla and her team to precede her into the operating suite. She quickly introduced Barb Fuller, Lisa Mahon, and four other MedTech from the Orion. “Go on and scrub up. I need to speak to my mate before we begin."

  Beryla nodded, motioning her team to begin the sterilization process. “So we have another Reaper on board."

  "Khiershon is Kam's eldest, eh?” Amala asked.

  "I guess he is,” Tina answered.

  "Wonder if he looks anything like his bloodsire,” Aurora put in as she put on the surgical scrubs Barb held out to her.

  "They could be brothers instead of father and son,” Lisa told the women. “The Prime Reaper's youngest looks just like him, too."

  Beryla blinked. “There is a third Reaper on board?” she asked.

  Lisa grinned. “Ma'am, including Kamerone Cree, there are thirteen of them on board,” she replied.

  "What?” Beryla gasped.

  Lisa nodded. “Five are sons of Cree's and another one who was given one of the Prime Reaper's fledglings in Rysalia Prime is a female."

  "A female?” Aurora exclaimed.

  "And here we thought Bridie was the only Reaper female,” Ivonne said with a whistle.

  "Oh, my,” Beryla said, shivers running down her spine. “I'm not sure our little blue-green planet is ready for thirteen Reapers. One was bad enough."

  "Fourteen with Bridie,” Ivonne corrected.

  "Now that is a very uneasy thought,” Amala said.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was a balmy 64 degrees that lovely May morning as Bridget drove along the serpentine blacktop winding amidst the pristine one hundred and seventy acres of lush rolling hills Aurora Burds had purchased for her getaway home. The magnificent six bedroom log structure had been built in the middle of old yellow bark pine acreage and had a panoramic view of the Red Canyon in the Southern Black Hills.

  "There's Old Pete, Ma,” Jaelin said, pointing to the scruffy elk munching grass at the edge of the private roadway. The elk looked up, shook its heavy rack, and then went back to grazing.

  "We need to get some more salt blocks for our friendly elk and deer neighbors,” Bridie said. “Along with the cracked corn for the wild turkeys."

  Jaelin nodded absently, returning his attention to the hand-held game he was rapidly plying with both thumbs. Thankfully he had the sound muted else his mother would have been grinding her teeth. His head was lowered, the hood of his black sweatshirt cocked to one side on his broad shoulders. He had both feet planted on the dashboard of the Dodge Ram pickup his mother was driving. His knees were crooked, the laces of one black tennis shoe partially untied, the leg bouncing nervously as he played the game.

  Bridie glanced over at her son and—as it always did—her heart filled with pride. Jaelin had his father dark good looks with a head full of glossy brown curls that tended to sweep low over the boy's forehead. A year before, he had cajoled Bridie into allowing him to get his ear pierced and he now sported a slim gold hoop that had once belonged to his father. From the black t-shirt under the hoodie to the black jeans and black sneakers, the only thing different between father and son was the deep, vibrant green of Jaelin's eyes, though his eyelashes had the same long, gently upswept spikiness Kamerone's possessed.

  "Why black?” his mother asked, a bit concerned that every piece of clothing her son purchased was that somber color.

  "I don't know,” Jaelin had shrugged. “I just like it. It makes me feel special."

  "You are special,” Bridie assured him.

  "Yes ma'am, but you know...."

  And she had known. Like father, like son. As far as Jaelin knew his father was imprisoned in a distant, enemy land but there were forces at work vying for his release. The one and only photograph Bridie had of the man who had sired him sat on Jaelin's dresser in a gilt frame that bore the numerous fingerprints of son and wife, the glass often smeared with the lip smudges and tears of the woman who loved him. The photograph always accompanied them to the Black Hills each year.

  "He's a real dude, huh, Ma?” Jaelin had once asked.

  "He's truly Prime,” she had replied.

  Jaelin looked up from his game. “Can we go up to Wind Cave again soon, Ma?” he asked.

  Bridie smiled. “You like it up there, don't you?” They had spent many hours taking the various cave tours. It was among Jaelin's favorite things to do.

  "Yes ma'am, I really do.” He frowned.

  "What's the matter?” Bridie asked. For the last year she'd been on pins and needles and every little twinge that affected her son caught her attention. He was so close to that mystical, magical line all males crossed between the ages of eleven and fifteen. Already his voice was beginning to embarrass him by cracking at the oddest times.

  "I'm hungry,” he announced. He reached behind the seat to the bag of chips he had stashed there alongside cartons of malted milk balls, pretzels, cheese curls, and only the gods knew what else.

  Like father, like son.

  "When we get into Hot Springs, we can go to the diner if you want,” Bridie said. “Today's Taco Tuesday."

  Jaelin's white teeth sparkled with a grin that turned his young face from being merely handsome to absolutely breathtaking. “All right! I want a ton of fried jalapenos with cream cheese on the side!"

  Bridie groaned. Like Kamerone, his son had a cast iron stomach.

  "Have you been feeling a bit too warm lately, sweetie?” his mother asked, giving him another curious glance.

  "No ma'am.” Always polite, proud of his southern heritage, Jaelin never failed to show the manners his mother had taught him. He was unfailingly courteous around women and older people—opening doors for them, carrying packages if they'd let him, helping them across the street. His was a kind and gentle heart and combined with the face of a young dark god, the people of Hot Springs, SD never failed to notice him when he and his mother came to town.

  "You really ought to enroll him in school,” one woman had suggested—at the prodding of her daughter Bridie was sure.

  "He's home schooled,” Bridie said and soon found a member of the board of education on her doorstep to investigate her credentials
for teaching her son at home. The man had gone away with a very healthy respect for Bridget and her near-genius offspring.

  Hot Springs was a beautiful town with turn of the century sandstone buildings spreading out along the town square. The people were friendly and the town had everything Bridie and her son required: a taco shop, a sub shop, assorted fast food places, a really excellent diner, hardware store, movie rental store, and quaint shops in which to while away a few minutes. It was a great place to live near and it suited mother and son just fine. Each spring they took advantage of Aurora's offer to hibernate in the luxury log home.

  But never when Bridget was close to Transition.

  "Another trip for Aunt Beryla?” Jaelin would ask when he'd see his mother packing.

  "Yep, gonna be gone a week or so."

  Though she hated to lie to her son, the truth was not possible until she was sure Jaelin could handle the knowledge of what his mother had become and what his father was. The closer it came to her son's first time, the more nervous Bridget became.

  "You should warn him of what's to come, Bridie,” both Beryla and Aurora had cautioned but it was something Bridget kept putting off. She knew when her son began to change, it would frighten him, but it would underscore what he was much stronger than her telling him ever could.

  "Not feeling itchy or anything like that, are you?” she asked as she put on the left turn signal to pull into the gas station.

  Jaelin looked over at her. “No, ma'am. Why?"

  "Just wondering,” she replied, pulling up to the tank. “Wanna pump the gas for me?"

  "Sure."

  Several teenage boys were lurking around in front of the convenience store and they gave Jaelin the once over. Bridget paid no attention. She knew there were vibes her son gave off unconsciously that would make any other male think twice about challenging him. When he took the money inside for the gas, they'd step aside for him, mumble a stiff greeting, and not even understand why they felt compelled to do so.

  But girls were another matter, Bridie thought as she spied three pre-teen girls sitting on a bench across the street staring openly at Jaelin. She turned her head to watch them and had to purse her lips when they giggled loud enough to gain her son's attention. She saw him glance at them and was fairly sure he was returning their close scrutiny as he stood with his hand unnecessarily on the nozzle's handle, bent over so he could look over the hood at them.