The House of Grey- Volume 6

by Earl, Collin

  “Thinking before acting, are we?” sneered Gibson. “Well, isn't that prudent of you. too bad you did not have the information you needed.”

  Monson’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not buying it, Gibson. I don’t need your information. Now go get the bracelet or I really will cut you.”

  Gibson smiled as he pounded his fist into his palm. “You obviously did not know this but the Controller of the Aram No Abidi has two special…features, you might call them. the first is Mimicry, the ability to have the beast mirror the user’s actions. the second and far more difficult, requiring much more power and concentration, is called the Mind’s Eye, the ability to visualize and act through small gestures.”

  Monson tightened his grip on his sword. “I’m not interested in your little ‘how-to’ lesson, Gibson. go and pick up that—”

  “Wait, Mr. Grey–you’re missing the most important part. The Controller was never truly meant for the Daymonian race. even before the war, the Arcanels never really trusted us. So while they are compatible with the controller and able to direct the Darkness to an extent, there is a certain lag in the connection and disconnection period of the Controller.”

  Monson heard an inhuman scream from overhead and cast his gaze skyward just in time to see the Midday Darkness connect with a clawed slap to Brian Gatt’s feathered mode of transportation, which started to fall rapidly. Monson dropped his sword, threw himself towards Cyann and scooped her up, then jumped to the side as Brian Gatt and his bird crash-landed, tearing up the ground in a spectacular display. They skidded across the grass, thrashing what little green there was left to behold before coming to a halt some yards off. The bird burst into bright blue flames and disappeared in a wisp of smoke.

  Brian Gatt did not get up.

  The Midday Darkness raised its hands and bellowed a triumphant war cry, simultaneously announcing his victory and welcoming new challengers.

  “And now the fun starts,” laughed Gibson. “I suggest you run, Monson Grey. that thing is coming for you.”

  “Me? You’ve given off more power than I have, Gibson. shouldn’t it be going after you?”

  “Do not confuse quantity with quality, Mr. Grey.”

  Monson surveyed their situation. Brian Gatt was down for the count. Casey and Artorius were now desperately fighting Gibson’s gray-skinned replications, doing their best to protect Kylie and Taris. He knew he had to get the bracelet, but should he chance it? What if the thing did have a curse? What if Gibson was telling the truth on that one? Monson was the only one in any position to fight to protect his friends.

  “Why are you hesitating?”

  Monson looked down to see Cyann’s icy blue eyes boring into him.

  “I’m not hesitating. I’m planning my course of action. If this goes wrong then we could all—”

  Monson’s head jerked back as Cyann flicked him in the nose. “You need to stop blabbering and trying to take on all this yourself. I’ll get the bracelet. you fight the gray-skinned bastard.”

  “Cyann, I can’t let you take that chance. that bracelet might kill you just by touching—”

  Monson cut himself off. he was doing it again. Cyann gazed at him as he came to his conclusion.

  He smiled warmly. “It’s not my decision, right?”

  “Bingo. now put me down; you’re embarrassing me.”

  “Ha! You embarrassed? I thought Cyann Harrison didn’t get embarrassed.”

  “I’m a girl, too, Monson.”

  Monson smiled wider and he winked. “I noticed.”

  Cyann flicked his nose again. “Put me down, idiot.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Monson did just that and then called for the Breath of the Dragon. The sword whipped towards him. He caught the blade by its hilt, which instantly made the sword flare up.

  “All right Gibson—let’s finish this.”

  Gibson trotted forward, the lurching mass of the Midday Darkness in the background. Monson squared up, holding his Breath of the Dragon at the ready. Gibson circled him, swinging his unnamed golden blade in playful arcs. “So it comes down to this: You will fight me and the Darkness?”

  “I’m not going to let you hurt any more people. I’ll stop you and find a way to kill the Darkness.”

  “Ahh, Master…this one is so stubborn. I will cut you just a bit, you impudent child.”

  The battle commenced, Monson going on the offensive. He started with a Two-step, following with strong slashes aimed at the arms and legs. Gibson’s golden blade flowed from parry to repose as he smoothly slid his sword from block to counter attack. The golden blade never actually contacted Monson’s skin but managed to nick him twice. He started to wonder what the golden Magi Blade was.

  “You are very talented, boy,” said Gibson as he blocked two more attacks aimed at his weaker left side. “Your grandfather and friends have taught you well.”

  “But I’m sure you’re going to tell me you’re better, and I don’t stand a chance. Spare me. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Such a sharp tongue! really, youth have no respect for their elders these days. No, actually I was going to tell you that you picked the wrong style for your blade. the Jane ei Fibry I’ Isa—or the Dance of Fire and Ice—is not a style intended for those who wield an original Magi Blade.”

  Monson hit Gibson with several sweeps of his blade that made a “Z” pattern at the mid-chest, a move Artorius had coined the “Cross Slash.” It was a powerful maneuver that caused Gibson to quickly shut his mouth and jump back several feet. Monson held the pose.

  “The Dance of Fire and Ice seems to suit me just fine,” retorted Monson, standing upright.

  “I see that. the first stage of the Breath of the Dragon suits you very well. but there is one thing that you are forgetting.”

  Gibson barreled forward, hitting Monson with several vicious slashes. Monson blocked them, but only barely. He was thrown back several feet just as Gibson came at him again, this time slowly drawing his blade in a figure eight.

  “You have the fire, Monson, but you forgot the ice. The Ja-no is a double-bladed style.”

  Gibson renewed his assault but ceased his charge as a large clawed hand swept at his blind side. Gibson laughed as he dodged the brute. Monson also dodged, but was thrown off balance when Gibson charged him again. He almost lost his footing and toppled over, but was somehow able to counter Gibson’s thrust and push him back again. The Midday Darkness attacked again, this time by spitting boulder-sized globs of ooze at the combatants. Monson countered with blade and spell but found the globs too thick to move properly. He was either going to get consumed by ooze or stabbed by Aaron Gibson.

  Monson sighed as he scripted a fire spell that shot into the air and intercepted four of the five of the balls of darkness.

  “Crap,” he said as he attempted to deflect the last one with his sword. He missed. The Midday Darkness was going to hit him and he was going to lose in the world’s dumbest way.

  Monson closed his eyes. What a stupid way to die, he thought. Seriously lame.

  It was not as bad as he thought. The ooze did not hurt, rather it was quite pleasant; it felt cool on his face after all the fighting. When he opened his eyes, however, all he could see was the tarry blackness that was moving slowly over the whole of his body. And then the burning came. A burn that was unlike anything he had ever felt, like he was being eaten away by acid.

  You win, Gibson, he thought. Hopefully the rest of them got away.

  Monson tried to sit down. the darkness was so completely upon him now that he could not really discern where he was or what he was doing. He really hoped his friends were not watching—they didn’t need the trauma of watching him die.

  Then something incredible happened. The burning stopped. Monson cautiously opened his eyes. His body did not hurt any more. in fact, he felt…fine…even refreshed. His vision was clearing up as well. for a brief span he could not see anything, but then light permeated the gloom and he saw a cloaked figure standing
over him.

  A person wrapped in deep blue Kei loomed over him like a living sky. Monson looked through the brightness to see a person he knew all too well.

  “Cyann.”

  Cyann Harrison offered her hand, which he took and instantly felt the warmth flowing from it. In his mind’s eye, the vision of a city atop massive clouds contoured by the sunlight was shaded in reds, pinks, oranges and yellows. It was a warm and inviting place.

  Until…it changed.

  until all that was once clean and beautiful was destroyed and stained in multicolored blood. In the middle of the street sat a child screaming and sobbing at the feet of a beautiful woman who was pinned to a wall. but she was not attached by hand or foot or any other part of the normal human anatomy; nails pierced an enormous pair of wings on her back.

  The vision cleared and Monson realized that he was crying.

  “Monson.” Cyann’s voice was the only thing that kept Monson from sobbing hysterically. He looked into her eyes, the ice blue of her irises deepening into something so pure, Monson wanted to dive right into them. “It’s OK. You’re OK now.”

  “No!” said Monson, trying to free himself from her gaze. “Gibson, the Midday Darkness—they have to be—”

  “The Midday Darkness isn’t going to be a problem anymore.”

  Monson ripped his eyes away from Cyann, searching for the Heart of the Midday Darkness. He found the beast waist-deep in its oozing pool. Monson readied his sword and stepped in front of Cyann. The Midday Darkness took no notice, instead responding with the most wondrous of actions. It bowed to Cyann Harrison. and if that were not crazy enough, the monster spoke.

  “My lady,” growled the beast. “Shall I take my leave?”

  Cyann nodded. “Yes. I think that would be prudent.”

  The monster bowed a second time and slipped into the tar, dragging all remnants of the ooze along with him. The Midday Darkness was gone.

  Monson let his sword hand relax. It was over. It had to be over.

  Cyann bumped him slightly and he noticed her going weak in the knees. Her skin felt icy to the touch. Monson dropped his sword and caught her.

  “Thanks.” She gave him a weary smile. “That took a lot out of me. What are you doing holding onto me again? I told you, you’re going to embarrass me.”

  “Stop talking like that. we all know how cold-hearted you are. Besides, do you want me to drop you?”

  Cyann glanced downward. “No, that might hurt.”

  “Then shut your trap. besides, if I put you down you might light up like a blue tiki torch and turn us all into frogs or something.”

  “Oh, you’re hilarious. a regular comedian.”

  “I try. come on, let’s go find the others.”

  Cyann shook her head. “We still have to deal with him.”

  Gibson stood a ways off grinning outlandishly, his gray skin darkening as his smile broadened. He held his golden sword in a non-threatening reverse grip, waiting for the two to close the distance. Monson gently set Cyann down and quickly scanned their surroundings. the battle that had been raging so formidably just moments ago was all but over; the quiet was eerie, the only sounds those of injured combatants. This would be the final battle. if Monson could finish Gibson they would win.

  “I cannot believe I am about to go all-out against a mere child, but I guess it cannot be helped,” said Gibson casually. “You see, I want the girl.”

  Monson glanced back over his shoulder at Cyann. “You and half the boys at Coren.”

  She punched him in the shoulder.

  “What?” asked Monson, rubbing at the spot. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  She glared at him.

  He threw up his hands. “Don’t get mad at me because you’re in demand.”

  She smiled and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe I should fight him.”

  Monson cocked the eyebrow. “You can barely stand. No, this has to be me.”

  She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Then don’t lose. remember what I said about leaving and not saying goodbye.”

  He scrunched his eyes in mock concentration. “So, do you want me to say goodbye? Is that what you’re hinting at?”

  She punched him again in the exact same spot. Monson rubbed it again. “I guess not.”

  He reached for the blade that answered his call and blazed red from the contact as he caught it.

  “You are ready then?” asked Gibson, readying his own blade.

  “I am,” replied Monson, assuming his stance as he prepared to fight Gibson one final time.

  Chapter 63 – Fire and Ice

  The Dance of Fire and Ice. two opposites coming together as one. Offense and defense, action and reaction. Monson finally understood why the moves of the Ja-no were so tough to execute. His style was missing a weapon. it was a disadvantage as great as any one person could have.

  “You cannot win, Monson Grey. You are merely delaying the inevitable,” Gibson said off-handedly.

  “Shut up and fight.”

  Monson began his attack with a fire spell that shot out ribbons of flame from his hand and whipped and churned the air around them. Gibson countered with a wind spell, producing conglomerated pillars of air that deflected the flames before they reached Gibson. Monson had not expected them to; what he did expect was for Gibson to use a wind spell, counting on the ensuing mess created from fire and wind to distort the air around them and decrease visibility. .

  He took a deep breath and slashed at Gibson’s weak side, forcing him to parry completely across his body, exposing his shoulder and strong side. In this highly open position, all Monson needed to do was strike with a weapon; any weapon would do, but Monson would not be able to retract his sword and attacked the opposite side quickly enough. Monson attempted to script a quick spell but Gibson was too fast. he spun on the balls of his feet, pulling Monson into his rotation and striking at his now-exposed backside. Monson felt the slash and then pain. He rolled to put some distance between them, coming up on his feet and facing Gibson. He almost died right then and there.

  “Now you understand the problem with using a single blade in a double-bladed style. You would have done well to learn the dances one by one instead of collectively. The Dance of Fire and Ice is one of the more difficult combinations.”

  Monson staggered as he tried to stand upright but his eyes darted around in the hopes that backup might be on the way. No such luck. The one thing that Monson could see was Cyann, who was also barely on her feet. Concern was written all over her face. She nodded her head at him, apparently trying to show her acceptance of the situation.

  You’re half-dead, her eyes said. You don’t have to keep fighting.

  She started to move, their eyes locked. Monson glared at her while shaking his head.

  Not on your life.

  He steadied himself and then spoke aloud. “You are not taking on this burden. I won’t let it happen.”

  He turned inward. OK guys, if you’re there and you can do something, I would appreciate it right about now.

  Gibson stepped forward. “Shall we?”

  Monson was not given an opportunity to answer. Gibson thrust forward, hitting him with a side blow that could have severed a mountain. Monson flew back and hit the ground hard. He was starting to feel dizzy. if he could not stop his bleeding, he was going to die.

  “You put up a decent fight, O Being of Seven Bloods,” sneered Gibson. “But your battle ends here. You’ve delayed me long enough. We still have use for you, though, so stay here and try not to die.”

  Monson weakly lifted his head. Gibson laughed and kneeled down, punching him hard in the face. Monson saw a flash of bright light, then twinkling stars, and then nothing at all.

  ***

  Beasts of every make and model attacked people as they ran screaming for their lives. I remember the tangible feeling of fear as I fought to protect them.

  “Remember Monson, you must stay in control. we don’t know what you are capable of.”
<
br />   “Yes, Grandfather.”

  “I am going to fight my old friend Baroty. it is time that we finish what we started.”

  “But you’re hurt. let me fight him. I can beat him. I know I can.”

  “No, my son, you have done enough. This was a burden that should have never been yours. I am truly sorry I forced you to carry it.”

  ***

  Monson opened his eyes to a starry night sky and the sound and scent of running water.

  “Where am I?” he asked aloud, sitting up and rubbing his head.

  “I think you know.”

  A man was standing at a distance on the shore of a river that sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight.

  Monson’s heart leapt out of his chest at the sight of the man.

  “Grandfather?”

  Marques Grey turned to face Monson, warm eyes barely visible in the twilight. “Monson, my boy. It is wonderful to see you again.”

  Tears fell unchecked as Monson took a reluctant step towards him. “I don’t believe you’re here. wait…where is here?”

  The place was vaguely familiar: a river, a mountain, a path. then Monson understood. “We’re in my inner world.” He laughed. “That sounds so funny when I say it out loud.”

  Marques Grey smiled appreciatively, stepping to meet Monson. “Shall we walk?”

  Monson nodded. “Sure.”

  The two walked along the riverbank in silence. As unlikely as it seemed, Monson found that he was having problems talking. He had so much he wanted say; he just didn’t know where to start.

  “I have so many questions,” Monson said, slowing his pace to gaze out across his river.

  “I’ll bet you do.”

  “Will you allow me to ask them?”

  Marques Grey smiled. “Of course, but you must be swift and realize that I may not be able to answer all of them now. Our time grows short and there are things that I must tell you.”

  Monson nodded again. “I hear that a lot.” He took a deep breath. “Did I kill everyone on Baroty Bridge?”

  Marques Grey sighed. “No. That responsibility is mine and mine alone. I should not have faced my old friend in such a straightforward manner nor involved you when you were so untested.”