Rosewater took the phone from him, and held it in the air, in the center of their little group.
“Are you there, Jöanth the Tracker, Hero of Dranbuir, Slayer of the Ardhmer?” the mild-mannered voice echoed.
Jöanth had not heard his full title in decades and it took him not only by surprise, but also with shock. The beast knew him.
“I am here,” he answered without so much as a hint of surprise in his voice. “But you have me at a loss. Who might you be?”
“The girl already told you,” the smile was evident in the voice. “I am Walther Black.”
“Walther Black may have been a man once, but you are no man.” Jöanth answered. “Who or what are you? By the name of the Creator, I compel you!” he ordered.
There was a short silence.
“I don't think that works over a phone. I don't feel compelled at all.”
This was followed by an eerie chuckle that created an eruption of goosebumps on Rosewater's arms. She also didn't look like she could hold the phone anymore. Jöanth took it from her and placed it on a small table by the front door. She mouthed a quiet “Thank you,” and proceeded to cross her arms and then absent-mindedly rubbed her hands against her upper arms.
“Where is Eleanor? What do you want?” Jöanth asked, his voice reasonable and calm.
“Aha!” The voice cried. “Straight to the point. An álvur of action!” The voice spoke with contempt. “You know what I missed most down there in the Void?”
The voice had changed, its cadence dropping to an almost whisper. Now it sounded calm, almost whimsical. All three of the listeners noticed it.
Jöanth thought, dangerous.
Rosewater thought, wackjob.
Charlene thought, psychopath.
“I missed company most,” the voice continued, transitioning into something filled with sadness and melancholy. “I missed the ability to just sit and talk.”
There was a silence where no one knew what to say.
“So, Jöanth the Tracker. That is what we will do. We will get together and reminisce. Talk about old times. Have a causerie.”
“You are a svartálvur.” Jöanth said with conviction, finally knowing the truth and the nature of his foe.
“Yes!” came the reply, “but not just any svartálvur. I am the Korgon. The first of my kind.”
“Is that your name?” Jöanth asked. “The Korgon?”
“Urøk the Korgon,” the voice hissed.
Those three words were spoken with such malice and contempt that the girls could have sworn the temperature dropped in the entrance hall.
“Very well,” Jöanth countered with the same calm voice. “We can talk, Urøk the Korgon. First, however, let's talk about Eleanor.”
“She has not been harmed,” Urøk said, “if that is what you are worried about.” He sounded more in control now. “She is also not at Walther Black's home. So there's no point for all of you to jump into Rosewater's little BMW to make your way over there.”
Rosewater had her hands over her mouth, eyes bulging, staring at the phone. It knew so much about them!
“I already have Eleanor at another location. Oh,” it said, as if an afterthought, “I left her phone behind so that you cannot track her. If you must know, I am on my way to the Sunnyvale Mall where you are going to meet me, Jöanth. We'll meet in the food court in say,” there was a pause. “Let's say in half an hour. That should give you enough time to find some clothes and dress appropriately. I want you uncamouflaged and uncloaked in public. Just to make sure you don't do anything stupid.”
“Why?” Jöanth asked.
“To talk. How else would I get a killing machine like you to sit down and chat with me? If on your terms, you would chop my head off without so much as a greeting. No, no,” the voice said, almost jovially. “I want us to sit down, perhaps even over a drink, and have a good old fashioned palaver.”
“What's the point of all this?” Jöanth asked.
“It's a game, my dear Jöanth. It's all part of an elaborate game I've set up. I want to see how it plays out. Your part for now, is showing up at the food court at the mall. Then we'll discuss Eleanor's release. Capisce?” It said, laughing, killing the call without waiting for an answer.
“What do we do?” Charlene asked.
“Find me some clothes,” Jöanth answered.
As usual, it being a Saturday, Rosewater's parents were out. This gave the trio access to RW’s dad's wardrobe. The walk-in closet had enough cupboard space to keep a diva happy.
It didn't take them long to find Jöanth some stretchable gym clothing that fit. Well, sort of. The sweat pants were too short and hiked up just below his knees. His chest, deltoids, and trapezii muscles threatened to tear the shirt apart. The shirt was skintight and obviously a size or two too small.
Jöanth was a big unit, and he subsequently had big feet as well. This posed the biggest problem as his feet would not fit into any of Mr. Prouza's thirty pairs of shoes. In the end, Jöanth had to wear his own leather boots.
“It kinda works,” Rosewater said as the girls inspected his makeover.
They had been hoping for a gym-freak look, but with the boots, it didn't quite work. Now, Jöanth looked like a ripped guy trying unnecessarily to create the impression that he spent all his time in the gym. Even when out shopping.
“I've seen guys dressed like that,” Charlene offered.
“In New York maybe,” Rosewater countered.
“Well,” Charlene said with a smile, “I guess that will have to do. We did the best we could with what we have.”
Rosewater gave her signature pout, looked Jöanth up and down a final time and nodded. “I guess so.”
“We need to move ladies,” Jöanth said, grabbing the large duffel bag that contained his sword.
He wasn't about to meet a dangerous enemy unarmed. He could only hope that if called for, he would be able to reach Drÿmwÿn in time to effectively wield it.
CHAPTER 43
The effects of the drug were already wearing off. Walther Black had completely and unequivocally ambushed her outside of Rosewater's home. He injected Eleanor with something she couldn’t identify and had her bundled onto the backseat of his car before she even had a chance to cry out.
The drug was a very potent neuromuscular blocking agent. It made her completely numb and unable to move her limbs or even open her mouth. Now she was tied to a chair with duck tape. She was regaining some control over her muscles. With a Herculean effort, she managed to lift her head. It still swayed and the world seemed to swim. Despite her blurred vision, Eleanor saw that she was in a small warehouse. It was completely empty. There were dark oil stains on the concrete floor. They were old and covered with dust. It might have been a car workshop once. You could fit maybe six cars in here at a time, she thought.
The walls were bare and a few steel storage shelves offered the only visual break to the monotony of the empty square space.
Overhead she could see rafters and blinding white fluorescent tubes.
And then there was Walther Black.
Too close for comfort.
Too far away to launch a loogie and have it splatter on his forehead.
He was on the phone. If she concentrated her fuzzled cotton wool thoughts, she could make out what he was saying. The words became clearer, the more she concentrated.
“...your terms, you would chop my head off without so much as a greeting. No, no,” Black said, smiling, “I want us to sit down, perhaps even over a drink, and have a good old fashioned palaver.”
He turned to her, saw that she was awake and waved with a smile.
He actually waved at me! Eleanor's mind balked at the audacity. As if we are old friends and he was merely playing a trick on me.
She shook her head in the hope of clearing it of the cobwebs and only realized then, as some of her hair were painfully torn from the roots, that her mouth had been taped shut with the same silver tape around her wrists and ankles.
&n
bsp; “It's a game, my dear Jöanth,” Walther Black continued his conversation and Eleanor realized who he was talking to. “It's all part of an elaborate game I've set up. I want to see how it plays out. Your part for now, is showing up at the food court at the mall. Then we'll discuss Eleanor's release. Capisce?”
He didn't wait for an answer and broke the connection, switching the phone off, placing it in the back pocket of his khaki chino pants.
“That gives us a few minutes of alone time,” he said, looking at her.
Eleanor couldn't read the look in his eyes, it was as if his irises had turned black and were devoid of emotion. Eleanor ascribed it to the bad lighting and her recent drug induced paralysis. Unless of course, he isn't a man, her brain screamed.
To confirm this thought, as if reading her mind he moved closer. He stood in front of her, pointed his forefinger in the air, and with horrid fascination, Eleanor watched as his finger elongated into a single black claw. The nail was about five inches in length. It looked terribly sharp and had an oily gloss to it. It was easy to imagine it belonging to a monster. To Eleanor, it was one of the most horrifying things she had ever experienced. On some level, it was even worse than the murdered children she had seen. For this was done for her benefit. In front of her. It was horrifying because she recognized it. It was a claw that belonged to the Thing. Now, there was no doubt about Walther Black anymore. He was the svartálvur, and she knew what it was capable of. To remind her of his power, the claw moved closer. The extended nail drew a line from just past the corner of her right eye, down to the edge of her jaw below her ear. It drew blood as it cut through the duck tape. The nail was scalpel sharp and so was the pain, but it soon faded.
The worst is still to come, Eleanor was sure of it.
It reached out with what remained of its human hand. She saw that the single claw was already retracting, making a quick metamorphosis back into a human finger. The Thing that was parading as Walther Black dug his short cropped, manicured fingertips under the edge of the tape, mushing her skin against her teeth, searching for a better grip. She braced for what was about to happen, but the pain was intense nonetheless as he ripped at the tape, exposing her mouth. He left it dangling there, like a discarded, used rag, caught in a fence.
“What are you?” she hissed through clenched teeth.
“Interesting,” he mused and stood back.
He crossed his legs and sat down on the bare concrete floor before her, looking up at her. The silence became too much. It was like a physical force pressing down on Eleanor, the pressure increasing with every passing second.
“What's interesting?” She finally caved in, breaking the oppressive silence.
It smiled. “That you would choose 'What are you?' as your first words to me. It shows an intelligence, a willingness to explore. To find answers. Even resilience and fight. I am surprised.”
It was the voice of Doctor Walther Black, but Eleanor could hear something underlying it. As if she was hearing a recording and there were two sets of voices saying the exact same thing. The one voice though, was toned down, softer as if hiding. That was the voice she feared. Eleanor had a feeling that it was a sound that wouldn't be soft on the ears. It wouldn't quite be like lightning. Hard. Abrasive. Drowning out everything else. It would somehow be different. Where lightning was a high pitched, sharp crack, she thought of his voice as being the low, far-off rumble of thunder. It would be the voice of something stirring below ground, and yet, as powerful as that of a crack of thunder. It would be like a combination of the two.
She forgave herself this analogy as she still felt light headed.
Maybe it's the drugs, she thought.
“Most people,” he continued. “Would be blubbering for mercy. Or would want to know what I intended to do to them. Some might even be calling to their deities, begging for forgiveness or release.” He smiled and shook his now-human, finger in the air.
Eleanor's eyes were hypnotically drawn to it, as if it were a pendulum or a hypnotist's shiny object.
“No,” it said. “The begging would come later, only once they saw me in my true form. That's when they would start to call out to their gods.”
“What are you?” she asked again, wanting it to confirm her suspicion.
Her teeth were gritted and she was trying her best not to cower before this thing. She was not going to give it the satisfaction.
“Apart from your Gift of Sight, you have strength,” it said, nodding its head as if with approval. “I'll give you that. But strength is not limitless, human. Remember that. It does not come from a bottomless pit that you can tap forever. Sooner or later, it becomes weak. It fades. And in the end, you realize that all your fighting was in vain. That you fought for nothing. That you are, in essence, nothing.”
“What are you?” Eleanor spat, truly angry.
It merely smiled.
“I am sure you and Jöanth have discussed it at length. In the end, there is only one likely candidate.”
“Say it!” Eleanor hissed.
“A svartálvur,” he extended his arms to his sides and bowed. “I am one of Jöanth's fallen kin.”
“How?” Eleanor's voice rasped.
Her throat and mouth were dry. Here was confirmation of what they suspected, but it still didn't make a hundred percent sense. Eleanor also realized that it knew about Jöanth.
“How can you change shape?” she asked. “Jöanth said it's not possible. How come you're different?”
“It is because I am different that I survived in the Void,” he answered, voice neutral, eyes black. “Early on I accepted my fate. I abandoned all hopes of rescue or escape. There was only one alternative, next to death, and I was not about to die in there. I was afraid my soul would stay there forever. In that cold, dark, cesspit of death and decay. No. So I made a deal.” He paused, waiting for her.
“With the devil?” she asked mockingly, indulging him.
“Some of you might call the Dark One that,” it surprised her with its answer. “But the Adversary is so much more than what your puny human brains can ever imagine. But yes. I made a deal. The only one that offered a way out. And so I changed and adapted and I paid attention to the things that slithered and scurried around down there. Despite what your álvur friend and his kin might think, there is life down there. Of a sort. An entire ecological system with plants, insects, animals, and other living creatures. And they have all adapted to live and survive in that place. And so did I. And in studying them, I found a creature that would offer me the edge I needed to survive that place,” it paused. “I consumed a creature that gave me the ability to physically change. To alter my body. To inherit the best traits of other creatures I consumed. And thus, I became the first of my kind.”
It waited a second and then prompted with its hand for her to continue. It was evident that it wanted her to say something.
“What?” she asked, clueless.
“You do not know my name?” it asked, a seething, menacing tone had crept into his kindly doctor's voice.
“Why would I?” she said defiantly.
“You did not hear me say it over the phone?” it rasped beratingly, as if speaking to a child.
“I came to when you were waffling about meeting at the food court.”
It closed its hands into a fist and opened them again. It seemed to grind down on its teeth.
“You don't fear me because you don't know what I am capable of. You can count your lucky stars that I want to play first, instead of feasting on your blood.”
As if to confirm this, it jumped forward and a black, forked tongue snaked out of its mouth, elongating so that it could lick at the wound on her face.
Eleanor cried out in alarm, and then louder as the wound started to burn.
“Disgusting, weak humans,” it said, retracting its tongue and wiping at her face with its shirt, trying to get its noxious saliva off her. “I keep forgetting how fragile you are,” it said with disdain and replaced the strip of tape o
ver her mouth. “I am Urøk, The Korgon,” it said stepping back. “The only reason you have not died by my hand yet, is that you still have a role to fulfill. I will kill you when it is time. Your death will have meaning to someone else and it will put them to the test. Your life means nothing Eleanor Kraye, despite what you might think. After tonight, I think I will have proven that to you. None of you matter. If I had my way, I would kill every single person in this boring backwater shit town. I will start with the children first. And I will leave their mutilated little corpses for their parents to find. And then I'll kill all the men. They will wish for death when I come for them. And only after all the men are gone, then I will feast on the women. After tonight, you will believe me. You will know of the power of Urøk, the Korgon. And you will be afraid. For the rest of your short, miserable life. I will see you, Eleanor Kraye. Soon.”
It turned, this thing pretending to be a man, and walked towards a single steel plated door, next to the massive roll-up door. It opened it, took a second to switch off the light and left, leaving Eleanor in the dark.
The darkness it left behind was only complete inside her. Enough light filtered in through windows from the outside to keep her company. Her thoughts and emotions were dark though. Hundreds of questions flitted through her mind, like moths beating at a closed window, unable to reach the light.
The svartálvur, Urøk the Korgon as it called itself, left her with more questions and feelings of doubt than she had before. She replayed their conversation over and over in her mind, hoping for some glimpse of what it had in store for all of them. In the end, she had no answers. She was left with nothing but the dark.
The dark and something else.
The Korgon may have left, but Eleanor couldn't help shake the feeling that she was not alone. Something else was there with her. And it wasn't just her dark thoughts.
CHAPTER 44
Jöanth didn't want the girls there, but they were insistent and there was no way for him to enforce his will upon them.
Stirring Embers: An urban fantasy action adventure (The Light and the Void Book 1) Page 31