The Aztec Saga - Hunted

by J.S. Davidson

  *****

   I had to steal a car to get to where the Persivals lived. There were several vehicles abandoned along the roadways, so it wasn’t difficult to get hold of one, and there wasn’t anyone around to stop me. I hadn’t seen any police since the square; I didn’t dare think of what they’d be pre-occupied with.

  I had driven for the good part of a day until I reached the Alpine region. I could have arrived more quickly, but I was certain the key roads would have roadblocks, so I had to resort to taking back roads. Driving through an abandoned city was surreal and disconcerting.

  It was a relief to finally get to Falls Creek. Although it was summer, snow had lightly covered the ground; even the mountains weren’t immune to the weather anomaly.

  I had pulled the brown coat on almost as soon as I had left Melbourne and hadn’t dared to take it off again. I could feel my shoulders burning and figured an infection had started, but for the time being, out of sight was out of mind, so the coat remained on.

  The car had a built-in GPS, but I had disabled it. I had no idea if I could be tracked by GPS or not, but I wasn’t taking that chance. Once I was at Falls Creek, I had to rely on an old red map I had found in the door trim to navigate my way to the Percival’s. I found this infuriating because hardly any of the roads were sign-posted and there were no milestones to gauge my location.

  Eventually, I found myself driving up their driveway. A neat stack of firewood stood at the front of the property. I appreciated the intense need for the abundance of firewood when I opened the car door—the icy wind felt like a million needles piercing my exposed skin.

  I reached my arm across to the back seat; pain shot through my shoulder. I pulled my arm back and gently pushed my coat and shirt away from my wound. I hadn’t inspected it since it had been stitched. I flipped the visor down and aimed the mirror to my shoulder; the stitches bulged angrily around the red skin. I winced as I applied a small amount of pressure to the side of my wound; a greenish-yellow substance was secreted from between the stitches.

  “Damn it!” I let my shirt fall back to my shoulder. Even the lightness of my shirt made me cringe. The infection would soon spread, and when it did, I would need to be within reach of a hospital. If I wasn’t, and the infection leaked into my blood stream, I would not be able to recover. I grimaced at the irony of being hunted by century-old beings with super-human abilities, whilst my most immediate threat was microscopic.

  As I went to flip the visor back, I caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked like hell. I was filthy, bags hung low under my eyes, and my hair was knotted and awry. I tried to wipe my face with my hands, but they were no cleaner, so all I achieved was to smear even more dirt across my face. I opened the car door and bent down to scoop up a handful of snow with my hands; the heat from my palms melted it almost instantly. I used it to wash my hands of dirt and blood and then repeated the process to splash water over my face. I wiped myself dry with my shirt. Every action caused searing pain, but it wasn’t likely these people would talk to me if I looked like I had just woken up in a gutter. I tried flattening my hair into some sort of order, but it wouldn’t cooperate, so I bunched it up and tucked it under my back of my coat. I kind of wished I hadn’t left Andy’s cap back in the office. Oh, bloody hell—the pain! I pulled on the gloves I had packed—they would hide the bruises and scratches on my hands, as well as serve another purpose should I need to show the Persivals the Book.

  I carefully laid my crossbow under the back seat and tucked the Book into my belt again. I began to walk to the house along the narrow concrete footpath, which had recently been cleared of snow.

  The house was an inviting cedar-clad building with a verandah that ran the perimeter of the property. A chimney off the side of the house was producing thick, rolling grey smoke. I knocked on the heavy timber door. The door opened just enough for the owner to see me; I couldn’t see anyone.

  “Can I help you?” a woman’s voice called from behind the door.

  “Yes, please. I would like to speak with Jonah Persival.” I squinted and craned my neck, trying to see the woman behind the door.

  “He’s busy,” the woman snapped and slammed the door.

  “No, please, this is important ... I have to speak to him about his research.” I could hear the desperation in my voice. “Please, it will only take a minute of his time.” There was no answer. “Please! I’ve driven for days,” I pleaded.

  It couldn’t be happening. After all the effort to find them, to be standing on the Persival’s doorstep only for them to deny me access; I felt like crying. Through the door, I could hear a man and a woman speaking quickly and quietly in another language; a language I didn’t recognise. A moment later, the door slowly opened a little more than it did before.

  “What is it that you want?” a man asked. I still wasn’t able to make out his face.

  “Jonah Persival?” I asked as I took a step closer to the door in hopes of getting a glimpse of his face.

  “Yes. Now, what is it that you want?” he demanded.

  “I need to speak with you about something important.” I paused for a moment. “It’s about a book ...” The door slammed shut before I could finish speaking, and the two people began speaking quickly in raised voices. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it was obvious they were arguing. There was a pause in their exchange before the door finally swung fully open. A slender, middle-aged woman with long, greying blonde hair stood in the doorway, her arms folded. She had a small pointy nose and wide blue eyes, which were studying me intensely. The man stood behind her. He was a short, plump middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a thick, wiry moustache. He had a wide nose and small beady eyes that scowled at me.

  They were looking me up and down, no doubt assessing my haggard appearance, perhaps trying to gauge the extent of any threat I might pose.

  “Please.” My voice was thick with emotion. They couldn’t turn me away, not after all that I’d been through. “I don’t want you to do anything. I just need to speak with you. Please!” I begged.

  “You have five minutes.” The woman pointed a finger at me. “Then you leave.”

  “Yes, five minutes. Thank you. Thank you.”

  She nodded once and walked back into her home. I followed her before she could change her mind. Once I was through the front door, she closed it quickly and snipped five deadbolts that ran down the edge of the door. I knew something was amiss. People don’t often lock their doors when they live in the middle of nowhere, much less have five deadbolts. I settled my breathing; I needed to remain calm. I had only one chance to find the answers I was seeking.

  Their lounge room had a large open wood heater in the centre of one wall. Around it curved a dark red couch which looked extremely comfortable. I had barely slept since I left the real estate office, and the comfortable couch was tantalising. But I wasn’t asked to sit or offered any sort of refreshment. Instead, we stood at a stalemate in the centre of the lounge room.

  “I am Jonah, and this is my wife, Rose,” Jonah said as he waved his hand towards her. She held her lips pursed, glaring at me through squinted eyes. “You said you had questions for us?” Jonah asked sternly. He had a strong accent, but I still couldn’t identify his country of origin, possibly Swedish.

  “Yes. Um, for the sake of time saving, I’ll skip the pleasantries,” I began.

  “Suits us,” Rose said, clearly angry.

  “Okay. You led a research team many years ago?” I asked him.

  His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “I have led many research teams—ranging from the depths of the Congo all the way to icy plains of the Arctic. You will have to be more specific if you wish to gain any information from your five minutes.” He folded his arms across his broad chest and looked at his watch. “Four minutes.”

  I swallowed hard. I knew I had only once chance to speak with them about The Book of Narveere and I could not afford to jeopardise it. I looked around the room; every shelf, every
table, every bench was littered with books. As my eyes focused on them, I noticed he had written all of them. Surely he would have written a book about his studies of The Book of Narveere? It was only a hunch, but it was all I had. I bit my bottom lip and prayed my hunch was right.

  “Yes, well it is in regards to a book that you wrote.” I tried to speak calmly and plainly.

  He unfolded his arms, and his eyes lit up. “Ahh yes, I can see why you would venture this distance to speak with me. My distinguished work is renowned throughout the world. People from many cultures have travelled vast distances just to speak with me for a matter of minutes. Tell me dear, which of my illustrious memoirs would you like me to elaborate on for you?” He sat down on his wide Chesterfield couch, rested his intertwined fingers on his lap, and pushed his head back, puffing his chest out even further.

  I exhaled quickly. There was still no mention of The Book of Narveere, but at least I wasn’t going to be thrown out immediately.

  “Sit. Sit.” He splayed his hand across the air towards the couch.

  “Jonah!” Rose hissed, as she pulled her cardigan tighter around her waist. “Five minutes has expired.” She spoke from the corner of her mouth as to whisper, but she made no effort to lower the volume of her voice.

  “Nonsense, Rose.” He waved his hand, dismissing her complaint. “No harm in having a little chit chat, now is there? We could do with some tea, though,” he beamed. His smile almost vanished behind his thick moustache.

  She dropped her hands furiously, spoke several words in her language and stormed from the room. “Sit dear. Let us reminisce of my many courageous expeditions.” He adjusted his shoulders further back into the chair as he prepared to tell me of his countless ‘courageous expeditions.’

  I studied him intently, looking for anything that may prove to be Aztec-related, as he began to ramble about his many adventures. He wore a long sleeved jumper, so it was impossible to see if he wore any markings like the one I did on my left arm.

  “... invaluable artefacts that I do believe one of the largest museums in England has a permanent display, dedicated solely to me and my research team.” He puffed his chest victoriously.

  Although I was not welcome in their home, Jonah would take any opportunity to gloat about his accomplishments, so I was being tolerated. I hoped that I would be able to coax information about the Book from him without raising suspicion as to the true reason I had visited. I couldn’t afford to anger or scare them, or they would shut down completely.

  He stood to his feet and waddled to a pile of books that sat near the fireplace. He carefully selected a book halfway down the pile and moved back towards me.

  “This book—before you ask, yes you may keep a signed copy—illustrates in perfect detail the differences between two- and three-toed sloths.” He pulled a pair of spectacles from his chest pocket and slipped them on as he prepared to begin reading from his book.

  “Sloths?” I asked, taken aback.

  “Yes, sloths.” He narrowed his eyes at me.

  I held my breath. How could I have been so stupid? I hadn’t researched any of this other expeditions. My heart beat hastened, and I could feel my face burn red, any chance of learning more of the Book fading.

  “Ahh, I see you are an adventurous girl, aren’t you?” He chortled. “No need to be embarrassed. Many young girls have enjoyed a story or two of my telling.” He held his hand to the side of his mouth as he spoke quietly.

  “Oh yes. Oh, you got me,” I said awkwardly.

  “Here, this one is particularly interesting ...” He walked heavily to the corner of the room, where at least twenty books were piled in a perfectly straight tower. He carefully selected one and opened it slowly. “My team of researchers and I made some incredible discoveries ...”

  “Wow. You have had such an adventurous life. I could only imagine.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. From the outset, Rose appeared to be hostile and unlikely to be cooperative, so I had to play into his ego in order to have him reveal the information I needed. I wasn’t the slightest bit interested in his ‘incredible discoveries’ or his so-called adventurous life.

  “It must be incredible, having so many people admire your work,” I gushed with apparent enthusiasm.

  “It can be draining.” He gave a sincere nod. “But it is a duty someone has to fulfil.” He exhaled as though his duty was utterly exhausting.

  “There is one expedition that most intrigues me. You see, I actually work at a bookstore and I came across a vague description of this particular expedition.” I smiled as sweetly as I could, and it had the desired effect because the smile broadened across his face. “I was just so utterly fascinated by your work that I needed to know more. I hope you don’t find it inappropriate that I sought you out.” I threw a girlish smile and tilted my head down.

  He slipped the book back to the pile. “If I had known you were visiting, I may have made other arrangements ... for a more private conversation?” He lowered his voice and lifted his eyebrows, sliding his eyes toward the kitchen where Rose still busied herself.

  What a creep! His wife was only a room away, and he would carry on like this. If only he knew how revolting I found his self-serving manner and deceitful behaviour. The thought of him anywhere near me was repulsive, and it took all my strength not to show it. I had absolutely no intentions of letting him anywhere near me, but he needed to believe I did and, more importantly, he needed to want it so much that he would tell me everything he knew about The Book of Narveere.

  “Perhaps I could make another trip out here.” I stepped closer to him. There were few people I felt comfortable being in my personal space, and he was not one of them. “We should get the business side of our meeting out of the way today. That way, when I come back, there will be little need for conversation.” I lifted one eyebrow. I felt utterly ridiculous and somewhat grotesque, but it worked.

  “Oh, yes! I do like the way you think,” he said, eyeing me up and down suggestively.

  “Okay then. Now the document I was reading was referring to ancient scrolls that you uncovered.” My skin was electric. I was so close to getting the answers I had been searching for, but I had to remain calm. “They referred to a book in particular—The Book of Narveere.”

  All the air seemed to leave the room—the fire flickered unnaturally as soon as the name was spoken.

  “Who are you? What business do you have being here?” Any pleasantness in his voice and demeanour vanished.

  “I told you why I’m here. I’m interested in ...” I moved my hand to touch his arm, but he pulled away and walked back to the couch.

  “You are not here because you stumbled upon information regarding that book. No one just happens upon any information about that book.” His eyes weren’t beady anymore. They were wide and dark, filled with fear.

  “What do you mean?” I stepped closer to him, but he took a large step back to create distance between us.

  “You need to leave.” He pointed towards the door with a shaking hand.

  Rose reappeared at that moment, holding a lightly coloured tray with a tea setting balancing delicately upon it.

  “No need for tea—our friend was just leaving,” Jonah said decisively, as he stood next to his wife, as though to side with her. It sickened me.

  “Look, I’m not here to cause trouble or upset anyone. I don’t want you to do anything. All I need is information, and then I’ll leave. I swear.”

  “Information about what?” Rose asked slowly, as she carefully placed the tray on the coffee table in the centre of the room.

  “Nothing,” Jonah answered before I could.

  “The Book of Narveere,” I said firmly.

  “What of it?” Rose said quickly, as she wrapped her cardigan around herself tightly and looked around the room as though someone may be listening.

  “I just want to know all that you know about it and whether you happen to know anything of The Aztec. That’s it.”

  Rose clapped o
ne of her hands over her heart and the other over her mouth. “Who are you?” she hissed.

  “It doesn’t matter. Please, I absolutely beg of you. People are dying.” For the first time since I arrived, I felt that I was being honest.

  “Of course they are.” She threw her hands in the air and sat on the couch.

  “Rose, there is no need to entertain her anymore. I can send her away ...” Jonah spoke loudly, proclaiming his authority.

  “Really? You want her to leave? Five minutes ago you were planning on her returning for a ‘private conversation’.” Rose shot a foul look at Jonah and held his gaze, till his eyes dropped. He took a step back as though in retreat, unable to deny our conversation.

  I looked at her again, and I recognised her look immediately. It was Tess all over again. I should never have wasted my time with Jonah. Rose was just like Tess. And right now, she was angry, so I decided to tackle her as I had always approached Tess—with direct and no-nonsense honesty.

  “You’ve seen the Book, haven’t you Rose,” I asserted as a statement, not a question.

  I looked at her, and she looked back at me, and we had some connection in that moment. She did not refute my statement, but continued to look at me and asked, “You’ve seen it?”

  I pulled my coat aside and took the Book from my belt. The gloves I was wearing prevented it from glowing.

  “Where did you find that?” Rose jumped to her feet and stood behind the couch. She behaved as though the Book was going to leap from my hands and attack her.

  “I was given it,” I answered quietly.

  “Put it away,” she hissed at me as she looked around as though someone was still watching.

  “I just want to know what it is. Why does it burn some people ...” I spoke before I could stop myself.

  “Some people?” she asked, taken aback. “It burns all people. The Book is made of dragon skin. The words are etched of light and fire.” She cringed as she told me, as though her words also burned as she spoke.

  My face fell. “Dragon skin? I asked for your help. If you don’t want to help me, fine, but don’t treat me like I’m an idiot.”

  “The Book is made of dragon skin! Dragons existed. Not in the same way you see them in story books, but they were certainly real.” She pointed her finger at me, angry that I dared call her a liar.

  “What do you mean?” I frowned.

  “What do you know of dragons?” she asked.

  “That they’re mythical creatures. People dreamed them up years ago.”

  “You, like most people, are wrong. I don’t care if you believe me. I don’t care if you leave here thinking of me as crazy. I don’t care.” She spoke with her lip turned up and waved her hands dismissively. “Dragons existed. You did not come here to learn of dragons. You came here to learn about the Book, and that is all that I will tell you. You want to learn of dragons; you find somebody else. Now get that thing from my sight.” She threw her hands in the air.

  I lifted my jumper again and tucked it into my belt, then slid my coat back across so it was completely covered.

  “Listen and listen well. Whoever gave you that Book is no friend of yours. And be extremely careful of who sees you with it,” she said in almost a whisper.

  “Why? What is it?” I asked.

  “Damn it, Rose! We swore we’d never speak of it again!” Jonah stomped his foot in protest, much like a child would.

  “No, Jonah. You swore, not me. Now, you’re the one that rambles on about your adventures. How about for once in your miserable life you be the hero instead of the coward. Tell the girl.” Rose said coolly, as she reached for her tea and sipped it loudly.

  Jonah’s ego had been hit hard, and he didn’t like it. A moment of self-deliberation passed until he finally spoke.

  “We did some research ...” He paused. There was a slight noise outside, like a stick snapping. He quietly walked to the window to ensure it was securely locked and made certain there were no peeping holes in the curtains. “That Book, it awakens something. Something dark, and once it’s awoken ...” He shook his head. “It doesn’t stop.”

  I sat on the edge of the seat. “The Aztec? It awakens The Aztec?”

  Jonah sat next to his wife on the double couch and placed his hand on her arm as though to comfort her.

  “Open the Book to the first page,” he instructed.

  I sat opposite them and pulled the Book from my belt, again, being careful not to touch the cover with my bare skin. I laid it on the table and opened it to the first page. The page was blank apart from four symbols, which were imprinted across the centre of the page. It looked like there were once five symbols, but the fifth was too faded to make out.

  “The third symbol across. What is it?” he asked.

  I looked down at the symbol. “Um, it’s a sort of squiggle with several zigzag lines through it.”

  He rolled his wife’s sleeve up to her elbow and held her forearm up. There, replicated on her arm was the third symbol in the Book.

  Rose said quietly, as she looked at it, “It doesn’t fade, it doesn’t change, and it cannot be removed or covered. I tried to get a tattoo over the top, but the following day the tattoo had disappeared, and the scar was as strong as the day I got it.”

  I could do nothing but stare at her; I could feel my eyes shaking as tears threatened to burst from them.

  “Do you know of The Aztec?” she continued in a voice so low, it was barely audible.

  “Yes.”

  “The Book releases him.” She leant forward on the edge of the couch so as to speak more softly.

  “Look, our research offers insight into how people, humans, have developed over the many centuries. A major part of the research is based on mythology. This is so important because we need to know why people believed such stories, to understand how our brains have advanced. For example, the Ancient Egyptian believed Ra, the Sun God, would travel on a ‘boat’ for twelve hours a day across the skies giving the world light. On days of storms or eclipses, Egyptians would blame serpents, or perhaps Ra would have to fight other Gods. After the twelve hours had passed Ra would travel through the underworld, hence giving night. The cause for this type of mythology is blindingly obvious; the Earth orbits the sun giving us day and night, but they had no way of knowing this, so they invented these stories. These myths were created to fill the void of unlearned science; myths only exist to explain what humans, what science could not. Myths were never created for entertainment; they’re not stories. Each myth serves a purpose to explain the unexplainable—except the myths which surround that Book. Those myths only explain themselves.”

  “I don’t understand, ‘myths only explain themselves’?” I shook my head.

  “That’s right,” Rose added. “Myths explained things such as photosynthesis, or the planet’s orbit, or death. But the Book’s myths only explained the Book, which led us to believe the Book was a tangible object. That is why we were so interested in it. We were desperate to know if the Book was real. We had several hypotheses, of course. Most of us agreed the Book was complete nonsense and never existed in the first place, but we needed to know for certain. Centuries ago, a tablet was uncovered in a language no one had ever seen. No one could translate or even guess as to what the writings could have been. This tablet had passed down from kings to princes for generations, and all of a sudden it stopped. Instantly, all mention of the tablet ceased, until a team of prospectors accidently came across the tablet. It had been badly damaged over time, but more than half of it was still legible. So naturally it was shipped off to a museum.”

  “And that’s where I come in,” Jonah interjected. “The historian at the museum photographed the tablet and sent it to me. One of my team members happened across the image. She was the most incredible linguist in the world, second to none…” He clasped his hands together. “After weeks of working tirelessly through the translation, she discovered that it was not a message, but rather, co-ordinates; co-ordinates to lead u
s to the location of The Book of Narveere. Naturally, when the tablet had been written, actual co-ordinates hadn’t been invented. Instead, it told of a place by the stars. Once we had discovered the location, I and my team of seven lost no time in heading straight for it. It led us into the deepest parts of Africa, through caves and tunnels, through crocodile-infested rivers ...” He stopped short, as though the next sentence would burn his throat to speak them.

  “What else? What else did your team find?” I asked, my eyes not moving from him.

  “Hangmen.” His eyes shot back to mine. “Through the mist were so many trees filled with hangmen—rotting, decaying hangmen. There was only one path through the death—a river, black and still, that made its way through the hanging corpses. But, someone had been there before us. We don’t know if it was those who hung the men or perhaps they too had been in search of the elusive Book. Tied to an outstretched branch was a raft made from fallen branches and was just sitting there on the water. We knew at that moment we had a choice, and there would be no going back whatever choice we made. It was either go into the forest of hangmen, which we knew would reveal more horrors the deeper we went, or abandon our mission and return empty handed.

  We set out with eight researchers, but only three of us stepped onto the raft—myself, Rose and Tirra, the linguist who translated the tablet. At the time I thought how foolish the five who walked away were, how they would miss one of the greatest discoveries of our time. But now,” he squeezed Rose’s hand and pressed his lips together, “but now, I wish we had followed them.”

  Rose rubbed his hand soothingly, and she looked at him lovingly. “You weren’t to know. None of us could have known.”

  I paced the floor, trying to take calming breaths. They had described with perfect accuracy the dream I had had on the bus the night I arrived in Warrangatta—the night I was given the Book, even though I didn’t know the Book was within the parcel.

  “You found it? You found The Book of Narveere. Where was it? What happened once you found it?” I said too abruptly. It was a matter of time until Veronika and Boris found me. I had to know how to kill them too.

  Rose continued. “The very instant we stepped onto the raft it began to float along the river as though it was being pulled, but there was no one there. Ugh, I can still smell the rotting decay of the hanging people.” She covered her nose and mouth with her hand. “We dared not speak or move,” she whispered. “The dead eyes of the hangmen seemed to follow us as we passed. I could feel their eyes burning into my soul.” Her eyes were still and distant as she recalled her memories. Although she sat in the room alongside Jonah and me, her mind was in the forest. “The raft stopped at a cove of yellow sand. It was so strange because the river did not lap the sand and the mist did not venture past the water’s edge. Jonah was the first to step off the raft, followed by Tirra, then me. And there it was.” She pulled a half smile.

  “What? What was there?” I asked the question, but I didn’t need to; I knew exactly what was there.

  She turned her head to face me. “The Book of Narveere. Oh, when we saw it, do you remember Jonah? The elation we felt. Oh ...” She put both her hands over her heart and closed her eyes as she remembered the victory. “We did it. We were the ones to find the Book. It would be our names to go down in history. Our discovery would re-write human history. And that was our undoing. We were so bound up in our victory we did not see what was directly in front of us. How could a Book possibly survive in the deepest African jungle? Putting aside all the spectacle of hangmen and self-rowing rafts, how could a book survive without human interference?”

  Johan waved his fist in the air. “I wanted it, Rose. I wanted it more than life itself. I wanted to be the first person to lay their hands on that Book. Years of searching, day and night, and criticism from sceptics ... and it was within my grasp. I took it without a moment’s hesitation, and it felt good.” He lowered his hand and stared back to the fire.

  Rose quivered as her eyes began to fill with tears.

  I knew something was wrong. My stomach turned over itself. “What happened once you took it?”

   “He came.” Rose’s voice was thick and her eyes were wide.

   “Who? Who came, Rose?”

   “The Aztec. His skin was as dark as night, and his scars shone in the moonlight. He was terrifyingly beautiful.”

   I felt my heart sink. She described him perfectly—he had been terrifyingly beautiful, but Andy had killed him.

   Jonah walked to the pile of books, which were stacked behind me, as Rose continued to speak.

   “Another woman appeared as though her body materialized from hundreds of black birds. That’s when it happened.” Her eyes widened as she recalled the memory.

   Veronika. “What happened, Rose?” I pleaded.

  She slowly lifted her eyes to meet mine. “The Aztec grabbed me.” She held her forearm and rubbed it slowly. “His hand was like fire as it burned into my skin. ‘We will never be apart,’ he said as he tried to pull me away from Jonah and Tirra. He tried to pull me into the jungle. I turned as I screamed for Jonah and Tirra to help me and that’s when I saw her, the woman of crows. She was holding a knife and…” Rose choked on her words. “And she killed Tirra. She ran that blade across her throat without so much as blinking, and she just let her body fall to the ground.” Rose wailed as she recalled the horrific memory. “I could hear Jonah. He was looking for me through the jungle. The woman of crows started to walk towards him with her knife poised. I was about to scream for Jonah to run, but before I could, The Aztec clapped his hand over my mouth so hard I could barely breathe. Jonah’s voice was screaming for me. Rose slumped into the couch. “Everything goes black. I don’t remember anymore. I don’t know how we escaped. I can just remember running through the blackness and praying Jonah was close. I could hear him—The Aztec. I could feel him. I still can. He is always hunting me.”

   “That’s why we live here. The cold—it dulls the senses.” He gave a merciful look to Rose.

   I inhaled deeply. “Well, you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

   “And why is that?” Rose asked.

   “He’s dead.” I should have felt victorious, liberated. But I didn’t.

   “Ha!” Rose’s laugh was dismissive. “And what weapon did you use?”

   I frowned as I looked at her. I couldn’t understand how the choice of weapon had any impact on his death. “A piece of metal debris—through his back ...”

   “Metal?” she scoffed.

   She leant her elbows on her knees and moved in close to me. “He is still alive.” She stood to her feet and began to pace the floor. “You have the same connection—I can just tell. Can’t you feel him? He’s in your veins. You can feel him flowing through you.”

   She was right; I could feel him. I had thought it was a form of mourning, my longing for him. But it wasn’t—he was still drawing me to him. As I looked at her I couldn’t decipher my emotions; either I was rife with jealousy that she could feel him as I did, or I was relieved I wasn’t the only one to be experiencing it.

   “This is what you need if you want to kill him.” Jonah passed me a sheet of thin tracing paper. I leant across so the fire would illuminate the drawing. I recognised it immediately. It was one of the many swords Andy had hanging on his wall.

   “There is little known of this sword, except that it is the only weapon capable of killing The Aztec. As for the woman of crows, we know nothing of her.”

   A fierce gust of wind thrashed at their front door and blew one of the front windows open. Icy air forced its way into the warm room, sending chills through me. Jonah and Rose ran to the door and window, slamming the window shut and peering through the slither of glass.

   Jonah turned to me. “We have helped you more than enough. Please leave,” he ordered.

  “No, there’s still so much more I need to know ...” I began to protest. A hundred more questions flew through my head
.

   “Here! Take this! This is everything! There is no need for you to visit here again.” He threw an old brown folder to me and pushed me through the front door, slamming it behind me.

   As I turned to walk towards my car, I could hear them sliding the slide bolts on the door. As I clasped the folder in my hands, I knew two things for certain: I had to go to Warrangatta to retrieve the sword that hung on Andy’s wall, and I could never live my life in complete hiding like Rose.