Of course, I heard it, sharp and clear. A twig snap. Too heavy to be an animal. Also, too much silence following. What in the actual hell is going on in these woods?
6
Dagan grabs my arm and takes me into the clearing where the rocks sit, our lunch site. We crouch behind them. My form is easily concealed, his a bit more difficult. Luckily, two large boulders seem to do the trick.
It’s impossible for Levi to know where I am. Even if he were to locate the Fuse Station, it would never work. Persephone is virtually untraceable. I test her frequently. The only reason I waited to connect in the Fuse was out of pure paranoia. Even if he could somehow high jinx my Slab, she would tell me immediately and we would run. Still, I don’t want to risk trouble for Regina.
Knowing that Seph is completely safe, this is unnerving. I think again to weaponry. All I have on me are the shoes. I don’t have the slightest inkling how they work or even what they are. They opened a tomb. How would I use them as a weapon? Toss them at the assailant? I do happen to be trained in hand-to-hand combat. It’s something I took interest in for a while and continue to train. Still, if they have any type of rayguns, we’re done for.
There’s a rustling in the leaves. Taste vinegar. Smell stagnant polluted water. I wonder if Dagan has any weaponry. As much as I hate to admit it, I do find his presence a bit calming. He’s a big guy, I tell myself.
“I thought I heard something east of me,” a male voice says.
I sneak a peek around the boulder and see a form. He’s probably using audio Framework channels. Slabs can perform that kind of magic.
“Slab?” I mouth to Dagan questioningly.
He shrugs behind the rock.
“Dude. He’s not gonna be out here. I mean, come on. I don’t know why you guys left me here anyway. You know he’ll come back when he decides to come back. We don’t even know where he’s hiding.”
“You have to follow orders, Squid.”
I can hear the other voice as clear as day. Because of my condition, my senses are heightened. I can pick up Framework channel frequencies. For others, only the receiver can detect the voice on the opposite end. It’s as if the voice comes straight to the receiver’s mind, bypassing auditory hearing. This happens through the use of a Slab. With my amplified hearing, I can pick up the other voice without technological help.
“It’s a waste of time.”
I’ve got to get this guy. He might have information, but how am I going to do this with Dagan here? He knows nothing. He probably plans to hide and let the guy go. Damned unconnected, peace-loving hippies.
And there’s the added obstacle—I must get him to help. I can’t do this alone. I’m weaponless, besides the nails, which are shoes at the moment. I really need to figure out how they work. Should I throw them at the guy? Even if they transform into nails, maybe they’ll just change back to heels on impact. Hand-to-hand combat in stilettos. Followed by what? Kidnapping him and... Taking him where? A nearby squirrel’s den? I shudder at the thought.
But then, Dagan darts behind his rock toward the voice. He’s extremely quick for his size. He shoots effortlessly through the trees. He’s to the guy fifty feet away in a matter of seconds. He knocks him out with a giant fist. Then, looks over at me peeking from behind the rock.
“Should we take him to my place or question him here?” he asks, so casually I would think he just inquired if I prefer cream in my coffee. I snap into mission-mode.
“Where’s your place?”
“This way,” he slings the guy over his brawny shoulder. The guy also resembles a rag doll even though he’s two of me. He turns into the woods following an unseen trail. I struggle to keep up, again, surprised by his speed. The sharp twists and turns add difficulty, though I stay steadfast in his wake. The blow keeps the Lighter out, and we trek deeper and deeper into the woods.
A clearing begins. I spot a large castle-shaped cottage made of the same concrete as the library. We go inside. It’s impossibly larger inside than out, not unlike Regina’s. This guy is full of surprises. He carries his accessory as he would a beach towel over his shoulder. The man’s arms dangle as wet noodles might. I follow closely behind. We pass through a corridor into a den, then a study.
There’s a living room at the end of the hallway. I can only catch tiny glimpses of each space’s layout. I pass leather chairs, a coffee table, a massive grey flannel couch, and a huge fireplace. Thick dark wood spreads everywhere from the ebony-stained hardwood floors to where it climbs the walls, ending about three-quarters of the way up in sharp diagonal angles. It disappears into a ceiling made out of crystal. The living room also sports a massive fireplace, but that’s all I can make out before Dagan opens a tall door on the left.
The door reveals a twisty staircase descending through wood-plated concrete walls. As I scurry behind him, I have a sudden thought regarding my safety. I quickly push it aside, however. What’s the worst that can happen? Death? Fine. Call me reckless. Call me stupid. I’m going to avenge my brother and die doing so if need be.
After a trek so low, I figure we passed sea level a long time ago, he lands with a heavy thud on a shiny black landing. No dust, just flawless, smooth black floor spans ahead of us leading into a tunnel. As he walks, the floor lights the path ahead. We walk for about ten minutes when the tunnel splits into two pathways and dead ends at a door straight ahead.
He balances the Lighter on his shoulder and pulls out his wallet from his back pocket. He thumbs through until he finds a kist key. When he goes to replace the billfold, a round token-shaped object falls out. It has some sort of engraving on it. I swoop down and scoop it up. Dense and hard, not metal though. He reaches and swipes it before I even get a glimpse. Still, I recognize it. I have a similar one residing in my wallet. This is confusing. I thought mine was one-of-a-kind.
He uses the kist key to open the door, and I realize he has some kind of neural network down here. Once open, he ascends more twisty steps, effortlessly swinging his bag of potatoes as we climb. We reach a platform. A black wall swishes open to reveal a finished basement. ‘Lair’ would be a bit more appropriate.
I survey the terrain. I say terrain because it’s a massive space. I spot doors sporadically placed around the circumference of this main room. One stands open. Behind it, I see more stairs leading downward. What the hell? The colossal area resembles an underground tower. It’s reminiscent of a castle’s tower, although the walls are lined with very dark wood also breaking into crystal near the top similar to upstairs. Its sharp angles slice into the original stonework. Cool.
There’s no chill down here. It smells of bonfire—not a fireplace but an actual autumn evening bonfire. The floor is made of black onyx. Its smooth glass surface isn’t unlike black ice. There are modernized fixtures here and there. Most I recognize. Some I don’t.
I also spot quite a few ancient items. Among them—exercise equipment complete with vintage barbells sits on the floor, comic books in impossibly pristine condition, record albums, and hardback books line the shelves. Old framed posters fit the walls, along with sports jerseys and hats. The theme here is old-world American sports, such as baseball, football, and hockey. These sports are still played today, although these United States’ teams remain pre-Great Rain. I recognize a couple of them, including Shane’s favorites. Curious. The room spans around the platform from which we emerged. It’s circular and appears to be split into thirds. One section contains a table, eight chairs, and a kitchen area, all of which are composed of black onyx.
The next third is raised and reachable by steps; it holds a massive over-sized plush coal black sectional couch, adjourning loveseat, gigantic oversized chair with accompanying ottoman, and six enormous movie-style recliners, all shiny black leather. An old-world movie screen completes the area. The furniture is huge. I’m talking gargantuan. I’m Alice in Wonderland, and I’ve just gone down the rabbit hole.
This section can only be described as a man cave. More sports memorabilia lines the
walls, including signed jerseys. A blue and silver football jersey shakes loose a memory. The taste of savory Velveeta chili cheese sauce fills my mouth. I feel heavy cold snowflakes land on my head. I look upward to feel the wet cold drops on my face. I shake off the invisible snow and rush to catch up.
The way my memory works is basically video-graphic on steroids. I guess the best term would be experiential. An ‘experiential memory,’ a phrase I coined myself. I see, hear, and feel everything in the memory as if I’m essentially re-experiencing it. My senses absorb phantom former happenings, which can be extremely useful. Sometimes, however, it can be wholly unhelpful. If I allow my thoughts to drift, I can be taken into any of my memories. At times, I suddenly find myself reliving some rather inconvenient past times. It’s all a side effect of the Synesthesia.
We head to the last third. It’s the highest level. This one’s even more interesting, mostly due to the bare walls. The only occupying furniture consists of a thick and heavy old wooden desk and three chairs. One chair sits on one side and the other two face it. It’s an exact replica of an old-world police interrogation room. The table is even stained with coffee mug rings. There’s a rotary telephone on its surface.
Then, I see it. The same bronze signal-latch that is currently hanging in the library. Anyone can get a signal-reveal, which is a device used to reveal a person’s mark. The apparatus exposes the invisible color tattooed on a person’s arm, which dictates the shire to which he or she belongs. But only shire leaders have signal-latches, and last I checked, Crystal doesn’t have a leader. Very peculiar.
He flops the Lighter in the single chair. Then he walks over to the bare wall. He waves his kist key and the wall reveals a triage of weaponry. He takes out some glowing strings and looks at our prisoner. He puts them back. Instead, he places the man’s right forearm into the signal-latch with clinical speed. It’s bronze and resembles ancient-world shackles. I stand there watching him.
“What the hell.” I say. A declaration, not a question.
“What?” he asks innocently, as he cinches the latch. His eyebrows raise, and I see him as a small boy creating a fort in the living room with every roll of toilet paper in the house. A strip of the fragile tissue wrapped around his head, a miniature ninja.
“Where are we? And more importantly, who are you?” I demand hands on hips, almost stomping my foot. Almost.
“I’m Dagan,” he says, drawing out the sentence. “And we are in my basement.”
I roll my eyes.
“Oh, Dagan, is it?” I ask sarcastically. “Just for your information, this is not a ‘basement.’ This is a villain’s evil lair. Except for the man cave and kitchen. Not sure if villains have kitchens. Well, they probably do. They have to eat, right?”
I’m rambling, which means I’m nervous. I have reason to be. We just kidnapped a guy and brought him to a secret underground cave. Oh, yeah, a cave equipped with torture devices. I’m stoked.
“Okay. But, if I give more background, you do too.”
“Fine. Why did you decide this would be our best course of action back there?” I ask.
“Way I see it, Lyv, these Lighters are up to something bad. Ever since their new ‘leader’ started up with his big ideas… Ideas that are dangerous. I know you’re smart enough to know that. Otherwise…” He trails off not completing the thought. He starts another—“Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gone along for the ride, willingly, I might add. What’s your beef with the Lights?” His trailing off prompts inquiry on my part. He had something else to say about me just then. I decide to let that linger for now. I try to figure out how much truth to give him. Knowing that he has yet to give me the whole enchilada, I go with—
“I have a history with Lighters, and you’re right. They’re up to no good.” Levi is up to no good, I add mentally.
“Keeping it mysterious,” he eyes me slyly.
“As are you,” I reply.
“What do you mean? Ask away,” he says.
“Well, you have a signal-latch, for starters. Not only are there only seven in existence, Crystal Shire’s is supposed to be preserved in the library, as it appears to be hanging there at this very moment.”
“Oh, you noticed that,” he laughs. The guy’s still out cold. I wouldn’t want to get punched by Dagan.
“It was preserved in the library. Actually, it still is. Well, an exact replica, anyway.”
“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word. “We’ll come back to that. He had a Slab. How was it operational in Crystal?”
Before he can answer, we hear a moan. The Lighter starts to come to.
“Come on, we’ve got work to do.” He walks over to the man.
The man is younger. I would say about twenty-eight. He is muscular built, large, but not quite as large as Dagan. I can’t think of anyone besides my brother, whose Titan form surpasses Dagan in size and height. They are two colossal guys. The Lighter has ocean blue eyes and short dusky brown hair. There is a solid bump forming where he was struck.
“What the? Where the? Son of a—” he sputters as he looks around the dank interior, eyes landing on his two abductors. “Who are you?”
“Never mind that,” Dagan says, trying to sound all business. He whips a chair out at the other side of the table and straddles it backwards. He pushes out the other one, never breaking eye contact with our Lighter. I stand unmoving. I haven’t seen him in business-mode. It’s quite entertaining.
I walk over slowly, deciding to take his lead. I slide into the chair, arms crossed, doing my best female detective pose. We do need information.
“You’ve got intel, we require, Mr. uh,” I look at him, inquisitively. He offers nothing.
“Please don’t make us use the latch,” I add, ominously leaning forward. I steeple my hands under my chin, but not quite, as my elbow slips off the ledge, and I have to make a quick recovery.
The Lighter looks at us as if he must be dreaming.
“Okay. You don’t need to use the latch,” he says, shaking his head. “My name is Xane. I came out here with a bunch of us to check things out.”
“What kind of things?” Dagan asks, leaning further back in his chair. His mammoth muscular form looks absurd but his size threatening enough.
“You were using a Slab,” I interject.
“Yeah, so?”
“They’re inoperable in Crystal. All Framework is. You have to use the Fuse Station.”
“Oh, yeah, he gave special ones to the Inner-circle and Middle-circle,” he says. “You guys got any water? Aspirin?”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not how this works, Xane,” I say, knowing full well I have absolutely no clue how ‘this’ works, but I’m eager for information, “Answer some questions, then we talk requests.” I lean back in the chair, elbow perched on the armrest, one hand ‘thoughtfully’ poised under my chin. He studies me incredulously.
“You know, you look really familiar,” he says, seeming this-close to placing me. The Price Is Right wheel slows in its final stretch. Ding. Ding. Ding... Ding...
“I get that a lot,” I reply, braving a look at Dagan. He looks at me thoughtfully.
“I can promise you both, we’ve never met before today. I just have a familiar face. Now, answer some questions, or so help me God, I will latch your ass.” I pound my fist in accompaniment.
“Okay, okay.” He leans back, eyes wide. “Obviously, you know I’m a Light. So, you can probably gather that I was looking for our ‘leader,’” he says the last word with almost as much disdain as Dagan and I. “Nobody’s seen him since the Great Reveal was scheduled to happen.”
The Great Reveal, I mentally sneer. The single moment that ruined my life forever.
“See, Xane, this much we already know. Should I just latch in?” Dagan starts toward the bronze shackle.
“No, no, no. Please don’t,” he pulls back pleadingly.
Getting latched is incredibly painful. Depending on your strength, one session can put you on your ass for weeks. I
t’s very draining, but it does give the wearer’s entire history from birth. Not that we need all that. We only need the last five years if this guy doesn’t cooperate. Even then, it’ll be excruciating. Since Crystal Shire inhabitants are markless, their latch works a little differently. All seven signal-latches can read signals, except for markless Crystals. The Crystal signal-latch is the only one that can read an unconnected resident. Each latch is composed of its shire’s material—gold, turquoise, emerald, onyx, ruby, granite, and bronze for Crystal. I’m still curious as to how Dagan procured the bronze one.
“When was the last time you saw him, Xane? Physically,” I ask in my sweetest good-cop voice.
“The evening before the reveal, he had a gathering to give one of his speeches. Also, he wanted to make sure everyone knew what their role was.”
“And exactly what was your role, Xane?” Dagan asks, sitting forward in the chair.
“I just reached Middle-circle status, exactly a week before. There’s no one that knows the entirety of his great ‘manifesto.’ We all have our roles, but nobody is aware of anyone else’s.”
“Well, what is your role?” Dagan exclaims, pounding a giant fist on the table.
Okay. He needs to take it down a notch. His Mitch Rapp-level interrogation technique is going a bit too far. Mitch Rapp was a book turned movie character in the 2000s. He was a terrorist driven patriot who was recruited for the CIA. His idea of interrogation was cutting off a pinkie finger before even asking the first question. No patience, no tolerance, and pretty badass; however, it’s not as if our ‘prisoner’ is making information extraction all that difficult.
Xane slouches in his chair, the exclamation having no effect. “You guys, I’ve been one foot out of Gold for weeks now. I was just about to take off on those assholes. I do what I want!” he exclaims, throwing his head and free arm upward. “In fact, the moment I was about to unconnect, I got pulled up in rank, meaning more responsibilities. So, curiosity, you know. It took over, as it loves to do,” he leans forward.
I Am the Storm Page 5