Airel. Part 13

He felt the Sword of Light respond to the door, but he could not tel what it would mean. Deep in his mind, Kreios took hold of the Sword, unsheathing it swiftly. The door flew open at the very same instant. Kreios was pul ed powerful y toward the black opening, but he planted his feet and stood his ground.

The scent of moist earth fil ed his senses, but it smel ed of something else that he could not place. Iron? Wood? He gave up on knowing-al he was certain of was that he must not go through the door. Not just yet.

From out of the blackness came fingers of red and blue light, separately wooing him, and wreathing him; pul ing him toward the black hole of the opening with insistence.

"Return!" He commanded. The Sword of Light returned to the scabbard and the door slammed in his face, knocking him onto his back. Simultaneously, he returned to awareness in the court, in the presence of the elders, the sound of silence soaking him. The birthmarks, like tattoos, that ran and twisted up his forearm al the way to his neck, now burned hot. The elders stared in blank amazement.

Kreios hid his shaking hands as he moved back to his seat. He did not know if the door he had seen could help them or if it would end up kil ing them al . These questions were quickly submitted to the facts. The Brotherhood were relentlessly pursuing him and his daughter. The only way to save her was to stand and fight.

Chapter IX.

Boise Idaho, Present day The rain drizzled from the heavens in a light mist, landing on a black BMW 7, making little droplets on the windshield. There was a different kind of individual inside. His arm hairs stood up on end as he watched a house across and down the street a little way.

His mind flipped over and over about what he was going to do to the girl, if she turned out to be who he thought she was. Kill her now before it's too late! "Try to control yourself. We don't even know if it's her."

It was just past midnight, and the street had settled down. He ducked down as the high-beams of a Ford Explorer fil ed his car, then drove on past and turned into a driveway, slinking into an opening garage door.

He thought back to a few nights ago, when he saw her so close and vulnerable in the moonlight as she ran like a spooked rabbit. He wanted to drag her kicking and screaming back to his deep, dark hiding place; the cage, his toy. He would let the caged beast out to play. "You want to come out to play? I know you do."

Patience. There is no need to hurry, we can enjoy it soon enough. He couldn't wait to feel the thril of the kil again. He shivered as he gripped the steering wheel. His hands turned white with desire and he started hacking deep within his lungs. He spit out thick black snot and wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve. He cursed under his breath, washing it al back down with cold coffee.

His chest heaved and bulged as if something inside wanted to get out and the only way out was through his sternum. He clutched at his ribs, groaning, and then his skin began to crawl. He ripped his shirt open, watching the spectacle, disconnectedly wondering if he would die this time.

Around his neck was a steel chain. Suspended from the chain was a black stone that glowed blood red. It pulsed darkly with the kil er's heartbeat, speaking to him. The evil that flowed through the kil er's veins surged and pulsed with a low hum that no man could hear.

He had a splitting headache and dug his fingers into his skul , hoping the pain would stop. He tipped a bottle of Advil up like a drink and poured some into his mouth. He chewed them up and consumed them, waiting greedily for the calm that would come, if only for a little while. He closed his eyes and felt them burn in their sockets.

The next thing he knew, he woke with the sunrise beginning to warm the black leather of the interior. He hoped he had not been discovered while pa.s.sed out. The headache had been replaced with a cool dizziness that wafted over him in waves. He pulsed with that rhythm, feeling like he was underwater, moving like an anemone.

Two police cars were now parked in front of the girl's house. His body fil ed with alarm and dread, but not because of the presence of the authorities.

There was a more potent authority he feared. A word now formed in the air before him, draped with cobweb and corrosion, and he read it aloud: FAILURE. He repeated it in several languages, even some he did not know. He felt sickened far beyond what he had become accustomed to. He knew there had been a change in the game. He didn't know what, but it was not advantageous to him. Then he reverted to pathetic curses.

His thoughts tortured him with images from long-ago battles that he himself had never fought, of b.l.o.o.d.y kil s he had never administered. He clutched his skul and pressed his fingers into his temples in an attempt to stop the gruesome images from fil ing his mind.

He could see the girl, her dark brown hair and stupid smile. Oh, how he hated her. Especial y now that she was so obviously in love-he could feel it and it nauseated him.

He remembered he had a job, but he had not been in to work for over a week now. He even had a family, but at the moment couldn't remember who they were. He laughed in spite of himself and d.a.m.ned al of it, al of them, to Hel . He didn't even remember his own name, until he wracked his brain over al the "S" names he could drum up: "Sam, Steve, Saul, Stan... Stan, that's it! Stan's the man..."

Stan nodded and touched the red stone, marveling at how much power he could feel coming through its cold sides. He returned his attention to the house, where the two squad cars were now joined by a news van with Channel 12 printed on the side in big block letters.

He had a feeling that some il had befal en his prey. Maybe she was dead. Perhaps her blond stalker friend had done the job for him, saving him a lot of dirty work. But he resented someone working his job.

The demon in the back of his mind told him otherwise, and he watched from the comfort of his BMW as a new wave of hate fil ed his veins. He wanted to kil Airel, wanted to take hold of her neck and choke the life out of her and feel the crunch of her bones breaking under his hand.

Smiling with bright white teeth, he gripped the steering wheel harder. Happiness fil ed him and bubbled over with the thought of finding her and the blond man from the theater. He would kil them both.

Chapter X.

1250 B.C. The City of Ke'elei "What I ask for is this: the Army of Ke'elei. a.s.sist me in eradicating the Seer's horde from the face of the earth. If we do not attack, they wil find this city and al wil be lost. Word of it wil spread like a plague throughout the land. We must act quickly to destroy before we are destroyed." Kreios looked at the frowning faces and continued.

"They are less than a day's flight away. If we move with haste we can attack them before the next sunset. I believe El has placed the key to victory within our hand already. With the aid of the Shadowers we can attack them from the air without their foreknowledge." Kreios felt the the tide begin to turn as he spoke. He wondered what it was that had begun to turn his peers so quickly-unless he was in fact deceived somehow, he wasn't quite sure. His face radiated with the power the Sword had already demonstrated. He was not sure exactly what propel ed him forward, and to what end, but he felt he could almost defeat the horde by himself. It was as if he was becoming one with the Sword, and the Sword one with him.

Anael shook his head, and his white beard wagged with disapproval. "If we give you the Army the city wil be defenseless. What wil happen if they send a second wave to take the city as you are gone? I cannot al ow our women and children to be sacrificed in order for you to embark on a battle that may leave you al dead."

Kreios tried to keep his voice even, but it shook slightly in spite of his effort. "I believe that the Sword of Light wil protect us from the drain of power in battle-"

"-You believe, but have no proof. What happens if the battle lasts for days? What if, over time, you lose al of your power? The Shadowers wil not be able to protect you as you return to the city and lead the entire horde to our gates. Then, not only wil you and the entire army be weak and dying, but also the city wil stand at the mouth of its own grave."

Kreios could feel his temper rise, but resisted. "Understand, they wil be at our gates on the morrow no matter what we choose to do today. I do not know how, but the Seer is able to see past our defenses. How he does it is not the point. The enemy would not expect us to leave a fortified city in favor of open battle in the wilderness. If we attack swiftly he wil not see it coming." Kreios stopped, looking at Anael, gauging his reactions. He was stone-faced stil .

Kreios slumped his shoulders slightly in acknowledgement. "We have to try. I can leave half the Army here to defend the city in case we fail, but we must try! Our lives are al at stake!"

Anael muttered, conferring with the other elders in a hushed tone, occasional y stealing a glance toward Kreios and the Sword that hung at his side.

Kreios had no evidence that his plan was sound. He simply knew what was true and what was not. He knew he would protect his daughter at any cost. If that meant meeting the Seer in battle on his own, he would do it.

"We wil have to hold further council over this matter," Anael stated matter-of-factly. "It is a difficult thing to judge. The Sword is back in our hands now and I have a hard time risking that it be taken away again."

Kreios flinched in fury. "Why is a sword forged, O Great Anael? Why are shields made? For what purpose does a man bend a bow and craft arrows?

Why does he train his hands to battle? Is it to hide these things in obscurity when they are most needed? Would you in fact have us run from the risk of battle when the possibility of victory is at hand? If we would but reach out to grasp it! I lost the Sword once. Once! That wil not happen again, Anael. I am the keeper of the Sword and the rightful use of it is mine alone. If I must, I wil fight the horde single-handedly. But you would open up the gates of the City of Refuge for the enemy to trample our very graves and defile them, to keep safe that which is not even your responsibility. Do you stand with me, or no?"

Anael smirked and turned aside dismissively in his seat. "Kreios, you speak as a fool. You are indeed the keeper, but the Sword belongs to us al . Even you must see that. If you lose it or are kil ed, we wil be lost and our city wil have no chance of defense. The enemy army wil be here, as you say, in a day or two. Why attack them when we can prepare our own city and hold it when they come? After al , what is the purpose of the City's great wal s?"

"You are blinded by your own fear!" Kreios despised the weak of heart. "If we fight them away from the city we have a chance of keeping it secret. If they find it-where do you propose to rebuild? We wil then be locked in perpetual war. Do you not remember why we live in hiding? Our last refuge wil be under attack until everything about it has been snuffed into legend-including any of us unfortunate enough to be caught here."

Kreios saw that this got through.

Anael looked at each member of the council with growing concern. Some, he could see, were swayed and he felt his grip on them slipping. He spoke, finality dripping from his voice. "We wil prepare the city for war. I wil give you a third of the army and enough Shadowers to hide you and your men. If you fail-we wil defend the city with the rest of the army, and pray for El's mercy." He stood, declaring the council was done discussing this matter. Everyone stood and bowed. The council left the circle without a word.

Kreios stood, not as stunned as he probably should have been. He's given us just enough to ensure our failure. He watched as the council departed.

The old oak, a hole torn in its canopy, symbolized the emptiness Kreios now felt. It fluttered majestical y, moving regal y with the breeze.

Zedkiel and Yamanu approached Kreios. Yamanu clapped him on the shoulder, grinning broadly. "When do we start?"

Zedkiel and Kreios were gazing thoughtful y at the hole in the tree's branches overhead. "A third is not enough," said Zedkiel, "But it is better than the three of us against the horde." He was trying to be cheery.

Yamanu scoffed jokingly at them. "You two look like you're on your way to eternal death. Do you not remember who you are?" His voice bubbled with joy.

"Do I need to remind you? You are the Sons of G.o.d..."

Kreios and Zedkiel looked at him, and smiles began to break over their dark countenances.

"I wil gather the best of my kind," Yamanu said with a dark look on his face. "The old bat has much to fear. A third, two thirds-it matters not. Numbers are like gold to El. What we need wil be provided for us."

Kreios smiled at them both and said, "Muster the warriors. We depart soon. It is time now to teach this Seer to see fear in spirit and in truth."

Chapter XI.

Somewhere in the Mountains of Idaho, Present day I was running. The faster I ran, the worse my fear became. The thing that pursued me grunted and howled with rage as it chased after me. I dared not look back, concentrating on digging into the rough terrain with my feet. I felt each power pulse of my cadence as I sprinted, tucked my head, and felt the resistance of muscle on bone.

I exploded into a clearing and a huge tree cast a demented shadow in front of it as if leading the way. I was running through the clearing toward a forest of impossible black trees with dark purple leaves.

I screamed as a clawed hand gripped my shoulder from behind, and I put on an extra burst of speed, tearing loose. A slice of my flesh was taken from me as hot pain ran into my shoulder. The evil looking forest loomed two hundred feet ahead, possibly within my reach. I felt I would be safe there from whatever was determined to get me.

"Airel... Airel..." The voice was guttural and sweet at the same time, taking on the characteristics of the beast as wel as my own conscience. The dark woods parted in a curtain and I dove through. I landed on hard shale and skidded to a stop, opening up new wounds in my back. I clambered to my feet.

I turned and saw the hooded beast as he lurched to a stop at the edge of the forest. He howled, then I heard my name again. "Airel... wake up..."

The beast was hunched over, wolf-like, but standing on two legs instead of four. Ma.s.sive clawed hands, covered with fur, hung at his sides like broken branches. He paced back and forth outside the boundary of the forest and his robe fluttered like feathers as it clung to his thin frame. He croaked my name and my face burned with heat.

"Airel!"

My eyes shot open. Michael was sitting over me with his hand on my forehead. He had a look of concern on his beautiful face, and somehow he looked as if he had aged overnight. I tried to speak, but my body was wracked with pain and my throat was so dry al I could get out was a grunt.

"Calm down, you're going to be okay. Here, drink this." Michael handed me a gla.s.s of water and I took it with greed. It burned as it went down, but I drank al of it. I knew it might be drugged again but I was so thirsty that I didn't care.

Michael leaned over and kissed my wet forehead. He smiled at me, but it was weak and I noticed a tremor in his hand.

"What are you doing here?" I managed, but it sent a fresh wave of nausea through me.

Michael shushed me and said, "You're stil here with the crazy man. He let me see you after you fainted. You have been in and out of consciousness for eight days now. He has been trying to heal you with some weird chanting and some other stuff I've never seen before. I've been trying to feed you, in between your nightmares and screaming fits. You real y scared me, Airel. I thought you were gonna die." At this, his voice caught, and he held back tears, looking away.

"What are you talking about? What are you doing in here? Where am I?"

"Airel, what do you mean?" Michael was visibly upset.

That's it. I knew I was going crazy now. I seriously had no idea which way was up, what was real, what was safe and what was dangerous anymore. "I was so worried Michael, I thought you were gone, dead. I don't know. I'm so confused."

Michael was silent, then, "Airel..." And I shuddered. I was drenched, I felt disgusting. Eight days?! What in the world is going on here! I felt insane.

"I'm sorry Airel, I didn't know it would be like this."

"What is going on, Michael? I think I was drugged." I noticed that I was no longer dressed in my fancy blue dress. I wondered how that had happened. It creeped me out beyond words. I was wearing pajamas and they were stuck to me as if I had been wearing them for a week. Gross.

Michael tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and took my hand. "Don't you remember? We were taken, and...I..." He looked down as if he had done something he was ashamed of.

I scanned the room and some things started to come back to me. I remembered having been locked away in this, my "high tower." I remembered rainbows dancing on the bed in the new dawn of some lost day I could not recal as of yet. Like a badly cut movie, random scenes started to come back to me.

I remembered cal ing out for Michael, banging on the door to my room, which, I remembered, had a real y nice bathroom with a huge claw-foot tub. I had been the one who had changed my clothes. Weird. I rubbed my temples. What else? I tried to conjure the past. I felt fury- why?

I was angry. I was angry because I feared the captor had murdered Michael. I saw myself pacing in an angry stew in front of my locked door, and I knew why. I was furious at having been locked up like an animal, no matter how nice the accommodations-and I was worried sick that something horrific had happened to Michael.

The scene shifted and I was flooded with the realization that I was madly in love with him, that I knew it, that I had reconciled my heart to that reality. That explained what happened next in my spastic movie reel vision. I delivered a crushing roundhouse blow to the door of my cel and it exploded off the jamb into a mil ion splinters. I had been Bruce Lee, for crying out loud...Bruce Lee on gamma rays, or whatever.

The movie reel continued. I was running through the obliterated doorway and down the hal . Rooms appeared, covered in years of dust, furniture draped with sheets. Other rooms were clean. Then there was Michael's room-I knew it to be his room, but when I opened the door, which was unlocked, it was empty, and I feared the worst-that he was dead. I saw myself running down hal ways trying to find him, down a flight of stairs, and being arrested by the appearance of the blond kil er, the master of the house. He had appeared out of nowhere. I was struck at his beauty for the smal est of moments.

Then the movie reel took a real y bad turn. There was vomit everywhere. It was mine. I saw myself as I retched time after time, right onto my captor's fancy carpets, losing whatever I had in my stomach from the Cheesecake Factory with surreal violence. Fast forward, and I was dry heaving as the kil er picked me up and carried me to my room.

I looked at Michael in confusion. I smel ed bile. Oh. That might explain the dreams.

Michael lowered his head, his blond hair matted and sticking to his face from sleepless nights. His shoulders began to shake as he turned to go. I had somehow hurt him. It must be hard for him, too...

"Michael, I'm sick or something. Eight days?" I pul ed him close and hugged him. He was warm and at once I was aware of how I must look and smel .

I tried to pul away but Michael held me firm. He was...crying. His back was tight and I could hear his m.u.f.fled sobs. "Michael, what's wrong?"

"I...Uh." He pul ed back but wouldn't look at me. "I'm sorry, Airel." Turning, he rushed out of the room.

"Michael!"

Chapter XII.

I was confused and hurt. Not for myself, but for Michael. He was in pain and something was on his mind but I didn't know what to do. Should I leave him be, give him s.p.a.ce? Relationships were hard. Most of the time I didn't even know what I wanted, let alone what Michael did. I decided to let him be and clean up. I was covered with eight days of sweat and I could feel my clothes sticking to my body.