Michael (The Mark) (The Airel Saga, Book 4: Part 7-8) (12 page)

“I failed.” Michael tucked his chin and spread his stance, readying himself. “Tell me, demon. What is your name this time?”

Kim roared violently, ejecting bits of black slime from her enlarged mouth, spewing forth like a volcano. Bits of it sizzled wherever they landed. “The Alexander asks our name, does he? No. No, we shall not be tricked.” Kim’s skin was turning green, blending in with the tall grass in which she stood.

“Fine,” Michael said, and promptly drew his pistol and fired. The shot had been aimed squarely at the Bloodstone in her hand, but as the bullet neared its target, its trajectory became twisted and bent, pulling it into compact orbit around the stone. It slowed and then fell to the earth harmless.

The demon laughed, a wretched, constrained sound. She began to prattle on in an incoherent stream of meaningless words. Michael pretended to pay attention to her, wore a false look of dread on his face. But he knew what effect the unsilenced gunshot would have. He needed only to wait now for Ellie and Airel. Then it would be three to two. Unless Kim’s weird third-person monologue included more than one demon.

***

Arabia—1232 B.C.

KREIOS SAT ERIEL ON one of the topmost branches of one of the tall redwoods outside the city walls of Ke’elei. He did not have the time to scold her or even to confirm if she was all right, nor could he take the time to tell her what surely she already knew: that she must hold on tightly or fall to her death. But she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She knew these things now. It was clear to Kreios, just as clear as the fact that she had stubbornly chosen her path, that she had been activated. Now nothing would ever be the same.

He then descended upon the demon horde below with ultimate wrath, sword first. A father’s love for his daughter now manifest as a tower of rage if she ever faced harm from the hand of another.

Demon and weird beast alike fell under his blade. Horses, bizarre apes with smashed-looking faces, unchained jungle cats that had been saddled for combat, even one enormous lizard-like monster from the early days, when men lived to be a thousand years old, before the flood, before creatures like this had been mostly exterminated, evolving into dragon myths. The entourage of Subedei was decadent indeed for him to possess one of those creatures.

But it made no tactical sense for such creatures to be here, which made Kreios despise his foe all the more as a fool. There were shouts as the single-handed slaughter continued apace. Subedei was rallying them into formation. But it was too little and too late. The guards upon the city wall, less than a league off, sounded the alarm and angel sorties had already organized into the air. Subedei’s little detachment of troops was doomed. It was now his turn to rue the recklessness of a foray into the woods so near the great city.

Kreios looped into the air with his kind and sized up the final blow, looking for the captain of this force. Sword to the fore, Kreios searched for Subedei. But he was not to be found.

Kreios shouted in rage. He had missed too many opportunities of late.

***

Ascension Island—Present Day

THE SWORD OF LIGHT made one heck of an entrance, especially when it came out of nowhere like it did when I wielded it. I leaped from the cliff top above Michael and Kim with a primal scream, sounding to myself like a Valkyrie; it scared even me. I landed in between them Sword first, plunging the blade deep into the grassy earth, ejecting bits of geological shrapnel in every direction. Light spiraled around the Sword and up my arm, swirling with great energy.

Ellie took a different tack, deciding to come at Kim from the uphill side along the path, from behind her.

Michael crouched down in the blast radius of my landing, shielding himself just in time. Kim was forcibly knocked down. She never saw Ellie coming.

Kim, if you’re in there, I hope you know I’m sorry for this … it’s not how I wanted you to go.

In an obscene movement, as if her body was a marionette on strings, she sat bolt upright in the dirt. Her head twitched a little as she looked at me, like her thoughts were a skipping record or like she was having trouble rebooting.

I approached her, Sword at the ready. “Kim—”

A beastly voice answered, “Kim is not … Kim is not … Kim is no more. It is only the Nri …” The tent of Kim’s body hiked itself to its feet in a crouch and looked up at me, baring its blackened teeth, twisting to acknowledge Ellie’s presence behind.

“You have to end this,” She
said in a very clear tone. I charged, but it was too late.
I
was too late.

Kim—it—leaped up to the top of the cliff above, inhumanly, a jump of thirty feet or more. Its ungodly wings unfurled in a huge sweeping motion, drooping down from the cliff to where we stood. The face of Kim smiled the wickedest smile I had ever seen and then looked to the sky. The wings were slowly raised.

Then the thing, the housing for the Bloodstone, bolted into the sky and was gone.

CHAPTER XVII

“FIRE IT UP, HEX.” Ellie shouted at her questioning pilot as she walked right by, straight to the door. Michael and I followed suit, glad to be done with the return trip to the airfield via the Bowler insanitymobile.

Hex asked Ellie, “Where have you been? I thought you were only going to be a few hours at most.” He scolded her like a worried parent, following along behind.

Ellie stopped abruptly, turning on him. He nearly bowled over her slight frame, but she stood fast. “Listen, Hex, just get us preflighted and out of here like yesterday, okay? I mean, light it up.” She turned and quickly bounded onto the G550.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“Excuse us,” I said. Michael and I made our way around him toward the door.

“Sorry,” he said. He then turned to his work as we boarded and began doing all those little checks that pilots have to do in order to get the airplane ready to defy gravity.

***

Cape Town, South Africa—Present Day

AFTER THE REFUELING STOP in Jo-burg, as the locals called it, the plane carrying Airel’s father had only about another hour’s flight to its final destination.

The 747, a city with wings, set down on the tarmac in Cape Town on a mild afternoon. Massive thunderheads loomed in the distance and a shroud of ribbon-like clouds was draped over Table Mountain. There were patches of sunshine that lent places like Hout Bay an aspect of having been lit from beneath, the turquoise color of the sea iridescent.

Though it looked like paradise, Airel’s father knew this was when the real heavy lifting would begin. As the lone sales rep for a clandestine arms and technology house, he did indeed have many tools in his arsenal. And he knew how to ply his trade, as well as the trade of those who bought his wares.

But he didn’t know where to start looking for his little girl.

He knew she had to be here, though. It was clear enough, looking through news reports like the ones he had seen that led him here:
Graveyard Massacre. Seventy-five men, two women brutally murdered … Schoolyard Ripper…
and all of them with something in common: the same man. Whether it was a grainy photo or a still from security camera footage, he could recognize the blond killer from the BPD report of the original incident at the movie theater. When he finally put it all together, it was like a parting of the clouds to reveal pure sunshine. This mysterious blond-haired man had crossed paths with Airel once too often. Now he would cross swords with Airel’s father.
To the death.

He didn’t know what the killer wanted with his daughter. He could only assume she needed help and that the killer, if backed into a wall, would eventually lead him to wherever he was keeping her. He had all kinds of tools he could use that made people talk.

Now one problem remained:
Where to find the bastard?

***

Somewhere Over the South Atlantic—Present Day

BEFORE I KNEW IT, we were airborne, bound for South Africa, Cape Town direct. It wouldn’t be more than a few hours; Hex was flying us close to the speed of sound.

I was worried about Michael. He had obviously not fared well on our little adventure up the mountain. He sat scrunched in his seat, his eyes closed, beads of sweat on his brow. I adjusted the ventilation so that a cool stream of air washed over his face. I loosened the collar of his shirt a little so his skin could breathe.

That’s when I first noticed the mark on his chest.

My mind flashed with anxiety, my hands pulling at the buttons of his shirt in desperation as more and more of the weird wound showed itself. It was like a star, purple-black at its center with spiral tendrils radiating out from there in red and yellow, that ugly bruise-yellow that attends blunt force trauma.

“Michael.”

It took me a moment to realize he wasn’t responding. He wasn’t just tired. He seemed like he wasn’t all there, like he was … I couldn’t go there.
Oh, no. What happened?
I was going to lose it.

My hands grasped each other and I brought them reflexively up to my chest, next to my scar. Then
She
crowded into my mind.
“You bear a wound from the same blade.”

I was stunned. I remembered it, my hands now clasping my chest, rubbing the only scar I would wear forever. It was clear: I could heal. Michael could not. I searched inwardly, racking my brain for an answer.

That’s what happened.
I remembered what I had seen in my vision, when I was …
what, dead?
Kreios healed him with the Bloodstone.
I remembered everything; how Michael had howled in pain and confusion as my grandfather brought the Bloodstone to his chest. I sat back in remorseful silence. There were no tears. I just shook my head.

“It was a curse that he laid upon him,” She
said.
“But he thought that was what you would have wanted, for Michael to carry on however possible …”

I could tell
She
was sad. I had never known her to be like that. And it was a heavy thing indeed for a girl to have a broken-hearted conscience.

But what kind of life would that be?
I protested to her. It was clear that Kreios didn’t really know me. Not if he thought I wanted Michael to live under some irrevocable curse.

Ellie was now at my side, a look of concern on her face. She said nothing. I was glad. I wouldn’t have known how to deal with a conversation then.

Michael stirred in his fever, muttering one word: “Kasdeja … Kasdeja …” He said it over and over.

Finally Ellie said, “I’m sorry, girlie. I think that last run-in with the Bloodstone really did a number on him.”

Yes, it had. It was all that and so much more. Michael had been carrying the load—he had been doing the heavy lifting for all of us. He never sought the limelight, never did what was best for himself, never wanted for anyone else to be too worried about him. He had kept it all to himself.

Meanwhile, I ran around like a chicken with my head cut off, bouncing from one crisis to another. But he was steady. I cursed myself out loud.
No. I won’t believe it’s too late. Not after all this. Not after all we’ve done, all we’ve endured. We’re almost to the finish line.
I couldn’t quit now.

Kreios would know what to do. If anyone would, he would. “Ellie,” I said, “I think he needs water. I’m going to get him some.”

She nodded. “It’s in the back there. In the cupboard.”

“All right,” I said, getting up and walking to the back.
Cupboard, huh?
Everything was stainless steel and latched shut against the possibility of turbulence. There was nothing to it but to go through all of them methodically. Top to bottom, left to right. I was glad for a menial task to take my mind off how badly Michael looked, how I was powerless to help him.

The smaller doors hid first aid stuff. Then there were cups, glasses, all of them crystal or sterling silver. There were napkins, plates, and so on.

Across from these, my search for bottled water got colder. All that was in these cabinets was what looked like Ellie’s stash of military spec survival gear. I had opened every door on the stupid plane, I thought, until I came to one that was bigger still than all the others.
Warmer. I should have started here; this looks like a fridge.
And it was.

Once I released the latch and opened the door, I stood back, bewildered. It was stocked with every imaginable kind of chilled beverage. Plus there was cheese. Lots of it. Exotic stuff like Muenster and Camembert. The bottled water was near the bottom toward the back. I grabbed a couple of bottles and made my return journey toward the nose of the plane.

I walked up to Michael and Ellie. “Here you go,” I said, offering her one of the bottles.

She took it. “Thanks.”

I sat back down next to Michael and tried to get him to take a sip of the cold water. Turning to Ellie, I said, “Dude. What’s with the cheese?”

She laughed. “There’s a lot of it, ain’t there? It’s a weakness. More of a hobby, really.”

“You’re really weird,” I said, and I meant it.

She took it as a joke and laughed, making us both laugh. It was a bittersweet moment. If I couldn’t laugh, I knew I would start in with the waterworks; Michael looked like death.

Bishop interrupted us. “Everything okay?” he asked in his thick African accent.

Ellie answered for us. “Yes, Bishop, of course.” She smiled at him and he returned it redoubled, his pure white teeth and pure white crewman’s shirt gleaming against his deep brown skin.

“I’ve just got to make sure you people are well attended to, that’s all.” He smiled and excused himself to the rear of the plane.

When he had gone, I said, “I really like that guy.”

“Oh, girlie, Africans are superb. I love them. Did you know there are ten official languages in Zed-A?”

“Ten?” I was flabbergasted.

“Yeah. Most of ‘em are tribal, either Zulu or Xhosa or Sutu. Bishop is Zulu. He’s only been with me a little while, maybe four months, but I’ve been really impressed with him.”