Number of the Beast (Paladin Cycle, Book One) (15 page)

“
Superb,
my boy! It is good that you resisted the use of the firearm. My
cautions about relying too much on guns and bullets have embedded
into your psyche; I can see that for certain. And your remarkable
display of the
Palakration
martial arts will be more lethal than any modern
weapon.”

“
Yes, Elder, but it would
have been so much easier to have just blown the fiend away with the
gun.”

“
But we are not akin to
those Paladin factions who worship technology over innate skill. We
can learn much from the strength of nature and the environment, and
rely on its awesome and ancient knowledge, and not the marvels of
the nuclear age.”

“
My skills are superior
but…” Wincing, Atticus holstered his sword and pistol, then cradled
his upper torso. “I was a fool to relinquish my blade in a fit of
rage.”

“
You maintain an air of
mourning for the death of Rourn that continues to obscure your
judgment.”

“
He was like my real
brother, as you are like my real father. How can I simply forget
that he is gone?”

“
Because it is your duty
to do so! Now get up and act the Twin warrior that you are. We must
continue your training.” He extended a slender arm, palm
up.

“
Yes, sir.” Atticus
grunted, his arm wrapped around his chest. “The gargoyle was more
punishing than the vampyre you had us battle last week.”

If Rourn was still alive Elder Cai
would have sent three gargoyles, and both of them would have
yearned for a fourth.

“
Do you think your
adversaries will be merciful? If you cannot handle a gargoyle or a
little soreness then how can you ever expect to face the
Beast?”

“
I will be prepared if the
Beast ever comes.”

“
He is coming soon,
Atticus. Very soon. Rourn knew this, and so do I. You must be
prepared.”

Atticus held his head
high. “Then, I am,” he said with confidence. “If it is true that
this Beast is coming, then I shall kill him in name of holy
vengeance!”

“
Revenge,” Elder Cai said
the word wryly, “is possibly the least important reason for
stopping the Beast. But go now, seek a healer, and prepare for the
graduation ceremony later this evening. And we will hold a
warrior’s funeral for Rourn tomorrow morning.”

“
Yes, sir.” Atticus bowed
before stumbling toward the mechanical lift.

Cinder detested politics
and drama. It was the way of their people never to get involved in
ridiculous things. But when the Dark Trinity appeared to him, he
could not refuse, for he liked his head on his shoulders, which was
the least of the promises the abomination had threatened him
with.

As instructed, he entered
the woods right before sunset. Just as the Dark Trinity had said,
two men came trekking through the forest at exactly 4:43. Both men
wore camo with orange hunter’s vest.

Cinder stepped out from
behind the wide oak, obstructing the two men’s path.

“
What the hell is this?”
the one named Chris asked. “You’re that freak from the
bar.”

Cinder
puffed blue smoke from the tip of his thick cigar.
“
The woods are lovely, dark, and
deep,
But I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I
sleep.”

“
Who the heck is this?”
Chris’ companion asked.

“
He’s nobody but a dead
asshole,” Chris said, lifting his rifle.

Cinder
blew icy rings of smoke from his lips. The barrel of the rifle
turned to brittle ice. When the trigger was squeezed the weapon
shattered into millions of pieces with a sound of nothing more than
a quiet
poof.

“
I’m getting the fuck
outta here!” Chris’ companion shouted as he fled away. Chris
remained, holding a small scrap of the rifle’s stock.

“
I’m sorry man. I’m really
sorry.” He backed away. “I was high as shit last night and didn’t
mean to harm that bitch. I swear.”

Cinder scowled. “To ask if
there is some mistake. There only other sound's the sweep of easy
wind and downy flake.” The tree directly behind Chris became
encased in scales of ice. Chris’ back clung to the frozen
trunk.

“
Stop,” Chris cried out.
“Please don’t, man. Please don’t do this.”

White steam billowed
around Chris and seconds later his frozen corpse fell to the forest
floor.

Cinder knelt by the man’s
icy blue body, white mist rising off the brittle flesh. “Between
the woods and frozen lake, the darkest evening of the year.” Cinder
blew out another smoke ring. “Robert Frost.”

# # #

Heading
south on I45, Isaac sped toward a restaurant called Roxy’s, the
location where Galmoria had said he could find
The Beloved
.

The low-fuel light
illuminated. He hit the blinker and exited the highway. Pulling
alongside pump Two, Isaac turned the vehicle off. A bell jingled
when he opened the door to the Shell station. Approaching the
counter, scrunching his nose at the pine scented car fresheners, a
grossly inaccurate attempt at the fragrance of nature, he slid his
wallet from the breast pocket of his dress shirt. “I’m going to
pump sixty dollars-worth of gas and you’re going to charge me two
dollars and two cents.” His yellow eyes fixed upon the long-haired
clerk.

The boy blinked. “Two
dollars and two cents.”

Isaac handed the cash to the clerk
while giving him a curt nod.

“
You have a nice day,
sir,” the clerk said.

Diseased
mortal, my day is of no concern to you,
Isaac thought.
Upon finding 'The
Beloved' I shall leave this forsaken place and never
return.

This land known as Texas
was as tormenting as his desert planet home world with two suns.
Though centuries ago, his mind recalled a lush jungle inhabited by
many anthropomorphic beings, but none as mighty as himself, the
sole Geminus, King of the Beasts.

Two teenage cubs
approached. One put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “Hey dawg, got a
smoke?”

He
brushed the paw from his silk shirt. “You would do well to keep
your germ-ridden paws to yourself.” Isaac waved the bothersome cubs
away. The human teenage offspring were most irritating. Isaac would
have killed them and gnawed on their bones if he didn’t have a
mission for Galmoria to complete.
Perhaps
, he thought,
after my quest for Mother is fulfilled, I will
ruin this land of Texas before departing.

Across the two-lane highway, a hag in
a nightgown and slippers entered the Fiesta Mart. Her body reeked
from foul odor.

Disgusting
peasants.

With morbid fascination, Isaac watched
as the crone passed a younger female, less than three decades old.
A wisp of delicious musk straddled the warm summer
breeze.

A new pungent aroma replaced the old
hag's stench.

A whelp!

Her pudgy arms gripped two
sacks of groceries. A rose-colored blouse clung to her stocky
frame, barely concealing her pot-belly. Cotton black shorts reached
just past her knees. Short coffee-colored hair lay matted against
her head.

A white light flashed in Isaac’s eyes.
Every muscle in his body stiffened. Paralyzed and blinded, Isaac
threw back his head and released a guttural scream, a fierce shriek
conveying both laughter and immense joy.

“
What the hell, man!” One
of the cubs fled toward a side street. Mouth gaped, complexion
pale; his friend chased after him.

Isaac sniffed the air. The familiar
scent of a female Geminus electrified his senses. After centuries
of waiting, he had finally found his twin.

And nothing would stand in his way of
fusing with her.

Cheers, applause and chatter erupted
from inside Eagle Hall, a brick building centered amongst all other
structures in the Paladin compound. The aroma of fresh cooked
meats, vegetables, and home-baked fruity desserts floated from the
Festive Chamber.

Wrapped in a ceremonial green cloak
speckled with pearls, Atticus stood outside Eagle Hall, adjusting
the gold cinch around his waist. The pillar candles at the hall’s
threshold bewitched him, tunneling his consciousness into dark and
isolated despair.

For seventeen years he had lived,
studied and trained, learning the sacred ways and rites of the
Paladins under the Order of Abel. He had yearned for the day he
would be recognized as an honorable Selector, a prestigious Knight
of the Order. But this day was always meant to be shared with his
Twin chosen warrior, Rourn. Without him, it was nothing more than a
depressing reminder of his loss.

Atticus took a deep
breath, his posture straight and rigid. He would do the Order
proud. There was no other option. If the prophesied Beast came, as
Elder Cai claimed it would, then it would perish at the end of his
blade. And because he had been adequately trained by the wisest of
the Elders, Atticus knew he possessed the strength, might, heart
and soul of a warrior more than capable of slaying any evil that
dared present itself to this world.

He was after all, the
best, of the best, of the best. The self-indulgent jest hardly
brought a smile to his face this time.

Lucid or drunk, Elder Cai
believed he was ready to face any challenge. But what of the Dark
Trinity that he’d spoken about yesterday? Elder Cai claimed Rourn
had spoken in depth with this mysterious spirit that spoke of the
future, and doom, and courses of action that had to be taken now,
in present day. But was it all a figment of Elder Cai’s
imagination, concocted by the gypsy’s potent brandy?

A clacking noise stirred him from his
mental woes. A band of Junior Cadets, equipped with wooden swords,
battled ferociously, chasing after imaginary wargs. Atticus’ focus
drew to two boys lunging at each other and laughing with each cross
of their weapons. Their images faded, replaced by a young Atticus
and Rourn. Over a decade ago, they had slain their share of wargs,
griffons, and their arch enemy, Snarlith the Bad.

From behind, the wind carried the
sweet tangy scent of Elder Cai’s favorite cordial.

The Elder laid hands on
Atticus’ shoulders. “You have worked diligently and are worthy of
this honor. Yet, you let the troubles of the recent past still
burden you.”

Atticus turned to face his
mentor. “I will do what is asked of me, but I cannot help but feel
that this honor does not belong to me anymore without Rourn. We
should be here together.”

“
Rourn is dead. You are
not. He took his life for a greater purpose, so do not squander
yours, and make his sacrifice in vain.”

“
All in the compound mourn
the loss of the other Twin while I mourn the loss of a
friend.”

Elder Cai shook his head.
“The angels are like the Fates. They weave our destinies at the
spur of the moment. Never forget we are but specks in this universe
and the lightest of winds can alter our lives monumentally. Those
are Rourn’s own words written in his journal.”

“
He’ll be condemned to
Purgatory, won’t he?”

“
I am but a simple man and
I cannot presume to know what happens to any of us after we lose
the struggle with this mortal coil.” He gestured to the band of
warriors fighting to banish the phantom wolves. “You possess the
same heart and spirit as they, but the days of fighting imaginary
foes are no more for you.”

“
Will you tell me more
about the Dark Trinity who had spoken to Rourn? Is it a nefarious
spirit that corrupted my brother?”

From a golden flask hung
around his neck, Elder Cai gulped and wiped his lips with the back
of his hand. He wrapped his arm around Atticus and ushered him down
the stone walkway. “We should not speak of that matter right now,
my boy. Come, for tonight is a time for joy and celebration.” He
winked. “And tonight we will consume a great deal of brandy.” Elder
Cai pressed through the double oak doors. “We must delay no
longer.”

Atticus followed him into the Festive
Chamber.

Green and silver tinsel
adorned the sandstone room, elegant cobwebs weaved by a divine
spider. Brass sconces, mounted high on the four-story wall,
shimmered from the flicker of torch fire rather than the desert
sun. His mentor walked him toward the stairs leading to the altar
carved from red rock. With a nod, Elder Cai disappeared into the
crowd, shaking hands with other current and yet-to-be
Knights.

Prefect Warren Cauldrick,
the towering Elder with bronze skin, patted Atticus on the shoulder
and pulled him into a firm hug. “Blessings, Sir Atticus. We do hope
that you are prepared for the honors that are to be bestowed upon
you.” When Elder Cauldrick broke the embrace, Atticus clamped
straight arms to his side. He bent at the hip, gliding his hands
along on his thighs.

Prefect
Cauldrick handed him a package wrapped in brown paper. Inside was a
velvet green pouch inscribed with his name in gold cursive
font:
A prayer satchel
. Atticus thanked him with a smile and nod.