The House of Grey- Volume 6 (18 page)

Cyann nodded. “Yes. I think that would be prudent.”

The monster bowed a second time and slipped into the tar,
dragging all
remnants of the ooze along with him. The Midday Darkness was gone.

Monson let his sword hand relax. It was over. It had to be over.

Cyann bumped him slightly and he noticed her going weak in the knees. Her skin felt icy to the touch. Monson dropped his sword and caught her.

“Thanks.” She gave him a weary smile. “That took a lot out of me. What are you doing holding onto me again?
I
told you, you’re going to embarrass me.”

“Stop talking like that.
w
e all know how cold-hearted you are. Besides, do you want me to drop you?”

Cyann glanced downward.
“
No, that might hurt.”

“Then shut your trap.
b
esides, if I put you down you might light up like a blue tiki torch and turn us all into frogs or something.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious.
a
regular comedian.”

“I try.
c
ome on, let’s go find the others.”

Cyann shook her head. “We still have to deal with him.”

Gibson stood a ways off grinning outlandishly, his gray skin darkening as his smile broadened. He held his golden sword in a non-threatening reverse grip, waiting for the two to close the distance. Monson gently set Cyann down and quickly scanned their surroundings.
t
he battle that had been raging so formidably just moments ago was all but over; the quiet was eerie, the only sounds those of injured combatants. This would be the final battle.
i
f Monson could finish Gibson they would win.

“I cannot believe I am about to go all-out against a mere child, but I guess it cannot be helped,” said Gibson casually. “You see, I want the girl.”

Monson glanced back over his shoulder at Cyann. “You and half the boys at Coren.”

She punched him in the shoulder.

“What?” asked Monson, rubbing at the spot. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

She glared at him.

He threw up his hands. “Don’t get mad at me because you’re in demand.”

She smiled and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe I should fight him.”

Monson cocked the eyebrow. “You can barely stand. No, this has to be me.”

She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Then don’t lose.
r
emember what I said about leaving and not saying goodbye.”

He scrunched his eyes in mock concentration. “So, do you want me to say goodbye? Is that what you’re hinting at?”

She punched him again in the exact same spot. Monson rubbed it again. “I guess not.”

He reached for the blade that answered his call and blazed red from the contact as he caught it.

“You are ready then?” asked Gibson, readying his own blade.

“I am,” replied Monson, assuming his stance as he prepared to fight Gibson one final time.

Chapter
63
– Fire and Ice

The Dance of Fire and Ice.
t
wo opposites coming together as one. Offense and defense, action and reaction. Monson finally understood why the moves of the Ja-no were so tough to execute. His style was missing a weapon.
i
t was a disadvantage as great as any one person could have.

“You cannot win, Monson Grey. You are merely delaying the inevitable,”
 
Gibson said off-handedly.

“Shut up and fight.”
 

Monson began his attack with a fire spell that shot out ribbons of flame from his hand and whipped and churned the air around them. Gibson countered with a wind spell, producing conglomerated pillars of air that deflected the flames before they reached Gibson. Monson had not expected them to; what he did expect was for Gibson to use a wind spell, counting on the ensuing mess created from fire and wind to distort the air around them and decrease visibility. .

He took a deep breath and slashed at Gibson’s weak side, forcing him to parry completely across his body, exposing his shoulder and strong side. In this highly open position, all Monson needed to do was strike with a weapon; any weapon would do, but
Monson would not be able to retract his sword and attacked the opposite side quickly enough
.  Monson attempted to script a quick spell but Gibson was too fast.
h
e spun on the balls of his feet, pulling Monson into his rotation and striking at his now-exposed backside. Monson felt the slash and then pain. He rolled to put some distance between them, coming up on his feet and facing Gibson. He almost died right then and there.
 

“Now you understand the problem with using a single blade in a double-bladed style. You would have done well to learn the dances one by one instead of collectively. The Dance of Fire and Ice is one of the more difficult combinations.”
 

Monson staggered as he tried to stand upright but his eyes darted around in the hopes that backup might be on the way. No such luck. The one thing that Monson could see was Cyann, who was also barely on her feet. Concern was written all over her face. She nodded her head at him, apparently trying to show her acceptance of the situation.
 

You’re half-dead,
her eyes said
. You don’t have to keep fighting.

She started to move, their eyes locked. Monson glared at her while shaking his head.
 

Not on your life.

He steadied himself and then spoke aloud. “You are not taking on this burden.
I
won’t let it happen.”
 

He turned inward.
OK guys, if you’re there and you can do something, I would appreciate it right about now.
 

Gibson stepped forward. “Shall we?”
 

Monson was not given an opportunity to answer. Gibson thrust forward, hitting him with a side blow that could have severed a mountain. Monson flew back and hit the ground hard. He was starting to feel dizzy.
i
f he could not stop his bleeding, he was going to die.
 

“You put up a decent fight, O Being of Seven Bloods,” sneered Gibson. “But your battle ends here. You’ve delayed me long enough. We still have use for you, though, so stay here and try not to die.”

Monson weakly lifted his head. Gibson laughed and kneeled down, punching him hard in the face. Monson saw a flash of bright light, then twinkling stars, and then nothing at all.
 

***

Beasts of every make and model attacked people as they ran screaming for their lives. I remember
the
tangible
feeling of fear as I fought to protect them.
 

“Remember Monson, you must stay in control.
w
e don’t know what you are capable of.”
 

“Yes, Grandfather.”
 

“I am going to fight my old friend Baroty.
i
t is time that we finish what we started.”

“But you’re hurt.
l
et me fight him. I can beat him. I know I can.”

“No, my son, you have done enough. This was a burden that should have never been yours.
I
am truly sorry I forced you to carry it.”

***

Monson opened his eyes to a starry night sky and the sound and scent of running water.
 

“Where am I?” he asked aloud, sitting up and rubbing his head.
 

“I think you know.”
 

A man was standing at a distance on the shore of a river that sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight.

Monson’s heart leapt out of his chest at the sight of the man.
 

“Grandfather?”
 

Marques Grey turned to face Monson, warm eyes barely visible in the twilight. “Monson, my boy. It is wonderful to see you again.”

Tears fell unchecked as Monson took a reluctant step towards him. “I don’t believe you’re here.
w
ait…where
is
here?”
 

The place was vaguely familiar: a river, a mountain, a path.
t
hen Monson understood. “We’re in my inner world.” He laughed. “That sounds so funny when I say it out loud.”
 

Marques Grey smiled appreciatively, stepping to meet Monson. “Shall we walk?”
 

Monson nodded. “Sure.”
 

The two walked along the riverbank  in silence. As unlikely as it seemed, Monson found that he was having problems talking. He had so much he wanted say; he just didn’t know where to start.
 

“I have so many questions,” Monson said, slowing his pace to gaze out across his river.
 

“I’ll bet you do.”
 

“Will you allow me to ask them?”

Marques Grey smiled. “Of course, but you must be swift and realize that I may not be able to answer all of them now. Our time grows short and there are things that I must tell you.”

Monson nodded again. “I hear that a lot.” He took a deep breath. “Did I kill everyone on Baroty Bridge?”

Marques Grey sighed
.
“No. That responsibility is mine and mine alone. I should not have faced my old friend in such a straightforward manner nor involved you when you were so untested.”
 

“So I did destroy it.”

“Yes, you did.
a
nd thank goodness you did.
t
hat sort of machine should never have existed.”

“How did I destroy the bridge?” asked Monson. “What exactly happened?”
 

Marques sighed. “You lost control of your path. You lost control of the vast, untapped power that resides inside of you. You triggered the Natural Man by a simple instinctual reaction to a single devastating event.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Power, my boy. You got very angry and let go of what little control you had on your power. You released that power in your rage and it decimated the bridge.

“One of the problems with you being so young is your inexperience with the Keepers of your Gate. You are truly remarkable, my boy, but at the same time a danger to yourself. Someone your age should not have a fully developed path. Because you
do
have a fully developed path, you have to be extra careful as to what you do and how you do it. If you are not, the Natural Man will take over and destroy—well, everything.”
 

Monson gulped slightly. “That sounds unpleasant.”

Marques laughed. “There are other things which are far more unpleasant than the Natural Man.”
 

Strange echoing noises intruded upon their conversation. Monson covered his eyes in annoyance.
 

“What’s with the noise? It’s always been quiet here before.”

“The sound is an indication that our time is almost at an end.
t
he outside world is intruding upon us. So now I would ask you to listen and not speak.”
 

“But I have more–”

“I understand,” Marques said, cutting him off. “You have many questions;
your
life, your family, your purpose. The answers will come in due time.
b
ut this you must know first if you are to come to the knowledge of the truth.”
 

“Which truth is that?”
 

“The ultimate truth, Monson.
t
he truth above all others.”
 

Monson waited for the punch line.
w
hen none came he asked, “And what is that ultimate truth?”

Marques shook his head. “I do not know any better than you do.
i
will tell you this–you, my boy, are like no other person I have ever met, except for one.”
 

Monson cocked the eyebrow. “Except for one? You mean there’s someone else like me?” He ignored the fact that he was not sure what that even meant. He was different, but how could he articulate that difference? Because he was the Being of Seven Bloods? Maybe, but the thought of him being some sort of
s
avior left a bad taste in his mouth.
 

Marques bent down to look Monson in the eye. “The only other person like you is–”
 

Monson already knew, so he finished his grandfather’s sentence. “Sariah.”
 

Marques’ chin dipped once in the affirmative. “Find her, Monson; find out everything about her.
o
nly then will the question be answered.”