The Seven (Fist of Light Series) (12 page)

I attempted to reach Jeeves through our mental link, but my head was ringing so loudly that there was no way to get a clear message through. The door to my cell opened wide, held by a dedicated goon in army fatigues for the clinically insane. His face was marred by a set of claw marks, and there was barely enough left of the skin above his right eye to allow him the luxury of blinking. Behind the crazed fanatic in dire need of a home makeover was another man altogether, and he looked like he could chew nails for breakfast and spit out origami. There was nothing about the big bulk of his neck or the size of his arms that put out the prey vibe. His enormous size was complemented by a face marked with brutal intent, in a fistfight with this guy, you would run for your mommy as fast as your legs could carry you.

His face squirmed in the light of the cell, most likely reacting to the debilitating loss of power that came with the furnished facilities. The goon behind him made no such untoward reaction, and I could only presume that he was either very controlled in concealing his emotions or that he was just plain mortal. A zealot was worse than any preternatural being, in my opinion. They would charge into the fray with suicidal zeal and an ecstatic smile upon their faces.

I held myself rigidly in place as murder faced me head on, knowing that flinching was the worst thing I could do. Take a viper, for instance. You fall into the nest of a viper, while not happy to see you, it’s not quite sure what to do with you, either, If you move a solitary muscle, that viper, still bloated on the remains of its previous meal, will strike mercilessly. It will attack, and you will soon be reduced to nothing more than another meal long forgotten, once digested thoroughly enough. Looking directly into the brown eyes of the Viper, as he had come to be regarded in my mind, I stared defiantly with every ounce of strength left to muster.

A gentle curvature of his mouth expressed base delight, or genuine amusement. “Ah, my boy, so good to see you… Yes, great to finally meet you in the flesh. I hope that you find your accommodations satisfactory? Yes, I thought so. Splendid, just splendid. I am, of course, Martin Drake, also known as The Enlightened One in more knowledgeable circles. You, Caleb, have great potential as a force for good, and I’m here to discuss your future.”

He couldn’t just be a conniving, big brute of a man that was used to getting his way. He had to be both of those things, as well as sharp as a tack. I doubted many things escaped this man’s attention, and that made him way more dangerous.

I didn’t remove the anger or sarcasm from my voice. “You know, I think we’d be on better speaking terms if you took these off.” I glanced at my restraints. “My arms are just so terribly sore. It makes it hard to pay attention.”

The deep basso chuckle that emanated from the Viper’s mouth was one of amusement. “Of course, Caleb, I can make such things go away.” He snapped his fingers, which was likely unnecessary, and the rope that held me vanished.

I rubbed my arms, testing the bruises that were rapidly appearing on my tortured skin. I didn’t think that anyone could do such a thing with the drain this room was employing on those within its confines. It was a display of power, certainly, one that was meant to keep me on edge and demonstrate the talent in Earth he possessed. It was yet to be seen whether he could exert control over any of the other elements, but it seemed either way I was at a serious disadvantage. My head pounded, reminding me of one more thing that was causing disquiet. I attempted to break through the fuzz that defined my brain activity in order to contact Jeeves and failed. I was in no condition to put up significant resistance. It was best to wait this one out.

I was outclassed, and we both knew it. “Okay, let’s have it then,” I motioned impatiently with one hand and slid down the wall closest to the surgical implements.

He noticed my attempt, albeit a feeble one at that. Surely he could make the other things disappear too, if he so chose. I could also sense metal around him, now that I was closer, the smell of copper filings and steel piping was overpowering. Goon numero uno made a move as if to thrash me for impudence, but one solitary finger and a nod from Martin Drake stopped him firmly in his tracks. He assumed his position at the door, stoic in his duties. When the Viper wishes to stalk its prey, it hides in the foliage and brush, or lies in its den and waits. That’s what I understood to be going on as he whispered sweet nothings into my ears, hoping to lure me into its lair.

“My son, you must trust my benign intentions. I am The Enlightened One of the Order of The Chosen, the most Elite of this organization. I seek to bring peace to the world, and all those in it. The only thing I require is your assistance, and you shall be granted anything within my power, which will be nigh unparalleled. Think of the possibilities! You can rule under me, with riches beyond that of any man in the known universe.”

This, I vaguely understood, was the part where he expected me to be groveling at his feet, but I was never the one to give into temptation. Plus, my gut told me I wouldn’t enjoy being this man’s second in command. I figured that I had months to live after his mad quest for world domination was completed–where was that maniacal laughter soundtrack, again?–and in the meantime, I would be able to rule a plot of desolate wasteland while I waited for my scheduled demise. I realized my end would probably be met here and now, and so prepared myself for an untimely demise.

In the time that between getting up and snatching a scalpel off the tray, the dedicated zealot had my arms pinned behind my back in a death grip. I slumped in his grasp and looked into the eyes of my presumed killer with wrath. I tried to summon my power once more, but it was useless between the resistant cell and my aching head. There was no rescue party coming for me, no avenue of escape that readily presented itself.

I was well and truly dicked. The truth is, when you’re forced into a situation where there’s no evident escape route, and you’re probably not going to see the sunrise, you realize what you’re made of. You can cower away, kicking and screaming to the bitter end, while wading in self-loathing and despair. Or you just spit directly into the eye of Death as he drags you through his inky black gates. Certainly not a puppet to be used at someone else’s discretion, I was determined to cut the lead lines at the source with whatever force was required.

Then, everything became clear, informing me what was occurring, and had been for as long as I was contained within this cell. A hazy recollection appeared in the forefront of my mind, revealing another person in a cell eerily similar to my own box of death. There were torture implements in one corner, however, they were crudely battered into their shape with inexpert methods. The walls were a slate gray, emanating a dark and foreboding sensation that was all but overmastering in its intensity.

The entrapped prisoner was barely old enough to be called a man, twenty-one at most. His clothes were in tatters, and they came from an age before this one by a long shot. His face was battered and bruised, scratched and bleeding. One eye was completely swollen shut, most likely from a punch that left the mystery man reeling, if the colorful disfiguration was anything to go by. The rest of his body presented more of the same kinds of injuries, some lighter, some so horrific that I was amazed he was still clinging so resolutely to life. The image became hazy once more and then crystal clear, except for one thing, which was markedly distinctive. The walls were literally sucking the life force out of his body.

There was practically no vitality, nor light left inside the prisoner, however, he still clung voraciously to the tenuous hold he maintained on his life force. The man was a vacuous husk, but was unwilling to release his hard-won purchase, no matter the cost to his wasted form. What drove him past the bounds of a lesser man’s will to thrive was beyond me. He was the epitome for an unrelenting personality, one who would fight until the bitter end, whether, because it was the right thing to do, to spite another, or out of mule-headed stubbornness. The last thing I saw before the connection was severed, and reality pervaded my vision once more, was another feeble light, clinging desperately to its owner as every vestige of power was extracted from it.

I was transported back into my body instantaneously and dramatically. The Viper was right up in my bubble, as if he had sensed that some crucial component had been altered for the worst. His goon was still standing still in the entrance. I knew now though that to stay in this room would surely result in the death of me. If Drake’s offer wasn’t accepted, it seemed that I would be left in here to be persuaded or succumb to a lingering and painful death.

The fog in my mind lifted, but only marginally. It would have to be enough, because the Viper knew what I was up to and wasn’t enjoying my liveliness. He was much more experienced in rationing his power, and I was sure that that a fair fight would be lost. So, doing what came naturally, I didn’t fight fair. Summoning every shred of power that could be coaxed out of the recesses of my mind, I held it at the ready. There was that tingling sensation on the edge of my consciousness, the one I had previously experienced before being knocked into next week. Latching on to the feeling with all my mental might, the power accepted my offering greedily.

It manifested in the air in gyrating orbs, vibrant arcs, hissing and crackling threateningly. It was fashioned into traceries of power that arced off of my body in waves. The lightning was a part of me, a memory that was previously clouded and obscured. It was the sensation one felt when their sight is returned to them after being in oppressive darkness. There was no way in hell I would be separated from it.

Goon numero uno’s eyes bugged out of his head at the lightning, and the Viper crouched into a defensive position. I didn’t give him the chance to decide. Bolts of lightning sparked and flashed, striking my two captors before they were able to respond violently. I kicked both of them while they were down, for good measure. Their nervous systems had gone haywire and they were convulsing on the ground as if they had been shot with a Taser on steroids. To be accurate, they probably had.

As I turned to shut the door and lock them inside, The Viper left me with a few parting words. “We have your parents, Caleb. You’ll be back!” The gravity of the words was lightened slightly by the pauses and stutters in his broken speech.

So, Jas had been right, they did have my parents. Drake was right, too, as I felt a ball coalesce in my gut. There was anger, determination, despair, but also hope, all squished down until the task at hand could be properly focused upon. I couldn’t allow myself to be captured again. If I missed my chance here, I wasn’t going to get another and would be in no condition to do anything more than moan in the following victory dictations. There was nothing to it, really. Having sporadic control of my powers wasn’t going to get me anywhere in a head-on confrontation.

So I ran. My mantra became live today, fight another day. That was the idea, but it was significantly more difficult to make myself leave. The corridors were of a similar color to the cell, without the dismal mood emanating from them. More doors lay along the seemingly endless corridor, set flush to the wall like my own cell. Every twenty or so yards a new branch would appear and identical doors would stare back at me when I dared to glance from my headlong rush. All the rooms wouldn’t have been protected, obviously, only the cells where the “genetically challenged” prisoners were held. Fluorescent lights flickered then exploded outwards as I ran by them, as lightning trailed alongside, hissing and crackling venomously.

Of course, that was when the alarms started to go off. I was never overly lucky about these kinds of things. A gong the size of King Kong must’ve been ringing somewhere, because entire walls vibrated dangerously with the shock of its tolling. Each toll brought with it a larger tremor, coming closer to an earthquake with every ring. The cacophony was horrendous. I continued running down the same corridor, never ceasing my continuous lope, bulling through my aches and pains accrued through my restraints and inactivity.

By this point, my feet were leaden and my lungs had long been set ablaze. Every step was a colossal effort of will, becoming increasingly difficult with the continued passage of time. The only thing that kept me moving was the fear of what awaited me if I halted my progress. A deep knowing overcame me, and I understood that I would be as good as dead whether I was a rapidly disintegrating husk in that cell or a subservient slave to the Viper. Risking a glance behind me, what I saw turned the blood in my veins to ice. Chosen Elite of all ages were sprinting after me, no doubt intent on a group hug. Some of them toted guns, and I could only extrapolate that they were regular goonies that were alerted by the still-tolling alarm system. That thing was ridiculous, but it did seem to be working properly.

When I began to believe that there was no hope, a tenuous lifeline was thrown to me. The corridor branched off again, and a couple hundred yards down the new hallway, I saw, quite literally, the light at the end of the tunnel. Full to bursting with elation, I could almost cry, but had a sneaking suspicion that if I did, my newly acquainted electric friends would zap my tears to smithereens, or provide me with one hell of a shock. Plus, how would it look to be on the ground balling when my new acquaintances caught up with me? Unfortunately, while looking behind me for the second time, it became apparent that there were seconds remaining to me before capture. I remembered jumping from rooftop to rooftop with Jas, the precision of execution, the speed and thrilling agility. It seemed this was a common application of Air because about ten Chosen behind me were blurring as they gained on me with ferocious intensity, purple wisps streaming behind them.

I strove for some additional speed out of my burning legs, but failed. I was maxed out and there was nothing more that could be done without blowing a gasket. Even the electricity around me sputtered and went out. I was still a couple hundred feet away from salvation when everything went to shit. The Chosen Elite who had employed Air came level, and they had formed a rough square around me. After grasping uselessly at my power, I tried to conjure some form of resistance, but to no avail. A variety of psycho-killer color schemes were blurring around me, and I braced myself for action. Whether man or woman, they all wore identical grins of undisguised glee. Eternal glory for killing me and all that jazz, I was sure.