The Siren (Laments of Angels & Dark Chemistry Book 1) (4 page)

“You’re looking forward to it, aren’t you?” Vladimir accused, pulling out his sanjiegun.

Lucienne arched an eyebrow. “Do you have a better option?”

Usually Vladimir adored the way Lucienne arched an eyebrow. But he didn’t seem to be in the mood, especially when a large army of warrior monks emerged from the base of snow-capped Mountain Hepori, and hundreds of monks ran out of the monastery behind him and Lucienne, shouting unnerving battle cries.

CHAPTER 2

“Where did they come from?” Vladimir asked. “It’s like a beacon was lit on the Great Wall and the army of the undead popped out.”  

“There are too many.” Lucienne inhaled sharply. “They’ll chop us to pieces.”

“We have to activate Plan C.”

“What is Plan C?”

“Forget the aircraft. We get to the north of the Yarlung Tsangpo River and blend in with the tourists. Race you?”

“I’ll run, but not to race you,” Lucienne said in irritation. “This isn’t a sport!”

They bolted across the rugged terrain away from the monks’ army. The monks gave chase, joined by the warriors from the monastery. And then, from three sides, more and more warriors appeared, thousands of them, forcing Vladimir and Lucienne toward an opening between two mountains.

“Have you noticed what they’re trying to do?” Vladimir asked.

“They’re driving us toward the only opening. It could be a trap.”

“We can’t be picky right now, can we?” Vladimir said bitterly.

Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet shook, shooting dry glass and rocks toward them. Vladimir leapt, pushing her down as a large rock narrowly missed their faces. 

Lucienne gazed up at Vladimir, now on top of her, his handsome face inches away. A lock of his tousled hair dropped to his forehead.
Hot mess,
she thought.

Vladimir held her gaze, a mischievous light glinting in his eyes.  

“What was that?” Lucienne asked. 

“Some kind of landslide maybe. I can’t believe this is happening. Now I get why they’re trying to drive us here.”

That reminded Lucienne. “You should get off me,” she said with a blush. “We should get going.”

“Indeed.” Vladimir shot to his feet with a grin, extending a hand to Lucienne. The two stumbled forward despite the shudder of the earth beneath them, trying desperately to distance themselves from the monks. Lucienne looked over her shoulder. The monks from all three sides threw themselves to the ground.

“They’re paying respect to some deity.”

“I hope they don’t get up too soon.”

The vibration from the ground stopped, like a giant deciding to rest. The monks got up and moved toward Vladimir and Lucienne. Their thunderous shouting resumed, echoing in valley and the mountains, making it seem like there were ten times more soldiers. 

Lucienne’s face paled. “What are they saying?”

“They believe Bön demon will deliver us to them.” Vladimir yanked out his sanjiegun. “Go, Lucia. I can hold them for a while. Keep going north toward the river. When you get there, discard your outfit and take a bus to Lhasa. You’ll know how to get home from Lhasa.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“I said when the situation called for it, you’d have to leave me behind. Now that’s the situation,” Vladimir said urgently. “Get away from here!”

Lucienne stood firm, twirling her whip, and tilted her head to look at him defiantly. “Would you leave me if I asked you?”

“The scroll is of no use to me, but it’s why you came here. Isn’t it all you care about?”

“I need it to stop a war, but it isn’t all I care about,” Lucienne said. “I won’t leave you behind.”  

Vladimir gazed at her. “You like me, Lucia, very much.” His eyes flowed with such tenderness that Lucienne craved to be in his arms, sharing his warmth like bathing in sunlight in her garden.

She reached for his hand and dragged him to run with her. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Blazek, but we stick together.”

With renewed spirit, they put more space between them and the monks. “Their age has finally caught up with them.” Vladimir laughed.

Lucienne laughed, too. Then they both stopped. Vladimir started cursing the monks and his own bad luck. Ten yards ahead of them lay a chasm nearly thirty feet wide. Vladimir stole a glance at Lucienne. She got the meaning. The men’s world record for distance jump was over twenty-nine feet. Vladimir could manage that distance, but could she?

Lucienne scanned the other side for something solid the grappling hook could hold onto, but all she saw was dried grass and small rocks. “At least there’s no hunting party on the other end,” she said drily, shoving her hand into her robe and pulling out the scroll holder. “Promise me you’ll get this to my grandfather.”

Vladimir’s hand gripped hers, stopping her. “Give it to him yourself!”  

“I can’t jump that distance, you know that. This scroll is more than my life,” she said. “Take it and go.”

“Nothing is more than your life. Nothing will
ever
be more than your life!” Vladimir’s callused hand tilted up Lucienne’s chin as he gazed down at her—one of the rare occasions that the careless Vladimir looked so livid. A dark storm gathered in his eyes, tainting them shadow green. “If you ever say the scroll is more than your life again, I swear I’ll burn it!”

“What happened to being practical? What about leaving me without a doubt when the situation calls?”

“I changed my mind,” he said roughly. “I realized the world is more fun with you in it.”  

“Fine. We’ll jump together.”

“I’ll jump first and hold the hook. You catch the end of the rope.” He traced her cheek with his thumb. “I’ll never let you fall.”

Her lips parted, catching a breath. What if she didn’t catch it? Raw fear fluttered her stomach and climbed to her throat like the ugly wings of a bat. But she didn’t let the fear show in her eyes. “Let’s do it,” she said. 

Clasping their hands, then releasing them, Vladimir and Lucienne sprang back toward the army of the warriors. They’d need enough of a runway to make the jump. Her whip and his sanjiegun sliced the air, ready to punish anyone who didn’t give them the room they needed.   Vladimir had transformed into the god of war, about to abandon all mercy.

The warriors held their ground, swords and spears raised. But Vladimir and Lucienne didn’t come back to fight. When they reached the spot that promised plenty of running distance, they turned.

“Wait! We need to talk,” one of the monks called.

Vladimir halted.

Lucienne arched an eyebrow. “Now they demand to talk? And you’re listening?”

“I’m good at talking. I’ll talk our way out of this—” Vladimir gestured at the chasm ahead, “—instead of risking that.”

The assembly of monks advanced toward Lucienne and Vladimir from three sides, raising their spears to form an impenetrable wall. 

“Stop!” Vladimir shouted in Tibetan, and Lucienne snapped her whip in the air. “You want to talk, then talk. One more step, we’re out of here!”

The monk leader raised a hand. The warriors stopped.

As Lucienne appraised the leader, who looked more like a scholar than a warrior, Vladimir whispered to her, “Don’t be fooled by his appearance. He’s a Khampa, the fiercest warrior race.”

“Who are you?” the Khampa asked, eyes travelling between Lucienne and Vladimir. 

“Lama, the boy sounds familiar,” said an older monk at the Khampa’s side.

Vladimir snorted. But when he spoke again, his voice went a few notches deeper. “Ha ha, very humorous. Surely we must have been well acquainted in a past life, so let’s get along in this life, as well.”  

“Why are you chasing us?” Lucienne held her steady gaze on the leader.  

“Why did you run?” The Lama looked amused.

“Anyone with a head on his neck would run if an army chased him,” Vladimir said. “Do you find the logic amusing, Lama? Or do you regard the sight of a vast horde of the Dalai Lama’s army going after two kids more entertaining? I thought you followed the Buddha’s teaching. What happened to ‘no violence’?”

The amusement left the Lama’s eyes. He shifted to English. “Use peaceful means where they are appropriate—but where they are not appropriate—do not hesitate to resort to more forceful means.”

“He quoted Thupten Gyatso, the twelfth Dalai Lama,” Lucienne told Vladimir.

The leader studied Lucienne.

“Is the translation accurate?” Vladimir asked. 

“
Which one of you opened the crypt?” the leader asked.

Vladimir narrowed his eyes on the Lama. “Why does that matter?”   

The Lama’s eyes shone. “Prophecy says someday The One will come for the holy scroll and lead us into the new age. When that happens, the Buddha’s light will radiate in the dark.” 

“That’s nice,” Vladimir said. “Let us pass. Time is essential to spread the Buddha’s teachings and shed the light.”

The warrior army didn’t move.

The Lama smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Another prophet said, ‘When The One uses the holy scroll for his personal gains, he’ll sweep away the old world and its traditions like maelstrom sweeping the remaining autumn leaves. His power will increase, but the world will sink into the third dark age.’”

“That fast?” Vladimir said. “I didn’t know we’d already passed two dark ones.”

The Lama ignored Vladimir’s mock. “In order to decide if The One is the Light or the Darkness, we’ll ask both of you to stay with us for a few days, until we sort it out.”

“What if we’re the Dark?” Vladimir asked.

“The evil must be purged. But if The One is the Light, you will have our unfaltering allegiance,” the Lama said. “If there’s no darkness in your heart, you need not fear us.”

“How do you decide if The One is the Light or what?” Vladimir asked.

“We have our means,” the Lama said.

“Who gives you the right to judge?” Lucienne hissed.

“We’re the army of the Light. We exist to preserve the Light in the world.”

“Monsters always believe they’re the saviors of the world,” Lucienne replied.

“We’re not monsters. We’re Buddha’s followers,” the Lama said.

“Problem is, there are two of us. And you think whoever opened the chamber is The One,” Vladimir said. “What about the non-One? Will you promise to let her go if The One stays with you?”

The Lama hesitated for a second. “If The One agrees to stay, we’ll let his friend go.”

“This is a bad bargain,” Lucienne told Vladimir in Russian.

But Vladimir had already cried out in Tibetan. “I
am
The One. Let my sidekick go. I’ll do whatever you want, after I see her leave on that aircraft we brought.”

“Don’t call me a sidekick under any circumstance,” Lucienne said. Stepping forward, she fixed her stare on the Lama. “Open the path and let us go!”

The Lama staggered back, his face distorting. When he collected himself, his eyes fell on Lucienne. “You’re The One. You have the power of persuasion.” A ghost of a smile touched his eyes this time. “I suggest you not use it again. This power consumed your energy when you drew on it.”

Lucienne’s face paled. The distance between her and the Lama had weakened her power, but the Khampa leader must have learned to resist mind compulsion. She respected him for that, but appreciated it much less that he laid bare one of her secrets in front of Vladimir. He would see her in a different light—he’d regard her as a freak if he knew about her paranormal abilities.   

“You’re hallucinating, Lama,” she said coldly.

Vladimir immediately stepped before her to shield her. “You think you’re quite smart, don’t you, Khampa?” He snickered. “But you have no idea who really opened the vault. You knew an ancient item was at the Samye, and you were dying to have it, but you were clueless as to where the saint hid it, until we spelled it out for you. Until we set off the alarm.” 

A dangerous light entered the Lama’s eyes. “The scroll is the holy sentinel of Tibet. Hand it back, and we’ll let both of you go.”

“He’s lying,” Lucienne said. Even if the Khampa kept his promise, she had no plans to give him the scroll. “He’d never let us go.”

“The scroll doesn’t belong to you,” Vladimir said to the leader in Tibetan. “It’s been waiting for the rightful guardian for centuries, as the prophecy said, so I came to claim it. Now get out of our way before things get ugly.”  

“Not until you leave the scroll, boy. Look around you. Even a fly can’t get out,” the Lama said. “We’ll get it one way or another. If you give it back willingly, you’ll be treated as our honored guests. You have my word.”

“He’ll force us to crack the message on the scroll if he captures us,” Lucienne said. Without a warning, she pulled the beads off her braids and hurled them toward the Khampa and his warriors. He deflected the two whizzing beads hurtling toward him, but several monks around him weren’t as fortunate. They swayed and dropped to the ground in heaps, unconscious.

“Acupoints Meridian?” The Khampa leader looked shocked.  

Lucienne smiled faintly. When she was ten, Kian enlisted a hermit who called himself Nameless to coach her. Master Nameless observed her for three months and tested her countless times before deciding she was worthy of learning the lost Meridian art that so few on earth still grasped. 

“Thirty-six acupoints are lethal. They can stop the subject’s blood from flowing and damage his organs. Another seventy-two points can cause severe injuries to the subjects’ nerve plexus,” said the Lama.