Unleashed: The Deepest Fears Lie Within (Secrets of the Makai) (30 page)

The crowd of people sitting along the wall remained seated.

“The last person you killed—” Before Tristan could finish, the board struck his hip and he lost sensation in his legs. Was there a limit to the amount of damage he could take? He needed a backup plan. Quick. “What made you think the last person was a dragon?”

The hand halted the next blow. Tristan breathed a sigh of relief.

“There was a time when the dragons were obvious targets, but they are shifty devils. Some of them took human forms to hide among us. And then they had the nerve to breed with us. It became imperative that we stop the spread of polluted genes at all costs. So you see, it isn’t a personal thing that we choose to kill you. We simply seek to purify the human evolution.”

He is partially correct,
said Molajah.
Those who could shift successfully did hide among the humans. Those without the ability were quickly captured and executed.

“From the Forest of Darkness, we know that so long as the blood of dragons remains among us, the world will suffer disease, famine, and evil....”

It was almost word for word what Shaely had said, like some sort of regurgitated cult doctrine they’d all put to memory.

“Our mission is to save the integrity of the human race, no matter what the costs.”

“Even if your mission wasn’t insane, it’d be impossible. Like tracking down every person with a Viking heritage. What proof do you have?”

With a flick of a wrist from the someone in the audience, the man with the board struck his right side.

Tristan choked on the blood coming up his throat in convulsive waves. One of his shoulders dislocated, allowing one knee to reach the ground. “These proceedings are being recorded and soon enough, we will have our proof.”

“I hope your recordings are used as evidence against you in a real trial.”

When he came to, both eyes were swollen shut. A hollow voice echoed around the room in slow, hypnotic tones. He didn’t pay attention until he was done throwing up, finally able to rise to his feet to relieve the ache in his arms. Though he could tell he wouldn’t be able to fix his shoulders without help.

“Humans have no chance against the force of a dragon,” said the dreamy voice. “No chains can bind you...no walls can contain you...revert to your natural form and be free!”

Anger brought him strength. “I am not a dragon!” He gripped the chains attached to his cuffs and yanked hard, trying to break whatever was holding him up.

Molajah!
The sparks flickered against the inside of his lids and wounds along the band bled freely. “Molajah!”

He remembered the comment about being recorded. There had to be cameras, maybe speakers.

“My name is Tristan Warner. I was drugged and kidnapped from my home in New Zealand—” He couldn’t even guess how long ago. “They say they are Dragon Slayers. They think I’m a dragon. I am NOT a dragon. This is murder. I’m being held against my will. By a delusional cult.”

He couldn’t think of anything else to say and began repeating himself. Until the dreamy voice lulled him into a state of drowsiness. Only the yank on his arms made him aware of it.

Tristan got to his feet when a possible plan finally came to mind. “I have information. Information you’ll want for your museum.”

What was the use? He unlocked his knees and fell into the voice.

“...Claws long enough to pierce three men at once, sharp enough to decapitate with a single swipe. Enough muscular power to destroy anything. Everything. Walls of any substance. Any thickness. No chain can withstand the strength of a dragon. Dragons are invincible. You are a dragon. Free yourself!”

“You can’t wish me into being a dragon!” Tristan yelled. At least, he thought he did. The recorded voice repeated itself.

It is unclear whether dragons could shift back and forth at will,
Molajah said.
But there is evidence of such occurrences.

Where have you been?
Tristan lifted his head long enough to see the dark shadow of the man, then let his chin slump back to his chest.

It was a matter of pride for some dragons, a challenge perhaps, to come out of hiding and acknowledge the ancestry for all the world to see. We thought we were past being hunted. Some attempted the shift because they preferred the longer lifespan of a dragon, rather than that of a human.

But after generations of existing in a human form, the mental capacity of those who succeeded had degraded to a more wild, animalistic nature. We believe they weren’t capable of returning to a human form, perhaps due to losing the ability to think like a human.

It mattered not in the end. With Whiromanie in control of the Slayers, none of the dragons survived a full year and the humans with ancestry were once again hunted. Parents stopped telling their children.

The world is overpopulated with cruelty—shifting is a death sentence.

The door groaned open and a dim light lit the stone wall at the back of the room. The line of people filed in, taking their seats. At some point during the procession, the monotonous voice of the recording faded away. “Any information you choose to share may or may not set you free.”

Tristan lifted his head, already forgetting what his plan had been. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

Someone triggered a computer screen to life behind the partition to his right.

“You said you had information regarding the museum. Do you have something to contribute? Or simple information?”

Ah yes. Tristan licked his lips and couldn’t get a breath. His throat ached worse than his shoulders. “My drawing.”

“We’ve established that.”

“Gwenna gave it to me.”

Do not betray us in this,
Molajah hissed.
We have a treaty with those races.

I know what I’m doing.
Tristan let his head drop, lacking the strength to ignore Molajah. “Please.”

“Please?”

“It’s a map,” Tristan said. Fabric rustled as the crowd stirred in their chairs, confirming if they’d all heard the same thing. He had no idea how they could hear anything from so far away. Not that he wanted them closer.

“A map of what?”

“The drawing is terrible compared to the real thing. And it’s not finished.”

“Where did you see the real thing?”

“Gwenna gave it to me. It’s in my cabin.”

“A second map?”

“The original. But it’ll be dangerous.”

“How so?”

“The Makai probably think I went after someone, after they told me not to. They’re probably waiting for me to come back.”

“Who were you going after?”

“It doesn’t matter now. You’ll have to sneak into my cabin to get it.”

“Then what?”

“A lifetime of questing for dragon treasure.”

“Tell us where to look.”

Tristan smiled, his lips cracking with sheer anticipation.

I should kill you myself!
said Molajah.

You said I deserved a chance. If you can’t get me out of here, at least let me try....

* * *

Cold water poured over his head. Tristan stuck his tongue out too late to get more than a few drops into his mouth.

“Tell us how to operate it.”

Disappointment drowned his thoughts, sending him into an emotional, downward spiral. He didn’t think the Slayers would make it past the Makai to get Landon’s watch from the cabin.

But maybe they weren’t waiting for him. Maybe they’d stopped looking. Maybe they hadn’t bothered in the first place.

“It’s some sort of hologram.”

Three identical masked shapes stood before him, huddled around Landon’s watch.

“An image appears above the glass, five feet around.”

The blow to his side propelled him sideways; he didn’t bother tensing, or straighten himself. He didn’t even consider shielding.

“I said, tell us how to operate it.”

“Middle button. Press it for a full minute.”

“Wait!” said the man at the table with the computer. “Let me check it for explosives.”

Tristan shut his eyes and waited. He had no doubt they’d beat him to death when it didn’t work, but so long as they pushed the button, it would be worth it.

“Looks intricate...if I take it apart, the hologram elements might never be realigned properly.”

“Nicodemus made it,” Tristan said.

“That’s a lie, the materials are too new.”

“Then maybe Gwenna. It has to warm up. The button has to be held down for more than a minute.” He couldn’t remember the exact number of seconds, but wanted to be absolutely sure it was held long enough. “And no other buttons. Just the middle one.”

“I’ll leave it up to you.” The watch was handed back. “But he seems awfully eager if you ask me.”

“Yes. Why is that?”

“I’m not a dragon. I have no interest in the things stolen from you over the centuries.”

“Things that belong to us?”

“Things they didn’t want you to have. Books, maps, rings....” Tristan shut his mouth, already forgetting the direction he was taking. A hard smack with the board had him seeing spots, then water had him in a fit of painful coughs. “Gwenna told me.”

“I said...why did she give it to you?”

“Don’t know.” It’d be his answer from now on. Only then did he realize the signal might not work if the dragon fang in their museum was anything like the one hidden in the cave on Dorian’s island. One of its powers was that it kept the island secluded from the world, hidden to outsiders. “If it doesn’t work in here, try it outside. Away from man-made structures.”

“I get the feeling you’re hoping it sends a signal.”

His mouth and throat were too dry to gulp. “You asked how I knew what to draw.”

“Test it in another country.” The watch disappeared into someone’s sleeve. “Secure all the entrances and kill anyone trying to get in without clearance.”

“You’re right! Don’t push the button!” Tristan said in a rush. The last thing he wanted was to lure Landon and Victor into a death trap. “Explosives. We’ll all be incinerated—”

A cold bar pressed under his chin and pried his head upward. Tristan closed his eyes and didn’t resist.

“I find it odd that you suddenly want to live.”

By the ringing sound of it, a metal pipe slammed against him instead of a wooden board.

32
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XODUS
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SOMETHING CRAWLED up Tristan's cheek, alerting him to the possibility of rats. He jerked his feet off the ground, panicked by the thought of being eaten alive. How long would he live with no flesh?

A cold grip tightened on his face. “Don’t move,” said a stern voice.
Tristan?

The voice in his head wasn’t Molajah’s. Tristan tried to open his eyes, fearing the worst.

“Get the water.”

“No!” Tristan said. They’d come for him—the Makai.
It’s a trap!
The band on his head spurted a flurry of sparks, sending shockwaves of pain through his spine. He didn’t care. “Trap!”

“What the hell is this thing. Victor?”

“Hang on, there’s a computer....”

That confirmed it, hearing Victor’s name. “It’s a trap. Get away!”

Something wiped at his forehead, his eyes. His vision was blurry, but he could see shapes.

“Looks like an early version of the tracker.”

“Reverb—” Tristan said, unsure how to make them understand. “Get it off!”

“Landon, secure the hall.”

“I can handle it.”

Victor retreated to the computer and began clicking through screens. Donovan examined the band without touching it.

“Get it off,” Tristan begged. Was it possible? Was he being rescued? “Please!”

“Holy hell, take a look at this,” called Victor from the light of the computer. “Hours of video...hundreds.”

“No!” Tristan yelled, pulling against the cuffs, desperate to get to his feet as Donovan walked away. “Don’t leave.”

“It’s okay,” Landon whispered, taking a step closer. “We won’t leave without you. I promise.”

Obviously, they’d managed to get through the front door without getting killed. “Are you really—”

Donovan is a sworn enemy of the council,
Molajah said.
You are not to trust him.

Donovan returned from the computer, peering carefully into each eye as he held Tristan’s head steady. “Victor has disabled the band.”

“He doesn’t believe you,” Landon said, ever the empath.

Donovan shrugged, circling out of view. Tristan focused on Landon.

“I’m so sorry we couldn’t get here sooner.”

“Better late than never, right?” Tristan said, trying to smile. Failing.

Landon nodded, grim. “The band is off. It’s gone.”

“For real?” He could still feel the steel barbs digging into his skin.