Signs of Portents

by Lou Paduano

  Soriya turned to him, moving by his side. Her words were soft and slow, begging the detective to follow each one without question. “The Miwok tribe believed that there were people before this incarnation of man. Some say the first ones simply died away, while others believe they became something more. Animal spirits.”

  Animal spirits. Older than mankind. They were notions of children but as Loren stared deeper into the great green eyes of the raven called Kok’-Kol, the thirty-six-year-old detective with a lifetime of pain and tragedy weighing upon him saw eons more glaring back. Depth of ages long past and lives long forgotten all caught within the two long slits of green in the dark.

  Soriya’s hand rested on his shoulder. “Don’t say anything stupid.”

  “Why would you assume I…?” He stopped, her head crooked to match the raven’s above. Loren nodded, taking a step back. “Point taken.”

  Lights flared from the sides of the alley when the great raven raised its black wings. Small sconces of light flickered to life, little torches blazing along each side of the alley, causing the dark to retreat on all sides. The torches reminded Loren of the two golden markings on each side of the stone frame of the Courtyard doors, but these were rusted from age.

  “You are looking for the old soul,” Kok’-Kol confirmed, his voice washing over them.

  “Yes,” Soriya answered. She stepped closer to the altar with eyes wide. Loren took a step as well, hoping for the answers they needed to catch a killer that had claimed the lives of five people in the city.

  Kok’-Kol continued, green eyes pointed directly at the young woman before him. “He is looking for you as well, but has now found another.”

  “Another?” The word escaped Loren’s lips. It was barely audible but both raven and friend turned quickly to silence another from escaping the confines of Loren’s thoughts.

  “He is from the beginning,” the black raven said. “He was the start, though he has been forgotten. Buried beneath the sins of his past. His return was foretold, a deal from the darkest of lights. It matches his purpose for the darkness he will bring to the city.”

  Silence fell over the alley. Kok’-Kol returned to the apple fragment, the raven’s beak taking large bites from the golden fruit. Soriya lowered her head in thanks. Both were content with what was given. Loren, however, wanted more.

  “Some specifics would be nice,” he called out to the great bird.

  “Loren,” Soriya spat in anger, spinning on her heels. The small piece of apple fell from the raven’s beak to the floor of the alleyway. The bird remained silent. Loren stepped forward, pressing the issue. Soriya’s fists clenched at her sides. Loren didn’t care.

  “Time, place, who, what, how. Something,” he demanded.

  “That is not…” Soriya started. This time Loren stopped her, moving in front of her to grab a sliver of apple. He took a bite out of the golden fruit.

  “We came here for answers, Soriya. We came here to find out who this killer is and put an end to him. We didn’t come for fortune cookies, or fortune apples, or whatever the hell this is. Every minute, every damn second we waste living in this fantasy world is another potential death on our hands. I can come up with great narratives about dark lights and who’s on first or whatever the hell the great First One over here said, but without a name, we’re where we started and I am not so cool with that.”

  For a long moment, Loren believed Soriya would follow through on the rage that built from her brown eyes, down her dark-skinned arms to the balled-up fists on her sides. He begged for it, almost. Some reaction. Some movement that made it worthwhile to be in this place. Instead, the thundering voice of the raven called to them.

  “That is not what you desire,” Kok’-Kol said. “You desire to put the puzzle together.”

  “Not at the expense of lives lost while I wrap my head around old souls and talking birds,” Loren replied sharply.

  “Lives will always be lost. Yours. Hers. Beth’s.” The name cut through Loren. “Some are not yours to save.”

  “But I damn well try. I don’t sit up there, watching.”

  “That is not my place, child of man. This is my place. As it has always been,” the great raven replied. Black wings tucked close, small black feet inching to the edge of the perch. Green eyes looked down over Loren, curiously. “I have given all. I cannot end your search. You have the signs needed to complete the story. The pieces needed to finish the puzzle. You have the knowledge, Greg Loren.”

  “The signs…” Loren muttered aloud. The signs at each scene? What did they mean? What could they have to do with what the killer was after? The lights surrounding them flickered and faded, but Loren pressed forward. “Wait!”

  “No,” the raven replied, and the alleyway went dark. In the thick black that settled over them, Loren still saw the thin slits of green in the shadows and the great wings of the raven spread wide before them. “It has begun. The end he attempts to bring. The lights will rise. No one can stop him.”

  The green eyes shifted, the thunderous voice from its beak changing in the darkness. No longer was the raven looking at the shabby detective. No longer was he interested in his questions or rudeness or snark. Everything fell on Soriya Greystone in the thick black of the alleyway.

  “You can’t stop him,” the raven spoke with a voice not his own. Soriya’s eyes followed the great spirits, hearing the tone and inflection of the words and the man that spoke them through the beast. They were words she had heard dozens of times in the years of her training. They always ended the same.

  “Not as you are.”

  Green eyes closed and all was darkness around them. Her head lowered and her eyes closed, listening to the words repeat in her mind.

  You can’t stop him. Not as you are.

  They were not the words of the great raven before them but the words of another old man, liking nothing more than to teach a young woman about the universe. He is looking for you but has found another.

  More words meant for her. The killer’s next target.

  Mentor.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “You cannot hide from me,” Mentor roared, standing near the center of the Bypass chamber. The moment he split from the great, glowing orb, a new sense was born within the old man’s tired frame. He was aware of everything, from the small glyphs that rose higher than all the others on the four great columns in the expansive chamber to the whisper of the flames crackling in the small fireplace. Mostly, though, he felt the presence of the large shadow in the corner. So much time had been lost gathering information about the killer that walked among them, only to learn that he was hunting them as well. Much more efficiently, in fact, having found his way into the secret place beneath the center of the city without so much as a hand of resistance. Still, Mentor continued to bellow against the buzzing lights above, calling out the snake in the grass. With each word they fell dimmer, as if beckoning forth the shadow through the room.

  “You cannot hide in this place. Step into the light and be seen for what you are.”

  In the corner of the large cavern, the shadow of a man stepped forward. Under the dim lights that lined the high ceiling and ran along the four walls of the chamber, Mentor saw the shape of a man come into focus. He saw the hand of Martin Decker, larger than the left that remained the beast’s own. Through the shadows, Mentor saw the soft gaze of the creature’s right eye, that of Abigail Fortune’s, the first victim slain by the monster. It was overtaken by the scarlet of the other, beaming rage down upon him from across the room. The skin was not one he recognized but he knew it not to be the man he had seen beyond the veil of the Bypass. Nor was it special, in regards to the other trophies the old soul had claimed during his time in the city. It covered his tall frame but was built for someone fifty pounds heavier. It sagged in the chin and the cheeks so that the flesh of his face peeked through the shadows. Mentor saw blood running along the muscle and sinew that the skin failed to conceal.

  “You welcome death w
ith open arms?” the shadow spoke, hands extended.

  Mentor saw it in the beast’s eyes. The bloodlust, the need for a fight. It was more than that, though. It was destiny to the creature whose name he now carried. He had seen it beyond the veil, seen the look of a power-mad tyrant among the members of the city. Through it all, the images of the black tower, the blood red tide that carried along the sky was what Mentor remembered. The old man felt the cringing of bones, the creaking of arthritic joints struggling to stand. The stone lay beside him on the floor of the Bypass chamber. If ever there was a moment to end the threat with a single blow, it was then, but Mentor hesitated. Something had drawn the old soul back—something greater hidden in the darkness and he needed to know its name. That was the lie he told himself when the truth was pure pride. For so long he had told Soriya there were more ways to battle the dark, to learn more from a foe through combat, and now his trial was before him and he was looking for the easy victory as well. You cannot hear answers from without unless you face those within. They were words he knew very well, but rarely thought of before that night amid the chaos of the Bypass. There was fear in asking the questions, doubt in facing the answers. He knew Soriya went through the same ordeals all the days of her life, knew he was never really there to give her his insight. There was none to give. He felt the same fear, the same doubt, but he refused to feel it any longer. Leaving the stone on the floor beside him, he turned to the shadow of a man. His fists were clenched, his teeth gritted.

  “No.” His voice was loud, carrying throughout the chamber. “I welcome the challenge of death.”

  They circled the chamber, each taking the measure of their opponent. There was nothing human about the killer. Not from his look, not from his movements, or the thin breaths he took as he shuffled around the room. Though he knew the beast’s name, it did not matter. To legitimize its existence with the name meant to give credence to its purpose. He would learn that purpose before sunrise, never to reach its endgame. Mentor would see the beast fall before him, under his fist and his purity.

  The shadow leapt forward, skin hanging off his arms, though contained by the overcoat he wore. His fist cut air, Mentor sidestepping the blow. It had begun. The shadow struck out again and again only to feel nothing but the cool wind of the cavern, his opponent stepping out of reach with each assault. It was a dance and the lithe figure with the thin white beard stayed out of harm’s way, dodging attacks left and right as he skirted along the cold concrete slab at his feet.

  “You have failed,” the creature said, falling back. His hands dropped, the circling continuing. The plotting. The planning. His words cut sharper than his blows, his eyes never blinking. “You must realize this. No one can save you from me. From my vision of the city. My city.”

  “No one has to save me,” Mentor replied. He moved deftly before the creature but already could feel it creeping up his legs and back, shooting pain that caused his jaw to clench. “Your motives are clear. Your rage uninspired. I have seen your vision and it lacks clarity, determination, and pure will.”

  The shadow screamed, hands extended toward Mentor. The attack was sloppy and both knew it, though Mentor was content to use the moment. The shadow slipped past Mentor, and the old man used the opportunity to cut a swift jab down into the killer’s back, knocking the creature to the floor. The blow was hard but Mentor felt it through his arm. The creature’s frame was solid and barely impacted by the blow. The extra folds of his borrowed skin acted as a buffer to the assault.

  The shadow found his feet and was met by another strike, this time a right cross slamming against the sagging cheek of someone else’s skin.

  Mentor stepped forward, landing another punch. This time, his left hand slammed into the torso of the beast. The shadow reeled, fell back but never lost his footing. He raised the hand of Martin Decker and Mentor saw fingertips become sharp blades of silver steel. The old man kicked the hand away and then shot the same foot back into the side of the beast’s head. He fell back against one of the four large pillars that supported the chamber.

  “The power within the orb is mine to use as I will it,” the shadow promised.

  “It belongs to no one,” Mentor yelled over the sound of his fist slamming down upon the shadow’s stolen visage. “We are but servants of it.”

  Another strike sent the beast back, followed by another. Mentor felt blood, his own mixing with the shadow’s, pouring down his knuckles. He could feel their fight coming to a close. He saw the end before him. He grasped victory, the creature continuing to falter from the pummeling of each blow. The Bypass was safe. The city was safe. Soriya, above all, was safe.

  Just as quickly, that vision fell away. Shooting pain greeted Mentor’s right leg when he extended his frame too far and too quickly with an inaccurate blow against his opponent. His leg screamed and he cut air with the assault. All Mentor saw was the grin of satisfaction upon the shadow’s lipless face to know the truth.

  The beast’s fist crashed down, cutting Mentor’s cheek. The old man, however, did not feel the attack land—or the dozen that followed. He was already gone, knowing the opening was too much, too soon. He knew that his pride was the one gift he was able to pass along to the only family he had held close over the last two decades—Soriya. For a moment, as his eyes looked out, passing the frenzy of assaults that shattered his tired frame, he saw her in the darkness of an alley with green eyes lording over her. She heard his words through the dark and called his name, but he could not answer.

  Blood was his only response, coughing it on the floor before him. The shadow raised his weary body from its resting place on the cold concrete of the Bypass chamber. He held it up and Mentor saw him through swollen eyes, triumphant.

  “I will control it,” the beast bellowed before the floating orb of green light and its aged protector. “As no other before me. I will show my city the light and purify every shadow. You will give me that gift. Just as you have given this pathetic plane of existence your worthless life!”

  The Greystone sat before them. The raised glyphs adorning the four columns that supported the chamber around them glowed in the fading light of his swollen eyes. Mentor saw it all, fully aware for the first time of everything that had been building over the last week. He saw the destiny he had handed the great beast in his arrogance and cried out.

  “No.” His voice thick with his own blood. He was wrong. He was wrong about so much and, in that moment, he felt every mistake in the fists of the shadow slamming into him, stealing what little remained of his life. He saw his pride holding back his love for Soriya. He saw more. Life once held so dear, slipping away. Mistakes no one would ever know. And more. The mismatched eyes of a killer and the name he carried. He knew it and held it in his mind. No one else knew. No one knew anything about the beast but him. He, alone, carried the knowledge and now it was lost. Failure was his reward. Instead of his vision as a protector of all he held dear, he had damned them by pushing away everyone and everything. It was the most reckless, that was why you chose it. His own words to Soriya biting back at him.

  “No,” he called out once more to deaf ears.

  The shadow answered with a smile.

  “Yes.”

  One final blow crashed against Mentor. The old man felt bones crack in his torso and a fast leak filling his insides. The shadow held his tired, broken frame for a long moment. He lorded his victory over the fallen soldier of the Bypass, then, like a cheap toy that no longer held any amusement, the creature tossed Mentor to the side. The old man crumpled in the corner of the expansive Bypass chamber. For all he had seen, for all he had known, he wanted to cry out. He wanted to stand up, grab hold of the Greystone and do what should have been done to begin with. Most of all, he wanted to live.

  He felt breath slipping away from him. His heartbeat, once resounding in his ears, seemed distant and low. The glowing green orb was darker, more and more shadows creeping along its surface. Mentor tried to reach out to it, hoping against hope for a s
econd chance. Only darkness greeted his request. As it passed over him like a wave, he called out to the only one that mattered through it all. Not the city. Not the life he once held. Not even the Bypass that stood as his only purpose and drive for the last thirty years. Only one name carried against his lips and escaped with his final breath before he closed his eyes to the world.

  “Soriya.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The C line rushed past them before they jumped down to the rails. Loren felt a stiffness rise up his left leg from the impact but he put it aside to continue. Already, Soriya was almost out of sight, unwilling and unable to stop racing down the abandoned tracks. They had been on the move since the alleyway. Loren pressed for an answer as to why Soriya pulled him back through the Courtyard for the great bronze door back to the city. She answered with only a single word: Mentor.

  He had heard the change in the raven’s voice, the same as her, but there was nothing to indicate anything about the man who had raised her was in danger. She knew better, ending the conversation before it began and dragging him through the streets of Portents. She ran for six blocks to the subway station on Ness, the cool breeze stinging her eyes. It hooked up with the C Line at Bennett toward downtown. Loren could only follow, wishing he wore better shoes. Wishing he had better shoes.

  “It’s not too late. It’s not too late.” She had muttered the phrase since leaving the Courtyard. Even in the darkness of the subway tunnel, Loren saw the panic on his friend’s face. He closed the gap, ignoring the dull pain that throbbed up his left leg from their running. There would always be time to sit, to heal. Something told him to listen to Soriya’s intuition; the same gut feeling that led him to the Courtyard earlier that evening. Even though no concrete answers were gained, there was a part of him that knew more was given than he could understand at the moment. It was the same feeling that made them the partners they were. Trust. Beyond doubt, beyond hope, they carried that with them and never let it slow them down. Trust was all they had when the world turned against them.