The Payment

by Michelle E Lowe

  “How so?”

  “I knew you loved a good challenge. You said so yourself. So, I came up with one that would earn you a prize you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

  “Ah, you remembered me talking about the Sudarshana Chakra, eh?”

  “The years I spent with you, both as my so-called ‘friend’ and as my captor, you told me many stories. I had to think like you and rig the game as you had with the Grail. I designed the perfect list. Most of the items were useless trinkets, such as the wine and ring you gave Elaine to win over Lancelot. They were just a way to boost your confidence.”

  Feeling his anger rising, Filip Faix lifted the strap of his bag over his head and dropped it, and all the things he’d gathered from the hunt, onto the floor. “And the rest?” he asked vehemently.

  “Only two trinkets mattered. The bottle from another era and the foreign military badge from the other planet. Not the objects themselves, mind you, only the places where they were located. The travel would weaken you greatly.”

  Filip Faix did not fancy where this conversation was going.

  “I’ve learned you had hidden someone—a relative of yours—in time,” the demon went on.

  “How?”

  “I met him once. I went into his mind because I was ordered to fool him into thinking his lover was in dire trouble. While inside his thoughts, I came across some forgotten memories of his. I saw you.”

  That explained why there was that familiar blood smell on the knife. It belonged to Pierce.

  Thooranu stood from his seat and placed his fingertips on the table. “It’s common knowledge that time travel, as well as deep space journeys, are dangerous even for supernatural beings such as we are. I located a planet I had heard about years ago and explored it in order to locate the perfect item to put on the list. In doing so, the trip nearly killed me. I knew it would do the same to you, especially after traveling through time.”

  Filip Faix realized he was too vulnerable to stand toe to toe with an angry demon, yet all he really needed to do was vanish and hide. That simple talent kept him from panicking. Once he had recovered, he would find a way to destroy Thooranu for this.

  “What about the Sudarshana Chakra? It was real. How did you get it?”

  “This?” the demon said, bringing the disc-like weapon out from behind him and holding it up. “I have it because it was never stolen in the first place. Only borrowed. Right, Vishnu?”

  Besides the demon, a figure manifested. It started as grainy blurs and then developed into a solid blue, four-armed god.

  “Hāṁ,” Vishnu said angrily. “Kēvala ēka bāra sudarśana cakra mujha sē cōrī hō gayā hai.”

  “So I stole the thing from you once,” Filip Faix acknowledged. “Who cares? You got it back and turned me into a tree, remember?”

  “And do you remember his warning if you ever attempted to claim possession of it again?” Thooranu asked.

  Filip Faix did, but he did not see how it qualified. “Doesn’t count. He handed it over in order for you to bait me.”

  “It does matter. The agreement between the two of you was that you wouldn’t try for it again. If you had refused the hunt, you would have respected those terms. But you didn’t.”

  An emotion filled Filip Faix that he had not felt in centuries: fear.

  “And Vishnu is aware of you helping someone who calls herself Mother of Craft to create a djinn,” Thooranu continued. “Apparently, he’s not happy about that, either, which means he’s on Team Demon at the moment.”

  Filip Faix tried vanishing, but he couldn’t go anywhere.

  Thooranu crossed his arms. “Oh. Do you feel a bit hollow, as if you’ve just lost something?”

  The demon wasn’t holding him there, and only a god had the ability to steal powers from another god—if they were weak enough. Angry, he switched his sights to Vishnu.

  The door behind him slammed shut on its own and Filip Faix found himself hopelessly trapped.

  “Piztuk,” Thooranu addressed the crouching imp. “Go home. Return to your life and forget everything about me.”

  The imp vanished.

  “Well played, Thooranu,” Filip Faix complimented the demon while trembling.

  The demon looked to the Hindi god and again held up the Sudarshana Chakra. “I’ll have this returned to you when I’m finished.”

  “Paryāpta samaya lō,” the blue bastard said before fading away.

  “Oh, no worries,” Thooranu reassured him sinisterly while returning his attention to the distressed god at his mercy. “I will take my time.”

  Thooranu appeared more demon than man.

  The cries of pain frightened everyone outside the Vaults that day. People aboveground heard it and believed the devil was about to rise from hell itself.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Wait!

  The protective orb around Freya cracked and crumbled. Élie felt it the moment it occurred.

  “Orenda. Do you feel that?”

  Yes! She is ours! I shall take her.

  Élie decided against that. Freya would be hers to deal with.

  * * *

  As soon as the bells stopped tolling, Orenda appeared at the door of Freya’s hotel chamber. She was about to barge in when she felt the hopeful change in the air.

  Orenda. Élie’s voice sounded in her head. Do you feel that?

  “Yes! She is ours!” she yelled gleefully. “I shall take her!”

  Orenda grabbed the doorknob, ready to strike, when something happened. Something was joining her inside her vessel, pushing like a barbarian until she’d been forced into a corner. Soon, she had no control over her own created body.

  “Élie?” Orenda guessed.

  The door was locked, but under the fierceness of Élie’s might, the entire door smashed to bits, splinters tapping against the face of Orenda’s vessel as Élie made it rush into the room.

  Standing by the window was Freya. She was caught completely off guard and stared at them in utter shock. Without wasting a single second, Élie manifested a ball of pure energy almost strong enough to be the core of a star. The burning light was growing through Élie’s own will, as well as through her own hands, which Orenda could see as transparent limbs sticking out of Eilidh’s body. Never in Orenda’s existence had she experienced anything such as this.

  “You’re too late!” Freya shouted.

  Élie shot the energy source straight at Freya, and it burned whatever was in its path as it flew toward her. A bright light engulfed the room and, when it died away, Orenda saw she was alone within her created vessel once again.

  She overcame her shock and followed the charred trail through the room. Fires burned at many spots. Orenda extinguished the flames as she went by them. Freya’s burnt body lay against the scorched rear wall, barely moving. She was severely burned everywhere, with patches of red, raw flesh bubbling through the broken surface of her blackened skin. Her hair was twisted and looked like smoking wires, and her face held no familiar features, only a patchwork of blisters. One eye had been burnt out, and it resembled mushy tar inside a fleshless socket. The other eye watched as Orenda approached.

  Freya tried to speak, but the words had become too difficult for her now. She only heaved and wheezed through her lipless mouth. Her innards were battered and bruised, preventing her from moving much.

  It was in Élie’s right to do this to Freya. The witch had done so much damage to the woman’s family, and it was only appropriate that Élie should bring her down.

  Orenda stared viciously at her. Freya was dying, but not quick enough. Orenda thought of only one thing to do. She stomped on Freya’s head, cracking her skull open with a single, solid blow.

  With Freya finally dead, Orenda wiped her shoe on the carpet and went to the window that the witch had been gazing out of. She picked up the binoculars and instantly sobbed at what she saw.

  * * *

  Sees Beyond offered what brave sendoff she could for her dear friend without brea
king down into tears. Tears would come after.

  She had foreseen in one of Pierce’s paths that he would meet a woman and fall hopelessly in love with her. The woman was Taisia. Indeed, Sees Beyond loved him—not the same as she had in the past, but she did love him. His place just wasn’t with her onboard the Ekta. He belonged there no more than she belonged by his side on his own adventures.

  Pierce gazed upon her and she smiled. He grinned in return, and she saw a man at peace and unafraid. He appeared ready to enter his next journey.

  Gunshots blasted over the loud tolling of the bells. It was difficult to see over the heads of the crowd, but she spotted a man on horseback, riding toward the scaffold.

  “Stop the hanging!” she thought she heard a man say. “Stop the hanging!”

  Sees Beyond could not believe it. It appeared something had occurred. Some sort of evidence had come to light that would prove Pierce’s innocence.

  Pierce Landcross’s luck soared like an eagle, and he recognized it, too, when he looked to her with a relieved expression and a broad smile.

  The tall guardsman who had placed the noose around Pierce’s neck took notice of the approaching horseman, as well. He then turned to the executioner.

  “Wait a minute,” he ordered the hooded executioner. “Don’t pull the lever until we know what this is about.”

  “Eh?” the hangman said, taking hold of the lever. “Pull the lever now?”

  Pierce shook his head vigorously at him.

  “Wait!” shouted both Pierce and the guardsman as the executioner pulled the lever.

  The trapdoor dropped and so did Pierce. It happened in an instant, but the crack of his neck echoed in her ears.

  The last toll of the bell rang out.

  * * *

  The first sound Queen Victoria heard upon awakening was the last chime of the grandfather clock. She opened her eyes and noticed how dry her mouth was. Her head was throbbing.

  “Darling?” Albert gasped, standing up from his seat beside her. “You’re awake?”

  He grasped her hand and kissed it and held it against his chest. His heart was beating so fast. She was most happy to see him and reached out with her other hand to touch his face. He gripped that one, too, and pressed it to the side of his prickly cheek. He hadn’t shaved in a while.

  “My, darling,” he said with tears pooling in his eyes. “I was so worried.”

  “I’m all right, my love,” she reassured him. “How is Lord Javan? Is he safe?”

  She remembered the struggle between him and an attacker before they both fell over the balcony.

  “He’s fine,” he replied. “In fact, he is . . .”

  Albert abruptly stopped speaking, snatched the clock up from their bedside table, and stared at it with wide eyes. His actions confused Victoria.

  “What is it?” she asked, working to sit up.

  His dire expression showed that some travesty had just occurred, and it left her almost too frightened to ask. “What has happened, Albert?”

  * * *

  Ron Wakefield read the verse for the final time. There was no need to do so anymore. The eyes of the cousins had crumbled inward and were sinking into their sockets, as were their teeth inside their mouths. The youths’ bodies collapsed in on themselves and blew upward in a whirlwind that was sucked into an incredible white light that only grew brighter.

  The force of the wind knocked Ron off his feet. He hit the floor and in the second he did, everything went back to normal. Nothing in the house had been affected by the winds. He stood up and found, to his surprise, that he was utterly alone.

  Vela and Kolt were gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  There’s a Funny Thing about Death

  Élie stayed, unmoving, on the floor after returning to her own form. The exhaustion and the force she had produced in order to pull herself out of her body and enter Orenda’s vessel had drained her of all strength. Even breathing proved challenging.

  After she had cleared her mind and senses of the clutter that once blocked her, she had been able to see the currents through which energies traveled. These currents stretched throughout the globe, as well as space, and even beyond the universe itself. They were not meant for living mortals to journey through. Élie had decided to risk it anyway and take to the highway of infinity in order to reach Orenda, clear across the globe. The moment she entered Eilidh’s body, Élie lost her sense of everything. Her power had risen so high that nothing could stop her—not the locked door in front of her or anything Freya might have thrown at her, given the chance. With her defenses completely lost, Freya stood utterly vulnerable. The energy Élie generated had manifested from her directly, and from the power granted to her by her ancestor from thousands of years ago—the djinn.

  Once the attack was over, she was unable to linger and was thrust back into her own body. Now, she lay recovering on the floor of her hut. Her hands and arms stung greatly from their burns.

  “Durothil,” she whispered weakly. “Help me.”

  Warm, strong hands suddenly appeared upon her shoulders and head. The years lifted off her like a blanket. With the weight of age gone, it provided her a chance to recover faster.

  Élie heart was wrenched by the devastating loss. She slowly turned her aching neck over to where Durothil was crouched behind her. Tears streamed from her doleful eyes.

  “I saw him,” Élie admitted, shaking her head. “I saw Pierce.”

  Durothil took her into his arms and held her to him. “I’m sorry, my love. We both had to do what was needed.”

  * * *

  Lord Javan stood numb and wordless, his skin completely drained of color.

  He had ridden toward the scaffold, screaming for a halt to the execution with the hopes that the soldiers wouldn’t gun him down in the process. More guards, who did not know Javan, aimed their rifles on him when he reached the gallows. Boothman needed to call to them to stand down, but not before the trapdoor left Landcross’s feet, sending him falling to his death.

  Now, Javan watched as the soldiers under the platform cut down Landcross’s body. The crowd was crammed in close, trying to catch a glimpse, while flashbulbs burst brightly. The photographers hurried to reset their cameras so they could take another. Once the rope snapped, the body tethered to it, dropped. Guards caught it before it hit the ground and it slumped lifelessly in their hold.

  Javan wanted a word with the hangman, but no one knew where Leo had gone.

  Boothman came up beside him. “What happened?”

  “He was innocent, Boothman,” Javan muttered softly.

  “Come again.”

  “We never allowed him the chance to save himself.” He looked at his old friend. “We killed an innocent man today.”

  Ten minutes later, Javan rode to Buckingham Palace, where he found the Queen awake and recovering in her bedchambers.

  “She doesn’t want to be disturbed,” Prince Albert informed him. “She is very upset.”

  Her Majesty sat outside on the balcony. Javan could see her past the open doors that were allowing the cold autumn air to chill the room.

  “Did she tell you what happened, my prince?” Javan asked.

  The prince nodded. “She told me Landcross gunned down the attacker who was about to shoot her. He saw to her, and that’s when she recognized him.”

  The prince looked a fright. Like Javan, he hadn’t slept and had barely eaten. Javan confirming Landcross’s demise had only added to his grief.

  “The Sea Warriors visited me yesterday,” Albert added.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. They were at the execution.”

  “I want Landcross’s body turned over to them. He deserves that much. Let them bring him home. See to it personally, Lord Javan.”

  “Certainly, my lord. What about the Norwich siblings?”

  The prince’s expression showed a sudden recollection as though he’d completely forgotten about them. “They’re still here.”

  “Considering every
thing, my lord, may I request their release?”

  Prince Albert held no objection in his eyes.

  Javan went to Mr. and Miss Norwich and relieved the men guarding them. He then told the siblings everything.

  Miss Norwich slapped Javan hard across the face. Her words, though, stung much worse. “You should have listened to him!” she bellowed tearfully. “If you had just waited a little while longer, he wouldn’t have had to die!”

  Her brother embraced her, and she sobbed heavily against his chest. Mr. Norwich strained to keep in his own tears.

  “What about the body?” Mr. Norwich asked Javan. “Will he be buried at the prison? Cut into pieces by surgeons?”

  “The body is to be released to the Sea Warriors.”

  In a less irritated tone, Mr. Norwich requested, “Can we see him so we may say our goodbyes?”

  Miss Norwich lifted her tear-drenched face and looked at him. Her agonized expression would forever haunt him.

  “Yes. Of course,” Javan permitted.

  * * *

  Leo Clacher woke in his bed and noticed the time on his old wall clock. He couldn’t believe it.

  “Blimey!” he shrieked, throwing the blanket and sheets off. “I’m late!”

  Never in all his years working at the Clerkenwell Prison had he ever been late, especially on execution day! The night before, he’d been at the prison, preparing the noose before going home. He ate his usual supper, took a nightcap, and went off to bed at the same hour he always did, but he had overslept. How had he overslept? Out of all the executions to sleep through, it had to be the most famous one of the century since Claude de Vall!

  Christ, why had no one come to fetch him when he didn’t show up at the prison this morning? Did they let someone else do the deed?

  These questions raced through his head as he threw on his uniform. “Fuckin’ hell, am I gonna get an earful about this!”