“Yes, Ziles is a good man, er person…orc. You know what I mean."
“And a great lieutenant. He will be back soon," said Elden. "Now, sleep is a weapon. You know you cannot escape. I need you rested for our next movement. I know you are smart enough to know where we are. Do you think I didn't let you see that? Sleep is a weapon, so for my sake, Elena, please go rest."
***
"Don't you ever sleep?" asked Elena as she rose from her mat, and went into the room with Elden. "Bartok sleeps, why don't you?"
"Security is the number one priority, and sleep is a far cry from that."
“Have you lived this way your whole life?”
"For as long as I can remember. Your people have been very resilient in their pursuit of the orcs."
“I do not know of my people, but you have my sympathy. Whether or not I agree with your ways.”
“You speak like a daughter of Elvinmeyer.”
“Does that mean you hate me?”
Elden smiled, covering his teeth so as not to intimidate her. He looked around, his eyes searching for Bartok. “No,” he said, shaking his head.
You do not understand why the Elvinmeyer clan was hated. Your abduction just means that my people have to make a statement, and we had to make a statement that would be heard. Even from the grave, the voice of your parents will be heard."
“Ziles said that you trained him. How did you learn so much of humankind's ways? How was he so good at healing my wounds?”
"We study your ways, and man's ways, because you must study your enemy to understand how they fight."
"But I don't believe that. You are not that simple. If you were only studying your enemy, you would study their tactics. You know how they kill, but you," said Elena thinking about her words, "you study how your enemy lives. Which, I think is, in my limited understanding of military training, graduate level type thinking. Still, I don't think that is the reason why you search."
"Then what am I searching for, daughter of Elvinmeyer?" asked Elden, his tone was peculiar, and she did not know what emotions were behind his voice. "Please enlighten me."
"I think...I think you are searching for…a way out. I think you are searching for truth."
Elena looked into Elden's face. For a split second, she saw the same light that she had seen in her music students. Music students had learned the cello, and had gotten into orchestra because they thought they wanted to play music, but in reality, they sought out the orchestra because they wished to have friends and a sense of community. They sought out a musical instrument for the surface reason of wanting to play music, but on a deeper level, they wanted a purpose. This light was the same light she had seen when musicians were playing, and they realized they were not just playing instruments because they loved music, but because they wanted to communicate beauty to a dark and chaotic world. In an instant, this face was gone and Elden opened his mouth barring his fangs.
"You mistake my kindness for weakness," said Elden. "Elf-daughter, do not forget who is in control here."
Elena glanced away from Elden, and cast her eyes in the direction that Gorgon Bartok had been. "Don't worry Orkenkind. I know who is really in control and I am grateful."
Elden did not bare his fangs. He looked at her with his intense blue orbs, and nodded. The orc looked as if he had more to say, then all of sudden a voice called out from the darkness. It was a voice from the harsh, dark tongue she had heard before. Bartok’s voice cred out and Elena assumed he had been asleep. Elden rose to his feet, and adjusted the sling on his assault rifle, bringing it into a more accessible position.
Another orc came in from the rain. Elden's voice, though still quiet, scorned the incoming creature which argued back in its native language.
“You don’t understand,” said the other orc in English.
“It’s Ziles!” said the creature. “He has been killed.”
CHAPTER 20: SAM OTTO
Gavan - Henryetta, Oklahoma
Gavan sat in his office. His desk remained cluttered with Bibles and high school yearbooks. He sighed as the thought about the work he still had to finish. Then suddenly he felt his phone vibrate, indicating he had just received a message.
It was a message from Lisa Otto:
Have you seen my son? He has been gone for two days. I am so worried about Samson.
Gavan responded: No! That is horrible news! I heard him talking to some of the guys, and I've seen him acting differently lately. I think he is probably tied up with some girl. A bad girl.
Gavan was about to type more, but then his phone buzzed again. This time it was from another sender. It was a text message from Sasha Ferrell:
Gavan, I have a student that is in your youth group. His name is Samson Otto. He has not been at school, and I am anxious. You have been so helpful in previous searches, and I wanted to see if you could help me again.
Gavan furrowed his brow as he thought about her message, and then replied:
How did you know he was in my youth group? I rarely see him. No, I don't hear anything about it. I know he is tied up with some girl he shouldn't be hanging around. But that's it, that's all I know.
Ding!
Sasha Ferrell:
Your comments are noted.
Confused, Gavan sent back a brief note to Sasha:
What does that mean?
Sasha:
It means I will get to you soon.
***
Henryetta Herald
It sounds like something straight out of a movie.
But we are sad to inform you, that it is not. There have been complaints of an alleged motorcycle gang driving through the residential areas of Henryetta and Okmulgee. Concerned citizens have made numerous calls to the police. Oklahoma Highway Patrol State Trooper, Henry Thomas IV was in the area and responded to the call.
Upon finding the two riders, he pulled them over and was getting out of his car when he claims the first rider attempted to assault him with a barbed whip.
“The barbs splintered my windshield, and I immediately drew my weapon. When I did that, the second rider drew his weapon and fired in my direction. I fired at him, and then out of the corner I saw the first rider swing the whip at me, and I fired at him."
It was later revealed that Trooper Thomas had killed both riders instantly. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that both suspects were armed with illegally purchased sub-machine guns.
Gavan Jenkins was a dying breed, a man who still read the physical newspaper. His stomach churned as he read over the date and location. The State Trooper had shot those two thugs just two streets from his house. He had heard of motorcycle gangs with barbed whips, but submachine guns? This was Oklahoma, one of the most heavily armed states in the Union, but submachine guns?
Who owned submachine guns? Americans loved guns, but submachine guns were not part of American culture. Conventional US military units didn't regularly train with submachine guns. Police units in the US rarely had these weapons either. Whoever had purchased those weapons either had the purchasing power required to buy and smuggle such a dangerous tool or, he thought, as a chill ran up his spine, they could acquire these weapons by force. Whoever these men were, they were dangerous.
Gavan pulled his eyes back from the newspaper. He was outside in the park, in his car, where the OHP had outgunned the two predators. Grabbing his keys, he locked his car door and then started walking towards his home.
His hand went to screen door and came to the instant realization that both the screen door and the main door were unsecured.
Gavan never left his door unlocked. From his years in ministry, he knew he always needed to lock his house. Because of his position, too many people had come to his home, uninvited, wanting to talk, when they really needed psychiatric help. When it wasn't disturbed people coming to his house, it was teenagers coming to vandalize his dwelling. Adolescents were notorious for throwing toilet paper into his trees and breaking plastic cutlery into his yard. No, a good yo
uth minister never left their house unlocked. He walked from his car to the front door.
Slowly pushing the door open, so it did not squeak, Gavan stepped over the threshold of the door. The theologian froze, allowing all his senses to absorb his surroundings. Sight: his eyes looked over the room, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Sound: he heard nothing. But smell: he could smell body odor covered in repugnant body spray that teenage boys seemed to gravitate towards. If he hadn't been so scared, he would have laughed.
Gavan walked into the kitchen and drew a cutting knife.
Someone was in his house.
Something caught his eyes, as it moved laterally.
“Mr. Jenkins,” said the voice of the intruder.
The voice was fatigued. It was familiar but Gavan could not recognize the person speaking.
“I am willing to help you, but there are no drugs, or money in this house if that is what you are looking for," said Gavan.
“No, Mr. Jenkins. That is not why I’ve come. Please, I am unarmed.”
The intruder stepped forward.
Samson Otto.
He stood hunched over, his face looked distraught, and he looked at Gavan, and then away.
“Samson?”
“I've done something horrible."
“To sin is to be human, Samson."
“No, not like this. I'm the reason," Samson stopped as he became emotional, and then finally whispered, "why Ms. Doolin was kidnapped."
“How could you have had anything to do with that?”
The tears rolled down his eyes, “I lied. I lied about what I saw.”
“Asher Cries-For-War killed that man.”
“Yes, but that man deserved it. Asher was defending himself, the man was armed with a weapon. He tried to pull it on the Walking Man, and he was too quick. The Walking Man jumped on to him, then did some crazy judo move-like that super-hot MMA-chick Rousey, and threw the bum on that bench, killing him instantly. That is what I really saw, Gavan, but I lied. I lied, and because of it, all the police went after him when they should have been looking elsewhere," Samson stopped and started to cry, catching himself between the sobs. "He wasn't just defending himself, he was defending her.”
“Samson, I know more about this than you realize. I know about Asher, but why did you do it? Why did you lie about Asher?”
“Because we were stalking her. I helped discover the locations she went to, wrote stuff down about her, what routes she took, and then I lied so the police would go after Asher. Then they went after Elena Doolin. They kidnapped that beautiful woman, and I helped them."
“That is definitely bad, but it’s also incredibly intelligent and well-thought out. But why did you do this?”
“To impress the girl that I was obsessed with.”
“Sasha Ferrell. Is Sasha Ferrell the reason you did all of this?"
“Yes, and she sent them; she sent the bikers to kill you. But I had no part of it. Please believe me."
“We have to take you to the police.”
“Yes, I know. But she would send someone, some poor seduced fool, into the Henryetta county jail to kill me. A man would freely go into the jail for her."
“I know about Chance Freeborne, I know about the Nomads, but this is the last piece I am missing, what role did Sasha Ferrell play?”
“Sasha Ferrell?” asked Samson, gaining strength in his voice as he talked to Gavan, “Sasha is the most important part of this story.”
CHAPTER 21: SAM OTTO
Gavan - Ponca City, Oklahoma
So this is where the Sons were taking Elena? If they were here, then Asher Cries-For-War and the others were not far behind. The Sons were extremely tactical but Bartok was not. The rumor mill had spread, and even Gavan Jenkins had heard it. The orc, the man said to be with the Sons was in Ponca City, and the Nomads were not far behind.
“How could someone deliver a message to a man who could appear and disappear at will?” Thought Gavan to himself.
“That is simple,” thought Gavan, “I know where his heart is.”
The whole world thought Asher was a criminal, and because this image blinded them, Gavan knew how to find him. Gavan was still very nervous. He respected Asher Cries-For-War, but he also knew he was extremely dangerous. Gavan stood holding a manila envelope whose contents, he thought could help Asher find Elena. He knew Asher could save her.
Gavan stood at the tombstone of a classmate, who had died during high school. It had been years since the accident, but there was always fresh flowers on the grave as if the accident had been recent. Gavan knew very little about flowers, but he knew the flowers on the grave were not from a florist. He knelt, picked the flowers up and inspected them. They had been freshly picked from the prairie.
Gavan felt cold steel against his throat, and looking down he saw a black tactical tomahawk. The blade faced away, but he knew that, in an instant, the person behind him could either choke him or pull it back and strike him with it.
“Those weren’t for you,” said a gruff voice.
“No, those flowers were put there by a very good man.” Slowly, Gavan reached for the flowers inside his jacket. They were from the florist and still wrapped in plastic. “I have flowers my friend’s tombstone. And another gift, for the good man who brought those flowers here.”
Gavan held up the manila folder, as an offering to the dangerous man who stood behind him. The tomahawk remained in front of his throat, while the man's free hand took the envelope. He pulled the tomahawk back for a short while before placing it back against Gavin’s throat. Soon, he removed the weapon from his throat. This time, for good.
“That’s a pretty wise gift, Gavan,” said the figure behind him.
“I thought you’d like it.”
"I don't like it, but I appreciate it."
“Does that answer your questions, Asher?” asked Gavan.
“That answers almost all of them. Stand up, friend.”
Gavan rose and turned to face Asher. There stood Asher, the man he thought was dead, the man he thought was a murderer, and now the man he knew was still in service to others. Suddenly, Asher smiled. It was a warm, friendly smile that took Gavan back twenty years, to the last time he had seen his friend.
“Why didn’t you believe my press, Gavan? You don’t think I’m dangerous?”
“Asher, you mistake me. I think you’re very dangerous, but I still think you’re good. I found Chance’s diary in his office. I think he left it for her to see it. You saved that kid and I knew you’d be out here.”
“You’re very wise Gavan, and you are a good friend.”
The nomads had found an abandoned house in Chiloco. They had gained security around the building and were taking turns being on guard. Chance had completed his shift and was in one of the backrooms sleeping. His body needed sleep, and he could feel it rebuilding as he had started into a deep sleep. He was awoken by a heavy hand pressing something against his chest. Sweat glazed the non-human portion of his face, and when he woke, it was before he could cover that portion.
"Hey, there, Fabio, I've got a present for you. You're going to get a kick out of it."
"What is it?"
"It's a gift. Byron gave it to me, and then another gift that a Mr. Gavan Jenkins presented me."
Asher's voice was only a whisper, but each syllable was like a knife, and Chance was intimidated. With his green hand and long black nails, Chance picked up the envelope and reached into it.
Chance stood to his feet holding the pictures in his hand. His mouth dropped open in shock, revealing the spread of green had taken his mouth, showing fanged deformities on his teeth.
"For the untrained eye, that is Sasha Ferrell right outside of the Real China Buffet, waiting for Deacon Andrews to leave the restaurant. That is Sasha talking with what appears to be a dark elf, and finally, that is one coming from Samson Otto himself. That is Bartok worshipping Sasha Ferrell as a deity."
"I didn't know -"
"I kept wondering to my
self, how did the Sons seem to know so much about me? How did it seem like they were one step ahead of us? I kept thinking there was a traitor in our midst."
"I didn't know."
"But then I realized it wasn't a traitor. But a piece of crap, who never should have been allowed to be a Nomad."
"She seduced me."
"You had an Elf-Princess, and you were seduced by a whore. Elena was out of your weight class, and you abandoned her for a witch."
“I’m so sorry -”
“Sorry don’t feed the bulldog, Chance. You almost got me killed, and now the whole state is looking for me.”
Chance, stupidly, looked around, and then not knowing what to do, he tried to hand the pictures back to Asher. Asher stood motionless and then took the pictures back. He threw the images into Chance's face and shoved the financial advisor back.
Chance paused for a second. He had trained in Savate and striking sports, but he hadn't been shoved like that since he had played high school football. Asher had a low center of gravity, and the press had been right against his sternum and had knocked Chance back a solid six inches. Chance remembered playing defensive line, and getting smashed, by a small pulling guard. The remaining human flesh on Chance's face turned a visible red, and the un-human shade grew darker and more intimidating, and Asher postured accordingly.
The Dark Lord of Oklahoma Page 21
