“Did you need anything else?” she asked with arched eyebrows.
“No, I’m good,” I said distractedly as I looked back down at the article.
“Okay then, I’ll be heading back down to the labs to see the progress on those terminals. Call if you need anything.”
“Okay,” I replied without looking away from the ePaper.
The article that Akiko had dug up detailed the abduction of a young Avensana Project scientist named Kassandra “Kass” Zahorsky. Who was apparently the last woman to be abducted, and the only one to escape out of a group of women in Karalia they were calling the Missing Girls. Kass had been found seven months after her disappearance wandering the streets of San Francisco extremely pregnant, and in a state of delusion. Shortly after being rushed to the Folsom Street Kalodaemon Hospital, she had gone into labor, and both she and the unnamed baby girl had died from complications. The remaining Missing Girls were apparently never found.
I looked at the date of the article in which the blond girl, Kass, had appeared alongside Kiskei, and then at this one. Three weeks. It had been only three weeks between when Kass had appeared in the article and when she had been abducted. And the sick feeling twisting in my stomach told me it wasn’t a coincidence that she had been taken. No, I was almost one hundred percent sure the Kakodemoss had been behind the abductions.
So the question was, why had the Kakodemoss been so interested in the research on the daemon genome? And why had Skye lied about the true identity of Nikki and Kira’s father? And most importantly, just what the fuck was going on?
Watcher of Shadows
Thursday, November 8th
PATRICK
I stared at the plain gray door set into the corrugated cement wall. The note had said Saturday, but by Thursday evening I just couldn’t help myself. And so I went back to 512 Nymphaea Street.
Standing in front of the door, I shoved my key into the keyhole, even though I knew it would light up red again. But this time, the light flashed orange and then green. I gaped at it for a heartbeat before I slowly turned the key. A small clicking reverberated through the door, and then it opened inward a fraction of an inch. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door the rest of the way open.
On the other side of the door, a stone walkway lead toward a set of ebony-colored double doors with a lotus carved into each of them. The doors were slightly ajar, warm light spilling out of them onto the stone walkway. To either side of the doors, a pair of gazelles carved out of stone stood like sentinels. They weren’t the simplified, modern-looking crap you saw throughout the city. No, these looked ancient, like someone had stolen them from an Egyptian temple or something.
I stared at them a long moment before I finally noticed the sound of water. I looked to the left and was shocked to see that a five foot wide moat dotted with waterlilies enclosed the square building in front of me. And lining the entire length of the inside of the corrugated cement wall were long stalks of vibrant green bamboo.
“Huh?” I said to no one but myself as I looked back at the ebony doors. Just what exactly had Kiskei sent me too?
I took a deep breath and walked across the stone walkway and up to the double doors. Without hesitating, I pushed the doors open further and stopped abruptly. About ten feet in front of me, in what looked like an entry room, was a mosaic set into a stone wall. Candles danced and flickered from stone shelves that rose up in an inverted pyramid in front of the mosaic of a woman in black.
I took a few steps into the entry room and stopped, staring at it. The mosaic was done in the same style as the one at The Embassy temple, but the woman didn’t look the same. Unlike that one, this woman was dressed in a black kimono top and an Eastern-style cuirass like a samurai warrior, along with hakama pants tucked into knee-high black boots. Her hair pulled back into a triple braided loop, and her right hand resting on the hilt of a sheathed katana. But most noticeable was that her expression was not welcoming like Daenara’s, but instead deadly serious.
I don’t know how long I just stood there staring up at her before I heard a sound from close behind me. Without a second’s thought, I struck out as I whipped around to meet the sound. Shawn dodged quickly to the side and my fist sailed past his cheek, my thumbnail slicing across his skin.
He just blinked at me, and I at him, and then he said with a crooked grin, “Hey, Patrick.”
“Shawn?” I asked in stunned disbelief. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Probably the same thing as you,” he answered with a shrug. “Trying to figure out why I got a note and a key left in my locker.”
“It was in your locker?” I asked as I pulled my hand away from him, and jammed it back into the pocket of my hoodie next to the key.
“Yeah. Why, how did you get yours?” Shawn asked as he ran the sleeve of his thick, long-sleeved thermal shirt across his cheek. Which did nothing really other than smear a streak of blood across it.
“Kiskei,” I replied as I considered telling him about the blood.
“Really? huh,” Shawn said in confusion as his brow furrowed. Then he seemed to notice the mosaic behind me. His eyes got large, and he pushed past me. He picked up one of the votive candles that had blown out and touched it to another to relight it. As he placed the candle back down gently he bowed his head, his hands pressed together, brushing the bridge of his nose.
I stepped next to him, and looked up at the mosaic. I let my eyes travel over it until I ended at the black lotus edged in pale gray that adorned the center of the woman’s cuirass, and the large black raven perched on her shoulder. “That’s not Daenara, is it?” I asked as I gestured to the wall mosaic.
Shawn just looked over at me with a slight crooked smile. “’Course not, that’s Kalona.”
I nodded and looked back at the depiction of the deity. “Is she the deity of war or something?”
Shawn’s expression darkened for a moment before settling back into his normal cheerful friendliness. “Not exactly. We don’t idolize war, we honor the warrior. Kalona is the Protectress of the Warrior, Watcher of shadows.”
“Ah.” I looked back at the mosaic and finally noticed what she was standing on. “Is she standing in the center of a black lotus?”
“Yep,” Shawn answered distractedly as he looked over the candles, probably searching for any more that might have also blown out.
“Why black?” I asked as I looked back at Shawn.
“Because black is the color of death,” he answered, the normal playful tone to his voice turning serious.
“Oh.”
He pulled a charm out from under his shirt. “Every member of the Protectorate wears one of these, whether they believe in her or not.”
A simplified version of the mosaic was set in relief in a circular silver pendant. The flat areas around her were filled with a black patina so it appeared much older than it probably was.
I took one last, long look at the mosaic wall and then looked to the right and then the left of the entry room. Both hallways seemed to turn at the ends and continue on.
“Right or left?” I asked as I looked back at Shawn.
“Right.”
I nodded and we walked down the hallway that turned to the left at the end. After we turned the corner, the hallway continued on for about ten or fifteen feet before it opened into a vast space. I stopped abruptly, and glanced around the room, letting my eyes travel across every inch of it. The ceiling rose up a good twenty-five feet, and had a mezzanine and windows lining the entirety of the upper edge. A couple feet from the ceiling, solid ebony-colored wooden beams crossed the room at intervals, creating long shadows across the cream-colored mats that covered the floor. The rest of the room was paneled in the same ebony-colored wood, and on the wall across from us was a collection of bokken and other wooden practice blades.
There was s
omething about the room—maybe the warmness of the mats or the light streaming through the windows—that somehow made the abundance of black feel less like a funeral parlor, but it did nothing to make it seem less serious.
“Okay, this was not what I was expecting,” I admitted as I arched my eyebrows at the room. Okay, maybe some part of me was, but not a very loud part.
“Oh my gods! No way!” Shawn blurted out abruptly as he pushed past me, and walked into the center of the room. He looked up at the cream-colored ceiling with the ebony beams and turned around slowly, taking in the whole room.
“What?!” I yelped as my eyes darted around. Aside from the wooden practice blades and two hanging banners in Daemotic, the room was pretty much bare.
“I know where we are,” he replied as he finished turning around, and his eyes returned to me.
“Which would be?” I asked as I gave the room another quick look over.
“In the Temple of Kalona,” Shawn answered with a huge grin.
“Well yeah, I kinda figured that, what with the picture and all the candles,” I said as I gestured back toward where we had come from.
“No, you don’t get it. The Temple of Kalona—”
“Is where the Warriors of Kalo train,” Kiskei finished as he appeared in the doorway at the other end of the room. A smirk spreading across his face as he leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest casually.
The Choice Is Yours
Thursday, November 8th
PATRICK
“How long were you listening?” I asked, a bit on edge.
“Since you both came in,” Kiskei replied as he jerked his head toward the entry hall.
“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
“Because I wanted to see if you could figure it out,” Kiskei answered, the smirk still firmly in place. The playfulness of the expression making him seem so much younger.
“Well we did, so…why are we here?” I asked as I let my eyes trace the room again before they returned to him.
The grin slipped from Kiskei’s face like a passing shadow. With a heavy sigh, he pushed off from the wall and walked over to us. “Because I have been charged by our chancellarius to assemble and train a new team of amurai for the region of Karalia.”
And then it finally hit me—that Kiskei was a Warrior of Kalo. And in that one moment, they stopped being legend and became very, very real.
I shifted my weight uneasily and looked over at Shawn, who looked about as giddy as if someone had told him there really was a Hogwarts.
“Okay…” I said, looking back at Kiskei. “So why are we here?”
“You’re both here because your curiosity got the better of you,” Kiskei stated, a small bit of the smirk returning. “But in all seriousness, you both received those messages and keys because you both, along with a few others, have been selected to join the Warriors of Kalo for the Karalian region.
“Are you messing with us?” Shawn breathed, clearly too stunned to believe it could be true.
“No Shawn, I’m not,” Kiskei replied, looking over at him.
Shawn whispered something that could have been Daemotic, or a sci-fi curse word as both his hands covered his mouth.
But I was far less thrilled at being asked to become a trained killer again. And I might have been crazy, but I could have sworn I heard a voice in the back of my head laughing bitterly.
“Give me one good reason why,” I said as I looked at Kiskei sharply.
Shawn turned toward me quickly. “Are you crazy?! Why wouldn’t you want to be—?”
“Shawn, he needs to decide for himself,” Kiskei said, cutting him off. Then he turned his eyes toward me, seriousness coating them like a glove. “I can give you three. One, you’d be good at it,” he stated holding up a finger. “Two, you, more than anyone, have an ax to grind with the Kakodemoss,” he continued, holding up another finger. “And three, it’s in your blood,” Kiskei finished, holding up a third finger.
“Because the Kakodemoss messed with me?” I asked with a defensive edge to my voice.
Kiskei held my glare, unflinchingly. “Because your mother was Amurai…and your father.”
I just looked at him. “What?”
“Amurai aren’t just born by accident, Patrick. The gene is passed down from parent to child. And in your case, it came from both your parents.”
Some part of me knew it was true, but I still couldn’t stop myself from saying it. “Prove it.”
Without hesitation, Kiskei pointed to the far wall just above the weapons racks. The first half of the wooden surface of the wall was covered with long lines of tiny, curving symbols. Softer and gentler than Japanese characters, but more clustered than Arabic. Daemotic. The language of our people. And that’s when I realized the small markings I had dismissed earlier as decorations were actually names.
“If you look toward the end, you will find both your parents names on there,” Kiskei stated as he tipped his head back toward me.
I stared at the wall for a few moments before I looked back at Kiskei.
“You said it’s genetic, so there’s a chance we could not be one, right?” I asked Kiskei as I ran my hand back through my hair. Trying desperately not to reveal the fact that I wouldn’t be able to find their names no matter how long I looked, because I still didn’t know the Daemotic alphabet well enough.
“True,” Kiskei conceded. “Your brother, for example, is not an Amurai.”
“Right,” I agreed quickly. “So how do you know we are?”
“There’s a test,” Kiskei answered before he reached into his pocket and pulled out something silvery and smooth as a river stone, an acidy green tinging the air around it.
I just stared at him in horror. He was holding a piece of titanium in his hand as if it was nothing special. His expression giving no hint of the pain he should have been feeling in that moment. And then I looked closer at his hand. It should have been covered in blisters. Just touching titanium for us—well, most of us anyways—was like sticking your hand in a pot of boiling water. But Kiskei’s hand looked perfectly fine.
My eyes darted back up to his, and he stared back at me, unblinking. “Amurai possess a slight immunity to titanium. Not as good as yours, Patrick. But enough to give us an edge over everyone else.”
“What does…what does that mean exactly?” Shawn stammered as he stared at the titanium, wide-eyed.
Kiskei’s eyes shifted to Shawn as he answered, “You will never get the burns from touching it. But more importantly, getting cut isn’t a death sentence.”
Both Shawn and I just gaped at him. “What?”
In answer, Kiskei pulled his shirt up with his free hand. His body was covered with silvery-green scars. More than I had ever thought anyone could have. Large gashes and tiny nicks that cut across his skin almost like tiger stripes. And I couldn’t stop my hand from reaching up to trace the indentation of my own scar. The bullet crater just shy of my heart.
Just one of those scars should have been fatal to him. And even though the angry redness of the skin around each of them told me they hadn’t healed even half as well as mine, I couldn’t ignore the fact that he was still very much alive.
“This test won’t work on you, Patrick, since we all know you’re already completely immune,” Kiskei pointed out as he let his shirt fall back down. “But, Shawn is another story,” he stated as he held the smooth piece of titanium out toward Shawn.
I looked over at him quickly. “Shawn, this is crazy! You don’t have to do—”
“Yes I do,” Shawn stated adamantly as his head whipped in my direction. And I could see it in his eyes—just how scared he was. He, out of anyone I knew, was meant to be a Warrior. I knew that sure as anything. But just because you were meant to be brave didn’t make you magically fea
rless.
Shawn held my stare for a moment longer as he swallowed hard, and then he moved lightning quick. As his hand shot out and grabbed the smooth, stone-like piece of silvery titanium, I couldn’t help but cringe. Waiting for the scream of pain. But it never came.
Shawn looked just as surprised as he stared down at the piece of titanium in his hand. The acid green tinge to the air around it rising up like steam.
“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” Kiskei asked Shawn calmly.
“No it…it’s a little bit too warm, but…” Shawn stated unsteadily before he looked up at Kiskei. “But it doesn’t burn.”
“Congratulations, you just passed the test,” Kiskei announced as he held out his hand to take the piece of titanium back. Numbly Shawn dropped the piece of titanium back into Kiskei’s outstretched hand, still clearly in shock.
Kiskei looked down at the piece of titanium briefly before he slipped it back into his pocket. “There will be a training and test period before you are sworn in as Amurai. But before we get too far into this, I need to make one thing very clear. Even if you go home and decide that this is not the life you would like to lead,” Kiskei said to both of us, but I got the distinct impression he was saying it mostly to me. “I need you both to swear to carry the truth about the existence of the Amurai to your graves.”
“I swear that the words spoken in trust shall not fall from my lips, lest I be struck down by She, Most Brightest in the Sky,” Shawn swore, his hand above his heart, head bowed, without missing a beat.
Kiskei nodded at him, and then turned his attention to me. I stared back at him for a moment while I considered whether I honestly believed if Daenara would really shoot a lightning bolt at me if I ever broke this oath. And whether Kiskei really would prevent me from leaving until I said it. I decided it wasn’t worth the hassle to find out.
The Other Side of Truth (The Marked Ones Trilogy Book 3) Page 11
