Brandon came back into the kitchen, holding the sword in both hands. Gerrick took the weapon from him, never taking his eyes from the back yard, and said. “He can only harm you if you challenge him. I want you to hide yourself somewhere and wait. If I do not return, you have to call Dagget and tell him a story. I don’t care what you tell him, as long as it’s not the truth. Then call the police.”
Not waiting for Brandon’s arguments, Gerrick opened the sliding glass doors and went outside, closing them behind himself. Brandon watched him go with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
Gerrick stood on the patio for a long time, letting the ice cold rain soak his hair and the bandages covering his wounds. Thunder rolled overhead and the figure on the bridge didn’t move. Gerrick stepped off of the deck and began to cross the yard, holding the Phoenix in one hand. He snapped his wrist and the sheath flew off of the blade, sailing off into the darkness. The gleaming length of blade rippled with inner flames, dancing along its razor sharp length. Where the rain hit it, the water popped and sizzled.
Sha’ha’Zel watched Gerrick approach and made no move to attack or retreat. He just watched the other man come, his face hidden under the deep hood of his cloak, and waited.
When Gerrick reached the edge of the bridge, he stopped. There was only 5 feet separating them. He could hear the creek, rushing with the strength of the mountain runoff. It would be getting deep while they stood there, trying to stare one another down.
Finally, Sha’ha’Zel spoke. The voice was just how Gerrick remembered. The voice of a ghost, deep and horrible, yet also melodious. Like a sad song. “The sword doesn’t belong to you, Tower Knight. The Phoenix does not serve you. It serves nobody. It never has. And it can’t save him. I almost wish it could.”
“I’m sure you do.” Gerrick said. He stood between the Curse and the house. “I was given to understand that you couldn’t walk the grounds of Highgarden?”
Sha’ha’Zel shrugged and threw back his hood. The face that stared out at Gerrick was a nightmare mask. Steam rose from the black flesh as the rain pelted its face, popping and sizzling as it landed. The Curse said. “A lot of things have changed during my time here, walking this wet and backward world.” He looked up at the thick clouds, roiling up above, and smiled. “The witch’s power is waning. The pain has become something that I can bear, if only for a while.”
Gerrick met the gaze of the Curse and gripped the Phoenix tight in his fist, the hilt was white hot within his grasp, blistering the skin of his palm. He stepped onto the bridge. Sha’ha’Zel laughed and raised his hands. All 4 of them. They were empty. He said. “I’m not here to kill you, Tower Knight. Not yet. I’ve come to warn you.”
“I never knew you cared, Jarek.” Gerrick said, then hurled himself at the demon. Sha’ha’Zel had only a moment of shocked surprise before Gerrick hit him, driving the Phoenix at his heart. Sha’ha’Zel fell back, blocking the sword thrust with an arm and catching Gerrick by the throat with another. He tried to twist around, pulling Gerrick with him, but the Tower Knight used his momentum to kick off of the bridge and send them both tumbling into the water below.
They hit with a tremendous splash, white hot steam billowing up from where the curse hit the water. Thrashing loose of Gerrick, the Curse roared and fought his way out of the water, scuttling onto dry land like an insect. The rain intensified and he screamed again.
Gerrick followed him out of the water, the Phoenix blazing in his hand, blistering his palms. Ignoring the pain, he said. “I wont let you take him. Not now. Not ever.”
Sha’ha’Zel stood in the rain, his skin burning all over, and glared at Gerrick. His black skin was scorched and smoking. The ancient runes that decorated Sha’ha’Zel’s skin were white with pain. They were binding runes; keeping Sha’ha’Zel on his path and under control. He said. “You are a fool, Gerrick.”
Gerrick threw himself at the thing, once again, the Phoenix flashing. Sha’ha’Zel danced forward, yanking his blades free as he met Gerrick’s charge. The Phoenix flared as it met the short curved blades of the Curse and the two danced around one another, fighting in the rain. Gerrick grunted as the blades met, dancing sideways as Sha’ha’Zel spun around and lashed out with two of his other arms. He felt a sting as a blade touched his side. Some of the freshly bound wounds had broken open and were bleeding again, adding to his pain. Gerrick stumbled, his foot slipping in the mud, and had to leap sideways to avoid being skewered by one of the Curse’s swords. He was coming to his feet when Sha’ha’Zel hit him from behind, kicking him in the back of the neck. He hit the ground hard, the Phoenix flipping from his grasp, and rolled over to find Sha’ha’Zel standing over him. Before he could move, the Curse dropped, pressing 4 blades against his flesh, and said. “Are you prepared to die, Tower Knight? To leave the boy, this night? Half trained and unprepared to face his death? Would you do that to your charge? All to escape your own pain?”
Gerrick stared up into the thing’s blood red eyes and said nothing. He could see the Phoenix standing up in his peripheral vision, stabbed into the ground, the hilt smoking in the rain. Sha’ha’Zel leaned close and whispered. “This is your warning, Gerrick. The grohlm have marked you and the boy. They will come for you. Not today. Maybe not for a long time. But they will come. And, when they do, you’ll die. Not even you will be able to stop the grohlm when they come flooding over your walls.”
Gerrick met its eyes and said. “Is this your way of telling me that Brandon will die. Whether it’s you that kills him, or not? Because, if that’s so, I’ve got news for you.” He said. “Everybody dies. Even us. Even the damned.”
Sha’ha’Zel was quiet for a moment. Then he stood, stepping back and away from Gerrick. He said. “I wont allow the grohlm to have the boy. Nor will I allow him to die at the hand of any but myself. That includes you, Tower Knight. But the time is coming. You know that, as well as I do. And, when the time comes, I will kill the boy. As I killed his grandfather. And his parents.”
The night was shattered by a shout and Brandon appeared out of the darkness, short swords whirling as he flung himself into the curse, lashing out with his boot to catch the demon in the chest. The blow was tremendous, powered by all of his anger and frustration, and Sha’ha’Zel crashed backwards. He hit the ground hard, ripping deep gouges into the earth as he tumbled, and Brandon followed. The rain intensified, feeding Brandon power as he aimed another blow at the demon’s head.
Sha’ha’Zel hissed and snapped a hand up to block the attack, while driving two fists into Brandon’s stomach. Brandon doubled over, breath gone, but was able to avoid the fourth fist as it tried to connect with his jaw. He twisted, driving an elbow into the Demon’s side, and kicked one of its legs out from under it.
At least, that was what he intended to do. But the demon was fast. Far faster than Gerrick, even on the man’s best day. Instead of hitting the demon with his elbow, Brandon found only air. Then cold hands grasped his throat, choking him and lifting him off his feet. Black flecks danced before his eyes and he felt himself slipping away, but before that could happen he was tossed roughly to the ground. Coughing and retching, he rolled onto his back and stared up into the face of his doom. Lightning flashed and for a moment it seemed as if there was another figure superimposed over the Curse, but the moment passed and only the demon remained. Sha’ha’Zel started to reach for Brandon, two of his four hands now holding curved blades drawn from somewhere within the folds of his cloak. But he stopped when a voice thundered above the sound of the rain.
“ENOUGH!” Gerrick’s shout held a power that Brandon had never heard before, not during all of their training. It was the voice of a Lord. The voice of a Tower Knight.
The Curse glared at Gerrick, his blood red eyes smoking in the rain. “You dare?“
But Gerrick didn’t back down. He had known in his gut that Stephen’s death had been at the hands of Sha’ha’Zel, but to hear it spoken aloud set his blood to boiling. Something awakened inside of him, forcing him to
his feet. “I dare, demon?” He said, spitting the words at the thing. “You exceed your mandate.” Pointing at Brandon, he sneered at the Curse. “This is no man before you. Just a boy, not yet worthy of his father‘s sword.” Standing, he walked slowly to where the Phoenix was stabbed into the ground and pulled it free, the pain in his hand becoming almost unbearable. Turning, he met the thing’s gaze. “You cannot touch him.”
Sha’ha’Zel lowered his hands and stepped away from Brandon, his skin smoking where the dying rain touched it. His blood red eyes never left Gerrick’s. He spoke, his voice smooth as silk, yet as hard and unyielding as solid steel. “For now, Tower Knight.”
Walking slowly, holding the blade low, Gerrick put himself between Brandon and the demon. When he spoke, his voice sounded colder than the demon’s, if that was even possible. “I’ll train the boy, Jarek. And when the time comes, I assure you, it wont be him that dies.”
Sha’ha’Zel looked from Gerrick to Brandon, his eyes boring into the younger man’s, stripping away all of his angry bravado and leaving him cold and shaken. His broken lips curled into a knowing smile and he said. “We shall see.” Moving stiffly, betraying his weakness to the rain, he sheathed his swords. Pulling his hood up, draping his ruined face in shadows, he moved away from the two warriors, toward the forest. The rain had stopped. Even a goddess had her limits. The Curse vanished into the shadows, seeming to fade from existence, like smoke on the wind. But his voice came to them, a deadly whisper. “Train him well, knight.”
And he was gone.
Gerrick looked at the boy, at the twin swords that he held, and said. “I thought I told you to hide?”
“Figured that you could use some help?” Brandon said, still sounding shaken from his close brush with death. Getting to his feet, he rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck, the bruises already fading as the rain finished its work. “Besides, unless I’m mistaken, it takes more than kissing a girl to make me a man? Right?”
Gerrick just shook his head and said. “Come on. You’ve got some more sewing to do.”
Chapter 49
Brandon woke up the next morning with a clear head and a feeling of purpose. He couldn’t remember if he dreamed. Though the night before could have been a dream, for all of its strangeness. Or a nightmare, if he wanted to be completely honest with himself. In his bathroom mirror, he looked himself over, checking for any sign of the wounds he’d taken the night before. But there was nothing to show that he’d been doing anything other than playing video games or doing homework. He stared at his eyes and frowned, noticing that they were a darker gray than before. Like thunderclouds. They didn’t look like a boy’s eyes.
They looked like his grandfather’s.
I’m becoming the Storm King. He thought to himself. He looked at the rest of his body, noticing for the first time how much leaner he’d become since beginning his training with Gerrick. More muscular.
Rok spoke up inside of his skull. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, boy.” His voice sounded amused. “You’ve yet to tap the true nature of your strength. Take me into battle and I’ll show you real power.”
Brandon grunted and went about getting dressed. As he pulled on his clothes, his mind went over the night before. Analyzing details that he’d filed away during the heat of combat. The grohlm were just as vicious in this world as they were in his grandfather’s, maybe more so. They used the forest and the shadows to stalk and take their prey, right under the nose of the modern world. He wondered how many people had been taken that hadn’t been reported missing yet? How many wives were waiting for their husbands to come home from a late night of work, only to still be waiting when the sun went back down? How many children waited to be tucked in by fathers, who never came back from their last hunting trip?
He tasted bile and had to force his mind onto another subject before he got sick. He thought of Claire, instead. Had she gotten home? He knew she and the others had gotten away from the Mill, but had no idea what had happened to them after. He’d tried her cell, after re-stitching Gerrick’s wounds the night before, but it went straight to voice mail. He hadn’t left a message. What could he say?
Before he left his room, he picked up the stone from where it lay on his dresser and tucked it into his pocket. He wasn’t sure why, but something told him to keep Rok close today.
Downstairs, he found Gerrick eating a breakfast of eggs and wheat toast. The older man looked weary when he glanced up and smiled at Brandon. “I’m getting old, I think. Too old to keep fighting the same monsters.”
Brandon took a seat beside him and stared at the older man for a long silent moment before saying. “What did Sha’ha’Zel say to you before I got there?” There was no accusation in his tone. Just a weary acceptance of the crap hand life had dealt him.
“Nothing that we didn’t already know.” Gerrick said, biting into his toast. He ate with a gusto that was disorienting after such a gruesome night. “Just that we’re running out of time. And that the grohlm don’t like us very much.”
Brandon arched an eyebrow. “Is he worried that he wont get a chance to kill me? Because he didn’t seem too worried while he was trying to kill me?”
“Oh, no” Gerrick said, lightly. “He wasn’t trying to kill you. If that had been the case, we’d both be dead now. He’s set himself up to be your second bodyguard, until the time comes when he’ll be allowed to end you.”
“Gee, that reassures me.” Brandon said. He stood up and started out of the kitchen.
Gerrick said. “Where are you going?”
“To see Claire.” Brandon said, turning to look at Gerrick. “To make sure she‘s okay.”
Gerrick looked hard at him. “Be careful.”
Brandon grinned and said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure my new bodyguard wont be too far if I run into trouble.”
Chapter 50
Emily was awake when Claire knocked on her door and stepped into the hospital room. “Hey?” She kept her voice soft, afraid to disturb her friend if she was sleeping, but Emily smiled when she saw Claire. The smile was wan, her split lips puffed and inflamed, and it must of hurt her to do it. But that was Emily.
“Hey.” Her voice was a pained croak. Her right eye was shiny with tears. Her left was swollen shut, glossy and black. A square of gauze covered her ruined nose, held in place by strips of white medical tape. Her hair, usually thick and curly, hung slack and lusterless. All in all, she looked terrible.
But she was alive. That made everything else small in comparison.
Claire crossed the room quickly, taking her friend’s hand and sitting on the edge of her bed. She felt tears coming too, but couldn’t help it. It hurt to see Emily like this. “Don’t talk, sweetie. Not if it hurts.”
“It’s okay.” Emily closed her eye and sighed. There was a pitcher of water on a little table beside the bed. Claire got up long enough to pour her a cup of water, then held it while she took a small sip. Emily lay back against her pillow after drinking. “Thank you.” Her voice was a little stronger. She met Claire’s gaze and winced as she tried to smile again. “I don’t look so great, huh?”
“What do you remember about last night?” Claire hated to be so blunt, but she had to hurry. She told a whopper of a lie to the police last night and wanted to make sure Emily was on the same page before they came to question her.
Emily’s battered face clouded and she swallowed before answering. “Not a lot.” She paused, looking away to avoid Claire’s gaze. She started trembling. “I remember Jack hitting me. And screaming.” She looked at Claire. “Then nothing. Not until waking up here.”
Claire took a deep breath and ran her fingers through Emily’s hair, lightly touching the side of her face. “Honey, Jack is dead. I’m sorry.”
Emily’s wan smile collapsed and she began to sob. Claire hugged her, holding her as gently as she could, and tried to console her. Emily said, her voice rough with tears. “I know I shouldn’t hurt this much, with what Jack did to me, but I can’t
help it.” She wrapped her arms around Claire and said. “He was an ass and didn’t deserve me, but I loved him. How did he die?”
“I’m not sure.” Claire lied. “It was some kind of animal. It attacked him while he was hurting you.” She pulled back, meeting her gaze. “There was nothing we could do.” There was enough truth in what she said, so that she didn’t feel like a complete liar. It HAD been some kind of animal. And there definitely wasn’t anything they could do to stop it.
Emily lay back onto her pillow. She said. “When did the world go completely crazy?” She sounded lost.
Claire had no good answer for her. She held her friend and thought of the thing that had killed Jack. How many of them were there, lurking in the dark, waiting for their next meal to come wandering within their grasp? And what about the cloaked figures that saved them? Who were they?
And why did she feel like she already knew the answers to all of those questions?
Chapter 51
Brandon had just reached Claire’s street when he first heard the strange yowling. It sounded like a cat, but something was off about the sound. It was too guttural. Too loud. Slowing down, Brandon tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. The yowling wasn’t continuous. It would start up, go on for about 10 seconds, then stop. A minute later, it would start up again.
Brandon stopped walking. Standing on the sidewalk with his head cocked, he listened to the sound wind down again and began to move in the noise’s direction. It seemed to be coming from the back yard of the house across the street from Claire’s. Moving at a regular speed, watching for anybody that might ask him what he was doing, Brandon walked around the house like he had every right to be there.
Rain Of Stone (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 1) Page 21
