Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel

by Colby R Rice

  "Now."

  She glared at him. "How do I find another blessing?"

  "Not my problem. Ghosts of Koa need to be resourceful."

  She struggled to breathe. In. Out. "Fine. I can handle the recon and delivery. But what about Morgan? How am I supposed to get close to him?"

  "Also not my problem. I'm just the deal-maker. As a ghost of Koa, it's your job to get creative. But unless you kill that Azure, not a single hollow will let you in. I'll make sure of it."

  "Any other shining gems of wisdom you'd like to share, Franz?"

  He looked her over critically, actually thinking about it. "Well, if you're ever stuck in a debt, snatch is always good for settlin' the bill. Great exchange rate, swipes better'n a credit card, and it's accepted worldwide. Thought yer Mama would've taught you that, though."

  "Watch your mouth around my sister. She doesn't need to hear your filth."

  "You asked. You're dealing with men, after all. Azure men."

  Zeika rubbed her temples harder. Her chest was tighter, and her vision had started to tilt. No food, no sleep, high stress-- and now, her circle of crappy luck had just closed with a terrorist drunkard, an assassination assignment, and a ticking clock. "I need a minute, Franz. Just a minute."

  "Fair enough. Take your minute. But like I said, war is coming to the Protecteds. And it ain't running on your schedule." He picked up two bags, one for the shotgun and another for food. He zipped his shotgun up inside its soft case. "Three deeds. Three Demesnes. Three days. Or no deal."

  He shouldered his packs, and stepped towards the wall. The brick door swirled open again, and despite her fatigue, Zeika recoiled, gun already in hand and aimed.

  Franz looked at her, bored. "Oh, come on. No Ninkashi's gettin' in here. Only those who're invited across the threshold're welcome. Your invitation's about to expire, though."

  She lowered the gun, the stress spiking again, her chest tightening more. "You said I had three days."

  He nodded. "Yeah, you got your three days. My blessing too. But you only got until I get back to decide if you want to join our crew. Kids or not, I'll have no Azure-lovers bunkin' with me."

  Franz turned his back on them and climbed out, the brick façade solidifying behind him.

  The grandmother was nowhere to be found in the house, but she couldn't have gotten far, the traitorous old hag. Xakiah walked out of the Moreno house, gun drawn. He stood on the porch, took in the twilight, noting the distinct change. When he'd first arrived, it had been crisp, perfect fall weather, exactly what he'd expect in this part of the world. Souther former Chile, if he recalled correctly. Now, though, the air was stark cold, ice riding on its back. Winter had come too soon here. No birds flitted through the trees, no leaves whispered, no animals scurried underfoot. The silence was soulless, as though the life had been sucked out of the Moreno's entire estate while he'd been inside.

  A strange frost thickened in his throat as he started down the steps. The wooden porch was loud this time, croaking with his every move. When he'd first come, the steps hadn't made a sound. Not one. All his instincts made him tighten the grip on his gun, an animal awareness filling his body as he understood he was being watched. He could feel the strange, laughing gaze on him from all directions. Whatever had taken this place, he was now trapped in it, to die or survive by his will alone. If he knew nothing else, he knew he couldn't just walk away, not without confronting the strange power or person who'd placed the estate under its spell.

  So he moved, low and fast, the muzzle of his gun a metallic bloodhound in the underbrush. He rounded the corner, and there it was... but he could smell it and hear it seconds before his eyes could see it.

  The warm, washed scent of old and rotted flesh, the buzzing chorus of flies. A hand, bony and gray, lay propped up by the brambles of the Moreno's garden, knuckles chewed down to the marrow. The body connected to it was coated in slime and decay, nearly melding with the very earth it laid upon. The torso, or what was left of it, had been cleaved in two and pulled apart, the head turned in a complete 180 atop the neck. The bloody knot of gray hair told him that this had been the grandmother, and she hadn't been alive for days.

  A few feet away, the body of the home attendant was crumpled up, broken beneath its flesh, belly open and brown under the cold sun. Beyond it, entrails hung, rotting and maggot-ridden, from the branches of the low garden. Down one aisle of shrubs, leaves were spattered with desiccated blood, earth, and shit, as though a wild animal had torn into them with a frantic hunger. Disgusting as it was, even Xakiah knew a breadcrumb trail when he saw one, and this one hadn't been left by accident.

  He followed, walking the aisles of the garden with his thumb on the hammer, feeling the black pulse of foreign power lead him through-- and in the distance, under the Moreno's alerce tree, something was bent over yet another body, one that was writhing. Still alive. A wet gurgle rolled over the air as the crouched thing reared back, ripping a piece of the squirming body away and at the same time, ending the man's struggle.

  The creature crooned. Blood drizzled down its jaws, and Xakiah could actually hear the juicy smacks of flesh between teeth. In the spray, his eyes caught one defining feature: a blue slipper hanging off the body's big toe. Ryan Moreno.

  Xakiah took aim. The creature beneath the rags turned, revealing a collection of ghastly parts. Gray frosty skin was pulled over eyeless sockets. Its jaw decomposed, barely hanging on by the slimy sinew that ran from chin to ear. Its teeth, chipped and exposed. Its eye sockets, black and lifeless pits that were empty and yet seeing. Not a Ninkashi. Something far stronger. Far worse.

  "Thank you for your hospitality," the creature said, laughing. Its voice resounded, deep and satanic, coming from both within, around, below. "You're good with the ladies."

  "Put your hands in the air, and turn to face me. Slowly."

  "Ah. You didn't like my gifts? They were for you, after all. They were tokens of admiration. Very few know what it's like to have the warm cloak of their world ripped from around them, only to have a new world cast on their heads like a crown of thorns. But you are no stranger to pain, are you, Kaelen Knežević? I remember the day your father walked you into that school yard, skirt, and bows and frills, all. Oh, you were so pretty in pink."

  Xakiah's eyes widened. No one, save for those who burned in the old world, knew his real last name or about the pink dress. No one except his Vassal. "Who the hell are you?"

  "A friend. One you'll need as this world begins to burn."

  "The world's already burning, demon. I'm afraid you've awoken too late." He eyed the creature down the barrel and lined up the front and back sights, the foresight hovering on the creature's temple.

  It smiled. "I speak of things fouler than bombs and bullets. Things that will bring both Azures and Civilians to their knees. Your petty war will seem like a paradise compared to what lies ahead."

  Disgusting or no, the creature was telling the truth. Xakiah could feel it. "How do you know this?"

  "I know because I am the one who will bring it, the Second Hell, the Third Order. You've already met my children, the Ninkashi. Wait until you meet my wives."

  Xakiah fired, and three shots hit the creature, slamming into its temple, jaw, and neck-- and spraying nothing. Doing nothing. The creature didn't flinch or stumble. It just shifted and turned to him full body. The eyeless sockets gazed at him.

  "I survived one Collapse. I will survive the next. As I stand on the ashes of your masters, I will crown the world with yet another wreath of thorns, and what a crown it will be."

  "Enough of your riddles! Who the hell are you?! What do you want?!"

  The creature shifted its gaze back to the tree, the roots of which were being irrigated by Ryan's cooling blood. "I've brought you to a tree of knowledge, my friend from the world of old." The creature reached out with scarred peeling fingers and touched the trunk. "In the bark, you'll find the location of your traitor, Mikhail Beige. You will also
find three names of three men who have more in common than you think. You will also find a token for your trouble. A penultimate gift, from me to you." It lifted its gaze upwards to the lowest branch. From where Xakiah was standing, he could see a gift box, plain and white.

  This was insane. Unreal. All these foolish riddles and rhymes. And yet this strange creature, whose alchemical power surpassed anything Xakiah had ever seen, had suddenly put all his fears around the missing Page to rest and had replaced them with all new ones. The Second Hell. Its survival of the Collapse. Its demonic "children" and, worse still, its "wives". And of all the Alchemists it could have chosen to bleed its heart to, the creature had chosen him.

  It was a struggle for Xakiah to keep the anger and confusion out of his voice. "Why are you helping me find the Page? Why me, why now, and why like this? If your plan is to destroy the world..."

  "I will not conquer a world already under siege. You, and I, and your masters know that the safety of the Final Page precludes their dominance as well as mine. Koa knows this as well. The Page may be the heart of your Order, but it is the soul of Mine. It must be retrieved before it falls into the wrong hands. Or the right ones."

  "And you can't do this yourself? You being so all-powerful," Xakiah sneered.

  "If you truly do not know why you must do this, Proficient, then you not only misunderstand the purpose of the three alchemical alignments, but you misunderstand your own purpose as well. Investigate the three men. Retrieve the Final Page. Keep my dream alive... or I will murder yours as you sleep."

  The robes of the creature crumpled to the ground as the thing beneath it vanished. The hold on the Moreno's estate finally relaxed, and so did Xakiah as the world blossomed with autumn once more. The bare brown arms of the trees now bled with reds, and yellows, and ochres. Birds twittered. Returning winds rustled the brush. Yet, still cold, Xakiah stood there with his thoughts... with the bodies, and the box, and the bark.

  Approached and lied to by Morgan. Gave Morgan info to help find Zeika. Morgan instead uses info to kill Articles39.

  Caleb crouched down in between the stacks of his precinct's cold room, scribbling the information on the bidirectional lines that connected the Cartegenas and Sal Morgan. After he was done, he turned his notes in his hands and held it away from him, examining. The flow chart he'd drawn had all the major players he knew about: Zeika/Manja, Mika/Merconius Anon, Sal Morgan, the Cartegenas, and Kenneth Taitt. The two girls were in the middle, with everyone else branching out from them.

  He'd already filled in a lot of info, connecting dealers with buyers and their reasons for doing business. But while the web of entanglement was beginning to make chronological sense, the motivations of mostly everyone on the chart remained a mystery. Somehow he couldn't believe that Mika or Merco would sell their own kids, no matter how desperate their situation. Still, if the Anons hadn't sold their girls to Sal, how had they ended up on adoption papers with no questions and no inquiries? How had the Cartegenas not known that Sal was untrustworthy, even though it seemed to be common knowledge? Had they truly believed that Sal would help the girls?

  He sighed, his annoyance with himself growing by the second. He could have dug deeper, asked some contingency questions to see if the Cartegenas' testimonies were waterproof. When the interview had gone ape shit, though, he knew that way was shut. There was no point in going back, especially not after what he'd admitted to... him and his damned passions.

  Ah well. What was done was done. No point in crying about it. The question now was what to do next.

  Taitt. Taitt was the key to all of this, and Caleb could put many of these questions to rest if he could only find the bastard.

  He looked at his chart again and picked up his pencil. It hovered over the paper, hesitant. He closed his eyes and touched the point to the page and began to draw. The cold room seemed to get colder as the pencil whispered its words across the page, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the three other bubbles he'd drawn in and connected to Zeika. Three names.

  Persaud. Cotch. Caleb.

  It wasn't hard to fill Persaud's and Cotch's connections to each other, to Zeika, to him. Persaud had used her to punish him, to discipline and re-orient him to his twisted idea of Azurehood. Cotch was a people pleaser, servant, and errand boy. He was vicious and terrible enough so that others wouldn't call him that to his face, but it was what he was: the mule of the Order. But when Caleb got to his own name, he didn't know what to write. What was his investment really? Tried to save her? Feared for her life? Couldn't save Sairen?

  As much as he didn't want to think it, Luke was right: he was responsible in all of this. He'd allowed himself to play a role in the trafficking, murder, and cover up of a young girl who was innocent. In the end, no matter what he told himself, he'd done nothing to save her. Whether he found Taitt, whether he cracked the case and arrested all the conspirators against the Anon family, it wouldn't bring Zeika back.

  He stood up from his crouch, looked into the stacks, and pulled her file. A glossy picture of her was paper-clipped to the front. Her long braids had been pulled up into a ponytail, and she was actually smiling this time, her doe-like eyes lit up. The photo was from the shoulders up, and he could tell she was wearing a ballerina's leotard. He hadn't known she was a dancer, a ballerina, even. This must've been taken right after practice because she actually looked happy in this one.

  "Forgive me," he whispered.

  He stood there for a long moment before he finally opened the file and read it. Ezekiel D'jihara Anon, 16 years old. African-American. Female. Deceased as of May 2nd, 2155. He skimmed over her details, his gaze feeling listless and heavy with guilt. Languages: Modern-standard Arabic, Egyptian, English. Known associations, Iemanja Omaya Anon: sister. Merconius Anon: father. Mikaela Anon: mother. Jonathan Espinoza-Quinn: friend.

  Jonathan Quinn. Why did that name sound so familiar?

  He tucked Zeika's file under his arm and walked the aisles of the cold room, looking for the Civilian files beginning with Q. He flipped through them until he found Johnny's.

  Quinn. Right.

  He'd pulled this file months ago when he started to chase up the missing ghosts of war. Quinn was one who had gone missing two years ago. Caleb lifted the file to the light, to look at the photo attached. He was a handsome kid, dark-eyes, curly hair, stubble just beginning to appear on a square-set jaw.

  "Jonathan Espinoza-Quinn, 17 years old. Hispanic. Male." Caleb murmured, skimming over his bio. "Languages: Spanish, English, Arabic. Dropped out of school and started work in 2149 at age 11. Missing as of January 23rd, 2153. Known associations, Jorge Espinoza: father. Regina Quinn: mother. Ezekiel D'jihara Anon..." Caleb's eyes went wide. "Girlfriend."

  But that wasn't all. Quinn had a record. A few petty burglaries and pickpocketing charges, mostly from burglarizing Azure farmers' markets or shopping malls in the Seventh Demesne. No armed robberies. Lists of things stolen included jewelry or expensive hard-to-find foods, like meats and imported fruits. He had even broken into a pharmacy for medicine-- hemostatic medicine, no less, which was weird...

  Not weird. Zeika had said that Manja had hemophilia, didn't she? Quinn might have stolen the medicine for her. A huge sacrifice... and yet Zeika hadn't breathed a word about Quinn...

  Aside from that, the details in Quinn's file were typical of most Civilian teenagers growing up during the war. Johnny had worked to help his family. He'd grown up with lingual training in Arabic like most Civilians and Azures did, in case the ban on the Civilian practice of alchemy was ever lifted. He'd raised a bit of hell, but nothing too crazy-- at least, that was what Caleb was thinking until he saw the last charge on Johnny's file.

  Assault and attempted murder. Victim: Sal Morgan.

  Shocked, Caleb leafed through Johnny's file to find the details of the case. What he found in the case summary though, didn't make him any happier.

  On December 11th, 2152 at approximately 3:19 pm, the defendant, Jona
than Espinoza-Quinn, entered the office of the victim, Salvatore Morgan, and sat down at Morgan's desk, presumably to hold a meeting on the family taxes.

  According to witnesses, Quinn began to accuse Morgan publicly for the harassment of various women and young girls in the lot in which Quinn lived. Among Quinn's allegations was the accusation that Morgan was harassing and criminally stalking Quinn's then-girlfriend, Ezekiel D'jihara Anon...

  "Jesus..." Caleb muttered. He could already see where this was going.

  The argument escalated into threats from Quinn who swore he would "cut his [Morgan's] throat open" if he even so much as looked at his girlfriend again. When Morgan rose to defend himself, witnesses claim Quinn pulled out a concealed butcher's knife and slashed Morgan across the face. Morgan was rushed to the hospital, and Quinn was arrested and charged with aggravated assault. Azure District Attorney Mason Young pressed for the added charge of attempted murder...

  Caleb skimmed through the rest of Quinn's file, which was packed with newspaper clippings, interviews, and witness reports. The whole attack on Sal Morgan had been a big story in the Fifth, apparently, and it had been followed even after Quinn had gone missing. Quotes and headlines all told the story in bits and pieces: Assault victim Salvatore Morgan shows benevolence by posting bail for attacker.

  Charges dropped in attempted murder case. Quinn to be released.

  Despite Johnny's attempt on Morgan's life, Morgan had advocated on his behalf, claiming that Johnny was an unfortunate victim of PTSD due to the war in the beyond. Morgan had even posted Quinn's bail and had helped him get legal representation. Even as the Civic and Alchemic Orders pressed charges against Quinn, Morgan had fought the courts for the kid's freedom, which he'd actually won in the end. Yet, shortly after the charges were dropped and Quinn had been released from prison, he disappeared.

  "Oh Morgan..." Caleb shook his head, finally understanding. "You son-of-a-bitch."

  Civilians had Civilian justice, and Azures had theirs. Morgan had introduced Quinn to that fact personally, it seemed--