by Colby R Rice
He began to speak, and Zeika listened in, trying to ignore some gazes of amazement that still lingered on her. She scratched her itching back as spots of the roaring speech fizzed in and out of her thoughts. It was a struggle to process the information, things were happening so fast. Koa had initiated a demense-wide lock in, cutting off all paths into and out of the three Protecteds. Azures that were rich enough were making a break for it, clearing out of Civilian territory. Koa's time was rising, so on and so forth. The rest of it was motivation, something about a final page, and other kinds of aural encouragement, because apparently a huge battle was coming. One that they planned to fight until the end. The only questions left were what battle and where she would fit in. Maybe she'd just be a grunt. A messenger or delivery girl.
She could handle that. Maybe. Whatever they had in store for her, it'd be better than starving to death face first in the snow or being locked up for manslaughter. Not worlds better, but better. She'd make the best with what she had. She'd show them what she could do: gun smithing, bartering, negotiations. Alchemy, though, was off the table.
She glanced at Johnny and noticed that he was gazing at her with a strange mix of interest and wariness. He had told her in secret that he'd seen her debut at the police station, but he hadn't told anyone else it'd been her on the tape. The P-cells had been too busy to notice... but Johnny had. As he looked at her, she wondered if maybe he was having second thoughts. If so, she'd have to prove him wrong.
Or maybe he was thinking of other things. Things she wasn't sure they had time for.
She'd missed him, and they needed to talk, catch up. But the immediacy of her current situation was sort-of killing the mood. Goo-goo eyes or not, she was locked in with Koa and still had to prove herself. If she was going to focus on anything, she needed to focus on that.
Still, focus was a hard task. The past two months had brought on a strange splitting of consciousness: strength and weakness. Love and hate. Courage and terror. All possible emotions had ebbed and flowed in her at random intervals since the first bombing, leaving her completely exhausted. For months, there had only been enough room for logic differentials, strategies on what would keep her and the people she loved alive. And now--
Johnny was still staring at her, finally cracking a smile before he turned back to Jared's speech.
--it was burdensome, and yet so refreshing, to actually feel something again. Along with those feelings, though, came the conscience, the obvious question: what Koa would want her to do, would it be wrong? Or would it be righteous retribution against a civilization of oppressors? She didn't know the other kids' stories, but as for her, the Cabal had curled itself around her life like a python and had crushed it, until she'd had no other alternative but to make the most desperate of choices.
She thought of Sal, and still found the sting of guilt difficult to bury. The still-fresh memory caused her to lower her eyes, to hide the tears that had begun to well up. In the end, it was what she had to do, even if by accident. But his face would be in her dreams for a long time. His, and the faces of the ones she loved more than anything in the world.
Mama. Baba. Manja. I hope you're okay.
She had a feeling that they were still alive out there. They were survivors, all of them, and the thought of them made her feel stronger, ready to face what lie ahead. One day, they'd be back together. In the meantime, though, right or wrong, she was a ghost of Koa. The Alchemic Cabal had taken everything from them. Everything. She wasn't sure if she was quite ready to return the favor, but as she looked around and listened to the Koan dogma, she understood that she wouldn't have a choice.
"I want you to know that I did not abandon you. I never would."
The hum of the copter was audible through the phone, but Xakiah could hear his Vassal well enough. He had organized Moss' extraction from the Protecteds personally, making sure that he had been comfortable before lift off.
"No, Vassal," he said. "I am glad to serve here in your stead. I will not fail you."
"I know. And as a parting gift, I have sent you the next few pages of your Canon. Study them well. Practice them well."
Xakiah opened his hand and felt the tickle of Vassal's scripture on his skin. Words, diagrams, symbols, all transferred from the Alchemic Canon, scribbled themselves into his hand. He placed his palm face down onto his desk, and the ink transferred, skittering over the wood towards the stack of old parchment at the corner. The scribblings organized themselves neatly onto five pages, and as they did, Xakiah understood that this was a gift. A real gift, unlike the one Faust had given. This was the greatest gift that a master could ever give to an apprentice, that one lover could give to another: acceptance. Love. To be truly loved by a Vassal... such an honor had to be earned. He smiled, the thought warming him.
"How goes our little Prince and his Theosophist?"
Xakiah leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "His Highness has been made painfully aware of his position. And the Theosophist poses no threat."
"Good. The Hunter's Cell, then. You will be lavished with our Order's most precious resources. You know this. It is time to express yourself, Kaelen. Use the Cell to our advantage. The Final Page is what Koa wants most; they will try for it again. Exploit that desire. By the end of this, I want both the Page and the little rogue Azure firmly in our grasp. Is that clear?"
"Yes." Then Xakiah looked off, careful with how his next words came out. "You... do trust me with this... yes, Vassal?"
Moss paused for a minute, the rotors of the helicopter chopping up the silence. Then he finally asked: "How do you kill a race, Proficient?"
"Through the women," Xakiah responded obediently.
"And how do you kill a future?"
"Through the children."
His Vassal was smiling. Xakiah could hear it over the phone, his silent peace. "Then, yes," Moss whispered. "I trust you."
The phone clicked off, and Xakiah leaned back, feeling restored. They had lost a piece of the Final Page, but his Vassal was right. The Page was what Koa wanted more than anything, and in spite of their pathetic attempt at a "lock-in", they would eventually reveal their desperation as they pursued the rest of it.
The mechanisms of Koa's demise swirled around his mind, tantalizing the darkest parts of his imagination as a plan began to form. This was the real battle. The world had plunged into chaos, and he and Koa would vie against one another for the rights to tame it. Only in clashes of metal and flesh-- not in congressional coins and lies-- would the real victors rise. And no post-war clean up was necessary; dear Dr. Georin and Madam Cua were still poised on the edge of the Seventh Demesne to collect the bodies.
It was perfect, all so perfect how things had worked out. Perhaps even divine. Things now were so similar to those far-gone days over 100 years ago. He had designed death perfectly every time, created his own personal pogroms, silver screen delights to which only he had a front row seat.
Now, once again, his Vassal had given him a world of his own, where the finales were his to conduct, the epilogues his to write, and he wouldn't have to wait or ask for a thing. Instead, the world and Koa, would wait on him. They had no choice, because he-- Kaelen X Cotch-- had the last piece of the Final Page.
And there is still the little Azure to consider.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen an Alchemist as powerful as the rogue who'd robbed his precinct. He had already decided that he would make a very intimate acquaintance with the little Azure before putting him into the ground. Then his friends, ghosts and insurgents all, would join him. He would draw the curtain on this circus, and Koa would be the closing act.
He smiled, finally allowing himself his first cigarette in years. He gazed at the Monas Hieroglyphica engraved into the cover of his Canon and ran a finger through its winding ivy crown.
"In hoc signo vinces," he whispered to himself as he lit the cig, the words making him feel stronger. "In this sign, we conquer."
The sun peeked over the horizon, marking the first day of the Lock In. Xakiah blew out a slow, silver plume, savoring the silence as the final curtain began to rise.
Caleb laid on his cot, trying to find a way to get comfortable. The streets of the Fifth were jammed, and danger zones had been set up all around. There was no way he'd be getting home, and even if he could, he doubted it'd be a good idea to try. Luckily, he'd packed enough clothes and toiletries into his office when he'd first arrived.
The inside of the station was calming down as most of the cops moved in and out to secure the city. Palmer and Persaud had put an official lock on his and Luke's movements in the public eye now that they were officially a part of a different unit.
The "elite" unit... right.
He and Luke would be upgrading their offices tomorrow... upgrading a lot of things. And then came the big push: tracking down that rogue Azure. While also trying to piece together Morgan's murder, the train heist, fighting Koan terrorism, and finding the source of the Ninkashi. They'd do it all together-- Corporal, Druid, and Theosophist-- like one big happy fuckin' family.
Caleb rubbed the bridge of his nose and decided to sleep. It was the only way that he and Cotch weren't going to kill each other tomorrow.
But first, a call. He picked up his phone, dialing a number he hadn't called in months. She was probably worried sick, and like an ass, he hadn't even bothered to let her know he was still alive. When the person picked up, he smiled and opened his mouth to speak as softly as he could--
"She's not here," a cold voice, one that he hadn't expected, cut through the line.
Caleb frowned, his mood officially plummeting. "Okasan wa doko da?" --Where's mom?--
"Like I said, she's not here. But would it kill you to speak to your dear old Father?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Possibly. So was this your plan? Squeezing the last Civic Demesnes until they begged for annexation into the Alchemic Order? Seems to have backfired though, hasn't it? Instead, the Civic Councilmen fled, and Koa told you to go suck it."
"I do not know what you're talking about," Lord Kojira replied, chuckling. "The Civic Order has not been able to keep a steady hand on its citizens. So we stepped in. The Halls of Deis had no choice but to put the necessary measures in place--"
"You're a snake, fork-tongued like the rest of them."
"--for the safety of our people. Of our children."
"Safety for all except your own son, ironically."
"The Azures of the highest priority have been evacuated. If you didn't make the cut, then that is no one else's fault but your own."
"Heh. Now it all makes sense. You couldn't kill me in the 52nd, so you waited. You knew this was going to happen, the crumbling of the Protecteds. You purposely sent me here to die."
"The difference between coincidence and fortuitousness is... perspective."
"You listen to me, you miserable bastard," Caleb growled. "I will not die here, do you understand? And when I finally get out of the Protecteds, I'll make you regret the day you let mother bring me into this world."
"Too late, my son. Twenty-six years too late. Our disagreements aside, let me offer you some fatherly advice. Very simply, if you do not hunt Koa, they will hunt you. If you want to live, I am sorry to say that you will have to play the game. Play... or die. It's your choice."
Caleb hung up. There was no point in continuing the conversation. It would just piss him off more and cost him sleep. Better to focus on what he could change: his chances at solving his cases. In the wake of the bombings, Koa had quieted down once again, but this wasn't the end. He could feel it. Something else huge and terrible was coming, and if he wanted to survive, he had to turn his inward battles outward and focus. He had to fight. Fight or die. Kojira was right about that much.
Right, Zeika?
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the two close-ups he'd printed: the one of Zeika from the Lakeside Diner and then the one of the robber from the weapons cage. They looked different, for sure-- the robber's face was completely covered, little to no hair under his mask-- but they also looked so similar somehow. Maybe it was the angle, or the lighting--
"Or the gaze," Caleb whispered quietly. "A gaze that could melt rocks."
He wasn't sure if she was still alive, and recently, the realization that she might truly be dead had finally begun to take root. Yet as he looked at the photos, the nagging voice of guilt-- the voice that would never let him forget what he had done to her-- somehow eased, finally allowing him to sleep.
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If you enjoyed Volumes I & II of "Ghosts of Koa", then you'll LOVE
Coming in 2014,
Volumes I, II, and III of The Final Page, The Second Book of Ezekiel!
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3. Continue to the next page for a racy excerpt from Volume I of
"The Final Page: The Second Book of Ezekiel"!
The hot air balloons lifted higher and higher, and Zeika stood on top of the closed basket of her own balloon, gripping its ropes to steady herself. Icy wisps of thin air whipped straight through her flesh and bones, piercing her lungs with bitter cold. The atmospheric gas mask warmed what air it could, but it wasn't nearly enough.
Ahead and all around her, loose clusters of nearly 100 balloons, all carrying metallic closed-top baskets, lifted into the sky, their pilots being careful to navigate the wind space beneath the Canopy 12,000 feet above the earth. Now 13,000 feet, and climbing. Zeika gripped her ropes, terrified. Bars of shining glory seeped down through the Canopy's holes as the sun's rays beamed through... and on the horizon, she could see the airship five miles ahead, a metal whale in the sky, gun turrets sticking out of its belly like flippers.
The team of balloons was at the tail of it, following closely behind. They had already gone about two miles west off course of the balloon race, and it wouldn't be long before someone on the ship noticed that the race had been brought to them in real time.
This is crazy. We're all going to die.
The thoughts were running on a loop in her head, becoming more frantic with every gust of wind that blew her about, with every second her fingers gripped the ropes. She had never been afraid of heights, but after this, she'd need some serious therapy. If she made it out alive, that is.
Bright dots floated out of the airship in the distance. Jets, or some other aircraft. It didn't matter. The Alchemists were on alert, and there was no turning back now.
"They're coming. Steady," Zeika whispered into her radio. Her porcelain mask began to spread across her face, locking into her skin. "Steady."
The dots on the horizon suddenly grew ten fold as the jets hit thrusters.
"NOW!" She shouted.
The closed basket beneath her feet broke apart, revealing that it wasn't a basket at all, but a glider locked in on itself with an aeronaut hidden inside. She dropped into the second seat behind her pilot as the glider hovered, unfurling to its full length, dropping engines and guns into place. With a monstrous roar, the machine revved up and took off, leaving billows of smoke in its wake. The other pilots followed suit, roaring off into battle, and the Alchemic jets began to fire.
She slammed back against her seat as the inertia hit her, her fingers gripping the pull handles of the ejection seat as the plane dipped, dived, and roll
ed in the air. The pilot evaded gunfire and collisions with a smoothness she had only ever seen in movies. Around them, the air battle had begun, and Koan gliders were already falling to the earth in balls of flame. The occasional Alchemist jet went down with them, but for the most part, Koa was outnumbered and outgunned.
Zeika shook with rage, thinking of General Cua in the war room, knowing that he had planned on very few of them making it back.
I have to get the Page and make it back. She focused her eyes forward and gripped the handles on her seat, determination setting in. I have to...
If not to save her family, if not to honor her comrades' sacrifice, then definitely to make Cua pay.
Forcing a now watery gaze past the bursts of red and black, past the static screams that peppered the air around them, Zeika gripped the pull handles for dear life, homing in on the air fortress.
"We'll be there in two minutes, but we've got a cloud of bogies up ahead," her pilot announced. "Help me out here, Middle Man."
She lowered her chin and focused as far out as she could go, straining to navigate her powers around her allies. The jets in front of them rippled, sheets of metal lifting up into the wind as they turned to canvas. The pilot navigated around the charring steel, bullets, and floating sailcloth, closing in on the airship from above. Zeika kept reaching out with her power, hitting as many Alchemist jets as she could, but there were so many of them, she couldn't possibly hit them all--
Focus, Z!
She kept reaching and hitting, even as dozens of enemy targets came up on her mental radar. She tensed and leaned forward, ignoring the flopping of her stomach against her abs as her pilot homed in on the drop off point.
