Unleashed: The Deepest Fears Lie Within (Secrets of the Makai)

by Toni Kerr

  Some of the trees on the far side of the lake were dead and fallen, making the reflections in the mirrored water more interesting. Patches of tall rocks and cliffs peeked through the trees for contrast and dimension. He decided the direction should be west from his beach, so he could conduct a sunset of soothing colors.

  It didn’t take long to add the minor details—sounds and smells. A breeze now and then to liven the reflection.

  What a waste. It’s almost a shame you’re dying.

  He should have known Lazaro would find him here, and didn’t bother turning around.

  I’ll bet you could come up with some pretty amazing ways to kill a person. Tell me, how would you do it?

  I wouldn’t.

  Wouldn’t do? Or wouldn’t tell....

  Neither. Tristan got to his feet and spotted Lazaro standing halfway up the hill. Maybe he’d fallen asleep in the real world.

  This is truly spectacular. See what I mean? Lazaro gestured to the entire landscape with his arms wide. Only gods create such wondrous places.

  No person is a god and this isn’t a real place.

  What is a god, if not a powerful being?

  This isn’t power, it’s creativity. Imagination. You said you weren’t in my mind.

  Alas, I am not. Only my mind is in your mind. Although, one might argue that the ‘self’ is the physical body, while others might suggest the ‘self’ is the soul; the driver of a bodily vessel used to exist in this particular dimension of time. Either way, there’s quite a difference.

  Tristan walked away from Lazaro, determined to find his real front porch.

  They say you shouldn’t intermix separate DNA patterns, Lazaro continued. But, I wonder if one would dominate and come out victorious. Messy, but victorious nonetheless.

  What do you want from me?

  I find you interesting, much more interesting than I’d anticipated. Though I must admit, it wasn’t my idea in the beginning.

  Whose was it?

  That’s hardly important this late in the game.

  Why not? Tristan stood warily, leaning against the side of his cabin, undecided about going back inside, or down the front steps.

  Lazaro didn’t answer.

  Tristan made a run down the steps for the trail, aiming for Eleonora’s cabin. But his feet were too sluggish and he fell on his chest, unable to get his hands out fast enough to catch himself.

  You and I would have made a great team. I’m extremely intelligent, you’re extremely creative. Together, we could’ve solved a lot of detail-oriented problems.

  I wouldn’t help you if you were the last living person on Earth.

  You’ll go long before I do.

  Leave me alone.

  I want your help in getting the emerald back.

  Why should I help you?

  I’ll stop bothering you for one thing. The other reason is because I need that emerald to save my people. I miss them terribly and Stephan, my brother, is very important to me. Without that emerald, I cannot break this curse. If you help me revive him, I will forgive you for murdering the others. And then, it will be easier for you to forgive yourself, if you know you’ve turned around to make things right. I know your guilt. You can see helping me as retribution for your actions.

  Tristan thought about it.

  Come back to Ireland and show me what really happened that night.

  Ireland appeared before him, though he wasn’t sure if he had a plan. He stood at the top of the cliffs with Lazaro at his side.

  Remarkable, Lazaro said, lifting his face to the dark wind and rain.

  Tristan looked down on an image of himself coming from the cave. He wasn’t sure of the emerald’s importance at the time, but knew Lazaro should never have it. He remembered Gram telling him to always trust Alpheus, and stuck to the story he told Dorian.

  Tristan’s image swung from the ledge, clinging to muddy roots as the box fell from his pocket into darkness, swallowed whole by the crashing surf.

  Can you lighten it up a bit? Is there any way we can see what became of it? Or maybe exactly where it landed?

  This is how I remember it. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Do it again, more slowly.

  Tristan played it again, amused that Lazaro wasn’t getting anything useful to work with.

  Again.

  I’m tired. Let me rest without interruption, and I’ll agree to do what I can.

  There’s no time for rest, you’re well past the overdose mark.

  Tristan’s eyes fluttered open. Eleonora’s cabin was too far away—all he could see was brush and dirt. He wished he’d worn the watch Landon had given him, instead of seeing it as too breakable. Too valuable.

  You should be thankful I got to you before the dragon slayers did. They can be nasty.

  She was hallucinating.

  Didn’t you see the tattoo on her wrist?

  I’m not a dragon. He couldn’t remember seeing any sort of tattoo.

  “Go get Donovan.”

  Tristan opened his eyes to see Landon leaning over him.

  Oh yeah, bring on the executioner! Lazaro laughed. He’ll put you out of your misery. Or make it last longer for the fun of it.

  Tristan grabbed Landon’s arm. “He said I’m overdosing.”

  Landon nodded that he understood, but Tristan kept his grip. “She said they were dragon slayers.”

  “Shaely? Are you sure that’s what she meant? There’s no such group—” Landon paused, apparently running calculations. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

  “I’m not a freakin dragon!” Pain shot through his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  “I’ll get the doctor.”

  Tristan nodded, holding his breath until something shook him.

  “I’m getting you out of here. Can you hear me?”

  Tristan opened his eyes again, relieved to see Shaely leaning over him. “Are you okay?” he asked. “I was worried when you weren’t here.”

  “I must be doing better than you.” She smiled, brushing the hair from his forehead.

  “Overdosing. Can’t remember what the drug is. I didn’t do this to you, or myself. Someone else.”

  “We’ll figure it out.” She patted his hand. “Come on, we have to go before Donovan gets here.”

  Tristan agreed.

  In the next heartbeat, he was in a dimly lit room reeking of musty carpet and gasoline. Men’s voices cheered around him.

  “I told you I could get him here safely,” Shaely hissed.

  Tristan tried to sit, but the weight of something pressed him down.

  “Don’t give him that,” she added. “He’s already OD-ing on something.”

  Tristan felt the floor lurch. Tires squealed and streetlights streaked past the narrow windows overhead. Wherever they were, it was nighttime. They were in a large car. More like a van with the all the backseats removed. He couldn’t make out any faces.

  “Dude!” someone yelled. “Don’t get pulled over!”

  “What’s he on?”

  If you give me a clue, Lazaro said, I’ll make sure you get out of there in one piece.

  Why would you do that? Tristan asked.

  “I don’t know,” Shaely said. “We could run blood work.”

  I get you saved, you get my brother saved. Simple as that.

  “Or not,” one of the brothers said. “Does it matter? Serves him right for doping you up.”

  You said I was dead already.

  But you’re not. Not yet anyway.... Honestly, I’d rather have you alive.

  “Yes it matters!” Shaely said. “You promised to hear him out, that we wouldn’t kill him unless we could prove he’s a dragon. I owe him something—I would have been perfectly happy to light myself on fire to get those bugs off.”

  You can’t want me alive. Not if you’re the one drugging me.

  It does open your mind rather nicely. In fact, I’ll probably lose this connection if you survive detox. This might be your one shot at mak
ing a deal with me.

  “We’ll let him stand trial. But I swear, Shaely. This could be the only dragon we ever get our hands on. I’m not letting him go just because you have the hots for him. His existence is an abomination to mankind and you know it.”

  “Get that tracker thing on his head before he starts making personal calls.”

  “And put a bag on his head,” said the driver.

  “Not yet.”

  Tristan felt the press of stinging metal on his forehead. A boy not much older than himself was kneeling beside him, using a tool to tighten a bolt at the side of the contraption, forcing spikes with tiny barbs to bite through his flesh.

  Sharp pain overrode the aching void in his body. Landon!

  Tristan! Where are you?

  “Someone put a bag on his head.”

  Victor’s tracker— In a flash of intense light, Tristan saw the group of people huddled around him, including Shaely. They shielded their eyes and leaned away as every muscle clenched into spasms.

  Tristan held his breath, trying not to scream out loud.

  “Told you he’d be making personal calls.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Tristan rolled to his side, choking on bile from his stomach with his jaw clamped tight.

  “Guess we know the reverb amperage won’t kill him. We could turn it up a notch or two, just to be on the safe side.”

  “Are you crazy?” Shaely asked.

  Tristan clawed at the metal band around his head and tried yanking it off as an icy cloth covered his mouth. His throat went numb on the first intake of breath. Thick blood seeped into his eyes before his head hit the ground.

  27

  - MOLAJAH -

  TRISTAN STARED AT THE BLURRY blob attached to his right arm until a needle came into focus. A thin tube connected it to a bag containing some sort of clear liquid. Whether it was good or bad for him, he didn’t care. He reached for it, only to find his left arm tied to metal bars at his side. In fact, both arms were firmly bound.

  He gave the needle a mental pull, immediately struck with an electrical current that had his body arcing off the bed.

  The next thing he knew, a piercing light was shining in his eyes. “He’s coming around again.”

  “Tristan?” Shaely asked. “Can you hear me?”

  Something wet dabbed at his chin and neck. His tongue sat like a weighted plug at the back of his throat. He could barely breathe.

  “Come on, Tristan. You can do this!”

  He opened his eyes and waited for recognition—waited for his brain to make sense of the fluorescent lights above him. “No more.”

  “No more what?”

  Shaely must have been inches from his face, her breath hot on his cheek. “Sha—” Tristan spotted a transparent man with skin as black as night standing against the snow-white, cement wall. Layers of dark fabric draped over his head and wide frame. The man pushed his hood back, exposing a bald head. Tristan couldn’t turn away, no matter how rude the staring might have become.

  I presume I have your attention, said the phantom man.

  Yes. The room exploded in light and his body cramped in pain. His ankles were tied to the foot of the bed and the instant he bit his tongue, he gagged on his own blood. Or maybe he’d thrown up.

  “Gosh-darn it, Barry,” shouted Shaely. “Turn the dang thing down, you’re going to kill him!”

  “Apparently, he’ll have to learn the hard way if he keeps trying stuff like that.”

  Tristan shivered in a rush of icy cold. He couldn’t remember losing consciousness, but now he was lying on his side with both hands tied to the same bar. Shaely huddled under a blanket in a blue armchair next to him, sound asleep.

  The ghost of a man in robes was still standing against the wall, in the exact place he’d been before.

  The room itself, besides the chair Shaely was in, had only a metal door and a curtainless window that faced a hallway.

  Projecting your thoughts seems to be what triggers the device. I suggest you think your words to yourself, not to me.

  What do you want?

  Many things. Nothing.

  Tristan let his eyes flutter shut, too tired to play games with the stranger.

  Mostly, I want you away from this place. Jacques was right. We owe you an apology. Perhaps even a fighting chance.

  Jacques?

  He is no longer your guardian. I have taken his place.

  Tristan opened his eyes. What sort of hallucination was he having now? Anything was better than Lazaro in his head. But Eleonora had mentioned the name Jacques.... And a second ghost. Was that how his mind came up with this?

  You know Jacques as your falcon.

  “What?” Tristan sat up, pulling at the bars until the skin on his wrists tore against the ropes. “Where is he? What have you done to my falcon?”

  Shaely leaped from her chair and grabbed his shoulders.

  He fought the urge to get away from her as she held his face, forcing him to look at her instead of the man standing at the wall. “Wake up, Tristan. There’s no one here and I don’t know anything about a falcon. You’re going to be okay.”

  “You don’t understand,” Tristan said, flicking his eyes back and forth between her and him. “The falcon is my friend.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” she said quietly. She quickly scanned the room, but didn’t seem to see the man. “Drink this. It’ll put you back to sleep.”

  “You’re drugging me?” He couldn’t remember if Lazaro confessed or not. “Was it you all along?” He bumped the cup from her hand, spilling it on the spotless white tile floor, and tugged his arms against the ropes, testing the strength of the bar itself.

  “We weren’t the ones drugging you. We just made it so you’d sleep, so you could get through the detox easier. I promise we’re not making it worse.”

  “I don’t react well to drugs, you have to stop!”

  Be nice to her, said the man. His deep voice seemed to resonate in Tristan’s bones. She’s the only one fighting to keep you alive.

  Tristan slumped into her arms, lacking the strength and energy to stay upright. “Who are you?”

  “It’s me, Shaely.”

  Molajah, answered the dark ghost. I wish to negotiate the terms for your cooperation.

  28

  - ARTIFACTS -

  TRISTAN GNAWED AT THE ROPES on his wrists, unable to tell if he was making progress in the dark. A train whistled from somewhere faraway; he listened for other clues to pass along if he ever got the chance. He couldn’t hear the tracks—that had to be useful for judging distance.

  Fluorescent lights flicked on, forcing his eyes to adjust to the stark white room.

  “I thought you’d be awake by now.” Shaely nearly skipped into the room in a flowing white sundress. A pink bow held her hair in a high ponytail. “Are you doing okay?”

  “I would be, if I wasn’t tied up.”

  “It won’t be for long.” Pearly lip-gloss shimmered as her smile grew wider. “I’m just glad you can carry on a conversation.” She toyed with a delicate bracelet around her wrist, reminding him of the tattoo Lazaro had mentioned. “Just tell them what you told me, and they’ll let you go.”

  He highly doubted it.

  “Anyway, I thought it would go easier for you if I was the one taking you to your cell. My brothers are...well, they’d love any excuse to rough you up a bit.”

  “Thanks. I guess. Why am I here?”

  “I’ll explain on the way.” She held up a single key on a large ring. “Let me warn you, if you try anything, they’ll beat the holy heck out of you and you’ll wake up chained to a wall instead of in a comfortable cell.”

  “Would you?”

  “No. But I have enough tranquilizers to knock you out in seconds, the whole sorry event would be recorded, and they’d never let me near you again.”

  “Are you helping me?”

  “No, not really. But I’ll do what I can to make it better.”

 
; “Can you take this thing off my head?” He’d tried to pull the band off himself, but it seemed to have barbs that prevented it from sliding up or down. He’d only made it worse.

  “Sorry, they would never allow that.” She pulled the blanket away and he stared at his feet as she unlocked the chain from the foot of the bed. The metal cuffs were practically embedded into his swollen ankles.

  “I know it looks bad,” Shaely said. “But they weren’t that tight in the beginning.”

  Tristan stared at her in horror. Speechless.

  “Don’t blame me! You’re the one who kept struggling so much.” She snapped thick bands of metal around each wrist, over the ropes, and connected them with chains to the cuffs at his feet. “I can get you a wheelchair, but...”

  “But what?” The chains had to weigh fifty pounds.

  “It’ll take time and my brothers will be here soon. My plan was to get you there before....”

  “I’ll walk.”

  She pulled a pocket knife from her beaded purse and cut the rope at his hands.

  “Aren’t you a little dressed up for this?”

  Her cheeks reddened as she fiddled with a dangling pearl earring, smiling but avoiding any eye contact. Finally, she folded the knife in half and put it back in her purse. “It’s not far. I promise.”

  Tristan pulled himself up, using the chains connected to his feet for leverage, and hissed at the instant pain.

  “Should I get a chair? Painkillers?”

  He might have passed out if Shaely hadn’t lifted him the rest of the way. “No.” Tristan held his breath and waited for his head to clear. The band on his head pulsed deeper into his flesh.

  She lowered the bar on the bed and swiveled his feet to the floor. It took another long minute to adjust to standing. She belted a chain around his waist, linking it with the chain that hung from his hands to his feet. “We’ll be there before you know it.”

  It was slow going down an endless hall, with the chain between his feet preventing decent forward motion. He made a map in his head, if he got the chance to run, but so far, everything looked the same: white tile on the floors, white walls, long corridors with doors and tinted windows at equal distances on both sides. Fluorescent strips of light buzzed. Rattling chains.