Stone 02 Kato

by DB Reynolds

But such complicated thoughts were far from this mind on this fine morning. He’d left two warm and willing women in his bed in order to answer a summons to his mother’s side. For although he had great freedom in all other things, when the Dark Witch spoke in his head, he had no choice but to obey. Even that obligation was far from his thoughts as he walked the village road this morning. His mind was obsessed instead with the kernel of restlessness that had plagued him of late. A growing feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, he’d been meant for something . . . more.

  As if conjured by his thoughts, the kernel cracked open and a different sort of summons blew through him like a hot wind, though the day around him was perfectly still. He stopped dead in his tracks, his boots kicking up little puffs of dust that rose to tickle his nose and dry his throat as he stood there and listened with every sense he possessed. Magic drifted on the air, foreign magic that slid past and then circled back, swirling around him as if whatever spell was driving it had found what it was looking for . . . a warrior named Kato Amadi.

  He tensed in readiness, his hand going to the blade at his side, magical shields hardening, guarding him against intrusion. He wasn’t the senseless vessel that so many of the villagers seemed to think. He had skills enough to repel the fiercest attack and launch an immediate and devastating counterassault. But though instinct had him preparing a defensive strike of his own, it also made him pause . . . and listen to the call of this new magic. It was light against his dark, seduction against his servitude. It promised magnificent battles against deadly foes, and it offered . . . friendship.

  Kato’s warrior’s heart thudded awake, as if from a long sleep. He tasted the magic of the distant sorcerer and knew that he’d found a new purpose in life, one he could choose for himself. And he knew that his time as a slave to the Dark Witch was over.

  He spun on his heel and headed back to his small cottage on the edge of the village, eager to begin his journey. He had few personal belongings, but he would need his weapons for the difficult journey ahead and to serve this new master once he arrived. Stepping inside, he went directly to the long cupboard against the far wall and whispered a single word of magic. The door opened on silent hinges to reveal his most prized and hated weapon. It was a sword, magnificent in its crafting, a work of elegance and beauty, the maker’s skill evident in every inch of its black length. But this was no ordinary blade. It was more magic than steel, crafted exclusively for Kato—a weapon and a curse at the same time.

  The weapons master who’d made it had no memory of doing so. He’d been toiling under a spell from the Dark Witch herself. Kato had known from the first moment he touched the blade that it would bring as much pain as victory. Because, in the realm of dark magic, pain was power.

  Those who didn’t know better equated dark magic with evil and light with good. But it wasn’t that simple. All magic came from somewhere. Great sorcerers and minor witches alike were born with a talent. But that talent needed to be nurtured by a lifetime of study and practice if it was to gain its full potential. Light magic was easier, the raw power more abundant in nature, but few had the potential to achieve greatness on that path. Some, like his mother, spurned the ease of light and chose dark magic instead. But the dark path demanded pain from its practitioners, even the most powerful among them, like the Dark Witch. And like her only son.

  Kato had laid his hand on the blade and felt its hunger. It promised to serve Kato well, but it demanded payment, and it wanted blood. Every time Kato donned the weapon, every time he slayed an enemy, the sword feasted. But every time he slid the sword back into its sheath against his back, the ensorcelled blade claimed him all over again, sinking its fangs into Kato’s life force and burning as it took its payment for services rendered. His back was a permanent canvas of scars down the line of his spine, some old and twisted, others new and still healing. Scars upon scars.

  But for all the agony the blade cost him, he’d have it no other way. It was a powerful weapon, bound to him by magic, useless in the hand of anyone else.

  He slung the sheathed sword against his naked back, pulling his shirt on over it. He’d need warmer clothing before the end of his journey, but he would buy or barter whatever he needed. He gathered what few supplies he had on hand, took a final look around the only home he’d ever known, and then walked out the door and left it all behind.

  The Dark Witch’s summons came hard on his heels, as if she’d sensed his intent in the same moment that he’d made his decision. She called him to her side, demanding his obedience. But for the first time in his life, he turned his back on her summons and walked away, feeling the bonds loosen with every step he took.

  But as the bonds grew weaker, her rage grew hotter, and he knew he would not escape that easily. The Dark Witch couldn’t personally come after him. She daren’t leave her village stronghold; her power was vested here in the hot sands and dry winds of the desert, in the loyalty and worship of her people. She wasn’t helpless, however. She had an army of warriors at her command, men who would eagerly chase after him, bringing him back in chains if that’s what she desired. But the Dark Witch knew better. When she’d formed Kato, she’d done it too well. There wasn’t a warrior alive who could defeat the combination of his skill and magic.

  No, his mother wouldn’t send men after him. They’d only die. But where her warriors would fail, her magic could still triumph.

  He felt her curse as he neared the edge of the village. Felt it slither past his defenses and slip into his very soul. He knew he’d pay a terrible price for leaving her. But that didn’t stop him. Freedom beckoned. And so did a sorcerer named Nicodemus Katsaros.

  Los Angeles, California, present day

  KATO REFLECTED ON the excitement of that long-ago day, the joy of knowing he was meant for something more. He’d fought many battles to reach Nico’s side, had starved more than once, and nearly died from lack of water, but he’d forged ahead, demanding more from himself than the Dark Witch ever had. And when he’d finally arrived, when he’d walked into a camp that was a thousand times bigger than any army he’d ever seen, his focus had been on one man alone. Nico’s magic had pulled Kato across an entire continent, and he wasn’t going to stop until he stood before the sorcerer who’d brought him here. He’d seen the warriors first, the men who would become his brothers, and then Nico had turned with a grin that Kato would come to know well. He’d greeted Kato by name, raising him up when he’d gone down on one knee before him.

  “Stand, Kato,” he’d said, reaching down to grip him by the shoulders and pull him to his feet. “We’re all brothers here, and we five are going to change the world.”

  And they had. Until they’d been betrayed. Until the sorcerer Sotiris had tired of his constant humiliation at Nico’s hands and suborned a man they’d all trusted. Kato and the others had been cast into stone, thrown into the maelstrom of time and bound with curses that were meant to leave them trapped forever. Nico had been left alone, knowing the fate of his warriors and cursed to search for them forever.

  But not even Sotiris could have imagined the changes that would come to pass in the world. Changes that would undo his curse and finally set Kato free . . . with Grace’s help.

  Which brought his thoughts back to his brothers, and the challenge he faced in finding them. He knew little of this world. Part of his curse while trapped in his stone prison had been to hear and understand every word spoken around him. He knew the names of things from listening to Grace and the other people speak to one another. He’d known that a car was a transport of some kind, but hadn’t recognized the large, metal box until Grace had pointed it out and urged him to get inside. He knew that computers were used for information storage and communication, but had no idea how they worked, or how to manipulate one. He knew one could plug a cord into a hole in the wall and gain light, but he had no knowledge of what powered it.

  It wasn’t in him to surrender, however. Not then, and not now. Lifetimes ago, he’d fought his way alone over thousands
of miles from his home village to find Nico and his warrior brothers. And now, he would figure out how to accomplish that same journey in this new world.

  The sound of running water had him turning to look across the open expanse of Grace’s home—she’d called it a “condo”—to where the bedrooms were located. She’d shown him to one of those rooms last night, had flung a hand toward the bed, and then opened a door to the bath, and bid him good night. It seemed not to have occurred to her that he would have no idea how the bath functioned. The tub had been obvious. It was too small, but suitable enough if one only knew how to fill it with water. It had taken him longer than it should have, but he’d studied the pipes and discerned their function, appreciating the ease with which the tub filled with hot water. He’d stripped down after that, grateful to rid himself of clothes that were filthy with the dirt and dust of the millennia he’d been imprisoned. And then he’d bathed, delighting in the simple pleasure of being clean once again. The soaps had all been too fragrant for a warrior, but he’d used them anyway. He’d been accustomed to regular bathing, not only during his time with the Dark Witch, who had expected cleanliness of her son, but in Nico’s camp as well. All of his warriors had been given well-appointed accommodations, but the four who had stood at his side for every battle had enjoyed even better.

  Kato had scrubbed and cleaned both his body and his clothes, and then he’d drained and refilled the tub with clear hot water, soaking until, for the first time since his imprisonment, he’d longed for sleep. Not the enforced sleep of his curse, when he’d drifted in near unconsciousness for dulling centuries, but simple rest to relieve the honest exhaustion of his first day in this new reality.

  The bed had been too soft, so he’d pulled the blankets to the floor and slept there. And then he’d risen with the sun, dressed himself, and donned his weapons . . . and hadn’t known what to do next, other than stand before this window and let the sun’s warmth fight against a chill that still froze the very marrow of his bones. It was the penetrating cold of his stone prison, and he feared it would be with him the rest of his life.

  A woman’s groan snapped him out of his reverie, and he spun to find Grace standing at the entrance to the kitchen, staring at him.

  “You’re real,” she said, her voice dull with unhappiness.

  Kato frowned. “You thought otherwise?”

  “I’d hoped it was all a dream . . . or a nightmare.” She dragged herself into the kitchen and slumped onto one of the stools around a marble-topped table. “Explain this to me,” she said, running slender fingers back through her long, blond hair. “What was that thing last night, and where did it come from? And what the ever-loving fuck are you?”

  Kato stiffened, more than a little insulted by her question, which threw him back to the Dark Witch, and his time as her vessel. He wasn’t a what, he was a man, a great warrior whose skills had saved her life.

  But he told himself to be patient. Even in Amadi village, not everyone had understood magic or what it could do. Moreover, he’d seen few indications of magic in this world, so Grace’s ignorance was understandable if somewhat confusing. She seemed not to comprehend that she herself had called forth the demon last night. And while he could sense the magic burning beneath her skin as clearly as he could his own, he’d seen no evidence that she knew of its existence. If he hadn’t been there last night, if he hadn’t broken free of his prison in that very moment, the demon would have killed her, and then wreaked havoc and endless bloodshed on this magic-blind world.

  Grace needed to be educated and quickly, because in her ignorance she was playing with very dark magic, and it had to stop.

  “I am Kato Amadi.” He’d told her his name last night, but she seemed not to remember it. “I am a warrior in the service of Nicodemus Katsaros, and the only son of the Dark Witch of Amadi.”

  “Warrior,” she repeated softly, seeming to cling to that one word, although he didn’t know why. “Explain that.”

  He scowled. He wasn’t some peasant to be ordered about, but he reminded himself that he had to be patient, that, in this world, Grace was the ignorant one, and he had to instruct her.

  “What don’t you understand?” he asked politely. “A warrior is—”

  “I know what a warrior is,” she snapped, her pretty eyes a transparent blue in the morning light, despite their being narrowed in irritation. “But where did you come from, or maybe I should be asking when. If I’ve gone completely mad, I might as well go all the way,” she added, muttering to herself.

  “I don’t believe you’re mad,” he assured her. “This world . . .” He drew a breath, trying to find the words. “You have no magic. Or, no, that’s not right. There is some magic in this world, and definitely magic in you, but you seem unaware, blind to its existence.”

  “Magic,” she repeated doubtfully.

  He shrugged. “I was a statue. You spoke to me every night when you worked alone. And now I am made flesh once more. Magic. You conjured a demon—”

  “I did not!”

  “But you did,” he countered gently. “You didn’t mean to. I’m certain of that. But you saw the demon with your own eyes. You cannot deny it.”

  Her soft lips pursed in a frown as she studied him. “Tell me about the scrolls.”

  “They are not what you think. I’ve watched you struggle over them day and night, trying to translate them to words, but they are not words as you know them. They are spells of the darkest magic, with no goal but to cause pain and chaos.”

  “Is that how you—” she waved a hand, struggling for words, “—broke out of that statue?”

  He regarded her steadily. “No, Grace. That was you. When you asked for my help in reading the scrolls.” Kato held his breath, his lungs like lumps of ice in his chest. Would she deny him? And if she did . . . would the curse descend upon him once more?

  “When I . . .” She stared at him blankly, as if playing back the last night’s events in her mind. “I did, didn’t I? But I didn’t know—”

  “It doesn’t matter if you knew.” He cut her off, before she could withdraw the words that had freed him.

  Comprehension flooded her expression. “How long?” she whispered. “How long were you trapped?”

  The full weight of the years he’d been imprisoned threatened to crush him, the millennia of darkness before he’d been dug out of the dirt, the decades of sunless rooms and dark corners, before he’d finally been moved into the room where Grace had found him. For a moment, he was overcome by the knowledge of what he’d endured, and he didn’t know if he could bear it. But then Grace said his name. . . .

  “Kato?”

  He blinked. “Grace. Forgive me, my mind . . . wandered.”

  “Was it that long?” she asked, horror plain in her words.

  “It was,” he confirmed vaguely. There was no reason to burden her with the details of his torment.

  “Where did you come from originally?”

  “A place that no longer exists,” he said, knowing it was true. “I’m not sure this world is even in the same dimension as mine, or that we travel the same path of time. The curse that captured me—”

  “A curse. You mean like something a witch would—”

  “Not a witch,” he countered immediately. “The power required for this spell is far too great for even the Dark Witch to conjure. Too great for the sorcerer who cast it, as well. He must have been storing magic for months, years even, stealing it from others and hoarding it against the day he would cast his curse. He imprisoned all of us, my warrior brothers and me. It was probably the greatest working of his life, and he used it for evil.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know his fate. Nor that of my brothers or Nico.”

  “Who’s Nico?”

  “Our leader, Nicodemus Katsaros, the most powerful sorcerer ever known. He’s why I know that our enemy must have cheated somehow. Nico could not have been defeated easily.”

  GRACE DREW A deep b
reath and licked lips that were too dry. She’d forgotten to put gloss on before coming out to the kitchen this morning. She had a habit of forgetting, but she was going to give herself a pass this morning, because she’d had a few other things on her mind. Like the giant hunk of a warrior currently standing in her kitchen, talking about old curses and powerful sorcerers, and looking like someone out of a fairy tale. Not running through the woods with the bunnies kind of a fairy tale, either. It was the dark kind with evil queens and stalwart warriors.

  Maybe she’d just been reading too much fantasy lately. Maybe it was interfering with her rational thoughts. But she couldn’t deny her warrior’s existence. He was larger than life. It wasn’t only his size, which was considerable—his shoulders alone took up half of the space in her small kitchen. But it was more than that. He gave off a vibe, an energy that shivered over her skin and spoke to something inside her. It was as if his energy recognized her energy and was tugging at it, trying to get its attention.

  Very scientific explanation there, Grace, she mocked herself. No, it wasn’t scientific, but then she didn’t recall any courses on magic in her university curriculum, no analysis of ancient curses and how to unravel them. The closest they’d ever come was a discussion of magic in primitive cultures, with a definite emphasis on it all being a bunch of mumbo jumbo. No one had believed magic actually existed.

  Neither had she . . . until a giant bloodsucking demon had jumped onto her desk and pulled a freaking sword out of its own chest! How would her professors explain that, huh? Too bad she hadn’t thought to catch it on her iPhone. Forget cat videos, she’d get a billion hits on YouTube.

  But this wasn’t a YouTube video either. Last night had been real, and now that reality was standing in her kitchen telling her she had magic, and that the scrolls she’d copied. . . . Uh oh. Her thoughts ground to a halt.

  “You said I activated the spell when I copied the scroll?”

  He tilted his head, studying her. “Yes, when you wrote the spell out for yourself, it reacted to your magic.”