Payton broke the silence first. ‘‘I regret that it was necessary to damage your chair.’’
‘‘Oh hey’’—Daniel’s expression soured—‘‘if you have to destroy a guy’s wheelchair, then, you know, I guess you just have to.’’
‘‘Maybe you should say what you came here to say,’’ Grant recommended.
‘‘I came to give you this,’’ Payton said, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. But instead of handing it to Grant, he extended it to Daniel.
Daniel took it. ‘‘What is it?’’ he asked, unfolding it.
‘‘A key,’’ replied Payton.
Daniel examined the paper, which was filled with symbols and alphanumeric letters.
‘‘It’s not a complete translation, but it’s close.’’ Payton said.
‘‘This is the language from the stone tablet?’’ Daniel exclaimed.
Payton nodded, while Daniel immediately looked to Lisa. She answered his unspoken question by retrieving a printed copy of the stone tablet photo that Morgan had sent him.
‘‘I’m sure Morgan has explained to you our history,’’ Payton began, ‘‘and how it ended.’’
Grant nodded.
‘‘That was nine years ago. After the cave-in in France, I was rescued and resuscitated. But it was not by luck or chance that my life was spared. The three men who found me had come looking for the same thing that Morgan and I were searching for—a fragment from the stone tablet.
‘‘These men—they were kind to me, but eccentric, to say the least.
They revived me, took me to the local hospital, but they never inquired about my identity or told me who they were. Not at first. They visited me several times in the hospital, and when I got out, they offered me a job. I had no intention of seeking out Morgan, so I took the job.
‘‘Eventually, they told me that they knew of the significance of the ring on my finger. They explained to me that the rings are the keys to our mental powers, and they helped me figure out what my power was. One day I asked how they knew so much about me and about the rings. And on that day, they finally told me that they were members of a highly secretive order called the Secretum of Six.’’
He paused, leaned forward. ‘‘Words cannot adequately convey the power and authority this organization has at its disposal. They are like nothing else on this planet. So influential are they, so skilled in the arts of deception and camouflage, that even the world’s governments know nothing of their existence. They are a small number of individuals who reside all over the world, though when they gather, it is at a central location. I’ve heard the word ‘substation’ more than once. They and those who preceded them have been watching and waiting for millennia for the coming of the rings and their wearers.’’
‘‘Why? What are the rings? Where do they come from? Do you know?’’
Payton shook his head. ‘‘The men of the Secretum call them the Rings of Dominion. The origin of the rings is the deepest of mysteries, but what I was taught is that sometime, somewhere, the Rings of Dominion were once worn and used by another group of people. The men who rescued me believed that the rings had been plucked out of some long-forgotten chapter of history and deposited here in the present. And now someone has put them to use again, using their mind-enhancing effects to create—’’
‘‘Heroes,’’ Grant reluctantly said, leaning back in his chair. He let out a slow breath.
Payton nodded. ‘‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. You and your ring they have searched and waited for with the greatest consternation.’’
A secret order. Morgan mentioned a secret group that knew about the rings . . . said that Payton himself could be a member.
‘‘Why?’’ Grant asked.
‘‘Your ring is very, very special. It makes you similar to the rest of us, but not the same.’’
‘‘Not the same how, exactly?’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ Payton said. ‘‘But they called it the Seal of Dominion.’’
‘‘Did you join this ‘Secretum’?’’
‘‘I wasn’t allowed. Ring-wearers may not join. As I carried out the work they assigned me, I picked up bits and pieces such as this. Eventually, I caught enough to understand why they were so interested in the stone tablet.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘They believed it foretold the time and circumstances surrounding the Bringer’s coming. Everything they did was assigned a sense of urgency because of this looming event. Now that you’re here, plans, devices, and strategies prepared centuries ago have been set into motion.’’
‘‘And your sword? I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did it come from?’’
‘‘It was given to me by the men of the Secretum. One year to the day after I began working for them, they told me that they had been studying the ancient texts and had found a passage that referred to one ring-wearer who would die and be reborn, and then fulfill a specific role concerning the Seal and the one who wears it.’’
‘‘You’re supposed to kill me,’’ Grant said.
Payton nodded. ‘‘It was all part of the prophecy. It is my destiny. It’s the reason I’m here, and the reason I died and was revived. This I have been taught. They gave me the sword on that day. It’s an ancient weapon, specifically fashioned to kill the Bringer—the wearer of the Seal.
‘‘They sent me to study, to train, to learn every method of dispensing death known to man. But my assigned duty was a righteous one; they weren’t creating a murderer. They wanted a warrior. They taught me about the Bringer’s abilities and what you would be able to do. They taught me to strike quick, never to stop, to be relentless. Every day for over six years, it was drilled into my head that the wearer of the Seal must die, and that I would be the one to kill him.’’
‘‘Then why didn’t you?’’
Payton broke eye contact for the first time and looked down. ‘‘I’m not certain. I am bound by a vow of honor and blood to end your life. And regardless of this prophecy business, I must fulfill that oath. But meeting you has caused me to question my purpose.’’
‘‘Why would this Secretum want me dead?’’
Payton shook his head. ‘‘It’s not you they fear. It has never been about you. It’s the Seal. They fear it mortally. Something about the Seal of Dominion is vastly different from all the other rings. Two years ago, they told me my training was complete and sent me out into the world to prove myself worthy. During my travels, I have spoken to others around the world who have experienced the Shift, and in recent weeks, I began hearing your name. Word is spreading about you. Those like us, those who know the truth about the rings, believe that you are here to save the world.’’
‘‘You think maybe these men from the Secretum weren’t being truthful with you? That they tricked you into coming after me? Is that why you’re telling me all of this?’’
‘‘Doubt was planted, yes. This is the reason I have let you live. I’ve tried to reach the Secretum to confirm my suspicions, but they no longer answer me. It’s possible they know that I have refused to fulfill my mission and have disavowed my actions.’’
Grant sat back in his chair, digesting this tale.
‘‘Grant!’’ Daniel shouted.
‘‘You figured out what the tablet says?’’
Daniel looked up from his chair at the desk, his eyes wide with fear.
‘‘Part of it. I’ve found what appears to be a key bit of the text.’’
Grant swallowed, listening closely.
‘‘First of all, please keep in mind that the tablet is ancient. So some of these passages simply don’t appear to have a direct English translation—’’
‘‘I’m with you, Doc. Just give me whatever you can.’’
‘‘The tablet is called the ‘Dominion Stone,’ and in essence, it was created to tell of—rough translation here—a ‘miracle-man’ who would one day come, called the Bringer.’’
‘‘I know this already,’’ Grant replied impatiently. �
�‘This ‘miracle-man’ . . . What is he here for? What does he do?’’
‘‘Wait, there’s something else. The tablet speaks of another figure of importance. By my best guess, this second person is the ‘overseer of destruction.’ ’’
‘‘The Keeper,’’ Grant said, though there was no need.
‘‘Or . . . it could be the Thresher,’’ Lisa offered. ‘‘The second person is not mentioned by name.’’
‘‘How is he mentioned?’’
‘‘If I’m reading this correctly . . .’’ Daniel explained, ‘‘it says that on a day of reckoning, these two will clash to ‘set the course of the future.’ ’’
So there it was. It would be a fight.
‘‘Um,’’ Daniel spoke slowly, reluctantly, ‘‘it also says something to the effect of . . . ‘no act of man can prevent the torment that day will herald.’ ’’
49
Daniel gingerly sat up in bed, the darkness of night obscuring his vision. He rubbed at his eyes.
His ‘‘borrowed’’ hospital bed creaked slightly in its spot in the living room. He froze in place, listening for any evidence that his movement had been detected.
The apartment he shared with Lisa was dead silent; the only audible sound was her gentle breathing coming from the bedroom. The small condo had suited them well as a safe house during his recovery, but they couldn’t stay here forever.
So now’s as good a time as any, he decided.
Ever so carefully, Daniel strained in silence and threw his legs slowly over the side of the bed. His legs still wore the casts; it had only been a few weeks, but he was beyond ready for them to be removed.
Constantly itching and unbearably hot, they often kept him awake at night. Still his broken ribs seemed to be mending nicely, and his wrist no longer caused him pain when he used it.
His hands reached out in the darkness and laid hold of the crutches. The rubber tips on the ends softened the noise as he hefted his weight up onto them and stood. Daniel froze again to listen, making sure Lisa hadn’t heard him.
When he was satisfied that his movements were still unnoticed, he wobbled carefully to the front door, fumbled with the lock while trying to hold the crutches still with rigid elbows, and finally, cautiously, wrangled the door open.
Still Lisa remained peacefully unaware.
She would kill me if she caught me trying this . . .
On the other hand, she might just applaud me for learning how to use these blasted crutches.
He hobbled awkwardly out into the hall, careful to shut the door quietly behind him. Once out of the apartment, less stealth was required, and he took the elevator down to the ground floor. He shuffled out and looked around the lobby, only to realize that he’d never seen it before. They’d entered via the parking garage on the third floor when Grant had brought him here.
The lobby was larger than he expected, with a checkerboard pattern of large marble tiles on the floor, an ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and a large collection of stainless steel mailboxes beside the stairwell door on his right. A set of glass double doors lay straight ahead, leading outside.
His crutches and teetering steps echoed loudly in the empty lobby until he got his hands on the front door. Double-checking that his keys were still in his front pocket, he pushed the release mechanism to open the main entrance and step out into fresh air for the first time in weeks.
He wasn’t dressed for the night’s unexpectedly cool temperature, but he tried to ignore it. He turned left onto a small concrete sidewalk that led to a set of electricity meters and panels attached to the front of the building and hidden by a row of tall bushes.
A young man sat on a skateboard there behind the brush, watching Daniel approach while shifting his eyes in all directions.
‘‘You came,’’ Daniel said with some effort, relieved.
‘‘Yeah, and I was on time, too,’’ the young man replied, sizing him up.
‘‘Sorry,’’ Daniel said, coming closer and lowering his voice. The kid couldn’t have been more than fourteen. ‘‘I, uh, never caught your real name.’’
‘‘Will,’’ the boy said, looking around again. ‘‘Still don’t know why we had to do this in person.’’
‘‘Just needed to make sure,’’ Daniel said, lowering his voice to a whisper now. ‘‘You understand what I’m asking you to do?’’
The boy nodded in nervous, fast movements, but kept his expression even and cool.
‘‘It’s won’t be easy,’’ Daniel said. ‘‘And it will probably be painful.’’
‘‘Just sign me up, man. I get it.’’
‘‘Do you really?’’ Daniel said, edging closer. ‘‘I want you to be sure about that. You won’t be the same after this is over.’’
Will looked Daniel in the eye. ‘‘I told you already. Just say when and where.’’
Daniel nodded slowly, sizing the kid up. Okay, then.
‘‘Stay in contact with Sarah and the others,’’ Daniel said, readjusting himself on his crutches. ‘‘Be reachable, and be ready to move. It’ll happen fast.’’
Will nodded then hopped up onto his skateboard and rolled past Daniel and down the sidewalk.
Daniel watched him go in silence, sighing long and hard at his young friend and the innocence he had just thrown away.
Morning came, and Grant got up early to visit Julie before his big road trip to the old house.
Under different circumstances, it might have pained him to see his car in the condition he found it—the damage Payton had caused prevented him from putting the top up or using the windows. The passenger-side glass was entirely gone.
But then, today was not a normal day.
If such a thing existed anymore.
He needed to fill Morgan and the others in on all that Payton had told him last night, but he didn’t want to put off this trip home any longer. It was a six-hour drive in normal traffic. Time to get it over with.
Grant revved the engine and spiraled downward to the exit. As he turned the final corner, a familiar tingle crossed the back of his neck . . .
A tingle that told him he was about to see someone he didn’t want to see.
He drove up to the exit—which still sported a broken barrier from when he had crashed through it ahead of Payton—and suddenly he slammed on the brakes.
Hannah stood right in front of the car, blocking his way with her hands on the hood. The first day he’d met her at Inveo, she’d been so in-control. So strong. Confident. Now she looked like a teenager who’d run away from home. Her blond hair was matted down as if it hadn’t been washed in days, her makeup had worn off long ago, and her clothes were filthy.
‘‘Move or I’ll move you,’’ he shouted from the car. ‘‘I mean it.’’
‘‘I need to talk to you,’’ she said in a sad voice, ‘‘but I don’t know what to say.’’
‘‘Let me guess. You have information to share with me? Everyone I meet seems to have just the right information at just the right time.’’
Hannah looked down and shook her head. She slowly walked around to stand beside his car door. ‘‘I’ve only got one piece of information to offer you, big boy, and that’s why.’’
‘‘You know,’’ he said, the car shaking slightly, ‘‘if I concentrated hard enough, I really think I could grind your bones into powder.’’ He raised an arm in her direction.
‘‘I don’t believe you’d do that,’’ she said softly, but took a step back all the same.
He looked into her eyes. ‘‘You’ve given me so many reasons to. Don’t give me another.’’
She looked away, unable to maintain eye contact with him. ‘‘You won’t let me explain myself?’’
‘‘Explain it to my sister,’’ he growled, turning back to the steering wheel. The car shook violently.
Grant was about to drive off, but Hannah stepped closer, close enough to touch him. ‘‘Drexel tried to kill me,’’ she said.
He paused, but wou
ldn’t look at her.
‘‘He blamed me for everything that happened. He was furious. I managed to get away, but he’s still out there, and I think he’s going to try and finish the job.’’
Grant’s eyes swiveled to meet hers. ‘‘Come near me again, and he won’t have to.’’
A squeal of tires and a cloud of blackened smoke punctuated his exit.
50
DANGER, the sign read in red block letters. This structure is declared unsafe . . .
He sighed. The grass and brush were severely overgrown to the point that it was difficult to see much of the house beyond. What he could see appeared to be suffering from heavy termite damage.
Condemned. They condemned my childhood home.
Grant made his way across the yard—feeling as though he needed a jungle knife to cut through the foliage—and approached the front door. Yellow tape was stretched across it twice, forming a large ‘‘X’’.
Grant took a step back, glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one was watching, and raised his arm. Focusing on the door, he shoved his hand forward, and the door was swallowed by the gloomy shadows of the house’s interior.
He whipped out a flashlight and entered. The stench of rotted wood was overpowering. The interior of the house looked nothing like the vague images he retained of the few years he lived here as a child. The carpet was ragged and barely clinging to the floor. Many of the walls had holes that went all the way through. The kitchen was inaccessible, the wooden framework and ceiling over the room having buckled and collapsed inward.
He was almost glad Julie wasn’t there to see it.
Making his way into the master bedroom, he found the attic door in the ceiling where he remembered it and pulled down on the small piece of cord that still dangled from it. A ladder that seemed sturdy enough, though it creaked with every careful step he took, folded down from the door.
In the musty, moth-infested attic, he had no real idea of where to begin looking for his father’s safe.
Where do you hide something in a big, hollow, empty space?
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