Guardians Inc.:Thundersword (Guardians Incorporated #2)

by Julian Rosado-Machain

  “Why ask them for help?”

  “Most pandemics are a natural part of the Earth's life cycle, but some are fueled by the Namtarii. And there are still three Namtarii at large roaming the world.” The Doctor nodded at Bolswaithe, who entered another code into the panel. “Imagine what these thirteen Namtarii would do if they were set free. So, any breach in the containment and the bomb will explode.”

  “Why are you telling us this, Doctor?” Elise broke the momentary silence in the room.

  The Doctor sighed. “Thomas and I need to go,” he said. “You can still decide to stay here.”

  All of them exchanged disbelieving looks. Tony scratched his head. “Ooookay.” He muttered.

  “Let's go,” the Doctor said. “Don't want to keep our guests waiting.”

  The Doctor gave the signal and Bolswaithe pressed the button. The whole room began to rotate, and then a gap slowly opened in front of them. The solid, granite walls were at least ten feet thick and an illuminated corridor angled upward opened. One by one the grotesques transformed and Henri and Jean Luc took point as they entered the corridor. As soon as they had left the elevator room, the wall closed behind them with a hiss.

  “Straight ahead,” the Doctor told them.

  The Keep

  After the long corridor, they entered a square room carved directly into the rock. The room's electric lights turned on as soon as all of them had entered, and a myriad of colors emanated from the walls.

  “Wow,” Thomas muttered. The room was beautiful. He had seen pointillism paintings before; Doctor Franco had one by Georges Seurat in his office. This room was adorned with the same technique, but each dot was a colored stone instead of paint. A picture of the Roman Coliseum and surrounding buildings adorned one wall, but each wall portrayed a different season. Thomas immediately knew which one was autumn, with red tints and the darker tones of sunset and heavy clouds warning of impending rain. Spring was flowery, and birds and horses ran through the streets. Summer felt hot, but also breezy, the clear, blue sky and delineated shadows of the buildings ran through the painting. Long nights crept in winter and the wall was darker in tones. Cold blues intermingled with the buildings and the shadows were more profound.

  “Amazing,” Elise said. Even the grotesques seemed moved by the mosaics. “Who did this?”

  “Shahrukh, one of the most powerful Mages before becoming a Namtarii. He was a Guardian once,” the Doctor said. “He was also the first one to surrender into custody. He's been in this Keep since 1771. This was the first room of the Keep. We've made a lot of additions since then.”

  “Idle hands,” Henri said, leaning closer to inspect a wall, but he was careful not to touch it.

  “And a lot of time...” the Doctor said. “Let's go.”

  The Doctor led them through a stairway carved into the rock. Shahrukh had carefully hidden it within the deep shadows of the winter mosaic, so cleverly integrated that the Doctor seemed to disappear inside the wall.

  The next level was less austere in its construction, and even more spectacularly adorned. Instead of little, colored rocks, Shahrukh had used chips of different woods to create the mosaic. As they reached the middle of the room, Thomas felt as if he was standing in a grand open plaza of a city; the buildings delineated against a clear, blue sky and the lights were hidden into the mosaic walls.

  “This holds their dormitories,” the Doctor said. “Although they don't need to sleep, each one has a room in here.”

  Thomas looked around in awe. Now that he had seen how Shahrukh hid the doors into the mosaic, he actually found the real doors, but not without difficulty.

  “Should we call out?” Tony asked.

  “They were told we were coming,” the Doctor said, “and they probably know we're here already.”

  “You hear that?” Elise asked. They all kept quiet, and Thomas could hear a faint, rhythmic noise, a machine of some kind moving.

  “It’s coming from that room,” Bolswaithe said, moving closer to the room.

  The Doctor took the lead, and as he opened the wooden door the sound became louder. “Shahrukh,” the Doctor said. “We are here.”

  Thomas couldn't help moving closer to the door and peeking in. He needed to see the creature that had created such works of art, even if it was a monster. The Doctor moved to the side to give Thomas a full view of the Namtarii inside the room.

  Thomas was in shock. He had expected to see the actual Grim Reaper, clad in a black cloak and scythe in hand. Instead, he found a middle-aged man, dressed as a carpenter, with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, a dusty overall and leather shoes sitting on a desk. He was carefully grinding a small piece of wood. He recalled Shahrukh’s portrait from Tony’s triptych, but he didn’t look at all like the man depicted by Piero Della Francesca. “The Bane of Justinian,” as the triptych called him, had fueled a plague in Constantinople that ended killing almost 100 million people in 541 AD and stopped Emperor Justinian and the Guardians from trying to reunite the fallen Roman Empire.

  In the portrait Shahrukh had looked regal and proud, but this man in front of Thomas seemed old and frail. He could easily have passed for someone’s grandfather and Thomas shuddered imagining this man insinuating himself into his house to play a friendly game of chess with Gramps.

  Delicate tweezers in one hand and a little knife in the other, Shahrukh pumped a pedal with his foot that moved the grinding stone in front of him, and little by little he peeled at the piece of wood on his tweezers.

  “Shahrukh...” the Doctor repeated a little louder, and the Namtarii lifted a hand to acknowledge him while he finished with the grinder. The Doctor motioned for them to remain quiet while the Namtarii finished.

  It took him a little more than two minutes to grind the piece he was working on to perfection, and then he applied a coating of some liquid to the wood.

  Then, and only then, did Shahrukh turn around to look at them. He actually looked a little bothered that they were intruding on his work. He stood. “Follow me,” he said in a soft voice and walked to the other side of the room.

  Shahrukh looked like he was in his late sixties with gray hair and a balding patch on the crown of his head. He wore glasses and walked a little hunched, his steps slow and deliberate. He was carrying the little piece of wood he had finished carving with the tweezers.

  “Where are your brothers and sisters?” the Doctor asked.

  “Follow!” Shahrukh said, picking up the pace.

  As they entered another large room with a long table, Shahrukh stopped and pointed to a door at the far end. “In the Greenhouse,” he said and turned to a wall that had an incomplete mosaic.

  They walked towards the door. Thomas took one last glance at the Namtarii; he had climbed on a scaffold and was staring back at him, a steely look, not of hatred, but maybe disdain. As Thomas walked ahead he swore he heard Shahrukh whispering behind him.

  And then he heard a cacophony of whispers coming from the room. Voices throwing questions, accusations, and even threats. As they approached the room he began to not only listen, but to also feel the moods behind the whispers.

  “Do you...” he whispered to Elise who had closed in on him.

  “Yes,” she said, and Thomas sensed a little of fear in her voice.

  Doctor Franco tapped on the doors twice, and then he opened it without waiting for an answer.

  The Greenhouse was a large rectangular room. It had a crystal roof supported by wide, metallic arches, and the glass panels were tinted green and followed the curve of the metal beams. The air was stagnant, and Thomas could see dust particles floating in the light rays that filtered through the roof. A smell of tobacco permeated the air.

  The whispers stopped as they entered, and Thomas finally saw the Namtarii on the far side of the room.

  It was like entering into a picture from a fashion magazine. Twelve incredibly handsome men and women were waiting for them. They were all dressed like models from the 1920s—the men in impeccabl
e striped suits with vests, fedoras, and handkerchiefs on the breast pocket, and the women in elegant cocktail dresses, with diamond necklaces and earrings, high heels, and long gloves.

  The names and titles Thomas had read in Tony’s triptych came to the forefront.

  A couple—Yaakov and Acintya—were sitting on high chairs with a backgammon board in front of them. Zardusht and Uchechi, without their jackets, arm bands, and suspenders were flanking Luciana by a pool table. Uchechi held his pool cue over the green table and looked at them as annoyed as Shahrukh had been moments before. A wisp of bluish, thick smoke lazily crawled upward from Luciana’s long-filtered cigarette and intermingled with her blonde hair; her glossy, red lips pouted as she eyed them behind her long, perfect eyebrows. “The Fiery Kiss”—that was what the people in South America had known her after she fueled the measles pandemics in the 16th century.

  Seeing those perfect lips, Thomas understood why people would center on that feature.

  Nobody moved; they all were waiting for them.

  “Vogue,” Thomas heard Tony say behind him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Tony said. “Just a Madonna video I've seen.”

  The Doctor looked back and silenced them with an annoyed look.

  “Golems,” the whispers began as Henri and his brothers entered the room, although Thomas couldn't see any of them moving their lips.

  “Be at ease my brothers and sisters,” a silky, masculine voice said from the far end, putting an end to the whispers. “If they want to kill us they just need to use their sun bomb.”

  “That's correct, Isaurus,” Doctor Franco said. “We are not here to do any harm. On the contrary, we come to ask for help.”

  “Then come in,” Isaurus said, “and ask.”

  The Namtarii watched them walk by without moving any muscles in their perfect faces. A woman of Asian descent, with deep, black eyes, and straight, black hair was tending to a line of bonsai trees. She began to whisper a children’s rhyme very softly.

  Baa, baa, black sheep,

  have you any wool?

  Yes sir, yes sir,

  three bags full.

  One for the master,

  and one for the dame,

  And one for the little boy,

  who lives down the lane.

  The tone she used was menacing, wicked, Thomas thought. He kept walking among them, trying hard not to meet their eyes, but feeling the weight of their gaze upon him as he reached the far side of the glass house where Isaurus waited for them.

  The leader of the Namtarii could very well have been a movie star. Isaurus was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a chiseled face, square jaw, and dark hair perfectly cut and waxed to the back. His three-button pinstripe suit was tailored to enhance the strength of his physique, and his deep, dark blue eyes centered on Thomas as he approached.

  “Doctor Franco,” Isaurus said with a fake smile. “It’s been too long. Welcome to our prison. Golden as it is…”

  “We’ve tried hard to make it less harsh for you, Isaurus. At least you had these windows installed.” Doctor Franco stayed a good nine feet away from the Namtarii.

  “Ah yes.” Isaurus pointed to the windows. “Such a boon to see this wonderful landscape.”

  The Keep was on a side of a small mountain covered with ice, and Thomas could see just a sliver of ground underneath, then water, with floating icebergs extending into the horizon.

  “Antarctica, isn’t it?’ Isaurus asked. “For a while we thought it was the northern tip of Greenland or even Russia, but we saw a flock of penguins once.”

  “Maybe it’s time to remove you from this Keep, Isaurus,” Doctor Franco said with an edge to his voice. “If you’ve grown so weary of this place. Maybe underground?”

  “Maybe...” Isaurus blinked slowly, acknowledging the veiled threat in the Doctor’s remark. “Maybe we can come to some arrangement after we’ve helped you. You have to admit that even such a beautiful vista like this can become tiresome after what…eighty or ninety years?”

  “I’m getting tired of these little games, Isaurus,” the Doctor said. “You are not getting out of here, but you can make your stay more pleasant.”

  Isaurus drew in a deep breath and glared at the Doctor. “What is it you need help with?” he asked.

  The Doctor looked at Thomas. “This is a Thomas. He’s been a Guardian for about a little more than year now,” he said. “His grandfather, Morgan, is a warrior of the Azure Guard, and they share a powerful filial bond. So powerful that Morgan can somehow trace Thomas’s every move, and that makes our work with Thomas very difficult. We want to put an end to that.”

  “Kill Morgan and the bond is broken,” Isaurus said in an off-hand manner.

  Thomas felt his heart race.

  “You already know that if we wanted to do that we wouldn’t be here.” The Doctor said.

  Isaurus smiled at Thomas. “Just what is it you do that you need to hide from your grandfather?”

  The Doctor pushed Thomas back with his cane. “You don't need to know that to help us,” he said. “Go back, Thomas, while we make a deal.”

  Thomas felt like his feet were frozen, but he managed to break out of his trance. He walked back toward the entrance of the room, relieved that the Doctor didn't need him to stay. Isaurus and the Namtarii scared the hell out of him.

  As he approached the woman by the bonsai trees, she stepped in front of him and began to whisper with a depraved smile painted over her face.

  Tom, Tom, the piper's son,

  stole a pig, and away did run!

  The pig was eat,

  and Tom was beat,

  and Tom went crying

  down the street.

  “Okay, that's enough from you,” Tony interposed himself between the Namtarii and Thomas. “Go back to your trees.”

  The Namtarii locked her eyes with Tony and casually swiped a hand over the trees she had been tending; the bonsais withered and putrefied in a matter of seconds. She then looked over Tony's shoulder at Thomas and slowly raised a hand to Tony's face. “One touch is all I need,” she told him menacingly.

  Tony slapped her hand down, and she glared in anger at him. “You have no power over me,” he told her. “Tsikiko, Daughter of the Dark Moon, first Princess of the Gekkara. Your Clan could have been Emperors of Japan, but you decided to kill them all and erase them from history. Of all the other losers here, you were the only one truly evil before becoming a Namtarii.”

  Tsikiko stepped back in surprise.

  “Aunt Stefania should have killed you in Malacca instead of accepting your surrender.” Tsikiko recoiled in fear. “I wouldn't have made that mistake,” Tony said through gritted teeth.

  Tsikiko took a step back and a loud whisper came from her, but her lips never moved, “Della Francesca!”

  The whisper was repeated by the other Namtarii as they moved for the first time. The ones standing up turned to Tony, while those sitting down stood up from their chairs.

  “The hounds!” other whispery voices chimed. “The Vendetta!”

  Tony stepped toward Tsikiko, whose eyes ran down his hands looking for his sword.

  “Yes, boys and girls!” Tony yelled at them. “I'm one of the hounds, and not the only one. My brothers and sisters, uncles, aunts, and cousins are all waiting out there, aching to pay you a visit! The only thing stopping us is your cooperation.” Tony looked at the Doctor who seemed both surprised and angered at his outburst. “Isn't that right, Doc?”

  Isaurus threw a questioning glance at Doctor Franco, who quickly composed himself.

  “Indeed...” the Doctor told Isaurus.

  Tony turned to Tsikiko. “So shut up and start cooperating,” he told her.

  The doors to the Greenhouse opened again, and Shahrukh came in carrying a heavy tome in his arms. He looked at Tony with something close to relief on his face.

  “Della Francesca?” Shahrukh said, walking toward him, and extending the tome to Tony. T
wo of the female Namtarii joined Shahrukh while the others watched in disdain.

  Shahrukh and the other two Namtarii, Qianna and Thawaret, knelt in front of Tony. They opened the book while Shahrukh held it in his arms. “Please end it.” he pleaded.

  “What's this?” Tony asked.

  Thomas immediately deciphered the meaning of the symbols. “It's names,” Thomas said. “The names of all the people they've killed.”

  Shahrukh raised his head; he was actually crying. “End it please.” he pleaded again.

  Tony froze, unsure at what to do.

  “He read the book!” the other Namtarii whispered. “The boy is a Cypher!”

  “I wonder who told you we could help you with this?” Isaurus said. He seemed encouraged now, and he stepped toward the Doctor, who held his ground. Luciana walked away from the pool table toward him while Zardusht and Uchechi placed their cues on top of the pool table. “Was it the bald Dealmaker?” he said. “Or maybe Tarsaa?” he asked, using Tasha's Elven name.

  “Careful, Isaurus.” The Doctor lifted his cane in front of him.

  Tony pushed Thomas back toward the doors, leaving Shahrukh and the other two Namtarii kneeling behind. The grotesques and Bolswaithe closed the gap between Thomas and the Namtarii, and Elise's hand took on a golden hue.

  “He's not just any Cypher, is he?” Isaurus nodded at Luciana on his right side. A long scythe materialized in her hand. She lifted it above her head, aiming for the window.

  “Remember the bomb,” the Doctor said. “Breach the window and we die.”

  “He has seen the signs, hasn't he?” Isaurus said. “I know you would kill us all, even sacrifice yourself, Doctor.” Isaurus pointed at Thomas. “But not him. He's too valuable.” He nodded again, and Luciana struck at the thick glass with her scythe. A large crack spread from the tip of her blade through the window.