Raven's Rise (World on Fire Book 3)

by Lincoln Cole

  How he had fallen so short.

  Nida shouldn’t have been here at all. And, at the least, when he’d heard she’d arrived in the area, he should have left. But he hadn’t. When she’d confronted him, he should have gotten out of there, but again, he hadn’t. His arrogance and self-righteousness appalled him.

  In his delusion, he’d believed he could dismiss the demon back to hell and save his sister. He had thought he could end it all now, just dispel the demon, using the power that Father Paladina had taught him. After all, he’d used it in Raven’s Peak and again at Vatican City, and Father Paladina had proven to him that he could do it on command.

  However, he’d found out that he couldn’t do anything. Not when it counted.

  He had faced his sister but proven entirely unsuccessful in saving her. To make things even worse, he hadn’t done one single thing to help Nida. He’d shown himself too weak.

  He kept walking, utterly absorbed in his self-pity and doubt.

  Had Raven’s Peak just happened as a fluke? Just some silly accident? He remembered how he’d felt at that moment, walking through the factory and the hail of dangerous tools in the air. He recalled the demon in the basement and how he’d destroyed it. He had banished it to hell, but only a weak demon, barely an infant compared to the one inside Nida.

  He’d thought he could save his sister’s life. He knew how to use the power.

  And yet, it hadn’t worked.

  Not only that, but the demon had crushed him utterly and taken control over his soul. The feeling of getting dominated had faded, but it remained present in the back of his mind. The fear that he would never get strong enough to save her consumed him.

  It also meant that he would never take on Nida in a straightforward confrontation. He had barely survived this encounter, and opening himself up like that again would not only prove risky, it would be suicidal. For sure, she wouldn’t allow him to walk away a second time.

  These thoughts swirled around his head as he walked. His legs ached, but he kept going. Soon, he found himself back at the market, and then he continued past and toward the bridge where they had found the wrecked vehicles the previous day. All signs of a struggle had gone, except for a few rust-colored patches that could only have come from blood.

  All signs of the conflict had disappeared. Wiped away.

  Haatim walked along the river’s edge, heading toward the outskirts of the city and following the water downstream. He should turn back to meet up with Savin but dreaded the idea of returning. And he dreaded leaving Phnom Penh without finding Abigail. She remained here. The Church thought her dead, but he knew in his heart that she lived. She had to.

  Nida might remain here, too. She could lay in wait, out there somewhere, watching and preparing to attack him once more. The thought gave him chills, but he did his best to bury it down deep and not think about it.

  Resolute, he kept going, lost in his thoughts, until finally, he found himself well outside the city proper. It shocked him, feeling as if he’d just come out of a dream. Never in his entire life had he felt so sore and fatigued, and it hit him all at once that he had walked for a long, long time.

  Several hours had passed, and he stood a long way from the airport. Definitely, he would arrive late for his flight.

  No, he realized, not late. When he checked his phone, he saw that he had missed it completely.

  Not again. He had gotten so distracted that he hadn’t even noticed just how long he’d stayed out here. His phone also showed that he had multiple missed calls, the first from Savin, and the next several from Father Paladina. The ringer remained on, so how had he missed the sound?

  He shook his head and let out a deep sigh. Great, on top of everything, now he would have to beg forgiveness again and see if Father Paladina could reschedule the flight.

  At the river, a few-dozen meters to his right, something caught his attention. At the shore, something rested there, ebbing in the shallow current. From this distance, he couldn’t identify it, but it looked like a bundle. A large bundle that had washed up out of the river.

  He walked over to it, frowning, and then his eyes went wide.

  Abigail.

  ***

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s her.” Haatim knelt over Abigail and held the phone up to his ear with his shoulder. Frieda waited on the other end of the line, sleepy in the middle of the night back in Ohio. “She’s injured.”

  “Alive?”

  “Barely,” he said. “Her stomach’s cut open, and she got shot in the hip, but she’s still breathing.”

  “Can you get her to a doctor?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did you find her?”

  “I don’t know. I went out walking and … it feels like something led me here. I didn’t even realize where I’d come until I saw her on the ground. I missed my flight, though, so Father Paladina will get furious with me again. I shall have to call Savin for a ride.”

  “Who?”

  “My translator and driver. He’s helped me.”

  Frieda stayed silent for a moment. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Call him,” she said. “Father Paladina knows who he is, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I received a call from Father Paladina a short while ago. He said that two of their own had gotten killed.”

  “I know. I saw them. I think Abigail killed one and Nida the second.”

  “Yes,” Frieda said. “Before the second one died, he told the Church that he’d taken care of Abigail.”

  “That’s what Father Paladina told me. He thinks her dead.”

  “And we need to keep it that way.”

  “What?”

  “Father Paladina, though a good man, can’t find out that Abigail lives, or he’ll have no choice but to report it.”

  “They’ll find out, eventually.”

  “Not today, and certainly not because of us.”

  Haatim fell silent, and then said, “Okay.”

  “The Church knows that Nida killed their assassin, so all of their energy has fallen on catching her right now. We cannot let them know that Abigail survived the fight.”

  “Then, what do I do?”

  “Take care of her. Make sure she stays okay.”

  “She’s still bleeding. I have no idea what to do.”

  “Try to find a local clinic and get her help, but whatever you do, don’t let Father Paladina know, or anyone associated with the Church.”

  “What do I tell him?”

  “Don’t tell him anything. I’ll talk to him and let him know I made other arrangements. Just don’t take his calls.”

  Haatim frowned down at the phone. “Okay. I’ll do my best. But, if Abigail gets worse, I’ll call Savin for help.”

  “Haatim, this is important.”

  “So is this. I won’t let Abigail die.”

  “If you tell the Church that she lives, you might as well just kill her yourself.”

  Haatim stayed silent.

  “Keep her alive, Haatim,” Frieda said, finally. “I’ll set up travel plans to get you both out of Cambodia. Just wait for my call.”

  “What should I do until then?”

  Frieda took a while to reply, “Pray.”

  “Great advice.”

  “I’m on my way to meet up with Dominick and Mitchell. I’ll be in touch.”

  ***

  It took Haatim almost an hour of searching around the area to find someone who spoke English, and then another hour for them to find a medical professional who could help Abigail.

  In the end, it cost him all the money he had in his wallet—about eighty bucks—to get a doctor to look at Abigail and patch up her wounds. A small price to pay, though, and he would have given anything to keep her safe.

  The fact that the wounds didn’t seem as bad as he’d first thought gave him encouragement. Though deep, they didn’t turn out as wide as they might have. The wound on her hi
p didn’t even look that bad at all, in fact, and had barely taken a grazing hit.

  The doctor seemed encouraged as well and seemed to think she would make a full recovery after a few weeks. He bandaged her up, gave Haatim medicine to give her over the next few days, and advised him to keep her injuries dry and replace the bandages daily.

  Then, Haatim found a place for them to wait, in the home of the man who spoke English. There, he just sat around. How long would it take for Frieda to call him back?

  Abigail remained unconscious through it all, though her breathing had deepened from when he’d found her. With her wet and dirty from the river, he spent some time with a bucket and rag cleaning and drying her.

  Frieda called him a few hours after he had settled in and informed him that she had found him transportation. A boat a few hours south of his location would take them to Thailand.

  From there, they would get on a flight out of Southeast Asia and to England, and from there to the United States. She had arranged everything, including setting up a hire car for him from the nearby rental agency.

  The friendly man he’d stayed with gave him a ride over to pick up the car and helped him load Abigail into the backseat. Haatim dreaded the idea of driving on the Cambodian roads with the other wild drivers, but right now, that seemed like his best option.

  Father Paladina called several more times, but Haatim didn’t answer. He had no charger with him and, after a while, his phone ran out of power. He drove straight through, occasionally checking to make sure Abigail continued breathing and stayed comfortable.

  By the time he arrived at the docks, night had fallen, and he felt exhausted. The man who waited for him with the boat didn’t speak any English but helped get Abigail loaded safely. After only a short wait, they got on their way. Haatim thought to try calling Frieda once more but changed his mind.

  He fell asleep during the trip and awoke sometime later. The boatman stood poking him on the shoulder. They had docked, and the sun made its slow ascent. Though tired and sore and barely able to walk, they didn’t have a lot of time to stop and rest.

  Together, they unloaded Abigail and set her on the ground. Haatim assumed they had reached Thailand now, but found it impossible to tell. The dock itself seemed little more than an empty shook in the woods near a dirt road.

  Frieda had said someone would wait here for him, but no one came into sight. The man with the boat spoke quickly to Haatim and then took off, guiding his boat away and leaving them stranded.

  He spent the time by checking over and replacing Abigail’s bandages. The wounds on her stomach had started to heal, and the shot to her side had almost gone.

  Whatever had happened to her in childhood must allow her to mend faster. No way could she do this well in normal circumstances. These wounds should have taken weeks to close, but already looked like little more than deep cuts. She still hadn’t woken, but her breathing came easy, and she seemed in hardly any pain.

  It took almost four hours for a car to show up. It felt like mosquitos had eaten him alive, and he spent most of his time swatting them away from him and Abigail. He could hardly believe that so many of them could exist, and he must have given a delicious treat considering how fervently they attacked his flesh.

  The car—with yet another driver that didn’t speak English—finally pulled up to the dock, and wordlessly, a man helped him load Abigail into the backseat. They then drove through the countryside to an airport. A small two-seater plane waited for them. Dirty and old, it scared the hell out of Haatim, but he didn’t see any alternatives.

  They loaded Abigail inside and took off. The same man who’d driven them here also flew the plane. After only a short jaunt, they landed at a larger international airport.

  By the time they touched down, Abigail had woken but remained groggy. This came as a relief for him because he felt exhausted and had run out of the energy to keep carrying her. Haatim helped guide her through the customs lines and to their waiting area. Once they got ready to board their last flight to England and safety, he allowed himself to relax and feel a little more comfortable.

  Almost asleep, something touched his neck. He shifted away and opened his eyes. Abigail traced the bruise lines from the chain injury. She still looked disoriented and groggy. “What happened?”

  He’d forgotten about the marks on his neck and had left his scarf in Cambodia. When he settled back, Abigail rested her head on his shoulder.

  “It happened in Vatican City,” he said. “Father Paladina tricked me into facing a demon and …”

  Haatim glanced over and realized that Abigail had fallen asleep already. He chuckled to himself and shook his head. Now that he could relax, he realized how happy he felt. After how terribly the last few days had gone in Cambodia, just knowing Abigail remained alive and safe meant everything to him. He loved having her head resting on his shoulder.

  Content, he let her sleep until they had to board, and then helped her onto the plane, where she promptly fell asleep once more. Then they got on their way to Frieda and Dominick back in the States.

  Chapter 24

  “Are you sure about this?” Nervous, Mitchell paced back and forth across the front room of his shop. “I mean, do you feel sure that we should do it this way? She can get kind of … angry.”

  Dominick, seated behind the register, watched Mitchell pace and struggle to hide his annoyance. He had asked the man to sit down and relax at least four times already, but it made no difference. Mitchell remained too nervous and anxious to sit still, and the waiting had gotten to him.

  In all honesty, Dominick couldn’t blame him, as the waiting had gotten to him as well. After what had happened at the Reinfer estate and everything else going on, he had a hard time keeping his cool.

  Frieda now ran at about a day late in getting to them. Something had happened to Haatim, which had slowed her progress while she tried to get that sorted, but she should arrive at any minute.

  Part of him worried that she knew they planned to confront her as soon as she arrived at Mitchell’s shop, but at the same time, that seemed a crazy idea. How could she possibly have them sussed? He hadn’t even known himself until he got back here from the Reinfer place.

  Nervous as hell, he felt more than a little apprehensive about what would happen when Frieda arrived. They would ambush her with questions about her past and ask for the truth of recent events. She had lied to him, and he worried that she might have known something about the huge monster that had attacked at the estate.

  “I mean, how we will even know if she tells the truth or not? She’s a good liar. An amazing liar, even.”

  “Mitchell.”

  “Come on; you telling me that it doesn’t have you worried?”

  “Of course I’m worried. But, just ask yourself, can you remember the last time that worrying about something helped you fix it? We just need to stay patient. She’ll get here.”

  “But what if it all turns out true? What if she is working with the cult?”

  “It won’t.”

  “But what if it does?”

  Dominick gave him a look, making it clear he wouldn’t discuss that possibility. Mitchell threw up his hands in frustration and resumed pacing.

  Dominick still struggled to wrap his mind around what they had discovered and the ramifications of what Mitchell had told him about Frieda and Arthur. Even with what he’d told Mitchell, he remained terrified: if even part of it held any merit …

  He couldn’t fathom how Frieda would withhold something like this from him. From everyone. Did anyone else on the Council know about their origins, or had she kept them all in the dark, too? He had believed that events in Switzerland had occurred because of Aram Malhotra, but could it have related back to Frieda and what she and Arthur had gotten involved in?

  He didn’t know.

  Didn’t know if he wanted to know.

  For sure, he hated the idea of confronting Frieda, but it had to be done.

  “Are you sure we w
ant to do this?”

  “I’m sure,” Dominick said. “We can’t continue to work with Frieda until we know the truth.”

  “Yeah, but what if it’s all true? What if she did collude with The Ninth Circle?”

  “Collude?”

  “Work with, then.” Mitchell waved his hand.

  “I know what collude means. Just wondering why you chose that word.”

  “If she is an enemy, what do we do?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

  “But what if we do?”

  “Then we’ll deal with it.”

  “But it would mean that everything we thought about the Council has turned out a lie. It would mean that we’ve helped the wrong side.”

  Dominick sighed. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Frieda deserves the opportunity to explain herself.”

  Mitchell frowned, still pacing. “Are you armed?”

  Dominick’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  “You have a gun, right? You know, in case …”

  Dominick stared at him, narrowing his eyes. “In case what?”

  Mitchell hesitated. “We don’t know how she’ll react when we confront her. I just want to make sure we’ve prepared.”

  “So, you think we should just shoot her?”

  “No. I mean, what if she—”

  “No, we don’t know how she’ll react, do we? Like I said, let’s not jump to any conclusions.”

  Even as he spoke the words, however, he couldn’t help but think seriously about what Mitchell had said. He couldn’t suppress a subconscious urge to tap his leg where he’d strapped his pistol, feeling the gun as it rested against his leg. The weight of it comforted.

  He had another holdout pistol in a holster wrapped around his calf; his backup piece. He hoped—prayed—he wouldn’t need either, but honestly, had no idea what might happen.

  “Should I lock the door?”

  “Why?”

  “In case people try to come in.”

  “We put up the ‘closed’ sign. That should prove enough.”

  “But still, what happens if someone just walks in?”

  “Who’ll do that?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I have customers. Even a few regulars.”