Rise of the Night (Sepia Blue Book 1)

by Orlando A. Sanchez

  “Two, three days. I haven’t had time.”

  Gan stopped walking and looked at her.

  “What do you mean you haven’t had time?”

  “What with everything that’s been happening, and Cade. Then I got tazed--does that count? I don’t remember how long I was out,” said Sepia.

  “Getting yourself tazed doesn’t count. Wait, who tazed you?”

  “Marks did, and I almost shot him when I heard his voice,” said Sepia.

  “You are a piece of work, Blue.” Gan was smiling in spite of himself.

  “I was on edge. I had just spoken to Jen. She lost her gunman patrolling my sector.”

  “I heard. It was a rough night all around. That doesn’t mean you shoot first and ask questions later,” he said.

  “It was a reflex, that’s all,” she said.

  They stopped in front of an old tenement building.

  “We’re going in here?” said Sepia.

  “This is where your partner is recovering,” said Gan.

  “You’re kidding. This looks like a rat-infested dump,” said Sepia.

  “It’s supposed to look like that. As a new class two you’re not supposed to know about Grey sites. That’s why I had you head to the main infirmary. I didn’t think they would be waiting for you. This is called hiding in plain sight. Something you will have to learn to do very soon,” he said.

  Gan inserted a key into what appeared to be a very ordinary door. As he turned the key a narrow stairway leading down was revealed behind a recessed panel.

  “There are a few things I need to brief you on. I thought we had more time, but it seems Marks and his boss want you out of the equation,” said Gan.

  They walked down the stairs to a state of the art medical facility bustling with activity.

  “What is this place?”

  The surprise was clear in her voice.

  “This place is the one of the facilities used by the Grey,” said Gan.

  “The Grey?” I thought that is just a rumor told to hunters to keep them in line?

  “The Grey is real?”

  “As real as it gets, Blue. When things go south, we hunt the hunters,” said Gan as he headed down a corridor with Sepia in tow. “Now let’s get those chains off of you and find your gunman.”

  They wound through several corridors turning enough times that Sepia almost lost her bearings. At the end of one of the corridors they reached a large vault door. Gan put his hand on the panel next to the door and it whispered open. Inside stood one of the largest men Sepia had ever seen. His entire upper body was covered in intricate designs. Some of them resembled Sepia’s own ink. His white hair was drawn back in a ponytail that ran down his back. His upper body was barely covered by the overalls he wore.

  “Is that some kind of renegade brute?” Sepia whispered to Gan under her breath.

  “Be polite. You do remember how to do that, right?”

  “This must be the armory,” she said as she looked around at the assembled weapons.

  Every wall was covered with them. There were several workbenches, each with weapons in several states of assembly. She saw batons, sticks, rifles, handguns and every kind of edged weapon. Some she recognized, many she didn’t.

  The large man was sitting at one of the benches working on what appeared to be a large sword. He didn’t look up as they entered.

  “No, I am not some kid of renegade brute,” he said as he remained focused on the work before him.

  Sepia gave Gan a sidelong glance, cocking one eyebrow.

  “Although I have been called worse,” said the hunched figure.

  He looked up then and Sepia saw the large scar that ran down one side of his rugged, weatherworn face. He looked like a grizzled grandfather.

  Sepia walked up to the man and extended a hand, chains rattling.

  “Sepia,” she said. He was slightly taller than her, even while sitting.

  “You’re right, she is bold,” he said as he wiped his hands on the front of his overalls.

  “This is Hep, our weapons master. If it’s made to kill, maim, or destroy, Hep will know how to use it.”

  Hep took Sepia’s hand and shook it. His grip was a vise. He is as strong as a brute.

  “Pleasure. Those are some interesting bracelets you got there,” said Hep.

  “Can you take them off?”

  Hep grabbed the end of the chain and inspected it.

  “These are hunter restraints. How did you manage to break them?” Hep said in disbelief.

  “I pulled?” she said matter-of-factly.

  He looked at her with new found respect and nodded. Hep examined the chain again.

  “It wasn’t the chain that gave but the bolt that held it. You shouldn’t have been able to pull it free. Why were you in hunter restraints?”

  The door opened again and a young man came in and whispered to Gan out of earshot for Sepia. She looked at Hep.

  “Boring administrative duties, but he has to go,” said Hep, showing that he had heard the man. The young man turned to face Hep, red-faced.

  “Stop scaring the staff, get those chains off of her and check her sword. She is having problems aligning, so see if you can help,” said Gan.

  Gan walked out of the Armory following the young man as the door closed behind him. Sepia turned back to Hep and lifted both wrists.

  “I have just the thing,” he said as he fished in one of his toolboxes.

  “How can you hear so well?”

  “You mean even though he was trying to whisper? They all do it when they come here, to test me,” said Hep as he chuckled.

  “Yes, you heard me too, didn’t you,” said Sepia.

  “Clear as a bell. It’s my ink. My mother was an Inkmaster. Most of these designs protect me and give me affinity to elements, specifically metals. In a room like this”--he swept his arm around-- “all of my senses are heightened.”

  He kept looking in his tool box until he pulled out what looked like a thin metal straw.

  “Okay, hold still, this is a laser pointer. As in a laser pointer that will remove your hand from your body if you shift at the wrong time. Understand?” Hep said, all trace of humor gone.

  “Don’t you have some kind of bolt cutters or something less limb-removing?” Sepia looked at the laser pointer with distrust. “How steady is your aim?”

  “Bolt cutters won’t work on these restraints,” he said.

  “Bolt cutters would make me feel better,” said Sepia.

  “This requires finesse, and don’t worry I’ve done this a few times and it almost always works.”

  “Almost always?”

  Hep smiled at her and grabbed her wrist as he hooked a stool closer with his foot.

  “Sit down and don’t move,” he said.

  She sat perfectly still. Moments later the chains were off and he had stored them in a special lock box.

  “I’ll keep these here for you in case you ever need them. Now hand me your sword,” he said as he stood.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Hep.”

  “You aren’t aligning, so I need to see if it’s a problem with the blade or you, or both,” explained Hep.

  Sepia undid the straps that held the scabbard in place and handed it over to Hep.

  Hep pulled out Perdition and Sepia winced, expecting the worst. Hep laughed at her expression.

  “It’s not going to do anything to me. Who do you think repairs the hunters’ swords when they need it?” He pointed to the designs across his chest. “So, why were you in restraints?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. One moment I was dropping off Cade and the next I was getting tazed by some creep in a suit. He goes by the name of Marks, second in command to the Overseer South.”

  Hep gave a low whistle. “That guy is bad news, dangerous too. Gan has been watching him for some time now.”

  Hep went back to Sepia’s sword. He held it and took some practice swings and then held it still again with his e
yes closed.

  “The energy of it is off balance somehow, you haven’t been using it, is that right?”

  Sepia looked away. “Not really, no,” she said.

  He turned it over and held it in his hand by the blade proper. He read the engraving on the blade. His eyes opened wide as he continued reading.

  “This is Emiko’s blade, Perdition. Shit, I didn’t think they gave this to anyone else after what happened to her.”

  He put it on the bench reverentially, careful not to touch the edges.

  “She was my mom, what happened to her? How did you know its name?”

  “Your mom? Well that makes sense. Gan didn’t tell you about her? Now I see the resemblance, well except for the--” He motioned at her eyes as he rubbed his chin.

  “Not much. She was killed when I was very young, fighting a Nightmare, a T8,” said Sepia.

  “Well, technically that is true,” he paused as he considered his next words. What isn’t he telling me? she thought.

  “I think I’ll let Gan handle that one.” She could see he wasn’t going to say more on the subject.

  “As for my knowing the name… Two ways:” He held up two meaty fingers.

  They looked like huge sausages to Sepia. “Are you sure you aren’t part brute?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her in mock seriousness. He lifted the sword from the table and showed it to her.

  “Pay attention. One, the metal speaks to me-- that is the only way I can describe it. Two, it’s written there on the blade, see?”

  He pointed to several of the inscriptions etched into the blade.

  Sepia looked and only saw the characters she always saw, illegible to her.

  “You can’t read it?”

  Sepia shook her head and Hep grew pensive.

  “That is a problem. I can only read the name, because as a smith I have to know which blade I am working on, but the rest is hidden, even from me. That part is meant for you, the owner of the blade.”

  “So it’s not the blade.”

  She had really hoped it was the blade, but knew in her gut it was her. Hep placed Perdition on the workbench and looked it over again, scrutinizing every inch.

  “Well, physically the blade is perfect. It’s designed in a hybrid katana fashion. You won’t see another like it. The balance is perfect, and the edge is insane. This thing can slice air. Only named blades are like this. I never really have to work on the blades themselves just the other parts.”

  “That means I’m the problem,” said Sepia

  “Not necessarily. It could be a matter of aligning the blade, but--”

  “But what?” Sepia said as a glimmer of hope crept into her voice.

  “Well, it’s your mom’s blade. The assumption is that you would be the best candidate for it to align to, unless...”

  “Unless what?”

  “Well, a hunter’s blade can only align to one person at a time. If it’s not you, then the only other reason is that it’s still bonded to its previous owner.”

  “That would mean--my mom?”

  “--Is alive and out there somewhere. The blade senses it and rejects you on the deepest level.”

  Gan wouldn’t lie to me, would he?

  “There is a way to find out. If it’s you, that is,” said Hep.

  “How do we do that?”

  “The oldest and best way: we need to fight,” said Hep as he grabbed a large broadsword from the wall and hefted it in his hands.

  TWELVE

  Marks headed back to Home. The morning sun blazed in his eyes, signaling the start of the day for most and the end of one for him. Being on an unsanctioned location was not the issue for him. No one would know he was there. How the hell did the Unholy find her and before I could follow through with my plan?

  He entered his office and checked his messages. Most of them were from Peterson. He would have to deal with him eventually. The first priority was eliminating Sepia. Taking over Manhattan South would happen, eventually. The elements were in place and it was only a matter of time. One of his assistants knocked on the door and entered. He forgot her name. They were all the same, nameless and faceless, tools to be used.

  “Sir, Mr. Peterson would like to see you,” she said.

  I’m sure he would. “Thank you, I will be there shortly, I just need to prepare this document. Please inform him I will be in his office in five minutes,” said Marks.

  “Yes, sir,” she said as she left his office.

  Five minutes later he was standing before Magnus Peterson, listening to the man rant.

  “One of the off-sites was active last night. Do you know anything about this?”

  Marks looked down at his tablet and tapped it a few times. “That site was being used to store some volatile chemicals. It appears something went wrong with the storage facility within the site, sir.”

  “Make sure it’s taken care of. I want no repercussions from Regional about this,” said Magnus.

  “Yes, sir. Is there anything else?” Marks was anxious to find Sepia.

  “Yes, I read the report you provided me. Where is this hunter, Sepia Blue? What kind of name is Sepia Blue?” Magnus said.

  That is a good question, thought Marks. It certainly isn’t her given name, what is she hiding?

  “Currently her whereabouts are unknown, sir.”

  “Excuse me? How can we not know where she is? Isn’t she one of our hunters?”

  “Yes, sir. It would appear she has problems following procedure,” said Marks.

  “I read that in the report. Bring her in, I would like to speak to her,” said Magnus.

  “Yes, sir. Any particular time frame sir?”

  “Yes, I want her here yesterday. Is that immediate enough? Oh, and if she fails to comply, convince her.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Marks.

  This was a problem. He couldn’t let Sepia meet Peterson, since it would unravel his plan. Too many questions would be asked, the wrong kinds of questions. He would have to find a solution. He looked down at his tablet and tapped its face several times. A solution presented itself.

  “Sir, it says here they would like your presence at the off-site location to assess the damage.”

  “What, today? I have enough to worry about,” said Magnus.

  “I could go in your place, sir, even though it requests you be there,” said Marks.

  “No, I’d better go, if not I won’t hear the end of it. Get a car ready and we can leave in an hour. Let me just take care of some matters here,” said Magnus.

  “Yes, sir,” said Marks.

  In an hour, Magnus Peterson would perform his last official act as an Overseer of the Order.

  THIRTEEN

  Behind the workshop Hep had a firing range and an open area Sepia assumed was for sparring practice.

  It was a wooden floor covered with sand and sawdust making for uncertain footing. In certain places she could see small rocks strewn about.

  “Why the sand and rocks? This place is a broken ankle waiting to happen.”

  “This area is designed to be difficult to fight in. Sometimes I need to test out certain weapons. Some of the hunters help me out and we spar from time to time. The uncertain footing gives them a fighting chance.” Hep smiled.

  “Hunters know about this place?” Sepia said as she made her way around the floor.

  “No, not all of them, they need to be a class two or higher and then only the ones Gan trusts, which aren’t many. I don’t get nearly as much practice as I would like,” said Hep.

  “So how is this supposed to work?”

  “Named blades work on a simple principle. The metal is imbued with power, and that’s what the inscriptions are for.”

  “Okay that part I knew. Each blade has a power given to it, which is tied to its name,” she said.

  “Exactly, and the other part is that the blade has to bond to its owner. That usually happens on the night a hunter is recognized.”

  Sepia gave Hep a blank stare
.

  “On the night you were given your blade? Didn’t anything happen to you, something special?”

  “No, not really. I was given the blade and was declared a hunter,” said Sepia.

  “Well, it’s not unheard of. Sometimes it takes a few days, even a month.”

  “Hep, I’ve been a hunter for close to five years now,” said Sepia.

  “Maybe you’re a late bloomer? Well, the other way to create the bond is under extreme duress. The hunter has to be in a life-threatening situation and the blade bonds to preserve the hunter.”

  “I’ve had those as well. It’s not all roses and sunshine when I’m on patrol. Facing a T6 isn’t enough duress?”

  “Did you feel your life was in danger? I mean real danger, like it was you or the Nightmare.”

  She thought back to the last incident. Yes, she was scared, but she never felt like her life was in danger. Besides, Cade was there and she knew he would always have her back.

  “No, it didn’t feel that way. I was scared, but Cade was there and I just knew we would come out of it okay.”

  “How often have you used the blade in the years you have been patrolling?”

  “I try not to. The last time was the fifth time I drew the blade in a fight, because I had to.”

  Hep gave her a long, hard stare.

  “Are you saying that in five years you only drew your blade five times?”

  “Yes, bad things happen when I use it. Bad things to others and especially me,” said Sepia.

  “That might be the problem. It may not be that your mom is alive, sorry about that, but that the bond it shared with her is stronger than the one it has with you. Basically the blade doesn’t know you.”

  Sepia looked at him and held her blade. The broadsword he was leaning on was almost as tall as she was. Her blade looked like a toothpick in comparison.

  “What are you saying? It’s alive?”

  She looked at the blade in her hand and could sense the power coursing through it, calling to her. The darkness was there, waiting.

  “Not in the strict sense of life. It’s not alive or sentient or anything like that.”

  “Then what?” Sepia said, exasperated.

  He could tell she was frustrated by this situation.

  How do I explain this? “Okay, you see this sword?” he said as he waved the broadsword around with one hand.