Fade to Black: Book One: The Weir Chronicles

by Sue Duff

  Milo shook his head at Ian’s approach. “I warned them you wouldn’t go quietly.” The girls ran up and embraced him. When he saw Patrick, his mouth pulled into a pained grimace.

  Patrick looked around the clearing. “What’s going on? Who are these people?”

  “Keep quiet,” Milo hushed.

  “Marcus, what is this?” Ian’s shout rode on top of the wind.

  “Your Highness.” Marcus lowered his gaze for a second. “The Duach have returned to the area. Their collective energy has nearly doubled. I have orders to round up you and the Channels. You are to be taken to another safe house immediately.”

  “We’re not leaving,” Ian said.

  “I’m afraid it is not a request, sire. It was the determination of the entire Syndrion that this is the only course of action that guarantees your safety.” He raised his hand and beckoned the girls.

  Mara and Tara didn’t budge from Milo’s side. Tears dampened Tara’s face. Mara shook her head in protest.

  Ian turned on them. “I’ll fix this. I promise,” he said and hugged them as one. He pulled back and wiped the tears from Tara’s cheek with his thumb.

  “Go with them for now,” Milo urged. “They won’t keep you three separated for long.”

  Tara’s face lifted in alarm, and she grabbed the old caretaker. “You’re coming, aren’t you?”

  Milo shook his head and eased Tara away. He gave her a gentle pat on her cheek. “Be strong.”

  “Patrick.” Tara threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Mara stood nearby as moisture clung to the anger in her eyes. He hugged Tara and gave Mara a pained smile from over her sister’s shoulder.

  The girls walked toward the middle of the clearing where a soldier waited. He held onto the women. They shyfted in a swirling emerald cloud.

  Patrick gasped. “I thought you were the only one who could that,” he said to Ian. A guard turned on him with a drawn gun.

  “No!” Milo stepped between them.

  Ian raised a hand. “What is this?”

  “I’m afraid he is not part of the plan.” The voice came from the shadows. A man entered the clearing. He resembled a bald eagle with a beaked nose and a full head of white hair that draped the back of his neck. His crystal-gray eyes all but disappeared in the moonlight. Ian’s skin crawled when the man’s opaque stare found him. “Who are you?” Ian demanded.

  Marcus stared at him as if puzzled. “Ian, this is Drion Sebastian.”

  “We will detain—your pet—until a decision is made,” Sebastian said.

  The wind turned into a gale, slicing through the clearing like a knight’s blade. It sent equipment flying and crashing to the ground.

  Ian got in Sebastian’s face. “Disrespect him like that again, and you will have more than my temper tantrum to deal with.”

  “According to our last report, Your Highness, a temper tantrum is about all you can do at the moment.”

  Ian pulled back to strike, but Marcus grabbed his arm and shot a dark look at Sebastian. “Ian, Drion Sebastian is in charge of your security.”

  “You are to accompany me to the new location.” Sebastian offered a slight bow that came off as insincere. “Please.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without him.” Ian gestured at Patrick.

  An uneasy silence filled the clearing. Ian stood tall, but his gut knotted tighter and tighter the longer Sebastian didn’t respond. A moment later, the man nodded, and the soldier lowered the weapon and backed away.

  Patrick closed the gap between him and Ian. He dropped his voice. “Ian, are these the good guys, or the bad guys?”

  “I demand to speak with the Primary at once,” Ian said.

  “I anticipated as much.” Sebastian touched the air next to him. A green glow emerged from his fingertip expanding and filling the space beside him. The image of the Primary, clothed in flowing robes, emerged at its center.

  “What the—” Patrick swallowed the rest.

  Ian approached the image with Patrick at his back. “I demand a say in this.”

  “The Syndrion has spoken, Ian. The decision has been made.”

  “I can handle this. The Syndrion does not need to be involved.”

  “Ian, the assault on the compound was a demonstration. Those soldiers could easily have been the Duach instead of the Pur.”

  “You turned off the compound’s security. You had the intel to bridge the assault.” He waved his arms. “Not to mention the resources and manpower ready at a moment’s notice.”

  “And you wouldn’t have given up so easily,” Patrick mumbled.

  “You had the advantage all along,” Ian said.

  The Primary stared at Ian while floating a couple of feet above the ground. Patrick stood still with wide eyes focused on the image.

  “There’s no reason to rip us from our home,” Ian continued at the Primary’s silence.

  “Home?” The corner of the Primary’s mouth twitched. “Wasn’t it just yesterday that you referred to this place as a prison?”

  Ian cringed, then drew himself up and squared his shoulders. “I demand an audience with the Syndrion.”

  “Get settled in your new location. We will send for you,” the Primary said.

  “I anticipated as much,” Ian said. He grabbed Patrick and pulled them both into the Primary’s image. A frigid blast in the face—Ian’s breath sucked out—tingling spikes ripped through him—a bright, green flash.

  {17}

  Ian stepped out of the vortex holding on tight to Patrick. His friend’s body jerked like he’d been hit with a Taser. They appeared in a small circular building with carved stone walls. The air stank of a long-abandoned livery.

  “How dare you,” the Primary roared.

  “I am not going to be uprooted,” Ian shouted. He leaned Patrick against the wall and faced the Primary head on.

  “Oh my god!” Patrick blurted. He shook his arms, then bounced around and patted himself.

  “It’ll subside in a minute,” Ian said.

  “You know better than to parashyft,” the Primary said. “Not only that, you brought a human through with you. After all your instruction, how could you ignore the danger in that?”

  “You attacked us,” Ian said. Patrick’s jerking movements kicked a dirt cloud into the air. “It’s a miracle no one got hurt.” A shower of hail pounded at the windows of the vortex structure while the turmoil in the room competed with the fury outside.

  “You needed to be taught a lesson,” the Primary said.

  “Aaaah!” Patrick cried.

  “Quiet!” Ian and the Primary shouted in unison.

  Patrick grabbed his mouth and trembled in quaking silence.

  “Okay, you made your point—but Primary, you can’t do this. Don’t do this, please,” Ian said, frustrated that he couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice. A pause and deep breath flushed the worst of his anger. The weather outside eased a bit. “I’m not the child I was before. I can handle this. Give me a chance to prove it.”

  Sebastian and Marcus appeared in the vortex.

  “Wait.” The Primary held his hand up as Sebastian rushed toward Ian.

  “Are you all right?” Marcus asked Patrick. He turned a pasty face to the Drion and nodded.

  “Primary, the Heir has defied the Syndrion’s orders,” Sebastian said.

  Ian gave the man an icy stare.

  “I can’t imagine why, Sebastian.” The Primary threw Sebastian a guarded look then stuck his hands in his sleeves. The room grew quiet.

  The door to the small building burst open. It took a second for Ian to recognize the Primary’s assistant. The wiry man entered and came to attention next to his master, his head barely at shoulder level with the Primary. The tip of a stocking cap hung over one cheek, and his flannel pajamas poked out from under a worn coat. His bulging brown eyes scanned the room, drinking in the scene.

  The Primary broke the silence. “Call an emergency Syndrion meeting, Henrik
.”

  “It’s four o’clock in the morning here,” Sebastian said.

  “That’s what makes it an emergency. Drion Marcus, see to Ian and—” The Primary turned and regarded Patrick for the first time. “Remind me who you are.”

  “Ppppatrick, sir.”

  “See to them both.” The Primary walked out with his assistant at his hip. He paused at the door. “Henrik, turn off the heat to the sleeping quarters if they give you any grief.” The two hunched over and stepped out into the bitter night.

  Sebastian sneered at Ian then stormed out of the building.

  “You don’t want to make an enemy of that one, boy,” Marcus said.

  “Too late,” Patrick said through chattering teeth.

  “Come.” Marcus led them outside.

  A frigid blast slammed Patrick back into the structure. Ian drew energy into his core and warmth filled his chest. He grabbed his friend and tried to shield him from the howling winds. The weather wasn’t all of Ian’s doing. A natural storm laid siege to the area.

  They entered a large stone building. A long hallway loomed ahead, littered with doors on either side. Torches lit their way and the odor of creosote hung thick in the air. Halfway down, Marcus opened a door and stood to the side. The sparse room offered a simple log-posted bed with a lumpy mattress and a couple of fur pelts large enough to serve as blankets.

  Marcus gestured at the bed. Patrick sat and the Drion wrapped the pelts around him, then left without a word. Ian leaned next to the window across the room. A moment later, Patrick’s clicking teeth fell silent.

  He turned from the glass. “I’m sorry,” he said. Patrick stared at the floor and didn’t respond. “I really mean it, Patrick. I’m sorry.”

  “You nearly killed me.”

  “Technically, I nearly killed us both,” Ian said.

  “Is that how it feels every time you shyft?”

  “Parashyfting, stepping into someone’s partial shyft, is the worst. If you lose concentration you could end up in a different dimension.”

  Patrick’s eyes widened. “We’re in an alternate universe?”

  Ian’s core pulsed as strong as ever. “No, we’re still on Earth.” Ian pressed his back against the wall. “That wasn’t what I had planned for your inaugural voyage.”

  Patrick’s fur cloak slipped below his shoulders. “You’re some kind of royalty?”

  “I was born the Pur Heir. It’s a title that doesn’t carry any weight, at least not until I come of age.” Ian gazed out the window and focused on sorting his chaotic thoughts. An impulsive act had caused his two lives to converge, and he was at a loss of how to proceed. “I haven’t been entirely truthful with you.”

  “No shit.” With a hissing exhale, Patrick wiggled out of the pelts. “I’m guessing your Facebook profile is grossly inaccurate.”

  The doorknob rattled. When Marcus entered, a guard stood at attention in the hall. “Don’t let Sebastian have his way, Marcus. Patrick isn’t a threat to us.”

  “I’ll swear and wager the body part of your choosing as collateral.” Patrick’s color had turned from pale to green, and he looked like he would puke at any moment. “It’s not like I know what’s going on anyway.”

  “You know more than most.” Marcus regarded Ian like a naughty child. “When you chose to live among the humans, you were warned, Ian. What did you think would be the con-sequences if you were discovered by the Duach?”

  Ian didn’t have an answer. He never believed that this day would come. “Where are we?”

  “A Benedictine monastery, deep in the Black Forest of Germany.” Marcus tossed thick jackets to them.

  Ian donned the coat. The leather’s scent stirred his senses, and he imagined himself running through the forest, carried by the wind at his back. “What happens if Ian can’t convince them to change their minds?” Patrick asked while rubbing his arms.

  “The exile continues as planned.” Marcus’s lack of hesitation was a message for Ian. He wouldn’t challenge the Syndrion, not for Patrick’s sake.

  Ian couldn’t look Patrick in the eye. “What happens to him?”

  “That would be left up to Sebastian.” Marcus exited the room. The scrape of a key in the lock left Ian with unease.

  “But I don’t know anything.” Patrick sank to the edge of the bed.

  You know enough, Ian realized. His palms grew sweaty and the blood in his veins turned icy. A sudden craving for fresh air and open spaces overpowered him. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “Are you insane? I’ve had enough cold to last a lifetime,” Patrick said.

  “Then I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Patrick sprang to his feet and blocked the door. “You’re not leaving me here alone.”

  “They have to gather the Syndrion. It’s a council of old men, Patrick. Then they’ll argue among themselves for most of the morning. We have nothing to do now but wait.” Ian tried the door handle. It didn’t budge. “You’re safe in here. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

  Ian shyfted to the hallway. The startled guard didn’t have time to raise his rifle. Marcus glared at him.

  “I’m going for a walk.” The Drion opened his mouth to protest, but Ian held up his hand. “Patrick’s not coming. You know I won’t leave him, Marcus. I promise to stay close.”

  Marcus mulled it over. “Take the path around the outer courtyard, and Ian, don’t make me come find you.”

  “An hour, tops.” Ian stuffed his hands in the pockets of the jacket and stepped into the night.

  Marcus’s security shadowed him. Ian sensed their presence soon after he left the building, but they kept their distance and gave him his space. If the guards were for his protection or from lack of trust, Ian didn’t care.

  The storm had blown over. The dead calm before dawn offered absolute silence. The crispness of winter surrounded him, blanketing everywhere he looked. He paused in the middle of the path and breathed deep.

  “The purity of snow camouflages the decay of a season, only to melt and bring refreshment to that which begins anew,” a voice said.

  “I hope my life will not imitate nature by the end of the day,” Ian said. He turned to find Galen standing in the middle of the path.

  “I hear your diplomatic skills have yet to develop.” The old scholar gave him a scowl, in spite of a hint of amusement in his voice.

  Ian scooped him up and embraced him tight. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “You will suffocate me and put an end to the few hours I have left in this frail body,” came out muffled.

  Ian’s laugh filled the air. He lowered Galen to the ground. “When did you get so short?”

  “At the same time you became so tall,” Galen said. He smiled and squeezed Ian’s arm. “All things in harmony.”

  “You’ve lost what little hair you had.” Ian rubbed his bald scalp with affection.

  “Alas, my head grew tired of holding onto it.” Galen’s grin morphed into a grimace, and he pressed a fist against his back. “I find my body grows weary of many things of late.”

  “You still enjoy your walks,” Ian said. “Some of your best lessons were taught in nature’s classroom.”

  “Something I passed on to you, apparently.” They set out down the path together.

  The jovial moment faded. “Why are you here?”

  “Ever since you were taken away, I have done research on the whereabouts of an ancient book, the Book of the Weir. I came to update the Primary in our search for it.”

  “I thought he might have sent for you to keep me in line.”

  “Are you, as you say, out of line, Ian?”

  Ian stopped. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what’s going on.”

  Galen grew serious. “Logic will win out, my son, not emotion.”

  “Then I’m afraid I have nothing.” A frigid blast scraped Ian’s cheek, and he stared at the man, the only father he’d ever known, who was ripped away from him when he was nine years old. “So mu
ch has been lost already in the name of keeping me safe. I can’t bear to lose more. I need a miracle, Galen.”

  The sympathy in the old scholar’s eyes turned to conviction. Galen grabbed the crook of Ian’s arm and led them down the path. “Then a miracle we shall find.”

  {18}

  Jaered used the passing street lamps and the steady vibration of the engine to lull himself into a daze. It kept the guilt of Andy’s demise at a minimum. He sucked short gulps of air through his mouth to prevent his meager stomach contents from plastering the rear of the car. His reaction to the odor of burnt flesh had been born in his youth. Subjected to it countless times, his mother taught him never to get used to it. “To acclimate begets apathy,” she warned. Her words seared onto his arm the day his beloved Kyre was burned alive.

  Jaered would never forget.

  The car slowed, then made a couple of turns and stopped. Ning cut the engine and got out. He entered an old warehouse.

  Jaered shyfted next to the vehicle and glanced in the driver’s side window. The assassin hadn’t left the keys in the ignition.

  Ning had driven to a wharf. Abandoned structures, dotted with missing or broken windows, lined the pier. Seagulls swooped and squawked while scavenging for food. There was no one in sight at this hour of night.

  By the look of it, the Duach weren’t using patrols. He abandoned the cover of the SUV and crept up and peered in-side the structure through a cracked window.

  A dim light swung overhead casting splintered movement across the warehouse floor. Several men in combat fatigues were scattered about the large space, packing gear. They appeared to be moving out, not preparing for a siege of the Heir’s compound.

  Ning gestured to a nearby soldier, then pointed to the door. “Get the trash out of the back of the SUV and dump it in the water.”

  “Explain,” a man commanded from the balcony. Backlit, Jaered couldn’t make out the face, but the voice bathed his entire body in sweat. Aeros was supposed to be off-world. What was he doing here? How could Eve not have known?

  “After confirming the intel, I dealt with the Duach fool as ordered, and I had a stray to put down.” Ning took the stairs two at a time. When he reached Aeros he fell to one knee and bowed his head. “Sire. I seek the scientist.”