The Phoenix Chronicles: Alone in the Light (Book ONE)

by M. K. Williams

  The door opened slowly and Peter walked in, his suit unusually creased for him; fatigue hung on his face revealing the strain he felt.

  “Sorry to interrupt. But I have finished with the gun!” Peter walked in and sat on the chair that Jonathon was pointing to. He handed a report over to Jonathon who gave it a cursory flick through.

  “So, what exactly is it?” Jonathon asked.

  Peter did not hide the annoyance which now crept across his face. He had worked hard, fitting investigating and writing the report around the vast number of other things he was working on.

  “Well, my initial suspicions have been confirmed. It is a specialised projectile weapon. Fortunately, the barrel contained five projectiles inside at the time Zhing came into possession of it. The projectiles are a glass and steel composite with a liquid substance inside,” Peter stopped to pull down his glasses. He rubbed his eyes and flicked his fringe to one side.

  “So, this is the gun that was used to shoot the vampire that Zhing encountered months ago?” Jonathon asked quickly.

  “Yes, without doubt. Well, this one or one of this design. I have identified the liquid as the reactive agent ‘Wonto factor three.’ It is a well-known toxic agent used to kill vampires,” Peter replied.

  Jonathon again flicked through Peter’s report, reading quickly through the first few pages.

  “Thank you, Peter. I will go through this properly later,” Jonathon said placing the report on the desk and picking up the one he had been studying previously.

  “What’s that you’re reading?” inquired Peter.

  “It is the first-person manuscript from Zhing’s glimmer,” Jonathon replied.

  “Oh, the glimmer that Andrew produced? Who wrote the manuscript?” Peter said, leaning in forward.

  “Andrew wrote it up after producing the glimmer. It is very interesting but I’ve only really just started it. It’s quite slow, a lot on her investigation prior to Kristian’s intelligence. I am just at the actual confrontation now,” Jonathon replied, pulling the file close to his chest.

  “Okay. Is she going to write a report when she returns?” Peter was a stickler for paperwork. “Oh, and can I have a look at that when you’re finished? Or perhaps you could ask Andrew if he could spare someone to open the glimmer for me?”

  “Sure. You can look through it after me. Or you could speak to Andrew if you like, I am sure he would open the glimmer for you. I would have done that myself but I find it much quicker to read than watch it through glimmer and I’m short on time.”

  Peter stood up and walked towards the door. “Okay, I will speak to Andrew tonight. I need to get some sleep now,” and with that Peter exited the room.

  Jonathon let out a muffled goodbye as Peter left and then quickly got back to the report and began reading from where he had left off.

  ‘I instantly swung low, aiming for his legs. He drew back quickly as my blade cut only air. I then launched several strokes, aiming left, then right, high. He beautifully avoided every sweep of my blade as it glided unvictoriously past him. He moved back and threw a large bag he was carrying to the floor. He raced away from me, dodging in and out through the many trees that lined the cemetery. I made a long stroke aiming for his lower body; he stepped to one side as the blade locked between two individual trunks. He hit out at my hand and I lost a grip of my sword, he then kicked me in the chest, knocking me back.

  He attempted to move closer to me and to strike again but my palms were up and I launched blue energy into his chest, sending him backwards into the trees. I regained my composure, as did he. We stared at each other for nearly twenty seconds, neither of us making a move. He was so close I could hear his heart beating, see the sweat pour from his face. He flinched, reaching for his bag; I sent another blast at him, which he evaded by rolling to one side. When he stopped, he sent a retaliation blast toward me; I managed to produce a small field deflecting the blast to the ground sending mud and grass flying high into the air.

  He was at his bag, opening the zip and reaching deep within. I moved quickly, removed my sword from the trunks and, using a headstone, leapt into the air. Landing just a few steps from him, I saw him pull out a large rifle. I spun, kicking the gun out of his hands. I then swung my blade from high, aiming to strike him whilst he was reeling from my kick. The sword hit resistance and as I glanced down I saw Tom blocking my sword with two small blades. Each of his blades resembled the mouth of some monstrous predator insect, two extending blades meeting at the end with smaller sharp razors in the inner space of the blades. The main part of the blade was smooth and long. He pushed up, throwing my sword back and then quickly made a swing at my legs. I jumped back into the air, completing a backwards somersault. Landing on my feet, I looked down in relief. He had missed.

  He too was also on his feet and heading towards me. We were both fighting hard. I saw his style was directionless and his technique was clumsy. I felt I was superior, both in swordsmanship and in the use of the weapons we were yielding. After a few more clashes, I brought my blade to my side and took one strong swing to the right. His blades collided with mine and they shattered into useless fragments. After my sword had reached the end of its arc to my left side, I was already sending it back, lower this time. My sword cut deep into his leg and he fell to the ground.

  From there he launched a long stream of his blackness at me. I attempted to produce a shield but was too slow. It hit me and lifted me up into the air. As I came back down, I was conscious of the environment around me and hoped I would land on soft ground and not broken-backed over a headstone. Fortunately, I landed on soft grass, rebounding slightly. My chest hurt as I was mildly wounded. I quickly returned to my feet and saw Tom escaping off in the distance, evidently not wanting to remain in combat with me.

  He was stumbling, not making too much ground but moving fast for someone with a sizeable leg wound such as the one I had inflicted. I quickly shot some blasts at him. Sapphire flew through the air as he ducked and dived. Each bolt found an alternative target, hitting headstones and trees. Tom looked panicked and I understood in that instant that he was unable to produce a shield from his Kar’sin. His instincts were well honed and he avoided my blasts with some ease. I began to move after him. I paused and aimed my next bolt carefully. A tight, focused beam left my hand; I sensed that it was going to hit him. It collided with his legs; I felt relief as he wobbled. My eyes were locked onto his legs waiting to see them give way but without warning he seemed to have disappeared.

  I realised what had actually happened was that his legs had flown up in the air after he had collided with a chest-height headstone. I then made haste to his position. As I got closer, I could see one of his feet poking out from behind the stone. It was still and lifeless. As I got closer still, more of his body came into view and my eyes fell upon his face and neck. His expression was of shock and fear. His head was close to the ground and awkwardly positioned and it was clear to me then that his neck was broken.

  I stood there for a few minutes slowing my breathing and taking in the body. I looked for visual signs of life before I moved down and checked his pulse. He was dead.’

  Jonathon put down the report with a sigh. It was obvious that Zhing had not meant to kill him with that blow, but he also understood there was little chance of Zhing simply subduing her mark and bringing him back as a captive; she had been in a dual to the death and, fortunately, she had won. He was pleased in many ways but disappointed in others. Tom had had the answers to his questions; answers that could have shed light onto a dark and sinister plan, but now those answers followed him into the afterlife.

  …

  The wooden post shattered into pieces as a large bolt of raging jade-green energy slammed into its side. Kristian turned and let out a scream of frustration. “Damn it!” He was angry with his self-control. He was honing his non-palm object projection techniques, the goal being to slice the stump cleanly in half. His mind was elsewhere, however, dwelling on Oliver and Leceth.

/>   Moving along, Kristian stepped in front of another wooden post. Closing his eyes, he attempted to focus himself. After emptying his mind he began to imagine a sharp, sword-like mass of energy forming inches in front of the post. He could see in his mind the green bolt slicing through the wood. Suddenly an awful grim image of Oliver’s tormented dead face flickered unbidden into his thoughts and, with that, he opened his eyes, startled, losing his concentration. For the second time a post exploded and splintered into tiny pieces, skidding across the floor as his errant projection made contact with the wood.

  “Damn it.” Kristian fell to his knees and placed his hands over his face.

  “Mourning your failures will not solve them, Mr. Wallace,” said a familiar and comforting voice from behind him. Turning his head, Kristian was surprised to see the illustrious Yi-Mao standing behind him. Rising to his feet, he was filled with a sense of happiness and comfort. Yi-Mao was his mentor and guide, he brought reassurance and security.

  “Master. When did you get back?”

  “Just. I had a quick talk with Jonathon and thought I would check in on you next,” as he spoke, he walked towards Kristian.

  Kristian was pleased that his master’s first thoughts had been for him. It had been hard times lately and he was more than pleased to be back in the presence of arguably the greatest leader that the Phoenixes had ever had.

  “How was China?” he asked.

  “Interesting, to say the least. I spent a lot of time meditating with old friends. I am pleased to be back though and I hear that you’ve been having your own adventures here?” replied Yi-Mao.

  Kristian smiled like a Cheshire cat; that was an understatement, he thought. “Well, first Berlin and then the Jakyll. I suppose you could call that an adventure. I would have described them as nightmares!” Kristian half-joked.

  “A nightmare it may have been, but from what I am told, you handled the situations with valour, in true Phoenix tradition despite your time away from us.”

  Kristian smiled proudly for a second and then his smile faded as he remembered his slaughter of the three men in the warehouse. The events came flooding to the forefront of his mind. “Well, I guess you haven’t spoken to too many people then,” Kristian said reflectively. “The Jakyll certainly wasn’t a resounding success!” he lifted his shirt up and showed his master the scars that ran deeply across his belly.

  At the sight of the long discoloured scar, Yi-Mao did not flinch. “Well, trophies of our valiant deeds come in many shapes and sizes.” As he spoke, he drifted over to the many wooden posts that Kristian had been practising on.

  Kristian looked to the floor as he dropped his shirt. He had not thought of his scar as a trophy; the word signified that it was something to treasure, something won, but to him it would be a constant reminder of how slow his technique was.

  “In time. In time,” Yi-Mao spoke without a catalyst, almost as though he had read Kristian’s thoughts. “You have been practising your Kar’sin then?”

  Kristian pointed to the floor and gave a disappointed and sarcastic look.

  “Not going so well?” Yi-Mao chuckled.

  “No, it really isn’t. I’m trying to improve my non-palm projection and object projection but it just seems to keep going wrong.”

  Yi-Mao positioned himself in front of one of the undamaged posts. The room was lit for a second by three bright sharp yellow flashes. Kristian stared in amazement as three intense yellow daggers sliced through the wood leaving a slight smell of scorched pine. The post split into four even pieces and fell to the floor with a soft clatter. Yi-Mao turned and looked at him. “What’s so hard?” followed by a friendly wink.

  Kristian was impressed. He was also annoyed. He had been practising for most of the day and his technique was still nowhere near his master’s. “How?” he cried. “I’m calm, focused and prepared but it just doesn’t materialise.”

  “Show me,” requested Yi-Mao, to which the young Phoenix host moved to the next intact post. He attempted what he had practised all day. And like all his other attempts, his outcome was failure. From imagination to realisation, the image of Oliver burst into his mind. The post exploded again in a flash of jade.

  “I can see the problem,” said Yi-Mao as he turned his back on Kristian and walked a few steps. “You lack determination and you are unfocused as to why the wood needs to be split.”

  “No, I have focus. I have drive, it’s something else,” he replied agitated.

  “You misunderstand me. You have calm and focus but you are without purpose. You need to understand your goal,” Yi-Mao replied calmly.

  “The purpose is to slice the wood. My goal is to make two pieces of wood,” Kristian replied sarcastically.

  “Slicing the wood is a means, not a goal. You need to understand why you want two pieces of wood, and then you will know how to achieve it.” As he spoke, he sliced another stump into four parts.

  Kristian contemplated what he was being told, beginning to understand. He slowly walked to another post and attempted the projection again. Yi-Mao stood back; Kristian was confident that he had it in him. His mind was closed, his thoughts solely on the task ahead: the goal. He could see the outcome in his mind but immediately and without warning, Oliver’s face appeared into his head again and shards of wood were flying in all directions as he opened his eyes. “God damn it!” he cried.

  “In time, with practice. Patience is a skill that needs practising too.” Yi-Mao walked over and gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder. “Sometimes it helps to sleep on it. Wake up with a new outlook.”

  Kristian did not see how sleeping would help the problem. The image came without warning and was not under his control. “Sure,” he said, sounding defeated.

  The pair began to walk to the door together and for an instant he thought about having one more try but as he saw the mess he had made, he gave up on that idea. “I will try again tomorrow, I guess,” Kristian said.

  The pair stopped in their tracks. Yi-Mao turned to face the young man. “So I assume you haven’t told them yet?”

  “Told who, what?” Kristian was confused.

  “Your companions? And Jonathon; that you are planning on staying for good.”

  Kristian was almost certain that his master was reading his mind somehow; he wondered for a moment if Phoenixes could do that.

  “No, how did you know I was staying? I haven’t told anyone,” Kristian said.

  “Well,” chuckled Yi-Mao. “People who are intent on leaving rarely spend hours in the sparring room. And I assumed that you had not told anyone. You seem tense so I took a wild guess!”

  Kristian was surprised at how astute his mentor was; he told himself never to be astounded by Yi-Mao ever again, the man was full of surprises.

  “So you are staying then? Why haven’t you told anyone?” Yi-Mao asked.

  It took a few seconds for Kristian to reply; saying the words aloud would make his decision final.

  “Yes, I am,” Kristian paused again, he knew why he had not told anyone: he was afraid. Telling people would mean he couldn’t back out, no more coffee shop, no more Uni – he would be bound to his word. He explained this to Yi-Mao. It made perfect sense to him. It was what he expected from all in the Order. Nobility and pride.

  “I am proud of you. You have a bright future here,” Yi-Mao said as he patted Kristian on the back.

  Kristian again smiled at the wise old master, it was not solely to mask his worries, and in part it was genuine. He was uplifted by the words of encouragement and was filled with the desire to earn that trust, that pride.

  …

  - Chapter Eighteen -

  Sensitive Truths

  The brown leather couch became almost unbearably uncomfortable the more frequently she sat in it. Even the coffee in the café was becoming unsatisfying, almost to the point Zhing thought she might give caffeine up altogether. She had only chosen this spot as it was an ideal vantage point to monitor Passel Tower, a twenty-storey building s
at in the business district of Paris. It was the headquarters to Leceth’s legitimate businesses; legitimate in the sense that they operated in the mainstream human world.

  Leceth often visited the building, usually once a week for a regular meeting with his top staff. It was one of the most advanced vampire-friendly buildings in the world and was the official address for a range of businesses: property management, banks, law firms. The employees of the building’s companies were predominantly human; some of them retired from long careers there completely unaware of their proximity to vampires and the sinister reality to their work.

  Zhing watched people come in and out of the rotating glass doors and her mind still wondered about how she was going to fulfill her secret mission. Finding evidence of Leceth’s involvement in Kristian’s capture or Oliver’s murder was always going to be a delicate matter and possibly an impossible one. Breaking into Passel Tower would be too risky, she thought; too dangerous even for her. For days she had watched and logged the comings and goings of noted individuals she had prior intelligence on. The exact course of action to obtain evidence had eluded her and she was beginning to worry she was going to have to give up, or try for permission to break into the ominous building she gazed upon.

  Drinking the last of her coffee, Zhing, with a gulp of disgust, considered whether she should stay and have another or head over to one of the two other locations she had been monitoring in the city. Placing the cup down she turned to grab her coat deciding that she would move on, mainly out of boredom than the thought that a change of location might prove more fruitful.

  Standing up and sliding her coat on, Zhing was shocked to hear a voice that, although had only been heard once before, was unforgettable; high-pitched and grating, she knew instantly who it belonged to.

  “Leaving my dear? Can I not buy you a drink?”

  Zhing looked at the short plump man that now stood in front of her. His chubby face rippled as a sly grin stretched his face. His small semicircular glasses rested on the tip of his round, squidgy nose. “Please stay. Let me get you something. You seem somewhat distracted, deep in thought, and I’m sure another drink will help put things into perspective,” his voice grated on Zhing and the thought of staying and talking to him repulsed her.