“Where is he?” enquired the first.
“He has to be in here. Shit,” the second replied.
Both spoke in English with distinctive accents that were clearly not British. Two of them, Kristian thought to himself. The room was pitch-black and he was hard-pressed to see anything, the blue flash having ruined his night vision completely. Raising himself up slightly, his hand gripped tightly to the top of the sofa as he gingerly peered over the top. The silhouettes of two large men were visible in the doorway; squinting his eyes to try and pinpoint their position exactly, Kristian realised he was going to be forced to act on his instincts, rather than skill.
Lifting himself upright to his knees, he threw out his hand in the direction of the doorway. The room was suddenly lit by a flash of dazzling jade light as a bolt of energy left Kristian’s hand and flew towards the intruders. As he began to drop back down to the safety of his sofa hiding place, he glimpsed the bolt of light he had just launched hit its intended target square and cleanly in the face. Down on the floor Kristian was unable to see the outcome of the impact but merely heard a loud thud as his victim’s body landed heavily on the floor.
A jubilant smile crossed his face, I will definitely be trying that again! he thought to himself, but before he could move, blue light jetted across the room accompanied by a deafening crackle. Originating from where Kristian presumed the second man must be a further bolt of lightning-like energy arced towards him. As these forks of blue electricity-like energy hit the sofa, sparks and flames flew off in every direction, instantly transforming into a blazing inferno; chunks of material and wood rained down about the room. Kristian, covered in tiny flames that began to burn his body, rolled on the floor in an attempt to extinguish them; he knew he had to escape quickly before he succumbed to fire or his tormentor. Briskly leaping to his feet, he dived forward and rolled alongside his bed; clambering backwards he found refuge against the separating wall. As he moved swiftly and elegantly through the room his attacker tried in vain to blast him with the blue jets of energy. The electrical charge bounced off everything it hit, discharging sparks up into the air and setting fire to the carpet and bed covers. The air soon began to thicken quickly with smoke and fumes. Kristian was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, he knew he had to move against the last attacker; now or never.
Closing his eyes, he thought back to the training he had been taught over two years ago; listening hard for his Phoenix, he was asking for advice. The noise in the room was deafening, the several small fires burning throughout were crackling and spitting, the constant blasting of the wall Kristian was pinned against by his attacker made it nigh on impossible to concentrate. With so much going on around him he knew he would never be able to reach the level of meditation and focus he would need to talk to his Phoenix. What he needed to do was to act expeditiously.
Moving back towards the sofa and his unseen foe, Kristian nimbly stretched out his hand from which emanated a large gleaming jade-coloured shield protecting his entire body. His attacker’s energy impacted it with immense force, but no flames came off it, no sparks were produced. Kristian began to navigate past the sofa, through the flames, ensuring his arm was out and his shield was up. He angled it towards his attacker and with each step he got closer and closer to him. Using both hands his attacker’s face was showing signs of fatigue as his blue jets of electricity started to become weaker and sporadic. It wasn’t long before Kristian stood directly in front of the shadowy figure, with his green force field still emerging from his palms, large and strong. His attacker, weakened, could no longer stretch out his hands; he was pressed against the wall, arms forced against his sides. Sensing his opponent was now compromised Kristian quickly dropped his shield; as he lowered the projecting hand his other fist speedily swung through the air until it connected with the man’s face with a rather squelching thud.
Falling to the floor, the figure was rendered unconscious from one clean and perfect punch. Turning around and looking at his room he couldn’t believe his eyes: in no more than ten minutes, the place that had been his home from home was now unrecognisable and fiercely ablaze, his possessions, the file; all was lost.
Wanting to waste no more time dwelling on what was lost he quickly exited the door. The alarm in the hostel suddenly began to clang, the hallway instantly flooded with people, all trying to escape. Quickly glancing behind him he could see the figures of his attackers sprawled out, unmoving on the floor, almost one on top of the other. He contemplated going back and dragging them from the burning room but he shrugged off the thought. I’m not that kind of hero, he told himself.
Brushing past person after person he exited the hallway and entered a stairway; he wanted to leave the area before any official arrived. The fire door at the bottom of the stairs was wide open and jostling through the crowds Kristian was finally outside staring up at his window above, now fiery red with smoke billowing out of it. Around him hordes of people were all staring and pointing up towards his room.
“Are you okay?” a voice asked.
“Yes, I’m good thanks,” replied Kristian, pausing in mid-sentence to realise that he was speaking English, responding to a question that had been asked in English.
Turning to look more closely at the man who had spoken, he jerked his arm out and grabbed the man’s outstretched hand, which had been reaching for his chest. Kristian’s grip locked tightly onto his questioner’s wrist, which now pressed against Kristian’s chest. Though his reflexes were fast they weren’t quick enough! He had been determined to throw the hand off his chest but was finding himself becoming immobile. A weird sensation drifted throughout his entire body, a freezing bleakness steadily permeated his being; his mind drifted, he could think of nothing else other than the death of his brother so many years ago. Kristian’s eyes became increasingly heavy; the numbness spread, along with the cold, all over his body and into his limbs. His hands dropped to his sides, releasing the lock he had on his opponent’s wrist.
Staring into the man’s eyes, they seemed somewhat familiar to him. Looking down, his eyes drifted to his hands, his veins appeared thick and dark green. Unable to concentrate on anything at all, his eyes finally closed and as he slumped forward his vanquisher caught him before he hit the ground. Kristian’s head flopped, now pale and looking lifeless, veins protruding, ropey thick and seaweed green.
…
Not sure whether he had opened his eyes or not Kristian turned his head in both directions unable to make anything out. The room was darker than anything he had experienced before, a sudden dread pervaded his mind: I’m dead! The feeling in his chest felt like a blade, penetrating deep, the sensation though painful was strangely reassuring, at least he could feel something and logically this meant he was still alive! His heartbeat was loud and fast, the sound reverberated across the room; apart from his breathing, it was the only thing he could hear.
He began to think about the last thing he could remember; the events of the attack were being played out in his mind. Analysing it step by step, he could not help but be critical of his performance; he was much too slow and made the wrong decisions. As he tried to rise to his feet pain shot up through his legs and into his arms. Though unable to see them he could feel restraints holding his limbs tightly to the chair he was sitting on. Feeling for what he could touch, Kristian could tell that the chair was wooden and he was bound to it with a thin plastic-fibre rope.
He began to wriggle, furiously attempting to loosen the straps and break free. But as he struggled the ropes seem to tighten and the pain increased as they began to dig deep into his flesh. His skin began to crack under his frantic movements; blood began to trickle down his hands and drip onto the floor. His heart raced faster and with it the blood trickled more rapidly from the deep wounds; he knew he had to think of a way to escape as his efforts, so far, were less than fruitless.
Trying to calm himself down he took a breath and identified his first priority – ‘survey and evaluate one’s surrou
ndings’, in the wise words of Yi-Mao. For this it was obvious he desperately needed a source of light to illuminate the room and to achieve this he was going to have to rely on his non-palm projection technique, which, he would freely admit, he had never mastered to an adequate level. But he had to try; closing his mind and searching deep within, he revisited his training, the skills he had been taught. Using the energy from his Phoenix, he began to imagine a small sphere of light hovering a metre in front of him. Within seconds a soft jade light started to fill the room, as there, floating above him, a shining, swirling globe of green light had materialised.
Kristian attempted to twist himself as best he could, quickly glancing at his surroundings. The room was bare, grey brick walls with no paint or wallpaper. Covered in damp and dirt the only objects in the room other than the chair appeared to be some old shelf fittings, the shelving itself missing, fastened to the walls. Though rusty, and at least two metres from the ground, the iron brackets appeared sturdy and appeared to have somewhat sharp edges. Shadows darkened, the globe overhead that had started the size of a tennis ball had shrunk over the preceding seconds and was now no bigger than a spinning penny. The green light continued to diminish until it finally vanished from sight and the room returned to darkness.
Closing his eyes and doing his best to concentrate, Kristian was just in the midst of producing another ball of energy when a loud screeching noise broke the quiet and an intensive white light pervaded the room. Looking up, Kristian could see a door directly opposite him; light flooded into the room like water through a dam. Appearing to curve, the light bent around a figure standing in the doorway. Striding rapidly straight towards him, the figure lifted his left arm above his head and immediately swung it swiftly down to strike Kristian’s face violently.
Dazed by the sudden blow and spitting a mouthful of blood to the floor, Kristian raised his head to find the face of his abuser. There, standing in front of him, was the man who had so easily apprehended him earlier, or however long ago it was now. There had been a spark of recognition at their prior meeting at the hostel but now a sudden realisation hit Kristian and a name projected itself across his mind: Canola.
Canola, a renowned hired hand for those who required a cold, callous brute to do their dirty work, a man to fear.
Kristian had seen his face many times during his early training; though he had perused many mugshots and files of those the Order had regular encounters with, Canola was one of a few that had stuck in his mind both for his ugliness and the fearsome attacks and murders he was responsible for.
“Well, well. I’m more than a little surprised that the Order has sent you on your own or did you come with someone else? Have you got to check back with the Order?” Canola rubbed his hands together as he spoke, his voice cold and with a hint of glee.
Kristian considered not speaking; would silence work, he wondered? Though he could have answered the man with the repetition of name, rank and number, toeing the line to try and placate Canola, he felt he would give a little sass.
“Check in, should’ve done it hours ago. And alone, well maybe, maybe not. The Order is fully aware of my whereabouts and I’m sure by now that they’re already on their way.” Kristian spoke with confidence; even though he knew his words were false, his lips stretched in an effort to form a smile.
Canola laughed, the sound deep and echoing in the dank, neglected room.
“You can wish, kid, you can wish! Let me tell you this. You, my friend, need to check in at three later today. You came alone. And no one is coming for you. Not in time anyway,” Canola mocked.
Kristian’s lips twitched for an instant but his smile remained, “Well, if that’s what you think. But if I don’t check in, they’ll know something’s not right.”
Canola’s eyes looked deep into Kristian’s, greatly unnerving Kristian who could do nothing but stare back. Lowering his body Canola moved closer and began to put his weight onto Kristian’s firmly tied legs.
Leaning further forward Canola said without any emphasis, “Maybe after about a day or two, your guys might begin to get suspicious.” Kristian nodded in agreement.
“But that will not do you any good. Because you’ll be dead by then,” Canola said with a dark sinister grin.
The words hit Kristian like another blow to his face. His smile faded as Canola’s grew.
Rising to his feet Canola walked out of the room.
Sitting there imprisoned by the rope Kristian could not help but be overwhelmed with fear; he knew that he needed to be level-headed and emotionless, be collected and resolute, but his mind flooded with thoughts about the prospect of his own death.
Re-entering the room some minutes later, Canola walked in with another figure; again the face seemed familiar to Kristian. The astonished look on Kristian’s face made Cable laugh, “Thought I burned alive back in your room? Left me there to die, that wasn’t very good of you! Your friends at the Order wouldn’t be too impressed.”
With his head angled towards the floor only Kristian’s eyes looked up to watch Cable as he spoke. Shifting his eyes between the pair he began to work on his escape plan once again. To his delight Canola flicked a switch on the wall and the room lit up. Though only a dull white light, less like that which had flooded the room from outside, it was still illuminating enough.
Cable and Canola began to move towards him, Canola resumed his place resting on Kristian’s knees whilst Cable circled him and then stopped behind him placing his hands on to his shoulders.
“I can’t believe they sent you on your own. I was so hoping to kill more of your scum myself,” Cable’s voice sounded much like Canola’s but younger almost childlike.
“I’m sorry about that. You’re just going to have to put up with just my blood on your hands,” Kristian replied, feeling glad for once that he had come alone.
A roar of laughter burst from both men.
“We wish, I wish,” said Canola raising a knife towards Kristian’s throat, “you see, we’re not allowed to kill you. Unfortunately for you.”
“Unfortunately?” said Kristian.
“Yeah, unfortunately. Well, you see, I would like to, just want to place my hands on your head and fry your brain, while Canola would more than likely wish to drain your body of every drop of energy it has. But, alas, we are forbidden to; we have our orders,” Cable leant down almost whispering into his ear.
“Orders? To be honest, I wouldn’t like to die in either of those ways, thank you,” said Kristian.
Both men guffawed in unison, their eyes meeting over Kristian’s head.
“Oh you will be wishing for us to kill you. Trust me! As you probably know, we’re just the hired help, paid to bring scum like you in. Our boss wants to, I mean he needs to, finish you off himself,” Cable said, his back straight and speaking forward as if proudly to the world.
“Why?” Kristian said his voice inquisitive.
“Well,” pausing for an instant Canola began to think about what he was about to say. He enjoyed antagonising the Phoenix. Such a stuck-up bunch, so pompous, so bold, so very over-confident were they! It was an amazing feeling to be the one with the power! With that in mind, he wondered what he would be allowed to say? If his boss knew what he had already divulged he would be in trouble. But then again he isn’t ever going to find out and Canola was having so much fun!
“Well our boss is into collecting,” both men sniggered again, “he has this ritual he performs, awful painful it is, but so fun to watch. He chants several haunting incantations and then takes out some old blade, something called the ‘Sword of Conccoti’ or something like that, and he uses it to cut out your beating heart,” Canola’s words instantly permeated through Kristian’s muddled thoughts into his consciousness. He had finally got the answers to his questions but they offered him no comfort, as all he could think about now was, That’s how I’m going to die.
“Well, when Leceth cuts out your heart, you’ll still be awake and aware. Well, for a bit, the previo
us guy didn’t last long, a couple of seconds before he conked out,” said Cable with a sadistic smile on his face that was wiped off when he looked at Canola and realised what he had just said.
Kristian heard Cable’s words but it took him a few seconds to process them; his mind was deliberating about death, the ritual and Oliver.
“Leceth,” Kristian mouthed, almost soundlessly. Canola rose to his feet and struck Kristian across the face in a vain belief that he may forget Cable’s words. Cable wondered if what he had said would get him into serious trouble, but on second thoughts he knew it didn’t matter. Soon Leceth would be here, soon the Phoenix would be dead and the Order of Light would be none the wiser.
Canola left the room again with Cable quickly following. Kristian’s body uncontrollably burst into frantic wriggling, again his skin bled but he didn’t feel pain, it was drowned out by the panic swimming through his mind.
“That’s not going to cut it. You won’t get out of those restraints,” said Canola walking back into the room brandishing a grey-coloured piece of pottery. “You see this,” he said raising the distinctive vase-shaped pottery in front of Kristian’s eyes, “well, Leceth is on his way here now, three hours he will be back in Berlin and performing the ritual. And not long after that, kiddo, your heart will be in this jar!” Canola jigged the urn in front of Kristian’s eyes, taunting him with it.
The urn was the size of large jug, it had strange engravings all around it and was dark grey in colour; it was like nothing Kristian had ever seen before. A large distinctive mark, a symbol, stretched across both the face of the urn and its lid.
The Phoenix Chronicles_Alone in the Light Page 17
