“Are you okay?” Andrew asked reluctantly; he wanted to read.
Kieran laughed inside, There’s that question again!
“I’m okay. The day is just getting to me and I’m beginning to think that bringing Adriana wasn’t a great idea,” Kieran replied.
“She seems to be coping well. She will be fine, Kieran; I will take her home later tonight,” the old wizard spoke over his book, not once lowering it.
“I know that she’s been strong today,” Kieran replied, “but I’m surprised that she wasn’t more angry about Jonathon not telling her.”
“Well, yes, one would’ve expected that she could have been angrier, but she and Oliver were only together briefly and whatever feelings there may have been between them, they both believed that the job was more important. Jonathon knew that, as I did, I guess he didn’t feel obliged to tell her,” Andrew said as he lowered his book.
“Obliged?” Kieran whispered. “They loved each other, Andrew! The only reason they broke up was because they were miles apart and the job, as you know, was getting in the way. It doesn’t take away the feelings they had for each other. She feels the same way about him today as she did a year ago, I can tell, I know how that feels.”
Andrew tried to lift up his book, he paused, looking over Kieran and out through the window. Something in his words had made him wonder. Kieran examined Andrew’s face, he realised the old wizard was contemplating something.
“Aren’t you afraid of death, Andrew?” Kieran seemed to randomly enquire of him.
The old man closed his book and placed it back on the seat next to him. “Afraid of death? Hmm, I suppose I am too old now to worry about that. Death comes to us all, well, to the lucky ones anyway!” With this he chuckled to himself.
“Lucky ones?” Kieran asked.
“Death, my young friend, is a gift. Everything ends, and anything that doesn’t, never changes, never grows and will never have the chance to meet its God.” Andrew continued to look past Kieran and out of the tinted, rain-streaked window.
Kieran had never heard anyone in the Order talk about God; he would not have said Andrew was a believer.
“You believe in God?” Kieran asked hesitantly.
“Of course. Do you not?” Andrew retorted
“Well, no,” Kieran answered bluntly. “I’ve never had a reason to believe. People only pray when they want something. If I ever want something badly enough, I am driven to get it myself. The idea of a god or a creator fits very nicely into our world, but isn’t a god just a person with more power than the rest of us? And at what point would you define a powerful person as a god, what power would they have to have?” Kieran spoke honestly.
“They’re good questions. However, to me, God isn’t anyone. It’s more like everyone and everything. His existence allows our and his own miracles to succeed, His through us, for the world, not against it. He is in every void and atom of you. When we die, I believe we meet our maker and they see every piece of us, they see our soul and determine our fate. So, am I worried about death? As a good, true person, I do not fear meeting my maker, I embrace it,” as Andrew spoke he looked into Kieran’s face, to scrutinise it for his reaction.
“So God cannot walk the earth? That is what you are saying?” Kieran asked.
“If He truly wanted to, I’m sure he could find a way through the world, but I really don’t see why He would need to,” Andrew answered.
“Well then, how could we determine if any given being was an incarnation of God or not? Would it be the power to destroy and create life? Does that make someone a God? Because, if so, I can do these things,” Kieran said with a frown.
Andrew appeared amused, though he grimaced initially in reply before he spoke.
“The power of which you speak certainly does not make you a god, and using that power, merely because you can, would only make you a fool.”
Kieran stared, perplexed, at his master.
“I paraphrased from an old saying, from a religion called Oridirin. Not much is known about it, but I think that quote makes it clear. To me anyway. We are not gods, Kieran, and to ever think we are would be a grave mistake. Gods do not need to prove that they can create and destroy; they created those concepts.” Andrew reclaimed and opened his book from the seat to signal that he had just said something profound and that to ask any more questions would be ignorant.
Kieran sat and wondered about what his master had just said. What did make someone a god? It was hard to imagine a god in his mind. He had been brought up with the belief in magic and now he had to think about this as well? He continued to analyse what he had heard. Was Oliver lucky then? Was he in the afterlife; with his god? What defines God? He settled his internal debate with the thought that one can only determine what one’s true beliefs are when faced with imminent mortality. That would be the point at which truth can be found. To dwell on it whilst alive would detract from the whole point of living. For Kieran, the point of living was to grow one’s soul, to better oneself; all other concerns were meaningless.
…
Zhing walked through the large oak doors to a very surprised-looking Stanley. Walking proudly across the lobby, she was in her Phoenix suit and it fitted her to perfection, always enhancing her powerful and regal appearance. She was followed by a red-faced and out-of-breath Rachel who was power-walking to keep up with Zhing’s pace.
“Stanley?” Zhing acknowledged, nodding to him as she passed the desk and headed to the elevator. Rachel, too, greeted the guard on passing; as she caught up with Zhing the lift doors opened.
“Tell me again why we just couldn’t just teleport inside?” Zhing said as she stepped into the elevator.
“Like I explained, I can’t teleport through the mystical barriers that surround the building. I’m not that powerful, and neither is any person, as far as I know,” Rachel said breathlessly as she joined Zhing in the lift. “What is that anyway?” she pointed to a silver rifle in Zhing’s hand.
“This,” Zhing replied proudly “is a gun. It is also my trophy.”
Rachel took the rifle from her and examined it. Her fingers stroked the long silver barrel and a strange sensation drifted through her body. The doors opened with a ping to the hustle and bustle of the hub. Zhing strode purposefully through the crowds, down the hallway. As she passed each person, they turned their heads and stared; everyone had been so consumed with the Jakyll dilemma that they had almost forgotten about Zhing’s mission to hunt down the Dark Phoenix.
Rachel was three steps behind Zhing, and was even more breathless as they approached Jonathon’s office. Zhing tapped on the door and waited for the reply.
“Enter,” shouted a different voice to the one they were expecting. It was Peter’s voice; the two women gave one another inquisitive looks. The door swung open and they entered. They saw Peter first, sitting on the floor in the middle of the office surrounded by piles and piles of paper. Jonathon sat at his desk, talking loudly on the phone. “Kara, I know you are busy, we all are actually. Please, please can you spare someone?” He waited for the response, “Oh, Zhing?” At this point, he looked up at Zhing standing in front of him and immediately apologised to Kara. “Yes, yes, she is here. Sorry Kara. I will get back to you later about the other thing, bye.”
As he placed the phone down, he looked up at the Phoenix and smiled, a wave of relief passing over his face. He rose from his seat and almost knocked Peter over as he enthusiastically embraced Zhing.
“I hear you have been very busy around here?” Zhing said with a kind smile.
Jonathon placed his arm around her shoulder and directed her towards his desk. “Then you have been misled!” he smiled back. “We have been ridiculously busy around here! I take it Rachel has updated you on the past month’s events?”
“Yes, she has tried,” Zhing replied looking over to Rachel who was still engrossed with the rifle.
“Well, I’m sure she has done her best,” Jonathon said as he walked over to Rachel and began t
o study the gun in her hands. “What is that?” Jonathon asked, taking the gun from her hands.
“A trophy!” Rachel said with a hint of sarcasm.
“Interesting,” said Jonathon as he twisted it around in his hands. “What do you think, Peter?”
Peter jumped to his feet and stood at Jonathon’s side, his hands eager to touch the ‘trophy’.
“Well, at a first glance, it looks Vinjian in design. Some kind of non-conventional projectile weapon,” he said as he took the gun and held it lovingly, as if it was some priceless artifact he was afraid of breaking.
“Well, Peter, I hate to place more weight on your shoulders but could you take a proper look at it now?” Jonathon said, patting him on the back. Peter glanced at him; he was intrigued by the intricate designs of the gun but something about the way Jonathon spoke made him feel like he was being sidelined. “Sure,” he replied, “I will start on it right away.” A few seconds later, he exited the room with the gun and gritted teeth.
Jonathon was glad that Peter had left so easily, without objection. He wanted a private talk with Zhing. “Rachel, if you don’t mind, I would like to speak with Zhing alone for a moment? If you like, you can go and see Kristian; I gather you are eager to see him?” He walked back over to his desk and sat down.
Rachel nodded enthusiastically; she was more than eager to see him, it was the only thing she had been able to think about. She closed the door behind her as she left the room.
“How is Kristian?” asked Zhing with a hint of concern laced in her blunt, professional voice.
“He is okay. Well, when I say okay, I mean that he will be soon. It is good to see you. This thing with the Jakyll and Kristian has changed a lot of things around here.”
It was clear from the tone of his voice and the expression on his face that he was deeply worried.
“What is our next move? Have you heard from the Council yet?”
He glanced up and spoke. “No, nothing from them yet. They are probably wondering how we dealt with it so quickly, and without any civilian casualties.” He leaned back into his chair and attempted to imagine Leceth and his followers’ reactions to the Order’s capture of one of their most dangerous weapons. “I doubt that they will let Kristian off regardless, not if they were willing to go this far, but on the bright side, I expect they will not be attempting anything like this again, not for some time anyway. They lost that fight – no casualties and the Jakyll is in our custody.” Jonathon let out a victorious chuckle laced with bitterness.
“That’s good,” Zhing said, pausing for a second. “How did you know where the Jakyll would be?”
Jonathon too drifted off for a few seconds. “You know? I’m still not entirely sure. We knew it was going to be a tourist attraction so obviously, we would have had Trafalgar Square covered anyway, but the fact that Kristian knew, just knew exactly where it was, made it a hundred times easier for us to get all our resources down there. I still don’t know how he knew. Could it be a Phoenix thing?”
She looked puzzled and replied, “I’m not sure, I couldn’t say, I have never experienced anything like that before. Obviously, I sense things but in Kristian’s case, only he knows how he got that information. Perhaps you should ask him when you get the chance. Now, do you want me to get on with writing my report?”
“No, Kristian!” Jonathon blurted out.
“Kristian what?” said Zhing, confused by this sudden outburst.
Jonathon was silent for a moment as he collected his thoughts. “Sorry, your report? Um, no that can wait. There is something I need you to do for me, for Kristian.”
She was thrown by this; it was Order procedure to write your mission report straight away. Records are the key to success, she was often reminded by Peter.
“Okay,” she said apprehensively. “What is it?”
“I want you to begin investigating Leceth. I want to know his whereabouts over this past month, who he employs, everything,” his voice was resolute.
“You want to know more about Leceth?” Her voice was uneasy. She knew the implications of doing this.
“No, not about Leceth. There are dozens of reports about him in this building. I want to know what he is doing, where he goes, who he meets with, that kind of thing.”
“You want me to spy on him, tail him?” Now she was even more uneasy.
“Look,” Jonathon said as he rose to his feet and walked across to her, “I know that this is risky and I’m not even certain that you will find anything. However, I am tired of walking on eggshells around the Council. It is vital we discover what Leceth is up to, for our sake and Kristian’s. This is, of course, to be handled with complete discretion.”
Zhing, although apprehensive about this mission, understood what was needed from her. She was a true professional and had served the Order for many years. One of her most noble qualities was her unquestionable ability to accept any mission she was given. “Okay. When do I start?” she asked.
“Go and sleep. Start as soon as you wake. Tell no one of this mission. Report only to me or Yi-Mao,” as he spoke he placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Okay. I will do, but you should know one thing. Tom is dead, I killed him.”
Jonathon felt a little disappointed, but also relieved that Tom’s reign as host of the Dark Phoenix, Kronos, was over. He had guessed as much when he had seen the rifle in Rachel’s hands.
“Okay, see Andrew before you leave and make a glimmer stone. I’ll get someone to write up a report from the impression left within it. Good work, Zhing, but for now, focus only on this mission. Put Tom to the back of your mind.”
She exited the room, not sure how she felt about Jonathon’s reaction to her news. She was still pondering on it as she drifted off to sleep that night. She slept for fifteen hours. When she woke the next day she went and saw Andrew first thing; after the glimmer stone had finished absorbing and translating her memories she left it in his care and headed straight to the Great Library, spending three hours there before slipping out of the building unseen, not to be heard from anyone at Headquarters for over a week.
…
- Chapter Sixteen -
Bedside Manner
Slowly opening his eyes, Kristian was surprised by how dark the room appeared. His vision was blurred but he could make out the silhouette of a person. Rubbing his eyes he wondered where he could be; his last memories began to play out in his mind. Thinking strangely hurt, so much so that he had to close his eyes again. His hands were now aggressively rubbing his forehead in a vain effort to relieve the pain. He again slowly opened his eyes. His vision was no longer blurry; the silhouette had been replaced by a clear image. Kristian could not believe what he was seeing. He rubbed his eyes again, this time in an attempt to wipe the image off his retinas, but it was pointless. Shock surged through his entire body and only one thought could explain what he was seeing. “Am I dead?” he asked.
“No, you’re not dead. Far from it in fact,” Oliver’s kind voice filled the room.
Kristian looked around and realised that he was not in the hospital wing where he had imagined himself to be. He was in fact in one of the Order’s sparring rooms. He looked around for other people, anyone. His mind was still plagued by the thought that he was dead, despite Oliver’s denial.
“Are you sure?” Kristian said as he sat up.
Oliver looked down and smiled at Kristian. He reached out his hand. “Would I lie to you?” he asked.
Kristian thought about it for a second, “Yes, you probably would,” he laughed as he grabbed hold of Oliver’s hand and pulled himself up.
“Well, not today!” Oliver replied.
Kristian took in Oliver’s appearance; he did not look dead. He was the same old Oliver, tall, still handsome and with the same intimidating presence that he always commanded. His sharp jawline and blonde hair was similar in appearance to his own but Oliver was nearly seven years older than he was and therefore had been blessed with growing into his looks. “If I�
�m not dead, does that mean that you are not dead?” Kristian knew that his question was stupid, but he was hopeful.
“No. Unfortunately, I am very much dead,” Oliver’s voice was filled with sadness and regret.
“So, is this some kind of dream?” Kristian looked around the sparring room again, “It’s a little bit clichéd, isn’t it?”
“Well, I suppose!” his southern American accent was strong; the roughness of his deep southern drawl suited his appearance, but not his personality.
“So what is this then? Because I am getting tired of this playing in Kristian’s head thing. You know, for once I would like to be alone in here,” Kristian shouted to empty space.
“Are you talking to me? You want me to leave!?” Oliver joked.
Kristian shook his head; despite what he had said, he was pleased to see Oliver. “Are you a memory? You aren’t actually Oliver, are you? And we are not really in this sparring room?”
“No, this is the real me. We’re not in the sparring room, you’re lying in a bed in the medical centre and I am speaking to you from, you know, the other side, so to speak.”
Kristian tilted his head to take in what Oliver was saying. It all made sense to him in a very weird way. Talking from beyond the grave did not seem so strange in the world full of vampires and magic. “So why are you talking to me?” Kristian asked.
Oliver began to walk slowly around the room as he spoke. “Well, I can only speak to you now because of your state of mind. You are pretty close to death and therefore more open to communication. Moreover, what can I talk about? Well, I can only talk about the things of which you know,” he was reminding himself of the rules he had to abide by, talking to himself more than to Kristian.
“We can only talk about stuff I know? What the hell do you mean?” Kristian asked, confused.
“It’s tough. There are these rules. Rules in life that guard the living from the dead. I’m forbidden to tell you about things that are yet to happen,” Oliver’s voice seemed far away now, distant; Kristian found himself moving closer to understand more clearly what he was saying.
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