The Stolen Karma Of Nathaniel Valentine (The Books Of Balance Book 1)
Page 34
The silhouette stood, loomed over him like the dark roof of a cave. “You know why I’m doing this to you. You know what you have, you know why I want it,” he whispered. His voice had grown cold, taut. His shape was colossal in the frame of light, had blacked it out like an eclipse.
“I don’t know who you think I am”
“I know who you are,” the shadow insisted.
The prisoner shook his head again. Even the slight movement hurt his shoulders, but he bore the pain. He had been a captive for some unknown length of time, and now he realized he was a captive for precisely the reason he feared, and he had to determine how much the shadow knew. “I don’t know,” he repeated, “who you think I am”
The shadow exploded forward, grabbed the ropes that bound the prisoner’s wrists and yanked them wildly back and forth. The pain was excruciating, and the prisoner screamed like a wounded seagull. “I know exactly who you are,” the shadow said. Still he whispered, so that the prisoner had to choke off his sobs in order to hear him, had to actually lean forward closer to the shadow to make out the words. “Do you think that you can toy with me, Uriel?” He leaned close, until his lips were so close to the prisoner’s ear that he could feel his breath, hot and moist and smelling of eucalyptus. “I know who you are.”
“You’re wrong,” he cried. Spittle flew from his lips. “You’re wrong, I’m not, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The shadow was silent for a moment. “Perhaps you’re right. You’re certainly not what I was expecting. So tell me, Uriel: are you not the salamander in the story?”
The prisoner said nothing, bit his dry, cracked lip and said nothing.
“Yes,” the shadow said. “I thought so. Now, tell me where it is.”
The prisoner barked a rough laugh, and his captor took a step back. From surprise? Uriel could only hope. His head hung heavy between his shoulders, his chin nearly touching his chest, but again he laughed. If the shadow knew his name, knew his role in the story, then he knew enough, even if he didn’t know everything. The time for feigned ignorance was over. He thrust his fright away and laughed again. “If you know who I am, why don’t you already know where it is?” Uriel asked. “Who are you? Tell me your name.”
His captor remained motionless for a space of seconds, then turned to the wall. He scratched something against the gray wall, left a raw, ragged white hash mark next to several others. Uriel counted quickly: the new mark made nine. The shadow stepped beyond the boundaries of the light. “You misunderstand the situation, Uriel,” he said from somewhere in the darkness, now closer, now further away. “I have had you for nine days now, and no one is coming to find you, because you and your fellowship are never supposed to be found. You are mine, and I want what you possess, and I mean to have it.” He reemerged into the corridor of light, a dark totem.
The twists of Uriel’s red hair swung as he shook his head. “Do you have any idea what you are dealing with? It isn’t some paltry talisman that you seek.” A new idea occurred to him, and he snorted. “Do you even know which color it is?”
His captor hunkered down again. “Indigo,” the shadow whispered, and then began to chuckle, a soft sound with no humor in it at all. It was like the sound of a man laughing at the bottom of a well, and it brought the beginnings of Uriel’s fear back.
He stared upward for a few moments, then struggled to his feet. His wrists protested, but he was beyond that now. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Let me go. Release me. You have no authority to keep me here. No harm has yet been done. None need be done.”
“Still you misunderstand.” The shadow’s voice had a tint of disgust to it.
“Why are you doing this?”
“What else can I do?”
“Let me go. Release me,” he pleaded again. “There is always a choice.”
“Pah,” the shadow spat. “You speak to me of choice? Of free will? Free will is a lie.” He moved off into the dark, then returned almost immediately, faced the light at the top of the stairs. “We are all pieces in a great game, Uriel. We have no choices, only the fates that the Source has given us.” He paused, turned to face his prisoner. “Now, where is it?”
Uriel shook his head, cast his eyes to the bare concrete floor.
“Where is it?”
He pressed his lips together and said nothing.
The shadow snapped forward, took hold of one rope and whipped it back and forth. The prisoner shook like a little girl’s doll in an angry brother’s hands. “Where is it?” the shadow snarled. “Tell me where it is.”
“Why is it so important to you?” Uriel shot back. Tears streamed down his face. His wrists were bleeding, he could feel the blood coursing down his arms in hot little rivulets. “It’s useless without all the others, and the sixth door is lost.”
The shadow took a step back, passed one hand down over its unseen face. “The sixth door is not my concern, it is the problem of another.” He sighed. “I have tired of your games. Do not press me past my limits. Tell me.”
“I won’t ever tell you. It is not meant for the likes of you.”
“You are wrong, Uriel. It was always meant for me. All of them were, since their creation.”
“You cannot make me tell you where it is hidden.”
“I can.”
“You’re insane.”
“You wound me. I am simply what I was made to be, doing what I was made to do.”
“You cannot make me tell you where it is hidden,” he repeated.
The shadow remained silent.
“Nothing you can do can harm me or make me speak. I am an angel of the Source.” He stood straighter, raised his head, and tried to call on his old power. “You have no authority over me, and I demand that you release me. You cannot make me speak.”
“Uriel,” the shadow whispered, “don’t you ever tire of being wrong?” He withdrew something from his pocket, a long, slim rectangle, and flicked his wrist. A blade shot out. He twisted it so that the light fell on it, so that the blade gleamed silver and the handle shone bright, blood red. It was a seraph’s weapon. It was the Morningstar’s weapon.
The prisoner saw it, and his eyes grew wide. “You’ll unleash something that is beyond your control,” he cried. He took a weak step back and away. “You’re insane.”
The shadow moved closer until there were only a few inches separating them. The light reflecting off of the straight razor’s blade at last illuminated the shadow’s eyes, and what Uriel saw in them turned his fright into pure terror. Because he was wrong again.
The shadow’s eyes were cold, cruel, but there was no madness in them. They were sane, and they knew exactly what they were doing.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012, 2015 by Justin Bloch
All Artwork Copyright © 2012, 2015 by Justin Bloch
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission from the author.
ISBN 978-1481045780
Cover design by Justin Bloch