Raven's Fall (World on Fire Book 2)

by Lincoln Cole

  “Will do.” She reached up and touched the glasses, and then disappeared in a blink.

  Dominick removed his glasses, frowning.

  “Frieda never showed me these,” Haatim said, holding up his pair. “I’ve seen her wearing them once in a while, but I just assumed her nearsighted.”

  Dominick chuckled. They put their glasses back on the table and headed for the door.

  “More Hunters are coming?” Haatim asked.

  Dominick nodded. “Yes, but I have no idea why.”

  “Is it because both Aram and Frieda are here?”

  Frieda had told him about their security policies and how they rarely met in person. They always sought to avoid needless risk and expense whenever necessary.

  “No,” Dominick said. “Aram called them here, not Frieda. He’s in charge of this outpost, so technically, he’s allowed to, but it still seems shady.”

  “Shouldn’t he tell Frieda?”

  “Definitely should, but he’s doing all kinds of stuff behind her back. Just last night, I had to fly Jim and Mike back to the Airport. I have no idea where they were heading.”

  Haatim hesitated. “Paris,” he said after a moment. “They are looking for someone.”

  Dominick scrunched up his face. “How do you know?”

  “I might have overheard my father talking to Jim about it,” Haatim said.

  “Did he say who they were looking for?”

  “Some woman,” Haatim said, shaking his head. “I don’t know. My father just wanted her brought here.”

  “Because of the trial?”

  “Didn’t sound like it,” Haatim said.

  Dominick fell silent for a moment. “What game is he playing at?” He scratched his chin.

  “Should we tell Frieda?”

  “You said it wasn’t about the case,” Dominick said. “Right now, that’s all she cares about. We’ll take care of Aram in a few weeks when all of this is over with, but in the short term, I think it’s best if we just keep our heads down. Besides, we have plenty of other stuff to do today.”

  “Like what?” Haatim asked.

  Dominick grinned. “Hiking. Come on, let’s get breakfast.”

  ***

  Hiking, it turned out, meant a multiple-kilometer slog through knee-deep snow. They did a circle around the hotel, spending about two hours walking.

  Dominick spoke with Haatim the entire time, asking him questions about his life and telling him things about his own. He liked to tell stories, Haatim discovered, and half of them seemed completely fictional; of that, he felt certain.

  “What about the Council?” Haatim asked while they walked. He felt cold and miserable, but determined to put up a tough front.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When did it start?”

  Dominick shrugged. “I have no idea. Not much for history. Somewhere in Europe, I think.”

  “It’s multi-religious?”

  “Yep,” Dominick said. “No true God, but there definitely is something strange out there. I used to be an atheist.”

  “Not anymore?”

  “I know there’s something out there; I’m just not quite sure it needs a label, you know?”

  Haatim nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I was a theology major, so I know a lot about world religions. They share a lot of stuff in common, and most of it can be broken down by psychology.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know how writing developed independently in different parts of the world but still shares some things in common? That’s basically the same thing with religion. It fills a need for answers in all of us.”

  “You think everyone just wants answers?”

  “And hope,” Haatim said. “It’s biological. You know how you walk into a dark house late at night, and a chair with a blanket on it suddenly looks like a bear? There’s a part of your brain that lights up, and it helps keep you alive by exaggerating threats and filling in explanations for things that aren’t quite true.

  “The same part of your brain handles religion. We have a biological need to believe in things like that, and it only makes sense that different cultures would fill that need in different ways.”

  “I see what you mean,” Dominick said. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

  “Sort of,” Haatim said. “I used to think it was just a form of comfort. Something to keep people happy and content and fill that need. Now, though, I think there’s something out there, it just doesn’t fit the labels we try to put on it.”

  Dominick nodded. “We’re almost back.”

  “Good,” Haatim said. “I’m starving.”

  They walked in silence for a couple of minutes. “Is the Council the only one like it?”

  “Nope,” Dominick said. “Hundreds of them exist. Thousands, maybe. We aren’t even the oldest one. We work with a few of them, but some seem more interested in serving their own purposes than helping people.”

  “You chase down cults?”

  “And other things.”

  “Like vampires?”

  “Haven’t heard about anything like that in ages. I guess they used to be a lot more common. Now, they just keep to themselves.”

  “Most mythology is rooted partially in fact,” Haatim said. “I just never imagined stuff like this would be real. Who funds the Council?”

  “Governments. Organizations. If you can think of them, they probably fund us. They just might not know it.”

  The hotel appeared ahead of them, and after a few minutes, they returned to the warmth. Haatim let out a sigh of relief, finding an air vent pumping out warm air and standing by it.

  “Let’s get some lunch,” Dominick said. “And then we’ll spar. Don’t worry; we won’t spend any more time outside today.”

  “Good,” Haatim said. “That felt terrible.”

  Dominick chucked. “Just a short jaunt. We’ll do a lot of hiking, and it’ll usually be a lot farther than that. You better get used to it.”

  Haatim didn’t like that idea, but maybe Dominick exaggerated it or wanted to scare him. “Should we go get changed first and put on dry clothes?”

  “Yeah,” Dominick said. They walked toward the stairs. “You were able to overhear your father earlier, and he might trust you. If you hear anything important, make sure to let me know, okay?”

  “Sure,” Haatim said.

  “I hate asking you to spy on your father …”

  “No, it’s cool, I get it,” Haatim said. “I’m not sure how much I trust him right now, anyway.”

  They climbed the stairs. By the second staircase, Haatim felt exhausted, and he panted, barely able to keep his legs going.

  “Why so many stairs?” he asked, gasping.

  “It’ll get easier,” Dominick said. “And there’s no better way to train your body. This is my stop.”

  They stood on the landing of the third flight. Haatim, still panting, had grown sweaty, and Dominick didn’t even breathe hard.

  “I think I hate you,” Haatim mumbled, resting his hands on his knees.

  “Everything is to make you stronger,” Dominick said with a grin.

  “If it doesn’t kill me.”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic. It won’t kill you.”

  “Can I get Frieda back and have her train me again? That seemed way easier.”

  “She’s busy,” Dominick said.

  “Doing what?”

  Dominick frowned. “Trying to keep Abigail alive.”

  Chapter 4

  Frieda sat across the conference room table from the digital representations of Jun Lee and Deborah Cofield. Neither of them occupied the room with her, but rather, their 3D creations came through her glasses in similarly organized spaces around the world.

  Currently, Jun lived in Japan with his family, and Deborah was out on assignment in Southeastern Georgia.

  This pair made for two of the more important and undecided voters in the upcoming trial for Abigail Dressler. Right
now, Frieda felt fairly certain that she had six votes on her side, and that another five wouldn’t vote on her side, no matter how hard she pleaded.

  She’d lobbied hard for support during these last few weeks, and now the trial loomed only a few days away. Jun and Deborah might be the last supporters she needed to solidify Abigail’s freedom.

  She had two weeks left to convince at least one of them of Abigail’s trustworthiness. Aram worked just as hard to swing them to his side, but Abigail felt mostly certain that he wouldn’t manage to get both of them.

  Jun, a small man in his seventies, had a balding head with leathery skin and a kind face. When younger, he’d become known for his loud boisterousness, and notorious for partying and living life to the fullest. Those years had passed him by, but he still celebrated life.

  He’d always been honorable and treated Frieda in a fatherly way, having been close friends with her real father, who’d died some twenty years earlier.

  For all intents and purposes, he gave a solid vote in her corner on most decisions. The problem was, he also knew about Abigail’s past. He’d been there when Arthur’s family got murdered. He’d been there when Arthur first rescued Abigail from the cult.

  Jun remembered the days when she had helped Arthur work against the Council, undermining their authority to keep her alive. He’d forgiven Abigail, but it still made a sore spot between them. Obstinate in his belief that Abigail offered a threat to their security, he believed that she should have been dealt with swiftly and completely during those first days after her rescue.

  He’d softened his opinion of her over time, as she proved herself, but not much. Now, he had a second chance to vote to end Abigail’s life. Frieda had to pray that, this time, he would vote differently.

  Deborah, on the other hand, a quiet and withdrawn Southern woman, felt unwilling to make waves and stand up for what’s right. A Baptist, and in her forties, she had fiery red hair and a big smile full of pearly whites.

  And, although incredibly smart with an agile mind, Frieda didn’t hold her in high regard. The woman seemed indecisive and weak and would vote with whichever side she felt likeliest to win.

  Frieda’s job was to convince Deborah that she’d already won. Hard to do when the trial hadn’t even started.

  Both wore virtual glasses to create the facsimile that they were in the same meeting place. The specs looked especially awkward on Deborah’s face.

  “Thank you, both, for speaking with me.” Frieda nodded to each in turn.

  “Of course,” Jun said. “I trust you’ve arrived safely in Lausanne, and your trip went well?”

  “I have,” Frieda said. “The snow is packed down tight but looks beautiful.”

  “Send us pictures!” Deborah said.

  Frieda smiled pleasantly at her, careful not to let out a sigh of annoyance. Martha monitored this call and would take care of such a trivial detail. With important things to discuss, it proved hard to take someone like Deborah seriously.

  “Of course. I’m sure you both understand the nature of this conversation?” Frieda said.

  “We do.” Deborah nodded. “It deals with the upcoming trial of Abigail Dressler and her dismissal from the Order of Hunters.”

  Frieda bit back her anger at the characterization. This wasn’t about Abigail’s dismissal, but about her execution, and talking about it any other way came from Aram’s propaganda. He’d attempted to mask his true intentions. Make it sound less threatening, and people won’t consider it so important.

  She forced herself to nod, however, wanting to keep the conversation on track and not get into an argument with the Southern belle.

  “Yes. It is about the trial.”

  “These are serious accusations,” Jun said. “Do you want us to believe that they are all lies?”

  Frieda had to be careful with what she said because Jun knew as well as she did that much of what had been said was true. Abigail, a firebrand, broke rules all the time. The trick lay in downplaying the minor ones and skating around anything more serious.

  “Many of them are exaggerated charges, as well as some that are completely unsubstantiated,” Frieda said. “Abigail has been a member of the Order for seven years, and Arthur himself trained her. She’s one of our best.”

  “She was the one who killed Arthur, was she not?” Deborah asked.

  This comment felt harder to let slide. Frieda wanted nothing more than to dive through the satellite connection and strangle Deborah where she sat.

  “Relax,” Martha’s voice said through the speakers. Her voice sounded soothing. “Take a moment.”

  “There were underlying circumstances outside anyone’s control,” Frieda said through gritted teeth. “The Council’s inaction put Arthur into the situation that cost him his life, and we can see from hindsight that the decisions we made in the matter proved sorely inadequate for the events that transpired.”

  Deborah frowned. “We had no way to know something like that would happen.”

  “If you had listened—”

  “These events have passed.” Jun held up his hand and spoke softly. “What’s done is done, and it isn’t worth regretting our mistakes. All we can do is look forward.”

  Frieda took a deep breath. “Agreed. Abigail risked her life to save the people of Raven’s Peak.”

  “And disobeyed direct orders at the same time,” Deborah said. “An order you gave her.”

  “Her disobedience saved us from murdering thousands of innocents,” Jun said, this time directing his statements at Deborah. “I, for one, feel grateful not to have that blood on my hands.”

  Deborah cast him a glance, and then nodded. She admitted, “True. We do owe Abigail for her quick decisions in Raven’s Peak.”

  “Yet, these other accusations cannot be dismissed so lightly.” Jun turned back to Frieda.

  “Many of the accusations stem from unverifiable sources,” Frieda said.

  “Delaphene claims Abigail made a deal with her,” Jun said.

  Frieda had expected this because the rumor flew all through the Council. Though true, she didn’t feel terribly concerned with it because no one else could prove it. Delaphene made for a loose cannon, and if Aram tried to use her as a witness, it could backfire in his face.

  “You would trust the word of a demon and notorious liar?”

  “What reason could she have to lie?”

  “What reason would she have to tell the truth?” Frieda asked. “Other than discrediting one of our own and sowing dissent in our ranks.”

  “I admit, it is only hearsay,” Jun said. “Not verifiable.”

  “So, I trust you won’t give it much weight in the coming trial?”

  “None,” Deborah said. “Delaphene’s tried things like this before. I, for one, won’t take her seriously.”

  “Nor I,” Jun said. “Such an accusation, without verification, is useless.”

  “Good,” Frieda said. “I’m glad that is settled.”

  “Do you have anything else you wish to discuss?” Jun asked. “More accusations you wish to dispel before the trial?”

  Frieda fell silent for a moment, pondering her best approach to deal with the situation. She had other things she could bring up to discuss, but felt unsure if it would be her best move.

  For example, Abigail had gone to see Sara and communicated with the young girl. That made a much more serious crime than speaking with Delaphene or many of the others because it was verifiable and in direct disobedience of an order from the Council.

  However, no one talked about it, so it didn’t seem that word of the communication had made it past Frieda’s reports. To bring it up now could turn it into a topic of discussion in the trial, and Frieda might inadvertently doom Abigail.

  However, not bringing it up here, and then having Aram raise it during the trial, would prove devastating as well. If she warned them that such a transgression had occurred, she might be able to smooth things over and convince them that it wasn’t nearly as b
ig a deal as it seemed. After all, Sara was safe, and Abigail had helped her by healing the scar on her forehead.

  Still, it would be a gamble.

  Frieda elected not to bring it up. Not yet, at least. If it became a rumor, she would contact them again and face the problem head on. For now, she would hope that it didn’t show up.

  She took another tack in the conversation instead by addressing the elephant in the room, “You know what it will mean if Aram is successful in discrediting Abigail, correct?”

  The other two Council members exchanged a glance.

  “Abigail will be put to death,” Jun said. “She knows too much about the structure and membership of the Council.”

  “I assure you,” Deborah said. “That we do not take our responsibility in this matter lightly.”

  “It’s been hundreds of years since such a decision got passed down,” Frieda said. “And, in that case, it was clear betrayal from one of our own. Abigail would never betray us, and though she acts selfishly and makes mistakes, she is loyal.”

  “What is loyalty apart from following orders?” Deborah asked. “Her job isn’t to question or second guess our decisions. Her job is to protect us.”

  “And she will continue to do so,” Frieda said. “Arthur sacrificed everything to protect Abigail and keep her safe.”

  “She isn’t Arthur.” A hint of coldness crept into Deborah’s tone. “If memory serves, Abigail had already gotten slated for execution once before in her life.”

  “That happened years ago,” Frieda said. “And that decision got revoked.”

  “Out of fear and respect for Arthur.”

  “Arthur saved all of our lives on countless occasions,” Frieda said. “He protected our families and did everything we ever asked of him, bar one decision to save the life of a little girl. All I ask is that Abigail be given the same opportunity to prove herself that we gave Arthur.”

  They all stayed silent for a long moment, and then Jun met Frieda’s gaze. “I will take your words under advisement. I cannot speak for Deborah, but I owe Arthur and Abigail many debts. I fear, however, that her actions may be shown to be inexcusable, and if the evidence borne against her is incontrovertible, I will have no choice but to side with Aram.”