The Airel Saga Box Set: Young Adult Paranormal Romance

by Aaron Patterson

CHAPTER XIV

  Cape Point, South Africa—Present Day

  KREIOS DECIDED TO MAKE landfall in an isolated spot. Cape Point provided that in spades.

  An isthmus that projected from the continent, it was the south-westernmost point of Africa, and it divided the Atlantic Ocean from the Indian Ocean. The land raced upward from sea level like a scalded cat, its steep slopes creating precipitous and sheer drops from dizzying heights to the crashing surf below.

  Kreios swooped in along the tops of the waves as he approached, feeling the salt spray in his face as he went. Considerably far below the Cape Point Lighthouse, he alighted gently on the cluster of rocks that El had heaped up here as a boundary to the deep.

  “This far and no further,” he said to himself.

  He scrambled quickly up the rocks toward safer altitudes, reflecting on the sheer boldness he had employed to rescue Airel’s body from the water what seemed like only yesterday. Too late. Still, he wondered. Why had I not drowned, then? I should have been utterly swamped and useless. He wasn’t sure why, at this point, he had even attempted it. He had known it was suicide. Perhaps that was why. And yet El in His infinite wisdom had tweaked the situation, as He so often did. But why?

  Kreios climbed upward, away from the dangerous crashing waves to safety. He could remember: as he had rescued Airel’s already dead body, the way he had actually gained speed underwater. It was impossible.

  “With El,” he said, finally gaining a rude little path on which he could walk from there on, “all things are possible.”

  “And impossible that an angel should be saying so,” he added as an epilogue. Ah, if she could hear me now. Which she? Any of them. All of them.

  Rage once again took him by the heart, stabbing its poisoned blade deep into the center of his will, radiating out from there in manipulative currents that told him where to go, what to do.

  A noise in the hardy shrubs off to his left set him on edge, and he drew his sword.

  Just in time, too, because a baboon leaped out at him for crowding its turf too closely. Kreios reacted swiftly with his blade, hacking the unfortunate beast clean in two. It was a pity. He was hungry, but baboon was not a sweet meat. Terrible for food, carnivores. These are the work of the devil anyhow. Brute, savage things.

  He left the useless bits of carcass where they lay and didn’t bother cleaning his blade, resheathing it in the scabbard on his back under his hoodie. The next member of the Brotherhood he encountered would commingle its blood with that of the baboon. It would be two of a kind, then. Fitting. Kreios continued on up the path.

  ***

  Ascension Island—Present Day

  “WHERE DO WE START?” I asked, bewildered.

  “Witnesses,” Michael said.

  “Wait,” Ellie said. “I need a moment.” She closed her eyes and sat down on the tarmac. Several minutes elapsed.

  I nudged Michael. “Dude. What is she doing?”

  He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Communing with her ancestors?”

  “Shut up, you two. I’m trying to feel which way it went. I’m trying to do something here.”

  “Feel … which way … it … went?” I asked.

  Ellie did not look up at me as she rebuked me. “Listen, mate. You have your gifts, I have mine. Don’t interrupt me again; you’re wasting time.”

  Humbled, I leaned into Michael’s chest and said softly, “Uh-oh. I’ve gone from ‘girlie’ to ‘mate.’ Now I’m lumped in with you.” I grimaced at him.

  “You’re totally screwed,” he whispered.

  More agonizingly silent and motionless moments went by. It killed me. Never mind that my friend Kim wasn’t even herself anymore. Never mind that whatever part of her I had loved for so many years was now probably lost forever in the smashing of her mind. She was shattered now, but I still felt crazed about finding her. Even if it was only her body, even if she was just an unholy habitation for some overly ambitious demon. Even if it meant mortal single combat between us, I was desperate to find my Kimmie.

  Ellie broke the silence. “East,” she said, her eyes still closed. “It’s east.”

  “I know why you’re calling her it, but I don’t like it.”

  “I’m not calling her it. I’m calling the Bloodstone it. There’s still a difference.”

  My heart was actually hurt more by the prospect that Kim was somehow still there, still suffering under all the garbage being poured out on her. “We’ve gotta find her.”

  “Working on it,” Ellie said, sitting still. Her tone of voice was as if she was sitting at some control panel, working dials and switches as she gazed deeply at some readout or something.

  I was dying to ask her what she was doing and how she was doing it. But my love for Kim, whatever remained of her, surpassed my curiosity.

  “Okay, we’re good,” Ellie said finally, opening her eyes. She sprang up from the pavement and grabbed my hand, pulling me along. “Walk and talk, girlie. You too, Commando Joe. We need all hands on deck now.”

  “What’s going on?” I hazarded a question as we ran toward the hangars.

  “Kreios was here,” Ellie said.

  “What? When?”

  “Day or two at most.”

  I wanted to skip for joy. We were getting close. I wondered why I couldn’t feel him, couldn’t reach him in my mind. It annoyed me that Ellie could and I couldn’t, but should have been able to.

  Ellie continued to drag me along; she was faster than she looked. Michael was falling behind, though he was sprinting and trying his best to keep up with us. “Hey,” I said, “wait for Michael. Hey.” The pace wasn’t slowing. “Hey, Ellie, where are we going?”

  “I’m looking for a tool,” she shouted at me, exasperated.

  We ducked in and out of open doors, around corners, looking for this tool, whatever it was, in every shed and hangar in the area. Occasionally the odd mechanic or private pilot would look up at us as we sprinted from one place to another, popping our heads into and out of doorways.

  Finally, around the back of one of the hangars, there was a small shed rotting away in a state of rusty dilapidation, its corrugated metal sides and roof evoking something out of a role-playing video game. Ellie, still grasping my hand, gave a final burst of speed for the structure and kicked the door down. “There.” she shouted in triumph.

  I didn’t get it at first. I was looking for some kind of hand tool, falling for, as Ellie had put it earlier, basically whatever my mind expected to find. I didn’t understand fully until Michael finally caught us up, panting furiously.

  He placed one hand against the doorframe and looked into the darkness within the shed. “Whoa,” he said hoarsely. “A Bowler Wildcat.”

  CHAPTER XV

  LIKE I HAD ANY idea what a Bowler Wildcat was. Boys and their ridiculous off-roaders. And of course it was looming hugely in the shed, unmistakable had I known we were looking for a racing truck.

  But I found out soon enough that it was indeed a tool. A tool for seriously fast going on any terrain. How did I find that out? Easy: Five minutes after we found the thing, we were racing east across a bumpy field of volcanic rock like it wasn’t even there.

  Since it was a two-seater, I had to sit on Michael’s lap the whole time, and contrary to what I might have thought, it wasn’t even close to fun. My head banged against the roll cage and the windows, my butt banged against his lap, my head pounded with the noise, and Ellie never slowed down through all of it.

  “You’re a crazy driver,” I shouted at her. But I endured it for the possibility of being able to help Kim.

  All Ellie did was drop the hammer, accelerating across the rocky undulating hills until it felt like we were either flying or sailing—I couldn’t tell which.

  “So where are we going?” Michael asked, his voice cracking against the noise and heat of the cramped enclosed space.

  Ellie pointed straight ahead and straight up. “There. Green Mountain. That’s where Kreios was and that’s where the Blo
odstone is.” The racing engine roared even louder, and we were gone in a cloud of dust.

  ***

  Schiphol, Amsterdam—Present Day

  SCHIPHOL AIRPORT IN AMSTERDAM was one of the busiest air terminals in Europe. Flights came in from and departed to nearly every continent. Great walls of steel and glass enshrouded it in a shrine to the sleek and modern. People from every tribe and nation walked its corridors every day.

  Among them were two men lately of America, specifically Boise, Idaho. They walked and talked. Their layover would last only about one more hour and then they would have to board their plane for Cape Town via Johannesburg.

  “You know, at some point I’m going to have to use the restroom,” Harry said to his companion. “What will you do then?”

  “You wanna go? Let’s go.”

  “What, together?”

  “Certainly. Might as well get it over with.”

  Harry shrugged and kept walking toward the sign for the men’s room. “What’re you gonna do? Lend me a hand as well?”

  “You’re not funny at all,” Airel’s father said.

  “I think it’s a fair question, since you’re nannying me.”

  “No, Harry. You’re a big boy. I trust you not to soil yourself.”

  Harry grinned a little at the perverse tête-â-tête, but mostly he grinned at the idea of what he was planning. “You know, friend, I’m going to need a minute or two here …”

  He looked at Harry. “Fine. That’s fine. You go back one out and take your time with it. I’ll be waiting at the sinks when you’re done.”

  “It’s a lot of paperwork. If you know what I mean,” Harry said. “I tend to take my time in only two areas of my life, and this is one of them.”

  “I’m not asking what the other one is.”

  They walked into the restroom, Harry leading the way. He selected the farthest stall and walked straight for it. As he turned to close the door, his hand absentmindedly grasped its sleek metal top edge. He did not have time to latch it.

  Airel’s father, following Harry, did not hesitate an instant. He removed his pen from his shirt pocket in mid-stride and aimed the point discreetly at the door. The other men in the large restroom went about their own business as men do, making no conversation and not desirous of it. He pressed the pen’s engage/retract button as it made contact with Harry’s stall door, releasing a bio-EMP pulse into and through it, energizing the door with a carefully engineered amount of voltage. It was just enough, and not too much, to accomplish a predetermined effect. It had taken years of R&D in three labs spread across two continents to develop the weapon. But of course, these were all just bullet points in a sales pitch, one Airel’s father had cycled through with many a secret and elite client.

  The bio-EMP pulse terminated its fury in the center of Harry’s chest, instantly arresting his heart and contracting selected slow-twitch muscles on his body—the specific muscles that produce the fetal position.

  Harry thudded into something. Airel’s father opened the stall door to confirm the kill.

  Harry was seated on the toilet; he had involuntarily soiled his expensive trousers. His torso leaned back to one side, propped up by the toilet paper dispenser. His head had knocked against the tile wall, his eyes wide and glassy. A trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth.

  He was dead. Airel’s father retreated, closing the stall door.

  It had only taken half a second. Airel’s father swept the room with experienced eyes as he moved smoothly toward the adjacent stall, as if that was what he had been doing all along. When he turned, he noticed one man looking in his direction, disturbed by the racket Harry had raised as he had so violently sat down. He shrugged at him, hiked his thumb over his shoulder at Harry’s stall and said, “Lots of paperwork,” and smiled. The man rolled his eyes and left.

  Airel’s father entered his own stall and closed the door. Perfect timing. He had to pee like a maniac. He would be landing in Cape Town in about sixteen hours. He could maybe catch up on some sleep. He caught a whiff from next door. Whoa, Harry. You stink.

  ***

  Cape Point, South Africa—Present Day

  KREIOS STOLE SOME WHEELS from the car park, the British way to say “parking lot.” Details mattered, and he made mental notes to himself to blend in as much as possible. It was an old Toyota Land Cruiser pickup. Decades old, the design didn’t stand out on South African roads, and it didn’t have much in the way of anti-theft measures. Just get in and go. He drove calmly, just like he owned it, right up the M64 to the M4, headed for Cape Town.

  He was headed for one particular building. But he didn’t want to allow his mind to rest on that too long.

  What’s the plan? He had to admit, he didn’t really have one, beyond one of two scenarios: One, go in guns blazing, figuratively or not, and take as many of them with him as possible. Two, he would take them out surreptitiously in small groups, keep them guessing, keep them afraid. After all, they had to know he was coming.

  Yes. That could be a problem, too.

  This was what was left of the whole range of choices he had had not too long ago. He had whittled them down to two primary options. One of the most portentous choices he had made right from the beginning was to submit to naked rage, and this is what it had left him. But had he not been justified in giving in to it?

  Was it not a just war he now waged against the Brotherhood? Had they not taken everything from him?

  How can it be? He reflected on the very reasons he’d had for abducting Airel in the first place. He knew how special she was; that’s why he took her. He knew she had to be set apart, protected, watched closely, instructed, trained. He had heard clearly what El had told him, that she was absolutely crucial to the turning of … historical events. He dared not allow his mind to dwell upon these, even in brief.

  But all was lost.

  How can that be possible?

  Have I missed something, El? He drove on in silence as the sun set in the sundering west. I thought it would not be possible for her to die, ultimately, given what You told me. I thought I could protect her. I thought my efforts would be adequate.

  He could think of the situation no longer. He had limited endurance these days. He could take only so much reflection on Airel before he sank either into despair or rage.

  He had to find someplace to stay that was crowded, somewhere he wouldn’t be noticed, somewhere the stolen Toyota would blend right in if parked for several days. He needed time to strategize and think.

  He turned right with the light onto Atlantic in Muizenberg and drove a little way.

  Then, on Alexander Road, he veered left. This is as fitting place as any.

  There would be murders here; it was inevitable with Kreios. Soon.

  CHAPTER XVI

  Arabia—1232 B.C.

  IT WAS DARK. PERFECT.

  Uriel sat on her bed and concentrated on the lesson Uncle Yamanu had taught her the previous day. It had been incredible when he showed her how to use the gift of the Shadowers. Perhaps it is not the only gift I possess. But it is the most fun I have had in a long time, Uriel thought to herself.

  Slowly as she focused her mind, the dense fog of the art descended upon her physical features. Unlike her uncle’s signature manifestation though, no mist, no cloud, no vapor attended it. No. As for Uriel, she simply disappeared from physical sight, even from spiritual sight. She was simply not there.

  In time, she would learn how to make other things disappear. Soon she would be able, with practice, to be able to render physical objects immaterial; she would be able to walk through drawn shades, closed doors, even walls.

  But not tonight. Tonight was just a beginning.

  Tonight she was not visible to the naked eye, whether that eye illuminated the face of man or angel or beast. Therefore, she crept as quietly as she was able to do from her uncle’s house, down the deserted city streets of Ke’elei, past the guards, up the inside of the main gate tower steps, across the city
wall, and down the outside of it. The skidding, scrambling noise she made as she slid down the face of the stones did attract some attention, but when the guards were unable to see anything, they continued on their rounds.

  Overjoyed and elated with her new freedom, she set off in search of her beau. She didn’t know where to start other than right outside her doorstep. She had faith that the road would carry her there. Somehow. That was more than enough for her.

  Though the tall redwood forest concealed her in its deep shadows, allowing her to rest her gift easy, conserving energy—for it did take a great deal of concentration for her to use the gift of shadowing—still, the deepness of the forest was threatening. In the back of her mind, she was unsettled.

  She talked a good game, especially to her dear father Kreios. If the truth be known, though, she was still a scared little girl inside, and she missed him terribly.

  But what was done was done; what could she do now? There was no going home. She was a woman now and was restless to make her own decisions. Her father had to let her go eventually in any case. Perhaps she was like the tulips that pushed the late snows aside in early spring, sending their tender green shoots up to bloom audaciously before the season was quite yet ripe. It was not her fault that Kreios was not ready for her to depart. To bloom.

  He would certainly not be ready for her to marry, either.

  Ah, Subedei. She longed for him more than she could begin to say. As she reflected on her fantasy lover, her mind drifted and she became unguarded. She forgot that the great city of Ke’elei had walls for a reason. She failed to remember that, especially at night, there were things without the walls that were darker than the night itself. And more powerfully frightful.

  The awakening she received was rude.

  They swung in from the trees. They jumped up from under mats made of massive fern fronds that they had laid on the floor of the forest. They wielded spears, swords—the knives were out. She didn’t have time to do anything but scream and cower like a child. Instantly she was full of regret, wishing to undo a great deal of her life up to this moment. But such a thing was not possible. She tried to remember her training, to shadow, but it was all still very new. And she was very scared. Too scared, in fact, to focus properly.