The Pendragon Codex

by D. C. Fergerson

  Cora raised a hand, alarmed. “Wait. My dream is about me digging myself from a grave, surrounded by zombies. What power is growing within me, Dad?”

  Still River took a deep sigh and placed his hand on Cora’s shoulder. With it, she felt the weight of his words. “A potent, dangerous force. The power of the dead. A power so great, it can even corrupt its own wielder. That’s why you need this teacher, Cora. You must learn to temper your will and control this force, so you can bring it to bear against the dragon.”

  Holovids of zombies and spooky undead scaring teenagers and eating brains ran through her mind. If fate wanted to hand her a power like that, they could keep it. She’d seen enough death for a lifetime during her last two encounters with Lucius, she wasn’t about to go celebrating it by drawing magic from it.

  Still River looked over his shoulder. “The sun rises on a new day, Speaks With Ravens. What will you do now?”

  Cora let out a long exhale and watched the sun peek from the eastern hills. “I’m going to get breakfast, shower, and go meet our prisoner.”

  Harbinger

  There was perfect mix of heat and pressure in the shower that made the fate of the world slip away. It wasn’t bliss, but something akin, for sure. The tingling sensation cascading down her back, the steam filling the room, the way tension washed down the drain with the soap suds - everything was perfect. The only thing that could break Cora’s momentary nirvana was the growing puddle of water at her feet.

  She glanced over her shoulder, checking the drain. The water remained suspended inches from the hole on all sides, unmoving. Cora turned back slow and uncertain. The tension returned to her with a pounding heart as her body readied for battle.

  The water at her feet gelled and coalesced, rising from the tub in a cylindrical shape. Tendrils of water extended from either side, forming the appearance of arms. Once at her height, the top of the water column formed the likeness of a head. Bubbles cycled through its body as it cocked its head to the side.

  Cora sighed and reached out a hand. This wasn’t the first time the water spirit of the lake visited her. A majestic being to witness, there was still the matter of an impromptu visit in the shower.

  “I appreciate your curiosity,” she said. “But we need to discuss boundaries at some point.”

  The creature moved sheepish, creeping to touch her hand with its tendril arm. Bubbles tickled Cora’s palm as it made contact, enveloping her hand for a split second. Startled, the creature reeled back and turned to normal water. The column collapsed to the tub, splashing out to the bathroom floor. Cora groaned and yelled at the drain.

  “Now I have a mess to clean, too? Oh, come on!” she complained as she turned off the water.

  Cora muttered to herself as she toweled off, stepping out of the shower with a gentle step into a puddle that stretched all the way to the door. She took a knee and sopped it up.

  “Water spirit gets curious about me, now I have to clean up his mess,” she grumbled. “Looks like a six year-old pretended it was a water park in here.”

  More and more, spirits of Heaven’s Crest had visited Cora over the past couple of months. The spirit of the lake, wolf spirits in the woods, even various departed souls made her aware of their existence. When Cora met Rhonda, it took her an hour of conversation to realize she’d been dead since 1982. Her father believed the power Cora possessed drew the spirits to her, out of curiosity or something more. She hadn’t minded the visitations, but she didn’t imagine she’d be giving up sacred shower time and privacy along with it. At least Vincent had the decency to wait outside the bathroom until she was done.

  After slipping into her vintage rock shirt and black jeans, her black riding boots and the bomber jacket of her fallen mentor Richard, Cora headed to the kitchen. Sitting Bear, all six-and-a-half feet of him, loomed over the island counter, a steaming plate of eggs and sausage waiting for her.

  “Eat,” he said, motioning his head to the plate.

  Cora was mid-step toward the door. “I really can’t. This prisoner-”

  “Eat,” he repeated, pointing at the plate.

  It was amazing that his size and commanding tone could still make her feel like a child. She thought about making another run for the door, shame biting at her for entertaining the notion. She nodded and sat at the dining room table. Her uncle brought the plate to her with a fork and set them down. For all his intimidating presence, his name was earned by his nature, the stoic protector of Heaven’s Crest. He never accepted the title of elder, even as the town believed Still River was gone, but he was given the respect, all the same.

  Cora went to work on breakfast, hoping it wouldn’t be disrespectful to wolf it down in the interest of getting on the road. The sun was up, GNN went on about a massive rush-hour traffic jam on the Manhattan Metroplex in the background, and she had a prisoner to interrogate.

  Sitting Bear stood over her, arms crossed, his gray braids hanging down either shoulder. “You’re going to visit the man you brought here?”

  “Not visit,” Cora replied. “Pump for information, threaten, possibly assault. But not visit.”

  “Do you think he’s tied to the Buckingham Palace heist?” Sitting Bear asked, taking a seat across from her.

  She nodded, chewing down her food before speaking. “He has to be. It’s too much of a coincidence. Besides, Dad dreamed of me going with him. So, I’m pretty sure I’ll be meeting this Julian even if Michael doesn’t want to introduce me. Fate is playing games again.”

  The front door creaked open and Still River walked through. Cora laughed to herself. As a spirit, it took a force of will for her father to interact with objects in the real world. Simple things like opening a door could be easily circumvented by passing right through it, but her father expended the energy to appear as human as he could. It was charming, in a way, seeing that he was doing it for the benefit of everyone else. He didn’t want to spook anyone or constantly remind them he was a ghost.

  “Speak of the devil,” Sitting Bear smirked, standing up to greet his brother. “Cora tells me the dreams have returned.”

  Still River bowed his head. “They have, and once again the dreams revolve around her. Unfortunately, it will be some time before we see her again.”

  Cora tensed up. The last time fated encounters played themselves out around her, people she cared about died and the town was nearly leveled. At least there was some solace to be found in taking the storm cloud hanging over her out of town for a while. Her people had suffered enough. She rolled her shoulders and shoveled a last bite into her mouth. Stepping free from the chair, her instinct was to run out the door. A long goodbye to her family was the last thing she wanted.

  Sitting Bear stepped into her path and held fast to her shoulders. He took a deep breath through his nose. “This is never goodbye. You know this. Wherever you go does not matter. Here, you are Speaks With Ravens. That doesn’t change.”

  Her head dropped, jaw clenched as she held back tears. “I know, Uncle. I will be back. This is my home now.”

  Still River patted her back. “It always was.”

  Cora pulled at Sitting Bear’s flannel shirt until he was at her height and kissed his cheek. She turned and hugged her father, enjoying the warmth she felt in her heart rather than the icy touch of his skin. She released the embrace and took a cleansing breath, grabbing hold of her emotions before they could run away with her.

  “Vincent,” she said, stepping around her father and sweeping her black hair off her shoulder. The raven swept down from the rafters and perched on her.

  “Caw,” he croaked, reassuring her.

  “Easy for you to say,” she replied.

  Her Harley took her to the other end of town, past the lake, to what used to be Pops’ house. One of the old man’s gifts, the way animals of every sort drew to him, required that he had enclosures of every kind in his house. With some slight readjusting, it served as the ideal place for holding wounded UNS soldiers after the battle a few mont
hs back. With those soldiers returned after the Army’s withdrawal, Michael was the only guest there. As Cora pulled up, it appeared she was late to the party. Gideon’s van and Giovanna’s luxury car sat in the driveway. Johnny sat in a rocking chair on the porch, petting Pops’ German Shepherd. Even at sunrise on a Wednesday, he still wore his coal-black suit with matching tie and sunglasses, his white dress shirt the only brightness to him.

  “Hey, Ringo,” Cora knelt down, petting the dog. He whimpered back, letting her know he was still in mourning. “I know. I miss him, too.”

  “How do you want to handle this?” Johnny asked.

  She knew what he meant. Johnny would be the one to get rough with Michael if she asked him to. Not unlike a guard dog, Johnny was protective over her and had no qualms about the darkest depths of violence. The few times she’d seen him operate, it was like a switch turned off his emotions. She surmised it was a necessary trait for snipers to have, but when it came to her, he treated her like the daughter he never had.

  “I’m going to try talking to him,” Cora replied. “Has he been fed?”

  Johnny nodded. “Giovanna and I brought over breakfast for everyone about an hour ago. Gideon’s been up all night with him. Good kid.”

  Cora smiled and headed inside. That ‘good kid’ was taller than Johnny and loaded with enough cybernetic implants to compete in the Olympics. Instead of athletic endeavors, he spent most of his days jacked into NeuralNet, doing whatever hackers do in there while his wired body wasted away. He waved at her as she walked in, his mussed hair going in a dozen directions.

  Giovanna sat at the kitchen table beside him, back in her usual two-thousand credit sun dresses and flawless makeup. She was so beautiful that it could be hard to look at her at times. She ate with a plastic fork from a foam take-out box.

  “Good morning, patatina,” Giovanna said.

  “Hey, Cora,” Gideon chimed in.

  “Caw,” Vincent squawked merrily from her shoulder. He just wanted to be included.

  Cora stopped beside the both of them. She couldn’t see him, but felt Michael’s presence in the bedroom down the hall. The entrance was lined with metal bars. Cora motioned with her head to the makeshift prison.

  “Anything from him?”

  “Not a peep,” Gideon intimated.

  Giovanna scoffed. “Uncultured savage. He didn’t even thank me for breakfast. We might have imprisoned him, but there’s no need to be rude.”

  Cora grabbed up a spare chair from the table and dragged it with her down the hall. She set it down a foot from the door and peered into the room. Michael gazed out the barred windows to the forest, inches beyond his reach. His eyes glanced sideways for a moment, acknowledging Cora’s presence.

  “Where do we begin?” she asked.

  Michael remained silent, eyes directly out the window. Had it not been for his snobby British demeanor, he might have been an attractive guy. In his late thirties, the close-cut military buzz suited his mature face, though the scruff all over his cheeks did not. She wondered how long he was watching her in this town before Vincent caught wind of him.

  “Tell you what,” Cora sighed. “I hate interrogations. I was terrible at them in training. I’d either go too soft and try to be everyone’s friend or I was told to go the other way, and somebody ended up crying about getting hit in the throat with my tablet. So, I’m going to try something different.”

  “Good on you, then,” Michael replied, unmoving. “I don’t fancy having my windpipe crushed.”

  Cora rolled her shoulders. “I can never tell with you Brits when you’re being playfully sarcastic or vaguely rude. I’m just going to pretend we’re warming up to each other so I don’t have to come in there. Now, you were sent to spy on me and gather intelligence. Ask me everything you want to know.”

  Michael finally turned his head, his eyebrow raised. “What’s that?”

  “I’m serious,” Cora replied. “You’re walking out this door today, on a plane back to wherever, and you have a report to file. Let’s get it finished. Ask me anything.”

  Walking to the barred doorway, his stern eyes met hers. “I don’t play games.”

  “No tricks,” Cora raised her hands in mock surrender. “If we’re on the same side, then we’re probably both really shy about who we trust. Those are the rules you play by if you’re going to survive going against Lucius.”

  Michael’s steely gaze lingered, but his body language betrayed him. The mention of Lucius’ name made him uncomfortable.

  Cora pressed, motioning to the styrofoam container on the floor. “C’mon, sit down and eat your breakfast. I’ll chew your ear off about anything you want to know. When we’re done, I’d appreciate if you’d answer a few of my questions, too.”

  “I’ll take you up on it,” Michael replied, stepping back and sitting on the edge of Pops’ bed. “On the conversation, at least, not this sugary nonsense you North Americans love so much.”

  Cora shook her head, eyes wide. “Wow. Giovanna was right, you are an uncultured savage. That’s frybread and wojapi from Dottie’s Diner, the best Native breakfast in the world.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult-”

  “No, it’s fine,” Cora said, crossing her arms. “Go hungry, for all I care. I’m very sorry we couldn’t get beans and mashed potatoes and whatever other flavorless slop you’d prefer.”

  Michael gripped the bridge of his nose. Cora was playing with him, but keeping him off-balance was the fastest way to break through any military facades either one of them were employing. It was too early in the morning for high-level cerebral combat.

  “I’m sorry if I was rude,” he said with a defeated sigh. He walked back to the door, retrieved the food and sat back on the bed. “Are you also the possessor of an artifact?”

  Cora swept her thick, black hair from her left shoulder, revealing a strand of beads and feathers of blue and yellow woven behind her ear. “Sitting Bull, a Native American leader from the 19th century. Like you, it came with his memories and experiences. It’s like I have a piece of him always rattling in my brain. Sometimes, I even have dreams of being back there.”

  Michael laughed to himself. “Every now and again, I get a hankering for venison. From the King’s deer.”

  Cora smiled back, leaning in. “Now, we’re talking. What else do you want to know?”

  “The bird,” he said, pointing at Vincent on her shoulder. “You have him trained or something?”

  “No,” Cora shook her head. “Each Native earns their name in a ritual where you get really high and chat up the first spirit that greets you. My Native name is Speaks With Ravens. I talk, he doesn’t talk back. We’re connected on a magical and spiritual level. It’d be pretty difficult to explain to someone that isn’t versed in our ways.”

  “I’ve seen familiars before,” Michael replied.

  “Familiars?”

  “That’s what elves call them,” he explained with a shrug. “I spent a year in Kyoto, met a few of the Emperor’s Eternal Guard. Magic-users, every one of them. Some of them had animal companions, and they told me I wouldn’t get it, too.”

  Cora nodded and paused. It was early in their rapport, yet there was an urge to dig at the heart of the matter. “Why does Julian care about my bird?”

  Michael chewed on a piece of frybread, staring at her as though he was trying to read her thoughts. “Your magical prowess coupled with the fact that you’re an artifact holder makes you ideal as an ally...and a consultant.”

  “Oh, your boss has a job to offer me?” Cora replied, pressing her hand to her chest. “I’m flattered. Tell me more.”

  “Several artifacts we’ve tried to retrieve over the past few months have been snatched from right under our noses. On four separate occasions, we moved on the target, and this ninja appeared,” Michael explained.

  “A ninja?”

  He nodded. “I wish I was kidding. Head-to-toe tech, a sword, flipping around the room, the whole thing. He’s fast, and he�
�s using magic we’ve never seen before. He beats us to the artifact and vanishes into thin air.”

  “And Julian wants to bring me in to help with this? Join your little band of Merry Men?” Cora said with a dark smile.

  “Bloody hell,” Michael said in monotone. “I get a feeling that’s going to get beaten to death.”

  “Count on it. How did you know where to find these artifacts?” Cora asked.

  Michael wagged a finger. He stood up and set his breakfast to the side. “You first. Why were you locked up in a German cabin in the middle of the UNS standoff?”

  Cora’s eyes turned to fire, her brow furrowed. “How did you know about that?”

  “Your roommate there, Dante,” Michael replied.

  The truth hit her like a freight train. “Of course! You were the ones he was sending messages to! Did he reach you guys? Is he okay?”

  Michael’s head dropped, his jaw shifted to the side. “He didn’t make it. I found him myself when he didn’t reach the rendezvous.”

  “Didn’t make it? What the hell does that mean?” Cora said, raising her voice. “He’s dead?”

  “I imagine Bauer soldiers got to him,” Michael spoke in grim tones, recalling the dark memories. “The van was torn to pieces by gunfire, and they’re the only ones that would have been looking for him. Why Lucius would order him killed instead of returning him to the cabin, I don’t know.”

  Another body in Lucius’ wake. Another life lost that she would have called friend. She could have cried if she had any tears left. Cora wondered if the numbness she felt was her getting used to people dying around her.

  “Lucius is prone to fits of rage,” she said. “For a three-thousand year-old dragon, you wouldn’t expect him to lose control of his temper like he does, but I’ve seen it. When I escaped, he may have decided to take out his anger on Dante, and ordered him killed.”

  Michael sighed and put his hands in his pockets, his head low. “Yeah, well, they were pretty methodical about damaging his implants. The wet drive installed in his brain was unsalvageable. All we knew about you was from his encoded messages, and it wasn’t much. Only that you were a potential ally with an artifact and a drinking problem.”