Divided (Bloodlines, The Immortal, and The Dagger of Bone) (A Fated Fantasy Quest Adventure Book 5)

by Humphrey Quinn

  Meghan needed to have an in-depth conversation with Ivan Crane, preferably sooner than later. This business of not knowing what was wrong with Jae needed to end, no matter what trouble he’d gotten himself into. And no matter what Ivan had to say about her being “ready” to hear it…

  CHAPTER 3

  Sunlight beamed through stained glass windows, sending streams of colorful light dancing over the floor of the classroom in which Colby restlessly sat behind a desk. His piercingly blue eyes followed the dancing lights, rather than read the next question on his test.

  Jurekai Fazendiin, his father, and current teacher, cleared his throat from the front of the room, where he stood, arms folded, austerely overlooking his son’s lack of progress.

  “Sorry, Father,” Colby instantly responded, turning his attention back to the test lying in front of him.

  “You have ten minutes remaining. I suggest focus.”

  Colby tried to focus on the test, but he was much more interested in the dancing lights as well as the voice he was listening to in his mind; the voice of the girl, Meghan Jacoby. He had successfully been blocking this irritating girl’s voice for weeks, but suddenly today, he could not seem to tune it out. More like, he did not feel like it today.

  Irritating or not, her conversations are way more interesting than world history… and why do I need to learn this stuff? It’s got nothing to do with magic!

  “Five minutes,” his father reminded.

  Colby forced Meghan’s voice out of his thoughts and furiously finished his final answer, finishing with only seconds to spare. When he finished, he stood and handed the test to his father.

  “You can have a seat while I grade it,” Jurekai advised.

  “You’re going to grade it now?” Colby whined.

  Jurekai did not reply, but with a severe look motioned for Colby to sit.

  He plunked down, realizing he was on a sharp edge. “Sorry, Father,” he apologized again.

  Without looking at his son, his father said, “One of these days, possibly many years from now, you will understand the meaning of these lessons. But believe me when I say, I have been around long enough to know that even seemingly mundane or useless knowledge will one day prove its worth.”

  Colby replied, “Yes, Father,” and waited for his test results. He did not want to be stuck in this classroom, learning the history of a world he wasn’t a part of, and many years down the road or not, he could not see what use this knowledge would ever have to him. He stared blankly at the stained glass walls, watching the light fade as the sun moved too high to shine directly through.

  Stained glass walls lined nearly every room of the Fazendiin estate, allowing Jurekai’s mother to move from room to room, along with them, as she remained imprisoned in the glass.

  The colors near the classroom door started to swirl and there was a soft rapping just outside the door.

  “Mother,” Fazendiin spoke softly. “Please enter.”

  His mother’s figure swirled onto the glass where she nodded toward him.

  “My son. Someone approaches.”

  Fazendiin threw Colby’s test down and briskly hastened out of the classroom. Colby let out a sigh of relief, following his father to the front of the house where they stepped outside into the crisp autumn air, and toward the front gate; the gate that required the blood sacrifice to enter.

  Only four people had ever entered through that gate: Colby, Colby’s mother (no longer allowed), his father, and the gardener. Just outside of this gate, sitting to the left, was another building, also cloaked by magic. The location of this building was given to select few, and none were ever told that Fazendiin lived just a few steps away.

  Currently, only one person knew of this hidden meeting place, and his arrival meant one of two things: either his job was completed and successful, or more likely, that it had failed and there would be further delays.

  In order to keep his home secret, Fazendiin never used the blood sacrifice gate to enter this cloaked meeting place, which sat on a hillside overlooking a lake far below.

  The meeting place was circular in shape, windowless, and came to a point in the middle. To get to it, one had to climb a steep hill following a narrow pathway from the lake to the top of the hill. But to see the pathway and the building, one also had to sacrifice blood.

  Colby trudged along, behind his father. Fazendiin may have been hundreds of years old, but he walked with the gait of a much younger man. He also stood over six feet tall, so his stride was longer than Colby's, and he had to take two steps to match each of his fathers’.

  Fazendiin followed a hedge which ran alongside the front gate. Elisha, Colby’s catawitch, came sauntering up to his side, jumping into his arms.

  A few more steps along and they took a turn, inward, following a small pathway deeper into the gardens which surrounded the estate. Currently, every plant was in various states of decay as frost had killed everything a week before. The gardener had been busy for weeks harvesting what both Colby and his father would eat that winter.

  Colby shuddered. Not because of the food. Not because of the impending winter, sure to come. He glanced back toward the estate. The thought of spending a long winter here, locked away inside with only his father and a grandmother who could only move from stained glass wall to another stained glass wall... it was just more than he wanted to think about.

  “You have me, don't forget,” Elisha reminded.

  “Of course,” he said back to her. “But I know you don't want to be stuck here any more than I do.” Colby secretly admitted he was glad of the irritating girl, Meghan, and that he could sometimes listen in on her thoughts, as this would at least provide him entertainment. Elisha grimaced, not caring for this new fascination of his.

  Fazendiin came to a stop in front of a towering rock, one left behind from a glacier long ago. It was split in two and the tops were covered in prickly bushes, mosses, and dying vines, which had turned brown after freezing.

  The lower part of the split rock was sunken into the ground. Fazendiin walked to the center where it had split, stepping into the crack, disappearing. Colby followed without hesitation. Upon his next step, Colby entered a circular room. In the center stood a round wooden table, scratched and nicked from years of use. Some of his time here had been with various teachers.

  Six chairs encircled the table. They were tall-backed with intricate carvings. Only upon close inspection could one decipher the carvings: faces, frozen in a single moment of extreme duress.

  Hanging over the table was an equal sized chandelier, which held hundreds of flickering candles. The room was empty other than the table, chairs, and chandelier.

  Colby glanced back at where they had entered, but all he saw now was a bare wall. He took a seat, while Elisha hopped onto the table, sitting statuesquely at his side.

  Fazendiin took the seat next to his son, ordering, “Show yourself, KarNavan,” to their invisible visitor.

  The Striper leader materialized, seeming to peel away from the wall, the reptilian stripes he was so aptly named for forming on his skin. “Master,” he bowed. “I bring news.”

  “Sit,” bid Fazendiin.

  KarNavan bowed his head again and took a seat on the opposite side of the table. As he did, he nodded toward Colby. “Young Master,” he greeted.

  Colby frowned at KarNavan's use of the term, young, but returned his greeting with a silent nod. He never spoke in these meetings. He held his breath, however, in anticipation, as it had been KarNavan that had taken over his mission; the one his father had recalled him from in order to continue his schooling.

  “I see no book,” Fazendiin spoke, unsurprised.

  “No. No book. As you warned, it is proving more of a challenge than we hoped.” He clarified, “We have by no means, given up.”

  “Continue,” spoke Fazendiin, not interested in excuses and promises.

  “The book is not why I am here, Master. There is news on the Projector front.”

&nbs
p; “You located the child?” asked Fazendiin, tone flashing interest.

  KarNavan nodded apprehensively in reply.

  “Found and then lost,” assumed Fazendiin.

  “Located. Lost. But… a new discovery. Perhaps equal, if not more so, in value.”

  “And what could be as valuable as a young Projector, or the book of a dead one?”

  Colby twisted in his seat eager to learn what KarNavan had to say.

  KarNavan's eyes danced with dark excitement. “How about a long believed dead, very much living, Projector?” He took an arrogant breath, leaning back in his chair.

  “The Projectors were killed off by those stupid gypsy hunters,” Fazendiin argued, waving his hand in the preposterous notion.

  “Well,” began the Striper, flashing his bright teeth, “they missed one.”

  Fazendiin’s fixed stare warned KarNavan, do not waste my time.

  The Striper leader did not back down. “When the young Projector escaped our clutches, we tracked the magic of the adult Projector who assisted in the escape. Just a short blip to track, and it disappeared as fast as it appeared. But there is no mistake. There is a very much living and breathing Projector out there… somewhere.”

  Fazendiin’s eyes flashed desire for the shortest of moments, indicating his belief in this statement. “Does anyone else know of this discovery?” he asked with restrained calm.

  KarNavan shook his head, acknowledging dutifully, “We know the value of this secret, Master.”

  “A priceless secret,” Fazendiin conceded. “One you will be paid appropriately for, once your new mission is complete.”

  KarNavan’s eyes lit up, expectant of this assignment.

  “Colby,” started his father. “School is canceled, for the time being,” he made clear upon seeing his son’s exuberant response.

  Colby could barely contain his impatience to get started. A new mission. Anything is better than school.

  His father twisted back to KarNavan. “Wait here. My son will return shortly with instructions.”

  KarNavan nodded and stood as Fazendiin, Colby, and Elisha departed back through what looked like a bare, solid wall. Fazendiin strode toward his estate at normal speed, appearing eager but in no need to hurry while Colby huffed along behind him. Soon they were back inside the house and he followed his father into the safe room, where again, Fazendiin’s mother waited for them in her stained glass prison.

  “Mother,” he spoke lovingly, “please retrieve it for me.”

  She swirled out of sight, no need to ask the it, in question.

  “We must not allow this news to be discovered by any others, especially the other Grosvenor,” advised Fazendiin, while they waited for her return. “We must be the ones to locate this mature Projector. If we can complete this mission, there will be nothing left in our way.”

  Desire eclipsed his usual consummate control, and he continued fervently.

  “If we can complete this mission, my son, we will no longer need the book I've had you chasing after these last two years, or the missing Immortality Stone. The Stone, although powerful enough to give immortality is nothing compared to the power of a living Projector! Most especially one who’s managed to stay in hiding all these years.”

  Colby nodded that he understood, sucking in a nervous breath. He was getting bored with chasing after Colin Jacoby, anyway.

  “This will be the most difficult task I have asked of you. But I have the utmost trust that you will not fail me, Son.”

  “I will do whatever you ask, Father.” Colby gave him a determined nod.

  “Mother,” Fazendiin spoke, noting her return. She lifted her hand, in which lay a pure white dagger. Her gaze held a blank sort of deadness as Fazendiin touched the stained glass with his own hand and when he turned around to face his son again, held a real dagger in his palm. It was about ten inches in length and looked to have been hand carved. Colby could not identify the substance it had been made from. Regardless, it was slick and solid.

  “What does this do?” asked Colby.

  “This is my most prized weapon,” his father revealed. “Forged in secret, known until now only by me, and my dear mother.”

  Colby gulped, his eyes wide with amazement. He wondered what would be required of him. Would he need to stab and kill someone with this dagger? Killing from a distance using magic was one thing, but close enough to stab someone? To physically thrust a weapon meant to kill into someone’s body…

  He swallowed a dry pocket of air, heart racing anxiously at the thought.

  “This dagger will strip a mature Projector’s power, storing it securely inside the dagger. Something no one has ever been able to do before.”

  Colby’s eyes momentarily flashed doubt. He would need to stab someone with this dagger. He hoped his father had missed his short lapse in confidence as the realization of this task hit him. This would be the hardest task he had ever set out to do.

  “It will not strip the young one,” his father advised. He’d been hiding the dagger, counting down the days before the young one would have been old enough. He’d save that for another day now. He wasn’t one to turn down an opportunity when it was thrown at him. His dear imprisoned mother had to be seething, and didn’t that burn a grin onto his face. He’d finally get rid of that damn Projector. Oh, he knew exactly which one had managed to hide and survive all this time. This would make his mother’s torture so much sweeter. But this wasn’t something Colby could know. Not yet.

  Fazendiin wiped the grin, eyeing his son. “The dagger won’t strip a Projector’s power until maturity is reached. So if you cross paths with the young one, leave them, they are not of consequence. For today.”

  An odd sense of relief came over Colby. Killing a stranger was one thing, but killing a young child that might or might not yet realize what they were, he just didn't know if he could do it.

  “Are you prepared for this task?” his father questioned as if reading the doubt flitting through his son's thoughts.

  He squared his father in the eye and answered, “Yes.” He extended his hand, holding open his palm. Fazendiin placed the dagger into his son’s hand.

  Colby traced the edges of the white dagger cautiously with his fingers, rubbing over the pitted ridges, which allowed him a firm grip on the dagger. He took a quick swipe through the air.

  Fazendiin grunted in impassioned gratification at the sight of his son gripping the dagger, swinging it heftily in a stabbing motion. He allowed his son a moment more, and then waved his hands over the dagger. Sheets of smoky blackness streamed out of his hand encasing the dagger in a hard, protective sheath.

  Colby secured it to his belt. He would tell no one of this weapon. Not even KarNavan, until it was time to use it.

  Fazendiin looked down at his son, eyes gleaming with pride. “Once you have stripped this Projector of his power you are to return to me at once. I alone, understand how to use the power wielded inside the dagger.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “One more thing,” warned Fazendiin. “A fully mature Projector is cunning, wise, and more powerful than anything you have ever been up against. Underestimating his potential, magically speaking, would be unwise. I suggest aiming for his human nature.”

  Colby cocked his head, thinking about what his father meant. “Play to his human nature,” he repeated, his eyes lighting up. “Find out what he would risk himself for.”

  “You are indeed my son,” Fazendiin boasted, tasting the sure success of their dangerous venture.

  “I will not return until I have the Projector’s power inside this dagger,” vowed Colby loyally. He took leave of the room, making his way out to meet KarNavan.

  CHAPTER 4

  The sound of muffled voices dug into Colin Jacoby’s sleepy mind. Rousting him. Little by little. A familiar laugh, one that filled him with warmth. Another not-so-familiar grizzled voice of a man he had met only one time, briefly. How was it he was hearing this voice? His eyes flickered open, t
he remnants of slumber leaving him. His gaze landed on a wooden ceiling over his head, lined with thick beams splattered with wide brushstrokes of pitch and tar.

  His gaze went vertical, crawling along his body. He was flat on his back on a bed. He rolled back the covers only to find himself fully dressed in the same clothes he’d last recalled putting on. He sat up on the edge and found that his shoes were sitting on the floor next to the bed, waiting for his feet to slide inside. He noticed that the entire room, except for a small round window, was made of the same aged wood.

  He slid on his shoes and got to his feet, wobbling some. He smoothed and adjusted his clothes, peering through the window, though there wasn’t much to see other than dense patchy fog.

  He wobbled again. No, it wasn’t him. It was like the ground was swaying underneath him. “Am I on a boat?” He spied through the window again, squinting through the fog. Yup, definitely a boat. They were trolling along, a shoreline about twenty feet off to the side. The shore was crowded with thick based trees with long tendril-like limbs that branched high over the boat. Bluish-gray mosses dangled from the limbs like overgrown decoration.

  “Where on Earth am I?” he asked, at the same time realizing it was entirely possible he might not be on Earth at all, but rather in some alternative world, far from the place he called home. But all of this got his brain firing again. Memories flooded his mind.

  Wherever here was, he had fled with Catrina Flummer, because his sister had betrayed them to Juliska Blackwell. The woman he believed was responsible for locking Catrina into a glass coffin and leaving her to sleep away her life deep in the caves of Eidolon, the Goblin king, who was now dead at the hands of Colin Jacoby.

  For a moment, anger filled his heart. Anger for what Meghan had done to him. Anger that he had trusted her, even after Catrina's grandfather's ghost, Balloch Flummer, had warned him not to trust anyone. This was Meghan, his sister, and until not too long ago, his protector from stupid things like bullies.