The room was dark and messy, the windows covered with heavy furs and the door barred with a chair. Broken items littered the dirt floor, the bed being one of them. On the stone walls, I could barely make out fingernail marks, the hearth holding only a few coal remnants of whatever previous fire had been there. In the center of the room, a figure bent over another, moaning and crying, rocking as it considered the unmoving body beneath it.
The point of the vision changed then, and we suddenly beheld the face of Thomas Randall as he wept, his hands and face covered in blood, shaking as he watched the body of the woman beside him.
Flinching away, I saw the mess he was covered in was hers. Her body had been ripped apart, possibly by some type of animal, based off how brutal the cuts and gouges appeared.
“No, no, no, no!” Thomas beat his hand against the side of his head, growling the words, swaying back and forth. The stump of a hand he now had was cradled against his chest, small and red looking. Then, suddenly, he reached inside the woman, pulling out a hunk of flesh with his claw like fingers, and shoved it in his mouth.
Screaming, I stumbled, grabbing onto Tristan, horror filling me. In the time I’d known Randall and the monster he was, I’d never thought he was a cannibal, or would even lower himself to such an action. The man I observed now, though, didn’t seem like Randall. He was a beast, a monster—not real.
The sound of my scream seemed to somehow reach him, and he jerked up, his eyes meeting mine as if I were standing right next to him. The crazy, bloodlust in them seemed to dim slightly, and a tear slid down his face.
“Sam,” he said, his voice breaking. “You came.” Weeping, he reached out, his gory fingernails coming for me. “I knew you would come,” he rasped. “Help me!”
Wrapping his arms around me, Tristan dragged me away from the water’s edge, hissing in anger and disbelief. At the same moment, Pathos jabbed the end of his staff into the pool, disrupting the picture and banishing the vision in a matter of seconds.
“He could see us?” Tristan demanded. “What the hell was that?”
“That was worse than I thought it would be,” the shaman replied, frowning. “It would appear that the gods who now inhabit Randall have given him the power to see through realms, as well.”
“What do ye mean ‘as well?’” Tristan demanded.
“Randall has been visiting your wife in her dreams,” Pathos replied, his voice somewhat ruffled. “That is why she has been seeing things that never happened. He has been coming to her, learning what you are doing, making plans for the future. Unfortunately for the both of you, it also seems that he thinks Samantha is the one who can save him from the pain he is in now.”
I couldn’t even think of any words. All I could see was the blood and carnage, reaching out for me, begging for help. It was much like the last dream I’d had of him, when he lay helpless on the floor, asking for my help.
“That’s not possible,” Tristan sputtered.
“Thomas Randall has the essence of three gods in his system now. It is more than possible.”
“He was eating that woman.” My voice barely made any sound, fear ripping through me. Randall had been terrifying enough to begin with. Seeing him like that, though, had only compounded the terror I had for him now.
Holding me close, Tristan nodded, his own hands shaking. “He was . . . crazy. Insane. I’ve never seen a man like that before.”
“He was . . . frightened,” I added, carefully examining the picture in my mind. “Did you see? He beat himself beforehand, as if he didn’t want to do such a thing, but he was forced to.”
“The blood he ingested came from gods who required sacrifices from their people,” Pathos offered, stepping toward us. “They will require the same from him, if he intends to use their power for himself.”
“I don’t understand.” Staring at the shaman with wide eyes, I waited for him to explain further.
Sighing, he moved and sat on the wall, rubbing his face. “Thomas Randall has, unfortunately, gotten exactly what he wanted. The power of three gods flows through him, but he did not realize the voices of the gods would also inhabit him. They demand he follow through with their rituals and do their bidding. The noise and the power of it all has caused him to lose his mind somewhat.”
“Somewhat?” Tristan raised an eyebrow, anger rolling off him. “And how do ye know all of this?”
“I have been watching him. Like it or not, the two of you have sent many spirits here. James Abby was the first to warn me of Randall and his exploits. When a line of souls comes to me and says there is someone dangerous threatening the living, I tend to listen to them.” Pathos sighed again, a tinge of annoyance in the sound.
“Randall is no longer a threat to just your world. If left unchecked, he could master the powers he has stolen. You would find yourselves battling against a god then, and there would be no hope for you defeating him. Now, though, he is weak and scared. It is painful, absorbing that much energy and strength. The gods have driven him to actions he does not want to do. If you are going to defeat him, now is the time to take action. Find him. Destroy him.”
“You make it sound like it will be some simple thing,” I countered, my shock wearing away to anger. “We were never able to defeat him when he was simply a man. How are we supposed to win against him now?”
“It will not be easy. I don’t have the answers you seek. All I know is that the spirits have warned me and I would not be a good man if I did not warn you in turn. The path ahead of you is perilous and full of darkness. Your souls are bright, though. The gods have chosen you for this fight—but you already knew you had been chosen. You do not need me to tell you that.”
Pathos stood, gesturing to the sky. “The sun has set. Your crew comes to meet you now.”
Turning, I saw Captain MacDonald slowly approaching us, filled with awe.
“You aren’t going to tell us more?” Regarding Pathos evenly, I knew I was right. He’d issued his warning and his time with us was now finished, just as our time with the spirits before had ended before I was finished speaking with them.
“You have one last thing to learn,” he replied simply. “I have shared all I know of Thomas Randall with you. I do have one last thing to give you, though.”
Reaching into his robe, he pulled out a necklace. It was a plain, leather chord, with a white crystal tied into the middle of it.
“This will protect you from any more visitations from Randall. I may not have all the answers you seek, or even know what the outcome of your battle with him will be, but I can give you this. I hope you will accept it?”
Surprised and touched, I nodded, taking it from him. Sliding the strap over my neck, I held the stone in my hand, examining it. “Thank you,” I replied genuinely. “This means a lot to me.”
He nodded, smiling. “I wish you both well in your travels. I will leave you with your crew now.”
My head was spinning. So much information had been presented to me and it seemed I had felt all the emotions that were in my realm of capabilities. All I wanted to do was lie down and take a nap, to relax and let everything absorb into me, but the spirit realm was not done with me yet.
Grasping Tristan’s hand in my own, I squeezed his fingers tightly, giving him a weak grin as he stared at me. The expression on his face matched much of what I was feeling and I giggled slightly, aware we were both incredibly overwhelmed.
“What are we going to do?” I asked softly.
He sighed, glancing to the members of the crew that had been slowly arriving. About half of them were here, milling about in groups, talking with each other or silently contemplating whatever it was they had found in the city.
“What we’ve always done, aye?” His response was quiet and strained, but the words brought an instant comfort to my soul. Whatever would happen, we would be together, like always. I knew this already, of course, but it was nice to hear him reaffirm that decision every now and then.
“Randall will be almost
impossible to beat now,” I muttered, coming closer to him and resting my head on his chest.
He wrapped his arms around me in response, kissing the top of my head, cuddling me with all the gentleness and love he’d shown me in times past. He remained quiet as he spoke, our conversation meant only for the two of us. “But not completely. Pathos is right; ye were chosen for this battle, Sam. In my ignorance, I’d hoped ye were sent here because ye were meant for me. I see now that there was always a bigger design to yer coming here.”
“Maybe.” Closing my eyes, I inhaled the scent of him, savoring the memories of the sea and sailing that the action brought to me. He could be right. I could have come to this time because I was meant to be part of whatever mess Thomas Randall was creating. In my heart, I was sure that wasn’t the case, though. “I was always meant for you, Tristan. I have no doubt in my mind that if I hadn’t fallen back in time to you, you would have risen through it to me.”
“Ye think so?” He sounded amused, his fingers playing with my hair as he held me. “I don’t know about that, lass.”
I grinned. “Why not?”
“I’d have seen one of those airplanes in the sky and keeled over dead right then and there.”
Chuckling, I pulled away, examining his face. “I guess going forward would have been more of a shock than traveling in reverse, what with all the advances my time has made from yours.”
“To say the least.”
Smirking, he kissed my forehead, another sigh breaking from him.
“What is it?”
He paused, hesitating in his answer, and then shrugged. “We’ve been told all these things we must do—stopping Randall and saving Avalon—but all I can think is that I met my Rachel.”
His voice caught with a strange emotion I’d never heard from him before. It took me a moment to realize that he was proud—a proud father. I’d never seen him interact with his own child until today, studied the way he spoke with her and the way he treated her, or noticed how there was a part of him that was reserved just for her.
“She was beautiful,” he said softly. “No?”
“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Tears gathered in my eyes again, but they were happy this time. It was so different from when I’d thought of our baby before. I didn’t feel sad over losing her, not as much as I had anyway. Meeting her in spirit had healed many of the gashes in my heart.
“And she has sisters.” There was wonder in his tone now, excitement even, and he chuckled. “Sisters! We are going to have daughters!”
“I know.” Hugging him tightly, I let all of my worries and fears be pushed to the rear of my mind, deciding instead to focus on the happy things we had discovered here.
“I love ye,” Tristan whispered fiercely. “I know for certain now that we can face anything, so long as we have each other to lean on.”
“I love you too.” Releasing my hold on him, I took his face in my hands and kissed him gently, all of my pleasant emotions flowing through that contact.
“Eh-hem.”
Breaking apart, I saw a blushing Mark, who hastily glanced away, rubbing his neck. Beside him, Abella beamed, a couple of flowers in her hands.
“You had a good time in the city, oui?” She beamed, tucking a strand of her long, curled hair away from her face.
“I suppose you could say that.” Releasing my husband, I took his hand once more, scanning the crowd of sailors around us. It looked like everyone was here, finally. There was no spirit that I could see, though, and so I turned to our small group. “What did the two of you do? We lost you when we went into the maze.”
“We stayed at the street fair for a while,” Mark said. “And then we sat on the edge of the wall, watching the sun set above the jungle.” His face reddened as he glanced at my friend and he bit his bottom lip, turning away quickly.
“It took much longer than expected.” Abella blushed, clearing her throat in an embarrassed manner.
“I see.” Amused, I watched the two of them, happy to see that they were patching things up, even if it was at such a slow pace. Perhaps it was good for them, to be thrown together like this and forced to spend time with one another.
Tristan, on the other hand, seemed to be more content with outing the pair.
“Who kissed who?”
Grinning, he watched as they floundered, partial denials and deepening blushes covering them. The longer they went on, the funnier it became to him.
“No, they didn’t kiss, did they, Sam? Mark isn’t as straightforward as that, not unless pushed.”
“Leave them alone.” Playfully slapping him on the shoulder, I smiled at them, sensing he was right. Something had happened, whether it was romantic or not. Once again, I found that the thought of Mark with someone else didn’t bother me. It had never been an amorous annoyance to begin with, but I was happy to find I wanted him to be happy with someone else.
“Praise be to God and long live The Knights Templar!”
The call drew the attention of everyone in the area, our heads turning toward the fountain, a collective gasp rippling through the group.
Grand Master Bevard stood on one of the walls, his aura-less presence sticking out like a sore thumb in our group of the living. He wore the clothes I had always seen him in, his appearance marking him as a member of the upper French society. Instead of the old man I’d known him as, though, he was much younger and brighter, a smile covering his face as he stared at the group.
“My friends,” he said happily. “It is so good to see you. After my time among you was cut short, I feared I would not lay eyes on you until you had joined me in this life. It is a great comfort to see you now and know that you are all right.”
“Bevard,” Captain MacDonald said, his eyes wide. “Of course it’s ye. I shoulda kent it.”
“Yes, old friend, you should have,” the spirit agreed. “But, many of you have been quite overwhelmed by this evening. I will not blame you for not guessing sooner.” He grinned, clapping his hands together. “Shall we to work?”
“It was Davies who murdered ye, then?” MacDonald spoke over the group, cutting right to the question that I was sure had been at the front of everyone’s mind.
“Alas,” Bevard replied, frowning. “It was not.”
Another shocked ripple moved through the group.
“Who, then?” Someone yelled from across the way.
“Why is Davies tryin’ to have us killed?” Another man shouted from behind us.
Bevard held his hands up for silence, frowning slightly. “I know this is a trying time and full of surprises. If you will but hold your tongues, I will tell all.”
This appeased the group and they fell silent, all of us watching him with hawk-like vigilance.
“Francois murdered me.”
Gasps and shouts of disbelief echoed off the stones. The men watched him wide eyed, some even angry.
“Which one is Francois again?” I whispered to Tristan, whose hands had curled into fists as his face reddened with ire.
“One of the Masters of our Order—second only to The Grand Master. The lyin’, conniving bastard!” His breath quickened, the sting of the betrayal this information had brought to light evident on every part of him.
Bevard, holding his hands up once more, spoke over the outrage he had caused. “Francois waited until the last moment, disappearing behind the curtains, and did the deed in a matter of seconds. I was not even aware that a threat existed from him.”
Mutters filled the air, but the men slowly fell silent, waiting for him to continue. I felt a strange gripping of my chest, my heart aching to hear of the old man speak of his death so easily. It couldn’t have been easy and he surely suffered with the knowledge of what had happened to him, but he spoke of it with ease and elegance, as if it were only another moment in time that held no significance to him.
“Davies has been Francois’s puppet, from the very beginning. He was put in command through nefarious methods. However, I do think y
ou all should be aware that it was against his will.” Bevard paused, clearing his throat as he let the words sink in. “Francois has been blackmailing him from the start. Many of the actions you perceive to be malicious were actually attempts to save you from the fate Francois had planned to gift you.”
Bevard turned to us, smiling lightly. “His attempt to rehome the four of you was from his desire to save you from the fire he knew would find you in your beds that night.”
Turning toward Captain MacDonald, he chuckled shortly, shaking his head. “And he assigned new men to your crew, in the hopes that you would find your trust in him lacking and leave early, escaping whatever misdeeds he was sure Francois had planned to enact on you.”
The late Grand Master sighed. “I know Davies had many enemies on this crew before he ever took my office, but all he has done has been in the pursuit of your continued lives and happiness. Even as he ordered you to tell him where your portion of the treasure was hid, he was only trying to keep the information from Francois.”
“Is Francois working with Thomas Randall?” Mark’s voice hovered above the group, his face calm and passive when I turned to him.
Bevard hesitated, pursing his lips, and then shook his head. “No. This is a different group of Black Knights that have risen up.”
A second ripple of dismay surged through the group, the horror of the revelation felt by myself, as well. As far as I knew, there had never been more than one faction of Black Knights at a time. What consequences could we possibly face with such a large divide in our group? How would we gather together enough to fight off two opposing forces?
The outrage and fear grew around me, the men shouting and arguing with one another. Several of them were demanding we go straight to Paris and fight. Others called for proof, something we could use to bring Francois down peacefully, without losing too many men. As they fought about what was to be done, Bevard continued to try and call them to silence once more, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to gain the quiet he’d controlled only a moment before.
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 32
