by Chris Miller
A new strategy was needed, which was likely the purpose of his being called here. Any number of goblins, dispirits, deceivers, gorewings and foul creatures were at Venator’s disposal. But today he came alone. It was a rare honor for any Shadow warrior to be called into Sceleris’ presence and he wished to share it with no one. This meeting was for him and him alone.
The doors slammed shut behind him, sealing off the world of the living for good. Venator didn’t look back; he marched forward, descending down the Dragon’s Throat—a long arched hallway lit only by a distant light somewhere in the belly of the fortress. The eerie green light that spilled up was accompanied by a warm breeze and the echoed sound of a million tortured souls far below.
Eventually, the hall opened to a large cavernous chamber with a luminous green lake. A series of stepping stones bridged the gap between his side of the room and the island throne in the center of the space, where Sceleris waited. Sceleris, a giant ghostly serpent, wrapped himself around the arms and legs of the chiseled throne. The spirit-bound form of Sceleris watched Venator with expectant eyes. Venator froze in place at the sight. Even after all these years, being in the presence of his master was a frightening ordeal.
“Come closssser,” the serpent hissed.
Venator’s confidence waned. There was something in his master’s voice, something he didn’t like. He crossed the stones, stopping only briefly to take note of the millions of souls who now haunted the waters of the lake below. Day and night, the tormented screams of lost souls could be heard rising from the surface of the water, serving as a fearsome reminder of the power Sceleris held over those who dwelled in the Veil. They were so easy to manipulate, so willing to follow the Shadow’s whispers, even to the very gate of death itself. And make no mistake, the ending was always the same.
The futility of their resistance to serving the Shadow was proven in the finality of their inevitable plunge into the eternal prison below. No matter how good they pretended to be in life, all of them ended up here—every last one. Well, nearly every last one; there was an exception—one glaring exception. It was clearly a mistake, and one Venator hoped to correct himself.
Upon reaching the island throne, Venator bowed low before his master.
“Arissssse, Venator, we have much to dissscusss about Hunter Brown.”
“Yes, of course, Master,” Venator said, stumbling over his next words with uncertainty. “I…I have failed you, I know. It’s just that the boy…well…his belief is stronger than I had expected. He still has not let go of Hope; he won’t let her die. Even now she lives.”
“His beliefsss do not concern me,” Sceleris hissed. “It issss more than that. You sssseem to have underesssstimated his place in the greater sssscheme. Time is running short, and you have not done what I have asssked. I have no time for gamesss.”
“He has become harder to sway, my lord. Ever since that cursed Aviad destroyed the Bloodstone, the bond between us has all but vanished.”
Even the mere mention of the word “Bloodstone” caused Venator’s burned hand to twitch. The power of the united halves had ruined him, melting his arm like butter and leaving a permanent scar where once his fingers had moved. The loss would have been worth it if the boy had died; at least then the Bloodstone would be theirs. But he had been tricked, and had killed the Author’s son in place of the boy. He tried to clinch his fist, but it didn’t clinch anymore.
“This isss precisssely why I have assigned the boy to another,” Sceleris explained, “sssssomeone I believe to be more capable of handling thissss matter.” As he said it, a stream of inky black fluid wound its way out from behind Sceleris’ throne. The ooze gathered together in a pool on the rocky floor, where the black blob of a figure rose out of it. The featureless silhouette of the shape-shifting Shadow was as black as night and as large as an ox.
“I…I don’t understand, Master. I assure you I can handle the boy myself,” Venator found himself pleading. Suddenly, he no longer wished he had come alone. The conversation was starting to take an unexpected turn.
“It isss too late for that,” said Sceleris. “A new plan is already in motion. The boy issss no longer your problem.”
Venator’s confusion quickly turned to anger. How could Sceleris move forward with another plan behind his back? Despite his recent failure, Venator had been flawless in his service to the serpent. He could think of no one more loyal and trustworthy than himself. The faceless blob in front of him certainly didn’t deserve the honor of such a task. He was far too unpredictable…too volatile to be trusted.
“I hesitate to remind you, Master,” Venator attempted, “but this…this thing has failed before. How can you bring it back? How can you trust one of them?”
“Tonomissss has ssserved hisss purpossse. He will finish thissss, I have no doubt. He will find the Eye; he will ressstore the Bloodssssstone and once it is accomplished, I will erasssse Hope myself. The Author’s sssstory hasss come to its end. A new sssstory will begin…mine.”
Blazing red eyes appeared in the space where the black form’s head could have been. Venator saw this and he shuddered. They were Sceleris’ eyes, burning with the very fire that burned in his soul. How Tonomis had come to rise again was beyond Venator’s knowing, but one thing was clear: this thing now held the serpent’s power and his confidence. If Venator wanted any part in bringing about the end and earning an eternal place of honor with his master, he had to find a way back into the plan. After all he had gone through to see Hunter Brown stopped, he couldn’t just stand here and let another take his place in the eleventh hour. He had to think of something, and quickly.
“Please, Master, allow me to help. After all, I have insight about the boy that could be helpful. I have a lifetime of experience that could prove invaluable to us all. The bond we once shared may be broken but I still know him better than any other.”
“Don’t worry, Venator. I have not forgotten you,” Sceleris said. “I am sssure you will be useful. Assss you have ssssaid, I do not intend to leave all of your knowledge behind. There issss a role for you in my plan as well.”
This was good news to Venator. A broad smile of relief crossed his face and he breathed easier for the first time since the conversation had begun.
“Thank you, Master,” Venator said, bowing in humble reverence. His plea had worked; he was still needed. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“No…you won’t,” Sceleris replied, his eyes burning even brighter than before. The eyes in the black blob glowed hotter as well. Without a word passing between them, the inky creature dissolved into a pool on the floor and moved quickly toward Venator. Venator noticed the movement in time to step back from the pool before it could touch him. All at once it became clear…he wasn’t needed at all.
Venator tried to run away from the thing, but the bridge of stones that had once allowed him to cross the green lake of souls had lowered beneath the surface. He was trapped on the island with nowhere to go.
“Master? Please,” Venator begged, falling to his knees once more, “don’t do this.”
Sceleris said nothing as the black ink pooled itself around Venator completely, inching inward toward him. The first edge of it touched the hem of his robe and then his feet, bonding with his skin and spreading up and over his entire body in a heartbeat. With a final scream, Venator was buried in the blackness and he was no more. The ink fell back into a pool and rose again into the shape of the featureless figure, which stepped back toward Sceleris’ throne, leaving Venator’s white skull mask alone on the floor. The knowledge that was once Venator’s now belonged to Tonomis.
“I am…ready,” Tonomis said in a low voice.
“I know,” Sceleris said. “This time, we will not fail.”
“No, we won’t,” Tonomis said with the confidence of one who had already seen what was to come. “I have been there, and I know how the story…ends.”
Cha
pter 5
Vogler Is Watching
“Mind if I…sit?” asked the mammoth, standing at the foot of my bed. His voice was low and powerful like a roar of thunder. Vogler had arrived early this morning, too early in fact. The clock overhead read seven o’clock. Mom wouldn’t arrive for nearly another hour. Visiting hours weren’t until eight. Apparently, for Vogler the front desk had made an exception.
There was little doubt why. The man was nothing short of massive and had no trouble getting his way. The badge he carried gave him authority to do what he wanted, but I was willing to bet it was rarely used. His sheer size alone would be convincing enough, in most cases.
Vogler was dressed the way I expected a detective might dress, only more colorful. He was wearing a black trench coat, but where the coat hung open his personality showed through. His tweed vest, slacks and dress shirt were all a dark shade of purple. He wore a tie as well, which oddly enough was golden yellow. Despite the boldness of his color choices, they seemed to work very well on him.
He carried a black leather briefcase, the hard-case kind with snapping locks. In a way he looked like a retired NFL linebacker who had gone into business, or the mob, or even worse…politics.
I motioned to one of the chairs beside my bed and watched as the man settled into it. In doing so, he managed to make it look half the size it should have been. Once comfortable, Vogler carefully placed his briefcase on the seat beside him. He ceremoniously brushed the rain off each of his shoulders and turned to look at me through the same mirrored glasses he had worn on TV the night before. This time I could see my own reflection in them—what he saw in me was what I worried about. Somehow, I sensed he knew more than he should.
I sat in silence, waiting for the storm of questions to hit. Instead, he said nothing. He just sat there, staring at me, his hands folded in front of his lips.
Time passed slowly, each tick of the clock marking another awkward second between us. I had spent half the night preparing myself for the questions he might ask. For starters there would be the basics about where I was and what I experienced the previous night, things I still couldn’t remember. Certainly he would want to know about my encounters with Cranton; that was a given. Then there would be questions about my recent incident with my teacher, Mr. Tanner. No doubt Principal Strickland had filled him in on that one and my previous year of pranks as well. My record wasn’t exactly clean.
A full minute passed and not a single word was exchanged between us. I cleared my throat and decided to be the first to break the silence.
“So, have you got any good leads yet?” I asked. My boldness surprised me. Even before the words left my mouth, I regretted starting the conversation with them. Vogler seemed unfazed by my approach and answered right away.
“Oh, it’s too early for that, but I’m sure we’ll find someone. I always get my man,” he said. It was a clear challenge, one I hadn’t missed. There was no doubt he was here to nail me; any word I spoke from here forward would be used against me. I decided instead to keep silent. As awkward as it was, I would be better off if I didn’t open my big mouth. His next statement, however, threw me for a loop.
“You might have trouble believing this, Hunter, but I came here today because I’m concerned about you. I’m concerned for your family, and for the…shall we say…precarious situation you have found yourself in.”
Vogler leaned back in his chair. Its tired springs let out a long whimpering groan from the unjust punishment he was putting them through.
“I’m willing to offer protection, if you want it,” he said.
“Protection?” I asked. Of all the ways I had imagined this conversation going, this wasn’t anywhere close.
Vogler’s bald, black head nodded in a silent reply.
“Protection from what?”
“You tell me,” Vogler replied. “Have you noticed anything strange happening lately? Things you can’t easily explain?”
Where should I start? I wondered to myself. The past few days had been a series of unexplainable events: the stalker in black who attacked me at school, the eyes in Mrs. Sheppard’s crystal ball, the appearance of Boojum, the flying gondola, and the school fire I couldn’t remember. The unexplainable had become the norm ever since I discovered the Author’s Writ. Yes, my life was far from usual. The question was, could Vogler be trusted with this information or was he just playing the “good cop” role to get me to open up. Either way, it was better to play it safe.
“Depends on what you consider strange,” I answered. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly an answer either.
Vogler furrowed his brow. “Do flying gondolas seem…normal to you?”
“I guess not,” I said. How did he know about that already? Dr. T must have informed him—so much for patient confidentiality.
“Let me put it as plainly as I can. On the surface you fit the bill of “troubled teen” nicely—a boy with a missing father, a prankster looking to get even with his childhood rival, a below-average student who’s had a recent fallout with your best friend, attacking your teacher with a…a mop.”
I cringed at the last statement. The way he said it made me sound so pathetic. It definitely wasn’t one of my better moments. One thing was for sure, Vogler had done his homework. I felt like a bug under a microscope must feel.
“This case could be closed tomorrow if I wanted it to be. Just another story for the talking heads on the evening news, but that’s what bothers me most of all. It’s too perfect, too…easy.”
Vogler’s chair snapped upright as the giant abruptly leaned forward and started to crack his knuckles one-handed. One by one, each finger popped under the strength of his thumb. Then I noticed a curious tattoo on the back of his hand, the symbol of an eye.
“Why are you telling me all of this?” I asked, still watching him pop his fingers.
“Because I believe there is more to it than this. Cranton said there was someone else in the basement. My guess is you are hiding something, Hunter, something you weren’t supposed to know about and I intend to find out exactly what…it…is.”
He stood up at once, casting a shadow that nearly filled my room. Under his shadow a cold feeling shot up my spine, the same feeling I had the other night when watching him on TV.
“I have something for you,” he said mysteriously. Turning around he unlatched his briefcase and pulled out my trusty grey backpack. It was considerably smushed from having been stuffed into his case. Apparently, he hadn’t wanted to be seen carrying it or something. Probably would have ruined the image he projected.
Vogler dropped the pack onto the foot of my bed. Something clanged inside. It was a sound I hadn’t expected to hear.
“We recovered it in the school parking lot. I found the contents to be…shall we say…enlightening.”
“Oh,” I answered, glancing down at the bag and trying to recall anything that would have made a noise like that. The corner of a bright yellow Boojum bar wrapper sticking out of the front pocket caught my eye. It reminded me of the furry little blue-eyed creature that had ransacked my house. I had stuffed him in my backpack and taken him to the fair in hopes of proving to Stretch that Solandria was real…only it was Trista and Rob who saw him instead. Trista had given the little critter the name Boojum because of his appetite for the tasteless snack food they were handing out at the fair that night. I could only imagine the look on the detectives’ faces when they opened the bag and Boojum began squealing the way he did. But the bag was too flat to contain him now and it didn’t explain away the mysterious clanging sound I had heard.
“Just remember,” Vogler repeated before I could think of an explanation, “I’ll be watching. You have my card if you ever need…a friend.”
He nodded toward the nightstand beside me where I spotted his business card. I hadn’t seen him place it down, but it was there nonetheless. When I looked up again Vogler had alre
ady snatched up his briefcase and disappeared behind the curtain that blocked the doorway.
Alone at last I snatched up my pack and rummaged through it. In a rush of excitement, I dumped the contents onto my lap. There was the odd assortment of random pens and scraps of paper of course, but what fell first had been the source of the sound—two gleaming Veritas Sword hilts.
One of them I recognized almost immediately; it had been mine during my visit to Solandria at the start of the summer. I had often wished it had returned home to Destiny with me. Now, here it was. I picked it up and swung it lightly through the air. It felt good.
Wondering if the blade would work the same for me here in Destiny as it did in Solandria, I held the hilt a safe distance away and began to dwell on the words of the Author’s Writ.
“For the Way of Truth and Life,” I whispered.
The once absent blade began to glow just above the hilt as it had in Solandria not so long ago. I smiled, tightened my grip and let the familiar surge of energy rush down the blade, through my hands and up my arms. The blade and its bearer were one; the bond was complete. For the briefest of moments all was well, but then everything went wrong.
Skreeeeee!
A deafening wail echoed through the room, causing a powerful pounding pressure in my skull. At first, I thought it was an alarm of some kind but then I realized that it sounded as if it were coming from inside my head. Imagine the wail of a thousand shrieking Halloween ghost effect CD’s amped up to twenty on the volume dial and you’ll be close to what I was experiencing. Dropping the sword, I covered my ears in hopes of quieting the horrendous tone. Somehow, it only made it worse.
Skreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
