Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2)

by Lesley Woodral

  Chapter 34

  Claire was in the upstairs bathroom, brushing her teeth, when her cell phone started ringing. She spat and rinsed her mouth before going into her room and picking up the phone and checking the screen. It wasn’t a number she recognized, but she answered anyway. "Hello?"

  "Claire?" It was Gerrick.

  "Is everything okay?" Claire said, trying to keep her voice completely even. To at least sound calm, even though her heart felt like it was about to punch out of her chest. The inside of her mouth went dry. "Brandon left over an hour ago. He should be home already?" Panic threatened to overwhelm her and her voice sounded far too loud inside her ears.

  "He's home, Claire." Gerrick said, his voice strange. He spoke softly, barely more than a whisper, and there was a current of worry in his tone that made her skin break out in gooseflesh. "Can you come to Highgarden tonight? Brandon is in trouble. He needs your help." He paused. "He needs you to be here for him."

  Her hand went to the diamond resting between her breasts. She said. "It'll take me a little while. I have to get dressed and explain to my parents."

  "Tell your parents nothing.” He said, cutting her off. “Brandon's life depends on you leaving immediately. You must hurry. Brandon’s almost out of time." He hung up.

  Claire stared at the phone in her hand for a long time before hanging it up. Tossing aside her bathrobe, she got dressed in a hurry, not wasting any time. She thought briefly of trying to use her father’s car, but discarded the idea. There was no getting it out of the garage without waking them. So she was walking.

  She didn’t care. If Brandon needed her, she would be there. No matter what.

  Highgarden was burning! Flames licked along the floor and climbed the walls of Brandon's bedroom, creating dancing shadows all around him. The sheets on his bed boiled with flames, dripping to the floor and igniting everything they touched. Brandon screamed and raised his hands, but they were nothing but charred and blackened claws.

  With a muffled shout, Brandon came awake, throwing himself out of his bed and to his feet. He was so convinced that the fire from his dream was real that he began beating at the bed and his arms to try and smother the flames, before coming to his senses. Standing beside his bed, breathing heavily, he closed his eyes and got his bearings. When he breathed deep, he tasted smoke. Residual dream smoke, maybe.

  Wrapping himself within the emptiness, Brandon pulled on a pair of pants and padded from the room, stopping in the hallway. Highgarden was quiet, but the air hummed with an unseen energy. Anticipation wasn't quite the word for it. Brandon's skin itched with the sensation. Something very important was happening and he didn't know what.

  The door to Gerrick's bedroom was open and Brandon was unsurprised to see that the bed was made. Not slept in. Moving silently, he went downstairs and paused at the arch leading into the sword room.

  The Phoenix was gone.

  Checking the front door, making sure that it was still locked, he moved quickly through the house. Nothing was out of place other than the Phoenix. The house was dark, but he moved through it with confidence. In the kitchen, he stopped. Faint light flickered in through the windows, reminding him of his first night at Highgarden.

  Opening the back door, he stepped outside and stopped. Gerrick stood in the center of the training circle. He was dressed in full armor. Black, with overlapping scales, it was different than the suit from Brandon's dreams. More modern, yet still made of steel. The Phoenix lay on the ground before him.

  Gerrick looked up as Brandon stepped outside. His face was uncovered, slick with sweat, and his eyes were wide and staring. That made Brandon pause. He'd never seen Gerrick sweat. When he saw Brandon, his mouth twitched, almost smiling, and he said. "It's time, Bran."

  "Time?" Brandon stepped out onto the deck, leaving the back door open behind him. Always leave yourself an avenue of retreat. Gerrick had taught him that. Snow crunched under his bare feet, but he barely felt the cold. He stared hard at the man before him, sensing a wrongness that he didn’t have the words to describe. Something was wrong.

  Gerrick nodded. "Time for your last lesson." Reaching down, he picked up the Phoenix. The sword hissed in his hand, burning his fingers through the gauntlets he wore, and he grimaced as he tossed it out of the circle. It hit the ground at the foot of the steps, snow bursting into steam under the hot blade. Gerrick stared hard at Brandon's face and spoke in an ice cold voice. "Pick up your sword, Stormson."

  Brandon didn't move. "What's going on? Why are you acting this way?” He took a step toward the circle and said. “Uncle Gerrick?"

  "I am not your uncle." Gerrick snarled. Moving forward, he kicked one of the stones that formed the circle. The stone tore loose from the earth and rolled off into the darkness. When the circle broke, Brandon felt something snap, deep within himself, and he felt something leave Highgarden. The magic giving the house its vitality washed away into the night, leaving Highgarden a husk, empty and dead.

  Gerrick unsheathed one of the two swords strapped to his back and glared at Brandon. “I don’t do this lightly, Brandon.” He said, looking down at weapon in his fist. "It's not completely the Curse's fault, you know? All of the pain and death that has come to Matheson.” He shook his head and looked up, meeting Brandon’s confused gaze. “Death follows men like us, Brandon. If it wasn’t Sha’ha’Zel or the grohlm, it would be something else just as bad. Or worse." He took a slow step toward Brandon.

  Brandon moved down the porch steps, bending quickly to pick up the Phoenix. When the sword was in his hands, the cold he'd been ignoring vanished as heat poured into him. Scorching flames coursed through his veins, causing the air to shimmer before him with the heat. He watched Gerrick come toward him, his own sword at the ready.

  It was a reenactment of most of Brandon’s nights since coming to Highgarden. But this wasn't practice. The swords were real, as was the deadly gleam in the older man's black eyes.

  Sidestepping around the circle, Brandon said. "I don’t know what’s going on, Gerrick. Or what the hell you’re talking about. But we’re not doing this." He heard shouts coming from the forest. The magic keeping the grohlm at bay was gone, destroyed when the circle was broken. Keeping an eye out for the missing stone, he pulled the emptiness tighter around himself and held the Phoenix in a low guard position. He said. "Is Sha'ha'Zel making you do this?"

  Gerrick sneered and lunged forward, driving his blade at Brandon's chest. It was a killing blow. The Phoenix flickered, batting the sword aside, and Brandon moved back a step. Gerrick watched him with hard eyes and gave a brief nod of his head. His face was twisted in an expression caught somewhere between hate and regret. He spoke in a cold voice. "You don’t understand, not yet. But you will." Gliding forward, the older man attacked. Throwing everything he had at Brandon, he worked his sword like the master that he was. His skills had been honed by the months of hard work, same as Brandon's.

  Brandon danced backward, defending for all that he was worth. He had no time to speak. He focused everything that he had on keeping Gerrick's blade from touching his flesh. He was unsure if the destruction of Highgarden’s magical barrier would weaken the god’s protection, so he wasn’t taking any chances.

  The time for talking was done.

  Claire was almost to the end of Bachman road when a darker shadow broke away from the trees flanking the entrance to Highgarden's driveway and moved to block her path. She froze, fear leaping up into her chest and the adrenaline jacking into her system, then the shadow spoke.

  "It's not safe out here." Albert said, stepping out into the moonlight. His face was white and his big eyes gleamed in the pale light reflecting off the snow surrounding them. "You shouldn't be out past curfew, Claire."

  "What do you care?" She said, stepping around the small boy. "You're as bad as the Kruegers."

  Albert followed, stepping quickly to keep pace with her. He said. "I care, Claire-bear. If you go to Highgarden alone, you'll die. I guarantee it. And that, I can't allow."


  Stopping, she turned and faced him. Her hoodie was pulled up and she stared out at him from the shadows obscuring her face. She said. "So, you're going to be my protector, Albert? What brought this on? You don't honestly think Brandon will forgive you for betraying him, do you?"

  Albert smiled, his teeth very white and very even. They looked sharp. The light reflecting off of his glasses made it look like he had no eyes. "I owe Bran a lot, Claire. I think it's time that I start paying him back."

  Brandon swung sideways, parrying Gerrick's flashing blade, and kicked the older man in the chest. The armor absorbed most of the impact, but Gerrick stumbled back a step, his lips peeling away from his teeth in a feral grimace. He said, his voice tight with strain. "You can't win, Brandon. You have to know that." His sword was a deadly blur as he launched himself into another all out attack.

  Brandon didn't waste his energy trying to keep up his end of the conversation. He stepped back before Gerrick could reach him and dropped to one knee, driving his right hand into the ground. Tearing the earth upward, dimly thinking of blinding the older man, Brandon heaved with all of his strength. As before, on the night the Kruegers died, the ground exploded upwards, rolling as if a giant Bugs Bunny burrowed underneath, and slammed into Gerrick like an earthen fist.

  Gerrick flew past the circle, broken earth falling all around him as he crashed into the deck railing. Wood and rock shattered as the armored man hit the deck and rolled to his feet. Blood poured from a gash on his forehead, painting his face into a gruesome mask. Dusting dirt and debris from his chest, Gerrick might have been teaching his evening lesson, but for the blood fanning down his face. "You've learned a few things on your own, it seems." His tone was cold but also amused. Mocking.

  "Why?" Standing in the center of the ruined circle, holding the Phoenix out to his side, Brandon faced the man that he had called uncle. That he had thought of as his protector. His friend. "Just tell me why are you’re doing this?"

  Gerrick snapped his wrist, clearing dust from the blade, and twisted his neck to pop it. "There are lots of curses, Bran. Not all of them have names." Kicking aside part of the broken deck railing, he dropped down to the ground. Reaching over his shoulder, he freed a second sword and advanced.

  Brandon left the circle, backing out into the yard. Snow crunched underfoot and big flakes began falling from the night sky. There were wispy clouds above, meandering across the moon. But no rain.

  It was too cold for rain.

  Gerrick followed, deliberately stepping around the circle, swords held out at his sides. He said, falling into the old villain’s trap. But his monologue was a short one. "Sha'ha'Zel was only one of the curses the Usurper used against the Storm Lords. Others were harder to spot, though no less insidious." He attacked, bringing both swords into play.

  Brandon twisted, batting aside both blades with ease, and ignored the opening that Gerrick gave him as the older man's side was exposed for a half a heartbeat. Except for the kick and the bit with the exploding earth, Brandon had only defended. Never attacked.

  He wouldn't attack. No matter how badly Gerrick tried to provoke him. Trusting in Rok to protect him from Gerrick's duel blades, Brandon knocked aside attack after attack. He was no fool. He knew that if Gerrick pressed the attack, the older man would win the fight. Without the rain, he was still fast and incredibly strong, but his reflexes were off. He was still faster than Gerrick, but only just. With the strength Rok gave him, he could batter aside any defense that Gerrick tried to put up, but he wouldn't attack. Not when he knew that was exactly what the man wanted.

  Sliding around a skewering attack that would have impaled him if Gerrick's heart had been in it, Brandon ignored another blatant opening and said. "Whatever's been done to you, we can find a way to reverse it. It can be undone. I'll help you."

  Snarling, Gerrick twisted and lashed out with an armored boot, catching Brandon in the chest. Brandon stumbled back, but only a couple of steps. He needed to end this fast. Before he wound up hurting his uncle. Ignoring the twin blades in his uncle's fists, Brandon tossed aside the Phoenix. The blade hit the ground a few feet away, steam shooting out from under the scalding blade.

  Sneering, Gerrick stalked forward. "You are unwise to lower your defenses, boy, with no rain to protect you." He attacked, throwing all of his strength behind the swing of his sword. Brandon watched the blade come and made no move to defend himself. He didn't dive for the Phoenix or even raise his hands to fend off the flashing blade.

  The sword stopped with only a bare inch between the razor sharp blade and the skin between Brandon's eyes. Brandon stared at the quivering tip of the sword and sighed inside. Outwardly, he was calm as he met his uncle's gaze.

  Gerrick's face was blank, the sweat beading his forehead freezing as an arctic wind cut across the yard and hammered them both. When he spoke, his voice was iron. "You would let me kill you, wouldn't you?" He didn't sound surprised. With the barest shake of his head, he stepped back and lowered both of his swords.

  Before Brandon could reply there was a sudden scream from up by the house. Then everything seemed to happen at once.

  Claire was running by the time she was within sight of Highgarden, Albert keeping pace beside her, his little legs pumping. He had been quiet since telling her that he was safeguarding her to Brandon's house. He followed silently, watching the dark woods surrounding them closely, as if he saw something in the trees that Claire couldn't. Something that he didn't like.

  Reaching the front porch, she banged on the locked door and tried the knob. “Locked. Shit.” Albert was beside her, strangely not out of breath, despite the run. She was about to shout when she heard the sounds coming from the back of the house. The distinctive ring of steel on steel. Moving quickly, she went around the house. She didn’t wait to see if Albert followed. She raced around the moonlit side, not trusting the thick shadows on the other side.

  She was nearly around the side of the house, watching the shadows of the looming trees out of the corner of her eye, when she heard Gerrick's voice, saying something to Brandon. She couldn't make out the words. She quickened her pace.

  Rounding the corner, she immediately saw Brandon and Gerrick. At least she thought it was Gerrick. Brandon was bare-chested and in jeans. She couldn't be sure, but he also looked like he was barefoot. Gerrick was all covered over in heavy armor, overlapping plates like the scales of a serpent, and he was holding a sword in each hand. Brandon was empty handed.

  She was about to call out when something leapt from the top of the house, snarling soundlessly as it hurtled toward her. She had a vague impression of snapping teeth and matted fur as it slammed into her. They hit the snow covered ground, rolling twice, before coming to a stop with the thing on top. In the moonlight, she saw its face for the first time. It was a boar, its curved tusks curling up from its grinning mouth and its mean little eyes filled with hate and triumph.

  It raised a wicked half moon blade, spotted with rust but sharp, and licked its pebbly lips with a sharp pink tongue. It grunted with something like delight in its tone and brought the ax down, aiming for her face.

  Before Claire could even attempt to fight back or even scream, the night came to life above them. Midnight black tentacles snared the boar, winding tight around its thrashing arms and its throat, and plucked it off of her chest. The boar screamed as it was lifted up into the darkness, a terribly human sound, full of terror and agonizing pain.

  Claire tried to shout, but her throat locked up and all that came out was something halfway between a giggle and a gasp. The axe had fallen to the ground when the thing was taken and Claire picked it up with shaking hands. She was scared to death, but that wasn’t going to stop her from fighting back. The boar's screaming stopped, dwindling down to a gurgling rasping wheeze. Rain began to fall, black against her pale hands and the falling snow. It smeared, staining her hands, when she touched it. Steam surrounded the drops as they fell, painting the ground black.

  It was raining bl
ood.

  The dying scream jerked Brandon into motion. Forgetting his uncle, he charged the writhing mass hovering above his girlfriend. Claire crouched in the snow, staring into the darkness above her. Her face was speckled with black drops of blood, her single green eye wide with shock and fear, but also determination.

  She was holding an axe.

  He reached her in one convulsive leap, barely registering the fact that the Phoenix still lay on the ground behind him, smoldering in the snow. All around them, the night was shattered by the sound of grohlm. With shrieks and howls, they came boiling out of the night, vomiting from the forest and rushing Highgarden in a riotous wave of steel and blood. Hundreds of them. Thousands.

  Before either of them could say anything, there was a sound from the woods. The sound of bowstrings snapping. Brandon caught Claire by the arm and spun her around, holding her tight against his chest. He put himself between her and the flight of arrows, arching out from the shadows. He felt the arrows peppering his back, the shafts breaking and the heads bending out of shape as they bounced off without leaving a scratch. Claire clutched herself against him, her breath hot against his chest.

  Above them, the twisting black form resolved itself into a man shape and dropped to the ground. Sha'ha'Zel rose to his full height, red eyes glittering in the night. His long black cloak slithered around him, curling at his feet and around his arms and shoulders. He smiled, cracked black lips peeling back from his sharp yellow teeth, and said. "Hello, Brandon."

  "You're early." Brandon shouted. Still shielding Claire with his body, he moved up onto the deck. Most of the rock and wood was shattered, but the wrought iron table lay on its side, the chairs scattered around it. Kneeling with her beside the table, he said. "You shouldn’t be here, Claire. What were you thinking?"