“Raphon, one of the senior Cadets.”
“And the result was?”
“He murdered me in the first two rounds and I managed to barely hold him off in the third. Your point? Beyond reminding me of a beating?”
“While you were in the baths, Phaistos had Raphon running the cliffs. It seems Raphon disappointed the Master with his performance against a third year. Phaistos and Tycion met in conference a little while later. Then, suddenly, Tycion is requesting you for additional training.”
“From teachers having a meeting you built a road to ‘Kess is being recruited’? Seems like a bit of a stretch, Sen.”
Sen rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, you’re not that dim. They sent you to Tycion because you’re so much alike! He was the best armed combatant in a generation, and one of the youngest Knights ever. If anyone understands what you need to learn to ensure you make it into the fold, it’s him.”
Hope dawned and the sunshine suddenly shone warmer on Kess’s skin. He turned around to look at Tycion’s broad back. Just then, the sunlight dimmed and a cold blast of air rushed through the courtyard. The breeze carried a girl’s voice. He spun trying to locate the sound.
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
“The sound of your swollen ego erupting in volcanic glee?” remarked Sen, smiling. His teeth gleamed in the dim light. “Why yes, I think I can just pick it out.”
“Listen!” Kess spun in a circle as the breeze blew again, trying to follow the echoing voice. The light faded, painting the stones, the trees, even the students, in wan hues. The wind whipped past, freezing cold on a clear summer’s day.
He looked at Sen, who spoke to him, concern clear on his features, but Kess couldn’t understand the words. They tumbled out garbled and muted. Kess clutched at his head as confusion and fear whirled through him. Pain thrummed behind his eyes.
“Hayden!” came the voice again. A hand gripped his shoulder and jolted him backward. Hayden spun instinctively, flinging his left arm up and over, trapping his opponents limb even as his right hand drew back for a strike. He completed his sweep and wound up looking at Vivian’s shocked face as he pulled her off balance.
Startled, he lunged to get his right arm around her waist and pull her up. She reached up and clutched his right shoulder with her left hand. This left them in, essentially, a deep dip, staring at one another with their lips inches apart. Her blue eyes stared up, wide and bottomless, and her face bore no trace of the wounds she’d received.
“Hi,” Hayden rasped. Heat crawled up his cheeks. Vivian blinked a few times and a tinge of blush blossomed on her face, too.
“Hi,” she said. “Can I get up now?”
Hayden cleared his throat, lifted her to her feet, and took a half step away. Vivian looked around at the Academy courtyard, which remained painted in half-light, but her right hand lingered on his arm.
“What is this place?”
Hayden looked away from Vivian’s soft hand and took in the scene. There was Bel-Tycion, meaty hands clasped behind his back, a guardian statute watching frozen children pass a cloud of frozen sorcery between them. Beyond the colonnade, the sea shone like a diamond in the pale, listless light.
“It’s the Academy of Atlantis. Or a vision of it.”
“How are we seeing it?” Vivan asked, her voice hushed with the kind of awe reserved for cathedrals and mountain vistas at sunset.
Hayden shook his head. “I don’t know. I see them, sometimes, when I use too much Axiom for too long. How you’re seeing it is beyond me.”
“I woke up and everyone else was unconscious. You were kneeling by the door holding your head. I touched your shoulder and...I was here. Who are those two?”
Hayden followed her gaze over his shoulder. Behind him, two young boys, maybe twelve or thirteen stood under a shade tree. One was Sennek. The other, he presumed, was Kessek, the boy he’d been sharing head space with until Vivian stumbled in.
Able to see him for the first time, Hayden’s eyes widened. Kess bore a striking resemblance to the man burning Hayden to death in the nightmares he’d dreaded every night for years. He’d been peering through his killer’s eyes.
Anger welled, the ferocious, terrified rage of a child. Kess’ hopeful smile pierced him and he hated it. Hayden reached for the Axiom, screaming, “Enough!”. He flung a clawed hand through the air and the vision exploded into glowing dust.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Deckard wasn’t sure if the smoke alarm or the laughter woke him from the depths of his slumber. His eyes fluttered open, and he knew at once he was home. Light leaked in between the curtains of his bedroom on the second floor. Judging by the angle, he’d slept through the night.
The smoke alarm cut off, but laughter peeled again, rich and free, a young woman’s voice. Memory asserted itself. Vivian’s apartment, Hayden’s desperate standoff, his collapse. He’d lost time.
Deckard sat up slowly and threw aside the covers. He still wore the clothes from last night, minus the shoes which were set beside the nightstand. Someone had set a glass of water on the nightstand as well.
As soon as he saw it, Deckard realized his mouth was horribly dry. He swung his legs off the bed and tested his weight. His knees popped, and his back complained, stiff and sore. His thoughts were clear, but a hollow ache clung to him, as though he’d survived a serious illness.
Deckard picked up the water and made himself sip at it. Once he’d drunk most of the glass, he made his way slowly to the stairs and descended the steps. Vivian’s voice floated up to him.
“Where did you learn to cook like that?”
Deckard rounded the corner into the hall. Vivian lay curled up on the couch, cradling a mug of steaming liquid. She wore a pink robe over blue pajama pants and a grey t-shirt and watched Hayden as he fanned smoke out of the small kitchen window with a plate. The boy wore a black t-shirt emblazoned with a Georgia Tech gold logo and faded grey-black gi pants. Something sizzled in a skillet, and the smell of cooking meat mingled with the smoky haze.
“I learned from my grandmother.”
“Did she burn the toast too?”
“Every time. That’s how you know it’s done.” Hayden flashed a quick smile at Vivian under the oven hood. He saw Deckard approach, and his smile faded. He stopped fanning. “Morning, old man.”
Vivian turned and smiled sweetly at Deckard, her left eye swollen nearly shut, the skin around it blue-black. “Good morning, Mr. Deckard.”
Deckard acknowledged her with a brief dip of his head. “Ms. Hale.” He looked into the kitchen at Hayden, who had returned his attention to cooking. “I did not realize that in my convalescence you were opening a bed and breakfast.”
Hayden smirked. “If you don’t want in on the ground floor of my culinary empire, then you don’t get any bacon.” He set his plate down and began cracking eggs in a mixing bowl. “I’m sure you have some bran flakes in the pantry.”
In truth, Deckard was famished, but he ignored Hayden’s jibe. He pulled out a chair from his table and eased himself onto it, keeping his back straight with some difficulty. He faced the couch and asked softly, “How long was I asleep?”
Worry shaded Vivian’s voice. “Almost a whole day. She glanced at the kitchen. “Hayden didn’t sleep last night, worrying about you.”
“How did he get us here?”
“Once he woke up from his visions, I helped him tie up the wolf twins with hairdryer cords. Then he picked you up and carried you to the car and brought you here. I stayed and talked to the police when they arrived a couple minutes later. They treated my eye and scrapes and took Lauren and Todd to the hospital.”
“Lauren and Todd were the totem channelers, then?”
“The werewolves, yeah. They’re the ones who attacked Hayden and me before.”
Deckard squashed his anger. “I see. And what did you tell the police?”
“The truth,” Vivian replied with a small smile. “My friend was helping me pack my things for a move wh
en Archon and Arclite showed up and fought off two shapeshifting Primes, then left. Sorry I had to blame you for the damage to my apartment.”
Deckard waved that away. “No apology necessary. I’m glad you’re safe.”
The clattering from the kitchen stopped, and Hayden walked out of the kitchen carrying three plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, and burnt toast on his arms. He set them on the table and declared, “Let’s eat!”
Conversation fell off as the two young people joined Deckard at the table and they all tucked into Hayden’s attempt at cuisine. The fare reminded Deckard of camp meals he had cooked while teaching Hayden to hike in the Smoky Mountains; nothing tasted precisely good, and the toast had to be scraped off and served with butter, but they both ate as though it consuming a last meal. Vivian remained more circumspect, nibbling at the toast politely and barely touching her eggs. She did nab a piece of bacon to take with her when she received a call from her parents.
As she rose and walked to the study for some privacy, Deckard wiped his mouth with a napkin and sat back. “Thank you, Hayden.”
The boy smiled slightly. “You’re welcome, old man. Not mom’s homemade biscuits and chocolate syrup, but it’ll do.”
“Not for breakfast. You recovered well and protected us. You thought clearly in a crisis. There are loose ends, but there always are.”
“Well…” Hayden’s smile dropped, and he sat a little straighter. “Thanks, Deckard.”
“The problem is why those actions were necessary. The wards here divert attempts at scrying, you know that. What possessed you to take Vivian out of this house despite my instructions?”
Hayden’s grey eyes flickered with anger. “She’d lost her car and realized she’d be losing her home for a bit. Her entire world got flipped upside down. I thought the people after her had been smashed up by a truck and wouldn’t be able to track us so quickly, so I took a calculated risk to run her home for some of her things.”
“You can’t just run off like that. It’s what I’ve been trying to teach you. These risks are…”
“You’re going to lecture me about risk, now?” Hayden leaned forward, palms on the table. “What happened to you out there? You came flying in like a thunderbolt, and then you just...stopped. Where was Archon yesterday?”
Deckard glared at him. “You listen to me…”
“I told you, I’m done being your apprentice.” Hayden pushed himself to his feet. “Keep your secrets. What’s one more? You don’t like how I do things, that’s fine, but you don’t have any right to keep making decisions for me.”
“Damn you, boy!” Deckard pounded a fist on the table, making the plates rattle. “I’m dying!”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Deckard turned his head away and ran a hand over his goatee, blinking away sudden tears. “I’m...losing the ability to harness the Axiom. I don’t know how much time I have left. Not long.”
Hayden slumped back into his chair, blinking, the shock evident on his face. Silence reigned for a few seconds before he spoke. “How long have you known?”
“A few weeks. The Axiom has been slow in coming to my call, and I can’t hold it for as long. That’s what you saw yesterday.” The tension left Deckard as he let the secret free and he sunk further into his chair.
“Weeks. And you didn’t think to tell me? You didn’t trust me with this? Ten years, Deckard! What have I been doing here all this time?”
“I was going to tell you sooner, but your visions of the sacrifices...they’re a new symptom Hayden, but they’re not the first.”
Deckard watched Hayden turn the information around in his head, watched his breathing quicken. “The visions of Atlantis? You always told me they were just dreams, pieces of the past picked up by my unconscious access to the Axiom.”
“I lied to you, Hayden,” Deckard rasped. “You sat on my couch as a boy and described in detail events you had no way to witness. And from the perspective of the man who murdered my home. You weren’t pulling up a scrying of the past, you were reliving memories of a traitor. One I thought dead for three thousand years.
“The Axiom can strengthen connections, Hayden, but a living will has to make them. The only way you could have those visions is if some part of Bel-Sennek is alive. In you.”
Hayden was shaking his head. “But...why? Why did you lie?”
“You were twelve, Hayden. What would you have grown up believing about yourself if I had explained that you were somehow connected to a murderer? You had access to the Axiom, even if only unconsciously. That alone made you exceedingly dangerous, to yourself and others. I needed you close, and I needed you safe. If you were Bel-Sennek come again...I had to know.
“So, I trained you, and I watched you. But the visions never changed and you never displayed any sign that the connection was growing. Until the other night.”
Hayden stared through Deckard, searching for something on his face. “And if they had?”
Deckard couldn’t bring himself to say it. He willed Hayden to understand, but pain knifed its way onto the boy’s face, and he shook his head again.
“No. No, I don’t buy it. You’re not a killer. That’s not how you taught me.”
“What’s the first rule of the Axiom, Hayden?” The boy went white and held his head in his hands. “‘Never make a connection you can’t sever.’ I hoped I would never have to do it. It’s the most insidious thing, Hayden. The things we love can tear us apart.
“But I’d done it before. For centuries, the Knights of Atlantis had one singular purpose: to prevent entities like the Worm from entering our world. To stop that...thing, that cancer, I sacrificed the entire island. I’ve been paying for that crime for thousands of years.
“The fire that burned you in your dreams, that made you afraid to go to sleep…” Tears left warm trails on Deckard’s face as they fell, and sorrow choked his voice. “I called that fire down the night Atlantis died.”
Hayden looked down at the empty plate, then at the clock, then the window. Anywhere but at Deckard. His voice whispered, chapel soft. “All this time, you thought I was a monster?”
Deckard leaned forward and reached out a hand across the table. “Hayden. Look at me, son.” Hayden glanced at him and then away again. Deckard curled his fingers in and pulled his arm back, sitting up.
“I thought you were a scared boy with no father to protect him. I thought you were a nascent sorcerer, walking around with a loaded gun at your fingertips. I thought you might become a monster, with no one to teach you.
“Instead, you grew into a capable, talented young man with a heart to help others. Not others. Individuals. It’s a strength; it gives you remarkable courage. But it makes it very easy to forget the first rule.”
Hayden finally looked at him, eyes full of pain, of betrayal. “You lied to me. For years. You knew why the visions wouldn’t go away, and you lied to me. Why should I ever trust you again?”
Deckard couldn’t meet that earnest gaze. It cut him deeper and more cleanly than an obsidian scalpel. “You have every right to be angry with me.” He lifted a hand to forestall Hayden’s bitter retort, then steeled himself and lifted his eyes again.
“But, you don’t have the time to indulge it. The one behind the Shard, the one trying to wake the Worm, has killed over a dozen people already. If we don’t stop him, the entire city will die when the Worm breaks into this reality.
“I wish there was time for me to explain, time for you to...but there isn’t. I can’t trust myself with the Axiom except in an emergency. It’s up to you to train Vivian. Her gifts may be what we need to trace your connection to its source.”
Hayden shoved back his chair, making the legs squeal against the wood floor, and rose to his feet. He turned and started walking toward the front door.
“Hayden!” Deckard called.
Hayden spun back with fury on his face. “Stop! Just stop!” he growled. “Not another word or I swear to God I will kick your teeth in!” Deckard leaned back, stu
nned, as Hayden stormed off. The front door creaked open and boomed shut.
Deckard leaned his elbows on the table and rested his head on his clasped hands. It was done. Hayden knew the truth. Or enough of it. He would be back, once he’d had time to cool off. The boy couldn’t leave people in jeopardy when he could do something about it.
If only Deckard could find a way to live with himself.
He sighed and lifted his head and projected a bit so his voice would carry to the hall. “You can come back, Ms. Hale. It’s alright.”
Footsteps sounded on the floor, and Vivian slipped into view and seated herself at the head of the table.
“How much did you hear?”
“Some.” She bit her lip. “Is the city really in that much danger?”
“More than you can possibly understand. Hayden will explain when he gets back.” Deckard pushed himself to his feet, wearier than he’d felt in years. “I need to head back upstairs. I’m still not fully recovered from yesterday’s excitement. I’m afraid I’ll be leaving you a mess, my dear.”
“That’s okay, Mr. Deckard. You’ve both done plenty for me already. I’m happy to help.”
Deckard smiled and patted her shoulder. He shuffled his way toward the hall, but Vivian’s question stopped him at the open doorway.
“Mr. Deckard?”
“Yes, Ms. Hale?”
“I’m sorry if I caused trouble. Between you two.”
Deckard smiled sadly. “Not you, Ms. Hale. I broke the first rule.”
Chapter Thirty
Hayden’s fists thudded into the heavy bag in a rapid staccato beat. One-two-three-four. One-two. One-two-three. He danced around the bag as it swung, bare feet slick on the polished wood floor of the dojo, sweat dripping from his brow. He snapped his blows into the bag, keeping his weight over his feet.
“That’s right, son,” Deckard explained as the skinny thirteen-year-old huffed and puffed, popping blows in ones and twos. “Don’t be drawn off balance, and don’t worry about knocking it into the yard. There you go. Good!”
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