The snow was piled deep. It was a completely different world than one we had just left. The snow was on top of the buildings and surrounded the rugged mountains. The air was still and quiet, there was no sound in the snow-drenched terrain, only the gentle shift of snow against snow. It was the most peaceful sound in the world.
The snow landed on Daniel’s dark hair, creating a crown of icy lace on his head. It landed in his eyelashes and on his shoulders. It made him glow – for the first time since I had met him, he truly looked angelic. For some reason, the idea made me shiver.
“Are you cold?” Daniel asked, noticing the shiver.
“No…” I said. “Come on.”
I tugged on his hand, to get him walking along the snow-obscured path. Despite the weight of our bodies and the fragility of the snow, we barely broke the surface of the snow. When we passed the house we had fixed up, I realized that we had left our things in there. My guitar, my bag and my grandfather’s book were all there. I would have to get them before we left for good.
It was strange to think we might not come back and see the historian again. I had grown to trust her as a teacher. Maybe not a friend, exactly, but as someone I respected. She was a mentor; one I would not forget easily. But it was time to move on. Marcus had to be dealt with.
Daniel and I finally stepped up the stairs that lead to the entrance of the cave. I stepped over the threshold of the entrance familiarly. My eyes went to the rose in the middle of the room first out of habit then to the right where the historian was sitting in her chair reading a book.
“You survived the change I see,” she said, not looking up from her book.
“I did,” I replied.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“I haven’t decided,” I said.
She finally looked up. She shut her thick book without bothering with a bookmark. Her multi-colored eyes took me in with her typical enigmatic expression. A small frown appeared on her face.
“Your clothes suggest something more than the change,” she said.
“Yeah, we were blown up, got in a fight with Seekers – several, in fact – went to Israel, and have spent the day in a vine-made city,” I said.
The historian was silent for a moment.
“I see,” she replied. “What do you mean ‘blown up’?”
I told her everything that had happened since we had left her cave. She didn’t try to read my history, and I didn’t suggest it. I could tell she preferred it that way. When I was finished, she took another moment to think.
“And what do you plan on doing about it?” she asked.
“I’m going to take the fight to Marcus,” I said. “Just like I said I would. Reaper is preparing for a fight as we speak.”
“You are going to attack a fortress?” the historian asked.
“Sure,” I replied.
“Do you think you will win?” she asked.
“It’s better than doing nothing,” I replied.
The historian smiled. She had liked my response. It made her happy. It was the first time I had seen her smile since my training had begun.
“Farrah said the same thing with the same expression on her face once,” she said.
“Yeah?” I asked.
The idea that my ultimate grandmother had said the same thing gave me confidence and hope. The historian’s smile fell.
“It was right before her final battle with Lorian and Darian, right before her deal with Nemesis,” the historian said.
“Oh,” I said.
It was right before Farrah had died…I wasn’t sure I liked the comparison.
“It is strange for me,” she admitted.
“What is?” I asked.
“Farrah and I grew up together,” the historian said after a long pause. “She was my best friend – my only friend, actually. I was odd as a child – obsessed with things the others did not care for. Life…death…the history of things; perhaps my ability presenting itself early. Farrah saw beyond my oddness, used to tease me all the time when I got too philosophical or morose. She was very intelligent, could quote all the poets, historians and scholars, but she never saw the purpose in studying. She was much more interested in doing…always wanted an adventure. Then…Odette came. Everything changed.”
The historian’s eyes roamed around the cave. I wondered if she was seeing the past of the cave – the people, animals and days of the place. I imagined the past was as difficult to see as the future, for a different reason.
“It is strange for me, because seeing you is like seeing her alive again,” the historian continued after a pause. “The similarities really are quite striking. She looked like you…only her hair was longer, and she did not have tattoos or a nose ring. But those differences are trivial… She had the same sense of duty – of protecting those she felt were in her charge. The same sense of humor – even the same way of punishing herself when she felt that she wasn’t living up to her own expectations. And as I look at you, all I can think of is the way I let her down.”
“Let her down?” I asked.
“I should have made the bargain with Nemesis. I should have given my life for my friend,” the historian said. “I should not have agreed to take her child and her lover to a distant land; I should have made them flee together as a family. I thought there was nobility in her sacrifice. There was only death…I should have seen past Marcus’ appearance. If I had, maybe things would be different now. Marcus would not…Farrah would have been able to stop him before it got this far.”
The information that the historian had been the one to take Farrah’s family out of the country was surprising, but not nearly as surprising as the very human guilt that dominated her expression. The words to console her guilt were not difficult to find.
“I’m not Farrah,” I said. “And I don’t know your past with her, but I would think that she felt grateful she had someone she could trust to protect her family. Her choice was her own. You were a good friend to do as much as you did.”
“Yet I help Marcus get closer to you,” she said.
“Marcus would have found his own way,” I said.
“He always does,” Daniel added.
“Perhaps,” the historian said. “Or perhaps he would have never discovered that you are the key to unlocking the weapon.”
She sighed and more memories flooded her senses. She was lost for a moment. The moment passed, and her eyes brightened with an idea. She stood in one fluid movement, her eyes still bright with the idea she was nurturing. She went to the white rose that was placed in the middle of the room. Her expression was soft as she looked at the rose. The expression suggested she was about to share a secret with me. She gestured at the rose.
“This rose was given to me by Farrah. She used her talent on it, so that it would never age. I would think she created it with you in mind, so that one day her heir could have a connection to her. I want you to have it.”
I looked at the rose in amazement. It was something my ultimate grandmother had touched – something she used her abilities to maintain. It was proof she was something more than a legend; tangible proof she had lived and loved and had died for her people, so that one day I could live. It was the only birthday present I had gotten, but I was certain it couldn’t be topped. I reached out and touched the glass case guarding the rose. My eyes found Daniel’s – he saw in my expression how much seeing the rose meant. His face lit up with a smile.
I was about to speak, to thank the historian, when I felt the pressure of time ticking down in a more urgent way. My eyes moved to the monitors at the back of the room as a flash of movement caught my attention. It was dark movement across the white landscape. Someone was here. We were not alone. The monitors went dark.
I got a flash of the world exploding around us only seconds before it happened.
Then, I was thrown off my feet and flung through the air. I hit the ground hard. The stone fractured as I hit. The sound of the explosion ringing through my head, the dust swirling around the
space, I looked toward the hole that had formed in the rock. It was to the left of the entrance. A new way in had been created with the explosion. Standing at the entrance was a woman.
The dragon-girl was back. Her eyes were bright with glee as she looked at the chaos she had brought. Behind her was the man with the black cloak and a group of fifteen. As I watched, she stepped through the hole; whatever trick the historian used to keep Watchers from entering her cave was useless against the step. The entrance was no longer guarded. The woman’s eyes were surprised when she saw Daniel and me on the floor. She had not been expecting us, but our presence was a welcome one. She could accomplish two missions at once. I knew she had come to kill the historian for no reason other than the fact that the historian knew too much. I could tell from the look in her eyes.
The dragon-girl did not waste time with words, though her eyes said plenty. She pulled a knife out from nowhere and threw it at Daniel. Daniel rolled out of the way just in time. She threw more at both Daniel and the historian. It looked almost as if she was pulling the knives from nowhere. They appeared in her hand then flew through the space without pause. Her brother joined in on their attack – he also threw knives that seemingly came out of nowhere. They were both focused on the historian and Daniel. I was not worth their time. She moved forward as she threw the knives. Her movement was almost like a snake slithering across the floor. It was an alien grace I found disturbing.
Daniel and the historian dodged, rolled, and kept up a continuous motion to avoid the daggers. It was motion I knew they could not keep up forever. Eventually, the knives would find their mark. There were just too many for them to dodge them all. I moved toward the dragon-girl, my anger boiling to the surface.
The dragon-girl saw me, knew I was angry enough to fight, and decided to act. She threw four knives in rapid succession, surprising me. One of them landed in my shoulder, one in my stomach and two in my right leg. The pain was a different surprise. I had not expected the knives to hurt so much. I had expected I would be impervious to the pain. I was wrong.
I fell to my knees as the attack on Daniel and the historian increased. I tried to stand, but the man in the cloak moved forward to kick me in the small of my back. I fell forward, my face slamming in to the rock. The rock did not hurt my face, but the knives were driven deeper in to my body. I grunted in pain. The man put his foot on my back, making the pain worse. I struggled against his foot. Around me, I heard the sound of the knives swishing through the air, the calls of the others as they taunted Daniel and the historian, and the sickening crunch of some of the knives finding their mark. The sounds were enough. I pushed against the ground, my anger overriding my pain. I felt three more people step on my back. I was shoved down again. Even my overwhelming strength was not enough to get them off me.
More knives swished through the air. Daniel called out to me. His voice was full of panic. He tried to get to me but the knives kept him at bay.
I had to focus.
My first instinct was to find the darkness. I would move to Daniel and the historian and take them away from the cave. We would escape. The pull was easy. I imagined them, particularly Daniel, and allowed myself to move. The problem with my plan was that the people touching me came with me. They could not help the pull. I felt the weight of them. I tried to push them off, to get them away from me as I walked in the dark. Three of them fell, but the last one would not let go. The touch was too strong. He would not fall. I couldn’t waste time fighting with him in the dark. Daniel needed my help.
I reappeared next to Daniel. He and the historian had taken cover behind a bookcase. It offered little in the way of protection. Daniel was bleeding from the shoulder and leg, while the historian remained untouched. She peered through the bookcase, and I sensed her preparing to move, to stop the woman from killing us all. I had no doubt the historian would be successful. As I landed, I turned to take care of the Watcher who had followed me through the dark.
It was the man wearing the cloak. He was quicker than I was, prepared for what he had planned. He pulled a sword out of nowhere and thrust it at Daniel. Daniel managed to evade the thrust, but only barely. I kicked at the man with the leg that was not full of knives. He jumped back and swung at me with the sword. His sword kept me away. It was a barrier against hurting him. I needed a weapon. I had four of them. I cried out in pain as I pulled out the dagger from my shoulder. The blood dripping to the floor, I held it low as I had been taught and waited for him to move again. The sound of the daggers flying through the air stopped abruptly – the woman had realized her brother was in danger.
I felt the air shimmer and suddenly she was next to us. She had another dagger in her hand. It was aimed directly at the historian. The historian caught the woman’s wrist and broke it with a quick ‘snap.’ The woman screeched in her pain. It was just like the night I had cut her hand. The broken wrist did not stop the woman – it just made her fierce. She lashed out at the historian and they moved in to a solid dance of fighting. As they moved, I kept my eye on the man with the cloak. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. His expression was hidden. I watched his gloved hands and his body for signs he was about to move. When he did move, I was unprepared for it.
He slashed at me than at Daniel, his sword controlled and his moves effortless. The first slash of his sword turned in to several. Daniel and I ducked and moved in time to his slashes. The man was a good fighter – he had perfected his swordsmanship. There was no way through his defense. Our fight was complicated by the other Watchers in the room. They were not content to let others have all the fun. They moved like circus performers in and out of the fight. They forced us to divide our attention between them and the man. The historian fought a similar battle from near the entrance to the cave.
The man’s attacks became more determined. As his sword picked up speed, the feeling in the room changed. The air was suddenly heavy – our movements took more effort. It was as if we were operating in heavier gravity. The others in the room were affected in the same way. Daniel and I managed to avoid the blows of the others, but the man was not affected by the weight of his talent. He moved toward us with more speed then we could manage. I watched helplessly as he aimed his sword directly at Daniel. Daniel tried to move in time, to dodge the blow. Daniel’s eyes widened when he realized he could not avoid the sword. His eyes switched to mine as I fought off two other Watchers. His eyes were afraid. I felt my heart stop. Time stood still. I had to act. I felt the pull of the dark again. I would get him to safety with my talent. I flashed away from my attackers and appeared directly next to Daniel. I was not quick enough. I watched in horror as the man stabbed directly in to Daniel’s chest.
The sword pierced his heart.
The sound of the ‘crunch,’ as it slid through Daniel’s ribs and in to his heart was earth shattering. Before the man in the cloak could begin to gloat about his victory, I returned with violence of my own. I threw my knife direct at the man’s face. It was a good throw, and the man fell to the ground. He did not get back up. He was dead. The feeling of heaviness stopped as the man fell.
Daniel’s knees buckled, and he fell to the ground. His fall was quick and without grace. The expression of shock dominated his features. The sword was still lodged in his chest. I moved to him, ignoring the chaos of the fight around me.
My hands moved to the large sword sticking out of his chest. I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do, but I couldn’t leave it there. It was too difficult to look at. I pulled it out of his chest and put my hands over the gaping wound. Silver blood rushed over my hands, drenching them in seconds. I was useless to stop the blood. I did not have Eli’s talent. I did not feel the pull of healing. I was too worked up to figure out if I had learned that ability as well. But Eli could save him. He could help Daniel heal before the blood loss was too much.
“I’m going to get Eli,” I said.
Blood was on Daniel’s lips. He could not reply. His mouth moved but words escaped him. He
was mute in his pain. His eyes were lost in fear. His hand moved to touch my face. It never connected. His hand fell, and his eyes closed. His body went limp. The strong sound of his slow heartbeat stopped.
I looked up from him, feeling shocked. The room was in chaos. It mirrored my thoughts. Everything felt slowed down. The seconds were torture. I could not keep out the visuals however. They pressed in on my senses – my brain was unable to shut down around the fear and pain.
The historian had found another dagger. She was wielding both daggers in different directions as she fought the dragon-girl and the others. She moved and danced in time to the rhythm of the fight. Her skill was unmatched. She was outnumbered, however. I couldn’t leave her to the fight. I couldn’t let her die…
Feeling detached, I raised my hand. The earth started to shake even as fire came from the palm of my hand. Those closest to me felt the wrath of the fire. Those farther away from me felt the wrath of the earth. The cave floor split open and the others, except for the historian and the dragon-girl, fell. When they were gone, the floor knitted back together, sealing them to their fate. They would not survive.
The historian took advantage of the moment and moved close to the woman. With a swift motion, the historian stabbed the dragon-girl in the throat and the heart at the same time. The woman let out a screech full of agony then fell to the ground. She was dead before she hit the floor. The historian turned to me. Her eyes had turned sad.
“I’m taking him to Eli,” I said before she could speak.
“He is gone, Clare,” the historian said.
“No!” My voice was sharp, full of purpose.
I focused on the dark in preparation to take Daniel to the camp. Eli would fix him. He had brought me back from the brink of death after I had been shot. He could do it with Daniel. Daniel was stronger – a fighter. He would never just leave me. Daniel always found his way back to me.
“Clare…let him rest.”
The historian put her hand on my shoulder. Her touch was compassionate, warm and surprisingly feminine. It was the touch of sorrow. I felt the tears form in my eyes.
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