The Men of Anderas III: Talon, the Assassin

by C. J. Johnson

  “Where did you read that, Blue? You have more knowledge of my history than I do.” Talon was intrigued by the book she mentioned but even more by Shadow’s passion for what she read.

  “I found this huge old book. Talon, that book is FIVE THOUSAND YEARS OLD! It referenced solar dates and, believe me when I say converting those dates into current time wasn’t easy. I couldn’t believe what the math was telling me. Do you realize that’s older than any of the civilizations anywhere I’ve traveled?”

  There go those color spikes again. “Where did you find it?” He didn’t remember hearing about a book that old, but he was so young when….

  “In a tiny room hidden by the staircase in the old library. It’s under my bed now. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Talon followed her, enjoying the way she practically skipped through the house. Her excitement was contagious. She was changing. He wished he could take credit for part of her transformation from vulgar bitch to intriguing companion but his only contribution was one night of mind-blowing sex. When they stepped into her bedroom, his excitement split between her bed and the memories of their night in his bed and the massive tome she struggled to pull into the light.

  “You have to be extra careful with the fragile pages. I would just die if I damaged something this rare but when I realized I could read the language, I couldn’t stop myself.”

  Talon smiled at her reverence when she stroked the cover.

  “You can’t see the color. It’s faded but I think it was once a deep red. The corners and clasp are pure gold. I tried to clean the tarnish off but I was afraid I’d damage the filigree work. It’s so delicate.” She flipped the clasps and slowly lifted the cover.

  Talon scooted closer to where she sat on the floor so he could see the pages.

  A deep sadness tightened his chest when he realized he couldn’t read the words. His new vision saw shades of greenish-grey but all he could see were darker splotches he assumed were the words. Unlike the cards he could ‘read’ by feeling the raised ink, a single touch of the page confirmed his fear. The ink was far too old to be felt.

  “I’m sorry, Shadow, but I can’t feel the words.” Damn, he hated to admit that to her.

  “Crap! I don’t think of you not being able to do anything you want to do. I can read it to you, if you want me to, I mean.”

  Talon stroked the strands of hair that escaped the tight knot on her head before slipping them behind her ear. “I’d like that, Blue.”

  Shadow started at the beginning for Talon and read until her voice gave out. Something about this story touched her soul and soothed an ache she never knew existed. This accounting of the extraordinary travelers fleeing the eminent super nova of their sun; settling on planets throughout the thousands of galaxies; sharing their immense knowledge with the indigenous residents was more than a daily log. It was a journal of the hopes and dreams, even the fears that urged them to search for the next civilization that needed their knowledge. The death of their planet would never be the death of them.

  At some point, Talon stretched out on the floor and was now sound asleep. Making a mental note to herself about where she stopped, she slid her special treasure away. After a quick trip to the bathroom, she pulled the blanket from the bed and snuggled next to his warm body. She didn’t bother with a pillow. His chest made a better resting place than any pillow. That pesky voice of reason reminded her she was supposed to pull away from this intimacy.

  Tomorrow. Okay? I’ll do it tomorrow. I promise.

  * * * *

  “Talon, you need to get out here! Now! Sooner if you can haul your lazy butt out of bed!”

  “What the hell am I doing on the floor?” He mumbled, groaning when stiff joints complained. He staggered to the back of the house where Shadow was currently bellowing her displeasure to the universe. Gods, he was too old to sleep on anything harder than a moss-filled mattress. His back and neck were killing him.

  “What’s wrong?” He surveyed the area but saw nothing to warrant such a ruckus.

  “Someone left the door open on the smokehouse! I came out to add more wood and found…this!”

  She was waving frantically at the darkness inside the door. What could possibly be so disturbing? She was a mercenary, why didn’t she just shoot whatever dared to disrupt her world? The woman was practically vibrating with anger. All it took was a brief glance inside to answer that question.

  The exterior of the smokehouse was painted with white paint mixed with an herbal insecticide to keep the hordes of bugs away from the smell of fresh blood. It only worked when the door was sealed. Carrion beetles swarmed over every surface. It would take them less than a day to completely devour every slice of meat in there.

  When he stepped back from the open doorway, his foot hit something soft and squishy. Ants crawled over the piece of meat—and now his boot—but it was the human bite out of one side that told him exactly who left the door open. Guess they didn’t like their meat raw.

  “It seems our guests were hungry when they got here yesterday.”

  “You should have let me shoot him again. Looks like you get stewed fruit and leftover roast for breakfast.”

  “Whatever you fix is fine, Blue. I’m not going to make demands about my meals when you’re gracious enough to cook for me.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a quick hug. “Let’s go inside and see what gourmet cuisine we have left from last night.”

  “You are so full of bull….” She clamped her mouth shut before she slipped and had to kiss him. Her heart was undecided about whether she wanted to kiss him or not.

  In less than an hour she managed to put a filling, if somewhat unorthodox, meal on the table. There was more than enough roast left over from dinner. She added a cooked grain mush and dried fruit simmered with sugar and spices. She counted herself extraordinarily lucky when she found sealed canisters of basic staples like sugar, flour, grains, and spices, in several of the houses. Draagon’s men destroyed most of them but they must have gotten tired of the job or wanted to find something more profitable. As long as she didn’t think about things like expiration dates and how many hands touched the products, she would gratefully use them.

  Talon seemed full and content when he left to go hunting. He promised not to bring another eldorak. After a quick bath, she was ready to explore the house next door again. Standing at the open gateway, Shadow tried to identify the unexpected emotions swirling through her body every time she came to this house. There was nothing unusual or unique about the house except Talon’s reaction to any mention of it. The only structural difference she could see was the second story. The other houses on this side of the town square were single storied—at least the ones still standing. She would love to see it as it was before Draagon and his Phantom Riders.

  Traces of blue paint clung to the cracks and crevasses of the shutters. The door, bleached by the elements, wasn’t as easy but she got a faint impression it was green at one point. Her first instinct was to ask Talon but given his reaction to the house, that wasn’t a viable option. All in all, it didn’t matter what color paint was used then, this house intrigued her now.

  The few feet from the gate to the steps cried out for colorful blooms that would fill the air with their perfume. Given that the majority of the residents were artistic in nature, it wasn’t hard to believe that every house planted a multitude of varying colors, textures, and fragrances.

  As usual, the box buried beneath the step whispered to her but she wasn’t ready to tackle the locked room. Talon said it was the only secure room left in the village. Why? What need did this family have for what was, in essence, a vault? The same questions kept repeating and that voice in her head insisted there was more to that room than a place to store funeral urns. Okay, so maybe the voice wasn’t always a pain in her ass.

  Shadow’s goal for today was to discover where the parent’s slept. The only room upstairs was the young boy’s that she discovered on her first foray into the
house. The empty rooms downstairs were possible options but something didn’t feel right about that. Wouldn’t they want to be near their son at night? Especially the mother? Although her personal experience with sleeping children—or mothers, for that matter—was extremely limited, her instincts insisted she would never leave a child of hers alone all night in a very large house.

  What makes you think you’d know how to raise a child? Stick with what you know and do not start thinking about what you can never have.

  Before starting upstairs, Shadow paced the length and width of the downstairs, especially the distance between the staircase and the wall directly opposite. She couldn’t shake the idea that she was missing something basic but vital. The image of her magic closet kept teasing her—intruding on her other thoughts at random times.

  At the top of the staircase she repeated the same exercise. “Well, damn. It’s the same.” What did you expect? “Can’t believe I’m arguing with myself. And I’m losing!”

  Repeating the measuring from every conceivable approach yielded the same conclusions.

  The only room you’ve not examined is that one. It’s no different than walking through a cemetery or mausoleum. You didn’t have a problem hiding for three days in the catacombs on Jaeden VI.

  “Again with the lecture? You do realize we’re the same person, right? And I’m talking to myself. Again.”

  Before her apprehension could override her common sense, she dashed down the stairs and out the door. The box was buried deeper than she expected given Talon’s age when he hid it. It took the better part of an hour and the loss of three fingernails to locate the box.

  Taking the time to wash the dirt from her hands and grab a quick drink was the only delay she allowed herself. Despite any and all arguments, the answers to her questions had to be in that room. She’d never seen a sonic key and had no clue how to make it work. There wasn’t a keyhole on the door so where did you put a key?

  The faded image of warriors brandishing swords from atop horses told her the box belonged to a young boy. Education here may have been tailored to the artistic community but young boys yearned for the same adventures. Twenty years of climatic changes rusted the metal and sealed the box. Careful not to damage the fragile box, Shadow pulled the knife from her boot and pried the lid off.

  “What the hell?” She whispered, lifting the key from its bed of rotting cloth. It wasn’t much to look at and she didn’t see how it could be called a key. With a single leg for a handle and two arms pointing straight up, it measured no more than three to four inches in length.

  “It’s a tuning fork.” Many years ago she watched a man tune the keys of some kind of music maker. At the time, the process fascinated her and she watched every step in the complex procedure. After he finished she stayed until the tavern closed to enjoy the music.

  “Let’s just see what happens.” She mumbled before tapping the double prongs against the floor. The faint humming coming from the key brought a quick smile but the sound alone didn’t open the door. She tapped again but this time placed the single ‘leg’ against the metal and slowly moved it up and down the seam where the door met the wall. Nothing. It took five repeats of tap-and-place before she heard the unmistakable click and the door opened about six inches.

  “Talon, you’re a genius.” Dropping the key into her pocket, she pulled the door wide enough for her to enter. An unbidden image of her, locked in the vault with no way to escape stopped her cold. She ran to the young boy’s room and grabbed a sturdy chunk of wood. After wedging it beneath the door to prevent closure, Shadow was a little more confident about the day’s explorations.

  Her expectations of what she would find were based on the few occasions she took part in a funeral. Mercenaries weren’t normally added to the guest lists. What she found was floor-to-ceiling shelves around the large room with open shelf units marching side-by-side filling the center of the room. There were hundreds of urns covering every available space on the units. Her heart ached for the little boy forced to grow up so quickly and harshly.

  Gods, Talon. How long did it take you to do all of this? You were a sheltered child from what little you’ve said about your life here. Not only did you create this secure resting place for your family and friends; you had to prepare them for these urns as well. Wait! You said Draagon took all the urns. Where did these come from?

  Putting that question away for a later discussion, Shadow slowly walked between each row. Every urn carried a name and the same date. It had to be the date Draagon ordered the complete genocide of an amazing race of people.

  In the far back corner, Shadow noticed tiny paw prints in the thick dust covering the floor. Now how did you get in here, little field mouse? Since she found no skeletal remains on the floor and she doubted the critter crawled into one of the urns to die. There had to be an opening of some description. The trail led back to the front of the room and the corner nearest the security door. Squatting down, she carefully wiped away the dust and saw what looked like tiny scratches on the floor. The tiny mouse may have made them trying to escape the sealed room except each mark curved perfectly. No, not made by the mouse. They appeared to be made by someone pulling the shelf unit away from the wall.

  Stalling long enough to retrieve another piece of wood from across the hall in case she needed to block another door, Shadow drew a deep breath and carefully pulled the unit. The groan of an unused hinge echoed through the quiet vault and raised goose bumps up her arms, making her shiver.

  If she hadn’t seen the paw prints she never would have thought to look for another door. Just what did they need to hide? Did Talon know about this door or was this shelf unit used for something else? Bookcase, maybe?

  The door had a standard doorknob but no place for a key. Caution was her mantra when she gripped the knob. A slight twist of wrist and the door eased open without the screaming hinge. No natural light meant no window. After she blocked this door like the first one, Shadow pulled her torch from her pocket. The small circle of light didn’t give her the same strong light as the sun, but she could easily make out the shape of a small table, a single chair, and a large trunk. There was nothing on the walls or floor except more dust.

  The table turned out to be a small desk, the kind a woman would use for her personal activities. It held nothing but a few sheets of paper and a journal which she slipped into her pocket to read later. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on that trunk!

  The heavy lid had a bracer bar which still looked sturdy but she wouldn’t wiggle the contents around too much in case it gave way. Inside she found several packets of letters tied up with satin ribbons; albums of wedding photos and baby pictures; and stacks and stacks of infant clothes folded neatly and apparently by size. These were the precious memories of a devoted wife and mother. Shadow somehow felt guilty for snooping. If felt wrong, somehow, like she’d be caught going through someone else’s personal things.

  Is there a similar trunk somewhere in the universe from my mother? Left hidden away until someone stumbled onto it? Slamming the door on thoughts of a woman she had no memory of, she carefully closed the lid.

  If she hadn’t lost her balance just a little when she stood up too fast, she would have completely missed the edge of what looked like a picture frame behind the trunk. The trunk was too heavy to move but it made a sturdy brace as she lifted the painting. A few swipes of her hand removed the layers of dust enough that she could see it was a portrait of a woman sitting at this desk. Light shone through a spectacular stained glass window behind her so this wasn’t the room where the desk belonged. Standing beside the woman was a little boy about six years old. His hair was an unruly brown mop and those green eyes sparkled with mischief. The blue shirt he wore, a darker shade than the dress on his mother, carried an embroidered name—Darius. Cradled in his arms was a vioharp. She heard one played once and still got goose bumps thinking about the sweet, soulful sound. This portrait was so vibrant, so lifelike, that she fully expected him
to lift it to his chin any moment.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” She whispered, wiping carefully at the dust still clinging to the paint. She’d know that grin anywhere. She should. It appeared way too often in her dreams. “You were one cute little bugger, Talon.”

  Things were finally beginning to make sense. Talon’s reaction to this house. The baby spoon she found downstairs. The trauma of dealing with all these deaths at such a young age could have destroyed a weaker human being. All these items and events are what gave birth to Talon.

  “I wonder….” Shadow scurried into the vault room and again walked the aisles. This time she looked for a specific name. “Ha!” She crowed, pointing to the urn she just located. “Found your ass!” She needed to prove to herself that her assumptions were right so she broke the seal on the urn and lifted the lid.

  Empty! I knew it would be! Carefully replacing the urn to its place on the shelf, she closed the little room, sealing away his childhood. She would tell him about the trunk because Talon needed this trunk. It was as close as he would ever come to having his mother with him.

  The main door hummed when it sealed itself after she removed the piece of wood holding it open. It would have closed on her without the block.

  Walking across the hall to Talon’s old room, Shadow tried to put herself in the situation he found himself in after Draagon left. Even now, as an adult compared to his twelve, she honestly didn’t think she would have the presence of mind to accomplish all this. For family—yes. People she knew by name but only saw on rare occasions? She didn’t think so.

  Her opinion of Talon had improved over the weeks they’d been together. There was so much more to him than the man she dragged from Cypriana. It looked like she was far beyond the point where she would leave with her heart intact when their contract terminated.

  Standing at what was left of a broken window, lost in thoughts of Talon and her eventual heartache; it took several minutes before her brain recognized what she was seeing. Hidden among the branches of a massive tree beside the house was a structure. The thick vegetation made it difficult to make out many details but she could definitely see milled lumber when the breeze lifted the leaves. Was it a watchtower? It was too far from the marina to warn of an invasion from the ocean and the hidden tunnel was on the other side of the island.