Tournament of Fire

by Toni L. Meilleur

  Dedication

  To all my family, all my love.

  Chapter One

  Who in the hell calls at 4:16 in the morning? Kegan wondered as she blindly reached from under her warm comforter to her night table, trying to grasp the offending device. She pulled the phone under the covers and flicked it open. “What?” she grumbled her disapproval into the telephone. Whoever was calling this early in the morning did not deserve her polite voice.

  “You need to see this.” Logan’s deep voice resonated over the line. She pulled the comforter down, suddenly awake.

  “Where?”

  “The usual spot, hurry.” The line went down. Kegan stayed glued to the bed a second longer before excitement coursed through her lethargic limbs. Logan was all business—he never called her down unless it was really, really good.

  Kegan quickly snatched her curly brown hair into a hasty ponytail, not caring she left out a few strays. A quick splash of water to the face, two-minute makeup job and comfy sweats made her ready to go. She paused as she always did before leaving her home, running her fingers along furniture and walls, reveling in the feel without pain to her brain. Everything was new, made just for her and by machines. Machines had no history, no past really, no emotions, which made everything in her home blank. Free to touch with her bare hands. The small smile that played at her lips quickly vanished as she reached for her gloves and stuffed another pair in her jacket, just in case. Donning the gloves, she clicked off the lights and headed for Logan’s loft.

  When Kegan entered the building, she shuddered from the coolness of the place. Everything had to be kept cool. No telling what Logan would find and need to keep preserved. The small elevator cage rattled noisily, letting everyone know of her arrival. As the cage reached the desired floor, she saw two of Logan’s men facing the elevator—no doubt armed to the teeth. She wanted to bolt from the small cubicle, but instead, she held her hands up and away from her sides to show she wasn’t armed.

  Despite her claustrophobia, she let the door fully open before she stepped out of the elevator. The taller of the two, Nathan, stepped forward to search her. She flashed a look at him in disgust. He grinned, clearly getting ready to enjoy the grope he no doubt intended for her ass, as he always did.

  “Just let her pass and stop fucking around.” Logan’s voice carried dangerously low to her. This time she grinned at Nathan and purposefully bumped him as she went past.

  “Maybe you should take the gloves off, sweetheart, and find out what kind of man you’re dicking with,” he sneered quietly.

  “No need, I know an asshole when I see one.” she threw back over her shoulder. There was a low rumble of laughter as a few of the men caught the exchange.

  She sauntered to the back corner of the loft where several halogen lights seemed focused on a large object. Logan stood in front of it, his large muscular back to her as he ran his fingers across the object. Kegan’s curiosity picked up. Logan turned just as she was almost right behind him. He had a knack for that; no doubt a life of crime honed his paranoid skills.

  “Don’t mess with Nathan, he’s a loose cannon.” He slid her a look with his hazel eyes. Eyes that at one time could make her swoon. That was old history. He smoothed his brown hair back. Not that he needed to, it was still in place. Logan kept everything and everyone under his control. Exhibit A—Control Freak Extraordinaire. Exhibit B—the reason they didn’t work out.

  “He started it,” she mumbled like a two-year old. Her attention immediately centered on the box. It looked to be pure gold, with holes placed throughout the top. There was a small gap about six inches from the top that suggested a lid. No other markings adorned it.

  “What is it?” Logan got right to the nitty-gritty.

  “I don’t know.” Kegan bit her lip in concentration. She felt energy from the box that made her nervous. It appeared to be about seven feet long and four feet across. It had to weigh a ton. She briefly envisioned Nathan buckling under the weight of it and getting crushed. “It looks like a sarcophagus of some kind.”

  “Is it Egyptian, did I find another fucking mummy?” Logan sounded irritated.

  “No, Egyptian artifacts are highly decorated and they tell you something of its contents, this…this doesn’t even feel like gold…” she murmured the last part to herself. The metal looked like gold, but her instinct screamed that it wasn’t.

  “Will you see what it is?” Logan asked softly.

  “I don’t know…”

  “Look, I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t have to. I, of all people, know how your gifts hurt you. But I need this, Kegan. I spent millions of dollars digging this up.”

  He didn’t need to say the rest. He needed a return on his money. His men wanted to get paid. Logan had been in a dry spell for two years now. He was what some would call a grave robber, or worse. He often compromised archaeological digs by swooping in and unearthing what took professionals forever, then selling it on the black market. He was a history thief. Probably took out a loan to make the dig before whatever geek had clearance and a grant to dig. His only Achilles heel was his inability to save and invest money. She didn’t want to think about the money he’d probably gone through in his life.

  “Okay, fine, get my…”

  “Already done. Steele, bring it over.” He snapped his fingers and a tall lanky man, who looked like anything but steel, came carrying a tray with a glass of ice water, a bottle of Motrin, rubbing alcohol and paper towels unopened. Couldn’t risk history transference. “And of course your usual fee of ten percent is still in effect.” He flashed her what used to be his killer smile but…she remained unaffected. Kegan felt her legs tremble and she frowned. Deep down she knew once she laid hands on this block of metal, her life would be changed forever. Her cavewoman brain told her to run, danger, danger. The intellect in her said go for it. Damn intellect is what always got her in trouble. Kegan cast a wary glance at Logan, who tried to smile in support but it only came off as greed.

  She slowly peeled off her gloves and placed them on the tray Steele was carrying. With a deep breath, she situated her hands on the cool metal and instantly her brain seized the images. A tall man carrying a large weapon sliced through men on some sort of battlefield like butter. Lots of pain, lots of blood. She felt sick to her stomach. Images clouded her mind and she tried to let go of the box, but it wouldn’t let her. The images were old, very old. She saw the man slay a beautiful woman, and she crumpled at the warrior’s feet. Kegan began screaming and frantically tried to tear away from the box. It seemed to hold her hands captive. Oddly, it seemed for a brief second that an image of warrior with multi-colored eyes looked right at her. The images were torn away from her as she felt herself being lifted from the box.

  Logan cradled her in his arms and sat her on a couch at the far end of the loft. Kegan was visibly shaking. The shocking images making her brain mush.

  “Kegan can you hear me?” She heard Logan’s anxious voice, but couldn’t respond. He must really be worried, Kegan thought. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, it made her mouth seem too full. She couldn’t speak around it.

  “Kegan!” Logan was shouting at her now. She turned dazed eyes his way. “That’s it girl, come back to us,” he crooned to her.

  But Kegan wasn’t looking at Logan. She was looking at the box behind him, illuminated by the lights. The lid was sliding off as if on some sort of hydraulic system. It was so quiet she was sure no one heard it or saw it since all eyes were on her. She couldn’t warn them. A tall figure, the warrior from her visions, sat up in the box and looked around. She froze as he made eye contact with her. She began to hyperventilate.

  “We should call a doctor.” a voice said to Logan.

  “Shut
up, she’s going to be fine. “ Logan answered. “Kegan, come on, baby.” He snapped his finger in front of her eyes. But she didn’t see him or hear him—she just saw the warrior. He’d stepped out the box so quietly. His large, muscled chest was huge; he had to be at least six and a half feet tall. Two long, black braids came down at his temples and settled past his shoulders. The rest of his hair flowed down his back like black ink. Lavender eyes with gold trim stared at her.

  “L–look!” she managed a warning to the others. They all turned to see what had her in such terror. Logan stood immediately, pulling a gun from the band of his tight-fitting jeans. His men aimed weapons at the man.

  The warrior smiled and waved his hand. “Byminh” he said softly, and all the men slumped to the floor. The warrior frowned when he made eye contact with Kegan. .

  No need for worry, Kegan, was her last thought then thankfully she blacked out at well.

  Da’rak knew the moment he laid eyes on the woman she was the reason for his early rising. The humans lay around him like children’s toys long forgotten. He had no time for their primitive weapons or whatever unnecessary violence they wanted to offer him. His eyes were trained on the witch. Aye! She was beautiful. He watched her brown eyes close in shock and almost laughed. She was long for a woman, which meant she was tall, with heavily sun-kissed skin. Her eyes tilted slightly, reminding him of an animal he had once seen on Earth—a cat, he believed it was called.

  Her clothes were too big for her. He frowned in disgust—the female body was supposed to be displayed for a man’s enjoyment.

  He stepped around the men until he towered over her. Of course she picked that moment to open her eyes. She recoiled in fear, trying to somehow ball up and go inside the large, soft seating she had been lying on. Foolish woman. He reached for her, she shrieked. Then began to scream and scream.

  He yelled for her to shut up, but he suspected she did not understand him. Perhaps all the time he had been on Earth he should have learned the language, but he could not bring himself to socialize with such lower beings. If she would but just speak a few intelligent words, he could break the code of her language, but all the shrieking had to stop.

  Da’rak hated to do this, but he had no choice. She would scream herself sick. He waved his hand again, repeated ‘byminh’, and watched her slump into the soft seating.

  She would have to come with him. He could not leave her here. She had the power to wake him, what else could she do? He could not leave a possible enemy at his back, and what’s more, he could not bring himself to kill her in cold blood. She was surrounded with armed men. True, they were more like insects with weapons, but perhaps she knew who he was and meant him harm. Maybe she was hired to kill him before the tournament. Either way, he had to know these things and could not leave her. Da’rak looked around his surroundings and knew he was not in the cave he had settled in fifty Earth years ago. He picked the witch up and slung her over his shoulder, envisioned his cave and then he and the woman disappeared.

  Chapter Two

  Kegan woke on soft dirt. She’d been propped up against a wall and left like a newspaper. Her head ached and she needed the Motrin. She opened her eyes, already knowing Dorothy wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Why did things happen to her?

  Because you always have to know “why”.

  There was a drip that sounded far off in the cave. She really wanted to know how she wound up in the cave. She also wanted to know what happened to Logan and the rest of his men. Did that big warrior kill them? She straightened up farther and tried to take a good look around, despite the pounding headache urging her to keep her eyes closed.

  The cave light was too dim to make out anything. She opted for looking for a way out, but with the almost total absence of usable light and the headache, she knew at least for the moment she was grounded. After reading an object, she always suffered from a splitting headache. Sometimes she hated her gift. It was a form of psychometrics, only she saw the past of whatever object she touched. It drove her crazy, hence the gloves and making sure everything in her home was machine-made and handled. If the object had an owner, it had history; if someone touched it, his or her history would transfer to the object.

  That sarcophagus was a doozy. She closed her eyes, wishing she could clean her hands from the touch of the thing. It seemed it made her hands dirty. If she didn’t get her hands clean soon, more images would come from the residue. She couldn’t even put on her gloves for fear of contaminating the inside of them. She felt helpless and open to assault.

  A shimmering in the air caught her attention. The large box that had been in Logan’s loft appeared, the warrior at its side, his hand leaning casually against it. She gasped, knowing as much as she wanted to believe it wasn’t happening, she was seeing real magic. She was afraid to meet his eyes. She had seen them earlier and they unnerved her. Why? She would explore that later.

  He strode toward her on silent, booted feet. His leather pants tucked into the boots, a leather vest hugged his body that boasted not an ounce of fat. His braids swished side to side as he walked. If nothing else, the man was drop dead sexy. He knelt down in front of her, his full, sexy lips pursed slightly as if he were thinking hard. He cocked his head to the side and stared at her closely, his eyes lingered a moment on her chest and frowned. As if he was somehow displeased with her appearance. Kegan felt insulted.

  “Well, you’re not so great yourself!” she lied loudly. When he didn’t respond, she continued, “How do you think you would look if someone called you out at four in the morning, then you had a brain whammy and no aspirin to cure it? Look at my hands.” She shoved her hands forward for him to see. “While on the surface they appear to be clean, they are actually infected with your grimy life. By the way, same said grimy life will be haunting me until I can get them clean. So I really don’t care if you like my pink sweats or not!” She finished, feeling vindicated—no matter how ridiculous she sounded.

  He stared at her in concentration, and then a look of understanding finally married his features.

  “This will make it easier now,” he stated triumphantly, and stood.

  “What will make it easier? You speak English, thank God!” Kegan expelled a breath, relieved she wouldn’t have to elongate her words slowly and loudly then add o’s to try and make him understand her. Though there’s never been any evidence of that actually working, people still tried it when faced with opposing languages.

  “Yes, I speak English now,” he answered her.

  “Now, as if you didn’t a minute ago?”

  “Yes.” he answered her simply. Now he leaned his nice sweet ass against the metal box he came wrapped in and studied her. Even in the dim light, she knew he could see her clearly.

  “You some sort of language expert?” she quipped, slowly getting up; she didn’t have the butt padding to sit long on hard ground.

  “My people can crack the code of any language,” he boasted.

  “What people would that be?” She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Willing the headache to go away. She held her hands away from her, afraid her sweats may carry history residue from Logan’s loft.

  “You don’t know?” he asked softly, and she knew without looking he was closely gauging her reaction.

  “Look, my head is about to split. I don’t have time for twenty questions.”

  “Why would you think I wanted to ask you twenty questions?” he asked in puzzlement.

  “It’s a game.” Kegan answered wearily “Haven’t you ever played it?”

  “I only played games as a child. Why would answering questions be fun?” He truly sounded perplexed.

  “Forget it. Look, I don’t know what you want from me. Why don’t you just kill me or whatever it is you plan to do and get it over with?” Her headache was killing her now and she felt nausea setting in.

  “You are not well,” he stated, coming towards her. Not that she heard him, she felt him.

  “Please don’t come any closer or
you’ll find out what I had for dinner all over you.” She put a hand out to stave him off, but he ignored her. Her hand almost came in contact with his heavily muscled chest. His hand gently gripped her wrist and lowered it to her side. He planted his feet on either side of her, trapping her between him and the cave wall. Then she felt his fingertips at either side of her head and immediately the pressure from the headache began to dissipate. “Mmm, that feels wonderful.” she said, softly sighing. Forgetting for just a moment where she was and who or what she was with. She felt his whole body stiffen then retreat. When she opened her eyes, he was leaning against the box again. “I don’t know how you did that, but thanks,” she stumbled out.

  “You had a seer’s headache.” he said matter-of-factly.

  “A what?” She squinted, trying to see his expression.

  “My people have Seers. Sometimes when the gift is strong, it can cause pain.” He stood straight and began pacing the cave.

  “Right, look, uhm Hercules. I serve you no purpose. I won’t tell anyone anything, will you just let me go?”

  “I do not know who this Hercules is. My name is Da’rak. I am King of Paa’eva or, at least I will be again.”

  “King, huh? Of Paa’eva? Where is Paa’eva? Is it some where in the Mediterranean?”

  “No, is it many galaxies away.” He finished what appeared to be synchronized pacing and stopped at a spot. Kegan guessed “X” marked the spot. He began to chant softly and the ground vibrated. Kegan cautiously stepped forward, determined to see what he was doing. She stood a good three feet behind him and watched as his hands hovered over the spot and the dirt seemed to erupt out of the ground. The hole became bigger and bigger until a small trench lay at his feet. He reached down into it and pulled out a long thick rod. “Ah, Juchon,” he breathed in affection.

  “What is a Juchon?” Kegan asked, admiring the rod. It was beautiful, intricate carvings ran up and down its shaft. It seemed to pulse in Da’raks’ hand.