A Soldier of Shadows
Page 35
We were on the ground level, in what appeared to be some kind of storage room. She’d placed two comfortable armchairs in there, but other than that, the room was totally empty.
“We just needed as plain a room as possible,” Aisha explained. “No distractions. I will even turn out the lights once we start.”
Turn out the lights. I didn’t like the sound of being alone in a pitch-black room with Aisha. Although I could see in the dark, the lack of lighting might give her a false sense of security and I didn’t know what tricks she might try. Still, I had to get this done. She held the answers I needed.
“Take a seat,” Aisha said, as she closed the door.
I sat down, gripping the arms of the chair, and leaned back.
“Make sure you’re comfortable and feeling relaxed,” she said, her voice soft and alarmingly close to my ear. She had moved right behind me.
Then her hands slipped onto my shoulders. She attempted to massage me, but I shoved off her hands before she could start.
I glared daggers at her. “I’m relaxed,” I said curtly. “Now let’s get on with it.”
She pouted, then moved over to the second chair, though she did not sit down. She remained hovering directly in front of me.
“Close your eyes then,” she said.
Again, I felt uncomfortable about closing my eyes with her in the room. But at least for now, she seemed to be staying put where she was.
So I closed my eyes and leaned further back in the chair. And almost as soon as I did, a vision took hold of my mind…
A tall, lean figure covered in a cloak traveled along a rocky beach in the dead of night. It was a man, from the broadness of his shoulders and the strength of his walk. He carried a bundle in his arms—an infant, wrapped in a blanket.
The moon was the only light to guide him as he weaved in and out of the rocks. He stopped at the foot of a cliff that bordered the rocky shore. Heavy wings shot out from beneath his cloak. He flew upward, higher and higher, until he landed on a ledge about halfway up the cliff. Now he stood before a narrow crevice.
Folding his wings, he stepped sideways and moved into it. He reappeared in a dark, damp tunnel, completely shut off from the rays of the moon. Still, the figure seemed to find his way as he moved forward. He wound his way round the tunnel, careful to keep the infant’s fragile body sheltered from any protruding rocks in the walls, and finally arrived outside an old oak door. The wood was rotting from dampness and age, the iron handle rusting. He gripped the handle and tried to open it, but it was locked fast. He took one step back, and, holding the baby in one arm only, used his right hand to bang against the door.
His deep voice boomed out. “Hortencia! I know you are in here.”
The dripping of water from stalactites and the distant thundering of waves outside the tunnel were the only sounds to be heard.
“Hortencia!” the man called again after several moments. “It is I, Arron of Aviary. Grant me entrance now, or I will break down your door.”
Footsteps sounded, softly at first, then growing louder as they approached the other side of the door. The door handle rattled as someone on the other side clasped it.
“You’re not welcome here,” a quiet female voice responded.
“You heard me,” Arron replied. “Open the door.”
There was a pause, and then came the clinking of keys. Metal scratched against metal, and then there was the sound of a bolt being drawn. Then the door groaned open, sending echoes off the walls of the tunnel.
Standing before the man was a small woman with a round, heart-shaped face and almost no hair. Her skin etched with circular black symbols and she wore a dark green robe. A strange silver visor covered her eyes, and the parts of her youthful face that were visible bore piercings.
“How did you find me?” she asked, her lip curling.
“The information came out of a particularly grueling session of torture with your aunt. We have her in Aviary, and she won’t be let free until I have your counsel.”
The woman grimaced. It was hard to tell how much of her distaste came from hearing that her aunt had been kidnapped, and how much from the fact that Arron had found her place and disturbed her.
“Let’s be done with it,” the woman said.
“Hold out your arms,” Arron said. He shifted the baby from his arms into the woman’s.
A small gasp escaped her lips the moment she touched the infant. Although she remained looking straight ahead, toward the direction of Arron’s voice, and not down at the child.
Arron continued, “Through your blindness, what do you see?”
Her legs seemed suddenly weak, and she staggered back, her back hitting the oak door. Her black tattoos began to swirl and move, migrating around her skin.
“The child of an immune… and a former vampire. Derek Novak, no less.”
“He was brought to us by a rogue vampire, Kiev Novalic. What do you advise that we do with the infant? How can he be valuable to us in our war against the Elders?”
The woman paused, chewing on her lower lip. She swayed a little on her feet. Her hands loosened around the infant, then tightened again. Her tattoos stopped moving.
Then she uttered only six words in response:
“Keep him away from the Elders.”
The scene faded, giving way immediately to another.
Holding the infant, Arron stood on a shady veranda sheltered by towering treetops. The Hawk lowered the infant into a cradle in the center of the platform and covered the crib with a light silk cloth. He walked several feet away toward the entrance of a grand wooden structure—a lavish treehouse residence—and stepped inside. Standing in the entrance room, in the middle of the shiny wooden floor, was a familiar female Hawk with curly auburn hair and a black beak.
“We just needed as plain a room as possible,” Aisha explained. “No distractions. I will even turn out the lights once we start.”
Turn out the lights. I didn’t like the sound of being alone in a pitch-black room with Aisha. Although I could see in the dark, the lack of lighting might give her a false sense of security and I didn’t know what tricks she might try. Still, I had to get this done. She held the answers I needed.
“Take a seat,” Aisha said, as she closed the door.
I sat down, gripping the arms of the chair, and leaned back.
“Make sure you’re comfortable and feeling relaxed,” she said, her voice soft and alarmingly close to my ear. She had moved right behind me.
Then her hands slipped onto my shoulders. She attempted to massage me, but I shoved off her hands before she could start.
I glared daggers at her. “I’m relaxed,” I said curtly. “Now let’s get on with it.”
She pouted, then moved over to the second chair, though she did not sit down. She remained hovering directly in front of me.
“Close your eyes then,” she said.
Again, I felt uncomfortable about closing my eyes with her in the room. But at least for now, she seemed to be staying put where she was.
So I closed my eyes and leaned further back in the chair. And almost as soon as I did, a vision took hold of my mind…
A tall, lean figure covered in a cloak traveled along a rocky beach in the dead of night. It was a man, from the broadness of his shoulders and the strength of his walk. He carried a bundle in his arms—an infant, wrapped in a blanket.
The moon was the only light to guide him as he weaved in and out of the rocks. He stopped at the foot of a cliff that bordered the rocky shore. Heavy wings shot out from beneath his cloak. He flew upward, higher and higher, until he landed on a ledge about halfway up the cliff. Now he stood before a narrow crevice.
Folding his wings, he stepped sideways and moved into it. He reappeared in a dark, damp tunnel, completely shut off from the rays of the moon. Still, the figure seemed to find his way as he moved forward. He wound his way round the tunnel, careful to keep the infant’s fragile body sheltered from any protruding rocks in the walls, and finally arrived outside an old oak door. The wood was rotting from dampness and age, the iron handle rusting. He gripped the handle and tried to open it, but it was locked fast. He took one step back, and, holding the baby in one arm only, used his right hand to bang against the door.
His deep voice boomed out. “Hortencia! I know you are in here.”
The dripping of water from stalactites and the distant thundering of waves outside the tunnel were the only sounds to be heard.
“Hortencia!” the man called again after several moments. “It is I, Arron of Aviary. Grant me entrance now, or I will break down your door.”
Footsteps sounded, softly at first, then growing louder as they approached the other side of the door. The door handle rattled as someone on the other side clasped it.
“You’re not welcome here,” a quiet female voice responded.
“You heard me,” Arron replied. “Open the door.”
There was a pause, and then came the clinking of keys. Metal scratched against metal, and then there was the sound of a bolt being drawn. Then the door groaned open, sending echoes off the walls of the tunnel.
Standing before the man was a small woman with a round, heart-shaped face and almost no hair. Her skin etched with circular black symbols and she wore a dark green robe. A strange silver visor covered her eyes, and the parts of her youthful face that were visible bore piercings.
“How did you find me?” she asked, her lip curling.
“The information came out of a particularly grueling session of torture with your aunt. We have her in Aviary, and she won’t be let free until I have your counsel.”
The woman grimaced. It was hard to tell how much of her distaste came from hearing that her aunt had been kidnapped, and how much from the fact that Arron had found her place and disturbed her.
“Let’s be done with it,” the woman said.
“Hold out your arms,” Arron said. He shifted the baby from his arms into the woman’s.
A small gasp escaped her lips the moment she touched the infant. Although she remained looking straight ahead, toward the direction of Arron’s voice, and not down at the child.
Arron continued, “Through your blindness, what do you see?”
Her legs seemed suddenly weak, and she staggered back, her back hitting the oak door. Her black tattoos began to swirl and move, migrating around her skin.
“The child of an immune… and a former vampire. Derek Novak, no less.”
“He was brought to us by a rogue vampire, Kiev Novalic. What do you advise that we do with the infant? How can he be valuable to us in our war against the Elders?”
The woman paused, chewing on her lower lip. She swayed a little on her feet. Her hands loosened around the infant, then tightened again. Her tattoos stopped moving.
Then she uttered only six words in response:
“Keep him away from the Elders.”
The scene faded, giving way immediately to another.
Holding the infant, Arron stood on a shady veranda sheltered by towering treetops. The Hawk lowered the infant into a cradle in the center of the platform and covered the crib with a light silk cloth. He walked several feet away toward the entrance of a grand wooden structure—a lavish treehouse residence—and stepped inside. Standing in the entrance room, in the middle of the shiny wooden floor, was a familiar female Hawk with curly auburn hair and a black beak.
