Airel. Part 18

Kale cracked a joke: "You shouldn't train on an empty stomach."

"Hilarious." I placed my hands on my knees and breathed hard. "That's why I'm asking about breakfast-mine's kil ing me."

I stood there like an outfielder for a while, just taking everything in. I guess you always want what you can't have-now that it seemed impossible for me to die, I felt trapped in my own life. More so than usual.

He must have heard some of my doubtful thoughts. "In time you wil have your answers. For now you must just accept things as they are."

There was real, honestcompa.s.sion in his voice. It was refres.h.i.+ng, I decided.

"You have been given a gift-wil you accept it?" He stil held out his hand, though I was standing already.

Kale standing before me like that triggered something in me. I knew it, too. Something had let go way up at the top of some gigantic mountain of me, and an avalanche was going to come down and change everything. My eyes fil ed with tears. "Do I have a choice?" Destiny was coming for me again, I could feel it, the moment was beginning to crash in upon me, and I had been stripped of my defenses against it.

"You always have a choice." His words sounded like the Voice of G.o.d-very stil , very quiet, and purely true. I broke. I heard the sweetest music. I took his hand and col apsed into his enormous chest, heaving in big wet sobs. I felt like heaven, creation, G.o.d Himself, were al part of a conspiracy designed to bring me always and forever back to the point where the tiny capsule of al that I was resided on the tip of a pin.

Kale simply held me like a child and let me cry. I didn't know how long it was. And I'm not sure what, exactly, happened. Lots of times I just cried because I have to, to let off the pressure that acc.u.mulated inside me, to say with tears what words cannot describe. Whatever happened in that moment of time changed everything.

I pushed Kale away and dried my swol en eyes with the sleeve of my track jacket, now mangled and b.l.o.o.d.y. I took it off, deciding I could manage with just my t-s.h.i.+rt, but that, too, was impossibly destroyed. It made my mind tangle in knots.

"Fine, then. What do we do now? Cut me some more to see how much I can take?" I wiped at my eyes and sucked in a sob.

Kale's voice was gentle. "We need to find out what you're able to do and how much control you have over your abilities. When I say that you have a choice... you do realize that you have the choice to do good with what G.o.d has given you, or evil. Which do you choose?"

It was surreal. I felt like I was on a game show. I felt like I was back at the kitchen table arguing with my parents about the SAT and what col ege I would go to, what major I would declare. I felt like asking Kale how I should possibly know. The truth was, though, that the answer was quite obvious.

But wrapped up inside his question to me was another one, directed right back at him: How can a murderer ask someone to choose between good and evil without being crazy himself? I wanted to ask it-and I unwittingly did, forgetting that he could read my thoughts. Crud. I found myself wis.h.i.+ng desperately for some privacy.

"Good," he said, wil ing to gloss over al my mental baggage for now. "The first thing we wil work on is hand-to-hand combat." He turned and walked over to one of the racks that held staff upon staff like pool cues, and I fol owed, shaking my head, trying to clear it. He continued, "You are stronger than you think, but only when you're fil ed with raw emotion. You wil be able to feel it coursing through your veins." He handed me a staff.

Oh, what the heck. Maybe I could use a little workout action to help me think clearly. I took the staff in my hand, feeling a little like Moses at the Red Sea. What next?

"Love. Anger. Fear. Whatever the emotion, it must be strong." His voice commanded attention.

I nodded, though I didn't understand what he was talking about. I figured I would learn as I went, me being a hands-on type when it came to kickboxing and such. I turned the wooden staff over in my hand, running my fingertips along the smooth surface. It was dark, very hard, and was wrapped around the middle with a leather grip.

Kale held up his own staff, now, made of silvery metal with the same leather grip in the center. "I want you to break that staff over my head." Kale looked at me with eyes that seemed to be lighter than they had been a few seconds ago.

"What?" I looked at my staff, then at him.

"You heard me, hit me. It must be hard enough that you shatter that staff-and I must warn you-that is gopher wood. A rod of that is very hard, almost impossible to break. So you must focus on your anger right now, and try to channel it into your actions."

Well then, no problem.

"Here's a little something to help you out," he said, and whacked me in the s.h.i.+n with his metal staff.

"Ow!" My left s.h.i.+n stung, and I instinctual y snapped into kickboxing mode. Kale was not smiling this time, and I knew if I didn't at least defend myself he would punish me further. Whatever, old dude. It helped me to 'channel the anger,' anyway.

I moved as swiftly as I thought possible, swinging my staff overhead and bringing it thunderously down. It col ided with his staff with a clang, and the vibration hurt badly. "Ow!" I said again.

He made ready again, elegantly. "That's al ?"

"Hmm," I scoffed, and tried again, this time faster, stronger, quicker. I pivoted on my left heel and brought the staff across his midsection with al the force I could muster. I was going to put everything into it, even if I fel afterward.

His staff was everywhere at once. He blocked the blow almost casual y, and his unexpected movements caused me to lose my balance. I went down to the floor, landing on my knuckles, my staff skittering off and rol ing. Pain shot up my hands. I turned over onto my back, winded.

"Again! Break the staff over my head!"

A warm feeling began to spread through my body as I interpreted his words. I was never super-athletic, but from lying flat on my back I jumped to my feet in a single movement, grabbing my staff again along the way. I twirled it once over my head like a baton and jumped, swinging the staff in an arc at the top of his head.

He raised his bright silver staff to deflect the blow. He laughed. It's like al he saw was some kid who had just learned to ride a bike without training wheels. I, however, was screaming like a crazy woman. The impact of the two competing weapons cracked like lightning, and just as I had imagined in my mind, the staff shattered into splinters.

I landed on my feet, bending my knees to absorb the shock. I uncoiled to my ful height, Kale now off to one side and behind me at the end of our maneuver. I turned toward him, absolutely fil ed with rage like never before, a little out of control.

I tore the silver staff from his hand and racked him in the back of the legs with it. He went down like a bag of rocks as I reset and brought the metal staff up over my head. Right before I stabbed the end of it down through his face, he rol ed out of the way. It impacted the floor, tearing through the matting and wood, digging into the earth below, so deep that the leather grip was only half visible.

My breathing was rapid and my heart pumped furiously. I felt cold steel against my neck and froze. Kale grabbed my wrist and wrenched it into my shoulder blades. The tip of a knife rested threateningly just under my chin.

"You let your anger control your power one more time and I wil show you the meaning of pain." He flicked his wrist, slicing the underside of my chin, which hurt. But it healed quickly. That itching thing was going to take some time to get used to.

I walked over to one of the wal s and sat with my back resting against it to catch my breath. I studied Kale from across the room as he wiped the blood from his knife and put it away. The silver staff stuck out of the floor like a gigantic needle. As I calmed, I wondered how I could be so strong. Here it was, right in front of my eyes. Evidence, facts, truth.

The room was littered with wood splinters, and the metal staff stuck out of the floor. It was hard not to feel discarded, in a way. I had sat in cla.s.s wondering if I was abnormal or normal-whatever that was-so many times. I wondered if I would ever be accepted as-is, or if I needed to change part of me. Maybe I was doomed to be on the outside looking in. Try to fit in now. Now I would be the kid who had been kidnapped, at least. Or the girl who had superpowers. "So bizarre." I wondered if I was concerned about the right things-and I even wondered if that thought belonged to me in the first place.

Kale grunted approvingly at me and picked up another wooden staff from the rack. "Now do it with love."

Love? "What does that even mean?" I was trying not to feel awkward. "How do I do that?"

"Feel that heat, the same as when you were angry-but feel the way love can overpower your emotions and use that to break the staff. But this time break it over your knee." Kale managed a sideways smile and tossed me a new wood staff.

I took hold of it and closed my eyes, trying to concentrate. I wondered what I was supposed to do to make my emotions flow. It should be second nature.

But not when you're thinking about it so intensely. I felt like I was trying to conjure spel s or charm snakes-like I had ever done anything like that. I felt like a fraud.

Love. Right. I loved my mom and dad. I loved Kim, and oh, how I missed her. She was such a ham, and I sure could use a good laugh right about now.

Michael then flooded my mind, and I could see his eyes. So very blue and welcoming.

I could feel him looking at me, and remembered the way he brushed against my arm whenever he was near; it was always so incidental and natural.

Whenever he helped me out of the car or walked with me, or gestured while he talked about something.

It was the way he was. Al the physical considerations aside, he was an amazing person. I loved his heart, his kindness and the way he loved so honestly. I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life and I wasn't ashamed to admit it, even to myself. He would be my one and only; ever.

Okay, this might actually work. I thought back to our date. I remembered how he had looked over at me and smiled as we drove off to the restaurant.

He had just stunned me with that line about Audrey Hepburn... my heart melted and I pushed off the wal that marked the safe zone of my thoughts, drifting out into the pool of al things Michael.

Kale's voice was soft and low. "What are you thinking?" I stood, eyes stil closed, hands on the weapon. When I comprehended his question, I blushed.

He prodded gently stil . "Tel me."

"I'm thinking of love." Warmth washed over me, but this time it was different. I could feel Michael's arms around me. I began to overflow with joy. It just kept coming and coming. After a while I couldn't stand it anymore. I opened my eyes and saw everything around me awash in a warm foggy light.

I watched as my hands effortlessly shattered the staff like clay on my uplifted left knee. I was shocked. I thought we were done, but before the intensity of the emotion pa.s.sed away, I heard Kale from what seemed like a great distance: "Now the metal one, Airel; hold the power at your center and do not let it go! Concentrate!"

The silver metal staff appeared in my hands, blinding and almost transparent with light. I spun it over my head expertly before bending it into a horseshoe over my knee. I was smiling when I turned to see Kale standing in front of me. Something about him was impossible to take in-like looking at something in the dark, I could not see him if I looked directly at him. He held out a solid square chunk of steel-at least that's what it looked like. It was probably half an inch thick.

"Punch through it, Airel. Direct and focus the strength you feel and punch a hole right through it." I could hear his excitement and I didn't want this feeling to fade, so I held it close. I drew back my right hand, made a fist, and punched from the tips of my toes to the back side of the steel plate. My fist hit the plate and I cringed as hot pain reverberated through my shoulder. "Owww!" I screamed.

The beautiful light slipped away from me, and I fel to the floor exhausted. I sucked in the sweet cool air and lay on my back, looking up at the wood rafters of the training room. Kale leaned over me with his sideways smile again.

"Don't worry, it's your first time. You show more control than I had expected." He turned away. "There is hope for you after al ."

I was stil out of breath. "Thanks. It was so wonderful! Nothing like anger."

He nodded and furrowed his brow. "Anger is a dangerous emotion; the hardest to control. You must learn to use the pure emotions first. Limit your use of the unclean emotions unless absolutely necessary. They are powerful, indeed... but raw power can destroy its user."

I sat up, glad to discover that I was catching my breath. "Can I die?"

"Yes you can die, but it is difficult. You wil heal from almost any wound. Your heart cannot survive if it is pierced. And again, how can the body survive if the head is severed from it?" He smirked at me. "So don't go losing your head. If you stay out of trouble, you wil age at a very slow pace and live for a very long time."

I felt like he wasn't tel ing me the ful story. "What do you mean a very long time? Like forever?" I didn't know what to think of this. I'd never even considered the question of living forever.

"Yes and no. You may live for eight thousand years and die of old age. Then again you may only make it to eighteen, dying in a bombing, or drown... no one knows." His statement was loaded, but I had learned enough at this point to keep my tongue in check. If he didn't say something, he meant not to say it.

"You do age, but very slowly. When you're two hundred years old you wil look much the same as you do now." He began cleaning up the dojo, putting the equipment away.

I didn't know what to think. This changed everything. My friends, my family would al die, and many times over. I would be alone for so very long. Just when I thought I was going to like the idea of-wel , immortality-the catch landed on top of me.

Chapter VI.

1250 B.C. Arabia The horde camp was quiet. A few guards patrol ed the perimeter carrying torches. It was easy for Kreios and Yamanu to creep past them into the main part of the camp, the fog moving in subtly with them. Kreios was waiting to feel the pul and drain of his power, but because of the Sword, he did not. He hoped Yamanu was doing fine as wel .

His hope was not returned to him void; as Yamanu shaded them from enemy detection, he also read Kreios's worry and rea.s.sured him. "I think El is for us this night, my friend."

"I count over one thousand; does that sound right?" Yamanu agreed, and they moved on to the edge of the camp. "We will sweep from one end to the other, killing as many as we can without drawing attention to ourselves. When we are discovered, we fly." Kreios wanted to break the wil of the horde and see if he could turn fear upon them for a change.

There was only one variable outside the scope of their control. If a demons that owned the men remained unmanifest-that is to say, lying dormant within the men's flesh-then al Kreios and Yamanu would need to do would be to kil the men; the demons would fol ow them to hel . But if the demonic pairings of the Brotherhood were physical y manifest, and resting alongside the men-or elsewhere-their task would become complicated.

Kreios tossed his invisible dagger from one hand to the other and stepped silently inside the nearest tent. It was large, composed of rotting hides tied to long wooden poles. Flies buzzed about, even though it was cold.

A cl.u.s.ter of men, six of them, slept snoring like wild beasts. This was the smal est component of the enemy army; a group of six that ate, slept, and fought side by side. Stench fil ed Kreios's nostrils, reeking of sweat, filth, and the sweet tang of urine. The men were not cl.u.s.tered in pairs, which meant that the demonic control ers of the enemy men remained inside them, dormant.

Silently communicating with his partner, Kreios took the left side, and Yamanu took the right. They moved quickly, cutting throats like butchers. The men flopped and kicked, gasping as blood poured into their throats, simultaneously bled dry and drowning. The demons within made them convulse, making one last vain effort to break free and escape as they were dragged off to Hel , kicking and clawing.

The angels had their way in the camp for a good portion of the night, despoiling and irradiating the pestilence of death and judgment. With each kil , Kreios grew more and more hopeful. Yamanu did not make a sound through it al .

Kreios turned from slicing the neck of a short man, the last in a group of four in a smal er tent, when an enormous man entered clad only in a loincloth. A tangled, matted ma.s.s of thick brown hair clung to him like a shrub to the face of a cliff. His enormous bel y overhung his loincloth, the picture of sloth.

The two angels were invisible to him, but his eyes grew wide as he realized that his comrades lay dead at his feet, their blood soaking into the ground.

One, the last one to die, twitched, his left hand jumping. The giant man screamed like a wild cat, sounding the alarm.

Kreios was quick, stabbing his dagger into his throat, cutting the cry short-but it was too late. The sound of voices and angry grunts rippled through the camp. Yamanu knocked the man aside, who was dead where he had stood, and sprang from the tent. "Time to fly!" Kreios fol owed him out. Into the middle of the row of tents flowed hundreds of half-naked men, swords raised.

Torches blazed, captains issued orders in gruff shouts, and the guards on the perimeter began running toward the noise. It was like being trapped inside an hourgla.s.s. Kreios bent his legs to take to the air but something held him back. Yamanu looked to Kreios and he nodded: he too was unable to fly.

Within the gathering ma.s.s of enemy combatants there came a thick dirty sound-flesh tearing from flesh. The men twitched and jerked as if being rent in two. Black hooded demons with glowing eyes wrenched and twisted from the mouths of the men, as if their tongues were tombstones that guarded the wretched stinking open sepulchre in each one.

The dark forces came free. They drew black swords that dripped, wet. The earth beneath turned to boiling tar. Kreios felt distress in Yamanu. It had become too late now for them to flee. One course of action remained. Kreios erupted with a shout: "For the Sons of G.o.d and for Ke'elei!" He unsheathed the Sword of Light, blasting a shattering hole into the very heart of the night.

Kreios charged through the horde as an enraged bul . Men and demons flew in al directions, fel ed beneath the crush of his mighty arm. The fog vanished in an instant as Yamanu withdrew his shadow, drew his sword, and fought bravely in the light of the Sword.

As Kreios maneuvered his way through the onslaught, he kept a steady eye on the tent of the Seer. A cry came from his left side, and Kreios could feel the pain in Yamanu's thoughts. He turned to see a large demon standing over his friend, a curving black sword held high overhead, ready to deliver the final blow.

Instinctual y, Kreios threw his Sword, cleaving the demon into a disemboweled wreck. The Sword of Light pa.s.sed through its target as if it had been nothing, lodging firmly into the trunk of a tree on the edge of the enemy encampment. Yamanu stood; the horde army closed in. Kreios sprinted for it, alarmed at his rashness. Perhaps now that Yamanu was freed, they could work together to regain possession of the Sword.

He heard a distant but immediate voice. "Take them alive. And you, Kreios: stand still where you are, or I shall remove this one's head from his body.

" Kreios whirled and beheld the Seer in al his evil glory, standing with a smal jagged sword to Yamanu's throat.

He froze.

Kreios thought about so many things in that instant that only one mattered, for al its importance: he knew that he might never see his little girl again.

The Seer burned a hole in him with malicious eyes. Was this Lucifer?-Kreios wondered-or just another piece on the game board? He locked his gaze onto the Seer's eyes once more, determined to see if he could recognize anything at al . He held there... until the creepings of fear consumed him.

He was not going to escape this time.

Kreios turned toward the Sword that stuck out of the distant tree and noted that its light had been snuffed along with his last hope of deliverance.

Two enemy warriors grabbed his arms in the darkness and held fast with inhuman strength, their demonic counterparts nearby, faces hooded and black. It was like firelight flickering where their eyes might have been.

He was dragged toward the Seer's tents at the center of the camp, quite a distance away. He struggled, but it was no use. They took Yamanu somewhere else, which completed the crus.h.i.+ng of Kreios's spirit. Each moment was more and more draining; Kreios could feel it. His breathing became ragged and harsh. He slumped to the ground, spent, and the two enemy warrior-slaves who had been carrying him tossed him like a rag dol into the Seer's tent.

Kreios landed on his face, his body a crumpled rag. Bright white stars flashed before his eyes, and for an instant he thought he was going to fal out of time. The Seer materialized in front of him, hiding under a hideous dripping hood. The stench that fol owed him was almost unbearable; it smel ed like a pile of corpses in the dark. "I would like to thank you for bringing back my Sword. I have missed it so..." He laughed, high and wheezing; a whine.

Kreios s.h.i.+vered and closed his eyes.

Kreios felt Yamanu, wherever he was, would die soon if something didn't happen. He felt him fading from his grasp. He decided to address the evil presence in front of him. He raised his face from the dirt and said, "Why me?"