Airel. Part 12

I could feel the road winding, rising and fal ing, and figured we were north of town in the mountains. Eventual y I could tel that we turned onto a dirt road.

After a brief section of very b.u.mpy terrain and steep inclines we came to a stop. The Yukon stil felt like it was moving and my head was swimming. The silence was deafening.

I had tried a few times to wriggle free but found that it was pointless. He was a professional, judging by everything I had seen so far. I figured even if I were able to free myself, it was pointless to make a break for it. What would I do, fight off a professional hitman, carry Michael on my back, and go -where? Up a creek? That's about the size of it.

The driver's side door opened-Michael's side. There, bathed in moonlight, the kil er looked at me, expressionless. He began to free Michael from the restraints, checking his pulse. "He'l be fine. Just a headache in the morning, that's al ."

I was taken aback by his gentleness. Why would he care if the two people he had kidnapped had a headache in the morning? Was this guy nuts? Was he just one of those creeps that thought he loved his victims, a tear running down his face as he kil ed them?

He slung Michael over his shoulder as if he weighed no more than a sack of feathers, and turned and walked away. He was gone for quite a while. I took the time to look through the open door, out into thick woods.

Trees and ferns fil ed the landscape in shades of moonlit gray, the chil y mountain air refres.h.i.+ng and reviving me. I al owed myself to relax, taking it al in, trying not to think of werewolves or anything else otherworldly. I tried not to be anxious about the open door and the fact that I was defenselessly strapped to a chair. I tried not to think about what predators might be stalking the deep woods after midnight, and how I might smel to them.

Without warning, my door opened. I jumped in my restraints, jerking ungraceful y. The blond man, unknown to me but awkwardly familiar because of al Without warning, my door opened. I jumped in my restraints, jerking ungraceful y. The blond man, unknown to me but awkwardly familiar because of al the times I had seen him, unhooked my restraints. I was free and looked at him dumbly. He backed away, al owing me to climb down out of the SUV by myself.

He looked at me with curiosity and turned, expecting me to fol ow him. I did, not because I wanted to, but because as I looked around I saw that there was nowhere to run. No lights from nearby cabins or anything else to offer a glimmer of hope, so I fol owed my captor.

We came to a s.p.a.ce in the forest. Not real y a clearing, just a smal s.p.a.ce in the undergrowth, barely noticeable, carpeted in pine needles. In the center of it, as if discarded by some inconsiderate squatter, lay a wooden door with an old bra.s.s k.n.o.b. It was decidedly out of place, but it blended into the forest floor, rotting, the paint peeling. Ahead of me my captor stopped by the door, turned to face me and squatted down, his hand resting on the doork.n.o.b.

With a light snick, the doork.n.o.b released from the catch and opened upward on silent hinges, standing wide open. Below, as if leading down into a storm cel ar, were stone steps lit from within. I could not see the end. Lit by this shaft of light, the forest around us appeared surreal, with ghastly exaggerations of color and shadow.

He moved aside, gesturing for me to go first. I knew that I was going to die down there. There was no debate about it in my mind, and She was remarkably silent, seeming to have abandoned me. The man with black eyes and blond hair was going to kil me down there. My body would never be found.

Chapter VII.

I descended the steps careful y, leading the kil er on. What is this place, somebody's grave? I thought sometimes that he had left me, he was so quiet.

Even the sound of my footsteps made at least a smal noise, but his didn't seem to make any.

The light ahead swel ed and brightened as we neared it. I saw that it was an honest to G.o.d torch, flame and al . It was hung in a bracket in the wal by a doorway, and was covered with an intricate web of engravings, twisting up the handle. I paused at the door and looked back at him. He didn't offer me any clues as to what I should do.

I felt the need to reach out and open the door. I didn't seem to have much choice anyway-cold-blooded kil er behind me, strange door before me. I guess I'll be taking the door.

It hit me that I didn't feel afraid in that moment. I can't explain it, but he didn't scare me as much as he probably should have. It was as if he liked me, but in a weird-uncle sort of way. The door swung in smoothly, and beyond...it was not what I expected to see. Al I could think about was Michael; where was he? Was he hurt?

"Where is Michael?" My voice sounded much louder than I intended.

"Safe."

"Where is he?" I said even more forceful y.

He did not respond, but moved forward into a large circular room with smooth gleaming stone floors. It was much larger than a footbal field. And, far from looking like some subterranean lair, it was clean and airy. I couldn't tel how the s.p.a.ce was lit, but I could tel it wasn't the same kind of light you'd get from electric bulbs. The ceiling was domed, supported by a few wel -placed columns of marble. It was like the state capitol or something.

I guess he's not going to tell me anything.

At one end was a wal of windows standing wel over thirty feet tal , through which shone the ethereal moon. The windows were framed by spidery thin metal and strange-looking gla.s.s, reminding me of a ma.s.sive old church. I don't think there was a straight line in any of it-it was al curves and complex symmetry.

The kil er fol owed me in as I stared in shock. I turned to look back up the dark tunnel. How in the world does this place even exist?

I almost wanted to thank him and hand him my coat as if I was a guest. But he had hurt Michael, he had s.n.a.t.c.hed both of us and brought us here against our wil , and the thought of my parents looking for me, by now having the police involved, made my blood boil. I wanted to smack him right across the face and rattle his black eyes right out of his skul . "Do you know what they wil do to you when they catch you? I wil testify against you. I'l even make up lies if it wil put you away for the rest of your life." But as my words echoed back to me, I could feel my own desperation and how pathetic it was. I was at his mercy.

I could tel that She was not one-hundred percent on my side, either.

He smiled with his eyes at my tirade, hiding the slightest grin on his face. "I hate to sound arrogant or vain, but I wil never be caught-it is not possible."

With a gentle turn of finality, he ambled over to the wal of windows, his hands behind his back, stopping there to gaze through them. I fol owed him meekly, lost and exasperated.

I gasped when I saw what he was looking at. Though we were underground, we were looking out at a view that could only be seen from a mountaintop.

Below, basking in cool moonlight, was a val ey of trees crowding around a huge meadow. A stream babbled through it, winding its way to the other end.

There, a mountain range scratched its way to the heavens, protecting the hidden val ey.

I could imagine wildflowers fil ing the val ey in summer, but fal in the mountains was like winter in the val ey. I doubted there could be flowers there-but then again-those things I had been taking for granted were turning out to be unreliable.

To my left I heard the roar of water. Most of the windows on that side, I noticed, were obscured by mist from a cascading waterfal that must have found its source farther up, above us. It reminded me of our family trip to Multnomah one summer; the long hike to the top, the dizzying view from where the stream bed released its charge into the atmosphere. I wondered how I would remember this particular wrinkle if this was real y a dream.

The kil er said, "I selected this site to build my house many years ago. I thought living under a waterfal would be beautiful." He looked like he was taking a nostalgic turn.

"Sometimes in the mornings I sit here, watch the sunrise come over the mountains...and as it hits the water it makes mil ions of rainbows al across this room." He looked at me. I felt unexpectedly bold, and wanted to ask his name for some reason, but I didn't. Like a father beholding his beloved daughter, he said, "I want you to know: in time you'l thank me for doing this."

He paused, and I could feel my anger begin to boil as he continued, "I don't expect you to understand now, but one day you wil love me as much as I love you."

My jaw was sc.r.a.ping the floor. "Are you- freaking- kidding me?!" I couldn't believe what he had just said. He was crazy. "You are a sick man." I started to back away from him and the windows. I turned my back to him, hoping to provoke him. I wished he would just get it over with, whatever he had planned.

I'd rather be dead than waste any more of my life in his presence. The way he looked at me made my skin crawl.

Noiselessly, he strode by me at a brisk pace, leading me out of the bal room. I fol owed, because what else could I do? I was starting to become aware of my exhaustion-it had been a long night-and what else was there? Would I curl up on the cold stone floor like a dog? That wasn't an option.

I figured I'd take my chances with whatever creepy "hospitality" he had to offer me. If there's one thing I had theorized about people, it's that they used each other, whether they meant to or not. Whatever his use for me, I made a guess that I could barter his interest for something a little more practical-like somewhere to lie down and die, for instance. At least for the night.

I looked around for any sign of Michael. I worried that my captor might have been lying about not harming him.

We pa.s.sed through a set of ma.s.sive double doors that led through a large kitchen. There were no appliances; nothing modern. There was a huge wood-fired brick oven in one corner, and ma.s.sive wooden tables for works.p.a.ce that were crowded with huge earthenware bowls, ful of fresh produce of every kind.

Ornate cabinets lined the stone wal s. Some of the cabinets stood like furniture and I imagined that they were stuffed to the gil s with al kinds of things I had never seen. I'm betting that there ain't a bag o' chips to be found in this place. No fridge or microwave that I could see, either. I'm so screwed.

I took mental notes of the layout of the place so that when I tried my escape I could remember which way to go. We pa.s.sed through the kitchen, down a wide hal way, and up a flight of thickly carpeted stairs. He stopped at a pretty standard-looking door. The difference was this one was secured with a thick steel bolt mounted to the outside with a latch the size of my fist.

"This is your room," he said.

"My cel , you mean."

He ignored me. "Michael is in that room, next door. I warn you, there is no possibility of escape. Any attempt wil result in punishment. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said in a flat tone, ripping an imaginary hole through him with my eyes. I was so furious my hands were trembling. I clenched my fists open and shut to try to control it. I wanted to see Michael, to hold him and to make sure he was okay. Why was this man doing this to us?

He slid the bolt and flipped the latch open. The door opened with a slight nudge and I walked in. Before I could turn to face him, the door shut with a solid boom with an aftershock of the metal ic sound of the latch being driven home. Al was quiet. I had been planning on giving him the lecture of his life. I guess that didn't work out.

Al at once, the whole night overwhelmed me. I ran to the king-sized bed, fel face down, and cried. I wept so hard that my body ached. I was just trying to crawl through to the bottom of it, heaving in spasms of wretchedness until I was completely dry. My head felt bloated and achy.

I was a captive. I kept going over in my head al the possible meanings of the word, taking it in, trying to deal. When my outburst of emotion was al over, I felt as if I had just run twenty miles. No sound came from the hal or the room where he had said Michael was. I wondered if he was real y there, or if he was lying and Michael was somewhere else-or were the rooms soundproof? So many questions. And so few answers.

My heart ached and bled for the comfort of my friends and family; especial y my mom and dad.

There was a gla.s.s of water on the nightstand. I took a long drink to quench my thirst. It had been a long night and between fighting, crying and everything else, I was parched.

She whispered something but I couldn't make it out. My vision clouded and the room began to spin. Oh, no. He drugged me, how could I have been so stupid? I fought the feeling but in the end the drug was stronger than my resolve.

I dreamed.

This time I was in the beautiful val ey I had seen through the windows by the waterfal . I ran in the meadow of summertime wildflowers laughing like a little girl. The beautiful y scented mountain air swept through me. The fragrance of honeysuckle was overwhelming. Al of it-the meadow, the rus.h.i.+ng waterfal behind me, the bluest skies I had ever seen-made me want to dance with joy. I twirled in a sun dress, ribbons in my hair, feeling as if my daddy was nearby admiring me.

But Daddy wasn't there. It was someone else-my mysterious stalker was watching me. His eyes were different, ice blue this time. Deep within, I saw a spark of light. It told me that he knew who I was, and what I was becoming.

I heard pages turning again, like a book was being leafed through, fanned out. She stirred and sat up in the back of my mind as if She knew this man. I didn't run, but looked at him as he walked toward me through the wildflowers. It was as if they sensed his coming, and parted to let him pa.s.s without crus.h.i.+ng them. I stood on tiptoes to try to measure up and meet his gaze.

She said, "Do not be afraid. He will not hurt you. He has something you need. Look for it, and when the time is right, you will know."

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

She answered, "I am a friend."

The kil er moved like a predator, scanning subtly, aware of the wind. He stopped and stood a few feet from me and held out his hand. I took it. He led me to the edge of the clearing, where I looked up at the waterfal that hid part of his house underneath its beautiful cascading mantle.

"High up on the side of the cliff you wil see it-if you look closely." He pointed toward the top, where the water began its fal over the edge, over a thousand feet up. I scanned the rocks and ferns that clung to the side, but didn't see anything.

I was about to give up when I saw a large nest made of twigs and branches, built in a very thin tree. He smiled when he saw that I did indeed see what he wanted me to see. "Now watch."

I rubbed my eyes and took another look. This time I saw a skinny baby bald eagle scramble up the side and sit perched on the edge looking out at the val ey-perhaps at us. He fluffed his baby feathers and opened up his new wings, testing them. This little bird was making me nervous. I hoped he wouldn't fal over the edge-it was a long way to the bottom. I was sure from the way he moved that he had not yet learned to fly.

The mother eagle swooped by the nest in a tuck and clipped the baby in the back, pus.h.i.+ng him over the side. My hand flew to my mouth as I watched the baby eagle tumble in the air, flapping wildly, trying to recover, and not making much progress. "Oh, no..."

Then, just as he was about to hit the rocks, his wings final y got some traction. They bent, fil ed with air, lifting the young bird. He fluttered and flapped to a landing a few feet from the sharp rocks that would have crushed him. He threw back his head and let out a tiny warrior's squawk, and then another.

I let my hand fal from my mouth, looking up at my captor. He stil had my little hand in his. He smiled and said, "This is why you are here..." It shook me awake, his voice seeming to echo in my room. My cell? It was morning and the room was fil ed with rainbows dancing across my bed like b.u.t.terflies as the light filtered in through the waterfal .

Chapter VIII.

1250 B.C. City of Ke'elei Gathered near an ancient oak tree, dappled by the sunlight that filtered through it, the circle of elders, wise men, and Sons of El were gathered on a mountaintop high above Ke'elei. The court in which they were seated was encircled by perfect Corinthian stone columns of pure white; the ma.s.sive old oak at the north side, the beginning and end of the circle. A fine latticework of s.h.i.+mmering silver thread screened the open s.p.a.ces between the columns, casting wild shadowed reflections on the cobblestone floor.

At the east side of the circle, Kreios was seated in one of the high-backed gopherwood chairs drawn up in a half circle. On the west side were twelve thrones of white marble making up the other half of the circle.

Zedkiel was seated at Kreios's right, Yamanu at his left. His brother and friend were adorned in their best garments, as was custom in this council.

Kreios was wearing the same cloak he had worn on his wedding day, and it was bittersweetness that rode on his shoulders.

His beloved wife had crafted it for him of white elk skins throughout their long courts.h.i.+p, lasting through two harvests. His thick belt was studded with rubies that stood out against the white color of his robe like blood in snow. His long hair was pul ed back with a leather thong, and the Sword of Light was strapped to his side in its sheath.

The elders, one taken from every tribe, were twelve in al ; immortals representing every race of humanity. Kreios looked from one face to another, studying their eyes, reading into most of their thoughts. He was happy to see that most of them were on his side, wanting to fight, to put an end to the Seer and his horde.

The old man in the middle of the twelve wore his beard long and white, but his face was young. He stood, draped in a golden cape lined with badger fur that touched the ground. His breastplate gleamed of onyx, set with diamonds.

"I am cal ed Anael. I am the Watcher over this land as wel as the land that overlooks the Forked Sea. This council wil come to order in the matter of the reentry of the Sword of Light and the matter of the Seer and his fol owers. We, the council, wil hear you wel ."

Kreios acknowledged him and stood. Anael took his seat, and al eyes were on the barely visible Sword in its sheath; its presence exuding great power.

Kreios's hand moved to the grips of his sword as he strode forward to the center of the circle. When he reached the center of the council he stopped, his eyes locked with those of Anael. The sound of metal against metal rang out.

As the Sword cleared the scabbard, the heavens came loose with the ringing. The skies thundered, the artil ery of the Kingdom of G.o.d sounding off at once. The Sword was lifted up, its blade held high. It crackled and a barrage of blinding white light burst from the tip in a bolt of lightning.

Then he spoke. "I, Kreios, Son of El, the keeper of the Sword of Light, give praise to G.o.d Most High, who is seated now and forever on the Throne of Grace..." He knelt down. "...and Grace has al owed that I could recover from the Seer what was stolen. Father! Raise up your voice to the storm! We approach boldly to ask what You would have us do..."

Murmurs of praise to El ran through the encircled leaders, like water over stones.

"Praise be to El; praise be to G.o.d Most High..." Prayers and awe came from the elders. Anael stood now, his white beard waving in the breeze like a banner. Kreios stood under the blazing Sword as if hanging by it. Anael stood tal and began to weep from the corners of his eyes.

The council remained in this posture for some time, awaiting the Word amongst them. Heads were bowed, Kreios stood at center, and Anael stood at the head of the elders.

The Sword became quiet again and cool to the touch. Kreios looked above him to the Sword, to blue sky beyond. The canopy of the mighty oak that covered the gathering place of the council had been partial y consumed in a perfect circle.

He brought the Sword down to his side, looking at it with the familiar respect of a seasoned warrior. It stil glowed mildly as he guided it back into its sheath, sliding down to the hilt.

"It is time for the Seer to be numbered with the dead. He must perish. If we fail in this, we wil be destroyed along with our children and wives. The time to act is now!" Kreios stood, a statue of stone, staring into the faces of the elders. They whispered to one another. He knew he could not do without their endors.e.m.e.nt if he were to gain the support of the other warriors.

He closed his eyes, stil standing at center in the court, and ran to the place in his mind where he kept things that-if he were wise-he would never reveal.

In his mind's eye he could see a long val ey much like the one below them, where the city of Ke'elei stood. He went deeper into the void and found what he was looking for. He could not tel what it was-only that somehow he needed it. He understood that it would help to convince the elders they could defeat the Brotherhood.

There was a door standing before him as if floating, without hinge or handle. It was of solid wood and it bore no marks of having been crafted with tools.

It looked to Kreios like it had been simply grown. It had suffered many scars and scratches in its dark surface, as if someone or something had tried to open it, but could not.