Darkness Falling: Shadow of the Seeker Read online

  “They can’t see us. They won’t see us.” Impyra’s words were loud within her mind.

  “I can do this,” Sheyra whispered.

  She closed her eyes. Impyra’s face appeared before her; not the mask the young woman wore but her true self. Milky white eyes, translucent skin, and crystalline hair sparkled with an internal golden glow.

  Can you see the light?

  “Yes,” Sheyra whispered.

  “Are you talking to me?” Pheyren shouted. “I can barely hear you!”

  Sheyra opened her eyes and turned to stare at him resolutely. “I can do it!”

  He gaped at her, baffled. “Do what?”

  “Focus on the shore!” She instructed, turning her gaze to the east. “We won’t sink. We’ll make it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because we won’t sink; we’ll make it!”

  “She’s right!” Keysa shouted back. “We can make it!”

  Nakiya struggled to steer. Sheyra reached over, putting her hands over those of their squad leader. The young woman looked at her, startled.

  “We won’t sink, we’ll make it,” Sheyra said firmly.

  Nakiya nodded.

  Sheyra could feel the energy building around them. Was it their belief that made it possible or something else? Closing her eyes, she imagined the raft being carried safely onto the shore. The wind would die and the waves would calm. Together all of the dinghies would wash up onto the snow-covered beach. The image was bright and clear making it impossible for there to be any other outcome.

  Around her, within her, she felt the energy of the sea shifting, hearing her plea for help. From deep beneath the waves an eternal force pushed them to the top of cresting wave and carried them to land. The raft bounced and thudded against sand and snow. Keysa half screamed and half laughed as they skidded to a halt. Sheyra opened her eyes, feeling lightheaded.

  “Come on.” Nakiya was already moving. “Pull the raft farther up before we’re swept back out.”

  They scrambled to haul the heavy dinghy away from the crashing waves.

  “I can’t believe we’re alive,” Pheyren said, panting.

  Sheyra turned to look down the shore. More dinghies were being carried in by waves. She could still sense the strange power, although it no longer pulled from within her mind.

  “What did you do back there?” Nakiya asked her.

  Sheyra shook her head. “I’m not sure. It’s just something I saw Impyra do once, and it just felt right.”

  Nakiya eyed her, suspicious, “Are you sure you’ve never done anything like that before?”

  Sheyra shrugged, unable to explain. “Never. I just had a feeling and I went with it.”

  The young squad leader took a moment to consider the situation. “Fine, we’ll talk about it later. Right now we have to get to the first checkpoint.”

  As they set out across the beach, Pheyren clapped Sheyra on the shoulder. “Thanks for saving us,” he said awkwardly.

  Her neck grew hot in embarrassment. It didn’t feel as if she had done anything except act on instinct and knowledge. Was that how Impyra felt every time she did something amazing? The curious questions and confusion of her companions made her uncomfortable, and she slowed her step to take the rear.

  The snow on the beach was knee deep. It was a slow trudge up the incline to where the EOVs awaited them. The four of them were panting with exhaustion after the climb. They set to work cleaning the windows and preparing for a long drive. Sheyra was glad the focus was removed from her and to the task at hand.

  * * *

  Three stories below the garage of Empire Tower, the Imperial dungeons were built on the remains of the original Tower’s foundation. Once a dank cavern of stone and iron bars, the prison had been upgraded into a modern structure of reinforced cement overlaid with steel walls imbued with Field Energy.

  The cells were cramped and confining. There was just enough space to take three steps from the door to the back wall. A cot that was both too narrow and too short to lay on comfortably was pushed against one wall. A small toilet and sink stood on the opposite side. There were no sources of natural light, and the only window sat at eye level in the solid steel door.

  Although the solitude was meant to make the prisoners uneasy, Treve found himself at peace. Living in the Imperial barracks was not unpleasant. The guards left him alone due to his special status. The assignment had been the true torment, and much of that was eliminated.

  The threat of execution merely left him numb. During the trip back from Renenook he left Brosen alone to grieve, but the end was fast approaching. The last thing he wanted before he died were answers.

  Rising from the cot, Treve walked to the door and peered across the corridor. Brosen’s cell door stared back at him with its empty window.

  “Brosen, can you hear me?”

  Silence.

  Treve leaned closer to the door, careful not to touch the humming film of Field Energy. “I’m just curious how you’re doing.”

  Nothing.

  Treve frowned as his mind brought up the worst possible reasons for the lack of response. Brosen could blame him for Impyra’s death and refused to speak. He could have found a way to commit suicide. He imagined his partner purposefully throwing himself into the Field Energy that protected the door, instantly dissolving into a fine mist.

  Maybe he was sleeping.

  “Hey, Brosen,” Treve said, raising his voice. “Are you all right?”

  He was ready to give up when Brosen’s face appeared at the window. The unusual intensity to the glow in his eyes filled the corridor with pale blue light.

  “What do you want?” The words were heavy with annoyance.

  “I just want to make sure you’re all right,” Treve said, relieved yet guilty for his persistence.

  “Whatever.”

  They stared at each other across the short distance. The silence stretched, twisting the anxiety in Treve’s chest. “Xander’s gone crazy,” he said, unsure of where to start. “He’s been on a downward spiral for days.”

  “How do you know? We never worked with him. Maybe he was always like that.”

  It was a good point.

  “Yeah, but he changed even from the beginning. That sword Garinsith gave him made it worse.”

  “Garinsith?”

  Treve had forgotten that there were few pleasant introductions after their capture. “Petor Garinsith. He’s the old man with the creepy eyes.” Remembering how the man’s gaze made him feel as if he were digging in his mind. “He made the sword that Xander used to kill Impyra.”

  Brosen’s eyes darkened. Treve felt a strong urge to stop talking. His sudden fear of Brosen was hard to admit, but the change in Xander was mirrored in his friend.

  “It was a bad day for everyone,” Treve said.

  After a moment of silence, Brosen nodded. “The sword. You said that the old man made it. What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know the details, but he uses energy. He used to be Ka Elta’s advisor, but Ka Harn banished him thinking he was involved in his father’s death. After that he went to Gillinera and made his own army of Enforcer types.”

  “Did he take Enforcers with him?” Brosen asked.

  “I don’t know. All I know is that those Mutilators are like us but different.”

  “That woman. She’s powerful.”

  “Yeah, and not friendly. Her name is Lethel Jilorn.” The mere mention of her caused Treve’s muscles to tense.

  Brosen was quiet again, eyes distant. “I’ve been thinking about my fight with her, but now I have more questions. If they’re like us and they have power like that, then shouldn’t we have power, too?”

  It wasn’t something Treve had considered. “What do you mean?”

  Brosen ran his hand through his hair, and in that moment he was his normal self. “I mean; we’re not just soldiers. In training, we’re told we have heightened abilities over regular people. We can run faster, jump higher, see be
tter in the dark, and are stronger than people without Enforcer blood. But we’re never given any training in those skills beyond what is necessary to police the population. After fighting that woman and traveling with Impyra, I think we all have a lot of untapped potential.”

  Treve felt uneasy at the idea. “We’re not like the Mutilators. We are, but we’re not.”

  “You said Garinsith trained an army of them, right?”

  Treve nodded slowly.

  “That means there are more than three soldiers. Why does he need an army?”

  It was a question Treve never asked himself.

  “A better question is; why does he need an army that far better understands their abilities than the Enforcers?”

  “And he calls them Mutilators.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a friendly name to me.”

  “I wonder if Ka Harn has thought about that,” Treve mused.

  “Maybe, but my confidence in our Emperor’s ability to reason things through isn’t that high.”

  Treve felt his stomach knot. He felt stupid for not having thought about any of these questions. “I guess there isn’t anything we can do about it now.”

  “Yeah,” Brosen said quietly. “You said the sword messed up Xander’s mind?”

  Treve nodded. “He was already an asshole but after he got that sword his anger was worse and he was always on edge. I think it was feeding off of his negativity or something.”

  Brosen thought for a minute. “Seems really suspicious to me to give someone who is already impulsive and known for bad behavior something that powerful.”

  Over the past few days Treve had dealt with feeling as if he were being helplessly pushed along by a current. That feeling returned in full force.

  “Why did you run? Why did you help her?” The words came out before he could stop them.

  Brosen’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the questions. “It took a lot for me to figure that out,” he admitted. “I ran because I was sick of having to ignore what I knew was right just because I was afraid of the consequences. I couldn’t live with not being myself anymore and what I was born to be.”

  Hearing his partner say the words out loud was a relief. It validated his own thoughts when he tackled Xander. The reality of right and wrong was not dictated by what those in power decreed.

  “What were you born to be?”

  “I don’t know exactly. A protector, I think. And Enforcers don’t protect anyone or anything. They’re just being used to make people feel afraid of people who don’t care about anything but themselves.”

  “I’m sorry I shot at you,” Treve said, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of their situation.

  “I’m sorry I shot back at you, but I’m not sorry that I shot back at Xander.”

  “Yeah,” Treve agreed. “I wish I had shot him.”

  Brosen tried to hide a smile. “I don’t know if that would have mattered.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think that sword protected him. I should be dead. I was hit at least three times by White Energy as far as I can remember, but I think the sword drained the energy. That’s what he did to Impyra, he even admitted it. He drained her life force.”

  Once again Treve felt as if he needed to pay closer attention. “Is that what the sword was doing?”

  “I think so. Do you remember, Xander wanted to use the sword on Garinsith?”

  “Right,” Treve said, the battle in the mountains a confused blur in his mind.

  “Listen, I’m going to sleep. Tomorrow is a big day and I want to be rested.”

  Treve smiled despite the depressing future they were facing. Brosen disappeared from the window and Treve sat down on his cot. Sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. He didn’t want to lose his last hours. Instead, he leaned against the wall and wondered if anyone would remember him after he died.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Doctor Dreger Lei’Orthra peered into his microscope at a sample of blood drawn from a young man who was one of several test subjects purposefully infected with the Senna plague. The virus was highly contagious and fatal. Dreger developed it several years ago to use as a means of population control and chemical warfare. It was unfortunate that one of his assistants became infected and spread it outside the Tower before their research was complete.

  Once the plague was free among the greater population it mutated in fascinating ways. Even within the confines of the lab he was able to observe changes in his subjects. The mutation became so rapid that Dreger could not keep up with the new developments. The newest strains were not responding to previous treatments and even infecting those who were vaccinated. Finding a way to stop it before another full-blown outbreak was his goal.

  Dreger always believed he would create something of great scientific importance. He never thought it would be a pandemic that would destroy half of the Empire’s population.

  “His red blood cell count has dropped again,” Dreger noted out loud, “and I’m seeing some interesting alteration to the structure of the cells. It appears that they are deteriorating. Write that down.”

  Beside him, his assistant Sam dutifully jotted the notes into the subject’s chart. Sam was a young man with a round face and thick circular glasses. He showed promise intellectually but lacked vision. Dreger kept him around because he wouldn’t pose a threat by coming up with his own ideas. Also, many of his other assistants were dead.

  “It appears that his immune system is no longer responding to the infection,” Dreger said, scratching at his greasy black hair. “That’s odd. I’m seeing an infusion of particles into the blood stream. Look at this.” He pushed back form the microscope to allow Sam a moment to peer inside. “Tell me what you see.”

  Sam leaned in to look. “What is that?” he asked under his breath.

  “How would you describe it?” It was the perfect opportunity to test his assistant’s critical thinking skills.

  “I don’t know,” Sam said nervously. “It looks like… mist. Black mist.”

  Dreger snorted. “Mist? Inside the blood stream? That’s absurd.”

  “I know it’s not mist. That’s just what it looks like.”

  “Where is Neyl? He should look at this.” Dreger turned his head to scan the lab for his other assistant.

  “He’s preparing the next round of antivirus to administer to the slaves,” Sam reminded the doctor.

  “Right,” Dreger said absently.

  A few days earlier, three more of his assistance fell ill and were currently resting on the twelfth floor; the hospital unit for Tower staff. At first he’d believed they were feigning plague symptoms to get out of work, but it proved to be real illness. Sam and Neyl were the last remaining help, and they hoped to have a new medication developed in time to save their colleagues.

  Dreger was more interested in containing the new strain of plague before it spread. Assistants were not easy to replace but it could be done. The wrath of the Emperor, however; was much more difficult to overcome. Ka Harn was already displeased with his lead scientist for multiple reasons. Adding an outbreak of plague within Empire Tower would be disastrous.

  “We’re going to need samples from all of the subjects to see if they are exhibiting this strange development.” Dreger said. “Write that down.”

  Sam added the order to the list in his notebook.

  “These particles move in unusual ways,” Dreger continued, intensifying the magnification.

  Within the blood sample the dark cloud would focus on a single cell and cling to it. Dreger watched as the cell began to shrink and deform.

  “It’s appears as if they are eating the cells. Write that down.”

  “Doctor!” Neyl shouted from the quarantine cell1s behind them. “Doctor, come quickly!”

  Dreger and Sam both jumped to their feet. They found Neyl rushing to put on his protective gear. Inside the glass encased cells all eight of the subjects were in a state of convulsion.

  “Hurry,” Neyl said, pan
icked. “We have to help them.”

  Sam hastily moved to get their gear from the locker but Dreger approached the glass. Seizures were not a previously documented symptom. After a few moments the convulsions stopped simultaneously for all of the slaves. The men and women lay perfectly still on the floor. A feeling of dread filled the room.

  “Are they dead?” Neyl whispered.

  “I’m not sure,” Dreger said, distracted. He removed his camera from his pocket.

  A few days earlier, the doctor discovered the infected were sensitive to bright light, even in their sleep. He took a picture of the first cell where the young men were housed. The flash did not disturb the slaves as he expected.

  “We need to get in there and examine them. Get some vials and syringes. We’re going to draw samples even if they’re dead.”

  Sam returned, handing Dreger his protective gear.

  “How could they have all died at the same time?” Neyl asked.

  Dreger felt a buzzing sensation against his chest. He jumped, then remembered his phone was in his shirt pocket. Neyl and Sam looked at him, surprised. The only people to ever call the Doctor were either the assistants or Ka Harn himself. Dreger pulled the phone free. His mouth went dry and his stomach turned.

  “It’s the command desk,” he whispered.

  Why would the Imperial guard be calling the lab?

  “Hello?” Dreger said nervously into the phone.

  “Doctor, this is officer on duty, Kren En-Harn. I’m calling to inform you that there has been an incident on the twelfth floor.”

  “Oh?” Dreger’s anxiety increased.

  “Your staff members housed in the hospital were having some sort of convulsions. The lead physician requested your immediate assistance.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you.” He disconnected the call.

  With eight slaves in the lab and the five assistants quarantined upstairs all reacting at the same time, Dreger couldn’t help but feel as if something sinister was taking place. It was not logical, of course, and just an odd coincidence. Despite that, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that was creeping through him.