Breaking Away (The Man in the Shadows) (9 page)

James was in love with Maika. Not any ordinary love, either. This was true love, and Lamin knew it just from the way James looked at her. It was unmistakable. He could literally
feel
the love through the barriers of their two worlds. He didn’t blame James for falling in love with her, she was a radiant, deserving woman. He knew, however, that love only did one thing.

It got in the way.

Eventually, Lamin put his foot down, and saw that James had gone too far, on more than one level. On that brisk October night, James had revealed himself to Maika, though he knew he shouldn’t have because he covered it up with the Magi. The strictest order Lamin had drawn out for James was to not become noticed by Maika until her 25th birthday. That night at the club, he revealed himself to her, and Lamin was enraged. He was even more enraged that James had used the Magi, his sacred witchcraft, to erase her memory of the event. Blasphemy in the eyes of the Luminite Empire.

Right at that moment, Lamin began devising a plan. He wanted to destroy the mission, but at the same time, coax the key soul back to its urn, so his dark power would be complete, and sealed with destiny. Without a complete collection of souls to circulate, to reincarnate on his planet, he would not have complete control over the cosmos, over every soul in the Empire. Coaxing her in dreams, he planned to take her soul the hard way: Not through the door, but through the 4th dimension. Through Ethan.

***

Immediately calling her back, Maika didn’t answer her phone. The call had been cut off unexpectedly, and now with her not answering, he knew he had to investigate. She said she was fine, but he didn’t believe her. The sudden headache she had gotten was suspect. He rushed over to grab Zareh, and together they drove to Maika’s apartment as fast as they could.

Ethan immediately knew what had happened. Maika’s front door was ajar, her phone was on the floor, her purse on her bed, her cat hiding tensely underneath the bed. She had been taken. She had been kidnapped. But by who? Or what?

“Ethan, what a pleasant surprise.” The voice deep, mystical, strangely staccato. “I didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

Bewildered, Ethan had to study the man over and over, from top to bottom, to make sure that what he was seeing was real. “P, Père... What in God’s name...”

The Père smiled, grasping his hands firmly behind his back. He wore a double-breasted designer suit of a dark blue, with a red shawl collar that popped out against the white shirt underneath. His long hair was straight as a board down his back, his eyes barely more than slits as he studied the boy and his companion.

“You called me earlier, remember, Son?” Sounding mockingly concerned and contrite, he stepped forward, his hair swaying slightly. “I needed to see what the situation was. You understand.”

Moving his mouth to speak, Ethan had no idea how to respond, other than saying, “I guess so...”

The Père glanced uneasily over at Zareh, wishing she weren’t there. As he took her in, he felt a strange vibe reflecting from her, like she seemed somehow familiar. Licking his lips, he chose his words carefully, considering present company. “There was something else at work here, Ethan. With the club. You voiced your concern to me, and I’ve taken care of it.”

Moving forward swiftly, Ethan felt like he couldn’t get any closer to the Père, like he was being bounced off of some sort of force field. Becoming angry, he asked, “Where is she?”

“That, I cannot tell you.” The Père brought his hands out from behind his back, to reveal a long, shining staff. To Ethan, it looked ancient, like nothing he had ever seen before. “It was
your
mistake that forced my hand, dear boy.”

“What do you...?” Before he could utter his last words, the world turned the darkest, most pitch black he had ever experienced. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” Ethan screamed at himself. Sobs wrenched from his being, before he realized that he was not alone in this strange place.

“Ethan... I’m here,” Zareh whispered softly. “And I think I might know what’s going on.”

Chapter Four

Standing in full armor, the wind whipping at the bare skin on his face and knuckles like a spiked ninja blade, he studied the scene. Dismal, spurning, distrusting the very eyes in his head, choking on his pride, he knew he’d made the incorrect decision. Hind sight is 20/20, as they say. As soon as he had sent out the order and his men started moving, he realized he should have sent half of his men around one flank and the other half around the opposite side to encapsulate the enemy, to trap them in the valley like so many mice, instead of sending them all in at the same time, in a full blown attempt at an ambush. James had been convinced that he was being clever and sneaky, coming up on the enemy in the middle of the night, on a holiday of all days, when they would most likely be sleeping and unsuspecting of any sort of transgressions against them. There must have been a snitch among the men of his squad, a spy in his ranks, because as he sent all of his men rumbling down the hill, he realized too late that his enemies were awake, they were ready and they were waiting. Their eyes alert, their weapons up, they greeted his men with a throbbing hate that he could feel pulse through the air, like a shock wave, all the way to the top of the hill, where he waited, alone. Where his Colonel had gone, he would never find out or care to know. So, he stood alone to watch his comrades, some with whom he had gone through basic training, be torn to shreds. Far too late to call them back, to surrender, to admit defeat, he had no choice but to set his jaw and stare out, unblinking. What would he tell his high commanders? What would he tell the High Lord, who thought so highly of him? Would he eventually find out that all this talk of greatness, of triumph, of glory, was all a lie?

He turned around to find his horse, and leapt up quickly to mount it. His hands freezing, snow sticking to his hair, he stroked the mustang’s long mane. “I’m a failure, Maurice,” he squeaked out to his loyal steed. “How can I explain this one away?”

An idea propelled itself into his mind then, and he grinned. James was a good man, with good morals, but when it came to saving his own skin, that characterization might come into question. The wider his grin became, the more sinister it looked, the more evil it felt. He started to enjoy the feeling of covering up his own weaknesses with pure, unadulterated lies. It seemed evil fit him like a glove. His idea was thus: he would blame it on the Colonel, who was conveniently missing for the entire duration of the battle. What a happy coincidence.

“You clever son of a bitch,” he spoke to himself, to his horse. “Colonel Jaffries is... a... traitor. And should be punished.” Studying the death and carnage below, in the valley of the enemy, he added, “By death.”

He waved his hand in front of his face swiftly, and a portal appeared. Throbbing, deep and dark like a black hole in the middle, a pulsing light around it like an eclipse, it grew in girth until it blotted out the entire battlefield. Preparing himself for the most important conversation he’d have in his career, James slapped himself across the face at full force a couple of times, his hand partially covered in a heavy metal armor. Not only was this to make it look like he had fought long and hard in the heat and fury of battle, but it was to make him look infuriated. He was infuriated, but not at Colonel Jaffries. He was more angry with himself, for not thinking the ambush through. For being hasty, for not considering the dire consequences. Brushing off the battle, and along with it his guilt, he took in a deep breath. He then said loudly, “High Lord Tarmikos, this is Lieutenant General Berg, requesting an emergency conference.”

At once, the portal opened, and in it he could see the face of Lamin Tarmikos, the High Lord and, by the merit of his title, the highest leader of the military. His voice concerned, almost distraught because emergency communications rarely happened, he asked, “James, what is it?”

“I have some distressing news, oh High Lord. We have a spy among us, who led us into a trap. All of my men were led straight into the hands of the enemy!”

Frenzied, Lamin demanded, “How many casualties?”

James replied, looking down, “All of my squad. 200 men, Sir.”

Concern creasing Lamin’s brow, he then asked, “Who was the traitor? Do you know?”

“The only person who wasn’t among us as we marched into battle was...” James held his breath, trying to hold back his feigned fury, “...Colonel Jaffries.”

The High Lord considered this news slowly, with great care. His eyes closed for a second, the significant loss to not only his military ranks, but to his people, sunk in. For a moment, James thought Lamin wouldn’t buy his story. Inside, he began to panic, his mouth and throat becoming parched. Cutting the silence like a sword, Lamin proclaimed, “I’ll send mercenaries at once to find him.” After another tense moment, he added, “He shall be brought to justice. Those fine young men did not die in vain.”

James raised both of his eyebrows, as if someone had slapped a glove across it suddenly, in a call to action. He answered, “They did not die in vain, Sir. They were among our finest soldiers. I will bring you back their souls.”

“I knew I could count on you, General Berg.” A rare, tender smile crossed Lamin’s face as he leaned forward a fraction. “Are you okay? I know how close you were to some of those men...”

“I’ll be okay.” Pain strewn across his face, James looked away quickly. “I’ll need a little time, but I’ll be fine.”

“Take all the time you need. We’ll weed out all of spies by any means necessary. You just get home safely, and take care of yourself for a few days.”

A silent sigh of relief rapidly flew through James’s head. His ruse had worked. “Okay, Sir. I will. I will leave you now, as I need to gather the...”

“Yes, you do that, and hurry home. A fanfare awaits you.”

The portal closed slowly, mechanically, like a large piece of paper being folded into smaller and smaller portions, until it completely disappeared from view. As soon as it was gone, James let out his breath. How much deceit must he go through to save face? He longed for prestige, for fame, for authority, and most importantly, for power. Whatever he had to do to keep his power, he would do it. Even lie about 200 men’s deaths; these men’s deaths
had
been for nothing, they had been a result of his poor calculations and jumping the gun about when and how to attack. No one needed to know that, though. All anyone in the Empire knew, they heard from Lamin through public proclamations, and Lamin only had the best things to say about him.

And it would stay that way.

Kicking his horse in the ribs softly with the heel of his left boot, they glided down the snow covered hill slowly, toward the massacre. He could barely look. Each corpse had a name, a family, and those with whom he himself shared memories. No more. All the bodies would be left here, in enemy territory, but he would bring the souls home, to the Keepers, to be recycled into the new generation. The only way to bring a body to life was through a soul that had already been used by a Luminite, and the only way to do that was to collect them from the dead.

James jumped down from his horse’s back suddenly while it was still moving, letting the horse trot a few more steps while he landed hard on the frozen ground. In the same way that he had summoned the speaking portal, he now summoned a long, elegant horn. He grasped it with both hands, it being about four feet in length. James pressed his lips firmly to the cold, metal mouth piece, and he blew with all of his might. No audible sound came out, but to the dead, it was like a dinner bell. Slowly, souls rose from the dead bodies like steam off of a thick, warm pond.

At first glance, it only looked like steam in the cold winter air. Examining the scene more closely, one would find that the smoke rising upwards had human characteristics. Swirling, the translucent threads of white fog transformed into arms, legs, heads, hair, even eyes and mouths. The vast majority of souls were more than happy to be taken from their physical bodies, because a soul being summoned from the dead means they have another chance to live, in a brand new body; it was a type of reincarnation. If a soul was left behind, that would be a person’s worst nightmare, because no one knew what the ultimate fate of souls not called back by the horn. Perhaps they just vanished like steam rising and dispersing into the sky. Perhaps they were plummeted into the depths of eternal damnation. No one knew; the only thing anyone knew was that the more chances they had at life, the more they were summoned up, the more they could learn and do and see. Life was the goal, reincarnation was the dream.

Once the souls were summoned up into the air like snakes charmed out of their baskets, James took his lips off of the mouth piece, and once the blowing stopped, a type of magnetic force that sucked the souls into the depths of the horn for safe keeping began. The souls looked like they were being blown by the wind in James’s direction, but once they got to the event horizon of the horn’s field, they quickly got sucked in, captured.

Convinced that all of the souls were satisfactorily contained, he gracefully waved his hands forward, and the horn vanished. Placing both of his pinky fingers in the corners of his mouth, he whistled loudly and exclaimed, “Maurice! Come!”

After a few moments, Maurice came trotting along, and stopped next to James. Looking into the animals eyes, he said, softly, “You wanna go home, Boy? I do.”

He mounted again, swinging one leg over Maurice’s back with a short hop. Once he was at that higher vantage point, he took in the sight of blood and sorrow one last time. Feeling defeated, he slowly grasped the reigns. “Let’s go home.”