Merciless (8 page)

Lisa clutched Daniel harder, taking entire handfuls of his shirt into her hands and pressing his body painfully against the bars.

The boy disappeared and was quickly replaced by a sweaty, adult male face that was much more familiar. Daniel had only met the man once and didn’t know if he could be trusted, but he was incredibly relieved to see him all the same.

“Come at a bad time?” asked Ethan Cooke.

“What are you—
How
are you . . . ?” Daniel asked as Lisa loosened her death grip.

“Don’t worry,” Ethan replied. “Jail’s deserted; there’s no one to stop us. I don’t think anybody really cares what
anyone
does anymore. All government facilities and businesses are closed up. Parliament’s the same—they say even the royal family’s gone into hiding.”

Daniel stepped forward and looked through the hole; outside was a narrow back street in the heart of downtown London. The young boy he’d just seen was now crawling into the passenger’s side of a British police car and fiddling with the radio inside. He landed on a news station and turned the volume up. Daniel thought he heard the words “military buildup” crackle over the airwaves before he recovered and looked back at Ethan.

“What’s going on?” he gasped.

“All that doomsday prophesy stuff about the Bringer?” Ethan replied, speaking fast. “It’s happening. And there’s no one left to fight it. Come on, I need your help. We’re on our own.”

Alex prayed that she would die.

She prayed that the blood oozing from her abdominal wounds would seep all of the life from her limbs and let her pass blissfully into the next life. It was hard to believe it was just a little while ago that she had been daydreaming about a future with Grant. In her vision, his feelings for her were as strong as hers were for him, and they decided to live out their days together as retired superheroes, away from the cares of the world.

She was reclined on a simple bunk inside the Turkish military base’s barracks, arms at her sides and unable to look anywhere but up. Grant had seized the entire base, and after miles and miles of walking, it had taken a suggestion from Devlin to grant them a break to eat and sleep. Via an unconscious signal, Grant gave the Ringwearers a choice: dine or rest? Either way, he would control their every action, from lying on their backs on a bed to opening and shoveling field rations into their mouths.

Most of them opted to sleep after being forced to walk for so long without stopping. Some of the more unfit Ringwearers were suffering from seized muscles and severe dehydration. Hector’s skills would normally have been put to use in easing their misery, but even he was out of commission. And from what she’d overheard members of the Secretum saying to each other, this opportunity to rest would be very brief before Grant forced them to set out eastward once again.

But everyone else’s suffering was nothing next to Alex’s. Her excruciating burns still felt as if on fire, burning her now on the inside as well as out. If the clocks had still been working, she estimated it had to have been at least three days. Three days of living with pain beyond intensity, unable to even place a hand upon her waist for comfort, Grant’s control forcing her legs to walk endlessly . . . She felt grateful she managed to remain unconscious for the majority of it.

So now, finally given the chance to recline and rest in a real bed, she found it a bitter irony that she couldn’t get to sleep. The pain had taken hold again, worse than ever, and she pondered to what lengths she would go to make it stop, if she could. Even in her youth, in the life she’d known before she was called Alex, she had never, ever known pain that was anything like this. How long could she withstand it before her body simply . . . gave up?

Wondering who the soldier had been who just hours ago might have slept in the bunk she was resting in, she prayed that death would come for her soon.

14

“Well,” Director Stevens said through heavy static on the other end of Ethan’s phone, “I hear from you more frequently now than when you were under my command.”

“I take it my intel proved useful?” Ethan said. He stood at the top of the stairs leading to the attic space, where he’d met Trevor earlier. His three friends had already gone inside.

“There’s no denying the United States owes you a debt of gratitude for your information,” she said with obvious reluctance in her voice. “Without your tip, it’s unlikely we would have been able to obtain satellite images of the region before the satellite in question lost its orbit. But I need more, Mr. Cooke. I know you’re holding back.”

“The only way this works,” Ethan retorted, “is if the flow of information isn’t one way only. You’ve obviously seen pictures of what’s happening in Turkey right now. Without me, you’d have nothing. I want to know what you’re planning.”

There was a static-filled silence on the other end, and Ethan could swear he heard her teeth grinding. “Fine. A short time ago, infrared satellite imagery clearly showed a small military base some thirty miles to the east of Antalya, home to about two hundred souls, completely laid waste in mere minutes. The life signs we picked up on the infrared inside the base flashed out all at once—at the same time we read an enormous power surge that erupted like a bomb blast at the base’s front gate. When it was over, a single warm body stood in the center of the blast area. Imagery taken later showed that he was not alone. And, I might add, this particular individual’s body temperature registered significantly higher on the infrared than any we’ve ever recorded.”

“Oh no,” Ethan whispered.

“Your turn,” Stevens said. “I want to know who this person is. And I want to know why you’re so certain that it’s not your friend Guardian. Because this display of power falls right in line with what we’ve seen from—”

“Guardian’s dead,” Ethan interrupted, and then found he had nothing more to add.

“Then God help us all,” Stevens said quietly. “Those black clouds and the ashen earth beneath them have already spread beyond Turkey’s borders. The U.N. is holding an emergency meeting as we speak, and the president has been on the phone with foreign world leaders for hours. If you know anything more about this man and the threat he poses, now is not the time to play games with me.”

Ethan took a deep breath and let it out quickly. “His name is Oblivion. And as I told you before, we’ve never built a weapon capable of taking him down. He’ll swat anything you can hurl his way; we’re little more than flies to him.”

“But
what is he
? Where did he come from?”

Ethan sighed. They were reaching the limits of his knowledge. “As I understand it, and I don’t fully . . . think of Oblivion as a primordial force of nature that has been set loose on our world. He’s ancient—in the extreme—even predating the existence of mankind. Nothing can stop him. Anything that gets in his way will die quick and bloody. He’s going to do whatever he’s here to do, and no amount of human manpower or military armaments has a snowball’s chance of slowing him down. I’m exploring other solutions as we speak, but I must strongly repeat my urging that you
not
attempt to engage him.”

A pause. “I was hoping for more.”

“You wanted to know everything I know about Oblivion. Now you do.”

“Fine. If you manage to find out anything
useful,
do try and keep in mind the fact that the security of your native soil—not to mention the world—could very well rest on how much you choose to share with us. I have to go; my flight is about to take off—”

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Where do you think? The Turks have asked for help. We’re going to war.”

Click.

“No, wait!” Ethan shouted. It was no use; she was gone.

Had she not heard the part about not trying to engage Oblivion? Was the U.S. government insane? Wheels spun in Ethan’s mind, his knowledge of the inner workings of Washington’s halls of power coming to the forefront. He knew exactly what kinds of battle plans were being drawn up at this very moment, he knew what tactics they would use to try to take Oblivion down, and he had a good idea of how many soldiers they would send to the Middle East, probably pulled from nearby bases and places as far as Germany and Italy . . .

Oblivion and his makeshift army would be outnumbered by three hundred thousand to one.

And Oblivion would slaughter every last soul.

“I know you must be holding on to the hope that Grant can be restored.”

Payton awoke to the sound of the voice he hated more than any other in this world. His eyes opened and swiveled to the sound of Devlin’s latest accent—a thick Mediterranean sound appropriate to their location. The thing wearing Grant’s skin was allowing him control over his eyes, to better facilitate his need for sleep. But he couldn’t move anything else.

Devlin knelt over Alex’s prostrate form, less than five feet away. He was applying bandages and ointment to her stomach; a military grade first-aid kit was open at his feet.

“Hello, Payton,” Devlin said without facing him. “I can feel it when you watch me, you know. There’s no supernatural connection between us. Just the unspoken silence that passes between mentor and protégé.”

Payton’s eyes turned as far as they could, trying to get a glimpse of Alex’s face. He couldn’t tell if she was trying to see him as well, or not.

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” Devlin said, still looking at Alex and dressing her wounds. “Yes, it’s true. Payton became a master swordsman under
my
tutelage. He and I have quite the history.”

Payton tried with all his might to force his mouth to spit on the old man, but his body refused to obey.

A silence passed for several moments, and though Payton could tell that Devlin was continuing to fuss over Alex, he could make out no details. A strange sensation spread over Payton’s body, a sensation he wasn’t used to feeling. Not for a long time.

It was fear. He was feeling fear. How odd.

A moment passed before he realized that it wasn’t his fear, but Alex’s, that he was feeling. It had happened before—times when her emotions became so strong that her power forced them onto everyone around her. But for her feelings of fear to be intense enough to push them through Grant’s control . . .

What was Devlin doing to her?

“Yes, yes . . .” the older man whispered, trancelike. “Terribly painful, isn’t it . . .?”

Payton imagined a scenario where Devlin had gotten caught up in what he was doing, dressing Alex’s injuries, and couldn’t stop himself from . . .
playing
with her open wounds. To have her so completely at his mercy . . .

It was not only possible, it was probable. Payton knew this man all too well.

Devlin started, looking down at Alex with something like shock on his face. “Do forgive me, do forgive me,” he said, in his most polite of tones. “If not for the tears gushing from your eyes, I might not have realized . . . I do apologize, truly. I suppose my curiosity got the best of me with you unable to resist . . . Well, you know what they say about power corrupting . . .”

Payton wanted to fling himself onto Devlin and gut his chest from top to bottom.

“You must think me quite the madman,” Devlin went on calmly, now wiping his hands on a nearby towel. “Cold, cruel, heartless, caring little for the pain of others. And you would be exceedingly wrong. It is
because
of the imminent wrongness of pain, cruelty, and suffering that the Secretum has done all that it has done. I grieve for those who have died, just as I grieve for those still in pain. I grieve for you as well, my dear . . .” Payton couldn’t see him, but Devlin’s voice had become very far away, something akin to lament. “I grieve for us all . . .

“These burns are quite severe,” Devlin said, snapping back to the moment with fatherly concern. “At least second degree, probably third. I’m afraid there’s only so much I can do with these meager supplies, but this should keep you from infection or blood poisoning, at least for a time. Your friend Hector could patch you up, I’m sure, but Oblivion doesn’t quite seem to grasp human concepts of pain and suffering. But I promise, I will point out to Oblivion that your effectiveness in the field may be compromised if your wounds go untreated indefinitely.”

Oblivion?
What was that?

Alex must’ve been showing Devlin the same question with her eyes.

“Well of course, you wouldn’t know, would you?” Devlin said as he wrapped a roll of white gauze around her arm. “That’s what we call him. If he has a name of his own, no one alive knows it. But as I was saying before, I’m afraid your friend Grant is quite dead. Just as was prophesied seven thousand years ago, Grant’s form has become the vessel of a being we call Oblivion, who now has access to all of Grant’s immense powers, in addition to the terrible power Oblivion calls its own. The Secretum performed the Ritual of
Atrum Universitas,
allowing Oblivion to be born into human flesh.”

Devlin glanced over at Payton, looking on him fully for the first time. Payton tried to struggle against the invisible bonds that held him immobile, but he couldn’t even get his muscles to clench or stretch. Devlin, in reply, offered the slightest hint of a knowing smirk; he understood better than probably anyone alive the full extent of the murderous thoughts flooding Payton’s mind.

“I promise you,” Devlin continued, turning back to Alex, “there is no way to undo what has been done. Grant is dead, as is his sister. Yes, I’m afraid Julie Saunders’ life was taken as part of the ritual as well. I’m sorry for your loss, but it was the only way. The Ritual of
Atrum Universitas
is one of the oldest and deepest secrets known to the Secretum of Six. And it can only be performed with the deaths of two individuals: the vessel, and a sacrifice. The sister’s blood was drained from her body to give to the Hollow, to feed the birthing process. Only the Bringer could have been the vessel, of course, because he wore the Seal of Dominion. But the sacrifice could have been anyone who doesn’t wear a Ring. It became Grant’s sister purely out of convenience.”

He stood, satisfied with his work on Alex’s damaged skin. “You should both do your very best to rest. We have a long journey ahead of us, and I believe Oblivion is intent upon walking the entire way. He seems to relish the effect his touch has upon the ground. Exciting days are ahead, very exciting days. And you will both play crucial roles in what’s to come. You are, after all, the deadliest weapons in Oblivion’s army.”