The Dark Storm (8 page)

De Mona tore her eyes away from Gabriel and looked up at Redfeather. “To tell you the truth, I’m still trying to figure it out.” De Mona went on to tell Redfeather the abbreviated version of what she’d shared with Gabriel. She told Redfeather of the night that she and her cousin had come back from the movies and found her father. “He was in a bad way,” she recalled. “They’d bled him to the point of death, and to add insult to it he was bound to a chair by his intestines.” She paused, nearly choking on the words. “It’s a miracle that he lived long enough to say good-bye. I wanted to call for help, but he wouldn’t let me. He said
that getting this fork back to the church took precedence over everything, even his life.”

“Wait a second,” Gabriel interjected. “You said that you needed to find out what it was?”

“I
do
need to find out what it is. My father died because of that fork, and I intend to find out why.”

“Fork?” Redfeather asked, looking from De Mona to Gabriel.

“Oh, with all that was going on I almost forgot.” Gabriel pulled the fork from his pants and held it up to eye level. The fork pulsed once in his hand, sending faint waves of heat up his arm.

Redfeather made the sign of the cross and stepped back as if the fork would strike him. “The Nimrod.” His voice quivered.

“You know what this thing is, Granddad?”

Redfeather tried to hide the panic that was creeping into his voice. “The greatest gift and curse ever bestowed upon the world by the gods. Quickly.” He tossed Gabriel an old jacket that had been draped over the back of a chair. “Wrap it!”

“What’s wrong?” Gabriel asked nervously.

“Just do as I say!” Redfeather snapped.

Gabriel took the coat and began wrapping it. The vibrating got stronger, and the warmth was trying to shift to a burn. Only after he had completely wrapped it in the coat did the thing go still.

“If they know that’s the Nimrod, they’ll swoop down on us,” Redfeather said, pacing back and forth nervously. Every so often he would spare a glance at the wrapped fork as if it would leap up through the jacket and smite them all. Having an item of biblical fame in his midst clearly made him uneasy.

“If by ‘they’ you mean the demons, it’s too late. They jumped us outside the library at Gabriel’s school.”

His pacing stopped. “You’ve seen them? The dark agents?”

“Not only did we see them, but Gabriel kicked their asses.” De Mona smirked.

“Is this true?” he asked his grandson.

Gabriel looked at his shoes. “Not exactly. De Mona helped.”

“That thing,” De Mona pointed to the lump under the suit jacket, “came to life in his hands and went all mystic. He claims to have no knowledge of it, though he handled it quite well.” She looked at Gabriel and then back to Redfeather.

Redfeather looked at his grandson, his eyes pleading for it to be a lie, but the truth shone in Gabriel’s face.

“I’m not really sure what happened, but I was scared and needed to get out of there, and the fork knew it.” Gabriel shrugged. “This relic,” he nodded at the bag, “the things that jumped us in the parking lot … It’s like an old wives’ tale used to scare children. Scientifically this is all impossible.”

“Two things I’ve learned in life are that not all things can be explained by science and that there’s a truth in even the tallest tales, Gabriel,” Redfeather told him. “You coming into possession of the Nimrod is amazing, but it answering to your touch is something that I’ve dreaded my whole life.”

Redfeather looked from the angered De Mona to the confused Gabriel. If the fork came to life in the hands of Redfeather’s grandson, that meant it had chosen him. “Why?” was still an unanswered question. Seeing the Nimrod brought back a rush of memories Redfeather had buried deep within his mind. Most of the others thought that the stories the elders had told them about the Seven-Day Siege were just stories, but Redfeather knew better. He knew firsthand not only that the dark horde was real but
also what they were capable of. It had been one of the main reasons for his leaving the order.

For as much as he would’ve liked to believe that the second war was a myth, the thing lying wrapped on the floor of his study was more reality than he was ready for. As it had centuries ago, the Nimrod had answered to the touch of a Redfeather. The pendulum was set swinging and the battle for souls would begin. Though he’d hoped he’d never have to, it was time to tell Gabriel their family secret.

Gabriel and De Mona watched Redfeather for at least five minutes, but he didn’t say a word. He paced the carpeted office, occasionally casting a glance at the lump of cloth. A thousand lies couldn’t avert what he knew was coming. Whether he liked it or not, the vengeful thing had chosen his grandson, and he needed to be prepared.

“This thing is a curse dating back to the siege,” Redfeather finally said.

“The siege.” Gabriel absently ran his hand through his slightly mussed hair. “Isn’t that the story you used to tell me when I was a kid? It was something about a battle between saints and demons, right?”

“Knights,” De Mona corrected. “They were called the Knights of Christ. My dad told me the story a time or two.”

“I always thought that it was something you used to tell me just for kicks,” Gabriel said to Redfeather. “The idea of demons actually existing just seemed a little out there … no offense,” he said to De Mona, who just grunted.

“No, the siege really happened, and Ms. Sanchez,” he nodded towards De Mona, “should be proof enough for you that they walk amongst us.” Redfeather moved towards one of the massive bookshelves, running his finger
along the spines. He selected a thick, leather-bound book and tested its weight in his hand. “The story of the Seven-Day Siege was passed down from parent to child since after the last demon was slain. When our enemies were lain low, the Knights were disbanded and entrusted with the anointed weapons. It was our job to guard the weapons and the story in case the Knights would one day be called back to arms. We were to be prepared in case the forces of hell moved on humanity again. Though the Order of the Knights was disbanded, our ancestors made sure that we would never forget the men and women who died in the battle, or would we be ill prepared if the forces of hell tried to move against humanity again.”

Gabriel’s face suddenly went placid. “Granddad, why do you keep saying ‘we’?”

He looked up into the questioning face of his grandson. “Because it was our blood that won that day, and our blood which was to be hunted for all time by the dark agents. They will not rest until the last of the Hunters are no more.”

“Grandfather, I’m a vegetarian, remember? I’m no more of a hunter than you are.” He smirked at his grandfather.

Redfeather looked at his wrinkled hands and flexed them as if he were holding something. “But I was not always the man you see before you. It wasn’t so long ago that I stood proudly with the order, and my son with me. Your father was amongst the bravest of our brethren until he fell victim to the dark.”

“My father?” The subject of his father and that faithful night brought back painful memories. When Gabriel was a child, he had been a part of his parents’ carnival act, the Flying Redfeathers. They would wow the crowd every night with their death-defying acts; they had even traveled with a French circus troupe for a time. Those had
been the best years of Gabriel’s life, until a freak fire in a trailer had put an end to it all. The only thing that had spared Gabriel’s life was the fact that he had been in town with some of the other performers getting supplies when the fire broke out. The blaze had claimed parents, uncle, and older brother, leaving Gabriel alone in the world until he was taken in by his grandfather.

“But they all died in an accidental fire,” Gabriel said emotionally.

“It was a fire that claimed them, but it was no accident; it was the work of hell’s minions,” Redfeather admitted. “I’m sorry that I lied to you, Gabriel, but I did so to hide the terrible truth from you.”

“And what is that truth?” Gabriel asked sharply. He couldn’t believe that the one person he had trusted most in the world had lied to him.

The tone of his voice stung the old man, but Redfeather understood Gabriel’s pain. Redfeather placed his hand on a large Bible that was on the bottom shelf and looked up at his grandson. “Gabriel, before I go on I must know that you are ready to accept what I have to tell you.”

“I wanna know,” Gabriel said in a low voice.

Redfeather nodded. “Very well then,” he said before pulling the Bible halfway off the shelf. A grinding sound came from the bookshelf to Gabriel’s left, just before it unhitched from the wall and slid to the side. Behind it was a glass display case, which crept forward on its wheeled stand. Inside the case was a breastplate that looked to be made of animal bones. Resting on a slender pole just behind it was a headdress of beautiful brown and white feathers. Gabriel found that it was extremely difficult to tear his eyes away from the hidden treasure, to pay attention to his grandfather’s explanation.

“This is the armor that protected our ancestors and our lineage during the Seven-Day Siege.” Redfeather traced
the angle of the display case. It had been over ten years since he had last had reason to lay eyes on the armor. “He was the most skilled tracker in the Black Hills, when they still belonged to us, and friend to both animals and beast people. It was even said that he had one day taken one for his bride, but let me not get ahead of myself. He was to lead the hunt against the evil, but as it turned out, he ended up being the one to win the battle.”

“Wait a second, I’m no expert, but wasn’t someone called the Bishop supposed to be their general?” De Mona asked, trying to remember the whole tale in her head.

“Yes, Bishop Michael Francisco was indeed chosen to wield the Nimrod, but the last strike was not his,” Redfeather informed her. “When the Bishop was slain by the dark forces, it was the Hunter who picked up the trident, and to everyone’s surprise it answered to him. The Hunter turned the tide that day and closed the rift, sending the demons back to hell. Though some of them escaped, the nastiest were purged from this world.”

“So you think that this is that trident?” Gabriel knelt beside the fork. He hadn’t really meant to, but he rubbed his hand across the fabric of the jacket, tracing the outline of the fork with his fingers. It was like angels dancing along his arm and singing the sweetest melody in his ears.

“If the things you’ve told me tonight are true, yes,” Redfeather said. “There were thirteen anointed weapons in all, one for each of the chosen, but the trident was the most powerful. Over the years the items were lost, resurfacing here and there every so often. The forces of the light have been able to recover some, but so have the dark forces. There are a few floating around somewhere, but I have no idea how many.”

“Well, if these things were so damn dangerous, how come they were able to get lost in the shuffle? I mean,
didn’t the Knights or the pope think to safeguard them in some way?”

“They did.” Redfeather knelt to unlock the case. “The Knights who survived agreed to keep their artifacts in case they were ever called to duty again. Some of the order stayed on to serve the church or Sanctuary, while others faded, living their lives as if the siege had never happened. It was peaceful for a while, but the peace was short-lived. It took several years, but one by one the Knights and their descendants were hunted by the dark forces and slaughtered. Families, friends, livestock … the demons spared none. Very few of the original lines survived, the Redfeathers being one of them.”

Gabriel walked over to the case and examined the items inside closely. His eyes drank in the beauty of the feathers in the headdress and how well preserved they were. Attached to the headdress was a faceplate, also carved from bone. The eagle’s powerful beak curved down into a near razor-sharp slope, hooking slightly at the tip. He stared into the dark pits that would’ve been the bird’s eyes, feeling a tickling whisper in the back of his head, while they spoke without speaking.

“I am the master of the storm.”

Gabriel looked around to see if anyone else had heard the whisper, but neither De Mona nor his grandfather gave any indication that they had.

“It was said,” Redfeather snapped Gabriel out of his daze, “that the king of the eagles gave of his own feathers to make that band.” He nodded at the headdress. “It endowed Redfeather with great sight. The bones,” he nodded to the breastplate, “were donated by the wolves. They felt that the souls of their kills would reinforce the armor to protect him from harm.”

“Whispering Hound,” Gabriel breathed.

Redfeather stared at his grandson. “That was one of
the names given to him. He had the nose and instincts of a tracker, but the sweet tongue of a politician. The Bishop often kept council with the Hunter, and it was the Hunter’s sweet words that convinced the animals to throw in their lot with the Knights against the demons.”

Gabriel reached up and removed the headdress from its stand. He inhaled deep of the eagle’s wings, letting the knowledge embroidered into the feathers seep through him. When he spoke, it was his voice, but words from another time. “Our ancestor was a great hunter, and always brought more meat back to the village than any two men. What most didn’t know, not even his brothers, was that he spoke the language of the animals. While others shunned the wolves and fierce things that hunted the plains, Redfeather befriended them. He had hunted with the mountain lions of the great slopes, and taken vengeance with the wolves when their packs were being poached.” Gabriel raised the headdress to place it over his head but hesitated.