Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (68 page)

And that rogue Azure... the way he'd looked into the camera...
 

Caleb reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, feeling calmer than he'd felt in months.
 

Luke nodded in understanding and stood up. "I'll get started on the paperwork." He grabbed his jacket and left, heading towards the cold room to start pulling files.

The phone rang only once before Persaud picked up, and before his Vassal even began to speak, Caleb could hear his triumphant smile carry through the airwaves.

"Proficient! What a delightful and unexpected surprise..."

The burlap bag had been sitting over Zeika's head for about an hour before it was removed. The ghosts of Hollow 12 had walked--
sloshed
rather-- through a whole system of tunnels. Save for the fact that she had counted nearly 10,000 steps between Hollow 12 and where they finally sat her down, she had no clue where she was.

The bag was snatched off and light and fresh air swept into her face. Her eyes adjusted to see that she was in another hovel, and it teemed with life as people filed into the room. She leaned forward and looked around, blinking in surprise when she noticed that she was the only one on the side wall for initiation. If this
was
rookie rush day, she was gonna get creamed. People barely even glanced her way, and when they did, they didn't look too amped to see her.

"Sit back, chump." One of the older guy Koans kicked her back against the wall with his foot as he walked by.
 

She cut him a nasty look and huffed, but then turned her attention back to the hovel, which was filling up fast. The attendees were rather diverse, if unkempt-looking. Everyone's clothes were patch-worked or dingy, hair tousled, hands calloused and dry. There were a lot of people she recognized. One of the bakers from the Co-op City Marketplace. Corrine Lim, a former customer of her Forge. One of Baba's co-miners.

Before bagging her, Johnny had told her that they had to attend the ambassador meeting, where they'd begin the initiation process.
 

She raised an eyebrow. If these were 'ambassadors', then she was the empress of
China.

Yet, the snide thought didn't remove an ounce of nervousness. Not only for the initiation, but also because she'd heard explosions this morning. A lot of them. They'd woken her up, and she'd looked out into the hallway to see Turley, Greg, and Quinn sitting quietly outside her cell, in some sort of meditative silence. They had looked anxious, and while no one had discussed exactly what was happening, there had been a community between them, one that they had gladly shared with her as the world trembled.

A tall man walked into her line of sight, looking down at her menacingly. An automatic rifle was strapped to his shoulder, and the white ceramic mask so typical of Koans rested atop his head.

"Who activated the new tat?" The man demanded, looking around the hovel.
 

"I did." From the audience, Johnny stood and put his hands in his pockets.

The soldier wheeled on him. "I
told
you: no more recruits. The order was from the top. What the hell's the matter with you?"

"She won't be getting in the way--"

"Like hell she won't!"

"Jared. She's here to fill in our empty slot, okay? That's it."

"No, that's not it." And in two steps Jared was in front of her, hoisting her to her feet.
 

"She's the one who killed Sal Morgan!" Johnny shouted angrily.

The announcement pulled a hush over the bustle, and every single person turned to look at her, shocked.

Jared grimaced and then turned to glare at her, his gaze of disapproval deepening the longer he looked at her. "Fine," he said finally. "We'll deal with you later." Then he turned to Quinn. "But if I have to put this little stray down, it's on
your
head."

"Yeah. Right." Quinn rolled his eyes, and Jared strode off to the front, turning to his audience.
 

He began to speak, and Zeika listened in, trying to ignore some gazes of amazement that still lingered on her. She scratched her itching back as spots of the roaring speech fizzed in and out of her thoughts. It was a struggle to process the information, things were happening so fast. Koa had initiated a demense-wide lock in, cutting off all paths into and out of the three Protecteds. Azures that were rich enough were making a break for it, clearing out of Civilian territory. Koa's time was rising, so on and so forth. The rest of it was motivation, something about a final page, and other kinds of aural encouragement, because apparently a huge battle was coming. One that they planned to fight until the end. The only questions left were what battle and where she would fit in. Maybe she'd just be a grunt. A messenger or delivery girl.

She could handle that. Maybe. Whatever they had in store for her, it'd be better than starving to death face first in the snow or being locked up for manslaughter. Not worlds better, but better. She'd make the best with what she had. She'd show them what she could do: gun smithing, bartering, negotiations. Alchemy, though, was off the table.
 

She glanced at Johnny and noticed that he was gazing at her with a strange mix of interest and wariness. He had told her in secret that he'd seen her debut at the police station, but he hadn't told anyone else it'd been her on the tape. The P-cells had been too busy to notice... but Johnny had. As he looked at her, she wondered if maybe he was having second thoughts. If so, she'd have to prove him wrong.

Or maybe he was thinking of other things. Things she wasn't sure they had time for.

She'd missed him, and they needed to talk, catch up. But the immediacy of her current situation was sort-of killing the mood. Goo-goo eyes or not, she was locked in with Koa and still had to prove herself. If she was going to focus on anything, she needed to focus on that.

Still, focus was a hard task. The past two months had brought on a strange splitting of consciousness: strength and weakness. Love and hate. Courage and terror. All possible emotions had ebbed and flowed in her at random intervals since the first bombing, leaving her completely exhausted. For months, there had only been enough room for logic differentials, strategies on what would keep her and the people she loved alive. And now--
 

Johnny was still staring at her, finally cracking a smile before he turned back to Jared's speech.

--it was burdensome, and yet so refreshing, to actually
feel
something again. Along with those feelings, though, came the conscience, the obvious question: what Koa would want her to do, would it be wrong? Or would it be righteous retribution against a civilization of oppressors? She didn't know the other kids' stories, but as for her, the Cabal had curled itself around her life like a python and had crushed it, until she'd had no other alternative but to make the most desperate of choices.
 

She thought of Sal, and still found the sting of guilt difficult to bury. The still-fresh memory caused her to lower her eyes, to hide the tears that had begun to well up. In the end, it was what she had to do, even if by accident. But his face would be in her dreams for a long time. His, and the faces of the ones she loved more than anything in the world.

Mama. Baba. Manja. I hope you're okay.

She had a feeling that they were still alive out there. They were survivors, all of them, and the thought of them made her feel stronger, ready to face what lie ahead. One day, they'd be back together. In the meantime, though, right or wrong, she was a ghost of Koa. The Alchemic Cabal had taken everything from them. Everything. She wasn't sure if she was quite ready to return the favor, but as she looked around and listened to the Koan dogma, she understood that she wouldn't have a choice.

"I want you to know that I did not abandon you. I never would."

The hum of the copter was audible through the phone, but Xakiah could hear his Vassal well enough. He had organized Moss' extraction from the Protecteds personally, making sure that he had been comfortable before lift off.

"No, Vassal," he said. "I am glad to serve here in your stead. I will not fail you."

"I know. And as a parting gift, I have sent you the next few pages of your Canon. Study them well.
Practice
them well."

Xakiah opened his hand and felt the tickle of Vassal's scripture on his skin. Words, diagrams, symbols, all transferred from the Alchemic Canon, scribbled themselves into his hand. He placed his palm face down onto his desk, and the ink transferred, skittering over the wood towards the stack of old parchment at the corner. The scribblings organized themselves neatly onto five pages, and as they did, Xakiah understood that this
was
a gift. A real gift, unlike the one Faust had given. This was the greatest gift that a master could ever give to an apprentice, that one lover could give to another: acceptance. Love. To be truly loved by a Vassal... such an honor had to be earned. He smiled, the thought warming him.

"How goes our little Prince and his Theosophist?"

Xakiah leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "His Highness has been made painfully aware of his position. And the Theosophist poses no threat."

"Good. The Hunter's Cell, then. You will be lavished with our Order's most precious resources. You know this. It is time to express yourself, Kaelen. Use the Cell to our advantage. The Final Page is what Koa wants most; they will try for it again. Exploit that desire. By the end of this, I want both the Page and the little rogue Azure firmly in our grasp. Is that clear?"

"Yes." Then Xakiah looked off, careful with how his next words came out. "You...
do
trust me with this... yes, Vassal?"

Moss paused for a minute, the rotors of the helicopter chopping up the silence. Then he finally asked: "How do you kill a race, Proficient?"

"Through the women," Xakiah responded obediently.
 

"And how do you kill a future?"

"Through the children."

His Vassal was smiling. Xakiah could hear it over the phone, his silent peace. "Then, yes," Moss whispered. "I trust you."

The phone clicked off, and Xakiah leaned back, feeling restored. They had lost a piece of the Final Page, but his Vassal was right. The Page was what Koa wanted more than anything, and in spite of their pathetic attempt at a "lock-in", they would eventually reveal their desperation as they pursued the rest of it.
 

The mechanisms of Koa's demise swirled around his mind, tantalizing the darkest parts of his imagination as a plan began to form. This was the real battle. The world had plunged into chaos, and he and Koa would vie against one another for the rights to tame it. Only in clashes of metal and flesh-- not in congressional coins and lies-- would the real victors rise. And no post-war clean up was necessary; dear Dr. Georin and Madam Cua were still poised on the edge of the Seventh Demesne to collect the bodies.

It was perfect, all so perfect how things had worked out. Perhaps even divine. Things now were so similar to those far-gone days over 100 years ago. He had designed death perfectly every time, created his own personal pogroms, silver screen delights to which only he had a front row seat.

Now, once again, his Vassal had given him a world of his own, where the finales were his to conduct, the epilogues his to write, and he wouldn't have to wait or ask for a thing. Instead, the world and Koa, would wait on him. They had no choice, because
he--
Kaelen X Cotch-- had the last piece of the Final Page.

And there is still the little Azure to consider.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen an Alchemist as powerful as the rogue who'd robbed his precinct. He had already decided that he would make a very intimate acquaintance with the little Azure before putting him into the ground. Then his friends, ghosts and insurgents all, would join him. He would draw the curtain on this circus, and Koa would be the closing act.

He smiled, finally allowing himself his first cigarette in years. He gazed at the Monas Hieroglyphica engraved into the cover of his Canon and ran a finger through its winding ivy crown.

"
In hoc signo vinces
," he whispered to himself as he lit the cig, the words making him feel stronger. "In this sign, we conquer."

The sun peeked over the horizon, marking the first day of the Lock In. Xakiah blew out a slow, silver plume, savoring the silence as the final curtain began to rise.

Caleb laid on his cot, trying to find a way to get comfortable. The streets of the Fifth were jammed, and danger zones had been set up all around. There was no way he'd be getting home, and even if he could, he doubted it'd be a good idea to try. Luckily, he'd packed enough clothes and toiletries into his office when he'd first arrived.
 

The inside of the station was calming down as most of the cops moved in and out to secure the city. Palmer and Persaud had put an official lock on his and Luke's movements in the public eye now that they were officially a part of a different unit.