Guardians (Chosen Trilogy Book 2) (13 page)

“They sacrifice everything for other people?”

“That’s part of what being a soldier is, my friend. Being prepared to sacrifice all you hold dear to save another human being. A stranger. It is one of the great traits of the human character.”

Ken took firmer hold of the corpse
’s waist. This was the hardest thing he had ever done. With a nod to Felicia, he stomped on. Down the black sand beach they walked, treading not on a soft shore but on pulverized cinders and ashes, accumulated over thousands of years into a hard, grizzled-edged shingle. The constant crunch of their feet was loud, even louder than their apprehensive breathing.

T
hey arrived at the gangplank. Ken saw a single plank of wood about twelve feet wide, itself jagged, splintered and creaking under the weight of eons, arcing from the beach to the front deck of the ship. He had his first sight of Charon, the ferryman, and his heart gave such a lurch that he almost balked again.

Charon stood at the head of the gangplank, staring down over the trudging line of new passengers.
The figure was impossibly tall, clad all over in chainmail and light garments of leather. A peaked helmet sat on his head, making him appear even taller. A mighty broadsword lay across his shoulders, supported by both arms. Whips, chains, scythes and other implements of pain hung from the chainmail. Even a chainsaw. The face that peered down was craggy and set with determination; bearded, dark-skinned and as grim as a million-year-old rock face that has stared at nothing but utter darkness for its entire existence.

Ken looked to his toes, counting the steps, studying the gangplank, keeping his corpse
’s feet from swaying, but never, ever staring up into that dreadful countenance.

No one spoke as they approached. The gangplank flexed and wobbled. The eager waters whispered quietly below as if beseeching chance to throw them an offering. As they neared the mythical
gatekeeper, Ken realized that the vampires had somehow managed to slip to the back of the group, clearly using the others to test the waters. Rather than annoying him this realization increased his courage, giving him an insight into how low and callous they were.

He saw the beast in front of him
—a wreck with tentacles for a face and tree-limb-like arms but, crazily, wearing a strong pair of Doc Martens—heave its body onto a growing pile then bow its head. Charon glanced the beast over, stared at the offering, and nodded. The beast passed through.

T
hen it was Ken’s turn. Fear twisted his guts, but he stepped up, right before Charon, the legendary, horrendous ferryman of hell.

Hanging his head, he dumped his corpse on the pile, not quite reaching the top. It slithered a little, head down, mouth open, the silver quarter gleaming in the half
light. The arms slumped until they again reached out for him; the corpse lay in exactly the same position he had found it in. Ken tried hard not to react.

Charon’
s eyes were on him, boring through his skin, his bone, and into the very depths of his soul.

Then the
ferryman spoke, and it was a deep voice, brimming with the promise of eternal hellfire. “It is not often a living human wishes to pass into the first circle of hell.”

Ken bit his lips to keep from screaming. The terrible voice conjured nightmares in his brain. Horrible visions of massacre, of the worst parts of human history, of the Holocaust and relentless battlefield death, of the slaughter of countless innocents in third-world genocide, of the bombing and tortures and beheadings in the name of someone’s pure religion.

An answer was required. Ken kept his attentiveness high enough to know he shouldn’t lie. He said, “I have business there.”

True enough.

“Is it the business of war? Of suffering? Of rich carnage?”

Ken thought about the war looming on earth. Of the battle at Miami Beach. “It is.”

“Then pass through.” Charon inclined his head.

Ken sensed it rather than saw it, and moved past,
his flesh crawling. Beyond the great figure he slowed, not wanting to lose touch with the group and also wanting to be on hand in case anything went wrong.

Lilith was next. “I know you
,” Charon said. “You return of your own free will?”

Ken wondered if they would ever discover the identity of the young girl, and what might happen if they did.

“I do. For now.”

“Then pass through.”

Felicia was up next. The instant she stepped up to Charon, Ken saw the ferryman’s shoulders flex and the sword shift. Muscles tensed.

“A
lycan?” Charon rumbled. “It is unlikely that a lycan would risk the type of captivity that exists beyond these waters.”

“My business is with two demons. Unfortunately they have fled here.”

“A human and now a lycan,” Charon ruminated. “Still, it is unlikely that you would risk this. The rarest of all creatures that sail this boat are lycans.”

“I am the rarest of the rare, then
,” Felicia said.

“You have no idea,” Charon said
, “what prisons, manacles and cages await you in the first circle. Of the torments and horrors that will be bestowed upon you. For that reason alone—” he inclined his head. “You may pass through.”

Ken breathed a sigh of relief, then froze when he saw Felicia’s face. The bubbly
lycan seemed terrified; lost, regretting every step and decision she’d made on this perilous journey. When she came closer to Ken she whispered, “He let me in to
experience
enslavement. To find out just how bad it can be. That’s . . . that’s . . .”

Ken smiled grimly. “Demonic?”

“The ways of the Devil,” Lilith said, “are not always direct. They are wily, manipulative, unforeseen. He will strike out at you from many unanticipated angles and when you least expect him to.”

Felicia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I really don’t like this.”

Ken put an arm around her shoulders. “Join the club, love. Join the club. Oh, hello, here come the real monsters. Through without a hitch.”

Eliza and Milo stared at them as if nothing had happened. “We made it. All of us
,” Eliza said, unnecessarily.

Ken nodded. The great ship creaked and swayed slightly, the wails of the tortured souls now even louder out here, as if raining down from the great silvery vault of the sky.
He saw the end of the line of creatures walking the gangplank and knew they would soon set sail.

“I guess we huddle down
,” he said. “And . . . survive the ride.”

Felicia, surprisingly, hugged him close. “Let’s stay together.”

Lilith moved to his other side. There was a time, not so long ago, when the prospect of a girl on each arm might have led to a macho joke or two, a puff of pride, but today he knew he had learned new values. He knew that something deeper already existed between Felicia and himself, and that Lilith was a victim and a friend. His heart and mind had grown and found a new plateau of feelings and emotion, one he didn’t want to let go. One he wished he had ascended to many years ago.

But he was still alive. And his friends were still with him. The fight wasn’t lost yet.

Moments later, the outrageous ship shifted slightly and floated. Its prow swung around, aiming for the first circle of hell.

Ken gripped his friends tighter.

An awful lot had happened since we stole our artefact from the demon, Ast
aroth, and returned to the Aegis safe house. We’d been interrupted in our musings by the supermodel, Leah Aldridge, who’d been summoned to the place for no reason that she was clearly aware of.

“
Just a feeling,” she’d said, “that I should come here. You shoulda seen my face when I tapped out the code on the entry keypad.” She’d frowned. “Weirdest thing I ever did.”

I doubted that.

Anyway, once the model was there, in front of us, Giles and Cheyne quickly reached the decision that she should be given full disclosure. They told her about Kinkade, about where he was and all that he’d done for the world. They told her about his request—that she was his reward.

And then they waited.

If it had been a Hollywood actor or actress, I thought, apart from Tom Cruise of course since that guy seemed to be up for absolutely anything, they would have thrown a tantrum, threatened to sue, stomped out of there and inadvertently gotten themselves killed. If it had been a Premiership soccer player—same result. If it had been a banker or chairman of one of the energy companies, they’d have been wondering how poor old Kinkade had managed to share with so many other demons.

But a Victoria’s Secret supermodel?

She shrugged, grinned and cricked her neck a couple of times. She said, “Really?” And she took it all in her stride.

“And now you want my help again? Or
his
help, I presume?”

I had a healthy respect for these models. I had met Kate Moss. I’d watched documentaries that stripped away the glamour and showcased the real person beneath the glitz. I knew the persona they threw around the catwalk was nothing more than that
—a persona. The real person beneath was often as everyday as you or me.

As Giles talked to Leah, Cheyne contacted the Libra
ry of Aegis to check on their progress. Since our little assignation had already been interrupted, Belinda and I decided not to tempt fate and waited around to hear the news.

Nathan, the human computer geek; Taryn, the first
-turned and much admired product of Ceriden; and Kage, the escaped demon we were harboring, were all on hand to talk. Through video conference we managed to match faces to names and get a conversation going.

Taryn, quick to think and even quicker to reach a clever conclusion, seemed to be the
library’s chief investigator. It was she that had decided that the hierarchy demons had all originally been real people, and that the artefacts were objects that had once belonged to them. Not only that, the objects had been dear to them, which explained why they were drawn to them now. The artefacts held a special power, happy memories of a happier time, and the demons couldn’t help but search for them now that their power had been activated. Taryn conjectured that once these artefacts were collected together and destroyed in a special ceremony then the power unleashed would enable Emily Crowe, the hierarchy demons, and whomever else joined their wicked crew to open the seven hellgates.

Chey
ne loved it, and sent a heads-up to the other teams. I received an update from Lucy’s team that they’d confronted and lost the demon Abaddon in Vienna, and that all was well. My mind settled, my heart did not.

The Text of Seven had been examined and explored
without let up, until Taryn decided there wasn’t really that much to glean from the damn thing. Yes, there were a few questions unanswered. But it was just one prophecy, among countless others. This one had come true, but had the original scribbler known it would? Taryn doubted it.

But still, she thought the big clue
—the lowliest place on earth—might offer us a pointer toward where the ceremony would take place.

“But it could be anywhere
,” Cheyne said. “Surely any place that the Devil visits is the lowliest place on earth for the span of time that he is there. That’s how an old prophet would see it.”

I wandered over to the window. The view outside was as much of a tease as it was a panorama, offering an outlook on the fronts of buildings, a snatch of the famous pink-colored hotel and quick glimpses of the Pacific through gaps between buildings. The beauty of Honolulu was there, but seemingly out of reach.

As the night wore on we started to flag. It had been a long day. Without anything else to go on, the decision was made to return to Florida. The other team—Lucy’s team—would soon do the same.

I went to bed, a man hopeful that he would be reunited with his daughter again soon, and
utterly relieved that nothing bad had happened to either of us during our separation.

On the flight back to Florida I spoke of the mysterious help I appeared to have received during the battle with
Astaroth. I’d temporarily forgotten it whilst worrying about Lucy and the supermodel, Leah Aldridge, but when things calmed a little I couldn’t help but reflect on what might have happened.

“Could it
. . . could it be Johnny?” I asked Giles and Cheyne. “Helping from . . .” I stopped short.

“From beyond?” Cheyne chortled a little, her crooked
nose waving up and down like one of those bendy rulers that measure around corners. “This isn’t a TV show, Logan. This is a real-life horror story. Once you die you don’t come back. And you don’t
help
from beyond the grave.”

I frowned, unsure. Giles studied me. “It is odd. If Lucy were here, or perhaps Lysette I would say that either of those two might be able to enhance and augment your power a little because it
’s ‘of the mind’, and they have similar powers themselves. Jade, the elf, would be able to explain it better, when she returns. But both Belinda and Tanya are warriors; their power is in their hands and bodies. So I can’t see how anyone could have possibly helped you.”

“When one Chosen dies,” I wondered. “Is another born?”

Cheyne stared. “I wish I knew. But I have seen no sign of another healer since Devon Summers died at Miami Beach. And Matt Black was the first of the Chosen to die in the Hollywood Hills remember? We don’t even know what his power would have been.”

“But it
is
possible?” I pressed.

Cheyne huffed. “Anything
’s possible these days.” She turned away, glaring out the window, most likely upset that she didn’t have full control of the situation any more. She and her brethren had overlooked the coming of the hierarchy, missing it and being misled by the summoning of Gorgoroth, and could no longer claim to be infallible.

Natalie Trevochet was seated behind us. “I believe Logan is right.”

I felt a look of surprise stretch across my face. Ever since the Destroyer, Ashka, had tried to kill her and I hadn’t intervened our relationship had been a little icy. “You do? Which . . . which part?”

“All of it, I guess. But especially the part about when one Chosen dies another is born.”

Cheyne now looked around, interested. “Why?”

“It just makes sense. The Chosen have been prophesized for centuries, yes? Whenever Gorgoroth chose to appear. Well, the Chosen are but human and humans die every day. Many through accidents. Crossing the road. Flying to see relatives. On their way to work. Driving home. How
else could the original prophecy-makers be certain the Chosen would always be on hand?”

Giles nodded. Cheyne frowned, the expression twisting that nose into a twiglet. “
I agree, it’s sound thinking. But you forget one thing. Once the Chosen are . . . activated, shall we say . . . we have believed that no more will come.”

“Maybe you are wrong.”

“Then show me some proof.”

Natalie went quiet. I understood how alone, how out of her depth, she must feel. Johnny had been the chosen one, not her. Natalie had been along to help him, to guide him. Now, why was she still here? Sympathy? Guilt? For the simple reason that she
’d gone unnoticed in the constant skirmishes and relocations?

I didn’t want to feel sorry for Natalie Trevochet, for the simple fact that I knew she wouldn’t want me to, but my heart went out to her anyway.

I said, “Don’t worry about it. We’re right, they’re wrong.”

Natalie shrugged. “Show me a man in charge and I’ll show you a man
that needs help. Problem is, most of them either don’t know it or won’t accept it.”

I smiled. “Amen.”

“The big question now is,” Giles said, including us all, “where is the seventh artefact? and why haven’t the demons sought it out yet? The seventh and last one seems to be the big one. We have two. They have four. But so far no one has sought the seventh.”

“So where is it?” Tanya asked. “How can we track it down first?”

“That’s the big one. First, we should work out which demon it belonged to. Then research him. Go from there. If only one more artefact is unaccounted for and we have had no reports of any demons searching, then . . .”

“The location is significant
,” I said. “Or sensitive. Or maybe even unknown.”

“I’ll get the
library on to it immediately,” Cheyne said. “Good call, Giles.”

“Thank you. But I’ll be happier if we find it first.”

I sat back, and my thoughts turned to Lucy. I fished out my phone and checked the signal. Our plane was equipped with some kind of signal booster and frequency jammer that enabled us to use our mobiles onboard. Belinda smiled, knowing I was hitting my daughter’s speed-dial, and I grinned back.

A father’s mind is never without
worry, always attentive, always tracking back and forth over everything that could go wrong. He is forever a guardian, and will never rest.

The phone rang and rang, but she didn’t answer. The call didn’t go to voicemail, which probably meant that it hadn’t run out of battery. But who really knew with cellphones these days? All that technology and most of the damn things had a mind of their own. Maybe that was the plan.

I ended the call, unable to keep the disappointment from my face.

“Don’t worry.” Belinda stroked my thigh. “She’ll be fine. Hey,” her voice became
a whisper, “I figured out how we can join the Mile High Club, sugar plums. You up for it?”

My attention switched to her faster than the snap of a whip. “What? Now? Seems a bit wrong with all our friends here.”

“You take it when you can,” Belinda said in that usual fatalistic tone. “Because . . . you just never know.”

Recent events hadn
’t helped break her out of her resigned-to-die-young attitude. I leaned in close.

“You’re too old to die young
,” I said. “Too fast. Too good. Too bloody important.”

She smiled at me, leather pants creaking as she shifted slightly. She finger-combed the blond hair that framed her face.

“I—”

At that moment there was a cry from Cheyne, a sharp cry of pain and the faint sound of a
twang.
Almost as if an elastic band had been snapped close by. I stood up, grabbing the back of the airplane seat’s headrest and leaning over the top.

“What’s up?”

Cheyne had one hand cupping her nose. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh wow, by my ribbed broomstick, that
hurt.
”

“What?” I cried, glancing around but seeing no enemy. “What the hell happened?”

Giles stared from Cheyne to Belinda and me with a mix of humor, shock and worry. “You would find it hard to believe me if I told you.”

“My
. . . nose.” Cheyne blubbered a little. “It twisted and then snapped back. As if someone bent it and then released it from a sling shot.” Her accusing eyes fixed on me. “It was you, wasn’t it? Only you could do that, Logan.”

I tried to keep the smile from my face, knowing it would only show my guilt, even though I wasn’t the culprit. It was then that I had an epiphany and my eyes went wide.

“Oh God. I know who helped me.”

“What? Who?”

Natalie Trevochet stood up. “Was that proof enough for you, Witch Queen? I put it to you that the Chosen, when they die, somehow pass on all of their power to someone else, and that person is either the closest or dearest one to them. Of course, at first they have no idea. Are you gonna ask me how I know?”

Cheyne
shuffled around in her seat. “That was
you?
”

I stared at Johnny Trevochet’s wife, stunned. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“In the battle,” she said, “with Astaroth, at first I thought it was adrenalin, fear. I didn’t know I’d helped you until you mentioned it. Then I performed a couple of little experiments. Nothing big. But I could feel something, a force. Now, I think it came from Johnny when he died. A gift. Or part of the prophecy, I don’t know.”

Cheyne shook her head as if trying to assimilate it all.
“This is big,” she said. “Bigger than you know. Because if the gifts of the Chosen are passed on then we have another healer out there. And a—well, whatever Matt Black was. It means the coven will have to spell the Text of Arcadia again to find the new Chosen.”

“Who was closest to Devon when she died?” Giles asked. “Was it Lysette? Can the Chosen have more than one power?”

I cast my mind back, struggling to remember, but failed. Too much had happened, and even now I was struggling to catch up. Natalie had become one of the Chosen. What did it all mean?

One thing was for sure, we were going to
have to catch up to our enemy, fast.