Jack pulled the black helmet down over his head and threw his leg over the red Ducati 996. The hand-crafted motorcycle looked like it was moving at a hundred miles per hour, even when it was sitting still. The roar of the V-twin engine exploded into the parking garage through the custom dual pipes mounted under the back seat. He cringed, but it couldn’t be helped. His car was probably sitting in a tow lot somewhere. He nudged the shifter into first gear and twisted the throttle, rolling through the garage and up to the large metal gate.
With his left hand, he punched his personal code on the steel-plated keypad as fast as he could. The barrier groaned and the metal links clanged as it rose. He scanned the dark street beyond the well-lit garage. Sarathen told him Braiden was patrolling the streets around the building. He reached out with his emotions but felt nothing. Not that it meant anything, Nost could make themselves invisible to probing, he knew. A rustle in the shadows caught his attention. The gate was almost high enough to squeeze under, and he bent his head down to peer across the street. Out of the darkness, a dark form came sailing through the air, slamming into the top of the gate.
Jack nearly dropped the motorcycle as the metal links rocked back towards him with a thunderous boom. A man slid from the ruined gate to the concrete in an unmoving heap. Another figure stepped out from the alleyway across the street. Small blue waves twisted through the air around him as he walked, and Jack wondered if it was emotion. If that was the case, shouldn’t they be angry red waves? He usually felt anger in the middle of a fight or at least a high level of anxiety or fear. Blue lightning danced under the man’s feet with each step, and Jack forgot about emotions. It was time to escape.
Tucking himself against the gas tank, Jack twisted the throttle on the Ducati and swerved past the collapsed man on the sidewalk. He hoped it wasn’t Braiden. The V-twin engine gave a throaty roar as it propelled him onward. It took him a moment to realize that the bike was pulling hard to the right. Looking down, he discovered that the crumpled man on the sidewalk was holding on to the swingarm. Lightning crackled, casting wild shadows along the building fronts as it cascaded out of the man and up the back of the motorcycle. The man glared at Jack with blood-filled gray eyes, the eyes of a Shi, not the bright eyes of an OLU.
Jack twisted the handlebars to the right and tried to kick the man in the face at the same time. But the bike lurched when he stood to deliver the kick, and he missed. Looking up, Jack realized that the other Nost was running behind him, just out of reach. He glanced down at the speedometer and noted that they were moving at sixty miles per hour. The Shi’s lightning lanced up over his back and out in every direction as he tried to pull himself up onto the motorcycle. Jack planted his left foot on the peg, this time counterbalancing the bike, and delivered a hard kick to the Shi’s nose. Blood exploded from his face and Jack kicked him again. This time his assailant’s neck snapped back, and he rolled violently away, colliding with the running Nost in a flash of energy like an exploding transformer. They melted into a spinning mass of bodies and lightning as Jack twisted the throttle and sped away.
“Sorry, Braiden,” he muttered into his helmet. A short time later, he pulled into the parking lot of a gas station down the road from the cemetery. He pulled his helmet off and locked it to the back of the bike, hoping that both were still there when he returned. “If I return,” he said under his breath. He strode up to the large black iron gates of the old cemetery just after ten o’clock. Eight-foot stone walls stretched out on either side of the gate. Jack didn’t see Detective Graves, but he could feel anxiety that wasn’t his own coming from a clump of large bushes to the right. Moments later, Pete jogged up to him from across the street.
“Any trouble?” Jack asked.
“None, what happened at your place?” Pete asked.
How could he explain what happened at his place? How could Pete, or anyone, understand? He touched the cargo pocket that held his journal. When this was over, he would open it again and get answers from the VR version of his old self.
“Have you seen Greg?”
“He’s talking to his wife on the phone, I think,” Pete said. Jack hoped Greg wouldn’t cause problems. He focused on the place in his mind that Ann should occupy, but still felt nothing. They had to hurry.
“What day is it?” Jack asked as he tugged on one of the black gate’s metal bars. Climbing the stone wall was the only way in.
“What?” Pete asked.
“What day is it?”
“Friday.”
“I died on Wednesday, so it’s only been a few days,” Jack muttered.
“What?” Pete asked.
“Nothing, we’ll go over the wall,” he said.
“You didn’t call me,” Greg said as he walked up.
Jack looked over his shoulder and said, “I ran into some trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Pete asked.
“Come out Graves, we’re ready to go,” Jack said.
“How did you know I was here?” Graves asked, slowly walking out from behind the bushes. She wore loose jeans, a long black shirt, and a tired expression.
“I’m…” Jack paused, looking at each of his companion’s faces, “I can feel your emotions.”
Pete and Greg looked at each other but said nothing.
“I need you to come to the station, Jack,” Graves said.
“I can’t do that, Graves.”
“Tell me why.”
“Darean kidnapped Ann and I’m going to get her back.” That was the short answer, he knew, and the only one he had time to give her. How could he explain the Nost in a few minutes?
“And the rest of it? The memory loss and the empty house in Sibley?” she asked.
“You found nothing?”
“An empty house,” she said.
“That’s a shame,” Jack said. “There are three groups; the Nostshu, who are very bad people,” he twisted the word people in his mouth distastefully, “the Nostshen, who think they are good; and the Order, who are complicated. That’s who was at the house. But they must have packed up their gateway and fled. You can’t trust any of them, Graves.”
“I trusted you,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m not with any of them,” Jack said.
“But you’re Shen,” Pete said.
“That doesn’t mean I’m with them,” Jack said.
“Who’s Darean?” Graves asked. “And why did he kidnap your friend?”
Jack sighed, turning from the gate to face her completely. “He’s the worst of the Shu and he’s after me.”
“And the memory loss?” Graves asked. Her face was a calm mask. A good mask for interrogating suspects, Jack thought.
“Oh, that was a friend of mine, but they do it because they care.”
“What friend did what?” Pete asked.
“An old friend. She does it to keep humans from finding out about us.”
“I thought you weren’t with the Shen,” Graves asked.
“I’m not, I have my own team, Graves.”
“But you’re still Shen,” Greg said.
Jack glared at him.
“What do you mean, ‘the humans,’” Graves asked.
Jack walked behind the tall bushes and grabbed a few stones in the wall, testing his weight. “You know, humans, everyone who isn’t Nost.”
“You’re not making—”
“What are we going to do?” Pete asked, interrupting Graves.
Jack pulled himself partway up the wall and said, “I have a plan.” He looked down at them, “and Graves has a gun.”
“Wait—” Jack heard Greg say, but he was already over the wall, dropping to the grass on the other side. Part of him hoped they didn’t follow. This was his fight and there was a real chance they might get hurt, or worse. He heard the shuffle of shoes on stone and saw Pete’s head crest the wall a moment later. He dropped down beside him.
“Graves is covering us,” Pete said. Jack saw Greg’s head next, and his awkward shuffle would have been comical any other time. Instead of laughing, Jack scanned the surrounding headstones. What would this enemy be like, he wondered? And when was Sarathen going to show up?
“Let’s go,” Jack said, winding his way down the cemetery road once everyone was over. The place was larger than he suspected, and he wasn’t sure what to look for. Pete and Greg, walking beside him, were a mix of fear and anxiety. Graves, bringing up the rear, radiated confidence with every step. This was not her first operation.
Glancing back, he saw the moonlight glint off her focused brown eyes. Her lips were turned down at the edges in a perpetual frown. But her nutmeg skin was smooth and he could imagine the young woman she had been, before years of police work had taken its toll. He wondered if she had children, or a husband, or a wife, maybe. Was there time for that? As a small framed Latino woman, what did it take to make it as a detective in the Midwest? He knew the harsh reality of service well. It was dominated by competitive white males, hungry for authority, eager to prove themselves. How many years did it take her to prove herself? And if everyone thinks I’m a figment of her imagination, he thought, how much damage did I do to her credibility? That’s why she needs me to come in so badly.
As the companions padded quietly down the moonlit road, Jack could see rolling hills to his left and a small ravine to his right. Just ahead, the road split three ways with the middle flowing between the high ground and the ravine. Headstones spread out as far as he could see. How could anyone find the right headstone in this place? At least these headstones didn’t have script scrolling across them. And at least I’m not dead this time, he thought.
“Which way?” Graves asked, her voice low.
“I don’t know,” Jack said, pausing at the fork. Straight ahead, the road moved along a cliff with crypts carved directly into the stone. Trees stretched over the road from the right, swaying gently in the breeze, casting shadows from the half-moon over dark asphalt. Beyond the trees, the landscape sloped into a dark ravine. The road to the left was open and uphill, arching toward an enormous structure. And the road to the right wound down the hill, through a sea of headstones, before disappearing around the ravine’s slope.
“Can’t you, I don’t know, feel something?” Greg asked.
“That’s actually a good idea,” Jack said, closing his eyes.
“I have lots of good ideas,” Greg said.
“Shhh,” Jack said, reaching out with his senses.
The smell of lavender floated on the brisk night air. Someone must have recently brought flowers to a nearby grave. A few birds called, and the underbrush stirred as a nocturnal creature foraged for food. He tried to slow his breathing and reach out, but couldn’t feel anything beyond his companions. He imagined his senses floating on the breeze, farther and farther, until a faint whisper of fear crept into him. It wasn’t his fear; it felt larger somehow.
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“There,” he said, opening his eyes. “The middle path.”
“Are you sure?” Graves asked.
“No.”
She looked at him with an unformed question, but Pete nodded and started walking down the road. The rest of them hurried to catch up.
“Keep your head on a swivel,” Jack said, more to comfort himself than to motivate his companions. Each of them tried to look everywhere at once. Would the horde have lookouts, he wondered. He tried not to imagine monsters in every shadow.
“Wait,” Graves whispered, putting her arm out and dropping to one knee. In front of them, just down the dark road to the right, sat what looked like an ancient stone church. Its roof was moss-covered and patches of its white walls gleamed in the moonlight. A short stone wall stretched across the front of the porch with stone pillars for support. The side of the church, with its grime-covered stained glass windows, stretched toward the darkness of the woods behind it.
“Good job, Graves,” Jack said.
“Feel anything?” Greg asked.
“Fear, I think,” he said.
“You guys done this kind of thing before?” Graves asked as she studied the church.
“Yeah, I love breaking into graveyards to look for supernatural kidnappers,” Greg said.
“I’m in it for the corpses,” Pete said.
Graves glared at them through the moonlight, and Jack shook his head. “Come on,” he said, stepping toward the church. Graves slid her sidearm from the small of her back. He wondered what Greg and Pete would do if they ran into trouble. He had been imagining them as look-outs, far from a fight, but what if they ran into a Nost? Could he protect them? The sharp steeple of the church pierced the night sky like a beacon warning him of violence to come. Jack swallowed hard. He could make out the thick wooden doors as they approached, trimmed in iron, and weathered from years of neglect.
“Pete, you and Greg are unarmed, so stay here and keep an eye out while Graves and I go in,” Jack said, pointing to the shadows in front of the church. He nodded to Graves, who gave him a flat gaze but followed as he stepped to one side of the front doors.
“What do we do if someone comes?” Greg whispered.
“I don’t know, throw a rock through the window or something,” Jack said.
“A rock?” Pete hissed, “where am I going to get a rock?”
“I don’t know, make a bird call or something,” Jack said.
Graves rolled her eyes. “Are we going?” she asked, holding her sidearm down in front of her with both hands. Jack turned and gave the double doors a gentle push, cringing as they scraped against the marble floor. They made tracks in the dirt as they swung open. It wasn’t loud, but it might be enough to alert a Nost lookout. He stepped into the large room beyond the doors. He wrapped his fingers around the totem in his pocket and tried to clear his mind. Despite Sarathen’s instruction, he could not conjure a blade from it. She assured him that it would manifest when he needed it, but he was not so sure. The thought of her blue hair and red eyes almost made him stumble. He wished she was here now. He cleared his mind and focused on the room in front of him.
The stones of the old church radiated coolness as he stepped in, and the stale air made him shiver. After darting around the door, he moved into the right corner, scanning the room for threats. Graves moved to the opposite corner, surveying the room for herself, weapon at the ready. Brown wooden pews lay scattered about at odd angles, their polish long faded. The old marble floor was filthy and chipped. A stone altar stood silent vigil on a small stage at the far end. Above the altar, on the back wall, hung a modest cross with a sad Jesus looking down at the world below.
“Clear,” Jack whispered.
“Clear,” Graves echoed.
A soft light looked like it might be coming from the floor in front of the old altar, but the scattered pews blocked his view. Jack made his way down the sidewall, gripping his totem with white knuckles. Graves stepped carefully along the other wall with her weapon at the ready. As Jack drew nearer to the center of the room, dread tied his stomach into a knot. He took a few more steps and suddenly his head felt like it was in a vice. The source of light was a hole in the marble floor a few feet away. Hate poured out of it, crushing Jack’s mind. It was the death of hope. Pentagrams and graffiti surrounded the hole in red and black paint.
“I’ve got you, Jack,” Graves said, rushing across the room to him, gripping his arm. “What is it?” Her voice held concern, but her dark eyes were steady.
“I don’t know,” he said, gripping his head with one hand. He shoved the totem into his pocket with the other, before it slipped from his fingers. His throat constricted and his tongue felt swollen.
“It’s like a flood,” he wheezed.
Graves lowered Jack to the floor and crept to the edge of the hole.
“It looks like it goes all the way to the basement. It’s full of rubble. I can’t make out the light source.”
“We have to go down there,” Jack said. His voice sounded muffled and far away in his own head like it was someone else’s. His vision blurred, and he saw legions of horde followers and Shi flooding through ancient caverns. They clawed at his skin and tore at his armor. A distant rhythmic chanting echoed through the stone chamber, but he couldn’t tell if it was happening inside or outside his mind.
“It’s about fifteen feet down. There has to be a different way,” Graves said.
Jack turned to the sound of her voice and focused on her kneeling form beside the hole. The vision faded away along with the chanting. “We’ll find it,” he said. He pushed himself up slowly, head throbbing, and fought back a sudden urge to vomit. Graves stepped back to him and helped him walk to the entrance. He gulped the night air deep into his lungs as they stepped outside.
“What did you find?” Pete asked.
“We have to get into the basement,” Jack hissed.
Pete looked at him suspiciously. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Jack said, standing upright. The headache was already fading and his stomach was settling. But what would it be like in the basement, he wondered. How could he fight through something like that?
“Around the back,” Greg said, peeking around the corner of the church. “I’ve been watching the woods and I see light back there.”
Jack shuddered. “Show us,” he said.
They followed Greg down the hill, keeping to the shadows beside the building. The ground leveled off behind the church. They found themselves on an old patio that backed up to enormous old-growth trees that continued down the steep ravine. A thick brown door with a broken padlock led into the church basement, and two shattered windows spilled yellow light out into the forest.
“Fear,” came a woman’s voice from the darkness.
Jack pressed himself against the wall and dropped to a knee, pulling out his totem as if it was a handgun. Pete jumped and Greg yelped. Graves swung her weapon toward the sound of the voice.
“Who—” Graves said.
“It’s what you felt upstairs. It’s what the hordes thrive on.” Sarathen stepped out slowly from behind a tree. She held her hands up in front of her, palms out.
“It’s okay, Graves,” Jack said, standing. Greg shuddered and took a step behind Graves, his eyes wide and face drained of color. Graves lowered her weapon, but Jack could feel her tension.
“You scared us to death,” Jack said, shoving his totem back into the pocket of his cargo pants.
“Your heart still beats General of the Light,” she said. She wore the same white peasant shirt, tight blue leather pants, and high black boots. Except, her hair was long and back to its dark color. A black cloak rested on her shoulders.
“Gai,” Sarathen called, glancing into the darkness of the trees.
“General of the what?” Pete asked.
Before Jack could answer, a figure stepped out of the darkness between the trees, not more than ten feet away. Graves took a step back, colliding with Greg, and Pete yelped before putting a hand over his own mouth. He was on top of us and I didn’t even feel him, Jack thought.
“I think the need to hide our identities has passed,” he said in a slow rhythmic baritone voice. He stepped up to Jack, peering into his eyes as if searching for something. Sarathen pressed a bundle into Jack’s hands, but Jack never took his eyes from Braiden’s. He tried to remember Saeb’s faithful field commander; a tall man, taller than Saeb, with deep black skin and golden OLU eyes. The man before him had golden eyes, but he was shorter. And while his skin was dark, it was not the deep rich charcoal color Saeb’s memory provided for him.
“You’re Asian,” Jack said.
“I am from the Mongolian region,” Braiden said in his slow rhythmic tone. Jack did not detect an accent. “We do not choose the bodies we download into, only the location.”
“And you’re Russian?” Jack said, glancing at Sarathen with her smooth pale skin.
She nodded. “Not quite,” she said, glancing at Braiden with a smirk.
“She hates it when you call her Russian,” he said.
“My clan is from the steppes outside of what is now Poland,” she said. “The Russian invaders came after I left.” Jack felt a flash of something from her. Was it anger, sadness, or both? “Braiden and I downloaded in the same region from Haven in the 14th Century after you… well, after all of us uploaded suddenly.”
“You mean, we died?” Jack asked.
“Yes, for the first time. It took years for Braiden and me to gravitate toward each other. We eventually bonded, awakened, and started the hunt for you. We found our own journals, along with yours, to guide us and fill in the blanks.”
“You didn’t wait for me in Haven?” Jack asked.
“I think we did,” Braiden said. “There is a considerable gap between our first upload and the next download.”
“But there is no way to tell for sure since none of us can recall clear memories from Haven in the physical,” Sarathen said.
“Wait, you’re seven hundred years old?” Greg said. Sarathen shifted her red eyes to Greg, who shrank back behind Graves’ shoulder once more. “I mean, Jack and Pete told me, but… you’re really seven hundred years old?”
“You look great,” Pete said, studying her from bottom to top before shifting his gaze to Braiden, who was looking at him flatly. “I mean, you both do.”
Braiden turned his attention back to Jack. “You are General of the Light?” he asked.
“No,” Jack said. “I’m nobody. My name is Jack Blackwell.”
“But you were Saeb,” Braiden said. “You fight with us for the humans against the Nost Accords.” His black battle cloak, identical to Sarathen’s, rustled in the breeze. He wore dark pants and shirt beneath.
“I have Saeb’s memories, Braiden,” Jack said. “But I have my own too.”
“You’ll find that in time, they become the same,” Braiden said.
“And it’s more than the memories that make you who you are,” Sarathen said. “It’s the emotion.”
“It all comes together in the pattern that creates your character, my old friend, we are all patterns in the universe,” Braiden said.
Sarathen looked at Braiden and rolled her eyes. “It all melts together,” she said with a sigh. “Even his Buddhist ways from this life can’t be erased by what he knows from his past life.”
“I know that I am going to save Ann,” Jack said. “I’ll worry about who I am after that.”
Braiden nodded.
“What are the Nost Accords?” Graves asked.
Sarathen studied Graves’ face, and Jack wondered if she was delving into the woman’s mind. “It is a shameful pact between the Nostshen and Nostshu. It was struck between the seven remaining Shu and the Shen council. Shu will rule the earth and Shen will rule Haven.”
“It is the final twist in our struggle against Nost rule,” Braiden said.
“How is that possible?” Graves asked.
“Under the accords, the Shen Council will bind the rest of us,” Braiden said. “But, they need Jack and his totem to do it.”
“Why?” Greg asked, finally stepping out from behind Graves, but keeping a close eye on Sarathen and Braiden.
“Jack is the only one that can reach the Isle of Song,” Sarathen said. “Once there, the council will use the Pool of Consciousness to prevent us from bonding in the physical.”
“So if we download, we will succumb to the Shen madness each time,” Braiden said.
“How can they do that?” Jack asked.
“Especially to so many people… err… Shen, I mean. And what about us? The, uh, humans?” Greg asked.
“They can reach all of us through the pool. It is a direct connection to the collective consciousness,” Sarathen said. “They will probably use a relic to ensure the seal never falters. They were common in the first age, used to seal bargains between Shen. If they use it with the pool, they can channel the source and alter every downloading consciousness. We would never find each other or be able to activate the bond.”
“Like a mental block?” Pete asked.
“Exactly,” she said. “The devices worked well in business and sometimes in matters of state. The devices created unbreakable mental boundaries for each party. This will keep Shen in Haven since those who download will never break through the mental block and find another to bond with. They will go insane and die before awakening to their true selves. And the accords will block the Shu from hunting the Lab and gaining control of Haven. Those are the terms.”
“But the Shu will find a way around the agreement, we are sure,” Braiden said.
“What happens to us?” Greg asked.
“Human bodies are the same as ours,” Braiden said. “It’s the consciousness that makes the difference. Nostshen consciousness awakens and activates the Shen source code in the body. But after they seal the accords, there will be no awakened Shen, only humans, and Shu, and every human will suffer under Shu rule. And those humans who attain Nosthood and download without the need to bond and awaken will be hunted.”
“What does that mean?” Pete asked.
“Braiden believes everyone can reach a Nost state of existence. And those humans who do, don’t need to bond in the physical to access the ONUS source and use Shen abilities,” Sarathen said.
“And many return as Bodhisattva to help others find the way, ONUS gives us this chance to break the cycle of rebirth and suffering,” Braiden said.
“Is that true?” Graves asked.
“Who can say, all I know is—”
“Slavery,” Jack said, cutting Sarathen off. “Human farms and camps. Bodies piled in stacks waiting to be sliced up as feed. I’ve seen it. And the Shu will create more of their own kind, especially if they free Jode and find the Lab.”
“It’s true,” Sarathen said. “And I’m sure they will find a way to break the Nost Accords and access the Lab.”
“It sounds like the relic injects a virus into the genetic source code of our bodies,” Greg said. “We just have to destroy the relic, or—”
“The relic isn’t really important,” Sarathen said. “If they reach the Pool of Consciousness, they can still bind us no matter what.”
“Without me, they can’t find the Isle to seal the Nost Accords,” Jack said, looking down at the totem in his hand. The old man looked up at him with blank eyes. He wondered what it was made of. It was hard like metal but felt like stone. “They haven’t been able to find me because I don’t stay in Haven long enough. I’m there for a flash before downloading back into the physical.”
“Your curse,” Sarathen said.
“Sometimes we find you in the physical but your journal reclaims your totem when you upload and we begin the search again,” Braiden said.
“If you don’t bond, you cannot use your totem to open the portal to the Isle of Song; the Nost cannot seal their Accords,” Sarathen said.
And Millae and Jode can’t tempt me with their promises, Jack thought. He wondered what they thought of the accords. He said, “You search for me to make sure I’m not bonded.”
“We seek only to aid you on your journey,” Braiden said.
“We’ve tried to find you a bond, to break your rebirth cycle, but we have never succeeded,” Sarathen said.
“But why didn’t you figure out how to bond with me?” Jack said, looking at Sarathen, searching her face, then to Braiden. “Is it possible to bond with more than one, do you—”
“You are bonded now,” Sarathen said.
“And I believe we are at the threshold of the last battle,” Braiden said.
“Why now?” Jack asked.
“I’m not sure,” Sarathen said. “But here we are. Maybe the curse is broken.”
“Maybe ONUS has decided that it is time to end the struggle,” Braiden said.
“If ONUS has a mind to make decisions,” Sarathen said, glancing at Braiden sideways, “and if ONUS is the one cursing you.” She shook her head vigorously and the long lazy curls resting on her shoulders retracted into short blue strands framing her face. “Then we will fight ONUS too.” A smile played at the corners of her delicate lips. “No matter what, or who, is in our way, we’re here now and it’s time to begin.”