Dark Game (Merikh Book 1) (7 page)

“Merikh isn't one of mine, even if he still lives. He never finished his training. He is as mortal as any of the children who filled this yard.”

The knight spoke up. “How many have completed their training and been given your gift?”

“You let him speak?” Walter said, pointing to the knight.

“We have our own deal,” Ahn replied. “Answer him.”

“On average, only one completes training every few decades. We lose one of those every century or so, despite the near immortality. Consequently we have less than one hundred people in the field.”

“And without completing his training this Merikh could not have inherited your deal?” the knight said.

“No.”

Ahn took over the obvious next question. “Then explain how I am unable to affect him. If he is not one of yours then he is one of them, and under my dominion.”

“Go to him and ask,” Walter snapped. “I believed him dead, and an oathbreaker, besides. None of the trainees are allowed to act without my authority, and he was caught doing just that. He isn't one of mine.”

Ahn's glow intensified suddenly, washing out the colors of the yard and filling the world until even the sun paled beside it. “Do you know what will happen if you are wrong, or lying? Do you know the destruction you will have wrought on this world if Ehl believes I had a hand in Merikh's actions? Your deal will not protect you from what is coming. Nothing will protect you, or anyone else. When we are done arguing there will be nothing left.”

Walter had stepped away from the wrathful god and his voice held a tremor, but also scorn. “Then do it, you clueless waste. You and Ehl constantly threaten to end it all and start again, but all you ever do is remove the parts you don't like. You prune and you shape, but you have never begun again.”

Ahn's glow receded enough for the world to return. “You are wrong, human. Your world is not close to the first of its kind, and Merikh's actions threaten that it will not be the last. If I find that you are lying to me, or worse, if Ehl discovers this, then you will see first-hand how unique you really are. I will save you for last.”

Ahn vanished and the chain around the knight's neck begun to rattle. He examined Walter DeLacy, wondering how the man was able to stand in the face of such power, such anger.

“Follow your master, traitorous knight,” the assassin said. A moment later the courtyard was gone.

When the knight reappeared it was to a drab and tiny room. A young man lay in a bed with his blood crusting the sheets. He moaned and shook with a fever.

Ahn was in the body of a tall black woman, a beauty whose appearance was only magnified by the heavenly possession.

“Where are we?” the knight said, though he feared he knew.

“The boy is Merikh and this,” Ahn gestured to the woman it wore, “is Angelica. She calls herself Mouse; I suspect for ironic purposes.”

“What is wrong with him?”

Merikh had clearly taken a beating, one that left him close to death. But there was something else affecting him, something working within his body, attempting to change the outcome of his convalescence.

“He is healing, from wounds he shouldn't come back from. If I didn't already know he was immune, I'd think there was magic at work.”

“So Walter DeLacy lied?”

“No.” Ahn stepped closer to the bed and held out its hand, stroking the boy's fevered skin. Merikh recoiled from the touch. “He has all the hallmarks of Walter's deal, but weakened. Where Walter and his people would be able to shrug injuries such as this off without concern, Merikh very nearly died. His healing is torturous and slow; he came near to passing into the nether. Right up to the edge.”

“Then what force protects him from you?”

“It is a shadow of Walter's gift, amplified somehow. All of the drawbacks with only some of the benefits.”

The knight waited for Ahn to continue and when the god didn't, he risked a question. “Will you kill him? You are already killing his friend Mouse.”

“We will be gone soon. I am empowering her as a true vessel, and she will experience no ill effects from our visit.”

The knight wanted to ask why the god didn't do this with every human it possessed, but he already knew the answer; those human lives didn't matter, and this one might.

“So, will you kill him?”

“I cannot, at least directly. I could pull this building down on him, or compel the woman to take care of him in his weakness, I suppose.” It paused, as though considering it. “But I am too curious. There is so little in existence of which I am not aware, and the same is true of Ehl. Besides, if neither of us have acted on the world then this is happening without our explicit sanction, and therefore is outside our purview. If I don’t like the outcome I can change it.”

“You would risk forfeiting the game,” the knight said, using the phrase the gods used when referring to the entirety of creation.

“Perhaps, unless we chose to do it in concert.” Ahn moved around the room, casting its borrowed eyes on the dinginess. It was probably examining the atoms of the room and couldn't muster an expression beyond boredom.

The game the gods played was simple: creation was in motion, working under its own steam and toward its own ends. Never guided or influenced by either Ahn or Ehl, yet moving toward a conclusion that would favor one side over the other. Whichever side won, or rather whichever of their children won, decided the game.

He still didn't know what they were playing for, but he knew it wasn't dominion over the Earth. Either god could create a new Earth at will, based on their conversations with one another. They played for something greater than the sum of everything the knight knew and loved, a fact that kept him awake in the brief moments he was allowed to rest.

“What do you think is happening?” Ahn asked unexpectedly. For all the god mentioned wanting his opinion, it rarely ever asked for it.

“I couldn't hope to guess.”

“Then what use are you?” Ahn said, apparently distracted by a smudge on the glass window.

“I will try,” the knight said quickly, terrified of what might happen if his usefulness was questioned. “Perhaps your deal with Walter DeLacy transfers in stages, and the young man saw some of the benefit before leaving.”

“It would be the first time.”

“But it is possible?”

“Perhaps. I will have to wait for him to be removed from the world to perform an analysis.” Ahn examined the manicured nails of its host, preparing to depart.

“You believe he will die here?”

“Of course,” Ahn replied. “He faces the machinations of a priest of Wrath. No matter the mysterious advantages he has, he cannot face something of that power.”

“But—”

“Enough.” Ahn left the room and the woman. She looked up at the knight without seeing him, momentarily confused.

“Good luck,” the knight said before the chain pulled taut.

Chapter 6

“I don't understand how you're doing so well,” Mouse said. She was sitting on the end of my bed and biting at the skin around her nails.

“Then why am I not in a hospital?” I was propped up with a pillow supporting me, and every muscle in my body gave off a dull ache. Better than I should be, and getting better by the minute, but still in a bit of distress.

“I was on the way there when the call went out on the police radio. Someone found deputy 'roid-rage and called the sheriff, and I didn't think turning up at a hospital with gunshot residue and all the signs of having a cop try to beat you to death was a good idea.”

“Fair enough.”

“And now you're healing, somehow. Any thoughts on that?”

“Maybe,” I replied. Mouse had seen at least one broken rib poking through the skin and I’d left a bloody mess on the bed that no amount of cleaning was going to resolve. We were not getting back the extra deposit we’d put down on arrival.

Now I was achy and a little light-headed, but otherwise I was doing fine. I’d felt worse getting the flu as a kid, and it had taken longer to get better.

“I drank some of the ambrosia,” I said. “I threw it up again half a second later, but maybe some of it stayed in my system.”

“So you've got magic healing powers now?” She was joking but there was an edge to it, an undercurrent of concern.

“Temporarily, yeah. Maybe.”

“Why temporarily?”

“The cop, Bill, said he tried it at a party once and it worked for the night, but he was back to normal afterward. I think it works its way through your body and the effects go away after time.”

“He wasn't throwing it all back up?”

“No.”

“So something about your ability to see magic makes it less effective on you. You drank the stuff and instead of turning into officer short-fuse you got a little contact healing-factor.”

“Seems so.”

“You don't sound convinced.”

I wasn't. I’d seen someone healing thanks to the ambrosia – Bill and the bones moving after our fall – but I’d also seen someone healing more slowly. The assassins of the clan healed the way I had and our leader, Walter, regularly showed the ability to his students as a carrot for them to work toward.

“I think I was further along the path to mastery at the clan than I thought.”

“You're a good fighter, I'll grant you that, and a stone cold psycho when the situation calls for it, but you're not magic.” She'd never believed my stories of the clan. She thought they were just a school for killers and no amount of my explaining would change her mind. “I have to believe in magic because it keeps pissing in my soup, but you'll have to show me something concrete if you want me to believe your clan are part crouching tiger and part hidden dragon.”

“I assume that's a movie reference?”

“Culture, Merikh. Get some.”

“I don't think this was the ambrosia,” I tried again.

“I've seen you get hurt. I've even seen you hurt by magic and you healed at the same speed we did. You handled the pain better, perhaps, but you healed slow and natural.”

“True.”

I needed to get out of bed. Sitting around talking about healing wouldn't aid the healing in any way, and we had decisions to make. I dragged the blanket off and swung my legs over the side, fighting a wave of vertigo at the sudden movement.

“Maybe try it a little slower,” Mouse said. She reached out and tried to take my hand to offer support but I left her hanging. I needed to do this myself.

When the room stopped spinning I stood, this time moving a little slower. The walls stayed where they were meant to be and though I was a little shaky I succeeded. Bolstered by this triumph, I took a step toward the bathroom, and tripped over my own foot. I landed in Mouse's arms.

“You can rest, you know.”

“We either need to finish the job or leave town,” I said as I got my feet back under me. “Either course of action requires me to be mobile.”

“Still.”

“Let me try.” She let me go and stepped away, crossing her arms to let me know she wouldn't help the next time I fell.

The first step was difficult, as muscles in my chest objected to my legs moving, for some reason, and the world went a little wobbly again. The next step was easier and the one after that was practically normal. It also brought me to the bathroom of our tiny space, and I stepped inside and closed the door for some privacy.

Looking in the mirror was a shock. I thought I had an idea what I looked like based on the state of the bed, but in the harsh light of the overhead fluorescent I got a much better picture of the beating I’d suffered.

My chest was a patchwork of dark bruises and barely healed cuts, my chest hair matted with dried blood. My face was relatively unscathed but there was a haunted look around my bloodshot eyes. When I went to poke at one of the bruises my hand shook uncontrollably and I paused, waiting for it to go away. I stared at the hand, willing it to calm down and obey, and in a few minutes it did.

I took that as a win and began cleaning up, turning on the shower to let the water heat up while I used the sink to clean some of the blood from my face and hands. Not all of it was mine and I realized I must have lain beside the deputy and soaked in some of his.

Mouse had been wise not to take me to the hospital. The evidence splattered over my body and the timing would have let everyone know who was to blame for the murder.

Still, I wondered, what would she have done if I hadn't miraculously started healing? What was her plan when she turned away from the hospital and brought me back to the motel?

I knew what it had been, and a brief moment of emotional pain joined the moaning of my muscles. She would have waited for me to die and then left. It would have hurt her and she would have regretted it for the rest of her life, but she would have left me.

I wouldn't trade her for anything, but she was a professional with more time on the job than me. She knew the risks and had seen more action than my cloistered life had afforded me. We were partners, and we would fight for each other if required, but we knew the limits of our partnership.

I shook it off, stripped off my blood-caked briefs, and stepping into the scalding water of the shower. Whatever benevolent deity was keeping me alive had arranged for the tiny hot water tank to actually have something left for me, and steam quickly filled the room. Washing off the remnants of the fight at the distillery was therapeutic and I stepped out clean and ready for the next challenge.

Mouse had kept busy while I was showering and she barely looked up from her laptop when I stepped back into the room.

“Anything interesting?” I said. I toweled off and began rummaging through my small suitcase for fresh clothes.

“The cops are blaming the unknown criminals. The great boogeymen of the county killed a fine officer when he stopped to check on a disturbance at the historic old building.”

“They could be lying, trying to draw us out.”

“They know where we live.” When we arrived there'd been plenty of gossip about the young white man and his older black girlfriend. Nothing racist, just a day or two of constant speculation at the edge of perception. Most people had already moved on, but there were enough nosy neighbors that the sheriff would have no trouble tracking them down.