April 10, 2008
Encounter With the Emperor.
Usually, when Maboroshi went still, he faded into the background. This time, though, he seemed to grow more distinct from the shadows – and Heizhan could sense why. Maboroshi was terrified.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor of White Castle, and Maboroshi stiffened. Heizhan casually tucked his hand into his sleeve, brushing his fingers along the hilt of his knife. Anyone who could scare Maboroshi had to be dangerous.
The Emperor of the Shadowlands rounded the corner and stopped, wearing a smile Heizhan once saw on his own face as he butchered a woman in front of her mirror. For long moment after long moment, no one said anything.
Heizhan twitched violently, palming his knife. As the Emperor’s cold indigo eyes slid over to Heizhan, Maboroshi stepped back behind the green-eyed man. One small hand slid something into Heizhan’s pocket; Heizhan could feel the gray man shaking.
Something in Heizhan snapped, and he slashed at the Emperor – who had seen the killing blankness slide over Heizhan’s face and dodged. A gloved hand swung up to grab Heizhan’s wrist -
- And passed right through it. The Emperor turned slowly toward Maboroshi, who was already dragging the stunned Heizhan through the stone wall behind them.
They emerged in a dim storage room. Heizhan, having managed to collect his wits, reached into his pocket and removed a small stone tablet. Incised on it were some symbols he couldn’t read; they shimmered with an almost-light at his touch.
“What is this?” asked the General.
Maboroshi was still shaking. “A variant on a ward. For intangibility rather than repelling. It’s about the only thing I still remember from my bard training.”
Heizhan extended the tablet to Maboroshi, who was staring blankly at the wall they’d just walked through. Heizhan sighed and placed the tablet on a nearby crate. “How many of these do you have?”
“Only the one,” said Maboroshi, still not looking at him.
A niggling suspicion entered Heizhan’s mind. “But you walked through the wall, too.”
Maboroshi seemed to find the wall utterly fascinating. He didn’t reply.
“Maboroshi?”
“You know he ordered me executed as a traitor.”
“Yes.”
Maboroshi closed his eyes, leaning up against another crate. “Who says he failed?”
Heizhan’s breath left him in a rush. After a moment’s fight with his lungs, he managed to say, “But you bleed.”
Maboroshi turned to look at Heizhan for the first time since his uncle had walked down the hallway. “There is more than one kind of ghost, Heizhan.”
Heizhan Thinks.
I.
If I didn’t know for certain he was still alive, I would have thought Maboroshi was a ghost. But no, I’ve felt the strong pulse that beats in his wrist, and I’ve seen the warm red blood that spills from him when he is cut. Still, though…
He is so gray. He fades into the background just by existing. Of course, part of that is his coloring and his choice of clothing – nothing melds with shadows quite like gray.
He’s the only person I’ve ever met whose personality can be described by a color, though. He fades away mentally, as well. When he’s not actually interacting with someone, he’s just not there. It’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.
I want so badly to kill him, but Nathan would disapprove.
II.
Ekion is a simple, straightforward sort. He’s a guardsman – Nathan’s guardsman, at that – and he does his job quickly and effectively. There’s nothing more to him than that.
At least, that’s what everyone thinks.
It takes a peculiar sort of genius to be so simple; Teleika, from what I’ve seen of her, has some of that talent herself. But Ekion’s genius lies in his directness – he says what is on his mind, he does what he decides to do, and manages to put the most complex plots to shame at the same time.
Fortunately for us both, we will never cross each other. He is the kind of person I would have to kill, otherwise.
III.
He is, quite probably, the only person alive who would appoint his would-be killer to a government position. Not that I really wanted it, but Nathan was rather persuasive (if you consider a knife to the eye persuasive).
I still don’t know why he chose me for the job. I certainly don’t know how he got the Council to approve my appointment. You can’t threaten that many people at once. (Well, you can, but only if you want to end up on a one-way trip to the Phantom Islands.)
The thing that still amazes me is that the people I’m now commanding (the people I’m responsible for – curse him) actually listen to me.
Nathan says that they recognize an able commander when they see one. I think he’s optimistic.
Ekion says I remind them of my predecessor. I wonder what General Thaziazhsta did, that I remind people of her…
Most People.
Most people expected a general and a guardsman to be able to fight. The fact that the guardsman in question happened to be a cliff-wight and that the general happened to be a notorious serial killer only enhanced their reputation. Most people forgot that the General could barely use his left hand, and that Ekion had trouble seeing.
Most observant people recognized that Maboroshi was dangerous, too. Anybody who failed to notice the outlines of his hidden sheaths and threatened him anyway quickly learned one other thing about the aide – he could move like a snake. For all that, though, he’d had little formal training, and a skilled fighter could still get the upper hand.
Most people, though, seemed to forget that the king could fight, too. In fact, Heizhan mused as he watched the would-be assassin slip through the window behind Nathan, he was probably the best of them all, at least when it came to unarmed combat.
Heizhan winced as Nathan’s fist connected with the assassin’s ribs, remembering all too clearly how it felt to be on the receiving end of such a blow. The king hit like a mule kicks; Heizhan could hear the unfortunate man’s bones crack from all the way across the room.
The assassin wisely threw dignity to the wind and fled out the window. Nathan calmly returned to his seat.
The Council stared at him in varying degrees of shock. Heizhan could see Arawn in the background, laughing silently.
Most people forgot, the General mused, that the person who’d stopped a certain notorious serial killer, who could hold his own with the best of the Guard, and who had repeatedly avoided death at the hands of a skittish revenant, currently occupied the throne.
Rats.
Roland had never seen the gray man before – which was kind of odd, since his family knew everyone in both Arkham Town and East Arkham, even the uni students. There was something odd about the stranger, too.
I’m a fine one to be judging normalcy, though, Roland thought wryly. He turned to pay the cashier, then looked back.
The man was right behind him. Roland took a step back, but before he could move any more, the stranger grabbed his arm and pulled him close.
“The rats are coming,” he hissed into Roland’s ear. “They’re in the sewers. Soon they’ll be in the walls. You can’t stop them coming.”
Roland pulled away. “What are you talking about?”
“Ask about the rats. Ask about the storm drains, and the missing women. Ask about the Bauers. And talk to your professor.“
With that, the man went hazy, and vanished. Roland blinked. At a touch on his shoulder, he spun.
His twin stared at him, one corner of his mouth curled in laughter. “Skittish, much?” Beowulf asked.
Roland glared. “I’ll tell you later. Do you remember where Professor O’Neill’s office is?”
“Sure. It’s in Granddad’s hall.”
“Come on.” Roland marched off. His brother ran to catch up.
“What’s the rush?”
“Rats,” the younger Archer twin replied, quickening his step.
He could hear squeaking coming from the sewer.
Three Thirty-Five A.M.
Maboroshi moved too smoothly to ever stalk, and he would certainly never stoop to actually slamming a door. He couldn’t quite resist sending his dagger flying into the wall, however.
“If that’s the way you express your temper, it’s no wonder your people believe you capable of treason.”
Maboroshi spun, another dagger already in hand, and came face-to-face with Nathan, who regarded him with a level gaze. Beating back a blush, Maboroshi pocketed the dagger. “What are you doing in my room at,” he glanced at the clock, “three thirty-five in the morning?”
“What were you doing in Heizhan’s room a half-hour ago?”
“Is that really any of your business?”
Nathan sighed, almost inaudibly. He glanced at Maboroshi’s bleeding hand. “You might want to take care of that.”
“Stop dodging my question.”
The sigh was louder this time. Nathan pulled a roll of bandages from his pocket and expertly bound Maboroshi’s wounded hand. “That should hold it until morning, at least. The cuts aren’t that bad.”
Maboroshi said nothing. The silence stretched over long minutes.
“Needling a serial killer is generally not considered wise.”
Maboroshi’s head snapped around; Nathan’s hand gripped his chin before he could retort, forcing the smaller man to meet his eyes. “He is a dangerous man, Maboroshi. If anything, his time in the Phantom Islands has only made him more dangerous.”
“I know that,” Maboroshi said when Nathan released him. “That’s the whole problem. I don’t trust him.”
“I know you don’t,” Nathan said softly. “No one does.”
“Then why are you keeping him around?” Maboroshi hissed.
The smile that flickered across Nathan’s face would not have been out of place on a shark. “Because I am more dangerous still.”
Three A.M.
Someone was sitting on his windowsill. It was practically impossible to see the gray figure in the dim light of an Anunnaki night, but then, Heizhan never needed to see anyone to know they were there.
Surreptitiously palming the small knife he’d secreted in his wrist brace, Heizhan moved noiselessly toward the window. “Who’s there?”
The shadow on the sill shifted; light from the room’s single lamp played across steel gray eyes. Heizhan’s hand tightened on his knife.
“Maboroshi.”
The gray man bowed slightly, still silent, still watching.
“What do you want? It’s three in the morning.”
“Judging by your past … activities, the time shouldn’t bother you,” Maboroshi said in his typical hoarse whisper.
Heizhan glared, feeling the old comforting fizzle of rage start deep in his gut. “What do you want?”
Maboroshi just watched him.
Minutes went by; the rage in Heizhan’s belly spread to the rest of him, burning its way out. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore, and hurled the knife with all his might.
The slim blade embedded itself to the hilt in the wall a foot from Maboroshi’s head. The exiled bard never flinched; after a moment, he slid off the sill, removed the knife, and extended it hilt-first to Heizhan. His eyes never left Heizhan’s face.
Heizhan seized Maboroshi’s hand, leaning in close. Blood trickled from between Maboroshi’s fingers, but the gray man simply stood there, without reaction.
“Why did you come here?” Heizhan asked, tightening his grip. He leaned forward so they were practically nose-to-nose.
“To check on something,” Maboroshi replied, sliding his hand out of Heizhan’s grasp. He moved to the window.
“And did I pass your little test?”
Gray eyes locked with Heizhan’s green ones. “More or less.”
Maboroshi vanished into the night, but not before Heizhan noticed him tucking a sharp-edged something up his sleeve.
Absently, Heizhan stuck his knife in his mouth, and stared into the darkness until dawn.
