Archanum Manor Page 24

  A relentless downpour drummed against the glass canopy overhead, which was nearly opaque from the surrounding clouds.

  “Welcome, Eli,” Kafka said loudly over the rain.

  “I would like to be called Elijah,” he shouted back, not sure if it was presumptuous or rude to make such a request walking into the ceremony.

  “And so you shall,” Kafka said. “Approach the family. This will be your true family henceforth. This is the first step to a new Lorne family. Members not in attendance are no longer deserving of the family name, which is why they are being eradicated. Why are you here?”

  “To become a member of the Lorne family—your Lorne family,” Eli clarified.

  “Who here has any reservations with allowing Elijah Long into our family?”

  No one spoke up.

  “Who here will aid Elijah Long on his journey with all the Lorne family has to offer, in this life and the next?”

  “Aye,” each member bellowed in unison.

  Lightning flashed as Kafka stepped forward; the thunderclap to follow shook the floor. “We are a family that lives and dies for each other, as you’ve seen. You’ve shone and proven your undivided loyalty during our recent trials. And today, I reward you for your loyalty.

  “This is the beginning of a new Lorne family and you are its first initiate—the first since the family schism and the first from the base plane—which deserves a new tradition. This will be the first initiation ceremony performed outside of Lorne Castle. A more modern family deserves a more modern castle. Lorne Tower is the appropriate place for this new beginning. Elijah, step forth.”

  Eli entered the semi-circle of Lornes and wolves.

  “We are wolves among worlds of sheep. We hunt together, feast together, fight together, and live—forever—together. The wolf head symbolizes that sacred family bond. And the rest of the world takes notice. The base plane is just beginning to understand the potential of our family name and you will be an integral part of spreading the word. Hold out your right hand.”

  Eli did as he was bid. Kafka removed the black stole from his neck and draped it over Eli’s outstretched hand.

  “The wolf head will provide a constant reminder of who you are, who you’ve become, and strike fear into all who engage you. Now, remain still,” Kafka said as he opened his palm and ignited a small candle flame from his pale skin. When he touched the tip of the flame to the frayed ends of the stole, it burned upward in a flash of energy and light. The dangling material disintegrated to the floor in a shower of ash. What remained on Eli’s hand was a thick layer of black soot.

  Kafka grabbed Eli by the wrist, inhaled deeply, and blew away the soot glove in a dark cloud. What revealed beneath the dust were the raised intricate lines of the open-mouthed wolf-head tattoo.

  Eli marveled at his hand, flexed it, and watched the wolf head move with him. He felt no pain. The skin on and around it wasn’t even sensitive as if it had been there for years. He ran a finger along the lines, which were subtle ridges on his skin.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said. He was lost of all other words.

  “It will never warp or fade,” Kafka said. “And will grow perfectly with you—every time. Eli Long is no more. Elijah Lorne, I want to officially welcome you to the family.”

  The semi-circle of Lornes broke apart, each individual extending his and her congratulations. As Eli shook hands and hugged all the members of his new family—a family that accepted him for who he was and didn’t judge him—he couldn’t remember feeling happier, more relieved, and more free.

  When he turned back to Kafka, Eli noticed a new wolf, just a pup, seated at Kafka’s side. It gazed up at Eli expectantly. Kafka bent down and caressed the pup’s thick scruff.

  “She’s yours,” he said. “Your new companion who will look after you as long as she lives. It is your job to provide her with a name.”

  Eli thought for a moment, but only one name emerged from the depths of his overwhelmed mind. “Desi,” he said without any further consideration.

  “I like it. You and Desi can grow together.” Kafka stood. “And now it’s time to introduce you to your mentor. Icarus, step forward. Icarus has graciously agreed to be your mentor for your first life. He will teach you the rest of the family secrets—the first of which will conclude this initiation ceremony.”

  Two wooden chairs appeared side by side.

  “Sit,” Kafka commanded, gesturing to the right chair.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Your third rite of passage. From here, life becomes so much simpler,” Kafka answered.

  “Don’t worry,” Icarus said, taking the seat beside Eli. “It will only hurt for a moment.”

  “Place your arms on the arm rests,” Kafka said.

  Eli’s hands started to sweat, and Icarus grabbing hold of his closest hand didn’t help.

  Thick rope grew from the chair arms like tentacles, snaked around his and Icarus’s arms, and secured them tightly to the chairs.

  The lightning was appearing more frequently and Eli was suddenly afraid he was sitting in an electric chair.

  The rope dug into his skin and chaffed him each time he tried to move. He could slip through rope. Kafka had shown him how, but he was too afraid to utilize that new ability. It was growing harder to breathe. He suddenly felt like he was in the hole again and shovelfuls of dirt were descending on his helpless body, one after another. Eli stared at his wolf pup, his Desi, who gazed back at him with large brown, sorrowful eyes.

  “You’ve conquered your daediem,” Kafka said. “And now you shall conquer death. I will send you away and Icarus will guide you home. Do not fear, because for you, death’s hold has no more strength.”

  A knife appeared in each of Kafka’s hands. He approached the two chairs—mentor and protégé tied together, hand-in-hand—and addressed Eli.

  “This is not the most opportune time for this revelation, but it’s necessary. It is tradition and some traditions are too important to break. Elijah, I wish you well on your journey and will see you again soon.”

  Icarus never said a word.

  Before Eli could clear his throat enough to object, Kafka’s blade was right there. Eli felt the cold metal enter his skin and slide across his throat with one quick jerk—and before his peripheral vision succumbed to relentlessly contracting tunnel vision, he glimpsed the second blade slash across Icarus’s as well.

  More familiar faces burst through the tinted door that led down to Kafka’s penthouse suite, all backlit by one more flash of lightning, just as the last ounces of life drained from Eli’s body. Then everything went black. The last thing Eli felt was Icarus squeeze his hand.

  “Don’t let go,” a faceless voice whispered.

  21

  The Stand

  Under the cover of night and rain, we attacked. We were a group of about twenty, including Mr. Gordon, Mom, Gloriana, and Logan. The only Lorne sitting out the fight was Matilda, and no one would tell me why. Erik had informed Nicholae that Kafka was back in Lorne Tower, so we went straight there.

  The junior penthouse condominium seemed to be a waiting room for the Lorne Royal Guard, so we hit them first. We were evenly matched in numbers, but skill wise, it was no contest. The Lornes in our group took out most of them on their own. Mr. Gordon restrained multiple guards. I got one confirmed kill. Logan got one as well. And the rest of our group served as a distraction. In the end, we lost one member of our group, a middle-aged heavyset man who remained nameless to me. The few injuries the members of our group sustained were healed. Quickly we were back to full health, but one person shy.

  Rain streaked down the wall of windows. The rest of Provex city was gone, lost in the thick clouds. Bursts of lightning lit up the living room like a hundred flashed high beams, shedding spotlights on the grisly scene of fallen guards.

  This place had been so neat and clean when Jeremy had lived here, but this was how I’d remember it from now on. Ruined. I tried not to think of Jeremy ly
ing amongst the bloody pile, but it was no use. The abhorrent image crept into my head no matter how hard I tried to suppress it. Only when I fully committed to looking at him did the face on the dead body return to its rightful owner.

  “Oliver, are you okay?” Cassandra asked. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

  “I did, but it’s gone now,” I said. “Let’s keep moving.”

  Nicholae opened a doorway and we took it to the next floor up—Kafka’s penthouse condo. We were greeted with fully lit, but empty rooms. We fanned out and checked each one in pairs. They were in fact empty. There were trays of food set out in the kitchen and dining room. The oven was still on with a turkey browning inside.

  We were the ones who found ourselves surprised.

  “Do you think he knew we were coming?” I asked.

  “The guys downstairs certainly didn’t,” Nicholae said.

  “What about upstairs?” Mr. Gordon asked.

  “What about the observation deck?” I offered with a shiver that ran all the way down to my toes. I could already picture it. I could picture Jeremy and Desiree there, too. And of course—Kafka.

  We headed up the sweeping staircases, half the group on each side. We checked each room down the long hallway, but I remained focused on the stairs still ahead of us, another flight leading up, up to my first true experience with death.

  “There,” I said, pointing to the staircase leading to a single door.

  The rain sounded even louder on the second level, one away from the roof, and I saw a lightning flash come through the translucent door. The thunder that followed rattled my teeth and served as a warning to stop and turn back.

  Nicholae led the charge up the stairs and peered through the door. He turned to the rest of us below him and said, “They’re here,” and burst through the door with all the focused fury of a raging bull.

  The rest of us charged through the door, onto the Lorne observation deck, and froze when we comprehended the scene we’d stumbled upon.

  Another flash lit the cluster of Lornes gathered around two wooden chairs—two wooden chairs with two restrained occupants. One of them was a Lorne I had seen for the first time in the cave of the last guardian, and the other was Eli. Both of their heads reverently bowed as blood painted their necks and the fronts of their shirts like burgundy scarves. When one of the other Lornes moved aside, I saw that Eli held hands with the nameless Lorne, and on Eli’s hand I could just make out the outline of a wolf-head tattoo.

  No...

  Kafka held an unremarkable knife in each hand—not the ornate Archanum daggers—each still slick with dripping blood.

  Our surprise attack was compromised by our own surprise.

  “You’re a little late,” Kafka said, sounding calm and collected. “We had to go forward without you. And you know the rules about outsiders.”

  Without warning he threw the two knives, one after the other, right at our group, but they both disappeared before reaching anyone.

  Kafka smiled.

  I recognized Lazarus, the guy who fought Nicholae on the beach, and the remaining female twin from the battle in the cave. Each of them had a wolf, including a small pup hiding behind the others. Each adult animal had its head down, teeth bared, and ready to strike.

  “We know your secret,” Nicholae yelled over the thrumming of rain against the glass ceiling. “I’ve been to see Bryten.”

  Kafka’s smile faded. “You spoke with Bryten Archanum.”

  “Yes, and I know—I know the dagger he—they gave you is worthless. It’s nothing.”

  “Is that what he told you?” Kafka scoffed. “Then it must be disappointing for you to know—to have seen how well it works.”

  “Listen to yourself,” Nicholae said. “We both know there are no enchanted objects more powerful than our own belief.”

  “Well you’re the one killing your own people to save them from my blade. How many times now? Who killed himself to escape my blade?”

  “You were convincing, I admit it,” Nicholae said.

  “Then where are they?” Kafka shouted. “Where are the ones I’ve slain?”

  Now Nicholae was the one to smile. “They’re coming back.”

  “Words. Nothing but words.” Kafka removed the ornate dagger from his belt. “Which one of your own are you going to kill tonight in order to save him...or her?”

  I removed the identical dagger from my own belt and held it out so he could clearly see it.

  “I’ll use this one on you,” I said. “Do you want to find out if it works as well as yours?”

  “You’ll never get close enough,” Kafka said. “And if you somehow do, you’ll already be dead.”

  The dagger was ripped from my hand by one of the Lornes across the observation deck—which I had anticipated—but it also disappeared before it had even flown halfway to them.

  “So sorry to ruin your well thought-out plan,” Kafka said with a vicious grin.

  I presented the Archanum dagger back in my own hand.

  “Nice try,” I said and sheathed it.

  Nicholae laughed. “Outplayed by a teenager...again.”

  “Why do you still wear the wolf head, Nicholae?” Kafka asked. “Erik? Cassandra? Where’s Matilda?”

  “Not here,” Nicholae replied.

  “If no one will answer, I’ll tell you why you still wear it—because you still want it for yourselves. You’re not ready to give up all we’ve built together. This is nothing but a hostile takeover. You want to oust me and those who’ve remained true to the family name, so you can build a new family in your own image and ideals. But why start over with a new name when you already have one that’s so recognizable? Not to mention feared. Keep telling yourself how noble your intentions are. At least I tell those close to me the truth.”

  Suddenly we were joined by about twenty more men, spilling out from four newly manifested doors positioned behind our group. Those of us bringing up the rear now had guns aimed at us. Our group could be whittled down significantly with a single command. Among those surrounding us I noticed the captured man from the Doria Falls camp, Georges, and the muscle-bound guy who’d head-butted me in the nose in the exclusive Provex City club, Level Seven. They had each claimed to be members of the Lorne Royal Guard. Then I spotted the closed-mouthed wolf heads on a few of their hands and knew.

  We hadn’t exterminated the Lorne Royal Guard. They were just other soldiers in Kafka’s army. The true guard was waiting in the wings somewhere, not so easily jumped.

  I knew it had been too easy.

  “There, now we’re more evenly matched,” Kafka said.

  “No more running; no more jumping planes,” Nicholae said. “We finish this tonight—right now.”

  “We’re on the top of a skyscraper, Nicholae. There’s nowhere to jump but to the floor below. That’s the only move either of us can make without opening a door, and that costs focus and time.” He paused and assessed our group and his surrounding us. “One shot,” he said, holding up his index finger.

  The royal guards each fired one shot, cutting down the back row of our group. Seven or eight of us fell, some dead, some writhing in pain. When Mr. Gordon, Gloriana, and Mom moved to help the fallen, more guns were aimed at them. They stilled and remained standing.

  “Show them mercy,” Kafka said. “We’re no crueler than we have to be.”

  Georges, the muscle-bound guy with the crew cut, and two others stepped forward and silenced the four injured members of our group.

  As they backed up to rejoin the line of royal guards, Cassandra lunged forward. And as soon as she moved, Erik was on her heels, guns out—and all hell broke loose.

  Both groups scattered and intermingled in a sudden flash of black clothes, gunshots, blood mist, and falling chess pieces.

  I ran for the railing to get a more comprehensive view of the battle scene. Logan followed me.

  Shots were fired, guns were lost, punches were thrown, bodies were thrown, but most everyone involved
got back up, fighting through injuries and knockdowns.

  I aimed my gun at the crowd, at a royal guardsman, but everyone was moving so fast that by the time I fired I had as good of a chance of hitting one of our own as someone of the opposing side. I wasn’t that confident with my shooting ability to risk the lives of those in my group.

  Kafka and his small band of Lornes remained spectators of the fight, appearing confident that they may not even have to fight at all.

  They weren’t paying the least amount of attention to Logan and me.

  I noticed Logan reaching the same idea.

  He nudged me and said, “Now’s our chance. If we go for the same person, our chances of taking him out of the equation are better.”

  “But then the rest of them will come for us,” I said as thunder boomed overhead.

  “Then we jump into the fight. Disappear in the confusion.”

  “Malakye,” I said.

  “Malakye.”

  We both fired, landing two bullets in his chest. Malakye lurched backward and stumbled into the chair with the nameless Lorne tied to its appendages. Eli’s union with the nameless Lorne broke as the two Lornes and chair toppled over.

  Now we were on their radar. We didn’t wait to see if Malakye was actually dead before jumping into the firefight.

  Many of the guns were gone now, most of the combat now hand to hand.

  A body of a royal guardsman was thrown into me and we both spilled onto the concrete. I lost sight of Logan as the man’s body eclipsed me. Quickly, I snaked an arm around his neck and secured that forearm with my free hand. I braced myself for a struggle, but it didn’t come. The man’s body just flopped over mine like a burlap sack of unroasted coffee beans. I pulled my arm from his neck and it came away bloody. Before I could roll him off me, one of our own fighters tripped and fell over us. He rolled backward and scrambled back to his feet like a spider. I slipped out from under the dead man’s body and climbed back to my feet. My ankle throbbed; I’d probably twisted it in the awkward dance of falling bodies.