MILLENNIUM (Descendants Saga) Read online

  “You are family,” Oliver said.

  “Don’t do this by yourself, Oliver. I’ll come with you.”

  Oliver placed his hand on Laish’s shoulder. “No, my friend, though I appreciate the offer. I actually would ask another favor of you.”

  “What would that be,” Laish asked with a puzzled look.

  “Delay Brody,” he said. “You know he will attempt to follow me to Southresh. He’ll be down here in a moment. If you treasure them like I do, then please do this thing for their own good. We’re old and our lives are more spent than not, but they have so much ahead of them. I want them to still have each other for as long as they can.”

  Laish considered the matter and then nodded. “Just don’t go doing anything foolish,” he said. “If he’s too much for you, then get away while you can.”

  Oliver smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I know that you will. I’m not writing you off, you know? I expect you to return.”

  Oliver smiled. “One other matter, Laish.”

  “Yes?”

  “If something should happen to me, I’ve already willed Malak-esh to Sadie,” Oliver said. “Since the girl is of my bloodline, it will go to her of its own volition.”

  Laish sighed and then nodded. “Just come back.”

  Oliver winked at Laish and then teleported away from Tidus without light or sound to witness to his passing. His destination was China. Southresh was there. He could feel him. And, if he could feel the angel, then the angel could feel him.

  Bewilderment

  Laish waited for the one he knew would be coming. Just as Oliver had said. Brody came down the main stair before the throne room. He walked into the Atrium, finding Laish there.

  “Hello, Laish,” Brody said. “Have you seen Oliver down here? We’ve got some business to attend to.

  Laish smiled. “Come here, my boy,” he said.

  Brody walked over to him and Laish put his arm around his shoulder. When he did, Brody jumped.

  “Something has stung me,” he said, turning on Laish.

  “Really?”

  Brody reached up to his shoulder. “I’m not sure—”

  Before he could say anything more, Brody listed to the side and would have fallen to the ground. Laish caught him as he stumbled, having difficulty supporting his weight. “Blasted old age,” he grumbled. “You’re not a boy anymore, are you, lad?”

  But Brody was already unconscious. The pinprick Laish had administered was an herbal extract that would keep the young man down a day and night with symptoms mimicking food poisoning. That would keep him from following Oliver, as requested, at least long enough for him to confront Southresh.

  A guard stationed at the throne room door saw his king stumble and Laish attempt to catch him. “What’s happened, sir?” he asked, running over to help the elder elf support the king.

  “Nothing a bit of rest won’t help,” Laish said. “I think our king has had a run in with some bad shellfish.”

  “Will he be all right?” the guard asked.

  “Once we get him to his wife and his bed, a day’s rest should take care of the rest.”

  Cole had found his master, Ishbe, waiting for him within the Great Hall of Greystone’s Keep. This portion of the Keep, which had been built nearly ten years before, was the only part located above ground. Fires burned in massive fireplaces throughout the city-sized keep which circulated warm air by way of a cleverly designed vent system. This kept the worst of the cold at bay, while still maintaining a comfortably cool environment for the thousands of vampires who called Greystone their home.

  “Are we going to the castle today,” Cole asked. “You’ve been saying we could for some time.”

  Ishbe smiled. “Where are your parents?”

  “Father went to see Grandfather in Xandrea,” he said. “I’m worried about him.”

  “Your grandfather is a powerful Descendant,” Ishbe said. “He will be fine. Did your mother go, as well?”

  Cole grinned. “She said she wasn’t, but I know that was only for my benefit. I waited. When she thought I was gone, she hurried and went to the portal. I’m sure she must have been worried.”

  “Does it make you angry that she lied to you, Cole?” Ishbe asked.

  “No,” he said. “I know she only means to protect me.”

  “Protecting you from reality? Is that a good thing or a bad thing, Cole?”

  He considered it for a brief moment. “Her intentions were good.”

  “But intentions do not change reality.”

  “No,” Cole admitted.

  “You are strong enough to deal with reality, Cole,” Ishbe said. “You are a warrior in spirit, despite your young age.”

  “I’m glad for you to say so, Master,” he said. “Will we go to the castle?”

  “The reality is that you will not always have me with you when danger comes,” Ishbe said. “Today, you will go to the castle alone.”

  “Alone?”

  Ishbe grinned at his pupil. “You will use the Atrium portal.”

  “But it only teleports to three locations,” Cole noted.

  “I have arranged so that it will take you to the castle.”

  Cole nodded. “What will I do there without you?”

  “You will escape,” Ishbe said. “You will survive. And you will come back home.”

  “How will I get back?”

  “You may not know where the castle is to teleport yourself, but you do know where home is,” Ishbe said. “However, I forbid you to teleport away from the castle until you have eliminated the threat there.”

  “Threat?”

  “Do you remember the story Redclaw told you last year?”

  Cole grinned. “Redclaw tells many stories.”

  “About the goblins?”

  “The goblins that raided his village at Grim Hope,” Cole remembered. “He and my uncle led the trolls against them in the mountains.”

  “Yes,” Ishbe said. “The goblins have taken over the castle of the giants.”

  “They are in Greystone?”

  “Yes, and they could do the same thing here that they did in Grim Hope,” Ishbe said.

  “We wouldn’t let them,” Cole said, feeling angry at their presence in his homeland.

  “No,” Ishbe said. “You won’t let them.”

  “You want me to kill them?”

  “I want you to rid Greystone of this threat,” Ishbe said. “This is reality, Cole. The war your parents hoped was over is still very much alive in the world. Now, it has come here. What better opportunity for you to prove yourself? Face reality. One day, you will be a king. You will have the responsibility of protecting your people. Prove now that you are capable of dealing with reality. Prove to me that you are my finest student.”

  Cole looked up at Ishbe, his master, knowing that he must do this thing. He was glad that his parents had gone without him—that they wouldn’t know. They would never let him go—they would not want him to face reality.

  Sophia was already outside her bedchamber by the time Laish and the guard carried Brody up the stairs. “Laish, what happened to him?”

  “Nothing a few days of rest won’t cure,” he said. “We should get him into bed.”

  Laish and the guard carried Brody inside, placing him in the large bed he shared with his wife. She remained outside the room, waiting. When Brody was situated, Laish and the guard came out again.

  “You should get back to your post,” Sophia said to the Lycan guard.

  He bowed to her and made his way back down the stairs toward the throne room. Sophia waited until he was out of sight. Laish spoke first.

  “I’ll bring him some broth tomorrow morning,” he said.

  “Where is Oliver?” she asked.

  “Oliver?”

  “Laish, Brody went to the Atrium to meet Oliver,” Sophia said. “They were going to find Southresh.”

  Laish tried to look away, but Sophia wouldn’t let him.

  �
�Where is Oliver?”

  “He’s gone,” Laish reported.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “How could he leave without Brody?”

  “It was his wish to leave you with your husband, to leave Sadie with her father,” Laish said. “He asked me to keep Brody from following.”

  Sophia gasped.

  “Please forgive me, Your Highness,” Laish said. “When you asked me years ago to remain as your royal advisor, I took a vow to be loyal to this house and to protect your lives with my own. You may hate me now for this deception, but I have kept that promise tonight.”

  Sophia touched his cheek, her fingers brushing against his white whiskers. “I know you have,” she said. “I could never hate you for leaving me my husband.”

  Laish looked back toward the bed where Brody was sleeping. “He’ll be all right by tomorrow,” he said. “By then we’ll know if Oliver was successful.”

  Beijing

  Locating Southresh had not been terribly difficult. Oliver had felt his way through the process, for the most part. He had arrived in Beijing, China, a place Oliver had visited before. During his time working as a magician, he had traveled throughout Europe and Asia. A thunderstorm brewed overhead. Whether it was supernatural in origin, he could not tell.

  Oliver walked through the Meridian Gate into the Forbidden City. He pondered the sensation of Southresh’s nearness. This close, the feeling was less distinct. He tapped his wolf’s head cane on the stone.

  The air was thick with moisture, and rain began to fall in large, warm drops. Nothing touched Oliver. His spell casting made sure that he remained bone dry even in the heavy downpour. There were no people out now to make the distinction anyway.

  Oliver had visited the Forbidden City before. One of the largest buildings was the Hall of Supreme Harmony. However, considering who he was dealing with, Oliver deferred to the Hall of Preserving Harmony. He teleported from the Meridian Gate entrance, following his hunch.

  He appeared again, standing before the golden throne set within the Hall of Preserving Harmony. As he had surmised, Southresh was seated upon this throne. Fallen angels desired power, and what better symbol for authority than a throne?

  The rainfall became heavier. A steamy mist rose from the stones obscuring the man on the throne. Oliver had to fine tune his own visual capacity in order to make out the angel’s host. Arthur Craven’s body had suffered much from the presence of this fallen spirit.

  Dark circles underlined Craven’s eyes and his skin had gone terribly pale. Any fat on him had evaporated leaving only lean, corded muscle. Still, he appeared terribly unhealthy. Strangely, he wore the golden robes of a Buddhist monk. The trappings of a religion based upon peace and tranquility ill fit this abominable creature.

  “Interesting attire,” Oliver said. “I’m sensing a paradox here.”

  “Would it surprise you to know that I’ve planted the seeds of many such faiths through the centuries?” Southresh asked.

  “It would not.”

  Southresh smiled. “I knew you would come, but why is the boy not with you?”

  “If you wanted him here, then I’m glad he is not,” Oliver said.

  “It makes little difference which of you came,” he said. Southresh had still not moved from his throne.

  “Tired of running?” Oliver asked.

  Southresh laughed. “Of course,” he said and then paused. “Did you think I was running from you?”

  Oliver’s interest piqued. “Who else would you be running from?”

  Southresh stared at him for several moments and then laughed heartily. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  “I’ve been running from Black, you fool!” he shouted with a grin on his face.

  Oliver’s heart melted within him. Surely the implication was false. He attempted to play off the angel’s statement. “Black is one of your kind,” he said. “You have no reason to fear him.”

  “After what he did to Anubis, I fear losing my freedom in this world,” Southresh said, frankly.

  Oliver began to perspire. It was imperative that he not draw this matter out. Southresh would mess with his mind, given half a chance. However, they needed as much information about what was happening among the Fallen as could be had. For whatever reason, Southresh seemed to be in a talkative mood.

  “What you fools have not known over the past ten years was that Anubis meant to invade Tidus personally not long after Grayson Stone’s demise. It was Black who prevented him.”

  “Lies,” Oliver said. “Why would Black want to save Tidus?”

  “It had nothing to do with Tidus and everything to do with getting rid of his competition,” Southresh reported. “Anubis and I brought Black from Tartarus, but the body we had picked for his host, the boy, repelled his spirit. He was forced to take the nearest warm body available.”

  Oliver remembered the day when he found Brody in Whitehall. “The Lycan soldier,” he reasoned.

  “Very good,” Southresh said. “He killed the host of Anubis. With no anchor in Black or in Lucifer, my brother was cast back into Tartarus. I escaped him that day and I have no intention on returning to my imprisonment.”

  Oliver tried to fit all of the pieces to this puzzle into place, but there remained several troubling inconsistencies.

  “None of that explains why you wanted me to find you,” Oliver said.

  “Black is stronger than I am,” Southresh admitted grudgingly. “Were it not so, I might kill his mortal body with my own. But the only means of rebuffing his power and killing his host—”

  “Malak-esh,” Oliver whispered.

  Southresh grinned.

  “I’ll not let you have it,” Oliver said. He willed the wolf’s head cane to transform into the mercurial blade. The weapon obeyed instantly.

  “From your cold dead hand then?” Southresh threatened. He stood before the golden throne. At the same time, at least two dozen shaolin monks appeared around the square. Each of them possessed Japanese weaponry: swords, spears, and the like.

  There was something askew about each of these men. They wore sneers upon their faces and an unnatural light shone in their eyes. All of the monks had been possessed by lesser spirits under Southresh’s command. This was a trap intended to take Malak-esh from him, and Oliver had walked right into it.

  The possessed monks flew into action almost immediately. Southresh watched as his minions made use of the extraordinary fighting skills of their mortal hosts. Oliver took Malak-esh up defensively.

  The monks were so fast and furious with their weaponry that he could not abandon the melee long enough to attack with Superomancey. He attempted quick mental pushes and throws, but the lesser demons inhabiting these men nullified the attacks. He, in turn, was able to defend against their similar attacks, but he was desperately outnumbered.

  Oliver pushed out with his extension shield, rebuffing several monks. They flew back, but recovered almost instantly and came back at him. He tried to keep his eye on Southresh. All of this was merely a diversion. He would attack soon and attempt to take Malak-esh. Oliver smiled within himself. That wasn’t going to happen today.

  Oliver willed the power of the sword. The blade glowed. Southresh’s eyes blazed with delight. This was what he had been waiting for—to see the power of the sword on display.

  Monks were struck down as Malak-esh carved through their weapons and into them. The demons were cast out as the men were struck down. Still, they kept coming. Their lives were not precious to them, but they did not give them easily either.

  Southresh chose his moment to attack. The angel hurled fireballs into the melee. Oliver parried and cut down another possessed monk. He turned on Southresh’s attack, taking the flames upon the blade. They were immediately absorbed.

  The angel came at him, lifting the ground with his power, tossing Oliver aside. “The blade will be mine!” he bellowed. “Give it to me, and your death will be quick.”

  “You
will never have it!” Oliver answered back defiantly. He swept wide, releasing more power through the sword. Several more of Southresh’s minions were torn by its fierce energy. The golden throne cleaved in half. Southresh wasn’t there.

  Another monk was on top of him when he turned again. He swung a sword. Malak-esh liquefied the monk’s blade. He dropped the hilt and leaped passed the sword, grappling with Oliver for control of his mercurial blade.

  Oliver smashed the monk across the face with his elbow. He came back, but Oliver was quicker. The monk impaled himself upon Malak-esh, coming face to face with him as his spirit began to leave the body. He was laughing.

  Turning, he found Southresh behind him. He pulled Malak-esh, but it was still hung on the monk’s body. Southresh pushed the dagger in his hand through Oliver’s flesh before he could do anything to stop him. The blade slipped between his ribs, through his left lung, piercing his left ventricle.

  The dead monk, freed from the demon by Malak-esh, fell to the ground with the mercurial blade still inside. Southresh held Oliver up, watching the life slip from his eyes. His rancid breath filtered through Craven’s rotting teeth, buffeting Oliver with decay one last time.

  “I told you the sword would be mine, son,” Southresh crowed victoriously.

  He withdrew his dagger from Oliver’s side, dropping him on the ground. Southresh pulled Malak-esh from the monk’s body, lifting it high. He laughed maniacally.

  Oliver lay on the ground at his feet, looking up at the angel, seeing Southresh in his true form despite Arthur Craven’s body. He stood on the boundary between mortal life and death—when the body is almost expired and the spirit is ready to depart, returning to God who gave it.

  He did not have the strength to smile, but he managed to make one final utterance. “I told you that you would not have it.” The light of mortal life left his eyes, as his spirit departed, invisible, for the presence of his savior.

  Southresh did not regard the passing of his son, Oliver James. He did not care—had never cared for his mortal progeny. But the sword in his hand—this was valuable. This one weapon would stop Black—send him back to Tartarus, leaving Southresh to do as he pleased in the world. Or so he had supposed.