Legacy of the Defender (The Defender Series Book 1) (41 page)

A moment passed.

“I don’t see any change.  Feel stupid?  Let’s clean you up,” he said.

I held it closer to him and opened the skin allowing the blood to run freely.  I felt a twinge looking at the crimson, but turned my focus back to him.  I felt my inside get really warm like a switch was flipped.

“So you agree I am cut, yes?

“God yes, you are cut, a level one wound.  You are crazy.”  His face grimaced.

I rinsed my hand off so we could see the wound better.  The thought ran through my mind of the skin knitting back together.  The itching sensation started along the cut and I felt the very ends start to pull in tighter and heat began to coarse from my chest down to that hand.  Seconds passed and it increased in speed.  The cut was closing faster.  Blood stopped flowing out all together now and a light pink color formed in the areas that were mending.  A moment later, it finished.  I looked at the Sergeant.

His jaw was on the floor.

“I know how you feel.  I could not believe it either.”  He just stared at my hand with his head slowing shaking back on forth in disbelief.  “The reports in the hospital said this was happening while I was in my coma.  I would not have believed it was real had I not seen it myself.  I was unable to find the footage documented by the church.  Surprisingly, it is not available to us, even when threatened with a subpoena.” 

He looked at me.  “You do realize the danger here, Tathlyn.  If the wrong people get wind of this, you are going to be dissected so scientists can find ways to reproduce this effect.”

“I had not thought of that yet.”  I sat down on the floor right in the kitchen.  It was easier than trying to avoid hitting my head on everything.  The church thoroughly documented everything, so they know how my body reacts to injury.  The scientific community had my case spread all over, but none of them had known anything past the original story.  With the help of the police, the hospital had kept that quiet since the kidnapping and the attempt on my life. 
Perhaps I needed to stage my own death somehow.

The Sergeant had a look on his face that told me he had just come to the same conclusion.  “You stay put.  We need to keep you hidden for now.  I have not told anyone on the force where you are staying.”

“Neither has Eryn.”

“Good,” he said.  “She should consider taking some time off.”

“I guess I cannot get a job.  This will not bode well with Eryn.”

“Let me worry about that.  Tell me, where did you really learn how to fight?”

“I honestly do not know.  It is almost like instinct.  I just acted.”

“You acted?” he said, looking perplexed.

“Come on, Sergeant.  I was sixteen the accident happened.  You read my records; they documented all of it.  Can you not accept there is no reasonable or logical answer?”

“Point taken.”

“So I was going to go get a bouncing job at a local club.  That’s out, huh?”  I said.

“I would recommend you keeping a low profile.  If your name comes across the wrong person’s desk, I won’t be able to protect you.”

“I think I can handle myself but will heed your advice to only go out at night if I need to get some air.  Perhaps until this blows over, but I will not hide.”

“Fair enough.”

“I am confused about something, Sergeant.”

“What is that, Tathlyn?”

“Why are you helping me or even caring if you hate me so much for going through your officers so easily?”

“I don’t hate you.  I believe you do not know what happened to you, and something tells me whatever this is, is beyond both of us.”

His answer took me by surprise.  I have never felt he was a man of his word or could even be trusted till now.  My gut told me to not be so quick to trust.  Something told me I may have just won an ally.  I extended my hand.  “Welcome to the weirdness of my life.”

“I am not so sure I want to be on board, but I want to know what is going on,” he said, shaking my hand.

I simply nodded my head and smiled as he headed for the door.  He stepped out and turned back towards me.  The look on his face looked genuine enough, but first impressions left lasting marks.  I had to admit, I was confused.

XXXI

Memories

Rain fell hard outside, forming pools at low points in the back yard.  Some were deeper than others were, and several turned into large puddles.  Time drifted by while I sat in my bedroom on the floor observing nature for hours and passed in silence. 

The variety of birds in the back yard exploited this moment to the fullest.  Drowning worms that surfaced to escape the watery grave found themselves snatched out of the earthen embrace by the beak of robins waiting patiently above.  I had to laugh at the irony of the situation to think you are saving yourself only to find death itself.  This opera of savagery entertained me for quite a while.  Tactics that I had never paid attention to caught my attention.  You can learn a lot from animals.

Birds snuck up on their food as if they were predators in the real wilds somewhere.  I had never thought of birds as true predators, but bearing witness to these events changed my impression.  They would use everything from stealth to spring attacks where they exploded into action and pounced on the unsuspecting worm.  I even saw a few swoop in from a low glide.  I was amazed at the timing involved in that maneuver.  I could not imagine how much it would hurt if they missed.  I actually felt sorry for the worms.  They did not have a chance.

Suddenly an image popped in my mind of being in a cold stream unable to move.  My body was injured.  Something had chewed me up pretty bad.  I had a foreboding memory of waking up injured hours after the attack and being vulnerable.  My only fear was the return of a large monster that I knew was waiting for me in the deeper waters near the middle.  I suddenly felt I would be mad at surviving the odds then denied life because something bigger was hungry and had the advantage.  The detailed images played out as if I was really lying there with failing strength.  Every moment counted. 

I knew that I was still sitting in my room, but something made me start coughing and sputtering, keeping me submerged in this half drowned state.  Reality shifted and time began to fast forward.  Darkness approached.  My situation was dire.  I could not call for help.  There was no one to call.  The image faded for a moment and the yard returned to focus.

I paused at my comparison for a moment.  Something about that situation that just came to mind seemed awfully familiar.  The cold embrace of the water around me crept painfully in.  The pain caused nausea and weakness.  Rain fell from the sky in sheets and made me feel like a drowned rat.  Yet, I had never been in such a situation.  It seemed so real even as a fleeting thought that grew into a reality.  I actually had a feeling of dread and fear wash over me.  It was very intriguing to have an emotion suddenly come forward.  It had just been an image, but my brain was somehow feeling a real reaction to the situation; I felt fear.  My breath quickened and panic set in. 

This happened once before.

I closed my eyes and began working on some breathing exercises from therapy sessions with Doctor Price.  I was trying to imagine a black dot on a white wall that was slowly getting bigger until the wall was black; then a white dot appeared and repeated the process until the wall was white.  I repeated this process and focused on slow breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth.  The feelings of dread started to slip away, replaced by peace.  I repeated the cycle several times.

I finally opened my eyes and still felt moving water in a stream rocking my wounded body.  Cascading water flowed down over rocks in front of me.  The sting of the water in my open wounds spiked the pain.  It was hard to see or focus on anything.  Wind increased, making the rain go sideways.  The only way to focus my eyes was to squint.  As I looked through the torrential down poor over the river, I realized the window pane and the back yard came back into view.  Images were blending…there was no rain in this dream.  Reality and dream functioned as one.

I tried to ponder what was happening, where these new sensations came from as the images began to fade.  Part of me was happy to see them go, yet another part was very curious why the experience seemed like a memory.  I knew for a fact that I had never been in any raging river during a storm. 

Sweat poured off my brow like water from the stream.  I was shaking a bit and felt very cold.  My muscles were fatigued.  Heavy breathing lasted for a few minutes while I tried to clear my head.  I felt unraveled for a moment; as the very fabric of reality had just split for a second and offered me a glimpse of what it felt like to be insane.  In an attempt to refocus my breathing, my heart rate lowered back down after about seven breaths.  My chest no longer felt like it was going to explode.

I played the recent events over and over.  The freak changes that were my life weighed heavily on my mind.  The metamorphoses I had undergone were becoming more prevalent each day, yet it left me with more questions than answers.  Two more tattoos had appeared – one on the small of my back in the center that looked like a compass with all eight directional points on it.  The second on my neck, at the base, was something that looked like a rune.  Eryn was helping me research it to see if we could find out what they all were and meant but came up with nothing.  No records of such markings existed in any book Eryn found while looking at the library.  That left one option… private book collections and possible occult materials.

I shuddered at the thought of looking through tomes that contained nasty rituals.  I had never been a big horror fan growing up.  Sure I had seen Dracula but I hardly called that horror.  I heard stories from my parents and churches that I had attended that devil worship and the occult were synonymous.  It terrified me, that one of the very things that from my childhood fears was now the very place I would have to tread.  Now, Eryn was trying to make contact with some of the local Wiccan chapters to see if anyone there might be willing or able to help.  So far none of them responded to her inquiries.  I cannot imagine that you could just leave a message for one of these groups out of the blue and expect them to be willing to open up freely to a stranger.  I do not care who you are. 

The world’s ignorance astounded me at times.

The irony of my current dilemma was not lost on Eryn or me.  She knew how I felt about the church and my disdain for letting them be involved in my life.  One of the priests that had watched over me when I was in the coma came to visit me a couple of times.  I did not know of his existence until last week when I got an official apology from the church about the previous priest’s actions.  Apparently there was some mystery around where he had come from.  I had to refrain from saying, “Ya think?”

Father Gerone was a young man about twenty eight or so, only a few years older than I was.  He was very short and looked like he never ate due to the size of his frame.  It made me laugh see him walking up because he had a jet black goatee and a serious look on his face as if he was on some mission from God that was beyond secret.  His walk was confident, but he was not very coordinated; he always tripped coming up the walkway to the house due to the uneven sidewalk sections settling over time.  His lack of hair made him look older than he was.  He was, however, a nice man and showed genuine concern for people so our talks were not too painful, although his accusations of my affiliations did prove annoying.  Just like being in a mass, he always opened our talks with a very lengthy prayer that had me almost asleep by the time he finished. 

The hardest part was the questions.  He asked me questions that I had no answer to, or any possible way of knowing.  It was always the same theme.  How long had I been interested in the occult?  When did the devil approach me and promise me great changes in my life for power?  Was I ready to repent?  Yet he always asked me in such a way that made me feel guilt for the things happening to me.  How could I be responsible for things beyond my control?  Not getting labelled as a freak was now a life ambition.  I simply wanted to figure my life out and did not dare tell him that we were actually going to ask for help on that level since the church could not provide any answers.

Movement out the window caught my eye again.  The rain had stopped for the most part; it was a light mist now.  I liked the rain.  It washed things away and renewed life.  I wished that I could step outside into the rain, and emerge out the other side back in my old shape or form and go exploring with Jason.  Those days seemed so long ago and in part they were; I could never go back.  That part of my life was over.  My parents were dead.  Dieter Gutermuth was dead.  The new “me” was undiscovered.  There was no clue to what my purpose was now.  Science failed and medicine was not even at the same table as science was.  Religion was an absolute travesty to me.  I had spent a lot of time in prayer no avail.  God was not speaking to me or was not home.  Maybe I had angered him somehow or maybe the answer was what was actually happening was supposed to happen.  

I did not have a clue who to turn to aside from Eryn’s idea.  My life continued to be full of strange dreams of slaying daemons.  It made me shudder to think there was actual enjoyment in that.  I felt in control being this close to insanity.  One particular dream that I had involved a small village of people that apparently knew who I was; they were friends.  In my dream, I walk in and countless people greeted me and called me all by my new name.  Based on the look of the buildings, it seemed to be akin to the Roman era.  There were tile roofs like the ones seen on villas from old pictures.  The clothing and local garb seemed to be Roman like.  I saw a few soldiers around wearing armor that looked to be from that era also.  The houses were stucco and not more than a few stories tall at best. 

They number in the thousands but small enough to know quite a few people there especially if you are a shop owner or market place urchin.  There is some sort of market filled with people looking at the wares for sale.  Basic weapons, food, and clothing displayed on tables.  The clothing is very basic but looks durable, made from wool or cotton, or some other materials.  People moved about with purpose, something was wrong.  Then screaming came from the other end of the market.  One or two voices cry out then five, then seven, then a whole chorus of cries and screams.  I rush to the other of the market place towards the noise only to find some sort of daemon is attacking the townsfolk and the guards are already dead.  The people are calling to me by name for help in the panic and chaos.  Next thing...there are weapons in my hands and I am moving with a purpose to engage.

I began to hack and these monsters with fury and vengeance.  They see me coming and begin leaping on me from roof tops and other small structures.  It took me many times of seeing this dream to realize that my size matches my reality.  So the daemons try to topple me by getting up high, and using their weight to knock me down.  One leapt from the left I duck and swing a blade up like a back hand and felt the steel bite flesh hard.  A shower of ichor sprayed all over the ground; I rose up and swung at two more that tried to sweep my legs.  The leg of is severed by my sword...the other is taken in the stomach lengthwise.  It falls in two with bowels spilling on the ground. 

Creatures with grayish green skin surround me, anywhere from four to eight legs, and lots and lots of teeth and claws.  Quick count it is at least two dozen and one gigantic one.

“You.”

With my sword leveled at it after speaking, it talks to me in some language somehow understood.  It says something like “not yet” then dozens more swarm me.  I am cleaving and swinging like a chef in a restaurant preparing a meal.  Parts of daemon are flying all around and the ichor is flowing and spraying...getting on everything, including me.  I am leaping and dodging, parrying, and striking with such ferocity that my motions are a complete blur through most of it.  Daemon anatomy litters the ground and they just keep on coming.  I take down the first dozen or so without breaking a sweat or getting hit.

Then the damage starts to accumulate.  A bite on my thigh is moderately deep.  These things have poison in their mouths, but I strangely am not worried about it.  A claw on my abdomen leaves six marks horizontally; more of a light scratch but six of them will start to bleed a bit.  The warmth of my own blood flows mixing with the ichor droplets on my skin, which are cold to the touch strangely enough.  Several more wounds in various locations are all minor, but still add to the pain.  The daemon blood, however, does burn when it hits an open wound, and a sick feeling that accompanies the pain, as it is very toxic. 

I seem to know this in my dream because upon command my swords ignite and I touch them to each of the wounds to sterilize them and stop the bleeding.  It hurts like hell, but I grunt through the pain in between swings that I am taking respectively at targets as they present themselves to me.  They hesitate.  The large one moves away and is casually eating some sort of beast of burden that I do not recognize but am not surprised to see.  It cries in pain as the daemon has started on the backside of the creature slowly taking bites and chewing like it has not eaten in a while...like it is savoring what would be a good steak.  I feel sorry for the beast but cannot get there to end its suffering.

Another horde has just arrived from the woods.  They have charged into the fray right about the time I get down to only about six of the original total.  I glance again and the big one that smiles at me with a mouthful of intestine that is bleeding and falling out of its mouth as it chews.  I just shake my head and holler, “You can’t hide behind your meal forever.”  Then I say a name as if I know this one...Something that sound like "Discus."

More daemons come.  I continue to slay them left, right, and center.  Six point counter attack, three point parry, and defensive parry-block combination into a whirling attack that manages to lure in about seven of them in and removed heads in one swing of both blades.  I can smell and hear the searing flesh continue to cook as the heads hit the ground.  They smell of burnt offerings to God in the Old Testament.  It fills my nostrils with a smell that I long for…dead daemons.  It allures me and entices me to engage further and further into the ranks without mercy or fear.  I feel a threat from above me but far out of reach of my blades.  The flyers have joined the attack now.  I was waiting for that.  Right when I have the battle figured out, it shifts again.