The Vitalis Chronicles: Tomb of the Relequim (6 page)

Ardin would have killed for a piece of wood and a knife right now. Some pine would do. Even a piece of driftwood along one of the ponds could suffice. But he had nothing with which to channel his thoughts. Nothing he could carve would have blocked them out in any case.

The dreams were fading, but his family haunted him. He had never heard them die, but the screams of his sisters remained on the rim of his reality. Just beyond his ability to grasp. To wrestle with and release. And John, his brother... that, Ardin couldn't erase from his memory. The gray walls and dim light took him back to the crater where he had held John as he died. Warm blood mixing with cool ash as his brother's life caked itself to his clothes.

And Alisia. The idea that she was gone remained insubstantial compared to the memory of John's death. But it stung worse. Somehow it stung much worse. He traced the cracks in the floor with a quivering finger as exhaustion overcame his hunger. The dreams returned, and sleep claimed him before he ever knew he was pursued.

V
ITALIS
.

Ardin woke slowly, his eyes clouded with the crust of dreams.

Ardin Vitalis.

He had fallen asleep in the corner of his room, hugging his left knee. His right leg lay flat on the floor, protruding from his ugly hospital gown like a white stick.

Awake. You must leave this place.

He looked around, head swimming for a moment. And then Ardin saw him and woke up entirely.

T
here is little time. You must leave this place, or you risk your very soul.

In front of him stood a tall figure covered in a dazzling mixture of ornate metallic plate and leather armor. Except he wasn't standing; he was floating.

You are needed.

Ardin pressed himself into the corner of the room. “
Who are you?”

My name is Tristram. Of the three I am but one.

Tristram, as he called himself, had wings. They looked much like an eagle's wings but waved subtly like cloth in a breeze. They had the appearance of long ethereal tendrils running along them. His deeply hooded face remained hidden from view behind a low half-mask.

“
I mean who
are
you?”

A friend. A good friend indeed. I have been sent to remind you of who you were meant to be. What you are called to be. But in this moment you must conceive your escape.

“
Who I was meant... what are you talking about?” The twist in Ardin's stomach competed directly with the hunger.

Tristram's thick, blocky boots hung just above the filthy tile floor; one was partially hidden behind the other as the toe nearly touched the ground. He seemed to take up the entire room.

The enemy holds sway in this place, much the same as the footholds he maintains throughout this land. If you do not soon part, I fear you will perish. Make for the north. Head deeper into the mountains, and there I will find you.

And with a bright flash and a faint swirl of mist he vanished. Ardin didn't relax immediately. He wanted to ask how exactly he was to escape, but the opportunity was lost to him now. He frowned as his weight settled back on the floor, his stomach rumbling against his thigh as he pushed the hunger from his mind.

Ardin looked around the room suspiciously, as if the doctor might jump out at any moment and discover his insanity was real. His throat tightened at the word... insanity. Had he just been visited by someone with wings, or was he truly going crazy?

Whoever his visitor had been, he wasn't getting out of here; he knew it. They wouldn't let him out, and he didn't think he could make a way for himself. If that floating jerk had wanted him out of there so badly, he could have at least done something more than insist he leave. His stomach churned at the thought. He couldn't just leave. Could he?

He sighed and wondered if he still had any of the power that Charsi had given him. Somehow he doubted it; he couldn't concentrate enough over the hunger and weakness to give it a try. His mind was clouded, and he lacked the volition to make any attempt. Even if he didn't, there wasn't enough in him to fuel the effort.

He stayed on the floor for what may have been a day or two or only hours. He couldn't tell. There was no change in light to mark the passing of time. Only the endless flicker and buzz of the fluorescent bulb in the ceiling. If one didn't enter this place mad, they were bound to leave it so.

The dingy water that gurgled out of the rusty tap in his cell still came at his beck and call. But on occasion there would be a sputter and the water would stop. It was in those moments that he couldn't help but cry.

The door to his cell clicked and clacked and swung open, scraping the floor lightly along its arc. The two big orderlies walked in and observed him glibly, batons held loosely in their hands. A third followed them to the door and stopped. The low stubble surrounding his lips seemed to ripple as his flat face scrunched up in revulsion. “God he smells.”

“
The doc wants you to come pay him a visit,” said the one.

“
And we don't want no trouble,” said the other.

“
So you want trouble then,” Ardin mumbled under his breath.

“
What was that? You givin' us lip?”

“
Double negative,” he said under his breath again, not caring to move or further acknowledge their presence.

“
Ah, so he's a real smart ass then?” The new one quipped from the door.

“
Sounds like it.”

“
Sounds like resisting our help, doesn't it?”

“
Sure does.”

They spread apart, moving in slowly, no longer holding the batons loosely. There was a sick pleasure that crossed their mouths in wry smiles. This was the one part of their job that made sifting through mindless babbling and endless shit worth while.

Ardin shrunk into the corner whimpering. But the warmth was there. The feeling that had been familiar to him once. It stirred to match his racing heart, burning away in his gut before it swirled out into his extremities. His fear was gone. A cold determination came on him as he focused on their massive legs. Self-assurance returned as he sized them up; he could handle himself. He almost smiled. What did he have to fear from a couple of goons?

And with no more of a thought than that, his right hand shot out towards the orderly on his right and shattered his knee. The invisible strike blew the orderly's leg out to the side and sent him screaming to the floor with a thud. The other orderlies hesitated for a moment before plunging forward, batons raised, hoping for the encounter to end quickly.

Ardin brought his hand around and up across the face of the larger man. He never touched him, yet the air rippled visibly as an unseen hammer caught him under the chin so hard that his neck snapped like crisp celery.

The orderly slumped over unconscious next to his screaming comrade. The new orderly stopped in shock. Ardin stood slowly. He gained his balance on his shaking legs as the warmth ran down and strengthened his quivering muscles. There was a familiar satisfaction that rose in him then. It had never been his, he recalled, but it had been given him. Instead of a burrowing pain, it now came with only pleasure.

The orderly twisted. He brought his baton around in a blur that would crush Ardin's skull in a single blow. But Ardin was ready for it. Somehow he could sense the man's every move like a premonition. He pulled his head down to the side, the baton whizzing past his ear and shoulder. The orderly fell forward, all of his weight behind his swing, and all Ardin did was put his hands out.

The sound of ribs breaking barely registered to Ardin who squeezed the air within his fists. He could feel the power. Feel it writhing, pulsing through him. As it coursed out of his bare hands, Ardin sent the man into a red unconsciousness. He let him drop as the screams of his first victim slowly reached his ears. It had happened so fast. But it had all come so naturally. He hadn't thought about it for a moment; and now here he was, on the verge of gaining his freedom.

He had to get through the security doors, pass yet more orderlies and guards. But the thoughts of those obstacles beaded up and rolled off his mind like raindrops. He wasn't afraid any more, he realized. He was powerful, truly powerful; it felt good.

He walked over the writhing guard on the floor, making sure to step on his shattered knee as he passed. The man screamed afresh. They would think twice about attacking a cornered, helpless kid again. He smiled as he felt the crunch under his foot and moved on. No one would ever touch him again. Not ever.

The hallway remained empty, the screams of his victim blending with the moans and yells that echoed through the building. Ardin hugged himself against a chill, the gown providing poor protection from the draft that blew across his skin. He stood on the old filthy floor for a moment longer, feeling the cold edges of each tile with his toes. He closed his eyes and envisioned walking out of the place.

He was cold. He didn't want to be cold any more.

And with that he started forward, the walls catching fire on either side as he passed. The flames started at their base, born of naught but malice in the thin, crusty drywall. They swept upwards until the whole hallway was a blazing inferno. Smoke reached one of the working detectors. Soon the ill-maintained fire system spewed water with what pressure it could muster. The water flew and hissed and steamed in vain.

The place wasn't made to burn, all cinder blocks and cement and rusty steel. But he could make it hot enough. He could burn anything. And he would be damned if he left a square inch of this place untouched.

Ardin opened the first set of doors as a group of orderlies burst out of the security seal at the other end. A cheer erupted from his fellow detainees, ready to see a fight, unaware of their share in their captors' fate. Ardin slowed. He stopped. He smiled.

The group of men hesitated only for a moment before charging forward. The sight of a loon out of his cage wasn't anything to balk at. They were more concerned with putting out the fire, as the extinguishers in their hands betrayed. But Ardin wasn't moving.

The first to reach him raised his extinguisher over his shoulder as if to batter Ardin down, but he never made the connection. Ardin flung his arms out, sending a shock wave through the man that nearly cut him in half. The impact nullified his forward momentum so that he dropped, dying in a bloody heap.

The rest of the men in the hall behind him were thrown back momentarily. When they regained their composure, they found a new fear for the kid in front of them, water flowing off of his hidden brow.
Charsi chose me... to be her form of vengeance. A tool of destruction.
His face was dark, with the flames blazing beyond, but a white smile slowly protruded from his silhouetted form.
It's not what I want, who would want something like that?
Smoke filtered through the flying water as Ardin adjusted his stance and relaxed.
But can I fight it?

He hadn't even made it through the hall and already he felt free. This was who he was made to be, if he was made to be anything. The power was seductive, a simple extension of himself that needed exercising. It felt good. Woke him up like stretching tight muscles. He took a step forward, the men took a step back, and he knew he was in control.

The fire alarm sounded shrill in the glass offices of the asylum. It was startling to hear. As they never ran fire drills, this was the first alarm to go off in ages. The system hadn't been used since being tested after its installation. The three doctors, feeling much like inmates themselves, stepped out of their offices to inspect the commotion.

Not knowing who was responsible for which duties, the orderlies were quickly organizing themselves. Before anyone could say otherwise they had all rushed off to the secure ward where the fire was blazing. The patients, amused by this new turn of events, whooped and hollered at them to get on with it. Others cowered in fear of the blaring siren. A few continued about their business as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“
How on earth could a fire start back there?” one of the doctors, a fat, gray old woman asked.

“
Poor wiring?” said the bespectacled doctor before walking back to his desk. “One of you might want to go supervise the patients in the meantime. Looks like every moron working for us ran off to seek his glory in the fire.”

He chuckled to himself as he sat at his desk, his subordinates hurrying out into the fray to keep the peace.
A f
ire in the secure ward...
he thought.
That might alleviate some of our headaches. Should
have thought of it sooner.

He could see the two doctors struggling to contain the rising level of commotion through the windows in his office. Chairs were being thrown, fights were breaking out. Half of the men were rolling with laughter as their friends were beaten and kicked.

“
Monkeys,” muttered the fat doctor. “Big stupid monkeys.”

A loud concussion rocked the room. Everyone quieted down and stared at the air lock leading to the fire, save a few who giggled uncontrollably. Air lock may have been too generous a description, as smoke curled out of the seal while they watched.

Another concussion rocked the room, followed by another, and another. The room was silent now except for a man laughing maniacally in a corner. The attention of the room was drawn fully to the dull metal door that jutted out from the wall.

The bespectacled doctor rushed to the end of the hall, anger and confusion playing games amongst his wrinkles.
“
What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

No one answered, and soon his gaze was drawn along with theirs to the door.

The guard in the small room next to it was frozen in place, waiting. A red light illuminated on his control panel, signaling that someone wanted in from the other side. The monitors on his desk were useless. Either the cameras had shorted when the sprinklers went off or they were steeped in smoke. Unsure of what to do, he looked up into the room at the doctors. They were standing there gaping as much as their patients. Finding no help from outside, he turned slowly to the panel.