The Redeemer Read online

  Cassandra rarely required blood; she hadn’t used her powers since she had left Empia. Ryan, however, needed it once a week, whenever he exuded his anger or used his powers. Now that he was practicing his gift full-time, he needed it everyday.

  My lies are getting out of control, I need to tell him, before he goes to the conference, she thought.

  “Mother?”

  Cassandra blinked. “Sorry, Ryan, I was daydreaming.”

  Ryan locked the door and put his black gloves back on. He was about to cross the street when she stopped him, saving him from colliding into a carriage speeding by.

  Behind him, two men dressed in long black coats leaned against the wall next to Ryan’s place. The heavier one walked over to the window, peering into the office.

  “My Light, but some people are just in too much of a hurry.” Ryan shook his head as the coach careened down the street.

  “Wait,” she said, pointing at the men. “Who are they?”

  “Oh, they’re probably just potential clients. Let me go and talk to them.”

  “No,” she whispered harshly. While her blood-sense told her they weren’t Kins, she knew something was not right about them.

  Ryan frowned down at her before he headed back to the office. But the two men were gone.

  “Impatient patients,” Ryan muttered. He adjusted his stack of folders as he went back to her. “Can you hold my bag open while I put these in?”

  Cassandra watched as he shoved his files inside his tote. “My, my, but you must be doing well.”

  “Well, it doesn’t substantiate my lifestyle, but it’s growing. From the time I’ve opened it six months ago to what I predict it will be in another six, I won’t need your support anymore.”

  Cassandra had mixed feelings about that, another piece of the umbilical cord threatening to break off. She had to be careful, but she had to let him live his own life too.

  They crossed the street and went inside an upscale restaurant called The Wayfarer’s Wagon. It held a warm ambience of burgundy and oak. Unlit candles stood in the center of tables that were only used on occasion; Daigos had adopted electrical energy a few years ago, something that Aurialus still refused to use. The lights were kept down to a low voltage, something Cassandra appreciated when she felt shy, having not been in a restaurant for so many years.

  After their orders were taken, Cassandra sat forward to look down at the folders. “So why don’t you tell me something about them.”

  Ryan fingered through three before he pulled out out and placed them on the table.

  “Well, this one is about an Edinslandian woman named Missis Bermot who complained that something was in her chest.”

  “In her chest?”

  Ryan nodded. “She was worried that she was having small heart attacks. I examined her and told her not to worry; it was only a non-life-threatening regurgitative response to food.”

  Cassandra nodded.

  Ryan glanced around the restaurant in quiet, personal contemplation, his eyes a stark contrast to the dark surroundings.

  “But what about the other doctors?” Cassandra asked. “Aren’t they afraid you’re going to steal their business?”

  “Well, no. Actually, they are grateful. You see, while I charge a small fee for consultation, I don’t actually heal them. That’s where the doctors come in, and where I send my patients. Now, about a third of my patients come from doctors that want them to be examined by me to either find or confirm an illness or ailment before any procedure is conducted. Sometimes I get patients who want to confirm what the doctors say, too. I’ve had some doctors send me books so that I could learn medical terminology,” he smiled proudly. “But it would be amazing to one day be able to actually heal my patients, too.”

  Cassandra remembered how Light Empians healed people and animals with their hands using the Light Chamber. She wondered if the more experienced Empians were able to heal those bigger, grander ailments without using the temple. That would be one very positive thing for Ryan to discover. Audray had been so worried that Cassandra’s child would turn out to be evil, and here he was, wanting to heal everyone.

  Ryan sighed.

  “But…” Cassandra urged.

  “But I feel obligated to send back a recommendation even when one isn’t needed. If I take their patients away, I’m worried what would happen; it’s only because I’m revered by doctors that these towns don’t call me a warlock or some other sorcerer name and burn my clinic down. If I lose the support of the doctors here, then I will lose credibility everywhere; nobody else has the gift that I have, at least not on this side of the world.” He tapped the folder. “Missus Bermot doesn’t need surgery; it’s not life-threatening. Only an annoying condition she would have to live with. Yet I didn’t tell her that her doctor’s fee would be more annoying should she proceed with an unnecessary operation.”

  While it was a troubling situation for her son, she was glad it was a moral one; it indicated that he didn’t inherit the Night Empian’s immoral tendencies.

  Suddenly, Ryan’s eyes were held captive by something over her left shoulder. Cassandra turned to find what had arrested her son’s interest. Even before she saw what it was, she knew. She knew because she comprehended that feeling.

  A pretty, young woman walked to their table with a tray of food, her silky blond hair glistening beneath the lights. She glanced shyly at Ryan and they both blushed.

  No, Cassandra thought, smitten was the word.

  “The other waitress’s shift has ended so I will be serving you now.” Her dainty hands played with the strings of her green half-apron tied around her waist.

  When the young lady looked at Cassandra, her eyes dimmed. “It’s the missis that ordered the steak?”

  Ryan was quick to answer. “Oh, no. That is mine. The salmon belongs to my mother, Cassandra Reyn.”

  “Oh I see, sorry.” She placed their food down on the table before she turned her attention back to Cassandra. “But you look so young!”

  Ryan gloated as much as Cassandra did. “You should try some of her herbal drinks. They’re potions of youth.”

  The waitress smiled at him before she looked back at her. “No potions could make anyone that beautiful.”

  Cassandra could see why Ryan liked her. Cassandra already loved her. “What is your name?”

  “Stephanie Rhymer.”

  “Well, Stephanie, thank you very much for your comment. You are most kind.”

  “I speak of only the truth, Missis Rain,” she said quietly.

  Ryan hadn’t taken his eyes off of Stephanie the entire time. Feeling awkward, the waitress quickly wished they enjoyed their meals and would return to check on them later.

  Ryan sighed, looking at Cassandra as if he’d been tortured. “She doesn’t like me.”

  Cassandra chuckled. “Oh yes she does.”

  ☼

  In her bedroom, Cassandra stood at the window. The moon peeped out from behind the clouds, full and bright.

  Ryan’s passion towards Stephanie surged around the restaurant like lightning from the love-gods and re-ignited her own dormant feelings for Lharkin.

  According to Audray, it was never true love, at least from Lharkin’s end.

  “He saved me because he loved me,” Cassandra had insisted.

  “NO. He was going to leave you for dead and kill me too. But then he moved his head to your stomach. I didn’t know at the time why he did that, but now I do: he found out you were pregnant and that’s the only reason why he saved you.” Audray mouth had twisted in hatred. “He always think of himself before you or anyone else. He only saved you for his child. I hate him. You should forget about him.”

  She didn’t believe Audray at first, but over the years doubt had continuously filled her up with sorrow until there were days it spilled out of her eyes and she would cry herself to sleep. Cassandra never had closure, and after that experience at the temple, her faith in everything was questioned.

  Cassandra alway
s wondered at Lharkin’s true intent. His motives swam within her soul like a dark tempest; always churning with questions, too cloudy and murky to see definitively, but always unsettling, and thus could never be put to rest.

  Lharkin had placed his head by her belly. It hurt her to envision him doing that, leaving her for dead if it weren’t for the fact that she was pregnant.

  Since then, she fought with despair on a daily basis. She hid it from her son how lonely she felt, never wanting anyone else but Lharkin, yet wishing she never wanted him either. She was haunted by the souls that had perished at Empia. There were times her guilt soared; she had not killed them with her own hand, but loving Lharkin was just as bad. She would smile at her son while tears slid down her soul. Raising Ryan had brought her this far, made her happy enough to stay alive, but now that he was older, she felt…tired. Worn out.

  Cassandra pulled the white covers up to her chin. Perhaps all she needed was sleep.

  Perhaps.

  Chapter Three

  Gregory Wynstrom sat back on his tufted settee, weariness having settled in his old bones. He had lived with his burdens for so long he knew it was deteriorating his health immensely.

  After leaving Empia two decades ago, he returned to High Fernan to tell the tale of his journey. Gregory explained that he was unconscious from his injury for most of the time – this allowed him to answer questions he didn’t want to answer with ‘I don’t know’. But he satisfied the most important question of all: before Cassandra’s death, their enemy was defeated.

  This was a nicer, cleaner version of the truth that he and his daughter had conjured up. But the price of such a story meant that he would never be able to see her again, even in secrecy.

  It was a limbo of an existence; he never moved on, and couldn’t have what he once had. His memories were his only company.

  Sometimes, he visited Numenira Ocean where on Aurialus’ beach stood a statue of a beautiful warrior-goddess: Cassandra. She faced the ocean to keep enemies at bay. She held out her hands lovingly to anyone who looked at her or came to pay their respects to a woman who gave her life for the prophecy. Gems rested all around the hem of her dress, a symbol for each soul who had fought with her. While he adored it, he also loathed it; the queen had this made, which meant she knew about the relevance of Empia’s gemstones.

  Gregory’s mind drifted back to the beautiful island and the magical temple. Sometimes he would think it all had been nothing but a fascinating dream. But what made it real was the fact that all his loved ones were gone because of it.

  A knock echoed in the hall.

  He heard his housekeeper, Elsie, patter to the door.

  A moment later she came into his study. “You have officers requesting to speak with you.”

  Officers? Gregory wondered as he went for his liquor cabinet. Not since his return from Empia had they ever questioned him again.

  After giving Elsie instructions, Gregory poured himself a stiff drink. The men walked in just as he finished off a full cup.

  “Gregory Wynstrom,” one of the visitors called.

  He turned around to face five men. They all wore the same uniforms: dark blue with gold accents and gold pins. He couldn’t see what the pins meant. And he couldn’t tell who was the ranking officer.

  A man with red hair moved forward, extending a hand. “Officer Kenneth Knight.”

  Gregory took his hand in a strong grip. “Who are you and what can I help you gentlemen with?”

  “Well, as you can see, we are officers. But what you don’t see is what division we come from. We come from a special unit that study and watch for anything peculiar. We are The Hand.”

  Gregory groaned. When Queen Theresa employed the Hired Hand permanently, they became known just as The Hand.

  “Chasing nightmares, boys?” Gregory sat down at his desk. “Because while I had chased the real thing, you guys were still in your mother’s womb sucking your thumbs. Leave it alone.”

  Kenneth nodded, his strong features softening. “I understand: it’s a touchy topic. Especially for you, Sir Wynstrom: your daughter was the one who led them there.”

  Gregory gulped down the amber liquid before slamming his heavy glass cup on the table, making the rest of the men jump.

  Except for Kenneth Knight.

  “What are you boys implying?”

  “Well, after what we were able to gather from this rather-lipped town – strange since they can’t seem to stop talking otherwise – is that your daughter was to lead everyone to victory.” Kenneth’s mouth was tight. “Not to their deaths.”

  Gregory stood up. “How dare you men come into my house and talk to me this way? If it weren’t for my daughter, then none of us here would be alive either!”

  Kenneth dropped his head. “I’m sorry. I deeply apologize for that statement. I just came off of a grueling weeklong interrogation and nobody wanted to tell me anything. So I believe I am a little sore and I’ve taken it out on you.”

  Gregory considered the men as he sat down in his chair. “Tell me what’s going on, and maybe I can be of some assistance. Remember: what happened was horrible. Most people would want to naturally forget about it, not sensationalize it, unless our queen is interested.”

  Kenneth’s eyes shined. “But it was sensational. The world should know through history books what happened. The world should know that such things exist.”

  “Existed.” Gregory corrected.

  “No: Exist.”

  Gregory leaned forward. “What?”

  Kenneth nodded. “Yes. We more than speculate that they still do. That’s the real reason why we came here. Queen Theresa has sanctioned a full-out investigation following recent murders in Bay Haven; they are random and very suspicious in nature. We didn’t reveal this to anyone here until we were sure, understanding the sensitivity of the issue. So, we’re here, to compare notes, to see what we’re really dealing with.”

  “To compare notes to confirm their existence? Or compare notes on how to best deal with them?” Gregory’s heartbeat quickened.

  “I think I’ve already established my train of thought on this,” Kenneth answered.

  Gregory rubbed his face and murmured: “The truths.” He put his hands down on the desk and looked up at the tall officer. “But how do you really know that the incidences happening now are related to those of twenty years ago?”

  “With incidences you mean the vampires.”

  “Yes. Whatever.”

  Kenneth gave his comrades an inquisitive highbrow before turning a serious look onto Gregory. “How do you know that none of them survived?”

  “I was there, as you should know,” Gregory grumbled, looking down into his glass.

  “Yes, but a battle of that magnitude…anyone or anything could’ve slipped out.”

  “Believe me, no one made it out of that,” Gregory told him with such conviction he hoped it would penetrate through the young officer’s thick head.

  Kenneth Knight walked around the study in his own thoughts before he spoke to his men privately.

  Gregory poured one more drink as he waited.

  Kenneth turned back to Gregory. “Perhaps a group of cultists are amongst us or maybe we’re just dealing with copy-cats?”

  Gregory gulped down the rest of his drink and let go of a large exhale. “Are there marks on their necks?”

  Kenneth and his men glanced at each other before he answered. “Yes.”

  “Clean marks, unlike the ones caused by a ravenous wolf or other creature?”

  “Yes. Clean, precise incisions, indicating a certain level of intelligence of where the major veins were and drank blood in a manner unlike an animal.”

  “Which means,” Gregory sighed, “it was done by a human-like perpetrator. How long have these incidents been going on for?”

  Kenneth glanced at the dark-haired man next to him. “The first case was reported a month after your return from Empia. But the reports ceased almost immediately. Then, reports popped
up two months ago in Bay Haven, revealing that these murders are more out of necessity than desire.”

  Gregory frowned; his drinks doing nothing to ease his growing anxiety; it was like adding fuel to the flames, rather than dousing it with water.

  “Emperor Camlin Chaldean wants this resolved, the perpetrators eradicated permanently.” Kenneth pulled out the chair across from where Gregory sat at his desk, and watched as his strong form eased into the seat. He leaned forward. “So the best place to start is in the beginning. I- we want to know everything we can about this temple. And who better to ask than the man who has first-hand information.”

  Gregory got up, took his glass, and went to the cabinet, the men moving out of his way. He poured until the glass was full. He drank until it was empty.

  “The emperor? So you men aren’t really The Hand,” Gregory said, turning around to face them. “Since I am what I thought to be the only survivor, who else is talking? And what do you really think you can gain by going to that place?”

  Kenneth Knight expression remained stoic but Gregory could almost hear the gears grinding in the younger man’s head.

  “It’s your accent,” Gregory continued. “Someone who lives in Daigos long enough picks up that slight accent.”

  “I am the Commander of the Emperor’s High Guard. That is Commander Tristan of the Queen’s Guard. Next to me is the Emperor’s Chief Officer, Nolan, of the Daigos Law Enforcement, and the rest are his officers. I’m afraid we can’t reveal our source. Our main mission is to get to that temple and destroy it but we just can’t find it. Our secondary mission is to investigate these murders and if they link to the first, and detain or destroy them. Sorry for the secrecy, I just didn’t want anyone to know how serious this really is.”

  Gregory felt weak and sat back down. “I don’t know where the island is, and even if I was brought there again, I still wouldn’t know where on the island that temple is. And good for us: that place only brings death.”