Story Fourteen: Winter Raven's Eye

Nathaniel Dane stopped the van and put it into park, taking care to set the emergency brake. He sat in the van, the engine quiet, the radio dead. Without a glance anywhere but straight ahead, looking into the blustery winterland, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the steering wheel: dropping his chin on his arms. He patiently waited for the midnight sun to drop below the horizon; he watched as the last light rays licked across the ground, as if they reaching out towards him desperately: highlighting the falling snowflakes as they fell behind the horizon, and inevitably night descended upon the cold earth.

Nathan exhaled; even inside the van he could see his breath. As he straightened, he turned up the collar of his thick, black winter jacket. Reaching down, his hand moved to the door handle and pulled it up. He swung his legs around and leapt down to the ground. As he walked around to the back of the truck, his feet softly crunched the snow beneath. The van was a plain, white unmarked vehicle: the kind with no side or rear windows. With one last look, to make sure both that he was alone, and that the sun had fully set, he opened the rear doors.

There were various boxes and duffle bags in the rear of the vehicle, all placed neat and orderly, but only one interested Nathaniel right then. The mage crawled into the back of the van, and knelt next to the biggest box. It was perhaps six feet long, and constructed out of a silvery metal. It rested on black rubber strips, and was secured by thick black straps. Nathan undid each one of the straps slowly and meticulously. After he heard the last latch click, he opened it cautiously. Inside, an unnaturally dark-skinned man blinked. Looking calmly at Nathan, he sat up, running his hands through his smooth, black ponytail. Nathan backed up as the man held out his arms, stretching.

"I take it we're there?" the other man asked.

"Yes," Nathan answered, stepping out of the van, and turning into the wind: letting it run through his short, dark hair.

"Excellent." The dark-skinned man crawled out of the box; Nathan could see that the box was perfectly shaped and padded, made to hold a man. The other man's name was Blade. Once had once been known as Alphonse Montoya, but that man was all but gone; Nathan certainly did not know that, and Blade had all but forgotten it. In Montoya's place was a partially amnesiac Kindred. Not only was he a recent addition to the Kindred ranks, but he was an Assamite, a reborn killer. That was why he had been sent with Nathan.

Nathan had been told by Leander that Blade was an arrogant ex-teammate of he and the other Harbingers, who had ultimately betrayed them. The power and ability that he had thought he had possessed in mortal life was now his. Luckily for his ex-teammates, and for most of the people around him, the Prince of Detroit, who had personally overseen his embrace, had made sure to carefully sculpt his memories and personality to best fit the role that Blade had needed to fill: thus creating a loyal, dutiful soldier.

Nathan leaned back into the van and pulled one of the larger duffel bags towards him, tugging it over another box, as Blade stepped out of the van and stretched. Nate unzipped the bag and pulled out a pair of binoculars. Walking away from the van a little, he began to scan the horizon. Normally, the dark would have prevented them from serving any purpose, however Nate's were not a regular pair of binoculars, they had been built to see the infrared spectrum. He saw no signs of life or movement.

"See anything?" Blade asked.

"No. I made sure to stop outside of the proper radius."

"Good." Blade had also opened one of the duffel bags. He was starting to step into a white jump suit which he had pulled out of the bag. Looking at the suit, Blade admired how well it merged into the white snow on the ground below him. With his own Kindred powers, he had little need for such an outfit, but Nathan had insisted. He had to admit, this would be an excellent challenge. Blade strapped twin knives around his waist, on the outside of his jumpsuit. The belt and scabbards were white also and the hilts had been taped the same color. Inside of the jumpsuit he holstered a pistol. Blade disliked guns, preferring the brutal elegance of a blade, but nonetheless, he knew it never hurt to have backup. The enemy that attacked from twenty feet above you or from fifty yards away could do much to end your unlife before you could reach him with a knife.

As Nate turned back to the van, he handed Blade the binoculars, as the Kindred moved away from the vehicle. Blade set the lenses before his hard, high cut face; his dark features were once what he considered handsome: now any such vanity had long since ebbed. Watching guard while his teammate prepared, knowing that nothing should show up would have once bored him, and he would have neglected his duty with little remorse. Now Blade did not get bored; now he saw the wisdom in such vigilance and had the patience to endure it. While one hand held up the binoculars, the other unconsciously fingered his chest, where below the jumpsuit, he had a torso-sized tattoo of a snake crawling up his chest; he couldn't remember exactly why he had got it, but he knew that since it had been there before his embrace, it would be with him forever.

Having already pulled on his own jumpsuit, Nate pushed back the large duffel bag, an opened the case that he had pulled the bag over. Inside were two pistols, two holsters, and several extra clips. Like Blade's knife scabbards, both the weapons and the holsters were taped white. Nate pulled out the smaller gun and its holster first. He strapped the Walther PPK to his waist. The larger gun, a Desert Eagle, he strapped over his shoulder. He made sure to put two extra clips per gun on his belt, then he shut the case and re-latched it. Reaching back towards the duffel bag again, he pulled out a long combat knife in a scabbard, which he strapped over his boot; it too was white. He placed all of the weapons over the white jumpsuit.

Leander had contacted Nathan a week ago about the job. Nate, willing to take a break from his own cabal, just to test his individual abilities again, was all too eager to do it. He had flown into Detroit from L.A. the next day, and had met Blade that night. Leander and Krayvis, the kindred prince of Detroit, wanted the two to work together, in the hope of fostering mage/Kindred cooperation. It did not hurt the image of the alliance that they were going to recover an artifact for the Garou either. Stands-Against-The-Wind, the Garou chieftain outside of Detroit, had seen the location of the object in his dreams, yet the Raven spirit told him that no Garou could ever recover if from where it was.

Blade and Nate had driven north past Detroit into Canada and had driven several hours further north, almost to James Bay. Blade had mostly been along for the ride, since he had slept while the sun was still up. They had wanted to make sure that they had as much time as possible for the mission itself, so they had planned their arrival right at nightfall.

As Nate pulled tight the last of his gear, making sure that all of his belts and straps were hugging his body, with no extra slack, he shivered in the cold night air. Blade could not feel the cold like humans did, but his joints froze up just as quick, if not quicker, due to his lack of a steady blood flow. As if he knew what he would feel if he was still human, Blade turned and looked at Nathan, if not sympathetically, at least in understanding.

All the two knew about the mission was that the object they were there to recover was in the heart of a Nephandi labyrinth. From the way the old Garou had described it, Nate felt as if he and Blade were destined to recover the artifact. Blade had been less idealistic, but just as optimistic.

"Are you all set to go?" Nate asked, pulling goggles over his eyes.

"Yes," Blade answered, standing stiff in the pale moonlight, apparently melting into the foreground, his white outfit blurring with his surroundings in the dim light. "Are we keeping to the same plan?"

"Yes," Nate said. "You use your powers to keep silent and unseen and I'll use my magick to turn my skin white, so I blend in even more. But we'll both move in as if they can see us, that way, we're double safe."

"So you still insist on crawling forward on our bellies, when we could just walk up?"

"Blade," Nate said. "If this was going to be that easy, they wouldn't have needed us. Besides, they might have magick that can pierce your obfuscate or my magicakal camouflage, so why take chances?"

"I suppose this is the prudent option."

"Yeah," Nathan said, closing the rear van doors.

"Okay," Blade said as he pulled up his goggles.

 

*       *       *

 

Tim Warner looked at the security cameras. It was only Johnson buzzing the door to be let in. Now what? Did he have to go the bathroom again? Annoyed, the man hit the switch to unlock the door, letting his friend come in. Looking up from his desk, Warner shook his head at Johnson.

"What's with you, today?" He asked.

Johnson shrugged, brushing off his white outfit. He coughed, covering his mouth with his hand, then muttered, "Found this outside."

Warner's eyes narrowed as he looked down at a metallic black wedge. "What is this?"

Johnson shrugged again.

"Let me see that," Warner said, reaching out for the piece of metal. Warner glanced curiously at Johnson, who was looking at the floor. As soon as his hands caught hold of it, he felt a prick on his forearm. He darted his gaze at Johnson, who was staring at him now, emotionless. Looking down, Warner saw the man's fingernail embedded into his arm, only the nail was several inches long. Before he knew what was happening, a dull tingle took over his body and he was unable to move. His limbs where totally paralyzed. His heart began to race and his breathing was unable to keep up with his panic, as he continued to stare at the man he thought was his friend: not moving, not evoking any emotion whatsoever.

Then, suddenly, a sharp pain sliced across his throat and he began to wheeze. It became harder to breathe as he started to gasp, as all of his being wanted to reach up and cradle his throat, but he could not; he could not move at all. Perhaps best for him, was that he could not see his throat, nor the blood pouring out of it. The trail ran all the way down to the floor, where it began to pool.

Johnson's face faded into Nathan's face. He dropped the metal fragment, and retracted his nail back into his hand, and put his glove back on. He had been lucky; the man stationed outside had been dressed similarly to himself. Nate supposed that they had wanted their guard to be invisible. It was a good thought. Yet now, inside, Nate looked out of place.

"It would have been nice to have kept his outfit," Nate said, gesturing towards the still unmoving, wheezing, Warner.

A cold voice rang out from behind him. "Sorry. I'm already full with blood and it was the most efficient way I knew."

"Fair enough."

"Besides, instead of changing into this man, you can keep your original cover identity," Blade's disembodied voice said.

"Okay. But then you'll have to clean him up, so I don't get blood all over my white suit."

Without an answer, Nathan saw one of the doors to the desk open. There was a large space underneath there, like under a sink, and the body seemingly collapsed itself and folded itself into that space.

"Now what?" Blade asked, still invisible. "Can you use your magick to see through the compound?"

"I'd rather not. They might detect the magick use."

 

*       *       *

 

Deep inside the labyrinth, Lillian Worchewski looked into the Raven's Eye. The artifact showed her the intruders in her outer sanctum. Yes, they showed her that this was not Johnson, and it certainly showed her the 'invisible' leech. Lillian reached back and scratched Nigel gently with her long nails. On the other side of the black satin sheets, Nigel Munson rolled over. Propping himself on one elbow, he looked into the artifact with Lillian.

"Intruders, eh?"

"Yes."

"Want me to take care of them?"

"Yes," Lillian drawled.

"The hard way or the soft way?"

"The hard way."

"These souls must not stand in our way," she said, her eyes lost in the Raven’s Eye.

Nigel looked over at her vacant, dark eyes. "I'll alert the others."

 

*       *       *

 

Blade, not bothering to hide himself any more, ducked and deked, slicing one enemy, then feinting towards another, before rolling and sliding up and into a third with a powerful thrust of his blade. He immediately turned and parried another attack with one hand, as he pulled his other arm out of his last victim.

Nathan, his white outfit covered in blood, fired both his Desert Eagle and the smaller PPK rapidly. In his mind's eye, his knowledge of Correspondence and Entropy were creating targeting grids for him, helping him eliminate each Nephandi that came howling towards him, all the while warning him when they approached from behind. Sensing everything around him, he performed machine-like killing with as cold of efficiency as Blade, turning from target to target, calm and professional, never missing a shot or an attack aimed in his direction.

Dead Nephandi lay at their feet, yet still more kept coming. They must have stumbled onto a larger labyrinth than they had thought. Despite their proficiency, they had their limits. Even if Nathan and Blade never missed their targets once, what happened when they had more targets than bullets or limbs to attack with?

 

*       *       *

 

Nigel came back to Lillian, his clothes torn, a deep cut across his chest; his breath came ragged and his hair was tussled and wild. His eyes darted in on her calm figure, still lying on the satin sheets, the Raven's Eye between her legs.

"They're killing us! They're much more formidable than we thought."

"I see," Lillian said thoughtfully.

"What do you want us to do?"

"Why, kill them, of course."

"Lillian, get serious here."

Lillian looked up at Nigel, scrutinizing him intensely. "You're not really Nigel," she said. "You're that other man. The shapechanger."

"What are you talking about?" he said, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the still open door.

"I see his face under yours. You are him. Nigel must be dead."

"Are you fucking crazy? We're getting killed out there and you question me of all people?"

Thoughtlessly, Lillian lifted her finger and a black lightning bolt jumped out of it, careening into Nigel's torso, slicing through his wound, and tearing him open. His chest smoked, emitting a dark grey haze, as he fell to the ground, his flesh charred, his life ended. Lillian barely even looked up as she did it.

Then, through the door, Nathan walked, both pistols holstered, blood all over his clothes: not all of it his enemies'. His face was cut with five separate lines down his left cheek and bleeding; his jumpsuit was torn open. "You see," he said, "we knew that you might be able to see through us."

"You! How is that possible?" Lillian said, sitting up.

"I put my face over his own, and then recoated it with his, while Blade engaged him. Then, what a shame, he escaped. That made him an easy target for you."

"But --"

"And now you're too busy talking to me, when you should be asking your artifact where the footsteps are, where the man you can't see or hear is."

She quickly darted her hands and head back towards the Raven's Eye, looking to see the truth, but it was too late. Invisible hands gripped her, their grip hard as steel. Then with a painful rush of ecstasy, she felt her arm lifted up and it was all she could do to not give in. Yet in her fading moments, her only benefice was that she was able to see the undead soul above her, stealing her away: sending her at last to her dark masters. There were worse ways to go, she figured.

By the time that Blade had finished drinking from her and had set her lifeless form down, Nathan had put his hands on the Raven's Eyes, holding it before him. Reality seemed to hiccup. The two of them blinked as if they were both hallucinating, shaking their heads, but they were not. What started as the image of a raven inside the fist-sized orb, grew larger and larger, until it flew up out of the orb and circled above them, perching impossibly on the small orb itself, which was sitting in a tripedal stand.

Thank you, the Raven said. You have taken me from the clutches of evil. While they did not possess me, they possessed my sacred gift and polluted its once holy purpose. They turned all that was good in my everlasting artifact into a perverted relic of death and destruction. I thank you both for overcoming your own biases and conflicts and working together to bring me back to my chosen ones. I led them through the dreamworld, and they led you here. And now you shall return me. You have my thanks.

With that, the thing flew up around and over their heads, before flying back into the orb. Blade and Nate just looked at each other. Nate tucked the orb securely into one of his pouches, placing the stand in another. He glanced at Blade with a weak smile.

"I don't know about you, Blade," Nate said. "But I feel good. This was right. We did something that matters today."

Blade, wiping the blood off of his blades before putting them away, looked at Nate momentarily, before turning his attention back to his weapons. He paused and flicked his eyes up momentarily. "Yes."

Nate shook his head with a smile, unconsciously putting his hand to the cuts on his face. "Let's get out of here."

 

*       *       *

 

EPILOGUE

High above the Nephandi labyrinth, in a barren tree, a small, black raven sat next to a regal white bird, which except for its color, did not look all too different. The white one twisted its head to look at his darker compatriot, shuffling its small, spindly legs.

"I told you," it said in a low, hushed tone. "There was no need to fly here all the way from Chicago. The Raven's Eye was safe in their hands."

"How many Corax do you know that would trust a Verbena and an Assamite to return such an important artifact safely?"

"So trust is the issue, Raven, not their capability?"

"Well, frankly, I doubted that too, Kenneth. Besides, they’re not back with it yet."

The white bird looked back at the compound below them and watched two dim figures leaving the building, walking out almost casually. Still looking down, he said, "Yet you cannot deny the presence and good will of Raven himself."

"No," the black bird said, also watching the two men below her.

"Good."

The wind began to pick up and both birds had to hold tighter to the branch they were perched on. In calm silence, the black and white raven watched the two figures below them walk nearly a mile in the blistering snow, making their way back to their white van. When they finally arrived back there, the two men opened the rear doors to the van and were there for a few minutes before walking back around to the two front doors and climbing in; seconds later, headlights snapped on and the chained tires were rolling across the landscape.

Without any further discourse, the two birds looked at each other knowingly and flew away into the night.