Reapers -- The First Familiar (Reapers Chronicles Book II)

14 - Captured

Vincent pulled me closer to him, putting a finger in front of his lips. With his number thirteen mark still glowing a dim red, he flicked his right hand, holding it high up. The air around it crackled with miniature reddish lightning. Smoke began to waft from his skin. Several agonizing seconds flew. But no scythe materialized in his hand.

Seemingly incredulous at the failure to summon his scythe, Vincent tried again. This time, the weak glow from his mark flickered until the light disappeared altogether.

I heard him curse in an undertone, resorting to his Cataclyst instead. He let go of my hand and focused intensely on summoning it. The vein on his forehead bulged, his whole body shaking with the strain. I could hear his ragged breaths; see the mixture of frustration and bewilderment on his face as he stared questioningly at his still empty hands. Again, nothing happened.

It was impulse that made me pick up a large chunk of stone from the ground. That told me to position myself in front of my master. At my current state, there was no assurance that I could fight back whoever had found us. Vincent was in no better condition either. Without our weapons we were practically defenseless.

The second option was to jump off the cliff right behind us. As of the moment, that didn’t look very enticing. The huge waves would crush us if we wouldn’t get skewered on the jagged rocks at the bottom of the peak first. Either way, we would both end up dead.

I could see two hulking figures in the shadows, taking the lead. Before showing themselves in the open, they pushed a man forward. Clad in an ill-fitting cloak that was sloppily wrapped around his hunched shoulders, he stumbled in front of us, hugging himself. His red bushy hair stuck in all directions, nearly covering his face. He must be in his early thirties, with prominent jaws overrun by a pair of unkempt sideburns.

“Aye,” said the man with a thick Scottish accent. “This is where I have left them.” He gave me a remorseful look before casting his eyes downward as if in shame. His voice was gruff, almost coming out as a growl as he said, “Forgive me, Aramis. I’ve been caught, it seems.”

Perplexed, I ogled at the stranger, wondering how he knew my name. I struggled to recall where or when I must’ve met him but found nothing useful. Must be another one of Cairo’s cronies. Though, I didn’t see why he had to apologize for turning us in.

Another guy in a midnight blue hooded cloak emerged from the dark. He must be around six feet, maybe more. With a medium sinewy built, he could’ve passed for a model. There was an air of confidence in his strides as he approached us.

“Stop right there!” I warned, clutching tightly on Vincent’s arm.

As if he hadn’t heard me, the man didn’t even pause. He kept coming near us at a leisurely pace. Deliberately, he stepped into the light and pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing a refined angular face, his skin having the slightest tint of grey. Stern slanted eyes the color of aquamarines gazed back at me as I faced him. His long black hair—so extraordinarily dark it was almost blue—was braided down to his back. Beneath his cloak, he wore what looked to me like some sort of chest armor made of veined turquoise. All in all, he looked like a knight from one of those online RPGs Carter used to play in Christmas break. The strange thing was he didn’t have any weapon with him.

“Intruders,” the man in the armor called out to us, his leveled voice having that diplomatic kind of feel. “Raise your arms where I can see them.”

Taking a quick glimpse over my shoulder, I backed away from them, noting the two-feet gap between my heels and the edge of the cliff. I tugged on Vincent’s arm and turned to him for instructions. Throwing a warning look at me, Vincent shook his head gently.