Humanity 03 - Marksman Law Read online

  Humanity 03 - Marksman Law

  Humanity 03 - Marksman Law

  Midpoint

  About The Author

  Humanity – Interval 03 – Marksman Law

  By: Corrine Shroud

  ISBN 978-1-927134-49-8

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © Apl 2011, David Bowman

  Cover Art Copyright © Apl 2011, Brightling Spur

  Bluewood Publishing Ltd

  Christchurch, 8441, New Zealand

  www.bluewoodpublishing.com

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Bluewood Publishing Ltd.

  Special Note: This book contains UK Spellings.

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  Interval Three of HUMANITY

  Marksman Law

  “Mirage.”

  The voice calling her name was unfamiliar. She tried to open her eyes and couldn’t. They were heavy, like iron weights.

  “Come on, honey, you can do it.”

  A hand, dainty and soft, combed through her hair, fingertips grazing against her small horns. Mirage tried to open her eyes again and failed. It was so peaceful. She was being rocked gently, a loud rhythmic patter of water against metal lulling her back to her unnatural sleep…water against metal?

  Slowly, like the rising light of dawn, sensations began to assault her. The rocking lurched her forward, moving in such a way that she could feel the vibrations through the cold metal she lay on. Cold metal…Mirage’s throat caught. Where was she? Her hearing was the next sense to fully return to her, bringing the low thrum of a machine, a motor perhaps. A car? What had happened? She couldn’t remember anything. Mirage groaned, trying to clear her mind. Her head was heavy, like iron, and it was difficult for her to turn to the side. Her cheek laid flat against the thin sheet like cloth that covered the cold metal. What was going on?

  Something inside her knew she didn’t want to understand the circumstances that surrounded her, that the reason why her memories were so hesitant was because she was trying to protect herself from an unimaginable pain. A pain she wasn’t ready to face.

  “Mirage, get up.” There was more authority to the voice now. “Use that Child of the Dusk strength and wake up. We need to heal your mother and it isn’t safe for you to stay with us.”

  It was then she realized that her hands were clenching against smooth arms, her nails pressing into smooth, soft skin. She was holding something…a flash of white in red and black flames…she was holding her mother.

  Her memories came back in the form of raven flames and monsters in flight and she woke screaming, seeing the face hidden behind silver metal. “I’ll kill him!”

  The woman who’d been leaning over her backed away, her eyes wide. She wore a silk white coat, the Altruistics healing hands signet adorning her chest.

  “Mirage?”

  She forced her breathing under control and blinked away the after-images of her memories. “Where is he?”

  The Child of the Dawn backed away and put her hands up. Delicate blue lines wound her wrist, trailing to thin swirls on her fingertips. “Where is who? Mirage, honey, calm down. You need to listen to me. Please tell me what happened.”

  “Michael…he…” Mirage choked and shook her head. She had no way of knowing exactly what had happened…her memory blurred after hearing Michael’s voice from behind the cruel Nordic mask.

  The woman nodded sympathetically as she stepped closer. “My name’s Charity and I was the one who showed your mother around the Emissary hospital. I can sense disturbances and…” Charity hesitated, “…and the distress you felt was enough to be a beacon for us to follow. We found you holding your mother in some cinders. That was all that was left of your home.”

  Mirage cleared her voice. “I was alone?”

  “Yes, who else would have been with you?”

  Mirage shook her head. “They came for us.”

  “The Humanitarians.” Charity made the question a statement as she bent over to help Mirage sit up. She took the help gratefully, gaining comfort in the warm small hands that pressed on her shoulders. “Mirage, did you kill any humans?”

  “What was I supposed to do?” Mirage snapped. “They were trying to kill us!”

  “You don’t have to defend yourself to me, honey. I know how a Child of the Dusk thinks. You had a right to protect what you love, but that won’t make a difference to the humans.” Charity turned Mirage’s head with a finger beneath her chin. “You know that.”

  Mirage nodded, trying to swallow past the mass of fear constricting her throat. “I know.”

  Charity gave her a searching look before combing a hand through her hair. “Mirage, you need to let your mother go so I can take care of her.”

  Mirage stood and placed her mother on the stretcher she’d lain on. She had to fight the angry tears as she saw the grime and burns that marred her mother’s porcelain skin. The silver hair that Mirage often envied was dull, gray and lank and her mother’s blue swirls pulsated a weak cerulean as she attempted to heal herself. “Will she be okay?”

  “She’s badly hurt, but she’ll survive. It’ll take a lot of healing and a long recovery.”

  Mirage nodded again, blinking away tears. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  Charity paused in checking her mother’s pulse. “Honestly, Mirage? They’ll call the Marksman Law on you. They’ll have every right to kill you and any Child of Power you’re around on sight.”

  “Including my mother,” Mirage whispered.

  “Yes, including your mother.”

  Mirage closed her eyes and leaned against the wall of the moving van. “Where are you taking us?’

  “I’m taking your mother to the emissary hospital where she will be transferred to her Promised Lands tomorrow.” Charity gave her a look. “You were never here.”

  A few tears squeezed past her closed eyes. “Tell her not to look for me. If she gives it time, what’s left of our family cords will fade.”

  “She won’t be able to leave her Promised Lands for a while. She’s been through a lot.”

  “She couldn’t return because of me.”

  “Mirage, honey, it’s not your fault.”

  The runes on her skin began to glow a soft red as she opened her yes. The ambulance reflected her light back at her. “Yeah, it is.” Mirage’s voice shook slightly before she cleared it. “It’s more my fault than you realize.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat and focused on keeping her voice from cracking. “Tell her I love her.”

  “Mirage, what are you going to do?”

  “What can I do?” Her voice, both sad and angry, turned hard. “If I’m going to die, I know someone who’s going with me.”

  Charity moved forward and grabbed her arm, ignoring the glowing runes. “Don’t you dare go on a Shadowstart suicide run. You mother raised you better. Here.” She shoved a
sheet of paper into her hand. “He’s human, but he’ll help. He’s an Altruistic.”

  “You want me to just leave—to run from this?” Mirage gave a bitter laugh. “Where can I go? I’m a Forgotten One. I can’t go back to my Promised Lands. You Children of the Dawn may choose to leave your Promised Lands and play nice with the humans, but at least you can return when HUMANITY gets hot on your ass. Where do I go? What do I do?”

  “Please, Mirage. The Altruistics will take care of you.”

  “They’ve done a damn good job so far.” The glow from her arms brightened and Charity let her go. “Where were you when we were being attacked?”

  Mirage didn’t give her a chance to answer as she embraced her powers. They sung to her, a new tugging in the back of her mind that she couldn’t place. She ignored the annoying pull and wrapped her shadows around her, fading through the wall of the ambulance. She hit the road hard, knocking her breath away as she tumbled along the empty road.

  “Shit,” she grumbled as she raised her head to watch the ambulance drive away. They’d been driving slowly, but now they were speeding up, their sirens beginning to sound. Mirage sat up, looking at the scrapes across her arms. She concentrated and the diamonds on her hands flickered a weak blue. After a moment, the scrapes healed.

  Mirage stood, taking in her surroundings. She only vaguely recognized the area. Her mother had driven through it to get to their home. Mirage hugged herself to keep from trembling. Rain dripped down her forehead, soaking through her ragged pajamas.

  “What do I do now?” Mirage whispered. She was surrounded by beautiful homes and sweeping yards and she had never felt so…tired. So betrayed. Mirage shook her head. She would not think of that. It would go into her mental bag of painful memories. A friend’s voice mingled with the roar of flames. She sighed. Her bag was getting full.

  “So what do I do now?” Mirage repeated, this time angry. There was no answer and Mirage stood, letting the rain fall.

  * * * *

  He was soaked. That was the first thing Michal realized. The second was—he was alive. It didn’t take long for his memories to flood him and his eyes flew open. He was welcomed back to consciousness with a peal of angry thunder. Michael yelled hoarsely, doubling over and clutching his stomach.

  There was something trying to claw through him.

  Michael tore his mask from his face so he could breathe easier and rain instantly pelted his face, his lank, dripping hair falling against his eyes. Something churned inside him. He could feel the incorporeal claws against the inside of his abdomen, like something stretching ragged wings for flight.

  Michael was alone but he knew it wouldn’t be long until the police came. He needed to leave. After a moment he tried to sit up but pain lanced through his body, doubling him over again.

  He could feel the pressure in the back of his mind, heavy with loneliness and pain. Michael shook his head with a growl as he leaned back. He could hear the siren now, moving further away. The sound was a different tone, a higher pitch that signaled it was from the Emissary hospital. Was Mirage on that ambulance? Had she been hurt, perhaps even killed? Somehow, his heart told him no. Perhaps he was in more danger than the police offered right now.

  Michael focused on getting away, pushing the squirming pain aside. If Wayne had taught him one thing, it was how to ignore pain. He tried to stand again and finally succeeded, grabbing his mask from the ground and putting it back on his face. The metal was slick and cold against his skin. His weapons were still strapped to him, his gun a few feet from where he’d fallen. He began to walk, skirting past the larger part of the rubble. A hand stuck out from the pile of charred wood, but it was still and stiff. Michael knew dead when he saw it. Mirage had managed to kill five Humanitarians with her home and the Shades’ help.

  Michael walked past them without a second glance.

  Her sixth murder was sprawled across the ground, her eyes open wide. The blow from the tree had broken her sapphire mask to where only half of it still remained on her face. The rain had soaked through Ms. Wanderson’s clothing, making her a second skin that hid nothing, her perfect corkscrew curls now twirled wet clumps. Derrick was gone. His father must have helped him before running with who was left of the Humanitarians. What had his son, the Monarch-to-be, been? Nothing when faced with the police and an angry Child of Power. No honor amongst thieves and murderers.

  Michael gave himself a mental assessment. Was he hurt? Surprisingly, no. There was a lingering presence in the back of his mind and he could still feel an awful churning in his stomach, but there were no physical injuries. His last memory was of the Shades encircling him—of the powerful glow that hadn’t been Mirage in her eyes.

  I hear his blood’s melody. What had she meant when she’d said that? He didn’t understand what had happened.

  Michael pulled his phone out and dialed his father’s cell. Wayne answered it after the fifth ring, but like usual he didn’t say anything, waiting for Michael to speak.

  “I survived and I’m unharmed. Status on the others?”

  “The Dark Child killed Taylur, his two sons and his wife and Mullins, along with Wanderson.”

  “Derrick?”

  “The doctors are working on him now. A cracked skull and his back is badly injured.”

  “I’m making my way back home. I have no need of a doctor.”

  “Don’t get caught. The police are out for blood.” The first time his father’s voice had had any inflection. Michael could imagine the sadistic smile twisting his face. “They’ve already called the Marksman Law. It’ll make your job both easier and harder.”

  Michael ducked behind one of the neighbor’s bushes as the first hospital ambulances made it to the ruins of Mirage’s home. He knew the police would follow within minutes. “My job?”

  “Boy, the Dark Child dishonored you. You will be the one to kill her. You don’t have to hide away in a mask, though. With the Marksman Law on her head, you can do HUMANITY proud in plain public view.”

  Michael grimaced. “The Altruistics will be all over this.”

  “Let me deal with the Altruistics. Perhaps it’s time for us to be more open.”

  “What do you—?” Michael sighed as his father hung up. He put his phone into his soaked pocket and untangled himself from the bushes. After making sure no one had seen him, he removed his mask and began to sprint down the road. His home wasn’t far. If the police didn’t see him, he would get there without problems.

  Everything was such a blur for him. He could remember something about snow in the fire. Mirage had been cradling something delicate and innocent. Her mother. Michael swallowed as he continued his quick pace down the road. It wasn’t his fault her mother had been Illuminitican. He didn’t like killing the Day Spawn. They were little more than children in his eyes.

  Mirage’s haunted eyes lingered in his mind, and he couldn’t get rid of them. Their tortured expression kept replaying. He remembered the pain that had crumpled into rage. His eyes still had the after image of the red that had been beyond scarlet—an impossible hue that he’d never forget.

  Michael shook his head, pausing long enough to catch his breath and to wipe the rain from his eyes. Why did it bother him so much? He’d come to kill Mirage and he couldn’t. He’d had the chance and he’d hesitated. God, it made him sick. Six Humanitarians were dead because he couldn’t pull a trigger. It was almost like he’d chosen the Dark Child over his own race.

  If Michael had needed any more proof of how inhuman she was, then the Shades had done it. The incorporeal monsters were her ancestors, the protectors of her Tribe. Any creature that had those as ancestors couldn’t be less human. He could still feel their wings brush against him, burning with their raven flames.

  His insides churned a mocking reminder as he remembered them going inside of him. He was tainted by Mirage’s power. There was something inside of him. He could feel it, as if the Shades had never left, and perhaps they hadn’t. Michael shook his head again, rega
ining his momentum enough to run. There was no pacing himself now. He allowed his fear to overtake him and he ran faster than he’d ever run in his life.

  There was nothing to run from, though. The danger was inside him now. He could feel the echoes of power mocking him. The last words that had been spoken through Mirage had meant something to him. He knew that she had not said those words; he’d understood her ancient language like it had been English. Had the Shades spoken through her?

  That didn’t make sense. The Shades had answered the echoing voice with words of their own. They’d sounded nothing like Mirage. Their voices had been cold and sardonic. So who had spoken? Michael didn’t know, and that terrified him. What had she done to him?

  Michael collapsed at his doorstep, dropping to his knees as his chest heaved. His stomach churned again and something moved.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered. He knew his mind wasn’t only his anymore. He could feel something in the back of his conscience. He’d tried to ignore it, but the loneliness and pain had been what had woken him to begin with. Michael fished his fingers through his hair and gave a hoarse yell that was masked by the echoing crack from the sky above. What had been the last words she’d spoken to him?

  Bring peace, Parlinn, and learn from the past’s echo your sins.

  * * * *

  Mirage knocked on the door, stealing furtive glances around the dark homes. It was early in the morning, the darkest part of the night before the dawn, and the homes around her lacked signs of conscious life. It was a small blessing for her. Mirage had had problems finding her way to the address Charity had provided. The police cars had come out to search for her in droves. She’d spent her night avoiding the search parties, suppressing shivers as humans passed eerily close to where she was hiding. She’d found out that guns glinted beneath a lamp’s light. The mobs didn’t need torches in this modern world.