Chapter 51 #4
He offered me a half smile and a wink. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the moment Zion looked at Serguei, saw him open his mouth to say something cruel.
I kicked him under the table—hard enough to make the silverware rattle.
Serguei seemed to notice but was wise enough to pretend to be oblivious to our silent exchange.
“We’ve placed the patient in a containment block,” Serguei said, directing his words at Zion. “No one besides Kyller and Kiara sensed anything strange, but I think it’s better to be safe.”
“Good,” Zion replied, then shot me a frown, as if baffled by my unexpected attack. I frowned at both of them and set my fork on my empty plate.
“You’re talking about the unconscious patient? What does Kiara have to do with him?”
Serguei nodded and stood to collect our silverware.
“You didn’t tell her, Zion?” He smiled at my partner, who just shot him a cutting look. “Oh, that’s right! There wasn’t time to tell her while she was using your chest for target practice.”
I rolled my eyes for the hundredth time that night and fought the urge to make a childish gesture at both of them.
“What happened?”
He set the plates at the corner of the table and returned to his seat.
“When Kiara left Kaori’s room, she felt drawn to the basement and said she heard someone calling her. Zion found her sitting outside the patient’s door, and the archemic globe was blinking. When he questioned her, she seemed confused and said she’d heard a voice she recognized.”
A shiver ran through me from head to toe as I remembered the hallway and the apparition. Serguei and Zion noticed—they both straightened, looking... protective.
“She said she recognized the voice? But how is that possible? The soldier was in Yonser for over fifty years—there’s no way she could know him.”
— Another mystery without answers. And as you know, I love unraveling a mystery.
Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I still woke up terrified by memories of that day. When that happened, the darkness came alive around me, bringing back the glowing eyes and the icy touch. Serguei continued:
“The whole thing intrigued me enough to keep researching him. And this week, I found something really interesting.”
That piqued my curiosity.
“What exactly?”
He stood up and walked to the wall of books, then pulled out a large volume and returned to his seat, dropping it in front of me. I examined the white tome and realized it looked more like a diary than a book.
“‘Essay on Neurological Diseases, by Frederic Bounat.’” I read the title aloud and looked up at him, eyes wide. “What is this? I have the entire collection of these books, but they’re nothing like this one.”
“That’s because this was the draft of what would become the greatest encyclopedia of neurological medicine.
Frederic Bounat was the elmedic who created the books, but before the collection came together, he kept a personal diary.
He cataloged every type of disease he encountered in his 800-year career.
However, some of them didn’t make it into the collection due to insufficient data, or because he’d only seen them once. ”
There were no page numbers on the tome in my hands, but judging by its thickness and weight, it easily had two thousand pages. I flipped through a few and found a jumble of drawings and notes.
“Good heavens! Where did you find this?”
The book appeared to be an original; even the ink smudges Frederic had made remained intact. It must have cost a fortune.
“The only good part about being a pillar is that I have unlimited access to the royal library. There’s every kind of rare book there, and to make the search easier, I entered the librarian’s mind and sifted through her memories, since she’s required to read every item in the place.
I found it in the neuropsychology section—it was incredibly easy. ”
That book was a relic. I’d already devoured the entire collection, but this one was special in a way that made my heart race.
“Did you discover what kind of disease afflicted him? Has Frederic seen this kind of thing before?”
“Open the book where I left the bookmark and read.”
I did as he asked, and the first thing I saw was a symbol drawn in pencil. It was the same image engraved on the patient’s chest and on the cover of the Book of the Gods. My eyes scanned the few notes just below, and I read aloud so Zion could hear.
Disorder number 164: unknown neurological disease, etiology still unknown.
Symptoms: deep coma without need for respiratory equipment.
Stable vital signs. The patient is psychically blocked, and all attempts to contact his mind have failed.
Family members reported that he went on a trip outside the city to collect medicinal plants and was found unconscious after a storm.
They also reported that the man had no symbols tattooed on his body, so the image depicted above was made during his trip.
The patient is under observation, but sixteen days have passed. We await a change in his condition.
The notes were interrupted by more drawings of symbols, and this time, he illustrated where the mark was located. Unlike our patient’s, this one was on the back. After the illustrations, there was one more note:
After thirty days, the patient woke up with no memory of what happened in the forest. Presents abnormal and violent behavior. Does not recognize family members. Physical health is good, but we need more data to understand how the disease affected his mind.
Another pause with more drawings. Finally, one last note:
Ten days after waking, the patient took part in a battle and died from an arrow wound to the heart. The study of this disease is hereby closed due to lack of information.
At the end was the man’s personal data. His name was written in a scrawl: Rosnir D’mit. I frowned at Serguei.
“Rosnir? The patient with the mark was Rosnir, the hero of the Great War?”
“That’s what it says! I was surprised too!”
“By the gods! So this is the second time this disease has appeared.”
“I believe so, because it’s the only report I found, but that leads me to another question. Are we really dealing with a disease?”
“According to the book, yes! The mark on his chest is the same as Rosnir’s.” I pointed to the sketch on the page, showing it to both men.
“Yes, I don’t question the similarity—they both present the same symptoms. But what if it wasn’t a disease? What if they were attacked by some different, unknown power?”
Serguei had a very good point.
“Did any descendant display powers like that back when you were in Drutes?” Zion asked.
“Define ‘different.’” Serguei flashed a teasing smile.
“All our powers are different—look at your own gift. Only you have control over shadows. However, aside from psychics, I don’t remember anyone with a gift that would leave a person in a coma with their mind blocked or destroyed.
Much less a power that would leave a mark like that. ”
“And once again we’re back to square one,” Zion murmured, staring at me. I nodded in agreement, feeling powerless.
“All we can do is wait for him to wake up,” Serguei concluded, looking disinterested again. “At least now he’s contained. Whether it’s a disease or a curse, he’s locked in the basement behind a thick barrier.”
That was a huge relief. I had no idea why no one had thought to put him in containment sooner. It should have been the first thing they did when he arrived, but because he was from Interion and badly injured, they hadn’t bothered.
A yawn caught me off guard, and when I glanced at my watch, it was almost midnight.
“Okay, everyone. This has been great, but I’m tired.” I got up and went to the sofa to grab the black book, placing it in front of the psychic. “Can you open it for me?”
He looked at me, a bit uncertain, then turned to the general.
“Swear you won’t take the opportunity to attack me,” Serguei said to Zion.
“I wouldn’t stoop that low,” Zion huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Swear it! Or I won’t open the book,” the psychic demanded, crossing his arms over his chest too.
“No,” Zion replied, determined.
“So you’re saying you would attack me?” Serguei narrowed his eyes at my partner.
“Afraid you can’t handle me without your powers?” Zion asked, full of himself.
“No. I’m afraid you’ll think you can beat me and I’ll be forced to ruin my lovely party by kicking your ass out the door.”
Zion laughed scornfully.
“I’d like to see you try, but I already said I wouldn’t stoop that low. If I wanted a fight, I’d pick a time when you were at full strength, so you couldn’t cry about it being unfair afterward, old man.”
Serguei narrowed his eyes at Zion. A wrinkle formed on his forehead, and I was pretty sure it was because of the nickname.
“Then why won’t you swear?”
“Because you’re going to have to trust me.” Zion smiled cynically.
I knew he was only doing this to irritate his father. Serguei didn’t even trust his own mind. They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, I cleared my throat.
“When are the two children—I mean, the two adults—going to stop growling at each other like puppies? Zion won’t attack, Serguei. Just open the book and we can go home.”
His expression was focused. He didn’t seem willing to give in, and I was getting tired.
“You said you’d open it,” I grumbled, pouting.
“I did, but I hadn’t considered this angle. I won’t open it until he promises.”
I clicked my tongue in disapproval. By the gods, this was exhausting. I didn’t want to ask that of Zion, didn’t want to speak directly to him. We stared at each other as the pride and stubbornness in our veins waged their own battle.
“I swear.” I heard Zion give in sullenly.
Serguei smiled and placed his palm on the book. The cover glowed with a black light, not red like mine.
“Thank you,” I whispered, picking up the book. Zion walked toward me, but before he could touch me, I moved toward Serguei. The man gave me a suspicious look as I approached.