Chapter 20: Two Shadows; One Dark, Grey World

“Knowing your enemies before you face them is always the smartest choice.”

Excerpts from the Diaries of Panpar

∞

“Come out, Isolem!” Whitney shouted into the darkness. She could sense his presence. His shadow was close, not far in front of her. His mind in the same place hers, but they weren’t alone. Little John’s shadow was close to Isolem’s, but Erik’s wasn’t far away. There wasn’t an ounce of light within this part of the grey. Isolem was smart to hide himself so deep. Without Kat’s help, Whitney would never have been able to find him.

“If it isn’t little miss ‘screw everybody’s life up!” his voice called out. “Little miss make everything worse!”

“Can it Treff,” Whitney said, “I have no more room for guilt.”

“Oh, no?” Isolem asked, “Will you still feel that way when your friends die? They will die you know. I have foreseen it. I see a lot of things from within these dark clouds.”

He was trying to distract her. She could sense his shadow moving; inching its way closer, making himself available to strike. Whitney was hopeful he would gather the nerve. She was ready.

“So have you accepted who you really are? Jo-Laina. Leader of the Prim! Mercenary against the weak! Killer! Consumer of souls!” he spat.

“Come a little closer and find out,” she said, but her thoughts stuck to the idea that Little John was so close by. And Erik. His shadow loomed in the distance but not so far that he couldn’t be there quickly.

“I’m not the same as I used to be, Prim. I’m not so weak anymore ... thanks to you!” he finished slowly.

Isolem was almost close enough. He was still moving in. He was silent, but she didn’t need to hear him. Her eyes closed and his shadow was clear. A few more inches and she could draw her swords. She could end...

She expected him to use his tail. She wanted him to try to harvest her as he had done in Nethermore, but he didn’t. A large mental fist sent her flying through the grey, casting her through the air as a beggar tossing an empty bottle. She landed far from where Isolem was and his laughter followed. Erik covered her mouth with his hand and breathed a barely audible whisper into her ear. “Keep him distracted.” He pressed something hard into her forehead for a moment and watched as he first showed her the black stone, a black circle in a grey world, then placing it into his mouth, swallowing deeply, like a child gorging on a treat. His shadow changed and he was available to her. She immediately wrapped around his mind and entered it.

“Don’t be a stranger, Prim. Come and visit any time,” he laughed a mocking laugh. “But hurry! Your sister doesn’t have much time left, and if I can harvest a Prim ... especially one with blood from the grey? Mmmm. I can’t wait.”

“So ready to get rid of me, Treff,” she asked. “I just got here.” Whitney got to her feet and slowly sidestepped toward him. The misty grey air filled with the sound of her swords, leaving their scabbards.

“You can’t be serious, little lady,” he said. “What good do you think swords will do against me now? Hmm?”

She thought about the dream she had about the Argimos version of Tommy, picturing him as the three Shooktah pressed the blades of their staffs into his invisible shields, seeing how the beast strained against them, but also seeing the pain on his canine face. He held them off, but doing it wasn’t painless. She was going to find out how much pain tolerance Treff had.

“Let me get close enough to you and find out, Isolem.” She closed her eyes for a moment and saw him moving toward Little John instead of away.

That’s not what we want, Whitney. I need to get him out of here if we’re to open the gates for you, he thought to her.

His suggestion hit her smack in the face. It was so simple that she cursed herself for not seeing it herself. Of course, they would be the ones to help her across the veils. Their people did it before, to get Isolem as far as they did.

“Are you really going to run and hide behind an old man, Isolem? Is that how you operate?” she asked him.

“Don’t play games with me, little one. Don’t pretend to be all righteous,” he spat. “You forget that I know how you operate. You forget that I know how many innocent people you’ve killed in your lifetime. Does the name Cree, ring any bells?”

“You talk as if you hate me, Treff. Yet, you turn around in the same sentence and justify your actions, comparing them to mine. Which is it. Do you hate me, or do you compliment me by mimicking the things you seem to hate?” Whitney continued to sidestep, working her way around, instead of approaching him directly. She wanted to give Erik the window he wanted.

His shadow hovered above Little John, his tail, snaking over his face like a boa testing a meal, but he finally moved away from him and toward her. He was going to face her. She just hoped she was up to it.

Whitney stopped moving sideways, and squared off to him, keeping her swords in front of her, hoping they wouldn’t be useless in this fight, but not knowing one way or the other, if they would. Isolem, equally trepid (hopefully because she remained so bold despite his original display), advancing carefully.

She waited for him to move, knowing that he would, just as Tommy often did when he used his mental fingers. When he thrust his hands forward, she dodged to the side, swinging both swords, hoping to connect with the force he propelled forward. He second sword swipe connected, and Isolem immediately hollered out.

“AARGH,” he squealed like a pirate.

“What’s the matter Treff? Can’t take it?” She asked, but it was working. Erik was with Little John and he was helping him up.

He responded with another thrust. This one had more behind it. It was as if he wound up like Tommy’s favorite pitcher Randy Johnson. He aimed high, so Whitney ducked low, raising her swords straight above her head, so his pitch had something to strike.

“How are you doing that?” he screamed.

“Everything comes with a price, Isolem. Those fingers are an extension of you now.”

Okay, I have him. You can make an escape, Erik said. When will you be ready?

Tomorrow, she thought back. We will be there tomorrow.

We will be ready.

Good. You are coming with us, she informed him and she pulled back before he could respond.

∞

Whitney and Kat both lie on their backs in the grass in the McCallister back yard. Both of them had their eyes closed and both of their foreheads were drenched in sweat as they laid their panting into the hot summer air. Kam, kneeling beside Whitney, holding her hand, caressing her brow, worrying for her safe return to the world he knew, looked at Tommy shortly, but quickly returned his gaze to his charge. Tommy, feeling much the same as Kam, kept his gaze nailed to Kat. He didn’t like the idea of Whitney going off into Kat’s head to track down Isolem, but arguing about it with her was pointless. Once she had something in her head, she never let it go. It was her way.

Once Whitney did return, she returned quickly, sitting bolt upright on the ground, wiping her brow with her forearm, a scowl replacing her blank stare like a dark cloud draping the sun. “I didn’t expect that!” Whitney exclaimed as she grabbed Kam’s hand and signaled for him to help her up.

Kat came to a moment later, but remained silent.

Whitney connected with Tommy a moment later, but her connection to him was different then it had ever been before. Normally when she connected to him, it was like stepping to one side of a small room, letting her have space in his mind, like two people sharing a small elevator. This time was different. He had no sense of her within his mind. He could feel an infinitesimal connection from her mind to his, but that was it. There was no sense of her thoughts, no sense of her emotions, just a thread of her.

“Didn’t expect what,” Tommy asked.

“Isolem,” she began, “he has the same powers as you. He threw me at least twenty feet.

“Is that what I do?” Tommy replied in wonder.

Whitney was still in her body suit. Her weapons hung, adorned to the thick belt across her chest, and doubling back around her waist. Her hands squeezed into knuckled fists as she began to walk in a half circled pattern, pacing, forcing Tommy to compare her to Kam.

Tommy went to the picnic table and sat while he watched.

It was a side of Whitney he couldn’t ever remember seeing. He was used to a Whitney who let him do most of the thinking. He was used to her watching life like a passenger on a train watches the scenery go by through a window that cannot be reached through, not having any effect on what they are seeing, just soaking it in, admiring its beauty (or its ugliness) but unable to do anything about either. The Whitney that wore swords on her back, daggers on her waist, a whip and throwing knives to boot, wasn’t about to watch anything pass her by. Not if she didn’t like it. Her eyes were still silver, but her brows were serious, and her shoulders cocked forward as if she were ready to fight. She looked confident.

He liked this side of her.

Whitney ignored Tommy’s question and kept pacing. “He couldn’t do that in Nethermore. At least I don’t think he could. If he could do that I think he would have.”

Hearing her talk was giving him a weird echo feeling. She was speaking aloud for everyone to hear, and a millisecond before she spoke, the things she was saying seemed to show up in his mind. It was like watching two televisions on the same channel, but one signal playing just a little before the other.

“Are you sure, Whitney? We don’t really know what he could do.”

“I don’t’ think he was supposed to be able to do that. He tossed me twenty feet away from him without laying a finger on me. No,” she added shaking her head. “He wasn’t supposed to be able to do that.” She kept pacing but drew one of her swords. She began to make it dance in her hand, holding it loosely by the hilt, twirling it like a baton, from one hand to the other as the black correllium blade slit the air.

“Damn! Those swords are awesome,” Kam commented.

Kat nodded her head in agreement.

“You should see her use them,” Tommy said.

“I don’t think they want to see that,” Whitney said.

“Yes we do. Don’t we Kat?”

Kat nodded again, and clapped eagerly.

“Come on, guys. We have bigger things to think about. I just figured out Isolem Treff stole something from Tommy and me too. That’s how I think he was able to throw me with his mind.”

“It sounds to me like you’ve already figured out what you needed to, Whit,” Tommy said getting up from the picnic table. “How’s your throwing arm, Kam?”

“It’s good. Why?”

“I want to test out Whitney’s correllium blades. They’re supposed to be tougher than steel. I want to see for myself.”

Tommy walked over to Kendra’s rock garden. He waved Kam over and began grabbing large rocks.

Come on, Tommy. Seriously. You guys are not going to throw rocks at me.

Yes we are. At least I am. I don’t know whether your boyfriend will.

He’s not my boyfriend.