Rare Kinds

When he woke he realized he was alone. Lent had gone… wherever people like him went. Nick stared at the large metal door, his eyes narrowed in the harsh light of the lamp swinging above his head. There were no windows in the cell and the door was made of a very thick and heavy metal. It seemed he was sealed shut in this room until whatever or whoever came to claim him. What was he even doing here? He hadn't done anything wrong. More than anything he just wanted to go home, he wanted out of this room and away from these murderous people with their elixirs and crossbows.

He crawled to the door and pressed his ear against it. There wasn't really anything of consequence to hear for some time. He closed his eyes and stayed leaning against the door until he heard footsteps. They got closer, louder. He went to the side of the cell, waiting in a corner away from the light on the other side of the door.

When the door swung open he rushed for it but didn't get far. Four hands clamped onto him and pulled him back. He was thrown back into the cell and landed on the floor hard. Frustrated, angry, and with now the air knocked out of him, he looked over at the door, which was already closing.

Two figures entered the room and the door was shut behind them with the loudest metallic sound Nick had ever heard. He looked up. There was a hooded figure in black holding a silver tray covered with a white cloth. His white, filmy eyes stared blankly ahead at nothing.

Next to him was someone who had familiar features. He looked Tangarian, which was what Lent had said he was. He had pointed ears like Lent, dark brown skin and had eyes that made Nick feel like he was looking into two black holes. This one was dressed as if he not only owned the place but as if he owned everything else as well—including Nick. His long white hair was pulled back into a braid which hung low to the middle of his back. One ring adorned his left hand but had such intricate detail Nick could only tell it was gold from across the cell. His features were so damn perfect that Nick hated him immediately, that and the fact that he was standing in between him and the door.

"Attempting to escape was a bad idea. Now you've hurt my feelings." He mocked a frown. "I've only come to get to know you."

"Take me home."

"No. What makes you think they even want you there?" He laughed when Nick turned away from him. "Don't be upset."

Nick watched him uncover the silver tray the hooded man was carrying. He plucked a syringe from its surface and showed it to him.

"Relax; it's just a harmless needle." Nick's eyes were like saucers. It was the biggest needle he had ever seen. In fact he had never seen anything like it. "Roll up your sleeve."

Nick could say nothing. He shook his head, all the while staring at the needle in his hand.

"If you allow this I can take you to a much nicer room where you can wash and rest."

Nick laughed this time and scooted away from him along the wall.

"Let me go home and I'll think about it."

"That's impossible." He sighed and nodded to the hooded man next to him. The hooded man approached and pulled Nick up the wall by his neck. His blank white eyes stared into Nick's, and if Nick had had any breath left at that moment he would have yelled. A claw of a hand ripped Nick's sleeve from his arm and held tightly to his wrist. Nick's arm was held straight. He fought him, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He had to get out. He had to get away. The hand around his neck loosened slightly. Nick screwed his eyes shut and kicked at him but the man was a wall; he would not budge.

Nick screwed his eyes shut and screamed.

He was let go. A cold air whipped around him and a chill went up his spine. When he opened his eyes he was met with the horizon. A calm deep gray ocean lapped against the rocks far below. He jumped back. How had he come to stand on the edge of a cliff? He fell backward and called out, slipping in the grass.

Where was he?

The moon hung full in the sky. He turned, faced with the estate, looming over him like a dark castle in a horror story. He was just outside.

If he was to go anywhere, why couldn't it have been home? He began to shake, his fingers dug into the wet earth under him.

Already he could hear them shouting, and there they were opening those unnecessarily large wooden doors. A group of hooded henchmen began to run down the winding road. Nick heard their footsteps fall like thunder. The sound shook the heart of him and he found himself once again at the edge of the cliff. Looking at the rocks below made him sick. He wouldn't make it and where would he go if he did? He'd never swum in his life. The closest he had been was getting caught in the rain.

Well, if he was going to go about it, he should keep in mind to make the extreme effort not to end up dead. With that in mind he took a firm hold and watched that hold crumble into moist dirt in his hands.

---

All around them was clutter and cobwebs. On a nearby bookshelf papers, scrolls, and books haphazardly stacked. A spider crawled over them slowly as if even she was affected by her surroundings. It seemed she quite liked it there, however.

Roger coughed and made a face. He didn't vomit again but was pale and seemed to be getting weaker rather rapidly, which worried Mohan. More so than their earlier conversation.

What would the master do when he found out about their night? He'd be angry, certainly, but he didn't think he'd be upset about the dead Northmen.

For over a hundred years he had just been Mohan. Now something else was taking over, pushing him away. What would the master do when he found out he was losing control? He tried to push that out of his mind. He had made a vow. Mohan had contracted his life for Olecksi, their Master, and it was not his place to question.

It was Roger's fault he was even thinking of it. Roger had always been a bad influence—the bastard. Mohan had the sudden urge to kick the back of Roger's knee. Sick or not he deserved it.

Mohan could see rough looking blankets, slightly scorched and piled up in an armchair. Those caught his attention as they seemed to be shaking. As they passed by, Mohan poked at them with a broom he found nearby.

"Ho there!" the pile shouted. "What're you doing here?"

Mohan jumped back and threw the broom at Roger. Roger whipped around, looking everywhere. Mohan pointed at the pile.

"Reveal yourself!" Roger whispered at the blankets.

The pile shifted and then fell away. An old man stepped from the chair, brandishing the emblem around his neck at them. It was a heavily tarnished sun on the twine looped around his neck. Roger laughed and then swayed a bit, still obviously affected by whatever sickness. Mohan was thankful he didn't vomit again.

"Wanted to save you the trouble of getting the door," Roger said, still laughing.

The old man eyed them suspiciously as he lit a rather stubby and sad looking candle. A soft orange glow bathed the room. He looked at Roger for a moment, raising the candle dangerously close to his face.

"You look familiar. Did you run by here before?"

"I did yes."

"One of those barbarians was chasing you."

"Yes."

"Did you kill him?"

"Yes."

"Hold on," Mohan interrupted. He was getting nervous about revealing too much of their evening to this man. "We're here for Laët."

The old man's gaze was calculating. He narrowed his eyes at Mohan. "Going to kill him too?"

"No?" Mohan hadn't meant for it to sound like a question, but really, with the way their night was going, who really knew?

For a moment the old man looked terrified, and then seemed to look as confused as Mohan. He shook his head and looked back to Roger. "You are sure you killed the barbarian?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

"Oh, most definitely."

"There are six more," he said.

Mohan cleared his throat. "Four left, if there were only six like you say."

Roger elbowed him hard in the side but Mohan ignored him. The old man nodded his head and smiled. He was impressed. "Good," he said. "What do you want with Laët?"

"He is here then? Can we see him?"

"No." The answer was too quick. Would there be a test? "Would you like some tea?"

That last question was asked in a voice whose tone suggested the old man couldn't care less if they wanted the tea or not; he was going to make it anyway. Mohan and Roger exchanged a glance.

"Yes," Mohan said and found it was really true. "Very much."

***

Just as Nick was carelessly throwing a leg over the side of the cliff, one of the hooded men with an obscenely large hand grabbed him by his shirt. His poor and already ruined pajama shirt tore under the strength of the enormous hand. He shouted, "Stay back!" and attempted to shake away his captor, but only succeeded in shaking himself away from the rest of his pajama shirt. Then Nick lost his footing on an admittedly slippery and loose rock and fell sideways off the cliff.

His eyes widened at the rocks below which he would soon know quite intimately. He hadn't the breath enough to scream. For a fraction of a second the fall was peaceful. The dream could finally end! His heart leapt! But, Nick thought, if this wasn't a dream he'd die in a moment, some kidnapped nobody with his brains dashed out on the jagged shore.

How did he do it before? How had he disappeared? He closed his eyes, arms and legs flailing and waited to come crashing down upon those rocks. No, no, he thought desperately. Nick hoped with what little hope he had left. Please, please, anything. Let a strong wind come and carry me away—if that is even possible.

"Oh good. You came back."

Nick opened his eyes and saw the floor of his cell which was very close but he seemed to be hovering about a foot or so over it. As soon as he realized this however he made contact with it face first.

"I thought I'd wait just in case."

Nick looked up and groaned. It was the Tangarian from before, and he still had the needle in his hand. They were alone in the cell together.

"Who are you?" Nick said. "What are you doing?"

"I'm the Master and I'm waiting on a blood sample."

"The Master," Nick repeated flatly.

He sat up as The Master approached and flinched when he reached for his arm. He was crouching next to Nick on the floor, his thin fingers wrapped around his wrist and squeezed gently to try and calm him.

"It's just a needle," he said.

"Don't they come smaller?" Nick did feel a little ridiculous but if he had just said it was just a blood sample they needn't have gone through all of this. "Why are you The Master?"

"I'm in charge," he said with a grin.

"That makes sense."

"Doesn't it?" Nick was relaxing a little as The Master tied a tourniquet around his arm and prodded him gently with his thumb. "Slight pinch." Then he jabbed the needle in, causing Nick to jump a bit. "Sorry."

His teeth were so white, the same shade as his hair. It was … creepy. Who called themselves The Master? Nick had to admit that it sounded a good degree classier than Boss. Nick was losing himself staring at this guy. He was so alien looking, so not real.

Lent was different than this guy. Nick felt he could trust Lent even if he had brought him here and helped keep him trapped in this place. God, even in his head that sounded crazy. He shouldn't trust any of these people, especially this one. He could tell that The Master wanted him cooperative and was given proof that he'd use force if necessary. Nick already didn't like him but in his presence he somehow couldn't dislike him either.

"Why do you need this?"

"Curiosity," he said with a shrug as the needle filled with his ordinary looking blood. His sample had been drawn loads of times it was unlikely that The Master would find anything different. "You're called Nicholas."

"Yes. Not much compared to your name I suppose."

"My name is Olecksi. Not many can call me that. You'll find this world is a bit different from the one you were on."

"The one I'm from, you mean," Nick corrected and looked at The Master expectantly.

"The one you claim to be from." He studied Nick's face before he pulled the needle from his arm and gave him some gauze to stop the bleeding. "You can never go back. I'm sorry, but you are going to stay here."

"You brought me here simply enough. You can take me back."

"It's not possible. You don't belong there. You're not human."

"You're a lunatic!" Nick's tone was incredulous. They couldn't expect him to just go along with whatever they wanted! What could they possibly want with him?! Why was he being made to stay here?

"Oh dear," The Master whispered to himself and got to his feet. He transferred the blood into a small phial and put it in his pocket. "Get used to this place. You're going to be spending the rest of your life here."

"What? In this room?" Nick grabbed at his leg. "You said I could go to a room to rest—"

"Kind of bunged that up when you tried to escape. Maybe later."

Nick got to his feet in a rush and tried to push his way to the door. He was pushed back without The Master lifting a finger. The wind was knocked out of him when he hit the wall, and he slid down it, groaning at the renewed ache in his head. The world was off kilter and just blurry enough to be unrecognizable.

"Good night," he said cryptically and left, the sound of the huge metal door closing was the final word.

***

The tea was hot brown liquid which smelled very much like dirt. It had tiny pieces of something flaky swirling around on top which looked suspiciously like grass. Mohan hazarded a sip, gagged and then resolved to politely pretend to enjoy it.

Roger held his cup close to his face, closing his eyes against the steam rising off. Seeing this made Mohan feel guilty. Roger was sick and freezing. He was looking so pale; Roger never looked pale. Roger began to notice he was staring at him. "What?" he whispered and Mohan looked back down at his tea. They'd been in this town too long already. None of this was supposed to have taken longer than a day. Mohan mentally added that to the list of things their Master would be shouting at them later.

"Are you a priest here?" Roger asked, watching the old man get settled in his creaky chair which still creaked after he had stopped moving.

"I suppose so," he paused to take a thoughtful sip from his cup. He made a grimace. "But is a priest a priest if there's no one left to council?"

"Seems run down. Maybe if you fixed the place up?" Out of the corner of his eye, Mohan watched Roger dip a finger into his tea and stir it around. When he pulled it out all the flaky bits clung to his finger and Roger stared at them curiously.

"Oh no. Doesn't matter. Religion is old hat these days even in the forgotten places," the old priest sighed and sipped from his cup. "Grey is easily in that category."

"About Laët," Mohan piped in, setting his cup on the table at his knees. "We've come collecting."

"Really? Poor man. You're not going to harm him?"

"No…"

The priest raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You don't seem too sure."

Mohan really wasn't. Who knew what their Master wanted with him. "Is he dangerous?"

"Only if you touch him." The priest drained the last of his cup and set it down.

"I see," Mohan said and looked over at Roger.

"Interesting." Roger was on the edge of his seat, looking predatory. Mohan punched him in the leg.

"He wasn't always this way," the priest said. He obviously hadn't noticed their exchange. "Before when I'd see him he'd be harmlessly passed out in an alley near a pub. The only offense he'd ever made was to the senses."

"Charming," Roger needlessly expressed. He shot Mohan a glare as he rubbed his thigh where he had been hit. Mohan pretended not to notice.

"He came to me asking for help. I'm not about to hand him over to those wanting to punish him for something he can't control."

A shadow appeared in the doorway and said, "Who are these people?"

"Step into the light," Roger commanded and then set down his cup on the table.

To Mohan's surprise the shadow stepped forward as instructed. It was Laët, it had to be. He was the only other one here. He looked terrible. Fear seemed to radiate from him. From the look of him his hair had gone gray way too early. The circles under his eyes and the way his eyes darted from him to Roger to the priest told him that it had been days since he'd slept. He was wearing robes; obviously the priest had lent him some clothes, but his feet were bare and dirty.

"Who are you?" he asked, his whole body seemed tensed, ready to run.

"They've come to collect you," the priest said simply and folded his hands in his lap.

"I don't need collecting. Leave me alone and go away!" he shouted. The old man almost stood but Laët was already shying away, the blood draining from his features. "Go away," he whispered.

The priest turned to Mohan and Roger. "You can finish your tea."

"Oh, I've been finished," Roger said and stood immediately. Laët seemed to shrink away from him. He took a step backward into the shadowy hallway.

"Sit down!" Mohan grabbed Roger by the arm and pulled him back down into his chair. Then he turned his attention to the man in the hallway. He took a deep breath and resolved not to think but just talk. It seemed like a good idea; Roger got away with it all the time. "Come back inside. We're not here to kill you."

Laët inched his way back in the room but refused to sit. He stood behind the priest as if the old man would be enough to protect him from them. Mohan tried to smile to ease the tension in the room but he was sure it didn't come out right. Laët and the priest looked terrified. Roger was laughing. Mohan stopped smiling.

"What happened to you?" Mohan asked after they had settled down. "How did you get this way?"

Laët looked from Mohan and Roger to the Priest. He suddenly seemed even more exhausted than he had been before. The priest nodded and patted his hand before he got up and left the room, taking his tea tray with him. He could be heard in the kitchen making more of his disappointing tea, much to everyone's dismay.

After a few moments, Laët began to speak. His voice was low and shaky, and Mohan had to lean forward to hear him.

"I was walking home from the pub and I lost my way. I'd never lost my way before. I'd been more drunk than I was that night and could walk that path in the woods with my eyes closed if I wanted."

"You live in the forest?"

"Not very far from here. It's nothing special. Something I knocked up to keep the rain off me." Laët took the priest's chair. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor, his hair covering his face. "I came upon this group of folks in a clearing, shouting and carrying on. Above them there was this—oh gods, how do I?—it was like a hole in the sky."

He glanced up then at Mohan and Roger, scanning their faces for disbelief Mohan assumed, but then his gaze quickly dropped back down to the floor and he continued. Mohan had seen the holes before, but had the people Laët had seen that night caused it or had it happened on its own?

"It ripped open more and suddenly everyone started killing each other. Something came out of it—this big ball of burning light. It hurt my eyes so I ducked down but then I slipped in the leaves on the ground. I closed my eyes; I was too scared to move. Everyone was screaming and then there was nothing." Laët's words were rushing together; this was the first time he had told the story. His breath was quick and Mohan imagined his heart racing. For Laët, telling the story was like reliving it again, sweat breaking out on his face. "When I opened my eyes there was the light swirling in front of me. All the people were gone but their robes were on the ground, dust and ash all over them. I thought it was going to kill me and I didn't want to die… It moved into me, locked itself to me somewhere deep inside."

Laët put a palm on his chest, over his heart.

"When did you come in contact with the Northmen?" Mohan whispered, still in awe from the story. Usually the tears were far away from civilization. In fact, no new activity had been recorded in many years.

"Well I 'spose I passed out and when I woke I was home. I thought it was the grog. Thought I had a bad dream so I didn't worry about it and went to the pub." Laët shrugged and gave them a fearful glance before he went on. "When I got there they said I hadn't been there for weeks and where had I been? The smell of the place was making me ill which weren't normal. I had to run and sick up outside. That's when I ran into them. One of them asked me if I was all right and he touched my shoulder."

"What happened?"

"I felt better than I'd ever felt in my life! But when I looked down he was on the ground, looking like a used handkerchief. They chased me all over town and somehow I ended up here." He looked up at Mohan. "I think I killed him."

"You didn't," Mohan said but Laët didn't look as if he believed the words.

"Laët, my friend," Roger began, leaning forward in his chair to address him, "There are four more of those fellows that I assume chased you into hiding in this dump. We can safely get you out and to a place where they can never get to you."

Mohan stared at Roger for a moment, beginning to understand where he was going. He looked over at Laët, noting his expression. His resolve was weakening. They were going to get out of here tonight.

"What's the catch?" Laët asked, already standing from his chair.

Mohan stood and extended his hand to Laët. "Show us the hole in the sky."

They were gone before the priest came back with his horrible tea.

***

Lent was pacing in the hallway. The portraits along the wall watched him, following his every move with their eyes. He ignored them. He had run out here right after Nicholas had disappeared and he had to flatten himself against the wall as the hooded men ran past. Lent reminded himself that Nicholas couldn't leave their world without a door no matter what his power was. Only the Master could approve a way back, which was probably why he knew all about Maria's trip to Hadaikam for the antidote. Lent was surprised she had gotten back without getting caught.

Maria was still on the Viewing Floor and he refused to go back in there. He wanted the Master to show up; he needed this night to be over with and he couldn't wait in silence with Maria any longer. He couldn't stand the sound of her grinding her teeth.

Just a few minutes after they had left, the hooded men walked single file past him. They did not have Nicholas. Lent breathed a sigh of relief. The Master's men set his teeth on edge. They were like zombies to him. They didn't even look at him as they went by, their eyes completely white and filmy—seeing nothing, feeling nothing. All shadow and those eyes. A shiver went up his spine. He watched them disappear at the other end of the hallway, sensing his impending doom at their departure.

Lent waited impatiently, weighing the pros and cons of just going down to the dungeons to confront the Master himself, and just when he had decided to walk down and meet him, the Master appeared at the end of the hallway and walked toward him. He was smiling. Lent froze and prepared for the worst.

"Relax, I'm not angry with you."

Lent swallowed. "But you are angry?"

"Oh yes," he said and gestured for him to follow as he walked past. "You're friends are really fucking things up."

"My friends?" Lent looked back toward the door to the Viewing Floor. "You mean Maria?"

"Her too, yes. She should have never put you in danger."

"She was trying to protect me."

"What did I tell both of you before I left?"

"Watch," Lent said and felt a rush of guilt color his features. He looked at his feet.

"Watch." The Master sighed tiredly. He opened a door for Lent and told him to go through. "I wish you children would do as you're told."

Lent knew this wasn't meant as an insult. Their Master was so old, to him all were children.

"Are Mohan and Roger all right?"

"They are on their way back to us. They won't be long."

"May I ask why you are angry with them?"

"You may not get an answer."

They were outside, overlooking the sea around Weather Rock. The sky was clear and the moon hung so low the pointed flag pole at the top of the safe house looked like it was going to pierce it in the face. Lent stared out into the sea, squinting his eyes into the waves, watching for his friends.

"They have completed their mission rather messily and now I'm deep in it, so to speak."

"In it, Lord?"

"I'm being watched. The Northerners were poking into my business and because of your friends they've found something interesting, something worth risking their lives to continue nosing around."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"I bought Grey and they wanted to know why. Now I believe they do."

"Why did you buy Grey? It's a boring place. The people what live there don't want to be there."

"Lent," the Master turned to face him. "Brother," he said and put a hand on his wounded shoulder. Lent winced in pain. "It doesn't matter. It's better than you don't know." Lent was very confused at this point and was trying to twist away from the Master's heavy hand on his wound. "Unfortunately our enemies are multiplying and we don't really need any more. Would that they had no eyes to see what we're doing…"

He stared cryptically out to sea and Lent stared at him, furrowing his brow. He had no idea what he was talking about. So the Northmen were watching him? Who cared about that? Everyone in Tannika hated them, even the government. Even the King. And if the barbarians were to send spies, well, whey had dispatched spies before easily enough. Why would the master worry about Northmen? After years of doing what they were doing, catching those who escaped from their world… wait, he thought. He suddenly caught on.

"They'll tell everyone," Lent whispered. "About the tears, about the worlds on the other side."

"Yes," he said and let go of his wounded shoulder. Lent sighed in relief. "If that's all they do I'll be very lucky. The general populace is easy to fool, but I don't want anyone knowing about this place."

"There's one in Grey," Lent was thinking aloud; he hadn't really meant to say it. "That's why you bought it." The Master shot him a look but said nothing. "What about Laët?"

"That's my business, brother," He didn't even look at him. He closed his eyes and was silent for a moment; he seemed to feel something in the air. "They've brought him." He turned to go but stopped and pulled a phial from his pocket. He pressed it into Lent's palm. "I believe you know what to do with this."

Lent watched him go, holding tightly to the phial in his hand. Only when the Master was gone did he open his hand and examine what was within. He held it up to the moonlight, narrowing his eyes at the blood inside.

Lent knew exactly what to do.