Chapter 135
Even before entering the chamber, Connor had a sense of what it looked like: long and narrow, with three niches to his right and left. Each niche contained a circle of power, and inside of that a stone dais.
A reliquary, he realized.
That was where the artifacts had been stored.
It really was like Elise had said: magic, or at least the appearance of it. The technology involved was so advanced, the craftsmanship and embrace of art so complete that it all felt like nature instead of science.
Even the stone daises were natural, not formed from the white composite used to build the prison and the ruins above.
And inside of this holy area—this prison control center—he felt Selen.
She was the fetid sulfur and rot of this imprisoned life killer. More: She was the suffocating pressure of terrible power coiled and hidden, waiting for the best chance to strike.
This alien presence was there: a heartbeat that drowned out his own.
It had so much power, even sealed away and broken, that imagining it destroying all existence was easy to believe.
And Connor was one man, nearly blinded. He couldn’t stand against this.
No one could.
But he had to, or this force of destruction would break free soon and wreck havoc.
Connor drew on the power of Toshiko’s amulet and on the words of his father.
“Learn to see with more than your eyes.”
It wasn’t the flesh of Selen—warped and enslaved by this ancient power—that threatened them now.
Nor was it the human-crafted weapons she wielded.
She was a vessel for this thing, a physical shell its external influence occupied to work its will in the universe until fully freed.
Selen was no more a part of this monster than Connor was.
This creature was opportunistic. It saw a moment of vulnerability in her at some point, and it planted a seed. Maybe it had been when she’d first worked for Mosiah. Maybe it had been when she’d come to the planet with Gu Li.
What mattered was that she wasn’t the problem.
She really could be forgiven.
Behind him, Mosiah groaned just before the sound of flesh striking the hard floor.
The old man’s heart raced, and his lungs struggled. The essence of his life was even more fragile and uncertain than Elise’s, now passed out at his side.
Yet Mosiah didn’t surrender. He didn’t stop.
He lowered the mesh bags to the floor so carefully that Connor barely heard them settle against it.
Now the old man’s shaking hands undid the bags. “It may take me a moment.”
Connor reached out, trying to find Selen. “She’s here but hidden.”
“Your captain?”
“Yes. She hears us and sees us.”
The mesh whispered over the protective foam of one of the relics. “Why wouldn’t she attack, then? She was a more than capable tactician. It was one of the reasons I was attracted to her.”
Now Connor felt the rush of excitement, the fumbling fingers, the memories activated at the mention of her name.
Mosiah had indeed been attracted to her, the same as Connor had when he’d met her.
He couldn’t condemn the old man. “She was captivating.”
The old man chuckled anxiously. “Still is…if you can look past the possession and psychopathic murderous tendencies she’s embraced of late.”
“That’s not her.”
“So you say.” Mosiah sighed. “I was never one for religion or belief in mystical nonsense, but I did note a transformation among my accomplices.”
“When you stole these artifacts.”
“Yes. Shortly after. It was the worst with Gu Li, thinking back on it.”
“He had already shown weakness. This thing sees vulnerabilities.”
“That’s quite observant of you. Would you take offense if I were to mention that the explosion seems to have made you assess things more comprehensively?”
Connor sheathed his swords. “I think you’re right.”
He knelt beside one of the bags and found the opening, then ran his fingers over the contents: the black urn, from the shape of it.
The relic came out of the bag with a soft rustle of fabric.
To his touch, the power emanating from the item was even more beautiful than its design.
White, gold, rich blues: The energy was pure, cleansing.
Like Selen, these were vessels, receptacles of something greater than their mere physical form.
Connor set the urn down. “Can you feel what these are now?”
Mosiah placed the last piece on the floor. “You sense something more than their beauty—is that it?”
“Yes. It’s like looking into the heart of a sun.”
“Unfortunately, my own senses are limited to what’s before me.”
That had led to the theft in the first place. It had left Mosiah and his criminal cohort vulnerable to the maleficent influence of the prisoner.
Maybe Selen’s explosive trap had been more than she’d thought. To see—to truly understand what was in play—Connor had to have his vision both diminished and expanded.
He touched the urn. “We’ve all paid our price, I think.”
The old man sucked in a breath. “Almost. I have one last debt to resolve.”
With a groan, the former criminal tried to rise, but his knees had been pushed too hard. They creaked, then he fell back to the floor.
Connor set a hand on Mosiah’s shoulder. “I’ll do this.”
“I have to.” The old man clutched an artifact to his chest. “Balancing the books means undoing what I did all those years ago.”
“All right. It’s your right.”
“Your indulgence is appreciated, even if I lack the capability to show it at this point.”
Once more, the old man tried to stand, and his body failed him.
He hissed, but the noise couldn’t hide the frustration and pain underneath his anger. “One last task. Is that too much to seek?”
“Maybe there’s a compromise?”
Mosiah muttered under his breath. “It would seem my options are limited.”
“Can you gather all of these?” Connor waved at the glowing relics, together as brilliant as a thousand suns.
The old man gathered the gleaming objects to him. “Apparently, I can.”
With some effort, Connor could make out the contours of the criminal—reformed criminal. “Then hold them tight.”
And Connor lifted the old man, artifacts and all, and headed for the closest reliquary.
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