Seeker

Shinobu was almost to the north end of the commons, following the sound of John’s distorted voice, when his fingers found the inscription on the hilt of the knife. In the orange light of the closest cottage fire, he held the weapon up to his eyes and discovered letters and numbers carved into the handle. It took a few moments of study before he could properly discern them: HK MMcB AMcB. Next to these, the numbers of a year had been chiseled delicately near the end of the grip.

He traced the letters with a finger, as if he could not quite believe what he was seeing.

HK MMCB AMCB

And the year inscribed on the knife—six years ago.

MMcB. McB was MacBain, of course, his own last name. And MMcB, that could only be Mariko MacBain. His mother. And AMcB—was that for Alistair? And HK …

His father had thrust this knife at him, handle first. He had not been trying to stab Shinobu. Even caught in the grip of the disruptor field, Alistair had kept enough control of his mind to give his son this knife. With this message carved upon it.

His mother had died seven years ago, in a car accident, and yet this knife bore her initials and his father’s and a more recent date. Was it possible …

“Oh, God.” The words came out of Shinobu’s mouth without his control.

He had left his father to die in the most terrible way possible. He’d refused to give him the tiny amount of compassion you would owe anyone, even an enemy. He had acted, in the face of Alistair’s agony, like a spoiled child. Now bits and pieces from his childhood, scraps of conversation about his mother’s family, came together and he understood.

She’s Japanese, Shinobu, but her family has lived in Hong Kong for a long time, Alistair had told him once, when the two of them were alone together, walking along the shore in Corrickmore. Sometimes I imagine you there.

Shinobu looked again at the carvings on the knife. He could envision her bringing the blade somewhere to have it engraved. He could imagine his father receiving the secret gift, keeping the knife near him all these years, proof that she was safe and hadn’t forgotten them. Could it be true?

He ran back the way he had come, throwing an arm across his mouth to keep the smoke out of his lungs, but the air was clearer in the forest, and he was able to move faster among the trees.

He found Alistair halfway up a hill, sprawled on the ground. Throwing himself to his knees by his father’s side, Shinobu strained to catch sight of the disruptor field sparks, but there were only a few, and those were rapidly fading, even in the dim moonlit forest. With a sinking heart, he placed his hands on his father’s body and pushed him over onto his back.

The big man lay completely still, his eyes partway open. His face was badly cut, and there was a large, bleeding patch on one side of his head, where his skull had been crushed.

Shinobu felt at his father’s neck, but there was no pulse. Alistair was dead. As Shinobu watched, the final disruptor sparks went out.

A man caught in a disruptor field cannot usually connect his thoughts long enough to put himself out of his misery. But nearby, a small boulder, covered in blood, told the story. After what looked like many attempts, Alistair had managed to hit his head hard enough against that rock to get the job done. His father had done for himself what Shinobu had refused to do.

He sat back on his heels, hit by a vast, all-consuming remorse.

“I’m sorry …” Shinobu breathed. “I’m so sorry … Is she really there? All this time? Oh, God, I’m worthless …” He rested his forehead against his father’s chest, momentarily paralyzed with shame.

Hoofbeats from the other side of the hill reminded Shinobu that he was in the middle of a fight and his misery would have to wait. He pulled himself away from Alistair and ran.

At the top of the hill, in the brighter moonlight coming through a break in the trees, he was greeted with a much more welcome sight. Below him, at the base of the slope, were Quin and Fiona. Quin was mounted on Yellen, pulling her mother up behind her. As Shinobu appeared at the top of the hill, Quin raised her eyes to him and beckoned. Then she reached into her cloak and pulled out the athame. It caught the moonlight and seemed to glow subtly in her hand.

Shinobu felt a surge of hope. They could get away from the estate together, right now. He started down the hill toward them.

“Quin! Quin! You’re here!”

Shinobu’s head whipped around. It was John, calling to her with his real voice, and he sounded confused. He was on horseback, as was the man with the disruptor, and they had just entered the clearing below.

John was urging his mount toward Quin, and Shinobu saw the moment when his eyes found the athame in her hands.

“You have it,” he said. “Thank God you have it!”

Quin tugged on Yellen’s reins, and the horse began backing away. She looked torn.

“It’s all right,” John told her. “You’re safe. The athame’s safe. We found each other. I thought you were gone.”

Quin shot a glance at Shinobu, who was still concealed from John among the trees halfway up the hill. She wants to get away, Shinobu thought, but she wants to get away without hurting John. After what had happened to Alistair, Shinobu had no such qualms.

“I can’t give it to you, John,” she said, her voice shaking. “You shouldn’t have it. I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t have it.” Her eyes met Shinobu’s again, and he understood what she intended. They would get free of John and use the athame.

Before John could come any closer, Quin yanked Yellen’s head around and dug in her heels, and she and Fiona were galloping away.

“Quin, wait! Listen!” John kicked his own horse to follow.

She’s not listening to you anymore! Shinobu realized, with a vicious sort of elation. In an instant, he had pulled the crossbow off his back, stretched a bolt into place, and let it fly.

The bolt missed John, but the shaft buried itself in his saddle, cutting into his horse’s flesh. John’s mount reared and shrieked, running wildly into the path of the other man’s horse. That man, unwieldy with the heavy disruptor around his chest, teetered in his saddle and almost fell. Shinobu took that moment to leap out from behind the trees, and he careened down the hill toward them.

Before he was halfway there, John had pulled out the crossbow bolt and regained control of his injured horse. Then he was off after Quin, racing toward the commons.

Shinobu ran headlong toward the second man, reached up, and yanked him violently from his mount. The man hit the ground and was nearly crushed by the weight of the disruptor, and then Shinobu was smashing the crossbow into his head, shattering the old weapon.

“That’s for Alistair!” he yelled.

Then he leapt up into the saddle and galloped after John. Quin and Fiona were ahead, running flat out across the commons on Yellen. John was whipping his horse with the reins as a trail of blood flowed down the animal’s white flank.

Shinobu kicked and whipped his own mount, forcing it to a full sprint as they reached the meadow. With a burst of speed, he came up alongside John. They were neck and neck. The wind had picked up, blowing the smoke on the commons away from them, and the moon was startlingly bright in the sky.

“I only want what’s mine!” John yelled at him, his face still masked.

“What about Alistair?”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen! Of course I didn’t mean it.”

Shinobu reached over, tried to shove John off his horse. But instead of being unseated, John grabbed Shinobu’s arm and unexpectedly jerked Shinobu toward him, tipping him off balance. Shinobu clamped a hand onto John’s shoulder to stop himself from tumbling off his mount. With his other hand, he groped for the reins of John’s horse.

John yanked his reins away, and his mount veered, pulling Shinobu fully out of his saddle. Legs flailing as he came free of his horse, Shinobu clenched John’s shoulder with an iron grip as his full weight slammed against John. To keep himself from falling, he locked his legs around one of John’s and reached wildly for the pommel of the saddle.

Despite the jolting of the horse beneath them, Shinobu could feel John’s hand scrambling for his gun. Then the cold metal was at Shinobu’s shoulder. John was going to shoot! Shinobu’s hand was on the pommel, his fingers touching the reins. He hooked one finger around the leather straps and wrenched the reins toward himself, jerking the horse’s head down and to the side.

The animal reared, pivoted, and nearly fell, throwing both of them and sending them rolling over each other across the meadow. The gun went off harmlessly. And then they were hitting each other, like this was a brawl in a pub, except John’s arm—the one holding the gun—was not working properly. He’d injured it in the fall. He fired the weapon again, wildly, and Shinobu slammed a fist into the damaged wrist, feeling it break. A shriek erupted from John as he let go of the gun.

Only thirty yards away, the man with the disruptor was running toward them across the meadow. Shinobu could hear the whine of the weapon preparing to fire. In an instant, he was up on his feet and sprinting toward Quin.