F-Infinity Saga Canto I

  Chapter 5: Einheriar

  Dawn brought wonderful news. World-changing news. It found Raile Olander recumbent in his usual perch, far above the city whose name he had never bothered to learn, staring at the new text message on his cell phone soberly – a nearly irresistible urge to smile slid just beneath the surface of his passive façade, just unable to be realized.

  It was unfortunate he would have to leave. The shadows sculpted by the architecture here were perfect. They danced along the green marble floor and twisted up the railings and support columns like penumbral snakes. Still, there was no real choice to make. He would be free.

  Raile let the hand holding the phone fall to his side as he sprung to his feet, tucking the device smoothly into the inside pocket of his long, white, flared coat. He tugged it tighter, thin material poor protection against the current cold snap – but too familiar and comfortable to disregard over something trivial like warmth.

  Still, it was strange that she would be the one to free him. After all, Alyrin Delling had been the one who had organized his capture. It mattered little, he decided; she had also offered the pathway home.

  He took a moment to adjust the white leather patch that covered his right eye – making sure it fit snugly and was situated appropriately. For the past two years, he hadn’t had to worry about his appearance; people were not allowed to visit him, and he was not allowed to visit people, so how he looked was not really much of a problem. The few birds that dared share his perch seemed ill-equipped to judge.

  Walking into the bathroom, he faced the mirror and in its polished surface, he bothered to observe himself for the first time since his imprisonment. His hair had grown far too long, falling like a midnight curtain past his shoulders and streaked with the silver tails of falling stars. Roman nose and pointed chin marked his ancestry well, and were it not for the scar that ran like a fault line down the side of his face, he might still have looked his age. His good eye, tinged permanently with the silver that defined him, observed the reflection with passive care, every detail long since drunk in.

  Finally, he turned away, to the almost-unassuming door to his left. Decorated with the same marble motif the rest of his prison held, at times it was easy to forget it was there – blending into the wall like a chameleon. It was done on purpose, of course; a prisoner who forgot his bars tended to forget the primal human directive to escape. Raile had never managed to make that mistake, though. Being human, that is.

  Mounted on the door’s handle was a tiny keypad that controlled the lock. The text message contained the password, but he really didn’t need it. All those years ago, when Alyrin had locked him in here, he had known how to leave.

  He hadn’t, of course. Though perhaps Alyrin’s methodology was wrong, her reasoning wasn’t. A man like him did not belong in this world.

  Which is why he was leaving it.

  Fingers a blur, he typed the ten digit code faster than the digital display could keep up. When it finally processed the entry, the door swung open with a click. Raile stepped through into the darkness.

  Though he fumbled a moment for the light switch, he gave up when his fingers failed to find one. Instead, he waited until his vision grew clear. Resting right where he’d expected it laid his old companion, Gungnir, propped sturdily against the wall. The wavy blade remained untouched by two years of dust, and gnarled wooden haft rubbed against his palm satisfactorily.

  Next to it on the table laid a few changes of clothes that he would need on the outside and a briefcase with enough money to get him to where he was going.

  With half a sigh, he hefted his partner, enjoying the comfortable burden in his palm – like a limb long lost had miraculously returned. Miracles, though, were natural coincidences attributed supernatural status. At least, on this side they were.

  The phone buzzed inside his pocket. With a fluid motion, he reached for it and flipped it open as he brought it to his ear. “Yeah?” he asked.

  “Your transportation is ready,” a male voice replied. Raile did not recognize it. Voices, like faces, meant little to him. It was perhaps a newcomer, although it might also have been the Lord Knight – he did not know. “The limo will be waiting downstairs for you.”

  Without acknowledging the speaker, Raile snapped the phone shut and returned it to the place it belonged. He tossed the spare clothes into a red satchel that lay together on the table. Finally, he checked the straps at the back of his jacket to make sure they could still hold the spear – they seemed firm, still, but he held off sheathing it just yet. Clutching it before him like a hunter in the wild, he swung right to descend the stairs that lead to the concrete jungle sprawled oblivious below.

  Instead of heading straight down to the waiting car, Raile paused above the second floor. Quietly he slipped over to the window and tried the lock. To his surprise, the window swung open. A pity someone was going to die for that mistake – on the other hand, whoever it was did manage to save the people waiting for him downstairs. “I guess he can take some solace in that,” Raile said to himself as he swung up and through the opening.

  The drop to the ground was nostalgic, exhilarating. He dropped into a crouch behind an overflowing dumpster, fingers just barely sweeping the ground before he was up and running, dashing behind alleyway debris for a few brief moments of cover before moving onward, ever deeper into the folds of night.

  He still had trouble pushing down the excitement. He was going to save the world. Or destroy it. Whichever was fine too. Ragnarok was coming.

  His lupine smile flashed like lightning in the neglected streetlights; below the passionless winter moon of an evil eye.