To Race the Wylde Wynd Ch. 14

They sat for a time, sipping their drinks and watching the storm as it moved in over the valley. It was close enough now the rumble of thunder was disturbing the quiet of the night. The breeze carried in the sweet scent of rain.
Templer was a little startled when his outrider spoke up.

“So Chrysta, I am dying to know how you pulled off that brilliant defensive move this morning. It was most effective, and I for one, found it vastly entertaining.”

The priest couldn't help himself.

“Azra, you are such a suck up.”

With Chrysta ONLY hearing the elemental's side of the conversation, this deal just might work to his advantage. Very rarely did the Talon win any verbal exchanges with his outrider.

“Hmm,” Azra kept his response remarkably polite even though it was delivered in close to a snarl. “I would still like to hear the answer.”

“The answer to that particular question is a little more complicated.”

Chrysta had lifted her glass and was watching the flashes of lightning through the electric blue of her Anesthetic.

“Part of it was the fact that I felt Templer's emotions shift from terror to retribution just before he struck. This gave me a slight advantage in speed. Part of it ties into the differences in my physiology. Honing these mutations day after day working with knuckleheads like him...” One hand gestured in El Diablo's direction. The big silver responded by curling his lips back and popping his fangs. “... Has made me quite a bit stronger and faster than the average person. Add to this the fact that because of some of the circumstances surrounding my husband's retirement, a mutual... friend... insisted that he be allowed to train both Forrest and myself in combat and defense. I learned how to defend myself from one of the Realm's very best.”

The priest remembered the other who had been present in that old photo. He did not even try to hide his astonishment.

“Holy... your FRIEND is Tynan Thranatos?”

Chrysta sighed and set her glass down so she could turn and study the gunman's face.

“As I mentioned before... towards the end of Forrest's service to the Maker's Sect, he became very unstable, both mentally and emotionally. Because he was Tainted, he could not simply quit. I am sure, you know how that works. I don't know who or what Ty threatened... but the end result was that the Order allowed Forrest to retire with the condition that he be bound with a Vow of Silence.”

Templer just stared at the woman in shock. Many of his assignments consisted of dealing with indentured Tainted who tried to end their service, prematurely. They were not allowed to just walk away from their duties. These lost souls were considered potential liabilities to the Order and in direct relation, to the Realm itself. It was a Talon's responsibility to REMOVE that threat. The Crown prince of Hell being involved explained a lot. Thranatos was one of the few things on Earth that could stand between a Talon and his prey and still have a chance of walking away from the encounter! The Hand would have been livid at having to look the other way when the Healer left the Order. Templer found he was not surprised at all that man was dead. As a matter of fact, he was rather surprised he had not been the one dispatched to deal with the matter!

Chrysta watched as he mentally put two and two together then she hummed softly.

“Hmmm... Templer Constantine, sadly, I believe I agree with your assessment. Whatever you were before, at present you are well on your way to becoming a monster.”

The Talon couldn't meet her thoughtful, assessing gaze. He was surprised when she reached out and cupped his chin in her strong hand, making him look into her face. Her eyes held nothing but compassion and her husky voice was soft.

“I ALSO firmly believe that even with the major changes to your physiology, and the brutal methods that the Order employs to insure your obedience... there is an essential part of you that is still fighting to preserve what humanity you have left. It has fought valiantly in the silent dark, very much alone for a long time... what strength it has is just about spent. If you don't find a way to break the chains that bind and soon... you will be lost.”

Just the thought of what Chrysta suggested sent shards of glass through Templer's already aching head. His outrider did what he could to blunt the pain.

“Listen as long as you can, Constantine... we just might learn something. This intelligent and insightful woman has some very interesting allies, and no love of the Hand. If you truly want to lose these shackles, I cannot think of a better time or place to start.”

Astounded by Azra's quiet, traitorous words Templer was not surprised when they ended in a snarl as the elemental's own Bindings flashed to life... rewarding the demon with a nasty sting.

The priest jerked his chin up.

“How can you consider me still human, knowing what I play host to?”

Chrysta shook her head slightly.

“The key word here is... HOST. Being a vessel for Azra or any other elemental does NOT automatically make you one of them. No more than having several destria personalities popping in and out of my head all the time makes ME a destria. As a matter of fact, I would be willing to bet silver that Azra does not consider himself a demon. He probably feels as screwed by being stuck in you as you feel being saddled with him.”

Azra suddenly became very, very quiet. The outrider never had told his host his exact origins. Templer did not know if this was a result of their admittedly antagonistic relationship up to this point... or if the creature was restrained by its Vows. With the shared agony ricocheting around his skull right at the moment, the priest could not find it in himself to blame the demon for keeping his silence.

Chrysta leaned back and collected her glass, pausing to take a fortifying sip. Templer caught a glimpse of the expression that crossed her face. Throwing caution to the wind he tossed back the good amount of potent liqueur left in his glass. The man had a feeling he was going to need it and his companion's next hesitant words did not disappoint.

“I do agree with you on one fact. You ARE a real danger to anyone who gets close to you with the night terrors you suffer. If you are willing... I MIGHT be able to bleed off some of the pressure that is creating such chaos in your mind.”

There was no way he was going to let her take a crack at tampering with his Vows. He had seen that happen once. The results had ended up leveling an entire city block. There had been NO survivors.
Chrysta must have caught a whiff of his thoughts.

“SHIT... Templer! Don't even think that! I don't have the raw strength needed for the task or the finesse. Tynan might risk taking a crack at breaking your Vows. HE is a hell of a lot colder than me. I doubt he would care if he burned your mind to ash doing it. Or worse... succeeded and left you a screaming insane wreck. I know better than to try. I am well aware of my limitations.”

The woman leaned forward and lightly tapped the Talon's pale brow.

“I don't think all of your memory problems stem from your Binding. The quick glimpse that I got earlier showed evidence that the oldest of your blocks isn't from your Vows. It stems from good old fashioned physical damage that has not been allowed to repair itself. There is evidence there are Hexes in place that are intended to prevent the closing of these gaps.”

“Hexes?” Templer was more than alarmed.

“That is the only thing I can think to call them. They are like nothing I have ever seen the Order create. With all the “adjustments” that have been made to your mind... some of these old spells have started to unravel. This is creating instabilities in the rest. The memories that escape are leaking into your sleeping mind. Without anything to bring the information into context, your brain automatically converts it to a form it can understand... namely nightmares! I THINK I can untie this older magic. It has become very weak. I will not be altering your Vows, so this should not trigger any defensive spells. I won't go so far as to say there is no risk. This has the potential to cause some serious harm. Still, it might give you back some recollection of your life before becoming a Talon... IF you are willing to take the chance.”

Templer did not answer at first. He silently queried his outrider as to the feasibility of what the woman suggested... AND what the threat to her might be.

Azra was a little slow to respond.

“I do not believe there is any serious threat to Chrysta. I think she is correct in the theory that if she steers clear of our Vows... they should stay quiescent. If her intrusion does trigger a defensive reaction, we should have warning enough to push her out before she gets caught in the backlash.” The demon hesitated.

“BUT...?”

“BUT... YOUR mental stability is not the best and my energy reserves are very low. If it comes down to having to restrain you...” Azra gave a slight mental shrug and did not finish the thought. “Are you absolutely sure that you want to have these memories returned? You might not like what they reveal.”

Templer thought about it for several long moments. He did not notice the slight smile that stirred Chrysta's mouth as she watched the talons of his blade-hand beat a nervous tattoo against his other arm. Almost five years had passed since his last visit to the Maker's labs. Not only did the priest expect to get called in soon... he knew it was overdue. Templer doubted there would be much if anything left of who he had originally been if he went there again. It finally came down to the fact that if he were going to do anything to change his destiny, it had to start here and now. He doubted he would get another chance.

“I will agree to this Chrysta... on one condition. If you trigger ANY reaction from my Vows, you get the hell out. If anything else goes south, and it looks as if Azra can't contain the damage... you run as far and as fast as that damaged leg can carry you! Take Grant with you if you can!”

The woman calmly nodded.

“Okay... I need you to do whatever you have to in order to relax your defenses enough that I can slip in.”

Templer blew out a tense breath, shut his eyes and tried to force himself to relax. The room was silent for a moment then his companion growled.

“Holy... Constantine. Is that the best you can do?”

Templer could not stop himself. He flinched as she lightly brushed against his inner barriers.

“I am sorry Chrysta. When the Maker's do this, it isn't pleasant.”

Chrysta switched tactics.

“Azra, can you do anything inside there to help this along?”

The priest wasn't sure if he should be insulted that the woman had gone over his head. Or grateful when Azra did something internally that caused a wave of euphoria to roll through his mind, drowning any fear he had. He just barely registered Chrysta's...

“Oh... very nice! Thanks Azra that should do the trick.”

...along with the gentle caress of an ethereal touch as she rode that wave of pleasure past his psyche's first layers. Once she was inside, Templer expected there to be at least some pain. He was astonished that all he felt was the odd sensation of her carefully sorting through the mess inside his head. The image of someone standing in front of a loom came to mind. The weave in the fabric there was puckered and warped. It might have had a dark beauty at one time. Now it was marred by ragged gaps held together with shimmering patches and large misshapen knots. After studying the whole for a moment, gentle fingers drew a loose end out of the piece and carefully began to unweave a single thread. The priest could feel his outrider hold his breath as the woman untangled the shining silk from a particularly nasty looking series of knots. She followed it to where it had slipped and looped back on itself... leaving a small gap in the fabric. Chrysta took that single thread and carefully teased it straight before weaving it back through its proper place, neatly closing the gap. There was an odd shudder throughout the cloth. The movement put pressure on all the damage, and the shards of pain that accompanied it warned that the knots and patches did not like the change. It was a relief when that small, repaired section rippled as the weave realigned itself easing some of the stress off the tighter sections. Templer felt a lost piece of himself deep inside shift, then settle lightly into place.

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