CHAPTER SIX
Numara sunk into the shadows of a cluttered alley and lowered to a knee. He tried his hardest to breathe, but the previous battle had worn away some of his eagerness to fight. Initially, he had thought perhaps they were the enemy. The Titans, or so they called themselves. But no, come to think of it, he didn't believe they were his enemy. It was clear that they were defenders of this city, as he had once been recruited to defend Dubane.
They should be his ally, not his enemy, yet they were convinced that he was here to destroy the city. The green one, probably a friend of theirs, had been responsible for the whole fiasco, and Numara was pretty sure he understood why.
He reached down and swept his hand through the loose gravel of the alley, letting the rocks rattle around and spill through his fingers. It reminded him of the walls cracking at the Albara, and the rubble within pouring out. "Where the hell are you, Rancor?" he murmured, lowering his head. He felt tired and defeated.
Numara hated this cat-and-mouse game. The worst part was, he didn't know for certain whether he was the cat or the mouse. It bothered the hell out of him, and Rancor knew it, so he wasn't at all surprised that it had started out this way. Numara had suspected that Rancor already knew he was here. Now he was fairly certain of it. The shape-shifters reaction to him seemed to prove it.
Numara didn't know the truth of it—he might even be way off course—but it felt eerily similar to what had happened to him back home.
He had been convinced to attack his own people, his own city, and in the end Rancor used him to his full advantage. Numara had been played a fool, but it had been of his own accord, in a way. He had trusted Rancor because he had respected his power, and that had nearly been the end of all good within the boundaries of Nassera. Because of his misdeeds, tens of thousands of innocent Nasserians had suffered, and more than a thousand had been killed. In the end, after Rancor's banishment, Numara had stood trial for treason. Mere days after that embarrassing ordeal, he had learned that Rancor's reign of terror had taken the life of one he held very dear, the Lady Vanalei, his own mother.
That same day, a sentencing was handed down in his trial, and he too was banished from Nassera. Banishment meant spending the rest of his natural life in the Void. Even his father had supported the sentencing.
No one had cared to wish him goodbye, and he had been sent away without getting the chance to see his family. Only his father and the barrister who had represented him at trial had joined Otho, Keeper of the Void, to bid him farewell.
His father had even hugged him.
Numara sunk to his knees, sighing. It had hurt so much for so long, and remembering now had only made it worse. Not even the knowledge that his banishment would be repealed if he could stop Rancor made him feel better, primarily because he realized how impossible the task at hand truly was. To stop a Dreamwalker was like being asked to plug a leaky dam: if you weren't prepared for it, the force would be impossible to hold back. Before, only luck had prevented Rancor from burying the heart and soul of the Nasserian people beneath the rubble of the Albara Temple. He had been forced to move quick—that he did was true enough—but speed had not brought Rancor to his knees. No, it had been something else. Numara didn't know for sure, but perhaps it was the Gem of Ages itself, for that was what the bastard had been after all along.
The Gem of Ages. Numara lifted the fist-sized jewel and gazed into the dull, blood-red surface. The Nasserian had always been fascinated by the tales of the sacred stone. One that he found most interesting was that, no matter in which light the jewel was held, no reflection was ever cast. It was said that the gem fed off of the energy of the world around it, drawing in all the lights of the universe, the reason that nothing was ever reflected from the surface. Of course, that didn't explain the beautiful red hue of the gem—obviously some light was being reflected—but it was a nice story to be told around the dinner table during pleasant times. He remembered it well from his own childhood.
Then there was the tale of the Rainmaker, the powerful mage who created the Gem of Ages to defend his people from the vampyric Nightwalkers and later established the Nasserian Empire through the power of the same sacred stone. Throughout his people's history, the Emperor had been a direct descendent of the Rainmaker. The Rainmaker clan had made many enemies during the span of its existence, and the Nightwalkers were most definitely among them.
Nassera had never experienced the wrath of a Dreamwalker before Rancor. Rumor held that he was an ally of the Nightwalkers, but no one knew for sure if there was any truth to that. Only Numara had spent enough time with him to really understand much at all, but after all the deception, he wasn't sure if he could tell the difference between the truth and the lies.
Numara sighed again, and rubbed at the lingering pain in his right wrist.
A swift movement in the shadows snagged the warrior's attention, and with effortless grace, Numara rose. He flicked his hair out of his face and he whipped his head around to glare at the meddler, calling upon the Gem of Ages to enhance his vision.
It was one of the Titans. The one with the black mask and staff that he had snapped like a twig. Letting his breath out in a soft sigh, Numara let his arms fall to his sides, allowing muscles to relax. He stood straight and tall, waiting.
"Just thought you might want to know," the Titan said slowly, eyes narrowed. "I'm not finished with you."
"But I am finished fighting you."
"I want to know what you did to my friends."
Numara sighed. "I did nothing."
"Bullshit. They aren't the type of people to go around toppling buildings."
"Nor am I."
"You'll have to forgive me if I don't believe you."
"Look, we got off on the wrong foot. I thought that creature was some kind of wild animal. I did not realize you were his friend." Numara approached slowly. To his surprise, the Titan did not back down, but instead met him face to face, ready to turn violent if the situation should call for it. The Nasserian wet his lips, determined not to let guard fall. "It is the truth. You do not have to believe it, but I am not responsible for what has happened."
The native grit his teeth. "Then who is?"
Numara caught a peek of the boy out of the corner of his eye and then turned back to the Titan. "Tell your friends to stand down, and I will tell you where I come from, and about the ancient evil that has invaded your city."
The young man gasped in surprise. Numara did not have to be a telepath to know what he was thinking. His plan had been so well coordinated, yet the stranger had known. Numara understood his shock. He almost felt bad for the kid. The native rested his hand against his temple, as if rubbing away a fresh migraine. "Guys, come on out. It's all clear."
Numara nodded. "A wise decision." He held out his blue, four-fingered hand, each long appendage tipped with a razor-sharp, black claw. "I am Numara from the planet Nassera. I am here to track down a dangerous criminal."
The native gave him a long, worried look, and finally accepted his hand. "Robin. We're the Teen Titans. Uh…welcome to Earth, I guess."
* * *
"Let me get this straight," Cyborg said, on the verge of losing his temper. "We're up against a warrior who fights as well with his brain as he does with his brawn, and he's telepathic?" The other Titans shared his concern, but held their tongues.
"To sum it up, yes," Numara replied, rubbing his soar wrist. He had his back to the Titans, gazing out over the city with a heavy frown. He was getting worried. These warriors, protectors of the city, did not seem eager to believe him. He understood there concerns. After all, he was new to this world, and only after his arrival did they begin to believe him. He supposed he would even believe himself, if he were in their shoes. It seemed so unbelievably insane, even for a group who made a living fighting the unbelievably insane. Numara would have laughed if the situation were not so dire.
For a time, all was silent, and then the Titans softly spoke amongst themselves, away from the stranger.
"This is crazy," Cyborg said. "There's no way. It just don't add up."
"I don't see why not," Robin said. "Tell me, why would he deceive us? What purpose would it serve. He doesn't know us. If he was hostile, he wouldn't have stopped fighting back there."
"I don't buy that, Rob," Cyborg said. "B.B. and Star aren't criminals."
"We're talking about mind control. Doesn't seem beyond the realm of possibility. There's a force out there affecting our friends. Numara's offering us an explanation."
Cyborg scowled. "That's just great if you're willing to trust him, Rob, but what if he's the cause of all this?"
"I don't think he is."
"You willing to bet the lives of your friends?"
Silence. Robin eyed his fellow Titan with concern. He understood Cyborg's uneasiness, for he shared it himself. A year ago, he might have been unwilling to accept the stranger's story as truth, until he had seen further evidence, but he had become a better judge of character since he had brought the Titans together. He was willing to trust Numara, to accept his word as the truth, at least for the time being.
"Well?" Cyborg demanded.
"Yes I am." The Boy Wonder rose suddenly, ignoring the look of frustration on his friend's face. It was obviously an answer that he neither expected nor liked. Cyborg had been trying to play the guilt trip on him, but he refused to bite. There were lives at stake, namely Beast Boy and Starfire. Robin turned to Numara to ask a question.
"I understand if you do not trust me," the blue-skinned alien suddenly announced. The Titans shot a look amongst themselves; they had no idea he had been able to hear their conversation. "I am a stranger to this land, and my ways must seem odd. Or perhaps not. Perhaps you simply do not hold enough trust in your heart to share with a traveler like myself. Then again, I am not here seeking trust. My goal is to confront Rancor. It must be done, and I will do it. Only then might your friends be set free."
"Might isn't good enough!" Cyborg seethed. "I want your assurance they'll be okay, or I'm gonna–"
"Cyborg!" Robin turned on his friend with a scowl. "The city is in trouble, maybe even the world, and right now the fate of two Titans is the very least of our concern. I for one don't believe that Numara would come to Earth without a very good reason, whether or not it's to stop a crazed telepathic lunatic from conquering the world. If he's telling the truth we have a villain waiting for us more powerful than Slade…more powerful than Joker…more powerful than Lex Luthor himself. If he's lying, what better way to keep an eye on him than to work with him? I think it's a risk worth taking."
"Robin is right," Raven said quietly, looking up from her steaming cup of herbal tea. "Regardless of the truth, there is a darkness at work here that I have yet to understand. Numara is but one piece of the puzzle."
"We can't save B.B. or Starfire without him. One way or the other, their fate is in his hands."
"Whether by his own or through the control of another," Raven agreed.
Cyborg put his hand behind his head, frustrated. Then he let out a deep breath and slammed his other first down on the rooftop. "Dammit!" The word echoed over the rooftops, lingering into the night. He fixed his gaze on Robin. "Fine, I'm with you. But I still think this is a bad idea."
"No one's going to tell you what to think. This is just something we have to do."
Numara rose. "I am sorry that I got you into this. It should not have happened."
The Titans, in their dwindling state, three of their original five, simply stared at him, hearing the compassion in his voice, so unlike the flat, businesslike tone he had used in the heat of battle.
Robin knew that voice. Maybe not the person behind it, but definitely the tone involved. On occasion he had heard Bruce speak with it when things had gone so terribly wrong. The death of his parents. His departure to join the Teen Titans a year ago, when Robin had been convinced that he did not want to end up like the Batman of Gotham City. It all seemed so strange, so distant. This was not the voice of a warrior, but the voice of one unprepared for the burden, like a medieval farmer given a sword and thrust into the heat of battle, knowing that if he did not fight, and fight well, that his crops, his livestock, his home, and his family would all fall to the enemy. That was a warrior of necessity, a warrior untrained. Not unlike himself before he joined with Bruce.
It was, in its simplest form, a voice he could trust.
Still, he would have to keep a close watch on Numara, and he would. Otherwise, he would have to admit to Bruce that, in the long run, his training had failed.
"When can we get started?" Robin asked, stepping up to Numara's side.
The Nasserian glanced to him, and suddenly smiled. It was the kind of smile that a relieved son might give his father after having been forced to admit guilt for doing something wrong, and receiving praise for his honesty rather than being punished for his misdeeds. "Right away."
"What can you tell me about this Rancor?"
"Enough to make your skin crawl."
"Give me the basics," the Boy Wonder said quickly. "What's his personality?"
Numara gave the Titan leader a sidelong glance. "Simple. He is the definition of slime. He is a liar and a thief and he does not care how many he hurts. He likes to strike down his victims from the shadows. He turns them into everything they hate, and they love him for it. It is a release into the depths of the mind. Believe me, I know. I too was a victim of Rancor's deception." The alien rubbed his right hand, studying the blackened mark where Robin's staff had struck his wrist. It was swollen nearly an inch in diameter more than normal. Apparently, the Gem of Ages did not compensate for injury.
Numara sighed and rose to his feet, and was surprised when Raven's hand shot up and grabbed his own. His right hand. He winced in pain. The girl looked up at him. "Your wrist. It is more than a sprain."
"Name of the game for a soldier at war."
"It is broken," Raven said. "Let me help."
She fed her energy into him, rearranging the bone and torn ligaments, sealing them into their rightful place to heal. Numara winced a little, but he was a quiet patient. Raven was a skilled healer, thanks to her days in Azarath. As she finished, she drained the pain from him. He smiled, testing his wrist. The pain was gone. "Thank you."
"It's nothing."
He looked at her for a moment, and then looked away.
"Any more you can tell us about this Rancor?" Robin asked.
"He is a soldier not unlike myself, built for battle. He longs for challenge, one of the reasons he attacked my homeworld. We do not know where he came from, only that he came, and that is enough to throw the whole of existence into a tailspin."
"He longs for challenge," Robin whispered to himself, turning the thought over and over again in his mind. "So he's out there to take on the best? In New York, the Teen Titans are the best, but there are others."
"Others?" Numara asked.
"We can't allow him to spread. If he wants a challenge, let's give him one."