Chapter Eighteen

Location unknown

Yami dreamed of blood and darkness, of shadows like copper knives carving their sharp claim into his flesh.

He awoke with his heart laboring in his chest and a fine sheen of sweat covering his skin. Every muscle ached. His left hip throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He lay, unmoving, as his mind catalogued his body's complaints, and he attempted to sort memory from dream.

The last clear thing he remembered was struggling with Tanaka's henchman atop the KC Mars office tower. And then...

Yami's eyes shot open as the recollection hit him with all the subtlety of a Duel Mech's fist. He'd gone over the side of the damn roof.

The breath hitched in Yami's throat. Frozen, he ran that notion through his memory again, and came up with same conclusion. Yes, he had definitely fallen from the top of the tower. He could remember the horrible sound of the wind rushing past him as he plummeted toward the ground and certain death. And then the night had seemed to swirl around him, the shadows that had followed him over the edge had wrapped themselves tightly against his body... and the world had disappeared in a vortex of black and purple energy that opened up and swallowed him whole.

Swallowing hard, Yami sat up slowly and took a good look around. Wherever he was, it wasn't in that place of shadows. He was in a small chamber, roughly ten feet square, hewn from living rock. The walls, floor, even the ceiling were plain, unfinished limestone. The only source of light was a small dome lamp perched in a niche carved into the wall near the only door. There were no windows, vents or other openings that he could see.

He took a deep breath through his nose. The air was musty with the scent of dust and disuse, but it wasn't stale, so fresh air had to be coming in from somewhere. That made him feel only a little better; despite the cot and the lamp, the stone room was all too reminiscent of a tomb. He thanked good fortune that he wasn't claustrophobic.

Yami flung back the thin sheet that had covered him and rose unsteadily to his feet. He was surprised to find that someone had bandaged his wounded hip while he had been unconscious. They had also taken his clothing, replacing his jeans and buckled shirt with a loose garment that hung on him like an old-fashioned nightshirt. He fingered one of the sleeves. The material felt coarse, cheap -- probably cotton -- and had been dyed a rather dull shade of gray. The garment had a simple keyhole neckline, long sleeves, and a hem that reached his ankles. He had seen something like it before -- on one of his mother's archaeological expeditions, he thought. He searched his memory, but the specific image eluded him. He was sure it would come to him, later.

His bare feet were silent on the stone floor as he padded lightly over to the door to examine it. The lintel was only a few inches higher than his head. The opening was blocked by a very solid-looking wooden slab. He gave the handle an experimental tug, then push. Nothing happened. Unsurprisingly, the door was locked from the outside. He pressed his ear to the door, holding his breath as he listened for any sound of activity outside, but heard nothing.

This place, wherever it might be, seemed as still and silent as a tomb.

Shuddering at the thought, he turned his attention to the lamp in its niche beside the door. The lamp was a simple, self-contained dome that generated a weak, bluish light that barely illuminated the small room. Even with the light, the shadows were thick along the walls and in the corners.

Yami lifted the dome and hefted it experimentally in one hand. The dome was lightweight and made of a rather thin and brittle plastic -- not much use as a potential weapon, but he filed it away for future reference, just in case. He carried the light with him as he continued his exploration of the room.

The lamp in one hand, he ran the fingers of the other over the rough stone walls. There were plenty of pits and imperfections, but nothing to indicate the seam of a hidden passageway. Not that he had expected to find one, but it was his duty to find some means of escape and he couldn't afford to overlook even a remote possibility. Finished with his examination of the rest of the room, Yami tugged the cot away from its place against the wall farthest from the door and checked the spot where it had rested. Again, he found nothing useful. The cot itself was nothing more than a simple wooden frame, with a lattice of ropes instead of springs beneath the thin mattress pad.

He righted the mattress, shoved the cot back against the wall, and slumped down onto the bed. His head ached from his exertions, and his bullet wound throbbed. Thoughtfully, he traced his fingers over the bandages on his hip. Whoever had placed him in this room, this cell, had also tended his injuries. So, they didn't want him dead -- at least, not right away. He hoped that would work to his advantage.

In the meantime, he needed to conserve his meager energy reserves and regain some of his strength. With that in mind, he lay down on the cot and drew the sheet back over his body. He had placed the lamp on the floor beside the cot; its muted glow made the shadows that surrounded him seem that much darker. Recalling how the shadows had... come alive... before, Yami kept a wary on the circle of darkness encroaching on his resting place, but the light held it at bay.

For now, at least, the shadows were simply that -- shadows.

His thoughts in turmoil despite his mental and physical exhaustion, Yami watched the shadows until his restless dreams reclaimed him.