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.i will tell you this–you, my boy, are like no other person I have ever met, except for one.”Monson cocked the eyebrow.“Except for one? You mean there’s someone else like me?” He ignored the fact that he was not sure what that even meant.He was different, but how could he articulate that difference? Because he was the Being of Seven Bloods? Maybe, but the thought of him being some sort of savior left a bad taste in his mouth.Marques bent down to look Monson in the eye.“The only other person like you is–”Monson already knew, so he finished his grandfather’s sentence.“Sariah.”Marques’ chin dipped once in the affirmative.“Find her, Monson; find out everything about her.only then will the question be answered.”Monson gritted his teeth.“The question? What is it with you people and your enigmatic warnings? How can I find the answer when I don’t even know the question?”Marques Grey looked skyward, a serene expression on his face.Monson rubbed at his eyes.Marques was evanescing, still visible but becoming more and more translucent.“But you do know the question, Monson Grey.you have been asking since you were old enough to wonder.”Monson’s brow furrowed as he attempted to understand.Marques laughed again, the noise taking on the quality of a fading echo.“You’ve been asking the same question ever since I found you in the streets of New York when you were four.You know it even now.”The phrase passed through Monson’s lips involuntarily as he closed his eyes and mentally feasted upon the revelation.“Who am I? the ultimate question is: Who am I?”Monson opened his eyes when no one answered.Upon doing so he realized that he was alone and that his body was glowing brilliantly.“No! Don’t go yet!” pleaded Monson.“I still have questions, things to say.please not yet.”The voice of his grandfather lazily floated towards him, accompanying a cool evening breeze.“I love you, my boy.remember to protect that which is most important to you.”Monson hung his head as he held back the tears.He took a deep breath and screamed a scream that shook the very core of his world.***Monson awoke to the feeling of warmth and the sweet smell of lavender.“You’re awake,” spoke a voice situated right next to his ear.“Welcome back to the land of the living.”“How long was I out?”“Only a few minutes.Gibson called for reinforcements a few moments ago.They’re gathering up some of the destroyed equipment.They said I could sit with you; I think they’re coming to heal you.”“Why would our enemy come and heal me?”Hair brushed against Monson’s face.he realized that his head was in Cyann’s lap and that she was shaking her head.“I told them that it was the price of me going quietly.I still have Damion’s blade with me.So Mr.Gibson offered me a deal: If I go with him, he would heal your wounds.Though it doesn’t look like you need healing now.”Monson’s eyes shut even tighter as emotion once more swept over him.“I’m not going to let that happen.”He shifted his back slightly, trying to get a feel for the extent of his injuries.“I can’t feel any pain.”“Weren’t you listening? I just said they didn’t need to heal you.There isn’t any pain because there isn’t a wound anymore.”Monson shifted around some more.“How could that be? He cut me, I know he did.”Cyann shrugged.“Your guess is as good as mine.but never mind that.We need to figure out a plan.They’re gonna kill Mr.Gatt and Brian.Something about sending a message.”Monson sighed.“I know, but what do we do? I don’t think I can beat him, not like this.”“You can.”Monson shook his head slightly.“You saw our last fight.I have an incomplete style, remember?”“Monson, only a coward blames his style for his failure.”“Are you saying there’s some other reason?”“No, I’m just saying that you shouldn’t blame your fighting style.It’s a moot point, anyway.”“How is it a moot point? I still can’t beat him.”Monson felt fingers touch his eyes.He opened them instinctively.Cyann whispered.“If you find that you are lacking something—experience, courage, ability…whatever it may be–then you do what it takes to find what you lack.In your case.”Monson felt something press against his left hand.He glanced downward to see Damion Peterson’s River’s Serenity.He looked up at Cyann, who was smiling.“In your case,” she repeated, “if you find that you’re lacking a weapon, all you have to do is find one.”Monson grinned, then again tensed his body, ready to pounce.“Where’s Gibson?”“Directly in front of us.”“Can you stand and run?”“Not really.but don’t worry; they aren’t going to do anything to me, at least not yet.”Monson nodded as he stood up, surprising the soldiers who were milling around them.Monson let out a war cry.“GIBSONNNNNNN!”Gibson, standing not fifty feet away, whipped around and looked at Monson with both amazement and outrage [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]