Richard Doetsch - Half-Past Dawn

“It belonged to my great-grandfather,” Desai said. “He was a prince in the times of the Maratha Empire. His father had it made for him as a symbol of purity, virility, and command. It is called the Shiant Dagger. It is said that those who possess it will attain great power over mankind. I now pass it to you.”

Cristos clutched the long Galil sniper rifle, smiling as he watched the exchange. Not a word was mentioned of Nadia, the wedding, or love-just daggers, business, and politics. Cristos reached over, picked up his bottle of water, and took a long, slow swig, savoring the coolness as it poured down his throat.

Without further delay, he grasped the rifle, lined up his sight, and swept the gun back and forth between his targets. Assured of his aim and without fanfare, he exhaled and pulled the trigger. The three-inch copper bullet exploded out of the gun, traveling the two hundred yards in an instant, shattering the large picture window in the library before exploding the PM’s head. Within half a second, the barrel was swung to the right, the cough of the rifle echoed along the mountain, and Desai’s head was nearly torn from his body.

Cristos swung the rifle again, lining up the sight on Raj, but he had a change of heart. He adjusted his aim and fired off two quick shots. The first bullet hit Raj in the stomach, tearing out his back, while the second bullet shattered his knee, driving a hole clear through the cap and cartilage.

Cristos abandoned the rifle and broke into a full-out sprint. Covering the grassy two hundred yards in less than twenty-two seconds, he leaped through the now-empty window frame into the library. He looked at his handiwork, at what was left of the corrupt PM Sapre, at Desai, inwardly smiling that the country’s richest man was felled by a two-dollar bullet.

He finally turned his eye to Raj, walking over and looking down on the dying twenty-year-old. He waited a moment for his face to register in the young man’s fading mind.

“What was it you said about erasing me from existence? I just wanted to say thank you.”

And as Raj’s eyes began to drift, Cristos pulled out an EpiPen-an auto-injector of epinephrine-and jabbed him in the thigh with it. Raj’s eye’s flew open as his heart began to race.

“I want you to be fully awake.” Cristos smiled. “Fully aware of the pain as you die.”

Suddenly, the twin doors exploded open. Cristos spun around, a pistol instantly in hand aimed at the intruder. But he did what he swore he would never do again. He hesitated, for he was looking into the eyes of Nadia.

And despite her unforgivable betrayal, his heart still skipped at the sight of her. Cristos had declared his heart dead, replacing the pain and hollowness with rage and vengeance, but that all melted away as his eyes fell upon Nadia.

She raced to Raj, taking him in her arms, screaming in agony as she looked at the carnage around her.

“What have you done?” she cried, the same words she had said four months earlier. She glanced at what was left of her father and nearly retched. Turning her attention back to Raj, she pressed her hand on his wounded stomach, trying to stop the bleeding.

Cristos just stared at her, momentarily losing all focus.

“How could you do this after everything I did for you?” Nadia openly wept. “I stopped Raj from killing you. I kept my father and the prime minister from seeking you out. I paid for your hospital, your care. I watched over you while you were in a medically induced coma.”

Cristos’s head began to spin, once again not knowing what to believe. Riley was very clear that the only reason he was alive was that the fire alarm had gone off and that Raj and Nadia needed to escape before they were seen. Riley said he was paying for his treatment, that his government, in conjunction with the British, was paying.

“I’m so sorry for what I did to you.” Her words flooded out on heavy breaths. “I panicked when I saw you killing Raj, I lost my mind and threw that oil. I can’t imagine the pain you must have endured. I haven’t slept since that night. Can’t you understand? This is my world. This is where I belong.”

Cristos began to panic; all logic, all reason, had left his mind as he fell under Nadia’s spell once again. “Come away with me. I can-”

“Go away with you?” she screamed. “You’re a monster. How could you do this? My father, the prime minister…”

She turned and looked at Raj. His eyes had fallen shut, his breathing coming in fits and starts as he slowly began to die.

“You’ve taken everything from me. Get out. Get out!”

“Raj said that-Riley said-”

“Who said what? You listen to everyone except yourself. What does your heart tell you, what does your instinct tell you?”

Cristos could see the truth in her eyes… and feel it in his heart. She was right. He was trained to listen to his instincts, and yet he had tucked them away, chosen to ignore them when they had been his guide for his whole life.

Cristos reached down, offering her his hand.

Nadia picked up the bejeweled dagger, pointing it at him. “Stay away from me.”

“Nadia…”

“I have nothing. You’ve taken it all from me.”

Cristos could see the despair in her eyes, her body shaking, on the edge of a nervous breakdown. He had come there seeking vengeance, bringing death, and succeeded in his task. But he had been manipulated by all: Nadia, Raj, Riley. He was truly just a pawn in their games. And while his heart had burned with Nadia’s betrayal, looking at her now, he couldn’t bring himself to harm her, for he realized that he still loved her in spite of everything.

“Please, you don’t understand…” he said as he reached out for her.

Nadia stepped back, finally looking at her father, the prime minister, and Raj.

And without warning, without a single word, she looked Cristos in the eye and plunged the dagger into her own chest.

The open-air jeep raced up the mountainside, under the canopy of night, the thick leaves allowing only shards of moonlight to penetrate. In the valley below, a sudden explosion lit up the night as the prime minister’s vacation home was torn to shreds, an enormous fireball engulfing it and the remaining guests inside.

Cristos white-knuckled the steering wheel, his eyes darting between the road and Nadia, who lay motionless across the backseat, the dagger protruding from her chest.

He had nowhere else to turn. He had abandoned his culture, his people, his father, but now they were the only ones he could turn to to save the woman he loved.

Five miles up the dirt road, the hard-packed surface abruptly ended as if it had been swallowed by nature. He grabbed Nadia off of the seat, careful to avoid touching the dagger, and carried her into the jungle, still knowing the path better than anyone. The long, twisting trail meandered through the thick foliage, over rocks and streams, up a five-mile slope whose grade never diminished.

It would be at least another hour before he reached the village. He feared that he was already too late when two Cotis priests stepped out of the dark jungle, members of the Tietien council. Hovath had schooled him in martial arts and weaponry, while Prunaj had taught him of spirituality and the jungle. Each-uncharacteristic for the Cotis people-carried a sidearm on his hip. Without a word, they flanked him.

And Cristos’s father stepped from the cover of the foliage.

Father and son locked eyes, a world of emotions exchanged without a word.

“You cannot come back.”

“You have to save her,” Cristos pleaded.

His father looked at the girl, her body limp in his son’s arms. “Save her for herself or save her for you?”

“Please,” Cristos begged. “Bring her back.”