Authors: Steven Montano
Blood Skies (13 page)
Snow screamed, fell onto her back and crawled away from the carnage. Cross could barely catch his breath. His spirit still held him as if impassioned, and she was stuck to his skin like lover’s sweat. Cross had hit nearly every Chul in sight with his arcane bullets, but some of them still pushed forward, their bodies dissolving from the inside out as icy energy spread through their unnatural forms. The smell of entrails was thick in the air. Kray hacked falling creatures apart as he backed onto the shore. Gunfire from behind them blasted an uninjured Chul, spattering its misshapen skull.
Cross grabbed Snow by the arm and pulled her to her feet. Graves, Stone and Morg rained bullets on the Chul and mowed the unstable ebon bodies down beneath a ruthless barrage of gunfire. Smoke and ear-shattering noise filled the air. Cross kept his spirit at hand, and didn’t release in spite of her unspoken pleas. He held onto Snow’s arms.
The shooting, at last, stopped, and the Wormwood was silent once again. Oozing bodies sagged and deflated in the water and on the edge of the shore, and black ichors poured out of the punctured sacks of meat. Fumes rose out of the dead and mingled with the other poisons of the forest.
“
So much for surprising anyone,” Graves cursed as he reloaded his Remington.
So much for surprising anyone,” Graves cursed as he reloaded his Remington.
Cross quickly checked Kray, and after he confirmed that the big man was uninjured both Morg and Stone returned to the mausoleum, their eyes on the stairs.
“
There’s no way they didn’t hear that,” Stone said quietly.
There’s no way they didn’t hear that,” Stone said quietly.
“
They already know we’re here, anyhow,” Morg said softly. He took a cloth out of his pocket and cleaned off the tip of his spear, a serrated silver blade with runic carvings of elfin maidens armed with swords. Morg stripped down to a flak vest, which left his arms bare and displayed the intricate serpentine tattoos on his dark and rippled muscles. He wore a silver and iron band on his right wrist and a strip of Kevlar and steel armor around his left elbow. Cross knew that he lived for this, the fighting, the struggle. He’d been a gladiator once, they said, forced to fight for the amusement of the vampire aristocracy in the city-state of Krul. “Are you ready?”
They already know we’re here, anyhow,” Morg said softly. He took a cloth out of his pocket and cleaned off the tip of his spear, a serrated silver blade with runic carvings of elfin maidens armed with swords. Morg stripped down to a flak vest, which left his arms bare and displayed the intricate serpentine tattoos on his dark and rippled muscles. He wore a silver and iron band on his right wrist and a strip of Kevlar and steel armor around his left elbow. Cross knew that he lived for this, the fighting, the struggle. He’d been a gladiator once, they said, forced to fight for the amusement of the vampire aristocracy in the city-state of Krul. “Are you ready?”
It took Cross a moment to realize Morg was talking to he and Snow. Cross hesitated. He was shaken from keeping his spirit on edge for so long (she was still there, poised, hovering around him like a deadly and erotic pet). The stress of having just detonated explosive ice bombs inside a dozen zombies had both he and his spirit coiled and tense. Snow’s eyes, in the meantime, were wide with shock, and Cross sensed the anxious emanations of her spirit, confused by what it saw and felt. The spirit was bonded to the soul – one reflected the other. What one felt, the other felt. If one suffered, the other suffered.
You’re too young
, Cross wanted to tell her.
You have to leave. You don’t belong here
.
, Cross wanted to tell her.
You have to leave. You don’t belong here
.
Snow nodded and offered a stoic: “I’m ready”. Cross glanced sideways at her for a moment, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. She hadn’t wiped away the black blood that landed on her from the exploding Chul bodies. The tattoos on her neck dully pulsed with power, the foci for her harnessed spirit.
No one else seemed to notice the depth of her apprehension; if they did, no one chose to say anything about it. Cross rose, hesitantly, and helped her to her feet.
They moved down the steep steps and into the moldy darkness of the crypt. Dank weeds and dark, twisted roots covered with black soil hung across the narrow hole of an entrance, which descended straight down into near darkness. The steps were smooth and shallow, wide but unstable. The air smelled of mildew and age, and they had to light Kray’s lamp to see.
Stone was the first to descend, his M4 in hand, followed tightly by each of them in a single file line. Kray brought up the rear; he was barely able to squeeze down the cramped opening. Dirt and soil fell in occasional drifts from between solid blocks of aged and crumbling stone. The cramped quarters reminded Cross again of his childhood, of crawling around in the air ducts of old buildings, dodging vampires and waiting for help.
Why do I keep thinking about my childhood? Keep your head straight, Eric, or it’s going to get torn off.
Cross wasn’t sure how far they’d gone until they hit the bottom, when his feet awkwardly found solid ground. Kray’s lamp illuminated the area in front of them, and it all but negated any chance of their gaining surprise. Still, Cross reasoned, it was better than falling down the shaft. He turned and helped Snow down the last step by taking her waif-like waist in his hands. (She gave him a look. He scowled at her, in the way that brothers do.)
They’d descended into a round and empty room with a floor covered in white dust and shattered old pots. Strange emblems adorned the curved walls of the dome-shaped chamber -- lightning bolts and bats, eyes and mouths, jackals and teeth.
“
What the Hell is this?” Stone said under his breath.
What the Hell is this?” Stone said under his breath.
“
I hear you,” Morg whispered.
I hear you,” Morg whispered.
“
Okay,” Graves said as he did a quick turn. “When did we arrive in ancient Egypt? Or is this some of that trans-locative substantiation, or whatever the hell you call it?”
Okay,” Graves said as he did a quick turn. “When did we arrive in ancient Egypt? Or is this some of that trans-locative substantiation, or whatever the hell you call it?”
“
Tran-substantive locationism,” Cross corrected. “And the answer is ‘no’.”
Tran-substantive locationism,” Cross corrected. “And the answer is ‘no’.”
“
Gosh, thanks,” Graves said.
Gosh, thanks,” Graves said.
“
What is this place?” Morg asked him, but it was Snow who answered.
What is this place?” Morg asked him, but it was Snow who answered.
“
A crypt, just like it looks. The vampires worship very old deities.” She spoke with confidence and poise. Cross knew she was faking it, but he was glad she’d decided to make her presence known.
A crypt, just like it looks. The vampires worship very old deities.” She spoke with confidence and poise. Cross knew she was faking it, but he was glad she’d decided to make her presence known.
“
Can you still track down here?” Morg asked pointedly.
Can you still track down here?” Morg asked pointedly.
“
Of course.” Snow didn’t falter a moment.
Of course.” Snow didn’t falter a moment.
“
Then get to it.”
Then get to it.”
There were three small alcoves in the room, each of which bore a curved door that had to be opened by pressing a stone trigger on the wall next to it. The triggers were cleverly hidden, and it took Snow some time to get a good reading due to the interference created by the stone, which had been built with trans-substantive dampening properties to prevent anyone from using magic to gain access to the inside of the crypt. The only way in was to use the physical entrance.
Talk about being overprotective
, Cross thought.
Humans have never been able to teleport. I wonder if this place was safeguarded against other vampires. But who would build a crypt to guard against other vampires?
, Cross thought.
Humans have never been able to teleport. I wonder if this place was safeguarded against other vampires. But who would build a crypt to guard against other vampires?
Cross looked at the walls, and up the hole.
Better yet…
“
I wonder who’s buried here,” he said quietly.
I wonder who’s buried here,” he said quietly.
“
What?” Stone asked.
What?” Stone asked.
“
This is a crypt, right?” Cross said. “Who’s buried here? Or what?”
This is a crypt, right?” Cross said. “Who’s buried here? Or what?”
“
Who cares?” Stone said. Stone was an intimidating man, not so much from his impressive physical demeanor – his chiseled and dark skin had its share of scars and tattoos, he had an angular face, big eyes and a lean, quick frame – but because of his manner. Stone was generally quiet, and he chose his words carefully. He preferred to kill quickly and from a distance, and he rarely fraternized for any reason.
Who cares?” Stone said. Stone was an intimidating man, not so much from his impressive physical demeanor – his chiseled and dark skin had its share of scars and tattoos, he had an angular face, big eyes and a lean, quick frame – but because of his manner. Stone was generally quiet, and he chose his words carefully. He preferred to kill quickly and from a distance, and he rarely fraternized for any reason.
“
You
should,” Cross said. “We all should. It might be useful to know why Red came down here.”
You
should,” Cross said. “We all should. It might be useful to know why Red came down here.”
“
I think it’s a bit late to worry about that now,” Stone said.
I think it’s a bit late to worry about that now,” Stone said.
“
Which way?” Morg asked Snow.
Which way?” Morg asked Snow.
“
That way,” she said as she extended her hand. Her blank eyes stared ahead. “Margrave…Red…went that way.”
That way,” she said as she extended her hand. Her blank eyes stared ahead. “Margrave…Red…went that way.”
Stone took the point, and when he pulled open the stone door Cross felt something right away: a charnel presence, a corrupted arcane energy signature that he recognized from his experience in the field.
“
There’s Crujian technology in here,” he said, aware that his own eyes were glowing now, set alight by his spirit. “It’s probably coming from suits of hexed combat armor.” He focused. “There are at least four vampires waiting for us there. Maybe more.”
There’s Crujian technology in here,” he said, aware that his own eyes were glowing now, set alight by his spirit. “It’s probably coming from suits of hexed combat armor.” He focused. “There are at least four vampires waiting for us there. Maybe more.”
“
This door has been opened recently,” Graves said after he looked at it for a moment. “It used to be sealed up tight.”
This door has been opened recently,” Graves said after he looked at it for a moment. “It used to be sealed up tight.”
“
All right, then,” Morg said. “Look sharp.”
All right, then,” Morg said. “Look sharp.”
Stone took a breath, and stepped through the door.
NINE
HOLE
The squad stepped into a long and wide-open dark corridor. They were beneath the shallow lake, in an open catacomb of rust-colored rock, broken iron machines and dank sarcophagi covered in mold and mildew. Thick green fluid dripped from the ceiling. The air was cloying and rich. Shallow streams of stagnant water flowed between rows of open stone coffins. Narrow planks of rusted steel bridged the symmetrical isles of the dead. The water reflected the orange-yellow glow of Kray’s lamp and turned the air gritty, so that looking around was like peering through an ashen haze. Crumbling pillars of steel and mortar and clusters of rotted pipe supported the high-vaulted ceiling, which stood at least twenty feet over their heads.
“
Wow,” Graves muttered. “Big place.”
Wow,” Graves muttered. “Big place.”
“
Thank you for that, Detective,” Kray smiled.
Thank you for that, Detective,” Kray smiled.
“
Zip it,” Morg said quietly. Their voices echoed and faded in the distance like ghostly birds in a still wind. There were no easily discernible borders to the chamber – Cross saw a dozen or so stone islands and their resident coffins, but there were no walls visible except for the one behind them. The room might have stretched on for miles. “Anything?” Morg asked the mages.
Zip it,” Morg said quietly. Their voices echoed and faded in the distance like ghostly birds in a still wind. There were no easily discernible borders to the chamber – Cross saw a dozen or so stone islands and their resident coffins, but there were no walls visible except for the one behind them. The room might have stretched on for miles. “Anything?” Morg asked the mages.
Cross paused and caught his breath. Snow was practically a statue beside him.
Just hang in there. We’ll be ok. I don’t know how we’re not damn it I can’t I’m going to lose her down here and I’ll be all alone but we’re going to be ok
.
.
“
Damn,” he muttered. “Nothing.”
Damn,” he muttered. “Nothing.”
“
Nothing?” Graves asked, his tone considerably more exasperated than what Graves was used to. “How the hell…?”
Nothing?” Graves asked, his tone considerably more exasperated than what Graves was used to. “How the hell…?”
“
They’re here,” Snow said quietly. “But there’s a lot of old magic here. It’s interfering with our sight. Our spirits can’t find them.”
They’re here,” Snow said quietly. “But there’s a lot of old magic here. It’s interfering with our sight. Our spirits can’t find them.”
“
And there’s not much we can do about it,” Cross added.
And there’s not much we can do about it,” Cross added.
“
Spread out,” Morg said. “Stone, Cross and Graves take the right side; Snow and Kray, with me. Everyone keep your eyes open.”
Spread out,” Morg said. “Stone, Cross and Graves take the right side; Snow and Kray, with me. Everyone keep your eyes open.”
Cross looked at Snow worriedly. He chanced a glance at Morg, who gave him a stern nod.
You can’t stay with her. If the groups need to split, the mages have to be separated. If anything happens to one group and both mages fall, the whole squad is screwed.
But still…regardless of logic, or circumstance, or anything else, Cross didn’t like the thought of being separated from Snow. Not down there. It felt like throwing her to the wolves.
No. She’ll be with Morg and Kray. She’ll be safer than you’ll be.
He took her aside.
“
Are you okay?” he asked her. Cross wasn’t sure if the two groups would even be out of sight of one another, but that place seemed vast, and it would be easy to get lost in the murk.
Are you okay?” he asked her. Cross wasn’t sure if the two groups would even be out of sight of one another, but that place seemed vast, and it would be easy to get lost in the murk.
“
I can take care of myself, Eric,” she said. “Thank you,” she added after a moment.
I can take care of myself, Eric,” she said. “Thank you,” she added after a moment.
Cross looked at her. It was hard for him to believe she was grown up. He could lose her here. He took in the sight of her, and he saw her face fade, a mask that concealed her younger self, wide-eyed and curious, pretty and insightful whatever her age, he watched her grow, watched the years pass, saw her spirit swirl in and cover her in a shroud as she left that old world, that old self, the young girl who liked to drag hand-made dolls and throw stones into the sea and who used to just stand next to him, close against his warmth for hours without speaking, and she was replaced by this older girl, this beautiful, powerful, dazzling stranger he’d distanced himself from without ever even meaning to.
I don’t know you like I used to
, he wanted to tell her.
And I’m sorry for that. I’m so sorry.
, he wanted to tell her.
And I’m sorry for that. I’m so sorry.
“
All right,” was all he said, and he nodded. “Be careful.”
All right,” was all he said, and he nodded. “Be careful.”
You’re all that I have left.
She hugged him, and he hugged her back.
“
I love you,” she said.
I love you,” she said.
The groups separated.
Stone had a flare to light their way, and he led Cross and Graves along the eastern wall. They walked through waterfalls of soot. Shadows twisted like writhing worms in the cracks and crevices in the wall.
The room went on and on, unnaturally dark and vast. The layout remained the same no matter how deep they went – open sarcophagi stood on grid-like stone islands, spaced apart by streams of thick and stagnant water. The general state of disrepair was more apparent the further they walked, just as the walkways, which were only wide enough for them to move single-file, were more cracked and less stable.
No one spoke. Stone led the way. Cross was right behind him and Graves brought up the rear, all with their weapons drawn. Cross’ HK45 pistol felt heavy in his hand, but when he allowed his spirit to crawl across his skin it grew lighter, as her arcane energy infused the firing mechanism and shrouded the loaded bullets with deadly ballistic energies.
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