The Shroud of A'Ranka (Brimstone Network Trilogy) Page 12

  “Vampires,” Emily vocalized, the words coming out in a low rumbling growl.

  Bogey looked at her, placing a stubby finger over his lips, and Stitch reached out, grabbing hold of her shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

  A steady stream of vampires was moving up the street horizontal to the alley. They were talking enthusiastically amongst themselves as they walked, obviously excited about something.

  Bogey felt a fresh shiver move down his spine as he watched the gaggle of blood-drinkers pass.

  The Brimstone Network scientists had provided the vampires with an artificial blood to drink, something that would keep them alive and relatively healthy but did not have to come from the veins of a living thing. And though they no longer had to kill to survive, it did not change what these creatures truly were.

  Predators.

  On his last visit Bogey hadn’t been very careful, moving amongst the pale-skinned people without a care, a tourist to this strange place of darkness. It hadn’t taken long for old instincts to kick in and they were trying to drink him like a tall, cold one on a hot summer’s day. He had barely rifted out of there with his throat intact, and had hated the blood-drinkers ever since.

  “Something’s going on in the center of town,” Bogey whispered, pointing up the street.

  “We should avoid any crowds,” Stitch said.

  “No can do,” Bogey said with a shake of his head. “In order to get to the royal palace we have to pass through the middle.”

  Stitch accepted the information with a nod.

  “We’ll just stick to the shadows and be extra sneaky,” Bogey said.

  He stuck his head out of the alleyway again and, seeing that it was clear, gestured for the others to follow him out onto the main street.

  They quickly darted from their place of concealment, replacing it with another on the main drag leading toward the center of town. There were plenty of deep shadows cast by the tall, stone buildings leading up the street, to hide their steady progress.

  The closer they got, the more interesting it became. From the looks of it, it appeared that all the vampires of Nocturnia were in the city center waiting for something.

  Bogey darted from the shadow of one building, across a patch of moonlight, to hide behind a large cart left on its side. The others followed. It was a perfect vantage point.

  Bogey pointed. “See that big, creepy-looking building over there just beyond the square?”

  Emily and Stitch grunted.

  “That’s where we have to end up,” he said.

  They settled down in their hiding place, watching the crowds continue to grow.

  “What do you think that’s for?” Emily asked, pointing with a clawed finger at an elevated platform that was hastily being completed.

  “Not sure,” Bogey said. “But something tells me it’s only a matter of time before we know.”

  And he was right, as horns began to trumpet and a murmur like the buzz of a thousand insects went through the vampire gathering.

  The horns blared again and figures clad in robes of black, red, and gold flowed onto the stage.

  The vampire royal family.

  “I think this is the main event,” Bogey whispered, watching as a vampire, who had all the physical characteristics of a king, stepped to the front of the platform and, looking out over the crowd, raised his arms.

  “The time is nigh,” the king’s voice boomed.

  The crowd grew more agitated, cheering the words of their ruler.

  “Plans that were set in motion before our banishment to this bleak and lifeless world are again in motion,” the king addressed the excited gathering.

  The crowd roared as one.

  Bogey turned to look at Stitch and Emily. “Something tells me this isn’t good.”

  “We had long since given up hope that our savior had survived his captivity at the hands of the Brimstone Order, that our schemes for world supremacy would ever bear fruit.” The king paused, closing his eyes as if savoring the words to come. “We have reason to hope again, my people. Prince Vladek and the sorcerer Gideon still live.”

  His eyes again came open, practically bugging from his head.

  “They live!” he screamed, and the crowd did so in return.

  “Definitely not good,” Bogey said from the corner of his mouth, his eyes still locked on the king standing on the platform surrounded by frantic followers.

  “Not good at all.”

  It was taking every ounce of Emily’s strength to prevent the beast from getting away.

  Surrounded by creatures that the wolf perceived as enemies, it tried to take over. It wanted to leap from hiding into the crowd, to bite, rip, and tear … it wanted to howl at the twin moons hanging in the black sky.

  Desperately she held its mental leash tightly.

  Another figure made its way up onto the stage to stand beside the king, an ornate wooden box clutched in his hands. This vampire was dressed in robes the color of blood and seemed to be some sort of holy man.

  Emily had to seriously wonder what kind of religion creatures like this would have, and then remembered what they had been told about the death goddess A’Ranka, and how she wanted to stomp all her believers for not loving her enough.

  Sounds like a perfect match, she thought, watching as the priest lifted the box into the air, and suddenly she was hearing the sound.

  Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump.

  The noise made the beast wild … even more wild than before, and it fought her all the harder.

  “To be freed from our place of banishment … to prove that we are the chosen, a goddess who has also suffered unjustly must be shown that we are the faithful … that our devotion and worship will give her the power that she requires to change the world,” the king of the Nocturnia vampires spoke.

  Emily was growling, even though she didn’t want to, a thick, disgusting froth forming on the sides of her mouth.

  Gross.

  She felt Stitch’s firm hand grip her elbow.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  “Can’t you hear it?” she asked.

  Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump.

  The king of the vampires continued to speak to the attentive crowd. “How do we show her our love? How do we show her that we will make her our life and our death?”

  Bogey had turned around and was looking at Emily. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “What are you hearing?”

  Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump.

  The sound was louder now, and she couldn’t believe they could not hear it.

  The priest upon the stage lifted the box all the higher.

  “How?” the vampire king asked the crowd, turning his attention to the priest, who lowered the wooden box and handed it to his ruler with a bow.

  “We will present her with a gift, that is how,” the vampire king said as he reached out and opened the container.

  “We have to get to that palace quickly,” Stitch said to Bogey. “She’s losing control and if we don’t act now we could lose …”

  Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump.

  “No!” Emily screamed, the cry sounding more like a roar than human speech. “We don’t have to go anywhere.”

  It was getting harder for her to speak … to think.

  Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump.

  “Keep it together, girl,” Stitch said in a calming voice. “We’ll find the heart and then …”

  She turned to him, feeling the wolf start to push her away. “Listen to me,” she cried in desperation over the thumping sound that threatened to deafen her.

  Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump. Ba-Thump.

  “We don’t have to look anywhere.”

  She pointed a trembling claw toward the platform, to the figure of the king reaching inside the ornate box.

  “It’s here,” Emily roared.

  The
king presented an object to the crowd. It was black and withered, like a rotten piece of meat, but it throbbed and pulsed with a perverted kind of life.

  It was the heart he held.

  The heart of Vladek.

  Vladek lay upon the hard stone floor of the chamber deep within the pyramid, waiting for his bones to heal.

  He had felt as though he’d fall forever, until his body had nearly shattered on impact with the chamber floor. It was a good thing he had fed so voraciously upon the flying craft, for his injuries were so severe that it would have taken him far longer to mend.

  As he lay there, he listened to the sounds of the chamber; listening for the voice that it seemed only Gideon could hear. He heard nothing, and the sorcerer’s head had left his possession as soon as he had started to fall.

  Finally the vampire began to test his limbs, moving them ever so slightly. They had mostly healed, so he climbed to his feet to inspect the vast chamber.

  Huge metal braziers holding a green, supernatural fire burned eerily, providing light where there would be none. He saw what appeared to be an altar, and instantly he recognized his surroundings. He had seen a drawing of this very place on the wall in the corridor far above.

  He remembered that they had imprisoned the goddess A’Ranka inside a deep pit, and he felt the tug of a smile at the corners of his mouth as he gazed down upon the stone-rimmed circle that was the mouth of that pit.

  Odd symbols—sigils of power—had been drawn upon the encircling stones, and he guessed that this was the magick that kept the goddess trapped inside the earth. He was about to wipe them away, when he heard a sound.

  Someone was calling his name.

  He left the edge of the pit, following the soft, wheezing voice, already knowing who it was that called to him.

  Two skeletons leaned upon each other in death, adorned with jewelry of gold and robes of sky blue. Vladek wondered who they were, curious if others had tried to free the goddess, and failed.

  In a deep patch of shadow beyond the skeletons lay Gideon’s head. Vladek reached down to it, wiping away a fat, hairy tarantula that had decided to feast upon the sparse flesh of the sorcerer’s face.

  “You still live,” Vladek said, turning Gideon’s face toward him.

  “No thanks to you,” Gideon snarled.

  The fall had done serious damage to the sorcerer’s skull, caving in one entire half of the head. A thick, grayish fluid leaked from Gideon’s ears and nostrils, and one of his eyes was missing.

  “Thanks to me, we have arrived at our destination,” the vampire retorted.

  “A location you would not have found without me,” Gideon added.

  The vampire considered tossing the head back into the darkness to be fed upon by spiders, but realized that there was still much about this goddess that he did not know. It would be wiser to keep the sorcerer around.

  The head groaned loudly, a fresh stream of gray ooze dripping from one of its ears. “It is time for you to fulfill the final part of our bargain.”

  Vladek knew that the sorcerer was correct. He remembered the day that the ancient magick user had first come to the vampires, promising them a world of darkness. Gideon had been old, close to death, and he was looking for a way to live. He told the vampires of a world enshrouded in darkness, though filled with life, a world that could belong to them—for a price. He wanted to be one of them. The vampires had agreed to honor Gideon’s wish, but only after A’Ranka had been found and the time of reawakening was near.

  That time was now.

  The vampire grinned at the head he held in his hands.

  “Are you ready, sorcerer?” Vladek asked. “Are you ready to become a brother with the night?”

  “There is nothing I desire more.”

  “So be it then,” Vladek said.

  He placed Gideon’s head down upon the ground and removed his armored chest plate to expose the pale, almost luminescent flesh beneath. Then, using the long nail on his index finger, Vladek dug into his flesh just below the cross-shaped scar on his chest. A thick black ooze flowed from the open wound.

  “You will drink of my life-stuff,” the vampire said, picking up the head. “And you will be reborn.”

  He let his precious life-stuff drip into the sorcerer’s hungry mouth. Vladek knew it would not take long, that it could not be too much, or too little for the transformation to take place.

  Sensing that Gideon had fed enough, Vladek moved the head away from the leaking wound.

  “More!” Gideon screamed, his mouth smeared with the vampire’s blood.

  “You have had more than enough,” the vampire said, and placed the head upon the ground again. Vladek stepped back and waited.

  After a moment, Gideon began to scream and the vampire knew that the process was beginning. Slimy tendrils of red spewed out from the jagged stump of the sorcerer’s neck to spread across the ground. Like vines of blood they crept, growing longer—thicker—weaving together to create a skeleton. From there even more of the tendrils emerged to form muscle, and eventually the internal workings of a new vampire’s body.

  The sorcerer thrashed violently upon the ground as his body grew.

  Vladek could only imagine the agony he must be experiencing.

  The agony of birth.

  His flesh was forming now, spreading across the exposed muscle, sinew, and tendon. And as quickly as the growth process began, it was finished.

  “Rise,” Vladek commanded.

  The sorcerer lay trembling upon the ground, the realization of what had occurred slowly beginning to sink in. He raised a hand to his face, staring at it with eyes bulging in wonder.

  “Is it possible?” he whispered. Then, slowly, as if not trusting his own senses, he climbed to his new, shaking legs. “It is!” he screamed, looking down at himself. “I am whole again!”

  Gideon began to laugh crazily, dancing around on his new legs.

  “Enough, sorcerer,” the vampire snarled. “Now that you are restored, we have other, more important matters to attend to.”

  Vladek pointed across the chamber to where he had once stood.

  “We have a goddess to awaken.”

  13.

  BRAM REMOVED THE SMALL, CIRCULAR CASEfrom inside his pants pocket and flipped open the lid.

  A dainty golden arrow floated up, spinning around in the air until finally deciding on a particular direction to point them in.

  “We’re still going the right way,” he said to his companions, returning the special compass to his pocket. He had found it in one of the Network’s many supply closets and thought it would come in handy, not pointing them in the direction of north, south, east, or west but instead zeroing in on the supernatural energies radiating from the goddess’s prison.

  He turned to see Dez struggling across the soft, shifting ground of the jungle. There were thousands of years of decaying vegetation beneath their feet, a surface not conducive to crutches.

  Douglas tried to help him, though barely able to keep his own balance.

  “I’ve got it, Dad,” the boy barked. “Take care of yourself. When I need your help, I’ll ask for it.”

  “Everything all right?” Bram asked.

  Dez scowled, his face dampened with the sweat of exertion.

  “Just awesome,” he snarled. Bugs swarmed around his reddened face and he attempted to swat them away.

  “Are you sure that thing works?” he asked. “Seems like we’ve been walking in the same direction for hours.”

  “Hour and a half,” his father chimed in, looking at his watch.

  Dez looked at his father with disgust. “You’re very helpful,” he said sarcastically.

  “Thanks.” Douglas smiled. “You know how much I like to help.”

  Dez rolled his eyes before turning back to Bram.

  “Anything inside your bag of tricks that might be able to give us a clue as to how close we are?”

  Bram turned back to the thickening jungle growth. “Afraid not,” he sa
id, taking the machete from the sheath attached to his belt. “But if we believe the compass, we have to get through here to get to where we’re going.”

  “Great,” Dez said. “Soon as I figure out how to keep from falling down I’ll be sure to give you a hand.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Bram said, hacking at the thick growth of vines. “I’ve got it.”

  Douglas left his son’s side. “Here, let me help.” He began to chop at the vines also.

  The heat was doing a job on Douglas’s face, his makeup melting in the high humidity, exposing the wounds that would never heal. The tiny flies that buzzed around them all seemed particularly interested in the animated dead man.

  Bram and Douglas worked at the dense vegetation. But no matter how much they chopped away, there was an even thicker curtain of vines behind it. In a matter of minutes they were exhausted, stepping back for some water and a bit of a rest.

  “We should have brought a flamethrower,” Dez said, leaning back against the trunk of a tree and closing his eyes.

  “Good one, son,” his father said, taking a few whacks more at the thick jungle growth.

  Bram sipped from his canteen, his eyes scanning their surroundings. A flash of color, moving behind a shade of green, caught his attention. It might have been only some jungle life stirred by these intruders, but then he recalled the Archivist’s words about the spirit guardians.

  He turned to warn Dez to be on guard and froze as he saw the first of the jaguar beasts emerge. It seemed to flow out of the jungle to stare at Dez, who remained completely unaware. More of the orange-furred beasts appeared, two on either side of Dez while the one moved closer.

  “Dez, stay calm,” Bram said in his softest, least threatening voice. “No sudden moves.”

  “Why?” Dez asked as he opened his eyes and gazed directly into those of the jungle cat creature. “Oh, my God,” he gulped.

  “Just keep cool,” Bram reassured him. “You’re doing fine.”