Apocalypse Rising (12 page)

“You wouldn’t like the taste of him, Scipio. He doesn’t eat enough, and doesn’t eat well either, by the smell of him,” says Julius.

Scipio steps close to me; it is all I can do not to take a step back. He smells of garbage, rancid meat, and juniper berries; it is a brutal assault on my senses. He breathes in deeply, through his crooked nose, and says, “Yeah, there is definitely something dirty about this one.” He punches me in the stomach and I double over. Scipio laughs, and pats me on the cheek. “He’ll fit right in here.”

“He won’t be staying long,” Julius says.

“What about you?” Scipio’s face is a confusion of emotions that I find hard to read.

“I don’t know yet.” Julius takes me by the elbow, and guides me past the other elf.

He leads me across the narrow walkways of the elf village, pausing from time to time to speak with another curious elf, before continuing onward. We take a turn, and I notice the growing crowd of scruffy, little people following us. I keep my eyes forward, and stay close to my guide, keenly aware that I am at their mercy, should they decide to turn against me.

We stop in front of a small wooden door; even Julius would have to stoop to get inside. "Do not speak, no matter what," he whispers to me, his voice so quiet I am barely sure I hear it.

He raps his knuckles hard against the door and the assembled crowd of elves behind us murmurs. I try to pick out what they are saying, but their voices are too low. We wait for a minute, then two, before the doorknob turns. The noise carries into the cavern as the crowd goes silent. Everyone, including myself, is holding their breath. The door opens and a pale, yellow light spills into the cavern, making the bright light from above feel cold in comparison. "Oh, my God," I whisper as the door comes to a halt, and I am greeted by a sight strangely familiar to my eyes.

A blonde elf woman, unfettered by filth and melancholy, stands in the doorway. She is a ray of sunlight molded into a beautiful female form. The brilliance that emanates from her is a physical thing, and it drops me to my knees. When she speaks it is like the chiming of sacred bells.

"Julius," she says, "who have you brought before me? He is too tall to be an elf, and I am sure that even you understood my request."

"He is special, Gloriana. If you will but look at him, closely," Julius says. I fear, and crave, her gaze until the moment it falls upon me.

For the first time in centuries, I feel as if I am seen for who I am. Gloriana's sight sees more than the crude matter of my body, but delves into my heart and soul. Only one other being has ever done that to me, and I have not been in the presence of the Father for a long time.

"My goodness," she says after a moment of inspection. "He is at that. Both of you come in. and sit with me." The cavern erupts in shouts that are barely heard over the cacophony of mumbled words, and whispered exclamations.

Gloriana claps her hands, and the village goes quiet. "Hush, all of you," she says, her voice is stern and matronly. "Times have been hard, but that is no reason for us to be rude. This man is our guest, now go about your business." She stands in the doorway, her hands on her hips. "Shew!" she yells and the elves scatter. Satisfied, she turns to Julius and says, "Come on, the both of you, and be quick about it." Julius nods his head toward the door, and I enter obediently. My rescuer is close behind me, and shuts the door with a rather ominous bang.

"What were you thinking?" Gloriana asks as she turns on Julius. "Bringing him here, of all places? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" She paces back and forth in the narrow hall, just inside the door. "How will we get him out of here without being discovered?"

"I don't know," says Julius, "but I couldn't leave him to die, could I?"

"Well of course not!" she snaps, "but you could have taken him somewhere else." She storms off down the hall, with Julius trailing close behind, leaving me alone in the entryway, wondering what is going on.

I want to ask questions, but I remember Julius' warning not to speak. I listen and wait, painfully aware that the creature before me will decide my fate.

"I considered that, but it didn't feel right." Julius turns and looks at me. "There is something special about him," he says before turning back to Gloriana. "I don't know what it is, but when I felt his presence, and saw him running, I couldn't help but feel like I needed to help him." He looks back at me, and cocks his head to the side. "It was as if he were calling out to me."

Gloriana looks at me, and I can feel her gaze peeling away the layers of my existence. "I see nothing special," she says, and my heart breaks. "He is an Angel, a fallen one at that, though not one of the damned." She turns back to Julius, and says, "Get him out of here before the dark ones sense him."

"No, my queen, I can't do that." Julius' eyes go wide as he slaps his hand over his mouth.

"What did you say?" Gloriana asks, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You are a friend, but do not forget your place."

"I can't take him from here," Julius says, each word clipped short. "He is here for a reason." His voice is nearly as strained as his body. The veins stick out against his pale flesh, tears stream down his face, and his lips are pursed.

"Release him," Gloriana shouts at me. Her voice is a physical force that sends me stumbling backward until I crash into the door. It creaks and moans, but the hinges hold.

"He is not doing anything, Gloriana," Julius says through gritted teeth. "Reach out to him and you will know the truth." Julius turns to me and says, "Open yourself to her. You do not need to be afraid."

"I do not know how," I say. Something has changed in Julius. His shabby appearance, which had seemed so out of place minutes earlier, suddenly seems perfect, as if my eyes open for the first time.

"You can," Julius says with the eternal patience. "You simply need to remember." He points at me, and though he is across the hall, I can feel the touch of his fingertip upon my brow. I fall to my knees as memories I didn't know I had return to me in a rush of sensations. I freeze and burn in equal measure before it stops, and the world goes dark.

"The assault failed," Haden said from behind his steepled fingers. He sat at his desk, his elbows upon the smooth wood surface, his eyes focused on the poor bastard standing before him.

"Yes, sir," the young, poorly dressed, man replied. "All of Hector's men escaped or were retrieved, but the blessed escaped."

"How?"

"We don't know," the messenger said before swallowing audibly. "One minute he was in a service tunnel being chased by two of the mercenaries, the next he was gone."

"The tunnels were searched?" Haden asked as his eyes tightened at the edges, and his knuckles cracked with silent frustration.

"Briefly. Hitaratsu's security recovered quicker than we expected, so an evacuation was required before a complete search could be made." He flinched at the signs of anger on Haden's face. "We posted men at all known exits, and are working on an infiltration plan."

Haden seethed in his seat. “And where is Hector now?”

“I don’t know, sir.” The messenger slowly backed toward the door.

“Stop,” commanded Haden. “I have no intention of spilling your blood on my floor.” The messenger froze in place, and his face went pale instantly. “I am not one to kill the messenger.”

Haden stood, and walked around his desk, until he stood before the trembling messenger. He could taste the fear emanating from the pathetic human; it sent waves of pleasure through him, and brought out a smile. “I want you to go back to Hector, and tell him I am disappointed in him.” Haden put a hand on the man’s shoulder, and walked behind him. There was a time when Haden may have added a sexual component to the spell he was weaving, but the mood he was in would have taken it much too far. He brought his lips close to the messenger’s ear. “This will hurt, but you will need this to make it back to Hector.”

The young man felt a sharp, burning, pain in his back that straddled his spine. It was accompanied by intense pressure, and the loud, droning, sound of Haden’s voice muttering unintelligible words. As quickly as it started, the pain ended, and the room was plunged into silence.

“Go to Hector. Give him my regards,” Haden said with no more malice than he would have used when talking to a cabby who was slow to open his door. “Be gone.” He waved his hand dismissively and turned away from the dazed messenger.

The boy turned and left through the door he had come through. When he emerged from the other side, he would find himself just outside of Hector’s favorite hiding place. He thought he was safe from Haden and Albert there, but there was little about the man that Haden did not know.

He was sending a very direct message to Hector, and when the messenger burst into flames before Hector’s eyes, the message would truly be delivered. The sad truth was that Haden was the type to kill the messenger, but he did not want that slob’s blood on his floor.

Haden returned to his desk, and slammed his fist onto the surface hard enough to send splinters flying through the air. Hector had told Haden by phone that he had ordered the assault on Hitaratsu in order to capture the Blessed that had been masquerading as a street rat. Haden had been angry, but it was too late to stop it. Not being in front of such a potential disaster was contrary to the way Haden did things, so when it went bad and failed, he wanted to reach through the fabric of reality and strangle the shit out of Albert’s incompetent henchman.

The biggest problem with mortals was their need to lord their power over others. Immortals, both good and evil, tended to be above such things. Sure, they used mortal surrogates to perform tasks, but it was out of necessity rather than a need to show how superior they were. Haden had seen powerful men fall time and time again, because they had depended on the skills of lesser men, when they should have been depending on themselves. In that regard, Albert was no exception, but Haden hoped to curb the impact of the lesser men he was forced to work with. “Maggie,” Haden yelled through the hidden door to his left. “Clear my schedule. Everything has turned to shit.” He didn’t expect a response, and did not wait for it. He reached for the phone, and hit a number on his speed dial. It rang three times before it was answered. It was always three times.

“Hello.” The voice on the other end of the line was deep and clear.

“Vandal,” Haden said, “I need you to move up the schedule.”

“How much?”

“Twenty-four hours; more if you can manage it.” Haden did not like rushing Vandal, but Hector had made a mess of things.

“Double the fee.” It was not a question. Haden would agree, or he would not get the results he was asking for.

“Of course,” Haden said.

“Don’t use this number again,” Vandal said. “I will contact you when I have something.” The phone went dead.

“Bastard is so, damn expensive.” Haden leaned back in his chair before yelling, “Maggie, bill Hector for Vandal’s fee at two and half times the standard rate.” No reason for Haden to foot the bill for the cleanup.

Haden waved his hand, and a portal opened before him. He looked upon the front entrance to Hitaratsu’s headquarters and frowned. Who was this guy, and what had he told Hitaratsu?

“No, sir, she is unaware.” The voice on the other end of the phone was firm and filled with confidence. He had been a member for more than a decade. Peter would have liked a little more awe from his subordinate, but he had been chosen precisely because he did not cringe in the face of power.

“Good. Make sure you keep it that way.” Simon filled his voice with as much patience and calm as he could muster. “It will be easier to keep her safe if she thinks we are on her side until it is too late.”

“But if he discovers the betrayal…”

“Then we will be no more dead than if we had done nothing.” It was the harsh reality of their situation; one Peter had grown accustomed to. Fear of death led to indecision, which would end in death anyways.

“But our souls,” the man on the phone whispered, “they will be taken from us.”

“Yes, that is a possibility,” Peter said, “but it is the risk we agreed to when we decided to travel this road. You knew it when you took the oath.” Peter looked at the cross, branded on his arm, and remembered the ritual that accompanied the oath. There had been pain and darkness that never seemed to end, but when the ritual was finished, Peter was a man of greater strength both physically and spiritually. To risk his soul for the greater good was worth it and he would not stray from the course of his destiny.

“It was so long ago,” said the operative. He had joined as a testament to his faith, though he did not fully understand where his faith had been placed. He was a righteous man of God, and his faith in the almighty was unshakable. Most men would have seen the conflict in his priesthood and his membership in the cabal, but Gabriel saw the second as an extension of the first. He was doing God’s work.

“Time means little to the oath holders,” Peter said. “Patience forged in eternity allows for planning on a scale we cannot imagine.” Peter had spent time studying fragments of plots he had uncovered, and he knew that he had barely scratched the surface. “Millennia worth of effort is coming to a head, and we will be there to see it all unfold.”