Homeward Bound (Journeyman Book 1) (27 page)

“This shouldn't be up for debate,” Marcus continued sternly, placing his own personal feelings aside but unable to shake the notion that he was still talking to the walls. “You've heard and even seen the evidence. We need to act…now.”

“We shall be the judge of such things, Mr. Sheridan,” said Fenran pointedly, an elf from the rolling greens of Ireland. His high swept ears were tucked up beneath a brown cap and a pair of spindly elbows jutted out from Earthen robes, planted firmly on the table. The tips of his thin fingers rapped together annoyingly.

Another voice came from across the table, somewhat tinny as it passed through the glass. “An Assembly of this magnitude hasn't been called since the days of the Incursion,” stated a haughty, beast-like creature with coarse burgundy hair. Behind his goat-like horns, snow fell over evergreen trees growing amongst high mountain peaks.

“Yes, Tyrol” confirmed Drogir as he sat upright with membranous wings folded behind himself like a cape. “We mustn’t be hasty and cause a panic where none is warranted.”

Marcus let go of his paperwork, simply stunned. Trying to calm himself by twisting the ear bar piercing in his left ear, he remained astonished by the hurdles being faced. “Panic? How about being well prepared; what more do you want?” he asked with desperation, pointing toward the conference room door behind him. “Would you have the Noctis march right up and knock on that very door, asking to come in?”

“Don't be silly, Marcus,” urged the calming human voice of Jane Carter. Though stern in character and carrying a corresponding amount in appearance, she garnered a great deal of respect from her fellow Councilors and the Journeymen alike. She did not have time today for such an obvious pissing match, turning her attention to the naysayers. “He is right you know, despite your reluctance to believe it.”

Fenran shot her a slow and deliberate stare down the bridge of his nose. If had been wearing glasses, he would've been peering pompously over the rims.

“Agreed,” Councilor Timothy Randall chimed in, adding his support. Like Jane, he was one of the three humans on the Council, the last being Allete Popov, who was away for personal reasons in her native Bulgaria.
In his late forties, Timothy was quite the gentlemen who respected the seat he held. The thought of using it for ill purposes or to let the power go to his head never crossed his mind. The very notion of it was offensive to him and he found himself disappointed by the others.

“Of course you humans would be agreeable with each other’s views,” Fenran finally said.

“You humans?” Jane repeated, taking offense. “Lest you forget Fenran that we are all on this Earth together and face the same enemy.”

Fenran waved his hand dismissively in reply. “Humans,” he said conceitedly, “again pretending they know all in the matters of the worlds.”

“If you both are finished, I was not. We have also received a communique from England,” Timothy resumed, “from one of our own no less: a Mr. Henry Abington.”

“He was found wandering the streets of Grimsargh, alone,” cut in Quileth, a human-like creature with the features of a tiger. His saucer shaped eyes looked directly over to his gargoyle colleague before continuing. “You of all here should know that feeling, Drogir. From what we hear, he sustained grave injuries from his encounter with this self-proclaimed Noctis ‘leader’ as she calls herself. We should definitely bring him here after he has recuperated enough for travel and find out what he knows. In the meantime, we -”

Quileth was interrupted by the deafening scream of klaxons and the strobing of alternating white and orange lights. Those seated in the room stood immediately, ready to listen to the upcoming announcement while the two that were offsite departed.

They were not left waiting for long.

“Alert!” came a voice over the intercoms. “Alert! Level Four anomaly detected.”

Marcus smirked, making sure that Fenran saw him do so. “Well, there's your knock.”

KELI HAD MADE HER
way back into the caverns and was speaking to Ronove.

“I think it's about we time paid Gage a visit,” Keli said confidently, suddenly pausing as if a great idea entered her thoughts. “But, I think we should stop by Durango on the way, for a little bit of housekeeping. This seems like the perfect opportunity for a certain Hell Knight to put his money where his ever-complaining mouth is.”

Ronove raised his lips into an accursed smile before bowing his head in agreement, vanishing in a snap of air.

BAILEY, EVANS, AND MILLER
stood in front of the congregation of monsters, the last light of dusk creeping in through the gaps of the rough hewn walls. There were of course vampires present, hidden in the growing shadows, along with beast shifters, kappas, and even a rogue mountain troll.

The floor was covered in dirt and a smattering of hay; the earthiness of the smell underscoring the importance of this world to those in attendance. Dim lanterns hung randomly around the different levels and from the loft, casting an inviting warmth around the interior.

These vampires, proud and tall, were the leaders of an esteemed triad of Houses, rebels against demonkind and their rise to power.

“Thank you all for coming,” the tallest of the three said. It was Bailey, dressed in casual clothes like the others, dirtied from lack of washing. “We know that times are not how they used to be.”

“Yes,” added Miller. “Where things were once balanced, the scales have now tipped. Sadly, they've not done so in our favor. It has become far more dangerous for those of us who choose not to align with the demons. Far more… deadly.”

The crowd rumbled in agreement; their ears and horns and hair all nodding.

“So why run?” asked a kappa, water sloshing around awkwardly in the divot on its head. “Why not just join them?”

Everyone got quiet and looked forward.

The last of the three leaders stepped up as the other two parted to each side. Evans was the oldest of them all, having turned Miller and Bailey himself and as their original coven grew, he gave them an opportunity to lead their own. They had done so quite successfully.

“Nothing is forcing you not to join them, river child. Any species or member thereof is free to do what they will in the times ahead – at their own risk or peril. However, it has been decided that all vampires will not bow or take direction from the demons. They are not even of this world and cannot, in our eyes, be trusted with the fate of it.”

Many in the crowd agreed but some less so. Vampires would not bow or take orders yet seemed to give them quite well.

Miller paced in front of the others, noting the mood. He wore a hopeful look on his face while he gestured with his fist. “There are more of us; groups just like this one forming and growing to combat this darkness.”

It was an astounding sight made more so by the words being spoken. Foul creatures from every corner of the world referring to a threat that was darker than themselves. In this, they weren't that different from the Journeymen with their very way of life and existence in jeopardy.

Miller continued, “They are the very concept of darkness incarnate. Do not be fooled by their words or ploys or promises. They will use you until your need is spent, then dispose of you like the trash they really think you are.”

“We can all agree that the demons are untrustworthy, but what makes us trust you any more?” asked a voice from the crowd. He was a shifter, able to transform at will into the shape of any creature he had consumed.

Bailey stepped up to answer. “You don't have any guarantees, other than our word. Plus, think of it this way: the demons use humans as hosts, parading around in them like some kind of suit.”

The crowd chattered at the unsavoriness of the idea.

“We feed on humans,” he continued, looking to the shifters. “Well, for the most part. I know some of you have an affinity for wild bears. But in any case, not only do demons want to exterminate us monsters, those of us that do fight them, or do nothing, or even join their ranks are going to be hit with the harsh reality of dwindling food supplies. To me that's hardly an ideal world to live in.”

A passing glance scanned over the crowd and he could tell by their expressions they were swayed by his words.

“I am not going to lie to you: this will not be an easy fight,” Bailey admitted. “The demons have vast numbers on their side and each victory for us is just a single step on a very long road to victory.”

The crowd was hushed except for the sounds of deep breathing.

Then came the match…

“Death!”

“Yes!” Evans encouraged.

That ignited the inferno…

“DEATH TO THE DEMONS!”

“That's it!” Evans shouted, raising his arms triumphantly amongst the chanting. “We will continue to fight… with every claw, every bite, every single damn breath! For as long as we do, they have not won and we will still be free!” Bailey and Miller joined him amongst the sounds of intense applause. Finally their efforts were paying off.

A faint burst of noise like far of firecrackers barely rose over the chorus of cheers.

Evans was concerned, thinking he had heard something out of the ordinary. He stepped forward. The barn doors flickered with a distant light.

Another
boom
came up and over the boisterous crowd, much louder than the last one. The trio looked to each other, wondering if the sounds of screams were mixed in amongst the noise.

The applause died down as the structure began to tremble, followed by yet another earsplitting
roar.

By now Evans and Bailey had reached the doors, peering through the warped gaps before flinging them open. Miller walked up behind them both and his mouth fell open as the other’s had already done, his fangs extending as he curled his lips into a snarl.

There on the hill fronting the farmhouse stood an imposing figure, dressed in obsidian. The dark and menacing flames rose from the burning home and spread out like wings of shadow on each side of him.

Baal had come.

Damn you, demon,
Miller thought, distressed.
How did you even manage to breach the -

Like a flash he looked to the sides of the barn, behind the tall copses of bushes and grass. His suspicions were immediately confirmed: the wards had been smashed in with a hatchet; their power negated. The guilty, rusted blade was still embedded in one of the protection sigils as if to mock their efforts.

“Traitors!” Miller spat.

“Well,” replied Evans as his fangs and claws grew out to their full length, “time to put our money where our mouths are.”

The tone of his voice was confident, yet worry clung to his words. It was as if they needed more time to prepare, yet no more would be given.

Baal was not there to play games or parlay. He held his great sword aloft as a glowing beacon, pointing it at the barn and the monsters that were gathered inside.

“Annihilate them,” he commanded, saying nothing more. By his order, a dark tide swelled over and rushed down the hill. Within it, demons charged forward and were joined by werewolves and possibly a wendigo; it was moving so fast that it was barely a streak against the dark surroundings.

The demons had brought with them destruction runes of fire and ice, brandishing the magical stones before launching them at their enemies. The front of the barn, with its protections defaced, erupted into a dazzling and deadly display of blistering and frost-bound bombs.

Luckily for the monsters, some of the sigils on the roof were still intact and their defensive charms were activated. A large part of the blitz ricocheted back on the demons, killing a swath of them. Their mangled bodies tumbled down the hill, coming to rest at the bottom where they were trampled into the damp soil by those still drawing breath.

Ten men came screaming out of the barn, kicking off high into the air. Half of them extended their teeth and claws, now equipped to lacerate demonic flesh. Bones snapped in the others, contorting into the monstrous shapes of boars and bears, now poised to mutilate their canine brethren.

The shifters and vampires raced uphill side by side, clashing with the oncoming pack of werewolves and demons; the sounds that filled the dark skies when they met were brutal, laced with suffering and lament.