by K M Martinez
“I took the phone away,” Tío Luce continued, “and I have someone watching her around the clock.” He ran a shaky hand over his bearded chin. “I’ve got my wife prisoner in her own home, Victor.”
This was not good—not good at all. How had things gotten so out of control? And what could Victor say to comfort his uncle?
“We’ll get through this, Tío Luce.”
At that moment, a young Kale bumped into Victor, and Victor almost snapped at him before realizing that the boy wasn’t the only one running wild. Many of the young Kales were rushing toward the exits, their parents yelling at them to wait.
“What’s happening?” Tío Luce asked.
“I don’t know,” said Victor.
“Hey!” Justine yelled at a young Kale. “What’s going on?”
“Gabe,” said the boy. “He’s captured traitors! He’s got them lined up in the pit!”
****
Victor’s brother was in the pit, along with nine other Kales. They stood in a circle around five black-clothed, black-masked figures on their knees.
“What’s going on?” Victor asked Gabe.
Gabe's tunic was bloodstained, and his face looked like it had been beaten to a pulp. “They tried to question me,” he said. “Thought I knew where Anton was. I told them I had no idea.” He gave Victor an exaggerated wink, making sure none of the prisoners could see him.
“How come you haven’t unmasked them?”
Gabe shrugged. “I decided to wait.”
He wants an audience, thought Victor. And he was going to get it. The area around the pit was filling quickly, including members of every clan. These were the moments Gabe lived for.
There was a stirring in the assembled descendants as the Sapientis arrived. Sapienti Kelser was leading the way, followed by Sapientis Li, Wershall, Sandeep Reddy, and Grandma Mari. Sapienti Kelser surveyed the scene with furious eyes.
There’s no pleasing this man, thought Victor.
“Everyone be quiet!” Sapienti Kelser shouted.
The conversations ceased.
“What is this? Why are you holding these descendants captive? Is this more Kale antics?”
“These men are Eighth Clan,” Gabe said loudly.
This caused a sudden commotion among the Kales, and Tío Luce and Tío Jorge had to settle them down.
Gabe continued. “They attacked me while I was searching the woods. They believed I knew where Anton Morel was. If my clansmen hadn’t come in time, they would’ve killed me.”
Sapienti O’Shea stepped forward and yanked off the mask of the man nearest him. The traitor was a man Victor recognized but couldn’t place. Sapienti Li and Grandma Mari pulled off the masks of the other men.
“Avery?” Sapienti Kelser said, shocked. “Jenson? Gomez? Tate and Walsh?”
“All Clan Moors,” said Sapienti O’Shea.
The other Sapientis stilled, then looked to Sapienti Kelser. He turned to Sapienti O’Shea and nodded. He looked almost broken.
It was then that Victor recognized the men. They were the five men from the restaurant. Avery was the condescending clown who judged Mel and accused her of being a traitor. Now he was on his knees, his fair hair askew, his blue eyes filled with hostility. Oh, this is rich.
Victor could tell Gabe was thinking the same thing: This asshole was the traitor all along.
Avery spoke. “We were just doing as you said, Sapienti. No Kales were killed in the massacre. Remember? You said. And four Moors were. You wanted retribution.”
“This is not what I meant!” Sapienti Kelser screamed. “Through The Ways, not with vigilante justice!”
The five men glared at their Sapienti with hate-filled eyes. “We do what others don’t have the strength to do,” Avery said angrily. He looked out at the crowd of descendants. “You let these yellow Kales get away with murder!”
The crowd stirred. Avery’s words had provided a target for those with hate in their hearts, and they looked angrily toward those in gold. Victor knew there was nothing he could do to convince them their anger was misplaced. He could provide all the evidence in the world that Mel was innocent of murder, but these people were beyond reason. They’d already made up their minds. And since Mel wasn’t here, anyone in gold would do.
Victor could sense the change, the shift. He felt like an idiot, a fool to have thought that he could just flash a stone he didn’t know how to use, and it would automatically solve all their problems. No one wanted to believe there was an Eighth Clan.
“Why hide behind the black?” Gabe asked.
Victor looked toward his brother. Gabe had that look on his face. Not the one he got before starting a fire… but the one he got when he was about to lay a trap.
“If you’re so proud?” Gabe continued. “If you’re the only ones who have the balls. Right?” He looked at Avery. “Well, come on then. Stand up. All of you. Let’s fight like men.”
Victor knew what Gabe was about to do. Grandma Mari must have known as well, for she looked at him plaintively.
“Gabe,” she said quietly.
Gabe ignored her. “For attacking me alone in the woods, for insulting my clan, for accusing my sister of murder when she very well could be dead,” he said, “I, Gabriel Mendez, of Clan Kale, challenge you—whatever the fuck your name is, of fucking Clan Moors—I challenge you, and all your Moors friends wearing black…” He drew a knife and cut his forearm. Blood dripped down toward his elbow. “To the fucking death,” Gabe finished.
He threw his knife into the dirt. It stuck in the ground with its handle to the sky.
Victor looked into the faces of the five traitors. All had suddenly turned apprehensive.
As Gabe grinned and licked the blood from his arm, Victor’s hands itched for his axe.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mel jogged swiftly through the tall dead grass, her eyes alert and her body at the ready. The red sun beat down on the back of her neck. She held the two swords in her hands, with which she cut down the foliage that in places was up to her neck. The yellow grass was full of thorns, and if it weren’t for her tunic and veil, she would have been scratched to bits. There were also insects buzzing about, as big as half-dollar coins, and red bugs with twisting antennae that popped out of the tall grass and tried to eat Mel through her boots. It had taken all of Mel’s self control not to scream when she first saw the red bugs, because they looked like shellfish, and Mel hated shellfish. At first, she stabbed the heck out of the bloodsuckers, cracking their exoskeletons until a creamy white oozed out, but now she merely crushed them underneath her boots as she ran past, never stopping long enough for the bugs to crawl up her legs.
Mel tried for the hundredth time that day not to think of water, but her canteen had been dry for almost a day. She had tried to conserve her water, but the heat had been unbearable, and she had sipped and sipped until her water was spent. She was daydreaming about a big glass of water. With ice. Lots of ice. She yearned for that glass more than she yearned for sleep. She hadn’t slept since the Sun Room, and her fatigue was gnawing at her bones, her muscles, the back of her mind.
But thirst and sleep were nothing compared to the crushing grief and guilt she would feel if she didn’t reach Charlotte in time. Would she ever forgive herself?
Don’t think. Just run.
Run and gut it out. She’d done that hundreds of times before. In the dead of winter, in the rush of spring, in the dampness of fall. The heat of summer, too, but that didn’t compare to this.
She’d had a few small victories along the way. Against the lake creature. And the ghost things. Mel hadn’t seen them since she fought the corpses. She’d have to ask her grandmother what they were when she got back.
She wasn’t yet sure if she could count the Lost Soul as a victory. Mel hadn’t seen the red-eyed woman since that first encounter, but she had felt the Lost Soul summoning her at least three times since then. The first time was at the Eighth Clan campsite, and was only a subtle pull. The second
time was much stronger, bringing Mel to her knees. She waited, body in agony, until the feeling passed. And then the third time… the third time the beast inside her had decided that enough was enough, and roughly broke the connection.
That was the last she’d felt from the Lost Soul. Bitch is probably incensed.
The days here weren’t so bad—apart from the heat and the lack of water. Apparently the demons preferred to do all their hunting at night. Whenever the sun descended toward the horizon, she knew the horrors were coming. She spent the nights wide awake, in hiding.
Mel heard a screech somewhere in front of her, and immediately ducked down within the tall grass. Of course that meant the red bloodsuckers were immediately crawling up her boots. Mel swiped them off, only to have more crawl up her legs again. Still, she couldn’t move until she knew what the screech was about.
She waited several minutes, constantly battling the red insects. And then a horde of Malum crashed through the grass ahead, running at breakneck speed in her direction. There was nothing for Mel to do but duck down and hope they ran past her.
So she sat, quietly, letting the bugs crawl over her while all around her the horde passed. She held her breath, her white knuckles tight around her hilts, wide-eyed, waiting. The ground shook. Mel’s legs shook as well. Hold on… hold on… hold on, she thought, fighting the urge to run. To attack.
It felt like eons passed before all grew quiet again. Still, Mel sat for a while longer, moving only to swipe off the bugs.
Just as she was about to stand and continue toward Tenebrae Transeunt, the grass in front of her parted like a curtain, and one more Malum appeared. At the sight of Mel, it raised its black, narrow head to the sky and gave forth a high screech.
In the distance, its mates answered its call.
Mel cut off its screech, and its head, with a swing of her sword.
But the damage had been done; the other demons were running back toward her.
Run or fight? She’d been running all night and day, hiding when she could. She was tired of it, but she didn’t see any other option.
She charged through the yellow grass, hearing the Malum behind her. When the tall grass gave way to forest, Mel picked up her pace, sprinting through the dead trees, heedless of the branches that scratched at her face and body. The Malum’s footfalls were heavy on the ground behind her, closing in. Others had taken to the trees above. She couldn’t tell how many there were, just that there were many.
The sun went down, and darkness fell. A cold fear spread through her body. To what end was she running? Where would she go? There was no one to help her. I’m completely alone.
A Malum dropped down from a tree, no more than five feet away, and ran along beside her. Its white eyes were on her, its black tongue twisting toward her. Mel tightened her grip on her sword and swung at its legs. Her sword sliced its thigh, cutting through sinew and muscle, and the Malum fell, its body colliding into Mel’s legs. Mel kept her balance, but the collision made her lose momentum, and now the other Malum were snapping at her heels.
Time to make a last stand.
Mel stabbed her left sword into the ground.
Time to die.
She ran toward a tree, cupped her hand on its trunk, swung herself around, and charged the oncoming Malum. Their evil eyes glowed in the dark. She was facing impossible odds.
She thought again of Charlotte, of her family back home. Her brothers, her grandmother, her uncles. None of them would know the truth of what happened in that clearing. All those people, Sapientis Reddy and Barkley, Billy Grayson, Jackson Teller, and all the other good descendants, would never see justice. The Eighth Clan would get away with their murders. And worse, her family would always be there, waiting, hoping that she and Charlotte would come home. They’d have no bodies to put to rest. No death rites or burning, no returning the ashes to the earth.
No!
The fear inside her shifted, transforming into an all-consuming fire.
****
The air hissed between her teeth as she grabbed her weapon from the ground and attacked.
The Malum swarmed her, but she moved quickly, dodging and rolling. One moment teeth were snapping at her neck and face, and the next moment those same teeth, and the mouths that held them, lay motionless on the ground. The demons’ blood stained her tunic, her veil, her face. Muscle, sinew, bone, blood—her swords cut through it all easily, dancing through the night. And still they came, circling her, attacking her. They screamed and wailed, but she was silent. Deadly cold. She felt their blood on her lips, tasted it on her tongue, and her hunger grew.
Kill them.
Kill them all.
Her eyes shone in the night. She could feel it. Bright gold through the gore on her face.
And when it was all over… when they were all dead at her feet… she understood.
I’m a monster too.
Chapter Twenty-Two
She stood among the dead, feeling apart from herself. Her limbs burned, yet her only wish was that there were more demons to kill. She felt unsatisfied. Hungry.
She sniffed the air for more prey. She smelled something to her left, but it didn’t interest her. No, what interested her lay in the direction from which she’d come.
She ran swiftly and quietly. But after a short distance, she realized the creature to her left was shadowing her.
She didn’t like being followed.
She growled in warning. The creature growled back. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it. Moving just beyond her sight.
She waited.
And then gold eyes appeared, cautiously moving closer.
She growled again, and the creature stopped, its ears perked up at attention. After a pause, the creature resumed its forward progress, but slowly, as if not wanting to startle.
Mel sniffed the air; she sensed no danger.
The creature kept closing in until it was right in front of her. Then it stopped. The gold eyes stared into hers.
The night was still. The air warm. Not the obscene heat that penetrated this place, but something that was familiar, alive. Comforting.
Mel blinked, and the burning in her body quieted.
****
She let out a shaky breath and crouched down. Fuck! She’d lost complete control to the beast.
She put a hand to her chest. Her pendant was red hot through her tunic.
She felt genuine fear of herself as she recalled the carnage she’d inflicted. She knew there had been no other way for her to survive, but still… the loss of control was too much. She had been prepared—no, eager—to hunt down every last demon rather than get Charlotte back.
That was as terrible as it was dangerous.
The creature beside her whined, and Mel really looked at it for the first time. It was a giant wolf, maybe eight feet tall.
You must be the beast that bit the Lost Soul.
The wolf’s reddish-brown fur was marred with scratches and black blood. Its nose was also scratched, but the wound looked mostly healed. As it sat back on its haunches, Mel was mesmerized by its size and beauty. You’re definitely not from around here. You’re as out of place as I am.
It opened its mouth to yawn, revealing a wide pink tongue and rows of massive teeth. Mel would have been terrified if not for its eyes. Those gold eyes were as intelligent as they were soulful, and something about them was also… familiar.
Could it be? Mel thought. It would explain how she survived…
“Cori?”
The wolf sniffed Mel from head to foot, circled her, then sniffed some more.
In embarrassment, Mel pushed the wolf’s head away. It gave a bark of protest.
“Thank you, Wolf,” Mel said. “But I’ve got somewhere to be.”
And she resumed her run toward Tenebrae Transeunt.
She didn’t know if the wolf followed. If it did, it kept its distance. Mel couldn’t spare a thought for it as she pushed her pace. I have to get to the gate. It was her mantra. Time wa
s running out, and she was still so far away. Tomorrow at midnight. That gave Mel only a little over twenty-four hours to get to Tenebrae Transeunt, figure out where her cousin was, and get her home.
She couldn’t wait to get home.
****
For a while now, Mel had been running toward a gray line that rose above the land. It wasn’t until she drew near that she realized what it was: a series of rock formations, hundreds of feet high. It reminded her of the Garden of Gods in Colorado. She was glad she wouldn’t have to scale any of them.
But as she ran through the line of rocks, she smelled rotten flesh, and shortly after that, she saw some dead Malum on the ground. They looked to have been torn apart. She wondered what could have done that kind of damage, but she wasn’t going to stick around to find out.
She pressed her pace, using the adrenaline that pumped through her veins. Fear could be a wonderful tool at times. Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid of the things in this dead land, but to use fear as a motivator to get past a terrifying task… Well, as her grandmother would say, that’s just a means to an end.
Everyone had their own ends, their own means. Even the Eighth Clan. To them, Charlotte was merely a means to an end. It was sad, but also the truth. A truth that Mel found abhorrent. The pity she had felt just days ago had left her, and in its place now was something that was starting to feel a lot like hate.
Hate could be a strong motivator too.
But no. She couldn’t let herself be overcome with hate.
Hatred lay deep in the well of her anger, and her anger would lead only to madness. True madness. Not the kind that might follow you home from the land between hell and the living, but the kind that comes from within. Where the true battle for one’s soul is.
Perhaps that’s how the Eighth came to be in the first place. From people who lost their souls to hate.
****
As a forested area appeared ahead, Mel surged, relishing the idea of running on ground that felt more familiar. She wasn’t comfortable here in The Devil’s Backyard—which was what she’d christened the rock formations. It wasn’t very creative, but she was spent. She was also pretty sure she was being followed. Unless that was her mind playing tricks on her—which it very well could be.