Void: Book Five of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  “A common misunderstanding. We are many kinds, and such as you describe is certainly not my purpose here today. I am here to witness your end, for you are an agent of chaos. You must end, and your infection with you.”

  So much for a last-minute reprieve from a guardian angel. I suppose it was silly to even imagine.

  “I presume you subtly whispered into the minds of mortals to grab Mary, then helped them by burying me in cars?”

  “Yes.”

  Banished headache or no, Valan just made my naughty list. If I lived, he would regret it. At the moment, since I had nothing to lose…

  “Why didn’t you simply smite me in the first place?”

  “You still have a human soul. It is forbidden to kill humans, and you still qualify.”

  “You’re allowed to topple a pile of cars on us, though?”

  “Are you dead?”

  “Not yet, but I take your point. It’s okay for you to incite other humans to kill?”

  “We have since before your kind was capable of speech.”

  “So, you don’t do the killing? You just get humans to do it?”

  “Those are enough of your questions. I wish to know how chaos, manifested in your flesh and blood, gained entry to the realms of order.”

  “To be utterly truthful, I’m not entirely sure. I wasn’t consulted about it, just victimized.”

  Valan pursed his lips, clearly troubled. He nodded, slightly, thinking about it.

  Thunder rumbled again, nearer, louder. I saw lightning dancing in the dark, unnatural clouds. Who was responsible for it? Clouds don’t behave that way. Was our discussion drawing attention from On High? It almost felt as though we were under some sort of scrutiny. I thought I might as well ask about it.

  “Is it normal for odd weather phenomena to happen when you guys hang around too long?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I looked up, then back at him. He followed my gaze and frowned.

  “That’s not supposed to happen.”

  “That’s why I ask.”

  “No, I mean there’s some sort of activity causing it.”

  “If you’re not doing it, maybe someone has an update on your mission?”

  “This is not a mission—” he began, and broke off. “I need to… consult.” He closed his eyes and held still for a minute. I waited.

  Thunder rumbled again, a long, rolling thing that went on and on. I felt a cold sensation, as though someone lanced my heart with a dagger of ice. Despite the desert heat, I shivered, and goose flesh sprang up all over me. My heart, a frozen thing itself, broke into shards and fragments and bled from every jagged piece.

  The thunder’s long, low rumble reminded me of something.

  Valan opened his eyes.

  “No one is telling me to stop,” Valan continued, smiling sadly at me. “Whatever the cause of this weather, it has no bearing on our business here. Where were you subjected to this infection of chaos, and who is responsible for it?”

  “Pennsylvania. And she’s dead, I’m afraid.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Well, there was a charred, glassy outline that looked a lot like her, but I wasn’t there to see it.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Why such concern? It’s not like I’ve been bleeding into people deliberately. Or are you worried this chaos you talk about will take over, somehow?”

  “A common misconception among the corporeal. Your understanding of the soul is limited. You are merely a mortal with an infection of chaos in his flesh. Because you possess an unfettered will, you have reached a point of equilibrium with it. It alters your flesh even as your consciousness alters its effects. Now that it is in dynamic equilibrium, you are relatively unchanging and eternal. Yet your soul remains, as always, a human one; even chaos has no power over it.”

  While he spoke, I kept an eye on the weather. As the ring of clouds closed in, the light narrowed, like a searchlight from the sky. Lightning crossed the open gap inside. A moment later, another flash arced across the narrowing ring, and another and another and another. A burst of lightning appeared in the center, as though the sun was the source of an electrical storm. Sizzling arcs flared outward to the rim of clouds, like cracks in struck glass.

  “So, it’s like someone who gets a transfusion or surgery,” I clarified, mostly to keep him talking. “Stuff happens to the body all the time, but even if you replace the heart with a mechanical pump or remove a leg or whatever, he’s still a human being.”

  “Remarkable. You are capable of understanding.”

  “That’s incredibly condescending of you.”

  “You are merely human,” he reminded me.

  “So was that.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it?” he agreed, smiling. I decided he wasn’t just on my naughty list, but someone I actively disliked. I hoped he wasn’t typical of angelic entities. At least he was a talkative sort. I guess he never got to chat much in the ethereal planes or wherever he hung out.

  “What I don’t understand is the difference between a chaos infection and the local vampires.”

  “The ones to which you refer are soulless shells,” he replied, grimly. “They are animated by a power beyond your comprehension and feeding on life itself.”

  “Oh. Well that explains everything. Aren’t you guys supposed to bring enlightenment?”

  Thunder rumbled again as the clouds ran together above us, blotting out the sky. The lightning flared at the point where the clouds crashed together, cracking the black thunderhead above us with lines of blue lightning tinged with green. Darkness fell like an axe, dimming the world in cloud-shadow. Valan ignored this, having already dismissed the whole display as unrelated to his mission.

  “I am a warrior, not a messenger. It is not my purpose to bring you enlightenment. When you die, your soul will depart for other realms, but the chaos in your flesh will remain. It cannot be permitted to run wild within the realms of order. I will destroy it.”

  The lightning flared again, a multi-spoked emanation of bluish-green in the black sky. It flared and stayed, crackling continuously. The layer of clouds seemed to crack and flex, as though something pushed against it, trying to come through.

  “Now, prepare yourself, for your time is drawing to a close.”

  “I think,” I told Valan, slowly, “you should run.”

  “Run?” he sniffed. “Why do you say this to me?”

  “Because you should be afraid.”

  “You are but a speck in my sight, mortal.”

  “Yeah, well, too bad this speck is going to keep you waiting. You’re not supposed to kill me, so you have to cool your heels until I’m good and ready. True?”

  “Watching humans burn gives me no joy, but I may find pleasure in doing my duty as I smite the chaos you bear.”

  The bulge of clouds broke. A bolt of lightning descended from the sky, a shining line of intolerable brightness, a river of light blasting down like an electrified waterfall. It did not strike Valan as I expected. It landed somewhere nearby, spearing from the clouds, a pillar a radiance in the suddenly-cold air, eerily silent. We both looked at it, but I had to look away. Flaring lines of afterimage danced on my eyes. Valan didn’t seem to care about his eye. The bright, writhing line of light went on for over a minute, blazing incandescent, throwing dancing shadows all around.

  Then it was gone, but the sense of a presence was stronger than ever. With it came a sense of completeness, wholeness… A gaping chasm in my heart and soul filled in, snapped closed, fused shut. You never know how numb you are until you can feel again. And with the feeling of inner fulfillment came a terrible, deadly rage. I recognized it, felt it, even welcomed it—because it wasn’t my rage. Still, in a strange way, it was very much a part of me.

  Valan turned back to me.

  “Was that your doing?” he demanded. Valan the Valiant might have been just a teensy bit worried. I wished it was nighttime. I’d love to see what the spirit of an angelic thing looks like whe
n it’s worried.

  “Nope,” I denied. “I didn’t do it.”

  “It had your colors to it,” he insisted. “You did something. Was the bolt meant for me?”

  “You know, I really thought it was? Now, though, I think I understand.”

  “What do you understand?” Distantly, I heard an engine roar to life like the delayed rumble of a thunderclap.

  “It’s difficult to explain in the limited time you have available,” I told him. “It may be beyond your comprehension. I didn’t even know for certain what it was until just a moment ago. But you’ve expressed some mild concern for my immortal soul, so I’ll return the kindness. If you don’t run like a fox with its tail on fire, right now, are screwed.” I grinned. I couldn’t stop it. My teeth insisted on showing themselves. I couldn’t even retract my fangs.

  Tires spun on gravel and dirt, seeking grip. A fan belt shrieked like a scream, then faded as a distant radio started blasting music. Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song, I believe. It’s a song from after 1969, but the anachronism didn’t bother me. She watched a lot of video when she was in the barn.

  “Your threats mean nothing to me,” Valan sneered. It’s not pretty when a multiply-murdered, possessed corpse sneers.

  “Suit yourself. Don’t come crying to me, saying I didn’t warn you.”

  He started to say something, then cocked his head, noticing the rising volume of sound. He turned his puzzled expression toward the approaching engine and the music.

  What my eyes saw, in magical vision, was a glowing, golden horse, burning brighter than Blake’s tyger. Shadowless, blazing, eyes like crimson wells into the heart of an indignant star, plumes of flame billowing backward from her mouth, mane and tail like solar flares in yellow and orange, coiling like the living things they were.

  On a more mundane level, Valan turned as a yellow Thunderbird convertible came roaring around the bend, headlights like incandescent gold, blue-green lightning-sparks all around the tires. Fire jetted from the exhaust like a fuel leak. The whole of the car seemed to lean forward as the belt screamed again.

  He saw the car and his eye went wide. I swear, I think I saw the reflection of a fiery horse in it. I still wonder what he saw.

  Then the car hit him, square-on and doing at least sixty miles an hour. The hood came up just before impact, so instead of bashing him across the top and up into the air, the leading edge of the hood caught him at face level, ruining both the hood and the head. It carried on, the corpse crushed against and into the front end. They plowed into a stack of ruined cars with him as both battering ram and squishy cushion. The stack shook and swayed, but didn’t topple.

  I don’t know what the rules are for an entity possessing a corpse, but it would appear if you damage it enough, they have to vacate it. The burst of white light was visible only to my second sight, but it exploded outward from the body like water from a burst balloon, gathered together again in an infinitely bright point, and shot away, vanishing into the distance without ever leaving the junkyard. Darn multidimensional perspectives.

  Above us, the clouds roiled like an inverted ocean welcoming a planet-killing meteor and a hole appeared, blue sky within, expanding. The light returned, brightening the desert.

  The Thunderbird, the front end mangled and gory, reversed from the remains. It chugged slowly over to me, dragging one front tire through the dirt, venting fire and steam, dripping blood, oil, and water. The radio was silent.

  “Thank you.”

  The one working headlight flashed. The car limped away, squealing and grinding, plowing furrows in the hard-packed dirt with every twisted piece of metal. I was surprised it was still running. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be. It wasn’t anything as mundane as a car. Not right now. What inhabited it could move even a solid block of metal.

  She bumped up against the crane. What I saw—observing in the magical spectrum—was the shining figure of a horse gather itself and leap from one vehicle to the other. To more mundane eyes, there was a bright flare of light surrounding the point where the vehicles touched. This promptly melted what was left of the front bumper into a glowing puddle of liquid metal. The engine knocked several times and quit. The whole vehicle shuddered as it died. It started to burn in earnest.

  The crane belched diesel smoke, revved to a high roar, and lurched forward. Flames huffed from the exhaust stack and the headlights glowed a yellowish-orange.

  The crane reached down, carefully, precisely, and seized the top projection of my cross. She hoisted me up, swung me aside, and laid me down flat. It felt ever so much better to be lying down. I felt I could breathe decently again and the agony of the spikes diminished when they no longer supported any of my weight.

  The crane grabbed a car and picked it up, swung it close. The big, caterpillar treads clanked, ground forward, climbed up and over the junker car, flattening it. A moment later, the crane backed off the squashed heap, picked it up, and placed it next to me. I wondered what was going on.

  After the third vehicle, I figured it out. The squashed wrecks were stacked with care, building a shelter of sorts. Not a perfect shelter, not a fully light-proof one, but maybe one good enough. The clouds were almost completely gone, unfortunately, leaving only the usual desert skies. But with a wall of cars on one side and a steel cave to shadow me further…

  The tingling started and rapidly scaled up to a burning. There were no tiny shafts of light, just a diffuse illumination through the gaps and cracks. It wasn’t a blast of sunlight to the face, but I wasn’t in the best of shape to begin with. It scorched and stung, further reddening my sunburned skin in moments. Even the deep shadow wasn’t enough to prevent it. Soon, I had blisters. At least I wasn’t actively smoking or charring. All I could do was grit my teeth and wait. Either I was about to burst into flames and die or I wasn’t. Either way, it was going to hurt and there was not a single thing I could do about it.

  Memories of Johann bubbled up and burst like blisters. I did not appreciate them. Screaming seemed to help.

  As the sunset continued, the light dimmed. I grew more sensitive to it, but I also started regenerating. I actively smoked before it was over, but I never actually caught fire anywhere. By the time it was fully dark, I was both hungry and furious. This is not a good combination. It brings out aspects of my personality best kept under wraps, or under the floor of my headspace.

  I snapped the crossbeam and pulled the spikes from my forearms. The holes closed up immediately. Good. After I finished pulling myself free of the steel loops and big bits of wood, I shoved a couple of dead cars off the top and climbed out.

  The crane, engine still revving at maximum, belched a joyous cloud of happy fire and cheerful smoke. The boom rose sharply, unnaturally fast, rocking the whole crane back, reminding me forcefully of a rearing horse.

  The crane lowered the grappling claw next to me. I stepped up on to it, held the cable. It lifted me and the treads engaged, carrying me through the junkyard.

  On the way, a black thing like a giant bat flapped up to me. I held up my free hand and it landed on my forearm like a hawk. It melted immediately, flowing along my arm and over my body like oil or paint, before solidifying, changing texture, turning into a jumpsuit.

  I don’t understand it, but it doesn’t bother me, either. Mary doesn’t enjoy watching it. She says it makes her queasy.

  “Where have you been?” I demanded of it. It rippled a little, somewhat apologetically, I thought, and I felt it try to move my arm. I let it, and it flowed over my hand like a glove. I relaxed and allowed it to point. The crane obligingly changed course.

  The spot was a still-smoldering fire. It was a big one. From the new, open-air look to the car lot building, someone peeled off the outer layer of wood to build a bonfire. Looking it over, feeling through it, sniffing around the edges, there were clear signs someone was deeply afraid. At a guess, when they were stripping me, they hadn’t liked my jacket. Maybe it did something. Maybe they just sensed it was wrong. Whatever t
he reason, someone used a four-way tire iron to pin it to the ground, like the cross of a grave marker.

  I also smelled charred meat, found both flesh and bones. I probed a bit—definitely a body. Scratch the idea of a bonfire. This was a pyre. Maybe someone tried to wear my cloak in its jacket form. It might not have gone well. A dark thing slowly engulfing one of them… yes, I can see them pinning it—and him—to the ground, stacking wood on it, pouring gasoline on it, lighting it on fire… yes, that would be a reasonable course of action. Whether it would work or not was, obviously, more not than would.

  We clanked and ground our way back through the parking lot, crunching and squealing over rust and steel in a straight line. We came to a halt with the treads on a pair of former cars and the claw I was riding lowered to a point next to the door. I stepped down, already knowing the place was abandoned.

  I went inside on the off chance they might have dumped some of my stuff in a box. I didn’t find any box, but I did find the trapdoor to the basement. Well, last time I was in a hurry and only looking for Mary. Once I found her, I stopped searching.

  The under-space appeared hand-dug, which is to say it gave the impression someone cut a hole in the floor and started in with a shovel, rather than the structure being built over the hole. Timbers braced the building above and some boards acted as retaining walls for the dirt. The floor was also dirt, while the low ceiling was simply the upper floor.

  There was a coffin, little more than a pine box. I flipped the lid open. The bottom was lined with a thick layer of dirt. It wasn’t dirt from the basement. The consistency was very different.

  Why did they have a vampire’s coffin? As a place to keep a captive vampire during the day? Or was it a hiding-place for a vampire before they killed him and took this place as their own? Or did the vampire eat everyone in town—Gulch?—and then move on? I’m sure this says something about used-car salesmen, but I don’t want to generalize too much.

  I lifted the coffin and moved it, checking the floor beneath. If it was a vampire’s former hiding spot, he didn’t leave much behind. No emergency stash of money, clothes, or weapons. Then again, if hunters killed him recently they might not have gotten around to dumping a big box of dirt. Maybe I’ll ask someone before I kill them.