Whisper of Blood

by James Dale

  All this Braedan saw in one terrible glance. In the next instant he had the cross hairs of his rifle scope centered on the beast's forehead. It was less than ten yards away. At that distance the powerful .338 caliber round of the Lapua would have shattered the animal's skull as easily as if it were a rotten melon. But for some unexplained reason, Jack could not fire. Though his mind screamed at him to squeeze the trigger, some force held him in its grasp and he could not make his right index finger obey. Jack's arms began to shake with tension as he struggled to gain control of his body, but he could not will his muscles to make the one simple movement that would have slain his nightmare.

  While Braedan struggled for possession of his own body, a similar battle seemed to be taking place within the beast. He could sense the monster's raging emotions as it fought against some invisible bond. It wanted to rip his vulnerable flesh with tooth and claw, it wanted to kill for…Red Slayer? Like Braedan, it could not overcome the force restraining them both. Finally, the beast seemed to falter, to surrender to the powerful will that held it at bay. The fire in its dreadful eyes died, and with a last heave of its mighty chest, the monster grew still.

  Jen, or whatever was controlling her, screamed in frustrated rage, and the spell was broken.

  The beast exploded with a roar and sprang from its crouch. Jack fired, but the beast leaped at him with such blinding speed, his shot was ill aimed and missed the monster by a hair's breadth. The rifle flew from Jack's hands as the beast crashed into him, but using the momentum of his fall, he rolled nimbly, sprang to his feet...and found himself facing the beast with drawn samurai sword in his hands.

  The Desert Eagle was still on his hip but it was too late to change weapons now. The beast's monstrous form stood straddling Jen, its bared fangs mere inches from the tender, exposed flesh of her vulnerable neck.

  "Hey!" Jack snarled. "It's me you want you son of a bitch!"

  The beast growled, low and rumbling like the approach of an avalanche and moved slowly towards him. Braedan prepared to rush the monster to save Jen. He knew he had little chance of survival, but it didn't matter anymore. He wanted only to shed this monster's blood. He wanted to feel the life spilling from its body in return for the anguish and terror he had endured. He wanted it to feel his rage! His hate! All he needed to do was stay alive long enough for the razor-sharp edge of his sword to find flesh and his nightmare would trouble him no more.

  Seconds seemed to stretch into eternity as man and beast faced each other, tooth and claw facing sharpened steel, each seeming to wait for the other to make the first move. The monster took one more ponderous step, reaching for him with a clawed hand, then loosed another earth-shattering roar. Jack readied himself to meet his end. But instead of springing to tear him with vicious claws, the beast twisted its body and leapt straight for the opening between the two tremendous oaks.

  For one unbelievable second, it hung suspended above the ground as if caught in an invisible net. Then the air around it appeared to ripple like the surface of a still lake, slowly folding around the monster's head until inch by inch it swallowed its entire body. With a flash of blue light, it winked out of existence, vanishing without a trace.

  Braedan dropped his sword and fell to his knees, burying his face in shaking hands. Unable to process what he had just witnessed, reason began to slip away. After being so close... he could feel his fragile grip on sanity vanishing. His chance to end the nightmares had disappeared before his eyes, damning him to a life of madness and endless pain or suicide at the point of a sword. As Jack began to silently weep, he felt a light, hesitant touch on his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he found Jen standing before him.

  "You have to follow it," she said quietly.

  All sense of the prior...maliciousness in her voice was gone. She was just a tired, frightened girl. "You have to follow it," she repeated, more forcefully this time.

  "Jen...I don't understand," Jack whispered.

  "Last night in my dreams," she said hesitantly, "An old man...he told me to tell you to follow the...you have to follow that thing if you want your nightmares to end. He told me to tell you your redemption lies beyond the door."

  Jen raised a hand and wiped a tear from Jack's cheek. "He also said to tell you, don't be afraid. Your blood will suffice. I didn’t understand that part." She admitted.

  Braedan looked up curiously at the girl. How could she understand any of this when he was living it and had no idea what was going on? What old man had spoken to her in her dreams? What did she mean his blood would suffice?

  "What's your name?" Jen asked shyly.

  "Jack...my name is Jack," Braedan said, slowly regaining his composure.

  “Thank you for coming for me, Jack.”

  "Jen...the old man," Jack said, an uncomfortable thought occurring to him. "Do you think he was...God?"

  "I don't think God would be so skinny," she replied. "Or look so tired."

  "Then...who?"

  Jen shrugged her slim shoulders. "Whoever he was he also said you would have some food?"

  "I don't know if you can call it food," Jack replied. "But you can eat it." He slipped the ruck sack off his back and dug through it, pulling out an MRE. "Jen, if I'm going to follow…"

  "You'll have to leave me," the young girl said, accepting the tan package. "He told me."

  "You are amazing, you know that Jennifer Hurst?" he said, shaking his head. If this teenage girl could accept dreams, and being stalked by a monster and... everything else, with such calm, the least he could do was have the strength to...do what he must. "Look, Jen..."

  "Don't worry Jack," she assured him. "I'll be okay now that... now that it's gone."

  "You'll be more than okay," Jack said, pulling the Garmin 120 from his kit. "There are three more MREs here, and a poncho liner in the ruck sack. There’s a couple of pairs of socks you can put on your feet. And this," he said, showing her how to work the GPS, "will take you right to your dad. Just follow the arrow. You know how to shoot?" he asked, removing his thigh holster and handing her the Desert Eagle.

  "I'll be fine," she nodded ripping open a packet beef stew.

  He looked at the girl in wonder. He really believed she would be. Sheathing his sword, Braedan and picked up the Lapua and checked to make sure a round was in the breech. Before he could lose his nerve, he turned to follow the beast...wherever that might lead him.

  "I'll pray for you Jack!" he heard Jen cry. Then he stepped between the tremendous oaks...

  Chapter Four

  Temple of the Door

  The sun rose crimson in the east, slowly transforming the sky from a murky, predawn gray, into a fiery purple, until it finally became a brilliant, piercing blue that only covers oceans or deserts. Giant cumulonimbus clouds floated majestically across the heavens, first forming one eldritch shape, then another. A little lower, the wings of an eagle were stretched in flight, dancing upon unseen currents of air in a game its kind had played since the beginning of time itself. Lower still, the salty swells of an emerald green ocean crashed noisily upon the sandy beach of an otherwise silent shore.

  Anchored a hundred yards off the coast sat a sleek sailing ship, a three masted square rigger, riding low in the water and built for speed. Carved on the prow of the ship was the bust of a snarling wolf and just above the water line was a wicked, iron headed ram. As it sat basking in the bright morning sun, the Seawolf was alive with activity. Sailors scampered up and down the ships rigging, laughing and tossing around good natured curses to their ship mates as they tied off the now unneeded canvas sails. As they went about their task, a junior helmsman directed another detail preparing two long boats to go ashore.

  On the quarterdeck, two men stood surveying the organized chaos taking place around them. The man on the left was a brooding giant, standing over six and a half feet tall. His strongly muscled frame was bronzed by the hot southern sun and his massive chest was bare, revealing a complex network of white scars. He had a rugged, clean shaven face and lon
g, unruly black hair just turning gray at the temples. His only garments were a pair of purple silk trousers, jackboots crafted of soft, black leather and a huge, scabbarded sword that hung at his side. The man's countenance was grim, as if he disliked the company he was forced to keep and his pale blue eyes were troubled. The man's name was Tarsus Aernin and he was first mate aboard the Seawolf.

  The man on his right was of lesser stature but was no less fierce in appearance. Dark hair hung in ringlets down to his shoulders and he sported a pointed goatee and flaring mustache. Rings of gold adorned his fingers and around his neck hung the Star of Issa diamond, a treasure which had once been part of the crown jewels of a king of legend. His name was Cullibranos Banar. He was captain of the Seawolf, a position he'd acquired by treachery and deceit. It was said by many there was not an honest bone in his body. By Cullibranos this was not denied.

  The two men were locked in a heated discussion.

  "I do not like this," the huge man muttered. "We are the Brotherhood, not tomb raiders."

  "What makes you think I flaming care whether you like it or not?" Cullibranos snapped. "The temple lies within the Ailsantain Forest and the treasure lies within the temple. Therefore, into the forest we go."

  "Sir," Tarsus tried again. "If I may make a suggestion?"

  "Enough!" Cullibranos shouted. "That dead fool Borlaen may have suffered your suggestions while he was captain of this ship, but I have no need of them! You have your orders. Now carry them out! Or I swear, this will be your last day as an officer aboard the Seawolf! Do I make myself clear?"

  Tarsus swallowed a stinging reply. Although it went against the Amarian's grain to take such abuse from the likes of Cullibranos, the man was captain, and Tarsus did not think the time yet right to challenge his authority. It was not that he feared Cullibranos. Tarsus Aernin feared no man. What held his tongue was the simple fact three quarters of the ship's crew could still be counted as loyal to the swarthy Norgarthan. Though the Creator alone knew why. He treated them much worse than he treated Tarsus and the rest of the ship's officers. The man may have been raised in the wild lands of fallen Amar, but that did not mean he was a fool. He would bide his time, suffering the insults of the Norgarthan, but when the time came, Cullibranos' head would adorn a boarding pike.

  "Aye, captain," Tarsus finally replied. "Perfectly clear." Looking below, he saw a group of idle crewmen watching their exchange and decided to take out his wrath on them. He knew it was childish but it would soothe his wounded pride.

  "Damn you dogs!" he shouted at the milling seamen, vaulting over the quarterdeck's railing to land in their midst. "What are you doing standing around, scratching your malformed, hairy balls? Don't you know there's work to be done?"

  "You two!" he bellowed at the nearest pair. "Those fools preparing the long boats are taking too long! Tell them it will be their heads if they don't have them in the water by the time I count to twenty!"

  "You," he continued, picking out another. "Go fetch Rhonn off his fat arse and see if he has readied the supplies."

  "Aye sir!" the frightened sailor yelped.

  "And the rest of you find something to do before I pitch you over the side for shark food! One! Two..."

  They scattered to the four winds.

  "By the Seven Dukes of Hell! Where is Dorad?" he finished with a roar.

  "Here now," a voice said calmly from above. "How are honest seamen expected to get any sleep with all this shouting?"

  Tarsus looked up and found the Seawolf's second mate perched on the lower arm of the ship's main mast. "Get down here man," the Amarian said. "I have a job for you."

  Dorad sighed heavily, as if his whole morning had been ruined by the command, but with a swiftness that would have caused a chimpanzee to hang its head in shame, he swung his legs over the jig and was down the rigging facing the first mate.

  It was a strange friendship the two possessed. On the one hand was Tarsus, a wandering mercenary from the ruined wasteland that was ancient Amar. He had spent his entire adult life warring, drinking and wenching his way across most of the known world. In those travels he'd won and lost again greater fortunes than most men had ever dreamed of. Though he claimed he could not read, save to recognize his name on a wanted poster, he was fluent in half a dozen languages. Tarsus was forty years old if he was a day, but all he had to show for it was a death sentence waiting for him in Khadda’Temar, a price on his head in every kingdom of the Whesguard, and the friendship of Dorad Ellgereth.

  On the other hand was Dorad Ellgereth, at twenty-three years old he was perhaps half the Amarian's age. Where Tarsus had come squalling into the world in a stone hut with a dirt packed floor, Dorad had been raised in wealth and splendor, waited on hand and foot since his birth. He had studied at the feet of the most learned scholars of Dorshev, uncovering the mysteries of the stars, discovering the lessons of history and religion, as well as the complex workings of politics and government. Like Tarsus he was no stranger to combat, but he had been taught the art of war by the greatest captains and knights of the realm, for he had once been nothing less than a prince of the House of Ellgereth and heir to the Ivory Throne of Doridan, the most powerful kingdom of southern Aralon.

  Rumor among the Seawolf's crew said the pair had met while the Amarian was a mercenary captain in Dorshev, the capital city of Doridan. Both men were fond of drinking, beautiful women and tavern brawls. Upon making acquaintance at a particularly nasty encounter at the Wicked Maiden, the most famous brothel in Dorshev, the two found themselves to be kindred spirits and became instant friends.

  Not many days after that fateful meeting, the High Council of Dorshev, led by Kiathan Ellgaer, Duke of Raashan and fifth in line of succession to the throne of Doridan, had Dorad declared unfit as heir and persuaded his embarrassed and disappointed father, King Ellgenn, to exile the wayward prince. The council gifted Dorad with a paltry bag of silver, a broken-down ass, and sought to send him on his way.

  The young prince however, would have nothing from the scheming Duke Kiathan or his council of lackeys. He and Tarsus promptly robbed a lending house of an extraordinary amount of gold Doridanian Dorkarrs, then had made their escape in the Duke of Raashan's own pleasure boat, which they later grounded and set aflame. The enraged Kiathan placed a bounty on their heads and no one afterwards in the entire kingdom dared to speak the prince's name except his younger sister Annawyn, now heiress to the throne.

  That was four years passed. Their stolen fortune in gold had long been spent on wine, women and song, and the friendship formed with a single blow in a drunken tavern brawl was now tempered by battle, blood and fire. He and Tarsus had wandered from one troublesome adventure to the next until both disinherited prince and Amarian mercenary had become officers aboard the Seawolf, one of the most feared pirate ships on Aeralnen Widewater. Both men hated Cullibranos with a passion and since he had taken command of the Seawolf three months ago, over stepping them both on his way to the captaincy, they wasted no opportunity to cause him grief.

  "I am at your service sir," said the former prince, bowing in Doridanian court fashion, causing Cullibranos to grind his teeth in rage and bringing a huge grin to Tarsus' rugged face.

  "Highness," said the Amarian when he could trust himself to speak without laughing, "it would please me if you would gather up eight good men and ensure they are properly outfitted with arms, then taken to Rhonn. If he is awake and sober, see if he can find it in his heart to supply them with at least three days rations. If you can find Falco and bid that scoundrel do the same, I will be forever in your debt."

  "Consider it done," replied Dorad, and turned to leave.

  "And Dorad?"

  "Yes?" asked his young friend.

  Tarsus looked quickly for Cullibranos but the captain had stalked off after watching their initial exchange. "See if you can round up any...ummm...magical trinkets," he said in a lowered voice.

  "Trinkets?" Dorad asked puzzled.

  "You know," Tarsus replied wit
h an embarrassed look. "Good luck charms? Things to protect against evil spells?"

  "Why do we need good luck charms to gather provisions?" the second mate asked. "I know the Ailsantain Forest has a fell reputation, but a quick jaunt in and out will not be too dangerous."

  "I have only just learned," whispered the Amarian, "that we have not anchored to take on provisions. We are here to loot some temple. A temple protected by magic of the Lords. Or so says Cullibranos."

  "The Temple of the Door?" Dorad asked with a horrified whisper.

  "That was the name he gave it," Tarsus admitted.

  "How did he learn it was in the Ailsantain?" Dorad hissed. "No matter. Tarsus, do you know the…purpose…of The Temple of the Door?”

  “Just some treasure house accourding to Cullibranos,” the Amarian shrugged. “He says it has loot stored in it from the Great War. Strange name for a treasure house if you ask me.”

  “It is not some treasure house!” Dorad retorted. “It is…it is…a place we have no business disturbing. Ever! It is guarded by the most powerful, most deadly, of Words."

  "Cullibranos says that is just a tale to frighten away treasure hunters," replied Tarsus.

  "He is wrong!"

  "He claims to know a way around them, if they do exist," the Amarian added hopefully. The concern in his friend’s voice was beginning to worry him. "A priest of Yh’Adan sold him their secrets."

  "A priest of Yh’Adan would never speak of the temple," argued Dorad. "And would die before giving up its secrets."

  "Yet he has a map," said Tarsus. "I know maps. The one I saw was genuine."

  "Genuine or not," Dorad replied, "The Temple of the Door is not a place we should meddle. I must speak with Cullibranos."

  "I wish you luck," Tarsus sighed. "You heard the response he gave me when I tried to question him about it?"

  "Yes," Dorad said. "But for the sake of our lives, if not our immortal souls, he must listen to me."