The Phoenix Rising

by Richard L. Sanders

  ***

  The dark crawlspace made Calvin extremely uncomfortable. He’d never admitted it to anyone before, but he was claustrophobic and the thought of being surrounded by people in such a tiny, confined space, threw his mind into a state of intense panic. Given the choice, he would’ve rather had a bath full of spiders, or be forced to stare down over the edge of a mile-high skyscraper, or even give a public speech before the entire Empire. Really, just about anything seemed preferable to this. Miraculously, though, he forced his way through it and, after what seemed like hours, the tiny tunnel opened up into a small utility room. There were a few pipes, gauges, and knobs, but all of them looked fallen into disrepair and disuse. It was hard to get a very good look at things with Pellew’s compact torch as their only source of light.

  Calvin was surprised they could all breathe as easily as they did. And decided that the entire canton probably had oxygen circulating through it at all times to help maintain its relative lightness compared to the extremely dense atmosphere.

  “Now what?” asked Pellew. They were at an apparent dead end.

  “We use the Key,” said Tristan. He walked close to one of the walls and spoke what Calvin could only guess was the pass phrase. The only other possibility being a sudden capitulation to insanity. “Is there no peace for a wandering one?”

  Calvin guessed there was a hidden microphone. He made sure to remain closest to the crawlspace opening, if it turned out they had to go back the way they’d come, he wanted to be the first out. He’d had enough feeling of entrapment to last him a lifetime. He imagined he was locked in a coffin six feet underground, scratching uselessly at the top of it. Waiting to asphyxiate… the thought gave him chills.

  “I said—is there no peace for a wandering one?” repeated Tristan.

  Nothing.

  “Well?” asked Pellew.

  Tristan looked genuinely frustrated. He repeated himself a third time, much louder than the previous two.

  They heard a click. Pellew shined his light in its direction, and they saw a secret door open up.

  “Enter swiftly,” a deep, passionless voice said.

  “Come on,” said Tristan. He went first; the others followed. Calvin brought up the rear. Once he was inside, the secret door closed and sealed it shut.

  “Where are we?” asked Calvin. They stood in a black room, it was no brighter than where they’d come from. Apparently the strigoi didn’t rely on visible light the same way humans did. Either that or they preferred the darkness.

  Pellew shined his light around. By all appearances the room wasn’t very large, and was interconnected with two doors on every wall. Like the mouth of a long maze. Its décor was a curious mix of savagery and sophistication. Beautiful art splashed the walls with vibrant designs that showed a flare of passion that seemed almost human, and yet the favorite medium seemed to be blood. There were artifacts, and ancient books, and finely crafted sculptures—made from human bones, as well as skulls and scratch marks. Trails of dried blood where bodies had been dragged. To Calvin it felt like a catacomb. A potent, haunted mood stalked them as they went farther. There were other figures nearby, dressed in clothes like people, but they did not hold themselves like people. As Pellew’s light bounced off their eyes, they seemed to glow—almost like cats’ eyes—and sharp, developed teeth protruded from their mouths.

  Calvin shuddered. Flashes of the Trinity flew through his mind and he was momentarily ushered back into the darkest horror of his past. These were the slaughterers of men. The blood-thirsty, ruthless, compassionless killers that had slain almost everyone on the Trinity, including his beloved Christine. Gruesomely transforming many of the unsuspecting humans into depraved creatures of darkness. He felt the urge to draw his weapon and open fire on these… monsters, but he restrained himself. He’d known he was coming here. He’d known he’d be again face-to-face with the strigoi. But he’d still failed to adequately prepare himself for the resurgence of feelings that ripped through him like a fierce winter storm.

  “Why do you come here?” asked the deep voiced creature nearest them. Pellew shined the light on the speaker, he stood about a meter away, was tall, thin—though toned—and his eyes were deep amber.

  “We’re here to see Savetnik,” said Tristan.

  The strigoi addressing them hissed. It was a foul, almost screech-like sound. Calvin nearly covered his ears.

  “It is you, Najamnik!” he said, clearly recognizing Tristan now. “You are not welcome here.” He said something else, which Calvin understood as some other, non-human language—probably the strigoi’s native language—and several other strigoi advanced. Surrounding them. Pellew shined his light from one to the next, no doubt counting their numbers and doing a tactical analysis in his head.

  “Listen to me,” said Tristan. His eyes began to glow red, lighting up a little of the darkness, and his muscles swelled. “We are not here for the Ratni! We are here as guests.”

  The strigoi hissed again, apparently unimpressed. He and the others closed in some and Tristan tensed, crouching down as if preparing to strike. Calvin felt a surge of adrenaline and he drew his weapons, Pellew and the three other soldiers did the same. Though Calvin’s baser instinct was to fight, his memories reminded him that it would be a futile endeavor, the strigoi would slaughter them like animals. Unleashed strigoi were a true fury. One that had painted the Trinity’s walls red. If four hundred men and women hadn’t been enough to stop the strigoi, what chance did a mere six have?

  “Do you not recognize him?” asked Tristan, jerking his head in Calvin’s direction. “Look at him. Smell him.”

  The strigoi seemed surprised. “Can it be?”

  “What the hell do I have to do with anything?” asked Calvin. He was ignored.

  “Yes, this one is the same,” said another strigoi. Pellew shined his light on him. He was shorter than the apparent leader, and even thinner, but his sharp teeth and taught muscles still seemed every ounce as vicious.

  “You are right,” said the first strigoi.

  “And we must see Savetnik,” said Tristan, relaxing some.

  “Yes, I suppose he would like that,” replied the first strigoi.

  “No, let’s be rid of them,” said the second strigoi. “They are a threat.”

  “And Savetnik?”

  “He would not have to know.”

  “But he would know,” said the first strigoi.

  Calvin was unsure whether they were about to get what they asked for, or be pounced on. He chambered the pistol, as quietly as possible, just in case.

  A heated disagreement erupted between the different strigoi, all of whom seemed to have an opinion. Calvin had no idea what was being said. Their language, which was strangely beautiful, despite its sharpness, was a total mystery to him. He only hoped Tristan could follow it.

  “I am the First!” said the taller strigoi, who had originally spoken to the newcomers. “I will not go against Savetnik’s wishes in this matter. And neither will you. We shall let him decide.” The First didn’t speak loudly, but his deep voice was commanding, and the other strigoi seemed to get the point. The First was the alpha, and the others were obliged to accept his decision. Though, from the brief glimpse Calvin got of him when Pellew moved the light, Calvin guessed the second strigoi was displeased—as were a few others. But they all fell into line.

  “Yes. You are the First,” said the second. “They must be taken to Savetnik, as you wish.”

  “That is wise,” said the First. He then addressed Calvin’s party once again. “Follow me, unclean ones. Touch nothing. And do not fall behind. Stay close. If you go any other way, you will die. And no one you know will ever find you.”

  ***

  The feeling that the strigoi lair was a haunted catacomb only increased as they wandered the twisted path, following the First blindly in the darkness.

  Calvin caught glimpses of things every now and then, as Pellew’s light shined on them, but the sights only added to the cree
piness of the whole experience. The walls were painted in tapestries of blood. And signs of death, including human skeletons, were arranged artistically, almost elegantly.

  They passed many other strigoi along the way, most of whom were asleep. Or meditating. Or something. If they were curious about the newcomers, or noticed them, they showed no sign. Perhaps because they weren’t conscious. Or perhaps because they dared not challenge the First.

  Part of Calvin was intrigued by the apparent social structure of the Enclave. He’d always heard that the strigoi, and really all of the Remorii, were purely feral, wild, savage animals that were creatures of pure instinct. But they seemed to have a genuine order here, almost a civilization—though Calvin hesitated to use that word to describe them. What he remembered of them was ferocious bloodlust, not civility.

  Eventually they reached a chamber. A sliver of light leaked out from under the crack in the door.

  The First knocked.

  “What is it?” a muffled voice asked.

  “Savetnik. There are some unclean ones who would see you. If you will let them,” said the First.

  “Be right with you,” said the muffled voice. It had a pleasant tone, perhaps even human.

  The First looked not to Tristan but to Calvin. As if he somehow knew that Calvin was the group’s leader. “You may enter. And when you wish to leave—should Savetnik wish to allow you to leave—you may call upon me. I will wait here.”

  “Thanks,” said Calvin, not sure what to say. He relaxed his grip on his pistol, which he still held, and waited.

  Chapter 18

  “What business do you have with the Khans?”

  “Look at this photograph; you see this man?”

  “Yes. What of it?—And get to the point swiftly; time is money.”

  “We do not wish him, or any of the others with him, to leave Tybur alive.”

  “Yes, that is a service we sometimes provide. Tell me, how has he wronged you?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “It affects the price. Tell me or we have no contract to discuss.”

  “He knows of the Enclave, that is enough. He and his friends must be eliminated. How else can we protect our existence?”

  “Fair enough. How many bodybags will we need?”

  “There are six who must disappear.”

  “Six? Very well, I am writing my offer on this paper. When I hand it to you, either accept or decline. We do not negotiate. Is that understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here is my offer.”

  “That is very expensive, but I understand. It is only fair.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “I will pay half that amount again if you keep this deed from being found out.”

  “Intriguing... who are you afraid of learning of this?”

  “Savetnik. He must never know about this meeting, about the killing, about any of it.”

  “Savetnik is extremely well-informed. It will be hard to keep such a secret from him. I will agree to no less than double your offer. And you must tell me why Savetnik would concern himself with this... individual.”

  “His name is Calvin and he is... cut of the same fabric as Savetnik. If you get my meaning.”

  “Calvin Cross?”

  “Yes. That is his name.”

  “Calvin Cross is here on Tybur?”

  “Yes. Why is that surprising?”

  “It isn’t surprising, it’s serendipitous. We have a mutual acquaintance who owes us much. If Calvin is here, then he is here also.”

  “I don’t care about your other business with Calvin and those who remain in his tainted company. I simply want assurance that none of them will leave Tybur alive.”

  “You have my word.”

  “I want your word, and I want to send someone with you. To make certain the deed is done.”

  “That is acceptable. As soon as you pay me, we have a deal.”

  “Half now and half on completion.”

  “No, all of it now. That is how we work. If you don’t like it, go elsewhere.”

  “Very well. But you’d better be able to live up to your end.”

  “Rest assured, my friend. Calvin and the five fools travelling with him will be dead by night cycle.”

  ***

  “What is taking so long?” asked Calvin, deciding whether or not he should knock again. He guessed it had been ten minutes.

  “At least the bastards haven’t decided to suck our blood,” said Pellew.

  “They don’t really suck blood,” said Calvin. “They rip into you with their teeth and partially devour you. If you’re lucky, the injury will be severe enough that you die. If not, you’d better hope your body rejects the toxins they put inside you.”

  “Wouldn’t that kill you?” asked Pellew.

  “Oh yes,” said Calvin. “Which is a far better fate.” He thought of his old mentor, the man who’d been the Trinity’s executive officer, the same man who’d gotten Calvin assigned to the Trinity in the first place. How vile he had been after his transformation. Savage, feral, contorted, and dead inside. Calvin shuddered at the memory.

  “Actually they do suck your blood,” said Tristan. “If they want to.”

  Calvin looked at him in disbelief. That sounded a little too close to the ancient vampire folklore—which the strigoi had been colloquially named after—to be real. “How could sucking blood confer any kind of survival benefit?”

  “Some bats live off of blood as their primary food source,” said Tristan.

  “Plus maybe you’re thinking about it the wrong way, Calvin,” said Pellew. “The Remorii aren’t the result of natural selection, they were designed. A science experiment gone horribly wrong.” He looked at Tristan. “No offense.”

  “None taken, the type two Remorii did go horribly wrong. And they’ve stayed that way. But Calvin is at least partially right in this case. The strigoi don’t feast on blood because they have to. They do it because they enjoy it. Even though pathogens commonly found in blood can make them sick. It’s an acquired taste, a hallmark of the fiercest strigoi.”

  Calvin shook his head. “That’s disgusting.”

  They waited another minute or two and finally Calvin gave way to his impatience and knocked on the door again.

  No answer.

  “Well this is stupid,” said Calvin.

  “Do you think we should just go in?” asked Pellew.

  “Out of the way,” said Tristan. He pushed past Calvin and threw the door aside. “I’m tired of waiting.”

  They followed him into what looked like a small apartment. There were various conveniences, appliances, and furniture. Calvin had to squint, since his eyes had become so accustomed to the darkness.

  “Oh good god,” said Tristan.

  “What is it?” Calvin moved around Tristan to see what he was looking at. He froze up at the sight, his whole body stiffened. His mind spun circles—almost unable to process what he was seeing.

  A man was passed out on the floor. He looked about fifty years old and some of his light hair had gone white—almost like highlights. Stress wrinkles creased his face and he was a bit over-weight. Other than those differences, it was like looking in a mirror.

  “Dad?” whispered Calvin. A flurry of mixed emotions flew through him. Concern and eagerness buried under a mountain of resentment and an ocean of surprise.

  Pellew ran to the man on the floor and immediately checked his vitals and began rendering first aid. “He’s alive but his pulse is extremely weak,” said Pellew. “Go get help!”

  Calvin just stood there. Staring down at the man who had abandoned him and his mother and dropped off the edge of the universe so many years ago. All the empty gestures and broken promises...

  “Calvin, go and get help, Tristan get—”

  “There’s no need,” said Tristan. He walked over to the table the man had presumably been sitting at when he collapsed. He picked up a syringe that lay on its surface and, after moving Pell
ew out of the way, administered the shot.

  Calvin blinked. Could it be?

  “What did you do?” asked Pellew. “What did you just inject him with?”

  “This is a drug manufactured by the Khans that the strigoi have a fondness for,” said Tristan. “Once a person’s body has gotten used to it, it can’t live without it. The heart shuts down. It’s an excellent means of control.”

  There he was. Samil Cross. The man who had walked out all those years ago. The man who’d dragged him off to Aleator and all sorts of other places a child shouldn’t go. The man who’d broken his mother’s heart... and it turned out he too was chemically dependent. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Calvin supposed. In this painful, and wrenchingly confusing, image of his father lying broken before him—a man Calvin had believed long dead and gone from his life—he caught a glimpse of his own future. Would equarius do this to him, in the end?

  “What the hell’s wrong with you, Calvin?” asked Pellew.

  With a blink, he snapped out of it. Like awaking from a trance. “I’m sorry,” said Calvin. “I just didn’t expect—”

  “What?”

  “Nevermind.”

  “No, say it,” insisted Pellew. He stood up and walked over to Calvin, actual concern in his eyes. “Are you alright?” As if the fight they’d had on the freighter was a thing of the distant, irrelevant past.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” said Tristan. “Calvin clearly didn’t expect to find his father here.” Samil Cross was now waking and Tristan assisted in propping him up.

  “But you knew...” said Calvin, slowly putting together some of the pieces. “You knew that my father was here, that’s why you said it would be safe for us because I was coming along. That’s why you pointed me out to the sentinel who gave you the Key, and to the First.”