by N. R. Walker
“Well, aren’t you two just a wonderful web of weird,” Kennard said flatly.
Just then, a small platoon of terracotta soldiers came out of the darkness. They moved in synchronized formation and slowly and robotically came toward them.
“And you didn’t consider not drinking his blood, Cronin?” Kennard asked.
“It was a deliberate decision,” Cronin answered. He took a more comfortable grip on the sledgehammer and never took his eyes off the approaching soldiers. “If I can transfer or even detect the talents of Khan or those around him, then it will give us a clear advantage.”
Jacques and Eiji stepped forward and swung at the terracotta soldiers. They weren’t armed, but they moved better and seemed to have some mental capacity compared to the ones they’d encountered in the main warehouse pit. It only took eight swings of hammers and they were nothing but dust.
“A clear advantage indeed,” Kennard said, stepping over the broken shards of soldiers as they walked. “Alec, I cannot wait to see what talents behold you, my friend. A transfer, I suspect.”
“How about we just get through this first?” Alec said, dismissing the idea. “I have a feeling we’re walking right to where he wants us.”
Eiji looked back at Alec and gave a nod before crouching lower and walking a little faster.
The next platoon of terracotta soldiers moved faster again, with more strength and agility than the previous ones, and the platoon after that even more so. It was clear to Alec the weaker—maybe the soldiers created earlier—were sent out first.
But still, they were hardly any match for them. Glorious and imperial but useless in combat.
Cronin licked his lips and furrowed his brows. “Can anyone else taste that?”
“I thought I was imagining it,” one of the Englishmen said.
Jodis nodded. “I can. It’s not metallic. It’s not chemical.”
Eiji crouched down to a shattered terracotta soldier. He picked up a shard of broken clay, smelled it before he crumbled it to dust, and put it to his mouth to taste. He stared at Cronin. “It’s gu. Baked into the terracotta.”
Cronin hissed and ripped a shred of his shirt off. He handed it to Alec. “Put this to your mouth and nose. Now.”
“What’s gu?” Alec asked as he covered his mouth and nose with the scrunched up material.
“Ancient poison,” Eiji said. “Made specifically by putting venomous animals like centipedes, snakes, scorpions in a closed vessel until only one remains. It will have eaten all the rest and ingested all the combined toxins—the toxin is then extracted from the surviving animal and used on weapons or in drink.”
“Or baked into the Terracotta Army,” Jodis said quietly. “A silent defense to those who would try and destroy them.”
“Alec,” Cronin whispered. He put his hand to Alec’s cheek. “Are you well?”
“I feel fine,” he said, when the truth was he wasn’t sure how he felt. He was hot and it was hard to breathe, but he’d just basically run half a mile carrying a sledgehammer, he was wearing night vision goggles and a backpack, and the air in the tunnel wasn’t exactly fresh. “I’m fine.”
“Are you certain?” Cronin pressed.
Alec nodded and put the ripped cloth to his face. “Let’s keep going.”
Cronin’s eyes hardened but he didn’t say anything. Alec took his hand, and they kept on their way. The platoons kept coming faster, one after the other, and Cronin kept Alec at the rear to be as far away from the poisonous dust as possible. Jacques and Eiji swung hammers into them and the English took care of others with their stakes. Jodis hung back like a personal guard to Cronin and Alec.
When the next wave of Terracotta Soldiers was decimated and they’d gone over half a mile, Cronin stopped walking. Alec pulled on Cronin’s hand to keep him moving forward. But he stayed still. His grip on Alec’s hand tightened and his eyes were unfocused.
“What is it?”
“Something’s not clear,” he said cryptically. “I can see something, but it’s obscured from view.”
“What do you mean you can see something?” Jodis asked. “In your head?”
Cronin nodded. “Another vampire is close.”
“And you can see in their head?” Kennard whispered.
“I can see their talent. They’re a cloaker.”
“Shit.” Alec knew from what they’d told him that cloakers were dangerous. They could hide events or other vampires, depending on their exact talent. “Can you see what they’re hiding?”
Cronin shook his head quickly. “Imagine a room with windows, you can see out of all them but one is opaque and obscured.”
“Okay then,” Alec conceded. “Can you feel their talent?”
Cronin closed his eyes. “I think so. I’m not sure. It’s very strange.”
“Can you use it to cloak us?” Alec asked.
Cronin opened his eyes and shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t know how.”
“Or our plans, at least,” Alec continued.
“We don’t have any plans, Alec,” Eiji said flatly. “I seem to recall your grand plan was to leap here with a sledgehammer and smash shit up.”
Kennard laughed and Alec shrugged at him. “And that’s worked pretty good so far.” Alec squeezed Cronin’s hand. “Keep trying, I know you can do this. But we have to keep moving forward.” He put the cloth to his face and looked down the tunnel.
Again, Jacques and Eiji went first and the English were next, but the next platoon of soldiers were faster and more agile. And armed. Jodis joined in the fighting, and when more soldiers kept coming, Cronin and Alec did too.
Alec swung his sledgehammer at the stomach of the closest clay soldier. The metal hammer busted a hole in its side and terracotta fell away in shards, yet the soldier kept coming. It had a wooden sword and swung it at Alec, just as Cronin put a sledgehammer through its heart and it fell. Alec staggered back a step, collecting himself against the tunnel wall. “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome,” Cronin replied with a slight bow.
When that battalion of soldiers was done, without a word of how close that one was or how much more adept at fighting the terracotta army were getting, they kept going west in the tunnel.
Alec was feeling it now. Was the air thicker or were his lungs not expanding properly? This is what Eleanor had meant. She said the air was thick, and now Alec knew why. Thick with poisonous dust. Dust that didn’t affect vampires but was sure as hell harmful to humans. His lungs were squeezing and he felt hot, too hot. It made the pace he was keeping impossible and he almost tripped.
“Alec!” Cronin cried. Everyone stopped and turned to face him.
Alec leaned over and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “I’m alright.”
“You’re not alright,” Cronin said. “Where’s the cloth for your face?”
“I must have dropped it,” Alec said, aware of the wheezing sound he was making on each inhale.
“Here,” Cronin said, pulling at his shirt. “I’ll make you another.”
Alec put his hand out to stop him and shook his head. “I don’t think it matters at this point.”
Eiji walked from the front of the group to the back. He put his hand on Alec’s shoulder. “Alec,” he whispered. “What are you saying?”
Alec wouldn’t say he wasn’t well or that he felt like he was trying to breathe through sand. He looked at Cronin and held out his hand; each breath was becoming rough and labored. “We need to hurry.”
Of course, running was almost impossible and Alec was falling farther and farther behind with each step. “I will carry you,” Cronin said, his voice ripped with anguish.
Alec shook his head. “No. We’ll walk in there together, huh?”
“Alec,” Cronin shook his head. His eyes were full of tears, his hands were trembling. “Tell me what to do?”
Before Alec could answer, they were set upon by another platoon
of terracotta soldiers. They moved like normal vampires and were armed with shaolin sticks and were evidently trained in hand-to-hand combat. Alec stayed back, not wanting to be a liability. But there were many of them, and Cronin dropped the sledgehammer, opting for a wooden stake in each hand. And in the blink of an eye, he leapt a dozen times, spearing soldier after soldier in the heart like a violent strobe light.
When he’d killed them all, Eiji mumbled, “Show off.”
One of the Englishmen, the leaper that brought them here, grinned with wide eyes. “You must teach me how to do that.”
Cronin ignored them both and rushed back to Alec, putting his arm around him and helping him stand up straight. Alec tried to take quieter, more calculated breaths, but considering he was in the company of vampires with impeccable hearing, it was pointless.
“Come on,” Cronin barked at the whole group. “Let’s go. He’s running out of time.”
They moved forward again but a few yards later encountered another wave of soldiers. Alec leaned against the wall and took out his pistol. He raised his arm into the firing position and concentrated on his breathing. This battalion of soldiers must have been bigger because it took longer, and the pistol felt like it weighed a ton. When he dropped his hand, unable to hold it up any longer, Jacques and Jodis quickly stood in front of him, guarding him. Cronin, Eiji, Kennard, and the others took care of the soldiers, and when they were done, the air was thick with dust.
Cronin put his arm around Alec’s shoulder, and Jodis did the same on the other side, helping him walk.
Alec was dizzy now, hot and sweaty, and his breaths were short and hard. And just when Alec was sure he couldn’t take another step, Eiji stopped and put his hand up. “Ahead, fifty yards.”
“The air is different,” Cronin whispered. “Cleaner. Come on.”
Alec’s feet barely touched the ground as Cronin and Jodis ran into an cavernous arena. In his fuzzy mind, he could barely take in the space they’d walked into. If the Terracotta Army hangar was big, this was huge. Maybe four football fields in size, it was an underground city. No, Alec realized, a model of a Chinese city with stone gardens and small buildings that reminded Alec of stone box coffins. The center focus was an altar. Behind that was a mausoleum, huge and over compensating, stone and encased with gold and jewels, complete with a thousand-strong Terracotta Army welcoming committee.
From everything Alec had read and researched on this, which admittedly wasn’t much, Alec knew where he was. He was under Mount Li, in the tomb of the First Emperor of China. He was the one who ordered the Terracotta Army be built. He was their creator, and they now lined either side of a path in their hundreds. A path, Alec knew, they were to walk. Outnumbered a hundred to one, they had no choice.
“Say the word and I will leap us all out of here,” Cronin whispered.
Alec shook his head. He wheezed, “No. Let’s see this done.”
The Terracotta Army stood still and silent. Alec imagined they were proud to stand united. They turned in unison to stare at him, drawn by his blood, and the soldiers that lined the path leaned their shaolin sticks toward the center mausoleum, pointing the way they were to walk.
Without another word between them, they started to walk down the path. Now Jacques led them, followed by the English vampires, then Kennard. Cronin all but carried Alec, and Jodis and Eiji had their backs.
“Jorge is here,” Cronin whispered. “Five vampires. One cloaker, one mason, one leaper, one bodyguard, and Genghis. Genghis is a manipulator. Alec you were right. He influences.”
As they walked up the path, the soldiers filed in formation behind them, blocking the path. There was no going back. Ahead of them, at the end of the path, were stone steps leading up to a platform before the mausoleum.
And there waiting to greet them was Genghis Khan.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Alec laughed. Though it hurt his lungs and his head, he couldn’t help it. Genghis Khan had a foreboding reputation as a ruthless conqueror, a man that claimed half the world, taken with brutal force and damnation, so Alec was expecting a little more.
“Alec?” Cronin questioned. “What is it?”
Alec snorted, which became a coughing fit, and Cronin stopped walking to let him settle. When the coughing subsided, Alec gripped his side, where a stabbing pain jabbed at what Alec was pretty sure was his liver. “Oh, nothing,” he said breathily. “Just didn’t think the Genghis Khan would look like Mr. Miyagi.”
He was, Alec supposed, somewhat accurately described by historians. Given they didn’t exactly have photographs in the thirteenth century, so paintings and drawings of the ruler weren’t exactly gospel. Unless he sanctioned the artists to draw himself taller, Alec wasn’t sure, but the guy was short.
Dressed in white and brown robes with a weird little gray goatee, he extended both arms in welcome, as though they were all long-awaited friends, and bellowed out words Alec could not understand. “He says welcome,” Cronin translated. “He knew the key would come.”
Eiji bowed but did not take his eyes off Genghis, then proceeded to speak in not-English. Alec was too tired to keep up with it. His body hurt, his brain, his lungs, and his legs were too heavy to lift. Cronin explained what was said. “Eiji said if he welcomed us so warmly and wished for our company, why send soldiers to kill us. Why harm the key?”
Genghis laughed and Cronin translated what he said. “I wanted the key here, but I also wanted to make sure he couldn’t leave.”
Then Genghis broke out in some convoluted soliloquy that Cronin translated in parts. “He needs the blood of the key to resurrect Qin, the First Emperor. He believes his mighty ancestor will bestow him great honor and power. And immortality, of course.”
Alec knew the ancient Chinese religion believed in Earth, Sky, and Ancestors, and he felt stupid for not seeing the connection to the Emperor sooner. “What about the other elements?” Alec said. The words hurt as he spoke. “Doesn’t he need all five?”
Cronin shook his head. “He seems to believe he just needs you, just the key. The fifth is the center of them all. The key is all he needs.”
Alec stood up straight as much as it hurt. He stared at Genghis. “The key is no use to you when he’s dead.”
Genghis clearly had no clue what he said. He just smiled and extended one arm, as if inviting them all up the steps onto the platform. So apparently all conversations were going to be in Chinese or Mongolian—Alec had no clue—and he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was sick. No, not just sick. He was dying. He was sure of it. His muscles were starting to cramp, he was now sweating like he’d run a marathon, and a dozen knives of fire twisted in his lungs with every breath. He tasted bile in his throat.
He wanted to sit down. If he could just lay down a minute….
Still with only one arm around Alec’s shoulder, Cronin carried him up the steps and kept him on his feet. Everything was kind of hazy, like the focus on a camera zooming in and out, but Alec was sure the stone platform was a circle. There were other vampires there, sitting down, Alec realized. They were sitting on stone pews that formed a smaller circle, and then inside that was a sundial? No, Alec thought. Not a sundial, the stone plate Eleanor told them about.
Then he noticed Jorge.
The little vampire child was huddled, holding his knees to his chest with his back against the stone tomb. Not in the inner circle, but cast off to the side. He was the bait that lured them all there, because Genghis knew they’d come for him. Jorge’s eyeballs were entirely black again, his little-boy fangs peeked out from his lips, and there was no mistaking the tears that ran down his cheeks. The little boy was crying.
A large male vampire stood over him, who Alec realized was a bodyguard holding him hostage.
Alec ignored the not-English ranting of Genghis Khan and looked at Jorge. “You okay?” he asked him.
Jorge shook his head. “Jorge wants to go home.”
Yep, Alec thought. You’re
not alone there, kiddo. It took a second for Alec’s hazy mind to think of the name of the man who looks after Jorge. “Where’s Adelmo?”
Fresh tears fell from his eyes. “Jorge wants to go home.”
“Me too.”
“The key is dying,” Jorge sobbed. “Silver river, silver river.” Alec nodded and started coughing—it felt like he had lava in his lungs—and his whole body hurt. “Our mind sees what our eyes cannot. Jorge’s mind sees. Silver river. Blood and stone.”
Oh, great, Alec thought. He’s still stuck on that blood and stone bullshit. Alec could barely remember his own name right then, his whole brain felt like it was on fire, let alone even try to decipher Jorge’s cryptic riddles.
“The earth belongs to the silver river. Look with your mind like Jorge’s does,” Jorge said, and the tall vampire sneered, pulled back his hand, and struck Jorge across the face to shut him up.
Everyone reacted immediately, crouching and growling. Cronin tightened his hold on Alec, but Eiji drew two wooden stakes from his thigh holster and aimed them at the man who hit Jorge. “Touch the child again and it will be the last thing you do.”
The man sneered at Eiji, but Genghis raised his hand putting an end to any discussions that didn’t involve him.
The earth belongs to the silver river.
Alec’s mind swirled as slow as quicksand in a dozen different ways. A sludge so thick and acidic, he couldn’t make sense of any of it.
And everyone was talking in languages he couldn’t understand, the noise was coming in ebbs and flows, tidal swells of consciousness. He could feel Cronin’s arms around him, keeping him up, holding him. His soft voice, melodic in his ear, Scottish brogue he couldn’t understand, but that sound—that perfect sound—kept Alec’s eyes open.
Then he was being laid down on one of the stone pews. Alec knew his friends were around him, standing, protecting him. He knew Cronin still held his hand, still spoke in lilting hues of angels.
Look with your mind. Like Jorge does.