The Shroud of A'Ranka (Brimstone Network Trilogy)

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  The high priest again lifted the box to the crowd. “With this gift, we shall receive a world in return.”

  And as the crowds howled and cheered, the priest carried the box to the passage, and was gone, the other vampire holy men following on his tail.

  “No!” the werewolf howled, tearing Stitch’s hand away.

  The patchwork man immediately placed his hand on the pistol in the holster at his side.

  The gun loaded with silver.

  His eyes locked on Emily’s as he gripped the weapon, ready to stop the werewolf, but he couldn’t do it.

  With a snarl, the wolf bounded from their hiding place, landing amongst the crowd of vampires with a roar.

  “Something tells me this wasn’t part of the plan,” Bogey said.

  He and Stitch watched as the werewolf waded into a sea of blood-drinkers, tossing their bodies around as if they were toys. She was making her way toward the stage … to the still-pulsing gateway.

  “What are we gonna do?” Bogey asked.

  Emily had cut a path through the crowd, and removing twin daggers from a bandolier across his chest, Stitch began to follow.

  “We improvise,” he said, slaying vampire after vampire as they turned their attention to these new intruders.

  What choice did they have?

  * * *

  The stairs up the front of the pyramid were treacherous and steep.

  Bram stopped for a moment, turning back to check on Dez and his father. “You guys doing okay?”

  “We’re all right,” Douglas answered, stepping carefully, carrying Dez piggyback. “How much farther?” he asked, looking up toward Bram.

  One of the jaguar creatures had run its claws down the side of the man’s face, leaving deep, bloodless furrows. It wasn’t at all pretty to look at.

  “Not sure,” Bram said, taking the compass from his pocket. He flipped the lid back and watched the delicate golden arrow rise up and search for signs of magick. “It says we’re on the right track. All we can do is keep climbing until we can find a way inside.”

  Bram started up the stairs again.

  “Can we stop for a second?” Dez asked weakly.

  “We should really try to keep going,” Bram replied. “The longer it takes us to find Vladek, the less chance we have of stopping him.”

  “Just for a second?” Dez asked. “Please?”

  Bram begrudgingly agreed, and moved back down to join them.

  Douglas lowered Dez to a step so that he could sit.

  “I just need something in my bag,” the boy said weakly. He unzipped his backpack and rummaged through it. “I’m not going to be any good to you or anybody else feeling this way. I need a pick-me-up…. Here it is,” he announced, pulling out a can.

  “Liquid Surge?” Bram asked, reading its bright green label.

  “Yeah, it’s an energy drink. Bogey gave it to me before we left. Said it would put hair on my chest or make me feel like there were fifty-thousand volts going through me. Whatever I need most, I guess.”

  Dez popped the lid, and an odd, strangely metallic yet fruity smell wafted up into the humid air. “Bogey says he drinks these all the time.”

  “That explains a lot about Bogey,” Douglas muttered as he watched his son begin to drink.

  “Well?” Bram asked.

  Dez smacked his lips. “Strangely enough, it tastes like something that would be called Liquid Surge.” He looked down at his shirt. “No hair, but I am feeling a little more awake.” He offered the can to Bram. “Sip?”

  “No thanks,” Bram said with a shake of his head. “The thought of putting something inside my body that Bogey drinks kind of scares me.”

  Dez shrugged and took another gulp. “Suit yourself. It’s not that bad once you get used to it.”

  “Think you’ve got enough energy now to finish the climb?” Bram asked.

  “Bring on the bad guys,” Dez said, finishing the drink and crushing the can in a show of strength.

  The energy drink actually did seem to do some good. Dez was able to hobble along, needing only to lean on his father for support as they resumed their climb.

  Maybe we should start packing Liquid Surge in all our bags, Bram mused as he climbed the face of the pyramid.

  He checked the compass again and saw that the arrow was now pointing around to the side of the pyramid. “It says we should head over here,” Bram said, moving horizontally across the stairs.

  It wasn’t long before he found the opening. “We can get in through here.” He retrieved a flashlight from his pack and shone through the breach in the wall. The yellow beam only went so far before it was eaten by the darkness.

  “You’re going to need your flashlights,” Bram called to his companions as he started to crawl through the broken opening into the pyramid. Immediately he noticed the change in temperature, as a sheen of goose bumps erupted across the flesh of his arms.

  He could hear Douglas helping his son through the broken wall as he moved further down the corridor. The beam of his flashlight caught a glimpse of the faded imagery painted on the walls, and he was drawn to the story depicted there, following the tale of the goddess A’Ranka.

  The memory of the poor residents of the village transformed by Vladek’s bite flashed through his mind, and he again experienced an uncomfortable chill. He wondered if the vampires could ever be capable of loving anything more than the taste of blood.

  “Hey, Bram, where are you?” Dez called, interrupting Bram’s musings.

  “I’m down here,” he called, realizing he had strayed away from his companions.

  He could hear them making their way, the beams from their flashlights growing larger and brighter, like the eyes of some ghostly beast moving toward him.

  Then something caught his eye on the wall across from him and he shone his own light upon it. The pictures depicted A’Ranka in all her glory conjuring a great cloud.

  What was it the Archivist had called her? Bram tried to remember. The goddess of the dust?

  The cloud was encircling the planet, blocking the faded yellow sun, and he then knew the enormity of what Vladek and Gideon planned.

  “What do they mean?” Dez asked, finally coming into view. He was shining his light upon the drawings.

  Bram moved to the last drawing, a depiction of the world, floating in space surrounded by a thick ring of black. He was about to explain what he had figured out, when suddenly he was falling.

  It actually took him a moment to realize what had happened, falling down through the darkness, hearing the panicked voices of Dez and Douglas from far above. Then Bram allowed his ghostly nature to take control, halting his descent in the sea of black.

  “I’m all right,” Bram yelled up to his companions as he slowly rose to meet them.

  They were both kneeling at the edge of floor that had been broken away, shining their lights down into the passage.

  “You nearly gave us a heart attack,” Douglas said, Bram seeing the irony in the man’s statement as it was heart failure that had killed him first.

  “Sorry, I got distracted and wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  Bram peered down as he floated above the tunnel. In his Spectral form he was more sensitive to the paranormal. He allowed his body to become solid enough to reach into his pocket and remove the compass.

  “What are you thinking, Bram?” Dez asked.

  “I’m thinking that straight down might be where we want to go.”

  He opened the lid and watched as the arrow of gold practically jumped from the case to point down into the pool of darkness below.

  “I’m thinking you may be right,” Dez answered, moving a little closer to the edge.

  Douglas reached out, grabbing hold of Dez’s shirt just in case he should get too close to the edge. “I believe Stitch packed climbing gear,” the boy’s father said. “If we take our time, we should be able to work our way down to—”

  “No climbing,” Dez said, pushing himself up from the
edge.

  “Well how else do you expect to—” Douglas began, but abruptly stopped as he found himself levitating above the floor.

  Dez was using his psychokinetic abilities again, this time with more control, but Bram had to wonder if he was strong enough to pull this off.

  “Are you sure about this, Dez?” he asked.

  Tiny bolts of crackling power leaped from the top of Dez’s head, making his hair stand on end as if he’d had a fright. It wasn’t long before he was levitating beside his father. “No problem. Remember, I just drank a whole can of Liquid Surge.”

  Bram said nothing more, although he noticed a trickle of blood forming just beneath the shadow of one of Dez’s nostrils.

  There just wasn’t time for concern: If what he suspected was true, they had to move quickly.

  Before it was too late.

  14.

  “WHERE IS THIS GIFT TO ME?”

  A’Ranka reared back upon her muscular snake body, a twinkle of anticipation in her beautiful dark eyes.

  Gideon felt Vladek’s gaze upon him. “Where is the gift, Sorcerer?” the vampire prince asked.

  Gideon bowed slightly. “The gift, as well as your worshippers, are a mere spell away,” he said, cracking his knuckles and wiggling his fingers in preparation.

  The hunger at his core was excruciating, but he managed to control the agony with thoughts of the future, thoughts of how the world would soon belong to the vampires.

  Belong to his kind.

  “I want my gift,” the goddess demanded. “And I wish to see those who would worship me over all things. I want this now.”

  “Your will be done,” Gideon said.

  He felt the magick building as he spoke the timeless words that would open a passage on this side from Nocturnia. If all went as planned, the vampires would already be on their way.

  Tendrils of crackling supernatural force streamed from the tips of his new fingers, swirling in the air like birds at play, faster and faster until the air at its center began to shimmer and bend. A section of time and space shattered like glass within the border of magick, revealing a long and winding tunnel of shadow on the other side.

  Gideon smiled as he peered into the darkness, sensing the approach of the goddess’s new worshippers. “They come,” he announced. “They come!” he screamed as the vampires began to emerge.

  The first to arrive was King Yorga, and he stepped from the magickal passageway, fangs bared, ready for danger. Queen Valara plucked at her hair as she emerged behind her husband, interdimensional travel having mussed it.

  “You are safe here,” Gideon told them.

  The vampire king whirled toward the sorcerer, but stood down when he realized who had spoken to him. “Is it true?” he asked.

  Gideon gestured across the chamber, and King Yorga turned.

  “It has been too long, Father,” Vladek said.

  Yorga’s eyes grew wide as he looked upon his son, and even wider at the awesome sight of the goddess beside him.

  “Who is this?” A’Ranka demanded to know, her voice booming like thunder.

  “This is the king of my kind,” Vladek announced to her. “And my father.”

  The king dropped to his knees in awe of the goddess.

  A’Ranka smiled, showing yellowed, razor-sharp teeth.

  And Gideon smiled as well. The goddess seemed happy with the first of her new followers. He returned his gaze to the passage as more vampire travelers arrived, eagerly spilling out into the underground cavern. He was searching for one in particular, and finally through the growing crowd, through the members of the royal family and the priests of the blood-faith, he found the vampire he was looking for.

  The high priest who carried the box.

  The box that contained the warrior’s heart.

  “They are here for you, my goddess,” Gideon announced over the excited din of the blood-drinkers.

  They scurried about the chamber, examining their new surroundings.

  The king was still upon his knees. Raising his head he commanded his people’s attention. “Bow before the goddess of dust,” he bellowed. “Bow before she who will deliver to us a world.”

  The vampires dropped where they stood, the soft murmurings of prayer escaping their mouths as they began to worship her.

  “Yessssssss,” A’Ranka hissed, black eyes twinkling with pleasure. “These are the faithful I have so long desired.”

  Her serpentine form writhed in the air. “Already I feel my strength returning,” she roared, her voice raised in ecstasy. “And with each passing moment, I grow stronger than ever before.”

  Gideon looked upon the goddess in awe. Indeed, her green skin was becoming more vibrant, her mass growing larger and more powerful. Their final gift would be all she needed to begin the transformation of the world.

  To summon the Shroud of A’Ranka.

  Vladek strode through those who knelt in prayer. “Where is the gift for my goddess? Who bears the chest that contains my life?”

  The high priest rose from where he had dropped, the dark, wooden case still in his hands. “It is I, good prince.”

  “Open it,” Vladek ordered, pointing at the box.

  With trembling hands the high priest pulled back the lid to expose the writhing black muscle that was Vladek’s heart.

  Gideon moved closer. The heart looked as it had so many millennia ago when he had first removed it, still beating, from Vladek’s chest.

  “Take it, Vladek,” Gideon said, watching as the vampire reached inside the box and removed his beating heart. “Take it and give it to your goddess.”

  Vladek stared at the pulsing organ—his very existence in his hand. He lifted his eyes from the beating heart and walked toward the goddess, who watched him eagerly.

  “For you,” he said, offering it to her.

  And the goddess A’Ranka reached down, taking the offering into her hand. Bringing it up to her face, she stared at it lovingly.

  Gideon stood amongst the vampires, watching the goddess admire her gift.

  She smiled at those kneeling around her. “As you have given me a gift,” she said, her voice dripping with benevolence, “so shall I bestow a gift unto you.”

  And the goddess raised her arms and tossed back her head as she began to sing.

  Gideon winced at the sound that seemed to dig into his brain and wriggle around like maggots feasting upon an infected wound.

  The song filled the air, its disturbing harmonies stirring the very dust and dirt from the floor.

  Gideon’s eyes widened in wonder as the dust grew thicker, some of it briefly coalescing into shapes—both animal and human—as it swirled in the air, the maelstrom growing larger and larger.

  The goddess was weaving her shroud.

  And soon the world would feel the touch of the damnable sun no more.

  The darkness seemed to go down forever.

  Bram looked above him as he continued to drift downward. Dez appeared to be doing okay, the small sparks that crackled from his head providing them with the occasional kernel of light. Douglas seemed to be all right as well.

  “Are we even sure this place has a bottom?” Dez asked.

  “Good question,” Bram answered. He again took the compass from his pocket, watching as the golden arrow glinted in the sparks tossed from Dez’s mind and pointed straight down. “All I can say is we seem to be heading in the right direction.”

  He returned the compass to his pocket, continuing their descent. Bram thought briefly of Emily, Bogey, and Stitch and felt a grip of doubt tightening about his chest. Have I done the right thing in splitting up the team? he wondered. Or have I sent them all to their deaths?

  Realizing that there was little value to that way of thinking, he quickly pushed the damaging thoughts aside and tried to focus on what they would do once they touched bottom.

  A sudden gust of wind savagely blew up from somewhere below, carrying with it stinging particles of dust, sand, and dirt. Bram could barely
feel them as they passed through his ghostly state, but Dez was a different story altogether.

  “Ah!” he yelled as the wind touched him. “That freakin’ hurts.”

  The boy and his father began to drop faster as Dez’s concentration became interrupted.

  “Careful, Dez,” Bram warned. “Hold it together, it can’t be too much farther.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Dez said, spitting dirt from his mouth.

  Bram wished that the sudden surge of fetid air was just a momentary fluke, but that wasn’t the case at all. The breeze intensified with a vengeance, growing so strong that he had to increase his density, making himself heavier, or be blown back toward the surface.

  But the more dense he became, the more he felt the stinging particles flying within the abusive current of air.

  They were trapped within a howling maelstrom of scouring flecks of dirt and sand. Bram heard Dez and Douglas screaming from above him, but he could no longer see them in the storm.

  There was an eerie incandescence to the wind, and in that strange glow Bram could have sworn that he saw something.

  Faces.

  Through squinting eyes he scrutinized the storm as he continued his downward journey. He was convinced that there were things with him in the churning air, ghostly memories of what had once been alive but now were only dust.

  And Bram came to the sickening realization that they just might be too late.

  The dust moved up the passage.

  It was as if all the things that it had once been, all the countless plants, animals, and insects that had lived and died, were somehow alive again.

  And obeying the wishes of A’Ranka.

  The dust of the dead exploded up through the hole in the corridor floor with an excited moan, flooding the inside of the pyramid, eagerly seeking a means of escape from the confines of the ancient temple.

  Through the opening broken in the side, through holes eroded in the stone over the millennia, the dust found its way out into the open air.

  And from all over the planet, the dust of the dead answered the summoning of its mistress, tendrils of swirling particulate extending up from the earth like long skeleton fingers reaching.

  Reaching up into the sky to take hold of the sun.