The pace was fast as the ground tremors increased in frequency and strength and night began to descend. Still, there was a calm and rhythm to the group that had never been before. Riley felt as if she was a part of each of the travelers as they made their way through the tangled jungle.
Behind her in the rear position, she felt Gary, calm and steady, watchful, always alert, ready for anything, just as Jubal, ahead of her, appeared to be. Ben Charger moved well in the forest, his strides sure and his manner confident. Don and Mack were far less so, both nervous and fighting the rugged terrain, although both tried. They were just out of their element.
Miguel, however, familiar with the way and danger of the entire area, radiated fear. Each vine, every branch, the brush blocking their trail was met with a clean stroke of his giant black blade as he removed obstacles from their path. She felt the separation of the long vines, so real she could almost feel the air rush past as each separate piece fell to the forest floor. The foliage tried to retreat from the blade, subtle vibrations warning plants ahead of them.
She began to whisper softly under her breath, asking forgiveness for cutting a trail. They had to rush. There was no time for avoidance, or even the rain forest itself might be lost. Open the trail to them, let them through.
Riley drew in a swift breath. How many times had she heard her mother whispering in a soft, singsong voice as they backpacked through heavy jungle? With every step connecting her to the earth, she felt more connected to her mother, closer to her, more aware of memories.
She touched the end of a severed branch in a kind of reverence. Already there was a light-colored liquid oozing out to meet her fingertips. The plant’s lifeblood was cool and sticky, and a calm descended into her mind, helping her to focus on what she needed to do. She placed one foot in front of the next, allowing her hand to linger, keeping contact with the plants until the last possible moment. She felt the shift inside of her, her tight lungs easing, drawing a full breath of fresh air, letting the plants take much of the burden of her sorrow and fear of what was to come.
The tremors continued, giving her a feeling of extreme urgency, a need to hurry faster, and with that came an awareness of the growing fear in their guide. Miguel knew what those tremors meant—an impending eruption. He was responsible for the travelers and he already felt as if he’d failed Annabel. Little by little he was changing the direction, a subtle shift so that it was barely noticeable, but Riley’s sense of their objective was acute now, as was the map in her head, leading her to the precise location she needed to be.
She didn’t blame Miguel. How could she? He felt weighed down with responsibility and guilt. A memory surfaced of Riley as a child, during one of their trips, a storm raging, pounding the shelter the guide had hastily set up for them. She’d been wrapped in the strength of her mother’s embrace as her mother sang softly to take away her tears.
The long-forgotten memory sparked the knowledge of what she had to do. The song came out soft and low, barely a whisper, but she remembered the words and melody from that long-forgotten trip. Her mother had sung the song while they hurried along muddy trails with the rain pouring down. The words formed in her mind and grew in strength.
It wasn’t long before the others began to slow their pace, to be closer, to hear more. Riley picked up the pace, moving past Jubal, touching him on the shoulder. Her nodded to her, obviously aware of the soothing quality to her voice and approving of what she was doing.
She continued to walk forward, quickening her pace, softly singing, passing each traveler, touching them gently as she did so, easing their burdens and growing in confidence and power with every step. She reached Miguel. It was clear how far his efforts had taken them off course. The guilt was tangible, but she felt only sadness for him. She understood his need to protect them all, and he’d braved her anger to try to get them away a safe distance from the volcano.
She moved in front of him even as her song drifted to a low hum. Her hands came up and she wove a pattern as she sang to the jungle. The path opened, leaves and branches pulling back to let them move through quickly. Beneath her feet, the ground urged her to hurry. The sense of need grew and spread until it was all-consuming. She became aware of the silence, as if the insects held their breath waiting for her arrival. She felt pressure building beneath her feet.
As if the others all caught that sense of urgency she was feeling, they double-timed it, their feet pounding out the rhythm of her song. The ground shook harder, longer, throwing them all to the forest floor just as they reached the base of the mountain. Riley dug her hands into the soil and felt the enormous force and the tremendous heat in the ground. Instantly she was aware of the triumph of malicious evil rising like the tide, rising with the gases.
She looked up at Jubal with stricken eyes. “I’m too late. It’s too late.”
6
The ground wept drops of blood like honey dripping from a comb—a dark sorrow invading and spreading through the earth. She was dead! At long last, Arabejila was dead. If he could have done so without attracting the hunter, Mitro would have danced. He’d done it! He’d destroyed the one woman who could bring him down! He could barely contain his glee. He’d expected a bigger impact, the ground rolling and swaying in protest—or even trying to retaliate against him—but none had come. He had grown strong while she had grown weak. He’d sensed that over the centuries, that slow decline without her lifemate—without him. She hadn’t been able to hold on as he had.
She had needed him to live, but she’d chosen to side with the arrogant Carpathian hunter, thinking they could defeat him. She’d chosen poorly. Once again he’d proven he was stronger, better, far more intelligent and cunning than the rest of them. The hunter and his whore had lost the game to Mitro’s superior skills. He had known all along he’d outsmart them. He proved time and again he deserved the position as right-hand man to the prince, yet he’d been cast aside because the prince had feared him—feared others would recognize that Mitro was a born leader and turn against the prince.
Even as injured as he’d been from their last encounter, he’d managed to rise first—or maybe the hunter had been burned in the magma. He knew better, but it was a nice thought. No one could defeat him. Not the famous Danutdaxton and not Arabejila.
Now, with Arabejila dead at last, his victory almost made him giddy. He had to focus. He had everything he needed at long last. His quest had been successful, and he was invulnerable now. Nothing would stop him. With Arabejila dead and his newfound treasure in his possession, once he was out, there was no hunter who could ever destroy him. The world and all its riches would belong to him.
Mitro kept his movements slow and deliberate in spite of the urge to rush toward the thinning crust and push hard to get out. He had succeeded where so many others failed because he was patient and tenacious. They had made a terrible mistake, trapping him inside the volcano. They thought it a prison, a torture chamber, but he had grown into something else, something more. He found a treasure beyond price, and he had all the time in the world to plan his revenge—and his vengeance knew no bounds.
He still had to evade the hunter and get through the barrier Arabejila and her assassin had erected to keep him close to the center of the volcano. Over time he had tested that barrier, and over the past years he had thinned it in one place without the hunter noticing. He had been stealthy, staying away from the area for long periods of time and careful never to leave a trace behind. He had even worked at the safeguards in other places, determined this spot would be his true escape hatch should the others fail. This was his chance and he wouldn’t risk losing it by giving away his position too soon.
Mitro couldn’t chance another battle with the hunter. Just as he’d grown into something more, so had Danutdaxton—a relentless hunter he’d known since childhood. “The Judge,” they called him. Even as a boy he’d been a serious warrior and everyone, including the prince, had made a big deal over him. Mitro had done his best to pretend to be his f
riend, but watching everyone grovel around him was truly sickening.
Mitro was intelligent—far smarter than Danutdaxton would ever be—and the prince should have seen that. All of them should have seen it. Mitro had been wronged so many times. They’d all been jealous of him—especially his brothers. They had said he was ill, that his heart was black, just because he didn’t make clean emotionless kills as the Judge did. Mitro enjoyed watching the damned suffer. They deserved it. They’d been condemned, so why shouldn’t he have a little fun after he took the time and effort to hunt them down? What business was it of anyone how he dispatched an enemy?
And humans were fodder. Food. Their women were fair game. He felt when he stared into their eyes and took their bodies without their permission while their men watched in horror. So helpless. Like children. Like the animals he ran across and spent hours torturing. The suffering, watching the life leave their eyes, it was all exhilarating. The prince and his brothers didn’t want to admit they had the same nature. They weren’t supposed to be civilized. The prince wanted to “tame” them, to subdue their natural predatory instincts.
Mitro had tried hard to make the prince understand the harm he was doing to their people. The men lost emotion because their true natures were suppressed. If he could feel without his lifemate, the woman who would cripple him, force him into a mold, take away the very essence of who he was, then so could the other hunters. The women hobbled them—turned them into rabbits when they were meant to be at the top of the food chain.
His brothers tried to stop him from advising the prince, cowards every one of them. They knew he was right, but they feared banishment and loss of status if the sniveling prince disagreed with him. Mitro had been unafraid. He knew he was right. He had the brains and the strength to do what had to be done. He could have anything he wanted, not live restrained by the dictates of a man without any vision.
But now—at last—things would be different. Arabejila was dead, and he would soon be free to rule the earth, as he should have done from the beginning. He floated, rising slowly, careful to exert no energy, knowing any disturbance would draw the hunter to him. He reminded himself how close he was, he just needed to do this right, move so slow, drift with rising gases toward the barrier and reach that very thin wall. He had to time it perfectly. Already he could feel the hunter on the move. He hadn’t died then, but Mitro had known all along it wouldn’t be that easy.
His heart jolted hard, sending an electrical charge through his body. The current robbed him of breath but gave him a deep satisfaction. He could feel what others could not. He had changed—evolved—to a higher purpose. His imprisonment had only made him stronger and more determined. He would escape and elude Danutdaxton. Without Arabejila to track him, the hunter had lost his edge.
Mitro’s veins throbbed and burned; after all these years of suppressing his need for blood, the craving was more powerful than ever, and with it, the yearning to see that horror and revulsion, that terrible fear as he held life or death over his victim. He always chose the strongest of the warriors to kill, deliberately torturing them so the others would see how useless fighting him was. He could turn whole villages against one another. They would sacrifice their children to him when he demanded it. Their young daughters. Their firstborn sons.
He fed on terror. Fear was every bit as important as blood to him. He needed it the way he needed sustenance—delicious, delicious terror. The more he thought of people trembling before him, begging for their lives, the stronger the compulsion became. He’d been too long without food and he craved the fear-inspired adrenaline in his victim’s blood when he drank.
He flexed his muscles as he continued to rise toward the barrier keeping him from the top of the volcano where he needed to be when it finally blew. Without Arabejila calming it, the explosion would be catastrophic, flattening and killing everything for miles. His plan was in place, and nothing would stop him now. Not some silly woman and not the Carpathian hunter. He would be free, and he would reign supreme!
The wind rushed down the mountain while towering black clouds chased to the top of the atmosphere, churning and boiling with a dark, ominous anger. Lightning forked across the sky, whips of sizzling electrical currents, snapping and crackling with a kind of rage. Beneath her hands, Riley felt the rising volcanic gases and with those noxious fumes, something else—something horrifyingly evil. These men had come with her and she led them into certain danger. If they remained where they were, and she couldn’t slow the blast or redirect it, all of them would die.
“Miguel, you have to take the others and get out of here now,” she ordered, already grabbing her mother’s pack. “The volcano is going to blow. I can feel the pressure building in the earth.”
More than that, she could feel the spreading triumph of evil running below the surface. If she hadn’t fully believed the things her mother had told her before, she certainly did now. The malevolence was so acute, her stomach lurched. This was the source that had focused on murdering her mother. The porters were pawns, just as the insects and monkeys had been. Glee and triumph poured from the ground.
Tremors continued, the rain forest shivering constantly. Riley didn’t wait to see if Miguel took her at her word—they all had to know an eruption was imminent. She began to run up the narrow trail leading up the mountain. She wouldn’t make the entry to the cloud forest, but she’d get close enough. She glanced over her shoulder to see the men hesitating.
“Go now,” she urged. “Run.”
“Riley, it’s too late,” Gary called after her. He reached down and caught up her pack and raced after her. “You can’t be on the mountain when it goes.”
Riley didn’t slow down or acknowledge his concern. If she couldn’t ease the pressure in the volcano or redirect the blast, not even the archaeologist and his students would be safe. The explosion would be similar to a nuclear bomb going off, devastating everything for miles. She could hear Gary’s boots pounding up the trail after her, and then those of a second man and a third. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop them. Each one had to make their choice at this point, and hers was to try to save everyone and make a last effort to keep whatever evil thing dwelled in the volcano trapped.
With every step she took she judged the shivering, trembling ground. How close? How much time? She had to make it as far as she could, yet still give herself time to connect with the volcano and perform the ritual. She would try to seal the evil within the mountain even as she calmed and directed the building volcanic eruption away from the travelers. She could only pray there were no other people on the other side of the mountain, because if she couldn’t stop the blast, she’d try for a smaller eruption as far from them as possible.
The ground shook hard, the sound like a thunderclap, throwing her off balance. Gary’s hand caught her arm to steady her and they ran together, Jubal right behind them. She wished they hadn’t followed her, but a part of her was glad they had. She was fairly certain she wasn’t going to make it off the mountain alive and their presence helped to give her determination and courage. She wasn’t just fighting for herself. The next tremor, much stronger than the one before, lasted a long minute, warning her she had run out of time. She stopped abruptly and flung her mother’s pack on the ground. “It has to be here. We’re not where we need to be, but if we’re lucky, I can do this.”
“We can help,” Gary said. “We’ve participated in a couple of rituals. Tell us what you need us to do.”
Riley wasn’t going to ask how they knew what to do when she barely knew herself. There just wasn’t time, but if by some chance she managed to pull off a miracle, both men were going to answer a lot of questions. She yanked open her mother’s pack and removed a small handheld broom made of bunched willow tied tightly together. Hastily she began to sweep out a circle large enough to hold herself and the three men. She moved counterclockwise, brushing the debris free while she whispered her prayer to the four elements, calling them to her as she worked.
&
nbsp; Riley had seen her mother perform the ritual of holding the volcano many times, but now that it was her turn, there was so much she didn’t know. She had to undo the strands of the evil power permeating the entire volcano and weave powerful strands of her own strong enough to keep the evil contained, holding it within its own constraints, and not allowing it to go free.
“Use the salt,” she instructed Gary. “Follow the circle. Jubal, there’s sage …”
“Got it,” Jubal said. He lit the sage and walked the circle three times, cleansing the area as he chanted softly under his breath.
“What the hell are you people doing?” Ben demanded. The ground shook continually, the tremors growing longer in duration and much stronger. “We have to get out of here.”
“Try to catch up with Miguel and the others,” Gary said without looking up. He continued to form the circle with the salt.
“No, whatever you’re doing, I’ll help,” Ben said. “But this is insane.”
“Can’t you feel the evil?” Riley hissed. She could feel him now, real and powerful, coming at her in waves—his malicious triumph in the murder of her mother. He thought himself safe with her mother dead, and so far, he had no inkling she was on his trail.
“Keep working, Riley,” Jubal said. “We’ll explain as much as we can to Ben.”
Riley was grateful. She had to shut out everything, even the terrible urgency of the moment. She had to find a complete calm and focus if she had any chance at all against so great an evil. She gestured to the men as she stood, inviting them inside the circle of protection just constructed. Even if she was defeated, hopefully she could make this small space safe enough to shield the others.
Dark Storm ('Dark' Carpathian Series) Page 11