Blood Winter: Immortalibus Bella 3

by SL Figuhr

  “If you want to craft something, I know an artist who works with metals. She'll let us borrow her work space, and give you a good discount on the materials.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I mean, I dunno. I gotta think about it some more first. Okay?”

  “No rush, just as long as you understand we can't do the ritual until the piece is ready,” Mica reminded him, street noises from below filtering up through the half-circle windows.

  Months passed since their conversation. Mica knew Donny hadn't forgotten about making a soul gem. His metalsmith friend said the young man came over after his workday and when he could on weekends, crafting his piece. The immortal only knew his protégé wanted it to be a surprise. Mica's memories of Donny sped up, then slowed down as if someone was searching a reel of film or an old DVD.

  “So, um, here it is.” Donny's voice was rough with suppressed nerves. He made a “ta-da” gesture with his hands.

  The two men stood on a stained concrete floor, to one side of the metalworker's space. Around the perimeter of the room, different types of raw and found material had been stacked neatly. A lingering smell of propane hung in the air. For once, the shop lights blazed bright, instead of being turned down. Mica prowled around the object, inspecting the welds. The piece was crudely crafted, an amateur attempt. Finally, he straightened up and smiled and clasped his protégé on the shoulder.

  “It's a fine piece, and a worthy endeavor.”

  Donny let out the breath he had been holding, a sheepish yet proud smile breaking across his face. “I know it's not the best, and kinda hard to make out what it is.”

  Mica shook his head. “That matters not; only the amount of time and effort which went into it.”

  The young man nodded. “So . . . when can we finish it? The . . . you know . . .”

  “I have to gather the ritual mixture first. While I do, you may choose another immortal besides myself to witness the ceremony if you want.”

  “Naw.” Donny shuffled his feet, face going red. “I don't know any other, besides your brother, I mean, and Eron.”

  “It can't hurt to ask,” Mica mildly replied, gesturing for Donny to take his soul gem with him.

  The young man picked it up reverently. It was meant to look like a futuristic racing bike, done in various metals. Those who merely glanced would only think it a haphazard piece, poorly made.

  After a while, Mica lost his grasp on his thoughts. They receded from his mind. The once-immortal found himself floating in a pool of honey. Dimly in a recess of his brain, he knew that wasn't right. From nowhere in particular, a ribbon of crimson cut a lazy path through. He watched as it swirled and blended, turning the warm color a darker shade. The man closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, held it, and sank beneath the surface.

  “Mica.” The siren croon was back, cutting through the thick liquid. “Mica. Wake up. Dream time is over.”

  A familiar male voice came to his ears as if muffled with cotton. “What did you do to him? You weren't supposed to make him worse. Did you even get it?”

  “Mica!” The siren became a shrieking harpy.

  The man opened his eyes, not realizing he had shut them. He looked at the two faces peering at him as he licked his lips. His mouth had a strange taste to it. Had he bitten the inside of his cheek? He tasted musty copper, dank air, and decay. The last made him gag, which turned into more coughing.

  When he felt he wasn't going to puke, Mica realized the persistent pains in his chest were dulled, and it wasn't quite a struggle to breathe.

  “What the hell did you assholes do to me?” the mortal rasped out.

  “I had to give you some more medicine. Your cough became worse. If it tastes bad, I'll speak with the woman who made it and ask for a fresh batch,” Illyria lied.

  Eron poked his tongue into the side of his cheek, striving to keep a neutral expression. Behind them, a knock sounded on the door. The person entered as bidden. The slave, Willeg, was back.

  “We'll leave you to rest. And Mica, for your brother's sake, let my slaves and me take care of you until you're healed.” Illyria stepped away from the bed, taking her leave.

  Eron hesitated. “Seriously. Try.” He turned, walking out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  Illyria stepped from the shadows as the wood gently thumped shut. “I know what you need to look for.”

  “Great. Now to plan when we're going to do this. Why did you give him a taste of your blood?”

  “To better insure he forgets what he told us. That he lets himself be taken care of so he heals,” she smoothly replied.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Eron felt exhilaration flow through his veins, even as he kept his arms clasped tight about Illyria's waist. He blinked the sting of tears out of his eyes from the biting wind. Below them, the earth lay in a darkness it hadn't known since before the start of the Industrial Revolution. He had only just awoken from his brief nap, cradled against her body as they flew. They descended in a rush of wind and disturbed sand.

  The bulk of the mountain range rose before them. Behind, what had once been grasslands was a desert. The clear air let constellations be seen in all their bright glory, the sand and rock already cool beneath their boots.

  “This would be so much easier in daylight.”

  “Joined Mica in his quest to see me dead, have you?” she replied.

  Eron snorted. “I'm practically blind. I thought with my directions you would set us down closer.”

  “I have come as close as I am able, having never been to the place. We are on the remains of a road. I am hoping you will be able to tell if it is the correct one.”

  Once, the land at the base of the mountain range had held a small village. The people, by and large, herded goats. A few tended small farms, laboriously keeping them watered, either by a system of canals, or by toting jars of the precious liquid drawn from a small tributary of the great river to the west. In the fading light, nothing but sand, piles and hills of it, could be seen. The remains of the village were buried beneath its shifting bulk. The immortal unslung his pack and untied one of the torches he had strapped to the bottom of it. Next he took flint and stone, working on getting it lit. Once the spark caught and burned bright, he replaced the pack. In spite of his directions, age and the elements had worn away many of the markers which had dotted the ancient road, traces of which could only be seen because many hands had labored to chip it out of the mountain side. He had to search long and hard to find any remains of the stone markers.

  “Help me look for three infinity rings entwined,” Eron commanded.

  He did not know how long they searched before her voice softly called out, “What about bones?”

  The immortal came over, holding the torch up in an effort to let more light spread over her find. Behind a rock declivity was a jumble of human skulls and other bones along with the faded remains of paint. They finally found a nub of rock which might have once been carved. Beside it was a jumble of rocks of various sizes that had faint marks on them. It was hard to tell if they were natural, or man-made. He started walking up the road, knowing she was behind him.

  In some spots, they had to clamber over fallen rock, or jump across gaps. A few times Illyria had to fly them across wide sections of the roadway, which was missing, having crumbled into rock slides. They continued in silence, the air slowly becoming colder as night wore on. After about a half hour, the road ended in a flat spot of rock-covered debris. The light from Eron's torch let the two seekers discover the stones comprised of petrified metal. On the far side, twin pillars with the immortal sigil carved into them announced the presence of a path. They crossed the distance and started upward. Another half-hour walk brought them to the first in a series of rock-cut steps leading up to a small ledge. The centers were nearly worn away from centuries of use, so they had to use the edges. Once on the ledge, Eron paused to catch his breath and gaze out over the darkened land below. The wind blew cold.

  He fancied he could hear screams of te
rror, the whinny of horses, the pounding of hooves and the clang of metal from raiders, on the wind. If he closed his eyes, the scene would spring to life behind his lids, along with the smell of sweat from man and horse, mixed with the coppery scent of spilled blood. Eron would not let himself be dragged into his memories of when he was mortal.

  “Is anyone up there?” he asked Illyria, jerking his chin toward a bulge in the mountain that squatted like a wart on a face.

  After a moment she replied, “I cannot tell. All is blank, quiet. If any still live, they could be sleeping.”

  Or dead. The stray thought flitted through his mind, much like the bats above them. Eron turned and continued the climb after lighting another torch off the dying remains of the first. The stairs led into a tunnel with another ten-minute climb, letting out on the first of a series of plateaus. Once grass, scrub brush, and trees had grown to be eaten by the goats the order had kept. Now, it was barren and bleak. They continued on, past remains of raised beds where vegetables and fruit had been coaxed out of the thin, rocky soil, and watered from now crumbling, dry stone wells. When the night was half gone, the two seekers reached the last of the stairs. Eron held his torch up, knowing it was useless. The wind blew harder, sounding like the moans of the dying, making the flame dance and splutter.

  He took in a deep breath and began his ascent. Eron looked up at the front of the motherhouse. Its carvings had almost worn smooth in some spots. The large door had dried out, the wood bleached white from the sun, and the iron rusted and flaking. He pushed gently, the bottom of the door scraping across stone, crumbling as it did.

  “Hello?” the immortal called out for form’s sake. “Is anyone here?” His voice reverberated in the silence. The order would never let the doors fall into such disrepair unless there were too few remaining to replace or repair them.

  Illyria stepped up behind him, scanning for blank spots, finding none. “I think perhaps they are all gone.”

  He closed his eyes wearily for a moment before opening them back up. “Once my kind built this place, it never has, to my knowledge, been left empty. Come on.”

  He led the way farther inside, the torchlight showing trash, decay, and the remains of modern civilization. The air hung heavy and still, with a musty odor. Eron slowly explored the public rooms, Illyria by his side. The area showed signs of animal use. Even the dormitories were devoid of human remains. What had once been personal belongings were left behind, making it hard to say if raiders or elements had created the mess. The two immortals spent the few remaining hours of nighttime prowling the extensive buildings, looking for survivors. Eventually, Eron led them both back to the entrance hall.

  “Sun will be up soon. Will you promise me you won't explore if you wake before I do?”

  “As you wish.”

  * * *

  Eron woke to blinding sunlight streaming in through the portals where window glass had once been. Mostly the entire entrance hall was bathed in a golden glow. He didn't see Illyria, and wondered where she had hidden herself to keep from burning in the sun's rays.

  “Where did you all go? My brothers and sisters,” he muttered to himself as he explored farther than last night.

  There had been a mix of immortals and trusted humans, some of whom would undergo initiation, who had lived here. Everything had been left behind. Eron began to search more systematically. It was late afternoon by the time he finished, and the immortal concluded the motherhouse had been abandoned. Until he entered the outer chambers to the Cave of Soul Gems.

  Bones, clothing, and mummified parts lay scattered about; a few bodies had scraps of skin and muscle still clinging.

  “What the hell?” Eron scowled in rage. “I never heard about a fight taking place here.”

  He walked around the remains, sun shining through cracked, dusty plastic domes in the ceiling. The immortal pushed open another pair of doors, and strode past more bones and scraps of cloth. It was impossible to tell who had been human, and who had been immortals. On one wall, graffiti had been spray-painted over scenes of the Rituals of Becoming and Undoing: a large wolf's head in profile, snarling and showing teeth, the three banded infinity rings a collar about the stump of its neck.

  A string of curses slipped past his lips and Eron punched the wall, relishing the pain that came as his bones broke.

  “Damn Immortal Wolves! Where are you now? Huh?” he screamed into the silence, listening to his voice echo. “Who killed you? Or are you hiding? You fucking cowards!”

  The more he stared at it, the more it seemed the graffiti started to glow and become a living thing. The head turned and snapped its jaws at him. A blinding flash of light seared his eyes, along with lances of pain. Eron slammed into the wall behind him as a flashback engulfed him.

  * * *

  The immortal sat tied to a chair, flesh burning and aching from the beating he had taken, blood trickling and staining his clothes and the floor. The door to his left opened, and booted feet approached, stopping before his hanging head. Eron felt a hand grab hold of his hair and yank his head up. He stared through swollen eyes at the person before him.

  “Five thousand years and you still can't train your soldiers in how to beat a person properly,” slipped from his split lips.

  The man holding his head up laughed, letting go of his captive's hair. Eron kept his eyes on his old friend and general. When he could stop his mirth, the man spoke. “You don't think I'd let the seasoned troops have the first go at you, did you? You've gone soft—forgotten the lessons you used to beat into us, Abi Dari.”

  “As have you. Time was you'd have killed me since I'm a useless, pathetic shell of what I once was, Telal.”

  “I might still, old man. “

  “What stays your hand?” Eron asked, knowing his former general, whom he had raised to kingship, all too well.

  “Power of a kind we never had.” A mad light seemed to shine in the man's eyes.

  “We were the Alal. Who had more power than us? Did I not give you the secret to life eternal? Did I not give you my crown? My kingdom? My wealth, in thanks for all your service?” Eron asked.

  “Only because you knew if you didn't, I would defeat you, send you to your Final Death,” Telal stated, voice tinged with resentment. “The day you abdicated your place to me was the day you became less than worthy.”

  “If you're not going to kill me now, what are you wanting? As you have noted, I am nothing,” Eron replied.

  “I need the help of my sarrum, the old one, the one you used to be,” Telal said, his manic grin morphing into a serious mien. “There is a child, an eternal one, who possesses powers greater than Ummum. He believes I do his bidding, when it is the other way around.”

  The laughter escaped; Eron couldn't help himself. Even when his old friend snarled and beat him near death he kept laughing between his grunts of pain. He only stopped laughing when it interfered with breathing. The immortal lay on his back, still strapped to the chair as his old friend explained his plan to him. When he was done, Eron realized the betrayal of their kind would eclipse all the evil he had done in his past. He remembered the glorious rush of being worshipped as a god. He hadn't the taste for it now, but if he didn't pretend to, there would be no way he could protect those he cared about, much less his own life.

  “If I agree to this, Telal, what will I be? What will you have me do?” Eron asked.

  “You will be our sarrum again. We will be reborn as Immortal Wolves. We will cull the weak and the unworthy, and their eternal lives will help the wizard. They will tremble in fear,” Telal stated.

  “Well, if refusal means my Final Death, then I will be sarrum again.”

  * * *

  Eron kicked open the last set of doors in rage, a grim smile tugging the corners of his mouth up as they crashed against the tunnel walls. He lit a torch and strode forward. The tunnel wound its way deeper into the mountain. He came to the point where the Guardians should have been.

  “I, Eron, the Destroyer of N
ations, come in peace. I wish to remove the soul gem belonging to Donny. Please grant me entrance.” He spoke the phrase automatically and waited.

  Nothing. No wash of acceptance or feeling of rejection. He put a foot forward and waited and when nothing happened, he stepped farther inside. No Guardians rushed to impede his progress; it seemed they really were gone. Eron wondered if Colin had realized what he was doing when he’d called the Guardians forth to help his brother from being taken by the demon Nicky had trapped. His rage became tinged with panic and worry. Before the Cave of Soul Gems and Guardians, and the motherhouse, all immortals hid their gems as they saw fit. Eron realized the place was no longer a safe and secure spot for the immortals’ trapped souls.

  Sweat dripped from his brow, even though the temperature in the cave held at a steady, pleasant sixty-five degrees. Niches, carved into the stone from floor to ceiling, were empty. He remembered the last time he had cause to visit before he had gotten tangled up in Telal's schemes. Each and every one had been full, so that those who lived here worked on carving another cavern out.

  * * *

  The noonday sun beat down upon the sand and rock. Irrigation canals ran from a small tributary river, which were used to water the fields. Mud brick huts stood in a cluster, a small village. Most of the work was still done with tools their ancestors would recognize, and animals. There were a few modern vehicles of indeterminate age, mostly held together with rust and baling twine. The jeep Eron traveled in left a long trail of dust and sand behind as it bounced and jounced across the landscape. A short main road, filled with potholes, went directly through the center of the village. The smells of mud and manure assaulted Eron's nose as he drove through and toward the motherhouse's road.

  Because of the tumultuous history of the area, the road leading to the compound had to masquerade as something more. One branch led up and over, trailing off into a single-vehicle-wide path. The other ended at what appeared to be a lookout point and a shallow cave. To one side was a goat path.