by SL Figuhr
Eron carefully steered the jeep into the cave and gently bumped the back wall. He applied some pressure, and the blackness gave way, forming a metal plate he could drive across. Half an hour later, he was parking and walking the rest of the way up. The stone face was being washed, the door and hinges being oiled and polished.
The people working nodded respectfully to him, and paused to let him pass inside. His friend was hanging out in the entrance hall, talking with those who served the immortals. He broke off his conversation to greet his friend, and led him up to one of the guest rooms.
After a quick wash up to get the dust and sand off, and a fresh change of clothes, he met Mica's brother back at the entrance hall. They quietly conversed as they walked toward the most heavily guarded area in the motherhouse.
“How many of us are there?” Eron asked Colin.
“A little more than four million,” he answered proudly, sweeping one hand out before him. “As you can see, we have to expand, even with the reuse of niches from those who have gone to their Final Deaths.”
“Even with a world population of six billion, we are growing steadily. Perhaps too much so,” Eron commented as they passed the men and women working determinedly with pickaxes and other tools.
Rock dust filled the air, and his guide hurried to lead them past, deeper toward the very first cavern.
“Some of the members would agree with you. I have heard talk of a splinter group breaking off. They call themselves the Immortal Wolves. Problem is, we don't know who is a wolf for certain and who isn't.”
“But surely the Guardians . . .” He fished for more information.
“Eron, you know as well as I that anyone can come and go freely. We are not here to limit how many soul gems they take out. If they know the names of the immortal(s), and are allowed passage, well.” He shrugged. “We ask for them to leave a record of who they have come for, but it is voluntary. We tried to enforce our brethren before to comply but that led to greater attacks and rebellion. So we went back to the old system.”
They exited the series of interconnected caves, walking back toward the main area. Colin opened a door into a warmly appointed room and let Eron enter before him. The scents of old parchment, wax, and leather lingered. A few men and women in their early twenties to late thirties sat at desks, working to repair and preserve old records. They barely looked up as the two men passed by them. Eron waited while his friend unlocked another door at the back of the room. It opened onto a long hallway lined with doors.
“Storage areas for the records. I want to try and put everything on computers. Catalog it, photograph it, cross-references,” Colin said as he locked the door behind them and led Eron back toward his small office.
The desk was stacked with papers and books, even old photographs. The immortal cleared a chair off so his friend could sit, continuing to talk as he did so.
“I figure, we place the main servers in a secure spot at one of the auxiliary houses. We can have a small desktop unit that can be run off of the existing solar power grid. There's a satellite uplink which will let me update the records. That would be an ongoing, recurrent cost.”
Eron listened to Colin's excited voice rattle on, amazed his friend had no idea of the part he would play in the immortal's history. He listened intently, nodding in all the right places. Eron almost felt bad for what he was about to do, but then he remembered how many of them there were, and knew the ranks would only grow if something weren't done about it.
* * *
The torch flickered as Eron climbed iron steps, his boots ringing on the metal and along the catwalks. Mica had told him where Donny's gem rested. The light flickered inside an empty space.
“Shit!” The immortal swore. “Maybe he didn't remember the spot correctly. Or I'm not in the right place.”
Eron fished the piece of parchment out of his pocket Mica had written the location of the gem on along with a small, hand-drawn map. He carefully checked the map and his location over. Nope, he was in the right place. There was even the young man's name crudely carved into the stone beneath the niche.
“What the fuck?” Tension and fear ratcheted inside him. He had to force himself to remain calm. Perhaps his old general had sent someone to retrieve the boy's gem.
The immortal looked in the surrounding niches, empty save for dust and insect carcasses. He turned and strode along the walkways, letting the torch light fall inside the spaces as he passed. Nothing. Lots and lots of it. It took several minutes to reach the area he remembered Cassiopeia had placed her gem at. Empty. Had Telal managed to find her? And ended her life? Or had she asked someone she trusted to give her the Final Death?
He rested his forehead briefly against the stone, fingers gripping the edge of the niche. “You were the third. The mother. Did you get tired of life? Did you ask an old friend and protégé? Or did you place your trust in the wrong person?”
Eron would never know now. He had enslaved her once, treated her so cruelly she’d tried to kill him just to escape. She had eventually tricked him into gaining her freedom, and started an army to end him.
“Yet here I am. And you are gone. The only other person who shared those ancient times with me. Perhaps you are the lucky one after all. The smartest of us in the end.” He pressed a kiss to the carving of her name in remembrance.
Before he left, the immortal detoured to the spot where Telal had placed his gem. The niche was empty. A grim, satisfied smile curled the corners of his mouth up. He had thought that had been a dream, another piece of the nightmare part he had played. The proof was before him. He had ended the man.
* * *
“Eron,” the voice whispered in the dry darkness.
The immortal awoke with a start on the remains of a wooden bench. Honey gold eyes hovered near him.
“I'm sorry.”
He felt her icy hands close around one of his and squeeze gently as her eyes came to his level. As his eyesight adjusted to the moonlight streaming in, he saw she crouched next to him.
“Immortal Wolves.” He spat. “Do you remember them now? Our role in it?”
She blinked, still holding his hand as the fire of her eyes came and went. “In my dreams, my nightmares, as I lay resting since we arrived here. Are we to fight over what we have done? What we have caused?”
Eron didn't reply to her questions. “Ash remains in the spot Mica placed his gem. Colin’s and mine are still there. The Guardians . . .” He swallowed his anger back. “Gone. And almost all of my brother and sister immortals. I only saw a handful of soul gems left. I didn't realize how great the destruction, how many were used for the experiments after we had been cursed.” He flung his right hand out to encompass the semi-dark room. Ash was a thin film on the floor and piled up in drifts in corners. Fragments and finely ground grit crunched underfoot from where clay and stone tablets had been pulverized. The hallway which had once led to the storage rooms showed the remains of a great conflagration which had scorched the whole length of it black. Ragged holes in the walls spoke of explosions.
“I saw, bits of it. Donny's gem?”
“Gone.”
“Perhaps it was moved, re-hidden when your kin realized what was happening?”
“The bodies of those who once lived here were all in a central location, as if herded there. No unnecessary destruction beyond everyone's soul gems and what was needed for the records.”
“Then all this was in vain? If his gem is not here, it is possible he has been laid to rest.” She spoke what she meant to be comforting words.
“I don't understand who else might have known. All those who were there that night were cursed. I doubt the Fae would have concerned themselves with the remains of one they believed in the end had participated in the death of their king.” The old habit of lying came easily.
Illyria remained silent, still crouched by him, holding his hand. Eron was surprised to find how much he cared about the destruction of his kin, even though it was at his hand and on his or
ders, and he was capable of shedding tears. He let the grief wash over him in long waves. It had never taken him long to mourn. His was intense but brief.
“How much night is left?”
“About half; do you want to go back now?”
Eron considered. He was immortal since the earliest recorded years of civilization. There had been long periods when he fell into a funk and despaired, even considered ending his life. It was one of the many reasons he had become an Immortal Wolf. It was time for a mass cleansing of humans, vampires, immortals, and whatever else might lurk on the edges. He regarded the woman before him; they had done their best to end humanity’s downward spiral. Yet, everything clung and struggled to live, just as small and despicable as ever. They were all just filthy roaches.
“No.” He shifted suddenly, bringing his free hand to where he could barely see the outlines of her head, and tangled his fingers in her hair. “No. I'm not leaving until it is finished. We'll find and remove what gems remain to another cave, hide them, and seal the place. Help me. Help me attempt to find where the warehouse was the night we were cursed. Help me make sure Donny is at peace, then we will go back and face Mica. Together. This is my price I ask from you: share your blood and power with me, take of mine in return. Let us continue what we started.”
“As you wish,” she replied.
CHAPTER SIX
Sydney woke alone—again—in Illyria's bed. A single, small oil lamp burned on a table near the middle of the room. He petulantly flung the covers off, not caring how cold the room was, and getting up, snatched on his robe. The earl walked across the icy wood floor to a drape-covered window, moving aside one panel. The sky was a liquid silver, the sun's rays struggling to break through the cloud cover.
He let the drape fall shut, and turning, walked over to the bell and rang it. It was several moments before a yawning slave answered the summons.
“Food, drink, and water to wash with,” Sydney tersely commanded. “My usual. And have my horse made ready.”
The slave bowed and quickly left. Chadrick paced back and forth, forming in his mind what he wanted to say to his lover when she returned. Where was she? What was taking her so long? Why did she have to take her former slave with her?
None of those questions looked to be answered by the time his requests arrived. He’d never anticipated he could again ache inside with longing. Sydney had thought all capacity to love had been lost to him with Alise's passing. Within three-quarters of an hour, he was swinging into the saddle of his mare and trotting across the bridge to the sheriff's office. He stabled and cared for his horse himself. Sydney let himself inside the kitchen to find the cook already working on breakfast. The man was an older, peg-legged ex-sailor. He grunted a hello as he went about his work.
The earl passed through, farther into the building and to the cramped office he shared with Saizar. The night porter had remembered to light a fire in the grate, and an oil lamp. His lordship picked up a taper, lit it from an existing flame, and proceeded to light the other lamps. The whole building shook from an especially forceful gust of wind, whistling through the countless cracks and holes, blowing out his taper. Snow drifted inside on the air's wake, coating everything. A rumbling of voices, curses, and feet overhead let him know the men were awake.
He was not in the office long before the night porter dashed inside, sheaves of parchment and clay tablets clutched in his hands. The cook must have taken a moment to warn the young teen.
“M-m-m-morning, s-s-s-sir,” he stuttered, thrusting both hands out to the earl, who sighed to himself.
“Thank you, Ben.” He took the proffered mess, setting it down on the desktop. “If there is nothing to report, you can go eat and sleep now. Consider yourself off duty.”
The teen jerked his upper body down, then up, and clumped excitedly toward the dining hall. A faint tremor shook the walls, and the pounding of booted feet let him know the men had dressed and were coming downstairs. Chadrick sat down, quickly sorting the mess before him, and began to read through it all, hoping to finish by the time the men would be ready to train.
* * *
The lawmen were running around the training yard, carrying logs upon their backs, when the day porter appeared in the doorway to the sheriff's barracks with a middle-aged man behind him. Sydney didn't stop calling out encouragement as the men ran, but only watched as Saizar walked over to speak with the person. After a few moments, he indicated he needed the earl. Sydney bawled out for the men to keep running as he joined the two men.
“My lord, this man is from a small, nearby village.” Saizar introduced them. “He takes care of part of the king's forest.”
“M'lord.” The man bowed.
“What can we help you with?” the earl asked.
“Well, I was out in the forest as I am most days, and I happened to overhear a group of men. There sounded to be four or five of them, just from the voices I heard. They were hunting illegally, and planning raids on the villages nearby. I knew I couldn't take them all on by myself, so I went back to get some help. We tried to track the men, but lost the trail when it started snowing.” He shifted uneasily, as if expecting to be blamed for failure.
“Continue,” Sydney gestured.
“So, after the storm let up, we tried searching the surrounding countryside for traces of their camp. We did find it, in an abandoned serf's croft, only they weren't there at the time. We returned to our village, only to find that the men must have been waiting for us to leave, as the place had been raided.” The forester clenched his hands, breathing heavily. After he got his emotions under control, he continued.
“Ours is a small village, just a dozen crofts. The bastards had set fire to everything. My son,” he sniffled, then spat a glob of phlegm upon the ground. “My ten-year-old son was gutted. Our young women were missing, the rest of the people killed. You must send men after them!” He finished his tale with an enraged demand.
“Where is your village?” Sydney asked.
The man gave them directions before trudging off, back to the remains of his home.
“I doubt there is much we can do,” Saizar began after the person left. “But it would be helpful for the men to ride out and learn what little there is from what remains.”
“Agreed,” Sydney replied. “We should probably travel to the other surrounding villages. They may need help or warned of the danger.”
“I will get the men and horses ready. If you will see to our supplies?” Saizar asked and received confirmation.
* * *
The sheriff and his men followed the broken path made through the snow drifts to reach the small village. They could see and smell the smoke from fires before the destroyed crofts came into view. Carrion birds had already arrived, and they flew up from the bodies of slaughtered animals, calling out their displeasure at being interrupted in the midst of their feast.
The scent of blood and guts hung heavy on the crisp air. One of the villagers could be seen trying to save the meat before it spoiled or was consumed by birds. The lane ended at a churned piece of mud-, blood-, and snow-covered ground before a small church. It too bore testament to having been burned, but the fire had since gone out. Two rows of bodies wrapped in coarse linen lay before the entrance. As the horses clopped forward, throwing up ice and mud balls, a rumble sounded. Off to the left of the men, one of the stone crofts tumbled down, the mortar no match for the heat of the flames that had engulfed it. Saizar called out for his men to halt. The few village men who had survived looked up warily from what they were doing. Soot streaked their faces and clung to threadbare clothes. Many of the men sported injuries. They regarded the lawmen in anger.
“Hello. I am Saizar, sheriff of Macinas. These are my men, and Earl Sydney. Your forester sent word to me of the attack. We are here to lend what aid we can, and learn more of what took place.”
A few of the villagers ignored him and continued with their scavenging work. One spat and another stomped over, shouting angrily as
he came.
“Bastards! Go back to your cozy town! A pox on you and that disease-ridden, whoreson king!”
Saizar heard the low snicker a few of his men gave and only shook his head at them. “Will one of you please tell me how to find the forester?”
Another torrent of abuse came from the angry villager. It didn't last long before they saw the forester himself come huffing out of the tree line, following a well-trod path. He hailed the sheriff's party and came up to them.
“Sorry. Dan lost the most. Both his daughters were taken in the raid, and the rest of his family slaughtered.”
“A hard thing for any man to bear,” Saizar replied. “Will one of your men take some of my men to the last spot you found evidence of the raiding party?”
The forester's head bobbed and he motioned to one of the men who had ignored them. He came over reluctantly.
“This is Ned. Ned, the sheriff wants to be shown the croft we found that the raiders had used.”
“Don't see what good it'll do. If our men couldn't find ’em, what makes you so certain they will?”
The sheriff spoke. “We will be better able to dedicate more time and effort to the search. If you will, take four of my men with you. They will need to know every scrap of information you can recall about the raiders.”
He turned in his saddle and called out the names of those he wanted to go, one of whom included a tracker turned slave before being sold to the sheriff's office. The small party had been told what to do beforehand, so they each took the lead rope of an extra pack mule. The men and mounts moved off into the forest, the dark gloominess quickly swallowing them.
“If you will be so kind,” Chadrick addressed the forester, “what and which direction are the nearest villages to yours?”