Thirty minutes after that, they had climbed up the short set of stairs into the private jet. And now, indeterminable hours later, they were in Turkey.
Bryon got to his feet and shuffled forward. He was as stiff as a board after sitting for so long.
Heru stood at the door, waiting for them. They were the only three in the jet, and Bryon wisely stood back and let Heru descend to the tarmac. The interpreter pushed his way past and went second.
Heru sailed right up to the woman.
“You have it?” the interpreter demanded.
She nodded. “Safely in the other vehicle, oh wise one.” She didn’t seem to have any problems with the interpreter or Heru’s lack of English. She spoke perfectly good English herself. She opened the back door of the vehicle she was standing next to.
Heru lifted himself up. He didn’t touch anything, or haul himself up with the grab rails. He floated up and into the back of the vehicle. The woman didn’t blink.
The interpreter climbed in after Heru, making heavy going of the big step up, his little legs working hard.
The woman got behind the wheel, and shut the door. The back door shut in Bryon’s face and the woman wound down her window. “The other car,” she said shortly.
He was secretly pleased to be relegated to the second car and opened the back door to climb in. There was a big stone lying on the seat, with a blanket dropped over it, that didn’t quite cover the crumbling ends.
“What the hell?”
The driver turned to look at him. He had the dark skin of a native Turk, and a big moustache. He jabbered in the local dialect and pointed to the passenger seat next to him.
Shotgun. Okay, fine. Bryon shut the back door and climbed up into the passenger seat. It ended up being the best place to be, for as the two cars wheeled out of the town, he saw their destination ahead. Mt Ararat had two peaks, both of them snow-capped and glowing in the moonlight. In between the two, the land sloped gradually down to a valley of grey that the night mostly hid.
The two cars drove steadily into the night, always heading toward the two peaks. Soon they dominated the view ahead, and as they drew closer, the peaks towered over them, and Bryon couldn’t see them without scrunching down and looking up through the top of the windscreen.
The Turk who was driving spoke no English, but he passed over a thermos after swigging from it. Bryon was thirsty and hungry, so he took the thermos and swallowed a great mouthful. The coffee was hot, very strong and laced with some sort of liquor. It tasted wonderful to his parched tongue.
The slope of the rough road grew sharper as they climbed the hill between the peaks. After an hour of driving, the cars pulled off the road. They began to work their way across the rough terrain, jolting and bouncing Bryon around in his seat. Their pace slowed.
He was thrilled when they finally halted. He opened his door and climbed out, quite happy never to sit again, if he could. He stretched his back, bending over and twisting.
The woman from the other car hurried over and opened the back door. She pulled the blanket off the stone and tossed it into the back, and stood back as Heru approached.
Heru reached in and laid his hand on the stone. For a moment it seemed like he was listening to it. Then he stepped back and held out his hand, palm up, the fingers together.
Bryon stepped back a couple of paces himself as the stone lifted gently off the seat. The car groaned as the suspension resettled itself. Bryon watched the stone ease out of the car, and hover three feet off the ground, right in front of Heru, who turned and began to walk up the sharp slope in front of the cars. The stone followed him, and it reminded Bryon of the first time he had seen Heru, floating gently down from the first floor balcony of the hall. This was the same thing, just a stone instead of Heru.
The slope was a bitch to climb. It was rocky, dry, and the shale kept rolling out from under his feet, making Bryon stumble and a few times, throw his hands out to keep himself upright. His palms were scraped raw. There was a stiff breeze and it was cold – the exposed skin on his face and hands was icy. The night was silent except for the sound of their progress up the slope.
At the top, Bryon paused to catch his breath and had it snatched away by his surprise. “Fuck me,” he whispered. Laid out below, and picked out by the moonlight, was a big round area, flattened out by either man or a freak of nature. It was an almost perfect circle and the edges were dug into the hillside to form a diameter of natural seating.
It was about thirty feet across. A very small arena and not a very useful one because there was a big rock sticking out of the middle of it. The rock had jagged edges, like it had been torn in two, and looked as sharp as razor blades.
Heru walked down the slope toward the arena, his pet stone following him. Now that he was lower than Bryon, Bryon could see that the stone was a big rectangle, maybe six feet in length. There was some sort of writing all over the front of it, or what would be the front if it was placed so it was standing on its short end. It looked incredibly old, like the statues and stuff that had come out of Egypt. Bryon had gone to see the Egyptian display when it had been in Los Angeles, but he had been unimpressed. He didn’t understand why people could get so hysterical about a bit of stone with some scribbles on it. It had all looked old and boring.
This stone here was the one everyone had been fussing about? He had heard gossip that the League vampires had let slide while he was among them. This had to be the Blood Stone that they had all wondered whether it was real or not.
Bryon followed Heru down into the arena. It was a relief to walk on something that was almost flat and even, although it was more of the same dirt as the slopes.
Heru turned to look at the stone. He raised his hand and the stone lifted higher by a foot or two, then drifted over the top of the jagged rock in the middle. Heru walked around the rock, watching the stone. It turned in time with Heru’s progress around the rock beneath it.
Heru halted and lowered his hand and the stone floated down onto the rock. It fit perfectly, the jagged peaks of the rock rising up around it, cradling it like it belonged there.
As the stone settled into place with a crunching, grinding sound, the wind stopped. It didn’t die away. It halted completely, between one heartbeat and the next.
The woman who had driven Heru stepped into the arena, her boots crunching on the grit. It sounded very loud. She stopped dead, looking around.
Bryon tried not to breathe too loudly. His heart was racing, but he wasn’t sure why.
“Can you read the words?” the woman asked Heru, who was standing over the stone, staring at it.
He shook his head.
“There are none who can,” the interpreter said.
How’s he gonna read it then? Bryon wondered.
Heru rested his hands on the stone. Instantly, he stiffened, throwing his head back like he was in pain.
The hairs on the back of Bryon’s neck stood upright, almost painfully. It wasn’t just his neck. The hairs all over his body were moving, lifting up, prickling along his skin. “Oh, shit,” he breathed, fear touching him.
* * * * *
“Down,” Nial murmured and everyone dropped to the ground, even though the edge of the slope was a bare five meters away, and Ilaria could hear movement, just beyond it. The hair on her arm lifted, making her skin tingle and tighten with the electrical charge. Added to the complete halting of the wind a minute ago, it implied that something was happening to the stone. She needed to get to the edge of the slope so she could spot her target. She needed to halt this. So she started to wriggle ahead.
Rick’s arm shot out and grabbed hers. He shook his head and put his lips right next to her ear. “It’s too silent. You’ll be heard. Wait.”
She bit her lip. Tension was beating at her, making everything throb. The need to do something was like a tightly coiled hair-trigger inside her chest and stomach. She looked over Rick’s shoulder. There were dark shadows scattered all along the slope – the others were lying
in the dirt as ordered, even the one called Bartholomew.
Behind them, the two Overlanders sat with their doors opened, abandoned. White pebbles and sand on the back seat of one proved that Heru had the stone.
Ilaria waited, brimming with frustration. Heru was so close! She could edge up to the slope and pick him off before he knew she was there.
Then the chanted started, and she hunkered down instinctively. It sounded terrible, even though she could not understand the words.
* * * * *
Bryon watched, amazed, as Heru began to speak, his voice loud and firm. The language he was using didn’t sound anything like the usual jabber he spoke. His gaze was on the stone, very focused.
He was reading the stuff on the stone, Bryon realized.
Amazing.
* * * * *
Nial waved everyone forward, with his hand flattened out. Ilaria understood that he wanted everyone to keep low. She inched her way up the slope carefully, the Timberwolf on her back swaying as she wriggled. The slope turned to dry, rough stone right at the top and she eased her way up until she could see over the top. The others were doing the same, taking quick glances.
“He’s reading the fucking stone!” Roman said in a harsh whisper. “Nial, we have to move now!”
Nial looked over the edge, taking a long moment to study the rounded amphitheater Ilaria had seen when she looked over. He pulled back and shook his head. “I’m not sending anyone down there,” he said flatly. “Not now.”
“We let him break the stone?” Winter demanded.
“We wait,” Nial decided. “And watch.”
“You can’t just—” Roman began, but Nial held up his hand.
“I’ve made my decision,” Nial said flatly.
Ilaria bit her lip, glancing at Marcus, next to her. He gave her a strained smile. “It sounds like he has a plan. Let’s do what he says.”
“But you can set up right here, just so you’re ready,” Rick added.
The chanting went on as she pulled the Timberwolf over her shoulder, and slapped the shell box into place. The scope was already mounted and she eased the barrel up to the edge of the slope.
An orange glow was lighting the sky just ahead and she put her eye to the scope and looked.
The stone was glowing. A bright light came from the very heart of it. It was ebbing and pulsing, yellow and red and orange, and it was growing brighter as she watched.
Heru was standing at the end of the stone, reading from it. His arms were held out from his sides, like he was praying to the stone. The pulsing increased.
He was right there. She could stop this thing now. All she had to do was squeeze the trigger.
Ilaria looked at Rick and Marcus, to see if they were watching her. They were staring down into the arena.
She bent her head to the sights and took careful aim.
“Ilaria, no,” Rick said quickly.
From this distance, she couldn’t miss. She fired.
Nothing happened. The bullet should have gone right through Heru, but he didn’t blink.
“The stone is protecting him!” Marcus said.
A breeze brushed her hair across her face. Then a stronger wind whipped it into her eyes, and she jerked backwards, her eyes stinging. The wind began to howl, whistling against her left side, picking up dirt and dust and roiling it around the amphitheater. She could just see across to the other side, where the ground sloped up sharply to a similar slope to the one she was laying on. Dust was blasting sideways, driven by the wind. It was moving in a circle around the amphitheater.
Someone grabbed her calf and pulled her backwards, with enough power that she was dragged back helplessly. She snatched at the rifle stock, bringing it with her, and scrunched herself around to see who had hold of her leg.
It was Roman. He let go of her leg and leaned in close to her face. “Do not put your head up over the lip,” he said. “Stay as close to the ground as you can. It’s only going to get worse.” He looked at Marcus and Rick. “Did you hear that?”
They nodded, and Roman moved on to the next people – Sasha and Garrett, Dominic and Bartholomew, to tell them the same thing. He was keeping well below the top of the slope, moving up to people from behind.
Ilaria looked at Rick. “We’re too late to stop him, aren’t we?” She had to lift her voice above the howling wind, but the worst of the cyclonic gale seemed to be at the top of the slope. Where they lay a few feet down from the top, there was only a gentle plucking at her coat.
“I think we were too late the moment he dropped the stone into the cradle,” Rick said. “We can only wait this out.”
* * * * *
Heru dropped his arms, and looked around the arena.
Bryon looked, too. The wind was a deafening noise, but it seemed to be all outside the arena. There were little eddies lifting the edges of his hair where he stood, but that was all. The woman stood with her arms crossed, taking no notice of anything behind her. She was watching Heru.
The interpreter pushed against Bryon’s hip. “He wants you closer. Go to him.”
The stone was an almost blinding white, now. If Bryon looked at it directly, the brilliant light dazzled him and left him blinking with afterimages dancing against his eyelids. Go closer to that? He shook his head. “I’m fine right here,” he said, shouting the words.
The interpreter kicked him, aiming for the side of his knee. Bryon hopped out of the way, but the little freak’s boot made partial contact and he staggered.
“Go to him! Go! He commands you.”
“Alright, alright, alright!” Bryon limped slowly over to Heru, keeping his gaze averted from the blinding light.
The interpreter stood behind Heru. “This is your reward, for your loyalty. Lay your hand on the stone, and you will absorb more power than any human has ever conceived possible.”
“Reward?” Bryon licked his lips. “I don’t want a reward,” he said. “I just want to go home.” His throat was sore from shouting.
“Take your reward, and you will be able to return home the moment you desire it. Such is the power I offer you.”
Teleportation? Bryon considered Heru. All the time he had been working for the vampires, he had always wondered what it would be like to have some of their awesome abilities. When Heru had appeared among them, teleporting and shoving things and people around with his mind, the concept that someone might really have those powers had kept Bryon awake for nights. It had never occurred to him that he might be able to have those powers for himself.
“Just touch it?” he asked.
“Just as I touched it. Reverently. Respectfully.”
With the breeze inside the arena brushing his hair out of his face, Bryon turned to face the glowing stone. He had to almost completely shut his eyes against the brightness.
Trembling with excitement and fear, too, he thrust his hand out, holding the palm flat like Heru had done. He leaned in, and gently lowered it. He couldn’t tell where the surface of the stone was. It was too bright.
Then he made contact.
Pain tore through his arm, rushing up into his head. Pain worse than anything he had ever felt.
Bryon screamed.
* * * * *
The agony-filled scream pierced the wind. It was a terrible sound and Ilaria clapped her hands over her ears, trying to shut it out. The scream was human.
Roman was gesturing furiously, telling everyone to stay down.
Then came a sound even more terrible than the scream. It was a rushing, high pitch whistling, like the noise of a jet engine and a kettle whistling, all rolled into one. The sound it was making grew louder and higher, building and building.
Rick pushed her hard, rolling her over onto her back, then over again, until she rolled up against Marcus, who was covering his own ears. Rick slid over the top of them both and pulled himself up over Marcus. He reached over and pulled Ilaria up against him, too, and she understood what he was doing. Both of them could withstand considerably
more heat and violence than Marcus, who was just human. They could protect him from whatever was coming.
She looked behind her. Along the slope, the vampires were all doing the same. At least two of them were protecting each human among them and everyone was pressed against the ground, bracing themselves.
The screaming note rose higher and higher, until Ilaria could barely hear it anymore. Then something blasted out of the amphitheater. She looked up. A column of brilliant light, too bright to look at properly, was reaching up into the cloudless night. It seemed to go on forever.
A blast wave blew out over the top of the slope, plucking at them and she hid her face, holding on to Marcus grimly.
There was a smell in the air, of moldy leaves and earth and the sharp hot smell of grinding iron. She gasped and tried to not breathe any of the putrid smell into her lungs.
The column of light was roaring endlessly, muffling her hearing, but she realized that it wasn’t just her hearing. Her breath was harder to draw, and her head was pounding, like she had a headache, but she hadn’t had one of those for nearly a hundred years.
Air pressure, she realized dully, trying to think past the thickness. The air pressure was building.
The wind just above the lip of the slope intensified, matching the blasting column of air in noise and fury.
Then the light faded and died. The wind stopped. The air pressure popped like a balloon and she could suddenly breathe again.
Silence. Everything was still.
Ilaria rolled off Marcus and looked up. The others were, too. Nial stood up, peering over the edge.
It began to rain, in big, fat, stinging drops. As if someone had turned over a full bucket, the rain intensified into a solid deluge of water. It was cold. Then something hit her on the head, a small tap. Then more of them.
Blood Unleashed (Blood Stone) Page 36