45
Gilberto came on the run and it had been a long terrifying journey. He had been told to ring the bell to awaken people but he knew that would be wrong. The bell could be heard from a surprising distance away, and though that was the point of ringing it, this was a peculiar moment. Though people had to be alerted. The sound could travel to very sensitive ears, the ears of those who approached. No, he knew it would be best to wake the magistrate and let the word travel to the other villagers from there. It was a wiser move to wake the village quietly rather than let those who were advancing know that an alarm had been sounded.
“Don Alejandro!” Gilberto shouted out while banging on the front door of the de Ibarra home, with no lights on. “Don Alejandro!”
Gilberto was persistent with his noise. Finally, candles were lit and the alcalde appeared at the door.
“Gilberto, what is this disturbance.”
“Wagons…” Gilberto was panting from his run and could not catch his breath, “…they… have left the old monastery…many wagons and many men.”
“Go, ring the bell as we told you.”
“No, please don’t. They will hear, and rush to us before we can be ready.”
“Well then, start waking people and get them going. Have the word spread out as quickly as possible. Now go! We will need all the time we can steal.”
The monastery had been built between two shear-sided plateaus which faced each other about a half-mile apart. Villagers referred to this area as Dos Mesas. Though the walls were interesting in appearance, the deserted cloister, one which had a history long forgotten, and no religious affiliations stepping forward to lay claim, was mysterious and a bit unnerving. Travelers tended to avoid Dos Mesas. Lately though, the desert winds brought rumor of lights being seen in the monastery, and the noise of men laughing and brawling, echoing between the walls. Though no towns were close, reports of folk going missing and wanderers being abducted became more frequent. None who disappeared were ever seen again and tales grew in a short time of terrible monsters with ravenous appetites.
As the rumors grew, so did the unrest, especially in villages bordering the desert. The community of Bolero was the nearest grouping of houses and because of the growing fear, they began to monitor the desert using boys soon to be young men. These were all too eager to be community heroes through taking on the responsibility. This was Gilberto’s fifth time out, and he had just about decided to give-in to sleep from the boring watch when he heard a disturbance and saw the men and horses in the night as dark patches against the desert sand. They were taking the road, but Gilberto would take one of the many short cuts he had learned as he was growing up. He was too alarmed to remember but not once did he slow from his full-out sprint. When he reached the village, he had no wind left to call out.
A short time later the word had spread through the sleeping village and those who were regarded as village leaders and protectors, or those who regarded themselves as village defenders, whether too young, too old or too disabled, stood holding what might they could muster. They grasped old weapons, and outdated ideas about their abilities to employ these weapons. Only a few were trained in their uses.
The ragtag group with ragtag weapons managed to assemble at the edge of the ragtag town. And there, they built a hasty barrier that inferred strongly that the entry to the village was barred. It seemed only a minute after completing the roadblock that they could hear the soft sounds of the approaching group.
--------
MacQueen and Constantine, each in their own way, understood they had been charged by Desmondo Milan to develop and train Hell’s little army. And Hell was for them, too. They worked among such monsters who were, no doubt, demons. As it was with the very army they were training, neither of these men had been allowed to leave once they had arrived. The water they drank had been foul and the bread they broke was tasteless. The desert surroundings were arid, hot and lifeless. It felt good to finally be shed of the place, yet they were on a secret march, one that was designed to end with many deaths. So they rode, leading the caravan. Sometimes joined by one vampire, sometimes several of them. It was eerie and unnerving to be in their midst. It felt as though they walked beside an African Lion, uncaged and unshackled, never knowing when the beast would turn on them and feast on their heart’s blood. Trying to accept their arrivals and departures with any kind of grace was like having a friend who enjoyed scaring you at unexpected times, lying there in wait, until your attention was taken, and then barking at you loudly. MacQueen tried to proceed with nervous acceptance but his nerves were still easily tread upon. He wondered how Constantine, the renowned vampire slayer, dealt with it. The two trainers had become friendly, sharing the same fears and the same feeling of doom.
Constantine leaned toward him. “I want them all dead. The ones we’re going to see and the ones sending us.”
MacQueen cringed and looked over his shoulder. “I can’t believe you share that openly, let alone say it at all.”
“What? They can hear me say it? They already know it. Probably knew I was thinking it before I did. They are used to having these thoughts spoken in their presence. Believe me. The only respect they have is the fear in those they encounter. Besides I am under no illusions that I might somehow survive and be allowed to leave. We may be marching to their end but we march to our own as well.”
“Shut up about this, then. I want to have my illusions. I want to live to be again with my wife and family but if not, then I want to see Del Rio fall.”
“I hear you, MacQueen, but I give you this advice in return: One thing you should not mention nor carry about in your head is thoughts about family and children and things you hold dear. Vampires make note of how to hold you in their grip. They know how to make wounds in your heart and holes in your thinking that hook you to them like a fine drug. They seek control when they encounter a living soul and they pull the strings like a puppet master. We dance to their tune. Don’t let them in your head. Protect your thoughts and those behind your heartbeats.”
“You give me these words but do not follow their wisdom.” MacQueen returned.
“I know I’m a dead man. If they read my thoughts they will find me filled with hatred. It’s all I have left. When they are done with me. If I am still alive, I will use what is left of me to kill every one of them. Whether Family Milan or Family Del Rio, they all need to die. They truly are monsters, and they make monsters of us. We have both watched our compadres die and felt helpless and guilty for it.”
“It is true. Milan is just as bad and the Widow….” MacQueen said, looking cautiously around.
Both could now see Bolero growing bigger with every horse-step. It looked sleepy and dark. Yet as they approached, torches lit, revealing a blockade and men behind it.
The men from the village turned their eyes to Magistrate Leone who was fiercely feeling the weight of his leadership status. Only a fool would step before these hard men of the road, yet this is what he must do. When he did, he made certain the village flanked him. He had dispersed the toughest and strongest throughout the crowd so they could not be targeted with them all being in the same spot. It made the whole group appear a bit formidable.
“Seniors, we have seen your lights in the desert and heard your noises. What wonders this has created in our thoughts.” The men from the desert slowed to a stop. Don Alejandro continued. If you please seniors, we have provided food and provisions that would last you at least two days’ ride. We are a poor town and a poor people. We want no trouble. Surely you can see that a stop here would make impressions and cause a disturbance.”
“What I see is that you have already disturbed your gentle women and sleeping babes.” This was the voice of Desmondo Milan which came from behind all of the road party. He made his way slowly through the crowd even though it parted, giving him plenty of room.
“We are good families just trying to make our bread from what we grow. What now lies in the wagon we give you. Please take it and rid
e around our quiet village.”
“We appreciate your concern about our direction and purposes, but these men are road weary. They have looked forward to stopping here after very many days out in the hot dry desert. They are thirsty and seek comforts not available out there among the mesas. A cool drink and a hot bath has been talked about for weeks. They bring business and excitement to your poor, sleepy village.”
“But we have no cantina and no bath available, no ristorante. We have but a few small stores and they are already closed for the night.”
“Wake them up!” Milan angrily shouted. “These men will come whether your puny resistance is put to the test or not.”
“But we…” began the judge.
But arrows aimed straight and true by practiced bows, hit the sons and fathers and grandfathers in a ravaging wave. Nary was a groan uttered as bodies slumped in ruffled collapse. Only Don Alejandro remained standing, and he was untouched. The men stormed over the roadblock and charged into the town in search of their booty. Milan came before the shocked magistrate. Constantine and MacQueen were there too.
“But why do you do this. We offered you everything just to ride past.”
“We cannot have it be said that you successfully turned us away. Word of that would fuel more resistance from others. We do not bargain. We go where we want.”
Almost to illustrate Milan’s claim, high terrified screams now sounded from homes nearby. Horror appeared on the face of Don Alejandro. MacQueen and Constantine looked to Milan who issued orders.
“When the town’s pleasures have been plundered, burn it to the ground. Pay heed to your footprints and brush away what you can. Let’s not hand the fact that we are on the march, over to those we mean to end. It is better that heads are scratched in wonderment. That means everyone must die here.” He regarded the magistrate. “Him, the very last. Be away from here and on the road at least two hours before daylight. Let’s not have the alarms sounding from town to town. We need this to be a surprise, a final surprise. You will not want to be dealing with me if the secret gets out.”
46
Edwardo stood before what had once been the sprawling house where the Widow Belladonna had lived. As he slowly skirted around it, he reached a place where, as he stood, looking at the burned wreckage, he could lift his eyes and also see the devastated town of Pricio. Nothing was standing, no bush, nor tree, nor house, nor barn. It was easy to see the rage Lucido had when he had come to destroy the village. Everything was torn and shredded…everything; people too, young and old. Edward could see up the road and imagined the carriage with Lucido, Veria, Charlotte and Michael had come to investigate the Widow’s burning house, once upon a time. He could see depressions in the ashes where Michael and Charlotte had shoveled the ashen remains of Lucido and Veria even though some time had gone by since these activities. It looked pretty much as it had, the night of Lucido’s rampage. The weather may have changed it some, but people hadn’t, not even scavengers. Travelers on that road were inclined to steer clear.
A patchwork of cloud shadows floated over the landscape. Edwardo moved with the darkness of one of them. This held the course of where he wanted to go. He rode if for a long time but eventually clung to the shadows of a roadside wood, letting the cloud’s dark patch slide along in its journey to wherever.
But his course now was not with the wind. On this path Michael had traveled with Ferdinand and Beatrice, covered up in the back of a cart, hiding from the ravages of the sun. And they had made their way to family property, a farm. On this land was a building referred to as the house on the road to Pamplona by members of the Family Del Rio. Innocents gathered there and dwelt in hope of being turned. Most fled or steered clear of anything to do with vampires, yet inexplicably some came to this manor in pilgrimage. Perhaps their lives were torn, or in some warped way they desired power. All ages seemed to be drawn, though they were mostly young people. They earned their keep through tending the farm buildings or working the crops. Some might run errands or deliver messages, and some paid through giving their life’s blood. But today, the manor was laid waste, buildings burned and bodies hacked and strewn about. Some were even posed in sexual ways or in a manner meant to warn or humiliate. Smoke drifted and embers glowed. But that was not all that smoldered. Edwardo scanned the woods at the far edge of the yard. Several pairs of glowing red eyes were watching him and to them he spoke.
“This is why the feel was so strong to come here!” Edwardo’s voice echoed in the vicinity.
The eyes nodded up and down, although whether that was in affirmation or just lowering their heads, as horses do, he couldn’t say. They were always like that, giving the impression of understanding, but for Edwardo at least, never confirming the imprint. Hooves pawed the earth and steam rose in clouds from their breaths, so much like smoke. Edwardo approached them and as he neared, he came upon several bodies strewn on the ground before the steeds.
“So, this secret attack was not without a terrible price for some.” The bodies were trampled and the heads were crushed and flattened. “Is there anyone here we might know?”
The horses withdrew into the darkness and Edwardo examined what remained.
There was little really to be taken away from the crushed remains that were left. The final moments were painful and the unlucky recipients had been trod upon with fury, and had come to a painful end. Their beginnings were just as easily read. One could follow that road all the way back to Desmondo Milan and beyond him to the Lorn. Edwardo would go now to Lucido Del Rio and bring him the sad news of what had happened here. They were all gathered in la Coruna. Michael’s turning was underway. Lucido had wanted everyone to contribute to the turning of Michael Rodan. Not everyone was there at one time and this was by design. But Lucido wanted blood contributions from everyone, and Edwardo could see the benefits of that to Rodan and to the family. Edwardo had been there as Veria had lured Michael into the house and had done his part in it. Afterward, Edwardo had wanted to leave and Lucido was all for this. In these careful times, he did not like to have all of the family together at one place. He had stopped Edwardo before he left and bade him to keep a watchful eye on things, but also to make the visits he’d just completed. They both had felt something, and though this was a bit into Ferdinand’s area, he was busy watching out for them here. So the assassin would investigate the dark feelings both were experiencing.
But now, Edwardo understood the murky pull and he departed through the darkness in a shadow-less flight to the Northwest and the edge of the sea. As he journeyed, the terrain brought him many sights, sounds and scents. He could read the mood of the land below and those that played a part in its temperament. Along the way, in the desert below, he saw two plateaus looking mirror images of the other. Images of Charlotte Tilson and Michael Ro`dan faintly came to him. This was puzzling and he decided to stop there and take a look. As he neared, he saw that an old monastery was there between the rock cliffs. A stone house stood not too far away. Here had been many men for many days. There were patterns in the sand and concentrations of activities…training activities. Several targets lay about with holes so plentiful there were more punctures than target.
The house was dark and stagnant, and it held the scents of Bevin and Jennifer. There was enough telling evidence to know there had been an attempt to reconstitute both of them separately. This was dangerous business and nearly always unsuccessful. What tragic toll was suffered, or whether or not it even neared success could not be told from what had been left behind. But there were human bones aplenty in both rooms and rage. There was another room of interest. It contained the scent of Michael and Charlotte. The witch had occupied this room also. Here, there were broken and shattered things and children’s toys and rage. It didn’t take long before Edwardo happened on evidence that Desmondo Milan had been here also, not in the new world where he was supposed to have gone. He had trained a small army here. This was disturbing. This was concerning.
——
Edwa
rdo left to bring this news to Lucido, but his course took him above the desert where he could now see that this force, put together by Desmondo Milan, was headed in the same direction. He was content to follow the wagon tracks while they were on his way but when they turned off he would not follow.
He sped on but not too far away Edwardo encountered a place that smelled of recent fire. From his vantage point, the wagon tracks disappeared just prior to entering the town and then became visible down the road. This was similar to the devastations at Pricio and the house on the road to Pamplona. Homes burned, lives lost, wanton destruction, and for all of its obvious fury, attempts had been made to hide what had occurred. It obvious this was not an accident. Yet, trying to be stealthy after a vicious outpouring of rage was suspicious of more sinister plans.
As he investigated the scene he wondered what Ferdinand might do as the protector… the defender. As an assassin, Edwardo was much more used to the shadows and having deadly plans of his own, not for a village but for individuals…or an unfortunate few.
To his left was a man, dead but body still warm. He apparently had been left to die slowly and alone. A taste of his blood would reveal what had happened and who was involved, but the stale blood of someone deceased would be like a caged lion being fed a slab of meat, prevented from making its own fresh kill. Let Ferdinand do his job and find out this mystery. He had enough information to tell Lucido and the rest.
The Blood In Between (The Safe Haven Trilogy Book 3) Page 25