Victory of Coins (The Judas Chronicles, #7)

by Aiden James

  How in the hell did he know about that?

  “Let it go, brother,” Roderick whispered from behind me. “See if we can come up with a compromise... otherwise, Rachel might not make it. He’s won this time.... Let it go and I’ll help you—”

  Roderick’s admonition ended abruptly, as he was snatched into the air by three members of our hellish audience. Cedric reached inside his left pant leg near the ankle and brought out a slim Beretta he must’ve smuggled past the Turkish authorities. He aimed it at the demons holding Roderick’s prone body. Surely he knew it would only aggravate them and endanger himself, but his protective instincts got the better of him. Before he squeezed off a single shot, he was suddenly catapulted into the air. Rachel’s bleeding body fell to the floor, resting uncomfortably in a congealing pool of crimson.

  I thought Cedric was also pulled up by the demon horde, but they didn’t move to secure him until his flailing limbs neared the ceiling. He was suspended in the air by something else.... My gaze was drawn to Kaslow, who held out his hand with fingers flayed toward Cedric.

  “You like my new trick, no?” he said calmly. “I’m not one to stand pat in terms of learning the darker secrets of the universe, just as I’ve never been known for making or keeping promises, William. However, even Hitler was known to throw a meat-filled bone to his most prized watchdogs.... So, I will promise this: As long as they behave themselves and keep out of our fight, your friends will remain unharmed....”

  I glanced at Rachel, whose wounds still oozed her liquid lifeline. The paleness of death caressed her face and body.

  “...As for the newcomer in your fan club,” he continued. “I’m afraid Rachel is on her own. However, I give you my word that none of my friends will tear her delicious flesh from her bones until she is actually dead. And, who knows? She might still outlive you!”

  What chance did I realistically have against this monster, whose immortal gifts and resources greatly exceeded my own? I couldn’t allow myself to think on the obvious answer, ignoring the staggering odds against my victory against him. Him and his wicked legion.

  “It’s just you and me, William!” he exalted, motioning for the encroaching horde to give us enough space. “Nothing will interfere with our one-on-one contest to the death! Nothing!”

  The foyer was roughly forty meters long and wide, and it became quickly apparent that this was the designated battleground for our last face-to-face combat. He removed the biker jacket he had been wearing and threw it aside, and he pointed at the weapons on the wall closest to him.

  “Pick one!” he commanded.

  This exercise made little sense to me, since to my knowledge nothing could kill Kaslow. I picked an axe with a long handle, thinking I could use it to wrest away the sword I saw him favor. He smiled and plucked the axe I had pictured using and tossed it to me. Then he grabbed the sword he had been eyeing, caressing the keen blade with his fingers. We were set to begin.

  “Have you ever considered how much I loathe your very existence, William? Hmmm?”

  He threw the sword up in the air, and without looking caught the tip of the blade on his right hand’s fingertips, nearly severing them. Blood dripped down his arm, but before it could become a torrent that rivaled Rachel’s most recent stigmata attack, the wounds closed up and his fingers regenerated—almost like mine would when faced with a similar injury. He smiled—still without looking at his hand, using the same fingers to thrust the blade into the air again. This time it landed handle first in the palm, his fingers completely whole once more.

  I was so taken by this bizarre demonstration that I wasn’t ready when he suddenly flew at me and punched me in the face with his left hand. My feet left the ground and I flew across the room, crashing into an unforgiving wall of solid stone. Woozy from the blow, I collapsed on the floor, my spine severely damaged to where I couldn’t move any part of my body.

  Kaslow could’ve ended it there. I had dropped the axe in the middle of the room when surprised by the hit. Lying on my side, I watched his boots approach while silently praying for the healing of my tissues to speed up.

  “Just for the record, I have always hated you with every fiber of my being,” he said, bending down to where I could see his leering face. He snickered softly. “I can see your cells repairing themselves, William.... Impressive, except for the fact I would expect better and bigger miracles from your God. After all, you saw my fingers heal in seconds, and unlike me, it looks like we will have to delay our contest until you are ready to resume. Perhaps this will give your buddy Jesus Christ enough time to fully understand the stakes involved here.”

  Huh?! What in the hell is that supposed to mean?

  He kicked me in the groin, and the pain would’ve been bad enough had he not proceeded to try and castrate and disembowel me at the same time with his sword. I screamed in utter agony, as it had been centuries since I had felt anything so excruciating. Not since my guts were pulled out with a crank when I was executed for treason in front of the Tower of London, going on six hundred years ago.

  “There that’s better,” he said, sweetly. “How exquisite, William! And, while you’re healing from that double blow, I want you to picture how you left me in Bolivia, screaming like a ravaged little girl—just like you now. Picture these friends of mine as enemies, which they were back then, tearing at my flesh and seeking entrance to my body to savor the sweeter flesh while they carried me off to their realm.... Yes, I see recognition of the horror in your face—you know what it’s like to be turned inside out by castration and disembowelment, eh? But never before at the very same time, as I was... until now!”

  He looked as if he was waiting for me to say something. But I couldn’t concentrate long enough to form a single coherent word... only heartrending sobs and cries of pain as my body worked furiously to first keep me from dying, and then take care of the incredible misery that had yet to diminish. He stood up straight, regarding me with an amused look. Then he turned his attention to his nefarious audience.

  “I think we need to call a ‘Time Out’!” he roared to them. The horde was getting restless, and I could see the bottom tips of black wings and talons in my periphery as I continued to writhe in horrible agony. “First Time Out charged to number 29 in the coin collecting biz, Mr. Judas Iscariot! The frail Jewish princess cannot get up!”

  The screeching frenzy in response was deafening, and I worried about Roderick and Cedric held fast in the clutches of these fiends.

  “Oh-oh, my counterpart doesn’t look so good,” Kaslow continued to taunt, while I raised my head enough to see him parading like a proud peacock to the encroaching red eyes in a sea of darkness above. “It looks like we might have to charge a second Time Out, keeping in mind that you only get three, Willie Boy!”

  I tried to roll over, succeeding on a second try. By then the disembowelment had healed, where new intestines had replaced the others that fell to the ground and disintegrated. The healing to my genitals was not so quick, and unfortunately taking longer than I would’ve liked—especially when Kaslow came up to me and dropkicked my head. I was again launched across the room, landing in the middle of the foyer.

  Frankly, I was surprised my head hadn’t become detached from my body. This time, in addition to a broken neck and trachea, the back of my skull was cracked. Blood oozed through my hair and the warmth caressed the nape of my neck. Beyond that, I couldn’t feel anything... at least not initially. It occurred to me that this relentless beating could end my life, overworking the healing process to the point it was no longer effective.

  “It truly pains me to be the bearer of unpleasant news, William,” said Kaslow, standing over me. At least this time, I was spared a close-up of his homicidal eyes. “It appears you have used your last Time Out. However, in the spirit of good sportsmanship, I will allow you one last chance to pick up your weapon and fight like the nobility of old... only with an immortal twist. You, above all others, should be able to hold your own against the likes of me�
�based on your long, proud legacy upon the earth. I’m just a ‘newcomer to the party’, and you, William, are supposed to be the wily veteran. So... why don’t you start fucking acting like it?!”

  More screeching and restlessness, as if Bochicha’s Emissaries sensed my final demise was at hand. Admittedly, even I assumed it was. Kaslow was too much for me—especially after the barrage of deceptive attacks he had employed. As I mentioned, the healing powers within me struggled to keep up. Another blow strong enough to kill a mere mortal would likely finish me, too. Nonetheless, I saw my assigned battle-axe lying just a few feet away and crawled over to it. I picked up the weapon while forcing myself to stand, and then faced my most loathsome enemy for what I hoped was the final time.

  “So, what do you have to say for yourself, William?” he asked, wearing the pompous smirk of a proud victor. He had retrieved his sword, and I noticed that the blade was still smeared with my blood. Kaslow began twirling it in his hands as if we had yet to begin our contest. “Had enough yet? My friends are getting hungry.” He pointed to Roderick and Cedric, suspended in the air above. Both men trembled in terror as the horrific demon experience Kaslow had described was surely set to become their fate. Meanwhile, Rachel’s body lay motionless in a sizable pool of blood... for all I could tell, she was dead.

  She’s the lucky one, I thought to myself.

  “Well?”

  “You already know that I know you’re going to win,” I said, my voice hoarse from the deluge of trauma I had endured up until then. “All four of us are as good as dead. Yet despite it all, your victory is hollow, Viktor. I will certainly lose my life and then have no choice but to return here to resume my wretched existence until I am forgiven and made whole.... And, yes, you and your vermin will feast on the flesh of the innocent this day. However, you cannot touch our souls, and what we all will take with us as we leave this hellish place—this castle of bitter sorrow—is the love and eternal respect we have for one another. That, asshole, is something you and those foolish enough to follow you as their lord, will never, ever experience.”

  It could’ve been the sincerity of my words, or one of the few times in recent years that I have called him by his first name—or perhaps both. Regardless of which, the fiery redness returned to his eyes and he was upon me again. Keep in mind that Kaslow’s physical strength has far exceeded any other immortal I have dealt with down through the centuries. Not even Ratibor or Dracul carried what the Tree of Life crystal lodged in Kaslow’s chest could do for him.

  In an instant he came at me with his sword, gashing my left arm. I managed to thwart torso plunges with my axe, until my weapon fell away. I expected Kaslow to run me through my heart, and be done with our regrettable contest once and for all. But his cruelty overrode all else, and he cast aside the sword. He wrapped his hands around my throat and began squeezing the life out of me with his vice-like fingers... but then curiously loosened his grip.

  He had something to say—apparently a eulogy for a condemned enemy.

  “You are the most despicable soldier, warrior, and even ambassador of peace I have ever laid eyes on!” he sneered. “And, the older you get, the worse you fight—you are like an undernourished crippled child, easily subdued and frightened of your own shadow! Truly, you should never again go by a name as brave as ‘William’, or as Christian as ‘Emmanuel’. You truly are a ‘Judas’ in every loathsome definition of the name!”

  He began squeezing my throat again, and I had lost all will to resist his assault. I silently begged for him to kill me, and it seemed he would.... But the torture wasn’t done yet. He eyed me knowingly, snickering before addressing me once more.

  “Speak, coward—let me here you defend your feeble existence!” he demanded.

  I no longer cared what he thought, but felt compelled to set the record straight. My last reply, in which I either entreated him with deplorable pleas to finish me, or I pissed him off badly enough to tear my head off at the neck—and, yes, his hands spoke of such power. I chuckled at the thought that this would be a perfect suicide.... Death by Kaslow’s rage.

  “What’s so goddamned funny?”

  “You, Viktor,” I whispered. “You who can’t appreciate anything but violence. It has blinded you to any sensitivity for understanding your opponent. For the entire length of your so-called ‘contest’, you have never noticed until now that I am not a willing participant.... I no longer have the will to fight you, although I tried... at least a little. And, I have not had the ‘fight’ you seek in me since those I’ve loved most were taken from my world. It’s too late to bring them back. So... regardless if it is you, or Krontos, Dracul, Ratibor—hell, the frigging King of England or Death itself, I no longer give a shit. Do you know why?”

  I detected a flicker of doubt in his cold, murderous eyes. He wanted to silence me forever—I could sense it—but he couldn’t help himself from finding out even the smallest secret I might be hiding from him.

  “No.” He shook his head. “Tell me.”

  “The reason I no longer care to battle you or anyone else is simple: In the end, hate never wins.”

  At first, he regarded me with a perplexed and scornful look. Then, as I expected, he found the whole thing quite humorous. An uneasy snort erupted into full laughter, and then he let go of my throat while encouraging the dark throng to chime in with their cacophonous voices—like a cartoonish convention of cackling, old-hag witches.

  But then he stopped laughing and suddenly his hands were around my neck again, the tissues of my throat and neck collapsing beneath his powerful fingers.

  “You are wrong, William—Hate DOES win!’ he shrieked. “ALWAYS!”

  This was it. I began to black out. I didn’t fight to breathe, as I was resigned to begin my journey out of this body, to drift quietly into the emptiness of purgatory, and then finally into my familiar nakedness someplace else—likely in a different part of the world and perhaps a few years from now.

  My ability to see disappeared first. But just before I could no longer hear Viktor Kaslow’s shrieks of bitter rage or feel his spit upon my face, the demons’ disharmonious roar quieted and I heard a woman’s angry battle cry followed by Kaslow gasping for air.

  A rush of coolness embraced my lungs as his hands fell away from my throat, and as my body responded to yet another chance to stay alive, my vision returned. First as a hazy blur, I soon could make out the frozen stare of Kaslow’s lifeless face, less than a foot from mine.

  He was dead.

  A glowing crystal shard the size of my palm rested on my chest, along with the wicked bastard’s foul smelling, shriveled heart. Likely the organ had died the day he should’ve been carried off to Hell, nearly five years ago.

  Rachel stood above me, her bloodstained hands holding a Byzantine blade of sharpened iron that once had graced the end of a kataphraktoi warrior’s spear.

  Oh my God—She did this?

  The woman whom I had perpetually scorned smiled at me with compassion while pushing Kaslow’s corpse aside. She offered her hand to help me get to my feet.

  “It’s finished,” Rachel whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. “You’re finally free.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kaslow was dead... but I was far from free.

  All I knew for certain, after watching Cedric and Roderick tossed to the ground before Bochicha’s Emissaries fled in a squalling flock from Fanari Castle, was that Kaslow had been correct. I was no closer to finding the Damascus Coin than I had been the last time I looked for it in earnest, shortly after the turn of the nineteenth century.

  The coldness in the old fortress was warmer than the hope that remained within my heart.

  “Perhaps the Lord will fully pardon your trespass this time,” Rachel suggested, as we trudged back to the Jeep. “If you hadn’t bravely faced Kaslow’s best shot, the rest of us likely would have perished in there.”

  Her wounds had completely healed and disappeared, and the staggering loss of blood had not
left her severely anemic, as I expected. Then again, I am not an expert on the stigmata phenomena, and find myself amazed by what little permanent damage the experience of sharing Jesus Christ’s wounds creates.

  Cedric and Roderick both suffered cuts from the demons’ talons, which they seemed to hardly notice in their joy to still be alive. I envied their ability to cherish life itself—the one truly amazing gift all of us experience by The Almighty’s grace. Life and love are eternal.

  My recognition of those facts notwithstanding, I remained in a veritable hell since both life and love for me meant an ongoing existence without Beatrice and Alistair. Yes, I did have Roderick, and I cherished our ancient bond more than ever. But as I looked back at the dying torches surrounding the castle, I realized the fading firelight was ironically similar to what was happening to the passion inside my soul. I, too, would soon be a deserted edifice—filled with memories of a glorious but distant past. Destined to become a ruined shell of my previous self in future years, and a mere specter of the man who once embraced hubris and each day as if both were mine alone to enjoy.

  “Maybe that’s the problem,” Roderick whispered to me, once we were back inside the Yukon and preparing to head back to the airport in Istanbul. “You should learn to share all of it—the hubris, pain, love—everything you feel with those who care about you, Judas. Too often you are an island to yourself.”

  Of course I shot him an irritated look, since I was in no way ready to leave my self-pity. And, in fairness to my broken heart, I needed time to figure out how to live without the prospects of seeing the woman and offspring I cherished above all others. Yet in fairness to Roderick, Cedric, and now Rachel, I needed to not be so selfish as to cut them off. They deserved the best I could muster from within.

  “That’s the spirit, Judas,” said Roderick, compassionately, keeping his voice low while Cedric and Rachel discussed how to backtrack along the road we had taken while avoiding the treacherous pitfalls that had nearly sent us tumbling a few hundred feet into a ravine on the way to the castle. “It’s exactly what I resolved to do for you so long ago. Trust me that it works, and know that I will be there for you, always.”