Cursed Earth (Kat Drummond Book 12)

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  No one stopped me as I crossed the invisible line that separated the border-slums and the slums-proper. There were no guards or checkpoints. What would be the point? It was a porous border. A border within a city! There were not enough men to patrol such a barrier, even if we evacuated the Three Point Line entirely.

  In the past, the distinction between border-slum and slum was harder to tell. It took a while for the tenements and cheap houses to turn into ruins and hovels. But there was something different now.

  The streets were still full of people. Shebeens still functioned. But there was a buzz of palpable fear in the air. People stared furtively at one another. And they gave a wide berth to men clothed in black, flanked by shambling undead covered in plate-mail and carrying crude blades. They vibrated as people approached. The people scurried past them, giving the undead monstrosities a wide berth. The abhorrent were hungry, restrained only tenuously by the necromancers by their side.

  It was a necro-state. Right in the heart of my city.

  I turned into an alleyway. There was no one around.

  “Even without the coat, they’re going to recognise you.”

  “Not with his,” I said, taking a script out of my pocket. I looked over my shoulder. Coast clear.

  I read the script aloud, carefully, and felt a warm vibration coat my skin. I took off my motorcycle helmet. Treth manifested, holding his chin as he looked me up and down.

  “A glamour?”

  I nodded. “Pranish cooked it up for me. How do I look?”

  “Blonde hair suits you!” He grinned, mockingly.

  “As long as it means people won’t know who I am. Let’s go.”

  Treth floated by me, keeping pace.

  “Where? This place is an ocean of squalor. Where do we start?”

  “At the beginning,” I answered, cryptically.

  “Well, yeah. But where’s that?”

  I turned into the street. As I had hoped, nobody gave me a second glance. I looked at my bike one final time. I didn’t expect for it to survive the night. But I’d find another way out of the slums after if it was stolen. I’d done so before.

  I joined the flock of people, pushing past street sellers and stalls. In the past, they’d be crying out, advertising their wares. They were quiet now, as the dark mages and their undead minions watched them closely. Even so, I couldn’t help but be proud. Despite all adversity, enterprise never stopped. Humans had a lot to be proud of. Perseverance was one such thing.

  I held my breath as I walked past, half expecting the critical eyes of these black-clad men and their abhorrent to notice me. One looked my way, and grinned, suggestively. His teeth were black.

  I kept walking, slightly faster. He didn’t cry out. Or follow. Thank, Athena!

  “Where is the beginning?” Treth asked again, as the crowd thinned, and we turned into another street.

  “The Necro Lord worships Candace,” I whispered. Nobody seemed to notice me speaking. Or care. “So, he may gravitate to where it all began. Her fortress. The place where he thinks I killed her. And I know that he knows where it is. Because he has my sword.”

  And, among all the other things I was going to do to him, I was going to take my sword back.

  The plaza where Candace’s fortress had once ascended far above the rooftops was still strewn with the burnt-out rubble that I had left on that fateful day. I still remembered it. Vividly. I carried a debilitated Candace out of a burning building, pursued by vampires. Until I was stopped by the head she-vamp herself. Charlene Terhoff. I would have been killed, if not for Conrad appearing, in all his angelic glory. That had also been the day that I’d discovered he was an angel. And the day that Candace killed James Montague to save my life.

  This place brought back memories. Dozens of them. Months as Candace’s prisoner had made an impression on me. And, being connected to her through our soul bond had made our relationship seem like a lifetime. I had forgiven my soul sister for her crimes. They couldn’t be put solely at her feet. She had been a victim of the Mentor, just as much as I was.

  I hoped she would one day forgive herself.

  The plaza was quieter than the other streets. A few people milled about in front of their houses. The slums seemed more alive at night than during the day. Perhaps, the Necro Lord was in a better mood at night? I could picture zombie raids and outbreaks being scheduled for the day, with the night being reserved for civilian life. It seemed like the type of twisted rule that a dark emperor would put in place. Sick bastard!

  I eyed the vicinity of the plaza and my eyes finally settled on an open window, peeking out from a concrete hovel. A warm, gaslight lit up the place, and the smell of fried meat managed to almost overcome the stench of burning rubber in the air.

  I walked as casually as I could to the open window. A man peeked his head out of it, passing some meat on a stick to a child, who eyed me warily and ran off.

  The man rattled off a greeting in Afrikaans.

  “Engels, asseblief,” I replied. It was some of the little Afrikaans I knew.

  “Jammer,” he apologised. “Wat kan I get jou?”

  What can I get you?

  “What do you have?”

  He smiled. He looked old. Worn. His wrinkles suggested he had been around when Adamastor had awoken. Back when the world ended. He was missing his front teeth.

  “Skewers. Real unicorn vleis.”

  I doubted that. But, if I had learnt anything about social interaction, it was that you won trust by eating someone’s food. And giving them money.

  “How much?”

  “Vyf.”

  Five.

  I handed him five bucks and he retrieved a skewer of white meat.

  “Dankie,” I thanked him and took the meat. It looked edible. There was some rosemary sprinkled on top.

  I bit into it. Was fine. Tasted like chicken. Almost definitely was chicken. Which was preferable to unicorn meat, even if Trudie would have relished the death of one.

  I turned my back on the shopkeeper and stared out onto the dark patch of rubble.

  “Were you here years ago?” I asked. “When the building there was still up.”

  “Jas, miss,” I sensed him nodding, as he turned the skewers on the stove.

  I nodded back, acknowledging the point.

  “Jy is not the only mens to ask about that place,” he added, surprising me. I turned back to him.

  “Another mens came a few months back. Asked me the same question.”

  The shopkeeper smiled, exposing his missing teeth.

  “Made some lekker bucks that day. Sold him a groot mes I found in the rubble.”

  Mes – Knife. And groot – big. A big knife. A sword!

  “What did this man look like?” I asked, dropping my disinterested façade.

  He shrugged. “Wit mens. Pale. Swart robes, miss. Like this other mense.”

  He indicated some dark mages, standing by the street corner. He registered disgust. For only a second.

  Treth’s surprise that we’d found someone who had seen the Necro Lord only made me feel more vindicated. I turned to face the shopkeeper dead-on, unable to hide my eagerness.

  “Sir, can you tell me where to find this man?”

  The shopkeeper didn’t reply. His eyes were wide. Hastily, he raised his hand, gripped the handle of a shutter and clamped it down.

  I raised my eyebrow, confused, just as a hand touched my shoulder.

  I turned, coming face to face with a pair of red eyes. A man with dark skin, wearing a red beret. He didn’t hide his fangs as he grimaced at me.

  “Drummond,” he said, in a deep, resonating voice. “My colleague wants to meet with you.”

  I steeled myself and adjusted my expression to be icy cold.

  “And who would that be, vampire?”

  “The lord of these lands, human. The future Emperor of Hope City. The Necro Lord.”

  The vampire turned around, indicating for me to follow. I did. Not like I had a choice. />
  Chapter 23.

  Foes

  The vampire led me through the labyrinthian alleys and paths of the slum, past drained canals, garbage dumps and frightened children, staring through holes in corrugated iron walls. The vampire was silent. And I was torn between following the monster and accepting Treth’s offer of Ithalen.

  His offer was tempting. I’m sure Brett and Guy would have sliced the vamp’s head off without hesitation. Well, tried to, at least. Vampires had good reflexes.

  But, I had bigger prey. And this vamp was leading me right to him.

  As we crossed a small footbridge over a river choked with trash, I decided to break the silence.

  “So, colleagues with the Necro Lord, eh? How much does that pay?”

  If the night was silent before, it was full of crickets now, as the vampire ignored me.

  “Yes, good plan!” Treth exclaimed, without sarcasm. “See what you can find out. Knowledge is power!”

  All good and well, if the vampire would actually speak.

  I was just about to open my mouth to try and converse with him again, when he stopped.

  “In here,” he said, in his deep voice. It held a subtle hint of disdain. Like he was reluctantly opening the door for a dog.

  I looked at “In here” and raised my eyebrow.

  Flanked between a tidal wave of shanties and shacks was a concrete block, with barred windows, a closed security gate and no paint. No lights were on inside. Either the Necro Lord liked to sit menacingly in the dark, or this was the wrong place.

  I looked at the vampire, dubiously.

  He pointed with his thumb towards the back of the building and waited.

  Well, I’d come this far already. I took the lead, the vampire at my back, and made my way to the backyard. And, as I should have expected, I found a stairway leading down into the earth, towards a basement. An old, cracked neon sign read: “Mzansi Bar”. It occasionally flickered red and green.

  “Underground base?” I commented, aloud. “How very thematic.”

  The vampire pushed me, and I stepped down.

  “Sheesh, talk about impatient.”

  I think I was hiding my sheer rage with snark. I didn’t know if it was working. At least I hadn’t gone postal. Yet.

  At the bottom of the stairs, we both came face to face with a steel door, with a closed eyehole. The vampire knocked. Twice fast, once slow, then a pause, then two more slow knocks.

  There was a dreadfully long pause afterwards. I waited, feeling the rage building up inside of me. Like a volcano. Magma, burning hotter, hotter, until…

  The door opened, without whomever was inside checking through the eyehole. You’d think this wasn’t the crime capital of the State of Good Hope!

  The vampire pushed me inside and closed the door behind me.

  The room was dimly lit by a single lightbulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling, illuminating an unmanned bar with an empty liquor shelf. Opposite the bar was a single booth. Two pairs of red eyes stared at me. I couldn’t see the rest of the vampires’ features. I felt Treth’s apprehension.

  A saner woman would have balked at the vampires staring at her in the dark, but my attention was on something else entirely.

  Acid and bile built its way up into my heart and mind. My vision went red, and I took a step forward, my eyes glued to the black-cloaked figure, enjoying a glass of golden-brown liquid at the bar. A wakizashi – my wakizashi! – was sheathed by his side.

  The door behind me shut, suddenly. I heard metal clanking as the door was locked. That shocked me from my rage-filled reverie, as reality finally dawned on me. I was locked. Underground. Surrounded by vampires and a necromancer.

  Perhaps, this wasn’t such a good idea.

  “Last Light,” that all so familiarly detestable voice came from across the room.

  He turned, allowing me to see his features. He looked younger up close. Older than me, but that wasn’t hard. He smiled, as one would at an old friend.

  “Please, sit.”

  The vampire shoved me, not giving me much choice. I glared at him and moved forward. Treth watched the vampires – all of them – holding Ithalen a handspan away from me. That made me feel slightly safer.

  Up close, I saw a bottle by the Necro Lord’s side. Coronation. Whiskey. Aged twenty years. I didn’t know much about whiskey, but it looked expensive. He was drinking it out of a beer mug.

  I stopped, not sitting just yet, as I examined the room. Analysed possible escape routes, tried to count the dark figures all around me and hiding in the shadows, and then let my gaze fall on the Necro Lord himself. My foe. My prey. My enemy…

  I smiled. “Your fortress isn’t as grandiose as the real Necrolord’s. But it’s close.”

  The Necro Lord’s smile grew, and he indicated for me to sit. I did so, feeling the vampire looming closer to me.

  “I detest snide remarks,” the Necro Lord finally replied. “It’s such a cliché with you hunters. You think that one must be sarcastic in the face of death. That your humour will save you. If you were anyone else, I’d gut you now and turn you into a simple zombie.”

  He paused, his smile slowly wilting.

  “But you are different. I cannot just kill you. Oh, no. Nothing as brutish and short as that. It would be over too quickly. And it would not win me the prize I seek. It would be such a waste. For I brought you here for a simple reason. To talk.”

  I fought down a sarcastic retort. Best not poke the hornet’s nest. And, I was getting tired of the façade. I let my fake smile and good humour disappear. My death glare, darker and fierier than it had ever been before, was all that was left.

  “Why?” I asked, simply.

  The Necro Lord stared at me, matching my glare with his own analytical gaze. Finally, he nodded. Satisfied.

  “You touched greatness. You lived with the Necrolord. My master. And you won his respect. You could say that you touched the divine.”

  “You never met the Necrolord, did you?”

  His impassive smile was all the reply I got.

  “Yet,” I continued. “You worship them like a god? Why?”

  “Like a god?” the Necro Lord snorted, amused. “How can a god exist that allows one such as me to live?”

  “That is something we can agree on,” I hissed, through gritted teeth.

  “It’s good that we find common ground. Not that it will save you. For all the importance I vest in you now as someone who has touched my master, that will not spare you your fate. You shall die, by my hand, as I wrest the throne of Hope City away from you.”

  “As you have said before…” I sighed. “Why do you hold the Necrolord in such high esteem?”

  “You do not?” he seemed genuinely shocked.

  “Necromancers don’t tend to hero-worship each other. Even their mentors.”

  “The Necrolord was no simple mentor,” he replied. “He…he was raw, honest power. More than a necromancer. More than a ruler. He was dominance. Decay, energy, and the arcane. He was inevitability and an end to the eternal.”

  Was that a tear in his eye?

  “The Necrolord was the pinnacle of the darkness. Of the ladder we all climb. And I hope to reach his station.”

  I analysed this man, looking for signs of madness. But I saw none. Not only was he sincere, but he discussed all this with a sober tone. If a bit passionate.

  “So, what is it you actually want? To destroy the world?”

  “Oh, Darkness forbid, no! That would be insane. A waste of power. Decay is natural, but so is everything else. One needs life for there to be death. And I thrive on death.”

  He took a sip of his whiskey. He offered me none. Good, I wasn’t going to accept anyway.

  “No, no, no, Kat Drummond. I want to rule the world. Something all men want. At least, all men who have discovered their true nature. Men courageous enough to seek their own path.”

  He stared at me, unblinking.

  “The purpose of all man is dominance.
Some trick themselves into subservience, into cooperation. But, it’s all an illusion. Man, in his natural form, is a rabid dog, tearing at the throats of his lessers. And I will be the dog on top of the pile.”

  What a bleak, pseudo-Darwinian view of life! I could feel Treth’s nervous anger as he considered this man’s words. He despised them. And him.

  “How can you not see how that’s evil?!” I exclaimed. “You can see the problems with that way of thinking, can’t you? You said so yourself, that a god would not allow one such as you to live. So, change! Be better. Give up on this dark path.”

  “Evil?” The Necro Lord scoffed. “Evil only matters when there is a god to deem it so. There is no god to declare this dark and that light. Only humans, with arbitrary dictates. Humans who condemn murder one second, while consuming a calf the next. Humans who war while they preach peace. No…there is no morality without god. Only humans, with lies.”

  “You are wrong,” I answered, my expression dark. “Goodness is real. And it doesn’t require a god. It’s what allows humanity to survive. To thrive. And to deserve both. Goodness isn’t about doing what you’re told. It’s about doing what’s right. And what’s right isn’t up to god. It’s right because it’s right. And the hypocrisy of humanity doesn’t change that. The real Necrolord figured that out. So, should you.”

  Surprisingly, he rolled his eyes.

  “Oh, the Necrolord embraced goodness? Right before you skewered him?”

  “Her,” I corrected, finally.

  “More mind games, Miss Drummond. I’m not some insecure misogynist who is going to rage at you declaring my master a female, but there’re far better tricks you could pull.”

  “And I’m not going to toy with you about this. There’s no reason to hide the truth from you. Not like the Council or HCPD would listen to you. What I’m saying is the truth. Candace Evergreen is female, was the Necrolord, and is still alive.”

  “Candace?” he raised an eyebrow so high it almost disappeared under his cowl.