Blood Skies (29 page)

Read Blood Skies Online

Authors: Steven Montano

BOOK: Blood Skies
4.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

 

Cross lay on his back for a long time, barely conscious. There was no more gun fire, no more sounds of fighting at all. He looked up into the blackened sky, which seemed impossibly vast and deep. He could have fallen up into it.
Cross rose, slowly. His body was wracked with pain. He’d been burned and badly bruised, but he was alive. He felt his spirit, soft and weak, clinging to him, but she was
there
. They were both there.
Easy
, he thought.
Easy
.
Cristena
.
He looked to where she fell, and slowly moved towards her. She’d warned them of the futility of their revenge.
After wanting so much not to come with them, not wanting to be involved…not wanting, even, to die a meaningful death, but instead to waste herself in the pits as just another anonymous gladiator in the lurid history of Dirge’s criminal sports…
She didn’t have to die. This isn’t what was supposed to happen. She was
supposed
to be here, I know it.
None of that mattered now.
Cross’ legs burned with every step. He only made it a few feet when an injured Sorn appeared from around the bend. One hand clung to a gaping wound in its chest, while the other gripped a wide-bored pistol with rotating barrels the size of pipes. The Sorn blinked its one eye, and its expressionless face regarded Cross for a moment before it took aim. Cross braced himself, knowing he was about to die.
I’m sorry.
“
Hey! Tough guy!”
The giant turned to face the voice. Graves came out of the shadows. The M203 belched out a grenade with a hollow thud. The shot took the Sorn in the chest and tore straight through its armor with a noisy explosion.
The Sorn fell backwards and fired its weapon as it died. The shot slammed into Graves and snapped his body backwards.
Cross screamed so loud his throat nearly tore.
He left the Sorn and Cristena behind him and ran as fast as his failing legs would carry him. He nearly passed out.
“
SAAAAAM!!!”
The enormous bullet had blasted off most of Graves’ face. Bits of his jawbone and ruined tongue were just visible in the bloody mess. Cross put a hand on his friend’s arm and doubled over, sick.

 

He didn’t move for a long time. If there were more Sorn there in Rhaine, he hoped they’d just find him and finish him off.

 

Later, sometime near dawn, Cross left Graves and Cristena and went and found Stone. As he’d guessed, Stone was also dead, having been cut down by Sorn gunfire. He hadn’t left without giving them the proverbial fight. No fewer than four dead Sorn were near Stone’s body, each of them torn to ribbons by mini-gun fire, small explosions or sliced open by Stone’s black-bladed kukri. It was remarkable he’d lived long enough to do such damage. Cross could only barely recognize the body.
Cross stood at the edge of the Rift and stared out across the long and rickety bridge. Thick grey fumes floated in the depths of the canyon, a rich and poison fog. Strange shadows hovered there like drowning birds. Dismal calls echoed from the depths. The walls of the Rift were jagged and impossibly tall.
Across the canyon waited a dismal wasteland of cold steam and black hills. That bridge might as well have led through to another world. No reliable data of what lay on the other side of the Carrion Rift had ever been gathered.
Some movement from behind him caught Cross’ eye. A pale spider crawled across the ground, separated, it seemed, from the destruction all around it. It scuttled off into the shadows.
The camel found him later. It had wandered through the city, carefully avoiding the flames. Now it stood nearby, waiting. It knew they weren’t done.
But I
am, Cross thought.
I’m done.
No
, she says, a voice from the edge of the glade.
Will you let it end like this? Will they die in vain?
We all do
, he replies.
Each and every one of us.
And yet…
And yet there he was.
He would not leave this unfinished. He felt hollow inside, broken, and exhausted beyond measure, but he was alive, and their mission was now his burden alone to carry.
He decided, right then and there, that he would carry it.

 

 

 

 

 

PART FIVE
SOULS

 

 

 

 

 

TWENTY
WITCH

 

 

Cross and his last remaining companion crossed the bridge, and entered a dead land.
Blue-gray fog enshrouded everything. The land on the other side of the Rift was thick black mud interrupted by occasional islands of dry earth. Deep saltwater marsh and bubbling pools of acrid slime made walking a chore, and before Cross and the camel had marched for even a few minutes they were both covered up to their knees in sludge. The air was bitterly cold and icy, and their breath hung heavy in the air.
There were spirit voices in the fog there on the other side of the Carrion Rift, more than Cross had ever heard in any one place before, but they were surprisingly passive. They moaned like lost children, confused and frightened.
The camel trudged on behind him, slow but stable. Cross spoke to the pack animal in a reassuring manner from time to time, his voice alien in the silence, but he was just happy to have someone to talk to.
“
We’re doing well,” he told it. “We’re doing just fine.”
Cross wasn’t exactly sure where they were headed. The map he’d translated put Koth’s location somewhere in the area just north of the Carrion Rift, but that was as specific as it got. They’d come to where the map had told them to go.
Now, he felt as if he were nowhere. They seemed to have reached the end of the earth.
Cross saw signs of lost civilization in the form of baskets set out on the ground at irregular intervals. The baskets had been filled with bones. Cross decided not to investigate them.
They rested often. Something about that place seemed to drain his strength, and Cross sensed the same in the camel. The squad had kept most of their supplies on the pack beast, which meant that Cross now had little need to worry about rations or fresh water. He wanted desperately to start a camp fire, but for some reason he doubted that was a wise idea.
The air was sullen and grey. Cross heard insects buzz through the air, and the occasional call of a distant bird. There was no breeze. It felt as if the world had paused, frozen.
They continued north, or so he hoped. It was difficult to tell in that endless fog, and he’d lost his compass somewhere back in Rhaine. Cross quickly lost track of time. It was difficult to measure the hours, or even the day, when the dull grey light never changed.
Trenches appeared in the landscape, deep enough and wide enough that Cross and the camel could fit down into them. Cross decided against using them at first. After a while, however, there were so many trenches it became challenging to navigate around them. The higher ground became a maze of ridiculously thin earthen paths.
Cross succumbed, and he led the camel down a gentle slope. The ground down in the trenches was even muddier than the higher ground, and soon they sloshed through ankle-deep water turned red-brown from sediment and rust.
All the while, the spirits passed around them at a distance, curious, watching. Cross kept his own spirit close, for fear she’d be drawn away by these others.
“
I’m not going to name you,” he told the camel some time later.
Cross’ body had grown bone weary. He was wet and cold, and the wrist of his left hand itched terribly inside the gauntlet. The air felt sick, and he felt constantly fatigued no matter how much or how little they rested. Still, he refused to stop for any extended period, sensing it was dangerous to do so in a place that already robbed them of so much of their strength. He was afraid to sleep in that undead land.
“
I’ve never named my spirit, either. Things that I name tend not to last very long.”
He wondered how Cristena’s spirit had endured her death. He’d heard the spirit’s pain and rage when she’d died. Cross had half expected the spirit to follow him, if it was able. For all he knew its voice was mingled with the other whispers now, just a part of the ghostly choir that drifted through the mist.
They walked on through the mud, endlessly. He knew they had to stop eventually. They’d have to sleep.
Where is he?
Cross wondered
. Where is the Old One? Where is Koth?
Where’s Red?
“
Here.”
He stopped.
They were no longer in the trenches. And it was no longer
they
, but
he
.
Cross stood alone in the fog, ankle deep in brackish water. A tall, red-headed woman stood before him, her body wrapped in a tattered black cloak and a dark riding skirt. Her eyes were large and expressive and as blue as sapphires. Her long hair hung loose, and a long braid of strands dyed coal black dangled down one side of her face. She wore leather gauntlets set with metal studs, and her feet were bound in tall black boots covered with mud. Her beautiful face bore a perfect and happy smile, like she greeted an old friend.
“
Bitch!” he shouted.
Cross didn’t hesitate. He called his spirit up to form an eldritch shield, and breathed her into a lance of ice…
Nothing happened. His spirit was gone. Again.
Oh, no…how?...
“
She’s fine,” Red said. She made a sweeping gesture, and the fog burned away. A flowing stream of water ran cold against Cross’ booted feet. Ice-laden leaves fell from the wet canopy of trees. The dark mountain loomed over them, an edifice of the past.
“
I’m dead,” Cross said aloud. Red laughed. “Or not.” He thought. “Asleep.”
“
Unconscious,” she corrected with a smile. “But I like that you immediately assumed the worst.”
“
Go to hell.”
“
Drop the tough guy act,” she said patiently. “You’re not Graves, and you’re not Stone. You’re not even Cristena.
She
had more balls than you do.”
“
What do you want?” he asked. Dream or not, his flesh felt frozen as he stood there in the icy stream. His gut churned. He knew how powerful Red was in real life. He had no idea what she was capable of there, wherever they were.
“
I wanted to meet you,” she smiled. “The best way to do it seemed to be to approach you when you couldn’t do anything foolish.”
“
So you waited until I fell asleep?”
“
I put you to sleep. It wasn’t hard. Even if you hadn’t been completely exhausted -- which you were -- the Carnivore Mists would have worn you down eventually.”
“
So what’s become of my body?”
“
We’ll get to that,” she smiled. Cross could see how men found Red attractive: she had smooth skin and a voluptuous frame, her voice was seductive and she was surrounded by an air of authority. He, personally, found her loathsome, full of false confidence and empty charm. “You know,” she said, “I may not be able to read your thoughts, but I can sense your emotions.”
“
Good for you,” Cross said. He did his best to focus his mind, to keep it clear and on the moment. “So, here we are in a dream. What now?”
“
We both know you’re not up to this.”
Cross didn’t bother hiding his emotions at that point. He called up memories of fallen Southern Claw soldiers. He thought of the wreckage and refuse, the coffins and the funeral services, the songs of sadness and pain.
“
Do you want to know how many have died because of you, ‘Red’?”
“
Is it so hard to call me by my real name?” she smiled. “Margrave Azazeth. You used to revere it, after all. I authored many of the Southern Claw’s laws. I led you through Thornn’s darkest hours.”
“
And then you betrayed us,” Cross said quietly. “All of that time you were leading us, you were setting us up to fail.”
“
You’re an idiot if you believe that,” Red said bitterly. “The Southern Claw Alliance was doomed from the start, and you know it. All of us were. Even the warlocks and the witches that everyone thought were so special, that were supposed to be humankind’s last hope in the war against the vampires, never had a chance. No one could accept the simple truth: if we keep on fighting, we’re all going to die.”
And so she’d taken their sacred codex, the Tome of Scars, the closest thing to a human artifact that they had. It stored the assembled knowledge of all that humans had accomplished in this new and dark world -- what they knew of magic, how they used thaumaturgy and science to pull life and resources from a poisoned earth that didn’t want to give them anything, how they’d cheated their own evolutionary demise and had kept civilization going long after it should have failed. It was a handbook for survival in a world turned insane.

Other books

One & Only by Kara Griffin
Thief: A Bad Boy Romance by Aubrey Irons
The Romanov Cross: A Novel by Robert Masello
Saving Grace by Bianca D'Arc
Full Circle by Irina Shapiro
In Pursuit of Garlic by Liz Primeau
Lincoln County Series 1-3 by Sarah Jae Foster