Nightfall (Pact Arcanum Integrated Serial Edition) (10 page)

Take railed silently against the spell that held him against the wall. “No,” he said, his voice choked with denial. “It can’t be. Sentinels are immune!”

Rory shrugged. “Apparently, all it takes is a properly prepared vessel and a sacrifice of power. Sounds fairly simple, although I’m sure it’ll take me a while to process all of his memories and figure out the details.”

Take stopped struggling momentarily. “Memories? What are you talking about?”

“All that he was is now part of me,” Rory said. “And I think I’ll go by the name Sean. Out with the old and in with the new, after all. I never did really give my first name a fair shake.”

Running footsteps sounded behind him, and Rory retracted his fangs, letting his eyes fade back to green before he faced Anaba. Easily removing Jiao-long’s block on their link, he decoded the threads of his triad sister’s thoughts with the ease of long practice.

“Rory,” thought Anaba, “are you all right? I cleared the rest of the fortress. They’re all gone except for Jiao-long.”

Take screamed in their minds.
“Ana, it’s not Rory!”

Immediately, Rory leapt over the altar, dodging Ana’s bolt of white-hot light, which shot through the space where he had stood. He dodged her attacks easily, drawing on his Gift to teleport around the room. Ana whirled furiously, hurling fire and lightning in his wake. She sacrificed complexity for speed as she drew on the simple spells she had charmed into her staff. All too quickly, the well of magic she had deposited in the staff was depleted, leaving Ana with only her internal power reserves. She dropped the staff and continued to cast, working the spellforms with both hands, but it was slower—too slow—and each spell drained her. Rory laughed as she tired, easily staying one step ahead of her and buoyed by the well of power he had absorbed from Jiao-long.

It couldn’t last. Finally, she found nothing left when she reached for more power. Rory, his fangs out and visible, just grinned at her. He jumped to within arm’s length and closed his hands around her throat. With a smirk at Take, he casually snapped Ana’s neck before dropping her body in a heap. Then he devoted his attention to the other member of his triad and drew back the spell of imprisonment he had cast.

Take fell to the floor, landing lightly on the balls of his feet, and immediately moved toward Rory in a fighting stance. The vampire casually watched him approach then extended his hand; a bar of incandescent light appeared within it, forming the straight cutlass he had always favored.

His voice was quiet as he spoke. “Come and get me.”

CHAPTER 11

Take focused his power, concentrating it into physical form. A katana manifested in his hand, molded out of pure fire. He felt his vision blur as he blinked back tears. “Rory,” he whispered in a broken voice, “I can’t let you go. You know that, don’t you?”

Rory shrugged. “You can’t stop me, Take.” He grinned, flashing his fangs. “All you can do is die.” He waved his sword at Anaba’s body. “Just like her.”

Take swallowed thickly. “She was your friend, your sister. All these years together and you killed her like she was nothing.”

Rory frowned at Anaba’s body on the floor. Her eyes were open, staring. “Technically, she’s just paralyzed, not dead. I’ll have to finish her off once I’m done with you.”

Take’s expression hardened. “You won’t get the chance.” He blurred into motion, tapping his Gift to quicken his movements. As fast as he was, Rory’s cutlass turned his blade in a shower of sparks. They struck at each other, their swords creating a filigree of light between them, their steps moving in an ancient dance. The seconds stretched into minutes, with neither gaining an advantage until Take finally broke away and stepped back from combat. “Fight, damn you!” he screamed.

Rory raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Isn’t that what we were doing?”

“All you’re doing is blocking my attacks, not pressing your own.” Take sneered. “You’re just playing with me.”

Rory sighed. “Are you in such a hurry to die? We’ve been sparring partners for years. I know all of your moves, everything about your fighting style, and now I’m fast enough to counter any strike you can make.” He let the tip of his blade dip toward the floor. “You can’t beat me, and you know it.”

“So kill me and be done with it.”

Rory stared at him. “I don’t want to.” His tone became pleading. “Take, I have Jiao-long’s knowledge of the ritual to turn a Sentinel. Come with me. We could spend eternity together, you and I.”

Take shook his head. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I won’t become what you are.” He lowered his sword, the blade shimmering in his hand and fading from sight.

Rory’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

“I won’t fight you, Rory.” His eyes never left Rory’s. “If you’re going to kill me, go ahead. Nothing’s stopping you.”

Rory growled, pointing his sword at the door. “Get out.”

Take didn’t move. “No.”

“I’m giving you your life; take it.”

“Why? So I can live in the world you’re going to create in your own image? Knowing that all the people you’re going to kill will die for one reason only—because I wasn’t strong enough to stop you?” He laughed harshly. “I would rather die now.”

The blade faded from Rory’s hand. “Don’t make me do this, Takeshi.”

Take turned his back. “Just do me a favor, Rory.” He put his hands in his pockets and fixed his attention on the wall in front of him. “Don’t try to bring me back. Because if you do, I won’t stay with you: I’ll step into the sunrise the first chance I get.”

Rory wrapped his arms tenderly around Take’s chest. He rested his head on Take’s right shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Take closed his eyes. “Goodbye.”

Rory tightened his right arm around Take’s arms and chest, reaching up with his left hand to turn the Sentinel’s head to the side and expose the line of his neck. “Goodbye,” he whispered. Then he buried his fangs in the pulsing jugular vein. Take gasped at the sharp pain, struggling despite himself, but Rory pinned his arms and fed as Take’s movements grew more feeble.

The moment the taste of Take’s blood wet his tongue, Rory felt the blood magic open between them. Images from his victim’s mind unfurled in his awareness—memories of their shared life, Take’s dreams of their future together, all now crumbled to ashes. Takeshi’s soul was laid bare before him, and Rory was set adrift in his love. Then, all too quickly, it was over. The vampire heard Take’s heart stutter to a stop, and the window into his mind closed forever.

Rory drew his mouth away from Take’s neck and eased his friend’s lifeless body to the floor, never relaxing his grip. Tears of blood streamed from his eyes as he sat on the cold stone with Take’s head in his lap. He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at Take’s features while the warmth of the Sentinel’s body faded. He stroked the dark hair back from Take’s forehead, feeling a great void open within himself—grief and loss warring with his destructive nature. Finally, Rory slid out from under Take and stood, staring at his two teammates in turn. Ana’s labored heartbeat slowed to a crawl and finally stopped.

He screamed, his voice echoing beyond the registers of human hearing, and his power blazed outward, shaking the walls of the underground chamber. Ropes of pure magic burned from his aura to lick at the walls, leaving scarred stone and black ash in their wake.

“Are you watching, up there?” he wailed. “Is this your will, that the just and the decent fall before me? Am I your vengeance on the world?” The storm of magic faded, and he fell to his knees, weeping blood into his hands. “Let this cup pass from me, Lord,” he whispered in a broken voice. “Let it pass. If this is your will, then I am not strong enough to bear it.”

He lifted his face from his hands, staring fixedly at nothing, shoulders slumped in despair, and he waited. But there was no answer. No wrath from the heavens, no vengeance for his crimes, no sign to mark his own damnation. Rory let his gaze drop, defeated. Then he noticed his glowing silver cross lying on the floor where Jiao-long had discarded it.

Reaching out, Rory pulled his old necklace to him by the chain, careful not to touch the consecrated silver. He stared at it for a long moment. Then, in one quick movement, he let the cross slide from its chain and into his upturned palm. A stabbing pain gripped him as it landed on his skin. He clamped his hands together, holding the glowing cross between his palms, which blackened and blistered with the holy object’s rejection of what he was. Then he lifted his clasped hands in prayer. “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

Blue fire burst from his hands, but he hung on, continuing to pray with his eyes closed against the pain. The blessed flames raced up his arms and ignited his flesh, consuming it with righteous wrath. As he approached the end of the prayer, his body was fully ablaze. Rory felt final death reach out to claim him at lightning speed.

Then he was filled with a sense of peace and blinked in confusion as the pain evaporated. The room seemed unchanged, apart from a curious remoteness, as if he were watching the scene from a distance. Rory stood and inspected his hands. The skin was unmarked and whole.

He turned around in bewilderment and found himself looking at the blackened corpse of a man locked in a rictus of prayer and encased in blue flames. Glancing down again, he realized the flagstones were visible through the palms of his hands. He turned back to the burning man in wonder, noticing that the flames were stationary, frozen, as if caught in amber.

The room was suddenly suffused with pure white light, and a voice came from everywhere and nowhere, echoing across all registers of sound simultaneously. “Ask and ye shall receive.”

CHAPTER 12

Rory tried to find the source of the voice but failed. “Am I dead?” he asked, his voice faltering.

“No.”

Turning, he looked around the light-filled room. “I don’t understand.”

“You are experiencing an akashic event at the cusp between the second life and final death. Your soul has migrated outside of time, but you remain tethered to your body by the spell Jiao-long used to create you.”

“Vampires don’t have souls.”

“They do not. But you are not a common vampire.”

Rory’s eyes widened. “What does that mean?”

“You are one of the Firstborn, the only such to be created since the First Age. You did not enter the first death on your road to the second life. Your soul remains bound to your body. However, Jiao-long’s knowledge of the Pact Arcanum was incomplete. He did not understand the nature of Sentinel magic.”

“Pact Arcanum?”

“A bargain struck between a human magus and an agent of the higher or lower powers. Such bargains with the Red Wind created the Firstborn, who in turn created the creatures you know as vampires, using powers they purchased from the lower planes. A separate bargain with the White Wind created the Sentinel Gift, forging an army of soldiers to combat the darkness, rising to wakefulness only when confronted with a vampire agent of the Red Wind.

“You held the power of the Gift, which bound your fealty to the White Wind. Jiao-long attempted to turn you by opening your spirit to the Red Wind, using the power of the Pact Arcanum. But your fealty to the White Wind is not so easily displaced. It is bound to your soul, even though your body is now animated by the spirit of the Red Wind. You are unique, Sean Rory Brennigan Magister Jiao-long—a child of two allegiances.”

Rory frowned. “I’m no Magister.”

“You were not created in the most common manner, having retained your soul, but you remain the only surviving scion of House Jiao-long; therefore, you have inherited the position of Magister Jiao-long with your Master’s death.”

“I still have my soul.” He hesitated. “Are you saying it was my choice to kill my friends and wasn’t forced on me by the Red Wind?”

“The Red Wind will continue to influence your perceptions and choices, Sean Magister Jiao-long, but you are the arbiter of your own destiny as long as your soul remains with you. You are not bound to good or evil. Your free will remains intact.”

Rory focused on Take’s body, lying next to his own. “My choice,” he whispered to himself.

“As it was your choice to remove yourself from the field of play.”

Rory was silent for a time. “So, I’m having a near-death experience,” he said at last. “What happens next? You said my soul was tethered to my body. Does that mean I’m trapped here? Caught at the moment of my death forever?”

“No. The path before you will depend on the choice you make.”

Rory looked up in suspicion. “What choice?”

“Ask and ye shall receive.”

“You said that before. What exactly does that mean?”

“Jiao-long made you a vessel of his power and invoked the Pact Arcanum, but he was destroyed before he could bind your soul to his bidding. You are therefore free to bargain on your own behalf.”

“Wait, I don’t understand. Bargain for what?”

“The Pact Arcanum has been invoked. You owe first allegiance to the White Wind, so your soul has traveled to seek out an agent of the higher planes and to bargain for power, according to the terms of the ritual. The Gates of Morning have opened to hear your petition. Ask and ye shall receive.”

Rory stood thunderstruck. “An agent of the higher planes? Is that what you are?”

“Yes.”

“An angel?”

“The word does not encompass even the smallest part of what I am, but in such terms as you are capable of comprehending, that is correct.”

The peace that had filled him evaporated in the face of a rising terror. “What can I ask for?”

“The limitations of your petition are governed only by the terms you set and by your willingness to pay the price required.”

“What if I choose not to ask for anything or I don’t want to pay the price?”

“Then the Gates of Morning will close, and your allegiance to the Red Wind will come into play. The Gates of Midnight will open, and your soul will seek out an agent of the lower planes to hear your petition.”

The terror was fully formed now. “So if I don’t ask you for anything, then a demon will come for me?”