Number of the Beast (Paladin Cycle, Book One) (4 page)

Nervously, Amy crept
closer to the largest acacia tree along the edge of the forest. The
shadow of the bushy branches swept over a large portion of the yard
where it grew. In all the many years she’d lived in the trailer
she’d kept a self-made promise to never go beyond that tree after
the sun had set. With caution foremost in her mind, she reached out
slowly to touch the tree, believing that if she acted too
recklessly the forest would swallow her soul. Not even Freya dared
to get too close to the tree. Beyond the ancient acacia were swarms
of parched brown vines that skirted the other trees. The forest
grew thorny bushes to serve as a more threatening defense for those
who boldly passed the large acacia.

Realizing that she heard
no crickets, insects or even a single hooting owl or distant coyote
caused more anxiety to coil inside her stomach. For years, she’d
heard the creepy tales about the Sacred Oaks forest that happened
to thrive right next to where she lived, and now she might actually
get to experience the spookiness in real time all by
herself.

Behind her ribcage, her heart hammered
a mile a minute. When she stepped forward her legs became the
consistency of swamp goo. But she forced herself into the woods
because Shane would wring her neck if she didn’t fetch
Alamo.

Branches and long grass scratched her
bare arms and legs as she shambled into the accursed
woods.

Isaac, in his nude human
state, sloshed from the murky pond onto the marshy bank. The
Narkush stone embedded in his chest flickered from its usual
vibrant crimson to a pale gray. It obviously did not liken to the
polluted atmosphere.

A black cloud of gnats and
mosquitoes, along with a canine greeted him. Isaac knelt on one
knee, sinking several inches into the mushy ground. A square piece
of metal hung from the animal’s neck. It read: Alamo 204-6701. He
gently removed the collar and tossed it into the water.

You are
freed. Take leave of me.
He silently spoke
to the canine, using their native tongue, but the small beast only
cocked its head, ears perked, as if it hadn’t understood his
command.

Had this creature forgotten the native
tongue of Beast?

Bearing his own teeth, Isaac growled.
From the tops of trees, roosting birds squawked and took
flight.

The pitiful creature
whimpered, tucked his tail and scampered back into the woods from
whence he had come. Such a deplorable sight to behold. If by chance
Isaac should cross paths with the mortal who had enslaved the
animal, he would revel in the pleasure of returning the
sentiment.

He shrugged the swamp
vegetation from his shoulders and black hair. More gray-green algae
clung to his genitals. He picked the herbage from his person and
flung it aside. “I despise this ill-begotten land
already.”

Anxious to complete his Mother’s
bidding and return to his home realm, he fell on all fours and
morphed into Geminus, a lean, jet-black panther. Launching into a
sprint, he arrowed through the thick forest. At the edge of the
woods, Isaac unfurled his razor-edged crescent wings, wings that
rivaled the span of an Eldritch gargoyle. With one final cursory
glance at the enslaved canine, he soared toward the horizon well
above the forest canopy.

Roaring, he announced his arrival to
the creatures of this kingdom called Texas.

For seventeen years Atticus had been
raised and trained in the compound of the Order of Abel—just one of
the many sacred and hidden cloisters of modern day knights known as
Paladins. Descendants of the ancient warriors who'd slew the evils
of the world since the fall of Sodom.

Atticus and his prophetic
brother, Rourn, birthed on the same day under the Geminus sign and
on a night where the Sun, Mercury and Earth line up in a supposed
rare cosmic occurrence. They were the Twin warriors prophesied to
be the only beings capable of defeating a supernatural Beast from
beyond the extra-dimensional stars, prophesied to come within
Atticus’ and Rourn’s mortal lifetime.

For an ancient Order of
modern day knights purporting to be the protectors of the modern
world, the Elders and High Templars liked too much to trust in the
ravings of divine seers long dead and buried in forgotten
catacombs.

So until
that unlikely star-born Beast appeared on Earth, Atticus was going
to seize any opportunity he could find to enjoy the beauties life
had to offer. And at seventeen, raised in a cloister of strict
discipline where every day's motto was
See
no evil. Hear no evil. Do no evil
, he
still could not curb hormonal desires.

And Venora was the most desirable girl
he’d ever met.

He entered the barn but the ruckus he
heard earlier had already ceased. Silence prevailed save for the
occasional neighing of a fidgety mare. He tapped on the stall doors
as he passed.

When he reached the
weathered wooden ladder extending into the loft, he announced, “I'm
coming for you, Nora.”

Slowly, he climbed.

Nothing but stacks of
golden hay, five bales high, two dozen across. Cobwebs clung to the
rafters. Strands of old straw and poofs of gray dust balls were
caught in the webs. A small leather-bound journal lay on a solitary
bale of hay closest to the loft's window.

Many Paladins, men and women, kept
journals as it was encouraged by the Elders. Once upon a time
Atticus had kept one, but he’d lost interest long ago. Writing
about emotions and his intellectual interests gave him no
thrill.

But Venora gave him a thrill. He crept
toward the journal. Curiosity stirred like mystic spices inside a
gypsy's brew.

He couldn't read Nora's journal. Or
could he?

His hand reached out.

A yell echoed from behind. He
spun.

Venora swung from a rope. Her slender
legs wrapped around his waist like double serpents. As she released
the rope, he attempted to escape her grapple. A dainty foot hooked
his left knee. He fell forward as she scurried away.

Venora, a self-taught
assassin, never missed an opportunity to prove herself worthy of
such a title. Standing a few feet away, her stance wide, she
brushed her hands together, as if finishing a lengthy chore. “A
Twin is defeated. Defeated by a maiden no less.”

Atticus sprung to his feet. He lunged
for her. She flipped backwards, landing on the top of a haystack.
From between the bails she recovered a wooden training
sword.

Feisty she-devil! Atticus had no fear
of a girl, sword or no sword.

Placing the sword between her teeth,
Venora leapt to the rafter boards and, like a monkey,
hand-over-hand scaled over him before dropping herself in front of
the loft window directly behind him. The sword immediately returned
to her hand. Atticus no longer saw a playful young maiden, but a
fatalistic predator. Venora knew what he was seeing because she
licked her lips before hurling her sword.

Atticus ducked. The sword sped
overhead.

“
I have you now,” he
said.

Venora smirked.

A small force tapped his spine.
Atticus whirled to witness the wooden sword floating in mid-air,
wavering like a taunting finger, before it fell to the hay-strewn
floor.

Venora wasn’t just a self-trained
assassin. She possessed a spark of the arcane. Indeed, one day
she’d make a formidable foe. And perhaps an even more formidable
wife for some unfortunate man.

She sat onto the haystack,
her legs draped over the side, heels kicking at the dried needles.
“I want to leave the compound.”

Atticus climbed and sat
beside her. His gaze moved over her smooth, tan skin where only
strips of crisscrossed leather covered her breasts and nether
regions.

“
I’m sure many of us do,”
Atticus said.

“
I want to someday be a
member of the Circle of the Ark so that I can see the sea. Instead
of miles and miles of desert sand there will be miles and miles of
refreshing water...out on the exotic briny like the dashing pirates
of yore!”

Smiling, he gave a quick
peck to her sweaty cheek. “Perhaps you will get the chance someday.
But isn’t piracy a sinful thing?”

“
Only if you’re a bad
pirate,” she said. “I’ll be the Robin Hood of the seven
seas.”

“
Then perhaps that would
be all right,” Atticus said.

Venora sprawled on her
back across the hay and stared dreamily up at the dark wooden
rafters. Beads of sweat full of temptation rolled away from her
bare shoulder and arms. “The Order of Grey Griffins in Romania
train women Paladins to be lethal assassins. Their women wear the
shadows like second skins; they can strike a man dead in a flash of
smoke without ever being detected.”

“
There
are duties for you here. Things you could be doing now to better
serve
our
Order.”

“
I do not have any desire
to be a wet nurse or a pastry chef. I have abilities like you and
Rourn. Someday, soon I hope, to be valued by the Paladins for more
than my aptness at working dough.” She squirmed a bit and turned
toward him. “And aren’t you one to speak about better serving the
Order. Shouldn’t you be spending every waking moment training for
the arrival of the Beast?”

Atticus chuckled. “You and
I both know that the prophecy is only lore.”

“
I don’t know any such
thing,” Venora replied. “What if it shall come to be and you are
not prepared?”

Atticus turned to his
side, their faces breaths apart. “It is not as though it will
happen anytime soon. And even if it did occur, I am prepared as
adequately as Rourn to deal with the foul little Beast.”

“
I pray to God that you
know yourself as well as you believe so. And believe me when I say
that the Order of Abel oppresses my desires. One day soon, Atticus,
I will break the cage and soar away from here. Soar far, far away.”
She spread her arms like a valiant hawk.

An ache twisted in
Atticus’ gut. The compound without Nora? “But I intend to come to
you one night and wisp you to the chapel where I will make you my
wife. We’ll get drunk on brandy and make love beneath the desert
sky.” Winking, he elbowed her. “You will give your maidenhood to
that of a mighty, powerful and deadly Twin warrior.” Atticus jumped
to his feet. He struck a pose, flexing his arm muscles.

Venora laughed, the sound
bringing a smile to his face and a twitch to his erect manhood. He
sat back down. “You will be revered as royalty. Will you stay
then?”

Venora scowled. “Has the
Order stopped teaching the art of chivalry? You’re a barbaric man,
Atticus.” She got to her feet, stretching her arms above her. “But
alas, I cannot promise you my hand in marriage since I aim to leave
soon.”

Venora’s dreams sometimes
frightened him. She could not accept her lot as a woman who was
expected to do womanly tasks. She needed a warrior like him to tame
that wild spirit and seal her wicked tongue with a righteous
kiss.

“
Your dreams reach farther
than the coyote’s howl,” he said. “But someday I know you will
desire my husbandry.”

The smile she cast was
forced. “In my heart of hearts I know that someday you shall come
to understand my dreams.”

Atticus stood and headed
for the ladder. “I have to return to my post.”

Venora stepped toward him.
Her lips formed into that trademark smirk that could charm a
vulture into eating figs. “If you don’t believe the Beast will show
itself then come with me when I leave.” She wrapped her arms around
him. Her naked lips touched his.

Was Elder Cai’s brandy
this sweet and intoxicating?

He firmly pushed her to
arm’s length. “Calm yourself, Nora. We cannot allow our carnal
wants to cloud our judgments. We must continue to court as we are
now, until I turn of proper age to wed you in holy
matrimony.”

Though he spoke the words
like a true gentleman who had mastered the elusive art of chivalry,
he secretly wanted nothing more than to bed her right there in the
haystack. To see the light of dusk bathe over her naked flesh would
have been sheer bliss.

Venora turned and fetched
her training sword from the straw-covered wooden floor. “I do not
belong here. This world needs me somewhere else that is not New
Mexico—that is not the Order of Abel.”

The explicit sorrow in her
tone brought a shiver to Atticus. “Venora, please.” He crossed the
loft and reached for her bare shoulder. But she darted away and
with one swift motion leaped through the aperture.

“
Blasted maiden!” One of
these days she would be his undoing.

A bright light spiraled
from somewhere deeper inside the forest and in the direction that
Alamo had run. Just past the Hangman’s tree, named for its thick
horizontal branch, Amy paused to catch her breath. Dizziness
blurred her vision. A violent pain skewed her gut forcing her to
clutch her stomach. Hot vomit seared her throat as she puked on a
wad of tangled roots and vines. With her forearm, she wiped
remnants of the puke from her mouth. Heat flashed through her body.
What the heck was wrong with her?