The Dark Path (17 page)

“No it’s not figurative,” interrupted Vain. “That’s Bennael and his sword is very real.”

“Bennael?” asked the priest quizzically. “But that makes no sense. The Bible clearly states–”

“Once again, Bible-babble. Keep talking.”

“You know, you’re very rude.” Father Armadeuso paused, his face glowing red.

“So I’ve been told. It didn’t matter then and it’s not going to matter now. So tell me about the other two. Just remember that my usual method for extracting information is nowhere near so pleasant as this, though it is far more productive,” Vain crooned softly.

The priest swallowed heavily and continued his explanation. “The third rider is called Torresh. Famine. He may have powers that can drain the life from his opponents, I don’t know.”

“And the fourth is Death,” finished Vain.

“Why yes, how did you know that?” asked Father Armadeuso, surprised.

“Because he introduced himself to me in the library.”

“Ah yes, Sekiel. The most dangerous of The Four. He is second only to Empeth with regards to power. Priest believed there might even have been some animosity between the two when Sordarrah chose Empeth to lead the battle for the realm of Earth. But if what you have said is true, Empeth’s powers are now much stronger than Sekiel could ever hope to be in this world.”

“How did Gustav fight them?” asked Vain. “I used all my strength and I felt like a kitten attacking a lion.”

“Gustav was a mighty fighter, much like yourself. He once served as a soldier for the Nazi cause, but was, shall we say
recruited
, to save the Avun-Riah. Alas, even he couldn’t face The Four and win. He managed to kill two of them, Sekiel and Bennael, but ultimately found himself overpowered by Antarsh and Torresh.”

“How did he kill them?” asked Vain. “I read all of your books and found none of this.”

“Priest told me. How he knew I can’t say. Apparently Gustav had a weapon of great power and an amulet of the same material. Unfortunately, it seems they have disappeared from the face of the Earth. Extensive searches have been conducted for both artifacts and nothing has ever been discovered.”

“Somebody must know something,” murmured Vain.

“Well... there existed a Buddhist priest who claimed to know.” Father Armadeuso hesitated, “but his theories were discarded as impossible. I myself don’t know what they were.”

“Where is he?” asked Vain urgently.

“I believe he is in China, at a temple high in the mountains outside of Beijing. However no one has seen him for almost fifteen years.”

“Then I must find him,” Vain concluded simply. He rose from the bed and without farewell, moved from the room and disappeared into the night.

Vain’s flight left the following morning, which gave him barely enough time to smuggle his weapons on board. He didn’t fancy his chances of finding a place in Beijing that would sell him guns and even if he did, he couldn’t speak Chinese.

Well, not that he knew of anyway.

This time he hired a private jet that flew him straight to Beijing where he went under the guise of a rich photographer named Jackson Phillips. He had used this alias before and it worked surprisingly well. A photographer could have special gear that was only checked by customs officers and could avoid being scanned with x-rays. Combined with this, he had actually chartered the plane. Most bags were screened prior to takeoff to determine if the carrier had any weapons or explosives that could be used to hijack the plane.

What point is there in hijacking a plane that is exclusively yours?

Thus he smuggled his weapons on board without too much hassle. Customs agencies on both ends of the trip hesitated questioning people from the media too much, in case it came back to haunt them by way of a scandalous story. Usually Vain whisked through without any problems.

With only a cursory examination of his bags, the assassin was waved through to his flight. Organizing the plane on such short notice had cost him a fortune, but he hadn’t argued the price any more than necessary to make it believable for the charter company. Money wasn’t a problem, but if he agreed too readily they might become curious and ask questions for which he had no answers.

Once in the air, Vain pulled a laptop from one of his bags and connected himself to the Internet. He spent most of the flight on the computer scanning for any information about the temple Father Armadeuso had spoken of. After several hours he found an obscure blog detailing a temple in the hills of Beijing that preached of Armageddon and the events that would surround it.

Vain felt hesitant at first. Seemingly every religion had its own beliefs regarding Armageddon. What changed his mind was a mention of The Four. No other Buddhist community had incorporated Christian doctrines into their own belief system. Referring to them as The Four Demon Souls, their theology spoke of The Four walking the Earth, leaving plague and fire in their wake.

Vain had seen first-hand that not all of it was merely dogma and continued probing through the site for details of the temple’s whereabouts. His persistence rewarded him when he found a recounting of the author’s journey and quickly committed the directions to memory. The trip wouldn’t be easy, but he would find a way.

Somehow.

* * * *

Vain’s arrival at Beijing airport went surprisingly smoothly and once he had cleared customs he began to make enquiries as to the location of
Paijin
temple. It appeared his journey would be harder than even he had envisioned, because nobody seemed to have heard of the place. Or perhaps they were unwilling to talk to a strange-looking westerner dressed completely in black. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Vain organized a bus trip into the hills where his research had indicated the temple would be hidden.

Hours later, the Dark Man was still being shaken and rattled crossing the high hills above Beijing in the rickety old bus. Time strung out and it seemed like they were traveling to halfway between Beijing and Tibet.

Hills
were rather an understatement also, more like cliffs or mountain peaks. The old bus shuddered again, and Vain thought it certainly the last time, that the old beast would finally give up and collapse into a pile of rusted dust around them. Somehow it kept juddering along though, crawling at ten miles an hour up the craggy mountainside.

Examining the other passengers, Vain understood why he had been stared at so strangely when he had paid the driver, and nodded abstractly at whatever the odd little man behind the wheel chattered to him in Mandarin. The bus was crammed with villagers carrying everything from garden tools to livestock; one wizened old lady even sat with a goat beside her.

And in the midst of them all sat the Dark Man.

Never before had Vain felt so exposed, but at the same time he had never known such complacency about that exposure. The people around him were of no threat, and if his enemies were following, they would be having at least as hard a time. Dozing off to sleep, for once he had no compunction to stop himself. It had been ages since he had last slept and he knew he would need all of his energy for what lay ahead, whatever that might be.

* * * *

“Why do you do this?” seethed the venomous voice. “Why do you go against your nature for a boy who means nothing to you? Give up this ridiculous crusade while you still can, fool.”

“Who are you?” asked Vain, gazing out into the gloom.

Ignoring the question, the voice continued. “If you carry on with this foolishness you will certainly die, and what for? A little snot-nose who whines constantly and causes you to doubt yourself. Let them have him, go back to what you were and be content.”

“My reasons are my own, coward,” growled Vain, “I don’t need to explain myself to someone who is too scared to even face me. Come out of the mists and let me see your face before you die.”

“You cannot kill me, Dark Man,” breathed the icy voice.

“Why not come and find out?” asked Vain coolly, trying to mask his own feelings of unease. He did not know how he had come to this place. A thick, dirty mist seemed to cling to him and suck at his energy. The voice sounded familiar, like something remembered from another lifetime, but he couldn’t quite place it. It mocked him from the mist, at once distant and close, as though the speaker were standing right behind him. He reached for his weapons and found himself naked and unarmed.

“I will come out, assassin, if you tell me why you want to help this boy.”

Vain thought absently and found he had no answer. He did not know why he tried to help the boy, Sebastian. He could have said he did it to avenge the memory of Angelique and his wife–Martin’s wife!–but that would have been a lie. Even though the memories of Martin Roberts’s life were painful to Vain, they were not completely his own and he could distance himself from them if he needed to.

“Is it because you want to redeem yourself?” spat the voice. “Do you think you can save your soul if you rescue the child?”

“I don’t know,” whispered Vain and wondered at the truth of the words. Perhaps that was his reason. Did he think he could redeem himself by saving Sebastian? He couldn’t think; the mist sucked at his concentration and clouded his mind, making his head feel full of cotton.

“Fool!” screeched the voice. “I have let you continue on this ridiculous crusade long enough, it’s time to stop!”

Out of the gloom, a shadow moved rapidly towards Vain and he fell into a protective stance. Cloaked in ebony, Vain saw the figure’s piercing eyes first. Venomous reptilian orbs sliced straight through his defenses and pierced his soul. Soon, the figure’s features became visible, and Vain howled in anguish.

The figure was him, but a horrible parody of his image. Covered from head to toe in bloody pustules that broke and spewed froth and excrement, the Vain-creature roared its rage, baring row upon row of gangrenous fangs that oozed a sizzling green substance from their gums. The creature’s hair wriggled with a mass of squirming black maggots that all seemed to reach towards the assassin.

Hungering for his soul.

“You would forgo this beauty for a foolish child!” screamed the Vain-creature. “I have helped you all these long years when no other would. I have dodged the knives and bullets that would surely have killed you if you had been alone and this is the thanks I get! You turn aside from me at the first chance for redemption. Without me you are nothing, and I will help you no longer if you continue along this path.”

“You are not me,” snapped Vain, anger helping him to regain his composure. “I walk my own path and I need no help from a walking pool of vomit. My path is a dark one granted, but it is mine alone. Leave me be you diseased maggot before I kill you off once and for all!”

The creature screamed in anguish and charged at the naked assassin. Vain readied for the inevitable and felt himself grabbed and viciously hauled closer to the beast, its fangs only inches from his throat. The assassin sensed his energy fleeing him and let out a final cry of frustration
....

* * * *

Vain wrenched himself from the dream, the scream still lingering in his throat, and the entire bus staring at him. A concerned-looking young Chinese boy stood over him with a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him awake. Vain shrugged himself free from the boy’s grasp, and glared up at him angrily. The boy quickly scuttled off the bus and away from the Dark Man’s wrath.