Dark Strike, page 7
“It’s nice to meet you, Cynthia,” said Father Thomas, his voice controlled, though his shoulders were tight with tension. “Can you tell me what you were doing in the necromancer temple tonight?”
“I was offering myself to Death,” said Cynthia, her voice calm and collected like she was commenting on Father Thomas’s pretty furnishings.
But the fact she had offered herself freely as a sacrifice wasn’t what had my blood pressure rising. The way she referred to death, as though death was a thing or a person, was very disturbing.
The priest edged forward. “Why? Why would you do that, Cynthia? Every life is precious. Every life has a purpose.”
Cynthia blinked. “My life has a purpose. To offer it to Death. It’s why I was born.”
Yikes. I shared a sidelong glance with Gareth. His quizzical brow told me he was just as in the dark as I was.
Father Thomas took a deep breath. “Can you tell me what would have happened if you had offered your life tonight?”
Cynthia took a few slow blinks. “Let it stop the flow of life into death. To commence the flow of death. Let The Passage begin,” she said in a monotone voice. “Let it commence in the flow of the river, of life and death. Blood will be spilled. Death will be eternal, and balance will be restored. So shall it be.”
“Again with the crazy talk,” muttered Tyrius. “She’s missing some seriously big screws in that seriously empty head.”
The priest studied her face, and I could tell he felt sorry for her.
I leaned closer. “Ask her what ‘The Passage’ means.”
“Cynthia,” said Father Thomas, “can you tell me about this passage? What is it exactly? What does it mean?”
Cynthia stared blankly at the priest. “I’m not supposed to tell.”
The priest looked up at Gareth. “Is your dust still working?”
“Yes.” Gareth bent over and took a closer look at Cynthia. “I gave her a large dose. She should be very willing to answer your questions. It could be just a repressed emotion. Or that they’ve put a blockage on that part of her. But that’s really hard to do.”
“Ask her again,” I urged, hoping a little more encouragement would loosen her tongue. We hadn’t fought a herd of decomposing corpses for nothing.
The priest turned and faced the woman. “Cynthia. I’m your friend. Friends tell each other everything. Don’t they?” he said with a huge, sincere smile. He reached out and grabbed her hands in his. “I’m your friend, Cynthia. And you are my friend. So, you see… you can tell me.”
Nice. Looked like the priest had had some practice with this before.
“Yes,” said Cynthia. “You are my friend.”
I nearly let out a laugh when I caught Layla staring at the priest as though she’d never seen him before.
Father Thomas hesitated. “That’s great, Cynthia. You’re doing great. Now. Tell me about The Passage. What does it mean?”
Cynthia’s lips parted and she said, “The Passage will begin when all life ceases to exist. Life will pass into death. Then there will be balance.”
I shook my head. “I still don’t get it.”
“Me neither.” Tyrius stretched on the desk. “I’m hungry. You got anything to eat in this joint?” Tyrius opened his mouth again but shut it at the glare on my face.
Father Thomas looked up at me. “It must be just the journey in which all lives must pass when they die. Which is what most religions believe. The travel from life into death.”
“Hmmm. Maybe.” I wasn’t so sure. I was more inclined to think it was more ominous than that. We were talking about necromancers, a group of psycho humans that animated the flesh of the dead.
The priest turned his attention back on the woman. “Cynthia, who said you weren’t supposed to tell?”
Cynthia swallowed and said, “The High necromancer. Lord Krull.”
I frowned. Lord Krull. I’d never heard the name. But then again, I didn’t know much when it came to necromancers.
“Is he the one in charge of the other others? Is he the one who asked you to sacrifice yourself?” asked Father Thomas.
Cynthia nodded. “Yes.”
I moved to stand just above Cynthia. “Is the High necromancer the one you referred to earlier as Death?” I figured it would be easier if I asked her directly.
“No,” answered the woman, and I felt a chill roll up my spine and settle around my neck.
“Is Death a person?” I tried again. Maybe he was above this High necromancer, the one who called the shots.
Cynthia shook her head slowly with her brows wrinkled. “No.”
I looked to the priest, who was frowning, before turning back to Cynthia. “What is Death?”
Cynthia stilled and then blinked. “Death is the Master. Death is everything.”
“Great.” I rubbed my eyes with my hands. I knew something was there, either something she couldn’t tell us because she didn’t know or something she didn’t understand.
“Cynthia.” Father Thomas squeezed her hands. “Why did the necromancers kill Father Martin? Did he know something about them? A secret, perhaps?”
“I don’t know,” said the woman, and a frown creased her features.
Gareth cut me a glance, his eyebrows low and skeptical, and I gave him a shrug. I knew what he was thinking, that maybe this was a giant waste of time. Perhaps I should have listened to Layla and grabbed the necromancer instead.
“She’s not exactly helping us.” Layla rested the palms of her hands on the desk. “Maybe we should have left her there.”
Part of me agreed with her. But the other part still needed questions answered.
I knelt next to Cynthia and touched her arm, imitating the priest’s gentle manner. “Cynthia. Do you know what the necromancers want? What they want most of all?”
The woman smiled for the first time. “Yes.”
Good. We were getting somewhere.
Father Thomas snapped his attention to me and then gestured for me to continue with my line of questioning.
“That’s great, Cynthia,” I soothed, trying to smooth my features in what I hoped was a friendly look. “Can you tell me what that is? I think I’ve forgotten.” Tyrius shot me a look and I shrugged. I had to try something.
“To fulfill the prophecy,” the woman replied.
I moaned through clenched teeth. You’d think I’d be happy with that answer. But I wasn’t. Anything to do with prophecies usually resulted in lots of lost lives and one or two idiots who believed they were the “chosen ones.” The night was just getting better and better.
I licked my lips. “Cynthia. What is the prophecy?”
The woman’s hazel eyes met mine and she said, “The Death Walker will break down the wall between life and death. Then the dead shall rise.”
Awesome.
CHAPTER 10
The following morning we raided the necromancer temple. And when I say “we,” I mean, me, Tyrius, Layla, Gareth, Father Thomas, and ten of his Knights of Heaven. I hadn’t expected to find the necromancers there, and I’d told Father Thomas as much. But he was acting on the church’s orders, and they wanted to bring down these false worshipers.
Just as I had expected, the necromancers were gone. We’d spent two hours going through all the rooms and the underground tunnels Tyrius had discovered through a hidden passageway, finding only what was left of the zombies we’d obliterated, some rats and spiders, and lots and lots of flies. Gross.
The necromancers had taken all the evidence. There were no papers, no books, no ritual cups or even a single candle left. They’d wiped the place clean. Gareth was going around sprinkling his elf dust on banisters and doorknobs looking for prints. If one of these necromancers had been arrested before, he or she would be in either system—human or the angel-born. But so far his efforts had been futile. Nothing. The necromancers had been meticulous and organized. It told me this wasn’t the first time they’d left in a hurry.
The Knights of Heaven insisted on taking pictures and cataloging everything. Layla and I did the same, partly because we didn’t want to look like we weren’t helping, but we also needed to document the case file I’d opened.
“I’ve finished doing my rounds,” came Tyrius’s voice.
I looked away from the altar I’d been investigating, which was the only evidence the necromancers didn’t take with them. Probably because it weighed a few hundred pounds.
“Your rounds?” I asked.
The Siamese cat pranced towards me, tail in the air, and leaped upon the altar. “That’s right. I’ve marked every doorway, every corner, every nook and cranny of this disgusting place with my scent.”
I raised a skeptical brow. “Tyrius. Did you pee on the necromancers’ stuff?”
He beamed. “You bet I did. Twice.”
I let out a laugh, which awarded me some pretty nasty looks from a few of the priests who were investigating some of the runes and sigil markings on the ground. I had already taken pictures of those, and I’d look into them later. No need to get too close to the priests who had drawn swords on me. I wouldn’t forget that.
The cat licked his paw and proceeded to rub his face. “I don’t think the priests like us very much.”
“We have that in common,” I said, my gaze moving toward them.
Father Peter’s face was screwed up in a permanent frown whenever I was around. He stood next to Father Thomas and away from the other priests in some heated discussion, if I were to guess by the hard expression on Father Thomas’s face.
“I don’t care what they think. I care what Father Thomas thinks.” Father Thomas was my friend and ally. I’d do just about anything for him. Father Peter? Well, he could kiss my you-know-what.
“You think Cynthia will be all right?” Tyrius’s voice was pitched low. “I mean… I know she’s pretty messed up, but maybe with some counseling she could turn out okay.”
I looked at the cat and pocketed my phone. “I don’t know. She seemed pretty brainwashed. Someone with such a strong conviction without the help of drugs or magic says to me that she was indoctrinated at a very young age. Possibly her entire life. But with Father Thomas looking out for her, I’d say she has a pretty good chance of getting better.” I hoped.
Father Thomas had informed me that he and the church would look after Cynthia. He said he would give her the best treatment out there, whatever that meant. I didn’t trust the other Knights of Heaven, but I trusted Father Thomas. I knew he would do the best he could to help that poor woman—though part of me thought it was already too late for that.
The cat sat on the altar and cocked his head. “Well, at least it wasn’t a total bust. She did tell us the name of the High necromancer and this supposed prophecy they believe in. Better than nothin’.”
“True.” I sighed and looked over at Gareth, who was now sprinkling some gold dust on the ground near the cluster of priests with a strange smile on his face. He caught me staring and winked. Naughty elf. He was just doing that to get a rise out of them. I could just kiss him right now.
“Well. It’s definitely not as cold as before,” noted the cat. “Why do you think that is?”
“I think it’s a direct link to their magic.” I wasn’t positive, but it made sense. “Now that they’re gone and took most of their magical supplies, or whatever they use to conjure their Death magic, the temple’s temperature is back to normal.” I could still sense some residual magic but just barely. The necromancers were long gone.
“Where do you think they went?”
“No idea.” My gaze moved back to Father Thomas who’d darkened two shades since a few moments ago and looked like he was about to rip off Father Peter’s clerical collar. “Maybe that’s worth another chat with Cynthia. We could ask her.”
“Guys!” Layla came rushing down the steps, which she managed to make look effortless and sexy. The priests all turned her way. She glanced at them when she hit the bottom and blew them kisses and finger waves.
“What?” I asked, seeing Gareth making his way toward us.
Layla’s face was flushed when she reached me. “Outside. I found something really weird.”
“Weirder than this place?”
“Oh yeah.” Layla’s eyes tightened at the edges. “But you need to come look.”
The elf came up to us. “What is it?” He stood with his hands in his pockets, studying Layla with calm, intelligent eyes.
“There’s a trail in the woods,” said Layla. “The trees are marked with strange symbols and some have these scary amulets hanging from their branches.”
“Where does the path lead?” asked Gareth.
Layla shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t make it that far.”
“It’s a start.” I looked to Tyrius and Gareth. “Let’s check it out.”
The four of us left the temple and headed outside. I was glad for the fresh air. Anything was better than that rotten, stale air in the temple.
“Where, Layla?” I asked, making my way through the tall grass.
“Here.” Layla rushed to the first line of trees directly behind the temple. “In here. This way,” she urged, and we all filed in behind her.
As soon as we broke through the first line of trees, I saw the path. It was rough, and anyone could have missed it if they weren’t looking, but it was definitely a path. There were flat stones here and there, but it was mostly hardpacked dirt. The path took us under a long line of birch and ash trees, the branches reaching low and tugging on my hair in places. After two minutes, the path became more obvious, clearly laid out as a route and not some wildlife path.
The deeper we went, the darker it got, and it felt more like it was late in the evening instead of barely eleven a.m. The air was cooler, and I noticed I couldn’t hear any chirps from the birds or cries from angry squirrels telling us off for being in their territory. I always knew to trust animals. If they didn’t come to this part of the woods, it could only mean they were afraid of it. Evil lurked here.
I pushed some branches out of my face and kept on the bit of path I could see as Layla led us on. She’d replaced her pink and black outfit for an all-black one that was leather, though it looked painted on, like a one-piece leather jumpsuit. She had on the same stiletto boots yet hadn’t tripped once. The woman was a walking, high-heeled miracle.
The air intensified with a sudden raging, cold energy like I had sensed back at the temple. All my warning flags were sailing in a thunderstorm.
“There,” said Layla pointing at something hanging from a branch.
I moved next to her and peered closer. A stick figure hung from a thin strand of rope. The figure was made of rope and bones, really tiny bones, and contorted to make it look like a person. Its limbs were twisted and it had a knot of rope as a head with no features. Tiny runes were painted on it in brown that looked disturbingly like dried blood.
“Creepy,” I said, staring at the strange voodoo doll-like bone figurine. I didn’t peg necromancers to practice voodoo or anything similar, but then again, I still knew next to nothing about them.
Gareth brushed up against my shoulder. “Looks like voodoo magic.”
My eyes met the elf’s. “You think the necromancers are dabbling in voodoo?”
The elf shrugged. “I don’t know, but you don’t put it on display like that just for the birds.”
“If you find that creepy… you’re gonna love this.”
I turned at the level of alarm in Tyrius’s voice and jerked my gaze at what the cat was pointing to.
“Damn.” An entire section of the trees was covered in those creepy dolls, like ornaments in a nightmarish version of a decorated Christmas tree. What was worse than creepy? Sinister. There was something sinister about these ornaments. I yanked out my phone and snapped a few pictures to show Father Thomas later. He would want to know about these.
“Told you it was weird.” Layla moved to a nearby tree, her hand extended like she wanted to touch one.
My breath caught. “Don’t touch it!” I cried and grabbed her hand back. “Could be cursed or something.”
Tyrius sneezed and shook his head. “Yeah. Could turn you into a necromancer puppet.”
The thought of my sister ending up as one of those zombies had bile rising in my throat. That was never going to happen. Never.
“Maybe they’re a warning?” said the cat. “To scare the wandering mindless human away?”
“Well, whatever they are, they’re freaky. Let’s keep going.” I yanked out my soul blade and trudged forward. Now I was leading the group. If something evil was out there, I wanted to be the first thing it saw before I cut off its head.
After five minutes of lumbering through the trees and bushes on a trail that was barely there, Layla stopped and whirled around. “This is as far as I went.”
I turned on the spot, seeing only more trees and more of those creepy necromancer bone and rope dolls.
Tyrius brushed up against my leg. “Where to? You want to go back?”
“No. Let’s keep going,” I told them. “You don’t decorate a path like this if it doesn’t lead to somewhere.”
“True,” answered the cat. “Come on, y’all. Let’s follow the creepy voodoo doll road!” Tyrius padded forward like a bloodhound on a scent.
I followed the cat with Layla right behind me and Gareth taking up the back. I had no idea where we were going or what we could expect when we reached the end if there was an end. We weren’t exactly prepared for a hike in the woods either. The last thing I needed was for us to get lost.
The deeper we went, the more ominous the forest felt. It was almost like it had eyes, like it was watching us and didn’t like what it saw. Without the natural sounds of animals and insects, it was as though the forest was holding its breath in anticipation of what it was about to do next.
Light rose around us. The density of the forest thinned, and we stepped into a clearing of tall grasses.
In the middle of the clearing was a barn made of old weatherworn wood with two large hay doors at the front and no windows. It was the ideal place to hide something, far away from prying eyes. Maybe a weapon.
