by Brian Fuller
“Thanks, Cassie,” Helo said.
“Don’t thank me. I made a mistake coming out here. No offense.”
The heaving ship didn’t do the Dreads any favors, and the journey upward was accompanied by a lot of swearing and yelling. Once at the top, rough hands dragged them onto the rail and threw them down onto the sopping wet deck.
The Dreads were dressed in cheerful-yellow rain slickers made ironic by their hateful looks and the gunmetal weaponry slung over their shoulders. Seven in all surrounded them, but an eighth approached wearing a hooded rain jacket.
Helo recognized him as Goutre, the Dread Goldbow had shot in the face during their escape from the law firm. Like Dahlia, a cloudy Vexus aura surrounded him. Maybe he had been a passenger on one of the other Dreamliners and collected the Vexus.
“You were to come alone!” Goutre said.
“I did come alone,” Helo retorted. “She was supposed to return with the boat, but your goons started shooting it up before she could leave!” It was a good lie, and Goutre seemed satisfied with it.
“No matter,” Goutre said offhandedly. He brought up an all-weather walkie-talkie. “We have him. And another. Get underway.”
The engines spooled, adding their mechanical roar to the maelstrom’s fury. The Dreads jammed weapons in their backs and marched them along the side of the deck, a rail between them and a drop to the churning lake water. Compared to the jostling of the smaller yacht, the undulations of the heavy freighter seemed like solid ground. The cargo ship stretched nearly seven hundred feet long. To their left, a white superstructure, eight stories of crew quarters and control rooms, rose into the storm. Devouring rust-reddened chips and scratches marred the metal railing and walls, anywhere weather or age had worn away the protective gray paint.
As they passed beyond the superstructure, the foredeck stretched away before them. Two white cargo cranes loomed over two yawning hatch openings in the top of the deck, leading to abyssal cargo holds. The hatch covers were open, even in the storm. From the rear-most opening emanated the Vexus that surrounded the ship, belching out like polluted exhaust from the belly of a dirty engine. Helo hoped they would turn back and take shelter in the superstructure, nature’s wrath feeling more dangerous by the minute. Goutre had something else in mind.
“Put them in the hole,” he ordered.
The Dreads prodded them on with the rifle barrels, herding them toward the rear hatch opening and the Vexus flowing from it. A cargo basket hung from the crane above it, but it didn’t lower as they reached the edge. Helo contracted his hands into fists as the torching effect of the Vexus cloud set in. Cassandra’s pace slowed, eyes rolling as if under the influence of a powerful drug. Goldbow’s betrayal was too fresh. Her wounded emotions boiled and coursed through her, her weakened mind unable to fight off the effect. Helo grabbed her arm to steady her as they sidled up to the chasm, the driving rain pooling on the deck.
“Do it!” Goutre ordered.
Rather than a push, the Dreads behind them kicked them in the knees. They crumpled and rolled over the edge, spinning out of control in a blind descent into the darkness below. Vision spinning, Helo couldn’t get his bearings. The fall felt long. He hit hard, the thud echoing in the immense chamber. His left knee cracked, and his femur broke like a thick tree branch snapping, shattered end pushing the skin of his thigh up like a tent. A dislocated left shoulder and cracked ulna added to his wrenched back. The dislocated shoulder he could fix, but he wouldn’t be running anywhere.
A shallow layer of rainwater covered the bottom of the hold, and metal shavings and grit bit into his skin. The few anemic, yellowy lights on the distant walls did little more than suggest the dimensions of the vast, Vexus-filled cargo hold, the storm’s incessant lightning providing the best view of his surroundings.
Helo rolled onto his back in the gloom, glaring up at the red silhouettes of the gloating Dreads. He waited until they left before he checked on Cassandra. She had landed flat on her back about six feet away and stayed there, eyes shut. The black Vexus aura infesting the hold embraced them like a chill graveyard mist, leeching into their minds.
He focused on the memory of Rachel’s divine light. As long as he remembered her aura, the darkness in his mind dispersed.
Cassandra wasn’t so strong. A stark flash from the branching lighting above revealed that his trainer had slipped into full incoherency, her face slack and eyes darting everywhere behind her lids as they tracked objects in a vision only she could see. Nothing on her was noticeably broken. Helo sat up, leveraging his good arm to overcome his reluctant backbone. Once he could fully support himself on his butt, he flared his Strength and yanked his left arm back into the socket with a nice pop.
He scooted to his trainer’s side, bad leg dragging behind him.
“Cassandra!” Helo yelled, slapping her face. “Get out here!”
Nothing. Reaching inside for his divine power, he suffused her with his Inspire Bestowal, but the gloom sucked the power out of his encouraging words, her eyes barely fluttering at his attempts. Fear clenched at his heart. They were trapped and helpless. There had to be a way out. But even if they could escape the hold, where would they go?
The dim light and swirling Vexus strained his sight. A smattering of metal scraps lay strewn around the hold. Old pieces of rebar. Tin scraps. Engine parts. This was a junk hauler. Besides the leftover metal, the hold was nearly empty. Groaning like the starved gut of a giant beast, the enormous empty space vibrated with the force of the engines and the waves. The racket echoed off the thick walls around them, creating a sense of immense, unseen space. The walls were ribbed and painted a splotchy tomato-soup red that appeared almost gray in the bad light.
Fifteen feet ahead of them, dead center in the hold, a circular pool about sixteen feet in diameter and three feet deep was welded to the floor. From it issued the poisonous Vexus, like the residue of a dark spell rising from a cauldron. The rolling motions of the vessel sloshed some of the befouled water onto the ship’s floor. Two extinguished utility lights sat on tripods near a ramp that led to a platform at the far side of the pool.
Helo settled back into a sitting position in three inches of water, broken leg balking. Was that the pool where they tortured Ash Angels? Was that what awaited him and Cassandra? Maybe Goldbow had already suffered and died here after the Dreads had recorded the message. The pool blocked his view of the far end of the hold. There had to be a ladder out.
He crawled away toward the side of the pool nearest him, then worked his way around it to the left, useless leg grinding against a chunk of metal that looked like a fan blade. As he rounded the pool’s edge, he pulled back reflexively at the sight of two red auras at the far end of the hold. A stupid precaution. Of course the Dreads knew they were there. He poked his head back out. Behind the Dreads, a curving metal staircase painted yellow rose up between two of the ship’s massive ribs and disappeared into the ceiling. The Dreads guarded it, two of their newly manufactured rifles in hand.
One fired. The bullet banged next to Trace’s hand, sending up a spray of metal and water.
“Cut it out, moron,” the other Dread growled. “You punch a hole in that pool and Devon’ll feed you to the fish.”
So Devon was here. Helo scooted back by Cassandra. She was a mess, corpse-like save for the darting of her closed eyes. There was nothing to do but wait. He couldn’t overpower the Dreads with a bad leg. Cassandra was too incoherent to do Glorious Presence. It was hopeless. He lay back down, hoping Cassandra could fight off the constant torching that had threatened their sanity without reprieve. He needed her abilities. He needed her experience.
Uncounted hours passed before the whirring and banging of the ship’s crane drew his gaze upward. The large railed platform he’d seen earlier descended through the hold’s opening, swinging back and forth with the rocking of the boat. While difficult to discern the numbers, a host of red auras stood on the platform. And there was a Sheid. In the midst of the descending e
vil companions shone a single white aura. Goldbow, ropes restraining his wrists, peered down at them.
Chapter 37
King
Helo shook Cassandra’s arm. “It’s Goldbow!”
Her eyelids fluttered and then stayed open, lips turned down in a frown. Rain fell on her upturned face, masking her tears.
“I can’t do this,” she cried softly as Helo pulled her up next to him. “This is too hard. I was wrong to be angry with him. I deserve what I get. I’m too cold for anyone to love.”
“That’s the Spirit Shock talking, Cassandra. It will pass. You’ll see.”
The descending platform jerked to a stop two feet from the floor and just behind the pool. Dahlia, Goutre, Hudgins, and four other Dreads Helo did not recognize accompanied the swarthy, auraless Devon Qyn. A Sheid morphed to look like an exact replica of Devon stood by his master, with one hand clamped around the back of Goldbow’s neck. Vexus swirled around the Dreads’ red auras, as Helo had seen with Dahlia and Goutre before. Two of the Dreads flipped on the utility lights, the Vexus of the pool stifling the illumination, like a lighthouse behind a wall of fog. The rain soaked everyone. The Dreads debarked, feet splashing as they jumped down into the shallow water on the cargo hold’s floor.
The Sheid bullied Goldbow up the ramp to the platform at the back of the pool. Helo doubted the Michael had any idea what was happening. His eyes wandered everywhere, face slack. Releasing its iron grip on Goldbow’s neck, the Sheid kicked him in the knee, Goldbow twisting sideways and dropping into the befouled water. His arms flailed and splashed in search of the rim. Finally, Goldbow struggled back to his feet, looking like a child lost in a cave.
Devon joined the Sheid on the platform. His talisman glowed momentarily beneath his translucent white shirt. The platform on which the Dreads had descended returned back through the opening to the hold, cutting off any hope of using it as a means of escape.
Goldbow’s eyes finally locked on Cassandra.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Cassie. I’m sorry. I loved you. I swear it. I couldn’t choose.”
His shoulders shook as he sobbed, back bent, hands hiding his face. Cassandra looked at Goldbow. Her lips parted as if to say something, but the pull of the Vexus around them sucked her back into her nightmare. Her head lolled back against Helo’s shoulder.
“Stay with me,” Helo said. He needed her. Glorious Presence was their last hope.
The Dreads fanned out around the pool, Dahlia a little to his left. Devon strode around, planting his feet in front of Helo and Cassandra. The rain had matted his dark hair to his head and drenched the business suit he wore. His malignant stare chilled Helo’s heart.
“I see you’ve brought a friend,” Devon said. He stepped forward and kicked Helo in the face with the heel of his shoe. Helo lost his grip on Cassandra, and they both went down hard on their backs. “That’s for knocking me off my motorcycle.”
Cassandra lay limp. Helo rolled over. He wouldn’t cower before Devon Qyn. He pushed himself to his hands and the knee of his one good leg. He had to stand somehow, face Devon eye to eye. Devon reared back and kicked Helo’s chest, his ribs snapping like popsicle sticks. The force of the Strength-powered kick flipped him over, water spraying as he crashed down onto his shoulder.
“And that’s for taking your little hard drive from me.”
Devon walked toward Cassandra, staring down at her before torching her in a focused blast of red.
She convulsed as if someone had thrown a power cord in the water next to her. Helo rolled over, trying to fish for her hand.
“Cassandra!” Goldbow yelled, sloshing forward in the pool.
“Stay there!” Devon ordered. “Or I’ll finish her right now!”
Goldbow held up at the edge of the pool, his hopeless expression foreign to a face that so often projected confidence.
“She’s almost gone,” Devon observed coldly, nudging Cassandra’s head with his foot. “Shouldn’t take much to push her over the edge. Well, Helo, welcome aboard the Tempest! An appropriate name, don’t you think, considering the weather?”
The Tempest. Trace groaned inwardly, remembering the words of the song. “The east wind blows a tempest in.” He’d had them searching for the wrong ship all along.
Helo rose to an elbow, but Devon kicked it down, wrenching Helo’s arm. “That, well, that’s just because I can. I’ve had about enough from you. The only way the two of you leave here is in my service or in a puddle of ash. Your friend Goldbow has been very helpful to us.”
At the mention of Goldbow’s name, Cassandra groaned, lucid for several seconds before losing the battle to her emotions again.
“That’s very interesting,” Devon said. “So these two are involved, I see. She’s no doubt reliving now how often Goldbow here has thrown her—and you, too—to the sharks. That must hurt.”
Devon turned back toward the pool. “So, Goldbow, do you have any more useful information for us? Anything you’ve been holding back?”
“My family is safe!” he cried. “You’ll get nothing from me anymore.”
“Very well.”
Devon pulled an odd-looking pistol from a large holster bulging under his dark suit coat. It was bigger than even the Ash Angel BBGs, a dull reflection of light playing along its thick barrel. He regarded the weapon for a moment, spinning the chamber.
“This is going to hurt.”
He leveled it at Goldbow’s chest and pulled the trigger, his arm jerking up with the wicked kickback. The thunderous blast drowned out every noise. Goldbow staggered with the impact, staring down at the gaping hole in the ribs below his heart. A half second later the bullet exploded.
Goldbow’s torso was blown apart in a spray of flesh and bone as he was blasted down into the ghastly water. He didn’t get back up. With an injury that bad, he was gone, gray ash mixing with the Vexus in the air. The harsh thunder of the gun echoed through the empty hold like the laughter of death.
Helo blinked. At first he thought it a trick of the light, but the Vexus of the pool had strengthened at Goldbow’s slaughter.
Cassandra cried out. “Is he—”
“He’s ash,” Helo said.
Devon regarded his weapon with a pleased expression. “It works even better than I imagined.”
Holstering the gun, he turned away from Helo and Cassandra and circled the pool. “Without Goldbow, we’ll have to rely on our other assets for now. He was the most informative—so far. But we’d best get down to business. I assume you’ve figured out some clever way of telling your comrades where you are. The storm should keep the pesky Michaels away, but let’s get this over with just in case.”
Helo decided not to make Devon’s day better by telling him about the East Wind goose chase he had sent the Ash Angels on. He cradled Cassandra. Her damp hair clung to her face. Her left hand clutched Helo’s shirt, and she shook, undone by the agony within and without. The scant illumination of the leaden sky above beckoned to Helo, inviting him to find some way out of the guts of the ship. But he was broken. Cassandra was broken. They could do little more than act as dumb witnesses, waiting until Devon saw fit to end them.
Devon stepped inside the Vexus contaminated water, walking to the middle of the pool while a driving rain soaked them all. He scooped up Goldbow’s jeans and tossed them out. They landed with a squish near Dahlia. Devon’s Sheid followed him into the water, standing obediently at his side. Devon removed his suit jacket, tie, and gun holster, throwing them next to the Dreads gathered beside the pool. The talisman—invisible to his companions—dangled about his neck.
Helo squinted, trying to get a better look at the artifact. It was a bone of some sort. The ship continued to rock and whine as it heaved in the rough waves without. The Dreads looked on nervously as Devon stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside, the falling rain slicking his chest. On his left forearm were the three odd symbols that matched Dahlia’s. He closed his eyes as if meditating. His assertive countenance softened, we
akened even.
What did he fear?
Dahlia shifted nervously, and she kept glancing at Helo as if expecting or hoping for him to do something.
Devon’s eyes snapped open. “It is time that I, Cain, keeper of secrets, fulfill the ancient contract. Let’s proceed.”
Helo swallowed. As he had suspected, Devon was the Cain, the man Dahlia had tried to lead him to without being able to say his name. How many Dreads thought Devon was just another powerful Dread?
The bone pendant glowed red, and the Sheid stepped forward as if Devon had pressed its play button. It extended its hand, a dark mist rising from its palm and coalescing into a large knife. The handle turned solid, and the Sheid closed its hand around it. With one precise, firm thrust, he rammed the blade into Devon’s upper abdomen underneath the sternum. Devon rocked with the impact, tensing his legs to counterbalance the force while the Sheid widened the cut.
“Aclima,” Devon said, talisman glowing. “You first.”
Dahlia walked forward and climbed into the pool, hands trembling as if fighting a war against her will. Devon’s necklace glowed more brightly, and her shaking stopped. Robotically, she approached to stand toe to toe with her master. Helo cringed as she inserted her arm with its three marks up into his chest, her hand sliding up to grasp his dead heart. The Vexus in Dahlia’s aura flowed outward and into Devon’s body until only her red aura remained. With a downward yank, she freed her arm from his torso.
“Jumelia!” Devon barked.
A Dread woman in the group strode forward as Dahlia hoisted herself over the side of the pool and returned to her spot in the circle. Jumelia, similar in complexion to Dahlia, willingly heeded Devon’s call and smoothly jammed her arm into his body. The Vexus drained away from her as it had with Dahlia. This time, however, a subtle change came over Devon. His skin paled from its natural olive hue, and his eyes darkened. The Sheid, an exact replica of Devon, now stood visibly shorter than the man into whose body flowed the collected Vexus of the Dreads.
