Dread Uprising

by Brian Fuller

  Helo hoped that heaven would be kind to Cassandra, that she would find peace. She deserved that much. Part of him wished she had never gotten on the ship to help him, wished she were still back at Deep 7 waiting with some snide comment when he returned. She had made his life as an Ash Angel hell at times, but he couldn’t fathom what it would be like without her.

  Dahlia stirred, running her fingers through her hair to pull it away from her face. She was a six-thousand-year-old mystery. Without the red aura, she seemed almost fragile. Her eyes seemed lost, like a tourist in a foreign city staring at the streets and wondering which way to go. Lumina said Dahlia would save him, and she had.

  Helo grabbed her hand. “Thank you, Dahlia. Without you, we’d all be dead.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, the tension draining from her face. “Thank you, Helo.”

  “The storm’s lifting,” the pilot called from the cockpit. “We’ll land in about twenty minutes. What the hell happened back there?”

  Chapter 40

  The Empty Chair

  Cassandra’s passing didn’t hit Helo until he was sitting in the comfortable common room of Deep 7 and staring at the empty chair where she had folded her paper airplanes and recited pointless facts about Lake Michigan. Then it hit hard. While he missed the Cassandra that was, he mourned the Cassandra that might have been. In fleeting moments he had glimpsed a bright, happy woman ready to emerge from a prison of tragedy. Even so, he would miss her insults and her frankness and the white-knuckled rides in her Cadillac. When he thought of her cradling him in the back of Goldbow’s car after he had rescued Prescilla, the tears came. He folded his arms on his knees, bowed his head, and let them run.

  Someone crouched in front of him and grabbed his arms, and he looked up to find Dahlia regarding him with soft eyes.

  “I am sorry for your loss, Helo. Cassandra was an extraordinary woman. We two would not be alive without her. She would be proud of what you did on the Tempest.”

  Helo sat up and moved to wipe his eyes, but Dahlia commandeered the task.

  “Your tears are a tribute. Cassandra earned them.” When finished, Dahlia leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, her dark hair veiling his face for a moment. “It’s our turn to talk to this Archai of yours. Will you escort me down there? I find this place a little intimidating. The walls and doors keep complaining about me not having and Ash Angel ID.”

  Helo grinned in the midst of his sorrow, corralling his emotions and standing. “I’m afraid I won’t be much help there. I don’t have one either.” He showed her his badge. “They were keeping me off the grid.”

  She nodded. “Cain is still out there, so you might want to stay off the grid awhile longer.”

  They met up with a Michael guarding the elevator who smoothed their passage down to the bowels of Deep 7 and the council chamber, where the Archai waited.

  Dahlia took in the opulence of the chamber, running her hand along the dragon tail of the sculpture, eyes wide at the etchings in the wall.

  “I’d heard rumors that this place existed,” she commented. “It seems the Ash Angels are doing quite well for themselves.”

  They descended the steps into the gallery, the Archai already seated on the dais awaiting their arrival. Helo had already revealed some of the details to them. The talisman fashioned from Abel’s rib stunned everyone. While some within the Archai might doubt its power to control the Dreads, after Cain was stripped of the talisman, not one of the numerous attacks foreseen in the visions had taken place. Initial observations confirmed that with Cain’s loss of the talisman, the Dreads and Possessed had gone back to their normal pattern of behavior.

  Despite the horrors of the last few days, Helo enjoyed everyone’s new willingness to believe what he said. They sat in the darkly stained chairs just before the dais. Ramis looked drained for an Ash Angel, and Helo wondered if anyone could fathom the depth of his grief over Cassandra’s passing. That he loved her, Helo had no doubt. What the nature of that love was still eluded him, but Helo didn’t have the desire to pry. Not all secrets needed an audience.

  The Grand Archus eyed them as they sat next to each other. “Let’s proceed,” he said. “We need to know about the ship called the East Wind and about Cain as soon as possible. Do you prefer to be called Dahlia or Aclima?”

  “Aclima, if you would.”

  “Aclima, we have pulled a few strings and managed to deny the East Wind the right to dock in Chicago on a hazardous-materials pretense. We’re not sure how much longer we can continue the ruse. Is there a reason we should detain it, or was it just a decoy to cover the arrival of the Tempest?”

  “It was not a decoy,” she answered. “It’s another part of the plan. It carries many innocuous vehicles, but intermingled with those vehicles are cars and SUVs meant for the Dreads, many of them concealing within their trunks the new weapons you’ve seen. It’s not the only ship that was sent, but I do not know the others. With the Dreads in disarray, I’m not sure if anyone will be around to collect the cargo when it arrives.”

  The Grand Archus turned to the other members of the Archai. “Sink it?”

  Mars gave the thumbs up. “It will make a nice news story to go along with the loss of the Tempest. My people will have it done before the day is out.”

  “Thank you. We need to see if we can get a bead on the other ships, too. Now, Aclima, about Cain. What is he? Is he a Dread, or is he still under God’s curse?”

  “He is a Dread and under God’s curse,” she answered. “Cain’s avaricious nature made him fall prey to the machinations of King very early.”

  Archus Simeon leaned forward. “By King you mean Satan, the Tempter, the Devil?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “A king is what he considers himself. He is the leader of evil spirits and wants what all of them do—a body—so he can experience the pleasures of the mortal world. King, of course, wants to rule it. Cain was his vehicle, literally. Thanks to Cassandra and Helo, that failed.”

  “Thanks to you and Cassandra,” Helo said. “You stopped it, Aclima. I didn’t do much more than get broken all to hell.”

  Grand Archus Gideon smiled. “You did plenty, Helo. We know the basic chain of events, but please tell us everything that happened from the time you woke up on the boat until you were rescued.”

  Helo recounted the experience, raw emotions choking him up as he related his battles inside and out. Aclima took his hand, holding it as he worked through Cassandra’s sacrifice, Archus Ramis fighting back tears. He related the flashbacks into Cain’s life, the history of the talisman.

  “It is extraordinary,” Archus Simeon said. “I don’t know that there is another recorded instance of two people being joined by a sanctified weapon, much less a Dread and an Ash Angel.”

  Archus Ramis cleared his throat. “That is a matter for later. Is the talisman secure?”

  “Yes,” the Grand Archus said. “It is in a sealed safe in the reliquarium. We’ll study it, though I doubt there’s much it will tell us. Aclima, when did you become aware of the talisman’s influence?”

  She shrugged. “I had no idea it existed until Helo told me about it. I couldn’t see it until I changed. I only knew that about five years ago, Cain could compel me to do his will. I could not disobey. I think he’s been able to manipulate Dreads for longer. He used me only lightly until recently.”

  “Back to King,” Archus Ebenezer said. “How does Cain speak with him, get his orders?”

  “I do not know. He’s always been able to communicate with him like a god to his prophet. Anciently, King made known to him all the secrets of the making of Dreads, Shedim, Thralls—all of it.”

  “And the marks on the arm?” Ebenezer prompted.

  “After Cain slew Abel to acquire his flocks and take me as his wife, God cursed him to wander and gave him the mark of three symbols upon his arm so that all might know who he was. Most importantly, God promised that anyone who killed Cain would have a sevenfold
death loosed upon them.

  “Cain fled the land of his parents. He took me and Abel’s twin sister, Jumelia, with him. I had two sons by Cain, and Jumelia three boys and one daughter. I am sorry to say that under his forceful influence, I agreed to murder to acquire his promised power and immortality. Our entire family had done works of murder, and my second son, Kamal, was the first Dread that Cain created. To him Cain gave the secret of Awakening Dreads and then perverted God’s curse to his own benefit.

  “He brought us all together and in his cleverness killed himself. This made active God’s promise, but upon him. The seven people closest to him, which were his two wives and five other children, died on the spot. Kamal raised Cain. Then Cain raised us all as Dreads at that time. We bore the same mark God cursed him with upon our arms.”

  Ebenezer held up the proceedings. “We have been studying the symbols but have not been able to decipher their meaning.”

  “They are Cain’s identity,” Aclima said. “They mean Vessel of Death. Vessel of Wrath. Vessel of Darkness. Only the Loremasters can gather the Vexus to create Shedim.”

  “Do you still have yours?” Diarchus Joan asked.

  “No. They disappeared when I changed.”

  “Proceed with your account,” the Grand Archus prompted.

  “There is little left to tell. Cain burned the heart of my younger son to prevent him from revealing the secrets that he taught him and as a warning to the rest of us. This turned me against him, and I would no longer be called his wife. All of us split ways then, though we gathered once a year on the summer solstice for centuries. Just after the death of Christ, Cain finally relinquished the knowledge he had kept and used for himself for so long. It was then, with the rise of the first Ash Angels, that we created more Dreads to protect ourselves. We were the Dread Loremasters, and we were under strict command to create Dreads and Shedim but to never reveal how it was done. We obeyed . . . for the most part.”

  “Well, Archus Ebenezer,” the Grand Archus said. “It’s time to rewrite some history. One last question. Do you know what Cain might do now?”

  “Cain has always been about pleasing himself by getting money and power and women or whatever else he wants. He’s done it for centuries. Whatever dark compact he entered into has failed for now. This may silence and discourage him for a time. But knowing him as I do, I do not believe that his need can ever be extinguished. It is like filling a bucket with a hole in the bottom. He is also vengeful, so he will strike again when he can.”

  “There is another matter, Grand Archus,” Archus Ramis interjected. “Aclima, we would like to invite you to train with us and become part of the Ash Angel Organization. Your knowledge and experience would be invaluable to our cause. We could use another Blank right now.”

  “Perhaps one day,” Aclima answered. “But for a while I would like to walk the world as a free woman without fear of Cain’s control or of Ash Angel operatives hunting me down.”

  The Grand Archus smiled. “We understand. When you’re ready, find someone with that friendly glow, and we’ll point you in the right direction. Before you leave, we’d like to get a profile on the other Loremasters and would appreciate any intelligence you can give that might help us.”

  “I will. And thank you.”

  Helo escorted Aclima out of the council chamber and joined her in the elevator. Her eyes reflected a certain hope, an expectation of a new life that turned an already beautiful woman angelic.

  “So what do you think you’ll do first?” he asked her once the elevator whirred to life.

  She took his hand again and grinned. “First, I am going to master the art of morphing—which I’ve been jealous of for centuries, by the way—and then I think my first official act as an Ash Angel will be to go do something really boring and normal that Dreads don’t tend to do, like feed the ducks or go to a church picnic. I’ve got a list simmering in my head. How about you? Are they sending you off on another mission?”

  “No. I need to get my head clear. I’m going to go fix motorcycles and preach the good news with Dolorem for a while. I owe him big-time.”

  “At that motorcycle chapel where I made you look like a wet-behind-the-ears rookie?”

  He chuckled. “I am a wet-behind-the-ears rookie. But I seem to recall that I was the one who walked out of there.”

  “True, but only by luck. Well, maybe I’ll stop by and visit you one day and teach you how to sword fight properly.”

  “Sounds fun. Just be nicer next time.”

  Face beaming, she leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’ll try.”

  The elevator doors slid open and Helo frowned. Athena.

  “There you are,” Athena said, unloading another clipboard with a warm stack of forms. “These need to be completed before you leave Deep 7 for your leave of absence, Helo.”

  Having discharged her duty, Athena entered the elevator as they got out.

  “Is that a stack of forms you have to fill out? By hand?” Aclima asked.

  Helo grinned. “Aclima, before you join up with the Ash Angel Organization, there’s something you need to know.”

  Helo squirted the charcoal with starter fluid. Dolorem had converted two oil barrels into two barbecues with a little welding and ingenuity. The Old Master flicked matches onto his stack of charcoal, flames bursting to life.

  “You ready, Helo?”

  Helo extended his hand. “Matches, please.”

  Dolorem handed them over, and he ignited his pile. The banged-up lambs of the Redemption Motorcycle Club would show up in about twenty minutes for a welcome-back celebration for their pastor. He really hadn’t been gone that long, but anything served as a chance to throw together beer, barbecue, and the Bible.

  They stood silently for a while, hands on hips and biker guts protruding nearly to the edge of their barbecues. Helo turned to his friend. Dolorem was at peace, but worry still nagged Helo’s mind.

  “You know it might not be safe here anymore, Dolorem. Cain knows this place. He may want revenge.”

  “I know,” Dolorem answered a little wistfully. “I’ve got less than eight months before I ride to the sky. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have this little chapel of mine.”

  “You could sign up for some Sanctus time with the Ash Angels,” Helo suggested, knowing full well what the reaction would be.

  Dolorem snorted. “Good one, Helo. You seriously considering going back?”

  “Not for a while,” he answered. The truth was, he couldn’t stand being outside the loop. Cain was still out there. The rest of the Loremasters were still out there. Shipments of Dread weapons were still out there. A lot needed done outside the confines of the chain-link fences of the Redemption Motorcycle Club.

  “A while, huh?” Dolorem said. “Well, give me a few weeks at least. I did save your afterlife. Twice.”

  Helo nodded. “I know.” How could you disagree with someone who had risked their life for you?

  “But I think I know what your problem is,” Dolorem said.

  “What’s that?”

  Dolorem’s grin turned teasing. “Oh, a certain not-so-young lady with long dark hair and smoldering eyes. Without that red aura, she might seem more—what do the kids say these days?—smokin’?”

  Helo smirked. “I think ‘hot’ is what you’re looking for. She’s not with the Ash Angels, so they wouldn’t be any help if I, you know—”

  “Wanted to hunt her down and get her number like a normal man?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, if you think the Ash Angels don’t know where she is, you’re naive.”

  Helo turned to face his companion. “Why? They let her go.”

  “Oh, come on, Helo,” Dolorem chided. “She’s the most valuable intelligence asset the Ash Angels have ever had! I’ll bet you my Harley they have a Blank following her everywhere she goes. They cannot lose track of that woman.”

  Helo shoved the matches in his pocket. “That makes sense, but it’d be a risk. If s
he found out they were tailing her, she’d probably blow into the wind and we’d never see her again.”

  Dolorem’s grin returned. “And we can’t have that, can we, Helo?”

  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see her again. She told me she might drop by here some time.”

  “Good,” Dolorem said. “All the more reason for you to stick around. But I’m not going to let you out of here before you give a sermon or two.”

  Helo’s biker gut shook with laughter. “Me? Give sermons? Now that is scary. What does your rough-rider congregation do if your sermon gets boring? Throw beer bottles?”

  “That only happened once,” Dolorem admitted. “But to be fair, the poor soul who started it was going through a hard time, and the regulars made him pay for his crime before I could get them to stop. I don’t allow liquor in the chapel anymore, except the sacramental spirits. They’ll be nice, Helo, so no worries. Though your name . . . Father Storm? Sounds a bit too Armageddon-ish.”

  “Seems like that would be good for a preacher. But I am not giving sermons, Dolorem.”

  “Yes, you are,” he replied, face serious. “You’re always giving sermons, Helo. I’m just asking you to use words.”

  Helo shook his head and went back to the pointless task of watching the charcoal burn. The flames slowly faded, white ash rimming the coals. His mind drifted back to Cassandra. Gone too soon. But remembering the light on her face as she said her goodbye in that dark hold, he couldn’t help but think he had done something good.

  A motorcycle thundered up to the chapel. Helo remembered the rider, Dallin, from the rebuilding project. He was big and burly and the victim of a hundred poor choices. He parked the bike, and Dolorem and Helo shared a look. Dallin was visibly upset.

  One lost lamb at a time. There was still plenty to do inside of the confines of the chain-link fences of the Redemption Motorcycle Club.

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue