Cain

by James Byron Huggins

  "Yes, my Lord," Kano gasped. "Soloman will die! We will not allow him to reach you!"

  "I trust you," Cain whispered, settling him back on his feet. "The mandrill is hungry, and prepared. He knows whom he awaits. And when Soloman is inside the Castle I will release him from his chain." He bent his head suddenly, groaning. "He ... He ..."

  Kano faltered. "My Lord?"

  Cain growled.

  Show no weakness!

  "I am ... all right," Cain whispered, pausing to take a deep breath. "Just remember this!" He laid a clawed hand on Kano's shoulder again. "If Soloman reaches me, all of you will die because you failed me!"

  As Cain staggered away, Kano whispered, "It will be done! We will not fail!"

  ***

  A cold sun rose with mist from the earth.

  Standing alone in the loft of the barn, Soloman stared into the distant gray horizon, caught the scent of rain, a distant storm. And he sensed a despair void of any comfort whatsoever; only a fatal sentiment that settled like winter over his bones, chilling and fatal.

  He knew that the premonition of death would come with the dawn and it had come with a vengeance, shrouding his will with a force he had encountered only once before. It was a reminder of his hour of madness, the hour when he'd thrown himself into a soulless rage to pursue a purpose that had evaded him then and forever since.

  His family, all that he loved and lost. . .

  Until now.

  In his mind he had killed the killers over and over, over and over, so many of them through the years. Had killed them in ways hideous and creative, drawing the blade as if to cheat death of its claim so that he might kill them even more. But vengeance had failed him in the end, no matter how many times he had killed them because now he knew that they were not the ones truly behind the suffering of this world.

  Yes, now he faced what was truly responsible for Soloman had come to believe completely in Marcelle’s words. He didn't know what, exactly, had pushed him over the edge. He only knew that he had stared Cain in the eyes time and again, each committed to fight to the death, and he'd measured that what he saw was not of this world.

  Staring at the sky changing to crimson, he frowned. He had no idea how he'd arrived at this place. Whatever it was that had brought him here was beyond them all. And he knew the moment would never come again. Whatever he took from this, victory or defeat, would be the end, for it would receive the blood and love that buried him with the past.

  Gazing out, Soloman no longer saw the sky. He saw only tiny lifeless hands clutching, fumbling. There was a small face alive with questions and trust and smiles, and then he saw the hands tightened by the agony of death, the face pale, all that was her cruelly taken from such a beautiful vessel of life.

  He saw Marilyn as he had never imagined he would, her body empty of the gift of life that she had held, her eyes glassy, all that was special and golden and giving gone forever.

  He had wanted to avenge them but it had been impossible, his vengeance beyond quenching because he could never really confront who was truly, truly responsible.

  Until today.

  He bowed his head, released a breath.

  Enough . . .

  He frowned.

  It's time to kill.

  He'd hoped for years that he would be brought to this hour, and now he had. And as he pondered it he knew that it had always been coming, coming in the dreams and faces and memories that haunted him through the long nights, just as he knew nothing could have stopped it.

  Cain had taken something more than life from him. For beneath the graves of his wife and child, Cain had buried a piece of his soul. But now, Soloman knew, he'd come to take back what was his.

  And then some.

  *

  CHAPTER 25

  Standing on a desolate mound in the midst of a waste of empty stone and sedge, letting them see that he was coming, Soloman gazed at the Castle of Calistro.

  The fortress was isolated in the middle of a vast, empty land of rock, weed, and broken stone. Monolithic in strength, it was a gray mountain set on the shores of the sea. Ancient stone gargoyles spread bat-like wings on the tremendous walls, whose towers were still intact. And the battlements held massively solid black eyes.

  Soloman's face revealed only a grim fatality of purpose as he stared at the Castle, a purpose that embraced life and death together and seemed to scorn the storming day. He contemplated a tactical approach but could find only empty grass blasted bare by cold mist.

  Standing close, Maggie and Marcelle and Sister Mary Francis waited silently, cloaked in the low rumbling thunder that swept over the barren land with a shuddering moan. A thunderstorm approaching from the sea held the faint dying rays of the sun, a crimson glow.

  Shaking his head with a sigh, Soloman knew that the only way to reach the child he had come to love as his own was through the front gate. And he was grateful that the portal had long ago crumbled into dust, leaving no defense.

  It had taken all day to reach the Castle because he'd been forced to take the interminable back-roads that crossed the forests of Northumberland. The tactical move had been made necessary after the spectacular conflict in the hotel, which made national news.

  He had done his best to save as much of the day as possible but he'd failed in the end. And now they stood on the eve of Samhain, possessing no advantage at all as they faced Cain on the night and in the hour that he was strongest, for the sake of Amy.

  Five hours remained until midnight and the sacrifice.

  Soloman nodded to himself.

  So be it ...

  Turning without expression he descended the rain-soaked mound and walked up to Maggie, kissed her gently. Then he regarded all of them in turn.

  "We've lost the sun," he said. "We've got to go through the front gate; it’s the only open approach." He paused. "Listen, people, it doesn't get any worse than this. There's nothing between us and the Castle. It's a one mile walk across nothing." Cold rain swept over them as he continued, "They'll see us coming the whole way, and if they're using rifles, we'll be dead in thirty seconds."

  He stared at Maggie.

  Stoic, she nodded.

  "I'm going in," he continued to Marcelle and the Mother Superior. "But I'm leaving it to you to decide if you want to go through with this. Now is the time to back down, if you want."

  Marcelle laughed. "I believe we have already chosen with whom we will stand, Colonel." His aspect had never seemed stronger. "Whatever faces us is not as strong as we are."

  "We don't know what's inside that Castle, Marcelle." Soloman was military and precise. "Cain could have anything – a mini-gun, claymores, bodyguards or dogs. The only thing I know for sure is that a lot of people are going to die. And it might be us."

  Frowning, Maggie reached into her purse and removed the syringe. Soloman watched in silence as she sharply unsnapped the cooling unit, tossing it aside. Her face said she wouldn't be needing it anymore. But she left the steel cap over the needle as she put the syringe into her coat, gazing coldly. She said nothing.

  A moment passed between them, and Soloman nodded. Then he reached down and lifted the daypack filled with the dynamite and napalm. Slinging the pack and shotgun over his shoulder, he turned and walked back up the mound.

  Together, in the dying light of a dark, dark day, they walked beneath a haunting sky into a conflict that would leave them either dead in a cursed and haunted land or wounded survivors in the Devil's Castle.

  ***

  Kano knelt once more.

  "They are coming, my Lord."

  "As I anticipated," Cain rumbled. "Is it Soloman?"

  "Yes. He does not come alone. He has a priest, a nun, and a woman. And Soloman is heavily armed. He is walking ahead of the rest of them. They follow, but Soloman fights at the front."

  "As all his kind." Cain was contemplative. "Is The Circle prepared?"

  "Yes, my Lord. They are ready to deliver Soloman to his grave."

  "Good. But be
prepared, Kano. Soloman will attack boldly, but he will attack with wisdom. When you meet him in battle, remember that you are fighting one who knows no retreat. And remember—if Soloman is wounded, you will be fighting a wounded lion."

  "We are prepared, my Lord." Kano removed a tapered sword from his cloak, holding it low. His face was pale and skeletal in the subterranean light. "I will kill him myself!"

  A smile creased Cain's face.

  "Then go and do so. But ensure that Soloman does not disturb me before I complete the ritual with the child.That is everything on this sacred night." He put down The Grimorium Verum. "The spell is intricate and difficult, and I have not finished preparations."

  "And the mandrill, my Lord?"

  Sinew and fang purred at the gesture.

  It sat back and the jaws parted to reveal jagged white fangs. Its talons clenched, callused feet hard against granite.

  Cain laughed.

  "I will release my pet when it is time."

  ***

  Crossing chilly, mist-shrouded landscape, Soloman braced to be hit by a sniper at every step. But as the colossal walls of the fortress loomed closer and closer and rose titanically before him, he was convinced they wouldn't be using rifles.

  He understood somehow that they would be using edged weapons and pistols, a part of their demented minds finding more pleasure in killing at close range, watching the light go out in their enemy's eyes as blood flowed over their hands.

  Locked into a death mode to fear nothing, he walked boldly through the gate, tossing the duffle bag aside. Maggie and the rest halted as he viciously racked the shotgun and went through the arch, scanning and ready, entering the outer ward.

  Soloman stared about, saw nothing. And then he knew the fight would begin in a series of ambushes inside the walls, where they had a distinct advantage. He frowned at the thought, hating it. But he was so solidly locked into a killing mode, he didn't care.

  So be it.

  He tried to get a feel for the Castle's architecture, to anticipate what the interior would resemble.

  The more he could learn, he knew, the better off he would be when the attacks came. Because then he'd have to react instantly, using every advantage as he fired left and right in what would be true chaos.

  He stared over the outer ward.

  The gate had long ago crumbled into ruin, leaving no defensive measures for closing the squared courtyard, so they'd been forced to let him in. And now they were carefully concealed inside the walls, blades poised.

  Soloman turned, motioning for the rest to approach. He'd secured twelve grenades on his waist, the Grizzly locked in a hip holster. He also had fifteen fully loaded clips for the semi-auto concealed on his vest and ankles. Extra shotgun shells were stuffed in his jacket, the tanto was at his waist, and it would have to be enough. It was as much ammo as he could carry, just as he'd been trained.

  "I'm going to lead," he said. "Stay very, very close. These psychos are using all kinds of weapons, and they're deadly with them. If something happens, do the best you can to evade but leave the fighting to me. Don't try to deal with any of them. They'll finish you in a heartbeat." He glanced at all of them in turn. "Do you understand?"

  They nodded.

  Marcelle clenched his hands and Soloman knew that the priest had the ability to crush any attacker with that gorilla strength. He pointed to him. "Be careful, Marcelle. A blade can take you down in a second. It doesn't matter how strong you are."

  The priest nodded, grim. Marcelle had no fear, Soloman knew; he didn't fear death or Hell or Cain or anything else that lay within this castle. Then he saw Mother Superior Mary Francis, the faintest smile on her face.

  He blinked, struck for a moment.

  She spoke. "This is the oldest enemy of God, Colonel. He has always lost. And he will lose again – no matter the cost."

  Soloman stared a moment, but he was too caught up in a combat mode to be reflective. He turned, moving carefully toward the gatehouse—a series of intact towers that defended the inner ward, which was like a courtyard. After they passed through the tunnel, he knew, they'd have to find the stairway that led downward, for Cain would remain underground for the Black Mass; it had to be done underground.

  Stretching back a hand at Maggie, Soloman said, "Give me one of those flashlights we bought today." Maggie slapped it into his hand as he entered the darkened gatehouse, skull-windows gazing on them with an aura of malevolence.

  "Damn," Soloman whispered, instantly worried. "Maggie, stay close to me. Marcelle, take care of Mary Francis."

  "I am beside her, Colonel," was the reply.

  In a tight group they went into the long, wide hallway of the gatehouse to emerge into the inner ward in the last light of a sun surviving too long in an angry autumn sky. And as the last faint grayness faded to black they stood, all of them staring over the courtyard.

  The castle was colossal, surely impenetrable in its days of lost glory, but now the doors were moldy cinders fallen to dust, security surrendered to a past age. Cain could have repaired them quickly, Soloman knew, but right now there was nothing in the castle not immediately accessible. He stared around and tried to discern the most logical place for a stairway to the dungeon, shaking his head in frustration.

  "Marcelle," he asked, "do you have any idea how to get to the dungeon?"

  The priest stepped forward. "I am familiar with Celtic design. Across the inner ward are the kitchen and chapel. To the left would be the servants' quarters. I believe the stairway to the dungeon would be far to the right."

  "Good," Soloman whispered, scanning the narrow windows of surrounding turrets. He felt the eyes, knew the warlocks were planning an ambush. "We need to move down to the dungeon. If—"

  "Or to the prison tower," Marcelle interrupted, pointing to a tower behind them, high and to the right. "That is traditionally where prisoners were held until the time of execution."

  Soloman grimaced, debating, and knew they were running out of time. He couldn't count on Cain waiting for midnight to complete the ritual. If Cain panicked, he might kill Amy before then. His confusion was reflected in Marcelle's quick response.

  "I understand," the priest said. "There is another stairway there."

  He pointed to a door obscured in darkness at the rear of the gatehouse; it was on the outer edge of the ward.

  "I suggest," he continued, "that you search the dungeon while I search the tower. But you should keep the women with you, for you have the weapons and I am not skilled. I will go alone and take the risk upon myself."

  "Not a good idea, Marcelle. What if—"

  Marcelle stepped closer. "I will reach the top of the tower, Soloman. Do not be overly concerned."

  A reluctant pause. "All right, Marcelle. But be careful. Take one of the flashlights and—"

  Soloman whirled and fired, directing the blast at the black eye of a turret but as soon as he fired he knew he'd missed, stones shattering high off the window. He cursed, angrily racking a round. He had narrowly glimpsed a hooded face.

  "Well," he whispered, "at least now we understand each other."

  He turned to look gravely at the priest. "Go ahead, Marcelle. But do as I say: Be very, very careful. These people are stone crazy. And get back to me as soon as you can. We'll be below."

  The priest walked toward the gatehouse, flashlight in hand. "I will meet you in the dungeon," he said.

  ***

  Cain frowned as Kano rushed forward.

  "Soloman is in the inner ward! The priest has gone into the prison tower! And Soloman fired at a member of The Circle! He missed! But he was submerged in darkness by very little! The Circle is moving to intercept Soloman before he can get to the child!"

  Frowning, Cain reached over to lay a hand on the mandrill's bristling brown head. And at the touch the mandrill purred, fangs separating as it strained against the chain. It struck blindly at the air.

  "No," Cain murmured, "not yet, my pet. Let us see what these mortals can do. Then, i
f necessary, you shall have your fill, for I know that you hunger."

  "My Lord?" Kano whispered.

  "Yes?"

  "Do we allow Soloman into the dungeon?"

  "He will reach the dungeon in any case, Kano. He is skilled. Are your brothers awaiting him?" asked Cain in an ominous tone and he glanced at Kano with an alien expression.

  Kano felt the impact, stepped back.

  "My ... My Lord?"

  Cain's hand lashed out to snatch the warlock from the ground and it was over quickly, blood raining through niobium-titanium fangs into lungs that filtered it into strength, enhancing and expanding, replenishing the full measure of what he'd thirsted for during the long dry day. Afterwards Cain tossed the lifeless husk aside.

  "Why was such life wasted on a mortal?" he asked.

  ***

  Soloman froze, listening. He raised a hand to Maggie and Mary Francis, searching the spiraling darkness beneath them. He could see no more than ten feet because of the twisting, descending stone staircase. He held the shotgun close, anticipating.

  Nothing happened but he waited longer, knowing he'd heard a faint rustling beneath them. Like the whisper of feet moving into position.

  And then Soloman suddenly wished that he hadn't allowed Maggie and the rest to accompany him on this. It was too wild, too surreal. His emotions were flaring out of control with the stress because it was unlike anything he'd ever done, and he was even good at this job. He couldn't imagine what Maggie was experiencing. But as he risked a narrow glance back, he saw that she was locked in defiant control.

  Too late to change his mind, he motioned for them to proceed. And they continued down the stairway slow and close, each holding a flashlight that lit the corridor. Then Soloman saw a cobblestone floor before them and moved to the door, motioning for them to hold their positions.

  He hesitated, waiting, watching, and listening. He detected nothing but knew that his perceptions weren't reliable. Two or more of the killers could be strategically positioned on the far side of the portal, swords uplifted.