by Graham Brown
“Get their faces!” Henrick yelled.
The melee continued and one by one the vampires fell and began to burn. Two of the hunters were injured. One was dead with a broken neck. But fifty dead vampires was a fair trade for that.
The temperature in the chamber began to rise. The searing white fire of the Ignatorum spreading panic among the Fallen. It was madness and it was beautiful. Demons burning in a chamber of their own creation. A pit of fire. A reasonable facsimile to Hell.
“Yes!” Henrick shouted, his suit and the gas filter of his mask allowing him to breathe and not overheat. “Yes, this is it! The anteroom to Hell where you will spend eternity for your crimes against man and God!” He lunged and stabbed a dying vampire.
“For you too, Henrick,” a deep voice growled.
Henrick turned to see Tyrian, his hand up under one of the hunter’s helmets, blood pouring down the demon’s muscled forearm as it burrowed its claws into the dead hunter’s brain.
“This is you’re end Tyrian,” Henrick said. “Not mine.”
Tyrian was huge, clothed in thick, medieval leather. He was staring at Henrick, trying to get into his mind.
Henrick laughed from behind the filtered shield. “Sorry,” he said, tapping the side of his helmet. “Must be a bad connection.”
By now the other hunters had brought their lights to bear on Tyrian, and in the crossfire the huge vampire fell to its knees.
Henrick walked slowly towards this demon, the one who had set him back. The one who had made him feel inferior all those years. A million times he killed Tyrian in his dreams and now, finally, his dreams and reality were colliding.
With a sudden move, Tyrian ripped the helmet from the dead hunter and lunged for the man’s open neck.
“No!” Henrick shouted. He grabbed Tyrian by his long hair and yanked his face back. “You will not die as a human. Not after all you’ve done.” He turned quickly to Doros. “Give me Simon’s hunting knife.”
Doros pulled the twelve-inch weapon from its sheath and handed it over.
“Let’s see how you like feeling helpless!” He stabbed the creature in both legs and then pulled the demon’s arm taut and sliced the flesh down to the bone. “Enjoying it?”
Tyrian didn’t say a thing. In a rage, Henrick proceeded to hack off Tyrian’s ears, first one and then the other.
Watching him, Doros shouted: “Just finish it! Give him the poison so we can see if it works and then we can get out of this hellhole.”
Henrick didn’t want Tyrian to die from poison. He wanted him to beg and suffer and show his fear. But there was none of this from the creature. Nothing but utter defiance and hatred.
A sudden emptiness consumed Henrick. This wasn’t working. He wasn’t getting the satisfaction he’d waited for. For years, he’d thought about this moment. He thought he’d be filled with pride and gratification, but there was none of that. He stared at the vampire. Was it a demon’s trick? Was he somehow stealing from Henrick yet again, even here at the last?
Emptiness was replaced by fury and Henrick plunged the knife into Tyrian’s chest. Over and over he raised and thrust the blade down with every ounce of strength he had. Flesh was torn, ribs cracked, rusted blood flying. He continued on even as the fires of hell began to flare around him.
“Henrick!” Doros yelled, grabbing at him.
“Get off me!” Henrick shouted.
Doros yelled to another hunter for help. Together they pulled Henrick off the burning vampire.
“You’re on fire,” Doros said, patting down the flames with his hands.
Henrick’s body armor was smoldering and melting. His hair and skin were singed where gaps in the helmet and collar left them exposed. More scars he would carry with him proudly.
“I’m fine,” Henrick grunted.
“Let’s go,” Doros yelled to the group.
They moved quickly, carrying the wounded and the dead, leaving the horror chamber behind as the fires within it purged the world of a great evil.
Though he was the leader, Henrick was dragged along like a sullen child, marching up the tunnel in a trance-like state.
“What was that all about?” Doros asked. “What were you thinking?”
Henrick didn’t engage. He was trying to fathom the emptiness that came with his act. The complete lack of satisfaction—as if he couldn’t kill Tyrian enough. As if a thousand times wouldn’t be enough.
Why, he thought. Why?
An answer came to him slowly. It was the only answer that made any sense. Tyrian was not his real enemy. He was an old foe, of course. He was evil and depraved, yes, but in the greater scheme of things he was worthless. He was nothing. It was the blasphemer that Henrick must destroy. The invader of churches. The one who’d taken half his sight. Christian was the real enemy and only when Henrick made him beg for death and then delivered it would he feel any satisfaction.
Chapter 21
Central Haiti
The red Jeep Wrangler cruised along the country road with its top down heading towards the mountains of Haiti. The sun was high and the sky blue, though a band of clouds could be seen clinging to the ridge high above. As they climbed higher into the mountains the air-cooled enough to make it pleasant.
Another beautiful day on a troubled island. All a disguise, Leroy thought. Nothing in this place was pleasant. He downshifted the Jeep and turned onto an even more primitive road, as he and Terrance continued a long ascent.
“I don’t understand why we’re going this way,” Leroy said.
“Which way are we going?” Terrance asked. “I can’t see, remember.”
“You think that’s funny?”
“It’s not too bad.”
“Why do we have to go up here if these demons don’t want to be saved?”
“You don’t know that until you ask,” Terrance said. “Maybe they do. Maybe they want to be saved and they don’t even know it.”
“And I’m supposed to convince them? Like some traveling preacher?”
“No,” Terrance said. “You’re supposed to show them the light. They’ll decide for themselves.”
Leroy wasn’t sure he liked any of this. After weeks on the island and thirty conversions or rebirths of the souls of the dammed, they were venturing into the heart of darkness in an attempt to reach those who’d become demons long ago. These vampires would be hostile. Dark. Evil. And they served one so depraved, so vile that even the voodoo priests were afraid of him.
“What about Papa Legba?”
“He uses the name,” Terrance said. “But Papa Legba he is not.”
Terrance had explained before that Papa Legba was a voodoo Loa, a god of sorts, who commanded the keys to eternity. Modern culture had corrupted the image, making him into a mad demon, which he wasn’t; and this vampire, the one who ruled the underworld on Haiti had stolen the name and used it for himself.
“Okay, but what about him?”
“Even he must be given a choice.”
“And what happens if he becomes human?” Leroy asked. “Is he forgiven of all his crimes?”
“I don’t know,” Terrance admitted. “But if there is still punishment for one so evil, then at least he faces the sentence as a human.”
Near the top of the foothills they came to an abandoned sugar cane plantation.
“And what about Drakos?” Leroy asked. “I’ve had dreams of him. He wanted to kill me; Elsa took my place.”
Terrance nodded slowly at the mention of Elsa’s name. “She sacrificed herself for us. She tried to destroy Drake even though she knew it couldn’t be done. She did it to buy you some time.”
“Does Drake know about me?” Leroy asked nervously.
“He knows of you,” Terrance said. “But he doesn’t know who you are. And he’s wounded now. He won’t come for you until he’s strong again. And when he does you‘ll have to be ready. You can’t fear him. He’ll destroy you if you’re afraid.”
“So that’s why we’re coming here,” Le
roy said. “You’re testing me.”
Terrance grinned. “No test, just a lesson,” he said. “Unfortunately in this world we tend to only find our most lasting faith in the darkest moments of our life. That’s where the lesson lies. Only when we let go of old beliefs can new ideas and new power flow in.”
“You think I’m carrying around old beliefs?” Leroy asked confused. “I barely even believe all this stuff I seen with my own eyes.”
Terrance just hummed.
Leroy shook his head. “Who ever heard of having a blind man for a guide,” he muttered under his breath.
“Who ever heard of an angel from the streets of Compton,” Terrance replied. “You forget I can’t see but I can hear really well.”
The dirt road topped out on a plateau, and far in the distance the old sugarcane plantation loomed. Leroy pulled through a crumbling archway with one rusted gate still barely hanging on. Someone had scrawled graffiti on the wall beside the arch. It read; Abandon all hope.
Just inside the gate, perhaps a hundred yards from the house, he brought the Jeep to a stop.
“At least it’s daylight,” Leroy muttered.
“There won’t be any light once you step inside.”
“What do you mean once I step inside?”
Terrance put his hand on Leroy’s. “My path has come to an end. It’s time for you to go alone and for me to go back home and enjoy what little time I have left with my family in New Orleans.”
Leroy stared at Terrance.
“You knew as well as I did that this day would come. Now, don’t be afraid. You’ve been handpicked from billions of souls, and that’s a promising thought. If I know anything, I know you were chosen because you will succeed, not because you might.”
Leroy continued to stare at him. He didn’t want to get out of the Jeep, didn’t want to move a muscle until a sudden flash of a memory popped into his mind: the dream of his son months before asking why he was still in the old apartment in Compton. What was he waiting for?
Time to move, he thought. “Okay,” he said taking a deep breath. “Here I go.”
He stepped from the Jeep and walked toward the old plantation house. The rocks and dirt beneath his feet made a distinct crunching sound.
He turned back to Terrance, who was sitting in the Jeep. “I guess after tonight I’ll take you home.”
Terrance nodded. “And when you’re done saving the world you come back and see your old friend.”
As he walked the long gravel path toward the house Leroy felt the air growing cold. The shadow beneath his feet began to fade as the clouds above moved in.
As he approached the house, dead leaves began to swirl around his ankles, tumbling with the wind. A storm was definitely coming.
He thought about turning around, but as he looked back, he saw Terrance shaking his head and pointing with his cane. They’d come here for a reason and there was no turning back now.
Leroy stepped up on the great wrap-around porch of the old plantation house. Grand old columns of the fifty-room master’s house still held up the dilapidated roof, inhabited now by only the birds. The paint was worn and totally ravaged. The plants and grasses had long encroached on the once proud manor and now covered it like camouflage. Vines snaked everywhere and the wood was cracked and splintered in places - brittle to the touch.
Leroy looked down, careful where to place each footstep. He saw footprints and scuff marks everywhere. Many different kinds and sizes.
There’s a lot of Nosferatu here, he thought.
Leroy shut his eyes and listened. At first, the wind was all he heard as it whistled though the overgrown fields outside and through cracks and broken windows in the house. Then, as if it were carried on the wind, he heard voices and the minds of those inside the manor house. They were awake. Many were scared, living in fear. They sensed him. They knew something was out there. Something of great power. Certainly he was the first human to approach the plantation in fifty years, as all in Port Au Prince knew it was cursed.
Leroy took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He was about to go push the door open when the raindrops began to fall. His thoughts turned to Terrance in the open Jeep. He wondered if Terrance could actually pull the top up and secure it by himself. He turned back and saw Terrance moving around agitated.
Back in the Jeep, Terrance felt the wind blow cold just as the first raindrops hit his face. He looked to the sky. “No,” he said. “No.”
He grabbed the roll bar of the Jeep and stood, yelling to Leroy. “Is there a storm coming?”
Leroy couldn’t hear him as the wind whipped through the fields.
Terrance repeated his question. “Is there a storm?”
“Yes! Why?”
“Damn!” Terrance yelled. “We got to get out of here, Leroy. The vampires have the high ground! The clouds turn day into night! You should have told me!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Run Leroy!” Terrance shouted. “Run!”
But even as the words left Terrance’s mouth, the front double doors of the grand old house flew open and Leroy was trampled by a stampede of charging figures. He tried to get up but one of them swung a bat that connected with the side of his head. He fell to the ground and blacked out.
Terrance couldn’t see what happened, but he could hear it, he could feel it. The rain came down with a rush. It sounded like slop on the dirt road, like a thousand rash whispers in the overgrown fields. Hail began peppering the old manor house.
He heard the door come flying open, shouts and cackling screams and running feet.
“Leroy!” He shouted uselessly.
There was no answer but the sound of thunder as it rocked the mountainside and echoed down the passes.
“Leroy?! Are you okay?”
A voice replied, but it was dark and malignant.
“He cannot ‘elp you little man. Nothing can ‘elp you now!”
Terrance had never feared being blind. It was a fair trade off for what he’d seen in his world. But the sound of that voice struck him to his core.
He stood and pulled the sheath from the outside of his cane exposing a rapier-like weapon.
“Hahahaha,” the deep voice growled. “Blind man gonna fight us. Come on blind man, come an’ get me!”
Terrance knew who was speaking. The demon of Haiti. The one who called himself after the voodoo god, Papa Legba. Eight feet tall, they said. Teeth made of ivory, they said. Hands that could crush a pig’s skull. Whatever the truth, this was the image Terrance saw in his mind.
The sound of footsteps rushed around the Jeep. Terrance turned and swung the blade this way and that, like a man trying to swat invisible flies. He hit something; it could have been a man or a vampire or the padded roll bar of the Jeep.
A hand grabbed his leg and Terrance slashed downward. This drew a high-pierced shriek from some creature of the night. Another hand grabbed at his collar and the sound of the windshield smashing startled him.
Then all activity stopped and the harsh voice returned much closer this time. Terrance could smell death and decay on the breath. “I was told you would come, voodoo priest. I heard you’ve been leading my children back into the light.”
Terrance slashed with the saber and considered jumping out of the Jeep. He knew the sugar cane fields were east of him, the manor house was in front of him and the way they drove in behind him. He couldn’t feel the sun at all now as the cloud and rain ruled the mountaintop.
He wanted to run, but he couldn’t. He had to stand and fight. He had to give Leroy time to work, if he was still alive.
He took a great gulp of nothing, as he had no spit. “I know who and what you are – a false imitation of the Loa. You hold only the keys to darkness. If you were really Papa Legba, you would be able to give the keys to the light as well. Which is what I bring to you. I come with absolution. Freedom from evil. The chance to become human again. This offer is to all of you who want it.”
A hush ran through a
ll the vampires followed by a slight chatter that moved around the circle, but no voice spoke except that of their master.
“Stop wasting your breath, little man.”
Terrance was stalling, hoping that Leroy wasn’t dead. He was trying to keep their focus on him and away from Leroy. “You fear the return to your human form,” he said. “But it’s not something to be feared. Only your master fears it because then he won’t rule over you.”
He received no answer.
“They serve me,” Papa Legba said sharply. “Whether they want to or not!”
A huge paw of a hand grabbed Terrance and flung him to the ground. As he landed, the rapier was knocked from his hand.
“I’m going to dismember you piece by piece and then feed on you slowly.”
Fear gripped Terrance. He scrambled for the Jeep and tried to get back in, but it was no use. In a second the vampire had him again, grabbing him and tossing him further this time.
Terrance landed and rolled in the mud. Before he could move, a heavy boot stepped on him. Terrance felt his ribs crack as if they were matchsticks.
He was gasping for air as the others surrounded him. He could hear a frenzy among them, like a pack hungry jackals.
“You don’t have to do this,” Terrance managed.
If any of them heard him, Terrance would have been shocked. The wind and the rain were too loud. Their own cackling too hideous and constant for the soft pleas of a broken man to overcome.
Papa Legba slammed a fist into Terrance’s face. Another blow landed and then another and then another. Battered and bloody, Terrance felt Papa Legba leaning in close, sniffing him and putting his ear to Terrance’s lips. “What was that?”
Terrance had no strength left to talk and Papa Legba pulled back laughing. “The voodoo priest says we’re all forgiven!”
A wave of sick laughter rose up.
“Tonight we can go home, and tomorrow we can bask in the sun. Or maybe we roast you on a barbeque spit, voodoo man.”
More laughter. And then, to Terrance’s utter surprise, a human voice, “You can be forgiven, but you need to take what’s been offered!”
