Extinction Agenda s-6

by Marcus Pelegrimas

  Trees brushed against him and branches snagged in his fur to pivot him in midair. It was still another few seconds before he snapped the larger branches on his way down through the tree line. Closing his eyes, Randolph tucked his chin in tight against his chest and formed a ball of muscle that skidded against the dirt after a solid thump. His ears hadn’t stopped ringing when he heard the hissing of snakes drawing closer. Icanchu’s voice could be heard above them as it cursed the Full Blood in an ancient language. When Randolph attempted to stand up, he staggered and lurched to one side.

  Power surged through his hands, emanating from the pearls that drew their energy from the rawest form of the Torva’ox. Randolph had lived through many full moons when the ancient energies flowed but had never felt the visceral connection to that which fueled everything from the first sparks of life to the whitest core of every flame. He knew if he soaked it in and channeled it through his body, he would become the most powerful shapeshifter on the planet. Even among Full Bloods, he would be a force to be reckoned with. Legends of Gorren told of how the ancient werewolf could rip through legions of wretches and annihilate entire populations of Nymar without their claws or fangs causing more than a scratch. Gypsy clans had been made extinct in the effort to put Gorren down, and cities set to the torch in the smallest hope that he might be caught in the flames. Such legends were unproven, but now Randolph had the means to test them for himself. And unlike those who needed to wait for their share when the next Breaking Moon rose, he would just have to allow the pearls in his hands to recharge.

  “Keep that which you took,” Icanchu hissed through the mouths of at least a dozen snakes that wriggled toward him through the grass, “and I will be able to find you. Return them now and you may keep your life.”

  Randolph’s fists clenched even tighter as he shifted into a more compact form, one that would allow him to run faster without forcing him to use all four legs. Ahead, Jaden howled in a way meant to show him the quickest way through the jungle. He pointed his nose in that direction and started covering ground in leaping bounds. He only needed to run toward a few more howls before the ground became familiar beneath his feet. Once she’d led him to the river and pointed him north, Jaden disappeared.

  He would remember what she’d done.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Slovakia

  They hadn’t driven more than twenty or thirty miles after crossing the border, but Cole felt as if he’d been taken into another century. Not only were the roads quieter than those in the States, but they looked as if they’d been that way even before packs of werewolves were such a common sight. Sophie veered onto a path that took them into the forest and even farther from civilization as he knew it.

  After emerging in a clearing smaller than half a football field, she pulled to a stop in front of a shack that whistled when the wind blew hard enough to stir the leaves piled on either side. Now that he’d had more than a few seconds to take in the rustic sight, Cole could see the ridge surrounding the clearing. Covered in thick layers of moss, it was too low to be a wall and too high to be fallen logs. Whatever it was, it formed a shape similar to a crater, with the long, rickety shack situated in its center.

  Sophie and Milosh approached the shack so she could knock on the door while he scanned the edge of the crater with wary eyes. Paige walked with Cole, while Waggoner stayed behind. Taking a new Skinner under their wing was one thing. Trusting a former Vigilant member with something like this was another. After a few knocks, the door was opened by a tall man who filled the opening almost as much as his solid, muscular body filled the dirty layers of clothing wrapped around him beneath a filthy apron. “Come in,” he said with a thick accent. “I trust these are Skinners?”

  “Yes,” Milosh replied. “And they’ve done well enough to chase Vasily’s dogs back into Prague. Ira, this is Cole and Paige.”

  “Well then,” the large man said. “Not only will I speak English, but they can help themselves to the stew I just made.”

  Cole and Paige followed the Amriany inside. The shack was at least three times longer than it was wide. The front portion was dominated by a rectangular table cluttered with dirty soup bowls, papers, a checkerboard, some battered paperback books, and a phone that was five generations behind the one in Cole’s pocket. At the back of the cabin a stone fireplace crackled, with flames that shed a flickering light on blades hanging from three of the four walls. “Looks like that’s not all you’ve been making,” Paige said.

  Weapons sat on pegs that had been knocked into the walls or hung from hooks dangling from crude racks. They ran the spectrum from simple daggers and wedge-shaped blades to curving designs even more complex than the sword strapped to Sophie’s back. Sizes ranged from a few inches all the way to broadswords almost as tall as Cole. Each of the weapons were encrusted with the same runes as the Blood Blade, but all had the rough, ashen look of metal pulled from a fire and left to gather dust. Once he got over the spectacle of being in a room that stank of burnt metal and being surrounded by so many exotic weapons, he noticed that none of the weapons were complete.

  “I was hoping you’d make it out here,” Ira said while waddling over to the fireplace. His awkward movements weren’t caused by a problem with weight or coordination, but from joints that were even less pliable than the iron he forged. “Those bastard Nymar swarmed into my summer home and destroyed it!”

  “Was that the same place we were at before?” Cole asked. “The place where those Half Breeds attacked?”

  “Yes,” Milosh said.

  “That was a summer home?”

  “It is warmer there than here. Can’t you tell?”

  Ira waved at both of them before reaching into the fireplace that still burned with a large flame. He grabbed a black pot by a curved handle, a whispering hiss coming from his hands. He brought the pot to the table with the heated handle still burning his palms, then set it down so he could blow on his hands as if he’d accidentally touched a hot coffee mug. “I would have fought them myself if you would have left at least one strong arm to help me.”

  “We don’t have anyone to spare,” Sophie told him. “Besides, I can’t remember the last time you needed someone to protect you.”

  Holding up a thick, callused finger, Ira said, “I just needed someone to hold a few of them back so I could swing. Not protect me. Is big difference.”

  “Of course.”

  Having made her way to one of the walls, Paige reached out to run her fingertips along some of the blades. When she touched one of the shorter swords hard enough to set it swinging into its neighbor, she looked over to the Chokesari as if expecting a reaction. Ira merely looked back at her while spooning some stew into one of the bowls. “Are all of these Blood Blades?” she asked.

  “Not yet. Stew?”

  “We didn’t come all the way out here to—”

  Cole interrupted her with, “I’ll have some stew.”

  Nodding with approval, Ira handed over a bowl and stooped down to pull out a bench that had been hiding beneath the long table. “They would be Blood Blades if there were any more Jekhibar around that were . . .” He rubbed his fingertips together as if something vital was slipping through them. After a few seconds he snapped them and said, “Charged. Is that the word?”

  Milosh nodded. “Yes it is. All of the Jekhibar we have are drier than my first wife’s . . . what are you looking at?”

  Ira’s face had taken on an expression that made him look almost childish. “What happened to your arm? The last time I saw you, there were two of them.”

  “Lost to a Weshruuv,” Milosh grunted while rubbing the stump that had been wrapped in several layers of torn scarves.

  Turning on the balls of his feet, Ira shoved aside a pile of scrap metal with the same ease someone else might push a chair aside. He reached down and retrieved a bottle, then filled several glasses scattered atop the table. There was no label on the bottle, but a tentative sniff told Cole it was probably whiskey. Either
very cheap stuff or home brewed.

  Ira raised his glass and looked at each of the others as if daring them to do anything but follow his lead. Not surprisingly, they each took a glass and lifted it to the crooked rafters over their heads. “To the flesh we’ve lost,” Ira bellowed, “and the steel to pay it back!”

  No matter how bad the whiskey was, Cole drank it all down.

  Letting out a hard breath while slamming his empty glass onto the table, Ira moved to the back of the room in his uneven, waddling stride. “I sifted through this soil for days the last time I was here. The only Jekhibar I found were lumps of worthless stone.”

  “One was found in America,” Milosh said. “A Weshruuv collected it and hid it away from the others.”

  Ira spun around and raised his bushy eyebrows. “Is it humming?”

  “I don’t know. Ask them.”

  Although every Amriany eye was pointed at him, Cole looked over to Paige and waited for a nod. When he got it, he dug into his coat pocket and closed his hand around the Jekhibar. Even a direct shotgun blast to the tanned Full Blood leather wouldn’t have been enough to tear through that coat, and yet Cole felt vulnerable just thinking about handing the Jekhibar over. “What do you mean by humming?” he asked.

  “The Jekhibar is nothing more than a special kind of rock,” Ira explained. “And all that’s special about it is that the Torva’ox collects inside of it. Soaks it up like a damn . . .” He winced before brightening again as he found the word he was after. “Sponge! Soaks it up like a sponge. Takes a man like me to get it out, though. There may not be a lot of us left, but we can put the Torva’ox into the steel. Turns ’em into Blood Blades. Only other thing that soaks that juice up more than Jekhibar is Weshruuv.”

  “That’s why the Blood Blades can hurt them so badly,” Cole said. “They’re connected.”

  Ira nodded and approached the Skinners. “Used to be legend that it took someone close to a Weshruuv to kill them. Since I’ve never seen one of those animals hold anyone close enough to care about them, I think this legend is about the Torva’ox. Perhaps something is lost in translation and it is talking about something that is a part of them. Other shapeshifters are part of them and they can hurt each other, but the Torva’ox is part of them, just like she,” he said, pointing to Paige, “is part of you.”

  Cole wasn’t about to deny the claim, especially since he and Paige hadn’t stopped watching the other’s back since they made it to the Hub. He hadn’t been aware it was that obvious, though.

  “Amriany have always been craftsmen,” Ira continued. “So we forge steel into blades. We hammer iron into tools or weapons and charm it with energies stolen from nymphs or other creatures.”

  Sophie made both of the Skinners jump when she snapped at the blacksmith in a string of barbed words in her native tongue. Ira’s face twisted into a tired grimace as he waved her off with his charred hand. “It is true. We can call it whatever we want, but we steal from the monsters so we can do what we do best. Amriany make blades, and Skinners carve wood. Amriany write curses, and Skinners scribble their runes.”

  Even as Sophie continued to scold Ira, Cole stepped up to him and asked, “What about the runes?”

  The burly blacksmith shook his head as Sophie continued to snarl his name as if it was the harshest curse she knew. “Torva’ox is what powers the runes,” he said. Once that was out, Sophie threw up her hands and stormed to the back of the room to inspect what Ira had been working on prior to their arrival. “I don’t know how they work, because that is savage workmanship. All I know is what I see, and when I see those runes, I know they pulse with Torva’ox.”

  “Savage, huh?” Paige said. “Seems refined enough to do the job.”

  Ira seemed confused by the tone in her voice, so Milosh explained, “We call you savages. Just another name for Skinner.”

  But Cole was too tired to argue semantics. Pulling the Jekhibar from his pocket, he waved it in Ira’s face and asked, “So Skinners must have these things too, right?”

  “No,” Ira replied without making a move toward the polished stone. “You people are crude, just as crude as your country, and it serves you well. You draw on as much of the Torva’ox as any man, which isn’t enough for my craft. It is enough for yours, though. As for the shapeshifting wood and blood rituals you do . . . I call them savage. Not another word for Skinner either. Savage.”

  Paige shouldered past Cole until she’d inserted herself into the narrow space between him and Ira. “What do you need the Jekhibar for?”

  “You see these weapons I made?”

  “Yeah.”

  Motioning to the walls that practically shone with firelight reflected off of the edges of so many blades, he said, “These can all be Blood Blades. They just need a little juice.”

  Cole’s knuckles crackled as his fingers closed even tighter around the stone. “You can try to take this from us, but you know it won’t be easy.”

  Stepping away so her back was to a wall, Paige followed Cole’s lead as if there were no other way. “Or even possible.” The look she gave her partner showed a hint of surprise mixed with a liberal dose of hope that he knew where the hell he was going with this.

  Ira hadn’t moved, but Milosh cursed under his breath and took half a step forward before Sophie stopped him. “Nobody said anything about taking it from you. I know how valuable these weapons are, but enough people have already died for them.”

  Cole said, “All I want is to put this historical feuding shit aside for good. Whatever it is between Skinners and Amriany, it’s too petty to keep going now. Our country is overrun, and if yours isn’t yet, it won’t be long before that changes for the worse.”

  “I was going to give you blades,” Ira said. “No need for such dramatics.”

  “I’m not talking about a weapons exchange. I’m talking about an alliance. A real one.”

  “Even you don’t know which Skinners you can trust,” Sophie said. “Why should we trust them?”

  “You’ll trust the ones we do, just like we’ll trust the Amriany that you do.”

  “And what becomes of our two people then?”

  “We form a group that has the weapons and intel of both. With our nymph connections, we can even make it easier for us all to work internationally.”

  “And you save your proposal until now instead of when we were all talking before?” Milosh grunted. “Very sneaky.”

  “I only just thought of it now,” Cole admitted. “But it’s not like I’m asking for anything that will hurt either one of us. Sure, we’ll both lose some of the whole secret society thing, but it’ll save us having to figure out new ways to tiptoe around each other when the next big emergency crops up.”

  “And,” Paige added, “if we join forces on a larger scale, maybe those big emergencies won’t crop up so often.”

  “I suppose this starts now?” Milosh asked. “By you Skinners loading up on all the Blood Blades you can carry?”

  “Just enough for me and Paige,” Cole replied. “Plus a few for us to divvy out to the Skinners on our nice list.” When he saw the glances going back and forth between the Amriany, he added, “You know. Like the naughty and nice list? You’ve got Santa over here, right?”

  Ira stomped over to Milosh and slapped a hand on the shoulder that only had a stump attached to it. “Yes, we do, and you are looking at him. I wasn’t going to let you walk out of here carrying nothing but those sticks!”

  “And I wasn’t going to let you leave this country before I proposed something similar to this alliance of yours,” Sophie said. She nodded to Paige and then looked at Cole with newfound respect. “I’ve heard you two were worth watching. Of course we figured there would be good things coming from her, but I wasn’t sure about you, Cole. Until now.”

  “Uh . . . thanks?” he replied, as if unsure whether he should feel flattered.

  “Don’t worry,” Ira chuckled. “She is still not so sure about me either. Let me see what you brought all t
he way out into this damned forest.”

  Even though he’d been guarding the Jekhibar with his life until now, Cole no longer had any qualms about putting it into the blacksmith’s rough hand. Ira immediately held it to his ear and smiled. Extending the stone toward Cole, he said, “Listen to that one sing! I haven’t heard one that good in a long time!”

  Rather than take the stone back, Cole leaned in toward it with about as much expectations as someone trying to hear the ocean through a seashell. Unlike that cheap beach trick, however, this one actually lived up to the hype. The sound that came from the Jekhibar was a single, perfect note that resonated only when his ear was directly in front of it, less than an inch away.

  “Usually it is a soft purr,” Ira explained. “This one couldn’t hold more juice if you crammed it in using a bar.” He winced. “Crow bar? You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah,” Paige said as Cole moved away. “What do you need to do now?”

  Ira turned from the others and walked toward a large workbench while flipping the Jekhibar in his hand like a smooth rock he was about to skip across a lake. “The hard part is done. All that’s left is to put what’s in here into all of these fine blades.”

  Once again Cole looked around at the weapons hanging from the walls. He hadn’t been able to count them before and surely couldn’t do it now. Giving voice to the same thoughts going through his mind, Paige asked, “How long is that going to take?”

  Without a word, Ira went to one of the blades dangling from a hook on a rack placed higher on the wall. It was about four inches wide at one end and tapered down to about half that length before forming an angular point at the other end. The hook fit through a metal stem meant to be hidden inside a handle. Ira grabbed that blade and held it up so the Skinners could see it curved to form a subtle wave shape just under two feet long. Gripping the blade in the middle with one hand, he tapped the Jekhibar against its tip and slowly raked it along the flat metal surface while muttering words that didn’t sound close to the Amriany dialect or any other language Cole had ever heard. One by one the symbols etched into the blade shimmered, and when the dim light in them faded, that section of the weapon had the imperfect sheen of a silvery lake muddled by murky patches of shadow. It was the same mix of light and dark marking the very first Blood Blade that Cole had ever seen.