Quantum Heights: Book one of the Dead Path Chronicles

by Richard A. Valicek

  Ned sneered. “I haven’t seen your son. He don’t hang out with us,” he said, then grinned again. “Maybe he’s out putting in a hard day’s work at the strip bar. Even he likes to watch.”

  “You know, I don’t think I want to bother with a rematch. And, you can tell your mommy you’ve been beaten by a woman,” Cynthia said, turning around.

  Ned’s eyes went wide and desperate. “Henry may not make it alive,” he blurted out. “I ain’t going to tell you nothing,” he said.

  “Fine. Let’s race,” said Cynthia. “But, you promise me you tell me where Henry is whether I win or lose.”

  “Man, you’re gonna lose. You’re going down,” said Ned, grinning wildly.

  At the edge of Jethro stood a hill in the center of a snowy forest. The four men and Cynthia sat astride their horses on the rugged path at the ready. Cynthia knew full well this would not be a fair ride and that these men would pull every punch they could. She knew her life was at stake. She bent forward and patted her horse’s firm neck, steeling herself to beat these low-life deadbeats. With her thighs gripping the saddle and the reigns firm in her hands, her thoughts flashed to Henry, but she shook them off, knowing she needed to be focused in order to win. At the sound of a gun, their five horses took off down the rocky path, riding fast and furious. Above them, the trees arched into a snowy canopy all but blotting out the sun.

  The horses rode perfectly in sync until suddenly the one beside Cynthia nudged hers, and its rider began punching Cynthia’s arm. Cynthia took the blows and held steady until they came to a bend in the road, and Cynthia backhanded the man in the nose. He yelped and flew off his horse landing in the snow, rolling backwards over and over as if he were a snowball. They left him behind and kept racing. Cynthia was neck and neck with Ned. Suddenly, someone reached around her waist. She teetered, off balance, which caused her to yank her horse to the side and veer into the horse beside her. Cynthia reared back and elbowed whomever had been behind her. That man lost his balance and fell off his horse, bouncing off a cluster of snow-covered branches. Cynthia looked back to see the man cursing and dusting himself off as he sluggishly got up. The remaining three horses were weary and frothing, but they kept on.

  In an upcoming dense thicket, Cynthia noticed two men crouched beside tree stumps on either side of the path. Each held a length of rope that was tied to their stump. As they passed, they threw their ropes, and the stumps came swinging down onto the trail. Cynthia saw one headed straight for her, so she ducked and went down to her horse’s flank, hanging on sideways. The stump went over her saddle and struck the man riding just behind her to the side, knocking him off his horse. He flew into a tree and lay still in the snow. Now, it was Ned and Cynthia. Ned jammed his heels into his horse and took a good lead. Cynthia sat back up in her saddle and dug in, too. They were approaching a steep slope that led to a cliff. They rounded the corner at such a great speed, both riders fell off their horses, sliding down the slope on their backs over the ice toward the cliff. The adrenaline racing through Cynthia was fierce. She reached out and grabbed hold of the back of Ned’s jacket. She managed to get her other hand down to her thigh and yanked out her dagger. She raised her arm and plunged it into the snow, which slowed them down. But, not slow enough; they kept racing down the hill until they hit a clump of brush. Ned had too much momentum and sailed over and off the edge; Cynthia was able to stop herself by activating the spikes within her finger part of her gloves. Instantly, the tips of her fingers and palms shot out a number of one inch spikes on her left hand. With a grip on the icy snow, she held on. Ned dangled over the side, his hand gripping her right hand. “Where’s Henry?” she yelled.

  “Pull me up and I’ll tell you!” screamed Ned.

  Cynthia pursed her lips but decided she had to trust him. If he knew anything at all, she needed to know. She used all her might to pull Ned up from the edge. He gripped some rocks and hoisted himself up. He clambered up onto the hill. Cynthia looked at her spiked glove and retracted the spikes. Ned sat beside her, both of them breathing hard. She looked at him. “Where’s… Henry?”

  He shook his head. “I really don’t know. I told you. I haven’t seen him. I’m telling you the truth.”

  Cynthia saw in his eyes that he was being honest with her. This chase was just a game to recoup his money. They stood and began to climb the hill that led back to the trail. When they reached the top, they paused at the overlook and glanced at the view. Ned chuffed the dirt with the toe of his boot and looked sheepish. “So, um, thanks for saving my life. I owe you.” Ned held out his hand. Cynthia looked down at her feet and then at Ned before swinging her fist wide and cracking him in the jaw. Ned fell to the ground.

  “You took me for a ride, Ned. I win again,” Cynthia said as she walked away.

  ***

  The city of Jethro was sodden and heavy from the slushy rain that fell thickly over the streets. It was warm for a winter’s day, and the cobblestone shone from the wet. Upon nightfall, the citizens slowly made their way into their homes and bunkered themselves in for the dark. Night in Jethro was a fearsome time, and the people who lived here were scarred by their memories.

  In a suite of a small apartment building, Cynthia was grieving for the loss of her brother, her best friend. It was one year ago on this night that the dreaded vampire had taken her brother’s life. For Cynthia, it was a year of pain and desperation; she ached to find a way to destroy the entire vampire cult that continually persecuted their great land of Alamptria. The people of the kingdom had to spend their time and precious limited resources to defend their homes from these wretched creatures of the underworld, who flew by night out from Mount Drone, which stood at the base of Plaphorius, and flooded the skies, turning them black. Elysium and Koriston had joined forces to eradicate their land of these horrid creatures.

  Cynthia sipped a glass of red wine. She was a beautiful woman who worked undercover, but her current investigation looked like it had come to a dead end. She downed the last of her wine and checked her watch again. She felt in her bones that something was wrong, but she tried not to worry and poured another glass of wine to take her mind off her fears. She wasn’t losing hope just yet. “Come on, Henry,” she muttered.

  In another hour, she was feeling thick in the head, and Henry had still not arrived. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the rain started up again. Cynthia lay down on the couch and dozed off fitfully. Not long later, thunder clapped and lightning sizzled as if the storm had leaped up with a vehemence, and she jumped. This, she knew, was the bewitching hour: the time when the one you expected to come home did not and was either simply delayed or undergoing the Monisar, the transition one went through as he became undead.

  ***

  In the pit hall of a dark warehouse stood three of the dark lord’s most notorious henchmen. Cambrozes Genesis, the Dark Lord Makoor’s chief henchman in charge of subsuming the land of Alamptria, was in a heated discussion about his complicated scheme for stealing Caprius Seaton’s claymore of power. The claymore was a sword of power harnessed by the great wizard Grongone and his mighty Vim. The undead feared the Vim over all else: a power so intense, it could cripple the vampires and potentially destroy them.

  It was a scheme that had made strong headway now that they had captured Caprius’ good friend and were torturing him to get him to cooperate and do Cambrozes’ bidding. He writhed and spat in the corner, and Cambrozes watched, a thick, evil smile smeared across his oily face.

  Carcass Doom, the other henchman helping administer the torture, grabbed the prisoner by his now bloodied and torn shirt, dragged him to a nearby chair, and threw him into it. Henry Hudson, who had been captured and was being forced to watch the other man’s suffering, was restrained by the third of the group, Lavender Frikiseed. Henry noticed a tattoo of a snake on the man’s wrist as he pinned him down. He gathered from the conversation that Lavender was going to be the one responsible for obtaining the claymore of power. “Look up,” hissed Lavender who
grabbed Henry’s head and forced him to watch. “Your good friend here is about to die.”

  Lavender pushed him into a chair, and two Droge creatures scurried forward and began wrapping him to the chair with lengths of rope. They bound his torso to the chair but mistakenly left his arms free. Henry smiled to himself but clasped his hands behind his back and said nothing.

  Carcass Doom then straightened up and walked over to a chain, which was wound around a wheel attached to a steel beam. He hooked one end to the chair. “I don’t know what you want from me,” said the man. Carcass Doom glanced at the stagnant pool of freezing water that lay beneath an opening in the wooden floor before grabbing the chain and pulling it so the man was lifted off the ground. The Droges helped position the chair and the screaming man over the water before Carcass Doom lowered him into it. Down he went, deep, deeper into the cold water. The man struggled to get a last breath of air, but he was submerged too quickly, his eyes bulging with fear. There was nothing he could do. Carcass Doom’s strength was no match for any mortal.

  “Carcass!” yelled Cambrozes. “That’s enough!” Carcass rolled his eyes and pulled the man out of the water. He lifted him in his chair, sputtering, his head lolling about on his neck, and put him brusquely back onto the dry floor.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” the man got out between fits of coughing.

  “Now, Mr. Brandon Peasley, we’re going to have a little talk,” said Cambrozes.

  “But, I don’t know anything!” Peasley yelled.

  “It’s not what you know that we’re interested in; rather, it’s what you’re going to do for us.” Cambrozes took a step closer to him. “I want you to write a letter instructing Caprius Seaton to meet you in the dining lounge of hotel Quantum Heights.”

  “Why would Caprius Seaton want to meet with me there?” asked Brandon. “It’s way out of the way.”

  Cambrozes slapped Brandon in the face so hard it knocked Brandon and the chair to the ground. Carcass pulled on the chain and lifted him gently back up. “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid!” Cambrozes peered into Brandon’s eyes. “I know all about the work you do for him. I also happen to know that he trusts you. And, this is why I know Caprius will show up.”

  “Take heart, Peasley; soon, we Goncools will run all of Alamptria,” said Lavender.

  Cambrozes stared intently into Brandon’s eyes. “Now, write the letter.” Carcass and the Droges moved the chair in front of a small writing desk.

  “What’s the letter for? What is it exactly that you want?” asked Brandon.

  “That isn’t any of your concern. All you need to know is what you already know and nothing more,” said Cambrozes.

  “Well, I won’t write it!” yelled Brandon. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”

  “Write the fucking letter!” yelled Cambrozes.

  “I won’t do it. You’ll just have to kill me,” said Brandon.

  “Frikiseed, soften him up,” he said. Lavender gave a small whoop and began hitting him across the head and abdomen. Brandon shrieked with pain, but that seemed only to enliven Lavender, who punched him even harder.

  After several minutes, Cambrozes put up his hand. “That’s enough!” he said. “We don’t want him to swell up just yet. He needs to be able to use his hand, and I need him alert—just enough for him to finish the job.” Cambrozes grabbed him by the chin. “Write the letter.” Brandon shook his head and spat a mouthful of blood onto Cambrozes’ face. “Carcass!” Carcass Doom picked up the chain and lifted the chair and Brandon off the ground. He kicked Brandon to the side, where he fell back into the frigid water. Brandon tried to struggle, and bubbles came up as he became more and more frantic.

  After a moment, Cambrozes held up his hand. Carcass lifted Brandon out of the water and plunked him down at Cambrozes’ feet. Brandon choked and coughed. Off to the side, Henry Hudson’s expression became more terrified. He’d always known the Legion of Doom was something to fear, but now, faced with it, he was petrified.

  After Brandon had caught his breath, Genesis pulled back Brandon’s hair. “You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be,” he said gently. “There is an easier way.” He leaned forward, his fetid breath on Brandon’s neck. “But, you should know, we have stamina beyond what you can imagine. We’re happy to play this little game all night.”

  Brandon stared at him through unfocused woozy eyes. Cambrozes puckered his lips and whistled. “Okay, you’re right. We’re going to kill you. But, no more torture. I promise you a quick death. You have my word. Now, write the fucking letter!”

  Brandon nodded slowly. “Thank you. I appreciate that. But, no.”

  Cambrozes’ expression hardened before a sweet smile broke out and showed all his rotten teeth. “Perhaps, you haven’t thought this through. What about your lovely lady friend here in Jethro?”

  Brandon’s face crumpled. “How do you know of Elizabeth? You wouldn’t harm her.”

  “You see, Mr. Peasley, we didn’t get involved in this little endeavor until we were sure we knew everything there was to know about you,” said Cambrozes. Off to the side, Carcass squeezed out a horrible laugh.

  “And, if I write the letter, you’ll leave her and her kids alone?” asked Brandon.

  “Of course! She’s just a local peasant. We have no use for her.”

  Brandon looked down at the blank paper in front of him. He picked up the pen with a shaking hand and began to write as he was instructed. When he finished, he threw the pen and shoved the paper toward the cold-hearted bastard. Cambrozes picked up the letter and smiled as he read it.

  “Are you satisfied?” asked Brandon angrily.

  “You have done well, Brandon Peasley. It sounds very authentic.” Cambrozes turned. “Carcass!”

  Carcass strode over and picked up Brandon and the chair. “Killing me isn’t going stop the Seatons! Whatever your plan is, it won’t work, Genesis! Caprius will come after you!”

  “I’m counting on it, Mr. Peasley,” said Cambrozes. Carcass threw the chair containing Brandon into the pool of cold water. It swung heavily from the chain like a clock pendulum.

  In the commotion, Henry had used his free hands to untie himself. When Lavender was busy laughing at Brandon, struggling again beneath the water, he shook off his ropes and began to back away.

  “You said you were going to give him a quick death,” said Lavender.

  “Whatever. He’ll die soon enough,” said Carcass, flapping his hand.

  Underwater, Brandon continued to struggle as he tried to untie the rope binding his chest. He gasped, and bubbles erupted from his mouth, his lungs instantly filling with the icy water. He took one last look at the predicament he was in before silenced with death.

  Henry, now with several feet of distance between him and his kidnappers, began to run. He ran for his life. When Lavender turned around to check on his captive, Henry was gone. “Hudson!” yelled Lavender.

  “Get him, you fools!” Cambrozes screamed at the two Droges creatures. He turned to Lavender. “After you’re sure that boy is dead, too, take this letter and send it to Caprius Seaton in Elysium.”

  In the water, there were a few last valiant bubbles that rose to the surface before the water was glassy and still. Not able to spare a last look at his dying friend, Henry bolted from the warehouse and made it outside. He quickly headed for the dense forest ahead. As he ran, echoes of eerie laughter filled the forest, yet he had no choice but to try to survive there. He entered a patch of meadow that was bathed in moonlight, and Lavender and the Droges spotted him and ran toward him. Henry had a good head start, though, and was able to make it into the cover of forest. He dodged trees and hopped fallen logs, running faster than he ever had in his life.

  Lavender was more familiar with the forest and saw best at night, so even though Henry had an advantage, it was lessening by the moment. The Droges who accompanied him were even faster. This was their element. These superior Droges, far more deadly than ordinary Droges due to th
e injections they’d received of the Dark Lord’s own blood, smelled and wanted more blood.

  Henry turned around to see them closing the gap and stumbled; he fell and hit his face on the wet earth, but the pain felt like nothing since he was flooded with adrenaline from fear. He got back up and continued to run. He could hear the lathering breath of a Droge behind him. Henry hopped a small boggy marsh thinking he’d lose the creature, but he was wrong: he’d come to the edge of a cliff, a raging river below. Off to the side were some boulders, so he quickly climbed down the rocks. Ahead was a fallen tree that seemed to bridge the gap to the other side. He climbed down and began walking across the tree trunk. It was not a very wide river; he talked himself through it and kept his chin high. It looked like he was going to make it.

  On the cliff’s edge, the two Droges spotted Henry and easily clambered down the rocks. But, when they came to the fallen tree, they chittered among themselves, too afraid to walk across. All Droges were terrified of water. They, instead, jumped nervously, snarled, and growled at Henry, who was inching his way to the other side and away from them. Having to give up on their desire for his blood but still having a job to do, the Droges took their bows and arrows and began to fire at Henry. Arrows whisked by him. Henry was just a foot from the edge, he’d nearly made it, and he was smiling, when an arrow struck him directly in the back near his spine. He lost his footing and fell into the river. Behind him on the cliff, Lavender arrived. He watched Henry’s body get swept away in the current.

  The Droge creatures turned around and gave Lavender the all clear. “Heesa dead,” yelled over a Droge.

  “Well done, my friends. Let’s go,” said Lavender.

  ***

  Henry’s body was swept downriver, but he was not dead. He managed to turn himself over onto his back and let the chill water numb the pain. The current soon subsided, and he drifted toward shore. When he was close enough, he helped himself by swimming, though he had to fight against screaming in pain. The arrow was still sticking out of his back. He knew, however, if he didn’t keep moving, he would die.