The Blood Talisman

by Kim Culpepper

  The Blood Talisman

  by

  Kim Culpepper

  Prologue

  “Please Hyperion. Let’s forge a truce and stop all this killing.” The man dressed as a king was kneeling before a humble yet powerful-looking person. “We will let you practice witchcraft but you must stop your followers from tearing through town after town.”

  Hyperion, in his mid-fifties, had seen better years. His three young children played in a room nearby. They chased each other with tiny brooms made out of hay. Whenever one of them was caught, to the other two knighted him or her by placing the broom handle of each side of their tiny shoulders. It disturbed the king to see being knighted as a bad thing. He couldn’t imagine why a father would teach his children to be so unruly.

  “Emperor Julian, I find it ironic that a man of your stature be driven to such desperate measures as to ask a known necromancer for help. Aren’t we usually persecuted and beheaded in front of an audience?” Hyperion asked.

  “I will offer you anything on behalf of my country. Greece must be saved from these over-emotional creatures. Swords are no match for man-sized wolves, nor for blood-drinking vampires that can walk in the light after they are dead. We can bury them in chains but the wolves just dig them up. We are desperate.”

  “The years of persecution on behalf of my fellow witches will finish and the war over rulership of humankind will end. I will make this truce with you but I must have a blood offering.”

  “Anything. I would give my life for this great country,” Julian proudly proclaimed. He stood with his chest puffed out, ready for death on behalf of the future of Greece.

  Hyperion walked over to his children and watched them in the next room for a moment before closing a curtain, shielding them from his words.

  “How many children do you have?” he asked, his back still turned away from Julian.

  The emperor fell to his knees and said, “Please no. You can’t ask for the life of one of them. I won’t give them to you. They are so young!”

  Hyperion turned and stared down at him with derision. “Get up, you fool. I’m not asking for death. You can’t forge peace in death. I ask for only a drop of his precious blood to create a bond that will last as long as an object I have in mind is placed in it.”

  Julian raised himself up to his feet and questioned Hyperion. “An object and a drop of one of my children’s blood will end this war of epidemic proportions? I can’t believe such magic exists.”

  “That is the problem with you heretics. Non-believers cannot fathom something so simple yet so complex. You will never understand the true meaning of life and death. You all hide behind beliefs of saving grace and people who live as humans. A monster will never be beautiful in your eyes.”

  “Those that rip throats out and pick human flesh from bone are not beautiful. I see only death in their eyes.”

  “That’s just it. There is a person behind those beastly eyes who has no choice but to feast on from the people that betray their own kind. They have a hunger within them that is insatiable. It’s a hunger for life.”

  “I can’t listen to you describing my friends and family as meals for those… animals,” Julian yelled.

  Hyperion chuckled and responded, “And this is why we would never be accepted as members of your community.”

  Julian crossed the room to stand closer to Hyperion. He could not find the answers he sought in Hyperion’s stern face and cold eyes. He had an outstanding reputation amongst the other practitioners of witchcraft. Being known as the only necromancer, Julian knew that Hyperion retained powers that no other witch could battle against.

  “The truth is,” sneered Julian, “that you are just another bad witch. They say that eyes are windows into one’s soul. Your eyes are bleak and without emotion. Did you give it all to the vampires and wolves?”

  “Actually, I was much more powerful than I am today. Some of my powers are passed onto each child I father. My son, my firstborn, got my telekinetic powers, my first daughter got my healing powers, and my second got the most powerful of them all. However, I have retained my immortality and I don’t intend giving that away. I can, however, harness it into a talisman. I will need the blood of youth to bind it.”

  “You will use my son’s blood to create this talisman?” asked Julian.

  “The wolves and the vampires will no longer be immortal. They may be defeated.”

  “Why do I feel like there is a catch?” sighed Julian.

  “Because there is. Do you think I would simply end this war and not gain anything from it?”

  Julian rolled his eyes and continued to pace the floor, imagining every horrible scenario possible.

  “Well what is it?” he said after a spell of silence.

  “I and my children will become immortal. Your child’s blood will bind him and his ancestors to my three. To create this truce and make my creatures immortal once again, your son or his predecessors must become one of my creatures. My children and I will protect your family for all of eternity and in return we get to live in peace forever. I’m protected, you’re protected. We all win.”

  “I’m not protected at all,” protested Julian. “What if one of those things try to turn my son just to retain its immortality?”

  “They will have to take the talisman from my dead body. There are only three people on this earth who can kill me and they’re playing in the next room.” Hyperion opened the curtain to look at his children, who were now asleep on blankets on the floor. “Sol, Rose, and Selene have great destinies awaiting them. They have no idea they possess the power to rule this world. They have the same chance to do so as your offspring. A father could never want more than privilege for their children. Could you not agree Julian?”

  Julian looked over Hyperion’s shoulder at the sleeping children and agreed to the truce for the sake of his country.

  The necromancer made his talisman and wore it proudly. The wolves were grateful to the immortal for creating a truce that let them live in relative peace. The few vampires that fled Greece stayed in shadows and mixed in with human society.

  Chapter 1

  Alex Jacobs looked up at the sun with irritation. He couldn’t believe that after working all day in the scorching Afghanistan heat, he would have to cover yet another shift. At least this time he would be working at night, when it got nice and cold in the desert. Another notch on his scale of hatred was the fact that he would have to work with the most annoying soldier in his troop, watching over the others as they slept.

  Private Gene Bailey was a short skinny prick with glasses and a stutter, when he got nervous. Alex wanted to slap him when he stuttered to make him talk right.

  “S-s-see you this e-e-evening P-p-private J-j-jacobs,” he stuttered to Alex as they walked at ease back to their bunks to rest up for the evening.

  “Just call me Alex like everyone else does, okay?” Alex replied with a weary smile and a tired voice. He still wanted to slap him. He wondered how Bailey had even made it past basic training with that stutter.

  Alex put his guns onto the floor beside his bunk and plopped down onto his bed. He laid back and closed his eyes to see her. He hadn’t touched his wife’s face in eighteen months. He slowly rubbed the stubble on his face, remembering the feel of her fingers on him. He smiled, showing his pearly white teeth encased in a dusty and dirty face.

  He patted his pants pocket to feel for her picture. It was tattered and worn from too many glances. Her long brown hair spread over the bed that she posed on. She wore his favorite pair of shorts. The ones that if she bent over would show her ass cheeks. He smirked thinking about them. He turned the picture over to read the inscription that said, ‘Alex, for those lonely nights in the desert. Xs and Os, Amalia
’. Her quirky sense of humor always made him smile.

  Alex kissed the writing on the back of the picture. Just seeing those few words that she’d written made him feel closer to her. He smiled and slipped the picture back in his pants pocket. He sighed and thought about how much he wanted to be home with her. He closed his eyes to see her in his mind. He imagined her soft tanned hands rubbing up the sides of his thighs and up to the front of his chest. She snaked her way up to his face and kissed his thin lips. She softly whispered “I love you” in his ear, and he smiled. Her long brown hair tickled his scruffy face and he pushed her hair behind her ears.

  Before he realized it, he was drifting slowly to sleep. He dreamt of what it would be like when he got home. She would run to greet him off the plane, she would kiss his face, and he would wipe away her tears. It’s all that he wanted and needed. Just her.

  “P-p-private J-j-acobs,” he heard faintly. “Alex?”

  Alex didn’t want to leave his dreams. He could hear a ruckus in the distance as his troop commander stomped toward the tent. Alex jerked, sitting straight up on his cot. With his eyes wide open he turned to see Commander John Fortner pushing stuttering Gene to the side as if he were merely an object blocking his path.

  “Move the fuck outta the way, Bailey,” the commander shouted. “What in the hell is the holdup?” he continued.

  Alex rose from his cot and stood at attention, saluting his commander. “At your command, Sir,” he said.

  “At ease, Jacobs. What the hell is the hold up? You were supposed to report at your night post an hour ago. If you don’t want to get out of the desert sooner than expected, there are plenty of other willing soldiers waiting to leave this warzone.”

  “No sir, sorry sir. I won’t let it happen again.”

  “Bailey, take Jacobs out to his post and begin your watch. Next time I tell you to grab your co-constituent, you’d better do so with haste or I will have your ass on a platter!”

  He left the bunks and Alex looked at Gene with malice in his eyes.

  “Why didn’t you get me sooner?” Alex asked, evenly.

  “I d-d-didn’t think a-a-about i-i-t,” Gene managed to sputter out.

  The Commander had made him immensely nervous and Alex felt bad for him. He knew not to speak to him anymore because it would take him forever to get one sentence out at this point.

  “Whatever, man. Let’s go before he has another coronary,” Alex sighed as he gathered his ammo, gun, and sterling silver hunting knife off of the floor.

  They headed outside where the sun had already set and it immediately felt like fall. The heat of the day was gone, but not forgotten. It would be back with a vengeance tomorrow.

  Alex rubbed his haggard face, ignoring his weary soul, ready to work another shift in the desert. Every shift worked got him one step closer to Amalia.

  He and Gene went their own separate ways into the night. He began to think about all of the other soldiers who’d got to go home early after working the night shifts. Good fellows, wanting only their wives and families. The single ones were always happy to stay. Alex had more to fight for, though. He had Amalia to fight for and that was enough to take on every night shift for months.

  After patrolling the desert for hours, crossing paths with Gene now and again, Alex clicked on his watch light to catch the time. 01:00 hours. It was beginning to get exceptionally cold in the desolate darkness of the desert. Alex realized he hadn’t seen Gene since 11:00 hours and began to wonder where he’d got to.

  A wolf howled in the distance and Alex clicked on his flashlight, concerned at what might have happened to Gene. The wolves in the area had become more daring and vicious lately. They had already attacked and killed several villagers near Kandahar because of a bad winter and lack of food.

  “Gene!” Alex whispered into the darkness.

  Only a soft desert wind answered.

  “Gene!” he called again.

  He took his gun out of his holster, prepared in case any wolf was out there. He pointed the flashlight around frantically in search of his colleague.

  “Gene!” he called out once more.

  “Alex?” a small voice called back.

  Alex moved his flashlight around looking for the source of the sound. He heard the wolf howl again, but this time closer.

  “Gene, where are you?” Alex asked.

  “Here,” Gene answered behind Alex.

  Alex turned his flashlight around to find Gene bent over on the ground.

  “You okay? You ain’t sick, are you?”

  “No, but you need to run. There’s a wolf out there that knows we’re here,” he answered.

  “What happened to your stutter?” Alex asked.

  “Just go,” Gene replied.

  As Gene looked up at him, Alex turned his flashlight directly into Gene’s eyes. They were turning a yellowish red. Alex scrunched his forehead up in confusion.

  “Run!” Gene demanded again, in a deeper, almost demonic voice.

  Alex took a few steps back from Gene and dropped his flashlight into the sand with a thud. He dropped to his knees and was clamoring to find it in the sand when he heard growling and moaning in front of him. He wrapped his fingers around the cold black handle of the flashlight and shone it back toward Gene. Where Gene had once been now stood a wolf on two legs, like a man. The wolf had saliva dripping from its lips and dirty sand in its claws.

  Alex drew his gun on the human-sized wolf and began shooting, but the creature charged him, knocking him over onto the desert sand. The wolf was on top of him before he knew it.

  The wolf tore at Alex’s sleeve, ripping it completely off and spitting it out into the dark desert. It then dug into his arm with its teeth, shredding his flesh and muscle. The dark red blood gushed out onto the sand. Alex knew he had to do something fast. He snatched his knife out of its holster, stabbed the creature in its sternum and tried to rip upward. The wolf immediately rolled away and ran off. He could hear it howling in pain in the distance. Alex blocked the wolf out of his mind and started howling in pain himself.

  “Gene!” he shouted with what voice he had left.

  The wolf’s howl turned into a man’s scream. And not just any man, but Gene himself.

  “No wonder the freaky little bastard took every night shift,” Alex thought wryly, as he lay there bleeding onto the light brown sand. He reached over to find his ripped sleeve, and wrapped it tightly around his bleeding arm.

  “Help!” he yelled out in pain.

  Gene was still screaming and gurgling in the distance, but soon became eerily silent. Alex wondered if he had died or run off out of earshot. He could hear other soldiers hurrying towards him as he began to lose consciousness. He fought to stay in this world, but the blood that was draining from him had weakened him considerably. He began to think about the only thing that he was truly here fighting for: Amalia. Her soft touch and the smell of her long brown hair encompassed him. He longed for the care that only she could give him. He let the thought of her love consume him as he drifted off, in and out of consciousness. The pain he felt encircled him until he only felt the pain of being without Amalia. The darkness of the desert hindered his sight until there was complete darkness and he only saw blank nothingness.

  ***

  “Shit! Johnson, grab Jacobs’ shoulders and drag him back to the infirmary. Capritio, go and get Dodds and you two take care of Bailey’s body. I’ll go with Jacobs,” shouted Commander John Fortner.

  Johnson, a burly black man, grabbed Alex by the shoulders and began to drag him toward the infirmary back at camp. Capritio, a blond, witless wonder, and Dodds, an average-looking, middle-aged bald man, were pouring gas all over Bailey’s body before lighting it afire. They watched it burn and began warming their hands over the remains of Private Gene Bailey.

  Alex looked very pale and unresponsive to Commander Fortner.

  “He’s not going to make it like this, Johnson, drop him,” the Commander shouted as he shuffled beside him.
>
  Commander Fortner placed his hand over Alex’s uninjured arm, holding him down.

  “Hold his shoulder down, Johnson; I’m going to make sure he stays asleep until we can get him back with the others.”

  The Commander stuck a needle into Alex’s uninjured arm. Johnson released his shoulder and began wrapping the injured arm tightly with white gauze that quickly turned red from the blood still seeping out of his mangled arm.

  “Do you think he’s going to turn?”

  Fortner stared at Johnson for what seemed like a lifetime. He looked down at Jacobs, unconscious on the desert sand. “I hope so. We need him on our side if we expect to win this war – and I don’t mean the war in this desert. Besides, Bailey was our last wolf here so this had better work. I can bend him to what I need him to be. I only have to make a call and get him transferred to Texas, immediately.”

  Fortner ordered Johnson to take him back to the infirmary and then left to make his mysterious call to Texas. Johnson could hear Jacobs’ heart pounding beneath his chest and see the blood coursing through his veins. He resisted the urge to feed, but it was tremendously difficult. There wasn’t much of a blood supply in the desert, and tensions were running high among the men as their comrades came up missing for unknown reasons.

  He carried Alex’s barely living body back towards camp and disappeared from the night into a small tent marked ‘infirmary’. He carelessly chucked Alex down onto a clean infirmary bed and stared down at him, wanting to taste his blood.

  He unwrapped the blood-soaked gauze from around Alex’s wounded arm and placed it on the end of the bed by his feet. He began wrapping the arm again and noticed that the blood had stopped seeping from his wound. He continued to wrap it tighter, to keep it from opening up again and gathered the old, bloody bandages. He looked around for anyone who might be watching.

  Johnson balled the bandages up as tight as he could and brought them to his lips. He squeezed them out over his mouth, drinking in the little bit of blood that he could manage to press out. A few drops escaped and rolled down the side of his face. He placed the bandages into a nearby garbage can ever so lightly, as if he were placing a baby in the arms of a new mother. He reached up to catch the drops of blood that were now reaching his neck but his hand was stopped suddenly by another’s hand.