Warrior Rising

by Linda Winstead Jones

  While Indikaiya paced the room, she studied the stones and vials with some interest, and peeked at the open books. She was well versed in many languages, but the writing in these books was unknown to her. She would never admit so aloud, but she was instinctively afraid of these magical books. Nevada had shown no evil tendencies, but magic could be light or dark, good or evil. These books in the wrong hands could wield great darkness.

  In her lifetime, and in others she had glimpsed from the world of Warriors, magic had often been misused. Those who exercised it frequently turned to darkness, seduced by the promise of endless power. Only the strongest possessed the will to turn their backs on the lure of the dark. Was the red-haired witch that strong? So far, yes. If the day came that she was not, who would deal with her?

  That was a question for another day.

  Nevada showered and changed into denim pants and a t-shirt that was too large for her petite body. She exited the bathroom with pink cheeks and her hair wrapped in a towel she quickly whipped away. While she was combing the tangled strands of her wet hair, she asked, “What is this other task you have for me?”

  Already, the girl looked better. Stronger. He voice was clearer. Indikaiya told her what she had in mind. Nevada nodded, and without hesitation grabbed a book from a stack on the floor near one end of the table, as if she knew instantly what information — what spell — would be needed. The book was a heavy one. When she placed it on the table, it landed there with a dull, ominous thud. For a few minutes Nevada studied one page and then another, then she closed the book and looked at Indikaiya with a new strength. “I’m exhausted. If I don’t get some sleep I’ll be worthless.” With that she headed for her bed, pulled back the covers, and laid her head on a fat pillow. In seconds, she was asleep.

  Indikaiya left the room hoping she would not have to take the young witch’s life before this war was done.

  * * *

  Sorin slept, but not for long. His mind was restless. He knew his way around this mansion in a way none of the others did. He had lived and worked here for a very long time. As darkness fell, he slipped out of the house by way of Marie’s secret passageway.

  He really should tell the others about the hidden exit, but it would only remind them that he had recently been fighting for the other side. Besides, Marie would be an idiot to come back now, and while she was occasionally unstable, she wasn’t an idiot. Luca and the Warriors were already talking about leaving this place, so… it was a secret he could keep, for now.

  Again, he thought of leaving, of walking away from the coming battle. He had been on both sides of it, at one time or another. This war was, in many ways, of his own making. He had agreed with Marie’s thinking that it was time for vampires to rule. He had embraced her vision of a world where vampires would no longer have to hide. He had kidnapped and killed. He had given more of himself to the planning of this war than he dared to admit to anyone.

  He’d battled his own kind often enough, in years past. Not so long ago he’d stood toe to toe with Luca and had exchanged blows. If they hadn’t been interrupted, one of them wouldn’t be here today.

  In any war, soldiers died. Sorin had smelled Melody, his vampire child — what was left of her — on the shotgun wielding Jimmy. He had not noted the faint odor until he’d stood close to the human, as they’d both protected Nevada. His first instinct had been to lash out, to take the life of the boy who had dared to end Melody, but fortunately for Jimmy the impulse had come and gone in a flash.

  In truth, it had been Sorin who’d ended Melody. Long ago, entranced by her love of life, her exuberance, her beauty, he had thought to preserve her for an eternity. She had embraced her new life; she had been a powerful vampire. She had been beautiful and high-spirited and incredibly bloodthirsty. She’d been a fine soldier, and she’d met a soldier’s death.

  This street was quiet. The mansion that had been Marie’s headquarters and was now home base — though not for much longer — for a ragtag army of Warriors, humans, and vampires, was well lit and lively, but the houses all around had been abandoned. Even before the initial battle, neighbors had sensed a wrongness in their vicinity and had fled.

  Most humans had better instincts than they gave themselves credit for. Lucky for him, and others of his kind, they ignored those instincts more often than not.

  Humans and Warriors planned and waited, as others of their kind arrived. The fighting had not yet begun in earnest, but it would. Soon. For now they drew up battle plans and strategies, and were in the process of setting up headquarters all around, and even within, the city. They had to be able to strike from any location; they could not afford to gather all of their forces in one vulnerable house.

  Sorin had never been patient enough for strategies. He’d been one for action, in his almost forgotten life as a human and since the change that had made him more than human.

  If he found and eliminated Marie — Regina, the self-proclaimed queen of the kindred — the war would be a short one. Maybe he would even be called a hero. Ha. Unlikely that anyone would ever look at him as a hero.

  On this dark night, he took flight. He wasn’t capable of flying long distances, but he could soar in the air for a few moments at night, when his power was at its zenith.He loved the sensation of flying. The air in his face, the sensation of lightness… it was a sensual pleasure. To soar above, to look down on the world, that was freedom. Even if it didn’t last… Freedom. From above, the city he knew so well looked almost normal. Almost. A handful of neighborhoods had gone entirely dark, while others were lit up as if the world had not changed. He supposed for those who were ignorant, it had not. Not yet. Even if Nevada managed to reinstate the sanctuary spell, the world had changed. There were some, led by Marie, who were no longer content to hide. They were no longer afraid of a Vampire Council that had been ineffective for many years.

  He still believed that as a vampire he was better than humans, but he did not believe the human race should be eliminated. For one thing, they were a necessary food source. For another…

  They were not without their charms. Some of them, anyway. He would admit, he had met humans who added nothing meaningful or beautiful to the world, but there were others who deserved to live. Who deserved to exist as more than a food supply. Their lives were amazingly short, and yet for some, for many, there was so much joy and love in those short lives. So much wonder.

  In his centuries as a vampire, Sorin had forgotten love. He had forgotten human joy. He had Nevada to thank — to curse — for the return of so many memories that had faded over time.

  He touched down in the middle of a suburban street in a dark neighborhood. Not just dark, but pitch black, for anyone without a vampire’s vision. A deep breath brought to him the stench of spilled blood. He listened, with his enhanced hearing, and noted a distinct absence of life. How many neighborhoods in the world were like this one tonight? Dark, blood-soaked, deserted.

  New vampires were not particularly smart, normally, but they were strong. He heard the five that approached and then surrounded him long before he smelled or saw them. They were reckless, drunk on power, and hungry beyond belief. All young men, all fit and pretty. He would guess not a one of them was older than twenty. With a newborn’s speed and hunger, it would not have taken the five of them a full hour to devastate this entire neighborhood.

  “It’s him,” one of them whispered. "It has to be! He looks just like she said he would.”

  “Long blond hair and leather,” one said in a louder voice. “Who else could it be?”

  “If we take her his head, she’ll be pleased with us," another added. "So very pleased.”

  Yes, they were new. They did not yet know that if they took his head there would be nothing left of him but dust. It was not his job to educate them, but they were about to learn a valuable lesson. Their last. “My reputation precedes me, I see,” Sorin whispered.

  “What?” the dumbest among them responded.

  “You know who I am,”
he said, speaking more loudly.

  “The betrayer,” one said as he came a step closer.

  “Traitor,” another said.

  Sorin looked at one new vamp and then another. “Great. It looks like Marie is putting together a boy band.”

  “A what?” the dumbest one asked again.

  “Sorry,” Sorin said. “Before your time.”

  They swarmed, without a plan, without the kind of strategy Sorin had just been berating the Warriors for relying upon. They were newborn strong, but he was smarter. Older. He knew where and how to strike. A newborn with bleached blond spiked hair screamed as he attacked. Sorin thrust his hand into the kid’s chest and ripped out his heart. There was a moment of surprise on a too-young face, and then there was only dust.

  Two came at him at once, perhaps foolishly believing their numbers gave them an advantage. The boy with a close buzz cut lost his head, as Sorin ripped it from his body and used it — again, before it went to dust — to knock his companion to the ground. The baby vamp flew through the air and landed a good twenty feet away.

  If they’d had time to develop any smarts at all, the other two would’ve run. They did not. But they did make an elementary attempt to learn from the mistakes of the others. They were more cautious, now. Not good. Even Sorin would have difficulty fighting against a baby vampire's wild strength. Only their lack of experience and their over-confidence would save him.

  One of them knocked him to the ground, and the other tried to do what Sorin had done and take a heart. Sorin threw off one attacker and rolled away as the other’s hand thrust into the asphalt where Sorin had been a split second before.

  He rose to his feet, flew above them for a moment, then came down kicking. The one that had tried to take Sorin’s heart lost his head first. As the other was asking, awed, “Dude, will I be able to fly?” Sorin took his heart. As he went to dust, Sorin answered.

  “No.”

  That left one. The one remaining member of Marie’s murderous boy band — the one Sorin had sent flying — stood several feet away. He’d taken a fighter’s stance, but kept his distance, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet with nervous energy. “I’m hungry again.” Great. It was the dumb one.

  Sorin walked toward him. “Don’t worry. That won’t be a problem for long.”

  The kid — perhaps not as stupid as he’d appeared thus far — turned and ran. Fast. Sorin gave chase, and tackled the kid on the front lawn of a well-kept, modest two-story house.

  The body of a plump middle-aged woman lay, dead and drained, just a few feet away.

  “Where is she?” Sorin asked as he pressed the kid into the ground.

  “Mother?”

  Sorin cursed, low and in the almost forgotten language he had spoken as a human. Mother? Really? Council member, would-be queen, and now mother? “The one who calls herself Regina or Marie. Where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” the kid whispered. “She found us in the park a couple of days ago. Maybe she’s still there.”

  “What were you doing in the park?”

  The new vamp giggled. “Smoking weed.”

  “And that’s where Mother found you?”

  “Yes. We are among the first, she said.” The vamp smiled, showing his new, shiny fangs. “She’s going to build an army of us.”

  “So, you don’t know where she is, exactly?”

  The kid shook his head, and as he did Sorin took his heart.

  The fight had drained him, so as he left the scene Sorin did not fly. He walked. Taking long strides down the street of a dead neighborhood, he listened to the city sounds, or tried to.

  If five newborn soldiers of Marie’s so-called army could do this much damage in a single night, perhaps even a single hour, what would the next days and weeks bring? What would become of the world? Imperfect as it was, this world was his as much as it was any human’s.

  As he listened to the deep lifeless silence and then, in the far distance, faint, weak screams, he wondered if he — if anyone — could save it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Carroll County, Georgia

  Mike Harrelson sat in his favorite recliner with a shotgun in his lap. He faced the front door, vigilant to a point, but far from alert. He was sure that what he’d seen on TV was nonsense, but Ellen, his wife of more than thirty years, was scared senseless. It was the middle of the night, going on morning. They both should be sleeping, side by side in their comfortable king-size bed. Instead he was guarding the entrance to his home and Ellen slept on the couch behind him.

  If there really were vampires, the way that wild-eyed man on the cable news said there were, then he imagined they were all in Washington. D.C. D.C., home of the bloodsuckers. Made sense to him.

  He had dismissed the ridiculous report, figuring the violence in the nation’s capital was thanks to some sort of terrorism. Human terrorism that had not yet been explained. Maybe a drug that caused mass hysteria, or some kind of movie special effects. Whatever it was, it had scared the bejesus out of his gullible wife.

  Mike had grumbled a bit, but truth be told he’d do anything for Ellen. She’d asked him to keep watch until dawn, so here he sat.

  As a plumber, he made enough to pay his bills. This small house — three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a two-car garage — was paid for, and had been for five years. His house was on a big plot of land. It was well more than a mile, as the crow flies, to the nearest neighbor’s house. Even if vampires were out there, why would they come here? What self-respecting vampire would bother with two aging folks in a small house smack dab in the middle of nowhere?

  Nonsense. But he’d promised Ellen he’d keep watch until the sun came up, and he always kept his promises to her.

  She wasn’t as pretty as she’d once been, but then again, neither was he. He blamed their three kids, all grown and on their own now, for the gray hairs on his head. And for the wrinkles, added to his face by worry and by laughter. His youngest got most of the blame, and rightly so. None of them were bad kids, not even Steph, his youngest child and only daughter, but raising children wasn’t easy. Yes, he blamed them for his gray hair, his wrinkles, and for his paunch.

  Ellen had a few gray hairs of her own, but she took care of them, as women do. Maybe she had a few wrinkles, too, but not as many as he did. He seemed not to notice them on her, most days.

  Now and then she got a bee in her bonnet about one thing or another, and she just wouldn’t let go. Like the vampires. It was easier, usually, to just give her what she wanted. That’s what he was doing now, shotgun in his lap in case monsters came calling, and a can of beer on the table at his side.

  He didn’t hear anyone approaching. Not so much as a whisper. Without warning, the front door flew in and two people — no, not people, not really — moved into the room so fast they were nothing but a blur. One man, one woman, that was all he could tell, they moved so fast. Mike stood up, too fast and clumsy. His balance failed him. He gripped his gun tightly as he fell back into his chair. He bumped the table, and what was left of his beer spilled. Ellen would be pissed…

  Ellen was screaming. One of the people — no, vampires, not people. One of the vampires — had grabbed her by the hair and pulled her violently off the couch.

  Mike was not one to panic, but he panicked now. Why had he thought a shotgun would be sufficient? Two shots, that was all he had. He spun and fired at the thing that held onto Ellen. The shot caught the vampire, the male of the pair, in the shoulder. Like it would’ve with a bear, the injury just made him mad. The monster broke Ellen’s neck and dropped her to the floor, where she landed boneless as a rag doll.

  Mike thought it could get no worse when the other vampire, the female, whispered in his ear.

  “Daddy?”

  He knew that voice; it was no trick. Mike turned slowly and looked his daughter in the eye. No, this was not his daughter, not anymore. The fangs, the weird glowing eyes they marked her as something else. Something unnatural. This was not hysteria o
f any kind, nor was it a special effects trick.

  The angry male behind him was moving in, coming fast. Death was in the air; death had arrived. There was no time to think clearly, to take this nightmare in, though Mike did manage to say, “Love you, baby girl,” before he pointed the shotgun at his daughter’s heart and pulled the trigger.

  * * *

  Sword strapped to her side, matching daggers in sheaths at her waist, Indikaiya was ready to take part in one of the many patrols their army had decided to send out in the pre-dawn hours. Finally! A proper fight. She wondered if Sorin might be joining them, but he was nowhere to be seen. Knowing what she did of him, he’d probably deserted. Perhaps he’d even rejoined the vampires they were fighting. Just as well. She liked her battle lines drawn in stark black and white. The shades of gray in this one were troubling enough without Sorin in the mix.

  Could she kill him if they met in battle?

  Without a second thought.

  Would she enjoy that killing? No, but to be honest she had never enjoyed killing. It was a necessary part of battle, not a joy. She would worry about any soldier who took pleasure in ending life of any kind.

  She and four others were almost out the door when Rurik came up behind her and whispered, “Indikaiya, wait.”

  She turned, annoyed at being interrupted. She might not enjoy killing, but she did take pride in doing her job well. “We will return shortly after daybreak.”

  “Nevada is asking for you,” Rurik said. “The matter seems urgent.”

  Indikaiya was antsy, she was beyond ready for this fight. “What matter?” What couldn’t wait a few hours?

  “I don’t know, but the poor girl is near the breaking point. I will take your place with this party if you will attend to her.”