Of Angel's Blood (Chronicles of The Order Book 2)

by Martyn Currill

  Instead, he told me about the various things he would need for the ritual, and that most of it he knew how to acquire. He asked me for a couple of squads, which I grudgingly loaned him, and sent him off about his business.

  The one thing he didn’t know how to acquire was ‘the blood of one whose thirst is unquenching.’ That was an obvious reference to Revenants, and it just so happened I had one being cared for in our own infirmary. Whether or not she would give us a blood sample not intended for the cure effort was another matter.

  After that, all we needed was the sword. A very special, very particular sword, that unfortunately no-one knew anything about. None of the records George had searched mentioned it, none of George’s contacts seemed to know anything...without that, everything else was in vain. However, George suggested we find everything else first, then we could get everyone involved in the search for the sword.

  So, while George talked plans with the others, I left to talk with Kara Silvaine, something I should probably have done a lot sooner.

  “Ah, Mister Morally Flexible,” the Revenant said to me, her tone slightly mocking. “I was wondering when you would come to see me.”

  “How are you being treated so far?” I asked her, looking over her medical chart despite understanding nothing on it.

  “Better than I anticipated, I will admit,” she told me, her eyes tracking my every move. “I could use a good burger, but the white-coats here don’t seem to want me to have any fun.”

  I chuckled at her, gesturing at a free spot on her bed in question. She nodded slowly and I sat down, Kara shifting to sit cross-legged on her pillow.

  “So what brings you down here now, of all times?”

  “You’re very suspicious, aren’t you?” I asked. “What’s to say I didn’t want to make sure you’re settling in okay, and being treated well?”

  “I’m always suspicious. It comes with the territory. And if you wanted that, you would have done so sooner, so don’t try and bullshit me.”

  I inclined my head in acknowledgement, while at the same time feeling slightly guilty that I didn’t visit her sooner for those exact reasons. She deserved the courtesy.

  “Okay, I guess you got me there. I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you before-”

  “I’m a big girl, Mister Black, I’m sure I’ll get over it,” she interrupted with another wry smile.

  “I’m sure. Anyway, there is something else I need to ask you for. We’re preparing a ritual, one that will provide us with a weapon to use against the First Vampire-”

  “Not the Rite of Midnight’s Lament?” she asked with a frown.

  “I...think so? I’m not sure, I wasn’t told it’s name.”

  “The ritual for consecrating a blade that will take down the fallen angel who gave birth to our race. Uses the blood of a Revenant.”

  “That sounds about right. You know it?”

  Kara made a noise of disbelief, brushing a hand through her hair.

  “I’d heard the stories as a child. Didn’t really think much of it at the time, thought it was just some myth, much like the stories of The First.”

  “I’m sure a lot of mortals felt the same about us,” I told her with a chuckle.

  “No doubt. So what do you need from me?”

  “When the time comes, we need your blood for it.”

  Kara stared at me, her face an expressionless mask.

  “And why should I do this, when your white-coats have taken plenty already?” she asked after a moment, her tone suddenly cold and defensive.

  “Because the First is a threat to all of us - you, me, everyone else on this entire planet. You’ll lose the chance save the others with your condition, and your food source will be strictly controlled by those who are left in charge.”

  “But chances are, we Revenants will be eradicated anyway, and our suffering will be at an end. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t hold some appeal.”

  I was shocked at her admission, although I guess I shouldn’t have been. She wasn’t known for her selflessness.

  “So you’d let our entire society be decimated and leave the world in the rule of a maniac?”

  She shrugged at me, an expression of calm disinterest on her face.

  “What do I care? I’d be dead anyway, it wouldn’t bother me.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah,” she replied sarcastically. “Seriously. I’ll think about it, alright? I’m guessing you have some time anyway, so stop panicking.”

  I stood up and heaved a heavy sigh, unsure what to think of her.

  “You’re a cold woman, Kara, you know that?”

  “Yup,” she answered, stretching out along the bed again. “I thought ‘morally flexible’ was a concept you approved of?” She gave a short, sinister laugh. “Until later, Mister Black. Have a nice day.”

  I stormed back into my room half an hour later, slamming the door closed and startling Lorelei, who had been on our bed reading again.

  “S’vathanae sh’karlath avahn!”

  Lorelei blinked at me in shock, which was hardly surprising - my tirade was hardly used in polite company, and even impolite company would’ve been somewhat flustered by it.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” she said, with a skill at understatement Levaertes would have been proud of.

  “That bitch Kara Silvaine!” I snapped, throwing a glass against the wall.

  “Well that was a mature approach, I’m sure,” Lorelei added, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “I take it she refused to help?”

  “She has to ‘think about it’,” I growled, pouring myself a drink to calm myself down. “Says that in a worst-case scenario, she and all the Revenants get killed, which ends their suffering anyway. As far as she’s concerned, she has no motivation to help us.”

  “Bitch,” Lorelei added, and I nodded.

  “That’s what I said.”

  She got up from the bed and prowled over to me, pulling me into a tight embrace and using our newly-established link to send soothing thoughts to me.

  “You’re getting better with that already,” I told her softly, feeling my bad mood dissipate as she held me.

  “It still doesn’t beat a night of filthy sex though,” she said with one of her wicked giggles, and as soon as she’d mentioned it her thoughts became filled with various examples of what she’d meant.

  “Down, girl,” I told her with a smile. “There’ll be time for that later.” I pulled away from her and she made a small noise of disappointment.

  “Why not now, you spoilsport?”

  A knock at the door answered her question, and I nodded in its direction.

  “That’s why.”

  Lorelei moved to open the door, and George hurried in, an armful of scrolls and paperwork threatening to spill out over the floor.

  “I’ve found something, some information on the sword,” he babbled, dumping the aged paperwork over my bed, much to Lorelei’s annoyance.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose in exasperation, wondering if anyone would mind if I punched the saint. Just once.

  “Alright George, what is it?”

  “A clue, or a lead, or something like that - where is the blasted thing now?” He muttered to himself as he sifted through the mess of papers, then finally pulled out the one he was after.

  “Here, look,” he said excitedly, and Lorelei and I both moved over to have a look.

  “It says here that the sword - called Midnight’s Sorrow - was commissioned by a small group of the ancient vampires who wanted a weapon against Celeste’s return. When she didn’t return, they left the weapon in the hands of the man who originally called for its creation, one Aedelruf the Wild.”

  “That sounds like a stupid name,” Lorelei said, frowning at the paper.

  “Kings had stupid names back then, child, pay attention,” George chided, missing the rude gesture Lorelei made behind his back.

  “Now, for those who weren’t paying attention at any point, Aedelruf the Wil
d had something of an epiphany at some point in his very lengthy lifespan, and changed his name to-”

  “William De Garcy,” I finished. I actually had read some of the same scrolls. “He also renounced all claims to royalty and left the throne in the not-so-capable hands of his brother, who was murdered shortly afterwards.”

  “Exactly! But what I missed before was what happened to Midnight’s Sorrow during that time.” He pointed to another passage of the scroll. “See, those loyal to William’s brother actually then killed William in revenge, seizing most of his valuable possessions - including the sword. Enraged by this act, William’s most trusted lieutenant called up his own troops, killed those he considered traitors and reclaimed the sword. At this point he made the proposition to form The Order, but swore to keep the weapon safe himself. That was John of Warwick, and there’s no other mention of the weapon passing from him to anyone else, even after his death. So it must be with his remains in his mausoleum!”

  Something was nagging at me about all of that. I couldn’t shake the feeling George missed something...

  “Here,” I said, pointing at a particular passage. “This is about his death at the hands of an assassin, right?”

  “Yes, of course, but no-one ever knew the person’s name-”

  “But they at least saw her - there’s a description right here: ‘The cover was torn from her head, unleashing a fall of hair as white as virgin snow. When we fought her it was as if she knew where we would be before even we did, as though she was aware of what happened before it transpired.’ I know of only one person like that.”

  “Who?” George asked in surprise. I couldn’t believe he didn’t know.

  “Sharriana Grey. The sword isn’t with John of Warwick, it’s here. It’s the black blade she used as her badge of office...which is now mine.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Out of time

  I’d put the black blade into storage, because I felt like it was watching me. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but it genuinely unnerved me.

  I opened the secure locker where I had hidden it and passed the immense weapon to George, who stared at it in awe.

  “My word...this weapon is quite something,” he breathed, holding it reverently.

  “It’s fucking creepy,” I said as I closed the locker again. “Now let’s get this to the main hall and then we can see if Kara’s feeling more co-operative.”

  As we began to head back to the hall - where George had been preparing things for the ritual - my phone rang, and I noticed that the call came from Ops.

  “What’s the problem, Ops?”

  “Sir, you need to get up here right away,” the young man said. “We have a problem. A big one.”

  “We’ll be there shortly. See you in five.”

  I ended the call and turned to George and Lorelei, who were arguing over the merits of various components of modern life.

  “We need to get to Ops first guys, there’s something urgent we need to see apparently. We’ll head there first and then George can take the sword to the main hall.”

  “What’s so urgent?” Lorelei asked, and I shook my head.

  “No idea. But the guy from Ops sounded pretty shaken. So let’s get going and find out what’s happening.”

  The others agreed and we changed our course, heading towards the Ops room instead.

  Knowing ‘Mother’, I feared for what we were going to find out.

  The atmosphere in Ops was thick with tension, and I was sure I could smell the fear coming from the team in the room.

  “My Lord, thanks for coming,” said a young man with a light German accent, which I recognised as being the person who called me.

  “What’s going on?”

  The man gestured to the video wall, directing our attention to a paused image of Canterbury, as seen by one of our satellites.

  “If you can just watch the screen a moment, My Lord,” he said, getting to his own station. “This happened a moment before I called you. We...don’t know what to think.”

  He began playback of the recorded images, and we all stood and watched.

  For a few moments, nothing happened. Then the screen brightened to almost painful levels, and a circular wave of flame erupted from the area of the cathedral. It spread across the majority of the city, setting every building, every street ablaze.

  It was Celeste. It had to be. She’d turned Canterbury into her very own pocket of Hell, and this was likely what she intended to do across the country.

  “Goddess above,” Lorelei whispered, before wheeling around to me.

  “Deimos, you’re out of time,” she told me. “You have to go to her now, do anything it takes to stall her, just buy us that time.”

  “But-”

  “Don’t argue with me Deimos, just go.”

  I stood in front of Lorelei, my jaw working silently in numb terror.

  She grabbed hold of me and kissed me deeply, her thoughts filled with the sorrow she couldn’t express in public. I sent her a reassurance that I would be back for her, but it didn’t do much.

  Eventually she let go of me, resting her forehead against mine.

  “Go, you idiot,” she told me quietly. “We’ll sort things out here, and we will get Kara to co-operate. Just get out of here. Now.”

  And forgive us for sending you into Hell, she added through the link.

  I walked from the room in a hurry, keeping a tight lid on the emotion that threatened to overwhelm me.

  I felt certain that I was not going to come back.

  I stopped by the armoury to pick up something for defence - I had no idea if those ‘Greater Ferals’ were still around, and I wanted to be prepared, so I took a G36C rifle with silver rounds. That, plus my own abilities, should at least keep them at bay until I got to Celeste.

  I was dressed simply - a red shirt, black jeans, and black combat boots. If I was going to ‘give myself’ to Celeste, I didn’t want her thinking I was there to fight again.

  With everything as ready as I felt it could be, I boarded the Osprey that had been kept aside for me, and as it took off I took one more look - what felt like my last - at the fortress that had become my home.

  I sent one last message to Lorelei, a message of love and thanks, and I smiled at her reply.

  Shut up, idiot. Just come back to me, or I’ll kick your teeth in.

  After that, the Osprey carried me out of psychic range, and I felt alone once more.

  The blaze that was once the city of Canterbury generate a vast amount of smoke, so much that it was almost impossible for the Osprey to land anywhere. I told the crew to just lower the ramp and I’d jump, and after a brief shouted argument they complied.

  There may have been threats about redecorating the cockpit in blood red.

  I jumped from the boarding ramp as the Osprey turned and headed back home, and even though I used the techniques Corvi showed me the previous year, something still snapped when I landed.

  I lay on the grass, swearing under my breath while I waited for whatever it was to heal. I forced myself to my knees at least, so that I could see where I had landed.

  My aim was apparently pretty good - I’d landed right inside the cathedral grounds, on the southern side of the building itself.

  What was less fortunate was the group of ferals rushing towards me, and I hurried to ready my rifle.

  However, by the time I’d brought it up to my shoulder, they’d stopped. They slowly arranged themselves into two ragged lines, forming a pathway between them which I assumed I was meant to follow.

  I stood up, testing my leg, and it seemed to be taking my weight again. With my rifle held low, I followed the path the ferals had made. As I did, I noticed they were closing up behind me, as if escorting me onwards.

  My palms were slick with nervous sweat, and if my heart still functioned it would have been hammering in my chest like a pneumatic drill.

  It didn’t take long before the path of ferals brought me to the open door of the cathedral,
and three of them led the way inside. Those behind me pressed forwards, forcing me to keep moving, and I continued to follow the trio that moved ahead.

  They finally stopped at the foot of a small set of steps that led to the cathedral altar, upon which lay a ruined human body. Judging by the state of it, the body had been alive until recently - probably the sacrifice that made the fire eruption possible. Another, still-living person was tethered to the altar by bonds of dark energy, and the blood of the recent sacrifice dripped off the altar onto her head, down her bare back and over her shoulders.

  She was young, maybe twenty or so, and she was a broken soul. I could tell that by how she slumped against the side of the altar, the way she shook with silent sobs, lacking the energy to cry audibly any more.

  And behind the altar, exactly as I had seen her before, stood the First Vampire, my Dark Mother, Celeste.

  She vanished briefly and appeared at the top of the stairs, looking down at me with a disappointed expression.

  “I honestly expected better, my sweet,” she said sadly. “I really thought you would see sense. Are you truly here to try again?”

  I hung my head, fighting every urge to raise the weapon and unload it at her, to die fighting. Instead I thumbed the magazine release, cocked the weapon to eject the chambered round, and threw the rifle aside.

  Slowly I kneeled at the base of the stairs, still unable to look at Celeste.

  “Evythaen yl savahd, Mahvenai,” I told her, taking a shuddering, nervous breath. ‘Forgive my sins, honoured mother’, I’d said, and I hoped she would accept the apology.

  As if I needed to worry about that.

  She stepped slowly down the stairs and crouched down on the last one, placing a hand under my chin and gently raising my head to look at her.

  She was smiling, not her usual wicked smile, or the grin of a predator, but the smile of a mother whose child had come home.

  “You’re coming back to me? Truly?” she asked quietly, and I swallowed nervously before I nodded.