“It’s not her!” Brett yelled, cupping his mouth to be heard over the uproar. He stepped back, indicating for me to proceed.
Truth be told, I didn’t feel like this. I felt two things. Rage and the need to spill blood. And exhaustion. The latter was very much overwhelming the former.
Upon getting back to the Crusader’s HQ, a meeting was called. Everyone not on call was now present in the Mosh Pit. Emotions were running high. Terrorism in our fair city, especially this newly dubbed necro-terrorism, was not something we took lightly.
But, tempers had been running so high as a result that I’d barely been able to get a word in after muttering the word: “Necrolord.”
This left half the room baying for Candace’s blood and the other half confused, as my core group tried to keep the peace.
“This new Necrolord is not the old one,” I said, calmly. “Regardless of your views on the old Necrolord, or sightings that should remain within these walls, this is a new threat.”
“How do you know?” Kyong asked. I felt a spike of anger at him. Candace had saved him! Saved all of us in New Sintar. He owed her a little loyalty. At least to be given the benefit of the doubt.
“Candace is no longer the Necrolord,” Trudie responded, voice level, while glancing at the twins to ensure they didn’t think her disagreement with Kyong was reason to attack. Pups were a handful!
“Can we be sure?” Kyong pressed. “Pranish, you know magic better than any of us. Could Candace have had a relapse? Could she have become the Necrolord again?”
A dozen eyes rested on my friend. He kept his poise, for a second. He looked down as Trudie stared at him.
Candace and Pranish had grown close. If given time, they would probably have become best friends. But Pranish was also a professional. He wouldn’t lie. Even for a friend.
“It’s possible,” he said. “Dark magic scars the soul. It is always possible that the madness can return.”
The room was consumed once again by a cacophony of voices, all arguing and yelling. Brett tried to call for calm. Besides the core group, only Themba, Guy’s cousin, was not contributing to the raucous debate.
I wished that Guy were here instead. His silent presence alone, not to mention Cindy’s louder presence by his side, would have helped silence the crowd. Themba wasn’t incompetent, by any means. But something had happened to him in the east. He always watched his shadow and checked his corners. He expected there to be vampires. Everywhere.
And the Children of Blood were on the way. Apparently. But it had been months and there was still no sign of them. Even Guy had grown less paranoid. Cindy’s work, I guessed. Or the incessant optimism of the pixies. They insisted that no vampire was a match for the kinth.
But, that was a debacle for another time. I still held the scrap metal in my hands. Some people would say that it was evidence. That the police should look at it.
But, it was a zombie bomber. If we weren’t allowed to investigate human crimes, then monster crimes were hunter domain.
“Enough!” A surprising voice boomed to my side. Ismail stood. Despite his age and usually placid manner, the scholar’s voice rang out like a gong. The room fell silent once again.
“Let us not be foolish,” he continued. “We’re monster hunters. Not petulant conspiracy theorists. It is clear that this so-called Necrolord is a copy-cat. Your Commander knows the identity of the true Necrolord and has confirmed that this cannot be she. We must trust her judgement, as she trusts our ability to handle our responsibilities in this organisation. What we know is that this is a necromancer of great skill, capriciousness and ferocity. Rather than bicker, we must prepare.”
He stopped, and then looked at me. Yielding the floor to me once again.
Why couldn’t Brett and Ismail take charge of the speech-making? I resisted sighing and spoke up.
“I will have a further briefing for all of you as we figure out more of the situation. For now, keep up your duties. Other monster attacks haven’t stopped just because a new villain is in town. Get out there and save some people!”
There were no more arguments or grumblings. The group dispersed, either breaking for coffee or leaving as they received notifications of available jobs.
I turned to Ismail.
“Thank you,” I said, sincerely, letting out the previously repressed sigh.
“No need.” He smiled, reassuringly. “I was merely pointing out the obvious.”
He pointed at his eye.
“Any word?”
I was confused, for a second. Then remembered that he knew about the origins of my hazel eye. It was Candace’s eye. She had mine. Bonding us together as soul sisters. That was something very few Crusaders knew about. They thought I just had different coloured eyes. Like David Bowie.
“I have not told her,” I said. “I don’t want her to feel any more guilt. But I know she’s not in Hope City. I feel her far to the east. Probably where I left her.”
Ismail nodded, and didn’t press further.
“Don’t tell her,” he said. “It is a burden she doesn’t need. This copy-cat is not her fault. And neither is it yours. Evil will always find an excuse. You cannot blame yourself for being its temporary fascination.”
Easier said than done. Ismail hadn’t seen a school teacher shredded to fleshy bits in front of his very eyes.
“This new Necro Lord…” I emphasised the space to differentiate them from Candace. “Did this to get to me. I don’t care if I should feel guilty or not. I’ll find them. And end them.”
Ismail frowned, but nodded. He could see I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture on the corrupting influence of vengeance. Treth also knew better.
“I wish you luck, Kat Drummond,” he said, with a hint of finality. “Consult me. Anytime.”
With a bow of his head, he turned and left. I noted that he tilted to the side, just a bit. As if he was wounded. A lot of time had passed since our hunt this morning. Plenty of time for him to get involved with another contract. I hoped he was okay. He wasn’t usually assigned to combat roles.
I turned to leave the Mosh Pit, nodding in greeting to Themba, who nodded back.
“What’s the plan?” Treth asked, manifesting in front of me.
“Fresh air,” I whispered. I sorely needed it.
But, just as I exited the Mosh Pit into the main hallway, I ran into Cindy. My mentor, purifier of the prestigious Order of Heiligeslicht, and a core member of the Crusaders. She had been busy during the meeting.
I sighed. “I’ve got a lot to fill you in on, Cins.”
“It’s going to have to wait.” She didn’t smile. All business.
“Can it? I almost exhausted Gorgo to death again healing so many people at the bomb-site.”
“Bomb…wait.” Her face flickered concern. “Never mind, later. Brett can tell me. But, there’s a new job. And the client can’t be ignored.”
I thought about arguing. I wasn’t in the mood for any sort of job today. But this was Cindy. She didn’t overreact. And if she said the client couldn’t be ignored, then they couldn’t be ignored.
“Fine! Who is it? What’s the job?”
“They wouldn’t say. But you are to report to the Gardens Synagogue. Immediately.”
“Synagogue? You don’t mean…”
Cindy nodded, gravely.
“The rabbis…the golemancers…need our help.”
New Necro Lord or not, Cindy was right. This couldn’t be ignored.
Chapter 6.
Scripture
When I was still in school and living the happy life of a child with two parents and not a care past the happenings of a weekly cartoon series, the Zulu Empire attacked the Three Point Line. Again. This was an event almost prophesied by political scientists. They cited geopolitical laws, like Thucydides’ Trap, and Global Realism. But it didn’t take an academic to understand that empires with armies wanted to expand. And Hope City was in the way.
The Zulu Empire is far larger than Hope Cit
y or the state surrounding it. We’re a minnow compared to our neighbour to the east. The CDF, Cape Defence Force, was tiny compared to the impi hosts of the east. We had fewer sorcerers, fewer wizards and just a thin line of fortifications to guard our country.
So, how did we win? And how do we keep on rebuffing the advances of the impi?
One word: Golems.
Hulking monstrosities made of clay, concrete, metal. And most of all – magic. Golems were impervious to normal munitions and shrugged off the blows of Zulu sorcerers. I wasn’t even sure if Kyong could put one down with his force-empowered fists.
They were the lynchpin in the CDF’s defence against the Empire.
And, if their creators needed my help, then I felt something that I hadn’t truly felt at the Necro Lord’s attack. Fear.
As I drove to the synagogue, my mind was caught between the attack, Thor and Athena’s request for aid and the Children of Blood. Zulu vampires and the golemancers being under threat were not a combo I wanted to contemplate for long.
I only hoped that the rabbis just needed some pest control done.
“What are rabbis?” Treth asked, as we drove to the Gardens Synagogue. We were alone on my bike, so I could speak freely to my spectral companion.
“Boy, that’s a big question,” I replied, with just a bit of exasperation. I wasn’t angry at Treth. Far from it. But it had been a traumatising, frustrating day. I felt like visiting these clients like a vampire would love to drink a goblet of holy water.
“Are they some form of priest?” Treth continued, unheeding of my exasperation.
“Right on the money. You’re getting good at guessing about Earth things. Well, religion isn’t really an Earth thing and you’ve probably heard or read about the Jewish faith somewhere in the…how many years have you been here now?”
I felt Treth gaze off into the void, contemplating something.
“You’re 22, right?”
“Not yet.”
You’d think the ghost inside my head would know how old I was!
“But, isn’t it 2038? And you were born in 2016. I know I’m a medieval bumpkin, but Gorgo prided herself on teaching me basic addition. 2038 minus 2016 is 22.”
“Correct, my medieval bumpkin friend. But my birthday is on the 5th of August. It’s June.”
“Ah! I forgot that you Earthlings think the day of your birth attracts some important meaning. Bah! The year is enough. If dull. Why do you not name your eras?”
“We kinda do. But we don’t set them in stone. Not every hundred years being given a fancy name. But we’ve got the Medieval Age, the Classical Period, Post-Cataclysm…lots of ways to flavour our cycles around the sun.”
Treth was silent. I sensed him thinking.
“I’ve been with you for four years now.”
His voice was quiet, contemplative.
“Seems longer,” I replied.
“It does. Much longer. But we’ve been together every waking moment since that day. Makes those four years practically a lifetime.”
“Do you regret it?”
The question was sudden, causing me to swerve to avoid hitting a bus plastered with ads for fae-free medicinal products.
“Where did that come from, Treth of Concord?!” I snapped, letting anger hide my shock.
Treth shrugged. “I’m a parasite…and no, don’t try to argue. This is your body. I’m just hitchhiking. Sure, I get to protect you from nastier parasites and lend you some neat tricks, but it doesn’t change the fact that I changed your life. Perhaps, for the worse. And, since that day, you haven’t been given any respite…”
“Treth…I…”
“Would you change things, Kat?”
“You mean change things, so I’d never have met you? Of course not! You saved my life. I’d be dead if you hadn’t entered my mind at that moment. And, even if I’d survived, a dark spirit could have possessed me at any time. You’re the best thing that could have happened to me!”
“But, what if you could change what had happened? Not me, or surviving the zombie, or even getting the Vessel, but…what about hunting monsters. Being the Last Light. Would you change any of that?”
Would I?
I loved killing monsters. It was my life. My everything. But…so many people got hurt around me. Because of me.
I fought evil. But, more and more, that evil had come to target me. And, while I had never died, at least not for long, many had lost their lives around me.
I pictured Ithalen, that blood-soaked village coated in the dead, as I often did. Drenched in sweat, blood and ooze. I breathed when I shouldn’t have. I should be dead. But, instead, countless men and women lay around me.
I couldn’t die. At least, not easily. But those around me could.
Would I change if I could? So that they wouldn’t have had to die? That I wouldn’t have given any excuse to Jeremiah Cox, Candace Evergreen, Darius, this new Necro Lord, or any of the other villains who targeted me?
I attracted trouble. And, perhaps, it would have been better if I had left the world to other heroes.
I didn’t reply to Treth. I couldn’t find the words. I didn’t even have an answer to articulate. All I could do was slowly pull up into the driveway of the Garden Synagogue and allow myself to absorb my surroundings.
I’d been to the Garden’s district of Old Town plenty of times, but never to the synagogue. I didn’t have anything particularly against Judaism, but I was no friend of religion. But, I did respect the rabbis for more secular reasons.
The synagogue was located in one of the old colonial houses of Old Town. A white, double storey with an arched doorway. Hebrew had been written over every door and window. Magical script. A lot of the ancient languages had been given a semblance of power after the Cataclysm. That had caused a lot of accidental magic discovery in Israel. The country had since revived Yiddish as the common spoken language, due to the uniquely magical nature of Hebrew. Some said that the Seraphim themselves spoke Hebrew as their common tongue. I couldn’t imagine Conrad speaking anything other than salesmen spiel, though.
Outside the fine, dark wood door stood three men with even darker expressions. Each wore a black kippah, matching their black suits. Around every neck was a shawl, a tallit if my general knowledge wasn’t too hazy. The shawls were marked with Hebrew script again. Not religiously traditional, but many things had changed Post-Cataclysm. These shawls were not just for ceremony. They now had magical properties. If I was to hazard a guess, they were probably purification script against evil. Like many religious practitioners, rabbis had come to serve as exorcists of dark spirits and demons.
I pulled my bike up into a parking bay and dismounted as the three rabbis half-walked, half-jogged to me.
“They look like they’ve seen a ghost,” Treth said.
“Then stop scaring them,” I whispered back, just before the rabbis came into earshot.
“Shalom, Last Light,” the oldest of the three greeted. The words resonated with energy. The weyline here was strong and, while the greeting held no channelled intent, it was a spell-word. But rather than the anxiety I usually felt around magic, the word filled me with a sense of ease. Peace, it meant. And I felt at peace, at least for a few moments.
“Shalom,” I greeted back. My words didn’t resonate. Probably my pronunciation. I inclined my head in greeting to the three. The man who greeted me, and who I assumed to be the leader, was an elderly gentleman. His beard was a respectable grey, whitening in patches, and his black-rimmed spectacles leant him a scholarly air.
“My name is Rabbi Michael Cohen. These are my colleagues, Daniel Oppenheimer and Joshua Spielman. Also rabbis and golemancers.”
“Kat Drummond,” I returned, hoping to nip in the bud this insistence of calling me Last Light all the time.
“Last Light,” Michael said, paying no heed to my wishes. “Please come inside.”
He forced a smile, as he leaned in.
“Please appear casual. Happy. We’d like to keep
this discreet.”
I forced my own smile, but I suspect it looked like a snarl.
“Of course, Mr Cohen. This is a casual meeting. Just tea and biscuits.”
Michael nodded, satisfied. He led the way into the synagogue’s office, his colleagues in tow. Treth manifested, looking curious at Michael’s behaviour. I shrugged and followed.
The door was closed behind us and we moved into a small office. It looked like any usual administrator’s office, bar the shelves of religious texts with golden script.
“Jest or not, we do have tea and biscuits,” Michael said, as he stood by a simple wooden chair on the other side of the desk. He didn’t sit or offer me a seat. It seemed we wouldn’t be long.
Despite standing, I was offered a plate of shortbread cookies and a cup of tea. I accepted both. Hunters ate when they could. And, since my days living hand-to-mouth on Avathor, I’d grown to always eat when offered. Well, when I trusted the offer, at least.
“Before we proceed, I have some questions. We need to ascertain if you are the right woman for the job.”
I resisted sighing.
“You wouldn’t have sent for me if you didn’t think I was up for the job already. My reputation isn’t just overblown nonsense. I’m discreet, if I need to be. And I’m effective.”
“Hubris is dangerous,” one of the other rabbis, Daniel, I think, murmured.
I shook my head, taking a bite of shortbread. “Not hubris. Confidence, perhaps. But not hubris. An arrogant hunter doesn’t last long. If you see a hunter bragging, and they’ve been working for at least a year, they’re not lying.”
“Your skill is not in question, Last Light. But we have questions nonetheless.”
I did sigh, this time. “Go ahead.”
Michael nodded, indicating for me to sit, before taking his own seat and cupping his hands.
“What do you know about the mal’akh? The Seraphim?”
A shiver went up my spine. I didn’t like where this was going. The closest I’d ever come to an angel was Conrad, and he had basically run out of angel juice. But, even then…he had been something I’d fear to ever have to face.
Cursed Earth (Kat Drummond Book 12) Page 5
