And, as the statue fell upon the hole, sealing it, the priest turned and departed. That was that. Titan Cult funerals were short. They didn’t give any time for people to speak. To mourn. For death was not something to mourn. For them, at least.
The priest left respectfully, walking towards a blonde woman whom I recognised. I caught her eye and she nodded at me. She was paying her respects to a Titan cultist. Charlotte McAbee, the steward of the Titan Citadel. Even if she had never met Busani, it seemed that it was normal for cultists to attend the funerals of a fellow believer. Red robed strangers filled many of the seats. Some even wept for a man they had never met.
I stood up and joined Brett and Guy at the front. Tears streamed down both their faces. I had never seen Guy cry like this before.
“Do you…know if there’s anyone I can contact about Booz?” I asked, quietly. It seemed I knew very little about my companion. Evidenced by the fact that he was a Titan Cultist and I had never noticed before. But even Brett had looked shocked when Charlotte arrived at the HQ to plan his funeral. Guy had apparently known, but thought we had noticed Busani’s absences during pilgrimage days as well.
Guy wordlessly departed, meeting to embrace his fiancée. Cindy passed me, squeezing my shoulder and whispering words of encouragement that I didn’t hear. I gripped Brett’s hand as they left. Finally, he shook his head.
“The Crusaders were everything he had,” he said, simply, then leaned in closer to whisper. “There is someone you should talk to, though…”
He nodded his head towards Busani’s grave.
Henri. He stood by the fist. Titan Cultists still liked to be buried, despite the prevalence of necromancers. Henri didn’t move. Somehow, he looked even younger than he was. More vulnerable. Drenched. He wasn’t wearing a jacket.
I released Brett’s hand and made my way to the young Crusader. My boyfriend was carried off by other Crusaders, vowing loudly to avenge Busani. Loudest of all of them was Hammond.
I stood by Henri’s side and examined the grave. The rock was already slick with rain.
“He saved me…” Henri finally whispered, almost muttering.
I didn’t reply.
“So many times…” he continued. “But when it was my turn…I failed.”
“You didn’t fail, Henri.” I did. “The Necro Lord captured both of you. There was nothing you could have done. Don’t blame yourself.”
He turned to look at me. I almost winced. He wore an eye-patch over his right eye. A sickly white bandage. His remaining eye was shell-shocked, staring through me. There was only so much Cindy and I could heal. We couldn’t grow back an eye. And we couldn’t mend a broken soul. Trust me, I’ve tried.
“I can still shoot,” he said, almost pleading. “I can avenge him. I can fight!”
He yelled the last bit. Crusaders looked at us and then shook their heads. For many, what happened to Henri was worse than what happened to Busani.
I placed my hand on his shoulder.
“I know, Henri. But not now…” I squeezed my hand. “You need rest.”
“But…”
“That’s an order.”
He stiffened, as Pranish and Trudie arrived. My friend gave me a nod and reassuring smile, as she placed a jacket over Henri’s shoulders and led him away.
He still muttered.
“I can still shoot…”
Muttered again and again, until he was too far for me to hear him over the pitter-patter of the rain.
“Do not blame yourself,” the warm voice of Ismail spoke, by my side.
“I gave them the orders,” I replied, as if I wanted to suffer for my actions. Typical of me.
“They chose to follow them.”
“And I chose Henri’s life over Charles Montague.”
I hoped I never had to meet the Montagues’ mother. I had overseen the deaths of both her sons now. I never wanted to choose one life over another. And, at the time, the choice seemed to simple. But, it was that simplicity that made it all the more painful in retrospect. Choosing Henri over Charles shouldn’t have been that easy.
Ismail frowned. Seemed he didn’t have a response to that. But, if he did, it was soon lost as both Gibson twins, in human form, began sniffing him up and down, pressing their noses right into his suit.
He raised his arms awkwardly and confused, just as Trudie sprinted back and pulled both the twins back by their ears.
“Sorry about that!” she apologised. “They’re still learning their manners. Aren’t you, pups?”
She tightened her grip and they whined as she pulled them away, passing none other than the three rabbi-golemancers, clothed in transparent plastic hoodies over their black suits and kippahs.
I couldn’t help but sigh. Not this. Not now.
“Kat Drummond,” Michael greeted. “Shalom.”
“I am at a funeral,” I hissed, through gritted teeth. His greeting gave me no peace. “A good man died.”
“And many more will also die if you do not complete your contract,” he replied, coldly, eyeing Ismail with suspicion. Ismail bowed his head and left.
“I will find your precious script,” I replied. “But leave me to mourn my comrade. Please.”
Michael bowed his head, and then left. Daniel eyed me with irritation. Joshua whispered his condolences.
“They are right, you know.” Treth needlessly pointed out, manifesting by my side. He held his shield over my head, using it as an umbrella. Despite his spectral nature, the shield stopped some of the droplets.
“I know, but they could still have the decency to lay off. There is a time and place. This isn’t one of those.”
I turned to find Brett walking towards me but, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Ismail. He hadn’t truly left. Was he listening to what the rabbis had to say?
I wanted to howl at the thought of Ismail of all people being a mole, but my experience with Darius proved that nothing was beyond the realms of possibility.
And, more than that, I had seldom seen the instincts of a werewolf be proven wrong.
Before I could ponder the thought any more, Brett rejoined me, beckoning me to the van. We had the wake to attend at HQ. And, after that…the Crusade would continue. Always.
Chapter 17.
Revelation
“There is a time to mourn,” I said, loud enough so that the packed hall of the Mosh Pit could hear me.
I stood on top of a cleared table. Every Crusader and even the construction staff working on the renovations and expansion were packed into the hall, standing shoulder to shoulder. All eyes were on me. I didn’t hide my tears. But I didn’t weep or stumble over my words. I felt Treth and Brett’s eyes on me. Watching me. They believed in me. And that was enough.
“But, this is not that time,” I continued. “The monster who took our friend from us is still out there. He is hurting this city, OUR city. And the longer we wait to make him pay the price he owes us, the more and more harm he will cause.”
“Slay him!” a voice from the back shouted.
There was mumbled assent.
“This new, false Necro Lord hides in his slums and fortresses, amassing an army of darkness. But, this won’t stop us. We hunt monsters! I tore down the old Necrolord, a necromancer vastly more skilled than this pretender. And now I have you. We are not alone. Together, we shall track this fiend across his cursed empire. We shall find where he slumbers, where he eats, where he bathes and where he feels most safe…and we shall take everything from him.”
Silence. Dozens of eyes were glued to me.
“Are you with me?” I asked, simply.
The response shook the foundations of the hall. A resounding war cry. An angry, distraught and pre-emptively triumphant sound. It filled my heart with fire.
“No more games,” I spoke, only loud enough that Jane, Conrad and the core Crusaders around me could hear. The Mosh Pit was on fire with cries for blood. “This is a war. We fight it like one. I want all Crusaders assigned to t
racking this bastard down. And ending him. If Riaan has a problem with that, then we fight him too.”
Jane, usually the rational one, nodded. I had her assent. Perhaps, the possibility of us unseating the man who held the position she deserved, and probably still coveted, pleased her.
“What about non-undead contracts?” Cindy asked.
“Let Drakenbane and the freelancers get some business,” Brett replied, expression cold. Right now, I suspected he’d ignore a vampire contract if it meant avenging Busani.
Cindy nodded. She agreed, even if she didn’t like the implications. Other monsters were still a threat, but our purpose was to rid the world of the undead and the monsters who brought them into this world. And, this time, it was even more personal.
“Conrad, Jane…” I addressed them, as the hall remained filled with raucous war cries and posturing. It was a veritable Viking hall before a raid. “Get the Crusaders outfitted. Fast-track the newbies inductions. I want them fully armed. Dig into our rainy-day fund if we have to…”
“We’ve got enough cash to outfit the CDF,” Conrad said. “We’ll arm them and their dogs.”
I nodded. “Brett, Guy…get them assigned into squads. I want a formal chain of command.”
“Some of the ex-freelancers won’t like that,” Brett replied, eying some of the more boisterous Crusaders in the Mosh Pit. They wore the Crusader badge, but that was the extent of their uniform. Like me, they didn’t relish the thought of a uniform. That was fine. So long as they fell in line when needed.
“Tough,” Guy replied.
“My words exactly. We’re up against an organised enemy. These aren’t riftborne shamblers. This is an elite horde of undead soldiers. We need to be an army if we’re to face them. We’re lucky that we managed to survive that fight.”
Most of us, at least. Dozens of policemen had died. Riaan had fled the scene. I still hadn’t received word from the Council. As far as I was concerned, we were on our own.
Jane and Conrad left to outfit the troops. The Crusaders generally didn’t prescribe gear, as long as the troops had the necessary equipment to fulfil their duties. But, this time was different. We needed everyone in tip-top shape.
Cindy departed soon after to induct the newbies. Brett and Guy went to respective corners of the Mosh Pit to gather the troops. Like the Red Sea, the crowd parted, giving me room to pass through.
I had delegated everything. Allandrea would be proud of me. Relying on others. It was not as if I wanted to or could do any of this, however. Even if I had rallied the troops, the logistics and organisation were best left in the hands of others better equipped to handle these things.
I was the sword, first and foremost. My true role was fast approaching. Ithalen thirsted for the Necro Lord’s blood. So did I. Best I did not tell Guy or Brett that.
I made a hasty exit before any of the heated, raucous Crusaders noticed me, and made my way to the stairwell. I still felt rage. My fists were clenched. I wanted to stab something. To punch something. To avenge Busani and Henri. To avenge Charles Montague and all of his men. The calm, disbelieving stillness of the funeral was gone from my heart. There was only fire.
But I needed to be calm. And I needed quiet. Because, even with all that was going on, I still had another job.
The second floor was quiet. I doubted there was a soul other than me or Treth about. I heard engines start up outside as Brett and Guy had already begun deploying Crusaders. I left the strategy to them. Patrols, scouting, and probing the enemy. And, if not that, training. Many would need it. They were used to shambling zoms that could be beaten with a clawhammer. The types that I’d made my bread and butter. But this was different. There had not been a single normal zombie at Athlone stadium. We checked. Just abhorrent. Armed, angry, dangerous.
Candace had never relied solely on abhorrent. In fact, she favoured flesh puppets. She had told me that she preferred the control. When she wasn’t using flesh puppets, she just used zombie hordes. She saw no need to upgrade them. To weaponise them fully.
For her, necromancy had been a means to resurrect her parents. Once that had become an impossibility, she had abandoned it.
But the new Necro Lord seemed different. For him, it seemed he genuinely wanted the power for its own sake. And that made him far more dangerous.
I detected Candace’s presence in my mind.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“As okay as I can be in this blasted city,” I replied, aloud, as my footfalls echoed through the empty halls of the HQ.
She emanated concern but disappeared. I didn’t want her to know. She’d blame herself. But she shouldn’t. Evil always found an excuse. If not her, or me, it would be someone or something else.
I turned the corner, facing the door of my office and standing in the second floor lounge. The wall overlooking the balcony was adorned with photographs. Despite my better judgement, I approached.
So many faces stared back at me. My family. My new family. The Crusaders had been around for so little time, yet it felt so long. From just a group of us looking for a way to hunt. To…well, this. The hosts of the Last Light, as some called us. But it was more than that. I had to believe it was more than that.
But, even if it wasn’t, and these men and women only followed me because I was a celebrity, it didn’t really matter. I needed them. And they needed me. We weren’t going to survive this war any other way.
I examined the photos slowly as I drifted by the wall, remembering moments and days. Parties, hunts, funerals…
I stopped, and stroked my fingertips across a photo of Busani, posing with Guy and Brett at the beach on one of our few days off. He looked happy. Of course, he was! I would have said it was because of the beer bottle in his hand. But it wasn’t really that. It was because of who he was with.
Brett said Busani had nothing. Nothing but the Crusaders.
He was my brother. We didn’t know too much about each other. But he had trusted me. And he died serving our cause.
I let my hand fall to my side, as I felt moisture well up in my eyes. My body grew tense, and I felt a sob rising. But I realised I was not alone. I stifled it and looked up.
Ismail stood a respectful distance away, hands clasped behind his back, as he also examined the wall of photographs.
He always seemed to be there these days. Always ready to say something. To share his wisdom. Or something else…
I caught his eye. He nodded.
“A good speech, Commander,” he said. “The troops are fired up.”
I sensed a but…
He said nothing, turning back to the wall.
Ismail was an odd man. I trusted him. At least, I thought I did. But there was far too much going on recently. Far too many coincidences. Small things, stacking up. All concerning him. And the Gibson twins had good noses.
But I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t. And I felt Treth’s reluctance too. Ismail was a part of the inner circle. Athena forbid that he was the mole! But I doubted that too. He didn’t strike me as the type. But even then, could I really tell? Especially after Darius had so easily played us all?
Ismail knew so much. Too much. To the point where I relied on him more than Cindy and Pranish for information about our foes. But, what if that was all a part of his plan? A part of his way to get close to me. And do what?
Perhaps, it wasn’t about me in particular? But I couldn’t help but recall a wound on his thigh.
“What do you know about golems?” I asked, suddenly. I felt Treth’s apprehension, and then painful curiosity. Like watching an accident in motion. He knew what I was about to do. I felt him ready Ithalen. I hoped it didn’t come to that.
Ismail didn’t look surprised at my sudden question. Only contemplative.
“The golemancers have you running a job?” he asked, innocently. “That explains their inappropriate presence at Busani’s funeral.”
I mumbled an innocuous reply.
He ignored me, already thinki
ng of his response, before smiling, disarmingly.
“Golems are constructs of inanimate, inorganic material,” he replied, scholastically. The typical, walking encyclopaedia. “They are powered directly by raw magical energy and are thus immune to most types of magic. What else do you want to know?”
I edged closer towards him, looking directly at him now. Treth kept near my right side. I saw sweat on his spectral brow.
“How about the rabbi connection?” I asked, the same way I usually would on any normal hunt.
“As far as we know,” he replied, calmly. “Golemancy is performed in Hebrew. So, it is natural that it is cast mostly by Jewish people. But I don’t suspect that there is anything religious in the creation of golems.”
“Interesting…” I said. Of course, I knew all this. I eyed the stitches on his thigh. I was closed enough to touch him now.
“How is your thigh doing?”
“Excuse me?” He was surprised now.
“Your thigh. You have stitches in your pants. And you were limping the other day. I was just wondering how you could be so clumsy that you would fall into a desk that hard.”
Ismail took a step back. I felt a sudden rush of cold go up my spine, mixed with exhilaration. I didn’t want it to be true, but I couldn’t help but feel a thrill at my hunch being correct.
“Desk? What are you talking about?” He tried to maintain his calm façade. Almost worked, but he stumbled. “It was a…monster. A hunt.”
“What type of monster?” I leaned forward, staring into his eyes with mine. He looked away, averting his gaze from my different coloured eyes.
“A drake, Kat.” He emphasized my first name. To try seizing upon our familiarity. But despite all I had felt for him, I was a resolute person. I would do what needed to be done.
“Which bit you on the thigh? After the Dark Mist Case?” I pressed. And then sighed. “But, here’s the thing, there’s no record of a drake hunt that day. In fact, I checked your file. There’s no record of you going on any hunts after the Dark Mist. You were idle for the day. So…how’d you get injured?”
Cursed Earth (Kat Drummond Book 12) Page 14
