Chapter 21
We lifted off from the compound and headed northwest at over a hundred and twenty miles an hour. Even at that speed, we had about two hours of flight time. I sat next to Julie. She had winked at me when she had strapped in, but did not say anything that the others could hear. Harbinger studied us stonily, but after a few minutes of uneventful flight, he used the opportunity to get some sleep. Trip and Holly stared out of opposite windows, apparently lost in thought. Milo and Sam argued about what Sam's new team logo should be, either a frog or a walrus. Either way it was going to have a cowboy hat. Lee read a book until he became violently airsick, then he too went to sleep. Skippy left the music off of the intercom, probably in deference to the early morning hour, not that the internal engine noises of the chopper weren't already deafeningly loud. His brother Ed took the co-pilot's seat. He was dressed like a ninja, except for the tinted Bolle goggles.
When nobody was looking, Julie reached over and took my hand. She held it for most of the flight.
I did not know if she felt the same way about me as I felt about her. Looking at it logically, she barely knew me, and in the last twenty-four hours her world had been turned upside down. Was this sudden affection for me the result of feelings that she already held, or were they instead caused by her need to have some sort of anchor?
Either way, I was fine. I could deal with being an anchor. I was certainly heavy enough. Screw logic. It had no place in relationships anyway. I just enjoyed holding her hand.
The rhythmic strumming of the helicopter made me tired. I could understand why, since I had only had a few hours of sleep that night. And it had been a stressful night to say the least-check that, it had been a stressful week. On Saturday I had been drowned, beaten and shot. Sunday I had been slapped around and had some teeth knocked out. On Monday I got to go to the dentist and, sadly, that had been the most relaxing time of the whole week. Tuesday had resulted in a van wreck and road rash, and I had gotten my ass kicked last night by, first, a vampire, and then used by Franks as a punching bag. Who knew what today would bring? Interestingly enough, the full moon was going to be Friday night. Exactly one week from when this all started. It had an interesting sort of symmetry to it, or it probably would if I lived to enjoy it.
A week ago I had been ready to quit. Scared that I was doing the wrong thing. Scared by the violence that I kept leashed up inside. But those things, that darkness, it was what had kept many of us alive over the last few days. My pursuit of a regular life was a lie. I could see that now.
My place was here. I was a Monster Hunter.
By the time we flew over Hayneville, I was asleep.
I saw the mysterious Tattooed Man. He was driving a car down the nearly empty freeway. The person sitting next to him had been the vehicle's previous owner, neck snapped like a twig when the Tattooed Man had decided he needed transportation. His bare foot was on the gas, and he kept it just under the speed limit to avoid attention.
Black eyes stared straight ahead, fixed in the direction of his target. He drummed his fingers absently on the wheel. He was close. Very close. The anticipation of regaining his charge was great, and the excitement of approaching battle was building in his ancient soul.
He knew I was watching him. He was close enough now for that. The tattoos on his face withered as he spoke, knowing all too well that I could hear him despite the barriers of space and time. His archaic form of speech was thick and accented.
"I care not about thy war. The artifact is mine to protect, and do so I shall."
Who are you? I thought.
"Look upon me and see thy doom, cursed man. Thou shalt die by my hand."
Why?
He paused, the unnatural ink swirling around his blunt features. He seemed surprised by my question.
"Thou knowest not?"
No.
"Thou knowest not of thy fate? Of thy place in this world?"
Nope.
He laughed at me. A booming hearty laugh. It was without real emotion, as any human feelings that had once inhabited this hardened creature had passed a long time ago. Rather, the laughter was an ingrained reflex at hearing something so seemingly preposterous.
"Surely thou hast some knowledge?"
No. I'm getting pretty sick of this myself.
"Then I shall be saddened to take the life of a warrior whose heart is without guile. Alas, it must be. For that I am sorry, but thou must surely die by my hand. I shall do my best to make it swift and glorious."
I don't want to fight you.
"Thou hast no choice," he stated flatly. " 'Tis my duty."
I had my fill of people and monsters threatening to kill me.
Bring it on, bitch.
His face cracked into a wide grin, the swirling markings formed a sympathetic jaw around his lips. "Ahh, there be the spirit. We shall wage us a fine battle."
He continued driving as my spirit lifted from the moving vehicle. The sun was rising on the freeway behind us. I recognized the city in the background.
Montgomery.
The dream world.
"Hello, Boy." The Old Man greeted me as I approached the destroyed church. "Hurry, hurry. Time is much short. Cut off last time." He looked agitated, limping toward me, using his cane as support in the light but slick snow.
"Mordechai, who the hell was that joker?" I asked as I stepped over some rubble and scattered bricks. Either I had not noticed before, or perhaps the Old Man had not put them there before, but there were thousands of shell casings scattered on the ground or pocked into the snow.
"Who?" he asked, perplexed.
"That big tattoo-faced guy. The Guardian of the artifact or whatever."
He hurried over, his face drawn into a look of concern. "You spoke to this man?"
"Yeah, just now. Didn't you see?"
"No." He shook his head, his Star of David bouncing wildly off of his thin chest. "He is here? Now?" The Old Man sounded very worried.
"I think so. I think he's in Montgomery."
"Is bad. Much much bad."
"He said he has to kill me."
"Afraid of this I was. Listen to me, Boy. You are brave and strong, but no match for him. If he comes, run."
"So let me get this straight, you've got no problem with me taking on the Cursed One and seven Master vampires, and gargoyles, and wights, and who knows what else, but you want me to turn and run if I see this tattoo-faced, funny-talking freak?"
"Yes." He shook his head happily. "Glad you understand, Boy. Now come, time is short, and still much you have to see. I will do what can, but not know if have time enough."
"Why is he so dangerous? How can he be any more dangerous than Lord Machado?"
The Old Man put his hands alongside my head. "Not him who is dangerous. I worry about you who is dangerous."
"Huh?"
He squeezed my head and looked me in the eyes. I think he was trying to convey the seriousness of his advice. "Never mind. See him. Run away. Not strong enough to face. Bad things happen. Now shush. Much memory to show before fight."
The dream world faded away.
Lord Machado's memory was sharp and refined for this night, etched deeply into his mind.
This pyramid was much larger than the others, but had been partially buried by earthquakes and mudslides in the distant past, and then mostly reclaimed by the jungle. The stones were crumbling with age, and the once-intricate carvings were weathered to the point that they were no longer clearly recognizable. Now the pictures looked more like squid and crab things going about their business, than the pictorial people that they must have been at one time. The remaining architecture seemed unfamiliar and somehow alien.
Many months had passed while the priestess had instructed me in her dark arts. I had learned much, and seen things not meant for human eyes. I had communed with dark forces, and my education had continued until finally I felt ready to unleash the power. The time had come for me to reclaim my birthright and fulfill the prophecy. I was ready. The priestess Koriniha was at my side. A small contingent of her selected priests led the way up the steps. A squadron of my most trusted and loyal soldiers remained to guard the base of the pyramid.
The priestess leaned in close and spoke softly into my ear. "Your men are scared, Lord Machado."
"They do not understand what we do. But they are loyal. They will do as they are told. They would follow me into the very pit itself if ordered, for I am their general. And they know their place."
"That is good. But not all of your soldiers are so loyal. There has been no word of your chief captain." She sounded mildly worried. "We cannot afford an interruption during the sacrifice. The Old Ones would be offended."
She was right to be concerned. A small group of men, led by one of my best captains, had disappeared, most likely deserted. The giant of a man, called Thrall, had hired onto the expedition as a mercenary. He was from some small country to the northeast, and had barely even spoken our language at the time of our embarkation, but he had proven himself to be a fierce warrior, whom the men would follow without hesitation. I had been reluctant to promote him, but he was far too capable to have been wasted as a mere musketeer.
Unfortunately, his primitive upbringing had made my own superstitious men seem like philosophers in comparison. He had been against my initial conscription of the native forces, and he had been adamantly opposed to staying in the city, rather than sacking and burning it to the ground. I had my suspicions that he had been in league with the now departed Friar de Sousa as well. The divinations of the priestess had confirmed his treachery and the fact that he had been a holy man amongst his forgotten people. Doubtless my consorting with dark forces had driven him away.
It would not matter, even if the captain had fled for the sea. By the time he would be able to send a message of my treachery back to agents of the crown, it would be too late. My powers would be granted tonight. "No need to worry, my love. The good captain is no threat to us." I had dispatched a force of soldiers and conscripts to chase the deserters down and execute them. "It is under control."
"Excellent, my lord, but should it prove necessary, I summoned some protectors for our ceremony tonight."
The top of the ancient structure was flat except for a single raised dais. The altar had a funnel protruding from its base, giving some clue to its dark history. Giant braziers of flaming coals had been placed on the corners, illuminating us with flickering light. The pagan priests went immediately to their respective stations. Large stone demons squatted around the altar. One of the carved statues turned its head and regarded us with blank stone eyes. Dust shook from it as unnaturally long arms flexed nonexistent muscles. It was a mighty beast.
"What manner of creature is that?" I hissed.
"They are here to protect you, Lord Machado. Once you unlock the power of the Old Ones, you will be able to create these animations as you see fit." The stone creature turned away, satisfied that I was its new master. I could only imagine the army that I could command with creatures constructed from the rocks of the earth itself.
A small group of the feather-robed men were already waiting before the altar. They stood aside and kneeled as we approached. One of the priests said something in his language to the priestess.
"The sacrifice is ready, lord," she told me. A young man was stretched upon the altar, his wrists and ankles bound with heavy cords. Rather than fearful, the man appeared defiant. He said something in their strange language. I could tell he was cursing me.
"He is a hunter of the Ewaipanoma of the jungle and the Ahuzoitl of the rivers, a protector of the innocent, and a great warrior. The Old Ones demand such a sacrifice."