Sons of Evil: Book 1 Book of Dread (29 page)

“I did,” he said before he
could stop himself.

She looked up and said, “Hold
me one last time, as you once did.” She lifted her open arms and moved toward
him.

*

Barlow’s hesitation was brief,
but still he chided himself for it. He knew he was tired—beyond tired even—but
that was only an excuse. When facing an enemy such excuses meant nothing, and
lowering one’s guard, even for an instant, can be fatal.

Carlton Grey had been Barlow’s
mentor over forty years ago, up until a weak heart took his life. The being
before Barlow now was in appearance Grey as Barlow preferred to remember him,
unbowed by age, a sparkle in his eye due to what he lived for and what he knew
awaited him once he passed from this mortal plane. Barlow found the last somewhat
ironic, considering what this creature was. He drew Gabriel and advanced.

Grey held up his hands,
showing he had left his weapon sheathed. “You always were quick to settle
things with your blade. I hope you’ve not been abusing my sword.”

“Carlton Grey’s sword has been
used only for its intended purpose. Cleaving you in half would be included in
that description.”

“In a moment, perhaps,” said
Grey, giving ground. “I was hoping you’d listen to what I had to say first.”

“No point in it,” Barlow
replied. “Lies, I’m certain, and nothing else.” He drew nearer.

“If you’d take a moment to use
your brain, which is no doubt addled by a lack of sleep, you’d wonder why
Gabriel sheds no light.”

Barlow looked at his weapon,
and seeing that it did in fact cast no light, he stopped.

“You see,” Grey went on. “Not
a demon, as you supposed.”

“Then what are you?”

“Do you doubt your eyes?”

“No. But I know deceit is the
way of the enemy. And you didn’t answer my question.”

Grey laughed. “So I didn’t. I’m
a messenger, if you like, trying to impart one last lesson to my best student.”

“I don’t like it,” Barlow
said, “nor believe it. I reserve the right to employ my weapon as I see fit.”

“Fair enough. And perhaps
you’ll find I can still defend myself as well as in the old days.” At this Grey
drew his own sword.

Barlow was almost disappointed
that Grey’s weapon appeared ordinary. “Speak your mind then, and be off.”

Grey shook his head. “I really
have failed you, Barlow. Quick to anger. Impatient. But these are quibbles. It
is in our faith that we’ve gone astray.”

“And yet you claim not to be a
demon.”

“No, I am
not. That I’ve avoided. But the alternative…isn’t much better. There is a place
for souls like mine and yours, but not heaven or hell. Just an empty void,
really. A place to wander though time and space.”

“To what purpose?”

Grey shrugged. “I wish I knew.
None are there to guide us, to lead us. We are lost, all of us, even if we
aren’t damned.”

“And yet you are here. How did
you manage that?”

“We can cross over, from time
to time. Surely you’ve heard of ghosts, hauntings, warnings from beyond the
grave.”

“I think what I’ve heard is
enough of your lies.” Barlow started forward, purpose in his step.

Grey fell
back a few paces, but readied his weapon. “That’s right, if you don’t like the
message, kill the messenger. Or at least try to.”

“Sounds good to me,” Barlow
said.

Their swords rang out loudly
in the silent wood.

*

Silas was the first to return
to where Adrianna waited, but his arrival, rather than bringing her comfort, made
her uneasy. She struggled to put a finger on why…

His expression softened when
he saw her, and his shoulders dropped with relief. “At least two of us are
together. Do you know where the others are?”

She pointed in the direction
she had last seen them moving, and then it hit her. Silas had come back from
the wrong direction. It was possible that he could have done so, yes. Anyone
could get turned around in these woods. But she had stayed still for just such
a reason, and Silas would have had to take a long, circuitous route to return
from the north rather than the south.

He glanced in the direction
she had pointed, then casually moved toward her.

Stilling her racing heart and
mind, she gathered her focus and cast a spell.

Silas was gone, Adrianna’s
magic dispelling the illusion the demon had created. The effect was evident to
it as well. It looked at its arms, now bare and rustred in color. “Well done,”
it said. “You are perhaps a bit more resourceful than your friends.”

“What do you want?”

“The book would be a start. Your
soul would also be a tasty treat.”

Adrianna forced a smile. “You’ll
get neither.”

“For the time being, you may
be correct. But you do not understand what it is you’ve set your will against. Ageless
beings of unimaginable power. Your machinations are of no avail against such
formidable foes.”

The demon’s words seemed all
too true. She spoke to bury the feeling of gloom welling up within her. “Do you
include yourself in this elite group?”

The demon laughed. “Hardly. I
am only a lowly spirit, fit for little more than occasional mischief, and
perhaps to deliver a message.”

“Well, you’ve done so. We’re
all doomed. I get it.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”

“An opinion now as well. I
think I should be touched to get this extra attention.”

The demon smiled a wicked
grin. “Maybe someday I’ll be rewarded by my masters, and then I’ll give you all
the attention you could ever want and more. For now, understand your quest is
hopeless, as is the future of your world. The portal is open, and it cannot be
shut. Sort of ironic really, considering the book is closed and can’t be
opened.” The demon laughed, at first mildly and then hysterically, amused by
its own wit.

Adrianna had heard enough. She
felt she should be able to bandy words with such a being, to detain it and see
what she might learn, but the feeling of dread she had been fighting for days
was all too vibrant with the demon this close. She started to mouth the words
of another spell.

The demon heard her, bringing
it out of its reverie. “I’ll save you the trouble,” it said. “But I do so look
forward to seeing you again. Next time we meet, I’ll be able to show you my
world.” It raised its arms, then dropped them swiftly. In a puff of
foul-smelling smoke it was gone.

*

Darius felt his equilibrium
leaving him, his tired mind swirling. His shoulder found a tree, keeping him
upright, but slowly he slid to the ground, the weight of dark thoughts forcing
him down. Surely this couldn’t really be Sasha. But she had used that nickname,
“Croupy.” He shook his head as if hoping to knock loose a clear thought that
might help him.

Sasha moved toward him,
casually. “It’s all right, brother. The hardest part is accepting the truth. Once
that’s done, you can start adjusting to it.”

He couldn’t bring himself to
look up. He noticed an uncomfortable pressure on his back, where his pack,
caught between his body and the tree, was pinned. He shifted, almost
unconsciously, but rather than helping, a bright blossom of pain flared, a hard
object probing a muscle. He shifted again, the pain causing him to focus, if
only for an instant.

It was the corner of the book
he felt.

For a moment it was clear. He
still had the book, and therefore the hunter, since it appeared with the book,
had to have been an illusion, and Sasha was just the latest guise. He knew the
name Croupy, and the thing before him was using his thoughts to create Sasha,
so, of course, it knew that secret because Darius did.

Darius saw Sasha’s feet on the
ground before him.

“Come, brother,” she said. “You
are weary and burdened with sorrows. Let me comfort you. Let me ease your
pain.”

Something in her words, in her
tone, was like a siren call. He felt the clarity leaving his mind, felt the
questions and doubts and fears forcing their way in again. He had to act, now, before
it was too late.

The sword had never left his
hand, although his grip had slackened. He looked up, asked the heavenly powers
for forgiveness, then swung his weapon with all his might at his sister’s
midsection.

She dropped to the ground, the
look on her face more shock than pain. For an awful moment she remained Sasha,
and Darius felt an icy hand squeezing his heart. Then the illusion was gone,
and a demon lay on the ground, its dark blood staining the soil. Darius found
his feet and backed away.

“Go ahead and run,” the demon
croaked. “There is nowhere you can hide.” Then it was gone.

*

Silas held his staff at
arm’s-length. “Stay back. I’ll not have you draw near.”

Tears rolled freely down
Carolyn’s face. “You would reject me again? Deny me even the smallest comfort?”

Silas slowly edged back. Her
face, her tears…she looked exactly as she had all those years ago when he left
her. He had never been able to clear that image from his mind, had never fully
buried the guilt of seeing how much he had hurt her. For a moment he was
reliving it again, and the old wounds tore open and bled anew.

He stumbled on the root of a
tree, not coming close to falling, but enough to distract him for a second.

She took advantage of the
interlude by taking three quick steps, closing the gap between them.

Silas knew he should end this,
was uncomfortable with how close she was getting. Her tears still flowed, but
there was something else on her face, a second look under the pain and sorrow,
a subtle hint around the mouth that a smile was there under the mask. He still
couldn’t bring himself to attack, not yet, but that second face, the real one,
peeking out was enough to prod him to action. He spun the staff and used the
end to strike a quick blow to her stomach, halting her progress and knocking
her to the ground.

If he expected this to break
the spell, or force her to attack, he was disappointed. She sat on the ground,
sobbing more deeply than before, making him feel like even more of a heel for
not helping her up. He wanted to go to her, could almost feel the battle raging
in his mind. He held his ground.

“You haven’t changed, Silas,”
she said, “although I remember you as being more gallant. Once you’ve made your
mind up about something, no one can dissuade you.”

Silas maintained his silence
and his distance.

Carolyn took a deep breath,
then shuddered. Her face was still streaked with the tracks of her tears, but
she managed to stop shedding them. “I will leave you now, and go to face my
ordeal alone. Funny, how you caused me so much pain in life, and now even in
death, it does not end.” She found her feet, moved off a few steps, then turned
to regard him one last time. “We will see each other again one day, Silas. Then
we will embrace, for good or ill.”

He watched her go, his feet
set and unmoving. It had been he that had walked away before, all those years
ago. He found that this was nearly as hard.

*

Fighting
with swords requires concentration and a willingness to act on instinct. Barlow’s
jumbled thoughts threatened to interfere with what was required to survive this
battle, and although he wanted to either sort things out or shut the questions
in his head off completely, for now he could do neither. If this really was
Carlton Grey, he wasn’t sure he was capable of beating him. Was doubt slowing
him down, making him hold back? If he fought a demon—and he was no longer
certain that such was the case—it was either well-trained or taking advantage
of his reluctance to destroy his old master.

“You’ve slowed with age,” Grey
said.

“So have you,” Barlow answered
without conviction. “Or maybe in your case, death has slowed you.”

“Touché,” he said, hopping
back. Just as suddenly, he lunged forward, cutting low.

Barlow parried the blow, and
brought Gabriel around in an arc toward Grey’s head.

Grey ducked, then stepped back
with a smile. “Appears to be a stalemate, my old friend. I have to admit, I’m a
bit disappointed. I sort of hoped you would prove my better, make me feel that
at least my effort to train you with the sword had some value. And it’s not
like you can really hurt me, at least not physically. But it appears
everything
I’ve taught you was in vain.”

Barlow closed swiftly. “Sorry
to let you down,” he said while trying to drive his sword into Grey’s stomach.

Grey batted the attempt aside.
“At least you haven’t bothered trying to pass on what you’ve learned. That
should be another disappointment, but with what I now know, it would have been
just more wasted effort.”

The comment hit one of
Barlow’s weak spots. He had always felt a degree of guilt about not finding a
student of his own, preferably more than one. The world had changed, and he had
grown old, but still… Part of Barlow wanted to simply crumple to the ground, to
quit fighting and just admit he had failed in so many ways. But another part of
him pushed for swift action, a reflex to bury the guilt as he had done so many
times before. His attack took on renewed energy.