Ancient Evil (The First Genocide Book 1) (13 page)

He pulled himself unsteadily to his feet
and tried to sneak out the window without anyone noticing. Unfortunately, he
tripped on some empty cans, so everyone turned to look at him standing by the
window.

“If you take a shit go on the North side of
the bothy, okay? If you don’t need to shit, I would suggest you avoid the North
side,” said Trevor.

Finn blushed and nodded and then fell out
the window.

Now… which way was North?
he thought to himself.

He decided to just head out into the
heather a little and relieve himself out of view of the house.

She had been waiting in the cold and darkness
for a few hours, neither of which bothered her much, when she saw him fall out
of the window onto the wooden porch that fronted the bothy.

He still did not have a hat, but it looked
like he had obtained some pink gloves from somewhere. Under the strong smell of
alcohol she could detect the smell of blood. He must have some sort of minor
injury.

She quietly circled to approach him from
behind, when he stopped walking and the smell of fresh urine hit the air. She
wrinkled her nose in disgust. She would not take him while he was pissing.

He urinated for a good two minutes as he
muttered, “So cold, so cold.”

The stream trailed off, he packed away his
pecker and jumped a couple of times to adjust himself. His unseen watcher
started to move forward when a beam of light speared him from the bothy.

“All right there, buddy?” One of the others
was calling him from the shack; the accent was Canadian.

She crouched to avoid the light and waited.

“Cold as a brass monkey’s testes, but
otherwise fine,” he called back.

“Alright, your girlfriend was a little
worried about you.”

Her target started to walk back to the
shelter. He passed within a foot of his watcher without noticing her. To any
but the most gifted of observers she was a slightly darker shade of dark in the
night — the darkness of a black hole sucking in any stray photons in the night.

He murmured, “Girlfriend?” to himself as he
passed.

This one could not be her target, he was so
… unimpressive. She would need to return to the University town and see if there
was another that matched the description she had been provided. Before she left
she would find some misery to feed on.

She could hear him speak again as he got
close to the Canadian, “I’m not, that is, she’s not my girlfriend. Did she say
she was my girlfriend?”

“Nope, just my assumption. And don’t worry,
I am not going to try my luck. I can see you’re into her.”

“Thanks. It is so philandering cold out
here. Do you have any more of that whisky?”

“Philandering? Holy moly, you really are a
little weird, aren’t you? Don’t get me wrong, I like you, but you are strange.”

“I hear that ladies like strange,” said
Finn with a grin.

The Canadian laughed as they walked back to
the bothy.

As the night progressed he could feel his
charisma build. It seemed everything he said made the others laugh and he was
talking a lot.

Bex was smiling at him and he knew — he
just knew that she was not thinking of Brian, or whatever his name was.

He was about to suggest they connect their
sleeping bags when suddenly his stomach convulsed. He looked around and in
panic and scrambled for the window. He made it halfway out when he spewed the
six beers, a few swigs of whisky and a mélange of partially digested pork pie
and Pot Noodle that had made up the contents of his stomach.

He lay down outside in the blissfully cold
air until he felt someone shake his shoulder.

“Come on in, Finn.”

It was Bex. He felt too nauseous to be
embarrassed, so he followed her back inside.

He woke as a scream pierced his cotton-filled
head like a pick axe. He sat up and saw that the bothy was empty.

He crawled to the window, feeling miserable,
and looked outside.

Everyone from their little expedition was
gathered around a bluish-white figure on the ground. He looked again and saw
that the group was missing Trevor.

He scrambled out the window in his socks.
He did not feel the cold and wet as he approached the group.

Claire’s screams became muffled as Simon
pulled her into a hug and she buried her face in his shoulder.

Finn pushed through the small group and looked
down at the frozen, naked corpse of Trevor.

“I love this pakora.”

“Yeah, the chutney’s great too.”

Finn and Bex were having dinner at the
Indian restaurant. There was only one in town so, like many of the other
businesses, people did not use the restaurant’s name, and they just called it “the
Indian.”

Finn and Bex had been spending a lot of
time together since the death of Trevor. That tragic event had drawn them
closer together. No one knew exactly what happened; as far as the police could
tell he had been drunk and decided to take a walk outside in the snow naked.
There had been no signs of a struggle. It seemed that University life was full
of tragedy this year. They tried their best to put it behind themselves. They
drove back the sadness that loomed at the edge of their consciousness with
humor, routine and, of course, alcohol.

“How is the review going? Can you prove
that someone has been fucking with your experiments yet?” she said.

“There is definitely an effect. I am just
trying to get at the variables that are making the biggest difference. I
actually have a suspect.”

She leaned forward and said, “Really, do
tell.”

He hesitated, “I don’t think I should, not
until I am sure.”

“Oh come on, I won’t tell anyone. Please?”
she batted her eyes at him and grabbed his hand over the table. He shifted
uncomfortably, he would need to, ahem, relax a little before he was able to
stand up.

He cleared his throat. “All right, I think
it’s Dawson. Just don’t say anything to anyone, okay? If I’m wrong and he finds
out he will make my life hell.” He snorted. “Who am I kidding? Even if I am
right and he finds out, my life will be hell.”

“Of course, I won’t tell a soul, but, I
knew it was him. He’s such a bastard.”

“That he is. That he is,” he said. “The
kicker is that Proctor wants him to review my work. So it has been a little
tricky, as I don’t want to tip my hand too soon. I had to create two sets of
analysis. One is a piece of feces and shows I am getting nowhere. I store that
one on the department servers. The other is my real work, which I will show to
Proctor when I have it bulletproof. I keep that on some disks in my bag. There
should be no way for Dawson to get at it until I’m ready.”

“I have to say, this is pretty exciting
stuff,” she said, “in an academic way, of course. Oh, the dramatic hissy fits
that will ensue when the shit hits the fan. You have to let me know when you do
the big reveal.”

“I know. I’m starting to worry about
consequences already. I have reviewed about half of the experiments so far. On
ninety percent of them Dawson had direct oversight of the experiment from the
start and there was no detectable effect at any stage of the experiment. On
another five percent he had no involvement and there were some minor effects
detected. Of the remaining five or so percent, the initial findings showed a
strong possibility of telepathy and remote viewing. At that stage Dawson got
involved, presumably, to ensure there was the right amount of rigor in the
process and, lo and behold, the effect disappeared. Actually, it more than
disappeared; it reversed until there was no statistical effect. That’s the
smoking gun. I can trace the reversal of the results to where he became
involved. I need to get more examples. At the moment he can still argue that
the initial results were due to sloppy controls that he cleaned up.”

“Could that be it? From what everyone says,
he is thorough.”

“Well, I would think that was a possibility
if it was not for the fact that one of the experiments was mine. Not to be too
big-headed, but I design a mean experiment. That’s what gave me the idea in the
first place, that there was a monkey wrench in the works. I was detecting a
real effect, a strong effect, until Dawson showed up to help verify the
results. I’m sure it is him, I just need to get more evidence.”

“Does anyone else know? Have you told
anyone else?”

“Just you, and I can’t tell Proctor yet; it
will kill him. He doesn’t exactly like Dawson, but he does respect him. They
have been working together for years. This is a huge betrayal. My worst fear is
that Dawson figures out that I am on to him.” He paused to eat. “You know, he
may well be aware already; he seems to be watching me closely.”

“Paranoid. What I don’t get is why would he
do it?”

“I’ll get to that in a sec. I called a few
colleagues at other universities and asked to see their raw data. There seems
to be a trend there as well. Whenever it looks like someone is going to prove a
psi effect, the remaining results completely extinguish the effect. It has to
be an outside influence. It has to be.”

“So what are you saying? Are you saying
that there is a Dawson at every facility that is doing this research? That
would be a massive conspiracy.”

“Yeah, crazy, isn’t it? But I can’t think
of any other explanation. The raw data really is startling.”

“Okay then, so why has no one else
noticed?”

“A lot of experiments aren’t actually very
well-designed. And to be fair, the psi effect is difficult to detect. It also
appears that psi is an ability that can be strong or weak in an individual. The
few experiments that actually slip through the conspiracy’s net and demonstrate
a psi effect can never be replicated, or they are just ridiculed by the general
scientific community.”

“This is huge,” she said loudly. Some
people in the restaurant looked over. She lowered her voice, “Sorry.”

“Ha, no problem, I can only imagine what
they are thinking,” he said with a smile and a wink.

“Dirty bugger,” she said with a look of
mock outrage on her face.

He got serious, “You know, I think I love
you.” He made a face, “Ugh, I never said that to a non-relative before. Well,
out loud, anyway.” He put his hands on his face then peeked through his fingers
at her.

“This is pretty fast, Finn; you know I have
a boyfriend. You would have some girls running scared right now.”

“So, just some girls; not you
specifically?”

“No, I mean yes. I mean, not me
specifically. I like you too. A lot. But …”

“I hate buts.”

“That is not what your friend Jonni says.
Especially mine?”

He looked a little panicked, “What? You’ve
been speaking to Jonni? What did he say? No, don’t tell me.” He took a deep
breath and gave himself a little shake. “You said, but?”

“You’re so funny.” She smiled a little
sadly, “I just don’t think I can say I love you, not yet. And I need to figure
out what to do about Brian.”

“Hey, no problem, that’s fine, I just
wanted you to know how I felt. I was not looking for instant reciprocation.” He
took a bite of naan and managed to bite his tongue. “Scrotal sack,” he said.

“What is it with the way you swear anyway?”

“Oh, that’s easy. If you use acceptable
medical terms, you can say the filthiest things and no one can really complain.
Smart, isn’t it?”

“No, not so much,” she said and smiled.

Across the street from the Indian
restaurant was an old grey stone building, one of many on the street. The
doorway of the building was a black abyss. It seemed to be darker than the
other doorways on the street, and the grey-orange light from the street lamps
did not seem able to pass the recessed threshold of the doorway.

If someone had been standing in the
darkness filling the doorway they would have been able to look through the
window of the restaurant and see two young people dining. The female was very
attractive, petite, with short, bobbed black hair, pale blue eyes and a pixie
nose. The male was handsome but less distinctive, with brown hair and eyes.
They were talking in an animated manner but quietly, with their heads leaning
towards each other over the table. Then the male said something and covered his
face with his hands, peeking through his fingers at the female.

The darkness in the doorway rippled
restlessly. The entire street darkened briefly, as if someone with a dimmer
switch that controlled the Universe had turned down all the street lights, the
stars and the moon. When the light brightened a moment later the doorway looked
the same as any other doorway on the street. Empty.

“The
Special Brigades are difficult to use effectively; however, if deployed
according to some basic principles, they can significantly reduce Trooper
casualty rates and increase the probability of victory.”

Hael was observing the lecture from the
back row of the amphitheater. As a Third Year academic and one of the Ten in
his year, he spent some of his time each day observing the classes of the
younger students. In his Fourth Year he would be responsible for teaching some
of them. The Academy recognized that true mastery of a subject came when one
was required to teach it to another. This class was of particular interest to
him, as it was being taught by his older brother Lucan and his younger brother,
Bral, was among the first-year students being instructed.

“The two most common Special Heavy Brigades
are the Ogra and Trolla Brigades. Ogra fare particularly well on the open field
against the Feral, and, once released, their rage, strength and size take a
terrible toll on the enemy. They are often used to provide cover for a
strategic retreat. As they are extremely difficult to control, they should never
be deployed with other forces.”

Lucan was standing in the center of the
floor of the sunken amphitheater. The academics were seated on curved white
stone benches that circled the amphitheater in progressively higher rows,
affording them all an unrestricted view of the proud and magnificent Lucan.
They leant forward and fidgeting was at a minimum — the very image of an
attentive class. This was not because Lucan was a particularly good teacher,
but because he was a cruel one.

To be fair, he was very good at most
things. He was one of those people who would work and work to rectify any
deficiencies he detected in himself. Unfortunately, this also meant that Lucan
was unforgiving of weakness in others and he would go out of his way to point
out those weaknesses so they could take corrective action, as he himself would.

As a teacher, he certainly knew the content
well and could explain it. The problem was that he was one of those teachers
who felt it was more important for his students to respect his intellect than
to actually learn.

“The Trolla are more useful in siege work
and fortified positions. Their strength and affinity for stonework make them
formidable in the erection of fortifications, as well as tearing them down,
should the Feral overtake one of our positions. They are, however, more passive
and shy than Ogra. They typically attack the unsuspecting from cover and
retreat with their kills to feed.”

Hael craned his neck and looked for Bral
and spotted him in the first row. Although he could only see the back of Bral’s
head, Hael knew him so well that the cant of his head and the way he shifted on
the hard stone bench made him instantly recognizable to Hael. Hael also knew
that Bral was not feigning attention like many of his peers were. Bral had an
insatiable thirst for knowledge. Bral, like his brothers, was also one of the
Ten for his year. Hael thought he was Eight or Nine at the moment and doubted
that Bral would ever make it to One; he was not ruthless enough. His strong
empathy made him adept at anticipating his opponents’ moves and countering
them, but it also made it difficult for him to crush his opponents completely.
A master of defense, he was weak in offence.

Bral sat beside his best friend, Samael.
Samael was not one of the brightest of the academics in his year, although he
did have a level of low cunning. Hael was not entirely comfortable with their
friendship. Bral was the latest in a series of best friends for Samael, each
one of greater status than the last.

There was no doubt that Samael was being
helped by Bral and had climbed in the rankings since they had become friends.
Hael was worried that his sensitive younger brother would be hurt. Ever the
reserved boy, he had held himself back since the day Clea had been taken, not
willing to invest in getting to know someone and befriend them — until Samael
came along.

“Nightfeeders are one of the Special Light
Brigades. They function extremely well in the dark. They are fast, vicious and
work well in packs or as single units. As a pack or coven, they are useful for
harrying your opponents, as well as night raids. When deployed as single units,
they are effective night scouts and assassins. There are some useful side
effects to the Nightfeeder curse. As with other transformative curses, they are
cursed with Eternal Servitude. This means that they need to be able to heal
from almost any injury. To facilitate this healing process, they have some
limited ability to alter form. They are also able to pull in a certain amount
of heat and light to power the healing process. Can anyone think of positive
applications or downsides of this ability to absorb heat and light?”

There was silence for a few seconds before
Bral spoke up. Although shy, he was intensely curious. “Um, hiding?”

“Um, hiding?” Lucan said back to him in
falsetto. “Please, explain, my most worthy sibling.” The other students laughed
in a relieved manner. Lucan had chosen a target and it was not one of them.

Bral cleared his throat. “Well, if they can
absorb light to heal, can they also absorb light to hide in the shadows?”

“Correct.” Lucan’s response was clipped;
Bral had gotten it right. “So, are there no disadvantages?”

Bral stepped once more into the breach.
“Well, if they are in the process of actively drawing in energy…”

“Yes, if they are drawing in energy, what?
What?”

“I would think that if you hit them with a
lot more energy, either kinetic energy, say dropping a boulder on them or
staking them down and setting fire to them, you could overload them? Maybe?”
Bral trailed off. Lucan stared at him fiercely.

“Oh well done, Bral. Did one of the older
boys tell you? You know cheating is a very serious offence.”

“No. I didn’t,” Bral stuttered.

“Enough, I will let it go this time. Any
other questions?”

Bral’s thirst for knowledge overcame his
common sense. He had another question. He leaned forward. Samael touched his
shoulder as if to hold him back.

“You said that the Ogra are very hard to
control. How are they retrieved once they are deployed?”

“It is extremely difficult to corral the Ogra
after a battle. If we are fighting far from the City, as most battles are now,
we leave them to run wild. They become a hazard for any remaining Ferals in the
area. If deployed anywhere near the City or near a tribute tribe, it is usually
necessary to exterminate them. They do not cooperate well with each other, so a
couple of well-disciplined squads working together can usually take them down
with little risk of casualties.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to try and
update the Ogra Curse to make them more obedient, so we could use them over and
over?” asked Bral.

Lucan spread his arms wide and slowly spun
to look at his class with a big smile on his face. Hael knew that this was what
Lucan had been waiting for. “It appears that my brother tries to hide his
squeamishness behind logic,” Lucan replied. “Only Bral could feel sorry for
these monsters.” The other students laughed nervously, again.

“Monsters that used to be one of us.” The
acoustics of the amphitheater ensured that Bral’s quiet comment was heard by
all.

“No, not one of us; they are nothing like
us and never were.” Lucan was losing his cool, his voice raised, not quite a
shout, not yet. “They are made of the dishonorable, the weak and the criminals
of this great City and our great Empire. Next thing you will be questioning the
Campaign against the Ferals itself.”

Bral started to reply but Lucan cut him
off. “Don’t you dare say another word; you disgrace yourself and your family.
Report to your prefect and ask for five lashes.”

Bral’s face was flushed as he rose to leave
amphitheater. Samael reached out and gave his hand a squeeze as he left.

Hael would visit Bral later, but there was
nothing he could do to intervene now. Within certain bounds, a teacher’s word
was law in the amphitheater. The harshest punishment a teacher could hand out
was five lashes. Lucan was probably unaware, or did not care, that there were
more lenient punishments available. He always set the maximum. However, even
for Lucan, five lashes were extreme for Bral’s comment.

Hael looked back to the center of the
amphitheater and Lucan was wearing a charming smile — the mask was back in
place. “Any other questions?” Silence.

After the lecture finished Hael approached
Lucan.

“Brother, did you give him such a harsh
punishment because you want him to learn, or because you are embarrassed that
he is your brother?”

Lucan did not respond or look at him as he
walked past.

Bral tensed as the lash struck his back. He
heard a wet slap, followed a second or two later by an intense burning. If this
was the price of knowledge, then so be it.

At first he had been shocked that Lucan had
handed out a lashing for asking a question. Thinking about it on the long walk
to the prefect’s room, it occurred to him that it had only been a matter of
time before Lucan found some way to punish him. It was like old times for him.
Lucan used to torture him in their parents’ house before the Academy. Now he
could have someone apply the beating on his behalf.

Bral knew Lucan had always held him in
contempt. He felt that Bral’s empathy was a weakness, and he was unable see
that it could be a useful trait. That was the main difference between Lucan and
Hael. Hael always seemed to figure out how he could make use of something —
which could be a little scary. In spite of that, Bral would do anything for
Hael. Some days it seemed that Hael was the only one who did not think that
Bral was useless.

Lucan was less complex, though more
charismatic than Hael. All he was interested in was achieving his own goals. He
was unashamedly self-interested; everything he did was to promote Lucan and
nothing more. Certain people found Lucan’s self-interest and drive to be
incredibly attractive, something Bral never understood.

Bral should have expected that Lucan would
do something to distance himself from his embarrassing youngest brother. Lashes
did seem a little extreme.

Knowledge has a price. Lashes he could
take.

He heard a second slap, and this time the
pain struck him instantly.

All he wanted was to get this over with and
fall into the arms of his darling Samael.

That and to graduate and never see that
fucker Lucan again.

Zabab –> Donta:
Are you still sure
our candidate is the right brother? The eldest seems more suitable. He is
stronger and more ruthless.

“He is also vain, cruel, self-obsessed and
without the slightest crumb of compassion.” Donta and Zabab were walking in the
gardens in the center courtyard of the Academy. The darkness was mitigated by
light leaking out of the windows set into the stone walls bounding the courtyard.
Although dark, Donta could sense that he and Zabab were alone. Alone except for
the lurking presence of Zabab’s ever-present bodyguard, who shadowed them out
of sight. The prefects were allowed to cut across the gardens during the day.
Younger boys and lower-ranking boys always needed to circle around. After dark
the gardens were off limits to all but the Masters and the Marshals.

Zabab –> Donta:
Vanity and
self-obsession we can use to our advantage.

“And the cruelty and lack of compassion?”

Zabab –> Donta:
What of them? Ah, you
see them as weaknesses. I do not. The eldest is the strongest of the three, he
should be the candidate.

To avoid giving offence, Donta pretended to
consider Zabab’s suggestion. Lucan was completely unsuitable for the task. Hael
had the greatest potential. “Wise Zabab, I hear you; however, I also feel that
the eldest is flawed in a more basic manner. He is not loyal. We will not be
able to trust him to do what we ask. As long as he sees advantage for himself
he will follow us.”

Zabab –> Donta:
Exactly, he will do
as we say.

“Until someone offers him more than we do.
Then he will turn on us.”

Zabab –> Donta:
Ah.

“The middle brother is loyal. Once he is a
believer in our cause, he will sacrifice all to see it through.”

Zabab –> Donta:
Fine, we shall
persevere with the middle brother. I will keep a close eye on the eldest as
well. I feel he could still be useful.