Ancient Evil (The First Genocide Book 1) (28 page)

Bral
and Hael knelt in the stone floor, their hands bound before them, heads down.

They were in an anteroom of the Old Prime
Temple attached to the Palace. Although the New Prime Temple was not yet
complete and would not be complete for a number of years, the City’s citizens
had already taken to calling it the Old Prime Temple. It was a massive edifice
that rivaled the Palace itself in grandeur. The temple’s architecture, like all
temples, enhanced the abilities of adepts, as well as allowing a group of
adepts to draw power from any willing participants within the temple, making
Prime Workings and Major Curses possible. The New Prime Temple was expected to
make even more elaborate and complex castings possible. Officially the temple
had been designed by the Emperor; however, everyone knew that one of the Guest
had been the one to design a temple that improved on a design that had been
mostly static for forty millennia. Times were truly changing.

Old or New, the Prime Temple was
magnificent. The carvings that covered the stonework were exquisite and drew
the eye in and provided a sense of peace and introspection.

Or they normally did. Hael was having
trouble finding peace. The trial was over. He and Bral had both been found
guilty of assaulting a superior officer, gross disobedience and, most damning
of all, injuring one of the Host. Soon, they would be brought into the Temple,
to be paraded in front of the mob and sentenced. The sentences would be stiff,
of that there was no doubt.

Bral’s sword had turned as it flew through
the air and struck Mi Balor edge on rather than point first. This had
undoubtedly saved the Marshal’s life. A Host adept could heal from most
injuries; however, a brain skewered by three feet of bronze was not one of
them. The edge of the sword had sliced open the bridge of his nose and ruptured
his right eye.

The troopers had half expected Balor to
unleash his Nightfeeders on the Legion as retribution, but Balor was never one
to waste resources. After Hael and Bral had been bound hand and foot, Balor had
asked for a volunteer to finish the disposal of the remaining Ferals. Lucan had
stepped forward and so succeeded his brother as the Commander of the
Ninety-First Legion. Truly, the field of battle was the quickest way to advance
through the ranks.

The journey to the City had been extremely
unpleasant. Balor transported Hael and Bral by pole. That is to say, he passed
a pole between each of their bound hands and feet like deer trussed following a
hunt. A Nightfeeder carried each end of the pole all the way to the City.
Nightfeeders were tireless and Balor merciless, so the brothers were not untied
to eat or to void their bladders or bowels.

The first time Hael had released his
bladder had been the hardest, although not nearly as hard as releasing his
bowel for the first time while being carried. After five days of this mode of
travel, stinking and chafed, Hael was almost happy to reach the City and their
impending punishment. Almost anything was better than the feeling of coarse ropes
rubbing on raw, bleeding ankles and wrists and his stiff breechclout abrading
his nether regions. Almost.

He assumed that Bral was also relieved to
have the journey end, but he could only guess. Bral had retreated into a
catatonic state after the slaughter. He would not verbalize and his mental
shield was a smooth, impenetrable shell, which Mi Balor, much to his annoyance
and chagrin, could not crack.

As painful and unpleasant as the journey
back to the City was, it did offer Hael the opportunity to think, and think he
did. He felt as if he had been awakened from the dream that had been his
previous life. He had never questioned the status quo. He had never considered
that the Host could be petty, jealous or evil, just like the Guest. Now he even
started to question why there was a Debt. Surely any debt incurred should be
considered paid in full by the Guest through two thousand years of service.

He concluded that the Host were no better
than his own people; in fact, they appeared to be worse. It was as if the
incident with Mi Balor had removed a veil from his eyes, from his very mind.
The fog had lifted, he could see clearly and he did not like what he saw.

The trial had been more like a carnival
than a sober exercise of justice. Hael snorted to himself at the thought; he
had come to realize that the justice system put in place by the Host was
anything but just. The Host had put on games and entertainments to encourage as
many of the Guest to attend as possible. Hael and Bral were portrayed as the
blackest of villains.

The official story was that they had
colluded with the Feral and had attempted to draw the Ninety-First Legion into
an ambush. The plot had been foiled by the valiant efforts of the traitors’ own
brother, Lucan, and the enemy had been routed. Seeing that their plot had
failed, the two traitorous brothers had attacked the benevolent Mi Balor when
he had personally visited the Legion to extend his congratulations on their
historic victory.

The trial was an opportunity to remind the
Guest of the dangers of the Feral, an opportunity to celebrate an historic
victory, as well as an opportunity to remind the Guest of the consequences of
crossing the Host.

The trial had mainly been a platform for Mi
Balor to hold forth on the gross infringements on his dignity. As the highest
ranking officer in the Northern Campaign, not only was he the injured party,
but he was the judge as well. The result of the trial was never in doubt,
providing little entertainment for the mob, but the sentencing, now that would
be interesting; hence, the sentences being handed down were the subject of
fierce betting.

The Ogra curse was getting best odds for
Bral for some reason, while it seemed most of the gamblers were expecting the
Nightfeeder Curse for Hael.

Hael himself, unaware of the odds of the
various sentences, just hoped for something that would not rob him of his
intellect. As long as he could think, he would persevere and he would find a
way to bring the Host to its knees. Nightfeeder would be fine, so would exile
or the mines or even being cursed to be a Mason working on the New Prime
Temple. If he was made Ogra or Trolla or one of the other brutish beasts that
the Campaigns needed, his struggle would end.

The sound of a door opening drew his
attention. He looked up to see Mi Balor enter. He was now dressed in blue; it
appeared he had changed his allegiance and was now aligned to the Orthodox
Party. He had also changed his sigil. Where once there was a hand grasping a
sword, there was now an open eye embroidered in shiny black thread.

You see, Balor had not regenerated his
missing eye. He had placed a black opal in the empty socket, contrasting with
the icy blue of his remaining eye. Hael had to drag his gaze away from the
stone, as looking at it, he felt like he was falling into a pit of oblivion.
Hael had no doubt the jewel was a Lens and a powerful one as well, judging by
its size. It appeared that Balor had needed to widen his eye socket to fit it
in. Hael also guessed that Balor was wearing the stone as a badge of honor and
a reminder to his peers that the Guest could not be trusted. Balor exuded good
cheer as he entered the room. This curdled to annoyance when he could not
detect any fear in Hael.

Hael was not afraid; all he felt was anger.
They had lied to him. They were part of the system that had lied to the entire
Guest species since Emergence. The Guest were slaves, like the Ferals; they
just didn’t know it.

Balor:
Come along, boys, we mustn’t keep
the Emperor waiting.

Balor had been granted the boon of
sentencing Hael by His Imperial Majesty Enki II. Balor looked to the Emperor,
who lent him some of his Might.

Mi Balor, Supreme Commander of the Northern
Campaign:
Fa Hael, yours was the lesser crime.

With the Emperor’s help, Balor’s sending
was powerful enough to the heard by everyone in the City.

Mi Balor, Supreme Commander of the Northern
Campaign:
However, you enabled this filth to injure me. Personally, I felt
that you should share the same punishment as your brother; however, some of my
peers
prevailed upon me to grant you a lesser sentence. You will be a
Mason. We will not let your potential go to waste; you will labor in the
construction of the New Prime Temple.

None of the punishments were particularly
benign, but this one, at least, maintained his personality. He would be forced
to work and work hard; he would be lucky to survive for more than a few months
under the brutal desert sun, but he would not be made into some mindless
monster. Hael exhaled some of the pressure that had been building in his chest
and stomach, realizing at least he had a little time.

Time to plan.

Time to escape.

Time to fight.

Balor now bowed to the Enki II.

The Emperor’s Lens glowed brightly atop his
crown, as all eyes turned to him and could not look away. He manifested his
Dread aspect and all who viewed him, Host and Guest, trembled before his might.
It appeared that the Emperor was going to sentence Bral Himself. This was not
good. The Emperor’s
sending
dwarfed that of Balor. Hael would not be
surprised if some of the Legions in the field could pick it up.

His Imperial Majesty, Eternal Emperor Enki
II, Supreme Ruler of City and Empire, Hero of the Rebellion and Scourge of the
Feral:
The one known as Ga Bral has committed treason against the Host.
Treason against those who offered succor and guidance to his people for two
thousand years. Treason against the ones who made his people more than mere
animals.

Hael had a sinking feeling in his stomach.
Treason, they were calling it treason.

His Imperial Majesty, Eternal Emperor Enki
II, Supreme Ruler of City and Empire, Hero of the Rebellion and Scourge of the
Feral:
Ga Bral will be confined in the holding cells while the Adepts of My
Court, My One Hundred Companions, prepare for a Major Working.

No, no, no.

His Imperial Majesty, Eternal Emperor Enki
II, Supreme Ruler of City and Empire, Hero of the Rebellion and Scourge of the
Feral:
Ga Bral shall be Cast Out into the Outer Darkness. At such a time as
he may return, millennia hence, he shall be Cast Out again, to abide in
Darkness for all of eternity. I so rule.

Hael choked back a sob even as he bowed
with everyone else in the City to the Emperor’s overwhelming Compulsion. No
punishment was harsher.

After allowing himself that one sob, he
took a deep breath and armored his heart, so it felt like a lump of stone in
his chest. In the months he had left he would find a way, some way, to repay
this new debt.

Leader,
Don and Lew had managed to break into the home on Johnston Terrace by the time
Little Eve arrived. Leader was not happy with Eve’s failure to report Baby’s
absences, but she was too busy to discipline her right away. The anticipation
of punishment would be useful in reestablishing order in the coven. If that did
not work, she would burn the coven to the ground and start over again.

They still did not know his name, but they were
almost certain that he was the boy they had shredded all those years ago in the
University town where they found Baby. Leader commanded Don and Lew to search
the house for anything that would confirm the identity of Charlie’s
vivisectionist. They would sweep through the house and grab as much of his
belongings as they could find, with a view to reviewing it later for cues to
his capabilities.

If all else failed, they could identify him
by reviewing press clippings from the time of their attack twenty-one years
before.

They could not tarry. They were
broadcasting a general Compulsion to keep away the curious, but there were
limits, even to a Compulsion powered by the entire coven. Eventually the
disturbance they had caused would draw the Herd law enforcement like ants to a jam
sandwich dropped on the sidewalk. So, as Don and Lew swept the house for clues,
Leader and Little Eve went to the sub-basement to see if there was anything
left of Charlie.

The room she had been imprisoned in was
still hot. There were no flames left, but everything was charred black and
radiating heat. Eve needed to be careful; that amount of heat, if not monitored,
could overload her system and incinerate her. Although it was not easy, she
made sure to radiate more heat than she absorbed. She knew Don and Lew would
have combusted from the heat; they could absorb but not redirect energy. It was
one of her little secrets. One that Leader seemed well aware of and one she
seemed to share.

There was nothing left in the room but ash,
twisted metal and a large obsidian egg about two feet long and one foot wide.
Leader probed the egg.

Leader:
Charlie, is that you?

 
: Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend.
Boyfri…

Leader –> Eve:
This is Charlie, take
her.

Eve –> Leader:
Will she recover?

Leader –> Eve:
She will. Probably.
She always was smart and tough. She used some of the heat to fuel this
transformation. In this form, although passive, she is virtually impervious to
additional harm. Take her. We will see if we can help her when we get to our
next home.

Little Eve:
We are leaving?

Leader:
After what happened today, we
will not be able to return to this city for years. The risk of exposure would
be too great. And we need to find Baby and her boyfriend. They will suffer for
this. Search for their escape route.

Don and Lew found the hidden doorway a few
minutes later and called over Leader. As she approached, a figure materialized
out of the darkness. The figure wore a cream robe and smiled, revealing a
chipped front tooth.

Leader spoke. She would not touch his mind
directly; the danger was too great.

“Hael, you interfere where you shouldn’t.
The girl is one of mine. According to all the rules and covenants, she is
mine.”

“You know I am not one to follow the rules,
not anymore.”

“You were the author of the rules.”

“Yes and things change … even you and I
change. The Return approaches and this time I believe he will get free. We need
to put aside our differences, we must stand united.”

“You betrayed me long ago; I will never
forgive you for that.”

Hael hung his head and said, “I know I did
and I will forever be ashamed that I did nothing, but, please, think about it.
Please, Clea.”

He faded and the tunnel behind the hidden
door collapsed.

Don, Lew and Eve looked at Leader. Clea?
Was that her name? It was hard to imagine Leader as anything other than Leader.

Leader directed them to grab the egg that
was Charlie and then flowed up the stairs and out of the house.

The street was quiet, but not quite empty.
One would have expected that the commotion caused by ripping a power line out
of the road would have attracted some notice, but it hadn’t.

Down the street from the ripped-up cobbles
on Johnston Terrace there was a white van. On the door of the van was a logo:
two circles, one inside the other, that contained a series of lightning bolts
radiating from a central point.

The van contained two large men wearing
sunglasses, despite the rain and clouds.

The men observed four apparently young
people coming out of the red door nestled between a pub and a jeweler. They
carried a glassy black egg.

Shadows swirled around them, and the
shadowy mass rocketed along Johnston Terrace away from the van.

A man came out of the pub-adjacent door the
young people had used and looked at the ripped-up road in puzzlement. He pulled
out his phone to make a call.

Rebecca and Finn were driving along a
winding road in the Cairngorms. They had left the city via the Forth Road
Bridge and continued north into the mountains.

They passed sheep and bracken and rocks and
not much else, until they came to a turnoff into a wooded area, flanked by a couple
of short stone walls to either side of the opening.

The road was paved; however, the edges of
the pavement were disintegrating into the brush and trees it cut through. As
they left the wooded tunnel, they broke through to an opening in front of a
massive grey stone manor house with a circular drive outside. Finn parked the
car on the drive and got out of the car. He strode around the car and opened
the door for Rebecca. She had woken up on the drive. She had not said one word
to him. After she stepped out, he slammed the door behind her.

Finn leapt up the steps and pulled the bell
pull hanging beside the door. Rebecca waited at the bottom of the stairs,
looking uncomfortable in the woolen hat he had bought to obscure her duct tape
headband.

The door opened a few minutes later.

A short, toad-like man opened the door.

He looked confused, then a smile broke
across his face. “Finn, you fucking cunt, what the fuck happened to you? How
the fuck did you grow a fuckin’ eye back? Is that fuckin’ Bex behind you as
well? I thought she was fuckin’ dead. So, how the fuck are you?”

“Hi, Jonni, um, I don’t want to be rude,
but, are you on something?” said Finn.

“Oh aye, just a little coke. And some
speed. Parliament isnae in session, you know, being the Under-Secretary of
State for European Affairs is fuckin’ stressful. I need a little relaxation
time once in a while ya ken.”

“No, I don’t, but that doesn’t matter.”
Finn looked down the stairs at Bex. “We need to get out of the country; can you
get us some passports or something?”

“Of course I fuckin’ can, ya cunt. We’re
pals, right? I have some blanks in my office; how do you think I can afford
this place? The salary of a junior Minister is not what it used to be.” He
turned and shouted over his shoulder into the house, “Duchess, you will not
fucking believe who has come to visit.” He looked over to Bex and put his hand
to the side of his mouth and said in a marginally lower tone. “How the fuck is
she still so fuckin’ hot, pal? She looks as good as she did twenty odd years
ago,” said Jonni.

“Don’t ask,” said Finn.

In a prison cell sat a man consumed by
rage.

The bitch had made a fool of him and he
would hunt her down. If he ever got out of this hell hole, he would hunt her
down and make her pay.

One of the Screws opened the slot in his
door. “Got a visitor.”

He climbed to his feet and waited for the
door to open. A visitor was rare; none of his mates had stood by him when he
got nicked. They thought it was hilarious that his wife had been fucking the
slob who lived next door. He had come to realize that he really did not have
mates, just people he hung around with and intimidated. Oh well, fuck ’em … he
was better off on his own.

The Screw led him through the damp concrete
warren that the Victorians had built to house their prisoners. That it was
still a functioning prison was a testament to Victorian durability, or
successive governments’ lack of desire or inability to invest in the prison
system. The prison would probably last another hundred years, as there was
little to break down; there were not even toilets in the cells, just bowls that
the prisoners slopped out each morning.

They brought him into a private visitor
room. He didn’t even know that the prison had a private visitor room. Inside
the room was a fit older woman wearing a suit. He probably wouldn’t have looked
twice at her before that bitch Rachel had wrecked his life. But a year in
lockup could change your perspective. The smell of her perfume made him hard.

He sat down opposite her. She motioned to
the Screw to leave.

Silly old bint, he thought to himself. He
eased back in his chair and prepared to stand. He had nothing to lose; they had
sentenced him to twenty five years for chucking that fat bastard through the
window. He would not have much time, but at the very least he would be able to
grope her before the guard returned.

“Ray, may I call you Ray?” she said. When
he did not respond, she continued.

“My name is Wendy and I can get you out of
here, and I can help you find her. I can help you find Rachel. Her real name is
Rebecca, Rebecca Jones.”

Ray sat back and smiled a ferocious smile.