Thirst No. 2: Phantom, Evil Thirst, and Creatures of Forever Page 27

  Before I can answer, Umara stands and speaks in a strong voice. “I’m ready to abide by your initiation requirements. Let’s begin and I’ll offer you a sacrifice none of you will forget.”

  The lights are dimmed, the candle is lit, the prayers are intoned. The power in the room is immense and we have hardly begun. With Umara on my left instead of Lark, and Shanti sitting out of sight in the room directly above, I feel almost no head pressure. Nevertheless, the room begins to spin as the etheric tornado enters and I feel the usual separation from my body. I am still a little dizzy when Lark stops and demands that Umara provide a blood sample of the person she intends to offer to the Familiars.

  I have to struggle to open my eyes.

  “How innocent does my victim have to be?” Umara asks.

  Lark snickers. “Not as innocent as Alisa’s victim.”

  Umara plays dumb. “Excuse me, what does that mean?”

  “No one is truly innocent,” Lark says impatiently. “Give the person’s blood to Jolie and let’s continue.”

  “As you wish.” Suddenly twisting her left hand counterclockwise, Umara snaps Lark’s wrist so violently that his bone pierces his skin. With her other hand, she makes a fist and strikes him on top of the head, stunning him, probably with the intention of keeping him in place. Reaching past me to Jolie, she gives the girl a healthy sample of Lark’s blood. The little girl licks it off Umara’s hand and holds it in her mouth. Umara looks to me as if to say, You better take over.

  I’m still reeling from the brilliance of Umara’s choice.

  Although Lark believed that he led the Cradle, it was obvious he was a cocky bastard with no friends. Furthermore, his refusal to obey my simple instruction during our last attack led to the most painful blow the Cradle had ever suffered. As the children settle down and prepare for the final battle, I don’t sense a single thread of regret or sympathy in either room.

  “Now let’s close our eyes and join hands,” I say.

  I repeat the original invocation and then concentrate on the three key phrases. “Enter us now and forever so that we may do thy will. We invoke the power that destroys. For we are one with thy power.”

  Soon I’m repeating them in my mind.

  Yet I manage to say aloud one last line.

  “We invoke the power that destroys against Lark.”

  The pressure at the back of my skull suddenly arrives. I feel myself sucked straight up through a tiny hole at the top of my head. I have popped out of my body. I see us sitting below. My eyes are tightly shut but I see the Familiars standing behind the kids. I don’t perceive one behind Umara, however, and when I try to catch a glimpse of my own, my vision grows cloudy.

  Lark stirs to life as the might of the Cradle focuses on him. It’s as if he’s suddenly covered with bees or wasps because he begins to fight them off. But there’s nothing there and I’m confused because I have not given the Cradle a suggestion as to how to attack him.

  Then I realize no direction is necessary. Lark has murdered so many, his own mind is fully capable of inventing a nightmare worse than any of us could supply. His subconscious provides the form his death will take, the Cradle merely supplies the electricity.

  Red welts appear on his face and he screams.

  The rest of the kids don’t seem to mind.

  They act like they welcome the sacrifice.

  Poor Lark. He definitely wasn’t popular.

  It takes a while for him to die. It’s not a pretty sight.

  Still, I don’t see a Familiar appear behind Umara.

  With that business out of the way, I instruct the Cradle to pick up the vials that contain the diluted blood of the remaining members of the Source. There are eight different samples in our individual vials and I’m not surprised when its touch transports us across land and sea to a lifeless desert burning beneath a blazing sun.

  Egypt. This is where it all began.

  But where is the Nile? Where are the pyramids?

  From Umara, I know the Telar started beside the great river.

  Then I understand. The Nile has shifted drastically over the last twelve thousand years. We’re above the spot where Umara’s culture truly began. The pyramids of her youth are buried beneath the sand and it is to the last of those ancient monuments that Haru has gathered the remains of the Source.

  The temple stands atop a rugged hill, a collection of broken pillars and slabs of marble and baked clay. At first glance it’s not very impressive, but then I realize what we are seeing is like the tip of an iceberg. Beneath the scattered ruins is a complex maze of tunnels and halls.

  As a group, we plunge deeper into the ruins. I send out a mental message to the kids that Umara will know where to go even if we do not, and my faith in her is not unfounded. Soon we reach our goal, a vast black chamber whose dimensions cannot accurately be fathomed because the light cast by the Telar’s burning candles is too feeble. Immediately I sense this is where the Familiars were originally invoked by human beings.

  We see Haru and seven other members of the Source. They sit on a dirt floor around a stone circle, their eyes closed. They appear to be aware of our arrival. Yet I don’t pick up any fear, which worries me.

  Are they that confident in their Link?

  There’s a stone seat at the head of the table. At first glance it appears unoccupied but then I see a glowing red figure. As it takes on shape and definition, I glimpse other similar figures standing behind Haru and his people. These Familiars are unlike any I’ve ever seen before.

  They look more like human beings.

  People who have been to hell and back.

  Their skin is dark and crusty with roasted flesh. Their eyes shine red with hatred. Their every movement seems pained, yet a fire burns in them that cannot be easily extinguished. Except for the one who sits alone, they keep their palms on the shoulders of Haru and his people.

  Bolts of flame continually flare above them.

  That is their shield, the ultimate product of their Link.

  I know without testing it that it’s impenetrable.

  My despair in that instant is a terrible thing. To have come so far and to be stopped. My feeling of hopelessness leaves me wide open. At least to the one person in the Cradle I care about.

  “Sita,” Umara says in my mind.

  “I assume you see what I see.”

  “Yes. I notice you haven’t given the order to strike.”

  “I fear what will follow. Hundreds of gushing nosebleeds.”

  “You’re wise to wait. The Source has forgotten much. How it began. How it gained immortality. How it was once mortal. But they have never lost the power to link. That’s how Haru and the others have managed to stay in control.”

  “I can’t leave here without putting up a fight.”

  “I know. We’re committed. If we flee they’ll attack.”

  “Who sits at the head of the table? He doesn’t look human.”

  “Maybe not now. But he was long ago. That’s Hatram.”

  “The one who raped you?”

  “Yes. The father of Haru.”

  “That means we hold his blood as well.”

  “In a sense.”

  “He appears to wield the fire. Or is that my imagination?”

  “He’s very powerful. He controls the fires of hell.”

  “Is he really from hell?”

  “Of course. Upon death, he was taken to where he belongs. Now he is a demon from the deep.”

  “Has he risen because you’re here?”

  “Perhaps. He died hating me, and wanting me. You might have had more luck today without my company.”

  “We need more than luck. We’re not going to destroy the Source unless we get through his flames. There must be a way.”

  Umara is a long time answering.

  “There’s only one way.”

  “How?”

  “You must find his master.”

  “Are you talking about . . .” I don’t want to finish.
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  “Yes.”

  Now it is my turn to hesitate. “How do I find him?”

  “The same way anyone does. You die.”

  “Die? Is that a joke?”

  “It would be for anyone else. But not for you.”

  “Because I have already died.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I didn’t go to hell. I was sure I went to Krishna.”

  “Do you remember seeing Krishna?”

  “No! That’s my problem. I can’t remember what happened.”

  “You blocked it out.”

  I freeze. “Are you saying I blocked it out because I couldn’t bear what I saw?”

  “It’s time to go back, Sita. Time to remember.”

  “But I don’t know how!”

  “Die.”

  “No.” I feel dizzy and I have no body. “Stop saying that.”

  “You’ve died twice already. You can die a third time.”

  “I don’t want to. I’m . . .”

  I’m afraid. That’s why I can’t remember.

  Suddenly there’s something wrong with my vision. I can’t see the Source anymore, not Haru, or the demons standing around them, not even Hatram. All I can see are the flames, growing brighter and hotter. I don’t know if I’ve dropped toward them or they’ve risen to catch me.

  I don’t suppose it matters.

  I feel myself burning. I feel myself dying.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I stand in the beautiful mountains beside a sparkling blue lake laced with drifting patches of ice. The morning sun dazzles the eastern sky. The air is fresh, the stillness a wonder.

  I hear someone saying my name and turn to see who it is. To my surprise I see Seymour and Matt. Seymour has his head bowed and is weeping. He keeps calling out to me. Matt is on his knees, silent, holding a body in his arms.

  One that looks awfully familiar.

  “Shit. Am I dead?” I say aloud.

  The question is ridiculous. I can’t be dead and talking to myself. If I was really dead I’d be talking to Krishna. I remember shouting his name a moment ago. I remember I called to him because . . .

  Matt was firing his laser rifle.

  He was going to shoot Seymour.

  That’s why I leapt in front of Seymour . . .

  There’s a dark red hole in the chest of the body Matt’s holding. It looks serious; the hole pierces her heart; it’s no wonder she’s dead. And I should stop trying to think of her as someone separate from myself because it’s obvious she’s me and I really am dead.

  Okay, I got that settled. Sort of.

  “Damn. I can’t believe it,” I say.

  I might have it settled on one level, but on another level I’m not buying it. This is like no death I ever imagined. Where is the bright white light? Where are the angels? How come Krishna hasn’t come to take me to his abode in the starry sky?

  “What am I doing with Seymour and Matt?”

  The question feels kind of cold, even if it is coming from a dead woman. I mean, it’s obvious the two of them are broken up over what’s happened to me. I should be more sympathetic. On the other hand, Matt was the one who shot me. It’s his fault I’m dead.

  No, that’s not fair. It was really that damn Array. It got ahold of his mind and somehow transformed him into a nut who was jealous about his girlfriend being turned into a vampire when all I was really trying to do was keep her alive.

  Which reminds me, how is Teri doing?

  She’s probably still up in the cave.

  I want to check on her. But I feel guilty leaving Seymour and Matt. For that matter, I find it hard to leave my body. I keep thinking it’s going to heal. I’ve been beaten up before and survived. I’ve been stabbed, shot, almost had different limbs blown off. I even got staked once, through the heart, when my old house exploded, and that didn’t kill me. Maybe I can get over this latest injury and slip back inside my body. I should probably wait around and see what happens.

  Then I notice something strange. The cave up on the hill. The one where Teri is changing into a vampire. The entrance is glowing. It’s not giving off a bright white light like some kind of tunnel to heaven. But the glow is definitely there. It shines with a faint silver radiance. The color seems familiar. It’s not something I can simply ignore.

  Seymour and Matt continue to grieve over my body.

  Christ, I feel so guilty leaving them to take care of it.

  “Listen guys, I know you can’t hear me, but maybe you can pick me up in your minds. If you can then I should probably stop rambling and get to the point. I’m pretty sure I’m dead, for real this time, and I want to tell you that I’m sorry. Not for the dying part, but for leaving you to take care of the Telar and the IIC. I assumed Krishna would keep me alive long enough to help kill the bastards but I guess he has other plans. Anyway, you both know how much I love you and how much I’m going to miss you. Seymour, meeting you made my life complete. I’m sorry I’ve got to go now. The light in the cave—I feel it calling me. If I don’t go now, I don’t think I’ll have the strength to leave later.”

  I give them both hugs, which they don’t feel, and tell them again how much I love them. Then I hike up the hill to the cave. The light continues to glow, although it doesn’t get any brighter when I enter the cave. For a divine sign it isn’t very impressive.

  Yet a small miracle occurs when I reach the rear of the cave. Teri’s where I left her, beside the burned-out fire, wrapped in Seymour’s jacket. I can tell by her coloring and her rate of breathing that her transformation into a vampire is going smoothly.

  Teri has nothing to do with the miracle. It’s the cave itself. It no longer stops where it did before. It continues on, as does the faint silver glow. Finally, I’m beginning to get impressed.

  I kneel and give Teri a hug and a kiss.

  “I’m going to miss you. I hope you enjoy being a vampire. I only changed you because I figured it was better than being dead. Of course now that I’m dead I have to wonder if that was such a great idea. We won’t be able to hang out together like we used to. But the way I figure it, you’re too young to die. Matt needs you, and so do Seymour and Shanti. Take care of them for me. I love you.”

  I kiss her once more and walk deeper into the cave.

  The floor begins to slant downward. Overall the terrain becomes more rocky. To my immense disappointment the silver light begins to fade. Here it’s the only thing that vaguely resembles what people who have near-death experiences talk about and it’s going away. It fades to the point where I can barely see where I’m going.

  Just when the dark becomes almost impenetrable, I spot a burning torch jammed in a crack in the wall six feet above the floor. Unsure if I’ll find another light along the way, I grab it and continue on. The incline gets steeper and I have to be careful not to slip and fall.

  The walls and floor of the cave are coated with a red dust that I would assume was iron oxide, if I was in the real world. I noticed the dust building up as the silver light failed, and wondered if it was responsible.

  On the whole, the cave is bland. The only thing that interests me is my torch. I have no idea how it keeps burning. It’s just a stick with a baseball-sized bump on the top that happens to spout orange flames. I wonder why God didn’t give me a kerosene lamp or even a flashlight.

  After about an hour of hiking, I run into a much larger cave that’s also heading down, but at a more gentle angle. This subterranean passage is fifty feet across, with a ceiling that’s at least twice that in height. The light of my torch struggles to illumine many details, not that I think there’s much to see. The new cave is larger than the old one but just as boring.

  I notice an occasional small cave converges with the larger one, and to my surprise a person suddenly walks out of one of these caves. He looks like a middle-aged Japanese businessman. Wearing a dark suit and red tie, he has a torch like mine and walks with it held aloft.

  Unfortunately, when I try striking up a conversation with
him I get nowhere. At first I figure it’s because I’m speaking English, but when I switch to Japanese it makes no difference.

  Then I notice how glazed over his eyes are. He appears drugged or else severely traumatized. “Are you okay?” I shout at him.

  He grunts and keeps walking.

  I spot more caves, and every now and then another person walks out of one of them. Going by their nationalities and dress, they appear to be from all over the world. Most are older, sixty-five or more, but I do bump into quite a number of African children. They’re generally more animated than the lobotomized adults, but they scurry away from me when I try to speak to them.

  I hike for another hour, with my herd of zombie companions, before the tunnel finally opens into a massive cavern. The walls, the ceiling—I can’t even glimpse them, although I assume I’m still underground. Yet the sight of the cavern causes me to increase my pace because a mile away from the end of the tunnel is a black river with several thousand people gathered on its shore.

  Even though the majority of these men and women wander aimlessly about, the river still feels like a viable goal to me. For it’s lined with giant torches, held high by arms carved out of stone, and I see small boats moving back and forth over the water, ferrying people to God knows where.

  I assumed my traveling companions were semi-brain-dead, but that might not have been entirely true. Most of the people who exit the tunnel with me suddenly pick up their pace, as if they now have a purpose. They head straight for the boats that wait at the edge of the black river.

  Yet the other class, those who wander the shore, look like they have been there a long time. As I approach, I see they’re not just dressed in foreign clothes, a lot of them are clad in historical garments. There are plenty of people from the forties and fifties, and the early part of the twentieth century. Others have on buckskins, kilts, and even togas.

  I realize I’m seeing people who have been dead for decades, if not centuries. For some reason, I feel the sudden urge to try to shake them out of their lethargic state. Climbing onto a nearby boulder, I shout at the top of my lungs.