Cross tried to focus, tried to pull himself away from the sight of his dying spirit, but pain and blackness overcame him.
TEN
Cross woke some time later.
Morg was dead. His body was so covered with wounds it was almost impossible to identify him. He was a bloody road map.
Kray was dead, too, impaled on a vampire’s spiked spear.
Cross felt little. He should have. They’d been like brothers without being friends, but he’d known both of them long enough that the notion of their being dead seemed unreal. He tried to call up memories of them, specific events or conversations, but he couldn’t. They were dead and gone, and part of him had already excised them from his mind.
Stone and Graves, on the other hand, were alive. Graves was injured, but thankfully his wounds were superficial. He was battered and bruised from being thrown across the room by the giant vampire, but aside from some sore bones and numerous cuts and scrapes he’d gotten off lucky. Graves took Morg’s armored elbow brace and wore it on his right arm to secure where he felt he’d bruised the bone, but all that he really needed was rest and medical attention. Rest would have to wait, but once they got back to the airship they’d have access to some better medical supplies.
Cross wasn’t much better off himself. He was fairly certain his ribs had been bruised — one or two might have been cracked — and his head felt like glass had been shoved into his brain. He was dizzy and weak, but only part of that was from his wounds.
Where are you? Why can’t I feel you?
He tried to focus on something else.
The vampires, thankfully, had been vanquished, but Red was gone.
And so was Snow.
It was bad enough that Morg and Kray were dead, but Cross didn’t want to imagine what Red was doing to his sister. He tried to shut it out, to dispel any thought of it, but he couldn’t. He shook with rage and fear.
They pulled Morg’s and Kray’s bodies aside. Stone decapitated the bodies to prevent reanimation, and the corpses would be left there in the catacombs. Graves, Stone and Cross huddled together near the entrance around a makeshift campfire they built from shattered wood and old rags that they lit with holy oils. The fact that they rested at the charnel scene of a battle, with the gory remains of butchered vampires all around them, didn’t seem to bother them, and Cross tried to figure out when he’d become like that.
“ So what happens now?” Graves asked.
We lost two brothers today, but Snow is alive. You haven’t lost her yet.
He wouldn’t consider the possibility that his sister might be dead. He tried not to think about it all, just as he tried not to call up memories of her, or to dwell on what a horrible brother he’d been to her the past few years. If he thought about anything aside from just getting her back, he knew he’d fall apart.
Tears welled in his eyes. Cross did everything he could to focus them into intent.
Just go and get her.
“ We continue the mission,” Cross said.
“ Say what?” Stone said. “Our tracker is gone. Can you track them?”
Cross hesitated.
“ No. I’m…not even sure I can use magic.” He looked up at them. “I think my spirit might be gone.”
Graves and Stone looked at each other. Cross knew neither of them really understood what that meant. It was difficult for anyone who wasn’t a witch or a warlock to fully comprehend it. A spirit was tied to the soul — it was an inexorable part of a mage, intangible and distant, difficult to comprehend or explain, but at the same time it was as close to a mage as their own skin, as intimate as their own thoughts. Only warlocks, witches and some of the stranger races like the Eidolos and the Lith could willingly contact and bond with their spirits. When they did, the result was magic.
“ How…how is that possible?” Graves asked.
“ I’m not sure if she’s really gone,” Cross said, his head low. “I can’t feel her. She’s been at the edge of my thoughts for most of my life, and for the first time for as long as I can remember she’s just…not there.” He shuddered. “I think it happened when she saved me from that head wound.”
“ Morg saved you from that vampire,” Stone said, and he stood up. “And now he’s dead, and not only can you not track that bitch, but you’re useless to us.”
“ Hey, back off,” Graves said to Stone. He stood a full head shorter than the other man, but it was clear he didn’t care. “Cross knows more about magic than you and me combined. He’s far from useless.” Graves looked down. “Besides, his sister…”
“ Is just fine,” Cross said quietly. His chest ached, and his breathing was ragged and dry. “And we’re going to go and get her.” He looked at Graves, and then at Stone. Both of them watched him carefully, like he might explode. “Let me rephrase that. I’m going after her. It would be nice to have some help.”
Stone hesitated, but after a moment he just shrugged.
“ Fine,” he said. “But if we can’t track them, then what the hell are we supposed to do? We were sent to find and kill Red before she makes it to the Old One. If we can’t do that, we’re all screwed.”
Graves looked down. The longer they sat there, the worse the stink in the room became.
Cross stared at the floor and recalled the grave soil stench, the measureless sense of age, the sheer, dismal draw when Red had first emerged from the pit.
What were you doing down there?
“ The hole,” he said aloud. He stumbled to his feet.
The room with the hole was silent and still. Cross felt nothing, further proof that his spirit was gone, maybe permanently. The realization made him shake where he stood…but it also meant he could approach the hole now that he didn’t have a spirit that was vulnerable to its attacks.
He heard nothing, felt nothing. Whatever horror protected the pit, it had little interest in him now.
Graves and Stone were right behind him.
“ I’m not sure how Red managed it,” Cross said. “Maybe some of those algorithms that we found on the map back in Thornn, the stuff I couldn’t piece together, were part of some arcane shield she used to protect her spirit, or something.”
“ Are you nuts?” Graves asked. “You told us not to go in there.”
“ Cross,” Stone added. “This is not a good idea.”
Cross calmly came to the lip of the hole. It looked like the heart of midnight. The perimeter was smooth black mud that crawled with worms. Ancient and knotted roots twisted out from the rim of the pit like gnarled arms. He smelled decay and cold heat. Even without his spirit to guide him, Cross sensed there was something wrong down there, something ancient and deep. Something hidden.
“ You can’t be serious…” Graves said, but Cross removed his pack and put it down, pulled off his gauntlets and unhooked the wiring and set all of his gear aside. Then he removed his coat — his ribcage winced from the effort — so that he was down to just his shirt, his pants and his boots.
“ Cross,” Stone said sternly. He was in command now. It was easy to forget that Morg was gone. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“ Going down there,” he said, and having said it, he’d realized he’d decided, that he’d passed the point of being unsure or uncertain or capable of being talked out of it. “We don’t know who or what was buried here. We don’t know what this place is…not really. Red came here for a reason. Maybe there’s some clue as to what she’s up to.” He looked back at the pit. “Down there.”
“ We know what she’s up to,” Stone said. He moved into the room as if to stop Cross. “She’s going to give the Old One vital information and royally screw the human race.”
“ Which is exactly why I need to go down there,” Cross said. Stone watched him. He knew as well as Cross that no one knew how to find Koth, the Old One’s city. That necropolis of outcasts had managed to stay hidden from both the Southern Claw and the Ebon Cities for over a decade.