Book and Blade: Book One of the Hand of Perdition (14 page)

Rath turned from Ambros and snatched the fire sword out of the air. Instantly the great flaming sword of hell transformed back into its unassuming pocket knife configuration. Rath casually slipped it into the pocket of his waistcoat.

"Well that was almost too easy," Rath said. "The Weapon is mighty, but by itself, useless. Its needs your will to act. A trick like that might work against many dark souls, but not me."

Christopher was stunned. Rath had removed the one Weapon he had. Easily. Christopher suddenly felt like he was a child playing with toys too big for him. And maybe he was. He was just a college kid given the keys to hell. No wonder he fell so easily into what was obviously a trap.

Christopher heard a noise from the hallway. A shuffling noise. At first he thought it was Hamlin, but it was too unsteady, then a moan. Christopher knew what it was.

Fucking zombies.

From the doors leading into the room, guards appeared. Well, former guards. Now they were dead things made to work for the dark soul gloating at him from across the room.

They were still streaming in when the first one reached Christopher. It reached for his shadow coat, teeth chomping.

Unsure what to do Christopher slammed his fist into the creature’s gut. He felt bone snapping and organs rupturing as his fist slammed into it. The force of the blow doubled it over and sent it flying to the group of zombies behind it. They went over like bowling pins.

But more kept streaming in. Christopher guessed that Rath must have killed every soldier in Ambros’ employ, and now he had an army of the dead to deal with.

At the other end of the room Rath had grabbed the chair Ambros was stuck in and dragged it behind him as he left through the French doors onto the pool patio beyond.

Christopher didn't have time to watch; a hoard of zombies was on top of him, clawing at his shadow coat, their fingers raking his skin.

He threw his shoulder into the nearest group, slamming them back into one another. Some fell, but others surged forward. He began striking out at random as they came at him from all directions.

Christopher struck one in the jaw hard enough to smash its face in, but it just ignored the move as though its head wasn't even needed. He grabbed the body of another and spun it in a circle to knock back the closest. It worked for a moment, but he knew he couldn't keep this up all night. Despite his strength and healing ability they would soon overwhelm him, and he doubted he could heal fast enough when they were feasting on his entrails.

"Kid, jump!" cried a voice from behind him.

Christopher turned around and saw Hamlin standing there. He had a grenade in his hand and a belt of them across his chest. Hamlin hadn't arrived at the house with them, of that Christopher was sure, but somehow the detective had managed to collect some party favors along the way.

Some of the undead looked his way when he yelled. They had only moments before a group would split up from the pack and the grenades became less effective. Christopher gathered his strength and jumped.

Thank god for cathedral ceilings. He landed near where Rath had exited. At the other end of the room Hamlin let the grenade fly, landing it in the middle of the zombies. Christopher left through the French doors just as the grenade went off.

The explosion shook the house, shattering the windows outward as Christopher exited. Little shards of glass cut across his skin, causing pinpricks of pain, healing instantly.

More explosions sounded from the house. Christopher took that as a good sign that Hamlin was still alive. If anything could stop those zombies, grenades could. He had to focus on Rath, who seemed to have disappeared.

Ambros still sat in his chair, locked in place by some force next to the pool as though forgotten. But Rath was nowhere to be seen.

"Fuck!" Christopher exclaimed. He can't get away again, Christopher was tired of this. It needed to end.

Ambros grunted. He wiggled in his chair as though trying to break his invisible bonds. He appeared to be staring at Christopher as his eyes widened. It occurred to Christopher that Ambros was less staring at him and more over Christopher's shoulder.

"Fuck," Christopher said again and tried to spin around.

Halfway into his turn, claws sank into him, slicing neatly past his shadow garments and earthly ones, cutting deep into his sides and ribs in a steel like grip.

Rath had him. He cried out at the intense pain as the dark soul's needle-like fingers split bone and tore muscle. Through the haze of pain Christopher felt himself being lifted up, and then the claws were gone. He was plunged into water and gasped in shock as pool water streamed into his nose and throat.

Human instinct took over and he kicked up towards the surface. He surfaced, coughing and spitting. Rath stood at the pool’s edge. Blood dripped from exposed wounds in his hands and splashed into the pool. Where the blood landed, the water began to roll and bubble as though boiling.

"The Beast was a little more difficult, I have to say," Rath said. "I guess it’s because you are human as I once was and just a child. This makes you predictable and easy to manipulate."

More and more of the pool began to churn. Christopher tried to swim to the edge, but the violent water pushed him back towards the center. He had never been a strong swimmer.

"I already have the Weapon, once you are dead I will take the Book. I assume you have it on you? Not that it matters. Nobody will inherit your position when you pass. I and my kind will be free to reclaim this world."

Something wrapped around Christopher's leg and pulled his head under. As he reached for whatever it was, something else grabbed at his arm and wrenched it back. The water had turned dark, but he could see what had him. Large tentacles had wrapped around his arm and leg. As he watched, more stretched out from the dark and enveloped his other appendages.

He couldn't move. Briefly he was lifted out of the water. He saw Rath leaving, walking out through the gardens and towards the beach.

Fucker thinks his job is done
, thought Christopher as he was pulled under again.
And perhaps it was
.

The tentacles dragged him down and down as though the bottom of the pool had ceased to exist. They pulled at him in different directions, trying to yank his arms and legs off like a captured spider all the while pulling him deeper into the dark.

He struggled at the grip of the tentacles, but he had no leverage. Even though he had the strength to pull against the slimy ropes that entrapped, him he had nowhere to go with it.

Perhaps Rath was right. What was he thinking? He was just a college kid. What the hell was he thinking going after supernatural creatures and trying to avenge his family's murder?

The water around him was growing darker, his chest was hurting. It occurred to him that if he just let go, just let the water in, it would all be over. He could just float away into the dark before he met whatever was at the other end of these tentacles.

It was then that the seed of hell flared up. Like a bright spot in an otherwise dark world the seed became a guiding light. It became of all things, a beacon of hope.

He felt it burn through him, its purifying anger and rage coursed through him. Ambros was still alive. Rath was still alive. That he could not stand. They had to die.

He did the only thing he could do, he was running out of oxygen and time. He grabbed hold of the tentacle and tried to climb towards its owner. Time to meet this beast head on.

A giant head loomed out of the dark. It looked like an octopus, but its beak was set just below the eyes rather than at the center of its tentacles. The beak was lined with small sharp teeth, making it look like a saw blade.

It pulled him towards its mouth, beak gaping. Christopher did the only thing he could think of. He jammed his left fist into the creature's gullet. At first the creature pulled back in surprise, but then in clamped its beak down on his arm. He could feel teeth sawing through his flesh as he reached around inside of its mouth or stomach or whatever the hell he had his arm in.

His hand found a chunk of some flesh inside and grabbed on, wrenching it and pulling himself closer. The creature's beak stopped its sawing motion into his arm as it reacted to his direct assault on its internal organs.

Christopher didn't wait for it to recover. With his other hand he struck directly at its huge, single eye. He felt his hand hit the jelly-like substance of its eye and he pressed inward, puncturing it.

The creature was reacting, now trying its damnedest to get away from him. The tentacles were no longer encircling his arms, they beat against him to try and drive him away.

But he had the devil in him and even with his lungs screaming at him, he fought on. He squeezed with all the might he could pull from the power of Hell and slowly caused his hands to meet. One through the mouth and one through the eye.

He felt flesh tearing as his hands strained for each other. The tentacles beat at him in panic, but the creature was too crazed to effectively pull him away. It struggled to get away as fast as possible.

By the time his hands met, tearing through the organs, the beak had loosened and fallen open, the tentacles drifted, occasionally twitching in final death throes.

Christopher pulled his arms free and immediately swam for the surface, but he knew it was too late. His lungs couldn't hold anymore. His vision was dimming, turning from red to black at the edges.

He could taste salt water rather than chlorine and knew somehow he had gone from the pool to the open sea. Just as his lungs gave out and he opened his mouth to pull in water and end it all, he burst through the surface.

He must have slid into unconsciousness briefly because the next thing he knew he was on the beach, washed up like some sort of flotsam. He stared at the sky and stars as he coughed up water. His arm ached and failed to respond when he tried to move it. The beak had cut through muscle and tendon and sawed at the bone. It wouldn't move. It would take a while to heal even at his accelerated rate.

"Well you are a tough one, I'll give you that," said Rath from somewhere up the beach.

Christopher turned over, trying to stand using his one good arm for leverage. He managed to make it to his knees when he saw him.

Rath loomed over Christopher with claws extended, mouth full of teeth open wide in a feral grin.

"I just fucked up Cthulhu, you're next," Christopher said as he slowly and painfully rose to his feet. He hoped Rath didn't see the true pain he was in. But it seemed he had.

Rath smiled, "Well you've got spunk and I like that. Unfortunately, this has to be over. I have a war to plan."

Rath stepped forward and plunged his claws into Christopher's side, digging, ripping into him. He pulled Christopher in an obscene parody of a hug. The reek of his evil soul turned Christopher's stomach.

"Time to tear you apart," Rath said with a hunger that said he relished the idea.

"You first," Christopher said and slipped his good hand into Rath's small waistcoat pocket until he felt the cold hardness of the Weapon.

It sprang to life instantly, erupting into a large spear. Its transformation taking it right through Rath's body.

The Dark Soul's eyes widened in surprise and pain then shifted quickly to fear.

He released Christopher and stepped back, spear still impaling him. But Christopher held on to the end and thrust it forward the best he could with his one good arm.

The spear roared with power and Christopher could see the soul of Rath pull from his body. It tore away slowly and was sucked into the Weapon. But still he resisted.

"I... I... don't... this can't happen," Rath said.

"Oh but it is happening, you insane fucker," Christopher said.

Rath stumbled to his knees, and in an act of defiance he stopped himself from falling all the way down.

"I will come back. I will come back for you, boy. I escaped once, I can do it again. I will return and I will destroy everything you hold dear."

"You and Ambros already did," Christopher said and then pulled the spear out only to slam it back into the Dark Soul's chest, forcing him to the ground.

Rath began to scream as the Weapon finally claimed its soul. The body that had been Rath fell to the ground lifeless. Gone were the claws and other signs of inhumanity. It was just the body of the poor man Rath had used.

The weapon once more became a pocket knife, and Christopher slipped it into his coat next to the book. The beach was deserted in this area, nobody had seen what had happened.

He turned and made his way back to the house, limping and wincing in pain. He would have to ask the Librarian if there was a way to speed up the healing process.

He found Ambros where he had left him, sitting in the chair. Hamlin stood next to him gun in hand.

"The zombies?" Christopher asked.

"Got most of them with the grenades, the last couple just dropped a minute ago for no reason that I could see."

Christopher nodded. "It was because I killed Rath. Their strings were cut."

Hamlin nodded.

"The cops will be here any minute because of the grenades. We need to move," he said.

Again, Christopher nodded.

"What do we do with this one?" Hamlin asked.

Christopher could see that Ambros’ arms and legs were broken and useless, his eyes rolled in his head in pain. Christopher reached for the Weapon, but hesitated.

He could feel the need of the Weapon. It seized hold of him, it ached, and therefore made him ache, to carve into this man. But he held back, and with effort he left the Weapon in its pocket.

"I think I'll let God sort this one out," Christopher said and pushed the chair into the deep end of the pool.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"I don't think there will ever be whiskey strong enough for what we have seen," Hamlin said as he raised his glass and took a long sip.

They were sitting in Christopher's living room. Christopher had his arm in a sling, but he could feel it was close to being healed. He took a long pull of his drink also.