Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I could have sworn I'd already posted it. Whoops...
Chapter 22: Killer No More
Her mind frantic with thoughts of self preservation, Alyssa reached out for the privacy curtain hanging in the corner—but that was just plain silly. There was no way he was dumb enough to fall for that. Her only other option was just as silly—sillier—but it was all she had.
The sound of footsteps rounding the hall told her she had no more time to think about it, so she dropped to her belly and, only putting weight on her good side, rolled underneath the bed. Pressing against the wall, she clutched the glass bottle to her chest and tried not to breathe too loudly. Or deeply; her nostrils were filling with all sorts of unpleasant odors whose origins she couldn't begin to speculate. Not that she cared to.
The pungent smells wafting from the underside of the mattress and the dull throb in her side were forgotten as a pair of feet angrily stomped by her head. Try as she might to stay still, she couldn't help twisting her neck a little for a better look, though she could only see from the ankle down. He went straight for the curtain and drew it back, then let out a huff of air; a sigh of defeat?
She didn't dare hope. As he turned away from the corner, visions of him looking under the bed filled her mind. She pictured coming face to face with those horrid eyes, and being dragged out, kicking and screaming but completely helpless to get away.
He was walking past the bed, moving over to the desk. There was a soft scraping sound, followed by the rustle of paper. The Subordinate let out another huff. His left foot was tapping, giving Alyssa an excellent view of the black half moons beneath his toenails. After several seconds of tapping, he let out an angry snort.
"Nosy bastard...thinks he knows everything."
A book was knocked to the floor. Alyssa held her breath, waiting for him to turn around, but instead she saw a shimmer of purple light. She held her breath for several moments more, ears straining, but the cabin was dead silent. She was alone again.
She let out a shaky breath and slowly edged out from under the bed, careful not to bump her left side. As she sat up she accidentally bumped the discarded book with her foot. Curious, she flipped it over, and the words written on the page it opened to practically leaped out at her. Not because of what they said, but because she was again looking at her grandfather's handwriting.
'Before becoming possessed by an Entity, the human host usually leads a quiet, unassuming life. Not so in the case of Harold Powell. Born in Cardiff, Wales, in 1655, he faced constant ridicule from everyone around him due to his extreme physical deformities. Though he lived apart from the townsfolk, the young woodcutter was considered a living curse by the locals, and blamed for all sorts of calamities, from crops withering to sudden illness.
'Despite the abuse, he fell in love with the innkeeper's daughter when he was seventeen, even went so far as to propose marriage. Not only was the proposal cruelly rejected, Emily mocked Powell publicly. Enraged, Powell dragged Emily back to his cabin and dismembered her. Over the next two years, he continued to kidnap and murder young girls, until the villagers finally caught and hung him.
'What intrigues me the most about this story is that it remains unclear whether or not Powell was already possessed by an Entity when he murdered Emily. It is possible that a lifetime of physical and verbal abuse along with, as his desire for Emily suggests, a good deal of sexual frustration finally pushed him over the edge—a very tantalizing idea. Whatever the case, his extremely cruel and sadistic nature make him an excellent choice as leader of the Subordinates. Not only that, his physical prowess—something he was denied in life—gives him an edge the others just can't seem to grasp. The others are often slow, clumsy, and sometimes downright slow-witted. Powell is cunning, craft and easily able to out-think his prey. He has felled more Rooders than any of the others, and I know taking care of a few more will be easy for him.'
There was more, but a sound behind her made her toss the book away, whip the glass bottle out and leap to her feet. But there was nothing there. It was just the wind, making the windows creak and rattle in their flimsy frames.
Coaxing her heart to slow down again, Alyssa began to explore the rest of the cabin as her mind worried over what she had just read.
There was no doubt now who was responsible for sending the Rooders she had seen to their graves. Killing young girls was his specialty. What disturbed her most, however, was how the writing looked so like her grandfather's. She couldn't understand why they were trying to deceive her; her grandfather had spent most of his life helping the Hamilton family fight against the Entities. The writer sounded so pleased with Powell's abilities, and there was no way her grandfather would ever take pride in such horrible things. And how could he have gotten here, anyway? For that matter, how had her mother? This cemetery definitely wasn't a place—or time—that was between the boarding school and home.
The book was quickly forgotten as she spotted something on top of the old wooden desk; a round disc with a carving of the sun. Skipping her pocket this time, Alyssa clutched it tightly in one hand and the glass bottle in the other as she ran from the cabin. Ready to be jumped at any time, she ran back down the road. To her surprise, she made past her mother's car, the dead tree, and pushed her way through the overgrown path again without incident. As soon as she was through, she ran to the second monument and set the sun disc in place.
Nothing happened.
Puzzled, Alyssa tried twisting and pressing the disc, but it couldn't go any deeper. She checked the moon disc, then began pacing back and forth in front of the monuments as the gears of her mind started turning.
Obviously, whatever the discs unlocked was something important—important to a Rooder, specifically. Despite that, it was still possible for someone else to get a hold of them. There had to be a way to keep non-Rooders from actually using them—otherwise her enemies would have stolen away whatever secret they held by now.
Alyssa thumped her fist against her palm as the obvious solution hit her; she had to prove she was a Rooder. She uncapped the glass bottle and started sprinkling water on one of the monuments, paying particular mind to the stone disc and the inscription. Once satisfied she had doused it enough, she moved on and started sprinkling the other one. As soon as the droplets struck, bright white light flared up and flooded her vision. Startled, Alyssa staggered back as she instinctively flung her arms in front of her eyes. She was blinded and couldn't see a thing, but she could feel rippling in the air around her, as if the cemetery were flowing like water.
The odd sensation and the blinding light vanished all at once, and when Alyssa lowered her arms she found herself standing in a wide, cavern-like room. A rough dirt ceiling arched above her head and pebbles crunched beneath her feet. Torches lined the walls, and directly in front of her was a raised dais, flanked by two statues bearing larger torches. And between the statues, etched across the stone wall so intricately it looked like a tapestry, was an image that made her flesh crawl.
A girl lay on a mock-bed of white marble—a Rooder girl, dressed in white robes and a pair of yellow-brown sandals that laced up the calf, like something out of the Roman Empire. Only she wasn't lying in a position of relaxation. The figure hung limp, dead—and looming above her was the image of a man dressed in black robes and holding a dagger in one hand. The other was stretched out toward the helpless girl, as if poised to snatch something from her.
The gruesome scene sent chills through her, but she felt compelled to move closer, and she absently slipped the bottle back under her belt as her feet carried her up the steps and onto the dais. As she drew nearer, she saw lines of text beneath the image. Lines of text so small she had to squint to make them out, and even then she couldn't read them. For a moment she worried it was all in the same script as on the monuments, but as she looked down the long rows of words, she realized it was the same thing written over and over again, each line carved in a different language, as if someone wanted to make sure what was written would be understood no matter who came along. She traced her finger down the lines, skimming over French and Latin and dozens of others she couldn't identify. When she reached English, she went to the beginning and began to read.
'If one's desire is to become an Entity, the quickest, surest path is this, the Ritual of Engagement: Rend the chest of a Rooder who is fifteen years of age and of one's own bloodline and drink deep the blood of her beating heart. Thus will all the power and strength of the Entity be bestowed upon thee.'
Alyssa recoiled from the inscription so fast she almost tumbled down the stairs. "Drink my blood?" she cried out loud. "What sort of mad, twisted..."
It wasn't a question she needed to ask; she knew the answer. This was the ritual that evil man dressed in black had planned for her. But knowing what he meant to do only raised more questions.
This proved her original hunch—that he was just a mortal human—so why were the Subordinates obeying him? And even if he succeeded, the ritual wouldn't work. The inscription clearly stated that the Rooder had to be from the same bloodline—and there was no way that freakish figure was family to her.
Even as she told herself this, something started scratching at the back of her mind, but she forced it back. She wasn't ready to allow that particular thought to claw its way to the surface. Not yet.
She put her troubled mind to rest for now and focused on exploring the rest of the cavern. She didn't have to look far; there was a long groove beneath the inscription, and something lying inside it glistened in the torchlight. It was a gold-colored arrow, and judging by its age and decorative appearance it could easily be mistaken for a mere ornament, but as Alyssa lifted it with her fingers she felt power pulsing inside it, as tangible as the flow of water beneath a thin sheet of ice.
Alyssa knelt and held the arrow up to the torchlight for a better look. As she raised it above her head, the golden object started to glow with its own inner light. Points of white light, like stars, glittered along the shaft, and warmth as soothing as the sun spread through her fingers. The feeling continued rapidly, traveling through her hands and up her arms. In a matter of seconds she felt as she were being bathed in purest sunlight as the warmth covered her from head to toe. A sense of renewal flowed in her veins, giving her strength and lifting her spirits. She felt ready to take on anything.
The glow inside the arrow began to fade—and the arrow with it. It grew translucent, then transparent, and then faded from sight altogether, the weight of it leaving her fingers like vapor.
Only it wasn't gone. The power it once held was inside her now, forever a part of her. Alyssa stood and reached a hand down to her belt as she formed a picture in her mind of her true weapon. She sent out her thoughts, conveying her want—her need. Her fingers brushed smooth, curved glass. She gripped it and smiled faintly.
All at once the image before her shimmered and faded, and the caverns walls dissolved around her. She found herself back in the cemetery, the chill wind blowing around her. The twin monuments were gone, leaving no trace of their secrets behind.
"Just what is it you're planning to do?" a voice behind her demanded coarsely.
Alyssa turned around slowly. The being once known as Harold Powell stood on the arch above the gate that led to where the Rooder ghosts were. Axes held out at his sides, he looked grayish-white against the foggy blackness of the sky. The streaks of red on his face stood out sharply, making it look like his skin was stained with blood.
His mouth suddenly twisted into a cruel smile. "Maybe you intend to bring peace to the pathetic souls who languish here?" he wondered, pacing along the length of the arch as he spoke.
As Alyssa watched him warily, her mind called up what she had just read about the life of this particular Subordinate. As she had already guessed, the being she faced had centuries on Morris and Haigh—centuries spent honing his deadly skills. In spite of this he had, she remembered with an unsettled feeling in her stomach, been much younger when he died, a mere boy a few years older than herself.
Somehow, that made it all the more intimidating to face him now.
"Or maybe," he went on, his smile turning to a wild grin, "you're hoping you'll magically see your dear mother again if you get rid of me."
"Maybe I am," Alyssa shot back angrily. "Let's find out."
Pulling the glass bow from where it hung, ready and waiting, from her belt, she readied and fired off an arrow of light. As it sailed directly toward her enemy, she noted that it appeared to be brighter and swifter than before, even though she had only charged it for an instant.
Neither surprised or impressed, the Subordinate flipped off the arch and landed, crouched, behind a gravestone. Alyssa watched him through narrowed eyes, taking pleasure in knowing that his carefree attitude would soon come to an end. He wouldn't be able to shrug off her attacks—not this time.
But she couldn't get a clear shot from her current position, so she, bow raised, began carefully backing away, trying to move to a spot where she could be sure she wouldn't clip a headstone or marker. Her eyes never left her attacker, her muscles tensing as she braced for any sudden movement he might make.
None came.
The Subordinate was doing the same thing she was; watching his opponent's every move, waiting to see what she planned to do. As the seconds ticked by and they both continued to do little other than shuffle back and forth cautiously, weapons raised and pointed, Alyssa realized they were both waiting for the other to make the first move. And at this rate—neither would.
Telling herself that she had the advantage since she could fire off shot after shot without waiting for her weapon to come back to her, Alyssa continued to back away as she slowly charged a fresh arrow. As the golden energy sparked between her fingers, it felt stronger and wilder, and she was filled with courage and determination.
At this distance he would probably dodge, but at least then he would finally move and she could—hopefully—form a strategy.
But when she fired the pulsing arrow of light, something happened that she wasn't expecting.
The Subordinate didn't dodge. Instead, he drew himself straight and stood tall, with both axes crossed in front of his chest. Her arrow struck the flat sides of the blades, burst like sparks from a golden fire, and faded away harmlessly.
For a moment Alyssa could only stare, horrified that even her new strength wasn't enough. The next instant she was bolting for the cover of one of the many headstone as an ax came flying her way. It bounced off the stone, sending chunks flying, before racing back to its master—who was chuckling jovially.
"Is that all you've managed to cull from your forbearers? I'm disappointed."
Gritting her teeth, Alyssa fired off another shot—it went wild and missed her target by feet—and darted to the other side of the cemetery, stopping near the gate. She turned and started to raise her bow again—but her enemy was rushing her with all the fury and force of a wild bull.
Alyssa hesitated a second too long as she thought about trying to fire at the leering face looming in front of her—just a tiny one that would slow him down—and was forced to throw herself to the ground as both blades swung at her head. She rolled to the side and tried kicking at her attacker's shins, but he merely back-flipped onto a headstone, cackling like a madman.
Her mind racing, Alyssa clambered to her feet and tried firing another arrow—only to throw herself down again as an ax sailed through the air toward her. Not wanting to be idle for a second, she rolled onto her back and watched the ax bounce off the far wall. She gauged its return path and got back on her feet before it finished its return journey, the whirling blade coming dangerously close to her left shoulder.
The left shoulder that was already bleeding, thanks to being clipped when Powell swung at her a moment ago. It was only a scrape, or so she thought; the adrenaline pumping through her veins made it hard to tell. She already had burns on her right shoulder—all she needed now was a broken rib on her left side and she would match all around.
Alyssa was fed up. She wanted to get away from this dark, cold, dreadful place, and from this time she couldn't quite name—but mostly she wanted to get away from the being that relentlessly chased her over what was meant to be a resting place for the dead. She never wanted to see his horrid face again, or hear that insane laugh that enjoyed mocking her pain so much.
Fatigue was rapidly robbing her newfound energy from her limbs, and her arms ached as she raised the bow again. Again, Powell didn't bother dodging, and this time he blocked with only one ax. The other he let fly, something Alyssa was growing so used to she simply ducked down, chin to her knees, without giving it much thought.
She waited until the ax had passed over her head again before getting up and darting to the corner of the cemetery, where the path that led through the woods was. Not that she planned to use it; the tight space and pitch blackness would make her a laughably easy target.
Instead, she turned and ducked down again, her mind searching desperately for a solution. The most obvious one that presented itself to her was that she needed to wait until his guard was down—specifically when he was preparing to throw an ax. If he threw them both it would be easy, but he wasn't anywhere near that stupid, and Alyssa knew that if she somehow managed to get one of them away from him, he would stop throwing the other and take a more direct approach—not a good scenario for her.
Her only option was to time her attack perfectly. She moved back and forth across the grounds, ducking behind crosses and headstones, waiting for an opening. The only time he seemed remotely vulnerable was when he drew his arm back to throw an ax—if she aimed perfectly, she just might get his chest. If he didn't block with his other ax, first.
But there wasn't anything else she could try, and the next time she saw him draw his arm back, she whipped her bow up and aimed carefully. The other ax was raised slightly, blocking her view of his chest enough to make her doubtful she could hit it. Thinking fast, she shifted her sight a little and aimed for his shoulder. There was no time to charge, and the arrow that flew from her bow was tiny and weak. And at that same instant the ax came flying her way.
And then something happened that shocked them both.
For a moment the world seemed to slow down, so much so that Alyssa could the ax turning and turning in the air, glinting silver-blue even in the dull light as it came closer and closer to her. She saw her own arrow, so pathetic-looking in comparison, whizzing ever forward like a miniscule comet. She pictured it being smashed into golden dust like before—and then there would be nothing left to protect her. She didn't believe she would be able to duck out of the way this time.
The two airborne objects did indeed collide, with a metallic crack that echoed throughout the cemetery. Her tiny arrow faded like a star winking out—but the ax, just as it did after bouncing off a wall, was now racing back to its master.
And, judging by the astonished look on his face, its master hadn't planned on this abrupt turn of events. The same instant Alyssa realized that the weapon was heading away from her instead toward her, the heavy object hit the Subordinate's forehead with another crack—a bone-crunching one—before falling harmlessly to the ground.
Alyssa, who was equally astonished by what had just happened, couldn't be sure which part of the ax had struck its master—handle or blade—but the affects were clear. The Subordinate teetered and slumped against a nearby headstone, where he lay stunned and motionless.
The young Rooder wasted no time raising her bow, but as she pointed it at the helpless being, she found herself hesitating. As evil as he was, it felt wrong to attack someone who was all but unconscious. It felt like stepping into a territory she was supposed to be above entering.
But her Rooder instincts promptly piped up, reminding her that any sign of mercy would be rewarded with a cruel death. Alyssa set her jaw and let her charged arrow fly.
The Subordinate lifted his head just in time to see it coming. When it struck he recoiled with his usual roar and Alyssa expected—with great disappointment—for him to recover with his usual swiftness, but instead he staggered for several long moments. Long enough for her to prepare and fire another arrow.
The first hit seemed to have robbed him of all confidence, and the second had him retreating from her altogether. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting her to get the upper hand. And with one of his axes lost, he no longer had the means to properly defend himself.
The more weary he became, the more elated Alyssa felt, until she was sure she was glowing from head to toe. She practically pranced amongst the headstones while her enemy hobbled, howling and cursing, as it became harder and harder for him to move the more damage his body took. He wasn't acrobatic anymore, turning and flipping wherever and whenever he pleased; he was a lumbering beast, trying desperately to escape as he went from predator to prey.
In a last ditch effort, he hurled his remaining ax at her, but Alyssa dodged it with ease. With both weapons gone, he was defenseless against her attacks, and Alyssa took fool advantage of this. It wasn't long before she sensed him weakening completely, nearing the moment where his body would fail him entirely.
One foot propped against a headstone, she raised her bow for the last time. "This is for all the Rooders you killed."
Powell didn't bother trying to dodge. As is giving up what he knew was a lost battle, he shut his eyes and let the blazing arrow rip through him. His screams echoed into the night as his body dissolved, merging with the fog until no trace of him remained. Alyssa took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief and return the bow to her belt before rushing to the spot the Subordinate last stood.
Something glittered in the gray dirt. Only it wasn't merely a silver heart-shape with an emerald—it was the entire framework of the clover necklace, including the silver chain. Alyssa knelt and carefully scooped the pendant into her hand. With her other hand, she removed the two pieces she had collected from her pocket and pressed them into the frame with the third one. Now only one leaf remained—but Alyssa wasn't worried about it.
Her only worry now was for her mother, and she was growing more and more frightened for her safety. She hadn't wanted to believe what the evil beings had said, but her instincts—as well as her common sense—were starting to tell her they might actually be speaking the truth. Her mother had vaguely hinted more than once that her necklace was very special, and very important—Alyssa just hadn't understood what that meant until now. She was convinced that it had to be some form of Rooder tool, one her mother wouldn't relinquish unless...
Alyssa forced back the tears that were threatening to form and slipped the silver chain over her head. The clover pendant thumped against her chest as she got to her feet and moved to the area beyond the gate. The Rooder spirits were again standing beside the tomb.
"Thank you, Alyssa," the one in night's armor said. "We can finally rest now."
Her ghostly form, already transparent, faded until it was gone.
"Keep fighting them," the one in chainmail told her. "Death is a better fate than succumbing to the ritual."
"Be brave," called the girl with the black bob as she, too, faded away. Alyssa watched until the last of them had gone. She felt peaceful inside, knowing that they would find be able to rest, but she also felt exhausted. More than anything she wanted to curl up somewhere and sleep.
"Alyssa."
Hearing her own name, spoken in a soft, warm voice, made her heart stop. She spun around, her wide eyes darting around wildly. "Mum?"
For a moment she thought she saw her, dressed in white, running toward her through the fog, which seemed to be growing steadily thicker. Straining to see, Alyssa stretched out a hand and moved forward—and found herself face to face with the dark visage of the one who was responsible for her night of terror.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the man dressed in black said, laughing mockingly at her as she recoiled, sickened.
"Were you expecting someone else?" he went on, his grin wide and unpleasant. "I'm afraid your mother is nothing more than a memory now. And you know what I want for you, so come; give your heart to me so we can be joined together forever."
"I'll die first," Alyssa hissed. Her hand fumbled for her belt; her weapon was still in the shape of the bow. She gripped it tightly, ready to end this here and now.
"Oh? Still a little fight left? Very well: I've one Subordinate left for you to play with before the clock strikes midnight. Watching you exhibit your stubborn Rooder will is so entertaining—though I admit I grow impatient."
As he spoke, the world began warping and twisting in a sickening way. The ground beneath her feet shuddered and shook, and the already cracked and broken pillars around her shattered and fell.
"See you soon, my sweet Alyssa," the wicked voice called as the world faded to darkness.