The Persistence of Time

by Jim Cannon


Chapter Nine: "Into the Trap"

Bonnheim, Germany January, 1996

Perseus staggered over to where Shelley and the Revenant stood. The Greek Immortal appeared to be in terrible shape. His clothes were in tatters, and a quickly drying layer of gore soaked his skin and clothing. Shelley knew the Quickening Perseus had absorbed from Rerschenko healed his own crippling injuries, and Perseus was simply suffering from the aftermath of absorbing the other man's soul. Shelley was still very far from taking her first head, but she had seen Quin recover from several Quickenings, and she understood.

More perplexing than Perseus' physical problems were the tears flowing down his cheeks, tears that the Spartan made no effort to wipe away. Shelley couldn't understand -- Perseus must have been weeping for Rerschenko. But that was impossible. The words the two Immortals exchanged prior to the battle made it abundantly clear that both men hated each other.

Perseus reached out a shaky hand and Shelley caught it, instinctively pulling him into a tight embrace. He shook in her arms, clinging to her with a desperate need. In a moment, Shelley felt tears coming herself, and with them came the frightening realization that her emotional states were very responsive to Perseus'. First laughing like school children outside the castle, and now this. Even as she cried along with the older Immortal, she wondered if perhaps her slight psychic ability might be involved.

She felt a hand at her shoulder, and turned her head to meet the gaze of the Revenant. "I'm going to Shadow Shift you two back to the hotel," he said.

"You're not coming with us?" Shelley sniffed.

The Revenant shook his head. "There is still the matter of the final apparition I sensed. Besides, I can't just leave this mess unattended."

"Final apparition -- but wasn't that...?" Shelley gestured at the headless corpse of the Russian.

"No," came the reply. "I can no more sense an Immortal than you can a Nightspawn. What I sensed -- what I sense -- is something else entirely."

Shelley absorbed this much as she did anything the two men told her. She took it at face value, trusting that they knew the truth and how to deal with it more ably than she could. "You don't need any help?"

"Need and availability are two different things. He's a wreck, and you would just get in the way." As he spoke, his eyes, mouth, and nose socket began to glow with that strange, pale, bluish light. A spinning, shifting shadow took shape a scant meter away from Shelley and Perseus. Still crying, Shelley led Perseus into the portal, and the two disappeared in a flash of darklight.

The Revenant was left alone.

New Orleans January, 1996

"Tell me about the dreams," Hazard said, leaning forward, his leather jacket creaking.

Rachel looked at him curiously. "Why are you so interested in my insomnia, Mr. Hazard?"

Hazard hesitated. Were Rachel Van Horn a normal woman, Hazard would have simply compelled her to cooperate with a mental command. But Rachel was not ordinary; gifted with psionic abilities, she would no doubt be able to resist his powers. Besides, he could not help being attracted to this beautiful mortal. It would not be honorable to tamper with her mind. What then? The truth, perhaps? No, never the truth.

"You are a friend of Nicholas'. You sought help from him, but he is away. So I came in his stead."

"At three in the morning? Not likely. There's something else that brings you to my door. I trust you, Michael, but only so far." There was a certain amount of steel in the red haired woman's gaze.

Hazard felt his respect for her and attraction to her grow. He allowed himself a brief smile, careful to keep his canines hidden. "Very well. I am on the trail of something sinister, but all I have are the vaguest of clues. I was hoping that your dreams might be able to... shed some light on my problem."

"What you say has the ring of truth about it," she said, gazing at him intently. "I can't help but think you're holding something back... but I don't need your life story," she finished with a smile.

<Good. We'd be here a while,> Hazard thought. Outloud, he said, "Then, if you will, the dreams?"

"Of course," Rachel began. "It started just a few days ago, a recurring dream that comes to me whenever I sleep. It's so dark and grim that I'm finding it difficult to want to sleep, knowing that if I do, that dream will come to me. And I can tell it is no ordinary nightmare."

She took a deep breath, her palms flat on her knees. "When it starts, I'm on a black plain under a red sky. I can hear voices in the distance, chanting in a guttural, unintelligible tongue. As the voices rise, I can hear thunder in the distance, and then a huge, humped shape rises out of the plain. All darkness and clouded features. Hard to see, but I feel the evil coming off of it in waves. The voices stop, and a dull roar echoes up out of the plain."

"As I watch, nine figures drop from the sky, each armed with a shining, silver sword. They attack the darkness, cutting swathes of silver light through its bulk. Then the roaring rises in a deafening crescendo, and tendrils of darkness attack the figures, drawing them into the darkness where they are swallowed whole. The darkness expands until it covers my entire field of vision."

"Around then I usually wake up in a cold sweat." Rachel gave a nervous laugh, not quite looking at Hazard. "Does that help at all, Michael?"

Hazard stared at her slackjawed. If what she described was a vision, then Gabrial's warning about trouble for the nine races would be an understatement.

"Michael?" She was looking at him intently, her blue-gray eyes clouded with concern.

Hazard's jaw shut with an audible click. "I'm sorry. I - I have to go." Hazard stood up.

Rachel jumped to her feet, blocking his path to the door. "Not yet, mister. Talk to me -- tell me I'm not going crazy, at least."

Hazard focused his mind and eyes on the petite mortal. He considered what to tell her. She looked fierce, standing there before him, one hand splayed against his chest, her hair wild and red, her face betraying her confusion and... fear?

"Rachel, forgive me. I did not think." Hazard backed away and sat down again. Rachel remained standing. "Your dreams may be a vision. A prophetic vision. A... friend of mine told me dark times were ahead. It seems that you have foreseen the manifestation of that darkness."

"What... do you mean?"

Again an inner debate raged within Hazard. Tell her? Or leave this place and the girl's questions? Hazard didn't need to breathe, but he sucked in a big breath in a typically human manner. "Rachel, take a seat. There are some things you should know."

The confusion and fear were still there, but Rachel also seemed to trust Hazard. She sat down. He began to talk.

Hong Kong January, 1996

The first breath he sucked into his lungs, left his lips with a curse. He sat up, instinctively clutching his unmarred chest, reassuring himself that the fatal gunshot left no mark. He looked around.

Cold fluorescent lights illuminated a stark chamber filled with dead men and women, laid out like slabs of meat on stainless steel tables. A morgue. The bullet must have found his heart, if he had been put under long enough to reach the deadhouse.

He slid of the table, dropping bare feet to the cold floor. No clothes, no wallet, no sword. Even his silver bracer had been taken from him. Naked, tall, and one handed, he would definitely stand out in a crowd. There was little chance he could sneak out of the morgue. Or hospital. Wherever he was. He heard footsteps, and looked around wildly, locating the door even as it opened, and a Cantonese man stepped into the room. He was short, portly, and holding a mop. A pair of headphones distracted him from noticing the naked savage standing in the middle of the room, but when he did, he froze.

Tyr smiled slow. Easy as one, two, three.

The man's clothes were ill fitting, but serviceable enough to get the Immortal out of the building and on the street.

The Pentagon, Washington D.C. January, 1996

The conference room was small, but richly appointed, with dark mahogany furniture and a thick, plush carpet. The Presidential Seal graced a large panel above the head of the table, where a mid-level bureaucrat in a bad suit sat, looking down the table at three highly trained individuals. A glass of water was placed at his elbow.

The one directly opposite the bureaucrat was a Lt. Vincent Falcone. He had a rangy build, dark hair trimmed close to the skull, intelligent eyes, and a lopsided grin. A Green Beret, he was a decorated officer and a veteran of the Cold War.

At his left sat Victoria Baron. Black hair contrasted sharply with her pale skin and luminous eyes. A tall woman, she specialized in counter-intelligence and had spent several years with the Agency. Like Falcone and the third man, she and her position were holdovers from the days of cloak and dagger.

Sgt. Justin Calatin was blond haired and green eyed, and one of the most talented SEALs the American military ever trained. He was a hard man, with a thin line for a mouth and eyes like flint.

The bureaucrat tapped his fingers against the top of the table. He was in a small room in the bowels of the Pentagon, alone with three trained killers. And he had nothing but bad news for all of them.

"Lady and gentlemen," he began, his thin, quavery voice failing to reflect the gravity of the situation. "You three have been selected to fetch back something the United States has misplaced."

He took a sip from his water, and Falcone asked in a dry tone, "What wandered off, sir?"

The bureaucrat swallowed. "A nuclear warhead." The attention of the covert agents was suddenly very focused indeed.

Bonnheim, Germany January, 1996

The Revenant disposed of the bodies quickly and efficiently, using his dimension door ability to deposit them far from the castle, buried under snow and frost. With any luck, they wouldn't be found until spring, if at all.

He made no attempt to clean up the carnage Perseus and his combatants had created in the exhibit room. As long as no mortal suspected a supernatural reason for the destruction, the Revenant didn't care. What did worry him, though, was the faint, unmistakable scent of wyrm that seemed to permeate the interior of the castle. The stench had been absent during the day, and the Revenant was a bit surprised to discover it there now.

But surprise did not lead to disbelief or a doubting of his senses; centuries of experience as a hunter and slayer of monsters led him to trust his instincts. Something dark and fell was living in the castle, something that had contributed to the aura of mystery and paranoia that seemed to permeate the town. Something that was feeding off of the Gargoyles, making them weak and easy targets for Perseus' blade. The more the Revenant thought about it, the more sense it made.

He left the room where Perseus had slain the Gargoyle and Rerschenko, walking the darkened, haunted corridors of the castle. He concentrated his resources, seeking out the dwelling place of the hidden creature. He followed his instincts and the faint scent of wyrmflesh as it wafted through the hallways.

He made a complete circuit of the first floor before he felt he knew where he should begin to look. Below. In the dungeons and the crypts. The Revenant allowed himself a grim smile, something few would notice on his skeletal features. How typical of the wyrm to seek safety beneath the castle.

A narrow staircase led the Revenant lower and lower, seeking the heart of the castle. No torch or lantern lit his way; the empty sockets of the Revenant's eyes were more attuned to darkness than a bat's eyes.

He picked his way carefully, mentally reviewing the strengths and weaknesses of the Children of Set. How best to approach the beast?

The stairs ended on a rough cobblestone floor. A heavy gate blocked the corridor beyond. He placed a hand against it, and the cold iron cage swung open on oiled hinges. The Revenant stood stock still for a moment, breathing quietly, straining to hear an enemy move or an insect skitter across the floor. Nothing moved. All was silent.

The Revenant grinned in spite of himself. The setting was so perfectly Gothic that he barely restrained laughing out loud. He stepped past the gate, his foot falls echoing in the empty corridor.

<Hmmm, no cobwebs,> the Revenant mused. <Must speak to the propmaster about that.>

Beyond the gate was a series of catacombs, leading to the family crypt no doubt. Chances were high that Virchow himself had been buried down here as well, and subsequently the area had been cleaned out.

Cleaned out... the Revenant paused in the middle of the hallway. Could the burial of Virchow awakened the slumbering wyrm, and activated the Gargoyles? A definite possibility. The Revenant lifted his foot to proceed, and froze.

Somewhere, ahead, he heard a sound. Something like scales rasping against stone. It did not come again, though the Revenant waited patiently, and at last he headed down the hallway again. It had a gentle slope, leading deeper into the Earth.

Shelley again felt light headed as she passed through the portal and appeared in Perseus' hotel room. She paused, and the feeling passed. She led Perseus over to the bed and he collapsed on top of it.

She walked on shaky legs over to the table and took a seat, ignoring, for now, the bottle of whiskey that lay within easy reach.

Perseus rolled over onto his back after a moment. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and then wiped snot and tears from his face. He sat up. "I need a shower," he said.

Shelley nodded. "You want to talk about it?"

Perseus considered. "After I'm cleaned up." He stood, stripping off his ruined jacket and shirt, and dropped them to the floor. Running a hand through his hair, he disappeared into the bathroom. Shortly, she heard the shower running.

Shelley sat back in the chair, trying to get comfortable, but she couldn't quite fit. She realized she was still wearing her sword, and with a grumbled curse, stood up and unbuckled the blade. She shimmied out of her winter coat as well, and dropped back into the chair. She eyed the whiskey for a second, but decided her nerves were too shot for alcohol.

She was dozing lightly when the bathroom door opened and Perseus stepped out, accompanied by a cloud of steam. Clad only in a towel, he grabbed a pair of boxers and a t-shirt out of his bag and went back into the bathroom.

Shelley decided to have that drink.

"He was a student of mine," Perseus said, sitting on the edge of the bed, a cigarette cupped in his hand. "I found him on the steppes of central Asia almost eight hundred years ago. When he was a boy, the Mongols had come, bringing death and civilization to the Russian people. Ivan had survived where all his male relatives had not: as a child, he was able to walk below an unhitched wagon without bending. The rest of his family -- father, brothers, uncles -- were too tall, and too much of a threat to Mongol rule. The Mongols killed them to a man."

"When I found Ivan, he was a young man, and I did not know of his past or the darkness within him. He was angry and proud, and determined to resist the Mongols in any way he could. He had led his fellow villagers in a short-lived rebellion against their Mongol rulers. They were slaughtered, cut to ribbons by arrows and swords.

"Ivan alone survived, but only because he experienced his first death and was Awakened to Immortality. He was dazed, alone, and covered in blood when I and my horse found him. I helped him as best I could; cleaned and fed him, taught him our ways, honed his fighting skills. He was a quick learner, fierce and intelligent. Perhaps my best student.

"I took him with me as I went West, heading for Europe. He was reluctant to leave his homeland, but I insisted. I wanted him to give up his hatred, and hoped travel and a broadening of his horizons would accomplish this."

"Alas, in the Holy Roman Empire, we ran into the Kurgan. It was my second encounter with the man, and Ivan's first. I told Ivan to run, and run he did, while I faced the Kurgan, the only man in all my long life who ever beat me. I thought that during the time that passed between our last encounter, I had learned enough to be his equal or even his superior."

"A false hope, that. The Kurgan was, perhaps, the purest warrior of any of us. He was born for death, a lover of killing and destruction. He cut me down easily. As I lay in a pool of my own blood, he laughed at me, and said he would slay my student before killing me. He left me, and I died."

"When I returned to life a short while later, I searched for both the Kurgan and Ivan, but found no sign of either. Believing Ivan had fallen to the Kurgan, I left the Empire and headed south. I hoped a stay in Greece would help lighten the heaviness in my heart."

"As you know, Ivan survived. It was not for two more centuries that I became aware of this; I ran afoul of him in Ireland. He had apparently survived his encounter with the Kurgan through the simple fact of his ancestry: Ivan was apparently descended from a Russian beauty the Kurgan had once loved. The Kurgan took Ivan under his wing for a time, and the dark one's teachings fed and fostered the hatred within Ivan."

"When he faced me in Ireland, he was as dark and twisted as any Immortal. But he was still a mere student, while I was a master. I defeated him with relative ease, but could not bring myself to take his head. Since that time we have clashed occasionally, each time he grew better and better, more of a challenge for me."

"At some point he fell in with an ages old enemy of mine, and the scope of Ivan's evil grew. Still I could not bring myself to kill him. In my heart of hearts, I knew Ivan was gone, but I hoped that, some way way, he could be returned to that innocent, angry boy I knew so long ago."

"It was only fifty years ago that I smartened up and faced facts. Ivan needed to be killed. Erased. And now... he is."

Perseus dropped ash on the carpet, staring off into space as his tale ended, transported to another time. Shelley could only stare and wonder.


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