Dawn Awakening

Chapter 47

John Mark severed the head of his opponent. The blade of his sword dripped crimson gore onto the ground. With a quick thrust and parry, he dove in, narrowly saving Lucien from a lethal blow. Their eyes met, grim and full of determination, as they turned, back-to-back, readying for another wave. The defensive line was faltering. It wasn't that the rogues had any real fighting skills. It was just that there were so damned many of them. Keeping the rogues corralled into one place while defending the town was an impossible task. There were bodies and blood everywhere and yet, the rogues still kept coming.

Drenched in a spray of fresh blood, nearly toppled by the sudden jolt of Lucien's weight, John Mark spun wildly to keep his footing on the blood soaked ground. Vision blurred by pain and the abrupt tearing away of his brother's consciousness from his own, he stared down at Lucien's unseeing eyes. Lucien's body lay at an odd angle from his head. Limbs still flailing and jerking in death as his nerve endings fired randomly from the sudden separation of its head. Blood, so much blood the ground was saturated and it pooled in an ocean of red at John Mark's feet. A collective scream broke the unnatural quiet as Lucien's death ripped its way through the Sons.

"No!" John Mark hissed in rage. Blindly swinging his blade in arcing fury, John Mark attacked. Sparks from the force of his strikes as metal pounded against metal in a relentless downpour of vengeance. His opponent toppled to the ground, panting and wheezing in defeat. But, not before the tip of his sword tore a wide gash through John Mark's leathers and deep into his stomach. Not realizing how injured he was, John Mark continued his attack, finishing off the rogue with a swift stroke of his sword.

John Mark staggered on his feet and then fell to his knees, gasping in agony. Gingerly, he slid his left forearm away from his injury to survey the damage. Blood poured in a waterfall of crimson from the wide gash in his leathers to pool on the ground beneath him. "Shit," he hissed, dragging his battered body under the cover of a nearby copse of bushy pines.

Probing with his fingers, he explored the wound. The gash was deep, exposing viscera which glistened, damp and shiny, in the pale slivers of moonlight peeking through the branches. Gritting his teeth at his self-inflicted agony, he pressed his palms against the wound to slow the bleeding. Vampires were damn hard to kill. He kept reminding himself over and over. He was damned hard to kill. But, that tiny voice in the back of his mind would not shut up. He was damned hard to kill, but not invincible.

The world spun in dizzying rotations. The needles of the pine trees faded in and out of focus. He could heal this, given enough time. Assuming the enemy didn't find him down and weak, utterly defenseless. In his current state, he couldn't have swatted a mosquito had it landed on his arm for a quick sample. Not that he had any blood to spare. It was all spilling out on the ground.

The sounds of the battle grew dim, diminishing from a roar to a whisper in his ears. From the back of his mind the words of his death song taunted him. He would not give in and sing them. As if mouthing them would bring them to pass. He had to get up. Keep moving. Help his brothers. He had to fight...for Robbie. His mind's eye focused on the memory of her face, holding it fast. As the rest of the world, no longer crazily spinning on a wild merry go round of fear, blood, and pain, faded away.



*********

Robbie's fingers trembled as she traced them along the dark outcropping of stone beside her. With all the people crammed into the narrow passageway, hovering so close to her in anxious wait, she was finding it difficult to focus her thoughts on the task at hand and not on the sound of their wet heartbeats and the scent of blood coursing through their veins. She could leave them. They were near enough to the exit to find their own way out. They didn't need her. Swaths of yellow light from the flashlights barely cut through the seemingly impenetrable darkness, illuminating the pinched, taut expressions on their faces.

A sensation of cold and dread slammed into Robbie's mind. Pain...there was so much pain. And blood...rivers of it running so swiftly, its current threatened to pick her up and sweep her away. Robbie gasped and clutched her abdomen, moaning under the force, her mind bouncing between what it saw in its eye and what was real, in front of her. "John Mark!" she cried out, trembling against the soft stroke of fingers that brushed across her shoulders.

Alex was still in a drug-hazed stupor. Bits and pieces of reality floated around her like soap bubbles on the air. Every time she reached out to catch one, it popped, dribbling down her fingers in a wet, sticky film. John Mark was her friend. She loved John Mark, everybody did. He was the kid brother she'd always wished she'd had. John Mark was in trouble. The thought rolled around like a marble in her empty, addled mind.

"Go," Alex said. Her voice was thick and her speech slurred from the medication. "Go. Save him if you can." If not for her dad, holding her up, her knees would have buckled under her weight. Her hand, which felt like somebody else's hand, the fingers fat and numb like balloons, stroked the woman's trembling shoulders. Alex knew the woman's name. She just couldn't remember it.

Lucidity was too distant to grasp in her drug-induced world of calm. She couldn't even work up a decent tear. "Its too late for Lucien. But, maybe not for John Mark. Help him. Don't let him go." There was a sharp jab in her right bicep, nothing too painful, just a little poke, and then the warmth of chemicals spreading through her system. She forced her eyes to stay open and focus on the woman who, like her, had lost so much. But, unlike her, still had hope. Which had left Alex the moment Lucien drew his last breath.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," Robbie whispered, forcing her eyes from Alex's tortured stare. She handed the flashlight clutched in her left hand to Janine. For a second, as the flashlight passed between them, her fingertips brushed across Janine's. Their hands met and they gave one another's fingers a gentle squeeze. In the midst of all this pain and suffering, when so much hung in the balance, Robbie knew she'd made a good friend.

Robbie trotted down the tunnel away from the huddled mass of people. Turning back, she saw Alex, her eyes forced wide by sheer will, watching her, battling against the doctor's meds and Janine, who shot her a hollow, but hopeful smile. She was not alone in this fight. No matter what the outcome or how badly it went. She would never be alone.

Robbie had no trouble deciding which way to go. The woods were dark. The familiar trees cast sinister shadows around her. Finally one with her hunter, she sniffed the night air, catching John Marks scent mixed with the stink of spilled blood and the thick, cloying stench of death. Nothing stood in her path; she leapt over fallen trees and thick underbrush as if they weren't there, barreling through the darkness at tops speed to get to him. His scent grew stronger with every footfall carrying her closer to the battle. He wasn't far now. But, neither was the battle.

Shadows rushed toward her. Rogues. She'd know their scent anywhere. Determined not to let anything come between her and John Mark, she scrambled behind the fat trunk of an oak, gnarled with age, and held her breath. The rogues stumbled as they caught her scent and darted, not toward her, but away. Three of them, she couldn't tell anything beyond that in the heavy cover of the dark. It was obvious they were deserting the fight. Running...away. A part of her wished she could go with them. The part that was terrified of plunging head first into a battle she was not prepared to fight, wanted to flee to safety. She couldn't run away. John Mark had asked her to be brave. And that was what she was going to do. Ducking out from behind the cover of the tree, she ran toward the thick of the fighting.

Robbie skirted the battlefield, crouching low in the brush. Scrambling to stay out of the fight and to avoid unwanted attention. "John Mark," she whispered desperately. He was hurt. The scent of his blood was thick on her tongue. Nauseating. Mixed with the heavy grunts of the warriors and the snick of steel against steel. She didn't want to die. But, she wouldn't lose John Mark because she was afraid. How could she live with herself if she froze and did nothing when there might have been something she could have done to save him? Crawling on all fours, she searched the thick brambles and bushy pines for him. "John Mark!"

John Mark faded in and out of consciousness. Above all the noise of the battle, he could have sworn he heard Robbie, her voice frantic and desperate, calling his name. She shouldn't be here. She was safe. He'd left her in the mines. His delusional mind was making this up to torment him. The stories of what people saw in the shadowy land between life and death were greatly over exaggerated. Where was his peaceful shore? Where was Kokumthena? Hearing Robbie cry his name in a crazed whisper. Even the slightest thought that she might actually be here, risking herself for him, was more torturous than the pits of hell.

He had to get up. Protect Robbie. Too bad, his body wasn't up for the job. His body, whatever magic fueled it, was trying to repair the damage the rogue inflicted. But, he'd lost too much blood and the wound was so deep. His healing abilities were having a hell of a time compensating. Uselessly, his limbs flailed, managing to do nothing but kick at the dead leaves and brush, he tried to roll to his feet. He tried. He really did. The pain had him panting, flat on his back, staring up at the fat moon lazily tracking across the night sky. He couldn't lift a finger let alone wield the blade clutched in his fist. He couldn't protect anybody. Succumbing to the blackness swirling in his addled mind, he managed to croak out her name before the pain took him to places he didn't want to go.

Robbie crawled over to John Mark. There was so much blood. The ground was slick beneath her palms. Coated thick with it as it spilled out of the wound in his gut. He was barely conscious. His eyes, dulled and hazy, rolled to look up at her. "Robbie," he croaked, lifting his fingers, tacky with gore, to her cheek.

Robbie swallowed back her horror, mind racing to figure out how to help him. They had to get the hell out of here. The fighting was too close. Desperately, she wrapped her hands around his broad shoulders to drag him deeper into the meager cover provided by the copse of pines and brush. Her feet scrabbled for traction against the blanket of dried, fallen needles and ground, muddied with his blood. He was too heavy to move. She couldn't budge him an inch. "Tell me what to do John Mark, tell me!"

Fingers trembling, Robbie pressed her hand against the deep gash in John Mark's belly. She had to stop the bleeding. He was going to die, right here in her arms if she didn't do something. Gasping at his cry of agony, she blinked back tears. He needed blood. And she had nothing. No way to provide it. She couldn't leave him to get help. And no matter how desperately she wanted to save him, she wouldn't risk the life of a human being to do it. Blood seeped through her fingers. Her botched first aid attempt wasn't helping him. It was causing him terrible pain and the bleeding seemed to speed up. "Kokumthena," John Mark muttered, regaining a moment's consciousness before he faded out again.

"No!" Robbie cried out, shaking him hard, trying desperately to keep him awake. "You can't have him!" she shouted into the dark, daring the goddess to take him away from her. She was going to save her man. Even if she had to bring down heaven and take the goddess on to do it. Desperate in her need to protect John Mark from the hands of death, she bit down on her wrist and held the dripping wound to his lips. Her blood had to be enough. He could have every last drop. As long as he lived, it didn't matter. Death could have her instead, if that's what it took to save him.

She didn't want to be left behind again. Her parents had gone to the spirit world. And she'd be damned if John Mark was going there without her. Death could take them both. Robbie gasped as John Mark latched on to her wrist. Instinctively drawing in her essence as his body took what it needed. Her mind swirled as he drank in needy gulps and hard pulls from her very soul. She closed her eyes and surrendered, letting him take from her. The world quieted and stilled, slowing to a single heartbeat they shared between them. Death was so easy, so much easier than going on without him. Willingly, she let it pull her down into its dark embrace.

The pain was fading. Robbie lay in a heap over his body. Her fingers wrapped around the tattered remains of his t-shirt. He was weak and dizzied. Healing. Slowly, but healing, thanks to her. She'd damn near bled herself out to save him. The battle was a distant memory. Did they win? Did they lose? Did it matter? It did. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

The world was quiet. So quiet and calm, he could hear the morning dew collecting on the bodies of the dead scattered on the field. Her chest rose and fell with the inhale and exhale of breath from her lips. Dawn hummed on the horizon with the promise of a new day. John Mark didn't have the energy to be pissed at Robbie. He was alive. Robbie was alive. Soon enough, the dead would be counted and mourned.

God Lucien, the thought slammed him like a hammer in the chest. He was gone. His mentor and his friend...gone. He couldn't hold onto the thought for long before the blackness of unconscious gnawed at the edges of his mind. He should feel guilty that Robbie and he had survived when Lucien hadn't. That he was celebrating their lives when so many had been lost. But, he couldn't stifle his joy at being alive. He was happy. So happy.

*******

Lucien waded out into the river. The water wasn't too cold. The water wasn't too hot. It was...perfect. Like everything else in this place...simply perfect. He was the only flawed thing. Him. Wasn't he supposed to be infused with joy? Wasn't he supposed to embrace his death? Funny really, the whole thing happened so fast. One minute he was and then the next...he wasn't. Death hadn't hurt at all. It was what had come after that had hurt. Leaving Alex behind.

Lucien stood in the placid water. Smack dab in the middle, looking over his shoulder to one shore and glancing ahead to the other side. Stuck. He was a warrior. Couldn't he fight this? Battle death? Beat it down and win? He wasn't done with his life yet! He wasn't finished! The current picked up speed, battling against his legs. The wind was pushing at his back, urging him forward. Death owed him at least some sort of a consolation prize for being the good little soldier and dying for the cause. He wasn't having it! He wasn't going! He wasn't leaving! No peaceful retreat for him. NO SIR! He'd find a way!

















Chapter 48

Robbie regained consciousness as the first golden rays of dawn lit the sky. The events of the past night seemed miles away, almost as if they hadn't happened at all and the whole thing had been a dream. Still fuzzy, she worked to clear her mind and make sense of it. She was weak from feeding John Mark. Smiling, she felt the rise and fall of his chest. He was alive!

Timidly, she lifted her head and looked him over. They were both covered in a layer of thick, tacky crimson gore. But, his wound was almost gone. Reduced from a gaping hole in his belly to an angry, red scar with puffy puckered edges. She'd done it! She'd told Death to fuck off and get the hell away from her man and she'd won!

Laughing seemed odd, given the situation. But, her mind had all it could take and she couldn't hold back. Robbie rolled off John Mark and pulled her weary body into a sit beside him. He looked almost boyish, his face lax with sleep, devoid of the mask of grim determination he'd worn the last time she'd seen him. Her heart should be heavy with remorse and sorrow. Lucien was dead. She did feel sorry for Alex. Felt bad that she didn't feel worse for her. But, with John Mark alive and breathing, the only emotion she could manage to muster was joy. Shamed by her giddiness, she sat on her haunches, watching the miracle of John Mark, alive and kicking, because of her.

The battleground was quiet and still, with the stench of death lingering heavily in the air. Fingers of thick, gray mist, pungent with smoke from the smoldering lodge, wound through the trees. God, where was everyone? It was too quiet...too still. Even if they'd lost, shouldn't someone be here inventorying the dead?

Edgily, Robbie reached out and pried John Mark's blade out of his clenched fist. The weapon was awkward in her small grip. Heavy and unwieldy, lethally sharp, and deadly in the right hands, too bad she had no idea of how to use it. Footsteps whispered along the dewy grass, growing closer and closer. She nudged John Mark with the hilt clutched in her hand. He was too out of it to wake. Wobbly, blinking against the rising dawn, she forced her body to stand. Feet spread wide, she wrestled with the weapon. Through the trees, a female walked out onto the battlefield. Kore! The bitch was still alive! And she'd be damned. If she hadn't let death hadn't get its hands on John Mark, she'd let Kore!

Kore picked her way though the bodies, tallying her losses. Her makeshift army was destroyed. Cut down by the Sons. Saved her the trouble of having to do it herself. Her bodyguard hovered close to her side. "Bastards," she hissed from perfectly tinted, red lips. "Useless," she cursed, kicking a severed head out of her path with the toe of her boot. The head bounced into the woods, it's bloodied blonde hair trailing behind it like streamers at a party.

Another attack of this magnitude would take time to plan. The next time she would create her own band of soldiers. Faithful. Powerful. Strong enough to cut the Sons to shreds. The rogues who weren't amongst the dead had abandoned her in the heat of the fight. She'd deal with them later. Make them pay for their lack of devotion. If the Sons thought this was over they were sadly mistaken. She would get her hands on that redheaded bitch responsible for her brother's death. And then, after maybe a century or two, she'd be back for the rest of them.

That redheaded cunt was around here somewhere. Kore could smell her. Hear her simpering someplace nearby. Practically feel her eyes, watching her from the periphery of the field. Too bad, she had to kill her quickly. The bitch deserved to suffer.

"Mistress, we cut down many of The Sons. They have been severely weakened," Her bodyguard said, bowing low and watching Kore warily. When she was this angry, she tended to turn her rage on other people. Even though he'd risked his own neck to keep her alive, it wouldn't stop her from turning her seething fury on him. "Perhaps we should leave this for another time." His eyes scanned the woods, searching for movement in the trees. They were out in the open easily visible and vulnerable.

"Idiot," Kore hissed, ignoring his warning. The man was a tool to be used as she saw fit. She wasn't running like a dog with its tail between its legs. She'd dealt the Sons a hard blow last night. The death of their leader was something they wouldn't forget. But, her bloodlust wasn't satisfied quite yet. The redheaded whore responsible for her brother's death was too close to be ignored. As for the Sons, she knew when to cut her losses. There'd be another time.

Kore's bodyguard narrowed his eyes, spotting movement in the tree line. The Sons were closing in on them. Better, Kore forget the redhead she was so intent upon and live to fight another day than to get him killed protecting her ass while she reaped her vengeance. "Mistress, we really must leave this place. A band of warriors draws near."