The Order, page 9
Fully awake now, Leah seemed powerless to stop whatever was happening, as if her own body was beyond her control. Her frantic gaze went from Cain’s face to Gillian’s and back again.
Cain had to end this quickly, before it was too late.
He set the lamp down, reached into his pack, and removed a vial filled with a white powder of Torajan jungle tree root and bone mixed by a priest of Rathma. He uncorked the vial, poured the powder into his palm, and blew it into Leah’s face.
The girl sighed, her eyes rolled back into her head, and she slumped back onto the bed, unconscious.
Quickly Cain turned toward Gillian, who had been released from whatever had been holding her and was going for the knife on the floor. He threw the remains of the powder in her direction, and as it drifted over her, she dropped like a stone, her legs buckling loosely as her head hit the wall with a heavy thud.
The house was suddenly silent as the energy left the room all at once. Cain checked Gillian’s pulse where she lay and found it hammering at an unbelievable speed, her breath coming in fast, shallow gasps. His guts crawled. The necromancer’s powder was a gateway to a plane between the living and the dead—not enough and it would cause visions and confusion in people who remained conscious, but too much could be far more dangerous, sending people to a place from which they might never return. He had not been able to measure the amount he had used, but there was no way to change that now.
He went to the bed and checked Leah, who was sleeping soundly, her pulse steady, her face calm, almost angelic. An unexpected surge of emotion washed over him: this little girl was in the grip of something she could not control or understand. She did not know her own history and had just awakened to the woman she thought was her mother attacking her with a knife. Whatever was happening was not her doing, and she was both confused and terrified.
He had to find a better way to protect her. He had to help her, somehow. But he was no hero: he had proven that time and time again, and what could he do with a small child like this? He was an old man with enough problems of his own. If he did not find the key to stopping the evil that was coming to Sanctuary, none of this would matter, and they would all be dead, or worse.
Leah’s pulse remained strong. Cain managed to get his hands under Gillian’s arms, but carrying her was nearly impossible. His knees and back screamed at him until he finally gave up. Leaving her where she lay, he picked up Leah and her clothes and shoes and carried her through the gloom to the front room, where he set her as gently as he could on the rug before the fireplace. He lit a second lantern from the embers still glowing in the fireplace, washing the small room with light and banishing the shadows that seemed to pool around them. Leah did not stir.
Back in the bedroom, Gillian’s breathing had eased, and her heart had slowed its frantic pace. Cain managed to get her off the floor and onto Leah’s bed. Then he closed the door and threw the latch.
Satisfied for now, he took the knife and went back to Leah, going over in his mind what had just happened. The girl’s power seemed to be defensive, reacting only when she was threatened, but it was stronger than a simple spell. He had never seen anything quite like it before. Leah’s real mother had been a powerful witch, and it was possible she had passed her abilities to her daughter. But witches were not mages. Trained sorcerers were able to control the elements in similar ways, harnessing their power to influence the physical realm, but it took years of training to control such things. For a small girl like this to do so—and to do it without a conscious knowledge of the craft—was shocking. And potentially very dangerous.
There must be someone who could provide better counsel. Almost in spite of himself, Cain thought of the mages Kulloom had mentioned. If they were studying the ways of the Horadrim, perhaps they would be able to help. True Horadrim would understand her gifts and be able to guide her through the stormy waters she would enter as she grew to adulthood.
They may not even exist, his own mind insisted. But you, old man, are just a scholar playing at these things. You are no mentor. Without them, what hope do you have?
The smell of blood was still thick in the air. He looked into the kitchen and found the carcass of a large rat. It had been decapitated and partially disemboweled, as if Gillian had been preparing it for their meal.
Too exhausted to be disgusted at the thought, he swept the remains into a refuse barrel and sat down in the chair, watching Leah’s sleeping form. The powder would keep her under for at least another couple of hours, but he would have to decide what to do with her and Gillian before then. This situation could not remain the way it had been, yet he could not think of a remedy.
The burden of this new responsibility bore down on him like a heavy weight, and his dream from the night before drifted back to him: hiding in the shadows of the Zakarum cathedral with Gillian, and turning to find a monstrous figure looming over them, the other woman and child close behind. He’d imagined a look of reproach in their eyes, an accusation that he had tried to bury for nearly fifty years: Why couldn’t you save us?
That was not how it had really happened. There had been no hulking figure, no unsettlingly familiar woman and child. King Leoric had been slain by Lachdanan, but things had only worsened after that. Lachdanan had been cursed, and the townspeople began to disappear. The madness creeping through their little town and the strange sounds and glimpses of demonic creatures had sent many of the people who were left fleeing, and brought adventurers from across the land, looking to become heroes or intending to pillage the riches they had heard were hidden under the ancient Horadric building.
One by one, in spite of Cain’s warnings, these wanderers had descended into the depths of the catacombs, and their screams had echoed back through the dark corridors as they had perished against the black hordes of Diablo.
Cain had been wracked for so long by guilt over his lack of faith, his insistence on turning away from his own mother’s teachings and the ways of the Horadrim. He had read obsessively through the early morning hours, poring over every shred of information he could find and joining others at the Tavern of the Rising Sun to recount the histories. But he was too old and frail to have been able to go himself to face the demon hordes, and he had not been able to make the others understand what they were up against until it was too late.
More warriors had come, some of them more impressive than others. But everything had seemed hopeless until the king’s oldest son had returned from the disastrous attack on Westmarch: Aidan, who had left seeming like little more than a spoiled child, had come back an accomplished young man. Cain had barely recognized him, and it had swiftly become a measure of respect for Cain to refer to Aiden as simply “the hero.” Cain had explained what he had learned from Jered’s texts and those he had found in the cathedral, trying to warn Aidan about what he would find in the catacombs below the old structure.
But nothing could have prepared the young man for the horror of what was to come.
The corridors of the inn were dark and empty, whatever ghosts that lived here now silent and still. Cain found Aidan sitting on the edge of the bed, his head cradled in his hands. He was dressed in full armor, his heavy sword at his side.
As the old man entered, Aidan looked up, and for a single moment Cain saw beneath the young man’s carefully constructed shell: a mixture of anguish and white-hot rage twisted his handsome features.
“My father is dead,” he said, “my brother missing. The entire town is in shambles. How can you tell me to wait?”
“I did not mean to make light of your loss,” Cain said, as gently as he could. “But before you go down there, you must better understand what you are facing—”
“I understand enough.” The young man stood and took up his sword, running it into its sheath. He was calm once again. “The demon responsible for this abomination must be sent back to the Burning Hells. You’ve said so yourself.” He crossed the room and put his hand on Cain’s shoulder. “I am not the scared boy you once knew, my friend. I have studied and trained with the best teachers in Kurast. I have fought the brave soldiers of Westmarch. I will face the demonspawn, and I will strike them down one by one until I find the source and let him taste the edge of my blade.”
“The depths of these catacombs will be overrun by legions of demons, lesser ones and those more powerful,” Cain said. “Lazarus has led many of the people to their deaths. There will be . . . those you know, those you have loved, back from the dead and horribly changed. They may eat human flesh, desecrate the bodies of those in their path. Your father may be one of them.”
Aidan’s eyes grew dark, flashing with anger. “Lazarus is a traitor, and I will have his head before I am finished. I will do whatever it takes to drive these hellish forces from Sanctuary.”
“And your brother, Albrecht.” Cain placed his own hand over the hero’s own, interrupting him. He needed to make the young man see the truth, before it was too late. “What will you do, should you have to face him? He may have suffered an even more terrible fate. It is possible he is corrupted—”
“Then I will strike him down, too. It is my duty to end his suffering.”
“At least allow others to accompany you. There is a rogue from the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye who is of sound spirit, and a Vizjerei sorcerer—”
A horrible, wrenching scream split the night. Aidan rushed to the small window, then ran from the room. Cain followed as fast as he could manage, his old legs aching as he descended the stairs and emerged to find Aidan kneeling over a wounded woman, another form standing nearby with a pitchfork drenched in blood. It was Farnham, who had followed Lazarus into the catacombs and returned unable to speak of what had happened. After bouts of drinking, he had tried several times to return to the depths, and it appeared he had finally succeeded, only to return again to the surface, bringing someone along with him.
“Help her!” Farnham pleaded helplessly. He looked around in a near panic. “Where is the healer, Pepin?” His arms were covered in what appeared to be bite marks, and his scalp had been torn, a flap of skin and hair hanging by his ear. He did not seem to notice his own wounds, but remained fixated on the woman.
Cain moved closer. The woman’s pretty face had been split from cheek to jaw. For a moment he thought it was Gillian, but this one’s figure was slimmer, more girlish. Farnham’s daughter, no more than sixteen. There were other wounds to her torso, gaping slashes as if from a cleaver. Aidan had put his hand on her face, trying to hold the flesh there together, but she twisted her head and moaned, and his fingers slipped in the blood.
Abruptly her body convulsed upward, spine arching as she began to shake. The skin of her face slid away, exposing the bone of her jaw, and fresh blood flowed down her neck. Aidan tried to hold her still again as Farnham rushed forward and Cain stepped in front of him.
“What happened,” he said, “in the tombs? You must tell me.”
Farnham shook his head. Drops of blood spattered Cain’s face. “They followed Lazarus to their doom, along with the other fools. I went down again and found my daughter alive. The rest are dead. They’re all dead. Ah, the earth is cursed; the creatures down there are abominations!”
“Who did this to you?”
“The Butcher and his blade,” Farnham said. “He slaughtered most of the people himself. I faced him again, but we managed to hide until we could escape. I’ve seen his killing room, filled with bodies and surrounded by those who still walk upright. But they are not human, Deckard.” Farnham’s bloody fingers clutched at Cain’s tunic, leaving streaks of red. “They . . . bit me.”
The girl on the ground made a gurgling, choking sound. Farnham cried out and left Cain to kneel at her side, holding her hand. Aidan stood up, his eyes telling the story: she was lost.
Cain took him aside. “She may rise again, after her soul departs,” he said quietly. “I will get Farnham away from here. You must do what is necessary to end her suffering.”
Aidan nodded. “And then I am going down into those tombs to end this,” he said. “The terror must stop now.”
An unearthly howl rose up from the direction of the cathedral, echoing across the dark, empty landscape and sending chills down Cain’s spine. The howl was followed by a shuddering thud, and the chittering laughter of the damned.
Something moved in the shadows of the woods, something large and inhuman.
Cain looked around at the abandoned town, the only home he had ever known. His own house was only a few steps from here, the same home he had grown up in with his mother, and where she had told him her stories of Jered Cain, Tal Rasha, and the Horadrim, heroes who had battled the Prime Evils to the end.
His destiny, unfulfilled. So many had died because he had refused to listen, had ignored his mother’s warnings and the books that had lain gathering dust while he pretended to pursue more intellectual pursuits. He had not believed in such things as demons, but their time had come, nevertheless. The weight of his guilt was crushing.
I have let you down, he thought. I have let you all down, and now there will be hell to pay.
The smell of smoke drifted over him. The town was burning . . .
Deckard Cain awoke with a start, the image of the dying girl still fresh in his mind. He had fallen asleep in his chair, watching over Leah; he could see her in the flickering light from the lantern, still lying motionless on the rug near the hearth.
Something was wrong. The lantern’s wick had gone out. But the smoke and the light of the flames from the dream still lingered.
Tristram didn’t burn. Not then.
Alarmed, he snapped more fully awake. The flickering light came from the hallway.
Cain stood up and moved as quickly as he could manage. Smoke was pouring from around the door to Leah’s bedroom, flames licking the dry wood like demon tongues. Already he could feel the heat on his skin. He muttered the words to release the spell he had set on the door, then edged closer, trying to reach the handle. The heat was too strong to get close enough.
He had left the other lantern burning inside the room. Somehow, it had set fire to the wood. And now Gillian was trapped.
“Gillian!” he shouted. There was no answer from within.
Smoke swirled around his head, entering his lungs and making him cough. The taste was bitter on his lips. He tried to cover his face with his sleeve, but it didn’t help, and he felt himself growing light-headed.
“What’s happening?”
Leah stood behind him, her little face white, eyes wide with fear. She had dressed and put on her shoes, and her voice held a hint of barely restrained panic.
“The house has caught fire,” Cain said. “We’re in terrible danger.”
“But my mother—”
“She is beyond our help,” he said. “The heat is too strong for me to enter the room. We must go now.”
Leah shook her head, her hands clenched at her sides. “No! We can’t leave her!”
“There’s no time to waste, Leah. Don’t be foolish.” Cain went to her and tried to direct her back to the front room, but she stood as solid as a rock. He felt the need to do something, calm her in some way in order to get her outside, but he didn’t know how. He was used to giving advice to men who were going into battle, men who were logical, reasonable, who understood something of the risks and could make a decision based on facts. What did you say to a child in this situation? Gillian is likely dead, and we will be too if we do not act quickly? How did you deal with such a horror?
A rumbling noise shook the house, and something shattered in the kitchen. Leah had squeezed her eyes shut, her body beginning to tremble. Cain felt the same strange drop in temperature he had experienced earlier in the girl’s room, when Gillian had come at her with a knife, and a charge in the air like an invisible presence prickled his skin. Wood popped and groaned all around them, and a great whooshing noise came from the closed bedroom.
Something else shattered from the direction of the fireplace, and almost immediately Cain saw the reddish light of flames dancing across the hallway walls. He rushed to the other room and found the second lantern had fallen to the floor, splashing the nearly dead embers of the fire with fuel, which had ignited. A line of flames ran across the floorboards to the table.
If they did not hurry, they would be cut off from the front door.
Cain returned to the girl. She was still standing rigidly where he’d left her, eyes closed, hands clenched. Her skin was shiny with sweat. He got the feeling she wasn’t really there anymore, as if something had swept in and carried her away, leaving her body behind.
Had she done that, knocking over the lantern? What was happening to her?
As he took her by the shoulders, he had the chance to wonder for just a moment whether it was a good idea to touch her before the shock hit him like a monstrous wave of fire, shooting up through his arms and throwing him backward. He caught a glimpse of Leah’s eyes opening, that same confused, frightened look in them that he’d seen when Gillian had attacked her in her room, and at the same time he felt something else across a vast ocean of space. A presence, Cain thought, that was not purely human, soaring overhead with huge, black wings, sensing them somewhere close, but not quite finding them.
Then he hit the wall, the shock running up through him like a thousand ants biting his skin. Somehow he managed to keep his feet, the familiar pain in his back returning tenfold. Leah shrank from him, shaking her head, her hands up and waving as if she could push away everything that was happening to her.
It was all too much for her to bear. Her eyes rolled up into her head, and she slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Whatever strange energy that had possessed her was gone now, and Cain managed to pick her up and put her over his shoulder. He returned to the front room and found his staff and rucksack in the thickening smoke, the weight of Leah’s body making him stumble and nearly fall as he picked them up. Relief washed over him after he had his books and artifacts, but it was short-lived.
