The Revered (The Earth Epsilon Wars, Book 3) Read online

  But she was still being dragged along by the other wolf. She tried stomping its head with the heel of her combat boot, but the animal continued to drag her. She may as well have been hitting it with a pillow. She began slashing wildly again but was unable to reach it. Her blows were becoming increasingly erratic, her breathing panicked, her mind flayed with fear. She was being dragged to her death. Through her jumbled peripheral, she could make out the other wolves pacing restlessly now, each one waiting with anticipation for their turn to attack, their eyes glowing hungrily as she was dragged closer and closer to them. She also caught a glimpse of Matt in the distance, still fighting the other two wolves as they snarled and ripped at him, black fur swarming, tugging and tearing. “Dad!” she screamed. “Get off him!”

  Grunting, she swung back around and bent her knee, bringing the wolf close enough to snatch it by the ears, purposely drawing herself closer to it. Then, she brought the blade down on the wolf in one, steady, cleaving motion. It struck the base of the wolf’s neck. She started hacking and wedging the blade deeper, both hands gripping her knife handle. The crazed animal howled as tendon separated and bone popped loose. Still gripping her knife, she finally shoved the mortally wounded thing off her lap and wearily climbed to her feet, her eyes widening as another horrible realization immediately took shape.

  Two more wolves were rocketing out of the darkness, headed for her at full sprint.

  Cut off from her father, she exhaled with total, crushing defeat. They were outnumbered in every sense of the word. This was not going to stop until they were both dead. “No!” she yelled hoarsely. “Back off! Stay away!” With all her energy spent, she turned and drunkenly stumbled forward, her heart thundering as she hobbled away as fast as she could. Abandoning her father never crossed her mind. She was merely trying to gain enough distance to recover.

  What neither Ally nor the wolves could see from this position, was that she was headed straight towards a waist-high thicket of scrub that obscured the edge of the ridge. There was nothing beyond it but a vertical drop. When the two wolves collided into her from behind, the full weight of each one sent her tumbling forward, right over the edge.

  All three of them smashed into the freezing water below.

  Now roaring like a madman, using whatever final ounce of strength he could muster, Matt relentlessly slammed his free elbow into the wolf’s jaw that was still thrashing on his side. The enraged animal could only take so much punishment, and the blows were powerful enough to eventually knock it loose. Battered and bloodied, the wolf skidded back into the snow. In that second, Matt spun around and tried to smash the other one still snagged between his shoulders, but the maneuver complicated his balance, keeling him backward. He managed to correct himself, but the wolf attached to his back continued to maul him, its teeth gnashing like clattering dinner plates as it tried to reach the base of his neck. As the other wolf came in again for another frontal attack, Matt got both arms under the one behind him, torqued his body, and flung it over his shoulders into the other incoming wolf.

  They collided with a sharp and frenzied clack of bone and fur, the force of the impact sending them tumbling across the snow. As the two wolves separated and recovered, Matt breathed spit and blood then collapsed onto his back, his chest heaving, babbling words that were barely discernable as he cried out for Ally. His mind was no longer lucid. The wolves began to close in on him again, bearing serrated teeth and licking their muzzles.

  But this time, Matt was done. Exhausted beyond all mortal measure, he had finally been beaten. Cromwell had won. With everything brought to bear on him at once, he was simply too fatigued to fight any longer. As he laid there, sprawled out on his back, he was now prepared to die. There was a part of him that even welcomed it.

  With Matt’s strength completely sapped, the Alpha gave the command the other wolves had been anxiously waiting for. It was a high-pitched howl that sounded more like a war-cry. Immediately, the entire pack mobilized, hitting full stride as they all rushed in to finish off their wounded prey.

  But then, the entire forest suddenly ignited in a massive burst of blue light. It was followed by an incredibly loud thunderclap.

  FWHOOSH-BOOOM!

  The light was so blinding, and the ringing sound that accompanied the detonation, so piercing, it was enough to startle the pack, including the Alpha. A secondary light exploded again, this one emitting a circular shockwave that caused the wolves to break ranks and scatter.

  Confused and spooked, they all loped off into the darkness, yipping, and stammering as a giant black steed appeared through the treeline, grunting bestially, hoofbeats thundering as its towering form silhouetted against the snowy gloom.

  A hooded figure, wearing heavy black robes hopped down off the horse and rushed over to Matt. The shadow of his hood did little to obscure his intense eyes. “We must hurry!” he declared. Like all in this region who could speak in a foreign tongue, his English was pebbled and uneven.

  Matt paid little heed to what was now taking place around him. His eyes closed then opened again, swimming and rolling back into his skull as they scanned the trees for any sign of his daughter. “…Al… Ally…” he spluttered softly. “She’s… Ally… please… no… Ally!”

  The hooded man grabbed Matt by the arms and started dragging him towards his waiting horse. “These creatures can smell blood for miles. More will return, we must hurry!”

  “Ally— I can’t leave her…”

  “Your friend is gone. Make your peace now.”

  Before Matt was hoisted up onto the steed’s velvety hide, he gave one final scan of the terrain. He could hardly see anything except white, blurred fragments. Then, his eyes fluttered shut, time slipped, and a familiar darkness consumed him.

  She was gone.

  Twenty

  The moment Ally plummeted into the swirling black water, her major muscles cramped and spasmed. The cold shot up her spine like a lightning strike, shorting motor skills, and rendering her limbs useless as she sank deeper. All she could think about was the pain of drowning.

  But something kicked inside her. A sudden thought that seemed to rise from the center of her soul. As beautiful as this part of the world was, she was not prepared to let it take her. She still had a reason to live. She still had a mission to complete. But most importantly, she still lusted for revenge. Willing herself to move, she began to thrash and kick. The realization she had about ten seconds left before she lost consciousness was enough to cut through the all-consuming numbness that had robbed her of any action.

  In what felt like an eternity, she finally burst through the icy surface, gasping for air, her arms still fighting the relentless pull of the river’s current. Spotting the snow-crusted limb of a fallen tree, she allowed the river to carry her downstream until she drew closer to it, but as she reached for it, one of the wolves suddenly resurfaced in front of her. Half-drowned and panicked, the animal swatted the water with its huge paws to try and stay afloat. She had no choice but to duck under the thundering cataract of water again and reemerge on the other side of the tree. The wolf shot over her; its fate sealed.

  When she resurfaced, she clawed for another passing branch but was moving too fast. Her gloved hand was ripped away, the torrent pulling her under again. Then she felt something hard hit her. She broke the surface, choking and gasping, opening her water-clogged eyes to see huge rocks jutting out. Before she had ample time to recover, the current drove her into another one. This one clipped her shoulder and hip bone, spinning her like a bottle top in a whirlpool. She was now a human bumper-car. Disorientated, her head bobbed above the surface long enough for her to scream in pain before taking in another mouthful of brackish water. Traveling backward downstream, the river suddenly felt to be moving faster and more turbulent. There was also a deep rumbling sound.

  While she fought to keep her ears and eyes above water, she knew exactly where she was headed. She began scanning the frozen banks that zipped by her, panic etched across h
er face.

  Up ahead was another fallen tree protruding from the forest, half-submerged into the river. However, this one was much larger. Its gnarled trunk offered many crevices and nooks to snag onto. If she could angle herself slightly more to the right, she could purposely collide with it.

  Arms outstretched and bracing for impact, she did manage to connect with it, but her angle of approach was too awkward, and her momentum was too fast. As the undertow dragged her back down, the sound of the roaring world was once again sucked from her. Fighting her body’s urge to just give up and succumb to the icy depths, her eyes stared up at the tree branches. Outstretched like skeletal fingers, they cruelly goaded her to reach for them as they passed her by. She pushed herself up again, but the torrent was too strong, her purple lips only managing to just hover above the water before disappearing once more. Her mind was now threatening to stop working from the numbness.

  This was it. The end was close. Another minute. Maybe two.

  But suddenly underneath her, she felt the tip of her left boot scrape over something hard and flat. Miraculously, she had floated right onto the elevated ridge of a small pebble embankment. She immediately began kicking and paddling, using her legs to thrust herself upwards, breaking free of the river’s powerful grip. She grabbed hold of a branch. It snapped. She groped for another one that was much thicker and stronger, but also much more mossy and slippery. This time, she was not letting go. She fought against the current, dredging herself out of the water to pull herself up. She looped her leg over the branch and was able to haul herself onto a section of the trunk.

  Face-down on her belly, she sluggishly crab-walked on her elbows along the giant log, moving away from the surging river like a wounded reptile, spitting bile while trying to suck air into her flooded lungs. Behind her, the water roared mercilessly. She was less than one hundred meters from the edge of a massive waterfall.

  Unable to move another inch, she collapsed. She needed to rest, even if it meant freezing to death. The warm embrace of sleep awaited her. It was beckoning her. All she had to do was close her eyes and accept its lure. If she were lucky enough to wake again on this frozen trunk, without having rolled off it back into the river, she would push on. But for now, she needed rest. A convulsive shudder rippled through her body and then she passed out.

  Twenty-One

  Matt stirred awake, consciousness taunting him with little pulses of lucidity, but not quite giving him full access. Through the grogginess, he felt as if he’d been mummified in a pile of thick blankets, fastened to something flat, bumping along an uneven road. When he heard the protesting grunt of a horse near him, he clawed at the brittle blanket covering his face, his eyes squinting from the cutting wind as they peeled open.

  From what he could tell, he had been placed inside a horse-drawn cart. He lifted his weary head higher to see he was now being flanked by two additional horsemen – both wore the same hooded robes as the mysterious man who led the way on his black steed, their bodies hunched over their saddles from the sheeting snow. They made their way up a wind-swept pathway that ended before a towering door. Once they reached it, the small caravan halted.

  Matt watched the huge door split open from the middle, unseen gears grinding and jolting like a Medieval drawbridge. Thick clumps of disturbed snow fell away, revealing a large symbol carved into the door’s ancient wood; a flaming cross entwined within the five petals of a rose. Beyond the door yawned a vast stone hallway, lined with gold vigil lamps that hung from a cathedral-like ceiling, their flames flickering as they swayed in the wind.

  Overwhelmed, Matt closed his eyes and dropped his head. The black curtain of unconsciousness had fallen over him again.

  Sometime later, Matt pried his eyes open and battled his way to consciousness. Through the haze, it appeared he was lying underneath a ceiling made of stone. Its surface was bathed in a dim, but warm light. He figured there was a candle or lantern burning somewhere nearby. It was hard to tell. He was in a world of vague streaks and abstracts as he struggled to find focus. He willed himself to sit up, grimacing as the severely bruised muscles around his waist and shoulders constricted with pain.

  As he looked around the small room, his eyesight began to adjust, despite not knowing where he was. The room held no modern furniture or features, except for a heavy wooden door and the wooden cot he was lying on.

  He brought his hand up to his face, gently feeling the mounds of swelling and cuts around his cheekbones, jawline, and forehead. The corner of his right eye was crusted with dried blood, and he could still taste it in his throat as if he had just swallowed a mouthful of copper coins.

  He looked down to see he was barefoot, wearing a crude linen garment that resembled a prison jumpsuit. “The hell?” he muttered. The combat jacket, boots, and cargos Wainwright had provided him were stowed neatly in a nearby corner, minus his armored gloves and supply belt. With none of the wolves being able to penetrate the dense material, those clothes were the only thing that had saved his life. He scanned the barren room for any sign of his blaster, his face dissolving into dread when he saw nothing.

  Sensing a presence in the room with him, he wheeled around to see a hooded man standing in the far corner, watching him intently, the glint of his eyes reflecting only a pinprick of light. “How are you feeling, brother?” he asked calmly in a thick Romanian accent. “I trust you rested well?”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Iosef Cosmas. I mean you no harm.”

  “My daughter—” Matt slurred; his tone agitated as the thought of Ally in peril suddenly lanced through his mind. “My daughter— I must leave— how do I get out of here?"

  “I’m afraid we found no one else.”

  “No, she was with me,” Matt reiterated firmer this time. “I have to find her!”

  “You are lucky we found you. Those wolves were about to have their way.” Iosef shook his head and tutted. “The Master does enjoy his little games.”

  Not hearing him, and still trying to focus through the fog of confusion, Matt swung his battered legs off the bed. “She’s still out there, all by herself.”

  “Hypoxia is not uncommon with travelers who do not know these mountains. The mind can play diabolical tricks as it becomes starved of oxygen. Perhaps you imagined her.”

  Matt looked at him like he was a moron then rose from his cot, his balance unsteady. He still felt weak. “Look, I have no idea who you are, or why you brought me…” his voice trailed off, his eyes betraying a look of dawning horror. “What is this place?”

  Iosef stepped into the dim candlelight, a grin forming in the corner of his mouth. “Welcome to the Order of the Zograf.”

  Matt had to forcefully stop himself from lunging at the man and beating him senseless. Once again, he had waltzed right into Cromwell’s arms. If he was here, and Ally wasn’t, it was because Cromwell wanted it that way. That’s how it always worked.

  The wolf attack, he thought. Iosef turning up out of the blue to save him, it was all just another one of his games. Another ruse designed to lure him here. Another reminder that Cromwell was still in control.

  However, Matt had been in this position twice before, and being this close to his enemy also presented another opportunity to find him. His mind continued to race as he recounted the events of the previous few days. He idly glanced down at the time band still attached to his arm, its black surface gleaming in the candlelight, unscathed by the blistering wolf attack. Yes, Cromwell had brought him here, but maybe he was still unaware of his plans. Maybe he did not know about his deal with the Combine. That train of thought soured almost immediately. One thing Cromwell certainly would know, is with the two of them now separated it would be much harder to move against him.

  “We tried taking that off your arm while examining your wounds,” Iosef said. “What does it do?”

  With the knowledge he was now a prisoner and not a guest, Matt decided to play along as best he could. “I’m afraid I don’t really know. It
just appeared one day.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “Iosef, I must thank you for the kindness and refuge. You saved my life.” Matt’s sudden shift in tone was friendly, but not to the point of being too obvious. Knowing he was conversing with a complete zealot, possibly indoctrinated via some form of Wraith enhancement, he wanted Iosef to think he was glad to be here, unaware of his fate.

  Iosef bowed slightly before responding. “As servants of the Master, it is our duty to help those of his subjects who are in need.”

  “Tell me, where might I find the Master?”

  “Fear not, brother. The Master will call for you when ready, that I can assure you. There is still much work to do.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but I was led to believe the Zograf Order disappeared many years ago.”

  “Brother, we have not disappeared, only flourished. As a result, there are many in this world who now fear us. And rightly so because his judgment cometh. No one can escape it. But we do not serve with fear in our hearts. We have been working hard for many years, preparing for our master’s day of reckoning.”

  “For over two hundred years?”

  Iosef bowed his head. “Our order lives to serve him.”