Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📕

he added, pushing out his chest, “that you’re all thirsty. Please, bear with me a few minutes longer. Eros and I have been in discussion with other cluster leaders, and we’re told it’s not uncommon to go for generations without a trace of the Nistarim. Even if Collectors from around the globe were to unite under the same goal, we would still be shorthanded. That’s why, as of this evening, our particular cluster will be shifting strategies.”

“We’re giving up now?” It was Sol’s turn to object.

“That’s not what I said, son.”

“The dismantling of the Nistarim is what I live for.”

“An interesting statement, coming from the undead.”

“I think,” Sol said, “that you know my level of dedication. I want to demolish this vainglorious empire of men. They’re putrid, at each other’s throats constantly. My own brother was cleaved in two by a sword, a victim of their warmongering.”

“Natira was human,” Ariston specified. “Don’t confuse his sort with us.”

“His sort? What kind of talk is that? He was your son.”

“Your half brother, as I prefer to think of him. From an era long ago.”

Sol’s nose was hawklike, his eyes ablaze. “What about Salome, my baby sister?”

“I’ll grant you, she came up out of the grave like the rest of us. She erred, though, didn’t she? And she paid the price.” Ariston panned to his first wife. “Sorrow will cloud your eyes, if you let it.”

Sol moved to Shelamzion’s side. “Leave my mother out of this.”

Barabbas lifted the torch higher, until crackling flames outlined corded muscles and the thatch of chest hair at his shirt collar. His message was clear: he would not brook any trouble. His masculine odor clogged Erota’s nostrils.

“Sol, hear me out. We want the same things,” Ariston said. “It’s just our methods that differ.”

“I’ve heard the excuses before, father.”

“Not excuses. Explanations.”

“Semantics. You’ve spent too much time over these past few years dabbling in corporate courses.”

“You’d be surprised. There’s much in there that suits our agenda. And don’t deride the human capacity for molding thoughts and belief systems. You think we know how to work them? Bah. They’re experts are tearing apart the mind-sets of their own kind. Which,” Ariston said, “is the tactic we’re going to start focusing on. It’s no mistake that we of the Akeldama have been given room to roam here at the end of this century, this millennium, and I believe this cluster is poised to make an undeniable impact. Our time is near.”

“Let’s hope so,” Sol muttered.

Ariston turned toward Eros. “They’re growing tired of my voice.”

“Would you like me to handle it from here, Lord?”

“Do as you see fit.”

Eros, Erota’s olive-skinned father, was ever calm. He and his sisters Auge and Hermione took after their mother, Dorotheus—aristocratic, self-possessed, an almost regal air about them. Their very arrival was known to have stilled rooms of strangers.

The Grecian house leader faced the gathering and, with a level gaze, secured each revenant’s attention. “Here’s the deal, my friends. Ariston and I agree it’s time for a complete revamping—if you’ll pardon the terrible pun—of our methods. We are hoping to breathe some new life—”

A few groans.

“—into our cluster.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I think we’re all aware of the difficulties we’ve had tracking a lone mother and child. Their trail ran cold before even crossing the Romanian border, and years later we’re no closer to finding which rock they scurried under. Naturally, we’ve gone on investigative treks into surrounding regions, sniffing for clues, but we’ve come up empty-handed. Does anyone else wonder if there wasn’t some trickery in the clues they left us?”

“The thought’s crossed my mind,” Ariston confessed.

“Mine too,” Eros said. “I feel like we were deceived. And I, for one, am tired of sipping on the Ukrainians’ irradiated blood. If I were alive, I’d be dead by now.”

“He’d be dead by now.” Little Kyria snickered.

“That’s right, cutie.” Eros ruffled her hair. “So it’s time we go about this more methodically. We do know that the Concealed Ones are meant to carry the sorrows of the world. Some of the legends speculate that when any one of them leaves this earth, he is so frozen with despair that he must spend a thousand years in heaven being thawed by God’s own hand.”

Kyria’s exaggerated shiver earned a pearl-white grin from Eros.

He said, “Are any of you familiar with the Andalusian Jews, in Spain? Back in the seventh century, these people venerated a particular rock that was shaped like a teardrop. Do you know why? They believed it was one of the Nistarim, the Lamed Vov. In their minds, the rock was a humble soul petrified by humanity’s suffering.”

“If they were right, sir,” Erota said, “wouldn’t the world have already collapsed?”

“It should’ve. But sadly, another rose to fill his place.”

“Will this ever end? I mean, how many of these people are there?”

“That’s the very point of this discussion. We’ve been focused on hunting down individuals of the Nistarim—all well and good—but it’s been ineffectual, hasn’t it? Our new plan of attack is to add to their joint sorrows by shoveling trouble and pain upon humans everywhere. One by one, the burden will increase till the Nistarim crumble beneath the combined weight. It’ll involve each of us on more personal levels, zeroing in on unique targets. Hunters and prey.”

“A rousing speech,” Sol said. “But how does it work in the real world?”

“Take my daughter as an example. Erota’s upcoming trek to America will allow her to tap a whole new sector for long-term sustenance, exploring recent rumors, even while piling despair upon the Nistarim. Already, with her particular set of . . . uh, assets, she’s brought grief to quite a few families. A quickie here. A jilted spouse over there. She makes it look easy.”

“Dad.” Erota arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying I’m easy?”

“Please,” Sol fumed. “Is the entire Eros household so uncouth? I don’t doubt Erota’s abilities, but”—he took an elbow in the ribs from his wife—“I do have some logistical concerns. Drained corpses raise suspicions, and we’ve