Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (dar e dil novel online reading .TXT) 📗

if I go in all the way?”

“Not gonna happen, kid. First, we notify the IAA.”

Based near Herod’s Gate, the Israel Antiquities Authority was zealous about preserving the land’s history, and Lars knew construction would be postponed until archaeologists could study and catalog the cavern’s contents.

Thiago spoke up. “So, boss, does this mean our workday’s over?”

“Looks that way.”

The crew roared their approval.

“Go home,” the foreman said to the group. “Go on, get out of here, and for your families’ sakes take good, long showers. You stink, every last one of you.”

“You.” Thiago pulled Lars aside. “You earned us some time off. Come along, and I’ll buy you all the Maccabee beer you can drink.”

Lars Marka was hero for a day. If only his father could see him now.

Grinning, he said, “Sounds good.”

“Of course it does, of course.” His coworker gave a nod and a wink. “And while we’re at it, maybe you and me, we can talk.”

“About what?”

“A friend of mine, he owns a bar just a few blocks away. We’ll talk there.”

In the moonlight, the lead Collector watched his cluster gather round. He counted eighteen, including himself. Ephemeral wisps. Mere hints of the magnificent creatures they had once been.

“How was it opened?” one wanted to know, her words feathery reverberations in the night. “Are we certain the pact was upheld?”

“Rest assured, a human was responsible. A kid named Lars Marka.”

“And his Power of Choice was never violated?”

“Free will, ever at his disposal,” the leader said. “Oh, I’ll take credit for distracting the young man—fatherly accusations and a measure of self-pity—but the results lie squarely on his shoulders. For us, this means the effects of the Separation end tonight.”

The boisterous cheers of those present did little more than stir a breeze in the olive branches.

“Soon,” he added, “we’ll get to enjoy the Old City’s sights and smells.”

“And things we can touch,” said one of the males, with a longing sigh.

“Don’t forget. Pleasure and pain often come wrapped together.”

“Some of us like pain.”

“Not I,” a female said. “But it’s better than total deprivation.”

The leader said, “More than anything, I crave a good meal. All those delicious textures. Sugar cane and plump peaches. Cardamom, dill, and ginger.”

The group fell silent, their pent-up desires pawing at the air.

“So what’s in there?” another ventured.

“Three family caves. You’ll have a variety to choose from.”

“And you’re certain this will work?”

“I have no doubt.”

“Has it ever been done before, this reanimation of the dead?”

“Of course,” the leader said.

“By Collectors?”

“Enough with your questions. We’re here, and the earth is open.”

He saw no reason to elucidate what his contingent already knew about the site. This soil was a stew of malevolent possibilities. While many of their number had lost patience and moved on centuries ago to different clusters—as permitted by the Principles of Cluster Survival—these eighteen had staked claim to this spot and settled in for a long vigil, joined together by a moribund hope.

Hope for access to indestructible hosts. To immortal habitations.

Jerusalem’s undead.

“What’re we waiting for, then? It’s time to begin.”

Another cheer.

“These tombs have been anointed for our purposes. I want each of you to taste and see so that you can judge the memories in the bones, but do your best to leave things undisturbed. Are you ready to proceed?”

“We’re ready,” came the joint reply. “Facilis descensus Averno.”

Beaming, the leader translated: “The descent to hell is easy.”

He released his shadowy grasp on a tree and let a gust of wind herd him through the square opening. He was in.

CHAPTER

THREE

Cuvin

Gina ran a finger over the split skin beneath her ear, felt a flare of heat where the dagger had left its mark. It wasn’t so bad. She could handle the pain, and she would wear high-collared blouses until a scab formed and fell away.

Was it normal to feel so lightheaded, though?

She wanted to pull the drape across her doorway and curl up on her bed, but that would only invite her mother’s curiosity. It was best to do something productive. Not only would it placate Nicoleta, it would dis-tract Gina from the dizzying emptiness in her mind.

More than the physical discomfort of the cuts, she disliked their effect on her thinking patterns. In the past, the tip of the knife had seemed to stab at the mirror of her self-awareness, leaving only jagged bits. With each incision, with each drop bled from her, she’d felt thoughts tumble and shatter. If only she could gather and fit those shards together, she had the sense they would create a tableau of mysterious beauty.

But that was one chore her calloused hands could not accomplish.

So, had Teo really kissed her this morning? He lived with his uncle Vasile, the village prefect, and they owned no goats. Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing.

And why would she have touched lips with him in the first place?

She eased through the screen door, past snoozing Treia, and reached for the laundry on the line between the house and the wooden gate. One by one, she removed clothespins and draped dry garments over her arm.

Clip-snap. Clip-snap.

She found comfort in the routine.

Once she had cleared the first of three lines, she hooked the plastic basket with her foot and dropped the load into it. Her arm brushed against her pocket. She reached inside, found a bundle of blackberries, and touched the juice on her fingers to her tongue.

Teodor . . . cut grass . . . an early birthday gift.

The kiss, then, had been real. She smiled as she moved to the second clothesline.

Clip-snap.

The visitor arrived unidentified and unannounced. Was the man here as an early birthday guest? His eyes were green, sprinkled with gold, and his hair was the color of wheat. In the afternoon heat that simmered over Cuvin’s fields and bumped against the Carpathian foothills, he bore not one drop of sweat.

“Buna seara,” Gina greeted from behind the screen door.

“Good evening,” he said.

Nicoleta stepped into view. “Go to your room, Gina.”

“Can’t I just—”

“Go.”

“Da.”

Gina left her mother with the handsome